#but i’m rlly not looking forward 2 it

[cetoddle-archive]

am NOT ! looking forward to tmrw :(

[pink-lemonadefairy]

[holysugu]

reading that other people also cry on their birthday and it wasn’t just me is actually rlly comforting. what’s with that ?? </33

[exopelagic]

I know the world is cruel because I finally wanna draw again and yet I am forced to pack :(

[yoonmetogether]

Not In the Cards Prelude pt. 1

pairing: gambler!Yoongi x !fem reader genre: strangers-to-lovers, age gap, intro to mafia/bodyguard au summary: how it all started. you won all of his money at poker, he hates you for it, but you find yourself hiding in a closet with him. (This is rlly e2l2e2l lol) warnings: alcohol, mild derogatory language, yoongi's an asshole, reader antagonizes him, motorcycle riding, gambling, smoking, drinking, smut, quickie in a janitor’s closet 🥴, insane bickering, usage of sl*t, yoongi and those red chopsticks from haegeum, a smidge of violence (not towards each other), implied parental absence, scars, reader mentions a minor injury from a car crash wc: 10.2k minors dni. 18+ only thanks to my beta reader @yoonglesyeobo and also to @syllviere for their help and support! <333

prologue l ch. 1 play nice l prelude. strangers 1/2 l prelude. strangers 2/2 l ch. 2 l

You picked a great time to fly back home - smack dab in the middle of monsoon season. Of all the light things you packed in your backpack and duffle bag, you forgot an umbrella.

And the first thing you did once you set foot on the mainland soil of your Jeju pit stop, was ask your driver to take you to the Sehwa beach on the east coast. But the cash you had got you only about three-quarters of the way there, so you were dropped off into the one part of town you’re familiar with. Memories of happier times dance around the streets as you walk down them, on your way to the place you know best. Even though it will remind you of how things once were and never will be again, you go because it’s the only place you know where you can earn money without really having to work for it.

You’re soaked to the bone when you walk into the bar. The lights are low and dimmed with a green hue and floating smoke. It’s loud with banter as men get drunk on this gloomy Friday night.

You find an ATM near the bathrooms and withdraw 700,000 won.

“Hi, sweetie. Are you lost?” one of the pretty waitresses asks as she approaches you in a short apron and even shorter skirt, lips painted a vibrant ruby. Her silky bob is curled just above a black choker around her neck, and she glances down as you slide your wad of cash into your wallet, sliding it in your jacket pocket.

“Uh, no. Can I get a drink and a seat please?”

She looks at you with apprehension laced in her polite expression. “There’s a much quieter bar a few blocks down the street. You might have a better time there.”

“I appreciate that, but I’m actually looking to win some money.”

“I see,” she says after a pause, giving you a onceover. “Are you old enough?”

Yeah, an illegal gambling ring probably wouldn’t want to get tacked on with another charge of hosting minors if the cops were ever smart enough to come snooping around a place like this. You pull out your ID and hand it to her, watching as she holds it up and you know just what she’s looking for because you’ve used a fake to get in here before.

The corner of her mouth lifts in a small smile as she passes it back to you. She turns around and beckons you forward with two fingers in the air, leading you through the bar and as you trail behind her, nostalgia walks with you.

At the bar was where you took your first shot, had your first cigarette, in spite of your brother’s protests, and the den downstairs that you’re heading to was where you won your first real hand at poker. It’s still the same old musty, dusty, probably moldy basement that you remember, but now the ghosts of your past linger in the air so it’s hard to go through without getting a little misty-eyed.

As you step off the stairs, the waitress is surveying the room. It’s much more crowded and loud than upstairs since there are high stakes all around. You strain your neck, looking for an empty chair but they’re all occupied by men with too much time and not enough money to lose.

“Well, all of the tables are full right now, but I can set you up with a drink at the bar while you wait for an opening.”

“What about the table in the back?” Her eyes narrow.

“That’s for more experienced players.” Leaning against the railing, you hum, check your manicure.

“I’ll cut you twenty percent of my win if you get me in there.”

Her eyebrows lift in surprise. “You’re that confident?”

“This is where I learned how to play pro. I win more than I lose.”

She looks you up and down again, like she can’t figure you out.

“Make it twenty-five.”

“Deal,” you grin and she mirrors you, flashing her teeth.

“Follow me.”

You pull your damp hoodie further over your head in an attempt to shield your face as you follow her through the maze of tables towards a door in the far corner of the low-ceiling room. It’s slightly obscured by the counter and sheer, moth-eaten curtains that match the shitty wall color, and you thank the waitress when she pulls them to the side to direct you through. She then leads you into a small hallway but pauses right before the second door frame.

“I have to tell you, these men aren’t exactly their mothers’ favorite.”

You shrug. “Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

“Alright, well if you change your mind…”

“Thanks, but I won’t. I owe you that big tip.”

She smiles. “Don’t let me down, girlie.”

“Is there room for one more, gentlemen?” Her voice carries over the cocksure babble of the middle-aged men surrounding the round, green-felt table, littered with scattered poker chips, worn ashtrays and crystal glasses of whiskey. You’re met with a thick cloud of smoke as you approach an empty seat at the table. They all fall quiet as you pull down your hood, revealing your wet hair and the fact that you are not one of them.

A collective muttering of derision rises as you pull out the chair but you act completely unbothered, unzipping your drenched coat and shrugging it off. You fish your wallet out of your jacket and pass all of your cash to the attendant who exchanges it for chips.

“What do you know about poker?” one of the men prods.

"Plenty. Deal me in. What’s the ante?”

“I think you’re wasting your time,” another cuts in. “You should go see if they have a kiddie table.”

The men shove elbows into each other in raucous laughter at your expense but it doesn’t affect you at all.

“Let her play.”

You look up at the new voice. Gravelly. Gruff. Tempting.

Shit. How did you miss… him? The youngest man in the room, the one with parts of his face shadowed by the god-awful, dim lighting, has not taken his eyes off of you since you walked in. You can tell by the way the bumps on your skin prickle every time your attention flickers in his direction and your eyes catch. His hair is orangey, as much of it that pokes out from under his black beanie, and he’s wearing a black varsity jacket with white stitching on the front that makes him stand out among the rest of the men’s unflattering suits and loose ties.

He lifts his cigarette, takes a drag, and blows it out, blinking between you and two black poker chips he taps on the table.

You glare at the subtle smirk on his lips as he says, “Easy win.”

This will be fun.

The first few rounds you do get shit hands, but you bet on them anyway, enduring the condescension that leers from the entire table each time. The only one who doesn’t laugh is the one you can’t stop stealing glances at, the one who just nonchalantly smokes and places bets and looks at his cards, and occasionally stares right back. Makes your heart flip. You’ve noticed, though, from watching him a few times, that when the flop is laid out and it’s time for the first bets, if he blinks a little erratically while staring at his hand, he folds soon after. You fold on a two-pair after checking, and the players get a kick out of that when you reveal that you had a potentially winning hand. You pretend to be super bummed. But now you’ve got them right where you want them.

So far, you’ve bet the majority of your money but you’re fairly certain that won’t matter in a few minutes. In your hand, you hold an 8 and 2 of Diamonds. On the table, lies a ten of Spades, six of Clubs, 4 and Queen of Diamonds, and three of hearts. You school your expression. One more diamond card and it’s a flush. You look up and it seems the majority of the table has folded, but ‘kiddie table’ man and ‘beanie with a mean stare’ man are still in the running. Both of their hands have been good so far, but ‘beanie with a mean stare’ has won most of the rounds. This is the last one and you’re running out of time to win all of it back. You feign a nervous glance around the table before you check. ‘Kiddie’ checks as well and you wait for ‘mean beanie’ to follow suit but instead, he scoots the rest of his chips in to raise the bet. Huh. He’s getting cocky, going all in. He only blinked once when the dealer laid down the flop, so you suspect he has a good hand. But not a great one, so you’ll raise the stakes. The men mutter in amusement when you match his bet and he lifts a brow, but the rest of his expression remains neutral. The dealer asks if that’s the final bet, and when no one responds, he flips the fifth card. Your heart jumps. 

A nine of Diamonds.

‘Kiddie’ goes first and displays his three-of-a-kind. Hm. Not bad. You glance over to ‘mean beanie,’ waiting for him to make the next move but he only stares at you, unblinking, a thin line between his lips. You take a deep breath and put on a sheepish smile while flattening your cards near the center of the table so everyone can see.

“Is this a flush?” They all still, and you fail to fight off a grin when their many pairs of eyes go back and forth between the river and your two low rank cards that add up to a high rank hand.

‘Mean beanie’ is now staring at his cards, a noticeable tick in his jaw and you know you’ve won. He tosses them down with a quick flick of his wrist and you can’t help your smirk at his obvious dejection. You observe his 5 of Hearts and 7 of Spades.

“Oh, a straight? How nice.” Your head tilts mockingly. “You almost beat me.”

He frowns and you feel enthralled, resisting the urge to blow him a demeaning kiss. With a content sigh, you lean forward to scrape your scored chips towards you, holding your arms out like a hoop to move them all because there’s just that many. You stand as an attendant appears to retrieve your chips to count and trade for the table’s cash. You think you’ll get a nice hotel room to shelter from the storm.

“It was a pleasure playing with you gentlemen,” you say politely as you stand. “I’ll enjoy spending your money.”

The devilish grin you send to all of them lingers on ‘mean beanie’ who is now refusing to look at you. There’s a pep in your step as you stride up to the attendant behind the counter near the door, waiting for him to cash you out.

You watch as the men file out, glaring at you and muttering bitter curses amongst themselves. You shrug it off. Serves them right for underestimating you just because you’re a young woman. You may have been putting on an act, but men run the world.

Shouldn’t they have been smart enough to pick up on that?

‘Beanie’ is the last one to go, head ducked as he pulls out his phone. He’s still in the hallway when you exit, backpack stacked with 10 million won. His foot is on the bottom step as he types furiously on his device.

“Hey, good game,” you say in a light tone as you pass him, but there’s too much sass in your smile to seem genuine. “And you’re right. That was an easy win.”

He lifts his head slowly, eyes narrowed in a vicious glare, pockets his phone and takes a step up. It makes your heart speed when he comes nearly face to face with you, and you can see him in this mildly better lighting.

“How’d you pull that off, huh? You count cards?” He’s pretty much seething but fucking hell, he's attractive.

“No,” you blink innocently, living for the ferocity in his darkened eyes. “I just count on men to be dumb enough to believe a pretty girl like me doesn’t know how to gamble. Thanks for being so full of yourself that you can’t see through a sham like that.”

His jaw ticks as his glare rakes up and down your form.

“You’re full of yourself, too. You’re not that pretty.”

It’s a cheap shot, but it’s obvious he’s just trying to make himself feel better by hurting your feelings because he has nothing else.

“Aww, you sound like a sore loser. Do you want to go back in there? Try to win some back?”

“I’m done playing for the night.” He still hasn’t gotten out of your face and the scent of his earthy cologne with traces of cigarette smoke is doing unhealthy things to your blood pressure.

“Understandable. It would suck to get your ass beat by a girl twice in a row.”

He's radiating with vexation but it doesn’t intimidate you in the slightest. If anything, it’s making him more attractive, which makes you think you should do some deep, serious internal reflection. His nostrils flare just before he swivels on his heel to face the steps.

“Oh, by the way, I noticed that you blink a lot when you get a bad hand. You should work on that.”

His head jerks to you, seeming to take offense to that. He looks you up and down again, scowls, and starts up the stairs.

“Maybe with your money, I’ll buy some expensive makeup to doll myself up better!” You call up.

“You’d need a lot!” 

Fucking liar. You cackle as he jogs up the rest of the way.

******* Upstairs, he’s already out of sight. You relocate the waitress who greets you expectantly, an enthusiastic grin breaking out on her face when you pull out your winnings. She gives you a small cheer and while you sit at the bar to count out her cut, she makes you a drink on the house.

Once you finish it, you check the time and realize you shouldn’t hang around here for much longer. And you’re starting to feel the effects of jet lag now that you’ve got your money problems squared away. But of course you left your jacket downstairs. You ask the waitress if you can go get it.

“Sure, but come right back.”

In the hallway, you falter when you hear a one-sided conversation, spoken by that low stony voice that tickles your brain. You peek your nosy head around the corner, pulse spiking with a thrill when you see ‘beanie’ standing on the other side of the room, next to another hallway.

“The fuck do you mean it didn’t go through? 

As he listens on the other line, he hangs his head, fingers digging into his eyes in what appears to be frustration before dropping them on his hip.

“Shit, are you serious?... Can you just send me some for a plane ticket? I’ll pay you back...” He sighs dejectedly. “Fine. See you back home.”

He curses again, louder this time, and you take that as your cue to saunter into the room, pretending you don’t notice him as you head for the table.

“You stalking me?” You blow a raspberry, leaning down to grab your jacket from the chair and hold it up for him to see.

“As if. You’re not that interesting. And you’re a sore loser,” you tack on. “Not my type.”

(Straight up lies.)

“Well, you’re fucking annoying.”

“Thank you!” You exclaim, hand on your chest like you’re honored. “I’ve worked so hard to be.”

He glowers at you and you really want to laugh. Why is he so angry? It’s not like you stole his money. Tricked him? Maybe, but you can’t exactly be fair in a place like this. His head shakes as he passes by you for the exit.

“So I really won all of your money, huh? And now you’re strapped for cash?” He pauses, slides narrowed eyes your way, and stuffs his hands in his jacket.

“Mind your business.”

“What? It just sounds like you’re in a tough spot, especially with the big storm coming later. I’d hate to think that you’re stranded in torrential downpour with nowhere to go all because some mid-looking girl took your money.”

“Don’t patronize me,” he snaps.

“How is that patronizing? I’m just saying, I’m sorry you fell for my dirty little trick, but I can help you out if you want.”

He strides into your space and you step back, heart pounding when he gets in your face again. There’s a dangerous look in his eyes but you’re not at all threatened.

“I don’t need shit from you.” You tip your head up and bat your eyelashes, sneaking a glance at his lips, pink and plush and enticing. 

“Okay,” you shrug nonchalantly, failing to fight off a small smirk. Warmth creeps up from your cheeks to your ears when his blown out pupils flash down to your mouth. And the tension in between you transforms with a feral magnetism.

His tongue darts out to his bottom lip and your eyes widen a fraction at the sight.

“You’re really aggravating, you know that?”

“You can walk away.” His head tilts at your challenge and the magnetism grows when he doesn’t move.

Just then, your heads turn towards the stairs when voices and footsteps start to descend.

He grabs your arm and tugs you around the corner and to the end of the hallway, whipping open a small door and stepping inside before pulling you along with him. Your nose wrinkles at the odious smell of industrial cleaning agents.

“What are you doing?”

“Shut up,” he hisses, tugging you away from the door to the adjacent side of the small and dark closet. “No one’s supposed to be down here now that they’ve closed things up.”

“Oh,” you whisper, settling against the wall. “You don’t really strike me as the type to follow the rules.”

“I’m not,” he grits, voice deep enough to not be heard easily. “But I know that consequences still apply if I get caught.”

“Well, this isn’t how I expected to spend my Friday night,” you huff with a cross of your arms. “Holed up in some janitor’s closet with a common criminal.”

“You’re one too, y’know. You committed a felony just by stepping foot in here. And then another, when you won all that money.”

You mimic that last sentence in a childish tone and his chest heaves in a huff.

“Will you be quiet?”

“Am I pissing you off?”

“You have been since the first goddamn minute you walked in.”

“If I annoy you that much, you could’ve just hidden in here yourself and left me out there to get in trouble.”

“I still have time. I could push you out now.”

“Do it then.”

A silence follows, like he’s contemplating. Hesitating. That magnetism comes back to buzz and burn.

“Or maybe, and I’m just spitballing here, you wanted an excuse to get me alone in this dark, tight space?”

He scoffs. “You’re delusional.”

“Hm. Then why are you so close? There’s more than enough room for the both of us to have space.”

When he doesn’t say anything, unease pinches your gut when you think you’ve gotten ahead of yourself and misread things. You can’t help that his whole broody, pissed off vibe turns you on for some reason. So you move to get away from him, create some space now that you’re embarrassed but his hand finds the crook of your elbow and stops you. Heat floods your cheeks for a whole different reason.

“What are you trying to get at?” You smile, heart pounding with nerves because you know his rejection would sting like hell. But you’re not about to let his attitude shit on your confidence.

“C’mon, you’re not that dumb.” His fingers dig into your arm, not enough to hurt but enough to feel that you’ve pinched a nerve.

You gasp when he pushes your arm until your back hits the wall and you stare at the silhouette of his face, his hand lifting above your head. Blood rushes in your ears when he leans in so close that his warm breath fans down to your chin.

“You wanna be fucked in here like a slut? Is that it?”

Holy mother of fuck. The way he said that - husky, dark, low but so intense has to be a sin.

“Can you even get it up this late at night, old man?”

“Who the fuck are you calling old?” He snaps. “You’ve got to be at least 30.”

He better be joking! “What does that make you, then? 45? 50?” 

“Try 27.”

“Huh. You’re still a lot older than me.” You don’t find that hot.

“By how much?” he queries, a bit of apprehension in his tone.

“5 years.”

He exhales sharply, a breath of relief. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Keep telling yourself that. Is almost 30 too early to have ‘dysfunctional’ problems?”

Large hands on your hips force you to turn around and face the wall, and you plant your palms on it with a gasp when he grinds his clothed erection on the swell of your ass.

“Does this feel ‘dysfunctional’ to you?” he growls, grinding against you again, slower this time but harsher so you can feel all of what’s swelling in his pants. He’s big, because of course he is, and you figure by the end of this, you’ll be the dysfunctional one.

“I-I don’t know,” you stutter, throat suddenly dry. He chuckles, and it’s like a jolt of thunder worthy of a hurricane storming through every seed of your nerves.

Sighing, he leans into you, chest barely brushing your back, and returns his hand to the wall above your head, ducking his chin to breathe down your neck and you gasp again as he rolls his hips once more while muttering darkly into your ear,

“Do you want to find out?” A shiver bolts down your spine, and your center starts to throb with sinful desire.

Getting fucked on a Friday night in a cleaning closet by a common criminal is definitely not something you expected to be doing on your trip back home. But you don’t want it to go in any other way.

“Mhmm.”

“Is that supposed to be a word?”

“Yes!” You whisper yell.

“Yes, what?” he emphasizes, tone gritty and a touch dominating.

“Yes, I want to find out.”

Quiet passes for a minute and you think he’s in the middle of rethinking things, but then he manhandles you to the side of the closet opposite from the door, and you put out your hands to feel that you’re pressed into a set of shelves holding big ass rolls of paper towels or something.

He tugs at the hem of your pants. “Take these off.”

“Why can’t you do it?”

“Because I’m giving you a chance to change your mind,” he mutters.

