#it looks dark and twisted and moody

[darkpsychprincess]

I was made of soft things that tore too easily — lace, longing, and a little too much hope.

They called me dramatic. I called it surviving with style.

I didn’t want to be saved. I wanted to be understood — in the dim light of my worst thoughts, in the velvet quiet between heartbeats.

Yes, I wear my wounds like perfume.

Yes, I laugh with mascara tears down my cheekbones.

Tell me I’m too much — I’ve heard it before.

But darling, I was never meant to be palatable.

I was meant to haunt.

by darkpsychprincess

[nilla03]

𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑵𝑬𝑬𝑫 𝑨 𝑴𝑨𝑵 𝑻𝑯𝑨𝑻𝑺 𝑮𝑶𝑵' 𝑪𝑶𝑴𝑬 𝑶𝑽𝑬𝑹 𝑵 𝑫𝑰𝑮 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑶𝑼𝑻! 𝐹𝑇：𝑹𝑶𝑶𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑬 𝑴𝑬𝑮𝑼𝑴𝑰 ꨄ

“𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙛𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙 𝙫𝙤𝙪𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙙 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙈𝙚𝙜𝙪𝙢𝙞, 𝙨𝙖𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 “𝙦𝙪𝙞𝙚𝙩” 𝙖𝙣𝙙 “𝙠𝙚𝙥𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙝𝙞𝙢𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛,” 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙛𝙞𝙜𝙪𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙩 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙𝙣’𝙩 𝙗𝙚 𝙨𝙤 𝙗𝙖𝙙....𝙒𝙚𝙡𝙡 𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙙“

You knew getting a roommate was a bad idea, but you were desperate. Rent was getting ridiculous, and when your friend vouched for Megumi, saying he was “quiet” and “kept to himself,” you figured it wouldn’t be so bad.

Well They lied.

Megumi was the worst kind of roommate—moody, unbothered, and always bringing random girls over. If he was actually quiet, maybe you could’ve tolerated it, but no. The problem wasn’t him. It was them.

Every few nights, you’d wake up to muffled moans and the sound of your headboard rattling against the shared wall. And maybe, maybe, if you weren’t such a light sleeper, it wouldn’t be so unbearable. But you were, and it was.

Tonight was no different. You groaned, burying your face in your pillow as the giggling and breathy whining seeped through the walls.

“Oh my god, Megumi, right there!—”

You threw your blanket off and stormed out of your room, not caring that you were in an oversized sleep shirt with little lace panties underneath.

Your fist pounded against his door. “MEGUMI”

No response.

The girl was still giggling.

You banged again, harder

The door swung open, and there he was, shirtless, sweat-slicked, and pissed. “The fuck do you want?” His voice was low, still a little breathy.

You swallowed, throat tightening. You hated how good he looked like this—messy dark hair sticking up in different directions, his lean frame flexing as he wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You’re so fucking inconsiderate,” you spat, crossing your arms over your chest. “Some of us actually need to sleep, but no, every other night I have to deal with your little conquests keeping me up.”

Megumi’s jaw twitched. He exhaled sharply, glancing over his shoulder.

“Get out.” His voice was sharp, you blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Not you,” he sighed, turning back to the girl. “You.”

The girl made a noise of protest, but he was already pulling on his sweats, tossing her clothes toward her. She huffed but obeyed, sending you an annoyed glare as she shuffled past.

Megumi shut the door behind her and leaned against it, arms crossed, studying you. His gaze dipped down to your bare thighs, the hem of your shirt barely covering you.

“Happy now?” His tone was flat.

You rolled your eyes, huffing as you spun on your heel and stomped back to your room. “Whatever,” you muttered, slamming the door behind you.

Even with the apartment quiet and your bedroom was remotely comfy, feeling at ease your body refused to let you rest.

You twisted in your sheets, staring at the ceiling. So annoying. The way his voice rasped from behind that stupid door, the way his fingers dragged through his damp hair, the way his eyes lingered when he looked at you.

Twenty minutes passed. Then thirty.

Your body was not calming down, letting out a frustrated groan, throwing the blankets off you.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you were on your feet, marching right back to his door.

You knocked—once, twice.

The door cracked open almost immediately, as if he had been expecting it. Megumi leaned against the frame, one brow raised, messy hair still sticking up in all directions. His sweats hung dangerously low on his hips now, exposing the deep V of his stomach.

“What?” His tone was lazy, almost amused.

You stood there for a second, heart pounding. Then, before you could hesitate, you grabbed the collar of his shirt, yanked him down, and kissed him.

Megumi grunted against your lips, surprised—but only for a second. Because then he was moving, grabbing your waist, pulling you flush against him as he backed you into his room.

“You’re so annoying,” you breathed between kisses.

He smirked against your mouth. “Just shut the fuck up” His fingers snapped the waistband of your panties against your hip, making you jolt.

“Why’d you come back, huh?” Megumi taunted, dragging his lips along your jaw “small part of you wanted what you rudely interpreted hm?”

“I did not!-“ you started, but then his knee pressed between your legs, making you gasp. He huffed a laugh, grabbing your chin, forcing you to look at him. “You’re such a fucking liar.”

His fingers trailed down your thigh, slipping between your legs, brushing over the damp lace. His smirk widened.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “That’s what I thought.”

You whined, grabbing at his wrists, but he just pressed in deeper, teasing you through the fabric until your thighs started to shake.

“What happened to all that attitude?” Megumi’s lips were at your ear now, voice like smoke. “You were just bitching at me. Now look at you.” He pushed your panties aside, sliding two fingers between your folds, and you gasped, clutching at his shoulders.

Megumi groaned, head tilting as he watched you squirm. “Fuck,” he muttered. “You’re soaked.”

But then he curled his fingers, dragging them along that sweet spot inside you, couldn’t do much but just look at his face full of concentration

You whimpered, clutching at him harder, but he wasn’t letting up. His fingers were slow, deliberate, teasing you until your legs were weak. “M-Megumi,” you choked, biting your lip.

He kissed the corner of your mouth. “Yeah?” You swallowed, panting against him. “I h-hate you.”He grinned. “Then why are you holding onto me like that?”

Before you could snap at him, he pulled his fingers out, making you whine in protest.

His hands were rough when they grabbed your waist, spinning you effortlessly and pressing your front against the cold wood of his dresser. The sharp edge dug into your stomach, but it only made the heat curling inside you burn hotter.

Megumi’s hands were greedy, yanking your tiny sleep shirt up over your hips, exposing your lace panties to the cool air of his room. He hummed, dragging his fingers along the curve of your ass before giving it a sharp slap, making you jolt forward with a yelp.

“I should’ve done this so much sooner,” he muttered, half to himself, unfiltered and low.

You heard the soft rustle of fabric as he shoved his sweats down, the quiet hitch of his breath as he wrapped a hand around himself, dragging his cock along your barely-covered folds. You gasped, hips twitching as he rubbed against you, slow and teasing, spreading your wetness along his length.

“Fuck,” he murmured, pressing his weight into you, keeping you still.

You swallowed hard, hands gripping the edge of the dresser, trying to ignore the way your thighs trembled.

He smirked, sliding a hand up your spine, pushing you down just a little more, making you arch your back, pressing your ass right against him.

The tip of his cock brushed your clit, you swear you were leaving claw marks against the dark wood of his dresser he was being more than mean.

Megumi huffed a quiet laugh. “So needy,” he murmured, dragging himself along your folds again, slow and deliberate. He pressed against your entrance of your cunt but didn’t push in, making you whine.

