#he has at least seemed. very earnest.

[hungerpunch]

late to the dantteri crumbs that are scattered on the banquet table but iiiiii mannnn auuughhhdhdhhshshrrgggrhhhsjskalppabsb

[supercutszns]

Luke x reader where a girl, daughter of Aphrodite, flirts with him and insults the reader, causing her to avoid Luke, but later he manages to find her and confesses that he actually likes them... I don't know if they should already be together or not, but I believe in you!!! you write very well :ooo

Sorry if the idea is bad or you wouldn't want to write something like that, if that's the case please pretend you never read this 🤡🤡🫶

true colours; luke castellan

wc + pairing: 3.6k, luke castellan x child of iris! reader

synopsis: everyone wants luke castellan, including you. curse your mother for getting your hopes up.

warnings: friends to lovers, reader is very insecure, bullying, lee fletcher & will solace cameo!! some angst with a fluffy ending

notes: thank you for the request!! as always this is longer than i anticipated but hope you like it :) i also combined it with another request for a child of iris reader (i also identify as a child of iris sometimes so i lovee writing for them) also i’m pretty sure lee + a lot of parts of this are ooc sorry but i havent read the books in about a year so hopefully everything’s fairly accurate!🌈

You knew this summer would be different because your mother sent her wishes twice as much. On the first day of July, when children flood into Camp Half-Blood like a hive of wild bees, a rainbow always lights up the sky. 

This year, there were two. 

As a child of Iris you’re technically supposed to be in the Hermes cabin. But your love for art, for music, for fun, has made you a particular favourite of the Apollo cabin. Most of your friends are there. They tolerate you singing in your soft, often unsure voice. They love when you catch sunlight and filter it into prisms of colour on their cabin walls. 

You’d probably move in there permanently if it weren’t for Hermes. Or rather, his son.

Over the last few months, in the sticky summer heat, your mother knew you would fall in love. 

It's not any surprise you love Luke. Everyone loves Luke. A fact that's becoming more obvious every passing day. 

It used to bother you less. You’ve always been his meagre, hopeless friend, never any real competition to these girls. You’d basically taken yourself out of the running and instead decided to pine after him in the very back of your mind. A safe, deluded fantasy that would never happen. 

Until recently, where it seems less like a fantasy and more like a terrifying possibility. 

Over the past few weeks Luke has gone out of his way to be sweet to you. Or at least you think so. He’s spent extra time talking to you at lunch, laughing at your half-formed jokes almost in earnest. At bonfires he saves you a seat, grabs you a marshmallow on occasion. You even made him a friendship bracelet of sorts—admittedly a little ugly—but he’s never taken it off. Not since the day you gave it to him. 

Not to mention helping you last week before the archery competition. His hands lingering over yours as he steadied your bow, the curls of his breath on the back of your neck when he stood behind you. 

“Don’t be nervous,” he says, a tinge of mirth in his voice. “You just steady your aim and first is as good as yours.”

(You came in fifteenth.)

You don’t want to say that it’s him weakening your aim, making your pulse beat out of your neck. His nose brushes against the back of your jaw as he leans forward and you smell the pine on his skin. Is this friendly? Is he this close on purpose? Are you delusional?

It’s all you’ve been thinking about these past few days. So when Luke Castellan’s endless admirers come to the forefront of your mind, you feel like all those moments of potential buildup have been ripped away. 

“You alright there, sunshine?” 

He takes you out of your spiral with a teasing lilt you love. When you look at him, his face is a shimmering warmth, complete with boyish smile. 

“Yep,” you reply, trying to ignore the nickname making your insides flutter even though you know he’s saying it ironically.

You’ve always had a gift for identifying colour. It’s the thing you pay attention to most. Something inherited from your mother, you suppose. So you’ve memorized the way Luke’s eyes melt in the sunlight. How his scar blends with his pinking cheeks when it’s hot outside. You never told him, and you probably never will, but you’ve painted him from memory quite a few times in the Apollo cabin—always with the excuse that you were practicing. It's so blatantly obvious you're in love with him there's no point in your friends bringing it up.  

The two of you are meandering around camp before dinner, a tradition Luke started early on in the summer. You talk about high points of your day (mostly you) or share nuggets of gossip you’ve heard around camp (mostly him). It's the thing you looked forward to every morning. A time when his words are just for you. 

Idle chatter flows as you keep walking. Sometimes your arm brushes his and you have the embarrassing urge to tug yours away. You do your best not to stare at him too long or laugh too loud at his jokes. 

“Hey, Castellan!” Someone calls. 

Luke’s head turns. Your heart plummets. A beautiful girl, Aphrodite cabin, you think, is heading towards you. She’s all honey-spun hair and dazzling pink lips, and it’s obvious she knows it. You don’t know her name. But Luke does. 

They fall into conversation the second she arrives. It’s just greetings, pleasantries, but there’s a coy smile on the girl’s face that betrays any sense of disinterest. “Heard you’re not too keen on pairing up with us for the Chariot Race next week. What gives?” Her tone is pouty and playful as she taps Luke’s shoulder. She side-eyes you, lips curling imperceptibly. “I’m sure you’ll have a better chance with us.”

He lets out a strained chuckle. “Dunno, just thought it was fine to switch it up.”

Just like that, you’re out of the loop again. More of her friends flock after her, and soon Luke is tangled in a whole other world. They’re all glowing with a kind of righteousness you only get when you’re popular. You know Luke has friends, tons of them. He's the leader of the cabin with the most campers. Not to mention assertive and gorgeous. His presence is so inviting it’s a challenge not to fall in love with him. 

So you can’t blame this girl, the one that keeps touching his arm and giggling. It’s not like you’ve staked your claim on Luke—no one even knows you exist. As much as you want him to be yours, you know you’ll never stop someone from taking him first. It’s your fatal flaw, you think. Cowardice. 

You end up sidelined completely. Watching him swathed in people more charismatic than you plants an ache deep inside you. All your wishful thinking feels sour now, a pipe dream, a bedtime story to help you sleep better. Somehow it hurts more knowing that it’s nobody’s fault but yours. These people can’t be doing this on purpose. It’s just who they are. It’s who you are—always a step behind, always daydreaming. You are your mother’s daughter, after all. Just a prism reflecting everyone around you. 

Eventually, one of the boys in the group takes notice of you. He’s not nearly as captivating as Luke is—you don’t find the colours of his eyes hold as much depth. There’s also a haughtiness when he looks at you. He sneers, “What the hell do you have on your face?”

It draws the attention of others in the group. You feel like a naked sculpture in an art gallery. “Uh, what?” You stammer. 

Some of them purse their lips. The girl with Luke lets a laugh slip. You’re pretty sure you look like an idiot, waiting there with your brows wrinkled in a daze. Their gazes keep flicking over to your cheek, so your hand flies up there before you can delay any more. When you press your fingers to the side of your face, they come away tacky and pink. Mortification constricts you.

Paint. It’s leftover, half-dried paint. The colour of Luke’s cheeks in the sun. 

“Oh,” you say dumbly. It’s drowned by snickers. All you can do is find Luke, the only face you know, and ask, “Why didn’t you tell me?” without sounding too hurt. 

You know you failed when your voice comes out wrong and his ebony brows push together. “I thought it looked—”

He never gets to finish because the golden girl laughs a little louder, the pink tones in her face a little darker. “Oh my Gods, you’re that Iris kid that’s always singing, right?” She giggles sharply, cornflower eyes darting between her friends. There’s something in there you can’t quite pick up on, until it flushes the pupils of all her friends, and they all grin with a secret knowledge they want you to see. “You’re, like, really good!” The girl simpers, but her bottom lip pulls between her teeth to soften another laugh. 

“Oh, so good!” Another friend piles on. 

Their passive-aggressive chuckles start to sound like hail on a window. You shift further away from them. Dirt slides beneath your shoe, and you long to kick up more of it, displace yourself, disappear. 

You don’t look at Luke. The giggly, flaxen girl has already turned back to him, and you’re sure he’s enthralled once more. You try to stir up the image of Luke’s closeness during archery practice, the lilac bruise on his knuckles when he angled your bow, but it doesn’t take. Now, it feels like you’ve dreamed it. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Luke leaning down to catch a whisper from the Aphrodite girl’s ear. The boy that first commented on your cheek leans closer to you again. He’s suffocatingly smug when he grins, “Why are you still here? Shouldn’t you go … wash that off? You don’t want to look like that at dinner.” He snorts. “For an Iris kid, you really aren’t good at taking a message.” 

If you were a more confident person, maybe you’d point out how that didn’t really make sense, or how stupid it sounded coming out of his mouth. But the sentiment of it wounds you, and you’re weak enough as is. 

"Guess you're right," you mumble. You wipe your face of paint as you leave. The memory of Luke’s skin stains you until you wash your hands off in the sink. 

You haven’t talked to him since. 

It’s been a few days of you avoiding him, and it’s hard to explain to anyone why you’ve been doing it. How do you tell the truth? Luke Castellan is a work of art and you are … a weird doodle, or something. Despite your adoration, you know there’s no reason he should feel the same for you. Everyone loves him for a reason. Everyone must ignore you for one, too. 

“Why haven’t you been talking to Luke?”

The question breaks your concentrated silence in the Apollo cabin. You’ve been sitting here for a while now, humming to yourself over a mostly blank canvas. The cabin is dusted with a lilac haze, thanks to your manipulation of the light streaming through the windows. Helps you feel less like you’re at camp and more like you’re in a fairytale. 

“Helloooo, lady, I asked you a question.”

You begrudgingly look up. Lee Fletcher, head of the Apollo cabin, is at the mouth of the cabin, gazing at all your supplies strewn about the floor like they’re a bunch of unsavoury substances. “It looks like a hurricane came in here. Now why aren’t you talking to Luke?”

“How do you know I’m not talking to him?” You mutter as Lee sits beside you. 

“Uh, because you’ve been sleeping here multiple nights in a row and you never do that. And you don’t sit with him at dinner. And whenever we see him you drag me in the other direction—”

“Lee!”

“I’m just saying, you should probably talk about it. My beautiful voice can heal wounds, yes, but not of the heart.” He splays a hand across his chest in mock theatrics.

You don’t say anything. The familiar weight of the brush against your fingertips is far more comforting than trying to talk, so you busy yourself with your canvas again. “He waits for you, you know,” Lee continues, quieter. “In the morning. And before dinner. He always asks if you’re here.”

“Oh,” you say, and your wavering voice betrays your expression. But you think of everyone else at camp, their gleaming smiles and their celebrated parents, their own cabins and friends and dreams, how you don’t seem to have any of those. You think of the girl whispering in Luke’s ear. All her shades of beauty. You know it’s wrong to compare yourself, to be jealous. You’re just … sad.

The cabin darkens from a lilac to an imperceptibly gloomier shade. A blue sort of longing gets caught in your throat, blurring the colours on your canvas. But you keep your brush steady, focused on the scratch of its bristles so you don’t have to hear what you say next. 

“I think I love him, Lee.” And then, “But I don’t think he loves me.”

There’s no sound except the scraping of your brush when it’s run out of paint, and a sniffle when a tear rolls down your cheek. 

“Oh,” Lee fills the silence the way you did just moments before. Then he says your name, laced with pity, and hugs you on the floor of his lavender cabin. 

“You want to help me lead the bonfire song tonight?” He asks after a minute. “Or at least … come to the bonfire song?” 

“No to the first, yes to the second.”

You wish you said no to both. 

The spot you choose after dinner is right next to the fire so you can distract yourself with the golden flecks of flame. Fire is so fluid, so complex, from a colour perspective. But no matter how close you get, the searing warmth can’t hide Luke’s gaze peering over the embers. 

He will not. Stop. Looking at you. 

The singing from the Apollo kids usually soothes you but tonight it’s just making you anxious. All this attention so close to you. Will Solace has been sitting next to you this whole time, your unofficial assigned companion for the night thanks to Lee. One of his siblings beckons him over, and he shoots you an apologetic look, hesitating. "Just go," you wave off kindly. "It's all good." He's not entirely convinced, and you aren't either, but he squeezes your shoulder with thanks and leaves you anyway.

Now you’re acutely aware the space next to you is wide open. And so is Luke, it seems. There’s an awkward moment where your gazes slide over each other and he weaves out of his current crowd towards you. So you do the most mature, sound thing you could possibly do in this situation:

You say you have to go to the bathroom to no one in particular and get out of there. 

It’s dark, but you’ve got sharper eyes than most. Soon the noise of the campfire is behind you. You traipse through the camp towards the bathroom,but you don’t get far before you hear something that makes your stomach drop in the worst and best way. 

Luke, calling your name. 

At first you think you can get away with not hearing him. Then he calls a second, a third, a fourth time, punctuated with, “Come on, I know you can hear me, can you just turn around?”

He’s got longer legs than you so the next time he speaks it’s practically in your ear. “Hey, just look at me. Please. I want to talk to you.”

There’s something so tender in his voice that it makes you cave immediately. But you already feel so fragile, you can feel the tears behind your eyes. You know you won’t have the strength to talk to him. 

His hand curls gently around your wrist and it sends warmth all the way up your arm. He says your name again, softer, and you love the way it sounds. You can’t meet his eyes, but you already know what he looks like. Even in the dark you picture him crystal clear. 

“Look at me,” he repeats. “I just—I need to know what I did wrong.”

His dark eyes are full and apprehensive when you heed him. You notice how much you’ve missed studying his face—the slight bunch of his brows, the tensing in his jaw. And you almost delude yourself that he’s missed you just as much, the way he squeezes your wrist and rakes over your expression.

“Why are you ignoring me?” He asks. 

“I’m not—”

“You are. I know you. Just tell me why.” 

He looks so sweet, so earnest, and it kills you. You think of the way he looked when all his friends made fun of you. It all comes up before you can help it. 

“Do you always let me walk around looking like an idiot?” You ask bitingly, staring at the floor. “The thing, with the paint on my cheek—why didn’t you tell me? I looked so stupid and all your friends just laughed at me!” 

His face falls. “I tried to tell you, I thought—”

“It’s okay to say you don’t like me, or that you’re embarrassed, or whatever, but I …” You swallow, tears thick on your lower lashes. “Everyone makes fun of me. I don’t know why you don’t.”

“Because I do like you,” he states, hand moving up to your forearm. 

“Don’t say that,” you whisper. “You’re so much … better, you know you are, and I don’t want your pity, or your spare time. I just—I made something up in my head that wasn’t there and I only noticed it the other day after you talked to that girl and that guy made fun of me and I’m really, really sorry—”

“It looked cute. I was trying to say I didn’t tell you about the paint because I thought it was cute.”

There’s a lull.

“What?” You blink stupidly. 

“I know I should’ve told you about it, but I swear I was going to before dinner, I didn’t think we’d run into anyone before then.” His cheeks tinge red. “I had this whole dumb thing planned out where I’d wipe it off your cheek and tell you how cute it was once you got embarassed. I was waiting to tell you. I was thinking about it the whole time.”

His hand on your arm is a frighteningly grounding thing. You're dumbstruck by that alone. Your lips part, but all that comes out is, “Why?”

A gentle laugh tumbles out of his throat. “Why do you think?”

His other hand comes up to brush your cheekbone, where the paint had been, and you can imagine him doing it to you on that day. How you'd probably react just the way he said you would, the way you are now. A warm orange glow blooming in your chest. “But the girl—”

“She tried whispering to me how much she liked my bracelet,” he smiles fondly. “Told her you made it for me. It shut her up. I don’t know what that guy said to you but I chewed ‘em all out the second you left. They knew I wasn’t happy. I tried looking for you but you were gone. I don't like them, you know."

You don’t know what to say. It’s too difficult, too uncertain for you to jump the gun on this. So you just stare at all the shifting colours on his face as he moves closer to you. All this time going over his every detail, and there's still more to be enthralled by.

“I found the paintings,” he says, voice so close you can feel it brushing your skin. “The ones of me. I was looking for you in the Apollo cabin a week ago and you left one out. I knew it was yours because ... I mean, there’s no one in the world that can make me look that … beautiful.” 

The last word is apprehensive but it’s spoken with an unimaginable tenderness. He looks a little teary himself. You think you’re dreaming. “I knew I had to tell you after that. I’ve been trying to tell you. But you started pulling away from me so I thought I was making it all up.”

“Tell me what?” It’s a ghost of a question between you, an impossible thing, but the hand on your arm slips around to your back and he presses it there with such certainty. 

“You’re really gonna make me say it?” He cocks his head, but you nod. “I’m in love with you, I think.”

The words cascade over you in ribbons of warmth. Your brain feels fuzzy, seperate from the rest of your body. Your mouth opens multiple times but you can’t seem to control what comes out. “Luke, are you joking?”

“Not even a little.”

“But you’ve got so many other—”

“I want you.”

“I am literally the most incompetent person alive; I can’t sing, I can’t talk to people, I have a weird knee—”

"Your knee is fine!"

"I'm just saying, this makes no sense from an outsider perspective, it's—"

“Okay, clearly the telling thing isn’t working so I guess I’m just gonna have to kiss you.”