Huh. You hesitate only because that was unexpected. But you weren’t planning on changing anything. Without a word, you undo the clasp on your jeans and reach back to find his hand, taking note of the insane electricity that surges through you once you touch him, and bring it back to your waist, silent permission that he can continue. Nothing is said as he slides your pants down your ass, and you wait for him to work on his own jeans but instead you feel his fingers trickle on the inside of your upper thigh, and your breath hitches as he inches closer to your heat. You spread your legs and arch your back to give him indication to touch you. He cups your mound, and you lurch forward with a moan, grabbing the shelf to hold onto for dear life.

“You better stay quiet,” he grumbles. “Because if you get us caught, I’ll tell them I found out you were counting cards.”

“And you were fucking me as punishment?” you challenge over your shoulder, but the vitriol in your sneer is extinguished when he glides a lone finger between your folds.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “You’re already wet. Being a dirty slut like this turns you on?”

You don’t answer, brain malfunctioning when he starts rubbing circles over your clit, and you duck your head as it increases your arousal. A whiny moan floats out when he teases your hole and hums to himself. Your shoulders tense when he slips a digit in, shushing your louder moan as he adds another and pumps in and out to work you open. You have to hold your breath every now and then to keep your noises to yourself.

As he keeps finger-fucking you, there’s some shifting and then a slap of something falling on the floor, followed by the sound of foil tearing.

“Did you just get a condom out of your wallet?” you manage to croak.

“No, I pulled it out of thin air,” he deadpans dryly.

You roll your eyes. Men. Always staying locked and fucking loaded. And he called you a slut? You open your mouth to convey this to him, but you figure one more smart-ass comment will deny you of what you’re craving.

You salivate when you hear him undo his belt and unzip his jeans. He steps back with a faint moan, and you imagine him finally pulling himself out to roll on the condom. Shit. You know you’re in for it.

His hand finds your waist again, and he spits, loudly, before tapping his tip on your center, gathering your arousal. Your body jerks at the sensation of his head dragging through your folds and over your clit before coming back to prod your entrance, making you tense up in anticipation.

“Are you going to back out? Last chance.”

“No, I’m good.” There’s a lapse in movement and in words but then he pushes in and- fuck! It’s a stretch. You moan over a bitten tongue as your eyes squeeze shut, urgently trying to adjust.

“We don’t have to do this if you’re not up for it,” he mutters quietly when your cunt refuses to cooperate, thanks to a mix of nerves.

"I am, damn it!”

“Then fucking relax.”

So you deflate your lungs, using the idea of just how good it’ll feel once he fills you up for motivation to do as he says. You let your body go almost entirely limp and he must notice because he digs his nails into your waist and guides himself in, agonizingly slow, expanding your walls with girth so fulfilling.

A low growl resonates in his chest when he sinks in all the way, fingers flexing on your naked hips as he gives time for you to adjust. His hard dick twitching within tells you that he needs a second too. For a few minutes, he fucks you at a snail’s pace while you try not to lose your shit. Then he pulls out to bend his knees, and thrusts back up into you, breathing shakily as he increases the pace.

He doesn’t take his hands off of your waist. Doesn’t grope your tits, or cup handfuls of your ass, just holds onto your hips to keep you in place, occasionally uses them to adjust his stance behind you. A part of you wishes he would because you know his large hands could work wonders on your skin, but at the same time there’s a modicum of respect coming from his restraint. You don’t know if that’s what he’s going for or if he just genuinely doesn’t want to touch you - which, ouch - but you’re pretty sure most guys would take you letting them fuck you in a closet as automatic permission to touch all parts of your body whether you asked them to or not, but apparently he’s not one of them.

There is one place, though, that you desperately need him to put his hands on and for whatever reason, he’s not.

“Are you gonna play with my clit anytime soon? Or did you, in your old age, forget where it is?” He huffs, dark and indignant in your ear.

“It’d be nice to get off at some point ton-” A hand slides over your cheek and pair of fingers gets shoved on your tongue, cutting you off.

“Shut. Your. Mouth.” Your eyes roll back at the rigid and domineering grit in his tone, and your back arches to press further into him, needy, wanting. His other hand leaves your hip to replace his fingers with a balled-up piece of fabric, and then he snakes down to the front of your waist. You have to clench down on whatever fabric he used to muffle you when he easily finds your aching nub and spreads your saliva over it before stroking in agonizing circles. Your teeth clamp down on the mysterious material to barricade a whimper.

His hips, on the other hand, start to smack against your ass with animalistic determination, like he wants to fuck you as fast as he can so he can get this over with. Which is fine by you, because it feels so fucking good. The force of his thrusts paired with the tips of his fingers rubbing your clit in rough, calculated strokes has your nails scraping on the wall due to the overwhelming pleasure building within you.

He starts to fuck you at a different angle and you almost cry out when he spears against your spot.

“There?” he asks, rocking in the same place experimentally while you clench around him. Your thighs start to shake.

“Mhmm!” you exclaim, voice muffled. He doesn’t stop fucking you there until you come, and even though you already can’t see shit, you definitely black out for a second. The material in your mouth isn’t helping your breathing situation but it’s preventing you from crying.

He hisses and then yanks out, lets go of your waist, and you involuntarily drop to your knees.

“Shit, my fault,” he mutters, but you’re focused on plucking the cloth out of your mouth, scrunching it in your palm. You weakly pull your jeans to your hips and turn around when he curses again, reaching out to find his dick as he jerks himself to completion. He stops and rips off the condom, thumb sliding up your chin and into your mouth to drop it open.

“Gonna come,” he grumbles. You nod and stick out your tongue, and using his thumb as guidance, he slides his thick mushroom head past your lips, filling your mouth with hot ropes of cum. He emits some kind of purring sound as you swallow it all down and your eyes roll to the back of your head.

After allowing a moment to accept what just happened, he steps back again and sighs heavily as he tucks himself in and fixes his belt while you wipe your mouth with the inside of your shirt. When he bends down to pick up his wallet, you wait for his hand to offer you help up off the floor, but he just turns around, leaving you to stand up on your own with shaky legs.

That’s not the vibe you were starting to get from him, but okay?

Swinging on your jacket with a bit of shame, you walk up behind him where he’s listening at the door for anyone outside, and realize that you just let this guy fuck you in a weird-smelling closet and come in your mouth before you even got his name.

“I’m Angel, by the way.”

“That’s nice," he says flatly, tone withdrawn.

“Did you flunk preschool? This would be the part where you tell me your name.”

“I'm good.” You scoff, taken aback. 

"Geez, dude. After all that, you can’t even tell me your name?”

"Nah. Not like we’re ever gonna see each other again, right?” That stings. He doesn’t have the courtesy to do something normal after doing something so unorthodox?

“Whatever, prick.”

When he opens the door, you toss the fabric at him and shove into his shoulder, not looking back as you hurry towards the stairs, taking two at a time to get away from him. The waitress gives you a wary look as you stomp towards her, offering an embarrassed apology while you gather your bags. You thank her, pass her a few more bills, and make an escape to the bathroom. You refuse to look in the mirror as you get yourself together. What the fuck were you thinking?

But as the universe would have it, he’s outside under the awning because of the rain, scrolling through his phone and smoking a cigarette with a foot propped on the wall.

Without slowing down, you walk by him, pluck the cigarette from his fingers and continue down the block. At the corner, you stop abruptly, and lift the stick to your lips, take a drag, then toss it into the street, staring right at him. He frowns and with the hand not stuffed in his jean pocket, raises his middle finger and you shoot him one right back, blowing out smoke and holding back a cough. You flag down a cab with a heavy weight in your chest that crawls up to your throat and threatens to imitate the storm pouring from the clouds above.

The rain follows you into the crowded restaurant and you do your best to shake it off of your clothes and shoes before you go in. An older male server rushes by carrying a tray of soju and shot glasses, beckons you further inside and gestures over to the far end of the room where a small empty table sits in front of the window. As you weave your way towards it, you pass by groups of friends, some couples, others colleagues, all having a good time staying out of the storm together. It makes you a little bitter and a lot lonely.

You sit down with your back facing away from the reminder that you’re the only one occupying a two-person table and order a bottle of soju and a hot bowl of noodles that will take away some of the wet chill clinging to your skin.

A motorcycle zooms by. The engine sounds like a single-cylinder with a good torque. A Ducati maybe?

As you wait, you lean back in your chair, arms crossed, and stare outside, reminiscing about old times. Old friends. All a part of memories now.

A few minutes after the server delivers you a bottle of soju and you take a shot, you head to the bathroom to wash up and finally acknowledge the shame lingering in your appearance. When you emerge, passing by the bar, you’re stopped in your tracks by the face of the man who is the reason for that shame. Your heart pounds abnormally. He’s sitting a few barstools away from you, beanie gone, unveiling orange hair and roots that could use a touch up, with a black and white bandanna tied under his chin, like it was being used as a mask. Was that what he stuffed in your mouth earlier?

You stare at him as he sips some clear liquor out of a whiskey glass and when he finally notices, he, for some reason, doesn’t look that surprised to see you.

“You again,” you scowl. “Who’s stalking who now?” He shrugs.

“This is a small island.”

Your eyes roll at his shit logic.

“Well, sorry to have ruined your whole ‘we’re never gonna see each other again’ bullshit.”

He doesn't reply, just frowns into his glass. Feeling hot all over, you stew as you stomp back to your table to retrieve your wallet, fishing out a large bill that you slap on the counter once you return to the bar. The bartender comes over and you make a point of looking over at the prick while you say,

"His drinks are on me." You prolong your vengeful gaze on him, fighting your tongue when his jaw only clenches in response, and head back to your table in a huff.

You try to let it go and not sear holes through his back, instead focusing on your wonderful meal and full glass of soju. He can go to hell.

It seems that the universe has other plans in store when mid-bite, you feel a presence approach and you think it’s the server coming to check on you, but when you look up and the presence stops at your table, your heart skips at the musk that pummels your lungs and puts you in a chokehold. Because it’s the same one that enveloped you from behind not too long ago, strong enough to mask the stench of cleaning supplies. And the source of it slaps a familiar lone bill in front of you under a veiny, slender hand. He stares down at you with an unreadable look in his eyes. Glancing at the bill, you make no move to take it back or acknowledge the fact that he didn't let you pay, even though you just won a bunch of his money. What is this guy playing at?

"Take it."

"No," you shoot back, resuming your meal for an excuse not to look at him. 

He sighs and you think that's the end of it.

But then he scoots into the seat across from you. Your heart flatlines when he glances at you, barely acknowledging you or your shocked expression, and cards a hand through his hair, flipping his bangs away to showcase his forehead, clear of blemishes. Isn’t that fucking typical.

“Um, can I help you?”

“The kitchen’s closing soon and I want to order something,” he says casually as he gets comfortable.

“And you’re sitting at my table because? I thought I was annoying.”

“You are,” he replies, still not looking at you but at your bowl. “But all the other tables are full.”

You scoff and take a sweep of the restaurant, desperate to catch him in a lie - surely people have left and freed up spaces since you got here. Nope. The seat across from you was the only one empty. But why does he have to be the one who fills it?

“You could just go somewhere else.”

“It’s pouring out there.”

“Afraid you’ll melt?”

He flickers a small glare your way, then moves it behind you when the bell over the entrance announces a customer’s arrival. He’s acting indifferent, like he wasn’t just a complete dick, and you don’t know what to make of it.

“So does this mean you're done being an asshole to me now?”

“You think I should be nice or something?”

“That would be a start.”

“Aren’t you not supposed to be nice to strangers? Didn’t your mother ever teach you that?”

That draws a cloudy expression over your face. “I’m sure she would’ve if she was ever around.”

He looks at you and you can see a smidge of his hostile demeanor fall away. Your attention drops to your lap, waiting for him to give the little pity party you’re used to people throwing you when they find out you have an absentee parent. But he doesn’t, just shifts in his seat and lets a little tension out of his shoulders.

“Yoongi.”

Your eyebrows furrow as you look across again, thrown for a loop. “What?”

He shrugs, juts out his bottom lip in what you think is a pout. “You wanted my name, right?”

He looks shy and, dare you say, cute saying that. 

“Was that so hard? You know that makes us not strangers anymore,” you point out with a widening smile as he glowers at you.

You reach for the soju bottle but he leans forward and snatches it away. Puzzled, you withdraw your hand, but he gestures to your glass and mimes a pour. There’s uncertainty stitched between your brows as you pick up the glass and hold it out with two hands while he pours a shot. You can’t help but notice the scar etched in a jagged line across the back of his right hand turning the bottle, and you look away from it so you don’t gawk. But you’re curious.

Even though you don’t yet fully respect him, he is still 5 years older, so you turn to the side to knock the shot back. When you’re done, you silently offer to return the favor but he shakes his head, fills your glass once again and sets the bottle down, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded across his chest, glancing between you and the table with a dart of his tongue over his bottom lip.

You stare at the liquor, tips of your fingers dancing around the rim of the glass as you debate how much of your sobriety you should hold onto for the night.

“You’re not drinking?” you ask after you down the shot, wiping your chin.

“I’m driving.” You hum in acknowledgement.

“Are you gonna eat?”

He shakes his head. “I’m good.”

“I thought that was the whole point of sitting at my table.”

“I changed my mind.” Liar. He’s been eyeing your bowl ever since he sat down.

“You’re a shit liar. No wonder I cleaned you out.”

He flips you off and you just sigh. A lost cause. You catch the scar on the back of his hand again, the skin raised but healed.

The atmosphere between you since his gesture has slowed things down, setting a new pace that’s strange but not entirely unwelcome. The liquor spreading warmth in your chest loosens your inhibitions, bringing forth your curiosity.

"What happened to your hand?”

"Bar fight,” he replies a little too quickly. You don't believe that.

"Some bar fight." He rolls his eyes at your sarcasm but then his attention flickers back with a tick of his eyebrows when you lower the collar of your sweater, exposing the skin just below your right clavicle that displays your own gash.

“I got this when I used to race during my first couple years at university.” You smirk when both his brows shoot up, clearly not expecting your story. “I was drifting and my component spun out and drove me off the road and I smashed into a guardrail. He was fine, but my windshield shattered and a big piece of glass just wedged in right here.” You press a finger against the very visible healed stitching. “It hurt like a motherfucker, dug into my bone and all that, but the scar came out pretty bad ass, don’t you think?”

He tilts his head with an amused expression, as if not expecting you to sound somewhat proud of your preventable injury.

“I’m sure you were smart enough to stop racing after that.”

“Yeah, but I still went to functions and stuff. And then one night, cops busted our spot and a bunch of us got arrested. I spent a couple days in jail and my brother had to come bail me out.” You pause to think about how irate Jin had been, flying halfway across the world to pay your bond, dragging Namjoon along to fight for you not to be charged. Jin chewed you out the entire time, about how dangerous that was and how you could’ve killed somebody and yourself. Of course you knew that, but you’ve always proved to be a damn good driver, only racing on empty roads after memorizing every wind, bump, and bend. You never let him see your scar because he would find a way to never let you see the light of day again. But then he made you transfer schools and you lost touch with your racing friends. You made sure your brothers never found out your accident didn't deter you from speed racing. You were just too good and made money off of it that you couldn't give up.

“And what was that you were saying earlier about being stuck alone somewhere with a felon?” He muses sarcastically.

Glossing over that snide remark, you launch into another anecdote, regaling him in the story of the first time you ever raced when you lost horribly to your brother and he never let you live it down. And the time you were the getaway driver when your brother and your friends decided to add to the graffiti collection under a bridge near school.

“I think you’re oversharing,” he intervenes when you bring your spiel to a close.

“Would you rather sit here and talk about the weather?”

“I’d rather not talk at all.” He looks down as soon as he says it and your eyes droop into a frown. Well, so much for that. Leave it to a guy to pull stupid shit like that.

“Right,” you mutter, leaning down to pick up your bag. “All I’m good for is a fuck.”

You get out your wallet and a large chunk of the cash that you won, leaving a sum for the bill on the table. As you rise, you fold a larger wad in half and slam it down next to his hands. He glances at it before dragging his gaze up to you, blinking a few times as you harshly stare him down. You sniff, swing your bag onto your shoulder, and turn your back on him.

“Stop.” You do and turn, slowly. “I know I’m an asshole, but I wasn’t implying that, okay?”

Blinking at his response, you step up to his edge of the table. You tilt your head, waiting for him to elaborate but when he doesn’t, a mildly disappointed sigh leaves your lungs.

“If that’s your idea of an apology…” He stares up as you hold him in suspense. “Then I’ll take what I can get.”

The tiny quirk of his lips has you plopping back in your seat, albeit a bit reluctant. As you set your bag back down, he slides the cash back over.

“Well, I’m not taking your money.” You frown.

“Well, at least order something to eat, I don’t mind treating. Unless you have that weird masculine thing where it’s offensive if a girl pays for food.”

A light smile threatens to break out on his face and you think it could be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

“Nah, I’m never one to turn down a free meal.”

He finally orders and you try not to watch him eat, finding it endearing the way he rests his fingers holding chopsticks against his cheek while he chews. So you just return to quietly sipping your drink and watching the rain beat down on the pavement, illuminated by the street lamps. Occasionally, bumps rise on your skin like they did earlier when you feel his eyes on you. You just let him stare because it makes you feel warm.

The bowl slides to the middle of the table and Yoongi sits back with a satisfied sigh. You look over and smile, getting ready to tease him about his appetite but then the bell rings and Yoongi’s expression drops completely. He straightens in his seat, pulls the bandanna up over the lower half of his face and a dreadful feeling sinks into your gut when he grabs the chopsticks and holds them with a tight grip, veins popping and knuckles paling. You look over your shoulder, blood stirring with anxiety when you see a few men from the poker game heading straight for your table.

“Get your bag,” Yoongi mutters, shifting so his feet are turned to the side. Swallowing thickly, you bring up your backpack and wrap your arms across it, pressing it into your chest.

“So you decided to catch up to her before us. Well done, my friend,” the man says, clapping Yoongi on the shoulder. A cold front moves in on the tips of your fingers, settles a tundra in your gut and freezes you in your seat when Yoongi doesn’t look at you, just stares at the man above him.

Was this all just a ruse? He was just keeping you here so his friends could come and mug you? You’re not that naive.

Right?

Just when you start to doubt all of your life choices, Yoongi smacks off the man’s hand, leans forward with his eyebrows furrowed at you.

“I’m not with them.” Your heart races as you look between them. For once, you feel backed into a corner.

“Yes, you are, pretty boy. Because if you’re not, then it seems to me that you both plotted to set us up and that means you’re both in trouble.”

“No one plotted anything. I’ve never met him before,” you declare, catching onto their lie, washed over with relief that you haven’t been duped.

“You just underestimated me and that’s not my fault.”

The man looks at you with an ugly lip curl.

“Oh, yes it is. You never should’ve been there in the first place, so hand me and my friends back our money and this all goes away. No one gets hurt.”

Yoongi’s jaw moves like he’s grinding his teeth. “That’s not what I heard,” he mutters.

Your clutch anxiously onto the sides of your backpack, not wanting to know what he means. You slowly reach under your chair to grab onto your duffle, ready to run at a moment’s notice.

The stranger bends down to lean towards you. “Give me the money. Now.”

“Get out of her face, man,” Yoongi spits, standing with a hand on his shoulder to push him back. You stand as well, holding tightly onto both of your bags as you look back at the door, but for all you know, there are more men out there waiting.