“M-Megumi,” you gasped, rocking your hips back against him. He groaned, gripping your waist tighter, fingers digging into your skin.

“Be loud,” he whispered “I wanna keep you up for once.” his moved the hem of his shirt up to lips keeping it between his teeth before lightly stroking himself. Lining him up perfectly with your pretty cunt “gonna be a big stretch baby” he sighs out before pushing in completely

Your mouth fell open, a broken moan spilling out as he stretched you, inch by inch. Megumi groaned behind you, one hand sliding up your back, gripping the nape of your neck, holding you still as he pressed deeper.

“Fuck,” he hissed, voice tight. “So fucking tight—”

You gasped, shuddering beneath him, your fingers gripping the dresser so hard your knuckles turned white. He was big, filling you inch by inch, splitting you apart at an achingly slow pace.

“Oh! Wait-,” you could feel the tears falling down your face, legs trembling.

He exhaled sharply, pulling out just a little before pushing back in, making you arch your back. “What? Baby tell me?”

You swallowed, cheeks burning. “M-more.” Megumi groaned, his hand gripping your nape tighter. “Fuck—yeah?”

You nodded desperately, pushing back against his dick , chasing the stretch, the feeling of him being all over you. He huffed a quiet laugh, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Greedy,” he murmured.

Then he snapped his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt, pulling a sharp, gasping moan from your throat.

You felt him, every thick inch dragging against your walls, stretching you so good it bordered on unbearable.

“Fuck,” he rasped, watching the way your body molded to his touch. “You take me so fucking well.”

You whimpered, thighs shaking as he kept that torturously slow pace, each deep roll of his hips making your stomach tighten, your breath stutter.

“Megumi!” you gasped, pressing your forehead against the wood.

His fingers curled around the back of your neck, tugging you upright until your back was flush against his chest. The heat of him, the sweat on his skin, the way his breath fanned against your ear—it was too much.

“You feel that?” he murmured, voice rough. He rolled his hips again, deeper this time, pressing a hand against your lower stomach. “Feel me right here?”

Your eyes fluttered shut, a whimper slipping past your lips as he ground against that spot inside you, the pressure of his palm making the sensation even worse.

He chuckled, dark and smug. “Yeah, you do.”

His free hand slid between your legs, fingers finding your clit and rubbing slow, lazy circles. You choked on a moan, thighs squeezing together, but Megumi clicked his tongue, using his own legs to spread yours apart again.

“Don’t run from it,” he murmured, his other arm locking around your waist. “You wanted more, didn’t you?” Megumi’s teeth scraped along your jaw, his fingers pressing a little harder, hips thrusting a little faster. “Then take it.” And then he slammed into you, setting a brutal pace, fucking you into the dresser so hard the wood creaked.

Megumi groaned, gripping your waist with both hands now, using you as leverage as he pounded into you, like he had been waiting to fuck you stupid for weeks.

“That’s it,” he gritted out. “Be loud for me, princess.”

You couldn’t help it—even if you wanted to, even if you were trying to bite back your moans, he was fucking you too deep, too perfect, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you over and over, dragging sounds from you you’d never let anyone else hear- let alone thought you could make any of these noises

His breath was hot against your ear, voice strained. “You gonna cum for me?”You whimpered, nodding desperately.

Megumi groaned, fingers tightening on your hips. “Then do it,” he muttered. “Cum all over me—”

And then his hand was back between your legs, fingers pressing against your clit just right, rubbing fast, merciless.

You screamed, body going tight, legs shaking as the orgasm crashed into you, rolling through you in waves so intense you swore you saw white.

“fuck..fu-“ you were sobbing uncontrollably

“Fuck—gonna cum—” he groaned, gripping your waist, slamming into you one last time before spilling deep inside you with a low, wrecked moan.

Finally, Megumi sighed, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder before pulling out, watching his cum slowly drip down your thighs. He groaned, swiping a thumb along the mess before bringing it to your lips.

“Open,” he muttered.

You rolled your eyes but obeyed, letting him press his thumb past your lips, sucking lightly just to spite him.

Megumi huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “So fucking annoying,”

[tqlepatia]

NOT A LOT, JUST FOREVER

- ❝ tw : Infant death, grief, abandonment themes, Injuryh❞

And your dearest fantasy, Is to grow a baby in me I could be a good mother

You remember the warmth of those early days like it was yesterday. The quiet hum of your little apartment in Zaun, the way Sevika's laughter used to fill every corner, rough but genuine. You and her weren't rich, but damn, happy as fuck. Sunday mornings were your favourite - her arms wrapped tight around you, calloused fingers tracing gentle patterns along my skin as sunlight crept through the cracks in the window.

“You know I love you, right, baby?” she’d whisper for you, voice thick with sleep.

“I know,” you would smile, pressing a kiss to her jaw. “I love you too.”

It was simple then. You two cooked together, danced clumsily in the living room to crackling music, and built a life out of love and promises. When you told her that you was pregnant, her eyes softened in a way I’d never seen before.

“We’re gonna do this, yeah?” she said, voice low but steady as she placed her hand over your belly. “I’ll take care of both of you.”

And for a while, she did. She was there for every appointment, every late-night craving, even when you got moody and impossible to deal with.

For the first six months, Sevika was the perfect partner - attentive, present, and fiercely protective. She'd read parenting books at night, muttering under her breath about "stupid baby advice" but taking it seriously nonetheless. Every kick from the baby brought a smile to her scarred face, and you believed nothing could ruin what you had.

But then everything changed.

Sevika began staying out later, consumed by work. She came home smelling of smoke, too tired to hold you or even ask how you were feeling. The warmth that once radiated between you faded into a cold distance. Nights were lonelier, the bed colder, and the silence louder.

At seven months pregnant, you told yourself it was just a rough patch. She’d come back to you, she always did.

But tonight was different.

A sharp pain twisted through your belly, making you gasp. You clutched the edge of the kitchen counter, trying to steady yourself. Panic surged through your veins. "Sevika..." you whispered, but the empty apartment echoed back. She wasn’t home. Again.

The ache in your chest was worse than the physical pain. Desperation drove you to grab your coat, ignoring the winter chill biting at your skin as you stepped into the dark streets of Zaun.

You knew where to find her.

The bar loomed ahead, its neon sign flickering like a tired heartbeat. Your breath came in ragged gasps as you pushed open the door, the smell of smoke and stale alcohol assaulting your senses.

And there she was, Sevika, sitting at the bar, nursing a drink, surrounded by rough-looking men. Her broad shoulders slumped, eyes shadowed by exhaustion.

"Sevika," you choked out, your voice trembling.

She turned, her eyes widening in shock. "Love? What the hell are you doin' here?"

Before you could answer, chaos erupted.

The door behind you burst open as masked figures stormed in, guns drawn and shouting orders. The patrons scattered, tables overturned, and glass shattered against the floor.

Sevika was on her feet instantly, her instincts kicking in as she drew a blade from her belt. "Get down!" she shouted, but you were frozen in place, your body refusing to move.

A flash of silver caught your eye.

Pain exploded through your belly as the blade pierced your skin. Time slowed. You looked down, disbelief washing over you as blood blossomed across your coat.

"No!" Sevika's roar was primal, filled with terror and rage. She fought her way to you, her fists a blur of violence, but it was too late.

You collapsed into her arms, the world tilting around you.

"Stay with me, baby," she pleaded, her voice cracking. "Don't you dare leave me, okay?."

Tears streamed down her face as she pressed her hands to the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. "You're gonna be okay. The baby's gonna be okay. Just... just hold on.. e-everything gonna be okay."