It happens so quickly you don’t have any time to think (probably for the better). You let out a surprised “oh” before his mouth silences you, stopping every other thought. He’s gentle, thumb still rubbing your cheekbone, other hand still firm at your waist. You want to panic—where should you put your hands? How do you know you’re doing this right? But he steadies you, the way he always does, and you give in. 

He starts to smile against your lips. You’re almost positive the intensity of your heartbeat could summon a storm. When he pulls away, he kisses the corners of your mouth and you think you’re going to evaporate. “I don’t think I’m very good at this,” you whisper.

“You’re perfect.” He grins a little when your hands tentatively tug at a curl on the nape of his neck. “And none of that stuff you say is true. I mean, you’re definitely a better singer than me.”

Leaning close to your ear, he warbles out a song you know but gets the words horribly wrong anyways. You can’t help but laugh. “Okay, maybe you have a point.”

He hums and chuckles with you. You swear the moon gets brighter when he wraps his arms around your waist to kiss the side of your face. “Next time you paint me, I want to be there when you do it.”

You blush harder than you ever have in your life. “Only if you try painting me,” you say quietly.

“Of course. You’re very pretty, so I’m sure my horrible artistic skills won’t even make you look bad.”

Luke lets you press your face into the crook of his neck. You soak it up for all it’s worth. 

In the morning, you wake up in the same position. Your nose tucked against his collarbone, the shade of pink you love freckled across his cheeks. You can't wait to paint him again.

When you look out the window, you say a silent, grateful prayer to your mother.

She's given you two more rainbows.

[pomefioredove]

could you write the overblot boys (+ lillia & adeuce) with a reader who is really naïve? like they aren’t dumb by any means (the opposite, actually, they are smart and get amazing grades) but they have a lot of trust in people and sometimes takes things too seriously/at face value (like they don’t understand sarcasm at all, respond to rhetorical questions, etc)

how do you guys keep coming up with the most specific relatable ideas 😭😭 finally, oblivious representation!!!

summary: naive/oblivious reader type of post: headcanons characters: riddle, ace, deuce, leona, azul, jamil, vil, idia, malleus, lilia additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

for someone who's entire life is structured around decorum, Riddle is unexpectedly lenient with you

he's always had a certain weakness for cute things...

AHEM

he's seen your grades, and he knows you aren't incompetent or dim, you just...

...lack social finesse

fortunately, he says he's an expert at socializing!

...unfortunately, that's not true at all

if you're not careful, he'll have you talking like a sickly Victorian orphan by month two

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

but at least he's not Ace, who finds your naivete VERY entertaining

you and Deuce are a two-man circus to him

tricking you is so easy, it's almost not even fun

almost

he has, on three separate occasions, told you and Deuce that "gullible" is written on the ceiling, and all times, you both looked up

but it's all in good fun, of course

Sevens help anyone else who teases you about it, though. then it isn't so funny anymore

Ace and Deuce are just a little overprotective

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Leona hasn't said a word about it

not that he hasn't noticed

...not that he's trying not to embarrass you, either

he's just trying to see how long it'll take before you can tell when he's being sarcastic

it's just... entertaining

for someone as smart as you to hang onto his every word...

it's... a bit of a power trip for him

not that he's taking advantage of you for anything other than amusement, of course

besides, you'll need someone around to tell off the idiots who do try to pull the rug out from under you

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

speaking of which...

if not for your friends' intervention, Azul would probably own your soul by now

he's not half as convincing as he thinks he is, but even then, you respond to everything he says in earnest

you actually believe the whole "nice guy" act

and, honestly...

well...

he likes the way you like him

you actually see him as a nice, smart, interesting person. you spend time with him without expecting anything in return

so, he gives up on trying to squeeze a deal out of you

...for now, at least, you're under his protection

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

someone get this poor man a day off

Jamil is tempted to put you and Kalim in a play pen together so he can take a nap

he just... doesn't understand you

he's seen your name in the hall after exams, he's heard the way the professors praise you, and yet you are almost painfully easy to manipulate

he could mold you like clay if he really wanted to

...unfortunately, he cares too much to do that

so, for now, he'll keep trying to trick you into tutoring Kalim so he can have the night off

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Vil is your number one protector

you're smart, you're competent, but you're way too easy to deceive

and knowing the boys at this school...

...of course, Vil has to keep you by his side at all times. he wouldn't trust half the students here with his laundry

he can't sit by and let you get taken advantage of

...not that he never teases you

he does, of course

your earnest responses are just so sweet to him, and you seem to genuinely enjoy complimenting him...

anyway

while Rook teaches you how to pick up on hints and cues, and Epel throws hands with anyone who even looks at you weird, Vil is busy pampering you half to death

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Idia's initial reaction is something along the lines of "well, at least I'm not that guy,"

(sorry)

but, really; he thinks he has it bad, and then you can't even read a room?

you're like total opposites; an overthinker and an underthinker

you're all... sweet and genuine and cutesy

and he's a lame weird loser...

he assumes that everyone else thinks the same; but then he starts hearing the things other people say about you...

...and the way you get treated when you don't understand a joke or pick up on a cue

maybe you're not so different, after all...

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

unfortunately, it looks like you and Malleus are on the same page

one oblivious to social cues, the other awkward from years of isolation

communicating with anyone else is a minefield

but, of course, you have each other

the way you talk to each other is kind of adorable?

Malleus can be quite blunt when he doesn't mean to, though, for you, that's a blessing

but he's also aware that you're a little oblivious, compared to other humans, and he's quite accommodating

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Lilia is a little shit

he may act all innocent about it, but he knows very well what he's doing

your naivete was the first thing he noticed about you

he absolutely uses it to his advantage

you're just so easy to prank, how can he resist?

he also enjoys flirting with you

it goes right over your head every time, and it's just the cutest thing he's ever seen

he's trying to see how far he can push it before you realize he's being serious

times he's said "I want you" to your face: 2 and counting!

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

your boyfriend has a little habit of being sort of..spacey. or at least he looks like he is.

despite his..ditzy and aloof appearance. shouto is very acutely aware of his surroundings.

especially when you’re in said surroundings.

he’s walking along the hallways with his friends, they’re chatting about everything and nothing, school and about the results of their last test. shouto doesn’t feel the need to interject, happy to simply listen and respond when he’s spoken to. except his mind is also kind of elsewhere at the moment because even in there he’s looking for you.

no matter what he’s doing, shouto todoroki has a piece of you in his mind. if his friends are worrying about their test results he’s perfectly fine, cus he studied with you. the letters he sends to his mom talk about his daily life, with little details about you sprinkled in. his father is trying to coerce him into coming to his agency again, shouto thinks it’d be a lot more enjoyable if you were with him.

you’re not with them right now, because mr. aizawa had asked you to send in some papers to the teacher’s lounge. you said you’d catch up with your friends as soon as possible and shouto’s listening, he really is. but he’s also scanning the crowd hoping to catch a little glimpse of you.

“what about you, todoroki ?”

shouto blinks, hearing his name come out of his freckled friend’s lips as he blinks at him expectantly with a smile. ochaco and iida also seem to be awaiting a response.

okay, so maybe he hadn’t been listening as well as he claimed..

“i’m sorry. i didn’t catch that last part, what were you saying ?” he asks bluntly, midoriya doesn’t mind and he repeats “i was asking you how you think your test went.” he chirps, shouto hums thinking about the question.

“i studied well for it, so i think it went well,” his friends hum, iida congratulates him for staying focused on his academics, waving his hand around in chopping motions.

and of course, shouto is always looking for you, so nobody’s surprised when he adds “yn also helped me study, so i think i’ll be..”

everyone is surprised though when he suddenly trails off. and without another word shouto walks ahead of his friends further down the crowded hallway. the lack of “oh, give me a second.” or “ i’ll be right back.”, the lack of anything stuns the three students so hard they freeze into place. they wonder what could’ve made him speed off in such a hurry, until ochaco gets a good look and points towards the dual haired boy.

ah, shouto’s found you.

you’re surprised to see him, your eyes widen “oh, hey sho !” he returns your greeting, his face hasn’t really changed from an outsiders point of view, but he leans in towards you the moment the words leave your lips and his whole face has gone soft, almost pudgy when you smile at him.

“i didn’t except to see you, you scared me !”

he blinks at that, shock settles onto his face as he bows his head in shame “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to..” simple, but earnest and it makes you melt.

“oh no, no ! you just popped up outta nowhere and it surprised me is all, got nothing to be sorry about.” you reassured, shouto’s expression changes and he returns, nodding happily.

“i missed you.”

you snort “i was gone for at most 10 minutes, shouto.”

“it was 11 minutes. and i missed you during that one extra minute, too.” if he had a tail, it’d be wagging at the speed of sound the way his face brightens when you laugh. you call him unbelievable and a small smile grows on his face

he’s just about to ask if you need help with your bag when you suddenly wave behind him. at your friends, who all share a sort of teasing, but also absolutely not surprised look.

oh, woops..

[niningtori]

make you cry | part one

part two: beomgyu's ending | part three: hyuka's ending

pairing: beomgyu x you, huening kai x you in alternate ending

summary: beomgyu is your manwhore best friend who you've been secretly in love with for years. one night, he asks you to blur the lines between friendship and physical intimacy for his own convenience.

genre: ANGST, romance, smut (mdni), fwb

warnings: smut (mdni), unprotected sex, creampie, dom!gyu, eventual sub!gyu, fingering (vaginal), dacryphilia, dirty talk, praise, if i missed anything lmk!

word count: 4.2k

notes: hi friends! i'm not completely satisfied with this, but i'd rather it be done than sitting in my drafts. pls don't be mean ;_;

being in love with your best friend is not for the faint of heart, you think. in some cases, it’s the easiest thing in the world, but beomgyu makes it difficult. he’s not a bad guy, at least not deep down, but as you watch him break the heart of another notch in his belt, you can’t help but shiver at the fact that he’d very easily do the same to you if you gave him that chance. not that you ever will, that is, but the thought still remains.

you met in grade school. for you, it was a classic case of love at first sight. you had just fallen off the swingset and the teacher had yet to notice you, so you were crying alone when he came up to you with a dinosaur bandaid in tow. he looked like an angel with the sun encircling him, and even as a child, you thought he was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen as he held his little hand out for you to grasp. you had no chance to steel your heart when he asked you if you wanted to be friends, and after that, the rest is history. 

that was years ago, but the image of him holding out his hand is engraved in your bones. you think about it even now as you watch him make the poor, unfortunate girl in front of you bawl like a baby. she asks him why he's doing this, what she did wrong, how she can fix it to make him stay. but he's dead set on breaking her heart tonight. and you'll be the one who takes his tipsy ass home after he's done ruining this girl’s perception of love. you’re nothing more than a glorified lackey and enabler, but that's just how it is.

“god, i don’t know why they can never just let go. they always have to make it so hard,” he grumbles in the passenger’s seat of your car. he seems more annoyed than genuinely upset and you can’t help but to feel for the girl who he just unceremoniously dumped in the middle of a house party, so you speak up for once.

“it’s not her fault, beoms. she just really likes you,” you reason. not that it matters, anyway, but you feel better after speaking your mind.

“so it’s my fault? i just don’t get it. i told her no strings attached from the beginning. the fact that she took it seriously is her own problem.” well, nevermind about feeling better. you feel even worse for her now.

“it’s hard not to get attached to you,” you mumble.

“what?” he asks, not even really paying attention to what you’re saying, but still asking for the sake of being (what he thinks is) polite.

“no, it’s nothing,” you reply quickly.

“mmm,” he nods, completely preoccupied with his own issues to really give a fuck about what you have to say. then, as if by a stroke of genius, he says his next words without much thought.

“i just thought of something! you would never act like that with me, would you?” you can’t help but scowl. of course you’d act like that. you’re a normal human being with normal feelings. you’ve already fallen for beomgyu without the physical intimacy, so you can’t imagine how you’d act if you actually had sex with him. but you can’t tell him that, or else he’d start suspecting something.

“i guess not,” you sigh. 

“then why don’t we hook up instead?” he asks, genuinely earnest. 

“no,” you say simply.

“why not?” he frowns, somewhat offended.

“i’m not interested,” you shrug. you don’t realize that your indifference has the opposite effect on beomgyu. what he perceives as your disgust only interests him more.

“c’mon, i’d definitely show you a good time,” he argues.

“i’m fine, thanks.” 

“no, you’re not fine. you haven’t slept with anybody in months. not since what’s-his-name, right? it’s the perfect deal. i’ll give you the time of your life and i’ll get to fuck without any feelings involved.” you try your hardest not to say it’s too late for that. those words will never leave your mouth, though. or else he’d drop you like a hot potato.

“i said no and i mean no. besides, i kind of like somebody right now.” you’re not lying, really. you truly do like, even love, somebody right now, and he’s sitting right next to you.

“who is he?” he asks. “actually, your taste in men is so shit, i don't even wanna know.” usually, that would hurt your feelings, but this whole situation is so fucked up you can’t even find it in you to stifle your laugh. 

“true.” he cocks an eyebrow at your answer. you should, in theory, vehemently deny this. just how shitty is this guy for you to not even put up a fight? 

“okay, i lied. now i really wanna know. who is he? yeonjun?” he asks. you giggle even more.

“no. yeonjun is sweet, but no. and i’m not telling you, so you should give up.” 

“you think yeonjun is sweet in comparison? damn, this guy must be fucking scum,” he laughs. you can’t help but shake your head with an airy laugh of your own. yeah, he’s so awful he even makes yeonjun look sweet. at least it seems like yeonjun has a conscience when he fucks somebody over. beomgyu, for the most part, has none.

“he’s not all bad,” you say softly, still smiling and resting your head on the headrest of your car. 

“but still bad,” he argues. 

“mhmm,” you hum. “still bad.”

-

beomgyu doesn’t mention hooking up again after that, and for that you are thankful, you think. is there a part of you that regrets not saying yes? in a way, you do. who wouldn’t want to be even closer to the one they love? but you know the closeness would be a lie. even if you were in closer proximity physically, he’d still be far away emotionally. too far to ever catch him. and so you sit at the counter of this shitty bar and watch him try to woo one of the prettiest girls you’ve ever seen, and by the looks of it, it’s working. you smile bitterly and down another shot, making your stomach feel hotter and hotter. you know that by the end of the night, you’ll feel sick, but you’d rather be physically sick and drunk rather than emotionally sick and sober. 

“you okay?” kai asks, sliding into the seat next to yours and cutting into your daze with ease. 

“aren’t i always?” you answer with a wry smile.

“it’s that bad, huh?” he asks. beomgyu is your best friend, sure, but kai is the only person in the world who knows about your feelings for him. he also feels like the only person in the world who would understand them. 

“yeah, it is,” you mumble, downing yet another drink as you watch beomgyu grinding on the girl salaciously. 

“wanna get out of here?” he asks sympathetically. you should say no. beomgyu will be angry that you left  him, even if he’d ditch you in a heartbeat to get laid. but now, as you watch him shoving his tongue in the red-lipped mouth of the girl who will now be the impossible standard you’ll hold yourself to from hereon out, you can’t bring yourself to care.

“i do,” you smile, for real this time, and his grin matches yours.

you’re so drunk, you barely remember how you got home, but you’re here and so is hyuka. you don’t cry, even if he kind of wishes you would just so you could let it all out. you laugh, even, as he tells his dorky jokes and beats your ass in mario kart. things are going so well, you don’t even hear the pounding on your door until kai says something about it.

“i’ll get it,” he says soothingly when you unsteadily try to stand up.

“thanks, hyuka,” you smile. and that smile stays planted on your face until you see who’s at the door. beomgyu. and by the looks of it, he’s pissed.

“what the fuck is your problem?! how could you just leave me there alone?” he asks as soon as he’s let in. your face sinks and all prior happiness is washed away in an instant.

“you weren’t alone,” kai cuts in defensively. “she was alone until i came and got her.” beomgyu is actually a little embarrassed by this blatant callout, but he’d sooner die than admit it.

“well, she should’ve said something, at least,” he counters, face still hot and voice still as loud as ever.

“i thought you were going home with that girl,” you reply meekly. 

“and you couldn’t just ask?!” he snaps. 

“you’re being an asshole,” kai argues. “nobody wants to watch you tonguing down some random girl, and she’s not your babysitter.” the room is deathly quiet after this. beomgyu is fishing for words, but he’s too drunk to quite think of any at the moment. he wishes he were sober so he could put kai in his place, but the words never come. all he knows is he’s pissed beyond anything he can properly articulate and it’s driving him crazy. 

“you’re drunk,” kai adds sternly. “go home.” 

“hyuka, it's okay,” you say gently. “he's too drunk for that. he can crash on the couch.” beomgyu doesn't know why, but he scowls at the nickname.

“but —”

“it's okay,” you repeat. kai’s face looks torn. 

“alright, then i'll head out,” he relents after a few seconds. “the both of you just need some sleep,” he says with a sharp glance towards beomgyu, who is still fuming, by the way.