You jump when the man attempts to snatch your bag but withdraws with a shout in pain, and you don’t expect to see Yoongi piercing his shoulder with the chopsticks. As your heart and mind race, he yanks the utensils with added red out, keeps them in his fist, and shoves back the two men who crowd him, sending them into the tables behind. Dishes crash and customers leap up in exclamations of surprise, and Yoongi takes the opportunity to push you away and get behind you, hand flattened on your spine to compel you in the direction of the kitchen.

He seizes your duffle bag so you have an easier time moving, and you both ignore the protesting shouts from the chefs and servers as you run through the hot kitchen. As you stumble outside, the rain cascades over you, and your heart stops for a moment when you realize you have no plan to escape. But then he wraps his free hand around your forearm, glancing up as more shouts echo from the restaurant. He pulls down the bandana. His face looks radiant in the blurred street lights.

“This way.”

You both take off down the block, and in the midst of the sprint, Yoongi slides down his hand to instead curl his fingers around your wrist and leads you across the street. It’s not the rain that makes you shiver.

The scent of rain washes over you as your feet hit asphalt, a few honks blasting from cars you dart past. Yoongi puts himself between you and the vehicles that shout profanities at him and you can’t help the laugh that escapes you when he shouts right back and throws up a middle finger. You slide your hand into his palm to give him a good tug so he won’t end up in another squabble with an irate driver and he turns back to you. For some reason you’re smiling and when he looks at you, your heart pounds, but it could easily be mistaken for exertion. But when you spot the crinkle at the corners of his eyes that tells you he’s smiling too and your pulse skips a beat, you know it has nothing to do with running.

You have no idea where he’s taking you. But at this moment, you trust him with your life. It’s a 360, but it’s freeing. And nothing like you’ve ever felt before.

You run until you reach the end of the block where a black Ducati motorcycle is parallel parked in between a stretch of cars and he picks up a matte black helmet from the seat and holds it out to you.

“Here, put this on. Hurry up.” The fiberglass is covered in droplets of rain. It means safety, but from this man who gave it to you? Who keeps confusing you?

A dilemma.

“Why did you come after me?”

“What?” he half-shouts over the loud pattering of downpour. “We don’t have time-”

You step up to stand face-to-face with him and he blinks confusion down at you, mouth open as his chest heaves, panting, orange hair darkened and drenched. You glance down at the chopsticks are still trembling in his hand. Adrenaline. He snaps them in half and throws them into the street where they get carried into the storm drain.

It’s raining, but there’s a fire. You repeat your question, keeping the helmet down at your side so there’s not more than an inch between you. He holds your gaze - doesn’t blink or look away. Darkness surrounds you, but there’s none in his eyes.

“I just did.”

He gives no reason, so neither do you when you bunch the front of his soaked black crew-neck and yank him into you, into a kiss that will be seared into your mind like a core memory. He doesn’t lean into it for a split second, like you caught him off guard, but when he does, grabs the side of your face to take over and opens your mouth with his tongue like he’s always meant to taste you, it’s messy and desperate, teeth clacking and mouths moving uncoordinated. It’s the hungriest you’ve ever been kissed. Drinking in the rain, drinking in each other, the helmet slips from your fingers and you don’t notice for a second until he breaks away from your swollen lips and holds it up to you.

“We gotta go.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, regret taking over. He shakes his head and places the helmet into your hands. You frantically look over your shoulder where a few men are catching up, pointing their fingers and shouting as they spot you.

“Come on,” he urges and you slip on the helmet, facing back to see him swinging his leg over the bike and starting up the engine. He sits with your duffle slung around his neck in front of him, chin on his shoulder as he glances back just as you slide behind him.

“Hold tight.” He barely gives you enough time to circle your arms around his waist before he kicks off the curb. The bike roars to life and he speeds it away from the pavement, taking off down the street and into the night. Full of possibilities. You rest your head between his shoulder blades, unable to see the way his fingers tighten around the handle bars. Staring off to the side, you watch the night go by, road illuminated by street lights filtered through the rain, and your heart hammers at the adventure of it all.

The engine still purrs when it comes to a stop, now far enough away from danger. The rain has reduced to a drizzle and your heartbeat thunders within the fiberglass. You flip up the visor so he can hear you marvel,

“You stabbed him.” For you. He stabbed a man for you. And you think that’s why you kissed him.

“I know.”

“That was fucking metal.” His chuckle travels through his chest, so you can feel it in your own.

“I’m glad you think so.” ******* “So, where you headed?” he asks once he comes to the next stoplight. The smell of salt wafts in the air, tell tale sign of the beach.

“My hotel.” “Do you know the directions? I’m not google maps.”

You laugh against his back and tighten your hold around him. His muscles tense up beneath you. At this point, you think you’d let him take you anywhere, but you’re feeling bad about the kiss.

“You don’t have to take me all the way there. Just drop me off at a bus stop, it’s around here somewhere.”

“Buses don’t run this late.” You know for a fact that they do, but you don’t want to dispute him. Especially if it means you can hold onto him like this for just a little longer. Damn. You hated him just a little bit ago. Crazy how fast things can change in the blink of an eye.

“I’ll take a cab then.”

A rev of the engine fills a pause. “It’s late.”

“What?” He clears his throat, talks over his shoulder.

“I said it’s late. And it’s raining. I’ll just drop you off.” A spread of heat in your chest makes this chilly night a bit bearable.

“I thought you’d be itching to get away from me.”

“Yeah, you’d think,” he mutters, hanging his head, sounding dismayed. Or bitter.

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch. Trust me.”

“You just want gas money, huh?” He huffs and tosses his head back, strings of wet hair allowing you a glimpse of his undercut.

“Just give me the damn directions.”

******* All too soon, the venture comes to an end when he pulls into the lot of the beachfront hotel. Quietly, he parks and shuts off the engine and it takes you a second to come down from your rush and realize you’re still holding onto him when there’s no reason to anymore. You snap yourself out of your daze of wishful thinking that this night will never end and remove your arms, immediately missing his warmth and touch. A little too quickly you move off of the seat and he straightens as you stand, removing the helmet and you miss the way he watches you shake out your hair. When you meet his gaze, your heart starts racing again, butterflies multiplying beneath your diaphragm as he stares at you for a moment before glancing down to the helmet you hold out to him. He accepts it with a subtle nod and rests it in his lap while you internally panic, trying to find something not stupid to say so this whole ordeal with him doesn’t end.

“Well, thank you. I half-expected you to ditch me on the side of the road and ride off with my money.”

He leans forward with a soft snort, resting his wrists on the center of the bars, and your heart starts to do gymnastics at the notion that he finds you amusing because it gives you hope that he’s interested enough to not leave yet.

“I’m not that much of an asshole.”

“No, but you’re pretty close.”

“And yet you got on my motorcycle.”

“You told me to trust you and I do.”

“You just said you expected me to ditch you and take your money.”

“Half-expected,” you emphasize. “There’s always room for doubt.”

Just the corner of his mouth quirks up in a smile and you don’t want to see it leave.

“Speaking of room, do you have a place to stay?”

“Not around here,” he shakes his head, leaning back to stuff his hands in his jacket pockets. “But I have a friend across town who’ll let me crash, so I should probably get going.”

Tonight, with this man, has been an entire amusement park of emotions. From obscene attraction, to utter loathing, to being enlivened and now to just being plain disappointed. You don’t want to get off this ride just yet.

You squat down and drop your bag to the ground, digging into the front pocket for a pen and notepad. After you find one and rip out a page, you straighten and stride up to the bike without looking at him, writing down the number of your room. You fold it up once you’re done, passing it over, and watch him hesitate before accepting it.

“In case you change your mind,” you say, pointing at the page with your pen as you cap it. “Or if your friend doesn’t want a felon crashing on their couch.”

“And you wouldn’t mind a felon crashing with you?”

“I let a felon fuck me in a goddamn closet. What do you think?”

He holds your stare for a moment before a subtle smile breaks on his otherwise unreadable expression.

“Well, that’s good to know,” he says, shaking his head, and looks at the note for a second longer, then stuffs it in his jacket.

You sense an impending ‘but.’

“But-” You hate being right. “I think I’ll be okay. You should head inside, it’s starting to rain again.”

Not knowing what else to do besides stare at the ground and contemplate if you should write down your number too, you awkwardly hold out your hand, and then upon realizing how weird that is, quickly change your mind and retract it. Embarrassment flooding your cheeks, you reach down to snatch up your bag and turn around. You don’t wave, don’t say anything because what else is there to do? You don’t want to say it was nice to meet him because you’re still trying to figure out if it was, nor do you want to say ‘see you’ because you’re not sure if you ever will after this. 

You don’t look back, and as you head towards the main entrance where you can pick up your room key, the sound of the motorcycle revving into gear echoes around you and it’s only when it disappears in the distance do you turn around, wishing you weren’t watching him go. More like you were still on the back.

.

.

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thanks for reading!! let me know what you think! i love to yap!!

xxx - claret p.s. i wrote the poker scene after watching a ten-minute wiki-how video on how to play texas hold 'em lmao

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[jessamine-rose]

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ  Heartbeat ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Back in June, I said it was unlikely that 1) I’d play WHB or 2) put myself through the mental turmoil of writing smut again. Fast forward to Day 3 of the game and I was so, so wrong ;-;

So far, I’m rlly into Leviathan and Sitri, and the latter instantly inspired me to write for him on Day 1. I hope you all suffer from thirst enjoy reading this spontaneous fic (*^ω^*)

Note: Sub! Sitri, riding, edging, orgasm denial, emotional sex, mention of Switch! Sitri x Switch! Reader, 1-21 spoilers, MINORS DNI

��� 1k words under the cut ♡

As much as you adore Sitri, he has one flaw which frustrates you to no end.

“Solomon—ah!”

The movement of your hips ceases, prompting a startled cry from the devil beneath you. The sound is coupled with the sensation of cold fingertips pressing into your waist.

He’s still inside you.

As much as you’d like to continue, you still your body and examine your lover’s face. He is a beautiful mess—pale blue hair fanned out over the pillow, flushed cheeks, kiss-swollen lips, magenta eyes glossy and half-lidded.

“You.” His voice is quiet, punctuated by ragged breaths. “Why…”

His grip on your waist tightens, paired with a desperate buck of his hips, but you slap his hand away. Irresistible as he is, you can tell that his intimacy isn’t directed at you.

“Sitri.” You click your tongue, eyes narrowed. “What did I tell you?”

He meets your gaze, confusion clouding over those pretty pink orbs. “Could you please elaborate?”

For a devil, he can be quite thoughtless.

You put your hand under his chin, tilting his face upwards. The words that leave your mouth are cold, sharp, perfectly clear.

“You called me Solomon again.”

At least Sitri understands the gravity of his mistake. His expression goes from needy to mournful, apologetic, docile. Engulfed in your shadow, it is a delicious sight.

And to think that a few hours ago, he was the one looming over your trembling body. In that moment, his normally placid expression had given way to an excited smirk.

But it’s your turn now.

“I apologize, Descendant of—”

Your hand wraps around his wrist. It incurs a soft gasp this time—from surprise or pain? His arm still bears the marks of Satan’s bites; his blood had made such brilliant weapons. Your thumb ghosts over the wounds before pressing down on his pulse point.

…You think you are starting to understand his kink. There is a spike in his heartbeat, the calm rhythm turned erratic by your touch.

“Wrong again,” you tell him. Your voice takes on a low, impatient tone. “It’s ______, remember? That’s what I told you to call me when we first met, when I promised to save Hell, when I came to your room earlier. But you keep forgetting…”

A sigh escapes your lips. Your hand releases his wrist and trails up his chest. Tracing his love bites, caressing his cheek, stroking his hair.

He makes a satisfied noise and closes his eyes. Silky blue strands yield to your touch.

Was he ever like this with your ancestor? Is that all he sees in you?

“Now,” you whisper. Your hand moves to the side of his head and finds your target. “Why don’t we try again?”

His eyes fly open, painted with shock this time. “Wait, that—!”

Your fingertips trace the curve of his horn. The action elicits a loud moan from Sitri, shaky hands returning to your waist.

He gives you a pleading look. “S-Stop. Please, it feels…”

“Go on.” Your thumb rubs the base of his horn, ruffling his hair. The ministrations don’t stop there—at the same time, you resume rocking your hips. “Say my name.”

“I…” Just like that, he becomes putty in your hands. His hips shift beneath you, out of sync with your movements, hopelessly futile in relieving his erection. “Ah…______!”

He repeats your name, louder this time. It sounds different from how his fellow devils or even Minhyeok address you, spoken with more intention. Desire. Adoration.

It sounds like a prayer in his voice.

You let go of his horn, smiling. “That’s more like it.”

“______.” He looks up, taking deep breaths to compose himself. One hand leaves your waist and seizes your wrist. “I can hear it, you know?”

You pause, glancing at his hand. His grip is stronger yet, to some extent, delicate as to avoid bruising your skin.

“My heartbeat?”

“It sounds different,” he confesses. He closes his eyes, focusing on the sensation. “You smell like him, act like him, you even talk like him at times. But this—”

His thumb finds your pulse and applies pressure. When he opens his eyes, they are shining with unshed tears and your captivated reflection.

“All yours,” he whispers. A dazed smile adorns his face as he kisses the back of your hand. “It’s the most beautiful rhythm I’ve ever heard. They’ll never—I won’t allow this melody to stop this time. Promise me that I won’t lose you again, that you…”

Butterflies. There are butterflies in your chest.

The fluttery sensation is overwhelming. You pull your hand away—not that Sitri hasn’t noticed, not that he can’t tell without touching you—but it’s too late. He gives you a knowing smile, accompanied by a wild glint in his eyes and a sudden thrust from his hips.

“Ah! Sitri, you…!”

You don’t give him time to savor your reaction, leaning down to capture his lips in a kiss.

He eagerly reciprocates, strong arms wrapping around you and keeping your body flush against him. His kiss is deep, greedy, depriving you of oxygen.

When you come up for air, your heart is beating so fast that you worry it will jump out of your chest. Sitri simply has that effect on you.

“Okay,” you reply. Your lips move to his cheeks, kissing away his tears. “It’s a promise.”

“You...” The look in his eyes spells euphoria, dilated pupils akin to hearts. More tears roll down his face. “I understand, ______.”

You sit back up and match his pace. It draws out more moans from Sitri as he thrusts into you with more fervor. A reverent smile graces his features.

Beautiful. You’d like to savor that expression while you still can.

After you climax, Sitri will likely return to his composed self and put you to bed, prioritizing your comfort above his own…or would he get back at you? Flip your positions, propose another round, flash you that dangerous smirk which makes your heart flutter? Say your name differently?

A devilish smile plays on your lips.

It’s not like you have any objections. But until then, you will take your time breaking him until the only name on his tongue is yours.

♡

Read my other WHB works here Σ੧(❛□❛✿)

*cries* S-So how was that for my second time writing smut?? Cue me dying as I wrote the word er*ction….and thank you to @diodellet for proofreading this and sharing your wisdom as the veteran smut writer between us &lt;3

If there is one silver lining in WHB’s delay, it’s that the game got released during Kinktober. I honestly didn’t expect myself to get inspired right after the game’s debut, but Sitri simply had that effect on me. And after finishing Chapter 1 and his H scene, I can officially put him on my bias list ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

Tag a Sitri enjoyer!! @sparkbeast20 @2af-afterdark @d34dlysinner @pinkaditty @og-in-a-bog @h2o2-and-baking-soda @paradivis @potol0ver @gr0tesquerom4ntica @dobaekki

[meshiinuma]

pool day

relationship: poly sashisu x reader

desc: it's your mission to keep your lifeguard date mates company while they perform their duties at the pool

wrd cnt: 3.6k

warnings: gn reader, fluff !!, thats it !!!

a(shley's)/n: this is mostly 4 me bcuz i got my nostril pierced n now i CANT GO UNDERWATER . I ONLY WENT 2 THE POOL ONCE THIS SUMMER AUGHHHHH and i bought some rlly cute swimsuits 2 :[[[ sighhhhh ill resign myself 2 being above water i suppose also the song suguru is humming later is paikea by patea maori club

‘fwee!’

at the sound of the sharp whistle of the lifeguard, you stop.

“no running.” she calls out to you, smugness tinging her tone.

you look up to see shoko sitting at the top of the tall lifeguard chair. she has her sunglasses low on the bridge of her nose, staring you down with a salacious look in her deep dark brown eyes.

“and no food by the pool.” with a pout, you lean on one of the white bases of the high chair and suck at your blue raspberry popsicle.

“this is a dictatorship.” you finally say after slurping out enough flavor to satisfy you for the time being.

“shame.” shoko pulls off her sunglasses and gets a good look at you from your spot underneath the huge red shade attached to the back of her chair, her blindingly white shirt dulled underneath the shadow. if you looked close enough, you could see her black bikini bottoms peeking out.

she tucks some of her hair behind her ear, you thought it was growing out quite nicely. you didn’t say that though. you actually just chomped off the discolored part of the popsicle, pure ice melting on your tongue.

sigh “i don’t know why all three of you decided to sign up for lifeguarding, now i’m all alone, burning. slowly infecting myself with skin cancer…!” your girlfriend chuckles at your dramatic declaration. 

“you know we need some cash, just surviving off of satoru’s trust fund isn’t enough. plus, you have your own job.” shoko reasons, her attention slipping from you briefly so she could switch off her water proof alarm, beeping to remind her to switch out guard posts.

“that pays more too…” you mumbled and licked up a stray droplet about to fall onto the concrete. out of the corner of your eye, you see shoko stop for a moment and stare at the pink muscle work it’s way up the rocket-shaped dessert.

to suck more sugar out of the ice, you take the popsicle fully into your mouth and slowly pull it out with a pop.

by now, shoko was down from her post and smacked you lightly on the shoulder, “in public?” judging by her grin and the little flush across her cheeks, she didn’t care.

“as if you, satoru, and suguru don’t do worse, hm?” you leaned forward with a teasing grin, close enough to give her a little peck with your blue stained lips.

she giggled at the ticklish feeling of your lips brushing against her soft cheek and pushed you away when you bit into it lightly, “okay, okay. there’s kids around, you know that?” she drawls, but still gives you a kiss and nip on your bottom lip back.

the two of you are interrupted by two pairs of feet leisurely strolling down the side of the pool, one voice greeting you and your girlfriend loudly.

you look up to see the last half to your heart approaching, one in a lifeguard tank top and the other shirtless, both have bright red swim trunks on.

“hi baby! hi my darling shoko!” satoru jogs up and gives you a wet kiss on your lips, more spit than lip action. he repeats the action with his girlfriend. she splutters and gently shoves him away.

