#had a sp fic in thought

[connoisseur-of-love]

one thing that sucks being both a wrtier and a artist,

is that I can imagine an incredibly deatiled setting for which I can describe even down to the materials and textures.

but then not being to FUCKEN DRAW IT

[kennysdeadbody]

alone at a party

[clowfish]

fanart of chapter 18 of The Thief by @wintergrew which is literally the best fanfic I have ever read in my life https://archiveofourown.org/works/14432472/chapters/51578533#workskin

technicalllllyyy tweek is wearing a shirt in this scene but I wanted the drawing to be a bit ambiguous without context

[lesliemeyers]

finally locating the downloaded copy you knew you had somewhere of a fic that's been deleted for years is such an exciting feeling.

[bloogers-boogers]

Kyle Broflovski/ Eric Cartman (SP fic)

('What's up with the fatass?')

/Let me slide into your mind/ part 4

'Technically, I'm not gay if I'm testing, right?'

Slight warning ⚠️ this fic is kinda deranged and would probably (will) be outta the ordinary, wacky in a sense but also trauma? Maybe, idk could be? Mmhh..

~~~~~~~

He was stoked by the confession, couldn't even manage to bare a retort back with some snarky comment. A brief silence, a light breeze brushing their way.

He looked at Jackson's green eyes, as the sunset reflected on them. Making this all feel even more like a fever dream.

He chuckled nervously, not sure if the feeling he felt was flattery or uneasiness.

How the hell is he gonna get out of this?

On one hand, Jackson was Stewart's best friend: who is seemingly the leader; he was also a very important part of their friend group and they wouldn't bat an eye to trow him out to the gutter over Jackson.

So if he were to reject Jackson now, would that demolished all opportunity to still be friends? Would they kick him out? Would they target him again?

It's not like it's his fault that Jackson was some gaywad and was madly in love with him, but they will definitely side with nerd geek over his coolness.

On the other hand, he also sorta liked Jackson? Not in the gay way ofcourse, but he's warming up to him. Also, Jackson was the first to talk to him and even somewhat got along when he first arrived in this damn town.

He's been nice, a little hot headed but he is also kinda into that aswell, helping him with studying, oddly enough they do get along and they also share a certain type of humor aswell!

It'd be a pity if he ruined a possible great ally over some dumb crush. Besides, he's fucking rich.

And he doesn't make a big fuss over him taking over and picking what they'll watch on Netflix in his big flat tv unlike Tolkien.

He was finding it quite difficult to pick what to do, it's not like Jackson was bad looking.. not the type you'd be horrified by even the thought of holding his hand type of way. He in fact is quite attractive for a guy, no homo, but he COULD endure being in a relationship with him if it were necessary..

".. y-you can't be serious are you?" He mustered out, expecting to be contradicted and be told it was just a fucked up joke.

Jackson hold on to his hands making him eye him weirdly, his mouth flattened, "I've never been this serious in my entire life, Eric."

The way he said it made it all seem like some kdrama rom-com, his eyes landed on to his lips then back to Jackson's eyes feeling nauseous.

This was.. different.

His heartbeat pounded recklessly, as he felt his eyes squinted shut, maybe expecting something more unintentionally leaning forward.

But the entire mood was interrupted by two other obnoxious boys.

"Goddammit, took you long enough!" Stewart shouted, as he walked towards them alongside Hershey who brushed some leaves off him coming from behind a tree.

"You guys ruined the mood, assholes," Jackson groaned annoyed, rolling his eyes and letting go from one hand still latching on to the other.

"A confession shouldn't take that long," Stewart complained, as he shoved his hands inside his pants.

"Yeah, it's been like two weeks and dog park hadn't gotten the hint at all," Hershey huffed as if he was the one desperate for it to be over.

"I would've made him my bitch by now if I were you," Stewart kept on rambling, "like, it's not hard to say 'I like you, be mine' or some shit like that."

"You lack skill," Hershey joined in the mutual bashing on their friend's timing.

He felt himself small, looking at the three as they banter like if he had actually said yes to Jackson's confession, as he had no other choice but to be his—

"Wait, you said this been going on for awhile?," he mustered out confused, it wasn't long since he's got there.

"Ha, you blind fuck. I guess southies lack attention skills too? Ofcourse it was. Why would you think we'd even let you in our friend group to begin with?" Stewart commented casually but was nudged lightly from Jackson as a 'that's enough' kinda way, earning a eye roll from the redhead as a response, "you've gone soft," he mustered.

He felt like he wanted the ground to swallow him, that only means one thing. Saying 'no' will be his dismay, he'll be cast aside if he were to reject Jackson.

He bit his lip, contemplating the situation he's put in. He hangs out with Jamie but that wouldn't be enough to not be targeted, and he doubted the brunette would even care if he were.

Unlike with these assholes he felt a sense of security, a place he can run off to and shield himself from being a tp loser.

"Jackson approached you with all intention to fuck you, he saw you walking near our neighborhood while we were skateboarding looking like you were about to pass out and in his eyes you were the most—," Hershey teased deviously, before being nudged angrily by the blonde.

"Okay, guys that's enough," he blurted out embarrassed, putting his attention on his own quietness.

"He's into bigger boys," Stewart added with a wicked grin, now Jackson shoved him aside as he snickered and ruffled his blonde locks playfully.

"So you two going out now or what?," Hershey then spoke after a brief silence and some rough play from both best friends.

He couldn't help himself feel flustered, if his actual friends were there they'd bash on him for being a complete gaywad or even saying something remotely gay. Which is why he retrained himself by doing many things like; karaoke or dressing himself up and dancing with cut out celebrities he liked, makeup, tea parties or gushing over stuff animals, painting his nails and trying out his mother's heels..

Not that he's gay, but he genuinely did enjoy those things.

But these dumbasses? They don't seem to care at all.. they even expected him to act a little gay...

"Maybe.." he blurted out, startling Jackson who looked his way with sparkling eyes and blushed face.

Okay, he was kinda cute.

°°°°

So it's official, he's now dating Jackson Hu. You may ask, what're the benefits of being the blonde's boyfriend?

They're plenty, in a matter of fact. There wasn't even a single student that had said anything negative his way or any tp comments. On the contrary, he's been making a lot of new friends!

They actually approached him with all intention of wanting to befriend him and hang out. Unlike with the southies they always nagged and nagged that he was some burden they couldn't just get rid off.. and as much as that shit did kinda hurt him, he wouldn't deny he hated them aswell!

These north parkers had made him somewhat feel welcome even if they started with a rough start. They invite him to parties, games and do shit together! Yes, they were common bashing and naming, but that's just typical kids behavior.

They treated him like an actual friend than some pest. And are even very openly affectionate to each other, unlike with his old gang that type of affection was mostly excluded from him and exclusively just a 'bff' thing only the gay bitches of Stan and Kyle had, and sometimes Kenny.

Ofcourse Kenny has time in time proven to him that he does care and he doesn't mind being all open for a hug from Eric Cartman, compared to Hippie dick and Jersey jew that would immediately make an assumption that he was scheming some shit or they'll just stand awkwardly not daring to do something back.

They weren't very opened with hugs or hand holding when it came to the three, not that he couldn't say the same, by that point it was just too weird and kinda an anomaly. He felt he had a whole different thing going on between his dynamic with Stan and Kyle, contrast with Butters and Kenny.

He could be freely emotionally himself with the blondes but with the 'super best friends'? He just couldn't, it was always a hesitating thought and just searching for a opportunity to do so.

He could count the times they had hugged with all intention to do it, with his fingers.

They weren't as evenly close as he'd would like..

But the kids from North park, his now gang. They're so— chill, and cool. And never excluded anyone from giving some love, maybe because they kinda acted like hippies? Even though they claimed just being liberals or some pretentious shit like that.

He could hug Stewart who is the most jock douche of the group outta nowhere and he wouldn't even bat an eye! He'll hug him back or pat him lightly like an actual bro.

Not that he's touched starved ofcourse but..

It actually feels nice.

Other of the good perks of being Jackson's boyfriend, is that he feels more freeing on being more himself in a sense?

He can do things he'd normally think pussies would do, being reassured by his friends and boyfriend that the things he liked didn't defined his sexuality and all that lame opened minded shit.

He loved it, he also liked how Jackson looks at him, and call him by pet names.. even the pecks on his cheek before entering class or being walked home. It made him feel fuzzy and funny..

Also, being completely loaded he buys him stuff! Shoes and sometimes even dresses cause he somehow found out he liked drag!

And his friends, they are willing to try things his southie friends would call him lame for! They even gone to a karaoke and sang together.

But not only that has changed, but he's feeling a little different since his move. The town really is making him shift in to some.. he couldn't recall what, but he feels he could change for the better being.

He also noticed a huge change on his mom too!

She turned PC not long ago.. he wasn't entirely sure what started it but she did mentioned she turned a member at work and that she'd be a better mom from now on, the typical shit he's already use to hearing from her emotional outburst or when she's drunk.

But he's noticed she has kinda kept her word for it, the other day he mentioned about feeling a little insecure about his weight now that he had a boyfriend and all, she actually talked to him like them parents he'd see on TV 'tell me more, I'd like to be of help' 'you know you're perfect in every way, you don't have to change who you are for anyone' 'if he doesn't like the way you are then he isn't for you' 'I think you should try doing a diet if that makes you feel any better but you really are beautiful, poopsikins' giving him actual advice instead of running away!? Actually listening to him instead of distracting him with toys and food.

They also been getting along better and they talk more, his mom even admitted to him that she's been feeling lonely for years now and that loneliness just drove her into making him her only friend and she now realized how bad that truly is for his development. He even admitted how much it affected him to not actually have a father figure in his life, the absence and hollowness it felt everytime he saw his friends bond with their dads. And it was all just emotional and heartwarming moment between the two. A bunch of sobbing and apologetic promises that he wasn't sure they'll actually commit.

Maybe they could fix things out or maybe not? Only time will decide.

He layyed on his bed recalling his mother's words once more, feeling a tight feeling in his chest, hiding under the covers with a soft smile.

North park kinda rules.

°°°°

He was panicking, Jackson had stolen him a quick kiss on the lips. It was a small brush but he felt like he was swooning, being swooped up in the air by his strong arms as he carried him bridal style to the nursery cause he clumsily sprained his ankle in p.e class.

"How you're feeling, babe?" He asked softly, while he couldn't help but look at him dreamily.

"Good.." he mustered with a dumbfounded smile, gripping on to his shirt, butterflies popped inside his stomach. And with out further hesitation he place his hands on his cheeks and made him leaned forward, planting a passionate kiss, wrapping his arms around his neck as he felt Jackson deepening it before breaking it off.

Still inches apart, "Goddamn that was amazing.." he mustered out dumbfounded, eyeing him soft, "maybe I should carry you often if that makes you want to kiss me like that more," he admitted with a cheeky grin, nuzzling his nose against his.

"Maybe you should..?" He teasingly said, eyeing him playful before planting a small peck on his lips.

In a blink of an eye, after a couple of days

They were found making out furiously in the living room couch of his mansion. He couldn't help himself, he was feeling deluded by all of things Jackson did to him, he wanted to be touched, kissed, the pleasure it gave him when he'd grabbed his waist and pulled him closer. It was amazing.

'Technically, I'm not gay if I'm testing, right?'

He gripped on the blonde's t-shirt, making him mumbled a couple of 'mmph' before being sunk in deeper on to the couch, hearing him whisper sweet nothings to him as a voice echoed the room, snapping him out of him.

"Cartman~" Jackson kept murmuring his name against his neck, but not with his usual voice, it was..

He pushed him away with his hands against his boyfriend's chest slightly, as his eyes widen in contemplated horror.

"Kyle?"

Kyle found himself on top of him looking at him with a devilish smile, before grinning wide like a triumphant.

"AHHH!!!" He screamed like a chick that was about to get murder in some classic 90s horror movie, pushing him off from his lap as he rested his weight on his elbow still eyeing the boy.

Now vision getting clearer, as a concerned Jackson looked his way.

"Babe are you alright? Who the fuck is Kyle?" He asked, standing up; as he had fallen to the floor by being pushed so abruptly.

He panted heavily, still grasping some air as he clenched hard on to his chest, this shit is gonna give him a heart attack.

"Is this because you miss your old town? Is that it?" Jackson still continued to asked worrisome, before biting his lip as he contemplated something looking at the floor.

"Y-yeah.." he managed to mustered, still, the scare was still haunting him.

Jackson look at him with pitying eyes, "do you want.. I can give you your password, maybe that'll make you feel better? Only if you promise me you would be discreet about it?" He tried reassuring, approaching cautiously and sitting far in the other end of the couch.

"U-huh, that'd be awesome, thanks.." squinting his eyes shut and nodding fanatically, he took this as a good opportunity to talk with Kenny, he hasn't been able to contact him in so long.

He gulped hard, sweat falling drastically as if a bucket of water had been splashed on his face, now looking at Jackson's eyes, feeling himself get calmer with each passing second.

Being back home, he let out a long tiresome sigh, the episode from early still was eating him at whole, he needed to calm down or he could mess things up with Jackson.

He grabbed his laptop and typed in the password and email Jackson gave him.

And lord and behold, he was now online.

Another thing he had to do was change his number, as people there would recognized immediately the area code of South Park. Bad thing about it, is that his now friends erased all his contacts excluding his mom and family (cousin and uncle's) luckily for him, he did manage to slip out saying Butters was a cousin when he notice his friends doings.

Finally back on his old account '@ EricCart_brah' he looked for Kenny's active status, he knew by this hour he'd be back home and scrolling endlessly on his phone ignoring his parents common arguments.

Kenny Mccormick online•

He bit his lip, he knew Kenny would demand answers because he's clearly been 'ignoring' him, which is why he told Butters to calm Kenny's tits down and tell him that he was just really busy, which wasn't far from the truth. In reality he was busy, being a North Parker wasn't easy you know!

'Sup poor boy' common, not too desperate, and quick to the point.

He waited a couple of dreaded seconds, as he looked at his screen. Kenny was taking his damn sweet time to read his message, longer than usual, oh, he must really be pissed. It was definitely on purpose cause Kenny would immediately reply back to him once receiving a message while being actively online the only times he wouldn't answer back immediately was when he was doing his shifts or walking Karen home from school.

It was their best friend thing to always prioritize their messages over anyone else's, they kinda agreed on doing it out of spite because Stan and Kyle once ignored them on the group chat a couple of years ago sliding into a roblox server with out them. Fucking dicks. They still couldn't somehow let that go.

After a minute, he finally read it, but it was left on seen. He frowned, 'Goddammit, kinny,' he thought.

'Typing...'

Those three minutes were torturous coming from Kenny.

Meanwhile he waited for Kenny to stop bitchin' with him, he scrolled through his inbox, he had two unread messages from Kyle and one from Stan, ofcourse he didn't bother answering so he left them unread, they're bitches anyways, and because they were very old messages too, like a day after his move and Stan's was at 3:00 am pretty much while he was still on the road to get to North park. But there was also messages from both Clyde and Craig, these weren't entirely far apart from the day he left south park but he was curious.

'Hey, fatboy, pleaseeeee come back I beg you🙏🏼' that was pretty much it with Clyde, sometimes he wondered if that dude was okay from the head, cause damn what gives?

And Craig's was just a '🖕🏼' he rolled his eyes, hoe.

*Ding*

About fucking time.

'Took you long, u got bored of your little north dickers?'

He snickered, now HE got his sense of humor.

'C'mon, Butt's didn't gave u mah mezzage?'

'He did'

'Okay, so Y u bitchin at me?'

'What's with the new account? Embarrassed by your people, fatboy?'

'Iz da it? U worried I forgot about u?'

'Seen'

Goddammit, 'I would never, asshole 🙄 yk I've been buzy with my move'

'Why r u writing with typos? I saw u got nice grammar in ur dumb np page'

'U stalkin me?'

'Yes, what're u gonna do about it? Send me a grenade via inbox?'

"Hahahaha!" He laughed out loud by Kenny's ridiculous shit talk, how he missed that.

'Don't be an ass🤣'

'Your so dumb...'

'*you're' he couldn't help but slapped himself in the head, what was all that about? Why did he correct that shit, he's acting like the dumb jew now.

'Sure, bitch. Okay, so how's it been?' Atleast Kenny seemed to shrugged it off easily, neither did he seemed angry anymore.

'Itz been good but itz lame ass fuck, wbu anything going on over there?'

'Not really, everything seems to mellow out since ur fat ass left town'

'Aye! Stfu!'

'It's true tho, everything is as boring like when we took that hunting bunny exhibit'

'Ugggh don't remind me🥱'

'Man, when would u come visit? Or is it like a temporary thing? C'mon tell me *dick sticker*'

'Not sure tbh, just hang in there got things handled from a tea just u wait👌🏼'

'This is my new number btw (+1)***-***-**** don't give it to those assholes of Stan and Kyeeel'

Kenballz added (+1) ***-***-**** to his contacts.

'U still angry at them for the party?'

'Nah... just want to be a dick to them thatz all'

'Fair'

'Gotta go, ttyl?'

'Sure'

He sighed exhausted sliding out from Kenny's dms, looking at the hour an it was just 2 am. Maybe he should give a peek at the hippie's message?

Stan Marsh offline• 25 min ago

'Hey, Cartman. Sorry about earlier, yk me and Kyle didn't mean to actually just not give a damn about you..

I kinda really feel bad about it rn.. hope you can forgive me? Even so, I wish you luck with the move. Ik how difficult it is to adjust to the changes but Ik you'll manage better than I ever did:)'

Way to make it gay Stan, he sighed, getting off from the couch and heading to his room in a slouch. In all honesty, he really wasn't angry at them, he kinda actually expected them to act like dicks? But still, something about Kyle just pissed him off, but being angry at Stan was very hard to do. He was so emotional and for some reason he pity him for it.

Maybe that's why he had a weak heart for Stan.

He layyed down reluctantly, opening his laptop once more, might aswell look at kyel's, or curiosity will get the best of him.

Kyle Broflovski offline• 2 hrs ago

'Hey fatass'

'Fuck u then'

Well, that was short and quick. He huffed throwing his laptop to his side, covering himself with his blanket kinda pissed off and dozing off to sleep.

°°°°

"Damn, theres a lot of people in your town," He said in a 'awe' looking at the crowd of people surrounding the mayor hall.

"Our town now, fatboy," Stewart added, wrapping a arm around his neck.

He blushed, they're very welcoming and friendly to him for some reason all of a sudden. Maybe he's been doing so damn good so far, his act has already went beyond the limits of fantastic, cause it seem his tp vibes weren't as strong as when he first arrived. He smiled accomplished.

Jackson eyed him from his side with a small wink.

He beamed even harder, he felt his cheeks stiffened by how much he was smiling that day.

He wrapped his arms around Stewart's waist resting his head against him while seeing the mayor walked towards the microphone.

"It's a nice evening today for our beautiful town," He began, it was an old man probably in his mid fifties, grey hair and had one of those fancy suits on.

"Today we've managed to make a great accomplishment, being at a rate of 55% of popularity," the man beamed proudly at the crowd.

The crowd roared cheerful, he even heard his friends shout '¡fuck yeah!'

He honestly didn't quite understand about the popularity ratings that was going on between states, but he honestly cared less it wasn't his problem.

"If we keep our rating up, will be in the 90% in lesser than a month," the man fist upwards to the air, "but that's not all, we've been given news that were offered for a possible show next fall!"

Everyone gasped, and he was left confused, just arching a brow.

'Who'd want to watch a show about some dumb town?,' he couldn't help but think about how lame that was, but said nothing. His friends seemed to be stoked about the idea.

Maybe that was his southie side speaking in him.

"Now moving that aside, time for the announcement for the winner of next judge for this yearly cat costume competition!" The man exclaimed, causing some of the people watched eagerly as the mayor took out a small piece of paper from the box to announce the winner.

"And the winner for this yearly competition is— Eric cartman?"

The people gasped as they all eyed him, even he was left bewildered.

He didn't recall ever written his name in that slip.

"It's the southie" he heard a man whispered, and a couple of others murmured.

But later roared cheerfully as they boost him upwards with their hands dragging him still dumbfounded to the stage.

"Go, Eric!" He heard his boyfriend screamed from afar, as he stepped on the stage, seemingly still confused.

He smiled awkwardly as he approached the mayor.

"Seems the town picked you for the role, it was just destined to happen," The man stated before gesturing the crowd to applaud.

He gulped seeing all those people cheering for him, it really boosted his ego and pride.

All the admiration he craved is now becoming overwhelming in a matter of seconds, the fact he just doesn't know, unaware of what's not knowledgeable maybe that's why he felt that hidden unease squeezing feeling inside his stomach.

After all that, he walked down stage and was greeted once more by his boyfriend who hugged him tightly.

"Congrats, baby nuts."

"I- I really don't know how my name got there?"

"Who cares? You got such an honorable role being from Shart Park," Stewart chimed in, approaching them with Hershey by his side.

"I suppose.. but I really don't know my role or anything?"

"Don't worry about it, we'll tell you everthing you need to know for the big day," Hershey added with a grin, "btw, Jacky your parents were looking for you just now."

Jackson groaned, "no fucking way, seriously? My god.."

"What's wrong, babe?" He eyed him curiously.

"It's- it's nothing, Eric," he shrugged giving a look at Stewart.

How fucking weird, he hated being excluded from shit.

Another day ended, and by that point and on he learned that this cat festival was a honoring tradition, the competition however was just as important than the actual festival itself so it was necessary to not mess it up or his reputation will go down the line. He did wonder why the hell they'd pick him for it, but it was way too beneficial to bail out from, he also liked that he was being recognized more by his name than by the town he was born in.

He looked through his clothing finding a perfect outfit for the evening, ignoring the voices from his head, the constant whispers and the small curses against him. Kyle's voice resonated in him like a damn devil, a curse yearning to release it's dangerous magic on him.

He wasn't sure why Kyle out of all people would be the one to haunt him. Okay, now that he thinks about it, he may be certain of why.

Ofcourse Kyle would be capable of doing that! He has always been envious of his luck and awesomeness, who wouldn't want to curse him more than Kyle ever did?

'Eric~'

"Shut the fuck up, kahal!" He screamed out, covering his ears.

'C'mon, Eric don't be such a wuss'

"I'm no wuss!"

'Ofcourse you are, fat boy'

"Aye! I ain't fat you dumb jew!"

'Don't belittle my people, fatass!'

"So stop using your dumb magic on me, and leave me alone!"

'Never, you're a traitor. A imposter'

"What're you talking about?""

'You really think these north pussies give a fuck about you? You're just a southie for them-'

"That's not true I'm changing!"

'No, you can never change. You got it in your blood, Eric. You'll be for ever be a bigoted south park faggot–'

"¡Shut up!" He hissed out, everything went silent and he no longer heard Kyle, "¡shut the fuck up!" He kept on whining while squinting his eyes shut, trying to shut all the demons out, falling on his knees now gripping on to his hair.

