#i had to laugh when i saw him with that instrument

[dearjoons]

💼 PROFESSOR!NAMJOON HEADCANNONS

warnings: ex-fuck buddies to co-workers. calculusprofessor!namjoon x litreatureprofessor!reader. mentions of smut. namjoon is an ex-frat boy, reader is an ex-sorority girl. sexual and romantic tension. mentions of heavy drinking. mild angst.

lulu speaks: this cai bot has been on my acc for a very long time. go check it out it’s fye ✌🏼🙂‍↔️

ᝰ professor!namjoon who almost fainted at the sight of you when he moved into his classroom during the summer. he has no clue if you saw him, but all he cares about is that fact you still look the same as you did back then.

ᝰ professor!namjoon who wears clean white button-downs, black dress pants, and the same luxury watch his wealthy father got him as a graduation gift.

ᝰ professor!namjoon who has cleaned up his act. not his mind. below the neatly tousled hair and the wire glasses lays the guy who used to shotgun beers off a balcony and hook up with you during tailgates.

ᝰ professor!namjoon who doesn’t talk about college. ever. when the other teachers reminisce about their university days, namjoon just sips his coffee and nods. If they knew the things he used to do in frat basements, they would never look at him the same.

ᝰ professor!namjoon who feels his stomach drop everytime you laugh—because it reminds him of the days where you were in his bed, sheets kicked off, your sorority tee pushed up and giggling when he kissed down your stomach.

ᝰ professor!namjoon who corrects your grammar in his head, just like he used to during those rare post-sex moments when you would linger in his squeaky twin bed, murmuring nonsense while half dressed. and every time he would, you’d go, “you’re such a fucking nerd, joon.” he used to love that.

ᝰ professor!namjoon who hasn’t hooked up with anyone since he saw you in the classroom across the hall from him—hell, he hasn’t even tried to date around. no one makes him feel the same way you did.

ᝰ professor!namjoon who grades papers to music. Instrumentals only. words distract him. you distract him.

ᝰ professor!namjoon who kept one single picture of yours. it’s from a college party, buried deep in his camera roll. your tongue’s out. his hand’s on your waist.

ᝰ professor!namjoon who is careful not to call you by your first name. too easy to fall back into the past.

ᝰ professor!namjoon who assigned a math worksheet themed around pride & prejudice once. he wondered if you’d notice.

ᝰ professor!namjoon who gets flustered when someone mentions dating among staff, and he’s always the first one to change the subject.

ᝰ professor!namjoon who wonders if you tell your friends about him. about your past. wonders if you laugh.

ᝰ professor!namjoon who always smelled like old spice, weed, and cheap detergent. that combination still hits you sometimes.

ᝰ professor!namjoon who had accidentally called you “babe” during sex one time. you froze. he never said it again.

ᝰ professor!namjoon who straightens his tie in the mirror every morning, tells himself, “it’s fine. she’s just a coworker.” lies.

ᝰ professor!namjoon who says your name around students like it physically pains him to. he dreads the day it’ll be “mrs.” instead of “miss.”

lulu speaks pt2: i wanna take a shower with him—NO I MEAN I MEAN i wanna keep him as a pet…not shower or...makeout with him I MEAN—(pls get my arcade craniacs reference)

cai bot. masterlist. navigation.

[lucydixon]

Basement Betrayal pt.2

Summary: Øystein wakes up after the two of you have your worst fight yet and finds you gone. When he finds you, he realizes very quickly just how badly he fucked up. Warning: Hypothetical SA

In the morning, you were gone, and Øystein stood behind the counter, blinking at your empty bed. 

He hadn’t really thought about it before, but you rarely left the store alone, and you definitely never left without saying anything. 

He glanced out the front windows to try and see if he could see you outside, but the streets were entirely barren. 

The shop owner gnawed on his bottom lip, but got on with his day, opening the store and letting Faust and Occultus in to set up. 

They’d asked where you were and he had to tell them that he didn’t know while trying not to look like he’d been thinking about it all morning. 

Faust had made a comment about it being weird that you just disappeared, then went to look over your bunk. 

“Uh, all her stuff is gone?” He looked up at Øystein like he should’ve noticed. 

“What?” he frowned. Looking it over for himself. 

It looked the same as it usually did, but when he looked closer, he saw that all your jewelry was gone from the windowsill and your sketchbooks weren’t sitting on the shelf above the TV. 

“Her clothes are still here.” He pointed out. 

“She doesn’t give a shit about her clothes.” Faust shook his head, already looking a bit concerned. He was obviously trying to hide it, though. “She took all the important stuff with her.” 

“For fuck’s sake.” Øystein muttered under his breath, “We have rehearsal this afternoon.” 

“Maybe she’ll be there?” Occultus shrugged, picking out a record to play. “She’s never late for anything, ever. It’s like her thing.” 

“So is wandering off.” Øystein reminded himself. “I’m sure she’s fine. Probably just out robbing a bank or something.” 

Occultus laughed, but Faust didn’t. 

When he got to the henhouse, you were, in fact, there, chatting with Jan Axel as if everything was normal. 

He almost made a comment about your disappearing act, but held back and just started setting up, doing all he could to act like he didn’t give a shit. 

He told himself that you were just being sensitive. 

That you needed to toughen up if you were going to keep hanging out with them now that they were getting into the hard stuff.

But he knew that it was just him trying to convince himself. 

“Are you two done fucking around?” He snapped once he’d gotten set up. 

You and Jan blinked at him before taking your places. 

You gave him a sharp look, but turned your attention to your instrument, eager to get this over with so you could go back to being alone. 

The beginning notes of ‘funeral frog’ began to play, and you let your stress dissolve into the music, bobbing your head to the beat, hair blocking all views of Øystein and anything else that might distract you. 

The session was tense, but the music was there. 

Øystein had been planning on asking you if you’d record the next album with them, but your spat the night before kept him from opening his mouth. 

“Do you want a ride back to the shop?” Jan offered, able to feel the animosity between his bandmates from across the room. 

“No thanks.” You gave him a warm smile and went back to packing your things. 

He hesitated in the doorway, about to insist, but thought better of it and left. 

“So, Jan drove you out here,” Øystein spoke finally, shouldering his guitar case. 

“No,” you didn’t look up to meet his gaze, “I met him here, same as you.” 

“How’d you get here then?” His brows pulled together slightly. 

“I took the bus.” You shrugged. 

“The closest bus stop is a two-hour walk from here.” 

“That’s right.” 

“And you did all that just so you didn’t have to sit in the car with me for twenty minutes?” 

“Mhmm.” You just hummed, heading for the door. 

“You’re being ridiculous.” He told you, doing all he could not to apologize. “Just get in the car, I’ll drive you back.” 

“I don’t need you to.” 

“So you’re gonna be a brat and walk to the bus stop just to prove a point?” 

“No,” you frowned, looking at him finally. “That would be silly. I don’t need you to drive me back to the store, because I’m not going back.” 

“What?” He couldn’t help the shock in his voice, “Where are you going then?” 

“I moved back into the house,” you pointed across the lot at the decrepit farmhouse that looked about the same as it did when you’d left it months before. “I’ll keep coming to practice until you find someone to replace me.” 

“And what?” Øystein leaned back against the Volvo, looking at you in disbelief. “You’re just never going to see any of us again?” 

“Of course not.” you sighed, “They’re still my friends. I’ll be at gigs and stuff, I just can’t live with you anymore.” 

“All this because Varg asked you to strip and I asked if you and Faust were fucking?” He scoffed, leaning into the anger instead of the ache in his chest at the thought of not having you around anymore. 

“That’s an awfully simplified version of what happened last night, don’t you think?” 

“Yeah? How did it happen inside your head? Huh?” He asked. 

“Inside my head,” you repeated slowly, shaking your head. 

“I’m gonna continue this conversation only because if I don’t I’m gonna be all pissed off and I’ll do something I'm gonna regret.” your jaw flexed “Let's start with Varg.” 

“He did not just ask me to strip.” You fought not to start screaming at him. “He demanded it, just to see if you would let it happen, and you did. Keep that in mind when we get to the next part.” 

Øystein watched you rant with a frown on his face. 

“You were about to sit there and watch me take all my clothes off, in front of him, another man, and let him do god knows what he was planning. But I sit upstairs and watch a movie with Faust, who has never done anything to me, hasn’t so much as hurt my feelings while you’ve been a raging asshole from the minute I met you, is just too much for you to handle?” 

“I wouldn’t have let Varg do anythi-” He started, but you cut him off. 

“I don’t believe you,” You told him seriously, a slight rattle in the back of your throat. “That shit last night scared me Øystein. You just fucking sat there and watched. I don’t trust you anymore.” 

You felt vulnerable and unprotected, which felt insane to think since you’d spent most of your life watching out for yourself. To be fair, you’d been lucky enough not to experience anything too scary. Devastating and upsetting, sure. But last night in the basement had been the first time you’d felt genuine, cold fear in a very long time. 

Your switchblade could only do so much. 

If Varg had decided to tear it out of your hands and risk slicing his hand open, he could easily overtake you, and you knew it. 

You’d never actually had to use any of your blades on people, the threat had always been enough to scare them off, but Varg was around all the time. You couldn’t get away from him and genuinely feared the inevitable moment where the two of you found themselves in a room together alone. 

If Øystein wasn’t willing to get in between the two of you, then you’d be fucked. 

As much as you hated to admit it, and how it went against everything you’d stood for up until that point, you knew that not all that deep down, you wanted Øystein to protect you. 

And he didn’t. 

“You can trust me.” He insisted, finally feeling the severity of what he’d done. “I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you.” 

“I genuinely, with everything in me, wish that I believed that,” you smiled sadly. “But I don’t.” 

“I’m sorry.” He told you, looking genuine and a little panicked, “For all of it. I am. I don’t know what to do to help you trust me, or why I’m such a dick to you all the time. I don’t even realize what I’m doing is wrong half the time until you bring it up.” 

“So you mean to tell me that when you were sitting there with Varg, waiting for me to take off my clothes, you didn’t fucking feel anything?” you were angry now, spitting your words through your teeth “No part of you thought that it might be wrong to just sit there?” 

He opened his mouth, then closed it. Unable to argue. 

“Imagine being me.” You told him seriously, your tone ice cold “I’m a lot smaller than you, I don’t have anywhere near as much muscle as you do, and I have to live with the knowledge that if you or any other man decides that they’re going to switch up on me and try to hurt me, there’s really not a whole lot I can do about it.” 

“Think about that, then put yourself in my shoes last night. I’m standing there with someone that I’m close to, someone who I trust because I have no reason not to,” you continued, staring directly into his eyes. “Then that person sits back and watches while some guy he barely knows demands that I take my clothes off. Imagine the tone of his fucking voice.” 

“What did you think was going to happen if I hadn’t left? If I’d been too scared to after being spoken to like that? Were you going to watch me take off my clothes, shaking in fear? Would you have watched him fuck me? Even if I was crying?” 

“Stop.” He physically flinched just thinking about it “I never would have let-” 

“But you let it get far enough that I had to pull a knife on him.” 

“I knew you could handle yourself.” Øystein told you, his eyes swimming with regret, “I shouldn’t have let it go that far, I know that. But if he had tried to touch you, I would’ve done something. I swear.” 

“I don’t know what I can do to fix it.” 

“You can’t.” you scoffed, “It happened.” 

“Wait.” There was a slight creak in his voice, desperate and pleading as he started to really panic. He wasn’t going to be able to talk you out of this one. “Just come back with me, I’m sorry! I’m so fucking sorry!” 

You could see that he really was this time, but it didn’t bring you much comfort. 

“You want me to go find him right now and beat the shit out of him?” He asked seriously, “Cause I will. I’d do anything for you.” 

“What I want is for you to leave me the fuck alone, Øystein.”

You left him standing there and hauled your Bass back up to the house, not looking back even once.  

You realized very quickly that moving back into the house was a terrible idea and that you’d yet again made an impulsive decision and immediately regretted it. 

The power was out since nobody had been paying the bill. The only place that had any was the Henhouse, but only because of the generator that had ben hauled out there long before you met the boys. The water ran, but only because it came from a well on the property, and it certainly wasn’t warm. 

Aside from the logistics, you were acutely aware that you’d never actually been completely alone in the house before. There was always someone there. 

Now, it felt haunted and hollow, and you felt like tearing your hair out. 

It was pouring rain outside and far too cold to go out without a coat, which you hadn’t thought to bring with you. 

You hadn’t really brought any of your things with you. 

Just some sketchbooks and your jewelry

Your bass lived in the henhouse usually, so you didn’t have to haul it around. There was one back at the shop that you used to practice.

You hadn’t thought to bring that either. 

You stood near the window until you couldn’t tell what time it was. It only seemed to be getting colder, and after a certain point, you had to give up and go up into your old room. 

You didn’t even make it to the top of the stairs. 

Your eyes landed on Pelle’s door, and you just froze. 

You couldn’t do it. 

Instead of spending the night in the living room and waiting to take the bus in the morning, you stashed your belongings in the henhouse and started walking towards Oslo. 

Ten minutes in, you thought about turning around. 

Your clothes were wet, and you were cold, but you thought about the house and Pelle’s door and couldn’t make yourself do it. 

An hour in, your clothes were soaking wet. 

Another, and you could feel the weight of the water. 

You could barely see out in front of you, and by the time you finally reached the edge of the city, you couldn’t feel your nose or fingers. 

Dividers made by @saradika-graphics

[agoblincat]

I love how much variety the Arcane soundtrack offers.

That being said, I didn’t know Heimerdinger became the new singer for Old Crow Medicine Show

[songbirdseung]

𝑽𝑶  𝑩𝑶𝑶𝑻𝑯  /  𝑺𝑰𝑴  𝑱𝑨𝑬𝒀𝑼𝑵

𝐇𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐭 𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭. "𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐧, 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐞," 𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐝, 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐫. "𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞. 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞?" 

You had entered the studio quietly, not wanting to startle him, setting down the takeout bag you had brought for him. He was so immersed in his work that he didn’t even notice you until you placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Jake jumped slightly when you touched him, pulling off his headphones. His eyes softened immediately when he saw you. "Baby," he sighed, a tired smile forming on his lips. "You scared me."

You grinned, bending down to kiss his temple. "You didn’t even hear me come in, did you?"

He shook his head, leaning back in his chair as his arms reached out to pull you closer. "Nope. But I’m glad you’re here."

You hummed, placing the food on the table. "I figured you wouldn’t eat if I didn’t show up."

Jake chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Guilty."

You rolled your eyes, taking a seat on the couch across from him. "So, how’s it going?"

He let out a deep breath, swiveling his chair slightly. "It’s… getting there. I feel like I’m missing something, though. I don’t know what, but something."

You watched him, the way his fingers mindlessly tapped on the desk, the way he chewed on his bottom lip, a telltale sign that he was overthinking.

"Maybe you just need a break," you suggested, tilting your head.

Jake gave you a knowing look. "Are you trying to distract me?"

You smirked. "Maybe."

He groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. "Babe, I really need to finish this."

You pouted, standing up and walking over to him. "Fine, I’ll be good." You leaned down, brushing your lips against his cheek before settling into his lap, arms draped around his shoulders.

Jake inhaled sharply, hands instinctively holding onto your waist. "You call this being good?"

You giggled, resting your head against his. "I’m not doing anything."

Jake sighed, shaking his head. "You’re literally sitting in my lap while I’m trying to work."

"Exactly," you teased. "Just existing."

He huffed, but his grip on your waist tightened. "You’re lucky I love you."

You laughed softly, kissing his cheek before resting your head against his shoulder. Jake, despite his initial complaints, found himself relaxing under your warmth. His hands stayed on your waist as he continued adjusting the instrumental, his fingers expertly moving across the controls.

"Wait," Jake muttered, his hands suddenly freezing over the keyboard. His expression shifted instantly, eyes widening as if he had just been struck by lightning.

You lifted your head from where it had been resting against his shoulder, blinking at him in confusion. "Huh?"

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, his fingers flew across the keyboard, replaying a section of the song over and over again, adjusting the levels, his brows furrowing in concentration. The way his gaze darted between the screen and the mixing board told you that something had just clicked in his mind, an idea forming right in front of you.

"I think I just figured out what’s missing," he murmured, his voice laced with excitement.

You straightened up slightly, curiosity piqued. "From what? The song?"

"Yes!" He turned to you, eyes bright with newfound inspiration. His hands found your waist, squeezing it lightly as if to ground himself. "I need you to make a sound for me."

You tilted your head, eyeing him suspiciously. "A sound?"

"Yeah!" His grin widened, fingers drumming eagerly against your hips. "Something only you can make."

Your suspicion deepened. "Jake… what are you up to?"

He wiggled his eyebrows mischievously. "I need you to moan for me."

Your entire face immediately heated up. "EXCUSE ME?!"

Jake burst out laughing but was quick to hold his hands up in defense. "Not like that," he clarified quickly, though the teasing glint in his eyes remained. "Just a soft, pretty sound. Like the ones you make when you’re super comfortable or when I-"

"JAKE!" You smacked his chest, mortified.

He doubled over in laughter, grabbing your wrists before you could smack him again. "I’m serious!" he insisted, his eyes gleaming. "It’d be subtle, but it would add the perfect touch to the track. Just trust me!"

You groaned, burying your face in his shoulder, voice muffled. "This is so embarrassing."

"But so genius," he countered with a grin. "Come on, just try it once. You know I’m right."

Lifting your head, you gave him an exasperated look. "You really won’t stop until you get this, will you?"

Jake smirked, shaking his head. "Nope."

You sighed dramatically, already regretting the fact that you had fallen for a producer. "Fine," you huffed, pointing a finger at him. "But if this ends up on Weverse or some leaked version of the song—"

Before you could finish your sentence, Jake leaned in and kissed you, his laughter melting against your lips. "I promise it won’t," he reassured between kisses. "This is just for us. And my album. But mostly for us."

Rolling your eyes, you fought the small smile creeping onto your lips. "You’re so lucky I love you."

Jake smirked, his dimples appearing. "That’s what I said earlier."

[nebularsung]

quiet mornings and latte arts | p.js

boyfriend!jisung x fem!reader

❝ a flirty barista pushes boundaries, sparking soft jealousy in your usually quiet, clumsy boyfriend, awakening a protective side you didn't know that existed. ❞

genre. fluff ⭑ word count. 3.8k+

content. jealous ji (my fav kind of ji), a very flirty and inconvenient barista, head over heels ji that does anything for you, just fluff actually!

Soft jealousy, sleepy mornings, and a little reminder of who really owns your heart.

It was a slow, golden Sunday morning—the kind that made the city feel like it was still tucked under the covers. The air was crisp, but not cold. Quiet enough that your footsteps echoed softly down the sidewalk. You turned the corner and entered the café, greeted by the familiar chime of the door and the warmth that always lived inside those walls.

Your favorite spot was free—the second stool from the end, tucked just enough to feel cozy without being hidden. You loved this place. You loved what it meant. You’d been coming here with Jisung since your first winter together, wrapped in scarves and shy glances. This place had seen everything—first dates, quiet arguments, soft reconciliations, sleepy-eyed mornings. It was your safe space. Yours and his.

But lately, someone new had been adding… flavour to the atmosphere.

“Look who’s back,” came the now-familiar voice, syrup-sweet and a little too smooth.

You looked up from your phone to see him—the new barista. All charm and dimples and a gaze that held a touch too long.

“Your usual?” he asked, already turning to start it.

“You remembered,” you replied with a small smile.

“How could I forget?” He flashed you a grin, and then added, “But if I got it wrong, you’ll have to punish me. Deal?” You laughed softly, mostly out of politeness.

He returned with your drink—perfect, as always—and this time, the foam was adorned with a heart. Not just any heart, either: two tiny initials carefully drawn inside it. Yours… and his.

“This one’s on the house,” he said, placing the cup down and sliding it toward you like it was a love letter. “You deserve something sweet today.”

You blinked, a little caught off guard. “Thanks…?”

“Anytime.” He winked. “Really. Any time.”

You left a bit embarrassed and with a coffee that suddenly felt very complicated.

Back home, Jisung was lounging on the couch, hoodie sleeves pulled down to his knuckles, the hood drooping over his eyes. His phone rested forgotten on his chest, and a soft instrumental played from the speaker—something gentle, something he probably made himself.

“Hey, babe,” you said, holding up your drink. “Guess what? Free coffee today.”

His eyes flicked to the cup. Then to you. He sat up slowly. “Free?”

“New barista said it was ‘on the house.’” You said it casually, watching him closely.

He gave a soft hum, barely a note of sound. “Nice of them.”

He didn’t say more—but you noticed the subtle shift in him. The slight crease between his brows. The way he suddenly had his hands shoved under his thighs like he was anchoring himself. He didn’t ask any more questions, but he didn't need to. You knew him too well.

The next day, you mentioned heading back to the café. You didn’t even finish the sentence before he was reaching for his jacket.

“I’ll come with you.”

You tilted your head. “Thought you hated their oat milk.”

“Maybe I’ll give it another shot.” He didn’t meet your eyes as he said it, but you caught the flush rising in his cheeks.

You just smirked. “Sure.”

The café buzzed with its usual morning rhythm, but the moment the two of you walked in together, everything seemed to shift.

Jisung’s hand found yours immediately—his fingers cool but firm. His thumb stroked the inside of your wrist like a nervous habit. You ordered together, and while you spoke, he leaned in close. His presence was unmistakable—quiet, grounding, but unmistakably there.

The barista turned around and paused when they saw you weren’t alone.

“Well, well,” he grinned, eyeing the hand on your waist. “Didn’t know you were bringing a plus-one.”

You offered a polite smile. Your partner said nothing, but you felt the small tightening of his grip.

“And what can I get for you, mystery man?” the barista asked, too sweet, too amused.

“Oat milk latte,” your boyfriend replied flatly, gaze steady.

“Oat milk?” the barista teased. “Bold choice.”

“He likes it bitter,” you said quickly, shooting your partner a glance—his eyes never left the barista.

As you moved to wait for your drinks, he pulled you subtly closer, arm now looped around your shoulders. The tension in his jaw was faint, but you could see it. His lips hovered close to your ear.

“Heart foam again?” he whispered.

You snorted. “Yours better be even bigger.”

When the drinks were handed over, there was no heart in the foam this time. No napkin note. No extra sweetness. Just two cups, side by side.

You stepped out into the sunlight, warm drinks in hand, and walked in silence for a while. His hand stayed in yours, thumb brushing over your skin again and again.

“Okay,” you finally said, nudging him with your elbow. “So… someone was feeling a little territorial there.”

He sighed through his nose, sheepish. “I wasn’t—”

“You absolutely were.”

A pause. Then he mumbled, “It’s just… that place is ours, y’know? And I didn’t like the way they looked at you. Like they could just walk into it. Into us.”

You stopped walking and turned to face him. He kept his gaze down, always a little shy when his feelings were too loud. But you reached for his face, cupped his cheeks gently.

“That café is ours. Our spot. Our memories. No one’s rewriting them unless we say so.”

He finally met your eyes, his cheeks flushed pink. There was a small knot of worry in his expression, but it was unraveling.

“Come on,” you said with a small smile, tugging him toward the café again. “Let’s go make some new memories. Window seat. Your playlist. My bad jokes.”

He laughed under his breath. “God, I love you.”

“And I love my quiet, jealous little coffee snob.”

Back at the café, the window seat was waiting. You shared headphones, drinks, stories you already knew just to hear each other’s voices. And this time, your cup had both your names scribbled in the corner—his handwriting.

Possession isn't always loud. Sometimes it's quiet hands and hard stares.

You thought it was over.

The drinks etched only with your names, the subtle yet unmistakable way your boyfriend had reasserted his place beside you. The quiet death of the barista’s flirty spark behind the counter.

But apparently… that was only round one.

It was two days later when you dropped by alone again—Jisung was holed up in the studio, headphones like armor over his ears, hunched over his desk with tired eyes and calloused fingertips stained with ink and half-finished lyrics. He hadn’t eaten. Barely spoken. You kissed the crown of his head and promised to bring him something warm, something sweeter than the stress he was drowning in.