“you’re like a dog, slobbering everywhere…” shoko leans up to peck him on the forehead, cradling his head like she did yours.

suguru comes up behind satoru and leans over him to give you a kiss on the cheek, deciding to save his more overt affection for later.

once shoko and satoru separate, suguru leans over shoko and gives her a kiss on the top of her head. she reciprocates with a kiss to his jaw while satoru bounds up the lifeguard chair and settles into place with his rescue tube.

when they pulled away, you admired the way they stared at each other. the love they had was palpable. you smiled involuntarily and licked at your popsicle.

they pulled apart when the manager of the pool speed walked by with a bark of an order, “ieiri! to your station! geto! back to making rounds around the pool!” 

there was always something bothering him. shoko just rolled her eyes and waved goodbye to her partners, leisurely walking to her next lifeguard post at a farther end of the pool.

satoru brushed your shoulder closest to him with the end of his crocs, “hey.” you looked up to see his own sunglasses slipping down the bridge of his nose, a silly grin on his face, “can’t eat near the pool.” just like a little puppy dog, he tilted his head to the side and let out a huff of air like a laugh.

in response, you stared up at him with sultry eyes as you tossed whatever was left of the popsicle around your tongue. when you bit of the last of the ice, you slowly pulled the stick while maintaining eye contact.

satoru’s face turned red and his beautiful ocean blues widened. he whipped his head to the side and mumbled, “shut up…” you giggled and slapped his exposed calf, moving towards suguru.

internally, you were giggling and screaming and kicking your legs. suguru was just the type to make anyone shy and flustered, even if he was a big softie on the inside. outwardly, you were coy and sly, “hey, big boy.” at your approach, suguru cupped his hand on the side of your head and granted you the privilege of one of his soft lipped smiles.

“hi,” he fiddled with some of your hair, then perked up.

“oh!” he leaned down to the white plumeria bushes lining the pool fence and plucked one with a long stem. your boyfriend turned back to you, still waiting patiently, and slipped it behind your left ear. after he secured it, he kissed the shell of your left ear, “thought of you after i saw them.” suguru whispered, sending giddy shivers down your spine at the thought of taking up space in someone’s mind.

when he pulled away, a lovely grin split your face almost in two and you bashfully looked away, carefully cupping the flower decorating your ear.

“wh-hey!” you and suguru turned to satoru, who had a grumpy look on his face at the affection you were receiving.

“aw, do you want one too satoru?” before he could answer, you were already making your way towards the bushels of flowers.

your fingers danced around tons of white petaled, yellow centered flowers until you found the one with the brightest center. just like your sun.

you plucked it happily, with ample room on the stem so you could tuck it behind his left ear, and bounded over to the lifeguard chair he was sat at.

“i have something for you!” you singsonged, holding the pretty flower behind your back.

satoru gasped as if he didn’t just watch you pluck from the flower bushes, “for me? i couldn’t possibly imagine what it could be!”

shyly, you stepped up to the first step of the chair and held out the flower. like a dog offering something for its beloved owner.

your other boyfriends hands cupped the petals, making sure not to crumple them, “oh…thank you baby…” he looked up at you, love and adoration crowding his eyes, “i love it,” and he moved to take it from you, but you slipped it away at the last second, “nuh-uh! I’ll put it on for you, then i know it’ll look perfect. a perfect flower for my perfect baby.” 

bright red exploded across the pale cheeks of your boyfriend as you stuck the wooden popsicle stick in your mouth and gently turned his head so you could slip the flower behind his left ear, “i’m your perfect baby?” he asked.

when you finished, you turned his head back to you to get a good look at him, “my most perfect, most loveliest, smartest baby.”

satoru looked beautiful.

he does everyday, but the delicate flower added a more gentle touch to him. something that distanced him from the cold winter beauty he was born with. made him more suited for the bright blue of the pool in the full swing of summer.

you leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, “you’re so beautiful satoru.” you spoke around the stick in your mouth. suguru came up next to you and leaned on the side of the chair, looking up at satoru with reverence shining in his fox eyes.

“you really are beautiful…” he trailed off and satoru got flustered all over again, jutting his wet pink bottom lip out with a shy smile.

“thanks…” your white haired lover turned back to you and suguru, something more down to earth twisting his lips up, “you guys are pretty beautiful too, even more than me.” he chuckled as you ruffled the top of his head (careful not to jostle the plumeria out).

“alright you charmer, weaseling your way into our hearts,” you smacked his bare pec and got down from the chair, going back to the flowers blooming and making the whole area smell so sweet, yet spicy with undertones of cinnamon.

another flower made it’s way into your hands, but this one was a bright blush pink with a spot of yellow in the middle. 

suguru’s intense. he burns with love and care for everything that could ever be cared about. passionate. he craves happiness on the inside. for as long as you’ve known him, he’s always been pursuing joy to complete him. you hope he feels complete around you, satoru, and shoko.

“turn around and crouch down a little.” suguru follows obediently with a hum and lets you part his bun so you could safely tuck the little flower into his top knot. when done, you move his hair out of the way so you could peck the nape of his neck.

at the brush of your lips against him, he shudders and jerks away with a chuckle, “alright, calm down, you can do that later.” you just rolled your eyes.

when looking at suguru head on, the little bit of intense pink poked out behind him. it just added more to his thin and refined features, crafted with light and precise strokes of a brush.

your thumb reached up to swipe at a droplet of sweat starting to run down his forehead, “have you been putting sunscreen on?” your head whipped around to satoru, “both of you?” 

“sir yes sir!” satoru saluted while you and suguru chuckled. satoru has sensitive skin that burns easy, and his refusal to put a shirt on only heightens the chances of him coming home peeling and burnt to a crisp. suguru needs sunscreen less, but he still cares for the health of his skin. that doesn’t stop him from coming home a few shades darker and having tan lines from his work clothes.

you kissed suguru’s cheek and went over to the lifeguard chair that satoru was at, already waiting with his head ducked.

“good. now i’m gonna go give one to shoko,” you plucked a completely white flower from the bushes and started towards where shoko was seated, “make sure not to slack off!” you called out behind you as you threw away the popsicle stick in a trashcan.

satoru and suguru just waved goodbye to you, sporting mischievous grins.

the stem of the flower twirled between your fingers while your mind wandered off to your girlfriend.

smart shoko. smart, beautiful, trusting, obsessively clean shoko. you sighed wistfully at the memory of her forcing suguru out of the pool last summer after he got his nipples pierced, citing the insane amount of germs floating around in a pool, even if they were sanitized with chlorine. if someone was drowning in front of shoko, you don’t think she’d jump in and get them herself.

your feet slowed once they approached the base of the lifeguard chair, “hello lovely girlfriend of mine.” you cooed, reaching for her hand resting on the armrest of the chair.

“why hello to you too, light of my life, fire of my loins.” her hand went to caress you from the top of your head to the bottom of your chin, “i thought we were in public, sho-ko.” you teased and moved to stand in front of the lifeguard chair.

“sorry babe, just can’t resist myself around you.” she chuckled as you rolled your eyes.

“whatever now get over here, i have something for you.” you stood on the first step of the lifeguard chair, still twirling the plumeria in your hand.

“oh? i’d love to see it.” she drawled, offering her head to you.

judging by her nonchalant reaction, she had seen the interaction between her partners.

with tender hands, you tucked the flower behind her left ear and secured it as best as you could. when you were done, your hand slid down to her jaw and brought her head up to face you.

“you look really good, shoko.” you had to restrain yourself from pouring your heart out, or she’d shrink away (a habit you, satoru, and suguru were trying to break). in reality, she looked more than good. she looked stunning. the pure white flower mellowed her out, adding some contrast to her lightly tanned skin and brunette hair. it complimented her faint freckles too, giving the perfect image of a beautiful island dwelling twenty-something woman who spent all her time by the shore.

but you couldn’t say any of that. you just leaned in and kissed her cheek, “like, really good.” 

she flushed a light pink and tucked her stray hair back, “thanks, you look good too.” you couldn’t hold yourself back, you have the most amazing woman in the world and you weren’t going to waste time saving your words for the right time. you could die tomorrow and shoko would never know how beautiful you think she is.

“pretty girl shoko.” a kiss to her jaw, “smart girl shoko.” a kiss to her forehead, “my most amazing girl shoko.” a kiss to the tip of her nose.

your (future wife) girlfriend giggled and pushed you away lightly, looking away so you wouldn’t see her chill facade break at your insistence to love on her, “okay! okay, i get it…”

“anything interesting happen while i was gone?” you hum and turn shoko back to you as she fans herself with a baseball cap satoru slapped onto her head before they left the house for their shift.

“well,” she swallowed and finally looked back at you, “i watched a bird, like, dive for someone's ice cream and take a whole chunk out of it. it kinda looked like a crow and later i saw this lady with a weird braid surrounded by crows.” you leaned against the armrest of the lifeguard chair as she regaled you with more tales of the pool, “and then i saw these two kids, one of them had pink hair and the other had a bob, push this other kid that looked like a sea urchin-”

“how could you say that about a child shoko!” you gasped dramatically, “this is an injustice to all children in the world!” she just flicked your forehead and continued, undisturbed.

“anyway, they pushed the kid in and when he got out he chased them with his service dogs.”

“did you tell them to stop running?” amusement filled your voice, “nope.” she popped the p and settled back into her chair.

“oh, so you’re just targeting me then? how rude.” your fists went to your hips and she just pushed her (you’re pretty sure those are satoru’s, if you were to judge by the expensive luxury brand on the arm) sunglasses up the bridge of her nose, “yup.” 

before you could retort back, the pool manager passed by and barked out another order, “no distractions ieiri! back to work!” and he speed walked past, yelling at other employees as he went.

shoko rolled her eyes and you sighed, “i’ll see you at lunch, yeah?” and you pecked her on the lips.

“yeah, see ya’.” she said after you pulled away and made your way to the many slides at the pool.

for the next hour, you went down all of the slides twice, did some sick tricks on the diving boards, and raided the snack bar for free popsicles and ice cream bars (through all of this, you placed the plumeria safely in your pool bag. you retrieved it when you got sick of the water and pruney fingers, choosing to stay on land for a bit).

the pool lets lifeguards go for lunch during adult swim, so when they call for everyone under eighteen to get out, you happily make your way to the little cluster of circle benches in the food court.

you spot shoko and satoru in the far corner, shaded by a large tree and having an animated conversation.

as you approach, you start to hear bits and pieces of their conversation and pick up on the agitated tone in shoko’s reply, “dude, it’s not even going to happen there’s zero chance of that, so i have no clue why you think i’m the best person to ask for that answer.” satoru sighs, “it’s a hypothetical question, shoko! it’s not going to happen! but if it did happen i’d have to think about it!”

“what are you thinking about? i didn’t even know you could do that, satoru.” you take a seat at the bench next to shoko. satoru opens his mouth to speak, then stops, “hey…” you waved him off, “what were you talking about, though?”

“if it’s ethical to fuck my clone.”

…

“oh.” you blink at him, “well. hm.” you pause, mulling the question over in your mind, “i think we need suguru for that one.” swiveling your head around, you look for him, “where is he, anyway?”

“in the snack bar.” shoko replies, turning back to satoru to comment on the absurdity of his question as you rise to get your boyfriend.

suguru is standing in front of the soda machine, getting some cola in a to go cup and singing under his breath, “uie mai koia, whakahuatie ake…” but stops when you shove your face into his (actually really sweaty, gross) back and wrap your arms around his waist.

“oh! hi baby,” his big hand goes to hold your arm as you listen to him fill up another cup with soda. you pull away pretty fast once you couldn’t take the face-full of stink coming from his semi-drenched tank top. you didn’t blame him, today was one of the hottest days of the month.

“i’m almost done here, can you get our lunch from the fridge?” like the loving and amazing partner you are, you grab the bright yellow lunch box with tons of zippers, the baby blue and gray square lunch box, and the green tiffin box covered with a dark forest green handkerchief. from the freezer compartment, you grab an ice cream bar for yourself.

when you turn around, you see suguru waiting for you with three to go cups filled with various drinks and one heat insulating thermos in his hands, “got everything?” and he tilts his head in that adorable way that makes his bang swish a little and it fills you with the urge to dote over him and pinch his cheeks.

you push down the urge, “yeah!” and follow him out the door.

suguru places down everyone's drink first and you put down lunch boxes immediately afterwards. shoko’s tiffin, satoru’s box, and suguru’s lunch box that could qualify as a mini satchel.

you sit down afterwards and unwrap your ice cream bar, taking a big bite out of it first thing. shoko opens her tiffin and starts to snack from the top compartment filled with shrimp chips. satoru opens his box and unwraps a soft baked dessert, sinking his teeth into it once it was sufficiently out of its casing. suguru doesn’t unzip his own until he sees everyone has started eating, but as he moves to open his lunch he stops and narrows his eyes at you.

“is that all you’ve been eating today?” he accuses you in the middle of your bite of vanilla goodness.

“yesh.” you reply, mouth full of the cold dessert.

suguru pouts and says your name in the way you would when you’re mildly disappointed in someone, “you have to eat something with actual substance!” he declares as he opens his lunch box fully and pulls out something wrapped.

“well maybe you shouldn’t tell me you guys have too much frozen stuff and then give me the key to the snack bar!” you retort after swallowing.

your boyfriend just rolls his eyes and places a wrapped and square object in front of you, “here. since i know you don’t eat anything that’ll keep you full when you’re here.” you reach across the table to give satoru your ice cream bar (so he can have a bite, at this point it’s become instinctual to give him a little bit of your dessert when he’s around) and unwrap the object.

you gasp at what’s inside.

“a sandwich? for me?” you coo and take a bite of the mediterranean sandwich you saw him prep that morning, you just didn’t know he was making another one for you.

“thank you, sugu!” and you peck him on the cheek for his chivalrous activity.

he just looks away bashfully and opens up his thermos to take a sip from the hot tea he brewed that morning.

happily, you gobble down the sandwich made just for you as conversation leisurely flows through the table. sometimes you pick off one of shoko’s spring rolls, satoru’s oreos, or sips of suguru’s tea. none of them mind, willing to give anything to you. their lover. light of their lives.

you were just content. happy to be covered in chlorine water, eyes stinging a bit, and sating your ravenous hunger. here, with your lovers and the scent of sweet and spicy filling the air.

[licorice-tea]

Seaside Rendezvous

Pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x reader

Content: fluff, a little angst, unrequited feelings/ miscommunication, not rlly unrequited

Word Count: 0.6k

A/N: Heyyyyyy….. it’s been a while, huh? life has been busy and difficult and amazing and everything in between, but i just wanted to post something (even if i feel like it’s not my best work😓) i might be more active after like 2 weeks, but it’s also finals season rn :o anyway, miss you guys and miss writing! looking forward to getting back into tumblr, and i hope you enjoy!

It’s a clear and overwhelmingly blue sort of day. You walk along the beach, beneath a cloudless sky, which creates calm waters to push gently foaming waves onto the shoreline. They soak your feet while you amble on, shoes in one hand and a single bag of groceries in the other. And Sanji’s signature blue pinstripe shirt makes him look even more picturesque than usual- a perfect man against a perfect backdrop.

He’s less than an arms distance to your right, with at least 4 bags in each hand, plus a tote under his arm. But you feel there is no point in offering to hold a few, since he had already refused when you initially left the market. That was half an hour ago, and you’ve been merely contemplating your feelings up till now. You’ve always felt something for Sanji, it’s just hard to say what exactly. He flirts so shamelessly and often that understanding your own emotions is nearly impossible. Are they a matter of genuine affection (beyond friendship), or simply flare-ups of lust inspired by how much he seems to want you?

Even if you could know how you truly feel for Sanji, your longtime crew mate and friend, it wouldn’t matter for that very reason. If anything, it might be worse to know how real your affections for him are than it is to continue pushing them to the back of your mind silent, contemplative moments.

But Sanji makes that impossible, too.

“What’s on your mind?”

Your eyes leave the sand to meet his mirth- crinkled eyes. “Nothing, why?”

He manages to shrug beneath the weight of the groceries. “You were being quiet, that’s all.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“Don’t be, dearest.”

You avert your eyes before mumbling, “Are you sure you don’t want help with those bags?”

“I don’t need help, but thank you. And,” he smiles a little brighter, “I’d hate to ever burden you, love.”

“Sanji, don’t say things like that.”

“Oh? I thought you enjoyed my terms of endearment for you.”

You shake your head no. “Not if they aren’t serious.”

Sanji’s expression turns from content, to confused, then surprised, while he slowly comes to a stop. Once you’ve notice he’s no longer walking by your side, you turn back in time to see him finally settle on a gleeful smile.

“You’d like it… if you knew I was serious?”

“W-Well… I guess, yeah. Not that I-“

“Because I am serious about you. I always have been, really.”

Now you’re the one who’s confused. “What?”

He rushes to drop the groceries, followed by the tote bag on his shoulder, and approaches you. Sanji guides you to drop your own load, too, before taking your hands in his.

“Would you be mine?”

“Sanji, you’re being ridiculous now…”

“I’m being genuine. Why, you don’t want to?”

“Well I mean, I would if I could, but I can’t. We can’t.” You let go of his hands and pick up your shoes and singular grocery bag, then straighten up and look into his eyes. He smiles sadly, and you just smile back before walking on.

He knows you don’t mean to hurt his feelings, especially since you seem to barely believe that said feelings for you could be real or serious. But it does hurt a little. Sanji sighs as he picks up his bags. He follows you and watches your hair bounce with your steps.

For now, he’d have to be content with letting his imagination run away with thoughts of loving you.

[minustwofingers]

exoplanet p. 4.0

note: p4 has been officially split in half!! part 4.5 coming soon!

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader (rlly fem like you are v girly)

summary: you’ve won the life lottery as one of the few people on earth with parents who gained admittance to the most prestigous safezone in the world after the outbreak. but after a lab accident sends you out to jackson, wyoming, real life hits you fast. it’s a good thing that a hot lesbian finds u. (lol). mean ellie at first, slowburn, enemies to friends to lovers, fem reader asf

warnings: smut! read at your own risk! angst, miscommunication, ellie is still an asshole. explicit language. reader is a nervous wreck and overthinks like crazy

a/n: first of all i’m so sorry for making u guys wait! i was thinking about just holding out until i had the entirety of this part done, but part 3′s cliffhanger was brutal and i couldn’t make you guys wait any longer. some notes: this will ultimately be a hea! i promise! that being said, ellie is kind of awful in this part and i promise this will all be explained and resolved in the coming part(s)—there’s a reason why she’s being so silly goofy! (also this is the first time i’ve ever written smut so i’m sorry if it’s not that good Lfdjaklfjds)

wc: 4.7k

here’s a playlist inspired by exoplanet!

part 1

part 2

part 3

tags! @prettyplant0 @666findgod @sawaagyapong @rystarkov @buzzybuzzsposts @addisonnie @galacticstxrdust @parkersmyth @pinkazelma 

@ariianelle @lu002 @blairfox04 @sparkleswonderland​ 

“Come here, then.” 

You froze as her words processed in your head. You hadn’t expected her to react positively. She wasn’t supposed to react like that. She was supposed to awkwardly scratch the back of her neck and tell you that, wow, that was really sweet, but she wasn’t really ready for anything, and you weren’t really her type. Except that was the Terranovian way to reject someone. Maybe it would’ve been a more realistic expectation to assume that Ellie would laugh at you, or maybe tell you to fuck off. 

She wasn’t supposed to tell you to come closer.

But she was waiting for you now, so you pushed the thoughts aside and shifted your weight forward, pulling your legs under you so you were balancing on your knees.