It was night time, meaning the beginning of the festival has now started, Jackson picked him up walking from hand to hand to the center of town. He visualize all the cute cats everywhere. He couldn't help but feel a pit in his stomach thinking about Mr kitty.

He still can't believe his mother forgot to bring Mr kitty! But he shouldn't have trust her knowing damn well she took some crack beforehand.

His cat would've been the cutest among all, sadly she would not be able to participate in such wonderful event.

'Maybe if you actually stayed in south park instead of moving your ass over here. You wouldn't be struggling about your cat, fatass'

"Quit it, Kahal! Not now" he hissed in a whisper as he side eyed his boyfriend who was seemingly distracted by some decorations.

Ofcourse Kyle wouldn't let him enjoy his night, his gonna follow him until he fucks up something.

'Don't blame me, this place sucks ass'

"It does not!"

'It does too'

"Nuh-uh!"

"Eric, are you alright?" Jackson snapped him out of it, now looking at his direction.

"Yeah baby, ofcourse I am!" He exclaimed nervously, "how about you show me those kitten mittens you told me about the other day?"

"Oh! Fuck yeah, dude!" Jackson beamed excited, before dragging him to somewhere else.

'How rude, bluntly ignores my presence'

"Shut up, Kahal. I don't want him to hear you!"

'Mhm, I don't see why you're so damn in to him, I'm soooo much interesting than him and you don't seem to like me like that?'

"Cause you're a stupid jew, that's why!"

'So you admit you're a gaywad?'

"Fuck off, dude." He shoved away with his free hand next to his face, as he were capable to shoo Kyle's annoying voice from him.

"Ms Ellen has always had the best of mittens," Jackson spoke, approaching a small stand letting go now from his hand as he gestured all the colorful mittens.

'*cough* gay *cough* *cough* what a gaywad'

"Tsch, quiet!" He sneered in a whisper, before continuously to eye Jackson in an awe.

He's so cute, he felt his eyelids fall slightly feeling that fuzzy feeling once more in his stomach. Now he wondered how he scored such a wonderful boyfriend with zero efforts!

'Stop looking at him like that, your eyes are gonna fall'

"Don't tell me what to do, Kyel," he mustered out while smiling dumbly, seeing how Jackson seemingly spoke as his blonde locks move in such a memorizing slow way.

'I'll give it two weeks max'

He heard that last bit but decided to ignore it, he is planning to enjoy his night with Jackson and succeed as a great judge.

Everything seemed to be going smoothly, he and Jackson had played many of the games there. It was just the two of them that night as both Hershey and Stewart we're doing their own thing with their girlfriends, so it'd made sense for he and Jackson to do the same.

"You know.. I'm glad you're here," Jackson said out of the blue, grabbing his attention.

"Yeah? Why?" He asked munching on a corndog.

"Well, normally I'd be alone in these type of things cause those assholes are always latching like slugs to their girlfriends and shit," he said, obviously referring to the guys, smirking slyly, "now I can do the same with out feeling envious of their own love life, let's be slugs together, baby nuts"

His heart skipped a beat, he smiled warmly.

Jackson approached him, a step forward planting a kiss on his cheek he instinctively closed his eyes not wanting for it to end.

'Dumbass, he doesn't like you. He likes that he's no longer the only gay one in town'

He frowned, as he opened his eyes once more softening seeing Jackson look his way in such a lovingly way.

He hold on to his hand, "don't worry, baby. I love you," he reassured more to himself than to his boyfriend.

Ofcourse he loves Jackson, why else would he feel this immense feeling inside his chest. He's a great friend not that he 'like-like' him like that, he's just so awesome and amazing to ignore, he stands up in the crowd, he's different.

'You're confused. You don't like him, you like feeling praised'

He moved his head frantically, dragging Jackson by the arm leading him to the apple bucket game where men surrounded it cheering for the next loser to grab a red apple among the greens while blindfolded.

'You can run all you want, but you know I'm right, fatass'

"We should try it out," he ignored the echoing voice against his ears.

"Sure, did I ever mentioned you I was stated 1st place state champion of apple bobbing?"

"Really?" He looked at him surprised, Jackson winked at him placing himself in line.

'Gay'

He scoffed, "grow up, Kahal. It's sooo 80s of you to be so close minded," commenting that as he stood next to Jackson sharing him a toothy smile.

'Ugh, you two gross me out'

'Why don't you set the bucket on fire? Wouldn't it be fun if you put gasoline inside and let the next player get it? Hahaha!'

He shook his head, "no, kahal, that's awful," whispering annoyed.

'You use to do it all the time with Butters and Kenny. What's the big deal now? Afraid your pussie friends can't deal with some actual fun?'

He gritted his teeth, clenching his free hand, eyeing the next player who was a blonde girl with two big ponytails.

'Dude, wouldn't it be awesome if we do one destiny final on her? Her hair is perfect to get-'

"No, it wouldn't be 'awsome', get over it" he stated still looking at the crowd.

'Man, what's happened to you'

He bit his lip to that, in all honesty he really thought it'd be funny to see the blonde chick be dragged by a horse because her hair was tangled and tied up on it's leash.

But that wasn't a North park way to think.

'But you're not from north park'

"Tsch, what did I tell you about reading my mind Kyel!," he blurted out, flinching once he noticed he screamed too loud causing a few people to look at him weird and Jackson to eye him carefully, "you're invading my privacy," he murmured in between teeth

'You do it all the time! Don't be such an hypocrite. You don't even know what personal space is'

"I feel like I've already said this many times, but are you alright, babe? You're acting like a little pyscho."

'Cause he is. Are you blind?'

"I'm fine, babe. Just ignore it." He shrugged now getting ready to play next.

"Ignore what?"

The game went on an he managed to witness the competitive spirit Jackson had, he was rabid to win a stubbornness no one can wear him off from, ruthless almost murderous over some dumb apples noneless!

'Pst, you never seem to care when I do it?'

"Shut up, kahal. It's different, my baby is gonna get hurt," he looked at the bloody looking hound who was glaring daggers at some big chunk of a man with a cool looking beard holding on to a couple of apples in his mouth, probably five.

No longer had their blindfolds on as they circled around each other as if they were about to go in combat. Jackson had three apples, making his cheeks look all puffed up like a angry squirrel. He would laugh by the adorable display but there were other more important matters in hands.

"Hon, why don't we just truce this and-?"

Everyone gasped, going all silent, before the beard dude spit out the apples from his mouth in a bursting laugh.

"Hahahahah! Awe, how cute. Oh southies and their stupidity, your tp boyfriend is such a loser! Ofcourse, you should definitely listen and be the typical whipped ass licking moron you are and ask for a small cease-fire?"

Jackson eyed the man up and down in a threatening manner silently warning him

"South- Park- ies" The man tilted his head with each pronouncing words, grinning confidently.

"Oooohhhh" everyone blurted out in a shared shocking response, as it was indeed a low blow to be called a south parker, a disgusting insult that's worse than being thrown actual feces in someone's face.

Jackson spit the apples he had out of his mouth and straight up lounge himself towards the man.

"TAKE THAT BACK!" Screamed back, punching and yanking the man's beard off.

"Goddamn," he whispered in disbelief.

'Guess your boyfriend is also kinda a little cookoo himself'

He watched bewildered by the intensity of the street fight being unfold, as people cheered like wild animals. He even notice his other friends were already there in the pile of people cheering Jackson on.

This reminded him of the time when Kyle force him to ride a bull for some dumb Terrance and Phillip dolls, he was damn determined to win them he didn't even care that he was a vietnamese prostitute for the temporary being signing him up for the bull ride contest not caring he was drop off by Leonardo dicaprio the next day from who knows what of a night.

That was some immense determinant stubbornness and a whole lot of obsessive competitive spirit.

'In my defense, I really wanted those dolls and you wasted all the damn money'

"Whatever, Kahal," He whispered with not much enthusiasm, looking at the blonde boy smirking confidently as he stood up like he had won some boxing match.

Jackson approached him smiling warming, placing a small kiss on his lips.

"Told you I was number one champion."

'I don't think that's how you play bobbing apples'

"Sorry he call you that, baby," he added lastly before hugging him 'comforting'.

'What's there to be sorry about? You are from South park'

He corresponded back, "thanks, babe," reassuring with a small hum, smiling lightly.

'Stop acting like you aren't, asshole'

°°°°

Being judge wasn't the difficult part is was the people who'd glare menacingly, who'd watch carefully and cautious as other competitors would look like pray, atleast those that seem so gullible that'll easily cease on losing which was rare cause north park; the ones from blood, conceived from the womb of a north park mother will never bail out until they give their last breathe those that were from other states however would budge in one or a couple of rounds depending on how far long they've lived in the town. Yes, rounds.

What he figured out about this whole cat costume competition wasn't exactly just cute kitties dress up in fancy wears, it was a matter of actual BATTLE. They'd prepare themselves in a cage putting two people in and place their cats on a rounded chair. Waiting to be judge as they place themselves in middle of both cats, rules were simple:

1. First cat to jump off the chair will guarantee the owner making the fist move starting first round.

Only thing that wasn't allowed was weapons (guns, knives, swords, grenades, wires, types of acids, any sort of dust powder and flame throwers).

He wasn't sure exactly why the last weapon was needed to be specified with red ink, but he was a man who didn't question much.

Pretty much anything else is valid, so you're basically on your own once you're in the cage.

2. First player who accidentally hurts or (kill) the felines in anyway while being on the cage are disqualified immediately making the other competitor pass to the next round.

Being so damn fucking grateful he didn't bring Mr kitty to this whole thing after all was an understatement.

3. No sex inside the cage (one boner and you're out).

Now that was a rule he wondered why was needed to be added, but Hershey had told him it was because sometimes the tension between the two competitors will turn them up and makeout mid-battle.

This is why Jackson also told him he wasn't gonna let him compete as a player, he wasn't risking his boyfriend on 'falling' for some other dude. Kinda toxic, but he kinda like the possessive attitude.

4. Each meow counts as a double point, so you're current points would be sum together (the cat must be your feline for it to add up).

5. Each round is about 15 minutes (if dragged).

6. They're only 6 rounds per fight.

7. If referee catches you purposely making your feline meow you're disqualified and would be punished being excluded for the next year's competition.

8. Every aim on the gut, calves and armpit is 15 points (must be with a fist punch/ grab or finger thruster it would not count otherwise).

9. Bruises are also counted (1 point), in other cases: any teeth yanked off counts as 4.

Eyes (not preferable) 3 points.

Fingers (please don't) 6 points.

And any limbs (again, mayor Paul Theo won't pay for your hospital bills. Cautious.) 10 points.

10. You must sign the term and conditions agreeing you're aware of all the dangers you're putting yourself in and would not ask for legal action if you're severely injured (don't be a pussy), before festival date. The signature is obligatory or you will not be allowed to participate.

11. Once sixth round is over you must have atleast over 120 points gather up for the win. If both competitors have over that limited amount the competitor who has the highest count is declared winner.

However, if both competitors haven't pass the limit, they're both disqualified and will be called: tied losers until next year. (No one likes a tie you damn finger teaser).

In worse cases, a deceased competitor mid play would immediately disqualify you. If the competitor passes away after the ending round however, is automatic victory.

Eleven being the last rule, made him winced a little worrisome. This wasn't like the cow chase tournament they had in south park. This was beyond that.

What he did point out is that north parkers are VERY and when he says VERY, like goddamn! they're competitive. They don't like losing.

He bit his lip nervously as he was gesture to take a high up seat, sitting while seeing the crowd of people fill up empty seats.

Judge main attribute is to watch and declare winners, also having to count individually each players points, added his own judgment by rating each cat outfit which is important for the final counting.

He had the power to make a competitor lose if he felt like not giving a high score to their cat. Just like the power to make someone win even with a lower point count, he has unlimited points to give. And if he really dislikes the outfit he can take away max 15 points from a competitor.

So yeah, that was pretty sweet.

'You're already feeling yourself aren't you, fatass?'

"just a little... but could you blame me? Everyone is totally boned by the thought of overpowering someone, and I just have the opportunity to overpower anyone."

'That's more like it.. but don't over do it, lardass.'

"Jesus, can you give me a break already?"

'Not until you're back in South park; your real home with your real friends. We're I can keep an eye on you up closer.'

He rolled his eyes not bothering in answering back, spotting Jackson with the gang seating in some seats. Jackson spotted him right away and blew him a kiss. Which he subconsciously grabbed and blew another one back.

'God, you're so gay.'

The tournament began and everyone was riled up, it was a total massacre in and out of the cage, he was lucky being at top of it all. Seeing how aggressive the crowd of viewers were, he even notice his friends joined in the bashing. Unlike the competitors the audience could and can throw shit in, some tried aiming their gun to the competitor they hated the most others just shaked the cage in a rabid manner and some threw rocks with poor aiming.

It was quite a sight, a whole different display than what he was given firstly of the town.

"Wow," he said in an 'awe' admiring the chaos.

'Please, this would never get at a South park level'.

"C'mon, you can't tell me this isn't skewl?"

'Not even the slightest.'

"You're just saying that cause you're jealous."

'Sure~ being jealous over some people attempting to kill each other in a cage is so– exciting. If I wanted to watch that shit I could just see MMA for women on tv.'

"Okay you snarky jew, I get it, fuck. Nothing pleases you."

'I'm just stating facts, nothing beats south park.'

He grunted, reluctantly watching the whole tournament unfold, and eventually get to its end.

He was almost thrown a bucket of literal shit on because for the people's eyes his judgment wasn't going their way, not pleased by his choices. For his luck he had Jackson by his side during his performance, preventing any damages his way. Which he thought it was very warming and protective of him.

"You should give Eon a 10 pointer it'll definitely hit the rail for Jennebie," Jackson whispered in his ear, he could feel his malicious smirk against it.

So he followed through and did just that.

"Also hit Merry with a 5 pointer and let Harry have it with a 3," he continued almost in a sultry manner.

He looked his way, and sure enough it seem Jackson was turned on by pissing people off; he had dilated pupils and he was bitting his lip, moving back and forth frantically.

'He's literally manipulating you under your damn nose aren't you gonna do anything about it?'

He denied with his head not listening to Kyle and continued following his boyfriend instructions. It's not like he's whipped but he didn't mind pleasing him in some way.

He felt Jackson's hands slid next to his arms rubbing them lightly as he rested his head on his shoulder, sighing.

"Eric did I tell you how hot you look today?" He mustered nuzzling his nose against his neck warmly, "you drive me crazy."

He felt himself melt into Jackson's words, smiling dumbly as he saw how the competitors reacted by their scoring, feeling soothe by his touch and soft hair against his cheek.

He hummed as an answer, dazzlingly eyeing the crowd infront of him not caring much of the insults being sent his way.

"Mom, do you think I'm ready to have sex?" He asked his mother, now being back home.

His mom looked his way from the small kitchen practically part of the living room.

She moved her mouth as she was trying to articulate some words, seemingly startled, "uhhm.. well, I'm not sure poopsikins, do you feel ready?"

"I'm not sure either, but all my friends have done it," he shrugged not seemingly sure himself, "when was your first time?"

"Oof.." she exclaimed almost incredulous of how far that was, pouting her lips in thought, "probably when I was your age now that I think about."

"Wow. So does that mean I'm already late?"

"Ofcourse not sweetums," she chuckled, while smiling, "it's takes the right person at the right time."

"Did you do it with the right person, ma?" He asked genuinely curious.

"I did it with the coach of our volleyball team."

"Aye! That doesn't seem very ethical at all!"

"Technically I was learning something new, hon," she tried justifying herself with a light nervous tone to it, "anyways– why do you ask? Is that boyfriend of yours already wanting to escalate towards higher grounds?"

"Well.. not exactly, but it seemed like it!" He admitted, almost exasperated by the whole previous ordeal, "he seemed like he wanted something, he just.. didn't have the balls to tell me.

Even though it was obvious he was trying to hide it from me and he was all touchy too."

"Hmmm.." she looked at the ceiling, thinking carefully, "well it does seems quite suspicious, but you shouldn't get to that type of conclusions yet."

"Why?"

"Because then he'll think you're desperate."

"Really!?" He exclaimed almost nervously, eyes widen by the possibility.

He went to his room after eating dinner and briefly remembering the underwear gnome he and Stan hid in a cooler from a previous episode of theirs while he made an extra sandwich cause he was starving to death and the diet he had set himself off with wasn't it for him. Worrisome of looking like a desperate horny dog to Jackson, that was far what he wanted to give.

He layyed down sighing exhausted, remembering the passionate kisses Jackson gave him before entering his building, backing him against a wall and making out for a couple of minutes before reluctantly drifting ways.

He bit his lip just thinking the possibility of Jackson wanting more than just kisses, gulping nervously as he lightly yanked the collar of his shirt feeling a immense tightness around his neck, sucking in some air.

He took out his phone and texted Butters about his other worry that has also been eating him alive all day. The previous event made him realize how much he missed his little feline friend.

Butters (+1 ***-***-****) 📞

[Inbox✉]

'Butters, make sure Mr. Kitty is well fed or I'll hunt you down and chop you into bits you hear me!'

'No need to worry about it, Eric👌🏼

I'm already making sure your furr baby is alright'

'Please don't call it a furr baby, dude. That's gay as fuck'

'Butters?' He reluctantly added.

'Yeah?'

'If I we're to never come back.. would you miss me?'

'Why golly, Eric. Ofcourse I will, we're best pals!'

'I fell like you're bullshittin me rn just to make me feel better'

'Are you feeling under the weather again?'

He pinch himself, Butters could right outta the bat tell when somethings bothering him even through text.

'Maybe..'

'Do you know if any of the guys have been.. not that I care or anything! But, do they seem to miss me or something?'

'Typing..'

Butters kept writing but it seemed he stopped a couple of times before continuing writing again as if he was contemplating his reply and erasing it back and forth.

Finally after like a minute, he sent a bible looking message.

'This is what I've seen so FAR, it's not accurate so please don't take it as seriously, alright?:)

I've seen Stan and Kyle being the ones least affected by your absence, ofcourse that was just the first few days.

Stan seems to be taking it all pretty lightly but I do see him getting bored easily and shoving his face in junk food all day (probably not you related) but still, it's kinda unlike him yk.

Kyle on the other hand.. well, yk how pissy he gets. It's kinda hard to tell what's in his mind when all he shows is anger. But he does seem to be in denial of you actually staying in north park for too long, he thinks you're scheming something (Which isn't entirely untrue but he doesn't know that) and you already knew that.

Kenny, I already told you. He wasn't taking it well, but he's gotten better since your last call.

And well, to summarize it all, it does seem to put affect in some way for them. So I do think they miss you, Eric.

You guys don't really have the best way in showing it'

'That's useless dunk garbage, I could've guess that myself, dumbass.

But thanks.. I guess'

'Anytime n.n'

'Eric.'

'What?'

'What the hell is dunk garbage suppose to mean?'

He sighed, placing his phone in his lamp stand, covering himself in his covers.

'Are you finally gonna admit you're homesick, dickface?'

"Fuck you, I am not," huffing annoyed, he tossed himself to his other side, "I just miss Mr kitty that's all."

'Mhm, sure, Cartman'

"Tee hee~ tee hee hee~" he heard from the end of his bed, he snapped back up in shock, glancing at that little well familiar devil.

'Oh great'

"The fuck!? I thought I had got rid of you already!"

"Tee hee~ is this how you welcome your little bundle of joy after years of not seeing each other?"

"Fuck you, dude! I don't want nothing to do with you anymore. I'm not a little kid anymore, this is totally lame now," he hissed hiding half his face under the covers, feeling frustratingly embarrassed, "so uncool.."

"So you rather replace me for a gay inner monologue of your gay little friend?" Cupid sneered, approaching him.

'Fuck you, asshole!'

"Up yours, Kyle!" The little creature snap back almost bitterly, now changing his tone to a sweeter one, "Eric we use to be the best of friends! Setting people up with their true love it was so much fun!"

"Yeah, but acting like cupid is a 2016 thing, get over it already. It's sooo totally lame."

Cupid me sighed in disbelief and disapproval, "preteens I swear~" he rolled his eyes annoyed before continuing, "look, Eric. I'm here not exactly to set anyone up.

I'm here to make you realize the real you tee hee~"

"The real me?"

"Uhuh," he nodded beaming wide, "you're so in denial of your true feelings I'm starting to feel pity over you~" he swirled around in circles playfully.

"Aye!"

"But don't worry! That's why I'm here! To open your eyes~"

"To what?"

"Being in love with Jackson ofcourse! Tee hee hee~!"

"WHAT!? NUH-UH! you're bullshittin me right now! I don't like Jackson, I just think he's neat and cool!"

"That's being a complete gayway, cupcake~"

'I must admit just this once that the ugly goblin has a point'

He heard cupid me huffed by the name, but he couldn't give a rats ass about it, "Shut the fuck up, Kahal! And shut the fuck up cupid me! I DO NOT like Jackson!"

"Yes you do~"

"Nuh-uh!"

"Yuh-huh~"

"NO!" Panic began rising in him, shoving harshly the little creature to the wall running inside his closet with his hands covering his ears closing the door with a loud slam.

'Sweet, can you do that again?' He heard Kyle say referring about how he had shoved cupid me in a furious attempt to get him away.

He ignored him once more, squinting his eyes shut dismissively shaking his head frantically. Hearing cupid me rise above with angry noises and the flapping of his wings echoing the room in a loud attempt to threatened him.

"That does it, Eric," Cupid me spoke tirelessly behind the door, his sweet tone long gone replacing for a more menacingly one, "I've been very nice and have forgiven you countless times of how you've mistreated me!

Now come out of the closet right now, were gonna speak like real men!" He slammed harshly the door attempting to turn the handle but his little hands couldn't grasp it entirely making it almost impossible.

"No! Leave me alone!"

'C'mon cupid me, leave him alone already. You can't force it either' he heard Kyle try to reason with it in his defense, but Cupid me was way stubborn to let things slide easily.

"Shut up, Kyle, I don't want to hear anymore of those gay little speeches of yours! This is between me and him," Cupid me kept on slamming the door, even trying to budge in with his body, "come outta the closet right now, Eric!

You can't hide yourself in there forever."

"Just you watch!" He cried out, feeling tears fall down his cheeks, sucking harshly some air. He's never felt this scared in his life, feeling how small and suffocating the small space being, sobbing and holding himself for dear life as he hugged his legs hiding his face.

There was a immediate silence, he wanted to take a peek and make sure cupid me was long gone, but he stopped before placing his hand on the door.

'Don't be stupid. He could be acting like he isn't there to make you come out, he isn't called a creepy little shit for no reason'

He nodded, gulping nervously, as Kyle was indeed right. Cupid me wasn't to be mess with, he was calculated, cunning and coldly accurate, he knew his ways to get him, and he hated having let that little shit capable of making him feel this vulnerable.

He rocked himself back and forth in attempt to calm his nerves, but it didn't help in the slightest.

'Breathe, asswipe, you don't want to pass out either'

He squinted his eyes even harder, sucking in some air and letting it out, in and out.