You should’ve known something was off the second the bell chimed and the barista’s gaze landed on you like it was a secret you’d come back to share.

“Ooh,” he drawled, voice dripping with heat and honey, the kind that stuck to your skin. “Back so soon? Thought maybe you’d switched allegiances.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“Didn’t see you yesterday.” He leaned on the counter like it was a casual thought, but his eyes didn’t waver. They slid over your face, pausing at your lips just a moment too long. “Figured you might’ve sold out to that soulless chain down the street.”

You gave a polite laugh, more amused than flattered. “Nah. Just busy. My boyfriend’s buried in work.”

“Ah,” he said knowingly, nodding like he had you all figured out. “The ever-elusive boyfriend. I don’t blame him, though. If I had someone like you waiting at home, I wouldn’t get anything done either.”

Your lips parted, somewhere between a laugh and a wince. “You’re bold.”

He grinned, lazy and too familiar. “I am.”

Your drink came with a heart again—bigger this time, taking up the entire surface of the foam. He slid it toward you, and with it, another napkin.

You barely read the message—something about being available if he ever gets too busy for you—before you folded it swiftly and shoved it into your pocket. Not because it meant something. But because it didn’t. Not really. Not when your heart was already home.

You didn’t say anything when you got back. Just handed Jisung the drink, kissed his temple, and slipped into your room to change. He murmured a tired thank you, lips brushing your wrist, his fingers curling weakly around the cup like he was already somewhere else.

But you should’ve known better.

He saw the foam. Saw the heart. And maybe you didn’t notice—but your hoodie smelled like the café’s cinnamon syrup and just the slightest hint of something else.

Too much attention.

That night, he said nothing. But the next morning?

He was already dressed, shoes on, waiting by the door like a quiet storm when you reached for your keys.

“You’re… coming with me?” you asked, surprised.

He nodded once. Calm. Soft.

Absolutely terrifying.

The café was quiet that early—just a few regulars, the gentle clink of ceramic, the hiss of milk being steamed. Peaceful, in theory. But when the two of you stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted like a held breath.

The barista turned, spotted you… and smirked.

“Well, well,” he said, tone sliding into a grin. “You brought the boyfriend again. I was starting to think he didn’t exist. That you were just playing a little—”

Jisung didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. Just stood beside you, hands tucked in his hoodie pocket, jaw set in that subtle, silent way of his—like he was anchoring himself from doing more.

“He exists,” you said simply, your voice firmer than usual. The tension wrapped around you like static.

The barista tilted his head. “So… your usual?”

“Two of them,” Jisung answered, before you could speak. His voice low. Steady. But unmistakably sharp. “But this time, I’ll watch you make them.”

The grin on the barista’s face faltered just a little.

“Oh? Don’t trust me?”

Jisung smiled—not wide, not warm. Just enough. A flicker of teeth, a warning in disguise. “I just want to make sure there aren’t any… extra messages being served.”

The barista arched a brow, leaning in. “If there are… maybe they weren’t meant for you.”

That’s when Jisung moved.

No words. No scene.

He just stepped in—slow, certain—and slipped his arm around your waist, his hand spreading warm and possessive at your hip. He pulled you into him, gently but without hesitation, as if to say, She’s mine. This is where she belongs.

“They’re always meant for me,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, but weighty enough to ground you.

You looked up at him. His gaze never left the barista, but his fingers traced soft circles into your side—steadily, reassuringly. He wasn’t angry. Not really. He was staking a claim the only way he knew how. Not through volume. Through presence.

The drinks came—this time, plain. No hearts. No swirls. No notes folded like flirtation on a napkin. Just sealed cups. Precise. Polite.

You turned to leave, but Jisung’s hand lingered on your back.

“Hold on.”

He pulled a pen from his pocket—one of those thick studio pens he always carried—and scrawled something across the side of his cup. Then handed it back.

The barista took it, scanned it slowly, and his lips tightened.

Already taken. Forever. Don’t try again.

Outside, the air was crisp. The silence between you buzzed with unspoken things. You took a few steps before glancing sideways, unable to hide the grin pulling at your mouth.

“You don’t even like their oat milk.”

Jisung shrugged, eyes softening a little. “Didn’t need to. I just needed to remind him.”

You looped your arm through his. “You really think he stood a chance?”

He looked down at you, cheeks tinged pink, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

“No,” he said, voice low. Honest. “But I’m not taking any chances with you.”

If he can’t beat the barista, he’ll become one. Eventually.

Later that evening, after the chaos had simmered down and the tension from the café had melted into something resembling laughter, the apartment settled into a quiet hum. Golden lamplight bathed the room in warmth, your favorite blanket draped over your legs as you curled into the couch, lost in the pages of your book. Outside, the city moved on, but here inside—everything had slowed.

You were halfway through a chapter when you felt the shift.

Jisung hovered in the doorway, half-shrouded in the shadow of the hallway. His hoodie swallowed most of him, sleeves tugged over his knuckles, hair tousled like he’d run a hand through it one too many times. His eyes flicked to you, then darted toward the kitchen, like he was unsure which direction to commit to.

You looked up, smiling. “Everything okay?”

He scratched the back of his neck, fingers lingering as if buying time. “I, uh… I was thinking.” His voice was soft, uncertain. “Maybe we don’t need the café anymore.”

You tilted your head. “Oh?”

“I mean—” He waved a hand, like the words were still forming as he spoke. “It’s been kinda… weird. And maybe I overreacted. Or maybe I didn’t. But the whole place doesn’t feel right anymore. Not after that. And I don’t want you walking in there and dealing with that energy just for a coffee.” He paused, breath catching for a second. “I want you to have something better.”

Your heart softened at the edges. He wasn’t just thinking about jealousy or pride. He was thinking about you. Your comfort. Your mornings.

“What are you saying?” you asked, closing your book fully now.

“I wanna make you coffee,” he said, a little too quickly. Then added, quieter, “Here. Like… every morning. From now on.”

You blinked. “You’re gonna become my personal barista?”

He nodded once, solemn and determined despite the obvious nerves tightening his shoulders. “Starting tomorrow.”

You bit back a grin. “You’re really serious about this.”

“So serious,” he mumbled, already turning on his heel before you could tease him more.

The next morning… was something else entirely.

You wandered into the kitchen still half-asleep, dragging your blanket like a cloak, hair a mess, and socks mismatched. But whatever dreams you had been floating through were quickly swept away by the chaos in front of you.

The kitchen looked like it had hosted a small, very polite explosion.

Jisung stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hoodie abandoned somewhere behind him. His hair was even messier than yours, sticking up in tufts like he’d been running his hands through it for hours. He held a milk frother in one hand, his phone balanced precariously on a stack of cookbooks, a how-to video playing quietly. The countertop was littered with sugar packets, half-spilled coffee grounds, two rejected mugs already in the sink, and what might have been a trail of cinnamon leading nowhere.

The air smelled like burnt espresso, desperation, and a hint of cinnamon vanilla—his favorite.

He turned at the sound of your steps, eyes wide and hopeful. But behind that hope was a sheepish, flustered sort of panic that was unmistakably him.

“I tried to do the little heart thing,” he admitted, motioning vaguely to the mug in front of him. “It, uh. Looks more like a butt.”

You couldn’t help it. You laughed—soft, affectionate. The foam was definitely… interpretive. A little too much swirl, a bit sunken on one side. But the drink was warm, fragrant, and most importantly, made by his hands. For you.

You took a careful sip.

It was… terrible.

Burnt. A little too bitter. Possibly brewed with salt instead of sugar. You weren’t entirely sure.

But he was watching you like a nervous golden retriever that had brought you a very mangled tennis ball, tail wagging but unsure if this counted as a good deed.

You smiled through the sip. “It’s perfect.”

Jisung narrowed his eyes. “You’re lying.”

“Absolutely,” you said with a small grin. “But I appreciate the effort.”

He groaned and collapsed forward, burying his face against your shoulder with a muffled groan. “I swear I followed the video exactly.”

You laughed and wrapped your arms around his waist, tugging him close. His body sagged against yours, warm and heavy, like he’d been holding up the world with caffeine and love and now he could finally exhale.

“You’re already better than that barista,” you whispered.

He mumbled something unintelligible into your neck.

You pulled back just enough to see his face, your hand brushing the messy fringe out of his eyes. “Wanna know why?”

He blinked at you, quiet, waiting.

“Because you’re doing this for me. Not to impress anyone. Not to win some stupid game. Just because you love me. That makes every sip taste better.”

His expression cracked wide open at that—eyes softening, a shy grin tugging at the corners of his lips like a flower blooming in slow motion.

“I’m gonna get it right,” he said, earnest. “Even if it takes a hundred tries.”

And over the next few days, he did.

One mug at a time.

There were a few near disasters—like the day he frothed milk too long and it exploded onto the cabinets, or the time he accidentally poured in orange juice instead of oat milk. But with each attempt, he learned. He adjusted. He grew.

He found a playlist that matched the rhythm of morning light. He learned to warm the mugs beforehand. He figured out how to swirl the milk just right, even if the hearts still sometimes looked like melting clouds.

And one morning—just as the first golden rays slipped through the blinds—he placed a mug in front of you with foam shaped into something charmingly lopsided, but unmistakable.

A heart.

You kissed him before taking a sip.

Later that week, the two of you curled up on the couch together—your legs tangled, his hoodie pulled over both of you like a makeshift blanket. He handed you a fresh mug, the foam swirled into… something.

“It’s supposed to be a cat,” he mumbled, cheeks pink. “But it might be a bear. Or a… puddle.”

You took a sip, leaned your head on his shoulder, and sighed. “It’s perfect.”

He wrapped his arms around you, tucking you close, his cheek pressed to your temple.

And in that moment, you knew:

You didn’t need the café.

You didn’t need the foam hearts or the passive-aggressive flirting.

You didn’t need anything but this.

Him.

Love is in the mornings you don’t want to leave the bed, and the coffees that taste like effort.

The house is quiet, save for the soft hum of the kettle and the distant, gentle beat of rain tapping on the windows. The sky is still tucked in sleep, painted in shades of pale lavender and steel blue, and everything outside feels like it’s holding its breath.

Inside, though—it’s warm.

Jisung’s standing in the kitchen again, barefoot on cool tiles, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows in that slightly clumsy way he always does it. He’s squinting at the milk frother like it personally offended him, brows furrowed, lips pursed in deep concentration.

You watch from the doorway for a moment, heart squeezing at how much he wants this to be right. Not because he needs to be perfect—but because he wants to give you something that feels like care, poured in steam and effort and quiet devotion.

He finally notices you, and the serious look on his face softens immediately. The way his eyes crinkle, the tiny, lopsided smile that appears—it’s all so him. A little awkward, a little unsure, but so full of love it nearly knocks the breath out of you.

“You’re up early,” he says, voice still raspy with sleep, like velvet rubbed the wrong way. “I was trying to surprise you.”

You pad closer, feet silent on the floor, arms wrapping around his waist from behind. You press your cheek to his back, breathing him in—coffee beans and cotton, warmth and him.

“You already do,” you murmur.

He turns in your arms, hands instinctively finding your waist. One of them is still slightly sticky from the syrup he was experimenting with. He doesn’t seem to notice.

“I wanted to try a new recipe,” he says. “Hazelnut vanilla, with a little cinnamon. I know it’s your favorite combo.”

You smile against his chest. “Did it turn out?”

A sheepish pause.

“…Kinda?”

You laugh softly, and it earns you a pout. He’s cute when he sulks, especially when he’s trying to impress you and it doesn’t quite land.

You kiss the tip of his nose. “I’ll love it even if it’s terrible.”

Ji mutters something about low standards, but his ears turn pink and he lets you pull him over to the couch while the kettle finishes heating. He hands you a blanket before settling beside you, your legs thrown over his lap, your body instinctively curling into the space he makes for you.

He pulls out his phone, scrolling through the video tutorial again like he’s studying for an exam. You watch him, amusement mixing with something deeper—gratitude, affection, a quiet awe for this man who keeps trying. Keeps choosing you, over and over, in a thousand tiny ways that never need to be loud to be meaningful.

Soon, the smell of fresh coffee fills the room.

He disappears into the kitchen for a few minutes, and you hear the clinking of cups, the telltale hiss of the frother, the light thud of a cabinet being closed too hard.

When he returns, he’s balancing two mugs, eyebrows furrowed, lip caught between his teeth.

“Don’t laugh,” he warns as he hands one to you.

You look down. The foam art is… abstract again. A little swirl, a weird heart shape that might’ve once had dreams of being a leaf. But it smells divine, and the warmth seeps through your fingers as you take your first sip.

It’s perfect. Not because it’s a barista’s masterpiece. But because it tastes like late nights and early mornings, like whispered I love yous in half-sleep, like the effort it takes to care for someone with your whole chest.

Your boyfriend watches your face, nervous.

You let out a happy sigh. “I’ve never had better.”

The relief on his face is almost comical, and you can’t help but laugh as he relaxes against you. He sets his mug down and wraps his arms around you from the side, lips brushing your temple, then your cheek, then just resting there, warm and soft.

“Next time,” he mumbles, “I’m gonna try the tulip design.”

You hum against him. “Even if it looks like a splat, I’ll still love it.”

He chuckles. “It probably will.”

You shift closer, tucking yourself into his arms, coffee resting on the arm of the couch, the rain outside still soft and steady.

“Maybe we should make this our thing,” you whisper. “Messy coffee mornings. Lazy, rainy days.”

His voice is low, wrapped in something gentle and real. “Yeah. I like that.”

And in that little corner of the world—just the two of you, tangled in blankets and the scent of cinnamon—you realize:

It doesn’t matter how the coffee turns out.

He’s already your favorite way to start the day.

☆ masterlist + notes. can you tell i got a bit carried away? it's just that... jealous ji is my favourite kind of jihsjdkdsjd

★ @lyvhie @spacejip @zhapire

[gamblersdoll]

college jock! kirishima who is the big boy of the group, dumb goofy grin but was known to have a dangerous mouth.

but when he saw you as the mysterious to herself girl with the prettiest hair and makeup (especially your lip liner), he claimed he has got to talk to you.

“you really feignin’ for a girl that hasnt looked your way, huh?” the nerd of the group, kaminari, asked. he was only a nerd for cars that went fast and instruments. “she doesnt know you exist bro, let it die.”

“you finally said somethin’ that makes senes, congrats dunce face.” the quarter back, katsuki said. he was in a decent mood, sitting in the bean bag couch and the clink of his teeth to his tongue piercing echoed. along the line of kaminari giving a whine to his verbal abuse, he chucked the jarrito bottle into the trash. “have you even asked her out?”

“well…” he starts, bouncing his knee and having eyes on him. “i.. dont know her name yet.”

sero laughs, taking the bottle opener and popping the lid off the soda and tossing it to the side (a trait of his drinking habit) plopping on the bed. “first learn her name, then see if you can rub one out.” katsuki huffed a laugh with sero, his laugh contagious with the men.

“i am, i am.” kirishima whined too, kaminari too busy to be on tiktok to care. “its just.. hard to go up to someone and be like ‘hey, whats yer name?’”

“well, start a conversation, dumbass.” katsuki suggests, he finds everything literal until he faces the problem.

“so uhh..” he walks awkwardly beside you, the height difference lacking. he had a foot over you, added three hundred nd some pounds to you— a tinier human. he felt his throat get tight, “do you.. like the weather?”

you stop dead in your tracks to stare at him like he asked you to take shit and clap your hands, but you keep walking. “i hate the heat.” you reply, watching the nervous laughter in him.

“okay, uhm..” he thickly swallows, hands in his pockets. “whats your name?” he asks, staring down at you. “i hope that isn’t weird to ask…”

“.. you come up to me and ask the weather and then you ask my name?” you asked back, raising an eyebrow. “are you okay?” youre chewing the inside of your mouth, you hadnt been approached since highschool of sophomore year.

“ yeah..?” he asks back in the same tone.

you nod, pulling his hand and take a sharpie to his hand. “there, ill see you ‘round, ‘kay red dye?” you chuckle when he starts to internally panick, checking his roots that were in fact blackened. “see ya later.”

he gets warm and fuzzy, watching your frame.

he hated to see you go, but loved to see you walk away.

[floatyflowers]

Dark Hermes X Set's Daughter Reader

You had run for days, weeks, maybe even lifetimes. The desert sands of Egypt roughened you up despite being the daughter of the deity of sandstorms, you still could feel Horus’ golden gaze burning against your back.  

You had played your part perfectly, whispered lies into the ear of the sky god, and weakened his walls, all for the sake of your father, Set. But your cousin does not take betrayal lightly.  

However, you never thought you were so vulnerable as to be kidnapped by the Greek god of thievery.

The wind in Olympus never felt like home.

Not even now, curled in soft silks, golden wine at your fingertips, with instrumental music drifting from distant halls of Olympus.

Halls you are not allowed to wander, thanks to your kidnapper.

Yet he promised to leave you all the privacy you needed in the temple.

Or at least that's what you thought.

"Hermes," you called sharply.

"I know you are watching."

The room seemed empty, but the air shifted, a shadow fluttered, and then there he was. Reclining on your windowsill as if he’d always been there, he smiled softly as clouds.

"You caught me," he speaks.

"But in my defense, you look absolutely enchanting when you're angry. I couldn’t miss the view."

"You said you'd give me space," you snapped.

He shrugged, hopping down, his winged sandals not even brushing the ground l.

"I said I would try. I didn’t say I was good at it."

You clenched your fists. "You are smothering me."

Hermes tilted his head, falsely correcting you.

"Protecting you."

"You are being manipulative."

"You think I’m like him, don't you?"

The words tasted bitter in your mouth, but you let it fall.

“Yes. Like my father. ”

He stays silent.

"I trusted you," your voice cracked.

"You said you were different, that you saw me, not just the daughter of a god of chaos. Not a tool."

"I do see you," Hermes said, stepping closer.

"More clearly than anyone ever has. I see your fear, your need for freedom. I see your pain. And I want..." he touched his chest, eyes almost earnest.

"...to keep you safe. From them. From him. From Horus. Even from yourself.”

You flinched when he reached for your arm.

"You gave me a gift," you said bitterly, showing the golden cuff on your wrist.

"Told me it was protection. You didn’t tell me it was a leash."

His fingers tensed. "I didn't lie."

"You didn't have to. That's the worst part, you play your games in riddles, and you smile while taking everything from me."

Hermes exhaled. The shadows at his feet stretched unnaturally long.

"I could have left you there, bleeding in the sand,” he said quietly.

"Let Horus finish what he started. But I carried you out of Egypt. I crossed every realm to hide you. And this is how you repay me?"

"I didn’t ask to be saved," you spat. "And I didn’t ask to be owned."

Hermes' smile returned, but colder now.

"You can call it ownership, darling. I call it devotion. I won’t lose you."

You stepped back in fear.

He stepped forward in confidence.

"You don’t get to decide that," you hissed.

He laughed softly, and it chilled your blood.

"Oh, but I do. I’m Hermes, god of thieves. And I’ve stolen many things, You? You were the easiest thing I ever took."

He leaned in close, lips almost touching yours.

"And I will never give you back."

[spideysbruh]

Fourth Time's The Charm

a/n- FUCK THE OSCARS

~~

Timothée proposed to Y/n a total of four times. He knew she was his future wife, it was always just a matter of when.

1st- Karaoke

The first time Timothée ever proposed to Y/n was the first night they met, Zendaya had brought her over to introduce them to each other, and after a few minutes of conversation, he quickly realized that he had met his soulmate that night. 

They had spent pretty much the entire time talking to each other, cracking jokes and learning about each other. They were sitting in a booth together, watching her friend Kate completely butcher ‘Love Story’ by Taylor Swift when he spoke up over the music, “I’m one hundred percent sure I’m gonna marry you.” 

She quirked an eyebrow and smirked, “Are you proposing?”

He shrugged, “If you want me to be.”

She laughed, “Mmm maybe not yet.” She replied, a blush appearing on her face.

He chuckled and nodded, silently repeating her words. “Not yet.” He looked down at his drink, stood up, walked to the karaoke stage and typed in a song. 

He said something to Tom who was nearby and Tom turned around and looked at Y/n, sending her a nod. She furrowed her brows but nodded back. Tom laughed and said something to Timothée, who laughed and began the song.

She recognized it immediately and smiled as Kate sat down next to her, “You guys are hitting it off, huh?” She slurred, poking her arm.

“I love this song.” Y/n mumbled, her eyes never leaving him on the stage as he began to sing ‘I Want You’ by Bob Dylan.

Timothée maintained eye contact with her, a smile on his face while he finished the first verse.

Tom turned around and smiled when he saw Y/n start to sing along.

“I want you…. I want you!” Timothée pointed a finger at Y/n as he sang, “Oh, Y/n I want you…”

“So bad!” She had yelled out, making Kate snort as she downed another drink.

Timothée smiled and serenaded her for the rest of the song, he was suddenly shy as he walked off the stage and back to her.

She grinned up at him and stood up, pulling him in by his collar and pressing her lips on his. He hummed in surprise but quickly kissed back, his hands on her waist.

“I love that song.” She said against his lips.

“Yeah?” She nodded in response, “...I'm Bob Dylan.” He breathed out, making her laugh. 

“You're funny.” She giggled, not knowing that he was literally in preparations for the biopic.

2nd- Dinner

The second time, they were on a date at a restaurant. In the midst of their meals, Timothée spoke up.

“Remember when we first met?”

She smiled, “Of course I do, how could I forget? You told me you were Bob Dylan.” She giggled, “You also said that you wanted to marry me.”

“No no no! I said that I'm one hundred percent sure I’m gonna marry you.” He clarified, “I remember that day like it was yesterday.” He smiled, his eyes scanning across her face as she laughed.

“You serenaded me.” She blushed, “For the first time.” Timothée laughed at that.

About once a month, she makes him sing one of her favorite songs and chooses which instrument he should play.

He chuckled and reached across the table to hold her hand, “We should get married.” He said simply.

“Eventually, baby.” She replied, blushing at his words.

He shrugged, “Why not now? You're definitely my forever someone.” 

She smiled and squeezed his hand, “I would love to marry you, Timmy. Just not right now. I mean, I just got my new job and you're about to be away filming for the next few months. I don't want to start our engagement with us apart.” She explained, he listened and nodded.

“Yeah… yeah, you're right baby. I don't want a long engagement either. It'd be nice to plan everything together, in person. It's how it should be anyway.” He replied and they contently went back to their meals, Y/n tried to hide a smile by looking down at her lap. Timothée noticed and smirked.

Just not now.

3rd- SAG Night

Y/n loved her job and Timothée had just returned from filming for months. They'd missed each other, but tonight was his night. He was nominated, and she was 100 percent sure he was gonna win. He's waited forever for this moment, and she just knew that it was finally going to happen.

She looked gorgeous, he couldn't keep his eyes or hands off her, not that she minded.

“I don't even care if I don't win tonight, cause I get to take you home.” He said quietly on the carpet, she giggled and shook her head.

“You're funny.”

“I'm serious.” He said, taking her hand and guiding her further down the carpet.

Several hours later, Timothées award is about to be announced, she takes his hand and grins at him. 

He was nervous, he would never say it out loud but he really wanted it, and she knew it. He worked so hard for this role. He deserved it. She was excited and got him hyped during the commercial break right before.

When the announcers were naming the nominees and said his name, he squeezed her hand so tightly at the sound of the applause and she rubbed her thumb over his hand.

“And the Actor goes to…” They both held their breath as they opened the envelope, which felt like an eternity, “Timothée Chalamet!” 

Y/n jumped up, applauding and cheering so loudly for him, he grinned and stood up, pulling her in for a kiss. One that was maybe a little too passionate for TV, but she wasn't one to complain. 

“I'm so proud of you!” She exclaimed over the applause, her eyes getting watery. 

He smiled and kissed her again, “I love you, baby.” he said before walking up onto the stage.

Her tears fell out her eyes as she sat back down and watched him accept the award, he pulled out his speech from his pocket and began speaking.