“thank you,” you say with a terse smile. he returns it with a smile of his own and shuts the door behind him. beomgyu watches the entire interaction and somehow feels even worse.

“what the fuck was that? is he the guy you’re hung up on or something?” 

“no!” you exclaim incredulously. “hyuka is a nice guy, and he’s just… helping me with some things right now.” you’re not the most eloquent person on a good day, much less while drunk, so that’s all you can really say at the moment.

“what ‘things’ could he possibly be helping you with?” he snaps before realization dawns on him. “you told him about that guy, didn’t you?! you can tell him but you can’t tell me?” 

“he… he just understands,” you say. you knew beomgyu wouldn’t just let this shit go and be done with it. he’s like a child finding out his dog likes somebody better than he likes him, and it’s exhausting.

“are you sleeping with him?” 

“what, no!”  you say firmly. 

“you are, aren’t you?” he sneers. “you won’t let me touch you, but you’re letting him?” 

“is it so hard to believe that a man just wants to be my friend without wanting to fuck me?” truthfully, yes. you’re good looking and his experience tells him that men always harbor those intentions. well, he does, at least. and for some reason, as he looks at you in your big t-shirt and sweatpants, those intentions are brewing even more. 

“beomgyu?” you ask tentatively. his eyes are so intense it seems like he’s even more pissed off,  somehow. your innocent look stokes the flames of what’s already been burning for you.

as if he’s possessed, he stalks his way over to you, grabs your face before you can even react, and plants a bruising kiss on your soft lips. you gasp when he meanly takes your bottom lip between his teeth and he can’t help but chuckle. the kiss is cruel for so many reasons, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t knock you off of your feet. you’re usually so restrained around him for reasons only you and kai know, but you feel your inhibitions melt as his tongue enters your mouth. he tastes like alcohol, but then, so do you, and he doesn’t seem to mind. in fact, if his hungry kiss in any indication, he seems to love it. 

one of his hands travel under your big hoodie and he tweaks your already hardened nipple between his fingers. 

“does that feel good, baby?” he asks lowly, and you feel yourself becoming even more wet. you're too embarrassed to respond, but judging from his tone, he already knows your answer. 

his kisses are unrelenting and fierce, no gentleness or care to be seen, but you’re so sweet he can’t control himself. he’s been wanting to do this ever since he hit puberty, but you’ve never seemed interested in him for reasons he can’t understand. but now, you seem more than interested as you let him lead you to your bedroom. he lays you down on your bed and takes off your sweatpants. when he sees you, naked and glistening just from a few touches, he licks his lips in anticipation.

“all this from a few kisses?” he teases, rubbing his fingers up and down your slit. you can do nothing but gasp in response as he pushes one of his long, calloused fingers into your heat.

“s-so tight, it’s sucking me in,” he moans. “i can’t wait to see how you feel around my cock.” he adds a second finger and curls, hitting your sweet spot. all you can do is moan as he takes his thumb and rolls your clit. he watches your body rise and fall with the pleasure and it fascinates him like nothing he’s ever seen. your eyes are screwed shut, but he can’t help but prod and tease to see the different facial expressions you show him. before long, he’s pounding into you. the sound of squelches mixed with your moans only goads him further and further until you’re clenching down mercilessly on his fingers.

“aww, does that feel good, baby?” he coos. “wanna feel even better?” post-release clarity should hit you right about now, but you’re only more eager when he removes his clothes. his lengthy cock, angry and reddened, springs up and slaps his stomach. you whimper at the sight and he smirks at how needy you are.

he hovers over you and slowly, agonizingly slowly, he begins to rub his stiffened length up and down your slit. 

“gyu, you need a condom —” you begin to protest.

“why? i’m clean. and i don’t fuck just anyone raw,” he argues as the head of his cock comes dangerously close to hooking on your entrance. you’ve never been able to say no to him for any meaningful amount of time, so relenting isn’t out of the ordinary for you. but more than that, his words, though unromantic, spark a bit of hope in your heart. you’re special, you think. 

“do you trust me?” he asks. 

no. not at all.

“of course.” and he pushes in. his arrogance falters as you take him in, inch by throbbing inch. it’s a tight fit, and the way you clench around the tip of his cock only drives him further and further into madness. how can you feel so good? how can this feel so perfect? 

your poor pussy is equal parts trying to suck him in and trying to resist so the intrusion is forced out. to him, it feels like heaven. 

“t-tight!” he hisses. “relax, baby, or you’re gonna break me.” for some reason, his words comfort you, allowing him smooth entry until he’s completely sheathed in you. you both moan when he completely bottoms out, balls hitting your ass in the most lewd way. his precum mixed with the result of your release seep into the bedsheets. he stays there for just a moment, pushing your hair out of your face, and his next words are uncommonly tender.

“you look so pretty like this,” he muses, and you don’t even have time to blush before he’s unsteadily pulling out, pussy pulling him back in like it never wants him to leave, then thrusting back in again. 

“oh m-my god,” he says as he begins to ram into you. “so good, baby. you’re taking me so well.” 

“b-big!” is all you can manage to say as he continues to fuck you open.

“oh baby, are you going dumb on my cock? can’t even manage to get the words out, can you? it’s okay, don’t think. i’ll take care. of. you,” he says, punctuating each word with his mean thrusts. 

you’re crying now, the pleasure too great to stifle your tears. beomgyu thinks you look absolutely lovely like this, lovelier than anyone he’s ever seen, especially when he looks at where you two are joined and watches himself enter and exit your puffy pussy. each gasp, each breathy whine you emit makes him feel crazier and crazier. he aches so much, he has no choice but to continue pounding into you until he's relieved. so he does. he’s gripping the plush of your thighs like he might die if he doesn’t have something to hold onto. 

he leans over to give you a nasty kiss, all tongue and teeth. when he parts from you, a lewd string of saliva falls from your mouths and he can’t control the chuckle that escapes him when he sees your pupils are blown out as you flounder for his lips again. 

“look, baby. look at how good i’m fucking you.” you look down and see how his cock protrudes from your tummy as he rams in and out of you. “nobody else has fucked you right, but don’t worry, i’ll make sure to fix that.” your pussy involuntarily clenches at his filthy words and it’s enough to make you come.

“c-coming!” you manage to choke out as you spasm around him, back arching deliciously. he follows soon after, thrusts becoming uneven before you feel his cum shooting inside of you.

-

fucking beomgyu comes naturally, and often. he can’t seem to keep his hands off of you. hooking up becomes almost a daily affair, but you’re so hungry for him you can’t bring yourself to protest. you fuck in his car, on his couch, over the fucking kitchen counter, even. all plans to go out with anyone else are immediately dashed in favor of being with him, instead. you feel yourself falling deeper and deeper in love with him, and even if you know, know, know it’s fruitless, you can’t help but relent when he looks at you like a man starved. 

“this can’t be good for you,” kai tells you one evening in the comfort of your apartment. it’s a rare occurrence to have a free night from beomgyu’s clutches. kai hasn’t seen you in weeks because you’ve been too “busy” with beomgyu. 

“well, i know,” you sigh, too tired to argue with him. 

“if you know, then why do you do it?” he asks tentatively. you can’t help but give him a look. 

“you know why,” you say. 

“he's just messing with your head. you know this can't end well.” you flinch at the word “end”. you know it, he knows it, beomgyu surely fucking knows it, but you can’t help but give in every time. “what are you gonna do when he inevitably fucks you over? and he will, just like always.”

“i… i’ll deal with it when the time comes,” you protest. he sees your defeated expression and lightly tilts your head so it’s resting on his shoulder. your retribution for your actions was always well on its way, but you didn’t know it would come so soon. 

you hear a key turning in the door. there’s only one person in the world you’ve given a spare to, so you aren’t surprised in the slightest when beomgyu walks in with that signature smirk on his face. he scowls a bit when he’s greeted with the scene of you and kai sitting so intimately.

“am i interrupting something?” he scoffs as you raise your head from kai’s shoulder.

“no,” kai replies before you can even fix your lips to respond. to your mild surprise, he doesn't push any further.

“whatever,” he shrugs, plopping down next to the two of you and pulling out his phone.

“wanna see this girl whose number i got today?” he asks casually, swiping through his phone eagerly. so that's why he didn't wanna meet up. your heart feels like a hole’s been blown straight through it. you and kai share a deep look, which beomgyu completely misses as he pulls up a picture of a beautiful looking girl. 

“this is her,” he says with a triumphant smirk. you don’t — can’t — respond. you just have a blank look on your face.

“what?” he asks petulantly. “she’s really pretty, look!” he insists, pulling up another picture. “she’s one of the hottest girls i’ve seen in a minute.”

any last shred of hope or dignity you have is strangled in its crib at his careless words. your eyes are hot and your stomach hurts so much you feel like you’re going to vomit. kai notices your discomfort and decides to put a stop to this once and for all.

“alright, that’s enough,” kai snaps. “nobody wants to see that shit.”

“what’s your fucking problem?” beomgyu retorts.

“my problem is that you’re a fucking moron. grow up.” beomgyu’s not one to get physical, at least not in a violent sense, but he’s on the precipice of breaking that streak at kai’s harsh words.

“stop, hyuka. it’s okay,” you say softly. beomgyu is so furious, he almost forgot you’re here, but he's genuinely confused by kai’s words.

“what's okay? what is it that you're not telling me?” beomgyu asks. 

“it's not okay, actually. he’s fucking you but he comes around and pulls this shit right in front of you?! she won’t say it, but i will.” 

“kai, don’t —” 

“she doesn’t care! no strings attached, that’s always been the deal.”

“you may be stupid as fuck, but surely you’re not that stupid,” kai sneers. “so if you say you don’t already know, you’re just a fucking liar.” beomgyu pauses at this. is he saying what he thinks he’s saying? surely you didn’t catch feelings, right? but one look at your face, and he knows kai is telling the truth. 

but why? and when?

“since when did you…”

“since always,” you say quietly. 

“oh, fuck. look, i —”

“it’s okay. i already know,” you cut in. and you do already know, but you can’t bear to hear him say it. beomgyu, in all his glory, processes this and instead of regret, all he feels is anger.

“i’m the piece of shit guy you can’t get over? are you fucking serious?”

“hyuka, you should go,” you say instead of letting him watch the melodrama unfolding before him. kai looks uncertainly between the both of you before relenting. 

“call me later, okay?” he says, wiping tears from your eyes that you didn’t realize had fallen.

“okay,” you reply with a sad smile. he sends beomgyu one last scathing look before gathering his shit and slamming the door behind him. 

“you tricked me!” beomgyu exclaims as soon as the door shuts. “i would’ve never fucked you if i knew you’d be like this.” just like everyone else. he doesn’t need to voice the last part, but you already know he wants to say it, which just hurts you even more.

“did you really not know, or were you just pretending not to know ‘cause it’d be inconvenient for you?” that shuts him up. kai was right, he’d be stupid not to know. maybe not at first, but surely along the way. surely when you’d look at him so longingly after sleeping with him, or the way you’d look so sad when he didn't stay after sex.

“listen, i’m so sorry that you’re scared, or angry, or whatever it is you’re feeling. i really am. but are you so selfish that you really think nobody else is afraid to have their heart broken? and do you think that means you’re allowed to hurt everyone else instead?” you ask quietly. every new word pierces his heart like nothing he's ever felt before. he wants to say something, but for the life of him, he can’t think of anything quite fitting. 

“i think you should leave,” you say after what feels like an eternity of silence. he looks at you with watery eyes and you almost feel guilty, but you’re through with feeling things for him that he’d never have the courtesy to feel for you. “go,” you repeat defeatedly, striding to the door and holding it open for him and he feels more and more like a rat you want to chase out of your home.

he looks like he wants to say something, but one look at you tells him you’re done listening. with heavy feet and an even heavier heart, he heads through the doorway, pausing only before he’s about to cross the threshold. he has a sinking feeling in his gut that tells him this is probably the last time he’ll be here. 

“are we still friends after this?” he asks lowly, eyes wide and more desperate than you’ve ever seen them. 

“no,” you say simply, and shut the door.

notes: not a ton of smut in this part, but i think the next part will have more i fear.

taglist: @my313 @superbbananananana @lonelybutterflytae @cherrycolaberry @everythingvirgoes @beomnoullitheorem @sunny4cast

[theobsessivesideblog]

Trust Issues

An anxious Astarion falls back into old patterns of behavior.

Warnings: vague mentions of Astarion's past but seriously the rest of it is just fluff, this boy deserves someone who treats him well

————————

He loves you. Of that much he’s certain now, despite the mental battle he waged to get to this point. And you love him. He believes it even though the voice in the back of his mind tells him that he could never be worthy of a creature like you, all goodness and light in direct contrast to his tortured darkness. 

But old habits die hard. A minor disagreement earlier in the day (truly it was nothing, a mere gentle dissuasion away from his more violent tendencies) has him wound tight, worry clawing at his throat as you both retire to your tent for the evening. Surely now you’ll realize, now you’ll see the truth of him and you’ll run, leaving him behind like the monster he is. 

He can feel his mindset shift, falling into old routines as he turns up the charm to seduce his way back into your good graces. He knows how to wield his body as a weapon, has used it countless times for his, and his master’s, benefit. If he makes you need him then you can’t leave him, and he intends to make you very needy tonight. 

“You were magnificent today” he whispers into your ear, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist. 

You chuckle lightly and lean into him, closing your eyes as he begins gently kissing the sensitive hollow beneath your ear that has you arching further into his embrace. 

“You flatter me,” you hum. “I’m still not sure why everyone has decided to act like I know what I’m doing. I never planned on being a leader.”

“And yet you do it so flawlessly,” Astarion purrs, gently kissing his way to your shoulder.

You twist in his hold, your breath catching as you see the look in his eyes that he’s praying you interpret as hunger and not helpless desperation.

He takes advantage of your distraction to pull you against him, lips claiming yours in a feverish dance that takes your breath away as you wind your hands into his hair, clinging to him as if he’s something worth having. 

His hands shift suddenly, grabbing the backs of your thighs and lifting you as he lowers you both to your knees. His hands drift up, pulling your shirt from where it’s tucked into your pants and caressing his way across your stomach to your ribs, teasing the edge of your bra. 

“I…” you take a sharp inhale, pulling yourself away from his searching mouth. “Astarion, stop.”

He freezes immediately, eyes instantly searching for an injury, for anything he may have done wrong 

“Are you okay, my love? Did I hurt you?”

“Of course not, I just…” your fingers flit across his cheek, searching for answers to questions you’re afraid to ask. “You don’t seem like yourself. Are you alright?” He hesitates for a split second and your brow furrows, latching on to his lie before he can even tell it. “Tell me. Please?” 

Your request is so earnest, so loving, that he has to pause for a moment to regain a hold of his emotions. If Cazador could see him now… the thought snaps him back to the present. He’s been a fool. You would never treat him like that, use him like that. 

“… I’m sorry” he breathes. “You’re right. Of course you’re right. I… I lost control today, and I was afraid that you… that you might not...”

“I told you it was nothing to worry about, love. You were just—”

“Just being myself,” he interjects, dropping his head. “Just being quick to judge, to assume the worst, to—”

“Stop that,” you frown, nudging his chin up to draw his eyes back to yours. “You know I couldn’t do this without you, any of it. What you thought of me when we met, that I was naive and overly trusting and gullible…” At that Astarion chuckles, you’ve really only proven his first impression right, though at least now he finds it endearing rather than frustrating. “You weren’t wrong. You don’t realize how much I rely on your judgment, how much I need your help to keep us all safe.”

His eyes close as he presses his forehead to yours.

“You’re too kind to me,” he whispers. “No one has ever… I don’t understand how you can just…” he sighs, shoulders sagging as the facade crumbles and his hands come to rest in yours, holding them as if he’s afraid he’ll get lost if he lets them go. “It was wrong of me to try to manipulate you like that,” he murmurs, releasing a shaky breath. “I’m sorry.” You press a soft kiss to his cheek and duck your head, gently nuzzling your face into his neck. He feels you frown against him, a touch of cold alerting him to a teardrop falling onto his skin. “No, pet, please don’t cry, I—”

You lift your head suddenly, gaze piercing into him with an intensity he hadn’t expected.

“I need you to trust me, Astarion.” 

His brow furrows in confusion. 

“I do, my sweet,” he replies, letting out a wry chuckle before adding “despite the recent evidence to the contrary.”

Your gaze softens as you grin at him, brushing a stray curl off his forehead before bringing your hand to rest on his cheek.

“Then trust me to love you.Trust that you don’t need to earn that or convince me of anything more. I’m yours. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Astarion’s eyes drift closed as a weight he didn’t realize he was carrying slips off his shoulders. He leans forward and captures your lips with his, tender and unhurried as you relax against him. 

“Have I told you recently how much I adore you, darling?” he asks, tilting his head to slowly kiss his way to your jaw.

“Hmm…” Your eyes twinkle as you pull an exaggerated thinking face. “I’m sure you have but it’s been such a long day, I just can’t seem to remember…”

“Cheeky little pup,” he chuckles, gently nipping at your neck. You giggle as you pull him back to your mouth, smiling against his lips. 