'1–

Breathe in, exhale..

2-

Breathe in, exhale..

3– '

His breathing began to take a slower pace, Kyle's voice soothed him like no other but he was immediately tense back up by the sounds of a chainsaw.

Oh god, no.

He trembled trying to back further away but there was no more end to it. He looked fearsome at the door being torn apart and a crazy cupid me smirking menacingly poke inside.

"Oh, Eric~ come out from the closet, dear~" he sang, finally demolishing the door to it's entirety.

Cupid me gripped him from his shirt yanking him out and with a loud thump he shoved him to the floor, he whimpered trying to reach his bed and try shielding himself under it but Cupid me dragged him by the legs. Sobbing uncontrollably he was left no choice but to look into his eyes.

"Eric, I'm not trying to hurt you.. but you have to listen to me. You're in love with Jackson."

And with that, cupid me pointed a arrow at him, "this is for your own good, be happy and be as gay as you can possibly be tee hee~!" Finally releasing the arrow and knocking him out dead with a hit.

°°°°

He gasped wide awake, looking at his sweaty hands and seemingly back in bed. He looked around and cupid me was no longer in sight.

'Morning gay bitch'

Just Kyle, but that wasn't anything new for him.

He sighed feeling slightly better, "Morning.."

'Sleep well, fatass?'

"Slept like ass, but I do feel slightly better," and with that, he got out of bed and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

He had noticed it seemed to be quite earlier than usual his mother was still in bed, so he quietly walked passed her room to not disturb her.

Since when has that ever matter to him?

He made himself breakfast not bothering on waking up his mother, and soon after headed outside to meet up with his friends. They had agreed on hanging out for today at the skaters park.

Waving hello as he saw both Hershey and Stewart already sitting in some stairs waiting for the remaining members.

"Morning!"

"What's got you all smile and rainbows?" Stewart asked with a smile, arching a brow confused.

"Nothing, I just feel good you know," he shrugged, sitting in the spot next to him.

"You did a great job as judge, dog park," Hershey added, now sitting with his legs cross infront of them, mindlessly sliding his board from side to side.

"Thanks."

After a few minutes of chit chatting Jackson had finally arrived, eyes widen in surprise as he notice him, planting a kiss right away on his lips.

"Morning, baby nuts. Didn't think you'd be here this early," he gave a hand five to Stewart and a peace sign to Hershey before sitting down, "normally you're the last to arrive."

"I thought you'd be happier to see me~" he teased with a smirk.

"I'm always happy to see you."

His heart skipped a few beat smiling wide and his face felt heated.

"Damn, motherfuckers. Get a room," Stewart added with not much malice into it, taking out a small bag from his pocket of his baggy ass black pants.

"What the fuck is that?" He asked, curiously eyeing what it seems to be a couple of joints.

"Never tried a joint before, fatboy?"

He denied, he thought those shit were for pussies; poor people like Kenny and hippies, definitely for hippies. Goddamn how he hated hippies.

"Damn why didn't you say so!" He exclaimed baffled, his other two friends also looked distraught his way, "here," he passed him a joint but he hesitantly look at it.

There wasn't anything relatively good in those things, he's only gotten bad experiences just being near them. Being his mother a crackhead herself or seeing Kenny get himself high with paint for substituting it; even if he had countless times told him he should just stick with the joints instead of huffing paint like some crazy junkie. He also witnessed dumb highschoolers making themselves look like cringe looking fools being all high and shit promising himself he'll never be like them.

"What? Scared?" Stewart asked, taunting moving the joint in hand with a sly smirk.

And Jackson eyed him with a intense look, interest peeking his way.

'Don't do it, asshole'

He snatched that joint quicker than dashing off in a hurry when he hear the microwave announce with a beep that his hotpocket was ready.

Huffing a deep bunch, coughing loudly as it hit his throat awfully while his friends laughed by the first attempt.

"Killer.." he mustered out, feeling how the substance was already hitting him bad.

He was starting to feel a lot lighter since, also losing appetite and replacing his food with joints. Luckily his mother seem to not mind it much, as she view it being a phase of his now that's he's hitting adolescent anytime soon.

He layyed down, puffing some more of the weed given, turning on the tv lazily.

He laughed incredulous at the big companies that claim being precautious of the environment and safety of the children.

And he bashed on people who show any ounce of hatred towards animals.

Who do they think they are? This world is supposed to be freedom, we're all animals living in the same globe managed and ruled by arrogant men who play god.

Who can say who's to command the world? Just cause they speak and are highly intelligent than most animals there.

Someone should do something about it, go against this corrupted government and protest for the right of change and liberty.

He huffed another hit, before resting deeply his head against a cushion and doing absolutely nothing about it taking out his phone and putting on so music to avoid any mindless thinking.

His eyes widen in realization, "MOOOOOOOM," he screamed out loud in a scare.

°°°°

"Ah, I see," the doctor hummed, as he eyed his eyes with a small flashlight, "you're developing pussie-itis." He concluded.

"Oh my," he heard his mother gasped in surprise.

"What's that?" He asked confused.

"It only occurs to outsiders," he explained, placing back his flashlight in his coat, "it's a condition that could lead to severe head trauma being cause by being homesick or being expose for too long on a diffrent environment far different from your previous living."

"Nuh-uh! I'm not home sick!"

"This is serious, you could turn into a giant pussy."

He gasped by the revelation, covering his mouth.

"Is there any way to prevent that happening, doctor?," his mother asked concerning.

"Well, I could prescribe some medicine. But that still can't guarantee some changes in your son, Ms Cartman."

Being prescribe meds was super lame, but he had no choice into taking them.

However after a few days he got tired and decided to skip a few times and lastly shoving the pills inside a drawer completely forgetting about them as he venture with his friends doing whatever crappy shit hit their way.

Prev —

[akechi-if-he-slayed]

sometimes ill be so deep into the process of a convoluted hyper specific sp au that im like. would this not just read better as an actual story.

[pathologicalreid]

excuse me but spencer and kindergarten teacher reader is just what i need and i didn’t even know!! it’s like my new favorite ahhh i need more please!!

fishbowl | S.R.

you offer to bring spencer lunch when he forgets his at home, leading you to become an object of curiosity at the BAU

also kindergarten teacher!reader: kindergarten crush

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: the bau being nosy, kindergarten teacher!reader, pet fish/class pets, lots of dialogue, spencer has his cane word count: 1.79k a/n: i love spencer and kindergarten teacher reader they are very important to me!! i would equate this fic to spencer bringing a girl home for the first time, but home is the BAU. thank you for requesting!

“Ma’am,” an unfamiliar voice said insistently, you snapped out of your awe-induced stupor and looked up at the security guard. He didn’t seem overtly threatening, save for the gun that was holstered to his hip, but he was looking at you the same way you looked at your students when they first came to school in the morning. He was looking at you like you were lost. “Can I help you?”

You frowned at the guard for a moment, fumbling with your school bag for your phone to call Spencer for help. You held the phone in your hand, trying to open it with busy hands as someone approached you, and just as you were about to ask the security guard for a second, you were met with a familiar face. She had cut bangs in her dark hair, but other than that, the woman in front of you was the same Emily Prentiss you had met months ago, “Hey, Miss Y/L/N, right?”

The relief in your eyes had to be visible as she smiled, “Right,” you affirmed, “It’s good to see you again, Agent Prentiss.”

“Oh, no, please, call me Emily,” she insisted, taking charge and reaching over to take your tote despite your protests. “What brought you all the way out to Quantico?”

Ducking your head as she led you through the security checkpoint, you clipped your visitor badge to the waistband of your skirt and crossed your arms in front of your stomach before answering, “Uh, Sp- er, Dr. Reid forgot his lunch this morning, so I offered to bring him something.”

Arching a dark brow, Emily led you into the elevator and hit the button before leaning against the wall – sixth floor, you’d have to remember that. “Y/N… I know,” she said, proffering you a knowing look that made you flush.

“Spence left his lunch at his place,” you shrugged, “I had a half day today, so I told him I could bring something by.”

Humming, watched carefully as you shifted your weight from one leg to the other, “So, you went to Spencer’s place with your key and grabbed his lunch for him.”

Nervously, you looked up at the number above the elevator doors – why was this taking so long? “No, there’s a deli around the corner from my school, he likes the soup there. I have a key, but the deli was on the way. I’ve been watering his plants while he’s away. That’s why he gave me a key. If you were wondering.”

Your secret was out, you rambled when you got nervous. You hadn’t even considered the fact that Spencer would want to keep the private aspects of your life private.

Emily definitely noticed the sigh of relief you let loose as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, “Spencer’s desk is through there. At the end on the right,” she directed you, handing your bag back to you.

As you slung your bag back over your shoulder, you thanked the person who held the door open for you and made your way through the bullpen. “Next time,” you said, garnering the attention of your boyfriend, “You have to come get me. If they ever let me back in this building, that is.”

Casually, he reached for your hand, pulling you closer to his chair until you were close enough to drop a kiss on his lips, “I thought you were going to call.”

Your shoulders slumped as you set the lunch on the only clear spot on his desk, “Terribly, impossibly long story,” you waved him off, setting your bag on the floor as you noticed a familiar wooden apparatus next to Spencer’s desk. “Your cane is back,” you observed, “Are you alright?”

He nodded, “’M fine,” he reassured you, “It hurt this morning when I woke up, but it’s fine now.” He turned his head at the sound of a door opening, you followed his gaze as a blonde made her way out of the bullpen, leaving the glass doors swinging behind her.

It was hard enough to come around to the fact that Spencer’s job was dangerous, but the fact that he had actually been shot – not long before he met you – was even harder to come to terms with. You watched him carefully as he got up and found an available chair for you to sit down in and begrudgingly came to the same conclusion, he seemed fine.

As you unpacked your lunch, a new face approached Spencer’s desk, leaning against the metal, “Reid, who’s this?”

Upon first glance, the man in a V-neck t-shirt was very protective over your boyfriend. From what you knew about the team, that made a lot of sense – Spencer was the youngest member. Taking the initiative, you stood up and reached your hand out for him to shake, introducing yourself to him, and he introduced himself as Derek Morgan.

“Alright, pretty boy,” Derek said, nodding over at Spencer. “So, what brings you here to the BAU?”

Explaining yourself again, you sat back down, crossing your ankles and watching as Spencer’s boss walked by, ushering Derek along with him. “Mr. Hotchner,” you greeted, happy to see a familiar face. Your eyes followed them as Derek said something about this being the first time Reid’s had a girl in the BAU.

You laughed slightly, glancing over to Spencer who didn’t seem bothered by the commotion.

“How do you know Hotch?” Emily asked from her desk, she nodded in the direction of the unit chief.

Passing Spencer a napkin, you looked over at Emily, “He toured my school with his son. They’re talking about switching me to preschool next school year, so I was there – he recognized my name.”

A solemn expression passed over Prentiss’ face, “Right, how is Cody?”

“Good! He’s doing really well, he and his mom are moving over the summer to be closer to her parents, so he’ll be at a different elementary for first grade,” you explained, wondering if they usually got updates like that on the children they find.

You waited for another question, but Emily’s phone started ringing, “Saved by the bell,” Spencer said, switching off his monitor and turning his attention fully onto you. “How was school?”

While eating, you explained how with half days, you usually just have an activity day with the kids and, for some reason, today you found it impossible to get them to stay on task. “I get it though, I think it’s hard to pay attention when the workday is shortened, even if I have a ton of lesson planning left to do after the final bell. Especially if they’re moving me next year.”

“When will you know for sure?” He asked, eyes catching on something behind you.

Shrugging, you balled up your trash and put it back in the deli bag, “I might not for a while. They’re trying to hire someone for preschool but if they can’t find anyone, I might be pulling double duty… What are you looking at?” You turned in the desk chair to find the blonde from earlier and another woman, also blonde, but dressed in bright colors, “Ah,” you said, understanding what Spencer was looking at.

The two women looked away, pretending like they hadn’t been staring. “I’m sorry,” Spencer apologized, “Usually on Fridays most people go off campus for lunch, but it seems like today was the exception.”

Leaning back in the chair, you gave Spencer a knowing look, “They’re tapping on the fishbowl,” you concurred.

“The fishbowl?” Spencer asked, frowning in confusion.

Turning around again, you waved at the two blondes in an attempt to try to get them to come in, “The kids do it all the time, they’re tapping on the fishbowl to see if they can get the fish to move,” you elaborated.

“Fish? What about fish?” A new voice chirped, and you turned to find the blondes had elected to come into the bowl.

You nodded, “Two fish. They’re the class pets.”

“Do they have names?” One of them asked, looking between you and Spencer curiously.

Spencer chuckled, “Nikola Tesla and Rosalind Franklin,” he answered – he was, after all, the one who had named them in the first place.

Beaming at your boyfriend before going back to his co-workers, you giggled at their confused looks, “Do you teach a class filled with geniuses?”

“No,” you smiled, “they’re four- and five-year-olds, they call the fish Nikki and Rosie,” you clarified. “I’m Y/N,” you said, deciding to forego a handshake and waving at them instead.

The two of them introduced themselves – JJ and Penelope – and continued to make conversation with you before the latter of the two gasped, “You should come to girls’ night!”

There was a chime of agreement from Emily’s desk, and you looked over at Spencer to see if he wanted to weigh in. Truthfully, he looked less than excited at the prospect of you spending the night with his co-workers.

“What, Reid?” JJ asked teasingly, “Are you afraid we’ll tell your girlfriend all of your dirty secrets?”

A laugh erupted from Derek’s desk, “He would need to have dirty secrets for you to tell!”

At that point, Spencer looked like he was ready to drop his head on his desk, you reached over and set a hand on his knee. You peered back up at JJ and Penelope, “Can I get back to you?”

Holding up her pointer finger, Garcia grinned, “Absolutely, have Spencer give you my number!”

You stood up at that, gathering your things and silently letting Spencer know that you were ready to leave, “I’ll walk you out,” he offered, standing up, and grabbing his cane as he did so.

Waving goodbye to his team, you led the way out, holding the door for Spencer as he tried to wave away any remnants of your concern. The two of you stood in silence as you waited for the elevator, resisting the urge to hit the call button again as your impatience resurfaced.

The two of you let people off of the elevator before boarding the empty car, “I’m really sorry about… all of that.”

Frowning, you kept your eyes trained on the elevator doors, “It’s like a little family,” you murmured, completely disregarding his apology.

“What?” He asked, turning to face you.

You pointed up toward the sixth floor, “Your team,” you replied. “The way you all function. It’s like a family and you’re the younger brother – at least in that dynamic.”

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, “Oh, yeah. Kind of.”

Nudging at him with your elbow, you smiled slyly at your boyfriend, “Do you think they liked me?”

He nodded reassuringly, “I think you will very quickly be welcomed into the family.”  

[kitsuga]

PREFECT open the door {Ace Trappola x Reader/MC/Yuu}

Description: 

A fic in which Ace tries to move into the Ramshackle Dorm.

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Tags: fluff, honestly. i feel ace. i too would try to flirt and fail so horribly, not beta'd, not edited, gender neutral reader, you can assume reader/mc is yuu!, twisted wonderland x reader/mc/yuu, twst x reader/mc/yuu, twisted wonderland/twst, ace trappola x reader/mc/yuu, ace trappola 

Word Count: 1,899

A/N: Written on: February 12, 2022 

One of my sisters loves him and begged for some ace content so here it is LKJSDFKJSDF 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“I thought the little punk was getting better—so why the hell is this thing on me again!”  

Ace pushed past the hardly awake MC and flopped down on the dusty couch in the lounge. His long, heavy sigh shook his whole body; he launched into his complaint again, not noticing that MC had barely shuffled into the room behind him. 

“Who told him there was a rule for stepping into the room with your right foot first if it’s past 9 P.M. Who!? I get my head taken for something stupid like that!” 

“Was it that you stepped into the room with the wrong foot, or you argued with him?” 

“How could you accuse me of something like that!” 

MC rubbed their eyes, taking a long sigh before they spoke again. 

“What did you say to him?” 

“...I didn’t SAY anything.” 

“What did you do.” 

Ace’s lips twisted to the side with a huff as he refused to make eye contact with them. Boring a hole in the side of his head, MC sat and waited for him to paint the picture of his own demise.  

“I.... kmcked’m,” he mumbled. 

“You what?” 

“I kicked him!” Ace shouted, throwing his hands up in the air, letting them fall alongside the rest of his body, slouching further into the couch. “He turned around after yelling at me and I just, I kicked the back of his knee—I didn’t kick him that hard!” 

“Ace.” MC held their face in their hands, disappointment completely evident in their voice. 

“It wasn’t even genuinely a kick—it was more of a push!” 

“Ace.” They growled from behind their hands.  

“You know I love hearing my name and all--” 

“Stop talking.”  

The two of them sat in silence for a moment; Ace snuck a few looks over at MC, making sure to retract his gaze if they made a move to look back at him. As though it were their new catchphrase, MC sighed heavily once again and smacked their knees, pushing themselves up off the couch.  

“Well, you dug your own grave, Trappola. Sucks to be you.” 

“Aw, come on, Prefect!” 

“What do you mean ‘aw come on’? What do you expect me to do? You’re lucky there wasn’t a bigger consequence for you—like being kicked from school for violence.” 

“One little kick, really?” 

“You’re talking about Riddle. Yes, one little kick.”  

MC pushed Ace’s head playfully, moving him around on the couch a bit which was met with his protests. They ignored him as he called out to them by name, simply waving their hand to dismiss his words while climbing the stairs. Over their shoulder, they wished him sweet dreams and shut down whatever he was saying by suggesting he sleep by pointing out the extra blanket draped over the armchair in the living room. Ace sat back on the couch with his arms crossed, lips twisted to the side in a heavy pout as he watched them disappear up the stairs, his eyes lingering where they fell out of his sight for a few extra moments. 

The redheaded boy sighed, knowing that MC was probably right—not that he’d tell them, anyway. He made his bed and he had to lie in it—both figuratively and in actuality; dusting off the older couch, he laid on his back and wrapped himself in the blanket all after he had turned off the lights. He lay with his eyes closed, trying his hardest to get comfortable with the bulky collar around his neck. He twisted, turned, and sighed more times than he could count—counting it may have helped him to fall asleep at this point. Ace opened his eyes to stare at the crumbling ceiling above him, his eyes dragging over each piece of the spider's webs that decorated the place. The night would not take him. 

Nor would the shadows. Nor would his mind. Everything fought sleep as his brain constantly moved its gears, but no actual thoughts had come to his mind. Ace was missing something—longing for something. There was a reason Ace had run to the Ramshackle Dorm rather than simply retreating to his room—and that reason had moved to their own bed upstairs. An hour or two had passed since he first laid down, but he was getting too antsy now; he threw the blanket off him and jumped to his feet in a huff. 

Even if he tiptoed, the old wooden stairs creaked and moaned beneath his feet; each one made him wince, so he had given up. He was sure MC would have been up by now anyway with the sounds, so he rushed the rest of the way to their room, throwing open the door. 

A sliver of moonlight illuminated MC. Grim had curled up at the foot of the bed as their back had faced the door; they turned to look over their shoulder at Ace as he stood in the doorway. Their voice had matched their face—emotionless and stoic. 

“What.” 

“Prefect.” 

“Yes, Ace. What.” 

He hurried over to the bed, throwing himself onto his hands and knees on top of it to slightly hover over MC as they turned to their back to meet his eyes. 

“Let me move into your dorm.” 

“...Get out of my room.” 

“MC, please!” 

“No. Good night, Ace.” 

Ace bounced on the bed which was met with groans from both MC and Grim, who was doing his best to ignore Ace.  

“Seriously! Let me move in. I’ll transfer over to your dorm, and I’ll never have to deal with the little tyrant again!” 

“You can’t, Ace. Now go to sleep.” 

“Come on!” 

“No. Now, shut up.” 

“You’re being unreasonable!” Ace shook the bed once again, ignoring Grim’s shout at him to knock it off. 

“Good night, Ace.” 

MC turned to their side to face him and closed their eyes tight in hopes that their friend would take the hint and leave; they smiled slightly to themselves when they felt the weight of his body leave the bed but frowned deeply when they felt a gust of cold hit them. They opened their eyes to find his staring back at them, only a few spare inches between them.  

“Fine, if you won’t let me into your dorm, then let me into your bed!” 

They groaned when he wiggled an arm underneath them and pulled himself even closer; Ace held them close and with a devilish grin, nuzzled his nose against their cheek even as they tried to turn their face away. MC hissed each time the lock of his collar rammed into them. He could almost feel the heat of their blush traveling up their face as he continued getting as close as he could to them, keeping an arm around them to hold his position; they didn’t attempt to free themselves, just drew their eyebrows together and frowned even deeper. 

“You’re already in my bed!” They lightly kicked his shin. “Out.” 

“Okay, then let me into your bed every night.” 

MC was surely paying attention now as it was Ace’s turn to start trying to fight off a blush; unfortunately for him, the sliver of moonlight was showing all his cards. He turned his face away from them and tried his hardest to look annoyed, but it was difficult to turn away as the collar around his neck was pretty bulky.  

It was best to come clean, right? Ace battled with his pride, his confidence, and his now flustered and racing heart. He stammered a bit but tried his best to hold his head up high despite his limited movement and looked down his nose at MC, who was still only inches away from his own face. 

“Well, I mean—yeah. I said what I said. Maybe I want to crawl into your bed every night. It’d be a lot easier to do if you just let me move into your dorm.” 

“Ace--” 

“Look, I came to see you ‘cause I was upset, yeah—but I really like when you comfort me. You’re still so nice under that irritating dismissiveness, and you’re always ready to help me out but still put me in my place. I think you’re kind of dumb but, you know, in a cute way, and I just—arhg!”  

Ace wiped his face with his free hand as though he could wipe off his embarrassment or the crimson colour off of his skin; he felt like the shadows in the room were laughing at him. He opened his eyes back up to find MC’s staring back at him, an unreadable emotion pooling within them. 

“So... how ‘bout now? Will you let me into your dorm?” 

The two of them sat in silence for a bit, the room heavy with emotion; Ace was just thankful Grim was asleep and missed his confession or he’d never hear the end of his embarrassment. He bit his tongue as MC blinked a few times, looking between his eyes and scanning his face for any hint of him messing with them—he knew that look anywhere. He stared at them a bit harder, trying to silently indicate the authenticity of his confession; his eyes started to wander down to their lips, however, and found himself swallowing hard before subconsciously leaning in slowly to bridge the small gap between the two of them. 

“No.” MC pushed his face away gently, playfully. 

Ace groaned and grabbed them by the wrist, moving their hand and returning his face to his previous spot. 