You hovered over her, the heels of your palms growing numb from holding you up.

“Do you need a written invitation or something?” she said once you’d stared down at her for a little too long. Her voice was softer, with a teasing edge. 

“Don’t be mean,” you said, blushing wildly. “I’m getting my nerve up. Give me a minute.” 

“You’re the weirdest girl I’ve ever met.”

“And you’re being remarkably unhelpful.” You weren’t sure why she was making you do all the work. You were getting steadily more flustered, your pulse rising and your heart crawling into your throat the longer you looked down at her.

She liked that, you realized with a start. She liked seeing you turn into a nervous wreck because of her, even if it meant waiting.

“Change your mind or something?” 

You shook your head. 

“So come kiss me.” It was barely a whisper, so quiet that you wouldn’t have heard it had you not been leaning over her. 

One of her hands shakily raised to brush a rogue piece of your hair behind your ear. Her touch lingered. Her fingers opened to glide through your hair, halting at the nape of your neck.

You shut your eyes and dipped your head. 

It was an innocent, tiny kiss, your closed lips barely brushing before you pulled back to gauge her reaction.

But before you could fully open your eyes, the hand that was cradling your neck pulled you back down. 

It was like a dam had broken. Your nervousness and anxiety about what you were doing—kissing your friend—faded into the background as your thoughts instead turned to the fingers tangled into your hair and the wet heat of her mouth against yours. 

Your hand splayed out on the pillow next to her head, balancing you as you dipped lower, tilted your head, and let her pry your lips open. The hand that wasn’t threaded through your hair slid up your shirt, running up your back and coming to rest between your shoulder blades, a pleasant, warm weight.

Slowly, you pressed into your hands and tried to maneuver your legs so that you were straddling her instead of doing that goofy kneeling position at her side, but one of your arms gave out and you pitched forward, accidentally knocking her teeth with yours. 

“Sorry!” you said quickly, pulling away and feeling horrified as you sat back on her thighs. 

Ellie just laughed. “It’s fine. That was pretty ambitious of you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your arms are scrawny,” she said matter-of-factly. “I didn’t think you were going to last long up there anyway. No offense.”

“You don’t get to just say the foulest things to me and expect me not to be mad because you threw in a ‘no offense’,” you retorted. “And, for the record, my arms aren’t scrawny. I’m just genetically predisposed to be lean and have low muscle mass.” 

“Just—shut up,” she said. “Don’t you ever say something like ‘genetically predisposed’ in my bed again. That’s so stupid.” 

“You’re—”

She cut you off. “You can tell me all about how mean I am to you later. Now switch with me.” 

She flicked your elbow to emphasize her point, extracting her hand from under your shirt as she waited for you to get off her and lie down on the pillow.

You frowned as you flopped onto your back, feeling like you’d been demoted. You would have been fine. You could have done it—maybe not for long, but for a bit. You’d done it before. Fuck this shit. Also, if this was going the way you thought it was, you wanted to go first, not her.

But your frustration didn’t last for long, as when Ellie straddled you, gathered you up, and kissed you again, your mind went completely blank.

Things felt a little different with Ellie on top—like you were moving with more direction. Your kisses had long since turned sloppy, your hands twisted in the back of her shirt as you pulled her closer, closer, trying to drink her in.

The tips of her fingers were calloused, pleasantly rough against your skin as one hand ran up and down your side, careful to avoid the stitches. 

You heard her shift, but given that your eyes were closed and her tongue was in your mouth, you didn't bother to consider why. Then a hand wrapped around the non-stitched side of your waist and pulled you down the mattress until something hit the apex of your thighs, and you couldn’t stop that gasp that left your mouth.

The knee thing. Oh, my god, the knee thing. She was doing the knee thing. She was going to be the death of you. 

Ellie paused, your lips making an audible noise as they separated. You could see a sheen of wetness on her mouth. 

“Okay?” she whispered.

You nodded, but any pretense of appearing mentally present disintegrated as the hand on your waist tightened, rolling you roughly against her knee. 

The sound that left your lips was honestly and objectively very embarrassing—something between a yelp and a strangled gasp—but you decided to think about it later as Ellie leaned back down, her mouth pressing to your jaw and dragging down to your throat.

You keened, rocking down onto her as she passed over the sensitive part of your neck. She paused, her lips freezing before she sucked at the same spot again, this time slower and with more deliberation. 

You were a mess. All she’d done was kiss you and let you grind against her thigh with multiple layers of separation, and you were already falling apart underneath her, your hands desperately tangled in her shirt and your breathing frantic. 

Once her lips had trailed down to the curve where your shoulder met your neck, you tentatively fingered the hem of her shirt and began to pull it up. 

Wordlessly, she sat back and let you drag her shirt up, helping you once you got to her arms. 

“What?” she said once she’d gotten her head through the neckhole and tossed it off to the side.

Your mouth had been hanging open, so you shut it before you responded. “Uh. Nothing. You’re just—really pretty.” 

“Really pretty,” Ellie repeated drolly.

You covered your face with your hands. “What? Is that a crime?”

“Isn’t it?” said Ellie. 

You peeked through the gaps in your fingers. There was a smirk pulling at her lips.

“In Terranova,” she elaborated. “It is a crime, right?” 

“Oh, Christ. Can we not talk about that now?” 

She laughed.

Her fingers closed around your wrists, pulling them away from your face so you had to look at her dead-on. She leaned down, her lips brushing your pulse point.

“I’m just teasing,” she whispered into your ear, and you felt the sheets at the bottom of the bed bunch up as your toes curled. 

She kissed you again, her mouth parted and soft. Your hands wandered up and down her bare skin, pausing where you heard her gasp and dragging your thumbs across the peaks of her chest until her breath hitched.

It didn’t take long until she’d helped you out of the loose t-shirt she’d given you when you’d arrived, her warm hands a welcome respite from the cool night air. 

Then you felt the waistband of your shorts tighten, her fingers dipping briefly under the elastic. 

“Do you want me to—”

“Yes.” Your voice was breathy. 

“Sheesh,” said Ellie, though at the same time she was pulling them down your thighs. “Eager much?”

“I’ll leave,” you warned.

It was an empty threat. 

“Yeah, yeah,” said Ellie. “I’ll make it up to you if you’re so offended.” 

Her hand nudged between your legs, fingers rolling languidly up the middle of your clothed center.

“Oh god,” you whined, no longer caring about the magnitude of your reaction in regards to what she was doing to you. 

Your hands shot out to haphazardly grip the sheets as you felt your panties get pushed aside. Ellie’s knuckles slid down your folds, making a lewd wet sound from all of the slickness as she separated them. 

When you finally opened your eyes, you could see Ellie intensely studying you, her eyes cast down to where she was touching you as her teeth pulled at her bottom lip. 

You wanted to feel self-conscious. After all, it had been forever since you’d been touched like this, and to have it be done by someone you were so anxious to impress only added insult to injury. But your mind was so clouded with want and desperation that you couldn’t even bring yourself to want to close your legs, no matter how closely she seemed to be examining you. 

Something prodded at your entrance. Your legs tensed.

Ellie paused. “Alright?”

You bit your lip and nodded, shutting your eyes. 

The prodding morphed into a stretching sensation as something entered you, your walls seizing up and tensing as you sharply inhaled. 

“You could try relaxing,” Ellie whispered casually, like her finger wasn’t actively inside of you. “Just a suggestion.” 

“You could try not being an assho—”

Ellie’s thumb swiped across your clit, cutting you off as an involuntary gasp left your throat. 

“Oh, sorry,” she deadpanned. “Were you saying something?”

You sent her a withering glare as she smirked back. Your resolve didn’t hold long, as once her finger withdrew and plunged deeper into you, you were long gone. 

It wasn’t long until one finger became two, scissoring in and out of you while you writhed beneath her and keened over and over again. The room was silent apart from the obscenely wet sounds emanating from between your legs and your whimpers.

As you felt tension begin to pool inside of you like a rubber band about to snap, you pushed yourself up on your elbows, looking down the bed at Ellie.

She was biting her lip in concentration as she worked her fingers in and out of you. Her eyes snapped up to meet yours just as she hooked her fingers inside of you, pulling a high moan from your lips.

“There?” Her voice was low and slightly raspy. 

You nodded helplessly, feeling her pull her fingers out and thrust them in again, angling them just so to brush up against the front of your walls. 

Your head flopped back on the pillow, your mouth falling open as you gasped. You were almost there. You just needed—you weren’t sure exactly what you needed.

“Please,” you managed to stutter out, not clear on what you were asking her for.

But as you felt her press on your clit and rub a tight circle, you realized that Ellie knew exactly what you wanted. 

The rubber band snapped, a white-hot ball in your middle bursting and sending a tremor through your whole body.

You came down with a gasp of air, feeling your walls spasm around Ellie’s fingers once, twice, thrice—until you lost count. 

There was a tug between your legs, and you heard the squelch of her pulling out. You clenched around nothing, tiredly noting how strange it was to be empty again.

Ellie’s head dropped to kiss your shoulder, carefully avoiding your injured side even as she pressed her weight on top of you.

“You okay?” she asked once she’d sat back up. You didn’t miss the way she wiped her fingers on her shorts. 

“Yeah,” you breathed, feeling reason and rationality begin to trickle back into your consciousness. Oh God. What had you done? 

She didn’t say anything as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, leaning down to retrieve her shirt.

Oh God. You hadn’t just made out with your friend. You’d let her finger you. You’d come apart under her and now you were going to have to eat breakfast and go on patrol and talk to her for the indefinite future knowing that she knew what it felt like to be inside you.

Horror built slowly within you as the implications mounted. You never slept with anyone without clearly defining the boundaries first. You’d never just…lost control, like you just had.

Ellie was standing up, pulling on her shirt and blissfully unaware of your overthinking spiral. Slowly, awkwardly, you reached down and pulled your shorts back up, trying your best to ignore the mess that was between your legs. 

Something landed atop your chest, making you jump. It was your top, helpfully tossed by Ellie from the floor. 

Nausea began to build in your stomach as you quickly redressed, head spinning. Would you get to have your defining conversation now? Did Ellie want to define what you were? Was she going to let you sleep over? You really, really wanted to, but you didn’t know how to ask.

She finished fussing with her shirt and turned back to you, seeing you sat on the edge of the bed.

In a stroke of courage, you caught her hand, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her palm. You heard her breath stutter before you released it, letting it fall. 

It felt like a confession. One that went beyond just “thinking” about someone. 

“I didn’t know you thought of me like that.” Your voice was hoarse, tired from what you’d just put it through. 

“How could I not?” There was something in the rawness of how she spoke that made your heart lurch. 

“Since…since when?” 

You waited a few moments before amending it. “I—actually, don’t feel like you need to say so.” 

Ellie shrugged, joining you on the edge. “You first.”

“Since…” Since the first night you wanted to say, but you couldn’t make the words come out. That felt too vulnerable, especially when you weren’t sure what you two were yet. That might be too much. “It’s been a while,” you settled on as a vague compromise. 

Ellie nudged the edge of your foot with hers. “I figured. You spend all of your time gawking at me.”

“I do not.” 

She raised an eyebrow. 

“Okay,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Maybe a little. But I was very subtle about it.” 

“Yes, very,” Ellie agreed, nodding gravely. “Didn’t even notice.” 

There were so many things that you wanted to ask her—you wanted to turn the question back to her, you wanted to ask if you could sleep over, you wanted to ask what this meant—but the heavy silence of the room was too thick to speak through. 

“I’m, uh, I think I’m going to go to bed,” Ellie said, scratching the back of her neck uncomfortably. 

“Oh, right,” you responded. “It’s late. Me too.”

It was in fact not that late—you and Ellie had stayed up much later on prior evenings.

“Uh—sleep well,” she said, turning to you. 

An acute pang of hurt twanged in your chest as you realized what she was implying. 

“You too,” you said softly, reaching over to unplug your laptop and grab the charger. Your knees cracked comically loudly as you stood up, but neither of you reacted to it. 

You stole one last glance at her once you’d made it to the doorway. She was watching you, her chin resting on the palm that was propped up by her elbow. “Goodnight,” you said, trying your best to hide the hurt in your voice.

“Goodnight.” 

The walk to your room was short enough that you managed to keep it together until you’d slipped inside and shut the door tight. Then the tears pricking at your eyes began to fall, your back sliding against the door as you fell into a ball. 

It felt stupid to be crying over the fact that you’d had a hookup that hadn’t turned into a passionate love confession and the opportunity to fall asleep in her arms. You and Ellie were so different—there was no reason to believe that she wanted you on any level that wasn’t physical. Maybe she was one of those people who could have sex just based on attraction without it meaning anything. 

And to be upset because she hadn’t cuddled you afterwards or complimented your body or played with your hair or anything—ridiculous. There was no reason to believe that Ellie would suddenly stop being Ellie—sardonic, emotionally detached, asshole Ellie—just because you were in her bed. She’d done nothing wrong except be the person that she’d shown you she was many times over.

You knew this—you knew all of this, but it wasn’t enough to console you. You still wanted her. You still wanted more. You yearned to be touched by her, not just the rough caresses that pulled you over the edge, but the ones that you were expecting had she let you stay the night. 

A while passed as you sat crumpled on the floor, knees pulled to your chest and shoulders heaving. By the time you’d gathered the strength to get up and pee (you highly doubted they had cranberry juice out here, and contracting a UTI on top of everything else was going to be enough to make you jump over the wall banging pots and pans until every infected came to check you out), you were sufficiently cried out, feeling rather like a wrung out washcloth. 

It hadn’t been all bad, you thought to yourself as you splashed your face and washed your hands in the warm light of the bathroom. As long as this hadn’t permanently ruined the friendship between you two, you’d maybe consider doing it again. Despite the emotional turmoil and overall lack of intimacy, it had been nice. In the moment. Next time—if there was one—you’d just lower your expectations. 

Some Ellie was better than No Ellie. 

Yeah. 

You could do that. 

~

“We’re in a fight.” 

The words made you jump a foot in the air, nearly pitching you forward on the sidewalk as you were heading to the stables to help Maria out. 

“Dina!” you exclaimed.

She was frowning at you, her arms tightly crossed.

“Is there a reason we’re fighting?” you asked. 

“You promised you’d come hang out with me,” she said, jutting her chin out. “And where have you been? Not at mine.” 

“I’m sorry,” you said, heat rising to your cheeks. In truth, you’d been so caught up with your Ellie obsession that you’d forgotten about Dina. 

“I guess it’s not totally your fault,” Dina conceded, waving a hand. “I keep telling Ellie to stop being so greedy, keeping you all to herself like that.”

“It’s all been so much.” Your stomach dropped at the mention of Ellie, whom you had exchanged very brief pleasantries with that morning. Or, as pleasant as Ellie’s “pleasantries” could be. 

“How about you tell me about it?” pressed Dina, her lips lifted into a smile. “Come over? After you’re done with whatever you’re doing? I’m off today, so I’m yours whenever.”

You sent her a grateful smile back. “Sure.” 

Your work with Maria finished up quickly—mostly cleaning and polishing the saddles and washing the bits. Before you knew it, you were sitting on Dina’s couch, your feet pulled up under you as you held a mug of hot tea.

Dina wanted to know everything about Terranova—a welcome change from Ellie, who only sparingly asked you about what your life was like. Her bubbliness made you so at ease that you found yourself telling her things that you’d never said out loud before.

“And that’s when I decided that I’m definitely not straight,” you finished.

She giggled and set her mug down on the table between you, leaning forward and giving you a look full of mirth. “You know, speaking of that…”

“Oh?”

“You know Ellie’s into girls too, right?” 

You froze, your smile plastered artificially on your face. The memories of her fingers between your legs last night drifted back, and you shut them down before they lingered for too long. 

“Uh, yeah,” you said lamely. 

“Interesting.” Dina nodded, her eyes unfocused. “Have you two—I dunno—talked about that?”

“Just a little,” you said, shrugging. It wasn’t a lie. It’s not like you two had extensive conversations about the general queer experience on the regular. And her fingering you didn’t involve much talking. 

“Well, I think you should go for it,” announced Dina. 

You choked on your tea. “Huh?” 

“I know she can be an asshole sometimes,” said Dina, making a face. “But I’m definitely picking up on something between you two. I think she really likes you.” 

“She—” You cringed, thinking of how she’d essentially kicked you out the night before. “I don’t really think she does.”

“But you do,” said Dina, her eyes sparkling. “Just tell her.” 

“There’s nothing there,” you said vaguely. 

Dina gave you a long, suspicious look. “Right. If anything changes, you know you can tell me, right?”

You wanted to tell her about what had happened last night so, so badly. But it felt like you’d be crossing a line, talking to someone you’d essentially just met before discussing it more thoroughly with Ellie. 

“Of course,” you said, willing yourself to send her a convincing smile. 

~

Dinner proceeded as normal, with you making casual conversation with Ellie and Joel. Though you two were sitting next to each other, there was no foot-kicking or thigh touches. 

Not that you should’ve expected anything, you thought, scolding yourself. Just because someone fingered you once doesn’t mean they were in love with you. You didn’t call yourself a chef after cooking one meal. 

That night, you lay awake after your shower, feeling your freshly washed hair dampen the edges of your shirt as you started up at the ceiling. Ellie normally knocked by now—hours earlier, in fact. She wasn’t coming. 

You rolled over, pulling your comforter up and trying not to cry again. Silly, stupid you. You’d gone and ruined it all just for someone who didn’t like you very much, She’d purposefully evaded the question of you asking when she’d seen you like that, you realized. This was probably more opportunistic than anything. 

She was all you had here. Of course, you had Dina and Joel and Maria and Jesse, but they were nowhere near the same as Ellie. Ellie had been the one to save you. Ellie had been the one to console you after your first patrol. Ellie had been the one to card through your hair while you were shaking and in shock from being shot. No matter what they did, you would never feel as pulled to them as you were her. 

There was a knock at your door. 

You paled, then brought your hand up to frantically wipe away at the wetness forming at the corners of your eyes. 

Quietly, as not to wake up Joel, you crept over to the door and opened it.

“Hey,” whispered Ellie.

“Hey.” 

She swallowed, looking down the hall before she met your eyes. “Are you—are you busy?”

“It’s 11 o’ clock at night,” you whispered. “My schedule’s not exactly booked.” 

“Right.” She let out an exasperated sigh. “Do you, uh, want to see me for a bit?”

You gulped, feeling stuck in place. Was this all it was ever going to be? A midnight rendezvous that ended with you doing a walk of shame down the hall? 

“Your room or mine?” you asked, folding regardless of your angst.

Ellie blinked. “Uh. Mine? It’s further from—um, there’s more walls in between mine and Joel’s.”

For a moment as you walked alongside her down the hall, you wondered how you’d ever feel comfortable undressing and touching her again, given how awkwardly you two were interacting now.

But once she shut the door and wasted no time in clutching your jaw between her two hands like she was praying and kissing you like she wanted to drown in you, those worries slipped away.

It was much like last time. Ellie didn’t even give you the chance to get on top—you were tossed onto her bed and caged under her arms before you could even think to take control. 