“Maybe you should jog my memory?” 

“Oh, believe me,” he smirks, “I plan to.”

[elliethefroggy]

What if Eddie had been a little less oblivious and had invited to Buck to trivia-karaoke night.

They’re all three going to hang out at the karaoke bar, and at first Buck’s nervous because Tommy is super cool, but once the trivia quiz actually starts, all the nerves go away, and Buck’s sponge of a brain has a chance to shine.

He gets question after question right, barely having to consult the two others. Eddie’s probably used to this side of Buck, but Tommy gets to sit there, mesmerised because not only is Buck exceedingly attractive but he also has brains (does Tommy have a competency kink? Who’s to say).

By the end of the night, Tommy’s probably forgotten all about trying to answer the questions, too busy watching Buck’s eyes light up every time he knows an answer (and those eyes light up an awful lot). Overall, the night goes well, and Buck’s amazing brain probably wins them a pitcher of free beer or something.

Because that night went so well, all three of them start hanging out more and more. Maybe Tommy somewhat discreetly suggests to Eddie that they invite Buck along, just so he has the opportunity to stare in Buck’s eyes some more.

But Tommy doesn’t do anything at about his developing crush, at least not right away.

Firstly it’s because Tommy’s trying to figure out just what the deal is between Eddie and Buck. Are they dating? Are they the most healthy divorced couple of LA? BFFs? Platonic soulmates? Not-so-platonic soulmates?

Maybe it doesn’t take him that long to figure out that those two are not together, but then he still needs to make sure that there isn’t some unrequited or very-requited-but-they’re-both-oblivious crushing going on between Eddie and Buck.

My guess it takes him a while to finally decide that they’re some flavour of queerplatonic life partners (he decides on this after a lot of subtle and not so subtle questions; Christopher is probably his most helpful informant).

(Realistically, Tommy would have probably just straight up asked one of them if they were together because Tommy seems pretty good at communication, but that’s no fun for me.)

But then, once he’s figured out that Eddie and Buck are definitely not a thing, he still needs to figure out what exactly Buck’s sexuality is.

Because, sure Buck’s only ever dated women and is such an ‘ally’. But Buck spends way too long looking at other men’s asses. Tommy notices this because he’s probably caught Buck staring at the same asses Tommy himself was just looking at (remember the hanger scene when Tommy very blatantly checks out Buck’s ass).

So now Tommy’s having to figure out just what Buck’s sexuality is. Is Buck gay? Is he closeted? Is he as straight as he claims to be? Is he repressed? Also what’s with all the flirting (because of course Buck’s going to be unknowingly flirting with Tommy; Buck just can’t help himself).

Eventually, Tommy and Buck are going to have some one-on-one bonding time without Eddie.

Buck takes him up on those flying lessons which means Tommy gets trapped in a confined space with Buck on a regular basis, having to deal with his growing feelings towards what can only be a golden retriever in human form. Buck is kind and sincere and so so earnest, Tommy has no choice but to fall for him.

But Tommy still doesn’t know where Buck’s sexuality lies, and he’s getting to the point where’s pulling his hair out in frustration, trying to figure it out. Because no way can a heterosexual man stare at Tommy’s lips that often. There is no straight reason for that, right?

He then makes the mistake of also offering Buck Muay Thai lessons.

He doesn’t realise his mistake until they’re both sweaty and shirtless. Buck looks very good sweaty and shirtless. But it’s fine, Tommy manages to cope, he just avoids looking at the large expanse of wet skin right in front of him. He’s not distracted by all that skin. He’s fine.

(Luckily, Buck doesn’t know enough about Muay Thai to notice how badly Tommy is fighting.)

Somehow they both get tangled up and they fall to the ground (I don’t know shit about Muay Thai). Buck lands flat on his back and Tommy ends up on top of him. Tommy goes to get off Buck immediately because Tommy’s not exactly light, but then he makes another mistake: just as he places his hands on either side of Buck to push off the ground, he looks at Buck’s face

Buck’s cheeks are nice and red (because of exertion? Because of Tommy’s close proximity? Both?), Buck’s breathing heavily, his breaths getting faster and faster the longer Tommy stays where he is. Buck’s eyes are near black, his pupils leaving only the thinnest band of colour.

Buck’s staring at Tommy, and Tommy’s staring at Buck. Then Buck once again glances down at Tommy’s lips as Tommy is lying over him, their sweaty chests pressing against one another.

And Tommy cracks.

He throws himself off Buck, getting to his feet, and crosses over to the other side of the mat to put some distance between himself and Buck.

When he turns back to look at Buck, Buck is still lying on the ground, now leaning back on his forearms, looking up at Tommy. Which is a sight Tommy would love nothing more than to see again.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Tommy says, “but are you really straight?” Which is definitely not how Tommy wanted this conversation to start, but sue him, he’s having a breakdown. “Sorry,” he repeats, “It’s just there’s been a lot of flirting and a lot of starring at my various attributes,” he tries again, poorly, “Not that I’m complaining; I would love nothing more than to have you stare at my lips and flirt with me for as long as you want. But I need to know where we stand before I lose my mind trying to figure you out.”

And the thing is, Tommy’s not the only one who’s been struggling these past few weeks.

Buck’s been dealing with these weird feelings towards Tommy since day 1. At first he just figured it was because Tommy was so cool (which he is), and then he thought it was because he was jealous that Tommy was spending so much time with Eddie, thinking maybe Tommy was trying to steal his spot in the Diaz household. But is wasn’t either of those things. Buck’s been wracking his brain for weeks, trying to figure out just what he was feeling towards Tommy.

And here’s Tommy, all sweaty and shirtless, so much glistening skin on display, and Tommy’s offering Buck a possible answer to all these feelings he’s been unable to name.

And what Tommy’s implying makes some sense. Buck thinks over all the instances he’s hung out with Tommy, compares his behaviour to the times he’s had crushes on women, and thinks maybe Tommy’s onto something.

Buck, who is a big believer of the scientific method of experimentation, figures there’s an easy way to test Tommy’s theory.

Buck slowly gets up from the mat as his brain goes into hyper-drive, processing the fastest sexuality crisis known to humanity.

Maybe Buck flexes a bit as he gets up because Tommy’s watching him and he’s always liked attention.

By the time he straightens up, the sexuality crisis has been dealt with and he’s ready to act on these newly revealed feelings.

He likes Tommy’s theory a lot.

“I have been staring at your lips a lot, haven’t I?” He says, purposeful flirty.

(Once again they have both been (knowingly or not) starring at each other longingly for weeks, they are both shirtless and covered in sweat, and had their naked chests pressed up together just moments ago; neither of them are thinking very rationally.)

And Buck (flirty Buck who made picking woman up into an art-form) walks/stalks over to Tommy, leaving enough room for Tommy to back away if he wants to.

“Maybe you should do something about that?” Buck suggests, and very deliberately stares down at Tommy’s lips.

Tommy knows they should have a more thorough discussion about where both of them stand, but he’s only one man.

Tommy closes the gap between them, places two fingers underneath Buck’s chin, and slowly leans in to finally kiss Buck.

The kiss lasts no more than a moment, not nearly long enough for either of their tastes, but Tommy needs to be sure that Evan’s sure.

“So?” he asks simply, fingers still under Evan’s chin.

“Yeah, definitely not straight.” And Evan leans in to kiss Tommy again. Tommy does not mind at all.

(They then spend the rest of their Muay Thai lesson making out.)

[nothorses]

You've made a lot of really great posts about transmasc experiences and struggles, and they really resonate with me! So I guess I want to in complete earnest ask: why the push for 'transandrophobia' when anti-transmasculinity as a term has been around for longer and faces little friction by comparison? I don't really *dislike* transandrophobia, but its meaning gets muddied everywhere from different directions, while ATM is pretty direct and succinct I feel. It's very clear that it's about TRANSmasculine oppression. I'm not against having a dedicated term at all, but the content of our struggles gets lost in the weeds of attaching kind of understandably divisive terms like misandry and androphobia in an attempt to mirror a phenomenon very specifically about misogyny; it seems more trouble than it's worth considering ATM is right there

I'll be honest, this ask is confusing to me for a few reasons.

When I started talking about transandrophobia around the summer of 2020, the conversations I was encountering were very much, like, a handful of people across Twitter and Tumblr (literally, a handfull!). I picked up "transandrophobia" because it was one of two words I saw in use, and the other- "transmisandry"- felt much less clear and much more contentious. It seemed super obvious to me that people would draw a line from "men's rights activists" trying to push this idea that "misandry", as a systemic oppression of men by women, to "transmisandry", and assume some ill intent where there was none. It's confusing!

"Transandrophobia" was the better of two options being floated at the time, at least in any conversation I saw. "Anti-transmasculinity" was not really a term I'd been made aware of, if anyone at all was talking about it at the time.

I have seen people pick up "anti-transmasculinity" more recently (maybe in the last year?), and this is definitely the first I've seen someone shorten it to "ATM". The people I've seen use that term have been mostly people who seem really new to the conversation, and the vibe I've gotten has been very, like, "we're the Good Transmascs, our word isn't dirty and gross like those other Bad Transmascs everyone hates. you'll listen to us now that our word is Good and Pure, right?"

Which is like... kind of frustrating, and kind of sad, honestly. I think these people honestly believe that if they just choose the right word, all the people who've been dragging me and every other transmasc talking about these issues through the mud for the last 4 years or so will really just stop & listen. If they can just say it right, these people- who have been relentlessly harassing and spreading lies about every single transmasc who came before them for years now- will care what they have to say, and will be willing to engage with them in earnest, compassionate dialogue.

If you just find the right word, all of these people will care about your hurt, your pain, and the suffering of your community.

It kind of breaks my heart. It's an incredibly hopeful, kind, loving way to view the world. It's compassion and patience and forgiveness that these folks are not being given, but that they so badly want to offer to others.

And at the same time, it sucks to be the Bad Transmasc. It sucks to have fought so hard for so long, and for the people I've been fighting for all this time to turn around and say, "you're gross, and dirty, and evil, and everything you've done is a mistake." It sucks to see the people I've been fighting for agree with the people I've been fighting against, and shove me under the bus in an effort to appeal to the people running me over with it. Knowing that the bus is going to aim for them once it's done with me just makes it sadder, yknow?

@saint-speaks wasn't the first person to ever speak the word "transandrophobia", but he is the one who coined and popularized it in its current form. And then he was dragged through the mud so hard and so brutally that some people think I coined it, just because when I defended him (too little and too late, imo) I withstood the mud-dragging better than he did (and gee, I wonder white.)

And now people take for granted that everything everyone said about hymn to justify that frankly fucking evil harassment campaign was true, actually, and we should abandon the word he coined and find one with purer origins.

If you honestly think "anti-transmasculinity" is just a more practical word, that's fine. I don't care what word we use. But they're going to cover it in mud, too. They're going to cover every one of you in mud.

Will you keep fighting for "ATM" once they make it the new dirty, gross, bad, evil word? Will you keep fighting when they drag you and everyone else through the mud for using it? Or will you agree with them, make up a new word, and never look back?

Please don't let us drown in the mud. We've been fighting for you, and we want to fight with you. Please.

[romaritimeharbor]

FAMILY, OF SORTS. — in which kafka, blade, and silver wolf are an odd but quite special found family to be a part of.

— trigger & content warnings. mentions of unspecified injury.

— pairings & notes. fluff, found family. kafka & teen!reader, blade & teen!reader, silver wolf & teen!reader. 1.3k words. reader is a stellaron hunter. reader is gender neutral (they/them pronouns used).

— author's notes. the sillies <3 APHE POSTING???? APHELION POSTING REAL AND TRUE????????? i had a request for this on my old blog (from my dear beloved moot @starryshinyskies <3) so i decided to finish it 💪 nd tagging @www-brontide since i know you were excited for this post HEHE anyways how are we feeling about this formatting? if you guys don't like it i'm very open to changing it back. i'm just experimenting with my post format is all 🫶

kafka seems strangely motherly to me. caring and doting in her own unique ways, but also quite strange and odd in those same ways. an enigma of sorts.

she is the kind of person to always send the stellaron hunters' youngest member texts throughout the day; these texts range anywhere from silly and inconsequential to sweet messages letting [name] know that she was thinking about them.

(her doting nature is not dissimilar to how she thinks of and regards the trailblazer... hm.)

KAFKA

My coat got stained again :(

Won't you help me clean it when you get home, little one?

[ 1:22 PM ]

KAFKA

I saw a new movie today.

It made me think of you. It was quite to your tastes.

Perhaps we should go see it together sometime, hm?

Ah, but you're probably asleep by now...

That's fine. You do need it more than the rest of us.

Sleep well, darling.

[ 11:34 PM ]

she thinks of her little one quite frequently and has been known to pick up little trinkets from different planets that reminded her of them. a phone charm, a set of rings, something more practical like a new weapon... she once returned with a nice coat that matches one of hers. her gifts are always unpredictable but nonetheless very thoughtful.

and when or if they get injured, she is the one who treats their wound(s) with a tender hand.

she does chide them, however.

"you are a stellaron hunter, little one," she reminds, pulling the bandages wrapped around their wound a little tighter, making them wince. it is akin to a slap on the wrist—not enough pain to seriously harm them, but enough to force them to take her words to heart. "if it is not a part of the plan, try your best not to get caught or injured, hm? silver wolf doesn't like to see you this way, and it causes a unique stir in bladie. your getting injured causes quite the unrest among us all! do be more careful next time."

if there is ever a night during which they are struggling to sleep, they are more than welcome to seek out kafka's company.

she would be willing to read them to sleep, if that is what they desired.

however... a far easier method that would ensure they would stay asleep? her spirit whisper ability, of course.

they know kafka would not use it to harm them.

kafka finds their earnest trust beyond endearing. the trust of a little one like them is quite an important gift! the least she can do, she thinks, is assist them when her assistance is needed.

and sometimes, that just means lulling them to sleep.

blade is quite a difficult person to read, regardless of whether he intends to be so or not.

some days, he is distant and prefers to keep to himself. others, less so.

this, though, should not be mistaken for a lack of care. in fact, he cares quite deeply. his care is simply very quiet and he desperately, earnestly, truly does not wish to cause [name] harm.

he is also most likely the one who spars with them and trains them in the ways of combat, which... he isn't exactly the gentlest at doing. training sessions can be quite frustrating in that they often emerge sore and with new cuts and bruises (but really, these injuries are small and insignificant; they are confident in saying that blade would never truly hurt them, nobody in their family would). he does mean well in his tough methods, though.

the universe is not kind or gentle. it will never treat them that way. therefore, he does his best to prepare them so that they can effectively handle the universe's cruelty and defend themselves from it.

one of the ways in which his quiet care manifests is through his treatment of the small wounds he gives them during training. kafka has said many times that she can treat them, but blade always insists on doing it himself.

out of all of their coworkers, blade becomes the most restless when they're away. he gets particularly antsy when they've been gone for a long period or when they're out there alone. kafka always giggles and points out to him how utterly restless he becomes when such circumstances occur.

(he should be assured that they can handle themselves, given that he is their mentor—there is surely nobody else who would know their skills as well as he would—but somehow he simply isn't.)

blade is also, generally speaking, the most protective.

should they come back injured... if it is anything other than a shallow scratch on the cheek, a rage hotter than the brightest star burns under his skin. in those moments, he almost does not dare to touch them, for fear that he might harm them unwittingly... but he does. his hands are somewhat rough when he snatches their face and tilts their chin around to get a better look at the blood (is it theirs? he hopes not) and grime dirtying their face. there is a terrifying threat present in his voice when he demands, not asks, "who did this to you?"

(if kafka was not present in these moments, he might worry that his mara would get the best of him. thankfully, kafka is intentional and present in such situations.)

unless the ones responsible for the wound have already been adequately... taken care of, he will do so himself. there is nowhere in the universe that the perpetrators could hide from him.

it's about protecting them, but it is also about sending a message.

something along the lines of "anyone who lays hands on them will suffer a fate worse than death," perhaps.

death is anything but a terrible fate to blade, but he knows that it is the worst imaginable to some. he will be certain to deliver something infinitely worse, something beyond imagination, to those daring to hurt his younger teammate.

silver wolf is perhaps the least enigmatic of their little family. she isn't an open book, per se, but she's easier to read than kafka or blade... at least, for someone like [name], anyway.

she never fails to harrass them to play a few rounds (which tends to spiral into many, many rounds...) of a game or two with her. why them, specifically? she insists that blade isn't good at them and kafka is kafka. really, it may very well just be that she enjoys spending time with them, but she—of course—will not simply say that.

however... she bullies them terribly about how bad they are. it comes from a place of affection!

she is also the type to win them every single prize at carnivals, just because she likes the joy it seems to bring them. when she encounters rigged games, however, she becomes all the more motivated by her unadulterated annoyance to beat them.

what do you mean she of all people can't beat this awful and horrible rigged game? her???? the silver wolf????? seriously????????

unfortunately, it does not always end in her victory, even when she is infinitely motivated by her anger.