“What do you mean no--” 

“No, you can’t transfer to my dorm. It’s impossible.” 

“Oh, so the no wasn’t for the kiss?” His devilish grin was evident in his voice. His face was pushed away again after another attempt to lean in; he met this action with a repeat of his groan and moving MC’s hand. 

“What you can do, besides move into my dorm, is go apologize to Riddle tomorrow.” 

“Uhg.” 

“I’ll go with you, it’ll be fine.” 

MC brushed a rogue strand of hair out of Ace’s face, softly caressing his cheek a moment before intertwining their fingers with his and placing their hands in the space between their faces. 

“We can go on a date once you get that annoying collar off. Then, you can kiss me the right way.” 

Ace’s eyes went wide before growing hooded, a genuine, loving smile accompanying his gaze on the person in front of him. He knew it was the right choice to come seek comfort in their loving arms, and he was glad he had pushed himself to annoy them; the blanket downstairs wasn’t even a fraction as warm as he was enveloped in the feelings between the two of them, and the couch was certainly not as soft and inviting.  

So, he couldn’t move into their dorm, but he could move into their heart—as cliché as he was to admit it. Ace was thankful for a friend like the Prefect, and even more thankful for a lover like MC. His soft gaze turned back into the person in front of him, watching as they had slowly started to drift back to sleep; Ace knew he shouldn’t open his mouth, but he couldn’t help himself. 

“Hey,” he whispered. “You never answered about that ‘in your bed every night’ thing. That still on?” 

“Shut up, Ace.” 

[cookiescribble]

New In Town

A/N: hey there, to the anon that requested this, I lost your actual submission but I hope this lived up to expectation! I started writing this, forgot I started it, and then got sick but I tried my best haha, enjoy! Happy pride month! - mod ghost

p.s. sorry to mod angel, I definitely called her out in this fic lol 

You had only been at the BAU for about a week, but something about Spencer made you feel like a moth drawn to a flame, as cliche as that might be. Sometimes, you’d catch yourself staring at him during briefings or even just sitting at your respective desks. Watching the way his hands would move over pages as he tore his way through books. His reading speed always amazed you, and you wondered how he actually retained any of the information he was taking in. Yesterday, he’d caught your gaze, making eye contact with you and giving you a polite grin before returning back to whatever it was he’d been doing. Your heart nearly pounded itself out of your chest, which is about when it dawned on you that you definitely had feelings for him. Shit, you thought to yourself briefly. It was probably best to keep this to yourself for now, you’d heard a lot about everything he had been through from the other members of the team and figured it’d be best to leave him alone. Even if you thought this while in private, it didn’t seem to actually stop you from flirting with him. What could possibly go wrong? He’d say no, but that wasn’t terrible. A few days later, you found him at his desk before the team was about to fly off to investigate a new case. You, however, weren’t cleared for field work yet, so you had to work in something before he went,

Gently putting a hand on his shoulder to get his attention, you leaned in closer to him as you said, “Have a safe flight, pretty boy, I’ll see you when you get back,” then walked off toward Garcia while practically being able to feel his eyes on you. Whether that was a good thing or not, you couldn’t tell, and the idea of having to wait until the team came back stirred up some nervousness that seized in the pit of your stomach but you pushed it aside for now to focus on helping Penelope here in Quantico. “I’m sorry, why is Reid making that face?” She laughed as she all but chased you further down the hall and away from the bullpen.

“I’m fairly certain I just called him pretty boy or something, I don’t know. I might’ve blacked out.” You sighed, averting her gaze as much as possible as you pushed through the door leading to all of her equipment.

“I knew it! You have a crush on Spencer!” Garcia cried in excitement, seconds away from jumping up and down. “Could you yell it any louder?? He might hear you! China might hear you–” You grab her arm as you whisper hurriedly, pulling her through the door and closing it behind her, “--wait, am I really that obvious about it?? Who else knows other than you?” “Mainly us girls, don’t worry. But I might be able to help you, see if he likes you back?” “What, have my own spy crew just for a crush? No way, I’ll get over it.” You brush a hand through your hair in embarrassment and frustration as you and her sit next to each other at her desk. All you could think about was Spencer, though. Nothing that happened throughout the day could fix that. Especially when he called a few hours later to ask for information. Garcia picked up the phone before you could react or steel yourself to the idea of talking to him again. “Hey, tall dark and nerdy, talk to me” She spoke quickly, leaning back in her chair. It made you blush, which you silently cursed her for. “Uh, hey, Garcia,” he paused to chuckle, “I need your help–” “Obviously” You started to get up to escape the room and compose yourself, but, much to your chagrin, he’d heard the background noise over the phone, “Is someone else in there with you?” His voice crackled over the phone line again, which made Penelope stop you from moving, 

“Yes, actually,” She nudged you as she spoke,

“H-uh, Hi, Spence.” You spoke up, trying to sound lighthearted. The idea of speaking to him again this soon seized your heart and made it hard to breathe. 

“Hey…as you can probably hear, I made it here safe. No need to worry.” There was a bit of a teasing tone to his voice. You’d never quite heard him use that tone with you before. Or anyone for that matter. 

Before you had time to process that, they were on to talking about the case again and you were able to escape the situation pretty much unscathed. 

The rest of the team didn’t return until later that week, on a Friday, so Garcia got pizza for everyone to celebrate. 

She came to grab you from your desk and the two of you arrived just in time to see something that stirred up something in you, so deep you think you were possessed by one of your distant descendants.

“You’re cutting pizza with a butter knife?!” You ask incredulously, not meaning to come off so viciously. 

Spencer froze, plastic butter knife still in hand as he stabbed into the pizza. 

“We…We don’t have a pizza cutter here, and some of the slices were kinda stuck together with cheese…” he explained, almost frozen in place as he awkwardly chuckled at the ridiculous nature of the conversation while Garcia couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Sorry, I honestly have no idea what came over me. Let’s uh, let’s dig into this pizza, huh? Now that I’m done getting possessed by my grandma?” You joke, going closer to the table with Penelope and grabbing one of the slices that were…cut. Definitely not sawed apart poorly. He’d tried his best. At this current moment, Spencer Reid was honestly just lucky he was cute. Despite that, you smiled politely and spent time with your found family that is the BAU.

That night, after all the fun was over and it was time to go home for a much needed crash, it had been just you and Spencer. You both volunteered to clean up after everything so that everyone else could go home for some much needed rest and to get a start on their weekend. They tried to insist that they’d help, too, but everyone was tired and it wasn’t that big of a mess so there was no need for everyone to stay. 

You thought it’d be fine, because surely you could be at least somewhat normal around him, right? 

The two of you easily talked and joked the whole time, the energy in the room fairly normal until you both reached for the same pizza box. Your hands brushed together and you instinctively looked up at each other, a similar electric feeling running down both your spines. 

“Oh, I can um…I can grab that.” you speak softly, almost afraid to speak in the sudden intense silence. 

“It’s okay, I got it. It’s the least I could do after you almost stabbed me earlier for my inferior method of cutting pizza.” Spence replied with a soft smile.

“Hey, you were the one with the plastic knife, mister.” 

“I’m never gonna live that down, am I?” 

“Not as long as I’m here,”

You both broke out into laughter then there were a few moments of just eye contact before you’d started to lean in closer slowly. Like too fast of a movement would scare him away. It seemed like he would, too, but before either of you could touch the other, he quickly stood up and away from you.

“Sorry—um, it’s been a long day. I can take care of taking out the rest of the trash, you don’t have to stick around. Thanks for the help, though.” He says hastily, grabbing one of the two bags of garbage bags that sat by the door and quickly rushing off. 

You sighed to yourself and grabbed your bag, heading out for the night and silently cursing at yourself. If it wasn’t awkward before, it would be now. 

But you just couldn’t help yourself around Spencer, everything about him screamed out to you like some sort of siren call. Every time you weren’t around him, basically anything would remind you of him. 

You just needed to bite the bullet and ask him out, so that’s exactly what you were going to do. The worst he could do was say no, right? 

So the week after that, you had finally worked up some courage. The whole team was at a bar together, Spencer being the only one not drinking as per usual. You, being about two drinks in at this point, had enough of tiptoeing around him. 

It’s now or never, you thought. 

You went over to him while everyone else was doing their own thing in different spots in the bar, so it was just the two of you, and you sat yourself next to him. 

Spencer looked over and smiled kindly at you, his brown doe eyes shining in the dim lighting. Your chest flooded with warm affection as soon as you made eye contact with him, and it made you that much more sure about this. 

“Hey, having fun?” he asked cheerfully, the happiest you’d heard him in a while. Since you’d started working at the BAU, you’d realize when you thought about this moment later. 

“Yeah, but um…I really need to ask you something, Spence.” 

“Oh? By all means, go ahead,” he gestures for you to continue, turning his body toward yours to give you his full attention. 

“Okay so…um…I…I like you. Like, I really like you—“ you started to say, before he interjected. 

“This isn’t sounding like a question”

“Spencer, please”

“Sorry, go on” he sheepishly smiled, apparently having fun teasing you a little. 

“Thank you, but I uhh…shit—“ you cursed. 

“You were saying you really like me?” 

“Right—so, I was wondering…if…if you’d want to…maybe…go out sometime? With me?”

“We…are out,” he gestured to the bar around the two of you, “right now.” 

“That’s not what I mean—“

“I know what you mean, and I…I’m not sure.”

“What?”

“I’ve had a lot happen to me recently, between going to jail and everything that happened with Cat, as well as everything else and our jobs themselves…I’m not sure I have room to have someone else in my life. No matter how much I like you, too.” 

You nearly gasped when he said he liked you, too, but you held it back. This was the most emotionally vulnerable he’d ever been around you. You weren’t going to take advantage of that. 

“Well…” you take his hand in both of yours, holding it close to your chest. “We could take things slow…ride things out, y’know? But that’s only if you want to. I’m here to make sure you’re happy. Whether it’s with me or not.”

He stared at you silently for a moment, considering everything you’d just told him. He kept glancing from your eyes to your lips, as if he was contemplating at a speed your slightly buzzed mind wasn’t quite up to keeping up with. 

Before you could speak or even think further on it, he was leaning forward and speaking low enough that only you would be hearing it. 

“Let’s go, let’s go back to my place. We’ll talk about this more, I just can barely hear myself think with the music in here.” 

You nodded and stood up from the booth, both of you waving goodbye to the rest of the team with gentle smiles before walking off. 

Back at his apartment, he barely had the door closed 5 minutes before he was kissing you. 

So much for talking things through. 

The way his lips pressed to yours felt passionate, desperate even. Like he’d been waiting to do this for a long time. You let yourself relax into it, your hand drifting up to tangle your fingers in his hair. Everything about kissing him just made you want to lose yourself in him until you weren’t sure where each of you ended and began. 

Then, just as suddenly as he started, he pulled away, taking in deep breaths and pushing his hair back away from his face but still close enough that you could feel his breath ghosting over your face. 

“Sorry, that…I shouldn’t have—“

Before he could finish, you were pulling him back in for more. He wasn’t about to get away with a kiss like that with just a simple ‘sorry’. Not if you had anything to say about it. 

The two of you ended up tangled together in his bed for the rest of the night, the blanket gently wrapped around you both in a comfortable silence. 

Talking could wait, for now you were just…together, and that was more than enough.

[eldrith]

˗ˏˋ On Sunny Days I Go Out Walking ˎˊ˗ Jacaerys Velaryon

jacaerys velaryon x reader words: 3k synopsis: Jacaerys is learning that the world moves on. contents: angst. mourning, grief, major character death. mentions of depression, anxiety. sad jace notes: i was listening to the song francis forever by mitski and this somehow showed up fully written in 20 mins. also some inspo from mind over matter.... im so happy idk what else to say. super happy fic im happy and fine. this does not follow canon, jace aged up, no spoilers rly but like... iykyk. ps im sorry @softspiderling for what ive done. the gun is at my temple feedback is appreciated <3 requests open. masterlist

THE DARK IS NO FRIEND OF JACAERYS VELARYON.

A flicker, the single room illuminated in the obsidian of the castle at such an hour; the dark crawls upon him, slow as shadows, stealthy as the beast that lingers empty within his stomach. 

The dark has begun to infect him. 

Seeping slowly into skin, carving through into the sponginess of his bones - some shadowed poison, twisting and lingering in the blood that dawdles slowly through his veins. The quiet is deafening, in the way it had been up in the North those months ago; when snow tumbled from the chasmous skies in the dead of night, a blanket of reticence chilling him to his heart. 

Breaths tumble scarce from his lips. The darkness crawls, it whispers; fingers, blotched and stained, though he has scarcely written one word upon the parchment in the hour since he’s crawled from the refuge of bed. 

Perhaps, if things were different, there would be hands; hands, sleek and gentle, sliding over the slope of his shoulder, wrapping to embrace him from behind. A sweet whisper in his ear, encouraging. A ward to the shadows; though darkness swallows up any memory of that touch, the memory of which becomes more and more scarce with each breath he takes. 

Waves crash in the distance, twisting the dagger further into his gut. The word stares up at him - and he, avoiding the swimming vision, stares out into the pain of a world so large, so cold.

Dearest, 

He cannot bring himself to write what comes next. Your name, so sweet - your name, the world. His limbs frozen in fear - to pour his self into this letter, to release the pressure that has built and built and festered and rolled its beastly body upon itself to reveal a soft underbelly; a sharp pain below his ribs, one trembling hand pressing against the lids of his eyes, vision swimming in soft patterns. His lips wobble with poorly concealed anguish.

Jacaerys is no stranger to the feeling of loss - a swallowing, consuming dissolution, the eclipse of any warmth with the cold strike of grief. His father, fathers - and then when he lost his brother, he lost himself; anger, mistrust, pain. Your hands, the sweet embrace of your warm breast, heart beating strong enough for both of you when he thought his own might stop. You had been the one to suggest it, back then. 

The irony of it makes a vicious wave of bile begin to rise in his throat, fingers trembling as he holds a quill, shaking his head to rid himself of the barrage of sorrow that tears at his chest. 

You were there. In the middle of the night, when he could not find rest; in the peak of day, when the sun served nothing but a reminder of the laugh he would not ever hear again, you’d been there. Write a letter to him, you’d suggested. 

Jacaerys did not heed your suggestion for many days; a young man, festered with anger, revenge, grief; your insistence, despite his vicious sorrow, breaking through and softening the blow of life without Lucerys. With shaky hands he wrote the letter, one day. Brother, he’d addressed it to - and then, after sealing it in a bottle, had sent it into the tides in the early hours of the morning, turning to relieve his grief upon your shoulder. You’d held him in the wet sand until the sun rose in the sky. 

You would want him to do this, he knows - you, always pushing him to be better, to speak and be understood, to listen and understand, to feel, to love. To prepare, because when the time comes, when the crown is heavy upon his head, he will rule well - and you… to rule aside him. 

And that’s what it was for, in the end. You were what it was all for. 

But nothing of that remains; the quill hovers above the parchment, suspended in time. Jacaerys’ hand trembles with the weight of what he knows he could never convey. How can you express the loss of the entire world, your entire being, everything you are, into one piece of parchment? How can he confess that when you were consumed by those depths, he too was lost within them?

Jacaerys swallows the lump that rises; the parchment before him is warbled, dipping and swimming in his vision. His grasp shakes - with a soft whimper of desolation he realizes his foolish hand has marred your name, that sweet word, upon the parchment. Tainted, smudged now with darkness.

Your name, so sweet from the curl of your lips - lips now so cold to the touch, blue and purple with the unrelent of the ocean. That haunting thought - did you realize, in those last moments? 

Did you understand when you were going down, aflame and prepared to meet the Stranger? Was it Luke, who welcomed you with pale lips pulled into that ceaseless grin wherever your soul went after your body was dragged under the currents? 

A choked gasp, tears splattering upon the parchment.

Jacaerys used to grow exasperated with how Luke seemed to follow you and him around - blathering ceaselessly about anything he could think of; a menace, snickering when Jace threw glares at him yet beaming when you sent him a sly wink. You told Jace you didn’t mind Luke’s company, so Jace grew to enjoy it, too. 

After all, you’d always wanted a younger brother. 

Gods, why not me? The salinity mixes with the ink, tainting the curve of the first letter of your name as it begins to bleed through. He cannot stop the tears, his gasping sobs swallowed by the dark of eve. 

The letter is shoved away from him expeditiously, a heavy cloak falling upon him as he tries to suck in breaths; letting loose an involuntary groan of sorrow, his fingers tug at the laces of his tunic, much too tight against the heart beating into his chest.  The parchment flutters to the floor.

The cusp of adulthood was tread only by the hand within his own, the smiles in dark, the terse furrow of strategizing brows in the light of the council room. Jacaerys is a man, now - grasping, unsteady in the ground that has been ripped and overturned, the stench of fresh earth suffocating. The pillow that lies in the empty space of his mattress, illuminated by the second of two lit candles; dragged with detached hands that night when the raven came home, but you did not. 

It is beginning to smell less and less like you - like the dahlia blossoms you’d clipped in the gardens and refined into oils and pressed between the pages of Jace's old journals, the sweets you’d sneak into his chambers after a visit to the kitchens. Perhaps worse - with a violent twist of his gut, a panic; what will he do when the pillow is absorbed, the last of your scent snuffed by his own? Where will you have gone? 

He cannot bring himself to lay aside that pillow; with a shaky breath, he discards his tunic, running a shaky hand over a clammy chest, wishing it felt more like your own palm.

In only a few hours, the sun will wake. 

The darkness over the island will dissipate, the fog creeping along the coast in a slow crawl; and Jacaerys will rise, bleary and red-eyed, throat hoarse. He will break fast alone, as he does these days. He will rip apart pastries just to discard them upon the plate uneaten, take a sip of tea and force it down his throat; he will recall how you used to dunk little cookies into your own, how you often preferred to take yours with his mother when time allowed it, because you both enjoyed a later tea. 

He will walk to the hall, see to his duties - the Prince of Dragonstone; he will stare at the seat you used to occupy, recall the day he’d lifted you upon the table in isolation, how you’d sighed with a frilly laugh into his neck as he’d kissed the expanse of your face. He will walk to Aegon’s Garden, but he won’t go all the way towards the end where the freshly turned soil of the memorial grounds bears a new member.

The darkness will dissipate; the sun will rise.

The sun will come, and he will remember the way your hair shined in the early mornings, slumped upon the pillow, tickling his nose as he woke. 

The sun will rise every morning, but you will not. 

JACAERYS USED TO LOVE WATER.

He is kin of salt and sea; in one way or another - and the ocean, a soft presence, some secret rebirth. In youth, it held him like he was its own - wading, throwing stones, floating on lazy afternoons. Sailing with his father, slipping on the quarterdeck, diving into the captain’s quarters under rough seas. 

Jacaerys stares down at the water that surrounds him: Things are no longer what they used to be.

The bathwater is warm - his skin, pinked by the heat as tendrils of steam rise, a handmaid lifting his arm to scrub underneath his nails. The bath is full; he stares helplessly upon the ripples that undulate over the surface, eyes harrowed by his own reflection. A man he does not recognize. 

And a blink, then the face that stares back is so similar to his own; carved of the same bedrock stone, birthed of the same love, kissed by the same gods. Not himself, but one who knows him just as well, as close as one… a brother. Panic, a flash of jaws larger than the moon - pain, the wail of a lifelong companion, swallowed by a beast. A freefall, wind in ears. The cold, tumultuous sea, swallowing yelps, gasps, struggling to stay upright amidst screams for mother, for brother. Then, hair; not his own, nor his brother’s, but a reflection upon the refracted waves, a scream warbled as water fills sweet, kind lungs. The reflection of the one who knew him more than he knew himself - a smile, a gasp of pain. Legs, thrashing against currents, littered with arrows and tangled by a thick riding dress; skirts heavy, riding armor dragging to depths as hands grasp fruitlessly at a splintered castaway of shipwreck. 

This life; merely borrowed time from the Stranger. 

His hands tremble under the soft grasp of the houseworker; he ignores the looks of concern, sliding back until he is nearly submerged, letting the water flood his senses. This life - bright skies that leak through the curtains he continuously draws closed - soaked and numb, deafening silence as water trickles into his ear canals, an urge to breathe though he is submerged nearly to the line of lashes that weep from below his eyes. A voice asks meekly if he’ll be breaking his fast in his chambers this morning. He does not hear himself respond.

A rippled noise as his hand slides back into the water, the handmaids rising with worried looks before bowing, exiting to give the prince his privacy. He is left alone, isolated, small. Tired.

Is this what it was like? 

The cold, empty silence that followed your fall, bones splitting at the surface, water swallowing you, meeting with the same cruel depths that somewhere still tether Luke’s body to a watery grave.

Do wait up for me, my love… Your voice suffocates him. His throat tightens, head thumping against the back of the tub, tilting his head back to suck in a watery, ragged gasp, eyes screwing shut. Hot tears upon his cheeks. I heard they’re preparing lamb roast this evening, you’d told him as you’d straightened the clasp of his cloak. Such a sweet observation - his favorite of the meals the cooks oft prepared. Your bravery - a promise, a resolute promise. 

You’re ill, Jacaerys, you’d reminded him when he suggested once more he should come with you. You must rest. His worry was not easily concealed; yet you, with a smile so graceful it lit up the dragonmont; you, knowing him as familiar as your own reflection; you, brushing his hair away from his cheeks, poking his nose. -But do wait up for me, my love, and we can share dinner. I heard they’re preparing lamb roast this evening. 

He’d sighed then, worry lacing his heart as he roved his hands over your hips - for the last time. Your voice was so sweet, playful. I'll be fine, Jace. Don’t you trust me? 

A question asked rhetorically; yet he’d nodded, pressing a kiss to your hairline, straightening the riding armor over your dress, murmuring into your skin. I trust you with my entire being - with my life, and every life after. 

Your breath, shuttering as you tilted your head up, brushing your lips against his, whispering: And you, with mine. 

But the lamb roast went cold in the kitchen that evening. You did not return. A raven, broken whispers, his mother with unshed tears, choking as she grasped his shoulders, cradled his head - whispering: I’m so sorry, my sweet boy. 

The tears ripple into the bathwater. 

Jacaerys drifts, heart numb; harsh waves, sharp laughter, whispered kisses.

LIGHT IS DILUTED.

These days, the sun beats upon the castle; scarce clouds that begin to grow and cluster upon the shoreline, rumbling as they begin the slow descent upon the island. 