She had seen him writing the speech a couple of weeks prior, and had asked to hear it but he said no because it would be too embarrassing if he ended up losing. She rolled her eyes at him, but accepted his answer.

His speech was beautiful, well said and empowering. And then- “Finally, Y/n. You have supported me through everything, your brutal honesty at times is not only refreshing, but needed.” The audience laughed at that and he laughed and met her eyes, his cheeks red, “Ahaha, you have made my life infinitely brighter and happier, I love living life with you and I can't wait to spend the rest of it side by side. I love you, my girl. More than there are stars in the sky and galaxies in the universe. For as long as I breathe. Thank you."

She sobbed at his final words and wiped her eyes which didn't help because she couldn't stop crying anyway. Timothée made his way back to her and wrapped an arm around her, kissing her head.

She looked up and saw that he was crying too, she reached up to wipe at his eyes, “I'm so incredibly proud of you. I knew you would win, but I still wasn't ready for your speech.” 

He smiled and kissed her again, slipping her some tongue. They could taste the saltiness from each other's tears but they couldn't care less. 

“Will you marry me, baby?” He mumbled against her lips, making her gasp.

She was quiet for a moment, she opened her eyes and saw him already staring at her, excitement and a bit of hope in his eyes. 

She smiled, but shook her head, “No, baby. Tonight is your night.” 

He pouted, but nodded, “You better fucking say yes next time.” He said, making her laugh. 

“I promise you that I will. Celebrate your Award!”

“We could be celebrating something else, too.” He teased, pinching her cheek.

She giggled and shook her head, “No no no, let tonight be about you, my love.”

4th- Forever and Always

A few weeks later, they were heading to one of their favorite restaurants, he was quieter than usual which she chalked up to him being hungry. 

When they park the car and get out, he takes her hand and they start walking to the doors, he opens it for her before he says, “Wait here for a second.” 

He walks to the hostess and they exchange words for a minute before he turns to look at her, his eyebrows now furrowed and stress etched all over his face. 

He turns back and says something, to which the hostess shakes her head. He sighs and turns back around, slowly walking over to Y/n, “Our reservation got fucked up baby, I'm sorry…. but we got something to look forward to in eight months!” He jokes, trying to lighten the mood.

She giggles and shrugs, “Hey, that could be an early dinner for your birthday or something.”

He laughs and sighs, walking them out and back to the car, “Fuck, now what?”

She hums and looks around, “There's some food trucks over there, let's get something from two different ones and we can split it.” She suggested, pointing her thumb to the trucks behind them.

He was quiet for a second, a pout on his face as he looked over at the trucks.

“I- I dunno, it's not- it's just- I was… I was looking forward to this place tonight.” He stuttered, she laughed and waved it off.

“It's okay, babe. Plus, we're gonna come back in eight months, remember?” She grins and takes his hand, pulling him towards the food trucks.

His mouth turns, but he follows her, he really was hungry.

She ordered some tacos and he got a burger, cut in half so she could try it. They sat on a park bench, taking food from each others plates as they chatted about anything and everything.

She sat criss cross facing him while he sat with one leg over the other, “We should get ice cream or something after this.” She suggests, he's quiet for a second but nods.

“Yeah baby, whatever you want!”

She smiles and continues eating, looking around at how pretty the park is right now. “It's so pretty here.” She simply says, sighing in contentment. He perks up a bit, thankfully going unnoticed by Y/n, and smirks, looking down at his pocket. 

He slowly reaches his hand down, his hand almost in his pocket when-

“AHHH! Oh my god it's Timothée Chalamet and Y/n L/n!” A girl yells out to her friends.

He groans and his hand quickly comes back up, moving his plate to the side as he stands up to greet the girls.

Y/n eyes him curiously before standing up as well, talking to the girls.

After taking pictures and chatting with them, they walk hand in hand to a nearby ice cream shop. Timothée is once again oddly quiet, she tries to dramatically swing their hands back and forth to make him laugh or something, but to no avail.

She orders two scoops of cookies and cream ice cream, and he goes to order just plain vanilla but-

“Sorry, we ran out of vanilla earlier today.” The worker says apologetically.

He groans, “How do you run out of vanilla?” He lightheartedly jokes, but Y/n can sense his underlying frustrations.

She awkwardly laughs, “They have like 30 other flavors babe.”

“Yeah I know, I know. Just reallyyyyy wanted vanilla… I'll have butter pecan then.” He says, tiredly rubbing his face.

They get their ice cream and head back to the car. They eat it on their walk.

“You want me to drive, Timmy?” She offers, throwing her empty ice cream cup out. He simply nods and hands her the keys, still opening the door for her before going around and getting in the passenger seat.

She starts the car and makes sure he puts his seatbelt on before driving away. He's quiet, too quiet. She hums along to the song on the radio, and he reaches over and grabs her hand, intertwining their fingers. 

He brings her hand up and presses his lips on the back of it, kissing it softly, “I love you.” He says, leaning over the console and nuzzling his head against her shoulder.

She smiles and squeezes his hand, “I love you too, baby.” 

They get home and she gets changed and is sitting at their vanity, doing her nightly skincare routine when she sees Timothée grab his guitar and sit on their bed, softly strumming.

He's humming a song, one she instantly recognizes, one that they consider to be their song, one that, for him, solidified the fact that they were soulmates.

“I want you… I want you…” He softly sings, meeting her eyes in the mirror, she suggestively raises her eyebrows at him. He smirks and blushes before looking back down at the guitar.

“Timmy, I want you… so bad.” She sings, making him chuckle.

He goes to sing the next verse but his guitar string suddenly breaks, “Fuck!” he yells, shooting up off the bed and roughly putting the guitar in the corner. He groans and rubs his face again, collapsing on the bed.

Y/n frowns and gets up from the vanity, sitting on the edge of the bed, she doesn't say anything but she soothingly rubs his leg.

“This is not how I expected the night to go.” He says from behind his hands, sighing and turning on his side, his back facing her.

She tuts and pulls on his shoulder to turn him back around, “It's okay, my love. We can fix it tomorrow, no biggie.”

He groans again, not opening his eyes, “Why did fucking everythingggggg go wrong today? Does the universe hate me?” He mumbled, his voice catching in his throat, making Y/ns heart drop.

He was really emotional right now. She furrowed her eyebrows and caressed his face, “No honey, I promise you it doesn't! It's just one of those days, you know? Like- remember that day where I accidentally dented my car against that fire hydrant, proceeded to spill my coffee all over my outfit, and then got a ticket because I accidentally parked next to said fire hydrant? Then later that same day a dog kicked up a shit ton of mud onto my clean backup outfit?” She reminded him, laughing a bit at the memory.

He snorted and shook his head, “It seemed like you were texting me with a different, fucked up update every hour.” He laughed, finally opening his eyes. 

They were red and watery, she pouted a bit and slowly ran her thumb across his cheekbone. “I just-” he clears his throat, “I just had such a different idea for how today was supposed to go, man.” He moaned, tilting his head more into her hand, kissing her palm.

“It's okay, baby. Why was today so special, huh?” She wonders, he makes eye contact with her again and shrugs.

“I dunno.” He muttered, sitting up and completely facing her.

“Yes you do.” She replies simply, he smiles a bit at that.

“Maybe I do. Who's to say? And what do you care, anyway?” He teasingly shrugs, making her laugh.

“Come onnnn!” She whines, wrapping her arms around his neck, “It's me, Timo!” She pouts up at him, making him groan and look away.

“You suck, you're too fucking cute.” He chuckles, looking back and kissing her lips, sliding his tongue in between them.

She hums and pulls away, “Don't try to get out of it, baby. Tell me, that's what I'm here for, you'd want me to tell you.” She says, nudging her nose with his.

He sighs and looks down, “You're right, my darling. It's just-” He looks back up and she nods, patiently waiting for him to voice his problem. “Well…” He nervously chuckles, now avoiding her eyes.

“Yeah?” She calmly asks, her voice as sweet as ever.

“Ahahahaaa.” He laughs, fidgeting with the rings on his fingers. 

She notices but waits patiently to hear what he's going to say, soothingly rubbing his arm.

He quickly feels his pocket and sighs, meeting her eyes, “Will you marry me?”

She gasps, shooting back in surprise, “Oh my god.” She grins, covering her mouth as she giggles. She watches him pull out a box, opening it and revealing a beautiful ring. Her eyes water as she sees how nervous he is, his hands shaking while holding the box, waiting for her to answer.

“That's why I was so pissed today, fucking… everything went wrong.” He chuckles, “I just wanted- I wanted it to be perfect.” He says.

She lets her tears fall down her face, “It is perfect, Timmy. Fuck- it's so incredibly perfect, you're so incredibly perfect, I love you.” She smiles, lunging forward and attacking him with kisses, he smiles and kisses her quickly before pulling away and awaiting her answer, she enthusiastically nods, “Yes, I'll marry you! I'll definitely marry you, fuck I'm gonna marry you so hard.” 

He laughs, taking the ring from the box and sliding it on her finger, “I can't wait. I literally have everything planned in my head already.” 

She smiles in awe, “Really?”

He nods, “Even got a secret pinterest board.” 

“Okayyyy, cancel your plans for tomorrow cause we're definitely going through that all day.” She giggles, kissing him again.

He wipes a tear from his eye and caresses her cheek, “Fuck, I can't believe we're finally engaged. Fourth time's the charm huh?” 

She snorts, “I'm sorry… the other times were just-”

“You don't gotta explain anything to me, my love. I understood every reason and you were right every time.” He says, simply shrugging and kissing her again, moving her to lay down as he hovers over her.

She smiles and caresses his cheek, he inhales and kisses her palm, meeting her eyes.

He moves down to kiss her neck, leaving hickeys when he speaks up, “Y’know what I told Tom when I got on that little karaoke stage the first day we met?”

“What?” She moans, holding onto his arm as his tongue drags across her neck. 

“I said that if you knew the song I chose, you were definitely my future wife.” He chuckles, looking up at her and kissing her cheek.

She smiles and pushes him away a bit to look at his face, “Seriously?” He nods.

“Yeah. The second I saw your reaction once I started playing… I swear-” He chuckles a bit, “It's embarrassing, but I swear to god… I pictured our entire lives together. I told you I was gonna marry you and you played along, I chose that song and you loved it… I proposed to you four fucking times because I knew you were my future wife.”

“Fuck Timothée, I love you.” She sighs, leaning up to kiss him, he groans and lowers himself back on top of her, licking into her mouth. He tastes the saltiness from her tears and intertwines their fingers. The coolness from the engagement ring pressing against his warm hand just right. He never wants to see her hand without that ring.

“I love you more.” He mumbles against her lips, “It's always been you. It's like I was waiting my whole fucking life for you. Like I wasn't a whole person until I met you.” 

Her heart swells at his words, some more tears fall out of her eyes which he soothingly wipes away.

“I love you so easily, Timmy. I can't wait to marry you, we're gonna be the best married couple ever just watch.” She says, making him laugh. 

“We gotta be the best engaged couple first.” He grins, softly kissing her cheek.

“Ohhh, we got this.” She giggles, holding his face in her hands, admiring every mark on his face.

“Hell yeah we do.” 

*

[hy6erion]

I really love your Jayce being jealous + overstimulation request you had done! Can I request the same prompt for Viktor, JayVik, Silco, and Ekko please?

𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 + 𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫, 𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐕𝐢𝐤, 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐜𝐨, 𝐄𝐤𝐤𝐨 (𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲) 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

⇢ 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 (𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢), 𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐰

𝐣𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫

⇢ 𝐝𝐨𝐦! 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫, 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠

He saw the way someone else touched your arm. The way you smiled too long. Viktor doesn’t throw tantrums—but he’s meticulous, quiet, and when he gets like this… you know you’re not leaving the bed for a while.

You were halfway through undressing when he pulled your wrist—not roughly, but firm enough that your breath caught. The door clicked shut behind him.

“You seemed… entertained tonight.” His voice was even, but the pause before entertained made something low in your stomach tighten.

You glanced at him, saw the way he set his cane aside. The way he watched you. Slow. Dissecting. He didn’t need to raise his voice to make your pulse pick up. He never did.

“I was just talking,” you say.

“Mm.” He steps forward. “That’s not how it looked.”

And then he’s kissing you—not hard, not soft. Just deliberate. He crowds you back toward the bed with frustrating control, lips brushing yours, tongue sliding in slow and calculated. No rush. Just steady pressure and the heat of his body following yours down until your back hits the sheets.

His hands are warm, decisive, slipping between your thighs as he kneels. You’re already wet and he hasn’t done anything yet. You feel ridiculous.

Fingers drag through your slick. He watches your face, eyes low-lidded behind those lenses.

“Still thinking about him?” he murmurs.

You don’t answer. You can’t. Not when two fingers slide in all at once—curling just right, just deep enough to drag a breathy noise out of you. His rhythm is smooth, practiced, knuckles grazing in slow, perfect strokes that make your legs shake already.

But he doesn’t stop there. His thumb circles your clit—soft at first, then faster, tighter.

“Keep your legs open.”

You try. You really do. But the buildup’s fast—too fast—and when your body tenses, he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow down. Just keeps fucking into you with those fingers, precise and relentless.

“Vik—fuck, wait—”

“No.”

You come once. Clenching down around him, hips twitching.

But his mouth just brushes your inner thigh and he keeps going. Keeps his fingers moving in the same steady rhythm like he’s tuning an instrument. Making sure every part of you remembers who you actually belong to.

When your back arches off the bed a second time, he still doesn’t stop.

“Good,” he mutters, eyes locked on the way your body trembles. “Again.”

⇢ 𝐬𝐮𝐛! 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫, 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠

You saw her looking at him. Laughing a little too long at something he said. Touching his arm like she had any right. And Viktor—sweet, oblivious Viktor—had no idea. That’s fine. You’ll remind him who he belongs to.

You barely close the door behind you before you’ve got him against it. Your fingers twist in his shirt, dragging him down for a kiss that doesn’t ask. It takes.

He kisses back, caught off guard, hands fumbling for your hips, breath sharp. “Did I—do something?”

You laugh once, low in your throat, pulling his shirt loose, teeth dragging along his jaw.

“Oh, not you,” you murmur. “Her.”

Viktor’s brows pinch. Confused. “Who—”

You cut him off with your mouth again. Your hands push him backward toward the bed until he sits, eyes wide, already flushed. You straddle his lap, grinding just enough to feel him harden beneath you.

“She touched your arm,” you mutter against his neck. “You didn’t even notice.”

“I—”

“But I did.”

You grab his wrists, pinning them to the bed above his head. His pupils dilate. He’s breathing harder now, but he doesn’t fight it.

“You’re not allowed to be that fucking pretty,” you whisper against his ear, biting just enough to make him twitch. “It’s not fair.”

He moans—soft and helpless—as you grind down, slow and steady. Your hands tighten on his wrists.

“You’re gonna take everything I give you tonight,” you whisper, teeth dragging over his throat. “You don’t get to come until you’re begging. Understand?”

He nods. Too fast. You press your hips down harder, and his head falls back with a gasp.

You’re in control. Every grind. Every kiss. Every desperate sound he makes into your neck. You ride him slow and deep, pinning his wrists the whole time, whispering filth in his ear until his thighs shake, eyes fluttering.

And when you finally let him finish—only after your second orgasm—you stay on top of him, still moving, watching him squirm, overstimulated and needy and panting under you.

Just to make sure he remembers.

𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐕𝐢𝐤

⇢ 𝐝𝐨𝐦! 𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐕𝐢𝐤, 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞, 𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐯

You didn't mean to flirt. You didn't even realize you were doing it—but Jayce saw it. Viktor heard it. Now you're pinned between the two of them, body burning from both ends, and they've got something to prove.

Jayce is behind you. Viktor's in front. And you? You're not going anywhere.

"Look at me," Viktor says, voice calm but sharp. "I want to see your face while he fucks you."

Jayce's hand is on your waist, his breath hot against the back of your neck. He's already inside you-slow, deliberate thrusts that push you forward onto Viktor's chest. Every movement forces a gasp out of you, muffled against his skin.

"I didn't do anything," you manage to choke out.

Jayce just laughs. "That's not what it looked like."

Viktor's fingers tilt your chin up. His gaze is steady, unforgiving. "You smiled at him like that. Same as you smile at us."

Jayce snaps his hips forward-harder this time-and you jolt. A moan slips out before you can stop it.

Viktor catches it with his mouth. He kisses you like he's trying to swallow the sound, tongue sliding in deep, slow, so fucking controlled. His hand is between your legs now, fingers rubbing tight circles around your clit with mechanical precision.

"She's already close," he mutters against your lips.

Jayce groans. "Good."

You try to hold on. Try not to give in too fast. But Jayce is fucking you hard now, thighs slapping yours, and Viktor won't let up with his fingers. Their rhythm is maddening-perfectly synced, no mercy.

Your first orgasm rips through you. And they don't stop.

Jayce doesn't slow down, arms braced tight around your waist, grunting as he drives into you again and again. Viktor kisses you through every twitch and shake, fingers never leaving your clit, relentless in their pressure.

By the second climax, your voice is wrecked. Your legs are trembling.

"I-can't-"

Jayce leans in close to your ear, voice low, rough.

"You can. One more."

Viktor's mouth is at your throat. "One more for me, love."

You don't even remember the third one.

Just heat, pressure, the sounds of skin and breath and the low, hungry noises they both make when you fall apart for them. Again.

And still-Jayce's grip doesn't loosen.

Viktor's hand doesn't still.

Because neither of them is finished with you yet.

⇢ 𝐬𝐮𝐛! 𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐕𝐢𝐤, 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐟 𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐫

They were both laughing too much at her joke. Jayce with that easy charm, Viktor leaning in a little too close. Maybe they didn’t notice it—but you did. And you’re going to remind them who gets to have them begging.

Jayce has always been eager with his hands. Viktor, less so—until you push him hard enough. And tonight, you’re not pulling any punches.

You’ve got Jayce on his back, flushed, panting, wrists pinned above his head. Viktor kneels at the edge of the bed, flushed down to his chest, lips parted, watching you with something like reverence—and something hungrier than that.

“You’re so fucking easy,” you murmur against Jayce’s throat, dragging your nails down his ribs, savoring the way his body arches under you. “Laughing at anything with tits and a decent smile.”

He groans, hips jerking.

Viktor lets out a low breath. “You know that’s not—”

You cut him off with a sharp glance.

“Don’t worry, I’m not forgetting you either,” you say. “You smiled at her like she meant something.”

You pull Viktor forward by the collar, fingers wrapping around his throat just enough to make him swallow. He goes quiet fast. They both do.

Jayce is rock hard, twitching against your thigh, and you reach down, stroking him once—then twice—just to hear him whimper.

“You get to come when I say.”

He nods, breathless.

You push Viktor down next to him and climb on top, making them watch as you ride Jayce, slow and grinding, every movement deliberate. Viktor’s hand curls against the sheets—he’s hard, untouched, watching your mouth open around a moan you don’t even try to hold back.

You lean in close, pressing your lips to Viktor’s ear.

“You get your turn after he begs me.”

Viktor groans—low and needy—and Jayce’s whole body is trembling under you. He’s close. Too close.

“Don’t come,” you whisper.

“I—I can’t—” he pants.

He does anyway.

You pull off, slow, deliberate, leaving him shaking.

Then you turn to Viktor, grabbing his jaw.

“Your turn.”

And he shudders. Because he knows you’re going to take your time with him. Make him say your name over and over until he forgets how anyone else ever made him feel anything.

𝐄𝐤𝐤𝐨

⇢ 𝐝𝐨𝐦! 𝐄𝐤𝐤𝐨, 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 (𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠), 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠

He watched you flirt with someone you thought was harmless. Just a little too friendly. Ekko didn’t say anything at the time. But now? He’s got you on your back, legs shaking, and he’s not letting up.

Ekko’s mouth is on your thigh, breath hot against sensitive skin, fingers digging into your hips like he’s holding back from something dangerous.

“You think he could do this to you?” he mutters, voice low and ragged.

You’re already soaked—shaking from the second time he made you come on his fingers alone. But he hasn’t stopped. Won’t stop.

“Ekko—fuck—please—”

“Nah.” He licks a slow stripe up your slit, tongue pressing into you deep enough to make your hips twitch. “You had so much to say to him earlier. So smiley. So sweet. Where’s that energy now?”

His hand spreads you wider. Fingers slip back inside—deeper, rougher this time—and his mouth is right there again, lips slick with you as he groans low against your skin.

“You’re not gonna think about him when I’m done with you,” he grits out. “All you’re gonna feel is this.”

You clench around his fingers, thighs trembling—and then it hits. Your third orgasm rips through you fast, body writhing under him, too much, too soon—but Ekko doesn’t stop.

He grins into it.

“You’re still squirming,” he teases. “Guess that means I’m not done.”

He keeps going until your moans turn to gasps, until your nails scrape into his shoulders and your voice is hoarse from begging. And when he finally pulls back, face wet, eyes half-lidded, all he says is:

“Mine.”

⇢ 𝐬𝐮𝐛! 𝐄𝐤𝐤𝐨, 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠

He swears the other girl’s “just a friend.” But she touched his chest. Laughed at every joke. Tried too hard to be close. And Ekko? Didn’t push her away fast enough. You’re not mad. Just… motivated.

Ekko’s wrists are pinned above his head, back arched off the mattress. His mouth is open, chest heaving—completely at your mercy.

You’ve got him spread under you, thighs shaking, pupils blown wide as you roll your hips slow and tight. He’s deep—so deep—and you don’t let up.

“You didn’t tell her to back off.”

He groans, breath stuttering. “She—she wasn’t—”

“Wasn’t what?” You shift your angle, dragging a desperate whine out of him. “Wasn’t touching you on purpose?”

He chokes on a moan, trying to buck up. You plant your hands on his chest, holding him down.

“You don’t get to touch me until you learn who you fucking belong to.”

You clench hard around him and his head falls back against the pillow, curls damp with sweat, breath catching in his throat.

“I do—I know—I swear—”

“Then prove it.”

You move faster now—deliberate, controlled, working him right to the edge again and again. Each time he starts to fall over the edge, you stop. Grind just slow enough to pull him back. His arms flex against your grip but he doesn’t fight you. Won’t. He wants this. Wants you in control.

When you finally let him come, it’s a mess—his whole body going rigid, moaning your name like a confession. You ride it out, overstimulating him until he’s gasping under you, eyes rolling back, too wrecked to speak.

You lean down, lips brushing his ear.

“Next time she touches you, think about this. Think about how it felt when I fucked you until you forgot her name.”

𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐜𝐨

⇢ 𝐝𝐨𝐦! 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐜𝐨, 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 (𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠), 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐭

You were too friendly with someone at the club tonight. Now? You’re on your knees—and he’s going to keep you there.

He doesn’t shove you down. Doesn’t have to.

Just a slow, sharp tug at your hair as he guides you to your knees in front of him, his belt clinking softly in the quiet room.

“You had a lot to say to him tonight.” His voice is low, deliberate. A rasp that slides against your nerves like a knife against silk. “Thought you’d forgotten who you came here with.”

You open your mouth to answer but he’s already stroking himself—long, slow pulls—making you watch.

The head of his cock glistens, flushed dark, and when he finally lets you get close enough to taste, he doesn’t ease you into it. He drags the thick weight of it over your lips first, smearing precum across your mouth.

“Open.”

You do.

He presses in—slow at first, enough for you to feel the stretch of him, the weight of his gaze never leaving your face. His hand stays tangled in your hair, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth almost affectionately.

Almost.

The first thrust is shallow, testing, but he doesn’t stay gentle. Each roll of his hips forces you to take more, your throat tightening around him as he pushes deeper.

“That’s better,” he murmurs. “So much quieter like this.”

You whimper, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth, breathing through your nose as he fucks your mouth with devastating control. He pulls out almost completely before driving back in—again and again—his breath hitching only slightly when you moan around him.

It’s messy. It’s rough. And he doesn’t let you stop.

Even when your eyes are glassy and your jaw aches, he holds you there, praising you in that low, wrecked voice:

“Take it. Be good for me. Show me you still know who you belong to.”