But you knew the truth.

She knew the truth.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Sevika shook her head with determination, her expression filled with concern. "No, please don’t say that. I promise you, everything is going to be just fine, and the little one will be safe too."

The encroaching darkness began to creep in at the edges of your vision, a slow descent into a tranquil void. The sharp pangs of pain that had gripped you moments earlier faded into a serene numbness, a gentle wave that washed over your body. This sensation wrapped around you like a velvety shroud, cocooning you in its soft embrace. As the world around you dimmed, you felt a profound sense of calm beginning to take root, shielding you from the chaos that had once consumed your thoughts.

“I love you,” you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper, each word quaking as it escaped your lips. Your heart raced, feeling the weight of the moment pressing around you like a warm embrace. You could feel the cool air brushing against your skin, contrasting the warmth flooding through you. Your lips trembled slightly, betraying the whirlwind of emotions swirling within—hope, fear, and an undeniable yearning. Each syllable hung in the air, charged with vulnerability, as you searched their eyes for a response, longing to see the reflection of your own feelings mirrored back.

The rain came down in relentless sheets, cold and unforgiving. Zaun's streets shimmered under the dull glow of flickering neon lights, but Sevika barely noticed. Her coat was soaked through, hair plastered to her face, but she kept walking, steps heavy with sorrow.

The cemetery loomed ahead, its iron gate creaking as she pushed it open. Gravel crunched beneath her boots, and the scent of damp earth filled the air. In her hand, a bouquet of wildflowers - your favorite, bright even in the gloom.

Her breath hitched when she reached the twin headstones, side by side like a cruel monument to everything she'd lost. Yours was simple but elegant, etched with your name and the soft promise of "Forever Loved." Beside it was a smaller stone, marked only by a single word: Hope. The name you had chosen for your baby before everything was torn away.

Sevika knelt, the cold seeping into her bones. The flowers trembled in her calloused hands before she gently laid them at the base of the graves.

"I brought these for you," she murmured, voice rough and thick with grief. "I know they’re not much, but... I remember you said they made you happy."

Her fingers brushed against the damp stone, tracing your name as if trying to hold onto some part of you that was still here. The rain mixed with the tears she didn’t bother to hide.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words cracking under the weight of guilt. “For not being there... for failing you both. I should've protected you. I should've—” Her voice broke, a sob tearing through her chest.

The storm raged on, but Sevika stayed, anchored by the memories that haunted her every step. She saw flashes of your smile, the way your eyes lit up when you teased her, the gentle warmth of your hand on her cheek. And then the image of that night, the blood, your fading breath, the life that slipped away before she could save it.

"I miss you, princess," she choked out, her shoulders shaking. "I miss you both."

The rain washed over her, but it couldn't cleanse the ache buried deep in her chest. Still, as she knelt there, drenched and broken, Sevika made a silent vow: to carry your love, your memory, through every storm.

She pressed a trembling kiss to her fingertips and touched the stone once more. “I love you. Always.”

The wildflowers swayed gently in the wind, defiant against the rain, a fragile reminder that love, even in grief, never truly dies.

Sevika's steps were heavy as she made her way home, the storm still lingering in the dark skies above Zaun. Her coat clung to her drenched frame, boots scuffing against the slick pavement. The rain had soaked through to her bones, but she welcomed the cold, and dulled the ache that never left her chest.

The apartment was quiet when she pushed the door open, silence wrapping around her like a familiar specter. The faint scent of you still lingered in the walls, a cruel reminder of the life you had built together. Sevika stood in the dim entryway, her breath unsteady as water pooled at her feet.

Her hand slipped into her coat pocket, fingers brushing against something soft and worn. Slowly, she pulled it out, a creased photograph, edges frayed from being handled too many times. The image was blurred slightly from the rain, but your radiant smile was unmistakable.

In the picture, you stood with a hand resting tenderly on your swollen belly, the other holding up the ultrasound pictures with pride. Your eyes sparkled with joy, the same joy Sevika had worked so hard to give you. She remembered that day vividly, how she had swallowed her pride and taken on grueling, endless shifts to afford the best hospital in Piltover. She wanted nothing but the best for you and the baby, even if it meant sacrificing sleep and her own well-being.

Her thumb brushed over your face, lingering on the smile that had always felt like home. "I tried, bunny," she whispered hoarsely, voice trembling. "I tried so damn hard for you both."

Her knees weakened, and she sank onto the couch, the photo clutched tightly in her hand. The weight of her guilt pressed down on her chest, but there was something else to, love, fierce and unyielding, a thread that connected her to you even now.

Sevika leaned back, the photograph resting against her heart. The rain continued to beat against the windows, but inside, a fragile warmth flickered amidst the grief. She would carry that picture and the memory of your joy with her always, a testament to the love you had shared and the family you had dreamed of.

And though the world had taken you from her, it could never take that love away.

[mashtatosworld]

7 years

summary: G-Dad pays you a visit

The Good Day crew arrives at Jiyong’s penthouse early in the morning. It’s dreary outside, the Seoul skyline misty and grey, but inside the home, it's warm, lived-in, and quiet - except for the soft sound of tiny feet padding across the hardwood floor.

Jiyong opens the door, standing there with a small face peeking out from around his legs.

The little diva had a curious nature and would open the door herself if she could, stressing her father out to no end. The house was like an escape room with how much it was baby-proofed.

He sighs and picks her up before she can run out the door from behind him.

Her dark hair is messy from sleep, her cheeks puffy and she clutched a little dragon jellycat in her hand.

Jiyong was in no better state for public viewing.

His teal hair is flattened on one side, completely wild on the other. His Prada pyjamas are wrinkled, matching the ones his mini-me wore. He’s also barefoot, looking one step away from crawling back into bed.

He stares at the cameras for a long second. Then sighs.

“I forgot I agreed to this,” he mutters, voice deep from sleep.

One of the producers had thought it would be a good idea to show the audience a snippet of Jiyong's everyday life now that he had settled into his family bubble.

Diva slowly lifted her head. She blinks, looking at the camera but when she's given a wave by the operator, she immediately turns away, burying her face back into Jiyong’s neck.

He rubs her tiny back with a yawn.

“Yeah, let's hope today is a good day." he warns the camera crew.

You had recently began working on a comeback, which meant some mornings Diva was moody - because no one could make fluffy pancakes like you.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The next shot for the show cuts to the kitchen.

Jiyong is spreading jam on toast with one hand while balancing Diva on his hip.

She refuses to be put down.

“My princess,” he sighs, bouncing her slightly, trying to make her sit in her high chair. “How am I supposed to make breakfast if you won’t let me go?”

Diva simply tightens her grip on his shirt.

Jiyong gently pries her off, placing her in the chair.

He crouches in front of her, fixing the sleeves of her little pyjama set, making sure she’s comfortable.

“Okay, at least try to eat, hmm? Appa made this just for you.”

He places the carefully cut-out piece of toast on her plate.

Diva stares at it.

And then, wordlessly, pushes the plate away.

Jiyong sighs.

“…Seriously?”

Diva just blinks at him.

“Aish… you are so much like your Eomma,” he mutters, walking over to his own plate in an attempt to at least finish his breakfast.

But Diva holds her hand out for his toast instead. "Share."

Jiyong raises his brow.

“Oh, so mine is better?” he holds it out to her.

Diva takes the tiniest nibble.

And then nods, completely satisfied.

Jiyong stares at her. Then, with dramatic exasperation, swaps her heart-shaped toast for his own slice.