The scent of pine lingers in his nose; a sharp break from the salty air of coast, Aegon’s Garden is cloistered with tall trees, swaying in the breeze. The light that filters through the needles high above flickers in his vision; dappled shadows spreading across the path, crawling in a slow lumber towards the end of the garden.

He can feel you here, more than most places. 

The soft breeze in the wind, a fleeting touch of your nose against his neck. The trickling water of a stream nearby, crawling its way towards the sea - the bubble of your laughter between sheets, his fingers tickling your side gently, your hands pushing him away and then pulling him close. 

Those perfumed oils. gentle, sweet dahlia petals - lingering upon his clothing, upon his face after you'd pressed a kiss to his cheek. The call of gulls in the distance, the ones that'd flee when you and Jace, wild and yelling in joy upon Vermax's back, gave chase across the glassy refraction of the sea. Quiet afternoons under the pines, his head in your lap - he'd read you the history of house targaryen; you'd thread your fingers through his hair, and hum his favorite song.

Here, near the Dragon's Tail - where he taught you to weave wild grassroots and flowers together, and make a crown. You'd worn yours to supper proudly one evening, coaxing a grin from his mother and uncle alike when you'd placed the crown, wilting and too large, unto Joffrey's little head.

His steps are heavy; boots crunch softly on gravel as the pines sway, their needles whistling in the breeze. A sparse raindrop upon his shoulder.  

Silence passes until he's carried himself much too far - a tightness in his chest, breath coming in quicker as he nears the corner of the garden.

The intention was to turn around; though lost in the emptiness of his mind, watching a fat bumbling bee struggle to float its way past him, recalling when you'd helped Luke mend his split knee after tumbling from the low-lumbering branch of the tree near the Sept - Jacaerys’ steps slow, then stop altogether as the path bends and returns from whence it began. 

He told Baela he would not venture this far; though she told him it would be good - even offered to accompany him. The taste of his lip between his teeth has grown metallic as he stares ahead, eyes burning, heart stopped. 

Beauty is never consolatory, you’d told him once. He stares, heart pinched - a plethora of flowers - and there, carved in stone, fresh. 

His vision swims, taking a staggering step forward. The bush of forget-me-nots - vibrant, full of life - a soft, wistful blue, so matching the very shade that his brother oft favored. The flowers have grown in the months, spreading delicate beauty - indeed, not consolatory - and curling around the name: Lucerys Velaryon. 

And there, just beside them, white blossoms of dahlia. Your name.

His knees buckle. 

The ground welcomes the brunt of his weight upon his knees, trembling as he gasps - buds have just begun to open - white, bleeding with a deep red, leaking through and bursting sharply against the forget-me-nots. A new memorial grave. 

The buds flourish under the broken sunlight, even as light rain begins to kiss over the stones, sending heavenly tears over your name, over Luke’s. 

A glance upwards; some self-comfort, a seek for the dragons which circle the sky - the sunlight is gapped between the trees, swaying as rain falls from invisible clouds. Rainshine, you used to call it: Rainshine, Jace - You’d laugh, tugging him outside onto the ramparts, twisting the two of you in some lazy waltz through rain, smiling up at him, sunshine in your eyes, in your hair, in his heart. 

Tears fall from his aching eyes, though he is unsure if they’d begun when he entered the garden or just now, as he’s crumpled to his knees. A leaf falls, fluttering to land on the path beside him, orange and yellowed from the liquidation of summer. 

He stares in disbelief at the forgotten frond, settling itself onto the pavement, so ready to be trampled, discarded, destroyed. Some sick cycle; a long season through, fruit rotting unpicked, sunshine and days of warmth melting fresh and revealing upturned decomposition of below. Summer is ending.  

The smell of earth, of ocean; the sweet sick of flowers, once so lovely, now nauseating. It hits him within the chest: this summer cannot end - you are still here. His heart, suffocated as he stares, hands beginning to shake. 

Fingernails cake with dirt, grasping at the soft earth that lies before him; the heavy smell has begun to take over, a thick, lingering sweetness that has turned bitter in his mouth, rotting dahlias festering in the late heat of summer, soon to freeze and wilt in the cold of winter coming. 

“No,” His voice is hoarse. His head shakes, palms to the ground, reaching for whatever part of you remains in this cold earth. The sound of the ocean, mocking; The rattle of a hoarse whimper, tears hot and lethal against the apple of his cheeks, “Don’t go.” 

His words remain empty, heard only by the flowers blooming in the sorrow of the garden, forgotten by ears long since gone. “Don’t make me, please,” He sobs, now - eyes squeeze, tears fertilizing the deep roots of your flowers, “Please, don’t make me leave you.” He whispers, voice cracked and trembling with emotion. Don't make me leave you in the decay of summer. 

He remains, miserably curled between your memorial and his brother’s, pillowed by his hands as though he is once again a boy; head bowed, breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Pine, earth, flowers - it is overwhelming, so thick he might choke on it. A blurry glimpse against the rain, against the hues of white, of red, of blue - the light which filters down upon him, a mockery - bright, much too alive in the garden of death. 

Jacaerys’ head tilts back as he sucks in a gasp, tears leaking hot over his red cheeks, a dizzying wave of vertigo spinning the world around him - stumbling backwards down an endless staircase, reaching for the cold, lifeless hands which once held him so lovingly.

The leaf finds itself in his hands - a blurry hole through it, tiny, from the jaws of some insect; eaten through, a skeleton of summer. 

There is something etched into it by the hands of nature; though he swears it almost spells your name. It is crushed with the weight of his fingers, disintegrating into the stream that trickles just beyond the flowerbeds, pulled along, towards the deep blue of endless sea to watch over you and Lucerys' forgotten graves.

Jacaerys curls in on himself, wracked with quiet sobs that dwindle into a tranquil stare at the blotches of sunlight through the trees; he should have let Baela come, or perhaps sought the company of his mother - the garden is awfully empty, the world awfully empty - in such a large absence. 

His fingers trail shakily over the curved letters of your name, carved into the stone as he stares, tears ceaselessly leaking, chest hiccuping. “P-please,” He whispers again against the straining pain in his chest, lips brushing the earth, trying to recall the sound of your voice, the feeling of your lips. The twisting days, shortening with the fall of each eve; soon, he will have to face winter, and you will be left in summer. His tears are salted; they sting over his lips as he whispers against the stone of your name. “Please, I don't want to. Don’t let me leave you.” 

Whispers in the wind that almost sound like you, calling his name. But there is no answer.

Leaves rustle in the breeze, the sunlight dapples across his body, the birds sing, the flowers bloom.

The world continues to move on without you.

taglist: @bitchydragonparadisee @lukehughes43 @rhea-ripley @jottositto @chloe-petrichors @elaena-aerrin @smurfelle @greenvita @alyssa-dayne @uhnanix and also to @cregan-starks ily. @dipperscavern pls do not revoke my writing skills. also i need that shotgun pls and thx

[honestsycrets]

Amor y Respeto I: Mi Alma || [Miguel O’Hara x Latina!Reader]

Chapter II: Corazón

❛ pairing | Miguel O’Hara x FB!Reader, platonic Hobie x Reader

❛ type | oneshot

❛ summary | the moment you want a sign of love from Miguel is the moment that your relationship is fucked. 

❛ tags | fuckbuddies, a very latinx piece, jealousy, jealous Miguel O’Hara, a sparse hobie appearance, spidey!reader, latina!reader, no translations of the spanish included, gif credit to the original owner, nsfw, female reader, some mention of blood and wounds, some creative liberties, slight spoilers.

❛ sy’s notes | not my usual fanfare and i’m a little rusty but miguel hit me straight in my heart. i consciously omitted spanish translations in this work. consistent pet names include mi alma (my soul) & muñeca (doll). this is not my usual fandom and i may have missed some fandom nuances, so i apologize in advance for creative liberties. lastly, emotions impact the reader’s healing capabilities, hope that's clear enough. thank you @lisinfleur​ and @ivarsrideordie​ for your help. i’ll be dropping an ivar fic soon, see you then!

In your cultura, disrespect was unacceptable. 

You knew it. Your lover knew you knew it: but for you, there was something greater than respect. Amor. If he knew that you knew about her little escapade, oh, it would be unforgivable. It undercut the very foundation of what he did at HQ. But even between lovers, where the time you spent was fleeting and unstable, there were things you could not share. Besides... how would he know? 

The day had been long. Your body ached with the dizzying speed of patrols past the vine-covered high-rise apartments of your beautiful city. Your room was stuffy with the tropical air struggling against humidity. With dried blood on your skin, the perfect remedy was a shower. Its warmth soothed your aching muscles after a long day. You found your mind wandering to problems that didn’t immediately demand a solution. How you’d avoid cotton mouth the next time you saw him. Sooner than you thought.

The shower door whizzed aside, plumes of steam fading into the cool air. “Shit!” you shouted, reaching to cover your body. Miguel bent his head as he stepped into your cramped shower and cupped the frame. He shut the shower door. Did he already know? You nipped your lower lip raw and the taste of blood turned your tastebuds. Somehow, you knew that he hadn’t slipped off from HQ just to have you. Not tonight. He had that glazed-over look in his sharp eyes, considering you the same way he might consider anyone else. 

 “Miguel?” you fluttered your lashes at him which winked off plump droplets of water. “Mi alma, que paso?” 

“Did you know?” 

You reached out to turn the knob of the water off. It creaked to a stop. Despite tracing the droplets that coasted down your curves, he watched you with otherwise uninterested eyes. When you failed to respond, he stomped closer, kicking up the water that swirled under your bare feet.

“Did you know?” His fist pounded the side of the shower wall. Your heart leapt into your chest where it fluttered painfully, encased in your chest. Miguel bared his angular teeth at you. Teeth that usually marred your neck with possessive bites, loving kisses, and teasing scrapes. He never bared them at you like this. It was always a possibility, never the reality.

You met his eyes. The certainty you had moments earlier that oh, he wouldn’t find out, was gone. Of course, he found out. Your Miguel always found out. With that dead, blank expression, you knew the gravity of your situation. 

“Of course, I knew.” His chest swelled with forceful inhalation of air as you spoke. “But Gwen… I, they’re only kids. Kids who--” 

“Kids? They are not just kids. Coño, I’d expect this of them,” he prompted your name and took a step forward. You took one back. Then another, knocking your back into the shower walls. You were like a small bird in an even smaller cage. Nowhere to run and still, he wasn’t about to give you the luxury of personal space. You were pinned between his firm chest and the two stony walls against your back. His voice lowered dangerously low, barely a murmur against the shell of your ear. “But you? You know what’s at risk.” 

“They love--” 

“Y que?” he snapped your name out again. “Tell me, when those kids destroy thousands of lives, what does that change? Have you ever stopped to think of that? Of the lives this will ruin?” 

“I just... wanted them happy. If even for an instant.” You hung your head. He set his clawed hand to the side of your head, combing through the stringy strands of your hair down with a false care that you wanted to believe in. But it was entangled in the strings of his manipulation. “Of course, you have, muñequita.” 

“Then can’t they--” His hand balled up into a fist and careened with the wall behind you. Your head snapped away as his claws unfurled and released crumbling bits of the wall by your naked toes. You’d have to clean that up-- later. You took a deep breath and exhaled the frustration that packed away in your belly. “Sabes qué? I am sorry that love isn’t enough for you, I am sorry that I have never been enough for you.” 

“No. No puedo con esto,” he looked down at you. As he leaned in, his forearm above your head supported his body weight. “Muñeca, por favor. This isn’t about us.” 

“Why can’t it be?” 

“You can’t be serious.” 

“I just want to be with you, but you won’t let me in,” you reached out. The soft pads of your fingertips hovered by his sharp jawline eased past his ear and into his ruffled hair. For a second, brief as it were, his eyes softened. He leaned into the touch. You had your window. “Why won’t you let me in?”

Whether or not he was past the anger, the disrespect, his thick arms wound around the small of your waist. In some bid to bring you back to your senses-- to him, he set his forehead against your own, dwelling in the soft scent of your floral soap that filled his nose. You tilted your head, capturing his lips in a kiss. His body became as sturdy: unmoving and guarded. 

“I can’t give you what you need.” He reached back to remove your hands from his hair and with care settled them back on your moist chest. As he made his way out of your bathroom, his warning echoed through your mind. “Stay out of my way.”

Miguel’s love was unstable. Affection, not love. If you were honest with yourself, you would admit that you always knew it was bound to fail. You were lucky for what time you had with him. It made subsequent missions all the harder, wrapped up in this innate desire to be loved by a man who allowed himself to be loved by none. Without his affection, HQ felt barren. Its many corridors held no life, no love, and no prospect of a better future. Yet, for Miguel, there you were. Your ballet flats tapped furiously alongside the ringing stomps of your partner’s steel-toed boots.

“Ay bendito, this isn’t healing,” you dabbed your fingers in the blood at your shoulder, storming past a sea of red and blue that parted for the pair of you. Your neck was oozing-- well, not oozing so much as soaking your outfit. The mission could have gone better. Sometimes your mind wandered at the worst of times. It didn’t matter, not now. It was done, he would be happy, and it would be enough for today. All that you did you did for him-- and he knew it.

“Your man won’t be happy about that,” Hobie cut through the crowd while walking backward. He made it look so easy. Conviction, you guessed, made life much easier. 

“No,” you took the end of your silky rebozo and held it to your shoulder. “He only cares about results. We have good results. What does he have to be angry about? He has everything he wants.” 

“Hm.” Hobie hummed, span around, and leaned over your shoulder. He was on your tail with his aggravatingly long legs no matter how quickly you walked.

“Hobie, por dios.” 

“He broke up with you, didn’e?” 

You didn’t have to answer him. You didn’t even need to talk to him. You could just keep walking and leave it to his imagination. Yet, your face faltered. The perceptive man he was, Hobie twisted in front of your path. He leaned his hips back and sank his face inches apart from yours. Hobie quirked a smile in his lazy eyes and an adorable lip pout. Your eye centered on his piercing to avert your focus from his words. 

“Yeah,” he answered his own question. “Bet he did.” 

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” you swerved around him.

“Maybe.” Hobie shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and sped after you. “But I’m with you.” 

“How sweet.” 

You knew your Miguel would be there: on that stupid platform, staring at multiple screens, at a lost life, departed from his reality in any other capacity but maintaining the happiness of others. Well, others that weren’t like you. You found him in that very same position when you pressed into his lab. 

“What is it now?” 

“We’ve taken care of it-- Hobie and I.”  

“Good,” came his dry response. “Is that all?”

“Not in the mood to talk to your girl, eh?” Hobie clicked, throwing his arm over your shoulder: not out of care, or friendship, but spite. No matter the institution, Hobie always seemed to harbor harsh feelings for those in charge. If it meant pissing him off a little, rattling up the flow of HQ, Hobie was always an eager volunteer. Hobie turned his lips to your ear and prompted your name, “C’mon, leave him. Let's go get a drinky drink.” 

You bit out a cry at the pressure on your neck, the damn thing wasn’t healing nearly as fast as it needed to be. You blamed the bundles of anxiety that rattled up emotions low in your belly. It was still open, soaking Hobie too. He didn’t mind a little blood on his shorn uniform. Good for the image, and all that.

“That hurt, Hobie!” 

Miguel threw a glance over his shoulder. Just a moment, but enough to spot something else that agitated him. Your normally white outfit, fluttery and light, splattered with the blood that painted your red rebozo a little redder. Or maybe it was Hobie’s lips on your ear, making remarks about beer-- or whiskey-- or-- Molotov--

“Get off,” Miguel pounced down from his kingly stoop and flicked Hobie’s wrist. He snaked his wrist away, shoving his palms back into his pants. You threw him a look knowing that it was not because Miguel told him to but because he felt like it. The devil’s advocate that he was. Miguel unraveled the rebozo from your neck. His hand grasped your chin and angled it one way, then the other, rumbling in clear agitation “You’re wounded.” 

“Déjame quieta. Don’t touch me.” 

“And you?” Miguel rocked back on his heels, setting his well-corded arms on his hips. Then, he angled his body toward Hobie. “Where were you?” 

Hobie lifted his pierced eyebrow. “He serious?” 

“I can handle myself.” 

“Can you? And you-- why are you still here?” Though Miguel asked the question, it was a statement. Hobie held his palms up, fluttering his fingers in mockery. You watched Miguel run his fingers down the bloody rebozo, counting its bloodied inches.  

“Vente conmigo.” He leaned into your ear. The trill of his voice danced down your spine, low and husky. Your mind wandered to the many nights he whispered just the same in your ear. You suppressed the shiver, your heartbeat trembling so violently you were sure you could hear its pathetic thumping, nearly a cry. It hadn’t been long but... you missed this.

“You told me to stay out of your way. I am staying out of your way. Give me--”

“I won’t ask again. Either you come or I’ll make you.” That was it then. A flash of disbelief snapped across your face. The gall of this man. Even though he told you to stay out of the way, he demanded that you leave the lab with him? You caught Hobie perking up to look your way with shiny curious eyes. He pointed to his chest and then yours, suggesting… something you’d ignore. Hobie slipped out a smug hum.

“I’ll catch up with you later, Hobie.”

There were no good alternatives. You knew he would make good on his threat. Not that you particularly would want to fight him anyway. Whether it was respect or obligation, you ran after your Miguel, who already walked away. You snatched the rebozo from his waiting hand, suspended in the air.

Yes, your life was a delicate balance between love and respect. You weren’t sure which of those guided you back to Miguel’s dimly lit room. Only that as you sat on his bed, your once-was lover was behind you. His fingers worked swiftly on your neck, furiously tugging at your sore neck with what felt like a needle. No point complaining. It would eventually end. You could go find the boys. They could rail you about your dating choices as they always did. 

“Lyla will find you another backup partner,” he broke the silence. You rathered he didn’t operate in this limbo of false intimacy. Your lips parted into a sigh rife with agitation. The drawback of fucking your boss was this, you supposed. He controlled your life.

“No, she won’t. I like working with Hobie. I want him.” 

Miguel paused short of dipping the needle back into your skin. “What do you mean-- you want him?” 

“What does it sound like? I like working with Hobie. I trust Hobie. So I want Hobie by my side.” You slapped your lacey thighs and turned to gaze into those familiar eyes. “Así que, no, I do not need another backup. I don’t need you controlling every inch of my work life. I need you to hurry up.” 

“Muñeca. If you’re emotional, you’ll heal slower.” 

“Do not call me that,” you jumped from his lush bed. Your neck squealed for you to stop and let him fix what was clearly broken with the slack thread that connected your body to his. Oh, and what a metaphor it felt like. Your life was sewn together by a man who held all the strings in his hands. “You don’t get to call me that. Not anymore. You made it clear how little you feel about me-- and my feelings.” 

He lifted his eyes to yours. A long, slow look. The sort of look that made you question it all. As if the things you said weren’t really from your lips, no matter how sure you were of them.  You broke the exchange first and grasped the long strand embedded deep in your neck. 

“Your feelings,” he held out his hand and tugged the line, “tend to get in the way of what needs to be done.” 

Startled, you looked down at his open palm. You slipped your smaller fingers into the middle of his palm and sat back on the bed. He slid behind you, pressing his core against your backside-- because that was completely necessary. With soft care, he shifted your hair over the opposing shoulder and continued his work. 

“Apart from that, you shouldn’t have gone on that mission. You were distracted. If you weren’t so emotional,” Miguel murmured. “We wouldn’t be here.”

If you weren’t emotional? You screwed your eyebrows together in a pathetic attempt to ignore what he just said. To ignore the way that he demeaned the fuel of your abilities, what guided you through this traumatic thing called life. Meanwhile, Miguel functioned on minimal emotion-- the suppression of what he’d lost by protecting what he was. 

“It’s your fault I was distracted in the first place.” 

“You should be able to control your own feelings.”

“Fine. Apúrate. I’ll get out of your way.” 

Miguel snapped the healing aid thread and ran his clawed fingertips across the long streaks on your neck and shoulder. It was mere moments that he lingered there circling your neck. As your breathing evened out, you felt your body pull together fibrous strands of tissue and heal. Yet, you couldn’t care. 

“Done.” Miguel refused to address your gaze but opted to draw your top back into place to over your breasts. You stood and secured the buttons of your halter top behind your neck. That was it. You’d return to your duties, healed half by your emotions and half by Miguel. You would need to learn to ignore the love you had for him. One day, all this would be well. Miguel rolled up the excess thread around his reel.

Fine. If he was going to ignore you--

“Do you think,” you paused long enough to debate your words. Enough for Miguel to glance up with his stoic red eyes and lift an eyebrow at you. It irritated you how unemotional and consistently unbothered he could be when you stood there just the opposite. Always desperate for a sign of his feelings. “Hobie wants to fuck?” 

There were some lines you should never cross. While you would never actually fuck your partner, the mere mention of the thought ever crossing your mind was one step too far. It was terribly disrespectful. Miguel’s reel plopped onto the floor and rolled short of your feet.

You slid your palms over your hips before hooking at the bend in your waist. His gaze focused on the glide of your hands trailing slowly down your sides. Sides that he often snatched in the dead of night after a warm shower. Or that he’d cling to during lovemaking. Your following words caused him to lurch off the bed. “Qué piensas? He might still be in HQ, no?” 

“What,” His hand fit along your neck like a tight collar. The next moment, pain radiated from your skull and blurred your vision. The pain licked flames of excitement to life in your belly. A gasp slipped from your lips. Instead of shock, your cry was tinged with delight. With his wild brown hair slumping forward over his scarlet eyes, he was more beautiful than ever. His claws squeezed your neck, jerking and slamming your head once more. His breath tickled your cheek. “What did you say?” 

Of course, he couldn’t help himself: the control freak. He was a genius. You knew he knew it was bait. He had to. But your looming threat was enough for him to take the risk. Your lips curled, laughing your words rather flippantly. “I said-- do you think Hobie wants to fuck?”

You eviscerated his already thin patience. The searing pain of his fangs piercing your battered neck seared all thoughts of Hobie from your mind. Your hands choked out a pitiful cry. “Miguel, Miguel, Miguel-- calma.”

The familiar burn of his frantic biting, his violent ownership of your body, made your body slick. He lifted your hips onto his, legs dangling over his slim thighs. Crunched up against his massive body, you felt small but as if you were the focus of his world. Just how you loved to feel when you were encased in his arms.

“You think he could fuck you like I can?” His gravelly voice rumbled. His face pinched tight, daring your response. “That you can replace me— so easily?”

No, the answer was a resounding no. But he didn’t need to know that. If Miguel thought he could play games with you, you’d play games with him. The last forty-eight hours had been a blur of his rejection. It was only fair that Miguel felt the same.

Blood seeped down from your neck, a feeling you were accustomed to today. On the other hand, you weren’t accustomed to how he tore into your uniform as if it were as offensive as your harsh words. You calmly noted that you were glad to have multiple: a consequence of doing this work too long. 