When he finally comes—deep in your throat, hips stuttering against your lips—he holds you there a moment longer, groaning rough and low as you swallow around him.

Only when he’s sure you’ve taken every drop does he release you, thumb wiping the spit and tears from your flushed face, gaze sharp.

“Now. Try smiling at someone else.”

⇢ 𝐬𝐮𝐛! 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐜𝐨, 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 (𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠)

You didn’t like the way that woman put her hand on his arm. Her smile. Silco brushed it off—but you didn’t. Tonight, you’re going to remind him exactly who makes him lose control. And it’s not her.

Silco’s sharp tongue goes suspiciously quiet once you’ve pushed him back into the leather chair, hands braced against his thighs.

You kneel between his legs, slow, deliberate, letting your nails scrape along the inside of his thighs just enough to make his breath catch.

“What?” you murmur, teasing the bulge in his trousers. “Nothing to say?”

His jaw flexes—tight, controlled—but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t dare.

You take your time. Fingertips dragging over the outline of his cock through the fabric, feeling him twitch under the lightest pressure. When you finally free him, he’s already half-hard, flushed and heavy against your palm.

You could be kind. You could sink down and swallow him deep. But you don’t. Not yet.

Instead, you trace the underside of his cock with your tongue—just the tip of it—feeling him pulse under the delicate flicks. Every muscle in his legs tenses.

“You let her touch you,” you whisper, breath hot against his sensitive skin. “Let her laugh at everything you said.”

He exhales through his nose, hands clenching into fists against the chair.

“And you liked it.”

You wrap your lips around just the head, suckling lightly, tongue flicking the slit until he curses under his breath—an ugly, bitten-off sound.

You back off with a wet pop, grinning.

“Don’t worry, love. I’ll make sure you remember who takes care of you.”

This time you take him deeper—slow, stretching your throat around him inch by inch until your nose brushes his stomach. His hips jerk despite himself, breath ragged, chest heaving.

But you don’t stay. You pull back, leaving him throbbing and wet, cock twitching in the cold air.

You repeat the pattern—tease, taste, pull away—until he’s panting, flushed dark to his ears, biting his lip hard enough to leave marks.

When you finally let him fuck into your mouth, you hold him right at the edge, letting the weight of his need break down the last of that careful control he wears like armor.

And when he finally comes—spilling deep down your throat, hips jerking helplessly—you stay kneeling, eyes locked on his ruined, desperate face.

That look? That helpless shudder?

No one else gets to see it but you.

[raylynnn]

Katsuki x Y/n (Drummer Katsuki AU)

Warnings ⚠️ heavy smut, BJ, fingering, oral, vaginal sex, cursing, and getting caught. Hope you enjoy<3

It was out of nowhere honestly. The group had joked and dabbled in the thoughts of starting a band, but no one ever thought it would take off like it did. It started off as more of a joke, I mean seriously we probably had 2 maybe 3 people who could actually play instruments. We all knew Katsuki could play the drums and knew Jiro could play about any instrument you threw at her. But the others not so much, including yourself. You and Mina excepted that this whole “band” thing wouldn’t work for you two. So y’all were just kind of the girls who took tickets and then watched behind the curtain while the others killed it on stage. You had Katsuki as your drummer, Ejiro as your bass player, Sero as your backup bass guitarist, and Kaminari as your lead guitarist. Everything worked out that way.

You and Mina would regularly go watch their band practices and plan out their next concert and etc, but out of the group you were definitely the closest to katsuki other than Ejiro. At performances his only focus was the music, not the crowd surfing, not the absurd amount of fangirls flashing him from the crowd, or the money, but sometimes you’d catch him let go a little bit, every time he did he’d look at you watching from the corner of the stage. Sometimes especially if the band killed it you would catch him giving a small smile at you from the stage. At one of the garage practices they were trying this new song that jiro had written. And it was a big step from their usual music. She had given Katsuki a drum solo. And he would never admit it, but he was nervous when he couldn’t get it the first try. He had played drums for so long their wasn’t much he couldn’t play.

The practices lasted about 2-3 hours, but katsuki waited behind for a bit. He couldn’t get it down and jiro had reminded him multiple times he had plenty of time to master it but he just wasn’t satisfied. Since you didn’t play an instrument the least you could was lend them your garage right? And lots of times one or two members would stay behind to work on some music solo, and it never bothered you cause to you it just meant they were dedicated.

About 30 minutes after practice ended everyone pretty much had left. So it was just you and Katsuki. You went to your room for a bit just to chill out but you started thinking about how close you and katsuki were compared to the others. You wanted to seek him again, talk to him or something. You were about to get a drink from the fridge out in the garage anyway..so what could it hurt really.

When you headed out to the garage you saw katsuki looking over the music once again before hammering at the solo again it sounded a lot better but it wasn’t as fast as it needed to be from what jiro had said earlier. “Still working on it?” You said as you opened the fridge door. Katsuki set his sticks down before wiping the sweat off his forhead looking over at you and you grabbed a water. “Tch..yeah I can’t belive I’m saying this, but this solo is kicking my ass” he said tiling his head back a bit stretching his back from being hunched over the drums for so long. You tossed a water to him which he caught taking the lid off. “How long have you played again?” You said thinking it over, must of been a while to be as good as him. “I started playing when I was 6, so probably 12 years” he said taking another sip. “What about you nerd? You play anything?”

You let out a soft laugh before shaking your head. “Haha..no I tried a few times but never stuck with me, always thought the drums were cool though” you said as you closed the top on the bottle. Katsuki chuckled slightly before patting his lap gesturing for you to come closer. “C’mere” he said softly. He got out of the chair and stood behind you while you sat down of the stool chair. He took the sticks and placed them in your hands fixing your hold and posture. He grabbed your wrists gently before hovering your hands over a symbol and a smaller snare. “Here put your foot on the base drum, and tap your foot against the pedal continuously and take your right hand and hit this-“ he explained oddly calm and relaxed, his lips near your ear as he talked you through the steps. “Dammit” you muttered after your 3rd attempt of trying the simplest beat.

“Here get up.” He said you got up thinking he had given up on you but then he pulled you into his lap and positioned you just like you were before instead his foot was on the base. He grabbed your wrist and started maneuvering your wrists like a puppet. The beat came out at a good Rhythm thanks to him basically playing the drums for you, but you didn’t give two shits. You were in Bakugo’s lap with his hands on your wrists and his face close to yours. So you were winning anyway.

Getting closer to the end you started moving your wrists on your own with his grip still guiding you but with all this movement..you didn’t even realize what you were doing to him until his hands faltered all of sudden when you moved back on his crotch. Fuck. You didn’t even mean to but that’s all it took. You weren’t fully sure so you tried something. You stopped with the drums for a second before muttering. “Um..hey katsuki can you move your keys It’s a little uncomfortable to sit on” he rested his forhead on your shoulder trying to hide his best red face. “Those..t-those aren’t my key” he said flustered as ever hoping he would just nuke right there. Your face flushed red as you giggled slightly. “Excited are we~?” You giggled out. He brought his hand to his face trying to conceal his burning hot cheeks. “Tch..shut it, it’s y-your fault” he muttered out trying to fix himself under you. Suddenly without thinking you went to get up rubbing back once more this time stealing a groan from the boy under you.

“Ngh..” he groaned slightly. You relized this was your mess to clean up. If you had just stayed in your room none of this would have been happening. I mean the least you could do was help him out. You sighed nervously before getting up and dropping to your knees. His eyes widened before he stuttered out. “W-what are you doing..?” He said covering the lower half of his face with his palm. “Just..shut up and let me take care of you..ok?” You said undoing his belt before slipping them down till his boxers were visible. He wasn’t just hard he was solid. All because of you. That tent in his boxers with a little wet spot assumably pre. The big bad katsuki all of sudden looked so vulnerable so needy and eager. God this was such a beautiful sight.

You looked up at his before taking his boxers down. “Is this ok Katsuki?” You said laying your head ontop of his crotch. He nodded eagerly. “Y-yes..” he stuttered. You slid down his boxers revealing his cock. Pretty and pale with a light pink tip smeared with pre, god he was perfect. You took his cock into your hand giving it a few pumps before taking it into your mouth you only reached about halfway yet he was already throwing his head back and gripping onto your hair. It took so much not to just you like a rag doll and push you down farther but he managed for you using the last ounce of respect he had. Your mouth left his dick with a loud pop before you muttered saliva dripping down your chin and eyes lidded. “Just use me katsuki.” You could tell he was getting needier from below.

His eyes widened before he gripped your hair shoving you back down on his cock. Shoving you down till your nose hit his blonde tuff. “Ngh..fuckkk. Your so fucking g-good for me..f-fuck” he said bucking his hips into your mouth, you could tell he was close. You braced your hands on his thighs digging your nails slightly deeper as he used you like some sort of fuck doll. “Fuck..baby- ah fuck I-I’m gonna..g-gonna..” he babbled thrusting impossibly faster. “FUCK!” He said before he shot his load into your mouth and once you pulled off slightly choking he released the rest onto your face and chest. As he rode out his high he started babbling on and on about how good you felt. “B-baby..f-felt so good..need you a-again..” this is was such a different side of katsuki and you were loving it.

You had a cheeky smile worn on your cum covered face as you watched him calm down a bit. When he caught his breath he locked eyes with you and relized the mess he had made of you. “Fuck..sorry I didn’t mean to be too rough” he said taking your jaw into his hand while using his other hand to grab a rag he had next to his drum set for when he gets sweaty. He took it to your face and wiped most of it off. “Heh..it’s ok I liked it, plus..I kinda told you too” you said sheepishly while trying to conceal the slight red tint on your cheeks. He just smiled at you as he wiped your face “yeah well..we’re not done yet pretty” he said tossing the rag to the side as he scooped you up setting you in his lap facing him this time.

You giggled as he sat you in his lap. He smirked slightly before bringing his lips to yours. God everything about you was so intoxicating. He could get drunk just off your lips. He brought his hands from your waist to resting of the fat of your ass squeezing gently. He trailed open mouth kisses down your neck till his got to your collar bone, he pulled away from your skin looking up at you through his soft lashes. “Can I take this off..?” He asked tugging at the hem of your shirt. You smiled softly before nodding and kissing forehead gently. He lifted your shirt off your shoulders leaving you now in just your leggings and black laced bra. “Fuck your gorgeous..” he muttered before groping your breasts gently before unclipping your bra.

When he finally took off your bra you almost thought he was mimicking kaminari when he would go dumb. When he finally snapped out of it he looked up at you with hungry eyes and you could tell somthing changed. “Lift your ass up hon” he said grabbing your ass and gesturing you to hover. Once you did he slid off your leggings and pulled your panties to the side. “Fuck..look at her already soaked for me yeah?” He said swiping a finger through your lips. He took two fingers into his mouth after coating them he brought them to your slit once again his thumb rubbing soft circles while one finger started to prod into your little hole.

Your eyes widend and you gripped his shoulders trying to brace yourself. He slid in another finger moving at quick pace. “Yeah? Does that feel good pretty?” He asked whispering in your ear while you bucked against his fingers. You were too blissed out to answer until he slapped your clit. “I need an answer princess..” he growled. You whined at his mean way to keep you in line but soon you babbled out your praises. “Y-yes..f-feel sooo..” you babbled out trying to answer him but he started to remove his fingers leaving you feeling empty. He wrapped his hand around his cock and brought it to your entrance. “This ok pretty..?” He said looking into your big innocent eyes.

You nodded your head hoping he’d give it to you but he just sat their. “I need an answer pretty, I won’t fuck you unless you tell me it’s ok” he said sternly. You smiled softly before whispering, “y-yes..you can fuck me katsuki..I need you to fuck me.” You said holding onto his hand. He grinned slightly at your words before taking his cock and lining it up with you again. He pushed slowly entering your pussy, he let out a small quiet groan and he was only tip in.

“Oh god k-katsuki..” you moaned out as he layed your body back sprawled out against the drums as he stood up slightly hovering over you as he pushed in farther. Once he was half way in he stayed still for a second trying to give you time to ajust. “Am..am I g-good to move pretty..?” He asked sweat beading down the sides of his face. “Yes please..” you moaned out. He soon started to move at a slow pace before gradually getting faster. He really tried to hold back, to hold onto the last bit of self control he had..but he simply couldn’t not with how your walls were squeezing him so tight, your greedy cunt sucking him in like your life depended on it. Soon he was railing the fuck out of you. Pulling almost all the way out before slamming right back into your greedy cunt.

He was stuffing you full, you felt high almost you could remember how this even started and you didn’t even want to imagine it ending. The way he pounded into your soft hole treating you as you were some time of toy somehow only made you wetter. His grip on your waist was dangerous, you were holding onto the rim of the snare drum trying not to break it, he noticed this and figured you were uncomfortable so he raised you from your back, his dick still digging into you like a dog. He sat you in his lap and thrusted his hips up to meet yours. This position made you feel him a lot deeper causing you to lose yourself in the moment.

“FUCK..oh god..oh my god K-Katsuki! Fuck me baby! Cmon please..p-please don’t stop dadd- K-katsuki..” you babbled out like a slut. You were to caught up in the pleasure of his cock assaulting your cunt you didn’t even notice you were calling him daddy. His eyes widened before he smirked like a devious mf. “Fuck. Call me that again princess..” he said lifting you up off his dick almost all the way before slamming you back down. You moaned out loud due to the overwhelming pressure. “Fuck d-daddy..please” he smirked again and his movements started to get sloppy. “Fuck baby..tell me your close..” he groaned resting his head between your tits.

“Y-yes baby..gonna..gonna CUM” you moaned out bucking your hips to meet his as you had a death grip on his shoulders. “!Cum..cum..cumming” you moaned out as your body shook and trembled over his cock. Soon he whispered “f-fuck where can I cum..” you didn’t even answer you just wrapped your legs around him and trapped against your soaked cunt grinding against him trying to ride it out. His eyes widened as he thrusted hopelessly against your pussy whimpering like a dog. “Yes..yess! Plzplzplz..” he babbled shooting his hot, sticky, load into your cunt. “Fuck baby..” he muttered. your body’s both relaxing into each others touch.

He pulled out his body stuttering due to the overwhelming sensation. He watched his cum spill out of you like a fountain and he couldn’t help but want to pump you full again. But as much as he wanted too..all good things must come to an end. The two of you’s sexy and intimate moment was cut short due to the sound of the back door next to the garage door opening. You forgot you gave the band members keys so they could practice anytime. Their came Ejiro and Sero walking through. Y’all quickly scrambled to get your clothes but y’all knew that they knew.

“HOLY SHIT” cursed Ejiro as sero just started cackling. Katsuki took one of the black drapes that was usually used to cover the drums to cover y’all’s..sticky situation. Bakugos face flushed red as he yelled at the two. “GET TF OUT!” He barked trying to cover the two of you. They stepped out for a bit while y’all got decent and when you did you yelled out “your good now..” you said trying to hide your tone of embarrassment. Katsuki was still sat on the stool as he zipped his pants and fixing his belt his shirt still on the floor though.

“Heh..sorry sero forgot his music here, seems like hall you too were making some of your own..” he snickered as sero tried to mask his laughter. You and katsuki couldn’t even defend yourselfs. Soon they left with their forgotten music before it was just the two of you again.

“Aside from their appearance..I had fun katsuki.” You said behind a soft smile. “Me too pretty..” he said kissing your lips softly before looking around the garage. “Jesus were messy..” he said behind a small chuckle.

[diekleinesuesse]

Meeting Rude Family

Hongjoong:

Hongjoong knew meeting your family was a big step, so he prepared himself. He expected nerves, maybe some awkward moments, but he didn’t expect to sit at the dinner table watching your family laugh at your expense. It started small your mom poking fun at how you always trip over things, your sibling imitating your voice in an exaggerated way. Hongjoong chuckled along at first, assuming it was lighthearted, but as the comments kept coming, he noticed how your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. His grip on your hand tightened.

“Ah, Y/N’s always been a mess,” your dad chuckled. “Can’t do anything without making it a disaster.”

Hongjoong’s jaw clenched. “That’s not true,” he said smoothly, but his voice had a sharp edge. “Actually, Y/N’s one of the most capable people I know. They handle things better than most.” His eyes flicked to you, warm and reassuring, before turning back to your family. “I hope you all realize how lucky you are to have them.”

The room went silent for a moment, and Hongjoong just smiled, taking another bite of his food like he hadn’t just put everyone in their place. Later, when you thanked him for speaking up, he just kissed your forehead and said, “No one talks down to you when I’m around.”

Seonghwa:

Seonghwa had been excited to meet your family, eager to make a good impression. But as the evening went on, he found himself growing increasingly uncomfortable. Every joke, every sarcastic comment, every exaggerated story about you seemed to be at your expense.

“Y/N? Oh, they were the laziest kid ever,” your mom laughed. “They never finished anything they started.”

Your sibling snickered. “Still aren’t much better, huh?”

Seonghwa felt your hand twitch in his, and when he glanced at you, he saw the way you forced a smile. His heart ached. He had seen how hard you worked, how much effort you put into everything. He couldn’t just sit there and let them tear you down.

“I don’t think that’s fair,” Seonghwa said, his voice calm but firm. “Y/N is one of the most dedicated people I’ve ever met. They put their heart into everything they do.” His gaze turned gentle as he looked at you. “It’s one of the things I admire most about them.”

Your family went quiet for a moment, and Seonghwa just smiled, his hand rubbing small circles on your back. Later that night, when you apologized for your family’s behavior, he just pulled you into his arms and whispered, “They don’t define you. I see the real you.”

Yunho:

Yunho was naturally easygoing, always knowing how to make a situation comfortable. But even he felt the tension in the room when your family kept taking jabs at you.

“Oh, Y/N’s such a klutz,” your sibling laughed. “They can’t go a day without breaking something.”

Your dad shook his head. “I still don’t know how they managed to get through school.”

Yunho’s usual bright smile dimmed slightly. He watched you shrink in your seat, laughing along like you were used to it. That didn’t sit right with him. He put his arm around you, his warmth seeping into your skin.

“You know,” he started, his voice light but firm, “I actually love how Y/N is. They always find a way to make things fun, and I think it’s really charming.” He turned to you with a playful grin. “Besides, if they ever drop something, I’m always there to catch it.”

His words weren’t just for show they were a reminder that you weren’t alone. You looked up at him, a little stunned, before your lips curled into a real smile.

Later, when you thanked him, he just kissed your cheek and said, “You deserve to be loved for exactly who you are.”

Yeosang:

Yeosang was quiet by nature, but that didn’t mean he didn’t notice things. And what he noticed at your family dinner made his blood boil.

“Y/N? They always give up on things,” your mom said, shaking her head. “No commitment at all.”

Your sibling snickered. “Remember when they tried to learn an instrument? Lasted a week.”

Yeosang set down his fork, his expression unreadable. He turned to you first, and the look in his eyes made your heart squeeze it was soft, but filled with something unshakable. Then, he turned to your family.

“I don’t think that’s true,” he said, voice steady. “Y/N puts so much effort into everything they care about. Maybe they haven’t always had the best support, but I’ve seen how hard they try.”

The air in the room shifted. Your family didn’t quite know how to respond, but Yeosang didn’t need them to. He simply reached for your hand under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“You’re worth so much more than their words,” he whispered to you later that night, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

San:

San was all smiles and politeness when he first met your family, but that smile quickly faded when he realized how often they put you down.

“Y/N’s always been the sensitive one,” your dad laughed. “Can’t take a joke to save their life.”

Your sibling rolled their eyes. “Yeah, they always get worked up over nothing.”

San’s expression darkened instantly. He knew what it was like to be called “too much” for simply having feelings, and he wasn’t going to let them make you feel like that.

“I don’t think it’s a bad thing to care,” he said, his voice carrying a rare sharpness. “Y/N has the biggest heart. That’s something to be proud of.” He looked at you then, his eyes filled with warmth. “It’s one of the reasons I love them.”

You swore the room went completely silent. Your family shifted awkwardly, but San just leaned closer, pressing a soft kiss to your temple like a promise he would always cherish you, no matter what anyone else said.

Mingi:

Mingi wasn’t usually one for confrontation, but seeing your family constantly tease you? That was enough to push him.

“Y/N? They’re so awkward,” your mom chuckled. “Never know what to say in a conversation.”

Your sibling snorted. “Yeah, I don’t know how they even managed to get a boyfriend.”

Mingi blinked, his easygoing nature slipping. His arm tightened around you instinctively. “Actually, I love the way Y/N is,” he said, his voice holding a rare firmness. “They think before they speak, and when they do talk, it actually means something.”

His words were met with silence, but he didn’t care. He turned to you with a boyish grin, as if to lighten the mood. “Besides, I like that they’re a little awkward. Makes them cuter.”

You laughed genuinely this time and Mingi kissed your forehead. “Don’t let them make you feel small,” he whispered. “You’re perfect just the way you are.”

Wooyoung:

Wooyoung was not one to stay quiet when something upset him, and the way your family spoke to you? That upset him.

“Y/N? Oh, they’ve always been a handful,” your dad sighed. “Never listens, always doing something ridiculous.”

Your sibling snickered. “Yeah, you sure they’re not exhausting to date?”

Wooyoung scoffed, loud enough for everyone to hear. He turned to your family, eyes flashing. “Exhausting? No. Fun? Yes. Y/N is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He raised a brow. “I don’t get why you guys don’t see how amazing they are.”

Your family had nothing to say to that, but Wooyoung just smirked, leaning into you. Later that night, he held you close and whispered, “You don’t need their approval. You’re perfect to me.”

Jongho:

Jongho had patience, but that patience had a limit.

“Y/N? They’ve always been kind of useless,” your sibling laughed. “Never really good at anything.”

Your stomach twisted, but before you could brush it off, Jongho spoke up.

“That’s not true,” he said simply. His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried so much weight that the whole room quieted. “Y/N is strong, smart, and capable. I don’t know where you got the idea that they’re ‘useless,’ but I know for a fact that they’re one of the most incredible people I’ve ever met.”

Your family looked stunned, and you… you felt like you could cry. Later, as Jongho held you close, he murmured, “You deserve to be spoken to with love. Always.”

Each of them would protect you in their own way, making sure you knew just how much you were worth.

[snail-day]

Second Male Lead Syndrome

Sum: Maybe you don't got this nerdjo!

Nerd! Gojo x Reader x FWB! Geto

Previous // Next Part // Masterlist

WC: 2.4k

TW: Angst, Yearning, Anxiety, love triangle-ish, alcohol references.

a/n: A bit short...but I promise the next one will be longer and fluffy <3

Second Male Lead Syndrome — a tragic but familiar condition. Occurs when the audience falls hopelessly in love with the second male lead. When he's sweet and thoughtful, perhaps a little bit stupid, and still doesn’t get the girl. Not because he didn’t try hard enough. But because he never stood a chance.

Satoru had always laughed at those characters. Thought why waste all that time on a girl who didn’t have their eyes set on you. It would never work out, plenty of fish in the sea, etc.  

Until now.

When the room is dim. Soft, warm lighting flickers against the walls. The playlist he curated for you hums softly in the background, some gentle acoustic loop he’d replayed twenty times to ensure the instrumentals didn’t overpower the mood, mostly to ensure he could still hear your voice. The dice scattered like different colored fallen stars across the table, and everyone is still buzzing from the final boss fight. The victory. And the drinks.

And you’re giggling.

But not at him. Not like how he imagined tonight would go. 

You’re pressed just a little too close to Suguru, your shoulder brushing his. Your knees angled towards his. The sound of your laugh, light and tipsy, spills like wine from your lips as Suguru leans in - voice low, mouth grazing the shell of your ear as he murmurs something only you get to hear. Something that makes you smile like that, he hung the stars. Soft. Genuine.

And how your body leans into his like it’s instinct. Like he's the male lead in your fairy tale.

Satoru feels the punch to the gut. The anxiety and thoughts spiraling.