...and she really isn't above just taking one of the prizes when the stall's owner isn't looking. she has done so multiple times for [name].

she would definitely try to teach them hacking (keyword: try) if they aren't already familiar with it. since it has come in handy for her, she figures that they might also find use in it. it's her quiet way of looking out for them.

(her more obvious way of looking out for them is often seen when she is on missions with them. most commonly, it manifests as her snatching their arm and pulling them out of the way of an enemy before obliterating said threat.)

silver wolf is totally the sort of person to pinch their cheeks (to different degrees, kafka and blade also do this!). they are very cute to her.

overall they are a weird but very special little family to be a part of <3

please consider supporting your writers by reblogging and leaving a kind tag or comment. it really helps me out!

[keepthedelta]

okay it's kinda specific but is there any brocedes fact that is often overlooked but you think that is essential (or perhaps gives a new approach) to the lore?

that's such a good question. i have several, i hope you don't mind

the first one is the "he'll always be my best friend in my heart" quote. i've seen a lot of people use it as a very earnest declaration etc. (or if they believe in the nico is obsessed with lewis shit as a sign of that) but it was actually nico making a joke when he was doing commentary (on the italian comms i think). he was asked a question about lewis and jokingly/sarcastically said "in my heart he'll always be my best friend", and then immediately clarified that it was a joke (maybe recognising the narrative that would be spun around it). i know this seems kind of anti-brocedes but i do think it is essential to the lore that people recognise nico is not a weird as fandom likes to make out. he's absolutely weird, and he's definitely not normal about lewis, but he's not obsessive, and he feels comfortable enough making jokes about them. when you contrast that with lewis who either refuses to say nico's name in conversations where he is the most relevant person (the better teammates than max interview) or brings him up unnecessarily and then panics about it (grill the grid), i think it changes the dynamic of who is yearning, who is "over it", who is winning the idgaf war (it's neither of them but the difference is lewis lost by playing and nico is open enough about giving a fuck that he's not pretending to play). i am biased, but i also think that if you look back at them during their careers, lewis was always weirder about nico than nico was about him, although again, neither of them can truly be described as normal about each other.

then there's nico beating lewis in the 2004 f3 series that they shared. the narrative of brocedes describes it as lewis always beating nico, lewis being the one to win and nico always being slightly behind. and largely this is true. but in 2004 they were both competing in the 2004 f3 european series, albeit for different teams. neither of them won, but nico narrowly beat lewis. now they were in different teams and nico himself has said that some teams had better cars and equipment than others and that made a difference in the end result. but, nico still beat lewis. he had nearly double the number of dnfs/dns (6 to lewis's 3) and triple the number of wins (3 to lewis's 1), finishing highest of all the entrants who eventually made it to f1 (nico himself, lewis, adrian sutil and robert kubica). but nico himself barely seems to remember this. the narrative of lewis always being better, always beating him, is something he seems to have internalised, even though it isn't quite true, or at least, not as true as people make out.

my third bit of lore is that mclaren wanted to sign nico for the 2008 season. following the drama of fernando alonso (affectionate) and spygate, mclaren had an open seat and ron dennis wanted to fill it with nico. he even offered to buy out nico's contract from williams, but frank williams viewed nico as their best hope and refused. the driver that eventually ended up replacing fernando was heikki kovaleinen, nico's gp2 rival and 100% finnish to his 50% (yes nico's national identity crisis does come into this). lewis ended up winning the championship that year. heikki took only 1 victory, and while i think lewis would have beaten nico, i think nico wouldn't have been a doormat for him like heikki, and would have won at least a couple of races, which would have allowed felipe massa and ferrari to succeed. in many ways i think an argument can be made that nico not getting that mclaren seat really helped lewis to win his first championship, in the same way that if lewis hadn't gone to mercedes, nico would have won three, or if nico had stayed, there is a very real possibility that sebastian vettel would have won 2017. their presence and their success dooms the other, and it always has.

my final thing is that they are the most successful teammate pairing in f1 history. it kind of links back to the last one, where the fact that they are each as good as they are hurts the other one, unlike a lewis and valtteri line up or a michael and rubens line up where there is a distinct number one driver and the other one is to be sacrificed for him. but, even though both of those pairs were together for longer (nico and lewis aren't even in the top 5 longest teammate pairings), it takes more than a number 1 number 2 driver lineup to be the most successful. it takes nico and lewis, who are both number 1 drivers (don't come for me on this, nico would have flattened the likes of valtteri, rubens, or mark webber and you know it). although they were only teammates for four years (and one of those was a sebastian vettel/red bull dominance year) they achieved more pole positions, front row lockouts, wins, podiums, and 1-2 finishes than any other pairing in f1 history. they were utterly, utterly dominant, and that's why they hurt each other so badly. they were the dream team, the absolute best f1 could come up with, but they weren't just competing as a team, they were competing against each other, and only one of them could win

[loveinhawkins]

When Lucas Sinclair starts to apologise for missing The Cult of Vecna, Eddie initially thinks that he’s hearing things.

Well, actually, the first thing he thinks is something along the lines of ‘what the fuck are you talking about?’

It takes him almost a solid thirty seconds to even vaguely remember his campaign; the last day of school before Spring Break feels dreamlike, as if it happened to someone else, as if he just watched everything through a fogged-up window.

“Jesus, Sinclair. I’ve got an ongoing list of folks who owe me an apology since, like, sixth grade, and trust me, your name’s not on there. Can pretty confidently say it never will, okay?”

Eddie sees Steve tilt his head ever so slightly from where he’s walking just ahead of them, like he’s listening in. Spots his faint nod of approval.

Eddie can’t decide if he resents it or finds it endearing—kind of gets the ridiculous feeling that Steve’s vetting him on behalf of the kids.

“Okay,” Lucas says, and he’s smiling, but there’s a sort of sombreness to it, too. “Still, I should’ve—”

“Hey, hindsight’s twenty-twenty,” Eddie says, firmly cutting off whatever self-critical bullshit he was about to hear. He knocks his shoulder against Lucas’s, adds a dry, “Like, I would’ve been a dick about it no matter what.”

Lucas laughs, but it’s muted. Then he takes a deep breath, and Eddie suddenly realises that he must’ve been using the apology to get himself started, to work himself up to what he really wanted to say.

“I’m… I’m sorry about… about Jason and… I thought I’d thrown them all off the trail, but—”

“Oh, don’t—don’t worry about it, man,” Eddie says faintly.

There’s a flash of Jason in his mind’s eye, the savage twist of his lip as he ran into the lake; he thinks of Lucas lying to his face, the danger of him being found out, and feels sick.

“Seriously, you could’ve told them… y’know. Wouldn’t have held it against you.”

Eddie doesn’t mention that him getting caught still feels inevitable, like he’s just waiting for the walls to close in.

But right now, at least, he can breathe a little easier. The shire might be burning, but there’s people leading him through it. He’s not alone.

Lucas looks appalled. “What? No, I couldn’t—I couldn’t do that to you.”

It’s said with such conviction that Eddie has to fight through a sudden tightness in his throat—doesn’t really know what to do in the face of such undeserved loyalty.

He settles on saying, “So, how was the game?” which is embarrassingly inadequate, but a genuine question nevertheless; the past few… Jesus, however long it’s been, he’s been in permanent need of a distraction.

Steve slows his walking pace—to anyone else it might’ve seemed subtle, but Eddie’s used to noticing such things. He somehow gets the feeling that Steve is no longer scrutinising him, not exactly; his posture’s relaxed and open, his forehead free of frown lines.

It’s more like he’s simply curious about Eddie’s behaviour. The way his eyes drift over, then down to the forest floor, then back again silently seems to say what are you thinking?

Or maybe Eddie’s projecting because he asks the very same question whenever a muscle jumps in Steve’s jaw.

“Oh, um…” Lucas says hesitantly. “I was on the bench for most of it, so—”

“Quit being modest.” The quiet whir of a tape being rewound; Max Mayfield comes up to Lucas’s side. “He made the winning shot,” she tells Eddie pointedly. “It was a buzzer-beater.”

“Oh, holy shit. Well done, dude.”

From the way Lucas is staring at Max with wide eyes, it’s obvious that he’s barely registered what Eddie’s said.

“How do you know that?” he asks. “You… you weren’t at the game.”

“I, uh.” Max looks down for a moment, fiddling with the headphones around her neck. “I listened to it on the radio.”

Lucas smiles so brightly. There’s an earnestness to him; Eddie spotted it a mile away, ever since that first day back at school, when all the new freshmen were anxiously lining up to get lunch.

Max softens—her arms are still folded, but she drifts a little closer to Lucas as they walk, all studied casualness.

(Oh, Eddie’s been there before: forced to run track in middle school Phys Ed, and the only saving grace was ‘just so happening’ to run at the same pace as any boy who’d smile at him.)

Eddie catches Steve’s eye, and this time Steve gives him a very deliberate expression, nodding fondly at Max and Lucas.

Look at them, he’s saying with his eyes, as if he and Eddie are on the same team, as if Eddie at all deserves to be let in on whatever shared history Steve has with these kids.

Eddie kicks at a stray twig. You’re not going to get a lump in your throat about this, damn it, don’t be stupid.

“S’gonna be historic, Sinclair,” he says. “Last time the Tigers won a championship was, uh, lemme think… twenty-two years ago.”

Lucas stops in his tracks.

“I know that,” he says, eyes shrewd, “but why do you know?”

Eddie raises his hands with a grin, it wasn’t me, officer. “What, I can’t repeat a few years without retaining a little school knowledge?”

“Oh,” Lucas says, and it’s like Eddie can see him mentally replaying every cafeteria speech. He grins back. “So you’re a hypocrite.”

“Maybe,” Eddie says. He glances further afield, where Dustin is animatedly explaining something to Robin and Nancy. “I know you’re not gonna give me shit for it, though.”

“Huh, guess you don’t really know me,” Lucas says, and Max snorts.

Eddie smirks. “And it’s, like, doubly historic since the last person to score a buzzer-beater was—”

He cuts himself off, because Steve abruptly turns to him, like they’re in alliance, and draws a hand sharply across his neck.

But Lucas is already hooked. “What? Who was it?”

Eddie gives Steve a helpless shrug. Sorry, man.

“I’m looking right at him,” he says.

Lucas rounds on Steve. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because,” Steve says, flustered, “that was your thing, Lucas, I didn’t wanna be all…”

He trails off with a vague hand gesture, and Eddie thinks he somehow gets what he means—smiles at the thoughtfulness of it.

“That makes, like, no sense,” Lucas says vehemently. His eyes practically have stars in them. “Damn it, we shoulda got a photo.”

Steve laughs in surprise. “All right, noted.”

“I mean, Wheeler works for the school paper, right?” Eddie says. “They’ve probably got old issues. Hey, Sinclair, you could have, y’know, side-by-side photos. Yours and then…” He waves a hand at Steve. “Ancient history.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Ancient, sure.”

“Oh, Lucas,” Max says, batting her eyes excessively, “I’d frame a picture of you. Pray to it every night.”

Lucas blushes. “Shut up,” he says, elbowing her gently; Eddie thinks that it’s the first time he’s heard Max Mayfield laugh.

Steve’s watching over them again, and his eyes go pensive when Lucas mumbles something like, “I wouldn’t mind a frame.”

The expression Steve has is something Eddie’s only seen once before, and it was on Wayne’s face. Eddie had privately dubbed it the ‘found something for your birthday’ look when he’d noticed it: him and Wayne on a road trip, Eddie not so secretly mooning over the secondhand acoustic guitar in the shop window.

“Your picture should be bigger, Sinclair,” Steve says, sounding both teasing and sincere. “My shot didn’t win a Championship Game.” In an undertone, he adds, “As Brenda so helpfully reminded me.”

Oh, Eddie’s not letting that go.

“Do mine ears deceive me? Did you take a date to a high school basketball game?” Eddie cackles. “You sure know how to woo ‘em, Harrington.”

“Hey,” Steve says defensively, “she could only make that day. Told her I had non-negotiable plans: it was either the game or it was a bust.”

Huh, Eddie thinks, that’s actually… really sweet.

Lucas looks torn between being embarrassed or touched. “You didn’t need to do that, Steve.”

“Sure I did. C’mon, you thought I was gonna go to every match and then miss the Championship?” Steve’s eyebrows furrow. “Where was Erica, anyway?”

… Ah.

“Mea culpa,” Eddie says. “She was, uh, at Hellfire.”

Lucas scoffs. “It’s fine,” he says. “Last time she was at a game, she kept shouting that she loved my tactics.” He looks out into the middle distance. “I was on the bench the whole time.”

Steve chuckles. “Yeah, I missed her being there.” He’s sporting a smile that’s somehow the perfect balance of fond and mischievous; it, quite frankly, has no business looking as attractive as it does. “We had, um, alternative commentary for every game. That kid should have a radio show.” He comes closer, adds in another aside, “Would’ve made the date more bearable if she was there.”

Eddie stifles a laugh, has a moment of respectful silence for Brenda.

Max and Lucas cut in front, keep walking until they’re almost out of earshot; Eddie hears Lucas faintly say something that sounds like, “Was I totally tubular?”, soon drowned out by Max’s laughter.

There’s a short silence.

“Thanks, Eddie,” Steve says suddenly.

Eddie blinks at him, quickly turns his genuine confusion into a bit. “What for, Harrington? My devastating wit? Devilish good looks?”

Steve shakes his head. He smiles for a moment, in on the joke, but then he looks over at Lucas and Max again, and… there.

A muscle jumps in his jaw.

“It’s just… they’ve got a lot to carry, y’know? So…” He shrugs. “Thanks.”

It’s said so quietly, so without fanfare.

Eddie’s hit with the realisation between one footstep and the next: that he’s earned Steve Harrington’s trust.

It feels… weighty.

But Eddie doesn’t mind it; he doesn’t think it’s going to crush his ribs. If anything it feels like they’re sharing a load.

“Don’t gotta thank me for that, Harrington.”

Steve smiles, pushing back his hair; Eddie’s brought back to the moment he did the very same on the basketball court, just as the ball sunk through the net, and Eddie decided fuck it, wholeheartedly embracing his hypocrisy as he jumped up and down with the band kids.

I cheered so goddamn loud for you, Eddie thinks.

He doesn’t say it.

But he keeps walking next to Steve. Feels a little young, a little bit like he’s running track—checking his pace just so he could see a boy smile at him.

[revelboo]

How's bee and his human doin on the arc lately?

Last Night Pt 4

IDW Bumblebee x Reader

• Sitting down on his berth with one leg drawn up and the other stretched out, he watches you scrunch up your nose, but eat the nutrient bar Ratchet has given him for you. You’re not shaking uncontrollably anymore at least or cowering away from him. Between bites you still glance up at him as if to make sure he’s keeping his distance and his promise to not touch you. It’s an effort not to reach out and not to bombard you with questions. Trying to let you get used to him and to prove he’s not a threat. “When can I leave?” You ask, head down to look at your hands.

• “I don’t know,” your captor, Bumblebee, says and he sounds genuinely unhappy about it. Like maybe it bothers him to keep you trapped and even though he’d explained why, you don’t like it. But also know there’s little you can do about it. Sighing, you glance up at his earnest face and those intent, blue optics focused on you. No, you don’t like it, but he seems so upset on your behalf that it’s hard to hold it against him. As long as he’s not grabbing you or looming over you, he’s not so bad. “But I’ll try to get you whatever you need. Do you need anything?” He sounds almost eager and it’s cute.

• Unhappily watching you crumbling your food rather than eating it, the silence stretches between you two again, painfully awkward. “Well, being freed is off the table. Right?” You ask finally with a weak little huff of laughter that makes him smile despite the way his spark constricts at your words. Knows it’s wrong to be glad of what happened, but deep down he is. Because he’s not alone, even if you don’t want to be near him. Anything is better than that empty, loneliness.

• “Sorry,” he says, watching your little shoulders slump in defeat and he leans forward, stretching out a servo. Aware of the way you tense and lean away before he hesitates and turns his hand over, servos splayed but not touching you. Your attention flicks from his hand to his face and back, expression almost questioning before you cautiously stretch out your own arm, palm up over the tip of one of his servos and his spark warms. “We’re the same,” he says.

• That earnest, cheery tone almost makes you smile as you look from his big hand to your tiny one. And then it clicks. Same number of digits, his big metal hand shaped uncannily like your own. Lifting your head, you note the other similarities between your two very different species. “Yeah, I guess we are,” you murmur and he grins at you. Moving slowly, he curls that one servo until the tip of it barely ghosts the back of your hand while glancing at your face for your reaction. Uncertain, you turn your hand over, resting it on his warm servo and his expression brightens like that little touch means the world to him. He just smiles like that and it’s impossible to be afraid of him, because he’s trying so hard to be accommodating and to put you at ease. Understands that this is all new and frightening to you, and doesn’t push you. Doesn’t demand anything of you. That’s what makes you stand still wrapped in your blanket and cautiously trace your fingers along one of his servos, studying the way his joints work. Aware of the way he’s grinning at you as you pretend you don’t notice. Just a little thing, but it seems to mean so much to him.