That was it. You slid your hands up his forearms, around his firm biceps, to his broad shoulders. There you rested your arms, knocking your foreheads gently together. Past the rage, you recognized the slightest hint of fear in his eyes. The promise that you were lying. For security under another name. You refused to give it to him: he never gave it to you.

“He is Spiderman, isn’t he?” 

He shifted the pad of his finger between your lips. Your tongue slid over his thumb, crooked in your mouth to suppress any more words that he may regret hearing or that you may regret saying. 

“He may be,” Miguel rasped. His lips quirked into a wicked grin. With Miguel’s sudden sharpness, you weren’t expecting to see his smile. You welcomed it, a rare delight that you found yourself loathing the more he spoke. “But you’re mine.” 

His. The inklings of fear you previously spotted in the depth of Miguel’s eyes seemed to weaken, sliding his thumb from your lips, rolling past your nipple, and the muscles of your stomach. He slid past your vulva, trailing with expert care along your slit. It was barely a touch if even a graze. Words failed to form. They were a thick bolus in your throat, congealed and thick.

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “I thought so.” 

Your eyes trailed Miguel’s strong jawline and ambled up toward his lips. Your gaze lingered there as his fingers slipped between your lips, finding your cunt soft and wet. His eyes flickered toward your shy gaze and danced his lips against yours by virtue of his words. “It doesn’t seem like you’re that interested in finding him.”

“How would you know?” you cried out when one of his clawed fingers dipped inside your body. Your hips jerked onto his hand to seek out more of him. Your traitorous, awful body. It wasn’t comfortable when he scratched you while stroking your velvety inner walls. But you always needed more of his touch.

“Oh,” Miguel hummed. He bent close-- your eyes now focused on his high cheekbones. You couldn’t look him in the eyes and know that he knew how weak you were for him. “I know. It’s the way you look at me.” 

“As if--” You dropped your eyes, reveling in the pressure of his prodding fingers, the delight in having him here, with you, once again. It shouldn’t have felt as intimate, as comforting as it did, but it did. His fingers withdrew, pleased with his work. “You know I can give you what you need.” 

“You said you couldn’t,” Miguel slipped his fingers into your mouth: sweet and sour with your own excitement and the scratches of blood. His hands worked at the waist as you secured yourself on the wall with your hands, knowing what was next-- and expecting it. 

“I lied.” he drawled out, a long hum. He spat on his hand and rubbed himself as you watched, anticipating the soft prod of his cock’s head at your entrance. It hadn’t been long. Yet, as he buried himself in the warmth of your body, you inhaled a wealth of air into your chest, exhaling it in soft shudders. Perhaps it was the fear of never having this again. 

His large hands shifted underneath your ass and pinned you square against the wall. His claws drew blood to the surface of superficial cuts. Your hands snapped to his shoulders and clung onto him for some security. You found no rest between the wall chafing your back and Miguel’s long, pointed strokes into your body. Your body burned with the pull of his dick dragging in and out of your cunt, fighting to keep him inside with every squeeze and pull. He wasn’t lying, you knew. But it didn’t matter. Not when you were his complete and utter focus. 

Miguel let a word of praise slip free as he ground into you. With a wall of muscle before you and the sturdy wall behind, breathing was slight and hard to come by. It had to be what he wanted-- to make you focus on him and him alone. It’s what you deserved after antagonizing the man. Your hands found his hair, knotting your fingers in it, and accepting the ferocity of his deep, then shallow strokes into your core. Your eyes flitted shut as he bottomed out, grinding his hips in tight circles. As you came, your body furiously clenched onto his cock, slowing his sweeping thrusts. 

You craved it: the moment of Miguel’s weakness. Your body urged out his orgasm with a noise tempered by pleasure and annoyance. Your cunt milking earned you a particularly firm slam of his hips. Miguel would drag you down to take it all. He spilled into you with a deliciously unique warmth, grinding his hips until spent. His forehead rested on the crook of your neck. In place of another hard bite, he gently kissed your collarbone and throat. After he finished, he settled you down onto the floor. But your legs were sloppy, weak shaky things. Miguel snatched your hand as you swayed to keep yourself upright. 

“I have to go,” you held his hand begrudgingly for support. Then bent down to pick up strips of your clothes. Yet another victim of your relationship with him. You would have to... mend this. Somehow. Probably not. “They’re expecting me--” 

“Muñeca,”

“Cálmate, Miguel. You know I’m not going to fuck him,” you swiped the coursing fluids down your thigh. You dragged your hand down Miguel’s firm chest and danced your finger up his chest to flip up his chin. He glanced down, puffing air from his nostrils in protest. His eyes rolled, oh so slightly. “He’s not my type. I like them big, mm?”

“You would if he was?” he bristled.

“I never said that.” You said. Despite this fact, certain needs needed to be met. Ones that if he didn’t fill, someone else would. You both knew this. Your work was long and stressful and done in the name of the man who was before you. If for nothing but that love, you knew you would keep going. You believed in Miguel: his choices and his heart. 

“You didn’t need to.” 

“Mi alma--” you stopped, waving your hand at his pet name. “All this is fleeting. I need someone that will meet my needs. To tell me they love me. Can you?” 

He pressed his lips together and stewed on your request. You knew without a question in your mind what that answer was. In the aftermath of sex with Miguel, he was closer to you than ever. And yet, it was impossible to convince him of an actual connection. For him, it was easier to leave you than love you. 

He didn’t need to say it.  

“I know you, Miguel. You didn’t lie. It was the truth,” you slipped your hand from his. Instead, you opted to set a fleeting kiss on the side of his lip. For better or worse, he didn’t reciprocate. Your steps carried you backward. Then, you afforded him a small deprecating smile. “Other than sex, you can’t give me what I need.”

[moonchild9350]

Stray Kids React-Song Lyrics

Summary: Skz reacting to Megan Thee Stallion's song Broke His Heart!

Pairing: OT8 idol Stray Kids x fab reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Genre: smut, suggestive- 18+ MDNI

Warnings: oral sex (f receiving), use of term babygirl, daddy kink, bondage, suggestion of pegging, fingering (f receiving), cum tasting, dirty talk... I think that's it!

Notes: This is the product of an idea that popped up in my mind while in the car listening to Megan Thee Stallion's new song "Broke His Heart!" Thought it would be a drabble but turned to a fic lol. Lightly edited so please excuse minor mistakes!

Reblogs, comments, and likes are appreciated at always :) If you'd like to be apart of my taglist, let me know! (age must be in bio or pinned). Check out my masterlist!

Please do not copy, translate, modify, use, or repost this work elsewhere without my permission ©moonchild9350 (2024)

Bangchan Love of my life❣️ Dick me down, slut me out, put it in my ribs Grab my throat and tie up my wrists

He almost spit out his coffee, when he saw your message. He was at the studio with Jisung and Changbin, working with Minho on his part of a song.

“you ok hung?” Changbin asked, concern in his eyes.

“Yep, uh huh, everything’s fine,” Chan replied, blush creeping up his cheeks. You were a menace sending him that. You knew he would have a busy day at work today, he knows you know because he told you this morning, as he pressed a kiss to your lips in goodbye. Clearly, you didn’t get the message and that wouldn’t fly, especially since you embarrassed him in front of the kids.

He picked up his phone to respond to you, trying to keep his face as calm and nonchalant as possible.

Love of my life❣️ What are you doing baby girl, you know daddy’s busy at work.

He didn't have to wait long for your reply, his phone dinging not a second later.

Love of my life❣️ Need you daddy, pussy needs you too. Want you to do what the song says please?

Chan shifted in his seat, his cock twitching at your pleas. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself down. He never live it down if the others saw he was sporting a boner. Oh he was going to dick you down all right. Seems like it was time to teach his baby girl a lesson.

Love of my life❣️ Oh daddy will do anything you ask baby girl U better be ready for when daddy gets home

He was going to have fun with you once he got off, you just had no idea.

Lee Know You both were at a party of a mutual friend. It was packed, everyone lost in the flow of music. You were dancing with Minho, your bodies swaying together. Minho had a firm grip on your waist, your arms were locked around his neck, twirling your fingers in his hair. You were lost in the presence of each other, just the two of you in your own little world.

The song changed to Megan thee stallion, the beat getting faster, along with your movements against Minho. He pulled you closer, his breath hot on your neck as he pressed a kiss against your pulse point. You let out a sigh your favorite part of the song about to come on. Leaning closer to Minho’s ear you whispered the lyrics "dick me down, slut me out, put it in my ribs. Grab my throat and tie up my wrists."

You felt Minho grab your waist harder before sliding his hands down to your ass. He squeezed the flesh causing you to groan. You could feel his cock hardening, filling out his skinny jeans he was wearing. Sneaking a hand down, you palmed his cock, Minho gasping in your ears. He leaned his head back and met his lips with yours, his tongue sliding against yours. He nipped at your bottom lip, and said the words you’d been waiting to hear all night.

“Let’s get out of here kitten, so I can dick you down and treat my kitten how she should be treated.”

Changbin “You can do it. My baby’s got this! 3 more reps!”

You and Changbin were at the gym. You were finishing up your set of bench presses, Changbin was spotting you and being you hype man. Letting out a grunt, you finished your last rep before Changbin helped you rack the weights. You got up and grabbed some water, smiling at your boyfriend. He went to sit down to start his reps, when the song playing on the speakers changed.

Your eyes lit up and you started dancing, as the song playing was your favorite. Changbin just sat and watched you, a smile on his face, always happy to see you happy. But then you gave him a look before sauntering over to him. You bent over, presenting your ass to him, leaving nothing to the imagination as your tight workout leggings hugged every part of your hips and legs. You wiggled your ass for him as the lyrics “dick me down, slut me out, put it in my ribs. Grab my throat and tie up my wrists" played.

Changbin grabbed your ass as it jiggled, giving your left cheek a smack. He quickly pulled your leggings and panties down, spreading your cheeks apart before diving into your pussy. He ate you out like a man starved, as you continued to wiggle your ass for him, your pussy clenching over nothing from the vibrations from his moans. He fucked your walls with his tongue, as he brought his fingers down to rub your clit in tight circles. You felt your high approaching, fucking yourself on his tongue and face. As the next part of the song blared, “I’ma buss it on his face, leave it on his lips,” you let out a loud moan as you hit your release, your arousal drenching Changbin’s face.

You continued to grind on his face, riding out your high as he licked up every drop of your arousal. Changbin leaned back and pulled your panties and leggings back up before standing up and spinning you around to face him. You watched as he licked his fingers clean. Without saying another word, he grabbed his bag and yours, and grabbing your hand pulled you after him, making his way back to your shared apartment. It was only once you both made it to the elevator when he said, “Don’t worry bunny, I’ll tie you up real good and fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk.”

Smirking at your boyfriend, you hoped that what he said was not a threat but a promise.

Hyunjin Hyunjin giggled as he watched you swat at a bee, your face scrunched up in disdain at the little insect. You waved your hand one more time, hoping the bee would decide to fly away and leave you alone once more with your boyfriend. Hyunjin swatted at the bee himself, helping you out, and finally the little bee flew away to go bother someone else.

You sighed in relief before swatting at your boyfriend. “Why’d you laugh, that was scary. You know I hate bugs!”

Hyunjin just continued to laugh, tears starting to prickle his eyes. “Babe you just looked so funny and cute, I couldn’t help it!”

You pouted and crossed your arms, looking away from Hyunjin giving him the silent treatment. It didn’t last long though as he came and hugged you from behind, resting his head on your shoulder.

“Forgive me babe?” He whined, pressing soft kisses on your neck and shoulder.

You sighed. You could never stay mad at Hyunjin for long. You grabbed your phone to play some music while Hyunjin continued to hold you close, pressing wet kisses on your shoulder every now and then. You relaxed in his hold as the music drifted through the air. Everything was peaceful and fine before “Broke his Heart” started playing.

As the song went on, you could feel Hyunjin’s shaky breath on your skin. His kisses became longer and wetter, before he bite at your shoulder causing you to moan. He grasped your breast, massaging them in his hands, little sighs leaving your lips with each touch. The lyric “dick me down, slut me out, put it in my ribs. Grab my throat and tie up my wrists,” played out causing Hyunjin to groan out. Thankfully, no one else was around to hear him.

“Hyunjin,” you whined out. You could feel your arousal soak your panties as you imagined Hyunjin pining you down and fucking you hard until you couldn’t walk.

Hyunjin knew exactly what you wanted, as he quickly untangled himself from you and gathered the picnic supplies. He didn’t think he could last until you both got home. The car would have to do. Hopefully no one else is around, but he secretly hoped there would be others present, so they could hear how good he was fucking his girl.

Felix Felix was doing a live, talking about the difference between a fork and a spoon, causing Stays to chuckle and make fun of his confusion. He was having fun, speaking from the heart. Lives with Stays was his favorite after all. Little did he know, you were watching at home, snuggled up in his bed.

He looked so cute and innocent, discussing what he ate for dinner last night and if Stays wanted to watch him do another mukbang one day. You decided to spice things up. Grabbing your phone, you opened the message app and pulling up your chat with Felix. You typed out a little message for your boyfriend, smirking as you pressed send. Setting your phone down, you trained your eyes back on him, watching his expression through the screen.

Felix looked at his phone, noticing a notification from you. He opened up the message

Honey bun Dick me down, slut me out, put it in my ribs. Grab my throat and tie up my wrists.

Felix’s eyes bulged, his pupils enlarging. He looked at the camera before giving a small smile. You knew that smile was for you and that made you giggle with amusement. Before long, your phone dinged, signaling Felix had responded.

Fried chicken🐥 You’re killing me babe. I’ll dick you down, don’t worry Can’t leave my baby needy Get the rope ready, I’ll be home soon

You smiled as you set up and watched him end the live. You knew you had about 20 minutes before he would be home. You gathered the rope, and a towel before stripping down to wait for your love. It would be ok to get a head start…right?

Han You were at Jisung’s dorm, watching tv with him and the boys. Somehow you guys got to talking about music videos and which were the best. You suggested any music video by your favorite artist, besides them of course. Everyone instantly became excited, leading to Chan pulling up YouTube and typing in the artist. He clicked on the first video that popped up, everyone sitting back and listening as the fast beats filled the room.

You noticed Han squirming as the song progressed, a little pout on his face as he listened to the lyrics. You looked down as he brought his hand to rest on your upper thigh, giving it a squeeze. He was hard, cock filling out his sweat pants that he was wearing. He shifted every now and then to get as comfortable as he could. Jisung let out a loud whine when he heard the lyrics “dick me down, slut me out, put it in my ribs. Grab my throat and tie up my wrists” his cock twitching at the prospect.

You grinned and pressed kisses up and down his jaw before capturing his lips in yours, little whimpers leaving his mouth. You withdrew and noticed seven other pairs of eyes on you two. Grinning you grabbed Jisung’s hands before pulling him up.

“Sorry boys but it looks like I need to take care of Sungie.” They all groaned at your statement, getting up and making their way to the door, no one wanting to be present. Jisung blushed, not at the prospect of his members knowing what was about to happen but because he knew he was about to get fucked within an inch of his life by his sweet baby.

Seungmin You were cuddling with Seungmin, arms and legs all tangled up together. He kept making out with you, your lips all red and swollen from the attention. He wanted to get you all nice and pliant for him so he could ruin you. He undressed you slowly, watching as you squirmed at his touch.

He pushed your legs up and out, your lips glistening with your arousal. Taking his fingers, he swiped through your folds, gathering the slick that was pooling there before bringing them to his lips to taste. You moaned as you watched him lick his fingers clean before he started to undress.

You reached out to him, wanting to be close. He grinned at your actions, not giving him but teasing you some more as he flicked your nipple, then rolled the bud between his fingers. You were at your wits end, as he had been teasing you for over an hour now.

You looked Seungmin in the eyes before saying “dick me down, slut me out, put it in my ribs. Grab my throat and tie up my wrists.” Quoting a song you had been listening to earlier in the day. You wanted him to be rough with you today, wanting him to do what was said in the song.

Seungmin raised his eyebrow while looking at you. “Want me to tie you up pup?” He said, leaning down close to your ear. “Want me to choke you while I fuck you hard? Have you screaming under me as I slut you out, huh pup?”

You moaned at his words, wrapping your arms around his neck and canting your hips up to gain some friction against your core.

“That’s my pup,” Seungmin said before grabbing some rope from the bedside table. As he proceeded to tie each wrist to the headboard he said, “Let’s see how much my pup can really take.”

Jeongin Jeongin had been playing video games for most of the day now. You could hear him swear every now and then and yell at whoever he was playing with. You assumed his team was losing, because his voice raised octave by octave within 10 minutes. He had ignored you and that was not ok.

You needed your boyfriend. You just needed to come up with a plan on how to get his attention. You paced the floors, trying to come up with an idea to distract your boyfriend. You had just rounded the corner when you got an idea, making your way immediately to your shared bedroom.

Jeongin did not even notice you there, too caught up in his game. You rummaged through your draws before finding what you were looking for. A lingerie set that he said was his favorite. You fluffed your hair after changing and made your way back to your room and sat on the bed.

Jeongin still didn’t look up. That’s ok thought because you had another trick up your sleeve. You grabbed your phone and turned on some music, picking a song that had just came out a few days ago that you couldn’t stop playing. You turned up the volume, not carrying if his teammates could hear it and walked over to him. You sat in his lap, startling him. He looked you up and down, his eyes wide. You smirked, happy that you were successful at getting his attention.

Jeongin said goodbye to his teammates making up an excuse that he had to feed the cat. You chuckled at that, since it was a lame excuse, as you guys definitely didn’t have a cat.

“Baby, what is this?” He asked, wrapping his arms around you as he eyes your breast all but popping out the top.

“Just needed some attention from you Innie. Missed you all day,” you purred out.

Jeongin clicked his tongue as the lyrics “dick me down, slut me out, put it in my ribs. Grab my throat and tie up my wrists” played. He tightened his hold on you before getting up and walking across the room. He tossed you on the bed, a yelp leaving your mouth.

“You wanted my attention baby? Well now you have it. Don’t cry when I fuck you so hard, you’ll be feeling me for days.”

Taglist: @jehhskz @jeonginsleftcheek @thesilvernight0wl @armystay89 @palindrome969 @slut4hee @ivydoesit23 @amarecerasus

[bloomyeu]

또 다시 밤 (twilight)

pairing: bang chan x female reader

summary: In the aftermath of a heartbreaking breakup, you navigate the haunting memories of your past relationship with Chan, struggling to find peace in a world that feels forever altered.

word count: 3k

warnings: angst, greif, mean!chan, rlly sad. based off of the song heh

a/n: first fic of changst!!!

series masterlist masterlist | requests

Sitting alone in your small apartment, the city’s hum outside barely reaches you through the dimly lit room. Shadows dance on the walls, casting an almost eerie glow that contrasts sharply with the emptiness you feel inside. This space, once vibrant with life and laughter, now feels like a hollow shell of what it used to be. Memories of Chan, your ex, haunt every corner of your mind, weaving through the fabric of your daily routine.

The apartment is a time capsule of happier days. Chan’s side of the bed remains untouched, a testament to the mornings that once began with shared smiles and sleepy conversations. His side of the closet is still lined with his clothes, a stark reminder of the warmth that used to fill the room. The spare toothbrush left in the bathroom drawer and his favorite shampoo still sitting untouched in the shower are small remnants of a life you once shared.

Your first encounter with Chan happened at the convenience store where you worked the late shift. It was always around 2 a.m. when he would come in, his routine a comforting ritual. He’d purchase the same pack of instant ramen, a simple yet endearing habit that quickly became a part of your nightly routine.

“You’re really making a habit out of this, aren’t you? Is there a secret recipe for that ramen you’re not telling me about?”

Chan flashed you a grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Maybe it’s the secret ingredient of sleep deprivation. It keeps me sane while working.”

You laughed, leaning against the counter. “You know, my mom always told me that eating too much ramen would give you cancer.”

Chan raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “Really? And here I thought ramen was the key to eternal youth. Guess I’ll have to rethink my diet.”

“Maybe you’re just immune,” you teased back, enjoying the easy banter.

“Of course, I am. I’m Superman, after all,” Chan joked, striking a playful pose that made you chuckle.

What began as casual exchanges soon evolved into something deeper. Those late-night encounters turned into long conversations, each one drawing you closer. Chan had a knack for turning the mundane into something magical. Your talks about dreams, aspirations, and even the quirks of daily life became the things you cherish most. The simple quiet moments with chan.

“You know, I used to think the stars were just there to look pretty. But now, I think they’re like tiny reminders of how we’re all connected. Like us.”

You looked at him, your heart swelling at his words. “That’s a way to think about it. I sometimes think that that the universe is playing matchmaker, bringing people together for a reason. Kinda like cupid ahaha”

Chan smiled warmly, reaching for your hand. “I’m glad the universe brought us together. Without you, I would probably be dead to my instant ramen fixation. You make every day brighter, even the darkest ones.”

Your relationship with Chan blossomed over shared moments and tender gestures. The nights spent under the stars, discussing dreams and promises, became the highlights of your time together. Chan’s charm and sincerity made every moment special, turning even the mundane into something extraordinary.

Your shared experiences—whether it was exploring new places, cooking meals together, or simply enjoying quiet evenings—deepened your connection. Chan’s laughter was a constant source of joy, and his presence became a comforting constant in your life.

Now, as you sit in the quiet of your apartment, surrounded by the remnants of those joyful days, the contrast between the past and the present is stark. The shadows on the walls, the untouched spaces, and the lingering traces of Chan’s presence are constant reminders of the love you once shared. The city’s hum outside is a distant murmur compared to the echoes of laughter and warmth that still linger in your heart.

As you look around the apartment, the memories of Chan come flooding back—each one a bittersweet reminder of the love that once filled this space. Despite the emptiness, you find solace in the cherished moments and the deep connection you once shared.

Chan was everything to you, your rock, your beacon of hope, your home. But that was before everything had changed.

—

The room is shrouded in an eerie quiet, the shadows of the night dancing on the walls as if mocking the emptiness that lingers. The once-vibrant space now feels like a mausoleum of lost love.