Perhaps Satoru had poured your drinks a little too strong. Just enough for you to laugh at Suguru’s jokes without overthinking them. So much that you don’t seem to notice how Satoru hasn’t said anything in a while, since the campaign ended. How his throat’s been dry since he saw Suguru press his hand to the small of your back.

That’s fine. He doesn’t drink. He wanted you to have fun. To loosen up. To look at him the way you’re looking at Suguru now - with stars in your eyes, a lazy smile on your lips hanging onto every little word he speaks. 

When Suguru offers to take you home, Satoru nods too quickly. A weird hiccup of a smile jerks across his face. He can’t even stop himself from asking, “Oh - wait, do you two… know each other?”

You blink. Suguru answers first. “Nope. First time meeting tonight.” His voice is light. Easy. Full of lies.

Then why does it feel like you’ve done this a dozen times?

His broad, firm hand rests on your lower waist, as if it’s the normal placement. His lips brush your ear, and you laugh and Satoru just stands there, watching it all happen like some pitiful side character in the background of a romance anime.

Cool. Awesome. Great. Everything is fine. Everything is wonderful. Amazing actually. 

When he leans in to hug you goodbye, you hesitate. Something breaks in his chest. 

Just for a second. But he feels it. The stiffness in your spine. The polite curve of your arms. The awkward way you both move in the same direction and fumble for an angle. It ends up being a weird, lopsided side hug. Like coworkers. Or strangers who once made small talk in a group chat.

Still, your cheek brushes his chest. And his heart, traitorous and loud, slams against his ribs like it’s trying to get to you. He can’t help it. You’ve captured him, maybe without even knowing it.

He remembers earlier. Just the two of you in the kitchen.

You’d gone to grab more cups. He followed. Said something about helping. Maybe even meant it, but mostly, he just wanted to be near you.

And then you turned. Bumped into him with a soft, surprised “oh!” - the rim of the stacked cups hitting his chest, your body brushing his in a way that sent a spark straight through him. His baby blues went wide, snowy lashes fluttering, before his lips moved into a crooked smile as you looked up at him.

And fuck.

The overhead light hit your features just right, soft eyes sparkling, lips parted, cheeks flushed from laughing in the other room. He could see the curve of your throat, the way your breath caught just slightly from the impact, and he froze. His heart stuttered. Stumbled. Something in his chest bloomed. Warm. Stupid, maybe even a little hopeless.

His pale cheeks flushed, a soft red hue blooming across skin that rarely saw the sun. Embarrassment? Or awe, or maybe just the raw gravity of you standing this close? His mouth parted, but no sound came. Not a joke. Not a clever line. Just this aching silence as he tried to remember how to breathe.

He should’ve stepped back.

But god, you were so close. And you were looking at him like you saw him, just for a second. Like maybe you somehow knew how badly he wanted to lift a hand and cradle your face, just to see if you’d lean into it. To see if you’d soften into his touch.

His fingers twitched at his side. He didn’t touch you. Didn’t dare. What if it made you uncomfortable? Instead, he just stood there, letting himself feel it. The burn in his chest. The ache in his spine from holding himself still. The desperate, idiotic hope that you might say something to break the tension. That this moment could mean something.

Instead, he laughed. A little loud. A bit awkward.

“Oops, sorry,” he said, a bit winded, like you hadn’t just knocked the breath out of his lungs.

And you, god, you just smiled. Brushed past him like nothing had happened, cups hugged to your chest, already back in the living room.

He stayed there. Alone. Staring at the space where you’d been. Swallowed hard and wiped his sweaty palms against his pants like that might make the heat in his body disappear. Moving to slowly fan himself.

He’s been replaying that moment ever since, chest tight, fingers aching, wondering if you even noticed how hard he was trying not to touch you.

You say, “thank you.” Pulling him back from his thoughts. Smile at him, a little flushed, a little tipsy. Your voice soft, barely there, and it hits him harder than anything. Something about it feels... personal. Like you're sharing a moment with him, even if it's fleeting. A moment he plans of selfishly keeping for himself.

He watches you go, watches Suguru’s hand fall to your lower back, slipping a little lower to the curve of your bottom when you think no one’s looking.

Satoru’s heart drops, and it feels like it’s stuck somewhere in his throat, aching to escape. He tries to look away, tries to force himself to move, but he can’t stop watching. He’s breaking, and he knows it.

If it were him…

If it were him, he would be so careful with you. He would be the one bringing you to his guest room, making sure you were comfortable, asking if you needed anything. He would keep his distance, respect it, because you’re tipsy, and you shouldn’t make any decisions right now, but damn it, if he had just a little more time with you... He’d do it right. He wouldn’t rush, wouldn’t make you feel anything you didn’t want to feel. He’d just be there.

Imagining it for a second: You on the plush bed. Him nearby in the armchair, a safe distance but close enough that he could feel the warmth of your presence. He could put on a movie, something silly and light. Keep it all casual. But he would be there, just for you.

And maybe you’d look at him like you did Suguru. Maybe you’d laugh with him the way you laughed with Suguru. But maybe... maybe not. Maybe he’s just fooling himself.

Satoru shakes his head, white hair tumbling, breath shaky. He tries to laugh at his own thoughts. But it’s not funny. It hurts, this stupid ache in his chest that he can’t shake. He can't help the sting in his pretty baby blues.

Suguru glances back at him as you both walk down the hall, with a smile that seems to border smug and something else, like he knows something Satoru doesn’t. Acting like he’s already won the girl. Satoru can't help but wave at him. To call out, get home safe!

A laugh escapes under his breath, a dry, bitter sound. Just shut up, Satoru. But it’s like his mind won’t let him stop. It just keeps playing the same damn scene over and over.

He closes the door quietly, pressing his back against it. Lets out a shaky breath as he sinks down to the cold floor, heart still hammering in his chest, and he wonders if you even noticed him at all tonight.

Of course, you didn’t. You barely know him. You might never look at him that way.

But god, he wishes you would. Just once.

Second Male Lead Syndrome, Yeah.

Yeah, that tracks.

Because you were never going to pick the weird, twitchy nerd who overplans events like this and builds NPC backstories with tragic romances just to feel something. You were never going to pick the guy who practices your character intro alone in his room fifteen times, rehearsing the words in front of a mirror, trying to make it sound casual. Trying to sound like someone who knows what they’re doing. The guy who lit a candle because a Reddit post said vanilla makes people feel comforted, and for a second, he thought it might work. Might make you feel a little more at home.

You were always going to pick the one with the guitar. The one with the voice like honey, deep and effortless, who doesn’t have to try. The one whose touch doesn’t tremble when it’s on your arm, whose hands know exactly where to go without hesitation. The one who stands next to you with a calm that makes it look easy.

Satoru, on the other hand, is all scrambled signals. His heart races whenever you look his way, his mind spirals when he hears your laugh, and yet he can’t seem to say anything that makes sense. All he’s good for is stuttering through words, trying to look cool but always coming across as the awkward guy who thinks too much about the wrong things. His white hair falls into his face, messy strands he constantly pushes out of his eyes with the back of his hand, the motion becoming so habitual now as he feels the back of his hand become damp. His glasses slipping down his nose even though he keeps adjusting them, his thumb swiping over the frames in vain. A perfect image of someone who can never quite get it together.

And his heart? God, his heart is still pounding so hard that it’s all he can hear. Every thump is a reminder that he’s falling for someone who will never fall for him.

Why did nobody warn him this could happen?

Warn that his heart will ache in a place he can’t quite reach.

But it's fine. You both were just simply not meant to be. That's how life works, right?

He starts cleaning up, clumsily, awkwardly, trying to do anything to distract himself from the growing ache in his chest. He grabs the dice first, tossing them a little too forcefully into the velvet bag, the clattering sound loud against the quiet. Then the maps, scrunched and crumpled slightly from too many fingers running over them in nervous gestures. Finally, the snack pile looking more like a sad, squashed dragon than something worthy of a group of excited players. It wasn't worthy for someone like you.

He tries not to think about Suguru’s lack of goodbye. Or the way you didn’t look back when you left. The way your smile seemed to fade the moment you turned away from him. He tries, really tries, but his brain keeps betraying him, whispering that you're already slipping further away.

I just wanted to get to know you.

But no matter how hard he tries to focus on folding the papers, stacking the snacks, all he can hear is the quiet thrum of his own voice whispering in his mind:

I was never the main character, was I?

And it hurts, the pull of his heartbeat, the way it feels like he's running in place while you’re already walking away. Like he’s standing still in a world that keeps turning without him.

So for the first time in a long, long while, after the last chip crumb was swept and the candles were blown out, he didn’t stay up to play League. He didn’t refresh Reddit - not even the post he made about you, about how to win the girl. Didn’t pace around the living room rerunning conversations he wished had gone differently.

Instead, he grabbed his worn white teddy, the one no one knows about, the one he keeps tucked behind his pillows, and curled up in a ball on the far side of his bed. No Twitch stream humming in the background. No playlist lulling him into false peace.

Just silence. And stillness.

And somehow, for the first time in weeks, Satoru fell asleep. Not the jittery kind of rest he was used to, where his thoughts wouldn’t stop spiraling, but real sleep. Deep, heavy, and warm.

He didn’t even hear the chime of your message:

Got home safe! Thank you for today <3 I actually… have had a change of plans for Saturday and I was wondering if we could play a game together? Or we can go outside too! Touch grass as the kids say! :) Let me know! Goodnight Toru

Your name lights up his screen. The little heart. The nickname. The open door.

But he’s already dreaming.

Wrapped around a teddy bear and too heartbroken to know that maybe he was the main character after all.

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[imaginedanvrs]

atonement

masterlist

camp counselor!wanda x reader

word count: 6k

warnings: homophobia and homophobic slurs, conversion therapy, manipulation, gaslighting, references to drug use, unhealthy power dynamics (so rape), noncon to dubcon, cunnilingus, degrading, fingering, nipple play, size kink, general mean Wanda

a/n: me? posting blasphemous content on Easter Sunday? I would never

It looked harmless enough. You weren’t sure what you had been anticipating, mostly because you had been trying to keep your mind off of the unavoidable destination, but it certainly wasn’t the depressing place you had expected. No, they were smart enough to keep that reality away from the parents that dropped their ‘troubled’ children off. If anything, it looked like the kind of summer camp that a lot of your friends would be enjoying about that time. 

  There wasn’t a church for one thing. In its place was what appeared to be a ranch style house that had kept its traditional family features such as the pair of rocking chairs on the porch and the maintained flowerbed around the borders. On either side of the building, closing in the driveway, were several other intimate buildings that created the impression of a community style living. They were all decorated with various posters about god’s love and acceptance that you guessed you were going to be hearing a lot about during your stay. 

  Your mother got out of the car first as a man who looked like he was still being dressed by his own mum jogged over from the main house to greet you both. You clenched your grip on your bag strap before deciding to face the music and follow her lead, still examining the area sceptically as your mother and the man introduced themselves. Your mother failed to deliver the same excitement the blonde did, but she attempted to force it nonetheless while your hosts laughed easily at something she had said.

  You weren’t listening to either of them as you retrieved your other bag from the boot of the car, not expecting the man to walk around the other side to greet you. “Y/n!” He said like you were an old friend. “I’m Reverend Vision but you can call me Rev Vis.” You most certainly weren’t going to be doing that. “We’re so happy to have you here, let me give you the grand tour of our home,” he beckoned. You trailed behind them.

  “Do you live on site?” Your mother asked.

  “Oh yes, me and the Mrs. We love our work,” he drowned on and began guiding you through the various rooms of the two buildings either side of his house. The more you learnt about the place, the more you began to dread your stay. There were ‘entertainment’ rooms that were filled with musical instruments and religious books and music. A canteen area fueled by the kitchen in which all of the students were to prepare every meal. A prayer room that was deserted at that time. Finally, the dorms. 

  Vision wasted no time in searching through your bags for anything that could “interfere with your journey” and came up empty handed, much to his well hidden disappointment. Your mother didn’t seem to notice it, too focused on the contents that came out of your bag, but you saw the flicker of his brow when he declared you were all good and began explaining the long lists of rules that you had no intention of memorising. 

  “And we do not allow any kind of sexual acts, with yourself or others,” he said lightly. Your mother shifted uncomfortably and you nodded. You had no intention of being caught by him with your hands down your pants when he did his checks during the night. You didn’t anticipate being there long because you were fully prepared to fake your conversion to heterosexuality. How hard could it be? Besides, you dreaded to think how much your parents were paying the capm under the illusion that they could somehow change you. You had to find it humorous, otherwise it would really fucking hurt. 

  It still did when you watched your family car disappear past the camp gates and into the dense tree line. You sighed, resting your head gently against the cool glass of your window and took in the camp in its entirety. It was a waste of beautiful land, you concluded as you examined where the large field met the changing trees. There were a couple guys in the camp uniform playing football on the grass while a cluster of girls sat to the side cheering them on. Apparently you had caught the end of the game, because Vision appeared on the edge of the grass and called them back inside, most likely to prepare for dinner. 

  “Y/n,” a voice behind you called. You spun around at the unexpected caller just as she opened her arms and enveloped you in a tight hug that took you wholly by surprise. 

 “Hi?” You greeted as a question, making the older woman chuckle as she held you before pulling away and keeping her soft hands on your arms as she took you in and allowed you to do the same. Holy fuck she was beautiful. Her striking emerald eyes bore straight through your own and somehow had the ability to make you feel entirely exposed, as though it would be futile to ever conceal anything from her, including your undeniable attraction to her. In contrast, her smile was soft and polite as she gazed at you in a friendly fondness you would with someone you haven't seen in a long time. There was something noticeably comforting in it and the way she carried an entirely put together personar that you wanted a peek beneath. Metaphorically of course… but also literally. 

  “I’m Wanda, Vision’s wife.” Rev Vis was punching way above his weight. This woman’s voice was even hot. Maybe pretending to be straight would be harder than you thought. 

  “Nice to meet you,” you smiled and glanced away awkwardly, finding her impossible to maintain eye contact with. She didn’t seem to care as she hooked her finger under your chin and turned your head to keep your attention on her. 

  “I have every faith you’re going to do so well here, sweetheart,” she told you fondly then dropped her hand and took a respectful step back. Right, gotta leave room for jesus. “Your roommate will be back soon then you too should head down for supper,” she instructed as she headed for the door.

  “Okay,” you nodded and pretended to unpack your bags. 

  “See you later, honey,” she said before disappearing. You exhaled a breath you didn’t realise you had been holding and collapsed onto your bed. 

*

Your first day dragged by painstakingly slowly. Between meals, you attended bible study taught by Vision who gave you his extra attention as it was your first time there. He asked you to compare your own relationship with god to that which he was teaching, expecting an answer in front of all the other students who had been through the same ordeal and spotted your lies as well as Vision did. Apparently everyone did the same when they started at the camp. 

  You had kitchen duty in the morning and garden duty in the afternoon (which was probably the least crap one) before you had to sit down for what felt like hours to listen to Vision sing about god on a guitar he didn’t know how to tune properly. During every interaction you had with him, all you could think about was how he had ended up with a woman like Wanda. Had they been high school sweethearts? Had their parents pushed them together? Did he have some kind of twisted blackmail over her? They were the only three explanations that made any sense to you but you weren’t about to ask any of the other students for their input. 

  As it turned out, your daily routine was also going to include a one on one session with the older woman which should have been something to act as a silver lining in your stay, but it was the most challenging aspect of all. 

  “When did your desire for women begin?” She asked after some small talk.

  “I’m not sure,” you lied in an effort to buy yourself some time to think of a good response. She smiled at you softly.

  “You can lie to me, but you can’t lie to god,” she informed lightly. 

  “A couple years ago,” you replied honestly. This seemed to please her. 

  “And how did it manifest?” She sounded genuinely curious to know, lulling you into being unexpectedly open with her. It wasn’t as though you had anyone else to talk about that stuff with. 

  “There was a girl in my class that I thought was pretty,” you told her as you recalled your first real crush. “I felt more when she smiled at me than I did when I kissed a boy.” Wanda smiled as though she could see the purity of your memory as well as you could. Except to her, it wasn’t so innocent. 

  “The devil likes to work his way into places we could never expect,” she told you and your smile dropped. “Especially when we’re naive,” she added. It sounded as though she didn’t hold anything against you and she wholly believed you had been seduced by the devil himself and that it was impossible for there to be any other explanation. 

  “I was seventeen,” you reasoned. “I wasn’t naive.” Wanda liked the challenge you gave her. That whisper of a promised defiance gave her a thrill she knew to keep a cap unless she was required to use it. She would do anything for her beloved students to guide them back on the right path, especially one that wore the face of morality so well. 

  “And what do you mean by that?” Wanda enquired. 

  “I knew- I know what desire and attraction feel like,” you told her without looking her in those expectant eyes that unknowingly glimmered at your revelation. 

  “Lust,” Wanda said simply. “One of the hardest sins to resist when it affects one so physically.” 

  “Surely it can’t be bad if it’s natural,” you pointed out. That was not the response the brunette wanted to hear.

  “It is not natural,” Wanda said so quickly that she had to take a moment to recollect herself as you looked at her with shock as you took in that momentary crack in her exterior. It was interesting to watch and you wondered why it had hit a nerve. Surely you weren’t the only one to come into her office and state the fact. 

  “Y/n,” she called slowly. “If lust comes to you while you are here, you must come and tell me,” she told you seriously. Yeah, you definitely wouldn’t be doing that. You agreed obediently anyway. 

  “Good,” she smiled again. “Now, is there anyone you currently feel ungodly towards?” 

  “The same girl,” you admitted sheepishly. Yes, you had had a variety of other minor crushes in the past couple years, but she always managed to fill you with that teasing anxiety that never fully manifested when she said hi to you. 

  Wanda raised her brows indiscreetly. “I hope you will soon be able to give that same loyalty to god,” she said. You didn’t give her a response, unsure of what to say when you had no intention of doing such a thing. “In time,” she added when she saw your hesitation. 

  “Maybe,” you muttered, meeting her half way. “Won’t he love me regardless?” You painted the question with an air of innocence that anyone else would have fallen for. But Wanda saw beyond that and knew you used the faux front purely to challenge her again. She was impressed. 

  “Of course,” she told you gently. “Always.”

*

You thought you were being subtle with the way you kept glancing over at the couple. It was breakfast time so there was a general murmur of conversation that you didn’t feel particularly pressed to join in with. All it did was teach you to avoid sitting with the group you had found yourself with again because they seemed to be the only students there who were actively participating in the conversion with the belief it would ‘fix them’. You pitied them in a way, but not enough to interfere with their ramblings about their opposite sex celebrity crushes. 

  Wanda caught your eye on one of the many times you had peered over. Vision was talking to her but apparently she was as distracted from her company as you were, more fixed on returning your gaze. The corner of her lip twitched when you realised you’d been caught and you swiftly looked away to stare down at your cereal, actively keeping your wandering gaze on the other side of the room for the rest of the meal. 

*

“So what did you do to end up here?” A curly haired boy asked as he strolled into the kitchen you occupied alone. He was swinging a tea towel in his hands as he joined you and started on drying the washing up you had started. 

  “Got caught making out with the pastor’s daughter,” you said stoically.

  “You’re fucking with me,” he grinned and your composure cracked. 

  “Yeah, but it’s much cooler than the truth,” you told him honestly as he jumped up onto the counter. 

  “I’m sure it’s not that bad. My grandma walked in on me with my dick down my best friend’s ass,” he told you and you couldn’t stop the laugh that rose promptly. You grinned at the boy next to you in disbelief, thankful that your own luck wasn’t that bad. “Your turn,” he prompted. 

  “I told my best friend that I like girls. She told my parents,” you said humorously, as though it didn’t hurt like a bitch just to remember. 

  “I think I have better mates than you,” he concluded. You didn’t argue with that. “I’m James.”

  “Y/n,” you replied. “How long have you been here?”

  “Four months.”

  “What?” You splashed some water over the floor when your hand slipped in shock and James yelped when some drops hit him then started chuckling at the look you were giving him. 

  “What? Did you think it was only going to last a couple weeks?”

  “Kinda, yeah,” you muttered as you returned your attention to your chore. “Do you think you’ll be out soon?”

  “Nah, they know I’m bullshitting them. We all are, of course, but some of them can trick themselves into believing it, which is good enough for Vision.” 

  “Yeah, I know Wanda sees right through me,” you told him. “Which by the way, that makes no sense right?”

  “I reckon he’s holding her family captive,” James stated simply. You laughed with him easily, glad you had found someone like minded to you. “Hey, do you wanna get high?”

*

The nimble threads at the bottom of your uniformed cardigan were multiplying as your stay at the camp went by. Your fingers frequently found their way to them when you were uncomfortable, which was more often than not, and pulled at the finer threads until you unintentionally collected a small bundle in the palm of your hands that you had to hide. Vision never commented on it, but Wanda did, telling you that it represented your impulse to repress your femininity or some bullshit like that. 

  You left the threads alone and laced your hands together in your lap when she gave you a pointed look from her office chair and you muttered an apology. 

  “I’ve noticed you and James have become quite close,” she commented. “I must admit I was hoping you would find better company in some of the other students here. James doesn’t provide the best example to follow,” she told you. 

  “We’re just friends,” you shrugged, slightly irked that the older woman had a problem with the one refuge you had been able to find in the camp. 

  “Are you friends with anyone else here?” She questioned, not yet providing you the warm smile she offered every time you stepped into her office or saw her in general. She didn’t look happy that day. She looked troubled but you didn’t believe that was solely down to your decision to spend time with James. 

  “Not yet,” you told her even though you weren’t planning on expanding your social circle. Though if it was only two people it must be more of a line. Still, adding that unfulfilled optimism was meant to appease Wanda. You should have expected her to see it for what it really was. 

  “What do you and James talk about?” She wasn’t going to let it go.

  “Our lives, I guess,” you shrugged. 

  “Your experiences,” Wanda said for you. You knew there was no point in denying that when your glance towards her told her all she needed to know. 

  “Sometimes.” 

  “You should only discuss those topics with myself or Vision, otherwise you may end up having those experiences affirmed and encouraged,” she explained pointedly. You nodded uncomfortably as your fingers found their ways to your threads again only to snap back in place when you felt Wanda’s eyes momentarily burn into you. Something was very different with her. “So tell me what you discussed,” she pushed. 

  “I told him how much I dislike kissing boys,” you told her matter of factly as you tried to suppress your rising irritation. Maybe it was her job, but you hated her need to know everything you and James did. 

  “And you want to kiss girls instead?”

  “I want to do a lot of things with them,” you laid on the innocence thick, playing your role as the good christian who was simply admitting to how she had been led astray and just wanted to atone for her sins. As always, Wanda saw through your facade though that time it made her tick. You knew exactly what you were doing, you just had no idea the effect it was having on the older woman. You had no idea that your insistence on pretending to be good while knowing you were bad stirred something in her that she wasn’t supposed to feel. You were pushing those sinful desires that had infiltrated your mind right into her own and she wouldn’t allow it. 

  “That’s all for today,” she declared without giving a response to your statement. It hadn’t even been your full session time, maybe more like half of it. 

  “Okay,” you said slowly as you stood up. 

  “I suggest you spend the rest of your evening with your roommate today,” she told you as you lingered in the doorway. 

  “Right, bye,” you bid awkwardly, frowning to yourself as you walked away.

  The moment the door closed Wanda sighed heavily and leant back in her chair, catching sight of the framed photo of herself and Vision when they went on a hiking holiday in Colorado. The both beamed at the camera as they held each other close, though Wanda’s love for her husband had been as dim as it was in the present. But it was what god wanted. What god certainly didn’t want was for Wanda to allow her mind to wander to you in the way it had during that session when you had been taunting her with that faux naivety that everyone else seemed to fall for. 

  She had such hope for you when she first met you. But the images you had put in her head of her hand disappearing beneath your skirt as her lips clashed with yours, pinning you down to that very couch you perched on, that was something that could not be allowed to flourish, no matter how it made her throb between her legs. Wanda forced herself to stare at her husband’s image and remember when he used to make her feel that way, but those memories of his breathless features beneath her were replaced with your own and suddenly she couldn’t help but ponder what your sweet moans would sound like next to her ear as her fingers dipped inside-

  “Lord help me,” Wanda called, but he never came. 