He looks directly into the camera. “I don’t run this house anymore.”

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Before leaving, Jiyong kneels down to put Diva’s tiny red designer shoes on. He’s so careful, adjusting the straps, making sure everything is comfortable.

She kicks her chubby legs, watching his fingers work.

“You’re warm enough, right?” he murmurs, adjusting her coat.

Diva nods.

Jiyong smooths down her hair, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She snuggles into his touch.

Before standing, he gently lifts her hands.

“Let me see your fingers.”

Diva blinks but holds them up. Jiyong examines them beneath his carefully.

“Okay, they’re warm,” he murmurs, satisfied. “If they get cold, you tell me, okay?”

The crew chuckles.

“It's not even winter yet.”

Jiyong gives them a flat look.

“And? She’s still my tiny baby.”

He had a habit for hovering over her as if she were made of glass.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Jiyong hums as his phone connects to the car’s Bluetooth.

His music starts playing - his music.

Diva, tucked into her car seat, twists slightly, reaching her chubby hand towards the front.

Jiyong glances at her through the rearview mirror.

“What?” he teases with a smile.

Diva wiggles her fingers.

She wants his phone.

Jiyong raises a brow.

“Yah, don’t tell me - you want to change the song?”

Diva nods.

"Come on, please? The camera people are here today. They love Appa's music. Power! Power, power!" He reaches back to playfully shake her leg.

But she only tilts her head slightly, looking at him expectantly. "Nose."

The two crew members with them laughed.

Jiyong sighs dramatically, feeling his cheeks heat up as he begrudgingly switches the song to Taeyang's 'Eyes, Nose, Lips."

He then stares into the camera in the passenger seat beside him.

“…She likes my music too.” he assured them with a tight smile as he started the car.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The moment they step inside the studio, everyone notices Diva first.

“Oh my god, look at her little coat!”

“She’s so stylish - just like her Appa!”

He had become used to everyone immediately cooing over Diva instead of greeting him. But how could he blame them? You two had made a little angel.

Diva, meanwhile, soaks in the attention, blinking up at everyone like a little princess as she stands by his side.

Then, finally, you appear - sweaty from practice, hair tied up messily. You smile at your visitors, hiding a laugh upon seeing what he had decided to style her in today.

“Why is she dressed like a French fashion editor?” you ask, crouching to adjust her tiny Chanel headscarf. Diva whines and you leave her be from fussing with a swift kiss, knowing her Appa did enough of that already.

Jiyong grins at you as you stand, holding up a lunchbox.

“Delivery for my hardworking wife.”

You raise a brow.

“You made this?”

Jiyong pauses.

“…I… bought this.”

Diva reaches for you immediately, pulling on your trousers. She's pointing at the lunch box.

"Share."

Jiyong huffs. It had been a mission to pry it out of her hands after she saw him pack a juice box in there.

You smile and sit with her on the floor, opening the lunch box as the dancers take a water break. Diva has her hand on your knee, watching with intrigue as you go through the contents making dramatically delighted expressions at each item you pulled out.

It was full of your favourite snacks and Jiyong joined you on the floor with a content smile, observing the scene. The camera lingered at the door, capturing the sweet moment from afar.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Later, after lunch, Diva starts dozing off in Jiyong’s arms.

He presses a soft kiss to her forehead, rocking her gently.

Her tiny hands clutch his jumper.

The camera focuses on the image - Jiyong, completely at peace, holding his daughter close.

His voice, softer than ever:

“I don’t know how I lived before her.”

Then, after a moment, he looks up at you.

Jiyong adds, “And you...Obviously.”

The camera zooms in on your unimpressed face.

The crew laughs.

Diva stirs slightly, yawning.

Jiyong leans in, murmuring, “Appa loves you.”

Diva, still drowsy, blinks at him sleepily.

And then rests her tiny hand on his cheek.

The episode ends with Jiyong smiling as his head rests atop hers, watching you begin your routine again.

Because nothing in the world matters more than this.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

a fluffy one cuz i felt bad after the angst i dropped in my last post!

and who doesn't love G-Dad?

also also, i called her Diva as a placeholder name because ... well she's a diva

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Cindereddie

Written for the @steddiebingo

Prompts: Slipper on the main card | Argyle on the Get Lucky bonus card

Rated: T

Tags: Post-Vecna; Steve Harrington has a crush on Eddie Munson; Recreational drug use; Jealous Steve; Idiots in love

“I lost my shoe,” Eddie declares, overjoyed and giddy. 

Sure enough, a look at his feet reveals one worn combat boot with the laces undone and one muddied sock with a toe poking out from a hole at the tip. There’s cartoon figures printed all over it. The sock, not the toe. Garfield, probaby, though it’s hard to tell with all the mud. 

“Huh?” says Steve. It’s pitch dark and raining, and he had just fallen asleep when the doorbell rang, and now Eddie is here - sopping wet, dragging a trail of muddy footsteps all over the front porch and aiming that wide, toothy grin at him that always makes Steve’s heart skip a beat. 

He feels like he missed something. 

Eddie’s smile, impossibly, goes wider. “I lost my-” 

“Yeah,” Steve interrupts him. “I see that, just- …What are you even doing here? I thought you were gonna hang with Argyle tonight?” 

He tries his best to keep the sneer out of his voice, to ignore the ugly twist that his stomach gives at the thought. Argyle is a decent guy, and there’s absolutely no need to feel jealous of this newly formed friendship between Eddie and him. Because that’s all they are. Just friends. Exactly like Eddie and Steve are just friends, so Steve has absolutely no right to get all moody and possessive like that. 

“Oh, I did,” Eddie nods, wet curls bobbing. “We sampled his new strain. Fairy Godmother. The Cali stuff has the wackiest names, but the way it hits? Metal as fuck, man.” 

Which … okay, that actually explains a lot. Like the way Eddie quite evidently can’t stop grinning. Or the way his eyes are even darker than usual, pupils almost entirely swallowing the browns and caramels of his irises. Or the southern drawl that has crept into his voice - barely there but just noticeable enough around some of the vowels. 

“Okay?” Steve says, valiantly attempting to keep his mouth from twitching, but what can he say? Eddie’s smile is contagious. “So you're high as balls. That still doesn't explain why you're here.” 

Eddie shrugs. “Wanted to see you. Don't you wanna see me?” 

His bottom lip juts out and his eyes go huge. Steve rolls his eyes. 

“I'm always happy to see you, idiot. Just… you couldn't have waited until tomorrow? You absolutely had to walk all the way here in the rain and the mud?” 

“Would've taken the van,” Eddie mutters around a fistful of hair. “Except I thought that was too risky.” 

Steve crosses his arms at him. “Well, I'm glad we agree on one thing at-”

“It might turn back any second.” 

Steve stares. “Pardon?” 

“Into a pumpkin,” Eddie says, like it makes sense. “It's almost midnight, right?” 

A look at his watch tells Steve that this is true. What it doesn't tell him is what the hell Eddie is on about. Steve pinches his nose. 

“What the fuck? Why would your van turn into a-” 

And then it clicks. 

“Oh God,” he groans. “Don't tell me you mean the fucking Fairy Godmother?” 

“I'm Cinderella!” Eddie beams. Then, his brow creases. “Cindereddie? Look, I even lost my-” 

“Your shoe,” Steve snorts, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to usher him inside. “I know. Pretty sure Cinderella wore glass slippers though, not combat boots.” 

Eddie scoffs and waves him off, but he does allow himself to be pulled into the entrance hall and maneuvered onto the little bench there. 