You remember the day everything shifted. Chan’s growing distance had become palpable, an invisible chasm widening between you. It started with small things—missed calls, unanswered texts, and fleeting moments of irritability. Each time you tried to address the growing gap, Chan’s responses were curt and dismissive.

The night the reality of the situation crashed down on you was unforgettable. Chan had come home late, and you were already waiting, your heart heavy with the weight of unspoken words. The tension in the room was suffocating, a prelude to the confrontation you had been dreading.

“Chan, we need to talk,” you said, your voice trembling as you attempted to mask the fear in your heart.

Chan’s face was a mask of exhaustion and frustration. “can it wait? I’m exhausted, i just wanna take a shower and sleep.”

You stepped closer, your voice trembling with a mix of desperation and hurt. “It’s not just about tonight. Its about everything, these past few weeks, the constant ‘I cant talk right now’ excuse, you not responding to my texts, my calls, standing me up multiple times. We’re drifting apart, and it feels like you’re just… slipping away. I’m trying to hold on, but it’s like I’m losing you every day. You aren't even trying”

Chan’s face twisted with anger, his frustration finally spilling over. “Holy Fuck. I’m so sick of your bullshit and your whining. I’m doing everything I can, and it’s never enough for you, is it? You don’t understand how hard I’m working, how much I’m trying to keep everything from falling apart. I have a job, a group to run, I constantly have to be producing, sorry I can't be your little puppy over here to take you out when you feel lonely.”

You recoiled from his harsh words, the sting of his anger cutting deep. “I’m not asking for the world, Chan. I just want to feel like you’re still here with me. Instead, it feels like I’m clinging to a memory of who we used to be.”

Chan’s eyes narrowed, his anger unabated. “Well, maybe if you stopped focusing on what I’m not doing, you’d see that I’m barely keeping it together. Maybe I’m just too exhausted to give you what you want right now!”

The hurt in your eyes was palpable, tears streaming down your face. “So what? You’re just going to give up on us because it’s too hard? I thought we were supposed to face these challenges together, not let them tear us apart.”

Chan’s expression was cold, his voice sharp. “I don’t see how we can fix this if you keep whining for my attention like a fucking dog. Maybe we’re just not meant to be together anymore. I’m done trying to make you understand something you clearly don’t want to. You obviously have an issue with my job and the hours im working, and Its like you want me to quit. You know I can't do that. Honestly i'm sick of you.”

You took a step back, the finality of his words sinking in. “Is this really how you want it to end? Just like that, without even trying to work things out?”

Chan’s face remained hardened, his anger leaving no room for remorse. “I don’t know what more you want from me. I’m at my limit, and I can’t keep pretending everything is fine when it’s not. Maybe we’re both better off apart.”

The tears continued to fall as you struggled to hold back your sobs. “I never wanted this. I wanted to fight for us, to find a way through this mess. But if you’re really done, then maybe this is the end.”

Chan’s silence was deafening, his anger making it clear he had nothing more to say. You took a shuddering breath, feeling the weight of the end pressing down on you. “Goodbye, Chan. I hope you find what you’re looking for, even if it’s not with me.”

As you turned to leave, Chan’s voice cut through the silence, harsh and unyielding. “Good riddance. Maybe this will be easier for both of us.”

You walked away, each step feeling like a heavy blow, the finality of the breakup echoing in the emptiness left behind.

—

The days following the breakup were a blur of desolation. Your grief was a constant companion, a heavy blanket that suffocates you with its weight. 

Meals that were once a joy to prepare and share now feel like a chore. 

You force yourself to eat, but the taste of food has become bland, unappealing. The mere act of eating feels like an intrusion on your sorrow. You find yourself staring at empty plates, unable to summon the appetite that once came so easily. The thought of food is a reminder of how much has changed, of how your life has shifted from one of shared experiences to solitary mourning.

Every corner of your apartment holds a piece of Chan, and it feels like you're living in a shrine to a lost love. You can’t escape the reminders of him—the way the sunlight filters through the blinds just like it used to when he was there, the lingering scent of his cologne that clings to the pillows, the echoes of his laughter that still seem to resonate in the empty space. Each detail is a bitter reminder of what once was, amplifying your sense of loss.

You feel like you're stuck in a time loop, unable to move forward or let go. The reality of Chan’s absence is overwhelming. You catch yourself reaching for your phone to text him, only to be met with the cold reality that he’s no longer there to reply. The reminders of him—his favorite songs, the TV shows you used to watch together—are painful triggers, causing a fresh wave of heartache every time you encounter them.

You miss him more than you thought possible. The emptiness is consuming, leaving you feeling hollow and disconnected from the world. You find yourself drifting through your days, each one a monotonous repetition of the last. The joy you once found in simple pleasures has been replaced by a pervasive sense of longing. You keep replaying moments from your relationship, trying to find some sense of closure or understanding, but all you find is more sorrow.

Despite your best efforts to move on, you feel trapped in the memory of what you once had. The past clings to you like a shadow, refusing to let go. Your attempts to engage with friends or distract yourself with activities only serve as temporary reprieves from the overwhelming sense of loss. The void left by Chan’s departure feels insurmountable, an emotional chasm that you can’t seem to cross.

Each day is a struggle to get out of bed, to face a world that feels alien and unwelcoming. You try to force yourself into a routine, but the energy to do so is lacking. The weight of the breakup is a constant presence, a reminder of the love you lost and the future you once envisioned together.

In the quiet moments, when the distractions of daily life fade away, the grief is most profound. You are left alone with your thoughts, drowning in the memories of happier times and the pain of their absence. The emotional void is both vast and intimate, a deep well of sadness that seems impossible to escape. The world continues to move around you, but you are stuck, trapped in a cycle of longing and regret, unable to move forward or let go.

—

As the days pass, you find yourself subconsciously drawn to activities and places that hold echoes of Chan. It's as if you’re searching for fragments of the past to piece together a semblance of the love that once defined your life. Each activity is both a source of solace and a trigger for the deep-seated sorrow you feel.

You take a walk through the park where you and Chan used to spend lazy Sunday afternoons. The park, once a backdrop for your shared laughter and quiet conversations, now feels eerily silent. The swings creak softly in the breeze, and you can almost hear Chan’s laughter as he pushed you gently. You sit on a bench, tracing patterns in the dirt with your shoe, as you remember how Chan used to playfully tease you about your attempts to draw perfect shapes. The memories come flooding back, sharp and bittersweet, mingling with the tears that you try to hold back.

Back at home, you find yourself scrolling through social media, a habit you had hoped to break. Chan’s presence is everywhere. His photos, tagged by friends and fans, are a constant reminder of what you’ve lost. You see him in candid shots, his radiant smile captured in moments you were once a part of. His posts about new projects and achievements are a painful juxtaposition to your current emotional state. Each notification feels like a stab to your heart, but you can’t bring yourself to unfollow or mute his updates. It’s as if seeing him, even from a distance, is a way to keep a part of him in your life, despite the growing void.

Your dreams are invaded by memories of Chan. At night, when you close your eyes, your mind transports you back to moments of intimacy and joy. You dream of nights spent under the stars, where Chan’s voice would soothe your fears and his presence would banish loneliness. In these dreams, everything is perfect again, and the pain of waking up is almost unbearable. You wake up with tears on your pillow, yearning for the comfort of those fleeting moments that seem so real and yet so unattainable.

You attempt to engage in activities that once brought you joy, hoping to reclaim some sense of normalcy. You bake cookies using the recipe Chan loved. The smell of vanilla and chocolate chips fills your kitchen, but instead of bringing comfort, it amplifies your sense of loss. You remember how Chan used to sneak into the kitchen for a taste before the cookies were even cool, and the kitchen now feels emptier without his playful presence. You bake the cookies anyway, each bite a bittersweet reminder of the past.

Even your favorite cafe, where you used to meet Chan for your morning fix, feels different. You sit in the same corner booth you used to frequent, clutching your coffee cup with a sense of nostalgia. The barista gives you a sympathetic smile, remembering the way Chan used to order his coffee just the way you liked it. The place holds echoes of conversations and laughter, now overshadowed by the silence of your solitude. You sip your coffee slowly, the warmth of the drink doing little to comfort the coldness in your heart.

You also start a journal, hoping to process your emotions through writing. The pages are filled with reflections on your relationship with Chan, capturing the highs and lows, the dreams you shared, and the gradual unraveling of your connection. You write about your regrets and your hopes for healing, pouring your heart out in a desperate attempt to make sense of the pain.

As you look through old photo albums, you find yourself overwhelmed by a mix of emotions. The photographs capture moments of genuine happiness, but they also serve as reminders of what you’ve lost. You trace the faces in the pictures with your fingers, each image a testament to the love that once brought you joy. The albums become both a treasure trove and a source of anguish, each turn of the page bringing a fresh wave of grief.

Your days and nights are a constant battle between holding on to memories and facing the reality of your separation. The memories of Chan are intertwined with every aspect of your life, making it difficult to escape the constant reminder of what once was. The process of reconnecting with these memories brings both comfort and pain, as you navigate through the lingering echoes of a love that now seems like a distant dream.

As you sit in the quiet of your apartment, the familiar ache of loss has transformed into a tender, enduring sadness. The once vibrant memories of Chan now feel like distant echoes, softened by time but never fully fading. The space around you, while gradually becoming more reflective of your own growth, still carries traces of what once was.

You find yourself gazing out of the window, lost in thought. The world outside continues to move with its usual rhythm, indifferent to the emotional upheaval within your walls. The city lights twinkle in the distance, a comforting yet distant reminder of the life that goes on beyond your small, personal world.

In the midst of this contemplation, a single, lingering wish takes shape in your heart. You close your eyes and allow yourself to dream of a future where paths might cross again. There’s no expectation, no plan—just a quiet hope that, somewhere down the line, life might offer a chance encounter or a moment of reconnection.

You imagine what it would be like to see Chan again, not as a desperate attempt to rekindle what was lost, but as a moment of acknowledgment of the shared past. Perhaps a brief conversation, a simple smile, or even just a nod of recognition—anything that might offer closure or understanding.

The thought of meeting Chan again brings a bittersweet smile to your face. You let the vision linger, holding onto the hope that time might bring unexpected reunions. As you turn away from the window, you carry with you a sense of peace, knowing that the future remains unwritten and full of possibilities.

With a final glance at the fading light outside, you softly whisper to the night

“Maybe someday.”

fin.

series masterlist masterlist | requests

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Learn the Hard Way 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, power dynamic, age gap, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, Nick Fowler (Professor AU)

Summary: you return to campus is less than glorious.

Part of the Bad Professors AU

Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all. 

“It’s a nice place,” you say as you keep a grip on your duffel bag. 

You took a big chance trusting in the online posting. Furnished and a decent price. Your innate cynicism told you it couldn’t be true and yet your dire financial straits convinced you to take the risk. Even if it turned out to be a mattress in a dingy basement, you would make it work. 

Yet, your pessimism makes the reality even more of a relief. The apartment is just like it was listed in the virtual walk through. And it’s all yours at such a good rate. 

“Got everything you need,” the man explains as he pulls out a tube of lip balm. “And if it doesn’t, you have my number.” 

“Sure, uh, I don’t think I should,” you shrug. 

You peek over at him again. He seems every measure the slimy landlord, mustache included. Designer polo, loafers without socks, tight pants, thought his jacket does give a slightly refined touch to the whole aesthetic. 

“Rules. No parties. You can have some girlfriends over for a little pillow fight now and again but I don’t want a rager. This shit’s too nice for that,” he warns. 

“Right,” you agree, ignoring his strange comment. “I don’t think I’ll be throwing any parties.” 

“Good,” he tuts. “Well, I got shit to do. Class in an hour.” 

He checks his watch and you give him a curious look, “you’re a student too?” 

“Fuck off,” he chirps as he tweaks a brow. “Professor.” 

“Professor. Wait, so isn’t this like a shit, what’s it called, ah, conflict of interest?” 

“What are you? A law student?” He snaps. 

“Photography, actually.” 

“Oh, so you like to throw your money away. That’s good to hear,” he chortles. You frown at the insult. “And now it’s not a goddamn conflict. It’s off campus and you just happen to be a poor student. It’s fucking fine or do you wanna go find something else? Half your monthly to break the lease.” 

“Shit, no, I mean, no. No, it’s cool. I was just... as long as it doesn’t affect me, that’s fine. It’s smart. I mean, if I had money, I’d do some investing too.”  

His eyes dart towards you sharply, “whatever, stop wasting my time.” 

“Sorry, uh, well, thanks, Lloyd.” 

He winces and tilts his head, “I think I prefer professor.” 

“But you’re not mine--” 

“Look, I don’t like you uppity girls gettin’ fun with me. You think I don’t got tail wiggling at me for a higher GPA every goddamn day.” He clucks and straightens his coat, spinning on his heel, “tell your boys not to flush their rubbers.” 

He struts through the door and it snaps shut behind him. You look down at the keys in your hand and cringe. It’s not exactly the best start but you won’t bother him again. This place is perfect. 

You bring your bag into the living room and drop it on the couch. A couch! A chair, dining table, a separate bedroom, and a nice kitchen... you even have a stacked laundry set-up. Shit, feels like you’re robbing the guy. It’s almost too good to be true. 

You pace around for a while before you start to unpack. You didn’t bring much. You’re a person of very little means. You worked two catering jobs in the summer just to get tuition and the whole housing spike on campus had you worried it was all for not. 

Hey, it all turned out. You’ll never trust fate, but fuck dammit, it can be kind when it wants to. 

You head out shortly after, restless, and find the bus stop. Tuition includes a bus pass but you need to go to the Student Support Center to get your card reactivated for the term. You spend the change and weave your way around campus. 

The wait for the simple swipe of your card and a few keys tapped, is far too long. But now you have your transit pass and your meal plan. You’ll hit the cafeteria and hope that they have hiked the cost of a tuna sandwich with the rent. 

The prices may not have gone up but you’re not sure the quality is what it was. You examine the thin prepackaged sandwiches. You’re suddenly not as hungry. You can get a noodle plate and split it between today and tomorrow. A coffee is always cheap too. 

You get your container of pad thai and stop to peruse the self-serve karafes of coffee. Irish Cream, blech. You opt for the caramel sundae flavour. You get maybe two drops and it bottoms out. What the hell? 

“Piss,” you mutter. 

Whatever, you’ll just have some medium roast. You move over to press your cup to the lever and hit someone else’s hand. You recoil, “fuck, shit, sorry.” 

The man grunts and fills his cup. He’s older. Likely a professor judging by the blazer. He watches the slow drip and you do too. You just want a coffee. You wait and as he finishes, you step up to claim your cup. The karafe runs out at the half line of the cup. 

“What the shit?” You huff. “I swear to fuck--” 

“Eloquent,” he remarks as he takes a lid from the stack. 

“Huh?” You look over at him. “Oh, you can hear me? I thought that was my inside voice.” 

He narrows his eyes and shakes his head. He snaps the lid on his cup and takes it. You get no response but the roiling judgment rising off of his rigid posture. 

You top off your cup with the dark roast. Maybe you should let the staff know the coffee is almost out. You go to join the line for the cashier and find yourself facing the back of the man’s blazer. 

He pays and you move up to tap your student card. You thank the cashier and head off, the smell of the noodles stoking your hunger. Mmm, you can’t wait to dig-- 

You collide with something and your coffee bursts and pours over your hand. You look up to find the splatter of mixed brews across dark blue fabric. You squeak as the liquid scalds your hand. 

“Fuck, I’m so fucking sorry, dude,” you say as the same man snarls and turns stiffly on his heel. 

He looks down at you with his icy eyes. You tremble as they’re harsh enough to cool the heat of the spill dripping from your hand. You give a sheepish smile. 

“Hi again,” you murmur. 

He shakes his head and reaches to feel the back of his jacket. He takes a deep breath, a tick in his jaw. “I can clean this, can you clean up that gutter you call a mouth?” 

He doesn’t wait for your answer. You suppose it’s rhetorical and well-earned. You did just dump coffee down his back. 

[nastyaromatherapy]

Empty Promises (18+)

You think bratty Ethan deserves a little punishment.

Written for (this) request!!

pairing - sub!Ethan Landry x mean!fem!reader

one shot length, 1.7k+ word fic

warnings: pegging, anal play, mommy kink, degradation, spanking, tbh could've been way filthier i rushed this

“You know the rules, Ethan,” you whispered to the boy, who you'd just found masturbating. His laptop was filled with porn links, he never thought you'd be home so soon. “No touching myself without permission,” he huffed, sulking on the bed. “That's right,” you congratulated.

“Do you do this every time I'm at work? Do you disobey me this much?” He was quick to shake his head, “No! I just couldn't help it today, it hurt s'bad. I’m sorry.” He whined, eyes glossy. “An apology does help your case a little.” He sighed with relief at that. He was a shit sub, getting punished more times than not.

“How about,” you start, starting to slowly pump his leaking cock with your fist, causing a whimper to slip out of his lips. “I touch you, and you can cum as much as you want, with permission of course. Catch is, you can't touch me. How's that sound?” Ethan writhed at your touch and sighed. “But I need you mama, it's gonna be so hard,” he complained. “Stop fucking bitching,” you snapped as you grabbed ahold of his hair. He groaned at the force.

“I'm sorry, mama,” he swallowed. “I'l- I'll take whatever you give me,” he pouted. “Fix your fucking face, Eth,” you ordered, making him sulk even more. “Why do you have to be s'mean,” he muttered, making you roll your eyes. “Because you don't fucking behave,” you said through gritted teeth, releasing your grip on his curls, making him fall back a bit. “But y'know what, fine, let's negotiate. What do you think you deserve,” you said reluctantly.

“To be fucked, by you,” he answered. You looked over to the chest drawer that contained all of your toys you had for Ethan. Paddles, ball gags, and of course, dildos and straps. You turned back to him, “You just say that cause you're a fucking whore. That's no punishment,” you tsked. "No, it is! You can use the big one that almost ripped me apart last time," he said as his voice grew quieter and quieter as his words went on, probably regretting what he was saying.

You tilted your head and nodded, open to the idea. “Okay,” you agreed. Ethan's pupils dilated as he watched you get up to rummage through the drawer. The dildo he was speaking of wasn't the longest he's ever taken, but the thickest. He bit his lip as you stripped off your blouse and dress pants, leaving you in your black vickies. “Can you prep yourself for me baby?” You asked, tossing him a bottle of lube.

His cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he squirted the lube on his fingers. He groaned as he slipped a finger into himself, curling it and trying to distribute the lube. You tried to hide your smirk when you witnessed his poor attempt at fingering himself without you noticing. Nobody moans that much from lubing.

“So, you're already breaking the rules?” You asked after you finished harnessing the strap and attaching the girthy dildo. You turned to look at him cunningly, eyes narrow. “If I had known you'd disobey this early,” you started, sitting back on the bed with him. “I would've just got the paddle,” you shrugged nonchalantly. He whined, “No- mama, you can just use your hands! Please I swear I'll be good,” he cried as you got up to retrieve a pink, studded paddle from the chest.

“You're speaking in empty promises, Eth.” He muttered an, “I'm sorry,” and you sarcastically smiled before quickly faltering it. “All fours, bitch,” you commanded, standing above him as he slowly complied, his ass in front of you in full view.

You dragged the paddle in circles on his ass, making him let out a crackly sob. “Crying already? I haven't even done anything to you yet,” you chuckled. “Shut up,” he muttered before realizing his fatal mistake. “I’m sorry!” He said, scrambling to fix what he’d done. You fumed and quickly spanked him without hesitation, three times consecutively, a second long breather between each thrash. He whimpered as he kept muttering apologizes.

“The funny thing is, I didn’t even plan on fucking using this on you. I was just teasing,” you said, throwing the paddle behind your back as he continued to squirm from the everlasting stings.

You rested your forehead on your fist. “Can you ever just be good? Can I ever come home to a sweet boy, who’s eager, and willing, and doesn’t fucking brat out every five seconds?” You asked him rhetorically. “Because if you want to be a brat, I’ll treat you like a fucking brat,” you spat, making him wine.

“Please mama, just fuck me. I’ll shut up I swear!” He persuaded. You hummed and grabbed his balls. He whimpered at his vulnerability, extremely turned on. “I’ll fuck you like the slutty brat you are, Eth, and you’re gonna love every second of it, cause you’re mine.”

You released your hold on him and joined him on the bed. He got off of his fours to face you. He whimpered when you grabbed him by the hair again, your favorite move, and laid your lips on his. He smiled into the kiss, making you smile too. No matter how annoying he got, you always loved him. “I’m yours,” he admitted into the kiss, making you hum before pulling away.

“That’s a good boy,” you praised, the first time you got to say it in a while. You laid back on the pillows and toyed with the tip of your silicone, skin colored cock. “Can you suck me off, baby? Mommy would love that so much,” you said adoringly. He nodded and crawled in between your legs.

He was a bit hesitant to take you in his mouth, “I'm not sure I can, mama,” he whined. Your eyebrows furrowed, “Of course you can, cause you're a good boy for me, right?” He sighed, eyeing your cock before complying. He swallowed the head, letting out “mmhpfs,” around your artificial length. You moaned, both as a show for him, and because watching him do something so slutty turned you on so damn much.

“Mm, you feel so good sucking my cock pretty boy,” you moaned, making his hollowed cheeks flush a fuchsia from the compliment. You rubbed your thumb on the apple of his cheeks as you watched him take your thick cock in and out of his throat.

You reached down to slip the cock out of his mouth, making him whine with desperation. His oral fixation was pathetic. “Are you gonna behave?” You asked as you stood on your knees above him. He looked up at you and nodded. “Words, Ethan,” you softly demanded as you tilted his chin up. “Yes,” he whispered. “I'll behave.”

You smiled as he complied, hopping off of the bed. “Bend over the edge.” He submitted and did so, sprawling out, letting you view his ass that was slowly fading from the pink. You were calm as you got the bottle of lube to wipe on your cock, already covered with Ethan's slobber. You made sure to get it inside of him as well, since his feeble attempt at masturbation got the lubrication to be cut short. You curled your two fingers inside of him, making him writhe against the sheets with a whimper.