*

You and Wanda both faced your own new challenges as the weeks went by. For you, your only refuge was gone. James had been sent back home randomly one night after an incident that no one would discuss with you. You had written your numbers on pieces of paper before that night, but it had disappeared as mysteriously as James had and gave you an equally chilling feeling. You had no idea what was going to happen to him when he arrived home without the results he had been sent away to achieve. Would they send him somewhere else? Somewhere worse? The only thing you could do was try not to end up like him. 

  Unfortunately, Wanda knew that nothing had changed within you. You continued to try and fool her with your illusion of innocence, reciting what Vision had taught you, socialising with the committed students and answering her questions in the way she wanted to hear rather than the truth. Little did you know that your efforts to quicken your release from the camp were futile, because Wanda simply didn’t want you gone yet. You were fighting a losing battle, just as she was. 

  As much as she despised to acknowledge it, the brunette fought her own desires as much as you did. It made her hate how much she was drawn to you. It made her ashamed of the acts she envisaged herself performing with you and how she just knew in her heart that you would so willingly part your legs for her. She wasn’t blind to your attraction to her, she had encountered it enough in her career to see it a mile away, no matter how discreet you thought you were being. 

  “I think I’m getting better,” you lied as you peered at Wanda cautiously. 

  “And what makes you say that?” The older woman inquired, humouring your plain fib. 

  “I don’t think about girls,” you said as you willed yourself not to look at Wanda’s long legs that were crossed eloquently. 

  “What do you think about?” You hadn’t been prepared for that. 

  “God?” Wrong. Obviously wrong. Wanda hummed and you knew that meant she didn’t buy it. 

  “Y/n, I want you to start being more honest with me.” You froze and didn’t dare look her in the eye. “I’m aware that you’re not progressing, so I think we should try something new. Just you and me.” You frowned and risked looking up to the confident woman, not having a clue of the excitement that manifested so secretly. “Are you familiar with penance?” You were, yet you had no idea where Wanda was going with it. 

  “There are many different forms. Some fast, some pray, some confess, but as we practise most of that here anyway, I want to try something else,” Wanda explained as she stood up from her chair and sauntered over to the desk in the corner of her office. You heard her rummaging around in the draws as a feeling of unease began to emerge in your chest. Rightfully so, because when Wanda turned back around, she held a riding crop firmly in her grasp. 

  “Stand up,” she instructed and you quickly did so as you eyed the tool in her hands. “Usually you would do this yourself, but I don’t believe you’re capable,” she explained lightly. “Hold out your hand.”

  “Wanda,” you said as you kept your hand glued to your side. “I don’t want to.” Her features were deceivingly gentle as she listened to you. 

  “I don’t want to do this to you either, sweetheart. It’s just the only solution. So hold out your hand,” she repeated, gripping the crop so tight you could hear the leather stretch in her grasp. It unsettled you greatly. 

  “But it will hurt,” you objected, eyes wide. Wanda could have laughed at how oblivious you were to her intentions.

  “It’s meant to,” she said simply and grabbed your wrist with a force that completely paralleled the softness of her tone. 

  “Wanda-” you tried to yank your hand back but you weren’t as strong as the brunette who only had to hold you with one hand while the other brought the crop down hard. 

  You cried out but Wanda used her grip on you to pull you flush against her chest, her features having turned ice cold. Her lips formed a straight line and her eyes pierced through your own with a sharpness that was usually dulled. The next words she uttered were void of that nurturing faith she used with everyone else and were replaced with something much darker. “If you keep struggling I’ll bend you over that desk and whip your ass instead.” You trembled against her, trying to decipher what your best bet was. When you took too long to decide, Wanda reached around and groped your ass, digging the crop in as she did so as though to make sure you knew she was serious. Your breath hitched as you found yourself completely trapped against the woman that squeezed you through your skirt. You whimpered, riling her up more until you nodded. 

  “Good,” Wanda exhaled, calming the heat she was struck with at the sight of your fearful eyes. “With every strike, you’re going to confess something you’ve lied about to me.” There were so many lies to choose from that when the first strike came, you struggled to pick one out. “Confess,” Wanda demanded, all of her patience suddenly absent. 

  “I don’t like boys, I like girls,” you admitted in a rush, refusing to look at Wanda or your burning hand that she struck again. “I’m not doing the work,” you continued. Wanda remained dissatisfied, striking your raw palm again and again as you admitted to your lies, none of which being what Wanda wanted to hear. 

  “I touch myself!” That was what she was looking for. 

  “Look at me,” Wanda instructed, examining the tear streaks down your cheeks as you whimpered. It was clear you were trying to appear strong and indifferent, but it was quickly becoming too much. The older woman cooed at you as dropped the crop to the couch behind you and took a hold of your inflamed hand, rubbing the abused hand with a tenderness that only made it burn more. 

  “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Her smile had grown sinister and you realised you were nowhere near done. “What thoughts do you touch yourself to?” Wanda questioned further, rubbing the most tender areas of your palm. 

  “Lying with a woman,” you hiccuped, hoping the harmless phrasing could somehow ease your next punishment. 

  “Who?” She pushed, gripping your chin roughly and forcing you to look straight ahead at her as you confessed what she already knew. 

  “You,” you whispered. Arousal rushed to the forefront of Wanda’s mind, and with it came anger. You weren't allowed to make her feel the way you did. She had a husband and she was a faithful Christian wife until you showed up and infected her mind with your own illness. You had to be put in your place. 

  In a blur, you were laying flat on the sofa you had lied continuously to Wanda on. You were barely given the chance to react before Wanda hiked her leg over your chest and straddled you with a purely feral look upon her face. You felt a strike of fear hit you, however you also weren’t blind to how attractive Wanda looked in her state of desperation. It may have been a desperation to reclaim control and to punish you for her own feelings, but it was hot nonetheless. 

  “You’ve been tempting me ever since you got here,” she hissed, feeling under her conservative skirt for a moment before she lifted it up around her waist. “This is your fault,” Wanda told you as you soaked in the view of her exposed pussy just inches from your face. You could smell her arousal and when she moved to lower herself onto your awaiting mouth, you eagerly grabbed at the back of her thighs until she slapped you away. “You don’t get to touch me with those filthy fingers, just let me use you.” Although you knew it was terribly wrong, you felt your own cunt heat up at her instructions. You knew that it was fucked up that the married woman wanted to get off on riding your mouth, but you wanted it so bad. 

  “Just like that,” Wanda sighed as you ran your tongue through her wet folds and sucked on them lightly, aiming to savour every drop and inch of her. “Put your tongue out,” she continued to demand. As soon as you did, Wanda began to vigorously grind her clit against your muscle, allowing your tastebuds to become ablaze with her as she cursed above you. You had never heard her swear before and knew she would scold anyone who muttered anything close, so knowing you could elicit such a reaction from her made your insides twist with pride. 

  She didn’t argue when you switched to sucking on her pulsing clit and felt it throb in your mouth. You moaned against her as her movements continued and her thighs locked around her head. It felt as though she really was using you for her own pleasure, not caring about your own or any comfort. You were the shameful bliss she was forbidden to engage with, but it felt incredible to ignore her god and use you as she wished. But she was really disobeying him, she was just teaching you a lesson. It wasn’t really sinning. 

  “Fuck, don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop, you slut!” Wanda cried out as she became engulfed with the sensations you gave her. You had no intention of stopping as you shifted to pushing your tongue inside her. You were met by the tight squeeze of her walls and felt your own clench at the discovery she hadn’t had sex in a while. That explained why she was so sensitive too. Besides yourself, you smirked into the older woman and doubled your efforts. 

  It didn’t take long for Wanda to get close to the bliss she had become stranger to and you weren’t about to let her lose that. She knew her body, even after some time of depriving herself, and told you exactly what to do to get her there. “That’s it, that’s it,” she panted, head swimming as she erratically thrust herself onto her mouth and came with a sharp cry. You moaned against her, adamant on tasting your reward as Wanda trembled on top of you and eventually forced herself off when you didn’t stop. She wasn’t about to let greed overcome her. 

  You looked up at her with a hesitant smile that was apparently the last thing Wanda wanted to see. She glared at you and immediately lifted you up and spun you around so that you were leaning over the armrest on the sofa, not allowing you a second to object. “What-” you tried but she didn’t want to hear it. 

  “We’re not done,” she said without care as she lifted your own skirt over your back and yanked down your soaked underwear. She bit her lip at the sight of the wetness that stained them and threw them over to her desk for safe keeping, definitely not to sniff and use to get off later. 

  “Desperate whore,” she muttered to herself as she ran two fingers through your drenched lips. “You want to get fucked so bad? I’ll show you what it’s like to get fucked.” She let the threat loom over you as dipped her digits into you lightly, barely enough to stimulate you but enough for her to decipher how tight you were. Wanda groaned when she felt you clench in anticipation, desperate for any touch you would give her. At that, she let the remains of her self control slip away and thrust her fingers in at once. “So tight,” she commented as you clung onto the sofa, moaning at the feeling of her filling you up in the way you had dreamed ever since you first met the older woman. 

  “Wanda,” you whined when she spread her fingers out within you to push your walls. 

  “Shut up,” she hissed, refusing to listen to your pathetic pleas on the tip of your tongue. “Take it.” And you did. You bit into the couch to mute yourself as Wanda curled and thrust her fingers inside your wet cunt, mapping out every inch of you and pushing your body’s limits. She added a third finger without any consideration to your stifled whines. 

  Wanda, as she told herself, was only doing it to hurt you and punish you. You deserved it for sinning so openly in her home and for attempting to corrupt her. It wouldn’t work, she convinced herself, she wouldn’t succumb to your lust but she had to show you the right path. She had to make you ache. With that in mind, she added a fourth finger and pumped her fingers in wildly. 

  You cried out into the material you sunk your teeth into, feeling your pussy sting at the stretch Wanda was causing. Still, you continued to soak down to her palm. It just hurt so good. Too good for Wanda to allow, so she snuck her hand under your shirt and bra to take your nipples between her fingers and twist them cruelly. You whimpered at the unnecessary act, making Wanda grin triumphantly. 

  Despite the pain, it did little to distract you from the heat between your legs that was quickly growing out of control. Having stretched you out as much as she pleased, Wanda was able to thrust her fingers inside you without mercy, attacking every sensitive nerve until you became a mess on the sofa she was meant to therapise you on. “You going to cum for me, whore?” Wanda asked when she felt you twitch around her. You mumbled a yes you were lucky she heard. “You’re so pathetic like this, so weak to temptation,” she scolded you with a wicked smile you couldn’t see. “Cum for me.” That was all it took for your muscles to clench tightly around her and let go. You moaned like the whore she saw you as as you came, gripping onto the sofa for dear life as Wanda continued to ruthlessly pump her digits into your cunt. 

  “Too much,” you whined when she failed to stop. She didn’t listen. You came down from one orgasm and soon went tumbling into another when Wadna kept up her actions, making sure to drive her point home. You squirmed under her as your body became overstimulated but there was no room or strength for you to move away. “Please!” You begged as you bucked into her palm, unable to stop the contradicting action that served to amuse Wanda. 

  “So sensitive,” Wanda mused, coaxing you through another orgasm until she deemed that the message had gone through enough. You collapsed in a defeated heap as she stood up from the sofa and corrected her uniform as though you weren’t even there. You missed her taking her tainted digits into her mouth to appease her curiosity. Lord, she thought as she tasted your sweetness. She swiftly pushed away the impulse to keep you down and taste your sweetness directly from the source. She had to keep things professional after all. 

  “See me first thing in the morning,” she instructed, features still flushed with lingering lust. She had given into temptation and whether she liked it or not, she would indulge in you again. You weren’t going home anytime soon.

[forever-rogue]

hi, angel! i saw that you were open for requests and i was hoping i could shoot my shot 🥹 i’m such a sucker for the idiots-to-lovers / ditzy!reader trope lmaooo so could i pretty please request one for eddie where he’s just so down bad for the reader but she just brushes off any kind of affection from him, not because she doesn’t like him back but because she just doesn’t think anybody would ever like her like that (totally not self-projecting woops) lol sorry if it’s too specific or something! totally okay if you don’t end up writing this ❤️ ily!!!

AN | Well, well, well, if it isn’t ditzy!reader and blind Eddie. These two are just so 🥰

Warnings | Language

Pairing | Eddie x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 2.1k

Masterlist | Main, Eddie

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Soft. 

Your skin was so soft that it was causing Eddie’s mind to practically explode. He’d noticed it before but there was something so extra about it today. 

“Umm,” he heard your soft laugh and slowly came back to reality, “you can let go of me now Eddie.”

“Oh,” he shook his head to himself and let go of your waist, taking a step back and clearing his throat, “s-sorry. Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you gave him a pretty smile, bright and sweet, “I wasn’t watching where I was going and I tripped over my feet. I hate when I do that. I need to pay more attention but sometimes it’s hard.”

“I’ll be there to catch you,” he promised softly as you beamed at him. You put your hand on his shoulder and leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. Eddie opened and closed his mouth a few times, “uhh…I-I-”

“There’s Steve and Robin,” your attention quickly went to your friends as they pulled up to the park. You reached for Eddie’s hand and pulled him along with you, “c’mon!”

There was something about the feeling of your smaller hand holding onto his that made his stomach flip. He quickly followed after you, a dopey smile on his face. As soon as  Steve saw the two of you, there was a knowing smile on his face. Eddie pointedly glared at the boy, knowing exactly what he was thinking. Steve had been pushing Eddie to ask you for as long as he could remember but Eddie always said no. He could never understand why; the two of you were thick as thieves and it was obvious to almost everyone else that the two of you were much more than just friends. 

“Hey guys,” Steve drawled softly as he opened the back door for you to slide in next to Robin, “the two of you were looking awfully cozy.”

Eddie’s face turned a pretty shade of pink as he buckled his seatbelt. You laughed softly before shaking your head, “I tripped and Eddie caught me. He definitely saved me from banging up my face.”

“Can’t have you hurting that pretty face,” he agreed; Eddie wished he could melt into the seat. You exchanged a look with Robin and she rolled her eyes, causing you to huff with laughter under your breath, “alright, who’s ready for adventure?”

“Me,” Eddie said pointedly, willing Steve to start driving, “let’s go.”

“Say no more,” the two men fell into silence as you and Robin were excitedly twittering about in the back of the car. Steve caught Eddie’s eye in the rearview and offered him a small smile he hoped Eddie would know was a thing of solidarity. Eddie’s lips pulled into a thin line as he offered his friend a small nod. 

You were absolutely going to be the death of him. 

Unless he actually did something about it. But that seemed like a hurdle he wasn’t quite ready to take on.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Eddie startled as he heard loud knocking at his door; it was so urgent and sudden that he heard it over the sound of the rain and the guitar he was softly strumming. He grumbled before setting the instrument down and making his way to the door. It was a rainy mid-week afternoon, so he had no clue who would have come round this time of day.

“Hello?” Eddie opened the door slowly, but was immediately thrown into a warm hug by you. He stumbled backward for a moment before hugging you back, feeling at peace just by having your presence there, “what’re you doing here, sweetheart?”

“It’s raining,” you pulled back from him and it was then that Eddie noticed you were wearing a rain slicker but your hair and face were wet. You brushed some of the water away from your face as you grinned at him, “oh. Sorry, I didn’t mean to get you so wet.”

“Yes…it is,” he nodded slowly, his hands settling on your shoulder, “do you want to come in? I can grab some warm clothes and we can-”

“No,” you reached for his hand and held it tightly in yours, “you gotta come with me! To go to the pond!”

“What’s at the pond that is so important?” he wasn’t thrilled with the idea of you out in the rain and getting wet.

“Everything,” you took his hand and started to pull out of the door of the trailer, “all the creatures are out, and it sounds so cool when the rain hits the pond! C’mon, let’s go and see.”

“Are you sure?” he was loathe to deny you anything. He actually thought you were adorable with how excited you were to take him to the pond. You were already nodding and looked at him with wide eyes. Eddie shook his head in amusement before reaching for his jacket and quickly slipping it on along with his boots, “alright then, show me this magic.”

“You’re the best Eddie,” you slipped your fingers in between his and tugged him along with you. You lived near Eddie and the pond was in between your places. It was a spot the two of you spent a lot of time at when it was nice out in the spring and summer. 

He tried to keep his cool at the way you casually offered him your hand, a token sign of affection. But internally he was freaking out at the feel of your much smaller hand in his. He gave yours a squeeze, not caring that the two of you were getting absolutely drenched. He could always dry off later - making memories was far more important.

You stopped in front of the pond, watching excitedly as the rain fell onto the water, loud and steady but also so calming. There were frogs singing and other critters that were out and gathering around the pond. The excitement on your face was palpable as you took in the scene. It made Eddie happy too; to see the natural flow of life and how it made you feel.

“It’s so pretty here,” you reached and plucked a small yellow flower from the ground, looking at it for a moment before holding it out to Eddie, “for you - a flower for my flower.”

Eddie’s stomach churned as he swallowed the lump in his throat. He reached for it and gently took it from your hand before tucking it behind his ear, “t-thank you.”

Your response came in the form of a big smile as reached for his hand to bring him closer, “thank you for sharing this with me. Coming here. You’re the best Eddie.”

He felt a rush of affection for you, even more than he already did. He squeezed your hand gently, “thank you for sharing this with me.”

“Anytime,” you gave him a smile, “there’s no one else I’d rather be here with.”

And that his heart almost burst into his chest.

He loved you. He decided then that he would tell you….one day.

Soon. Soon. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Oh! I’ve got a date tomorrow night,” you threw your declaration so nonchalantly as you and Eddie walked out of the movie theater. Eddie felt like a wave of icy ocean water hit him as you walked towards his van. He really hoped that he didn’t hear you correctly. When you noticed his silence you turned to him with concern etched on your features, “Eddie? What’s wrong?”

“What did you say?” he asked as you leaned against the side of the van. The look on his face was not what you had expected; he looked almost angry, but underneath it all was a look of hurt.

“I just said that I have a date tomorrow night,” you shrugged it off, trying to ignore the prickling feeling running down your spine, “that’s all. Nothing important.”

He huffed, unable to control his reaction. Sure, you’d been on dates here and there but it was never anything that had seemed important. But now he wasn’t so sure, “cool, cool, cool. I’m sure you’ll have lots of fun.” 

Eddie started to move around to the driver’s side but you quickly reached for him, wrapping your fingers around his wrist, “Eddie? What’s wrong? Why are you acting like…this?”

His shoulders rose and fell softly as he shook his head. You dropped his wrist, feeling your eyes immediately prickle with tears, “you don’t get it, do you?”

“I don’t…understand,” your eyes were wide as you tried to figure out what he was saying, “what do you mean, Eddie?”

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration before groaning slightly, “I’m in love with you.”

That was definitely not what you’d been expecting to hear at all. A million different thoughts raced through your mind as your heart jumped around in your chest, “Eddie?”

“I’ve been in love with you for so long,” he whispered, unable to look at your eyes, “I just…I’ve never been able to say it before. But the idea of you going out on a date with someone else, someone not me, makes me feel so….sad. I don’t want you to go out with anyone else.”

“I-I don’t….” you paused, waiving your hand around, trying to make sense of it all. But then it hit you - holy shit. He’d just confessed his love for you, “you love me?”

“Yeah,” he let out a nervous laugh as his cheeks felt like they were on fire, “I do. I have for a long time.”

“Oh,” you chewed on your lip. You would have never thought that was possible, “I didn’t know. I thought you didn’t like me. Not like that.”

“How could you ever think that I wouldn’t like you?” he came a little closer to you, “I thought it was so obvious. I just thought you didn’t feel the same way.”

And then you laughed. You couldn’t help it as you looked at him with pure awe in your eyes. Eddie swallowed thickly as he hoped that you weren’t just laughing at him, “that’s so funny. ‘Cause I definitely thought it was obvious that I liked you too. I just thought you’d never be interested in me.”

And then it hit Eddie all at once. The two of you were idiots and had been blind. 

He grinned at you, a matching smile on your face as reality sunk in. 

He reached for your face, his hands gentle on your skin as he studied. He’d done this many times before but something about it in that moment felt so much different. Heavier and more important. You leaned into his touch, turning your face to press a kiss to his palm. He studied you for a few more moments before leaning in closer, leaving only a small distance between your bodies.

You could see the questioning look in his eye and nodded softly, leaning in and closing the remaining gap. The feel of his lips on yours was nothing like you’d expected - it was even better than you could have ever imagined. 

It felt like the most right thing in the world; like the two of you had been doing this for so long. Like you had always been meant to be doing it. You two only separated when you were desperate for a breath of air.

You touched your lips, almost as if trying to make sure that you had actually kissed Eddie. 

“Umm,” you were nervous, rocking back and forth on your heels as you beamed at him, “that was….something.”

“It was definitely something,” he agreed with a cheeky grin that made you laugh softly, “I think we should try that again…just to make sure it really was something.”

“Oh yeah,” you pretended to muse over what he had said before touching his face, “I agree…we should definitely make sure. For science.”

“For science,” he agreed softly before kissing you again, “I’ve been wanting to say I love you for so long and now I can finally say it.”

“I love you too, Eddie,” you stole a few more kisses from his pretty, plumped lips, “I like saying it too. And hearing it. Can you say it again? Please?”

“I love you,” he said, almost like a promise…you supposed it was, “and I really like kissing you. Everything…all of it.”

“I love you,” you whispered in turn, “everything and all of you.”

[dark-fanfics-moon]

THE PET Remmick X Reader

WARNING: POSSESSIVE BEHAVIOUR AND DEATH OF MINOR CHARACTERS IN THIS CHAPTER ! BLOOD ! NOT FOR MINORS OR SENSITIVE SOULS ! Synopsis: You let him in ? Now, face the consequences.

(This is my first Sinners fanfic. I hope you will enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. Also, you have French ancestry here.)

The scent of roasted meat and sweet cinnamon filled the air, wrapping itself around laughter and the lively sound of fiddles. The neighboring village’s festival was in full swing, spilling over with cheer. String lights crisscrossed above, glowing amber against the twilight sky. People danced in pairs, whirling and stomping to the beat, while children darted between tables with sticky fingers and half-eaten pies.

You were seated on a bench near the firepit, a flaky pastry cradled in your hand. It was warm and sweet, filled with something jammy that stuck to your lips. You had just taken a bite when the knock came.

Knock-knock.

You blinked, brushing crumbs from your mouth as you rose. You made your way towards the wooden gate that separated the garden from the winding road, the music slightly muffled behind you.

When you opened it, you saw him.

A man with bright eyes and windswept dark hair grinned at you. A banjo was strapped across his back, and his shirt was rolled to the elbows, streaked faintly with road dust. He stood with the ease of someone who traveled often, who’d seen a dozen roads and made friends in every town he passed. Behind him stood two others—one, a quiet woman with dark hair, a blue dress and a tambourine at her hip, the other a man holding a lantern and wearing a wary sort of smile.

“Hey there !” the first man greeted, his voice thick with a warm Irish lilt. “Me name is Remmick. These two next to me are called Bert and Joan. And me friends and I are travelin’ musicians. We heard music and thought we could maybe join ye happy bunch ?”

His smile was so bright, so full of good cheer, you couldn’t help but mirror it.

“Where are you all from, friends ?” you asked, tilting your head.

Remmick chuckled, eyes dancing. “Ah, here and there. Wherever the music leads, really. But most recently ? A little place past the Ridgefolk Hills—though I reckon that name means nothin’ unless you’ve lost a boot in its bog.”

You laughed softly.

The woman beside him added, “We’ve played in towns where the lanterns don’t go out ‘til dawn. Thought we’d see if this one keeps the same rhythm.”

Remmick tilted his head, still grinning. “Ah, we’re from all over, really. Bits o’ the Isles, some time in the south…but right now ?” He winked at you. “We’re from wherever the road takes us—and tonight, I’m hopin’ that’s here.”