“Shit, you're freezing,” Steve mutters. “Hold on, I'll get you something to dry off.”

By the time he returns with a stack of clean towels and dry clothes, Eddie has already peeled out of his flannel and jacket and is sitting there in all his wet, bare-chested glory, humming to himself and idly kicking his muddy feet. 

“Jesus,” Steve mutters, throwing a clean sweater at his face. “I don’t believe you. What are you trying to do, get pneumonia?”

He doesn’t wait for Eddie’s reply, just drops to his knees on the marble tiles and pulls off the muddy sock. It makes a wet squelching sound as he tosses it aside. He has just finished towelling off the naked foot and moved on to removing the boot from the other when Eddie speaks again.

“Will you help me find it?” 

He is speaking from inside the sweater, so his voice comes out a bit muffled. Steve frowns up at him. 

“Find wha- … your boot?”, he asks. Eddie pops his head out of the sweater, all disheveled hair and adorable puppy dog eyes. “What? Argyle can’t help you with that?”

“I’m sure he would,” Eddie shrugs, wiggling his naked toes happily. “But he isn’t my Prince Charming, so …” 

Steve feels himself flush. Suddenly, he’s acutely aware of the picture they’re making - himself kneeling by Eddie’s feet and taking off his boot, like some weird reenactment of the prince putting the lost glass slipper on Cinderella. 

“Let’s get you to bed,” he blurts, yanking the boot off a little too roughly and shooting to his feet to pull Eddie up and towards the staircase. “We can find your stupid shoe tomorrow when it’s light. Right now, you need to sleep that high off.”

Eddie leans into him as they wobble up the stairs, hair tickling Steve’s neck. 

“Will my prince give me a kiss goodnight?”

“Shut up,” Steve grouses. 

And if he does bend down to sweep the damp curls from Eddie’s sleeping face, once he has tucked him into bed in one of the guest rooms? And if he does press his lips to his forehead?

Nobody but him needs to know. 

If he’s lucky, maybe Eddie’s lost boot won’t be the only thing he finds tomorrow. Maybe he’ll actually muster up the courage to tell him how he feels. 

More Steddie Bingo

[sayoneee]

☆ POISON

“miss her, kiss her, love her, wrong move you’re dead, that girl is poison” - bell biv devoe (2.2k)

contains: luke castellan x daughter of aphrodite! reader. acquaintances to friends to secretish lovers. silena + drew mentions. during tlt.

kashaf’s note: u cant tell me a group of teenagers lived together at summer camp and no one had secret parties. dont @ me for the 90s music references (+ i imagine avantika vandanapu as silena, and momona tamada as drew)

i. and if there was a problem / yo, i'll solve it

“CASTELLAN?” YOU APPROACHED him slowly, tone cautious as if you were speaking to a wounded animal, although in this case, maybe you were, as you reached for his bruised knuckles, remaining persistent, even as he tried to withdraw his hands out of your grasp. “why’d you do that?”

“did i need a reason?” there is a forced jocularity to his words, a well-practiced mask he is never seen without, and you cringe slightly, your gaze catching the grimace that twists his lips. his attempt at a ‘roguish’ grin falls flat, the expression a discordant note against the backdrop of his injuries. luke’s already busted lip splits open, a thin line of crimson carving a river down his chin. he moves to wipe it off the back of his arm, but you’ve already pulled off the bandana tying up your hair (a birthday present from a half-sibling) and begun rubbing at his face.

luke’s eyes widened at the gesture.

despite being tentative acquaintances since your arrival, you’re still annoyed that luke castellan continues to underestimate just how much of his heart he wears on his sleeve — or rather, just how well you manage to see past his facade. his blatant lie hangs in the air, unacknowledged. instead, you deliberately shift your gaze to the purples and blacks that mar his knuckles, setting about wrapping them with your bandana, obscuring the damage.

“i could’ve done that myself,” luke says, amused, his words lightly appreciative. still, at your answering glare, he tosses his hands in the air in surrender as ‘ice ice baby’ continues in the background, uninterrupted, “but thank you, though.”

“i’m no apollo kid, but it’ll do,” you shrug instead of accepting the gratitude, tugging him to his feet, ensuring to grab his uninjured hand, and hauling him outside. 

“you’re no apollo kid, and you decide to take the injured man away from where the apollo kids are actually gathered,” luke muses, once again entertained with himself (was there any other emotion this boy could experience besides amusement?), once the lights of the apollo cabin are so far behind you, neither of you could fully see each other.

“you’ll live,” you say, scowling at him through the darkness, forgetting he couldn’t actually see you.

“and you’re moody for a daughter of aphrodite,” he says, still holding onto your hand as he trails after you.

you stop in your tracks, pinch the bridge of your nose, count to three, and finally turn to luke, who still has his stupidly pleased-with-himself expression on his face. “luke castellan, if you don’t end up dying of some tragic fate or the other i will hunt you down myself.”

“duly noted.”

“holy hera, do you even want to know where i’m taking you?”

“nah, i think the mystery really adds some suspense.”

“that’s it, i give up,” you say, before beginning to drag him back to the apollo cabin, when he plants his feet in the dirt ground firmly, grinning crookedly at you as the moonlight finally shines through the clouds, suddenly bathing him in a luminescent glow.

“nah, c’mon, let’s go to your spot.”

you glare at him, watching how his stupid grin only seems to grow in size, an annoyingly endearing trait. with a sigh, you continued to drag him along, scowling each time he tried to make a quip.

“what if we get to your spot, and i find out this was all just a ploy to murder me?” luke muses out loud, looking thoughtful for once.

“do you seriously believe that if i was gonna murder you, i wouldn’t have done it by now?” you say, pausing when he shrugged in agreement, “we’re here though, whiney baby.” 

luke’s eyebrows rose as he took in the secluded area near the dunes, finally meeting your gaze again. “aw, i can’t believe you just planned out our first date.”

“i seriously don’t know what any of my half-siblings see in you.”

“so you’ve discussed me then.”

“shut up, i dragged you all the way here, because even though i know you like attention, i don’t think you wanted the attention you were getting from punching that poor hephaestus kid in the jaw,” you say shockingly sincerely, startling both yourself and luke.

luke doesn’t say anything, letting what seems like a confession hang in the air, instead, sits down near the water, and rubs a hand across his jaw, watching you as you follow suit, sitting next to him. 

after spending what seems like minutes in silence, watching the waves lap at the shore, luke finally speaks, staring out at the horizon, his tone slightly hollow, and devoid of all things you have come to label as luke castellan, looking eerily similar to the night he had returned from his infamous quest, “heroes aren’t meant to be happy.”

you drew your legs to your chest, wrapping your arms around them and resting your head. “i know — achilles, orpheus, theseus…” you trail off.

“and hercules,” luke adds, almost melancholy. 