She pushed you over the edge twice with her fingers, this time mouthing at your jaw as you writhed beneath her.

When you came down, you laid panting on her bed, watching the spots in your vision dissipate as Ellie rested on the pillow beside you. Tentatively, you turned so your nose pressed into her jaw, your lips pressing light kisses to her neck.

She shivered, but didn’t push you off.

You took the opportunity to drag your fingers up and down her bare arm, feeling the pads of your fingers catch on the texture of her skin.

Even in the dark, you could see faded marks scattered all over the pale expanse of her skin. Next to her, your skin looked pristine, untouched, like a doll just taken out of the box. 

There was a sting deep inside your chest.

“You’re such a good person,” you heard yourself say. “You didn’t deserve any of this.”

Ellie tensed under you. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m just—” You paused, thinking about how ridiculous you sounded. This was a hookup. Why were you getting all sentimental on her? “I wish that you didn’t have to go through everything that you have. You’re—you’re just so—”

She sat up abruptly, pushing you off her.

“I’m not ‘a good person’,” she said, her voice quiet. “You don’t know what you’re saying. You have no idea what I’ve done.”

You shrugged. “Maybe not. But I know you now. You’ve been so kind to me. I’ve known people who have grown up with silver spoons in their mouths for all their life who are much crueler than you’ve ever been.”

When Ellie was silent, you took the opportunity to reach up and let your fingers trace over her cheekbones, watching the constellations of freckles under your touch. You wanted to memorize everything about her. You never wanted to stop touching her. 

“What are you doing.” It came out in a flat, tired tone.

You tried to hide the way your face fell as you retracted your hand. Right. Hookup. You needed to remember.

“Sorry,” you said, gluing your eyes to your hands. 

“This isn’t…” Ellie paused, and you saw her curl her hands into fists. “This isn’t like that, okay?”

“I know,” you said, but the confirmation of the fact sent a pain so acute through your chest that it was all you could do to not wince. “But we’re friends, right?” But you still care about me, right? was what you really wanted to say. That would do as a poor substitution. 

You could feel Ellie’s stare despite not even looking at her. 

“I should go.” You swung your legs over the edge of her bed, wondering how you were going to make it to your door this time without bursting into tears. 

“Wait,” said Ellie. 

“I hope you sleep well,” you continued, begging, praying that your hurt wasn’t showing as obviously as it felt.

A hand curled around your wrist as you reached the door.

“Wait.” Ellie’s voice was firm enough to make you finally look at her. Her face was stony, but you could see something in her eyes that you couldn’t quite place. “We’re—friends. We are. I’m sorry.” 

“I know,” you said lightly, plastering a little smile on your face. If you stayed in here for another minute, you’d be a sobbing mess. “It’s late, though. I need to go to bed anyway.”

She let you slip from her grip. The door behind you thudded softly shut.

That night, you curled up into a ball under your comforter, feeling your still damp hair stick to the back of your neck.

It was better than nothing, you reminded yourself. Better than nothing.

final a/n: I”M SORRY IM SORRY i know that this just complicates everything more but i’m trying to be realistic about ellie’s character...i promise i will patch things up soon! the second half of this chapter is coming out hopefully within the next few days depending on how quickly i get better from being sick! (also again i’m so sorry abt the smut i’ve never written anything like this before so i was feeling really iffy)

[samkerrworshipper]

HEYY gal would you be open to telling us/writing a list of current fics you’re working on atm? xx totally fine if no but gosh i just love love your writing so much i want to know what’s coming to look forward to🥴💕💕

jdjdjdhdjd okay okay so i havent named many of them rlly and tbh most of them are like very basic Wips but i’ll give u a more detailed summary of what i’m writing

i don’t update this often tbh it’s probably not in date if u reading this

katie mccabe x reader

bad girls don’t get sex - reader is being a horny little bitch the whilst out with katie.. katie takes her home and gets her all hot and bothered but then reminds her that bad girls don’t get sex

mapi leon x ingrid x reader (need inspo to finish lol)

punishment - r has anger issues and frequently gets cards, so ingrid and mapi decide thag for every card they collect r shall be pun sued and it works… until r is feeling bratty and needs some attention so they go sooking to the umpire.

sam kerr x reader (coming soon)

heatstroke - adhd reader forgets to stay hydrated on a hot day and suffers heat stroke on the pitch.. queue angry n overprotective Sammy k

leah williamson x reader (coming soon)

concussion - leah looks after you after a nasty head clash that leaves you fairly i’ll

lap dance pt.2

sticker charts pt.2 (coming soon)

[mimuta-muta]

mumbowecanstillbefriends.png(2)

hi yall im back with the matching grian shot of the igor-inspired waffleduo animatic teaser thing im makin>:D!!

i have been a bit busy irl lately- midterms are coming up and im SEVERELY regretting taking AP calc, but on the bright side, I’m boutta jump headfirst into playing minecraft once again, and im rlly looking forwards to winter break, when i can go ahead and do that :}

i’m hoping ill be done withe the animatic by new years, but we shall see how busy i am- next teaser wont be for a bit though, unless…? we’ll see xd

again, go stream igor by tyler the creator- tis what i got the inspiration from & overal aesthetic from, and its honestly my fav album :D

hope everyone is having a good day, and that you enjoy both the art and the album if you decide to give it a listen~ and thanks for all the love ive gotten so far!! i appreciate it a lot ^^

[illmother]

ೀ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ⎯ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝖕𝐚𝐫𝐚deisos 𝓼𝗰𝘂𝗺. (Pt. 2)

A/N: i’m guessing u guys rlly RLLY like rahu (same) so i wanted to get this out as soon as possible for you! so sorry if this looks a bit rushed (also yes the cum part in bold letters in the title is on purpose LOL)

also my fault for disappearing for a week 😞 i am back now tho i promise! wanted to get smth out before it hit the 10 day mark so i’ll fix some things up when i wake up. wanted to make this a bit more spicy but i lost inspiration for this fic unfortunately 🙏 (maybe next time!)

⏜ ₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ݁ Rahu x Paradeisos!Doctor!Reader

cw: suggestive! enemies to fuckers (?), degradation (dirty mutt), slight choking, hair pulling, reader got smacked to next tuesday, reader being a bitch

“Stop moving around, you’re going to make your injuries worse.” You said with a snicker, hovering over the sinner, your knees on either side of her torso. Rahu groaned in irritation, large, scarred hands planted firmly on your waist, the side of her face—well, mask resting gently against your chest. Your white coat discarded somewhere, alongside your skirt, leaving you in only your shirt, and undergarments. “Damn you. You’re a spy, aren’t you?” She sneered, narrowing her silver eyes at you.

“Oh my, such bold accusations.” You smirked, smug, and cocky, all the while staring down at the sight before you. The usually stoic, Rahu reduced to nothing more than a flustered mess, your lipstick marks stamped across the skin of her neck, down to her collarbone and chest. “Don’t think i can’t see the way you keep gawking at me.” You started, and Rahu’s grip on your waist tightened, you felt every single twitch, and movement of her fingers. “But for the longest time, i’ve wondered what was going through your head when you look at me. Was it hatred, anger, disgust?” You slowly leaned forward, coming face to face with the sinner, trailing a finger down her chest, down her torso, all the way until you reached her bandaged abdomen, before pressing down lightly but firmly, earning a low hiss from the sinner.

“But now i know…all along, it was lust.” You let out an airy laugh, to which Rahu glared daggers at you, the feeling of your finger trailing down her body sent multiple shivers down her spine. “You just love running your mouth, don’t you?” Rahu sneered, hate and desire burning up inside her, deep in her core. Your expression twisted into one of mock disappointment, your eyes narrowed at her, yet the shit eating grin on your face gave away the amusement you felt. Rahu flinched slightly when she felt your hand running through her hair, gaze locked on her eyes, and her awfully cute sharp glare. “Dirty mutt.” You scoffed, before grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking her head back, which earned a sharp gasp from her. “Didn’t your last owner train you better? guess not. No worries, i can always straighten you out—”

Your sentence was cut short by a stinging sensation , followed by silence, a deathly silence, only being broken by a sharp hiss. “Don’t you dare mention her. Not with your filthy mouth.” The hand that left your waist and struck you, now has a firm, almost painful grip on your wrist. When you finally recovered from the strike, whipping your head back to stare at her, piercing silver eyes glaring back, the same ferocity, and hostility as when you first met her in that glare. Your grip on her hair tightened, and a mocking laugh left your throat. “You actually have the nerve to hit someone from Paradeisos?” You hummed, amusement written all over your features, you couldn’t help another small laugh as you let go of her hair, instead bringing your hand over to wrap around the pale column of her neck, much to her dismay, before pushing her down on the hospital bed by the throat, with enough force to make the sinner let out a choked grunt as her body hit the mattress beneath.

Rahu’s whole body tensed, including her ever tightening grip on your waist and wrist, before she managed to straighten her expression. “My apologies, it was a nervous reflex.” She said sarcastically, to your amusement, but that soon turned to surprise as you felt her hand that was rested so firmly on your waist moving to slip up your shirt. “Hm, you seem quite eager, despite the fact you seemed very upset a moment ago.” You teased, making a mental note not to bring up her previous commander again in the near future, before your grip on her neck tightened, just the tiniest bit. Rahu ignored your comment, focusing on feeling the soft skin underneath her calloused, and scarred hand. The sinner’s hand would eventually brush her hand underneath your bra and knead the tender flesh, causing you to inhale a sharp breath. “You’ve been waiting for this, weren’t you?” You laughed, mocking, despite the growing heat in your core.

Rahu groaned through her mask, deep and husky. “You talk too much in all honesty.” She commented, to which you wanted to snap back with a witty comeback, but the feeling of her fingers brushing against your erected nipple made you clam up. “Let me have you.” She whispered, causing heat to raise to your cheeks, she smirked at this, hidden under her oni mask, seeing your reaction only urged her further, only filled her desire to see what other expressions you’d make. Your breathing became labored, heavy shaky as you answered her, finally putting an end to this tension, finally giving in to your desires. “Haa—fine.”

[cupidkenji]

Virginia vampire - 2/2

Pairing: Aaron Hotch x vampire!fem!reader Cw: SLOWBURN BRO, non-gory descriptions of death, descriptions of hunting/blood consumption, angst, fluff, Lolita name drop (the book), non-descriptive mentions of an abusive dad, cursing, typical criminal minds violence, possible ED trigger (more in disclaimer), this chapter has kissing but it's not rlly suggestive Summary: Still reeling from your newly discovered brother, you find yourself struggling with the increased policing of the night life. In this, you also find a new incentive to hunt down your father. Disclaimer 1: Reader is chubby! She's not physically described here at all but a fat woman is always the MC. Disclaimer 2: Reader lives strictly on blood. This story discusses themes of intense bloodlust/hunger, UNINTENTIONAL avoidance of blood (food), and physical consequences due to not eating. This is NOT pro-ana or anything like that, and while these themes are explicitly negative, they are still there and may affect those struggling. Please look after yourself, this is all fantasy and is not meant to trigger you. That's all <3 WC: 6.4k - read part 1 first Y'all are really not fucking with this series but I had to finish it for my soul. Stings a lil bit ngl but I got a little something in the works that'll prob be received better. HEAD THE WARNINGS PLEASE but like usual I highly doubt this will be triggering to anyone, I've had an ED in the past and wouldn't write shit that would suck. <3

The morning after the introduction, you walked into the BAU with more purpose that you’d ever held in your step. You were practically on a manhunt for Aaron. You figured it wouldn’t be long before he found you; he’d been trying to speak to you everyday since you started ignoring him. After a week of unreciprocated persistence, your direct addressal of him hit him like a freight train. He looked at you confused for a minute, wondering if perhaps he was starting to see things as a product of missing your company, but quickly ushered you away upon realizing you were indeed speaking to him. You hadn’t been in his office since the night you’d laid your sins to rest on his lap, and it was uncomfortable to be standing at the scene of the crime. 

“Something happen-”

“Now you want to talk?” He was understandably upset, but his emotions were something you honestly didn’t have time for right now. “I’ve been practically begging you to talk to me for the past week. It was so unbelievably fucked up for you to shut me out like that.”

You sighed, he was for sure in the right but you needed all hands on deck and did not want to confront this right now. “I know, Aaron. I’m sorry, but I need your help.”

“I’ve been helping, Y/n.” You can’t remember a time you’d seen him so expressive. “I lied my ass off to a team I preach honesty to. I didn’t even care because it was to protect you. And then you stop talking to me? Make me give your orders to others just because of…what? Embarrassment? Pride?” You let him finish, mirroring his own exhaustion in a tenfold with the look you gave him. He sighed, putting his hands on top of the desk chair and leaning over it slightly. “What happened?”

Gratuity intertwined with the fatigue in your eyes as he said that. You owed him more than you knew how to make up, but unfortunately you weren’t done taking yet. “I talked to the unsub.”

His eyes shot to you. “What?”

“His name’s Daniel. He’s twelve, Hotch.” You looked down as you thought about him in the clutches of your father. “He hasn’t escaped. My dad is sending him out hunting and I have no idea why or how to find him.”

He breathed out, long and heavy as he approached absolute depletion, putting his hands on his hips and letting his head fall forward. “Ok.” He nodded, looking up with a new purpose than the one he held a moment ago. “We need to tell the team to look for him. We can’t find him on our own.”

The thought was petrifying, but you’d been prepared to share limited details. The team didn’t have to know about your condition to know about your father’s insanity. You could plead a convincing case without using yourself as evidence. “I’ll tell them.” You made eye contact with him, a comfortable agreement falling silently over the two of you. You walked back into the meeting you’d pulled him from. 

You expected the team to have carried on without Hotch there, but it seems the curiosity was simply too overwhelming to ignore, and they chose to sit stagnant and wait for the leader to be returned. You walked in after him, stating the new objective explicitly. You already had a sense like you were running out of time, you had no desire to prolong that feeling. “I’ve made the dynamic weird between everyone the past week, and I’m sorry.” You started, standing before the team as you spoke. “I think we need to start looking for my father as a suspect. I haven’t been honest with you all.”

You saw bewilderment light up the faces of them all, but only Morgan held a slight look of betrayal. He hated secrets, which is why it didn’t surprise you when he spoke up first. “How do you mean?”

You took a deep breath. What a plunge you were about to take. “Obviously you all know my father is virtually off the grid, but I’ve never told you about the man he was when I was growing up.” You weren’t going to give them the ins and outs, just the bare minimum. “He wasn’t a kind man, but he was a devoted one. He always talked about wanting to ‘expand his experiments.’ He swore to the public he’d never go beyond trials on mice but he lied. I found his plans to start human trials when I was seventeen and ran.” Not entirely untrue. The only part that blurred the lines was human trials - you genuinely believed he’d never attempt to make another you. Stupid.

Prentiss furrowed her eyebrows, messing with the pen in her hand as she processed the information. “You think he succeeded? That we’re dealing with a vampire?”

God, you were sick of that word. “I think we’re dealing with a mutated kid. The sun’s not gonna light him on fire, he’s just another victim of my dad.”

“I mean-” She seemed lost for words. “You seriously think he lives on the blood he’s taking?”

You were really praying on their trust in you. You were going to insist with all your might that he be tracked down, there wasn’t another way you were willing to convince them. “I’m positive.”

You were incredibly grateful when Aaron came to your defense. “I think we should look into it.” You saw a reluctant acceptance dawn on the group and internally sighed. Thank God. “Even if we don’t find evidence of human trials, he may know something about the unsub. It’s worth a shot.” They were suspicious, the room practically reeked of it, but you had to put aside the unease it caused you in favor of finding your brother. 

“Alright.” Morgan nodded. “I’ll go talk to Garcia. We’ll get a start on it.” He gave you one last inquisitive look before heading down the hall, the others filing out of the room to start on their routine tasks when a new theory was proposed.

Hotch looked over once the two of you were all that remained. “Do you think we can do this?”

You thought about it, truly thought of him and all his fucked up habits from your adolescence. “Daniel’s here, which means my father has to be.” You thought of the high chance this doesn’t work out in your favor. “If Garcia can’t find him then nobody can.”

He chuckled. “Can’t argue with that.” He looked at the board in front of you two, covered with pictures of drained bodies and bloodshot eyes. He flipped it, revealing a vacant side ready to be utilized for the task of locating your father. He returned his gaze to you, and understanding what he was implying, you grabbed a marker. “Let’s get to work.”

–

The boy - if he had ever truly been slowing down like the media claimed - relinquished that pattern almost as quickly as he’d adopted it. He hit the streets after a two day refractory period with a vigor unlike any previous attacks. You’d found four bodies in one night, and you had to force yourself not to picture him being locked away in one of your father’s cages, being starved just to be let out in hopes of wreaking havoc. Now, the night after the discoveries, cops were back on the streets in record-breaking numbers. You thanked your lucky stars you’d stocked up this time and wouldn’t have to duck and weave through all of them just to feed yourself. You were, however, scared for Daniel. Even your team started to notice his increasing sloppiness. There was a full sketch that had been made, the accounts of numerous officers making up the image. You knew well that he was smart enough to evade them, making you nervous he was trying to get caught - or worse, he was simply too exhausted to be speedy. You wouldn’t blame him for being fed up, but you feared the day his legs were gripped by it and he simply ran out of time. He hadn’t come back to your house, but you found a letter in your mailbox with no return address, simply stating your name in a handwriting that your father would have dubbed ‘chicken scratch.’ It was beautifully his, though, and you could practically feel the youth emanate from the words as you read them. He said that he’d hadn’t told you about himself, and that if you were going to be friends, that was a good start. You finished reading the letter a little teary-eyed with a cemented fondness for him - that whisper of maternal protection you’d felt at first now fully sprouting roots within you. 

It was him you thought of when you were called to fifth and main, listening to a panting policeman report that his luck, indeed, had run out. Your legs carried you out of the building without your vest, your cuffs, everything that was meant to be required sat unthought of in another room. Your team, of course, had gotten the same call that the wretched Virginia vampire was finally against the wall, and were rushing out of the building with equal energy but far less desperation. You headed immediately for the driver side, allowing Hotch to take the passenger and forcing every remaining member into the other car. He knew things they didn’t, you could talk to him about this in a way nobody else could hear. That was your intention, at least; let him calm you down before you made a mess of the scene with your unprofessional personal ties. You ended up completely ignoring his attempts to talk you back into sanity, focusing on dodging cars and clearing a path that would get you there the quickest. You don’t remember shifting the gear to park, simply slamming the brakes and falling out the door once you got there. Guns were drawn - a herd of police with sight trained on him - and you were standing in nothing but jeans and a long sleeve. You certainly felt the absence of your protection, but equipping them would have cost you far too much of the one thing you didn’t have: time. His hands were up, the typical sign of a peaceful surrender, but the knots currently pulling taught within your gut sent waves of nausea through you that you took as a bad sign. He wouldn’t surrender, your father would never let that happen. You lost track of the people following you closer as you rushed towards it all. You only knew Aaron was beside you because of his hand gently halting you from going further. Just a slight grip of your forearm and you stilled, waiting in the wings for that approaching storm to fling you asunder. You felt your tongue expel the word ‘please’ multiple times under your breath as you begged him not to do anything, begged God to listen to you, just begged for the sake of begging. Maybe, you bargained, showing a bit of gratitude to any higher power would let everyone walk away from this. You picked up on the twitch of his legs as he hesitated the run he was about to make. You felt yourself lurch forward slightly in response, as though somehow you could catch the bullets before they met his body should he try to flee. Soon, it wasn’t a speculatory thought - he did try. He ran straight at one of the officers, your eyes taking in every brutal detail of every bullet flying close-range right into him. You doubt a single officer held their finger off the trigger, estimating at least three bullets hitting him in rapid succession, every impact searing into your memory to forever loop in your nightmares. You felt Hotch’s arms in your clawing hands before you realized you’d fallen into him, the hoarse denials of the situation exiled from your throat with raspy wails. He let himself absorb them all, holding your head to his chest as you squirmed to look back at your brother's corpse. His fucking corpse. You would have charged at his executioners if not for his grip on you, and though you couldn’t feel it now, you’re sure you’d be grateful for the restriction when you inevitably exited your hysteria and still had your job. You felt the wet patches you were making on Aaron’s blazer rub against your cheeks but you could barely tell where you were, you had no energy to be bothered by the sensation. 