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Bluestreak, Prowl, and Sideswipe added to the collection.

[kissoulie]

〔 sanguine 〕

a world in which haku shota has known you longer than you have known yourself.

read the teaser here.

pairing: vampire!shota x human!reader

wc: around 6k

genre: soulmates, forbidden romance, angst, SMUT, MDNI

warnings: murder, dubcon, blindfolding, there is a lot of angst, very slight breeding/crying, perpetuation of suicidal thoughts. if you are not in the headspace to read this, please don't. also pls forgive any small spelling/grammar mistakes!! the spelling might be regional the grammar is not LOL

a/n: day 4 of piwontober is here!!!!! this fic is honestly my baby 😭 i birthed this thing over the course of almost 20 days. the specific soulmate rules this steals from are from the otome game bewitching sinners. there is some other influence in this work, some you will most definitely recognize. special thank you to @strawberry-seob for beta reading this for me extremely last minute, you're a champ, my midnight brain thanks you for dealing with all my little mistakes. 🤍

in loving memory of juyogf/348kg.

(they didn't die they just got sussed </3)

Above all to protect you.

Although you don't know it, you are being watched. The night air is crisp, a subtle breeze ruffling your hair, while smoke billows from your mouth and nose. “One of life's finest coping mechanisms,” you sigh, your blond companion nodding in agreement.

And my favorite modern amenity, Shota chuckles, arm moving to wrap around your shoulders, “Right behind Tiktok doomscrolling.”

Warmth fills you, despite the air suddenly chilling, “Thank you for walking me home, Sho.”

Shota courted you—as he called it—his infatuation steady, exhilarating, even comforting at times. You couldn't deny he seemed… almost obsessed with you. He knew everything about you without much effort on his part.

“Any time, darling. I like knowing you're home safe.” He presses a quick kiss to your cheek, swiping your vape from you, “Plus, it means I get an extra half hour with the love of my life.”

If only, Shota blinks quickly, eyes narrowing at the figure just out of your view. “It's still really sweet of you, Sho. I love you.”

The weight of those words in his mind have him smiling without realizing it. Despite his touch being just slightly too rough, you're as relaxed as ever, his hands feeling familiar in ways your mind can't put its finger on. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches your follower staring him down. Right. He's been on this mission for far too long. Shota inhales deeply, “I love you too.”

Falling in love with Shota is like second nature to both of you. Over all spans of time, you fall for him harder and harder. He holds your hands in his with a tenderness familiar to you, yet new every time. His eyes are so earnest. They hold your gaze like a blanket, always observant, always full of a sadness you can't quite place. Shota resents that he's the only one who has to carry this knowledge.

“You haven't eaten in a while.” You stroke his hair. Your hands spread warmth like fire everywhere they touch. He tries his best to remain present, in the moment, but his mind strays.

“It's okay.” His eyes are so far away.

You reach out to him, your fingers entwining with his. And though you don't know why, a feeling of complete hopelessness washes over you when his red eyes gaze deeply into yours. You pick your brain for the right words to say, worried that blunt language will cause him to pull away.

“At least- have a little, it’ll clear your mind?”

He shakes his head, “I love you. I’ll be fine.”

“I love you too, Sho.”

Sometimes it isn't about the words, but about hearing them back.

Shota nuzzles his face into your neck. He inhales deeply. Your blood always smells so sweet to him. The way you relax into his touch breaks his heart. Hands find their way up your spine, across your waist, squeezing your flesh in short bursts.

“Take whatever you need from me.” You don't understand his hesitation. He's always precise with his feeding, never letting himself get past the point of a little hungry. You trust him, he trusts you. Or at the very least, you think he does.

“Are you sure?” Shota’s fangs hover above your jugular, your eyes shining in the dim lights of his apartment. This isn't the first time you have been here, and despite what he knows is about to happen, he's sure it won't be the last.

“I’m sure, I promise, please take what you need from me.” Your voice is almost needy. His nails dig into your sides, eyes squeezing shut. If only he could forget everything else but this moment. If only he could turn back the clock, and be your lifelong lover, instead of being the reason your life isn't long to begin with.

“I will, precious. I love you.”

There's an unfamiliar sting when his fangs dig into you. His eyes flutter closed, holding you to him like you might disappear. He swallows, thick with your life in his mouth.

Shota is thankful that the vampiric part of his brain turns off any part of him that views you as more than just prey. He is your hunter. Your executor. Your lifelong nemesis. He feels you begin to weakly thrash in his arms, a mere whisper of his name snapping him out of his stupor. I’m sorry, he swallows you whole.

I’m sorry.

Your body goes limp. Slowly, you become just like him: A corpse.

Love became greed and erased itself.

Shota’s eyes are closed, fist wrapped tightly around his length. In his mind's eye is your face. He hasn't had the privilege of seeing you when you cum, and that's what he imagines every time he gets off. He thinks of your eyes fluttering closed in pleasure, his name nothing more than a quiet cry, your body milking him for all he's worth.

He thinks of you in his apartment, begging him to take what he needs from you. Your eyes that shone so brightly whenever you saw him. But alas, he is home, and not in that dingy little apartment he keeps for you.

His high approaches quickly, wrist cramping with exertion, if only he knew how you would feel. If only he had you once, so he could keep the memory for all time.

“Shota, his majesty needs you!” Three sharp raps on his door signal Jongseob’s arrival.

“I’ll be there in a second!” he nearly growls, tossing the covers off and putting on some slacks. His hands flatten his hair, eyes flicking to his mirror to make sure he looks presentable. He adjusts his belt, hoping he doesn’t look freshly blue-balled, “Did he say what he wants?”

Jongseob’s face as the door swings open is all Shota needs to see. His face falls into a grimace.

“You know, you'd think after all this time whatever being does this would have mercy on her.” Jongseob has always had more empathy than his Majesty, despite being his younger brother. “I mean, being lured to slaughter in every life must take i-”

“Quiet,” Shota grumbles, pushing past his brother and swinging open the doors to the throne room. His capelet hugs his shoulders when he bows, “Your Majesty.”

“My most beloved brother, it's good to see you.” Theo sits with perfect posture, crown perched atop his auburn hair. He peers down at Shota with an air of entitlement; As if he's just a vessel, and not a faithful family member.

“Likewise, your majesty. The prince-” Theo cuts him off with a wave of his hand. His eyes are piercing in ways Shota will never understand, his power undeniable while in his presence.

“I’m sure you know what I need, Shota. Take care of it.”

“Can't we just-”, Shota clears his throat, stepping forward tentatively, “Turn her? I mean, it's been so many years, I just-”

Theo stares intently at his younger brother. His eyes are full of authority, of a disturbing finality.

“Don't be silly, brother. You will perform your duty.”

Where did that terrible curse come from?

Shota finds you with ease thanks to the bond he shares with Theo. That, and he’s been chasing your scent for so long he could recognize you anywhere. Tonight, he's trespassing at a concert he doesn't have a ticket for. He's thankful for his vampirism in this atmosphere: it makes you so easy to spot at the barricade. He snakes through the crowd, his eyes honed in on you; a true hunter stalking his prey. The opening dialogue he’s prepared for you two to have about the boy group on stage is fresh in his mind—but you turn to him, your eyes staring at him with an emotion he hasn't seen before; a rarity, for him. He opens his mouth.

Then you’re gone.

There was something on that boy's face. A certain millennium old sorrow that you shouldn't be able to recognize. It’s etched into your mind, that beautiful face of his. You remember the silliest things, like his teeth, that he's your age, his roots were grown out. Clearly, you’re just lonely. But maybe—and only maybe—there’s something about him. An old soul, perhaps. Your thoughts are infested with him. So much so, that it’s a miracle you look up from your phone long enough to spot him on your train. Was this your fated love?

Has the universe finally shown mercy on your poor, lonely self?

You cast many nervous glances at the boy, who seems disgruntled. He’s bundled up in many layers to compensate for the incoming nor’easter, the visible part of his cheeks stained pink. It’s time to be brave.

Who inflicted this cruel punishment?

Shota sits bundled up on the subway. He's all too familiar with the route you take, electing to disguise himself so perhaps… you won't walk away from him again. Ever since your last encounter, the heart he never knew he had has been hurting him. He lies awake at night, unable to rest, thinking of the look on your face when you saw him. After much pondering, he realized he knew that expression: fear. It’s been so long since you feared him.

“Can I sit here?”

He's scared it's all a dream. Your smiling face, encased by a halo of fluorescent train lights. A lesser man wouldn't think of you as an angel.

“Ah, yes, of course-” He fumbles to scoot over just a tad, so you don't have to press yourself into him to sit with him.

“You're really pretty.” Your face lights up into the smile he's missed so dearly. Even though you come back changed in every life, your smile is always the same to him. “Sorry! That’s probably weird to hear, I didn’t mean it in a bad way!”

“Thank you, um, your smile-” The flush that tints his cheeks is foreign to him. Shota feels almost… excited. What’s happening is a gift from the gods. Your puppylike tendencies bleed through the walls he’s built since he last held you. When he gets off the subway, he finds himself walking with newfound purpose. Your number is scrawled onto his palm.

The fate that I devoted my life to; How could I forget?

Empty. Is there anything in Haku Shota’s life that is fully under his control? Is there even one instance where he isn't at the beck and call of another?

It makes him mean, to be so out of his own control. To wake up every day, and only be awake to the detriment of someone else. It’s slowly rotting away at his soul.

Not that there's much left of his soul, anyway.

And maybe Jongseob was the boy who saved his life, as well as the boy he still protected with his life. But Shota finds no enjoyment in this groundhog day he's found himself in. He curls in on himself, his mind racing. Everything is so loud.

Many days, he hopes he will finally be put out of his misery. His heart is twisting, turning, writhing, a mass of muscle and taut tissue, his lungs contracting and constricting, airways tight, so small he feels like he can’t even swallow his saliva, which is so thick and heavy in his mouth — if he could just breathe.

He grits his teeth, thoughts moving so fast he doesn't remember what he’s supposed to be—just that he is. His eyes are closed, shutting out another sense to keep up with, his whole body pulled tight with emotion like a marionette at the whims of his own consciousness.

Twitching. He can feel his body twitching every few seconds, uncontrollable and minute. He is in his head. With every thought that races through, one keeps looping as if desperate to be heard and to be seen: I don’t belong, I’m not happy.

A terrible oversimplification of his current plight, the thought manages to ease the onslaught of activity, condensing his thoughts down to his emotions. Does he feel anything? Has the numbness faded, causing him to stumble?

Trials and tribulations are commonplace for any person of his age, though certain anomalies of the mind can alter even the most simplistic emotion into a monster of its own merit.

Perhaps, this life isn’t meant for him.

It has made him happy. He has been good, and loved. He is good and loved.

But it isn’t for him. He can’t feel anything at all. Most of the time, he’s apathetic, with exception to sharp bursts of emotions. This isn’t a life he wants to live.

(He wants to live for you.)

Doomed. That is how he feels. The perfect descriptor for someone as cynical and apathetic as him.

The feeling leaves his mouth bitter, a smile displaying his outermost wants. It’s alarmingly easy to fake it. His own happiness is nothing but a facade. To him or to everyone?

Much of the time, being left to his own thoughts and opinions is what coerces his most vulnerable emotions out. It discomforts him, feeling the things he tries so hard to hide bubble up to the surface in undeniable agony. His heart, once hidden, emerges from its cocoon to try and blossom again.

If only.

But life is much more complex than these feelings of inadequacy. Even if he doesn't believe it.

“Pull yourself together, Shota.” Jongseob’s voice echoes in his empty apartment. He didn’t know who else to call.

“I wish I could feel normal again,” Shota whispers into the phone. He feels white hot shame course through him, and he regrets saying anything at all.

“If you felt normal, we wouldn't still be friends.” He laughs. Shota wonders how his friend could feel so light.

“Maybe we would be, but I’d be dead.” Dead might be better than this.

A forlorn silence falls over his room after he hangs up on his best friend. He closes his eyes, all of his memories a watercolor sketch of emotions. He has to end things between you two.

Your blood is still warm when he wipes it off his chin with a handkerchief. He knows Keeho will be there at any moment to clean everything up for him, and then Theo will want to celebrate. The cold air bites at Shota’s cheeks. It's like the universe is punishing him for his act of unkindness. He stuffs his hands in his coat pockets. When did I put on a coat?

There's one orange street lamp on his block. Did I ever notice how her smile was like the sun?

A car speeds by him dangerously close, the occupants seeming to watch him. Do I love her?

His phone lights up, a cheerful ringtone startling him. They don't have to know where I’m staying tonight.

The aftermath is always the worst part.

“Sorry, my roommate has a strict no boys policy.” You laugh, praying he buys the excuse. Really, it's not that Intak won't let you spend alone time with boys; it's that he won't let you spend alone time with this boy. Something about a bad vibe.

“I miss you,” he coughs, “When we aren't together, I miss you.”

Your stomach does a little summersault. A pretty boy misses you when you aren't with him.

“I’ll.. talk to him, maybe he'll relent because we're just friends-”

“I want to be more. Than just friends, with you.” Shota gauges your reaction for 30 long and agonizing seconds. He watches the cogs turn in your brain, realization setting in. Then, there's that beautiful smile of yours. If only he could feel this warm all the time.

“Oh thank god, I thought I was just delusional!” Your fingers entwine with his, and a flash of something akin to recognition passes across your face.

Convincing Intak to let Shota over was an ordeal you were sufficiently blindsided by. Perhaps there was more to the story of why he doesn't want you with him, but if he won't tell you… it's no longer your concern.

That's what you tell yourself when you sneak the boy into your room, anyways. You feel completely safe with him. Completely at ease. So much so, that when he lays you back on your bed, dick heavy between your thighs; you relax and let him have his way with you.

“Have you ever done this before?” His voice is soft. His hands caress your body with reverence.

You shake your head. You feel his fingers slowly drag up your thigh, his body pushing your legs apart with his descent between your thighs.

“Gonna prep you, it'll feel good.” He presses a quick kiss to your clit over your panties. He takes his sweet time ridding you of them, sucking and licking at your clit. A sharp pain has your eyes snapping open.

“Sho, hurts.”

He soothes it with a kiss, murmuring ‘good girl’ into your cunt. He looks at you from beneath his lashes for approval.

“Shota, your eyes-” You gasp out, hands tugging impatiently on his hair. His tongue pokes slightly out of his mouth, chin covered in slick.

“Don't worry about it, baby,” he mumbles into your thighs, leaving a trail of wet kisses right back to where you needed him most.

“No- Sho-” You try to push him away, but his hands grab yours, “Quiet.”

He hums into your clit, pressing his fingers in to curl right up into that spot you love so much.

“Sho, stop-” The pitch of your voice is electric. The stuff of dreams, for him.

“No. You will cum for me.” His ministrations get more aggressive, more motivated. He sucks on your clit far too painfully for your liking, but it only gets you closer.

“Sho- Shota, fuck-” His eyes lock onto yours as you cum all over his face, before your head lolls back, lungs gasping for air.

He holds you close to him after, pressing gentle kisses all over your exposed chest and neck. He mumbles something you don't quite catch between the blood rush in your ears. All you can think about is how safe you feel with him. And maybe, there's a little voice in the back of your head that says you love him.

“Don't do that to me again,” you whine, clinging to him in the afterglow of your orgasm, “You really scared me for a sec.”

“Sorry, precious. I get a little mean when I’m desperate.” His voice is a pitch lower than usual, and it sends heat back between your thighs. He's still hard against you.

“Don't bite your lip at me like that,” he groans, manhandling you into his lap, “You're the one who said to stop, baby.”

His eyes are heady, dilated with lust. It's a gaze that has you stricken. The only reply you can muster comes out as a soft whine, “Just- make love to me, Sho.”

Fate is in my hands again.

You try to brush off the undeniable red you saw in your lover’s eyes a mere 3 weeks ago. He sneaks into your shared apartment far too many times, just to kiss on you and love on you. It's almost as if the sorrowful boy you met in the park all those months ago has been replaced by someone… happier.

The months fly by between the two of you, and even Intak seems to warm up to the idea of Shota sticking around. (Yes, there were many long nights of bickering when he found out you were sneaking him in.)

“Shota, I’m not so sure.” Black silk is cool against your eyelids—one of your boyfriend's many ideas to spice up your private time.

“It'll be okay, baby. Trust me.” He kisses your lips, then your cheeks, then your nose. You feel the bed dip with his weight, his eternally cold body pressing against your own.

“I trust you,” you breathe out, his lips ghosting against your own. You feel a sharp prick by your collarbone, followed by his tongue. “Soul?”

That blessed nickname you've given him. Your heart and Soul.

“I’m here, baby, I’m here.”

There's emphasis on dialogue in your sex life. At Shota’s insistence, of course. He loves listening to you whine and cry for him.

You're confused. Left completely in the dark, until you feel his dick dragging through your sticky folds. Without prep? Is the only question in your head, feeling the throb of him. You need him so badly.