Even after you pulled out and only pressed the tip around his hole the room flooded with his noises, making you lose focus. “Eth I swear to god, I will use the fucking gag on you.” You barked, which made him quickly apologize and shut up. You lined the head up with his asshole before sliding in, leading Ethan to gasp harshly as he bit the sheets. His grunts were guttural as he was stretched so roughly, tears welling in his eyes. He knew that this was his punishment and that he was just going to have to take it, but it was gonna be a long couple minutes.

You finally snaked your way all the way into him, brushing at his prostate causing him to moan. He sobbed against the sheets as he was filled, the stretch immensely greater than anything else he's taken before. “’Hurts, mama,” he cried as you tore his ass apart. “Too big.” You tsked at him before slapping his ass with your bare hands, making him wail. “You asked for this, slut, and you're gonna fucking take it.”

His tears dripped onto the sheets which you reveled in, so desperately wanting to taste his emotional waters. “Fuck!” He screamed as he slowly started to accommodate to your girth.

His whines didn't stop as you slowly pistoned in and out of him, grabbing onto his hips for support. Soon, his whines turned into “uh, uh, uhs,” showing he relished in it. You let his newfound pleasure go unnoticed and continued to fuck him at the same pace, teasing the poor boy. You saw him trying to push back on your cock and you couldn't hold back a laugh, making his cheeks flush with embarrassment. “Does the slut want more?” You cooed, causing him to whimper from the humiliation. “Yes,” he said just below a whisper.

“What was that?” You asked, having too much fun. “Please fuck me harder, mommy, I want more,” he cried, continuing to scoot his ass back onto you. “Was that hard?” You asked as you drilled into him deeper, picking up the pace. He moaned and expressed his gratitude as you repeatedly hit his prostate. “Thank you, mama.”

His cock twitched against the mattress, it ached from the prolonged abstinence of being touched. His eyes rolled back as he groaned and drooled all over the sheets, going dumb on your length. “Need to cum mommy, please let me cum!” He begged as his cock stained the mattress with his precum. You didn't respond and only kept fucking him at an animalistic pace.

“Please, please, mama let me cum, ’hurts s'bad,” he cried out, arching his back. “Where's it hurt?” You asked him, reaching down between him and the bed to stroke his cock. “Here?” You asked while milking him completely. He let out “mhms,” using everything he had in him to not cum.

You hummed as you watched him comply, a surprising feat for him. “Cum, Eth,” you whispered, making him scream and release his load all over your hands and bed. “Thank you, thank you,” he repeated as he breathed heavily from the orgasm, feeling empty as you pulled out of him. You continued to stroke him, prolonging his high as cum continued to spurt from his tip. “You're welcome sweet boy.”

[sorceresssundries]

A Study of Hands

Pairing: Emmrich x Female Rook

Tags: Oral Sex, masturbation, Porn with Feelings, Emmrich Volkarin being a soft dom.

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: First Veilguard fic and it's smut. I am nothing if not predictable. Anyway, I had a vision of Emmrich very slowly taking off all that slutty jewellery he wears and then this happened.

Bon appetit!!! <3

Another battle done, another day survived. More bruises to body and ego. Things had not gone as planned - they so rarely did these days. But Rook was still alive, and so was the team. So was Emmrich.

She had retreated to her quarters to breathe, to let the steady, reliable rhythm of her lungs remind her she was here, still standing. Her love, as usual, wasn’t far behind her. 

His breathing was not as steady as hers. 

“You almost died,” he said, his voice tight as he crossed the room. Without hesitation, he reached for her, his elegant fingers brushing along her jaw, trailing softly across her cheekbone, where a bruise was just beginning to bloom into full colour.

She winced at the contact, and he immediately began to pull his hand away. She stopped him, covering his hand with hers, holding it in place. She needed to feel his touch, even if it hurt. 

“But I didn’t”, She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch, pretending for a moment that they weren’t in the Fade, weren’t in someone else’s domain. That they were somewhere real, somewhere with day and night and time and a heartbeat. Maker, she thought, i’d give anything for more time. 

“I’m pretty tough,” she added, opening her eyes and smirking at him, trying for a lightness that didn’t quite escape the shadows. “It will take more than merely two unkillable Gods and a few hundred...”

Her teasing faltered as his lips crashed into hers, cutting her words short. His hand slid from her cheek to cradle the back of her head, holding her to him as though she might vanish if he let go. 

Too soon, he pulled back, his lips leaving hers as abruptly as they’d claimed them. The fire simmered and waited. He looked at her, his breathing ragged, and in his eyes, she saw everything he didn’t say - the fear, the need, the relief.

“I… My apologies,” he said, his voice uneven as he stepped back, running a glittering, ring-adorned hand through his hair. “I lost the run of myself. Adrenaline has… certain effects on the body, and I am only flesh and blood, after all. And you…”

“Emmrich,” she interrupted, her voice sharper than she intended. “If you start with your gallantry, I swear I’ll crack the spine of every book you own.”

That drew a quiet, warm laugh from him, and the tension in his posture eased just slightly. He rubbed the back of his neck, a crooked, sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”

His gaze flicked over her, lingering on the bruises that mocked him with their shameless display of her mortality. He was always so eloquent, so dexterous and purposeful with his words, but they had all abandoned him now. He couldn’t think of how to express the depth of his feelings; perhaps there were no words for it, or perhaps they had been stolen along with his heart.

Finally, he made a weak attempt, “Darling, I cannot watch you almost slip away again.”

“I didn’t slip away. I’m right here.” She stepped closer, placing a hand over his chest, feeling the wild thrum of his heart beneath the layers of fine fabric. “And so are you.”

Before she realised it, her back hit the wall, her smaller body bracketed by his. His hand left her hair, trailing down to cup her jaw, his thumb brushing the edge of her bruised cheek like an apology. She felt the tremor in his touch, the barely restrained hunger in the way his lips trailed from her mouth to her jaw, down to the curve of her neck. His breath was hot against her skin, and her knees almost buckled when he nipped lightly at the sensitive spot just below her ear.

“Emmrich,” she managed to breathe, her voice shaky. He hummed softly at the sound of his name on her lips, his fingers splayed against the small of her back.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured against her throat, his voice dark velvet. His lips were back on hers, swallowing whatever words she might have said. Her hands slid up to his hair,  and the low, rumbling sound he made at the sensation sent sparks dancing across her skin.

She had lost sight of him earlier, during the battle. She thought she had lost him completely. 

A brief silence settled between them, not awkward, but heavy with the unspoken. Their combined breaths mingled in the narrow space left between their bodies. His eyes searched hers. 

“Is everything all right?” He pulled back, his hand still cupping her face. “We can stop here, if that’s what you want,” he murmured, his voice and eyes kind. 

She shook her head, her fingers tightening in his hair. “Don’t stop,” she whispered. 

He leant in slowly, giving her every opportunity to change her mind. But her mind was as steeled and immovable as her newly-given heart. 

Emmrich’s hands moved with care, sliding from Rook’s face down to her hips. Without breaking the kiss, he guided her gently, his touch featherlight, until the backs of her knees met the edge of the sofa. His lips parted from hers just long enough to whisper, “Lie back for me, my love.”

She obeyed, her breath shallow, her body alight beneath his gaze. Emmrich undressed her slowly, reverently, as though she were a gift so desired, so deeply hoped for, that to rush would dishonour the moment. Each button of her blouse came undone with measured precision, his hands never faltering.

When he pushed the fabric from her shoulders his breath caught, his lips parting slightly as though the sight of her had stolen the air from his very lungs.

“Beautiful”, he said as he took in her soft and scar-flecked skin in the pulsing blue light of the aquarium, making the marks and lines of her body dance like an aurora across a midnight sky. 

His hands came to rest on her waist as he knelt above her, his fingers flexing around her sides, thumbs brushing her abdomen. She arched under his touch, her back bowing instinctively, and a shiver passed through her at the cool press of his rings and bangles against the heat of her sensitised skin. Leaning forward, he pressed a long, devoted kiss to the space between her bare breasts, lingering there as though offering a silent prayer. Then, without a word, he let her go and stepped away.

Rook’s eyes snapped open, her breath hitching as the loss of his warmth sent panic flooding through her. She sat up, her mind racing. Had she done something wrong? Too much? Not enough?

Her fears were met with the sound of his soft, rich chuckle - intoxicating as aged brandy. Standing by the small bowl on her dressing table, Emmrich lifted his eyes to hers, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“Apologies, darling,” he said, his tone smooth, “Let me strip off these trappings. I wish to touch you properly, without jangling like a jailor.”

Rook’s eyes followed his every move, unblinking, as he turned his attention to the task. He moved with his usual grace, deliberate and unhurried, his hands steady as he slid the first bangle free from his wrist. The metallic sound of it landing in the bowl—clink— echoed in the stillness, resonating in her chest and low in her stomach.

He worked at the clasp of the next bracelet with calm precision, maddeningly slow, every motion purposeful. The deliberate pace of it - the care, the sensuality - had her chest rising and falling rapidly, her breaths uneven.

She couldn’t look away. Those hands, so elegant, so recently mapping the curves of her body, now moved as though performing a sacred ritual. Every flick of his fingers, every twist of metal, felt deliberate, charged, and she could feel her composure coming apart with the golden clasps.

Another bracelet fell into the bowl. Clink.

Heat pooled in her abdomen, spreading across her skin as her thighs pressed together involuntarily. She was burning, the tension inside her coiling tighter with every piece he removed. Emmrich paused, glancing up at her.

“Growing impatient, are we?” he teased, the crooked grin on his lips devastating.

Rook shook her head steadily, though her voice betrayed her. “Not at all,” she managed, her breath uneven. “Please, take your time. I’m very much enjoying watching you.”

His head tilted slightly, a subtle, feline movement, his expression one of curiosity.

“Fascinating,” he murmured thoughtfully. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen this particular reaction before. You’re practically breathless, my dear.”

He was hesitant to touch her, to put his desires into practice without first understanding the intricate theory of her. Emmrich was a scholar at heart, an academic by nature, and he could never bring himself to handle something so intricate, so breathtakingly delicate, without first understanding its every nuance. She was a symphony waiting to be composed, a masterpiece to be studied in exquisite detail. He wanted to get this right. No, not just right. Perfect. 

He would require a demonstration. 

Her half-lidded gaze and the flush blooming across her skin captivated him as he methodically worked another ring from his fingers. Every one of his movements was deliberate, each moment stretched and savoured.

“I’m going to take all of these off,” he stated, his voice low and steady, “slowly. And then, my darling, I’m going to touch you.”

Clink.

As soon as his ring hit the dish she gave a soft, uncontrolled moan, her lips parting, the sound like magic newly discovered. His jaw tightened, but he held his composure, his hands still moving with practiced control.

“But first,” he continued, the silken patience of his voice wrapping around her, “I would very much like you to touch yourself.”

Clink. Another ring in the dish. 

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t waver. Her hands trembled slightly as they moved to obey. She let out a shaky exhale as her fingers dipped lower, brushing through the curls between her thighs and finally to the place where her body burned with need. Where she had touched herself before, in secret moments spent imagining him speaking to her like this, watching her like this.

“You’re doing beautifully” he murmured, his molten voice guiding her forward. 

His fingers found the last ring on his thumb, twisting it slowly before slipping it free and added it to the bowl with the others.

Clink.

Her fingers moved delicately at first, trying to pace herself, basking in the delight and eroticism of watching him unadorn his beautiful scholar's hands. She wanted him to touch her, so desperately, but she also wanted him to see her like this and know it was all for him. She wanted more than just sex, she wanted every intimacy. She wanted him to know, without doubt or question, that he was worthy of being wanted. That she wanted him now, as she always would. 

As her fingers slowly caressed herself she gasped and tilted her head back, she was hurtling far too quickly towards rapture. 

“Don’t stop looking at me, darling.” Emmrich said, as he worked another cuff off his wrist. He was finding it more and more difficult to keep steady, his fingers stumbling a little over some of the clasps, so focused was he on watching what she was doing, how she was touching herself. 

Clink.

She was slow, delicate, moving in featherlight circles. Occasionally stopping to dip the tips of her fingers inside herself, even from here he could see, he could tell how slick she was. He studied her rhythm and pressure as he continued to delight in the vision of her. 

Just a couple more bangles, and he would be free to touch her, to rest the pads of his fingers upon each dip and swerve of her body. 

"Tell me, what does it feel like when you touch yourself like this? What goes through your mind?” He wasn’t commanding, he was curious. Yes, his voice was deeper than usual and slow like thick honey - but he wasn’t trying to take charge of her, he was trying to learn from her. 

“You,” she confessed, bold now, her blush forgotten as her gaze locked with his. “It’s you. And it feels…” Her words broke off with a gasp, her hips rising to meet the rhythm of her own fingers, and his composure wavered. He fought the urge to grasp her by the ankles and pull her to him, his restraint hanging by a thread. He was slipping, and they both knew it.

“More, dearest,” he coaxed, his voice hoarse but steady. “I need more than that. Specifics, if you please.”

She exhaled sharply, the challenge in his words igniting something reckless in her. Fine, she thought. No more teasing. If he wanted the details, she’d give them to him—and let him act on every single one.

“Your hands,” she began, her gaze dropping to them. She groaned softly, watching as he stripped the cuff from his wrist, his fingers deft and deliberate. She wanted to grab those wrists, pull his hands to her body. She wanted those fingers in her mouth, on her skin, inside her.  “Those fingers… I think of them. Everywhere.”

His breath hitched, his composure cracking as her words painted vivid images in his mind. Images he had also lost himself to in his solitude. His mouth went dry. She wasn’t done. 

“Your mouth,” she continued, her voice low and sultry now, “your tongue… On me…”

“Where?”

Her answer was a moan first, then words. “On my cunt.”

She tried to continue, her lips parted as though to speak, but no words came. Instead, she let her hand move faster, her breathing turning into soft gasps, and Emmrich felt his control unravelling. His heart pounded in his chest, his hands tightening into fists as he fought the urge to abandon his methodical restraint and close the distance between them.

For all his careful planning, for all his scholarly precision, he knew one thing with absolute certainty: he had never desired anything, anyone, as much as he desired her.

“Emmrich, please.” 

That’s all he needed, he would never deny her. The last of his cuffs slid off his wrist in quick succession, and he finally made his way over to her. To kiss her. To capture her moans and sighs and taste the sweetness of them. He cradled her face, he would touch her like this first. Like he had waited a lifetime just to feel her lips upon his. 

“You are perfect.” He said gently, “You did so well, my love”

She hummed softly, a sound of pure contentment, as he lifted the hand she had used to pleasure herself. Slowly, he brought her fingers to his mouth, his gaze never leaving hers. He took them in deeply, his tongue swirling around them with deliberate reverence, humming like a starved man savouring the first taste of a feast. His teeth grazed her fingers gently before releasing them.

“May I take over from here?” he asked.

She laughed lightly at the politeness of his request, as though she had not just begged him, as though she had not been fucking him with her eyes and her words and stroking herself to almost-completion at the very idea of his hands upon her. He was a romantic, a gentleman through and through, and she adored him for it. She played along, because she knew this mattered to him - that this wasn’t just about passion, but about care.

"You may, but I would like to study you a little first" she lilted, taking his hand in hers. His hands, now bare - free of rings and cuffs - were beautiful: lithe, strong, and elegant. They were hands made for conjuring magic, for turning the pages of ancient tomes. Hands made to touch her. 

She brought his fingers to her lips, pressing soft, deliberate kisses to the places where his rings had rested. One by one, she kissed each faint indentation, reverent of every spot where the weight of his adornments had marked him. Her lips trailed to the delicate veins at his wrist, where she lingered, savouring the thrum and rush of his pulse beneath her mouth.

It was her turn to undress him. He looked achingly beautiful in his loosely buttoned shirt tucked carelessly into his slacks—so different from the polished, formal attire he typically favoured. His hair, usually immaculate, was slightly tousled, a stray strand dancing across his brow. His shirt was rumpled from her wandering hands.

Rook’s shaky fingers undid the buttons of his shirt, until he stood bare from the waist up in front of her. She drank him in, pale and lithe, like a sculpture carved from marble and brought to life. His slacks hung low on his hips, drawing her gaze to the sharp, defined V that disappeared below the fabric. The sight of him made her breath hitch, and she couldn’t resist leaning forward to press her lips to the planes of his stomach.

The sound he made - low, raw, unrestrained - was a revelation she had never heard from him before. It was nothing like the measured, gentlemanly demeanour he always carried. She felt a surge of smug satisfaction that she could unravel him, piece by piece, with just the brush of her lips.

Her kisses trailed lower, her mouth finding the soft, sensitive skin just above the waistband of his trousers. She pressed her lips there, featherlight. His thumb brushed tenderly against her cheek, his fingers combing gently through her hair,

“You do not have to…” 

She didn’t wait to hear the rest of his polite protest. She was done with his control, his formality, his carefully composed demeanour. Those were the parts of him she cherished, but tonight, she wanted them undone - wanted him undone, entirely by her hand.

Her lips curved into a triumphant smile against his skin as she eased his slacks lower, freeing him. The sharp hiss of his breath and the way his body tensed beneath her touch were all the confirmation she needed. His head fell back, his composure shattering as a single word escaped him, raw and unrestrained.

“Maker.”

The sound of it, desperate and wrecked, sent a wave of pure exhilaration through her.

She let her kisses trail from his stomach to his length, her tongue tasting him, savouring the heat and the way his breath hitched with every movement. Slowly, deliberately, she used her mouth to drive him further from that refined man she adored, coaxing him into a state of pure, unfiltered need. And as his hands tightened in her hair, his low, broken moans filling the space around them, she knew she was succeeding.

He closed his eyes, his breath hitching as her lips moved over his skin. She smiled against him, revelling in how this slow worship left him helpless, and as she took him as far back as she could and hummed with pleasure, he gasped and bucked and she knew he was close. 

But just as he teetered on the edge, he pulled her upright, his strength effortless as he brought her face to his. 

“Not yet.” 

He didn’t want to finish yet, he wished to prolong the exquisite and wholly perfect feeling of being this desperate and priapic for her. Most importantly, he wanted to witness the crest of her pleasure before his own. 

After one final kiss to the fullness of her lips, he knelt before her. An acolyte at his altar, a scholar at his tome, and when she gasped his name as he pressed his lips to her core, he decided he would never hear it said so perfectly again. 

The taste of her was an elixir, a rejuvenation, a nectar that the Gods themselves would bottle and lock away if they knew the glory of it. Sharp and deep and singular, he mimicked the movements he had watched her demonstrate, keeping the strokes of his tongue light and focused where she needed, occasionally dipping his tongue inside her, gathering more of her taste on his tongue, savouring her like an Nevarran vintage. 

Rook was shaking, breathless at his worship. At the lap and hum of him against her. Her hands reached for him greedily, her fingers threading through his hair, tugging him closer as she whimpered his name again, her voice breaking on the syllables. Her hips lifted instinctively toward him, seeking more of the pleasure he so skillfully offered.

“Exquisite” he breathed against her, his lips brushing her skin, the timbre of his voice vibrating through her, “I could stay here forever, my love.”

The words sent a new wave of heat flooding through her, and she felt herself teetering dangerously close to the edge. Her breath hitched, her body tightening as the tension inside her coiled impossibly tight.

“It won’t take forever” she gasped, and his low chuckle against her sensitive nerves made her back bow. 

He didn’t falter. His focus was unwavering, attuned to every sound she made, every shift and quiver of her body. He listened intently, learning her as if she were a concertino, each moan, gasp, and tremor guiding him. Her cries grew louder, her breaths shorter, and the trembling in her legs turned to uncontrollable quaking. Ever the rigorous study, he allowed himself a brief, smug satisfaction in his success—but his hunger for perfection remained insatiable. There was always more to learn, more to explore, and he intended to make this particular discipline a daily, devoted pursuit.

When she finally shattered beneath him, it was with a cry of his name, her voice raw and filled with abandon. He held her through it, his hands steady on her thighs, caressing her even as she came undone. His lips and tongue coaxed out every last shiver and aftershock, prolonging her ecstasy until she collapsed back onto the bed, utterly spent—boneless, breathless, and radiant.

Only then did he pull away, his chest rising and falling heavily as he watched her, his lips shining with evidence of his devotion. He looked at her as though she were the centre of his universe. 

“You are extraordinary,” He leaned forward to press a soft, lingering kiss to her inner thigh. Then, with the same care he had shown her throughout, he moved to join her on the sofa wrapping his arms around her trembling form, pulling her against him. His hands, steady and warm, cradled her as though she might break under anything less than absolute gentleness. “And I would do this again, and again, and again, just to grant you a single moment of peace and pleasure.”

"Believe me, it was much more than just a moment." Her voice sounded unfamiliar to her own ears, softened by a serenity she hadn’t felt in as long as she could remember.

He held her tighter, burying his face against her hair. He refused to let his fears seep out and blight the perfection of this night. How many moments like this would they have? The question loomed and sneered at him, but he banished it, focusing instead on the warmth of her in his arms.

They spent the night in blissful discovery - talking, laughing, teasing, and drifting between bouts of comfortable snoozing and slow, tender lovemaking. Time stretched and sighed around them, and Emmrich’s laughter was unguarded as he teased her about her stubbornness. She would fire back, calling out his incurable weakness for romance, and inevitably their banter dissolved into playful kisses that deepened and slowed into seduction.

When exhaustion finally stole them into slumber, their bodies remained entwined, her head resting on his chest while his fingers combed idly through her hair. But sleep was fleeting; neither could hold still for long. Time and again, they would wake, their gazes and mouths meeting in the dim light. Without a word, they came together, hungry and hot, not wanting to waste any time when there was no sun or moon to guide them. 

As she lay asleep in his arms, peaceful and radiant in the bloom of dreamlight, Emmrich watched her, still not quite believing his privilege. She was the glow in the lighthouse in a land without seas, where no storms raged and no darkness fell. She was his anchor in an unmoored place.

If death had ever scared him before, it terrified him now. The thought of her being pulled into it without him, of existing in some plane where he was not, was an agony he could not endure. 

He held her a little tighter, and eventually followed her into sleep, slipping into an uncertain tomorrow where he vowed he would not lose sight of her again.