You heard him whisper, barely audible over your own heartbeat pounding against your skull. “I’m so sorry, honey.”

You sat like that, him waving away any approaching team member or officer. Anyone who wasn’t the man holding you was instantly ushered away, insanely confused and slightly offended. His body was bagged up, journalists and news casters were scratching at the barricades like vultures, circling until they could get the scoop. You’d listened to one woman describe his death as “the short reign of terror done by the Quantico bloodsucker finally being cut off” and thought about how he looked when he smiled. He’d liked white chocolate and baby birds, all the malice had been your father living vicariously through the boy. Daniel, well, he was just a kid. Sweeter than taffy and radiant. Simply bred to be a killer - a condition fully out of his control. He was just a dead vampire now, and you felt an emptiness like never before. 

Aaron offered, “let me drive you home” and so you nodded, preparing to go back to a cold house. He’d been there before, you should have insisted. You let him walk away and go back to your father, so sure you’d be able to obtain him again. You’d almost caught the firefly and now you weren’t sure you’d see light anywhere but the sterile reminders of the boy you almost knew. The car stopped, your whole neighborhood felt alien - unrecognizable. 

“Will you spend the night?”

“Of course.” 

So you went in. He hadn’t been in your house before. It was well lived, slightly aged and a little cluttered, but it smelled like you. He was happy to be there. He looked around the areas he could see. Kitchen, living room, typical entry-level stuff. He put his minimal things on the couch and went to situate himself there. It was comfortable, certainly not the worst couch he’d slept on. You looked at him, not bothering to suppress the obvious accusation of his stupidity in your eyes. 

“Spend the night with me, Aaron. Not on the couch.” This day single-handedly outweighed the world as it sat on your shoulders, making you question how you ever thought you’d known grief before tonight. “I probably wasn’t gonna sleep anyways, but I’m definitely not gonna sleep if you’re out here and I’m alone in a cold bed.”

He sighed, clearly wanting to comfort you. “Y/n-”

“Please just get in the bed.” You felt your eyes slip shut as you breathed out your answer, pointing vaguely in the direction of your bedroom as you referenced the item within it. “We can talk in the morning.”

He stood up, nodding slightly. “Ok.” He was so quiet, so domestic in his delivery that you almost let some of the tension slip off you. He’d always had an effect like that, and right now it was all you could ask for. He let you take his arm and pull him towards your personal abyss. You two could exist there, no bounds or expectation, just peace and quiet. You shoved him down, not bothering to change or even do your typical night routine. You just curled up to him, and tried to lose yourself in the feeling of his hands running up and down your back. You fought - hard - to surrender your racing mind into his open palms. He was here, like always, as a refuge - and for once in your life, you allowed yourself to be enveloped in the safety he offered. 

–

You’d partially expected to wake up to an empty bed the next morning. You’d put Hotch in a really compromised position, and though he was eager to support you, it would still be him that would take the blame as your superior. You’d compromised both your positions by bringing him into your mess at all. As guilty as you felt for the possible repercussions, you didn’t regret your choices. Especially as you scanned over the sleeping man, still donning his full suit - only kicking off his shoes the previous night in respect of your sheets. Always the gentleman. His arm was snug around you, but you wormed your way out after a few minutes, keeping his slumber intact while you made your way outside. Your throat felt smaller, in a way. As if the edges had shrunk overnight and now were incapable of taking in as much oxygen as they had the day before. Your eyes were swollen and slightly sore, and you were nearly begging for fresh air by the time you reached the door. You found the strangest thing when you opened it - a book. Pages bound in brown leather sat neatly to the right of the walkway. You weren’t exactly surprised you missed it last night, you weren’t in a particularly analytical state, but seeing it in the daylight was like seeing an angel ringing your doorbell. Mystical and dreadful - full of questions you didn’t want the answer to. What was it? Why is it here? Opening the cover, you found that loveable chicken scratch filling the first page, and raced inside your house with the book tucked under your arm. You protected it as if it were his lifeforce - at this point, it might as well have been. It was all you had left of him. You placed your shaking legs in a chair and settled in to read all of it. Whether he’d dropped it or left it intentionally didn’t matter to you. It was here, you were eager to merge his thoughts with yours. You knew it would be a mistake, and just like you predicted, you were weeping ten pages in. But you sat there, letting a jagged hour and a half pass before pausing when you found the last entry - your name was there. You’d learned about his desires, his fears, his ambitions, his shared hatred for your father. You acquainted yourself thoroughly with him throughout his own narration of his life, and now, he had something to say to you.

Y/n,

Surely I’m gone by now. I’m leaving you my journal so hopefully you know more about me than just the stuff at the end. You seemed nice, I’m sorry we couldn’t get to know each other. Just know I’m not doing this because I don’t believe in you, I fully think you could have done it. I’m just sick of this. I’m sick of him. I’d rather be dead, at least then it won’t be something he wanted me to do. Please go after him still, he talked about making more, and nobody deserves to live the life he creates. I’m rooting for you.

-Daniel

He’d gotten caught on purpose, then. You’d pondered on the full lead up to the shooting, gone over all the possibilities in your head the whole night. That was a primary option - hell, you’d thought about meeting the same fate more than once. You lost count of how many times you re-read the note before placing the book under a coat near the door. You didn’t want someone to find it, feeling overly protective of the thing. He’d wanted you to have it, nobody else. A plan was sorting itself out in the confines of your working brain. You knew it was late, the rest of your team surely having clocked in hours ago. You thought about the likelihood of you being able to get your gear and talk to Garcia without alerting the others. The verdict chalked up to a lukewarm worth a try, so you set off. You left Aaron sleeping in your bed, driving to your place of employment in yesterday’s clothes, still wallowing in yesterday’s grief. Your reaction to Daniel’s death had been very public and was definitely noted down by all of your coworkers, but you couldn’t find any care for that in your head. You would wing it, come up with something on the spot, all that mattered was getting to Garcia and your bulletproof vest.

You pulled up to the building, fate winking down at you as you retrieved your protective gear and added it to your attire. They must be at the table, you thought. That left Garcia alone and available in her office. You didn’t bother knocking, calling her name as you walked in and nearly scaring the skin off her bones. 

“I need you to look for something.”

She stared, unblinking at you, turning fully away from her computers to face you. “Well, hello to you too.” It was weirdly calming to see someone in such a normal mood. “Where the hell did you and Hotch go last night? Everyone’s been worried sick.” She was speaking in rushed whispers even though her door was closed, trying to maintain privacy while simultaneously being away from any onlookers.

“Look, I know it’s weird. I’ll explain everything, but I need a favor first.”

“They always do.” She sighed, pursing her lips and spinning her chair to face the devices. “Shoot.” 

Fate was really on your side today. “I need you to look at buildings owned by McCaslister corp. Anything with a yellow roof.” In your obsessive readings of his journal, you’d swiftly taken note of the multiple mentions of the “yellow roof” building. Your father used to be a suck up to the CEO of McCaslister, and it would hardly surprise you if the company let him operate in a facility of theirs. They had thousands across the country, and you’d never had any semblance of guideline to narrow it down, so you figured mentioning the connection wouldn’t be helpful. All of that changed now, though, and you were cautiously hopeful. 

“I got nothing, girlie.” She delivered the news quickly, hands working vigorously as she typed. “Anything else I can look at?”

“Look for any building the company sold with a yellow roof.” Your father may have been too distrusting to take a favor. He was wealthy enough to buy something from them. The seconds passing felt stuck in your throat as you watched her work, scouring every database she both did and did not legally have access to in honor of fulfilling your request. 

Finally, she pulled up records of a contract signed the year you’d run away. It was signed by a “Humbert Haze” and you felt your stomach leap at the name. You always knew briefly of your father’s many aliases, guessing this one was a nod towards the Lolita obsession he’d held when you were younger. It had to be him. A lab with a yellow roof, big and desolate. It was in the middle of nowhere, perfect breeding grounds for an experiment such as this. You took a look at the address, burning it into your retinas to ensure you’d see it wherever you looked, and casted your sincerest possible gaze at Penelope. You remember her giving the team a combination of keys that would temporarily shut down her system lest there ever be another hacker that infiltrated the BAU. Using the dreaded fisher king scapegoat against her in a time like this was cruel, but cruelty was all you had right now.

“Please don’t hate me for this.” And then you hit it. You watched her screens go black instantaneously and her eyes spark with baffled suspension. You began your trip to hell quickly, Garcia stumbling up, her heels clicking from behind you.

“Wha - Y/n!” She was speaking as she walked. You hadn’t deserted her room yet, but as you reached the door she uttered one last plea. “What are you gonna do? You can’t do whatever it is you’re thinking on your own.”

You honestly didn’t know if you planned on coming back from this. You figured you might as well air some dirty laundry. “He was my brother, Pen.” You opened the door, turning back to add one thing before you left. “Tell them I’m sorry.” You heard her call out from her doorway one last time as you stalked away. Upon entering your car, you put the address into your GPS before you could forget it. Twenty minutes. It was odd to think about. Twenty minutes and you could end this. 

Penelope, in the meantime, was busy rushing to interrupt the team as they attempted a timeline of a new case. They’d moved on, not finding you or Hotch but knowing damn well there were always more cases to be solved. They’d all jumped in their seats as she burst in, detailing your interaction and getting increasingly panicked as she explained. She gave her theory of the motivations and possible family ties of everything, and no matter how far off it could have been, it was enough to earn the team’s immediate priority. When asked where it is you went, Garcia was faced with the steel-cold unknown. She hadn’t personally paid attention to the address, never predicting in a million years you’d fisher-king her system and render her technologically helpless. Everyone congregated in her office as she attempted to hack around her own barricades, watching as she essentially battled against herself. You’d known it would work out that way, only crashing her systems to buy yourself the needed confrontation time. They would find you, you were sure, but first you had to kill your father.

You pulled up, nearly a half hour later, to a little patch of woods giving way to a huge plot of land. A stark, sterile white building with a hunk of yellow adorning the top of it. It was hideous, perfectly fitting for a man like your dad. Your stomach bottomed out, the feeling you lived within for your first seventeen years burrowing back home inside you after being gone so long. He was definitely here. You could throw yourself to the opposite side of the Earth and you’d still possess that sixth sense you’d gained for his presence. The door was locked, but you couldn’t kick it in. You didn’t want to alert anyone - especially him - of your arrival. A sneak attack was the best shot you had at success. Plus, he could have more subjects or guards willing to protect him. You wouldn’t kill any more innocent lives he’d doomed to a fate of his choosing. You wouldn’t put down any more of his victims. You decided to pick the lock, a trick you’d picked up from one of your city friends, and slowly inched the door open just enough to slip through. It was sickeningly bright, fluorescent lighting giving the room a slight green hue that made your eyes ache in their sockets. You couldn’t imagine growing up here; at least you’d gotten a house. Hallways decorated with doors that were chained closed and name tags to match each door was the immediate sight. They were too far away to read, and they weren’t what you were here for anyway. You ventured past the entrance, reeled deeper into the belly of the beast, finding a common area with tables and a tv propped on a wooden stand. How many fucking people did he have here? You’d been careful, ducking behind corners, peeking around them before rushing to the next. You maneuvered your way through most of the building like this, finally coming up on the back of a madman. He was sat at a desk - presumably his workspace from the clutter of papers and tools - tinkering with some either useless or catastrophically destructive gadget. Your lips trembled, your tongue almost forbidding you to use your voice. A voice that was half his genes. You were half of this man. You were in so far over your head. 

You inhaled, silent and sharp, mustering all your strength to spout his full government name followed by you informing him of his arrest. You held him at gunpoint, your trigger finger begging you to press the texture of that angelic button. Put a formal and undeniable end to his reign of terror. “Stand up and look at me.” He stood up, turned and looked at you.

He scanned you up and down, scoffing at your attire. “How does someone with a kill count as high as yours end up an FBI agent?” His hands were up, per your command, but he stood as though he was in control. “Remind me not to trust our justice system.”

Your eyes practically receded into your skull with how far they rolled back. “Like you’d trust anyone. Agent or not. How much you shell out for this building, huh?”

“What exactly am I being charged for?” He held so still, but you were sure he’d start walking anytime. He liked to circle people, like a lion encroaching his target.

“Daniel. I want to know what happened.” He smiled, a grin like the Cheshire cat. Although looking at him now, he just looked demonic. “What did you do to him?”

He laughed at the audible ball in your throat. “It’s not as bad as you’re picturing, sweetheart.” He shrugged. “The kid even enjoyed the hunt sometimes.”

You don’t think you’d blinked the entire time you’d been aiming at him. “What’s behind the doors?” You jerked your head towards the entrance, referencing the hallway full of possible containment units. “You putting more of that DNA into innocent women? Make some more monster babies?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Unicorns, actually.” Fucking bastard. “Got bored of you bloodsuckers.”

You chuckled, sarcasm spewing from your mouth as your tongue met your cheek. “He died, you know?” You could still hear the gunfire from last night. “That’s all on you.”

He nodded. “Yeah, saw that on the news. Your boys did me a favor, honestly. Kid was drying up.”

“You’re heartless.”

“I’m a scientist.”

“We’re not some variables in a fucking equation, dad. You brought real people into this world and real people died because of it. You knew that would happen. You knew and you did it anyway.”

“You devastated my work, you know that?” He started walking, keeping his hands elevated but circling nonetheless. “You were my most impressive - credit where credit is due - but lord you made things difficult.” As he got closer, you got more on edge. You couldn’t predict him, you never could. “Had to start from scratch all over again. More women, more failures. How many do you think died because you ran away? That’s blood on your hands, Y/n.” Hands still up, he got maybe four feet away from you. You almost wanted him to charge, to give you justification to pull the trigger. “Daniel - well…he never quite lived up to you. I changed up my method, let him out of the house instead of giving him food and he just came crawling back. I almost wanted to let him go.” Two more steps, he just needed to try something. “Are you really gonna shoot me?”

You inhaled, tired and annoyed. “I’m just begging you to come and find out.” You cocked your head at him, ready to be done with this. “You were scary cause I was young, dad. Now you’re just a psychopath. I deal with you everyday.” 

He sharply exhaled, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff and looked down. He had his tongue to his cheek -a habit of yours that you only now realized came from him -  and his hand to his heart, feigning an injury like your words struck him deep. He charged a moment later, looking up swiftly and making a go at you. You gave in to the wail of your finger and fired two shots - straight to his heart. You were saddened, he was nearly submerged in his own blood within a minute, most likely dying quick. You’d wanted him to suffer more than that, but you supposed you couldn’t get everything you wanted. It was then, when you truly looked at the blood, you noted for the first time in your life how unappealing the substance was. Rather, the substance that leaked from his veins. You’d lived under the impression your whole life that just the sight of it would stimulate your appetite beyond belief, but looking at the near endless food supply spilling from him in buckets, you felt above it - above him. He was a tainted man, sick and soulless. His blood would be as foul as his actions had been, you wanted no part of it. He was dead, that was the only thing that mattered. An eye for an eye. 

You realized it had been over an hour since you left only when your team came barreling in. It had taken them longer than you expected to find you. They’d clearly woken Aaron up on their journey here, as he was newly dressed and suited up in his FBI vest. None of them were needed, not anymore, but their company was nice to have. You weren’t worried about losing your job - in fact, your body was more weightless than it’d been your whole life. Even with multiple decades free from your father, his eyes sat heavy on you always. The weight of his approval, of his words, actions - all of it was ingrained in you, was part of you. That feeling was finally gone. He had, more or less, confirmed he was housing experiments in those rooms. You could justify it all, they’d understand. You would plead your case, testify if you had to. You were in the right here, you would prove it if they wanted it. More people were called to the scene, you were questioned and asked to temporarily part with your badge until they processed your statement. You gladly gave it over, needing a break from your professional title. They bagged and removed his body while tears of pure ecstasy fell from your eyes. Without Frankenstein, were you truly bound to the identity of his monster? Who were you without your Achilles heel? As you stared forward, Aaron approached you, greeting you with a gentle disposition and a loving stroke of your arm. He’d asked to drive you home, you replied with a ‘please.’ 

Your home was how you left it, the only deviant being the sign of a rushed man that was painted on your sheets. They were tangled and distressed, evidently reflecting how Aaron was feeling as he’d toppled out of your house that morning.  “You scared us. We were all worried about you.”

You looked at him, dazed and affectionate. The day so draining that there was no longer a filter between your perception of him and what you allowed yourself to express. There was just you, very much in love with him and very obvious about it. “I’m sorry.” You were sorry for scaring them, not at all remorseful for the outcome, though. “Does Garcia want my head on a stick?”

He chuckled, sitting down on your bed. You were still stood in front of him, and he put his hands on your hips to inch you closer as he stared slightly up at you. His hands were warm, and you were nervous. “I think your next four paychecks are gonna need to go strictly to make up gifts if you ever want her to speak to you again.”

You sucked air between your teeth, grimacing at the thought. “I deserve that.” The heat of his hands was seeping into you, weaving into your skin. He seemed to be healing your internal tension from just his physical grip on your torso. “Guess I’ll start planning.” You looked down at him, the pure fondness that filled your eyes when directed at him seemingly mirrored in his own as he held the contact.

“I think that can wait till’ tomorrow.” He was nervous too, you realized. His hands were shaky through the firm grasp he had on you. “Do you want to talk?” You couldn’t decipher if he was referring to the situation that you were returning from, or the situation you both were currently in. Talking about either at the moment seemed much too taxing. You were pure instinct right now, leaning into his hands because of how good they felt, not because you could consciously recognize the meaning. 