“Sho-” you gasp out.

“I’ve got you.”

Right. He's got you. Always.

His hand wraps around your neck, applying light pressure just to test. Just to see where your limits are.

“N-No, Sho-” You weakly grab at him, not fussing, but still trying to pull him off of you. He feels your wrist go slack when he angles his hips up at just the right spot.

“You go so dumb for me so easily, precious.” Shota whimpers. His mouth falls open, eyes going hazy with pleasure, “Christ, I’m gonna cum.”

“Inside, please.” You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him ever deeper. You feel so good he can hardly breathe, squeezing around him like a vice. He's embarrassed by how quickly he always cums with you, but you never seem to mind. Afterwards you're always smug, teasing, almost mean.

“Okay, baby, anything for you.” He breathes out, thumbing at your clit. He tries to pick up the pace, but the grip you have on him is too tight, so he settles for grinding into your precious cunt.

“I love you, Shota, I love you.” You cry, kicking and shaking with pleasure, your whole body convulsing. He moans your name in a tone that's downright debaucherous. He's nestled so deep inside you, hand pushing your leg up further. He feels himself hit a wall within you, and you let out a sob. “Sorry, sorry, fuck.” 

I grew up in an eternity that will soon belong to you.

The ways in which Shota loves you are carnal. All this time, he's viewed the countless years upon years you've spent together as something out of his control. When really, he has all the control. All the power. Shota decides that in this life, the only way to keep you alive is to sever his proximity to you. The only way to protect you, as he so dearly desires, is for him to disappear. Watch over from afar. Maybe then, Theo won't hunt you like an animal. 

But he knows it's nothing more than a pipedream. And in disobeying his king, there's more than just a high probability that he'll never see you again. All these years spent pining after you, chasing you down, getting to know every version of you the universe has to offer; and he will finally die. He will finally get what he's always wanted, as is the price for your life.

May 25th, 1967

Feelings grow, morph, and change overtime. What was initially anxiousness at the thought of us talking has turned into anticipation. I hope we will meet again. I can prepare, but I will not remember. I can pretend to shield my emotions, but it's too late. I like you, plain and simple. I like you. I cannot wax poetic like this, I simply like you. You are a small comfort, a being I can rely on, someone I want to cherish and savor like fine wine. I think about arguments, and fierce letters, and sharp kisses and bites. I think about a confession on your lips, late nights by candlelight spent sitting too close for just enemies, just friends, just anything. I think about bringing you trinkets, books, scraps of literature I cannot admit to writing myself. I think about cooking together and laughing together. I think about how awful your cooking could be, and eating it all anyways because you made it for me. I think about reading together in silence, waking up to leaning against you, something you might never let me do. I like you. I cannot stand it. I ache for you to the point of nausea; mere words will not encompass it. I’m learning you, and tracing my fingers along the ridges of your soul again and again and again. It inspires hunger, insatiable hunger, blunt teeth tearing through threads of time and storing them in the maw, savoring them; Swirling them around, feeling each individual thread snap and break, swallowing even as the ends scratch my throat, and swallowing some more, asking for more, needing more to remember to reread to rethink to reanalyze to cherish and destroy and love and hate and hunger for more always more never less always enough never full. The hunger subdues, declines, takes its teeth out of me but not its claws, always threatening, always wanting. Wanting, wanting, wanting like it deserves to. I want to avoid, not be a moth drawn to flame, drawn to certain death, I want to allow myself to stop thinking stop being stop wanting but the need grows the want grows the anticipation and desire to connect and to be it fills and snakes and squeezes my heart and– I need to be restrained and unwanting and alone again so I cannot feel anything or anyone. So I cannot taste the breeze, the ashes, the sea, the stars. If only to feel you, and to feel you on the curve of the wind's fingers, caressing and cooling and soothing and peaceful. I wish that peace was me and I was peace but the feeling of duty, of punishment, of praise, it requires chaos, it requires not a moment of simple and singular silence. In you I feel silence, I become silence, I conform, I become too much, I feel nothing, I feel everything—I want you. And this wretched heart won't let me stop. Every time I open my eyes I'm attacked with memories of you, ghosts of love and adoration flipping through my eyes in seconds and I just feel you as my breath and my echo, the words I speak, and the air I breathe. I can feel you in my hands, in my laugh, in everything I do. You are my world, my lover, my friend, the nostalgia in my tea and the memories I have yet to make everything, everything always you. Even now I can't untangle the cord of our souls, what are the chances you remember? Very little, I'm afraid. I will never speak to you of this—I don't want to, and I'm scared, but my gods—if I would not tear down the heavens for you, then love is just a concept. I would still become destroyer of the heavens, hell's purveyor of punishment, all if it, if only for you.

Shota

October 31st, 1992

The problem is that I want to be wanted too, so what am I doing so wrong? I find it hard to form lasting connections as quickly as others, am I just not enough? What makes me so inadequate? What makes me so wrong?

Why can’t I love and be loved as others are? Why is that so hard? I’ve always struggled with connecting with people. Something about my humanness, or lack thereof. One of my favorite quotes is this: “We accept the love we think we deserve.” 

I know I don’t deserve much, but that’s… Not necessarily the problem here. How can I accept love I’m not given? How is it that people who’re supposed to have a strong bond with me, bond with other people more? Am I simply unlovable? 

What mark is there that ties me to them? If one of us leaves, our connection is simply lost to the wind. I suppose the ephemeral nature of my existence bleeds out into my relationships. I suppose that is the “wrong” within me. 

I miss you. You are in the moon that washes over me. You are in every tender morning. You are in the weeds I uproot. You are bamboo, invasive to my land. You are in everything I am.

Thank you for listening. I know you always will.

Shota 

December 25th, 2016

Everything that is "mine" has been stripped away from me.

People are

a hand

a heart

a hundred little things

slipping, just out of reach

away

Kind regards,

Shota

February 15th, 2023

My life and love have lost their luster.

and I, my gilded glow. 

My darling is made of stars.

My darling cannot see me from afar.

For what separates the stars from the Earth?

What stops them from moving ever closer, ever nearer, from loving the land below? 

Death, my dear heart.

The stars we see are dead, 

and thus

I, too, am loving a dead thing.

You wouldn't like the person I've become. And I won't blame you. I don't like who I've become either. 

Sincerely yours,

Shota

January 19th, 2024

I have much to say, yet no way to say it properly. I guess I will start with something I will never say again: I miss you.

My feelings alone are not enough to be the catalyst of a relationship, yet when I think about the few sweet words you’ve gifted to me I consider it may be enough. 

I know you. And truly, the more I think I do, the more I’m aware I don’t. I wonder what kind of person would steal your heart. Someone with gentle hands, soft words, the epitome of kindness? Yet cruel in their own way, when provoked? I am nothing like that. The jagged edges of my splintered heart are just that; jagged edges. I am not callous, but at times I find myself wanting to be what people believe me to be. That is to say, I want to become an unthinkable beast. 

Unthinkable beasts don’t cry for a lover they’ve never had though, do they. 

The thought of you arouses such anguish within me, my heart. I think you would despise this pet name. My heart, my heart, my poor, beating heart. Bitter blue, dancing flame, stormy rose. You get prettier as you age. Like a fine wine, or an expensive cologne. 

It’s not that I haven’t thought of you as a lover, but that I haven’t allowed myself to. It hurts. Worse than I believed it would. 

It hurts. It really does. I don’t even know why anymore. Is it because I am unloved by you? Is it because I’m scared of truly losing you? Am I so selfish that I want you back with no regard for your safety? I am, and I am not. I wish I could distract myself from you again. 

I want to be with you. I want to love you without doubt. I want to think of you and crave your presence without hurt. I want you, I want you, I want you, I want you.

Humans are such complex little creatures. Somehow, after reading all of Shota’s letters, you're more determined than ever to love him. His letters, his final gift of closure to you, they infuriate you.

Who is he to decide your fate?

Who is he to decide you're better off without him around?

It's a gut feeling that has you running to his apartment. Your chest aches from the cold air and exertion. Your feet only carry you faster. You've never had a soulmate. 

Across all those decades, you've never known what it's like. You were never able to understand the nauseating love others feel for someone else. You fell in love, but you never felt in love. 

Not until Shota.

You knew from the start: For you, there was only ever him. There is no soul more perfect, no heart more understanding—it is him for you. You pray to whatever god exists that he's still in Seoul.

Your hands shake while you fumble with the set of keys he gave you. The lock clicks, and you burst through, hoping to find a light on. 

But all that remains is silence. Cold and daunting.

You let out a hollow laugh to yourself. Tears prick the corners of your vision, then a scream bubbles up and into the back of your throat.

A pair of glowing red eyes stare back at you. 

Unlike your beloved’s eyes, that always adored you, these eyes are callous. They pierce through your very soul.

There's an imperceptible flinch on their end that has you stumbling back slowly. Your heart thrums violently in your ears, begging you to turn back, begging you to move or do anything to fight against your now oncoming demise. 

“He made a mistake.” It breathes in your direction, moonlight streaming through an open window. 

You take a small step back, and it takes one forward.

“I am here to fix it.” 

It lunges forward, hands snaking around your throat, smashing your head onto the tile below.

“Shota!” 

In your freshly fogged brain, all you can think of is him. 

He loves you.

He'll come. 

“Shota, help!” 

There's a deep throbbing in your chest. A fear stronger than your own grips you, your body finally listening and fighting for you. Black dots line your vision, your lungs burning in an agonizing pain you know to associate with death. 

And then the pressure is gone.

“I'm not good at this whole emotions thing.” A steady beeping sound fills the sterile room where you lay. 

“I don't even know where to begin telling you everything that's happened,” Shota swallows down his anxiety, warmth blooming in his chest. Your eyes flutter open to meet his.

“I should come clean to you.” Your voice has a rasp to it, throat completely dry from your days asleep, “I haven't been entirely honest.”

Your stare bores through him like acid. He feels your heart rate pick up before modern technology even dares.

“I… I’ve been seeing things. Myself. I don't know when it started, but shortly after I met you, she started appearing- first just occasionally, then the closer we got, the more I saw her. And then I started having these weird dreams about you… they felt like memories. I thought I was going crazy.

Shota, my whole life I’ve felt like no one would ever love me. Everyone had their soulmate, and I had no one. My parents didn't love me, I had trouble making friends, I felt no drive to ever… be anyone. And then I met you. You just got me. I finally thought: I don't need a soulmate. You never mentioned anything about a soulmate, you didn't seem interested at all—and then one day it just clicked. I felt like you were a part of me. 

That night, when I went to your apartment, it was her. Me? I’m not sure, but she has my face. I still don't…” 

You blink back tears. Shota holds your shaking hands in his. There's the boy you fell in love with. Soft hands, slow movements, love you've never felt with anyone else.

“Your soulmate is- Sorry, was, my brother. We're not related by blood, but by a familial bond forged when we were both children. I don't expect you to know anything about vampires, or what happens when they're soulmates with a human, but when a vampire is soulmates with a human they become mortal from the moment the two meet. Theo fought for many, many years to become the vampire king. He led wars, lost almost his entire family, and became the ‘monster’ he is today. I am of the opinion that he always envisioned a soulmate as powerful as him. And when he first saw you all those years ago, he didn't see the strength within you—only the vessel. I- I don't wanna get into it still, I’m not ready, but- when I was younger, I hated you. To me, you were just another obstacle in Theo’s way. He wanted you gone. My best friend was the one who would've done it if I didn't. I don't know what happened, you read the letters, I fell. I fell for you.” 

“Somewhere along the way, I think I fell for you too.” Your voice is as quiet as a pin drop. He looks at you, warmth and something else just beyond his soulful eyes. His lips curl into a beautiful smile, the first you've seen in this lifetime.

It's my fate

To dedicate myself to you.

taglist: @tkooooop, @haolovre, @jiungsdaisy, @jmclouds

[thedevilspearl]

awkward moments during sex — younger bros

a/n: a continuation of funny and awkward moments that happen during sex with the brothers, but this time with the younger brothers (older brothers here).

tags: 2.5k words. female reader x satan (edging, orgasm control), asmodeus (no warnings), beelzebub (manhandling, breeding kink, mating press, minor injury) + belphegor (mild somnophillia). minors do not interact!

𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐍

your fingers slip nimbly through his blonde hair, gliding through the strands as if they’re made of the finest of silks. satan leaves an entourage of nips and bruises along your neckline, each of them planted with more desperation than the last.

his hips roll against yours; not fast enough, and not slow enough. and yet, he seems to find the perfect combination of pace and rhythm which drives you crazy.

it keeps you in limbo, with hope on one side and despair on the other. a purgatory of sorts.

he loves to torment you like this; his teething grin tells you that. and with his head buried in the nook of your shoulder, he peeps up only to appreciate the overwrought look on your face. your brows furrow in such a way that he doesn’t know if you’re about to cry, or if you’re about to cum.

you suppose that’s why he loves it so much — satan has always been fond of a good mystery, always wanting to discover what comes next in earnest. he’s enthusiastic to say the least.

his rutting hips grow a little more fervent, earning a most dulcet moan from your lips. he captures it in his own, swallowing it whole and locking it away deep in the ravenous hollows of his body. you fill him up in ways he never expected, and he can’t get enough of you.

“satan,” you whimper, evoking a sadistic smirk on his face. “please…”

“please what, my dear?”

the endearment in his voice alone is enough to make your guts feel like they’re being rearranged — though, his cock is doing a perfectly fine job of that already.

“i wanna cum!”

every one of your senses tosses you back and forth over a very thin line. one second, you’re free to fall into a sea of bliss, ready to be washed away by the intensity of the orgasms he brings upon your body. and the next, you’re tied up in the confines of satan’s control. he decides when you finish, not the other way around.

the nerves in your body are working overtime, analysing each second and anticipating whether or not he will give you what you so desperately desire. your brain is moments away from turning numb from the overload of feelings, both physical and emotional.

so much that the creaks of satan’s old, wooden bed go unregistered.

he thrusts harder, faster with the promise that he’ll soon be done with you, and you can finally succumb to the ecstasy you’ve been reaching for.

“satan!” you squeal, locking your trembling legs around his hips. “i’m close!”

“me too, baby,” he grunts with each rut and grabs your cheeks, making sure of the eye contact between you. “we’re almost there.”

he makes a point of driving his cock to the hilt of your pussy, and his strength passes straight through your body into the foundations of his bed. all it takes is one more thrust to break apart the timbers of the worn out wood.

the mattress beneath you softens your land as the bed collapses, but the impact from satan’s body falling on top off you knocks the air out of your lungs. his limbs dig into you and you groan.

“shit,” he mutters, and his hands fly to your face, inspecting your pained expression. “are you okay?”

“not really,” satan rises with you, arms delicately holding your frame until you’re sat upright on the wreck of what was once his bed. “are you?”

“yes,” he chuckles, leaning his head against you before planting a kiss on your cheek. “because the sex was literally bed–breaking. and no, because lucifer is going to have a lot to say about this.”

𝐀𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐔𝐒

asmo has tonnes of attention and he loves to give it away freely, just as much as he loves to receive it. you’re special, though. he makes a point of that every time your insecurities begin niggle away at you.

whenever he feels you drawing away, he’ll pull you closer than ever before, never letting you out of his sight. with all the fame and love, most people tend to forget how lonely a person can become. and that’s why he chose you.

you took that loneliness from deep inside and destroyed it in the palm of your hand. you filled all the void parts of his body and soul with your existence alone; no one thinks about the demons a demon can have, and all it took was one smile from you to scare them all away.

you helped him in more ways than one, so he never wants you to feel alone or inferior — you’ll always be his number one despite his fans and fame and ego.

he must say, though, he is quite proud of how far you’ve come. asmo had immediately picked up on those small traits of yours, the ones that signal you spiralling into the pool of your greatest fears. the nervous fidgeting whenever he spoke to other demons at school, the daylight dazing out when you find yourself lost in thoughts, and the sudden silence when he’s livestreaming to his fans, like right now.

asmo was fully prepared to pepper you with praises and kisses as soon as he finished — he’s more than willing to give you attention. but the fact is, you stole it already, along with his breath.

he freezes for a second before licking his lips and glancing back and forth between your teasing and his screen. he mumbles and stutters whilst trying to hide his growing erection from his fans. meanwhile, you sway your hips seductively behind the camera, slipping the silk gown from your shoulders to reveal your naked body.

“today was really fun, my darlings,” he waves and blows a kiss to the screen immediately. “i’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

he taps his screen rapidly before jumping on you, grabbing your ass and lifting you. your lips intertwine in seconds and he drops you onto the mattress with out breaking contact.

“someone’s feeling bold,” he teases between kisses. “i like it.”

“mmh, i figured i should be more forward with my needs,” you say with a daring smile. “i think it seems to be working, don’t you?”

“oh, it’s working,” asmo expertly removes his clothing, and occupies himself in the meantime by kissing up and down your body, burning patterns into your skin until he meets your lips again.

“asmo… hurry.” you whine and he heeds your words, aligning himself with your soaked entrance.