You glanced back at the flickering lights, the sounds of joy and clinking glasses behind you, and then to the trio at your gate.

“Well,” you said, stepping aside with a smile, “no reason to keep music waiting. Come on in.”

Remmick’s grin stretched even wider—wolfish and warm all at once—as he tipped an invisible hat. “Much obliged.”

The woman beside him gave you a grateful nod, her long fingers tightening on the neck of her instrument. She had sharp eyes that missed nothing, and you got the sense she was the one who made sure the group didn’t starve or freeze when the road got cruel. The tall man murmured a thank you under his breath as he stepped inside, looking a little like he’d never seen so many lights in one place.

The moment their boots hit the flagstone courtyard, the party seemed to notice them—people turned, curious, expectant, drawn by the presence of strangers like moths to a new flame. A hush fell, not of suspicion, but of curiosity. Somewhere, the fiddle player slowed, notes trailing into the night like a question waiting to be answered.

Remmick cleared his throat, lifting a banjo hidden behind his back. “Evenin’ folks,” he called out cheerfully, “I hope ye don’t mind us joinin’. We come bearing songs and no shortage of cheer.”

Someone—probably Maris, already flushed with too much elderflower wine—clapped and shouted, “Only if ya play somethin’ worth dancin’ to !”

That seemed to relax the atmosphere as some people started laughing around the garden.

Remmick gave a mock bow. “Challenge accepted, milady.”

Then the music began—low and playful at first, the woman’s strange instrument thrumming like the heartbeat of the earth itself. Remmick’s banjo played wonderfully, light and bright, and the tall man took out a pair of small drums, tapping out a rhythm that felt like feet hitting the road.

It was a sound that didn’t ask to be heard—it insisted.

And just like that, the courtyard was alight again, laughter rising like sparks from a fire, the party folding them into its rhythm as though they’d always been meant to arrive at your little party tonight.

And you—well, you stood at the edge, pastry forgotten, watching Remmick play and sing, wondering just how far these travelers had come from and how long they were planning to stay. His eyes met yours at times and you couldn’t deny that his smile did make your heart skip a beat. He seemed to be around your age. Perhaps a few years older—but attractive nonetheless.

As the final twang of Remmick’s banjo danced into the air, the crowd erupted into cheers and clapping, the kind that rattled tankards and lifted spirits higher than the smoke curling into the stars. You found yourself smiling without even meaning to, hands coming together in a steady, appreciative rhythm.

Remmick caught your eye once more and gave you a sly wink, still catching his breath, curls damp at the edges from the firelight’s heat. You were about to turn and fetch him something to drink when your father’s booming voice cut through the air like a blade through butter.

“Well now,” he said, too loudly and a little too proud. “That was fine, lad, real fine—but it’s my daughter who’s got the voice that’ll stop a room dead.”

Your heart stopped right along with the hum of the party.

“Pa,” you hissed under your breath, stepping towards him with your cheeks burning. “Manners. They’re guests.”

But he was already clapping a firm hand on Remmick’s shoulder, all hearty laughter and puffed-up pride. “You wouldn’t believe the songs she can sing. Clear as a bell, that one. Got it from her mother. Girl’s too shy to show off, but get her goin’ and you’ll swear the gods themselves hush just to listen.”

Remmick turned to you slowly, that grin of his curling again—but now with something softer at the edges. “Is that so, lassie ? Ye can sing ?”

You blinked, trying not to glare at your father, who now looked immensely pleased with himself and entirely unaware of the way your stomach had dropped.

“Well, sometimes,” you murmured, suddenly very interested in your shoes.

But Remmick only stepped forward, banjo cradled in one arm like a sleeping child. “Well, if ya ever feel like sharin’, I’d count meself lucky to hear it,” he encouraged you gently. “But only if it’s your idea, not yer Pa’s. I wouldn’t want to sound too pushy now…a’right ?”

He glanced at your father with a crooked grin. “Though I do appreciate a proud father. That’s a rare sort of music, too.”

The party had fallen into a hush again, but this time it was not out of curiosity—it was anticipation. You hadn’t stood in the middle of a crowd like this in years, not since you were a child humming lullabies in your mother’s sun-drenched kitchen, her flour-dusted hands clapping quietly along. But now, under the heavy dusk sky and the golden festival lights strung like constellations, you took a breath and let it catch deep in your chest.

Then you began to sing.

Soft at first, almost trembling, the words laced in French. But as the melody poured out—dark, rich, and aching with something deeper than memory—your voice steadied, growing bolder.

“J’avais un amant

Depuis quelques mois

Je l’aimais de toute mon âme

Mais il m'a quitté

Sans savoir pourquoi Il a brisé mon cœur de femme…”

People began to stop where they stood. The clinking of mugs faded, the footsteps slowed. Even the children paused their games. The music of the words—foreign to many—was understood nonetheless. A woman scorned. Champagne-laced laughter masking the ache of a broken heart. Madness blooming like roses from betrayal.

“Et moi sur la table, j’ai pris un couteau

Et ma vengeance fut cruelle…”

Your voice rose, fearless now, resonating with the power of grief turned to fury, sweetness turned to steel. Some stared. Others closed their eyes, swaying. Your father had gone still, his pride now touched with something more reverent.

Remmick didn’t take his eyes off you. Not once. A smile graced his features as he heard your voice and his eyes glistening slightly. You thought it was because the song was rather melancholic, but his smile made you understand that he was admiring you and it made your heart race in your chest. Your voice became louder and trembling slightly under such a heavy look. It made your cheeks burn with heat—not only because of the effort.

“Oui, j'étais grise

J'ai fais une bêtise

J'ai tué mon gigolo !”

When you reached the final note, your voice trembling on the edge of that last, heart-wrenched word—

“Mon amant d’coeur

M’a rendu folle…”

—there was a moment of utter stillness following your performance.

Then came the applause.

It started slow, as if people were unsure if they’d been witness to art or a confession. But then it built, wave upon wave of clapping, cheering, even whistling from the back of the courtyard. People stomped their feet, raised their drinks, and called your name with giddy disbelief.

Remmick stepped forward, banjo hanging forgotten at his side. He looked at you with something unreadable in his eyes. His unmistakable smile making your brain forget all caution as he bowed slightly.

“Christ above,” he murmured, just loud enough for you to hear. “And here I thought I knew how to tell a story. Your Pa was right. Such a beautiful voice is meant to be heard.”

You looked at him and smiled, breath still coming in soft waves from the song, your voice quiet but steady.

“You are just as impressive, sir.”

Remmick blinked, like he hadn’t expected you to say that. Then that boyish grin returned—slower this time, softer around the edges.

“Careful,” he murmured, with a playful tilt of his head. “Flatterin’ a musician’s a dangerous game. We’re known t’follow compliments like hounds on a scent.”

He stepped a little closer, not enough to make it obvious, but just enough that you could smell the road-dust and campfire smoke clinging to his shirt. “But I mean it, lass,” he added, voice lowering a touch. “That wasn’t just singin’. That was…somethin’ else. Like ya sang straight through the air and stitched it shut behind ye.”

Before you could answer, a loud cheer broke out to your left.

“Oi !” shouted Maris again, already climbing up onto a barrel. “Someone get this lass a drink—and this poor fella too, he looks like he’s been struck dumb !”

More laughter followed. You felt so embarrassed at Maris’ words, the moment scattering like sparks in the wind.

Remmick chuckled, shaking his head. “Your people are wild.”

You raised a brow, lifting your skirt slightly in mock formality. “You’re not goin’ to run away now, are you sir ?”

“Not a chance.” He offered you his arm like a gentleman—albeit one with dusty sleeves and banjo-calloused fingers. “Now come on. I believe we’ve both earned a drink. And maybe, if I’m lucky, another song ?”

You stepped away with the Irish musician and smiled at your father who gave you a supportive thumbs up. He still hoped for grandchildren and he wouldn’t get mad if you married as soon as possible. You had tried to approach men before, but it was the first time you had felt such a connection with one of them. You liked him and he seemed to like you.

Once far away enough, Remmick stepped a little closer, still giving you that look—not of a man who saw a pretty girl, but of someone who had just stumbled across a secret, a buried treasure sung into the open. “That song…I’ve never heard anything like it. Who taught you that ?”

You glanced toward the edge of the festival, where the shadows had softened into the dark, and the music had shifted to something lighter now—something meant for dancing again. “My mother,” you admitted softly. “She used to sing it when she’d had a little too much wine. Always said French songs were the best for heartbreak. And she had had her fair share before meeting my father.”

Remmick nodded slowly, the corner of his mouth still curved. “Then I owe her a great deal…for passin’ that down.”

You smiled before you heard your father shout from behind you: “Young lad ! How about you invite my daughter for a dance before you both take roots, yeah ?!"

You shot a warning glance at your father who seemed unable to hold his tongue after the number of shots in his bloodstream.

Remmick chuckled awkwardly and hesitated, then offered his hand, with that charming, exaggerated flourish of a troubadour in a tale. “Would the lady do me the honor of a dance ?”

You looked at him for a moment—really looked.

In the golden spill of lantern-light, Remmick didn’t seem like the sort of man who belonged to one place. He looked like the wind—here for a moment, then off to some far corner of the world where the roads were still dirt and the stars still sang. And yet, right now, he stood still. Waiting. Just for you.

With a smile you couldn’t quite hide, you slid your hand into the crook of his arm.

“I suppose the lady would.”

His grin could’ve lit the road back to the mountains. “Careful,” he said, leading you gently back toward the music. “You keep sayin’ yes to me, and I’ll start thinkin’ I’ve got a chance with such a sweet girl.”

You laughed, low and warm. “I think you already do.”

He seemed surprised for a moment before smiling brightly at you. The music picked up—fiddles and tambourines and clapping hands—and the people had started to twirl again, skirts brushing the cobblestones, boots thudding to the beat. No one stared now; the spotlight had moved, the night embracing you like just another part of the song.

Remmick took your hand, one at your waist, light as a secret.

“A’right now,” he murmured, his Irish lilt softening with the moment, “don’t worry if you’re not good at dancin’. Just follow me.”

You did. And the night carried on—spinning, laughing, warm as firelight on your skin—and for just a little while, you forgot the difference between music and magic. The world around you blurred into rhythm and laughter—faces twirling, skirts flaring, the scent of honeyed pastries and woodsmoke curling through the air. Remmick guided you gently, never pulling, just offering. His hand was secure at your waist, fingers light on your skin, like he’d learned to hold fragile things without breaking them.

…You should have probably seen that something was not exactly normal with that man at that moment. But you were dancing and having fun. He was charming and you had had quite the exciting night. So you didn’t notice anything wrong with your dancing companion.

As the music slowed—just a little, just enough to let hearts breathe—he leaned in close, breath brushing the shell of your ear.

“I always wanted to dance with a pretty lady under the moonlight,” he whispered.

The words weren’t rehearsed. They didn’t tumble out with the smoothness of a practiced charmer. No, they were quiet, like something he’d kept tucked deep in his chest for a long, long time. You turned your face just slightly, close enough to catch the earnest gleam in his eyes—lit not by the lanterns but by the silver light drifting down from the night sky.

“And now ?” you asked, voice soft as lace.

He smiled, a little crooked, a little shy.

“Now I don’t know if I’m dreamin’…or just lucky as sin.”

The last note of the dance faded, swallowed into the soft hum of crickets and the murmur of full-bellied laughter. As people began to break off in pairs and groups, drifting back towards food and drinks, your father clapped his hands together with a booming cheer.

“Well now ! No one’s travelin’ tonight, that’s certain !” he declared, lifting a mug high. “We’ve got room in the village—and hearts enough to share it. These fine travelers stay the night, aye ?”

A chorus of agreement answered him. A few of the younger villagers, wide-eyed and rosy-cheeked from drink and music, eagerly stepped forward.

“They can stay at mine !”

“No, no—my place, I’ve got room by the fire !”

Remmick chuckled beside you, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly flattered but looking a little overwhelmed. “Saints, you lot are generous.”

Before any more offers could pile on, you moved without thinking—wrapping your arm around his. You felt him go still, just for a moment. His arm, solid beneath yours, warmed under your touch.

“Father,” you said, your voice clear, though not loud. “Would it be alright if Remmick stayed at our home tonight ?”

The words fell like a stone into the center of the crowd. Your father blinked, brows lifting high. Then slowly—so slowly—you saw the corner of his mouth tug upward.

“Is that so ?” he asked you, eyeing the two of you with the careful amusement only a father could muster. “Well, if that’s what you want, daughter.”

He glanced at Remmick, narrowing his eyes just slightly. “You’re under my roof, boy. Not just hers. You understand ?”

Remmick, to his credit, nodded solemnly—even as his eyes danced with that same crooked smile. “Aye, sir. Wouldn’t dream of disrespectin’ your hospitality.”

Your father huffed and turned away, but not before you saw the rare ghost of a grin flicker beneath his mustache. Still holding Remmick’s arm, you felt him lean a little closer, his voice warm by your ear.

“Didn’t realize I’d wandered into heaven,” he murmured and lifted a hand above his heart with a smile. “And right into an angel’s kind arms…I am deeply grateful.”

You tried not to smile too wide. It was foolish to feel so warm so quickly—but god, it was hard not to.

That night:

The table was lit by the soft golden glow of oil lamps, flickering shadows dancing across the worn wood and the carved plates. Your father ate with gusto, exchanging the occasional gruff comment with Remmick, while your younger cousin babbled sleepily about his favorite song of the night.

You had spent the better part of an hour preparing the meal—stew with root vegetables, herb butter on dark bread, and a honey pastry just like the ones your mother used to make. A small way to say thank you, maybe. Or maybe just a quiet offering, hoping he’d stay longer than a single night.

But now…Now your eyes flicked to the spot in front of Remmick. The food sat there, barely touched. His spoon stirred idly, but never lifted. The bread remained untouched on the edge of the plate. He’d taken one bite, maybe two—and then nothing.

A pang bloomed in your chest.

You looked away quickly, busying your hands with clearing crumbs, adjusting a napkin that didn’t need fixing. Maybe it wasn’t to his taste. Maybe travelers had finer food on the road. Or maybe…maybe you’d tried too hard. You bit your lip, forcing a smile when your father laughed at something Remmick said.

Then, from the corner of your eye, you saw him glance down at the untouched food again—then at you.

His smile faltered. And he leaned in, voice pitched low enough only for you to hear.

“Lass,” he whispered softly, “I need you to know… your cookin’ smells like a blessing. Truly.”

You blinked, surprised.

He gave a sheepish, almost guilty smile. “It’s not the food. It’s…me. I get…nervous, when I’m somewhere new. Stomach tightens up like a drumskin.” He looked away for a beat. “It’s stupid, I know. But I didn’t want ye to think I didn’t notice the care ye put in. Or that I am bein’ rude on purpose.”

He looked at you again, earnest and apologetic.

“Wouldn’t trade this meal for all the gold in the west.”

You smiled and nodded.

“Of course. No worries.”

Later, when the dishes were washed and the house had fallen quiet—save for the distant murmur of your father’s voice in the next room—you picked up the lantern and motioned for Remmick to follow.

“This way,” you said gently, your voice softer now in the hush of the hour.

He walked behind you through the narrow hallway, his boots light on the old wooden floor. You paused at a small door near the end, nudging it open. The room inside was simple—just a bed with a woolen blanket, a small washbasin, and a shuttered window that let in a sliver of moonlight.

“I hope it’s alright,” you said, setting the lantern down. “This was my brother’s room before he married and moved out. It’s not much, but it’s warm. And quiet.”

Remmick stepped in slowly, his eyes scanning the space, taking in the old books still stacked on the shelf, the carved initials in the wooden bedframe, the lopsided rug by the hearth. He smiled.

“It’s perfect,” he assured you, with that same soft sincerity he’d spoken with at dinner. “Better than a hundred inns with feather beds.”

You nodded, lingering for a moment, unsure whether to say goodnight or just walk away. There was something weighty in the stillness—like the hush after a song, when no one quite knew if it was truly over.

Remmick looked at you, one hand still resting lightly on the doorframe.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “Fer the song. Fer the food. Fer…all o’ this.”

You looked down, trying to keep your excuses from showing too obviously, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

“I should thank you,” you replied, fingers brushing the edge of your sleeve. “For sharing your music…and your charming company.”

He let out a quiet breath of a laugh, one hand settling on the back of his neck as though unsure what to do with such a compliment. “Ah, now you’ve gone and made me blush,” he murmured, and his voice had that low, rough Irish accent that wrapped around the quiet like a blanket. “That’s not fair.”

You met his eyes again, and something warm passed between you—unspoken, still new, still fragile.

“I’ll let you rest,” you announced, stepping back just slightly. “It’s been a long day.”

Remmick nodded, though he didn’t move to close the door right away. “Sleep well, lass.”

And just before the door shut, barely a breath between it and the frame, he added, soft as a hum: “I hope I get to see you in my dreams tonight.”

You smiled happily at his words. You looked at Remmick as he stood there, the door now half-closed between you. But something caught your eye—something small, a glimmer in the soft light of the room. A simple band around his ring finger. Silver, unadorned, but it was enough to make your smile falter just slightly, just for a moment.

Your heart skipped. A wedding ring. Of course. You hadn’t thought about it before. You hadn’t even considered it. A band on his finger. A reminder that, despite the charm in his words and the way his laughter made the air around you feel lighter, he belonged to someone else.

“R-Right,” you stammered, feeling a strange warmth in your chest, trying to swallow the feeling that seemed to come from nowhere. “Goodnight then.”

Your voice wasn’t as steady as it had been moments before. You forced a smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes, not now. And before he could notice the flicker of hesitation, you stepped back, retreating into the hallway.

The door of your bedroom clicked softly behind you, and you leaned against the cool wall of the corridor, taking a breath that didn’t quite settle.

…Right. He was too good to be true anyway.

You went to bed.

A few hours later:

The moonlight filtered through the thin curtains, casting long shadows on the floor as you awoke in the dead silence of the night. The weight of sleep still clung to your eyelids, but a dry thirst tugged at your throat, urging you out of bed. You moved quietly, the cool wooden floor creaking underfoot as you tiptoed to the door. The house was still—too still. You padded softly down the dark hall, a faint shiver crawling up your spine as you neared the kitchen. Perhaps it was nothing. Just the wind, or the house settling. But when you reached the door, something—a noise—caught your attention. It was faint at first, like the scuff of shoes against the floor, and then a low, disturbing sound.

Curiosity got the better of you, and with a deep breath, you slowly opened the door.

What you saw made your breath catch, your heart slamming against your ribcage in a panic-stricken beat.

There, in the dim light of the kitchen, Remmick was hovering over your father. His hands were pressing down on your father’s shoulders with unnatural force, his face—his eyes—were different. Yellow. Glowing with an eerie, otherworldly hue. His chin was smeared in blood, and your father’s body lay limp beneath him, lifeless or unconscious—there was no telling which.

A guttural sound escaped your father’s throat, a noise that wasn’t quite a scream, but something worse, something terrible. You couldn’t even move. The sight of him like this—of Remmick—made your blood freeze in your veins.

Then, just as quickly as the horror settled in, a scream echoed from a neighboring house. It was loud, panicked, and unmistakably human. Remmick looked up sharply, his eyes flashing toward the source of the noise. The blood on his chin gleamed in the dim light, and he screeched.

In that instant, you locked eyes with him. And what you saw in his gaze was nothing short of predatory, feral even. His smile twisted, a dark amusement in the curve of his lips, and he wiped his chin with the back of his hand, as if it were nothing more than a passing inconvenience.

Tears blurred your vision, but you couldn’t stop them. You didn’t understand—how could you understand ? Remmick wasn’t who he had seemed. He wasn’t the charming troubadour or the gentleman who had danced with you in the moonlight. He was something else entirely.

With your heart pounding in your throat, you turned and ran. You didn’t think—just instinct. You bolted back to your room, the door slamming behind you as you locked it, every nerve on edge. You sank against the door, gasping for air, tears streaming down your face. What was happening ? What was Remmick ? Who was he really ?

You had seen the horror with your own eyes, but it didn’t make sense. It couldn’t.

The sound of the knock at your bedroom door sliced through the heavy silence that had enveloped you. Your pulse raced in your ears, your breath shallow and panicked. You pressed your back against the door, as though trying to melt into the wood, to make yourself invisible to whatever nightmare lurked outside.

Then, the voice. A soft chuckle, too familiar, too unsettling.

“Lil’ lassie. Open this door. I promise not to hurt ye.”

Remmick. The warmth, the charm, the music—it all felt like a lie now. His voice, once smooth and comforting, now held a twisted edge, like the calm before a storm. His words were like honey, but they dripped with something darker beneath. Your fingers trembled on the edge of the door, heart pounding in your chest as your thoughts spiraled. What was he ? What had happened to him ? What had you just witnessed ?

You wanted to scream, to yell at him to leave, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you held your breath, hoping the silence would swallow his presence whole. You locked the door and took a few steps back. However, the sound of the door splintering under the force of Remmick’s strength made your heart stop. You barely had time to react before he was in the room, his smirk dark and unnerving, like a predator who had caught sight of its prey.

“Dolly now…Don’t worry. Me thinks your voice’s simply beautiful. So, no harm will come to ye.”

His words dripped with a twisted calmness, but the underlying menace was unmistakable. He wasn’t here to comfort or protect; he was here to toy with you, to watch as you squirmed under his gaze.

Before you could even think to protest, Remmick casually walked over to one of your chairs, picked up one of your old teddy bears, and held it in his hands with an eerie fondness. He chuckled lowly, his eyes glowing a dark red, and you felt the hairs on your neck stand up in terror.

“He’s a cutie. Just like his missy…”

His gaze lingered on you, a cold smile spreading across his face, and you felt the overwhelming weight of his presence in the room. The teddy bear seemed so out of place in his hands, the innocence of it clashing with the dark intensity of his eyes and the blood still on his chin.

Tears stung the back of your throat, but you forced yourself to stay still. Fear gnawed at you, but you refused to show it. Not now. Not to him.

“Wh-What are you ?” you managed, voice trembling despite yourself.

He leaned back in the chair, his smile widening as he casually twirled the bear in his fingers, almost as if he were savoring your terror.

“Ahh, the questions you’re askin’,” he mused, his voice still that smooth Irish drawl. “I’m just a man, dolly. But sometimes…a man needs to be more than that, don’t ye think ?”

His words hung in the air like a promise—or a threat. You didn’t know which was worse.

Your voice cracked as you spoke, barely above a whisper, and yet it carried through the heavy silence of the room like thunder.

“My father…Is he dead ?”

Remmick’s fingers paused their idle play with the teddy bear. For a long moment, he didn’t speak. His red eyes studied you, as if weighing the cost of a truth—or the benefit of a lie. The smile faded from his face, replaced with something else…something that almost resembled regret.

He leaned forward slightly in the chair, elbows on his knees, his voice softer now.

“He…put up a good fight. Brave man. Loved his little girl sooo fiercely—he truly did. I did like him—a lot. But…the hunger was just too strong. Haven’t eaten in quite some time…It was almost a miracle me and me friends found yer village when we did—or else we would have starved to death.”

That was all he said.

But he didn’t need to say more.

Your breath hitched, your knees buckling slightly beneath the weight of his answer. You brought a hand to your mouth again, as though you could push back the sob clawing its way up your throat.

“I’m sorry, lassie,” he said quietly, but it didn’t sound quite like he meant it.

Your sobs broke free, trembling and quiet at first, then louder—like something in you had finally cracked. The room spun with the weight of it all: the music, the dancing, the charm in his voice, your father’s proud smile just hours ago. Gone. All gone.

Remmick giggled softly. That same sweet, lyrical sound he’d given you at the door, when he was just a traveling musician with a banjo and a charming grin.

But now—now it sent chills down your spine.

He leaned forward, still cradling the teddy bear with gentle care, and slowly reached towards you. With a strange, almost playful tenderness, he brought the soft arm of the bear to your cheek and dabbed away a few tears with the fabric.