You nodded. “In the morning.” You ran your hands along his shoulder, clasping your fingers around the back of his neck. You leaned down a little, resting your forehead against his. “I’m tired right now." If you thought you could beat sleep, you would have put it off forever to be awake with him. "Can you kiss me so I can go to bed?” Your eyes were closed, you assumed his were too, and you felt his slight laugh smudge his lips against yours. He followed the action with the pressure you’d been craving for years. Entirely consuming as he lead you, even from the physically submissive position, through the most anticipated kiss of your life. You could have stayed like that forever, feeling his grip get the slightest bit tighter on your hips to support some of your weight as you leaned down. Eventually, you both caved, him falling flat against the bed and you hovering above his waist before he pulled you down onto him in an action that seemed subconscious. He’d separated from you after a few minutes; snuffed it out before those tiny embers could fully ignite. He reminded you ‘in the morning,’ making you once again realize how much sleep beckoned to you. You agreed, ‘in the morning,’ and turned over to slot yourself against him. It was the best you’d slept in years - possibly ever - and you didn’t know if you could even rationalize how good life would be with Aaron in this aspect of it. He’d be in your home, perhaps even become it, and that thought struck you like the bullets struck the men of your family. You supposed now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. Sleep tugged your eyelids down, and his hold on you only amplified the sedation that was sweeping your system.

You would think about it in the morning.

[hopefulromances]

Long Time Coming I Chapter Twelve I Haunted

Summary: Being hired as the first female assistant coach in the league was a challenge of it itself. Being a football protigy and University Football Legend was easy enough. Coaching Jamie Tartt was a challenge all on its own.

Word Count: 3K

Warning: Gross ex,West Ham

A/N: Lets learn a little more about readers past eh? Next chapter rlly gets things going I promise!

Prologue One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven

West Ham was a big game. A really big game. A game I think each of us were dreading the game. But for me… it was another one of my secrets.  Matthew Kristal was a forward on West Ham. Had been for years. And he’d been my boyfriend throughout uni. He was much much older than me but he approached me after a game and told me all the things I wanted to hear. I was special, something he’d never seen before, so mature for my age. All the normal bullshit you hear from guys twice your age.

We dated for years. Actually, until very recently. When I told him I was looking at taking a job at Richmond, he changed. He told me not to, that I should just let him take care of me. Obviously, I’d told him that he was bullshit. I left him after that, and I hadn’t seen him since. He’d texted me several times offering advice or telling me how sorry he was. But thanks to the family I’d found at Richmond, specifically Keeley Jones, I didn’t feel the need to text him back.

But now I’d be face to face with him again. And that’s ignoring the feud with Nate and Rupert that was hanging over everyone’s head. I listened to Roy and Beard squabble over what strategy to do against West Ham. I knew it didn’t matter either way. We’d end up doing whatever Zava wanted, probably a 4-4-2 or 4-5-1. Anything to get him in position to score.

As I watched them uninterested, my phone buzzed on the table. I flipped my phone over and saw a text from an unknown number.

            Hey, hope you’re doing well. Looking forward to seeing you this weekend.

I scrolled up but didn’t see any past messages from this person. Luckily the person followed up quickly.

            It’s Matt, btw, got a new phone.

God fucking damnnit. Of course, he was texting me now. I looked around, making sure I wasn’t needed before grabbing my phone and rushing out of the room. I sent Keeley a text to see if she’d be coming by the club later, which she was.

            “Fuck me,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair.

A commotion from the locker room caught my attention. I shoved my phone in my pocket and decided that whatever was going on in there was the perfect distraction.

            “Oi, what’s going on in here?” I demanded as I walked into the room.

            “Isaac’s tried to kill me is what’s going on,” Jamie exclaimed, backing away from his captain.

            “Guys I think someone ripped this in half,” Bumbercatch’s comment caused me to look over at the wall. In his hand was half of the believe sign, the other half still up on the wall. My eyes widened as I walked over to his side.

            “What the hell…” I murmured, taking the piece of the sign from him. It was just a sign, I tried to tell myself. It’s just a sign it doesn’t mean anything. I looked at the boys who started to crowd around us. “Well, just fix it, alright?”

I shoved the sign back into Bumbercatch’s chest before leaving the room. Suddenly it as very hard to breath. But what if was a real sign. Like an actual sign. I mean what are the chances that Matthew texts me and then just a few minutes later the Believe sign falls.

…

I recount the events to Keeley as she arrived at the club. I told her about the sign and Zava and the intensity about the game but hadn’t had the chance to bring up Matt quite yet when we arrived at the locker room.

            “But the sign fell, Keeley,” I whined, following her. “Wait, why are we going in here?”

            “Oh! I’m visiting Shandy, she’s filming a promo for Bantr!” Keeley told me.

I racked my head trying to remember who Shandy was. “She’s the one who threaten to run around the pitch with her top off, yeah?”

            “Well, it was more of a suggestion than a threat.”

            “It was definitely a threat.”

We entered the room just as Dani was finishing up his segment. Keeley greeted Shandy as my eyes flited around the room. It was weird seeing it all done up for filming. The boys were excited to do this filming but.I think they had a secret bet going to see who could say the most ridiculous pick up line.

            “You don’t know who I am, but I’m looking for someone who likes short walks on the beach so we can spend more time, you know…”

God that was terrible, I chuckled as they called cut. As Van Damme walked out, Jamie was up next. Fuck, I forgot he had to do this. It was the club’s single guys and Jamie was, to the masses, single.

            “He’s so fucking hot,” Shandy’s compliment sent a ping of jealousy through me. “What’s his story.”

            “Jamie?” Keeley replied. “Oh, he’s so cocky.”

All three of us stared at the monitor as Jamie had hair and make-up work on him. He was smiling kindly and making chat with the makeup artist. 

            “But I guess you have to be at this level,” Keeley continued, finding herself smiling at him. “But he only thinks about himself.”

I shook my head absentmindedly as I watched him. No, he didn’t. Jamie was kind and funny, and always checking in on me when we were together.

            “At least, he used to. But he’s not accountable for his actions and what they do to others.”

Again, I shook my head silently. It was crazy. The different side of Jamie that I’d seen as his girlfriend. A side that no one else got to see. It was all mine.

            “Except he is getting better at making apologies. Still… he only thinks with his dick.”

Finally, Jamie looked over at us and I could tell he saw me. I refused to look up over the monitor as a cheeky smile came over his lips. I bit my lip, trying to hard not to have any kind of reaction.

            “And yet, I don’t think he’s seen anyone in ages.”

I couldn’t help it anymore; I looked up over the monitor and saw Jamie staring right at me. I chewed on my cheek, trying to stave off the blush. He sent me a wink before turning back to the make-up artist.

            “I just wanna know if I can bang him, babe.”

Fuck, I forgot Shandy was even there. I frowned and looked over at her, a heat in my eyes I wasn’t used to. So this was jealousy was like. I was really willing to risk it all if she made any moves towards Jamie.

            “Oh. I don’t know,” Keeley answered. I still hadn’t taken my eyes of Shandy, watching as she stared hungrily at Jamie. “You should probably as him, it’s his dick.”

I ran  my tongue along the space between my teeth and bottom lip, trying desperately not to say anything.

            “Alright, I should probably be getting going,” I announced, deciding that this was too much for me.

            “Wait, didn’t you have something you wanted to-“

            “Nope, I’ll see you later Keels.”

I turn around before she can say anything else, not really wanting to stay in that room any longer than I had to. I realized that there was only one person I wanted to talk to about this Matt situation, and he was currently sitting in the locker room getting his make-up done for a dating app commercial.

…

Jamie and I sat in is backyard. He had these lounging chairs set up in his backyard where we could sit together while I caught up on work or read. He had a hand running up and down my leg as he read The Beautiful and Damned.

I looked over at him as he read peacefully. I was hesitant to talk to him, worried about what he would say or how he would react or what it would do to us to bring up Matt. I’d managed to make it two whole years without even thinking about him but with one little text his control over my life was back.

            “Remember how you asked why I stopped playing football?”

Jamie glanced up from his book over at me. “What?”

            “Do you know Matt Kristal?”

Jamie furrowed his eyebrows and put down his book, shrugging. “He’s on West Ham, yeah? One of their defenders?”

I nodded, looking down at my chair, picking at a piece of plastic that was sticking out. “He and I dated for a while when I was in uni.”

Jamie’s face should be in a museum. It was a mixture of curiosity, confusion, and was that… jealousy? He turned to look at my fully, his eyes looking far too serious.

            “What? Really?” He asked. “Isn’t he like… nearly 40?”

            “Yup.” I nodded, still not able to really face Jamie. “He came to watch me play in uni. Told me all those nice things like… you’re talented and mature and whatever.” I shook my head remember the first time I met him. “Anyways, we dated for about… 3 years?”

            “Fuck off,” Jamie scoffed, putting the book to the side.

            “I wish I were joking but he… he was quite the charismatic person,” I told him solemnly.  “Anyways, when it came time for me to graduate… I told him I wanted to play professionally and he… he told me I shouldn’t. That there was no glory in women’s football.” I scrunched my nose. “So, he lined up a job as West Ham’s kitman and I worked there until… until I saw the job at Richmond.” I moved my head side to side, considering all my words. “And he told me not to take it.” I laughed humorlessly. “Told me I’d be making a mistake. Well, he broke up with me after that. Told me I would crash and burn along with all of Richmond. Then I’d come running back to him.”

I stared at that piece of plastic I was picking, chewing the skin off my lip. I hadn’t talked about Matt with anyone since I came to Richmond. That time in my life was filed away, along with my father. But the people at Richmond had a way of opening me up like no one else.

            “What a cocksleeve.” Jamie’s response drew a laugh from me. “I mean really. What a mingin’ asstawt. Got a right cop on, don’t he.” With every ridiculous insult I found myself laughing harder and harder. Despite the tension leaving my chest slowly, I still found myself unable to look at me. That is until Jamie’s hand slide down to mind, preventing me from tearing up the chair. “Hey, look at me.”

I pursed my lips and forced my head to turn to face him. He had an eyebrow raised at me as he smirked. “Your better for it without him. He was holding you back ‘cause he knew you were better than him. Kristal… I mean he’s been on West Ham for a decade now… barely made a mark on the league.”

            “Well, he’s no Jamie Tartt, that’s for sure,” I commented, smiling.

            “Hey, I’m serious,” Jamie sat up and pulled me, so our legs were slotted with each other. I was caught off guard by his serious demeanor. “You’re better than him. I promise.”

It wasn’t like Jamie to ignore a compliment. My mouth opened slightly as a breath of disbelief came out of my mouth. Both of his hands rested on my knees, rubbing soft comforting circles into them. I blinked repeatedly, shaking my head. I was getting off topic.

            “I just… I wanted to let you know that he texted me about seeing me this weekend.”

            “HA! Like that’s gonna happen,” Jamie laughed, shaking his head.

            “Yeah, no it won’t but… I just wanted to let you know,” I shrugged. “And I know there’s a lot riding on this game so I don’t mean to add to that but I-“

            “No, thank you for telling me. Now I know who to score on the most.” He reached over and grabbed my waist, hoisting me up before laying down with me on top of him. “You wanna have sex?”

I would never get used to that. But I merely answered his question by leaning down to kiss Jamie into the chair. I felt lighter. Knowing I had gotten it off my chest. Even if it did nothing, I had Jamie’s support and that was enough for me.

��

The game was a mess. The first half was bad enough but after the half… it was like an entirely new team. They were angry, something about Beard and Roy showing them a video, I wasn’t paying attention. I was too busy avoiding Matt like the plague. But luckily for me, he seemed to get the hint and didn’t approach me at all. That was, until after the game.

I was leaving the locker room to head towards the bus when he finally caught up to me.

            “(Y/N)!”

I heard his voice before I saw him. But when I did, I wasn’t surprised. He hadn’t changed at all. He looked the exact same as he had those years ago when I’d walked out of his house with him screaming at me that I would be nothing without him. I let him catch up to me.

            “Some match, eh?” Matt chuckled, a cruel smirk on his face. I didn’t respond, not wanting to say something I regret. “Hey, why don’t we get a drink or something? Catch up, for old times’ sake?”

            “I’m good.” I shut him down quickly. I knew what that meant. It meant that he would take me out, get me tipsy then convince me to have sex with him and there was no way that was happening.

He frowned at me. That same disappointed frown I’d gotten all too used to when we were together. “Look (Y/N), I don’t want to try anything I just want to-“

            “Is there something you wanted to say, or can I get back to my team?” Again, I really don’t want to hear what he has to say. I don’t really want to hear his sorry apology or whatever manipulation tactic he could draw up.

            “I just wanted to say sorry, okay?” He pulled his most genuine face that he could, but I just shook my head. Nonetheless, he persisted. “I was a dick, and you were right. You’ve done great at Richmond but listen… you could do better. I bet I could get Rupert to hire you here… at West Ham.”

Jamie emerged from the locker room, walking towards the bus with his head low. He was pissed. Pissed at the game, pissed at Zava, pissed at Nate. The whole game had gone wrong so fast. If only he’d made that goal in the first half but, of course, he whiffed it, leaving room for Zava to take some glory.

When he walked down the hall, he immediately spied (Y/N) talking with Matt. Now he was pissed at that. He could tell she was uncomfortable. Body science. The way she griped her bag and frowned at him as he chatted at her. He needed to get her out of there and fast but without drawing suspicion. He glanced around to see who else was there. Colin was exiting the locker room just at that moment, busy on his phone.

            “Oi, Colin.” He nodded over to where (Y/N) and Matt were talking.  “Why’s (Y/N) talking to Matt Kristal?”

Colin looked over where he was pointing, and his eyes darkened. Just as he thought, (Y/N) probably told Colin about her past.

            “Fuck if I know, give me a second.” And Colin was off going to interrupt them.

Jamie tried to walk off slowly, watching as Colin approached her. He put an arm around her, taking Matt’s attention off of her. (Y/N)’s face immediately flooded with relief with Colin arrived. Jamie felt better knowing that Colin was there to support her. He wasn’t sure what they were talking about but all he wanted was to get home and be with (Y/N) somewhere they could be together.

…

When Jamie arrived home (Y/N) was already there. She was standing, seemingly stuck in her own brain staring at the wall. Jamie frowned and walked up to her, wrapping his arms around his waist and kissing her cheek. She gasped and jumped, finally broken from her trance.

            “Fuck me!” She shouted, relaxing back into Jamie. “You scared me.”

            “Sorry, love,” He mused against her cheek. “Just finally glad to be able to hold you.” She smiled though it didn’t quite meet her eyes. “What was he talking to you about?”

            “Who?”

            “Kritsal?”

            “You saw that?”

            “Course! Who do you think sent Colin over?” Jamie snickered, pulling away from her and walking over to the kitchen. “Do you want some tea?”

            “Wait, wait, wait,” she followed Jamie as he began taking out the kettle. “You saw Max talking to me and didn’t come over to intervene?”

Jamie shrugged, taking out two mugs. “I’m making you tea. And yeah, I figured Colin knew more about the situation and he did so, crisis avoided.” The look she gave Jamie was almost heartbreakingly beautiful. There was so much love and passion in her eyes that is shocked Jamie a little bit. “What… did I do something wrong?”

            “Oh, Jamie.” She pulled him down by his neck and kissed him. Jamie let out a noise of shock before quickly setting down the mugs so he could wrap his arms around her. He held her close. While he was strong enough not to intervene earlier, he wanted her to know that he had her back and that she was his.

Just as much as he was hers.

Tag List: Taglist:@heletsmelovehim @higherthanheroes @ajax-petropolus-wife @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo @optimisticsandwichgladiator @kno-way-home @sleepy-time @wigglegiggle @skewedcherries @respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog @snubug @rana030 @ems-alexandra @jaymum

[evelili]

okay I’ve been reading your magnum opus fic and I’m at the chapter with fluttershy and the manticore and GOOD GOD this fic is amazing. Your writing of twilight is stunning. Her steadfast belief in science at the start seemed odd but now that her past bullying has been revealed it feels like she was just clutching to the one thing that couldn’t hurt her. God sunset getting possessed is so cool and I am TERRIFIED of when twilights going to be forced to see her like that. Your characterization of Celestia blows me away, she’s this perfect mix of a loving mentor and a woman who would do ANYTHING to keep her demons locked away. I really like how you write that there’s this shift between her when she is talking to twilight normally vs when she’s talking about magic. She goes from loving to almost cold, it’s brilliant! I’m halfway through fluttershy’s chapter and good god. Applejack’s speech about it not being Twilights fault she got bullied and having to trust her in spite of all that has happened nearly brought me to tears but GOD. Twilight being a bit possessed by the manticore is such a cool shift from the original episode it makes it all so much more intense. Fluttershy and twilight talking about how twilight didn’t deserve to be bullied and it’s alright that she didn’t get over it!!

“Something’s wrong with me,” she whispered back, her mouth dry with guilt. Fluttershy nodded carefully, the stinger still inches away from her throat. Twilight didn’t trust herself to move, and instead added, “I don’t mean just right now. There’s still—” She choked on her words. “I didn’t get over it,” she said instead. “I couldn’t. Not like you.”

Like!!! This bit right here fucked me UP. Your descriptions of the emotions she’s feeling and how she’s expressing it physically between her mouth and her voice and how the wings and scorpion tail are reacting are BRILLIANT!!

Twilight didn’t try to move away. “But I’m not better,” she admitted. Fluttershy’s hand brushed against her cheek, gently tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear. “And I don’t know why.”

This line is the one that broke me and made me write this. GOD. I don’t have words besides just. oh my god. Fluttershys gentleness is so good and so heartbreaking and I love it

I’ll be honest I’m not yet sure how to write long comments on fimfiction, but when I finish this fic you’re eithering getting a long ass ask in your inbox or a comment on there if I figure it out. Love this fic so far!!! Ah!!!!

AHHHHHH tysm for taking the time to write such a lovely comment!!! like holy shit you have just given me enough serotonin for WEEKS omg, it makes me so happy to know that you're enjoying the story!!

celestia is a rlly interesting chara to me, and im super happy w how the version of her in the fic turned out! actually, most of the reason for the 30k epilogue jumpscare is that i really needed to properly resolve her "arc" with twilight, so if you are a fan of this version of her please look forward to that! and, sunset as a "villain" was something we only saw briefly in eqg1 (and for my tastes, i wasnt a huge fan of how it was done) but there's so much POTENTIAL there i couldnt help myself in exploring it :)

chapter 5->act 2 is the real "turning point" i guess of the fic in terms of tone, and even tho it was a struggle to write shy's chapter i think over time i've rlly come around to liking how it turned out :D in the fic i ended up writing fluttershy as more of a later season version of herself (less cowardly maybe?), but the essence of her chara to me is someone who can be kind even in situations when she is receiving unkindness in return. and sometimes, this "fighting fire with kindness" is actually the only solution, and one that only shy can find.

wahhh i never know how to properly express how much i love and appreciate these sort of detailed responses, so please also accept a little doodle of the scene you mentioned liking as part of my thanks!

[snuffl3s]

((Ooc : HIHI! ^^ I’m rejoining the rp tmr after skl bc I won’t sleep if I join it 2night and I have skl tmr, the only things I’m rlly not looking forward 2 is changing my disc back 2 snuffles since I like my discord looking how it is Alr lmao and also getting weird ass asks again. Gn I’ll tty tmr when I rejoin the rp ^^ (also Snuffles canonically died and was buried in the pet cemetery and came back soo yh, Ty @randythefuckmaster 4 the idea ur rad Frfr 🙏))