“i think i’ve pretty much accepted i’ll die young,” you say, your words coming out in nothing but a whisper despite the two of you being alone.

luke nods in solidarity, lost in thought. “it shouldn’t have to be like this,” he finally says, voice hardening.

ii. talking sweet and looking fine / i get kinda hectic inside

“okay, for this technique, i’ll need a partner,” luke says, looking straight at you. “can you come up here?”

deciding to oblige him, you rolled your eyes good-naturedly, smiling as you joined him in front of the other campers, who had begun whispering when he called out to you. in the crowd, just past your half-siblings looks of shock, you can see the stolls passing around a wad of cash. 

luke addresses the crowd once more, “i need everyone to be paying close attention here, we’ll be demonstrating how to parry, or counterblock for the newcomers.”

as both of you get into position, luke smiles, “don’t forget to go easy on me.”

you laughed, “don’t bet on it, castellan.”

your demonstration ends up feeling like eons, as the two of you continue to dance around each other, parrying and jabbing, and lunging, and striking, and parrying. both of you are panting, your faces flushed as you continue, and just when it seems like you have the upper hand, luke side steps, and easily parries your finishing blow, disarming you in the process.

you laugh as you yield, loving the exhilaration from the fight, but when the two of you face the campers once more, more than half of the crowd is slack-jawed. 

luke, ever the showman, can’t resist a grin, “not only was that your lesson to not underestimate aphrodite cabin, but also to show you the level we’re trying to get you guys to. now, partner up and spread out.”

before you can turn back to address luke again, drew is suddenly at your side. 

“what the fuck was that?” drew hisses, grasping your elbow and leading you away from the training session in full swing, pulling you into your cabin, where silena sits on your bed (still in her armor), clearly awaiting this impromptu confrontation.

“what was what?” you choose to feign innocence, examining your nails before glancing up to see the twin expressions of horror on both silena and drew’s faces. 

“do not act dumb,” drew eyes you coolly, “it’s so beneath you.”

“i’m not acting dumb,” you rolled your eyes at the both of them.

“yes you —”

“you and castellan,” silena interjects, “we want details, now.”

“what details even are there to give?”

silena grabs drew’s arm, pulling her back from apparently nearly pouncing on you. 

drew rolls her eyes at the hand on her arm, and then focuses on you, “you’re literally our next head counselor and you and castellan had never so much looked at each other until this week and now he’s asking you to help demonstrate training techniques, like hello?”

silena snapped her fingers in agreement, “c’mon, you can’t deny that something didn’t happen.”

“nothing did,” you crossed your arms across your chest.

“you know what,” drew says, “if you wanna be like this fine. come find me when you finally decide to — i don’t know — talk to your sisters?” she storms out of the cabin, leaving you alone with silena, who sighs, gives you an apologetic look and goes after drew. 

“well, that was a shit show.”

you whirl around to see your head counselor standing at the entry of the cabin, poised as ever, not a hair out of place as she stood, examining her manicure, looking bored, as usual. 

“couldn’t agree more,” you sigh, sitting on your bed, head in your hands. 

your head counselor takes a seat beside you, “look, i don’t care for whatever petty drama just unfolded, you’ll get over it, daughters of aphrodite and all,” she waves a hand in the air, “— but for now, we have more pressing issues. i’m gonna leave for college soon, and the entire cabin knows you’re my successor.”

you nod as she paused, meeting your gaze, and you can’t help but examine the perfect shape of her eyeliner, scanning her entire picture-perfect face in an attempt to discern her mood.

“i don’t care whatever it is you have going on with castellan, but you need to complete the rite of passage, before you become head counselor.”

“the rite of passage?” you asked, having only heard the phrase in hushed conversations around camp, the knot in your stomach tightening as she continued.

“no child of aphrodite is a true child of aphrodite without having broken their first love’s heart,” is all she offers as an explanation, completely straight-faced. “castellan is perfect for your rite of passage.”

your eyebrows furrow as you consider her words, and with a final nod, and gentle squeeze of your arm, she leaves you with both her legacy and your mother’s legacy in your hands. 

“oh, and before i forget, whoever doesn’t do it always ends up cursed.”

iii. now let me pray to keep you from / the perils that will surely come

luke’s shoulder brushing against yours has turned out to be extremely distracting, and now you can understand why your cabin is more notorious for breaking hearts, rather than falling in love. you can’t seem to focus on anything except how close his hand is to yours, even the golden hue of the fire or the sing-alongs can’t divert your attention. 

the distance between the two of you grows imperceptibly smaller when luke suddenly clears his throat, on the verge of saying something, when a twig snaps behind the two of you, causing you to jump apart and look at the intruder. 

annabeth is standing behind the two of you, looking faintly apologetic, but also terrified. “sorry if i interrupted you guys,” she offers, rubbing her arm.

you share a glance with luke, nodding at him. “you weren’t — luke can always talk to me later,” you say, offering her your trademark smile.

annabeth nodded, “thank you,” as luke gently squeezed your hand before getting up to comfort her.

“don’t thank me, sweetheart.”

you’re at your usual spot when luke rejoins you, running a hand through his curls. “sorry,” he says, “someone left a spider in athena cabin, and no one could kill it.”

you chuckled, “if it wasn’t a total accident, i’d bet money it was travis and connor.”

the corner of his mouth quirks up at the mention of his siblings, “i think you’re spending too much time around them to pick up on their habits.”

“or maybe, i’m spending too much time around you,” you offer, smirking at him, trying to ignore the funny feeling in your chest as he smiles genuinely at you.

“i like to say i’m an acquired taste,” luke shrugs, sneaking a glance at you as you laugh at him. 

“i think i’ve acquired that taste,” you say, without thinking, before realizing how phenomenally stupid that sounded.

luke smiled widely, “y’know, if you weren’t a daughter of aphrodite, i would’ve told you how corny that was —” you shoved him here, “— ow, let me finish, but i actually am really glad to hear that.”

“no wonder,” you smirked, “i can practically hear your heart beating out of your chest.”

“okay, look who’s confident all of a sudden.”

you shut him up with a soft kiss that has him seeing stars. 

iv. i know what’s weighing on your mind / you can be sure i know my part

“again, what the hell is going on with you and castellan?” silena asks one early morning before breakfast, birds chirping as she’s lining her eyes with kajal, glancing at the mirror in her hand as she sits at the top of her bed.

“nothing.”

“i literally saw you guys making out and had to scrub my eyes out with soap,” drew adds, looking extremely disgusted at the thought of relieving that experience, as she paints a fresh coat of nail polish. 

“fine, you’re right,” you concede, curling your eyelashes. 

“don’t you have to do the rite of passage, though?” drew asks, pausing to look up at you.

“i’m not doing the rite of passage,” you say slowly, setting the eyelash curler down on the vanity.

“excuse me?” your head counselor has her hands on her hips, the annoyed expression on her face marring her perfect features, towering over you as she stands in front of your bed.

“i said, i’m not doing the rite of passage,” you enunciate, looking up at her, maintaining eye contact.

the temperature of the cabin seemed to drop ten degrees, and for a minute or so, your stare remained unbroken until she shrugged. “your decision... but don’t say i didn’t warn you,” before dramatically whirling around and heading to the pavilion.

silena gave you a look as drew arched her brow, and you simply shrugged in response.

© sayoneee on tumblr. do not repost, plagiarize, translate or claim any of my works as your own.

[rheya28]

The Crown [ Lounge + Bar] ♥ The Sims 4: Speed Build // CC

Welcome to The Crown, a haven of refined indulgence that seamlessly shifts from an upscale morning restaurant and lounge to a sophisticated evening gentlemen's club. In the daylight hours, experience culinary delights in an ambiance of polished dark wood accents, moody lights, and soft jazz.

As the sun sets, The Crown transforms into an intimate and stylish club, where discreet luxury meets thrilling entertainment. With an emphasis on sophistication, The Crown offers an unforgettable fusion of exquisite dining and sensual experiences in an atmosphere of opulence.