“Now now, shhh…Dolly. No cryin’. Please. I didn’t mean to,” he murmured, almost singsong, like a lullaby meant to soothe a child. Then his gaze sharpened. His eyes glowed again—deep, hellish red—and the corner of his mouth twitched as he tilted his head slightly.

“But remember…” he whispered, voice curling into your ear like smoke, “you invited me in.”

The truth of it made your stomach twist. You had. You’d opened the door with a smile and let the devil step through.

And now ?

Now the devil was in your room…your home.

Your tears burned hot as they rolled down your cheeks, but you didn’t let them fall quietly anymore. You locked eyes with him—those glowing, inhuman eyes—and your trembling hand balled into a fist at your side.

You glared, voice tight and low, laced with grief and fury.

“Demon.”

The word hung in the air like smoke after a fire, and for a moment, Remmick said nothing. His smirk faded.

Then—he laughed.

Not loud. Not mad. Just a quiet, knowing chuckle, like you’d finally solved the riddle he’d been waiting for.

“Aye,” he said, setting the bear gently down on your bed. “That’s one word for it.”

He rose to his feet slowly, every movement deliberate, graceful—inhuman. His eyes never left yours. “But I’ve been called many things over the centuries, dolly. Demon’s just…one of the more honest ones.”

He took a step forward. Then another.

“But you—ah, you,” he said with a curl of his tongue, “you called me in with a smile. Sang your pain like a siren. And god forgive me—I listened.”

You stood your ground, though your legs trembled and your breath shook. Gritting your teeth, you summoned every last thread of strength left in your aching chest and hissed:

“Get out of my house, demon.”

Remmick stilled. The playful glint in his eye dulled. The smile slipped from his face, replaced with something cold—ancient. His head tilted back slightly, as if tasting your defiance in the air. The room felt colder now. As though your words had summoned something deeper from within him.

He stepped closer—just once. Just enough for his shadow to brush your feet. Then, in a voice far older than his grin, far darker than his song, he murmured,

“This house…was so full of light. Music, love, laughter. But now it’s soaked in blood.” He leaned in just slightly, eyes burning into yours. “You made it mine the moment you let me cross your threshold.”

And then—he stepped back. Just a bit.

His smirk returned, gentler this time, but mocking all the same.

“But if the lady insists…” he said with a low bow, like a twisted gentleman from a ballroom long buried. “I’ll go. For now.”

He turned toward the shattered door.

“But don’t forget, dolly…” he called to you, glancing back over his shoulder with one last flicker of red, “…I never leave without takin’ something with me. And if ye find yerself in trouble ? Call me.”

And with that—he disappeared into the dark.

With shaky legs, you stood up and ran into your cousin’s room and let out a sigh of relief as you found his asleep in his bed. You stepped closer and held him in your arms. He woke up and blinked several times before looking up at you with curiosity.

“Y/N ? Why are you crying ?”

You didn’t answer. You just held him closer and kissed his forehead.

“Nothing, little one. Just…return to sleep. I will be bringing you to the train station tomorrow to return to your Ma and Pa, okay ?”

He frowned in confusion. “What ?! No ! But I just arrived ! I don’t wanna go !”

He then stood up and ran. You ran after him. “No ! Come back !”

He went into the kitchen and slipped on something warm and liquid. He lifted a trembling hand and stared at the red substance and his eyes glassed over.

“W-What ?”

Suddenly, he heard a low growl and slowly turned around to find your father standing there. You stopped dead in your tracks and as your father lunged at the boy, you had no other choice but to grab your father’s pistol and shoot your own father in the head. Your little cousin was frozen in shock and fear and you quickly grabbed him before running outside to the shelter. You held the child against your bosom all night as you heard your own father growl and call for you outside. But you knew. This wasn’t your father anymore. He clawed and roared as you started praying and rocking your cousin back and forth to soothe him as he burst into tears.

The sun barely broke through the clouds the next morning, casting a dim, pale light over the village that your father started screeching in pain. You took a look outside and saw him burst into flames. He tried to get back in the house, but wasn’t fast enough. He dropped to the ground in a pile of rotten flesh and bones. You stayed immobile for a moment before slowly and carefully stepping out. You then gestured for your cousin to follow. He took your hand and once you were sure that danger had passed, you ran to the car and drove away.

You stopped at the train station and took two tickets. You gave one to your little cousin and he quickly got onboard…but you hesitated. You hadn’t buried your father, and who would protect the village once that your father was gone ? Your little cousin begged you to stay with him, but you only kissed his forehead and promised you would take the next one. The train left and you took a few steps back from the window. You followed the train with your eyes until it was out of sight and returned home.

…

The scent of damp earth filled the air as you stood alone, the weight of the shovel in your hand a stark reminder of the hollow emptiness that now defined your life.

Your father’s body lay beneath the earth, buried with the dignity he had deserved. But the ground felt so much heavier than it had the night before. You could still hear the faint echo of your father’s voice, feel his arms around you, the comfort of home—now shattered beyond repair.

But as you buried him, the village began to notice the emptiness of the houses nearby. The once-lively homes that had welcomed the travelers—now cold and silent. A dark curiosity swept through the air, a sick sense of unease that soon turned to whispers. It didn’t take long for those whispers to swell into something darker.

They came for you, as expected.

Whispers of witches and curses circled the village like a ravenous flock. Those who had once welcomed you with smiles now looked upon you with suspicion, their eyes narrowed, as if the very air you breathed was tainted. A man from the town square approached, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Demon’s daughter,” he muttered under his breath. “Witch…”

The rumors spread quickly. It wasn’t long before you heard them say you had brought this horror upon them, that your strange songs and otherworldly visitors were the cause of the deaths. They even claimed you had some unholy connection to the darkness that had claimed the others.

You tried to explain—tried to tell them that it wasn’t you, that it was him. But they didn’t believe you. To them, your grief, your silence, your sorrow—it all seemed like a cover. They looked at you like you had something to hide, like your very existence was cursed.

A few of the braver villagers called for you to be driven out. Others, more cautious, said you should be locked away. The older women whispered in hushed tones about curses passed down through bloodlines.

And through it all, you heard nothing but the distant, haunting echo of Remmick’s words:

“I never leave without takin’ something with me.”

And as much as you wanted to scream, to deny it, a part of you knew. You weren’t just a survivor. You were a target. Your father was dead and no doubt he had been meant to survive and join his legion of doom. But you had killed him…Remmick would come back to collect his due.

You were alone in the world now. Even your own people had turned against you.

The village had descended into madness. Your name, once uttered with kindness, had become a curse on their lips. You no longer had any allies—just a sea of fearful faces staring at you from every corner. Every day had been a battle to keep the worst of it at bay. But tonight…tonight it seemed as if the shadows had finally caught up with you.

The air outside was thick with the weight of impending violence, and you could feel it. It had started with murmurs at the market, then stares of contempt as you walked past the villagers. Now, as the moon rose high in the sky, the line between the world you knew and the nightmare you had tried to escape had blurred completely.

The door to your house—once a place of warmth—was torn open, splintering as angry hands and vengeful fists battered it down. Your heart raced as you stumbled backward, desperate, trembling. They were coming for you. The weight of their fear, their hatred, the burning need for retribution pressed in from all sides.

With nowhere else to turn, panic rose in your chest, squeezing the breath from your lungs. You ran to the small room that had once been a place of comfort. The walls felt like they were closing in, suffocating you. You were cornered. There was no escape.

And then, through the fog of terror, one name surged: Remmick. You didn’t think. You didn’t question. You just needed to survive.

You sank to your knees, the cold stone of the floor pressing into your palms as you whispered the words that had haunted you for so long—words of desperation, words you never thought you would say.

“Remmick…please…help me.”

A chill filled the air, so intense that it felt as though the very bones of your house had frozen over. The shadows in the room deepened, stretching unnaturally as the sound of the world outside—the pounding at the door, the shouts of the villagers—faded into a muted silence.

And then, with a slow, deliberate step, he appeared.

Remmick.

His presence flooded the room like a storm as he strutted in with a happy grin. His red eyes glowed in the darkness, his smile stretched wide across his face, sharp and knowing.

“Well, dolly…” His voice was a low, dark purr, full of amusement. “Seems ye’ve finally decided to call me.”

His eyes flicked toward the door, which rattled under the force of the villagers’ assault, then back to you.

“They’ll be at yer door any minute now… Would ye like me to let them in first, or shall I deal with ‘em right away ?”

A cold shiver ran down your spine as you looked at him. Your heart ached—not just from fear, but from the twisted mix of relief and terror that filled you. You had no choice. You had summoned him.

“Please…just stop them,” you whispered, barely able to breathe, still kneeling before him.

Remmick chuckled, the sound like the crackling of fire, dark and dangerous. “Stop them ? Oh, me dolly…” He crouched down to your level, his fingers brushing against your cheek with unsettling tenderness. “You called me, didn’t ye ? And I’m always here when someone needs me. Don’t ye worry. Nothin’ will happen to yer pretty face.”

He stood, moving to the door. With a flick of his wrist, the wood splintered. The villagers froze, their eyes wide with terror as they looked into the room.

“Now,” Remmick said with a grin, “Who dares to harm me sweet lil’ doll ?”

The room darkened further as he stepped into the doorway, his presence swallowing up the light. A low, guttural growl escaped him, vibrating the very air. The villagers stammered, fear clawing at their throats.

“W-Who…are you ?” one of them stuttered, backing away.

Remmick laughed darkly, his voice dripping with venom. “I’m the one who’ll be leaving with what’s mine…and trust me, nothing is more mine than this one right there.” He pointed a finger at you.

A wave of energy rippled outward from him, and you felt it wash over you—cold, powerful, as though his very presence was reshaping the room, reshaping the world. The villagers were frozen, paralyzed by fear, unable to move.

“Now,” Remmick said, his tone suddenly cold but his smile was still on his face, “Who’s gonna be first ? And please. Make it interestin’.”

The villagers stood frozen, terror paralyzing them as Remmick’s grin spread wider. The air was thick with the stench of fear, the kind that clung to the skin and made the heart race with helplessness. But a few of them, their desperation pushing them beyond reason, tried to fight. They lunged forward, weapons in hand—wooden clubs, pitchforks, anything they could grab in their panic.

One man, his face twisted with rage, swung a rusty iron rod at Remmick’s head. But the moment the rod touched the air near him, it was as if the world itself slowed down. Remmick didn’t even flinch. His eyes, glowing bright like two burning embers in the night, never left the man.

“Is that all ye’ve got, lad ?” Remmick purred, his voice dripping with amusement. Before the man could take another swing, Remmick moved, faster than a blink. With a sharp crack, he twisted the man’s arm, pulling him in close until their faces were mere inches apart. The man’s breath hitched in terror, and the scent of his sweat and panic flooded the room.

“Ye should’ve stayed away, boy,” Remmick whispered, his voice sweet like poison. His smile widened even further, his teeth glinting in the dim light. Then, with a swift motion, he wrenched the man’s arm completely from its socket, the sound of bone snapping echoing through the air like thunder.

The man screamed, a blood-curdling shriek that sent a jolt through the others, but Remmick didn’t let him suffer long. With a cruel laugh, he plunged his other hand deep into the man’s chest, tearing through skin, flesh, and bone as though it were paper. The villagers watched in stunned silence, unable to comprehend the brutality of it. The man’s blood sprayed out, staining the floor and walls as Remmick threw his lifeless body aside like a ragdoll. The body hit the ground with a sickening thud, blood pooling around it.

“Who’s next ?” Remmick’s voice was low, dark, and thick with pleasure, like a predator toying with its prey. He wiped his hand on the man’s clothing, dragging the blood over his fingers with a languid motion. “Come on then, let’s see who’s brave enough to join him.”

The villagers recoiled, their faces a mixture of disbelief, horror, and abject terror. But one woman, a brave fool, stepped forward. Her hands trembled, her voice cracked as she shouted, “Die ! Demon !”

Remmick turned his gaze toward her, his eyes gleaming. “Is that so ?”

Before she could even react, he was upon her.

With a flick of his wrist, he grabbed her by the throat, lifting her off the ground with one hand. She kicked and struggled, her legs flailing uselessly as she gasped for air, but it was no use. His grip was unyielding, cold as ice, and she couldn’t escape.

The other villagers screamed in terror, trying to run, but they were trapped. The door had been shattered, and the windows were too far away to escape through. It was too late.

Remmick slowly squeezed the woman’s throat, his grin widening with sadistic glee. Her eyes bulged, desperate for air, and her hands clawed at his wrist, but he didn’t let go. His eyes never left hers, savoring every moment of her struggle. With one final, brutal motion, he snapped her neck, the sickening crack of bone filling the room. Her body went limp, and he let her fall, her blood splattering on the floor with a wet thud.

“Not much of a challenge, were they ?” Remmick chuckled darkly, before licking and drinking from the blood that had escaped from the broken woman’s neck on his arm. He then took a slow, deliberate step forward, eyes never leaving the remaining villagers. The fear in their eyes was palpable, suffocating, and he reveled in it.

One by one, they tried to flee, but Remmick was faster, always faster. A man attempted to run for the door, but Remmick grabbed him by the back of the neck, lifting him off the ground and slamming him into the wall with bone-crushing force. The man’s spine cracked, his body going limp as he slid to the floor, a pool of blood quickly spreading around him. Once he was dead, Remmick drank straight from his shattered neck.

Another villager tried to tackle him, but Remmick effortlessly sidestepped the attack, kicking the man in the chest so hard that the air whooshed out of his lungs. The man crumpled to the ground, gasping, unable to breathe as Remmick loomed over him.

“Is this all ye’ve got, then ? A few desperate fools ?” Remmick purred, clearly enjoying the terror in their eyes. “Pathetic.”

The remaining villagers were paralyzed with fear, unable to make a sound. They had seen what he could do, and there was nothing left for them but to wait for their inevitable end.

“Now,” Remmick said, his tone casual as he wiped his hands on his bloody clothes. “Ye’ve all had a front-row seat. Time to meet yer maker.”

Without warning, he moved again, faster than the eye could follow. His hands flashed out, and the final villagers were torn apart in a flurry of blood and gore, their bodies falling to the floor in lifeless heaps.

…

The room was silent now, save for the heavy, uneven breathing of the demon. The stench of blood and death hung thick in the air, and the once-strong walls now felt like a tomb, closing in with the weight of what had just transpired.

Remmick turned to you, his red eyes gleaming in the dark. His smile was wide, almost too wide, as if the act of violence had only made him hungrier.

“Well,” he finally said, his voice filled with satisfaction, “That was fun, wasn’t it ?”

You could barely move, the shock of the scene still coursing through your veins. Your body trembled, but you weren’t sure if it was from fear or something else—something darker that you didn’t want to acknowledge.

You stood, staring at Remmick, your body trembling, heart still racing.

“You saved me,” you whispered, the words barely leaving your mouth.

Remmick chuckled.

“I always keep my promises, dolly,” he said softly, his voice smooth as velvet, but laced with something darker. “But remember…” He leaned in close, his breath warm on your skin, “I always get meself somethin’ fer everythin’ I do. And the cost fer yer life will be mighty expensive.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

His eyes lit up in the dark.

“Now, c’mere.” He swept you up in one smooth motion, arms like iron under your back and knees, and before you could even gasp, you felt the world tilt beneath you. His grin was wide, predatory—and for a breathless moment you wondered if you’d fallen into some nightmare you couldn’t wake from.

“Let’s fly, lassie,” he murmured, voice low and daydream-soft, though every word tasted like brimstone.

You felt the cool night air rush in as he burst through the window and out into the courtyard. One powerful leap, and the ground fell away beneath you both. Your heart slammed against your ribs as the wind tore at your hair and clothes; moonlight skittered across Remmick’s twisted smile, his eyes shining like polished amber.

Below, the village was a scattering of torches and panicked figures—tiny, scrambling things you could barely make out. Their screams rose to you in a distant chorus, but the air around you was so thin, so cold, that it almost felt peaceful.

Remmick’s grip never wavered. You pressed yourself against him, trying to anchor yourself to something real. Was he though ? You weren’t sure anymore…

Higher and higher you flew, the thatch-roofed houses shrinking, the forests beyond the fields dark and endless. He flew with a grace that mocked gravity itself, as though the stars were his to command. Every so often he glanced back at you, that same chilling smirk on his lips.

“Quite the view, innit lassie ?” he asked with a smirk on his face that made you want to fall and hopefully—the fall would be lethal. Yet even as your mind screamed to fight, a strange awe filled your chest: this creature had saved you and now carried you beyond the only home you’d ever known.

Soon, you reached a clearing, and what you saw made your breath catch in your throat. A ring of carriages stood like silent sentinels around a roaring bonfire that reached toward the sky, flickering with eerie red and gold flames. Figures danced in the firelight—figures who moved with an unsettling grace, their eyes glowing with hunger, their movements fluid and predatory. Vampires.

They twirled and spun in the heat of the blaze, their laughter high-pitched, echoing through the woods like the sound of birds in an endless night. The fire crackled and popped, sending embers spiraling into the dark sky, where the moon was nothing but a distant, cold witness to this dance of the damned.

Remmick led you into the center, where the vampires paused their dancing and turned their predatory eyes on you. Their gazes flickered between curiosity and hunger, but Remmick raised his hand, his grin wide and confident.

“Lads and lasses,” he called, his voice booming in the night, “this here’s our newest lil’ treasure. Meet her properly, eh ?”

A low murmur spread through the group, and several of them stepped closer, their eyes scanning you with hunger and amusement. They weren’t human, not by a long shot. But they looked…beautiful, in an eerie, dangerous way. Their skin shimmered under the firelight, and their lips curled into smiles that promised either death or delight—depending on their whims.

You felt a cold shiver run down your spine as their gazes focused on you, but Remmick’s hand was still firm on yours. You didn’t know what this place was, or what they expected of you, but you felt an undeniable pull to the night, to the fire, to Remmick. He chuckled and rested both hands on your shoulders and nuzzled the back of your ear playfully.

“Aww…see ? Ye already adopted. I was sure they’d love ye,” he whispered with that same wicked grin. “Welcome to yer new home, me pet.”

You closed your eyes as one of his hands wrapped itself around your throat from behind and you felt his already long fingers stretch into sharp claws.

…Christ. What had you done ?

[bbhyeoliskooks]

"i'm not jealous!" | bsf!beomgyu

✩ genre: lots of fluff, f2l, mutual pining, musician gyu

✩ warnings: swear words, jealousy

Beomgyu had always loved you. It was quite obvious to everyone that saw the two of you, but somehow your eyes were always clouded to his true feelings. At first he became friends with you to see if he stood any chance- kind of shitty of him to be honest and he knew that- but now, your friendship bloomed into something deeper, a bond that people could only wish they had.

Whenever someone came up to you and Beomgyu, asking if you made it official since the last time they saw you, you would always wave your arms around and shake your head quickly to ward off the idea that you were more than friends. Beomgyu always wanted to say yes; after all, if people saw you two as a couple, then why couldn't you be? He guessed the biggest thing in the way was that you saw him as a best friend only, maybe even as a brother, and the thought hurt him more than anything.

Now you were sitting besides Beomgyu in his studio, as he listened over and over to the new track he made. Both him and Yeonjun were playing with different instruments, the versatile range going from a piccolo to an electric drum kit. They had been at this for hours and you were feeling left out as the friend date went from hanging out to messing around the studio. You could probably contribute more ideas, but sleep was already heavy on your eyelids. You looked blearily at them, clearing your throat in annoyance when their laughs broke the sound barrier yet again that night.

"Guys, I think I might head home. I'm a little tired, and I don't think I'm really necessary for this?" The last sentence might've sounded a little passive aggressive, but you knew they wouldn't take it that way. It was the truth after all: you were too tired and couldn't help much.

You failed to catch the disappointment on Beomgyu's falling face as he turned around to look at you.

"But Y/NNNN," he whined, "we'll be done soon! It'll just take 5 minutes. Plus, I-uh we need you." I need you, he thought silently, almost blurting the wrong words out. The frown on his face was big as he accentuated it to gain pity points. You rolled your eyes, smiling at both his playfulness and how badly he wanted you there.

Yeonjun sat up from his chair and glanced at you as he shuffled his weight to the right side.

"Sorry, Y/N. We got a good idea for a song and can't walk you out now" he paused for a second to look at the glistening watch on his wrist, "but if you want, I could grab you some coffee? That'll keep you up for longer probably."

Yeonjun's kindness and the thought of coffee made you smile. Coffee sounded glorious at that very moment and Yeonjun was an angel for coming up with that idea so quickly. If not, you would definitely fall asleep on the firm and uncomfortable couch you were sitting on.

"Okay, thanks! Just grab my usual, okay?"

He smiled at you, a glint of mischief in his eyes, "of course!" Beomgyu watched the two of you quietly, his eyes glancing between your face and Yeonjun's for a hint of romance or perhaps hopefully that nothing was there at all. Nothing was there, right? He felt sick to his stomach as he heard you humming happily from the grey couch.

The room, now enveloped in thickened silence, surprised you. At this time, Beomgyu would be yapping your ear off about some of the instruments he found in the studio. Now that he was silent, the atmosphere felt incredibly awkward. You stopped humming and looked up to see Beomgyu with a clenched jaw looking down at the floor.

"Gyu," you whispered, deciding to take Yeonjun's seat in lieu of the boy who was grabbing your coffee, "what's wrong? You're never this silent." You smoothed out your bottoms, hoping you'd feel more comfortable. It just didn't feel right that Beomgyu wasn't initiating the conversation.

His face was still unreadable as he looked at the floor, counting the tiles, "he knows your usual? I thought I only knew your usual." His tone of his voice was rough and ragged, a feeling that you couldn't put your finger on. You were more confused than anything.

"It's just coffee, Gyu?" you questioned, tone becoming a bit defensive, "you know lots of things about me that he doesn't know about, if you're worried." In your opinion, it was a silly thing to worry about. Unfortunately for your heart, Beomgyu was your best friend. Since he only saw you platonically, the two of you were great friends. Yeonjun was just a close friend and besides, you and Beomgyu were closer. Why he was upset about this- it didn't make sense.

He gasped exasperatedly, now looking at you. You could see fire behind his eyes as he pursed his lips, "But coffee is a big deal! You don't understand, Y/N."

"... I clearly don't. Why is it a big deal?" You questioned again, but he didn't answer. Well, he didn't want to answer.

You tried again, prodding into him, but he was as closed off as ever. "What is this about?"

Then an idea flew into your head. No way... it couldn't be, but... it was right there all along. You started to laugh to yourself to which Beomgyu cocked his head at. You probably looked insane.

"Don't tell me..." you giggled, feeling giddy, "are you jealous, Gyu?" An inkling of hope ignited in your heart, hoping, praying that maybe he saw you in a different light now.

Beomgyu became defensive, furrowing his eyebrows and pouting. "I'm not jealous!" His voice turned quiet this time, as if he was whispering to the side. "Why would I be jealous?"

You grinned, motioning him to continue his thought process. "I don't know! You tell me!"

Beomgyu sighed, no longer able to fight the battle in his head of whether he should tell you or not. His deep brown eyes, now desperate and searching for yours, told you everything that you needed to know, alongside his faltering, weak voice.

"Because I only want you. Only you. Why can't you see that? I've always wanted you, but you never saw it."

You smiled, feeling adrenaline and excitement rush to your heart. You gently cupped Beomgyu's face in an attempt to bring him closer, his eyes widening as he tried to comprehend what was happening...

That night Beomgyu ended up with way too many kisses that made him super smitten. Yeonjun was incredibly confused when he came back to the studio, seeing Beomgyu in a heap of smiles and imaginary hearts floating beside him, alongside you who kept giggling every couple of seconds seeing your now boyfriend in such weak behavior.

Yes, Beomgyu has always wanted you. But now, he's got you and there was no need for him to be jealous anymore, knowing that you loved him too.

released: August 17, 2024 (12:20am CT)

thoughts: it's been 28 days since i've posted so i decided to hustle and work on anything that came to mind. the ending is abrupt, so i apologizeeee, this was super sweet though, i was kicking my feet while writing teehee

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