“i love you, my darling,” he feeds you one last kiss before pushing in, and the two of you groan in unison. “i love you so much.”

“i love you too, asmo.”

you gasp loudly as his cock stretches your walls, and your clench around his length as if he was made perfectly for you to take. you’re seconds away from screaming his name when—

knock, knock, knock.

you freeze and the knocking is followed by lucifer’s commanding voice.

“asmodeus, you might want to end your livestream before continuing with your… activities.”

“what?!”

scrambling, you gather the blanket against your chest, tucking your legs underneath to hide your nude body. this can’t be happening…

“oh, my,” asmo tuts. “it looks like i pressed the wrong button.”

he makes his way back to his ddd set up on his desk, dragging a blanket to cover himself from the hips down. you expect him to turn it off immediately, but instead he starts reading the flying comments that you’re too embarrassed to even think about.

“hhm, everyone seems to be enjoying it,” he looks to you with a seductively intriguing glint in his eyes. “what do you say, honey? why don’t we give them a show?”

𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐙𝐄𝐁𝐔𝐁

“oh my goodness, beel!”

juices flow from your pussy and his mouth finally parts with it after bringing you to your umpteenth orgasm. your mind is foggy from the highs and beel rises, hands roaming your body and placing you exactly how he sees fit.

the back of your knees rest against his arms and his hands sneak under your body, locking you in place. he has you folded in half, literally. his feet are planted flat in the mattress and his immense weight pushes you down further.

you haven’t fucked in this position before, but you have a feeling beel is going to destroy your needy cunt. you take a liking to this inner beast controlling him right now; he must be so hungry…

his lips are coated with your essence, the one that works like a spell, entrancing him in such a state that he can only think about how much he needs you.

this is going to be good.

the tip of his enormous cock prods at your entrance and eagerly pushes in. hissing from his girth stretching you out, you wonder if it’s possible that you’ll ever get used to beel splitting you open on his cock.

“ngh,” you groan gutturally, unable to form a decipherable sentence. “s–so big!”

“i’m gonna fill you up, baby,” he growls and pushes in deeper. “gonna fill you with my cum.”

he slams into you, and an unbridled yelp escapes you before he raises his hips, only to slam them back down again. each of his thrusts rattle the entire bedframe and you’re afraid the brother next door might storm in with noise complaints.

a cacophony of sinful sounds fill the room — beel’s animalistic growls, your wanton moans, the obscenely lewd noises coming from your bodies, and of course, the shaking of everything around you.

he’s fucking you so hard it might cause an earthquake.

the mattress bounces along with both of your bodies, fucking like animals in heat. his cock drags in and out of your pussy and you’re losing count of all the orgasms he’s forcing you to endure. you’re extremely sensitive from him eating you out for hours and you don’t know how long it will take for beel to feel some sort of satiation.

being both starved and gluttonous is a dangerous combination, and this version of beel is a prime example of that. he pushes your thighs down further, allowing himself to explore deeper and you feel another orgasm creeping on you.

and it’s only a matter of time before beel finishes too, and he’s going to fill you to the brim with his cum before using it to fuck you some more, pushing his seed deep inside you. you can’t wait for the day he finally breeds you.

“fuck, beel!” you screech, not caring how ridiculously desperate you sound. “come on, stuff me full with your cum! want you to knock me up!”

“gonna fill you up,” he grunts with every thrust. “i’ll fill you with my—”

“aah, i’m so tired… wait, what’s going on here?”

before you can look in the direction of the door, beel literally flips you over and flings your body to the side, unknowingly using his full strength which causes you to collide into the wall.

“what the fuck?!” you yelps, tears brimming your eyes from the impact.

did he just throw you across the room?

but you have no time to yell at him because belphegor is standing in the doorway with his eyes locked onto your naked body. your hands fly to hide your private parts, but you are stark naked and daring not to move.

meanwhile, beel sits nonchalantly on his bed, covering his crotch with the sheets. “nothing. nothing is going on.”

belphie doesn’t seem convinced, which doesn’t come as a surprise and he slowly backs out, closing the door behind him.

not a second after he leaves, you throw the dirtiest, most disgusted look of betrayal at beel. “every man for himself, huh?”

“i’m so sorry, mc,” he glooms. “i panicked.”

“panicked? you threw me across the room!”

𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐑

“belphie,” you whisper, shaking the shoulders of his sleeping form. “belphie, wake up.”

a grumble sounds from his limp frame, and you roll your eyes, shaking him harder.

“belphie, please wake up,” and with a sigh, you add, “i’m horny.”

again, nothing.

chewing on your lips in thought, your hands mindlessly graze over your body — your breasts, squeezing them with a gasp; your hips, grabbing them exactly where belphie loves; and your thighs, digging into your flesh with desperation.

you don’t realise your pitiful actions, nor the broken moan that escapes you until belphie rolls onto his other side, his back now facing you.

a pout forms on your lips and you grab him again, shaking him with all your might. but your frustration passes right through his sleeping form.

“belphegor, wake up right now! i need you!”

“keep it down…”

giving up, you flop onto the mattress beside him, unable to remove your eyes from his peaceful face. as unsatisfactory as his response is, your body still needs to be put at ease. and you can’t do that without some form of relief.

before you know it, your fingers slip below the line of your underwear and a shaky breath escapes you. you make work of yourself, thrusting your fingers in and out while imagining belphie’s cock driving hard into your pussy.

what you would give for him to open his eyes and plant his fingertips into the softness of your hips, holding you in place beneath his sweating body as he slams into you, his cock making its mark all along your walls.

“fuck…” you whimper, with a hint of his name among your quiet moans as you cum.

belphie has yet to move an inch, completely ignorant to you and your orgasm. so much for quality time. with your eyelids drooping, you allow yourself to sink into the sheets and pillows, carefully snuggling into belphie’s body as to not wake him.

an hour passes, or maybe two, possibly more and belphegor finally stirs. he yawns with little energy and rolls onto his back, but his arm stays wrapped around you, tucking you into his chest. all it takes is one look for that swirling sensation in his stomach to come alive.

he looks down at his crotch and sees that the problem goes further than so–called butterflies; his hardened cock stretches the material of his pants. morning wood has never been so persistent since you came along.

every remnant of sleep is gone in an instant and he’s on top of you, lips pressed against your neck and hands sneaking up your shirt, squeezing your hips on their way to your tits.

“hah…” small gasps and moans escape him as his hips jut against you. “what are you doing to me?”

he hates that innocent look on your face, so oblivious to the effect you have on him and to what he is doing to you. but that innocence is also what turns him on. god, he could just devour you whole like the sick demon he is and you wouldn’t know a thing because you’re far to busy dreaming something sweet.

it’s almost like he can smell it, the dream. or, a more logical explanation would be the sweetness between your legs. your glistening slit has him drooling when he pulls your panties away and he soon makes work of freeing his aching cock from his own clothes.

“mc,” he whispers against you with a kiss. “wake up, i’m horny.”

your eyes open slightly, and as soon as you register his hot, naked body above you, you roll over to the side with a huff.

“not now, belphie. i’m tired.”

well, he supposes this is what he deserves. it’s a taste of his own medicine, after all.

[ravixen]

svt + meeting your friends

➔ not requested || reaction

➔ warnings: none || 0.6k words ➔ notes: fluff ; happy monday!! I'm chipping away at that vernon au (it's at 3.5k words as of this post), but since that won't see the light of day for a LONG time, I'm dropping this on the dashboard. please reblog if you enjoyed! I like reading your comments; I try to respond to every one. requests are open for the rest of 2024!

SEUNGCHEOL: he is very happy to pick up the check, but you'd argue that he's a little too quick to swipe his card. you remind him that even though he's super rich, he's just a regular guy with your friends. plus, you like the current system: one person pays first and calculates what everyone else owes based on what they ate. "so no paying for everything," you say and make him pinky promise before you leave the house. he was planning to sneak off and pay the bill first, but now that you locked him into a pinky promise, he shoots back a counter offer: let him at least cover your portion, too. you say yes with a roll of your eyes. when you finally arrive, your friends are quick to notice how charismatic he is. he shakes everyone's hands firmly when introducing himself, making sure to get everyone's names, and something about the bright smile and strong eye contact combo makes them fall for him instantly...or at least amenable to his charm. it only takes him a few minutes to remember everyone's names, and really, he's in his element here, leaning forward in his seat and shining beside you.

JOSHUA: he could be really loud, or he could be really chill; it really depends on the vibes of the gathering, but I think he would opt for the chill persona for the first meeting. it's the most versatile, especially when he can blindside your friends with a few well-placed comments. before the hang out, you explicitly told your friends not to bombard him with questions, to just treat it like a normal hang out with an additional guest. and so far, they've been playing nice. the questions they do ask him are polite and just enough to include him in the conversation, and he laughs alongside them like he's always been part of the friend group. but your friends have sharp eyes. they keep exchanging glances and quick eyebrow raises whenever you're not looking. who can blame them? joshua's arm is a constant presence on the back of your chair. whenever the plates or bottles come around, he serves you first when a quiet is this enough? you sure? ok before serving himself. he's content to sit back in his chair and bask quietly in your shadow. the grilling can happen next time. for now, they're happy to know that he takes care of you.

CHAN: he plays well in big groups because of being in seventeen, so when he meets your friends, he settles as soon as he learns everyone's name. of course, he's not inserting himself into the conversation unless asked to; he prefers waiting on the sidelines to evaluate the dynamic, and you can see his eyes bounce from person to person, figuring out how to conduct himself in this space. you ask if he's feeling awkward, and when he says no, you can tell that his answer is genuine. he's happy enough to be there by your side. what captures your friends' attention is how attentive he is. not just to you—that's a given, surely—but to everyone in the circle. maybe it's the experience of having a big friend group himself, especially a group so caring, or maybe it's him being an eldest child. if he notices that someone's being left out or seems withdrawn, he leans towards them with a smile and draws them into a conversation on the side. whatever they need: a quick check-in...or an earnest, involved dialogue about shared interests. he has a tendency to make people feel seen and cared for, even people he just met, because of how authentic he is.

[cheqorb]

A Change of Heart.

A change in your rival's personality is be nothing serious. So, the look of longing in their eyes, the comments that seem more flirtatious than threatening, are fine, right?

FEAT. Isagi, Shidou, Kaiser

NOTES. maybe everything is oaky

Making an enemy out of ISAGI is surprisingly straightforward, considering his more laid-back personality compared to everyone else at least.

Simply just be a bit of a diva (become Kaiser 2.0). Confidently brag about how much better you are than him and he’s a bit hopeless, isn’t he? It won’t be long before he begins to get pretty irritable around you, feeling a strong urge to curse you out anytime you speak.

It’s not the ego he minds, really, but you’re just so you.

────

With a smirk, you peer over his shoulder as he struggles to catch his breath in practice. "Is that all you've got? Whatever happened to the genius on the pitch?" you taunt, wearing the smug expression he oh-so-despises.

Your shit-eating grin only widens at the sight of his furrowed brows and clenched teeth that betray his frustration, he’s so predictable, it’s almost sad!

────

Which is why he would describe it as complete and utter humiliation, when he realises he's starting to feel something beyond mere dislike towards you.

The discomfort between the two of you only worsens as he grows awkwardly silent at your blatant insults or even the mere mention of his name within earshot. Seriously, is he just ignoring you? And if/when you condescendingly pat his head, calling him a sorry excuse of a striker, he just… stands there — his face tinted a touch redder than usual.

Well, you conclude he could’ve just finished practice so he’s red because of exhaustion. Stupid Yoichi got ahead of himself in training and tired himself out. Yeah, that must be it (cue everyone visibly shaking their heads and sighing very loudly)!

────

Before your fingertips even make contact with his head, Isagi already knows it's you standing beside him. "Still not giving up, huh? Just how much do you enjoy losing anyway..." You pause.

He doesn't swat your hand away or offer a retort like he would have a few weeks prior to today. You’re confused, not having a clue as to what’s changed and your little one-sided dynamic has lasted for ages at this point. He’s trying to embarrass you by acting as if you’re not there, isn’t he?!

But then, much to your absolute shock and horror, he absentmindedly responds with, “Right. Yeah.”

With your hand still resting on his hair, you don’t even notice how he leans into your touch while you’re still processing what just happened in your mind. How sneaky!

Now, this one’s unfathomably easy. SHIDOU is someone who thrives on stirring up trouble with anything unlucky enough to catch his attention; be it a stranger bumping into him or even a dog walking off its leash.

Though, to capture his interest and earn his respect in earnest, you need to demonstrate the ability to ‘explode’ on the field but also able to play by his ‘rules’. but to truly kick off his fascination with you (pun intended), maintaining a nonchalant demeanor/keeping a distance between you two also helps. He seems like he’d be drawn to people who are on the more mysterious side of his interactions with Sae are anything to go off of.

────

Approaching with his trademark flamboyance, Shidou’s voice boomed as he made his way across the pitch. "Hey, you! That was some seriously impressive play out there!" he declares, "I mean, seriously, those moves were—”

He goes off on a tangent about cells, explosions — stuff you couldn’t be bothered to listen to.

“…Thanks,” you say with a neutral expression on your face before he tries to jump on you??? Almost breaking your nose in the process, if you hadn’t dodged in time.

────

His personality is both captivating yet a little too boisterous for anybody’s taste, and you can’t help instinctively retreating if he gets too close. Even if he is one of the few players who willingly praises you outright.

But Shidou isn't deterred by your nonchalance; if anything, it only fuels his excitement. Someone that so brilliantly fits his character, (seemingly) couldn’t care less about him. Anyways in terms of romance, he operates on a vastly different wavelength from conventional views on love. I don’t think he’s the type to recognise feelings of being flustered or the desire to shower someone with tender care and attention.

Since it is still love at the end of the day, he’s still experiences a certain pull towards you, driven by instinct rather than conscious understanding. But besides that, he remains largely oblivious/doesn’t feel the need to dig deeper into the complexity of human emotions.

Just understands being around you = more fun for him.

And unless you’re exceptionally perceptive or are somehow able to understand his underlying motives, you're likely to interpret his actions as a signal to maintain a safe distance.

────

“You’re always so hard to pin down, you know that?” Shidou calls out, watching as you continue walking — unfazed by his presence. He debates on whether or not to smash your face into the ground but then, he pauses.

A rare moment of contemplation for him.

Despite everything, there’s something undeniably exhilarating about being around you. A sense of freedom, a release from the constraints of his existence. Being with you makes him happy. It’s a thought that prompts another; how nice it’d be if you felt the same way about him… huh. Oh well.

For KAISER, it's also decently easy. Either defeat him on the soccer field or simply refuse to conform to his philosophy of everyone revolving around him; just don’t be a pushover. He’s someone who’ll gladly take any opportunity to crush someone whose ego far outweighs their abilities, but when confronted by someone with the skills to match their confidence? He becomes both intrigued and slightly irked.

Especially if they’re someone who can’t stand him (which to be fair, isn’t all that difficult) or simply wants nothing to do with him.

────

As you catch sight of a familiar head of blonde hair fading into blue entering through the doorway, you internally groan.

It’s Kaiser who saunters over, flashing his signature smirk. "Well, if it isn't my most favourite jester," he drawls, his tone dripping with arrogance. "You're looking rather defeated today. Are you finally coming to term with the fact that you'll never match my level?"

If it wasn’t clear, you don’t have much enthusiasm when it comes to whatever he says.

────

As time passes however, he’ll slowly find himself being more…involved in your life — forcing to make an appearance himself if need be.

Even noticing the small details about you. the way your eyes lit up when you seemed to figure something out, the subtle quirks that made you, you. Eventually (and I mean eventually, this will take a while), the realisation that his actions were out of love dawns on him. He’ll certainly try to deny it, brushing off the unfamiliar feelings as mere annoyance or frustration, but as he catches himself stealing glances in your direction and seeking out opportunities to be near you, he can’t help but admit defeat.

Michael Kaiser, the arrogant and self-assured soccer prodigy, had fallen deeply and irrevocably in love with some nobody.

He wants to impress you, to be the one that makes you grit your teeth out of frustration, to be the best version of himself for you to look up at. And, what began as subtle glances and fleeting touches soon evolves into more obvious displays of affection.

He finds excuses to brush against you or in close proximity of you, his hand lingering a fraction longer when shaking yours or his fingers grazing yours when passing objects. He also seems to be fond of leaning close towards you nowadays, his face mere inches from yours. It’s a lot worse if you’re visibly flustered when he does these things too.

Additionally, your pet name has been upgraded from jester to ‘liebling’…whatever that even means. must be weird if it makes his teammates raise a brow every time he says it.

────

With the match coming to an end, you mentally prepare yourself for a certain someone’s inevitable reaction to that last play of yours. What you don’t expect is for him to suddenly take out your earbud with a creepy smile on his face. Kaiser’s always weird, but this is a little outlandish even for him.

“Ich liebe dich.”

You raise a brow at whatever he said (not that you could understand of course) but judging by the others looking completely lost for words, you can only assume it’s pretty awful.