➽ Speed Build Video

➽ Rheya's Notes:

● In order for the adult club function to work, you must download the wicked whims mod [Download at your own risk]. ● This build does not have to be a club, it can be set as a restaurant, a lounge, or a bar. ● I am not 100% familiar with wicked whims so I will not be answering questions regarding the mod. However, I played around with it and did some playtesting as a club owner and everything is functioning correctly on my end. I advice that you look up tutorials if you're not sure to how this lot type works.

● Please make sure to turn bb.moveobjects on! ● Please DO NOT reupload or claim as your own. ● Feel free to tag me if you are using it, I love seeing my build in other peoples save file ● Feel free to edit/tweak my builds, but please make sure to credit me as the original creator! ● Thank you to all CC Creators ● Please let me know if there's any problem with the build

Sim's Featured in the video are by the talented @rhdweauni0 <3

➽ LOT DETAILS

Lot Name: The Crown Lot type: Gentlemen's Club/Str*p Club [Can be set as a lounge, restaurant or bar] Lot size: 30x30 Location: Windenburg or San MyShuno

➽ MODS

● Tool Mod by Twisted Mexi ● Wicked Whims by Turbodriver [optional: This is only required if you want to set this lot as a club] ● Functional Pool Table by Utopya

➽ CC LIST:

Note: I reuse a lot of the same cc in all my builds, specifically cc's from felixandre, HeyHarrie, Tuds, and Pierisim so if you're interested in downloading past, present, future build from me i suggest getting all their cc sets to make downloading a little easier! other creators include Sooky, Charlypancakes, Sixam, Thecluttercat, Myshunosun, awingedllama, Peacemaker. This will also ensure that the lots are complete and are not missing any items upon downloading ! CharlyPancakes ● Miscellanea [books] ● Soak [ Floor pattern, wall lamp] Amelie ● Vintage Art print #3 Severinka ●Aura Bedroom - Ceiling lamp V01, V03 ● Ceiling lamp Alpha ●Industrial Light II Ceiling B, Ceiling D Sooky ● Dark Academia Victorian Oil Paintings 01 ● Horizontal Oil Painting - landscape ● Horizontal Oil Painting - Still Life ● Vertical Oil Painting - Landscape ● Vertical Oil Painting - Portrait ● Vertical Oil Painting - Still Life The Clutter Cat ● Dandy Diary pt 1, 2 ● Hello Horses FelixAndre ● Chateau [all ] ● Berlin pt 1 ● Colonial pt 2, 3 ● Florence pt 2 ● Gatsby ● Georgian ● Grove [ all ] ● London Interior ● Paris pt 2, 3 ● Soho pt 3 House of Harlix ● Harluxe ● Livin Rum ● Orjanic Harrie ● Brownstone [all] ● Baysic ● Brutalist ● Coastal pt 2, 3, 8 ● Klean pt 3 ● Kwatei ● Octave pt 2 ● Shop the look pt 1, 2 ● Spoons pt 3 ● Jardane Kiwisim4 ● Block house dining [dining chairs] Lilac Creative ● The classic Collection Little Dica ● The even Grander Piano Myshunosun ● Garden Stories [patio lights] ● Lottie [candle] ● Simmify pt 2 [book clutter] Pierisim ● Coldbrew pt 3 ● Combles [chair] ● David Apartment pt 1, 2 ● Domain du close pt 2, 3 ● MCM pt 1, 3 ● Oak House pt 4 ● Tilable ● Winter Garden pt 1, 2 ● Wood Land Ranch pt 3 Plush Pixels ● Parisian Apartment [coffee table only] Simcredible ● Bossa Nova Ceiling lamp Simplistic ● Rusticlife area rug Sixam ● Boho Bathroom [floor tiles] Taurus Design ● Lilith Chilling Areas MycupofCC ● The Modernist [wall lamp] Tuds ● Ind Syboulette ● Ratatouille [Sign ] Utopya ● Pool Table [mod]

● DOWNLOAD Tray File and CC list: Patreon Page ● Origin ID: anrheya [previous name: applez] ● Twitter: Rheya28__ ● Tiktok: Rheya28__ ● Youtube: Rheya28__

[rosierin]

pinky promise | suna rintarou

synopsis; (y/n) and suna go for a late-night drive to escape the city. they stare out at the skyline, the same way they did as kids. they’re older now. maybe a little quieter, but the bracelets still fit. and so does the promise they made when they were fourteen.

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

She’s perched in front of her vanity, absently patting eye cream into her skin, the soft glow of warm-toned bulbs spilling across her face. It’s late—11:17 p.m., according to the dusty digital clock by her bed—but sleep hasn’t even tried to flirt with her tonight.

Her room is quiet, save for the low crackle of vinyl spinning in the corner—something soft and sultry, a little bluesy. She’s wearing one of her nicer sleep shirts, not that it matters. Not that anyone’s going to see.

Until her phone buzzes.

She doesn’t look at it right away, just keeps smoothing her moisturizer, slow and methodical. It buzzes again.

Finally, she leans over, unlocking it with a swipe of her pinky.

Rin: you up?

A pause. Then—

You: for you yeah wassup

She hums quietly to the song as she hits send, brushing a few strands of hair behind her ear. It only takes a few seconds for the next reply to come in.

Rin: feel like getting out the house?

She grins.

You: hell yes gimme 5

She doesn’t rush, even though she could. That’s the thing about Suna—he never makes her feel like she has to. There’s a lazy rhythm to everything they do, like the world pauses when they’re alone.

She pulls on her hoodie—the navy one that used to be his until she took it home after a movie night and never gave it back. It still smells a little like his laundry detergent. She slips on a pair of beat-up trainers, grabs her phone and keys, and spritzes a bit of body spray on her clothes—not to impress. Just because.

By the time she steps outside, the air is cool and quiet, the sky ink-dark with a few stars peeking through the clouds. His car’s already waiting by the curb, headlights dimmed. The passenger window rolls down as she approaches.

“Took you long enough,” he calls.

She rolls her eyes.

So much for not having to rush.

“I'm pretty sure I took exactly five minutes,” she mutters as she slides in, tugging the hoodie over her knees.

He pretends to mull it over, flicking his turn signal on as he pulls away from the curb. “Hmm. I dunno about that."

The ride begins in familiar silence. She leans her head against the window, watching streetlights streak by like melted gold. Suna drives like he does everything else—casual, effortless, one hand on the wheel, the other draped lazily out the window, fingers tapping against the door in time with whatever beat’s in his head. His rings catch the streetlights as they drift past, flashes of moonlight winking off polished silver.

There’s something hypnotic about it. The quiet hum of the tires on pavement. The cool breeze tugging at her hair. The low thrum of music that he lets her queue up without comment. Something moody. Something that matches the night.

He doesn’t speak much. He never really has to. She glances at him once, just briefly. The wind tousles his hair and the corner of his mouth is pulled into that faint, unreadable smile. He catches her looking.

“What,” he says, not taking his eyes off the road. “Something on my face?”

She shakes her head, lips quirking. “Just your usual scowl.”

“Hm.” He shifts gears with ease. “I'm actually in a really good mood tonight."

"Really good?" (y/n) parrots, eyebrows shooting up. Suna says nothing, just hums vaguely. Idly taps his finger against the steering wheel.

"Must be the company," she jests, glancing at him.

"Must be."

Eventually, he pulls into a familiar parking lot—their usual place. A quiet hill just outside the city, overlooking a scatter of glittering lights below. It’s not fancy. Just peaceful. Just theirs.

The car engine cuts off, and they sit for a moment, cocooned in stillness.

Then (y/n) twists in her seat and leans into the boot from the back—stretching over the back seat to rummage through the bags she’d stashed earlier. She emerges a moment later with two small, glass-bottled drinks and a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Suna stares. “When did you put those in my car?”

She shrugs, grinning. “A magician never reveals her tricks.”

He raises a brow, watching as she cracks hers open with her teeth. She offers the other to him. He doesn't take it.

“I’m driving.”

“Just one,” she pouts. “The alcohol will wear off eventually.”

“That’s gonna take like—two hours, minimum.”

“Then I hope you’ve got some juicy stories to tell.” She lifts the bottle, lets the cap clink to the dashboard. “I’ve got time. Do you?”

He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he finally accepts the drink. His own bottle cap comes off with a lazy twist of his teeth—smooth, practiced.

“Only if you ask nicely.”

She scoffs, then clears her throat—hand to chest, voice dripping with theatrical charm. “Rintarou Suna… would you please grace me with just a mere two hours of your time?"

He clinks his bottle to hers. Takes a swig.

“You're a dork,” he says. But he’s smiling.

They sip. The alcohol buzzes low and warm in her belly, and the night unfolds like it always does—slow, aimless, full of half-laughed memories and the kind of conversations that don’t really lead anywhere but feel important anyway.

He tells her about someone from high school getting married. She tells him about a customer who called her “sunshine” and then had the audacity to not even tip her. He says he’s been thinking about getting a new phone. She says she’s been thinking about a social media detox. None are important thoughts. Definitely not the “juicy stories” (y/n) had teased earlier. And yet they say them out loud anyway, and it still feels special.

At some point, her eyes catch on the dainty silver chain bracelet around his wrist. It glints under the overhead light, just slightly, and her breath catches in the back of her throat.

“You still wear that,” she says, a little stunned, a little soft.

Suna glances down, following her gaze, then brushes his hand over the hem of her sleeve. “So do you.”

Something in her chest swells as she adjusts her arm, subtle, like it’s second nature. The fabric shifts just enough for the end of her sleeve to ride up, revealing the thin glint of gold at her wrist. Her bracelet sits looser than it used to, the links worn smooth, the shade a little brassy.

Then, she reaches out and runs a finger along the side of his bracelet—lightly, absentmindedly. Suna shifts his hand slightly, turning it just enough for her to see. Her touch drifts down the inside of his wrist, following the curve without thinking.

His eyes flick to her hand. But he doesn’t say anything. Just lets her.

She smiles to herself, thumb brushing one of the chain’s edges.

Then, almost like she’s talking to herself—soft and fond—

“God, we were what—fourteen?” she murmurs. “I remember they kept sliding off. We had to wrap tape around mine so it wouldn’t fall off during P.E.”

“I told you we should’ve gotten the kid size.”

She smiles, soft and a little sheepish, her fingers brushing his chain again. “Yeah… but they wouldn’t have lasted.”

Time this, it’s Suna who reaches out, his fingers ghosting over her wrist. He runs his thumb along her gold chain, slow and thoughtful, eyes fixed on the way it looks against her skin.

“We could’ve just gotten new ones.”

“I mean, I guess.” Her gaze drops back to her bracelet, his fingers, letting the light catch on the dulled gold. It barely gleams anymore. She huffs a quiet laugh. “We probably should, to be fair.”

“Why?” he says. “They look fine.”

“Not. Have you seen how battered mine is?” She lifts her wrist for emphasis. “Mine’s barely even gold anymore.”

“Nah,” he says, leaning back in his seat. “It has charm.” Then, with a casual shrug: “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

She snorts. “That’s such a dad thing to say.”

“It’s a good saying.”

“Your phone still works yet you wanna replace it.”

He sucks in a breath, like she’s just hit a nerve. “Ah—phones are different.”

She rolls her eyes, gaze drifting to the device resting in his cupholder. It’s in perfect condition—no cracks, no scratches, not even a single smudge. The clear case, impossibly pristine despite how long he’s had it, holds a crumpled thousand-yen note and a faded My Melody sticker she gave him as a joke two summers ago.

He never took it out.

“You better keep her,” she says, nodding toward the cupholder.

Suna hums, not quite understanding, until he follows her gaze. “Who?”

He reaches over, angling the phone so they can both see it more clearly.

“Melo-chan?” His mouth twitches into one of those lopsided, faint smiles she doesn’t see often. The kind that feels accidental. “’Course I will," he says quietly. "She keeps me company.”

(Y/n) smiles too—warm, fond. The kind of smile that finds her easily whenever she’s with him.

Cute, she thinks.

They fall into another stretch of silence after that, both sipping from their bottles, eyes trained on the view beyond the windshield. Music plays low in the background, something slow and hazy. Outside, the trees rustle softly. The windows are down. The air is cooler here—cleaner—now that they’re out of the city.

She can see the moon clearly from here. A half crescent, pale and glowing, tucked into a sky full of stars she hardly ever sees from their apartment.

She’s not drunk. Maybe a little tipsy. Just enough for the alcohol to settle warm in her chest, loosening her limbs and her lips. Everything feels quieter. Softer.

She thinks back to their matching bracelets… both worn and older now, but still clinging on. Like them.

“…I made you pinky promise back then, didn’t I?”

Suna doesn’t say anything right away, but she sees it in the way his eyes shift—just slightly. Like he's flipping through a memory he already knows by heart. He doesn’t ask which day she means. He doesn’t need to.

“You sure did.”

She turns toward him, folding one leg beneath her. “You remember it?”

He doesn’t look at her. Just takes another sip, leans his head back against the seat, and stares out at the glittering skyline. Then hums.

“Every word.”

She drifts back to that day without meaning to—scuffed knees, laughter echoing through the local park. They’d just climbed a hill, breathless and triumphant, collapsing at the top to look out at the city. No stars back then. Just clouds and warm light and the kind of childhood logic that meant pinky promises were unbreakable.

Out of nowhere, she says, “Hey. Wanna renew our pinky promise?”

Suna blinks at her, slow and amused. “What, like a friendship wedding?”

She laughs. “Yeah! We’ve made it to our twenties and we’re still best friends. That’s rare. That deserves a vow renewal.”

“Kinda weird.” But his voice is light. Teasing. “But okay.”

She holds out her pinky. He doesn’t even hesitate.

“Rintarou Suna,” she begins, voice dramatically solemn, “do you promise to always be my best friend, to support me, to never forget my birthday, and to forever listen to my rants about romance novels and fictional crushes?”

“I do.” His voice is flat. His eyes are soft.

He pauses, then lifts his hand.

“(Y/n) (l/n), do you promise to be my best friend, stop stealing my clothes, and always share the rest of your fries with me?”

She slips a hand behind her back and crosses her fingers with a grin. “I do.”

Suna narrows his eyes. “I saw that.”

She giggles as he leans over and pulls her arm back around to the front. He shakes his head, but he’s smiling too.

“What part of my vows don’t you agree with? The clothes or the food?”

“The clothes,” she says quickly. “I really like your hoodies. They have such a nicer fit.”

He snorts, tugging at the loose fabric around her wrist. “You mean like this one?”

She grins. “Exactly.”

Suna leans his head back against the seat, bottle resting on his thigh. “Y’know, if I charged you for every hoodie you’ve nicked, I could probably retire.”

(Y/n) snorts. “Okay—fair. But if we’re charging for services, I’d like to remind you that I’ve been your unpaid emotional support barista-slash-best friend-slash-stylist for, like, over ten years.”

Suna tilts his head toward her, a brow raised. His tone is mock-offended. “Respectfully, you are not my stylist.”

She gasps, slack-jawed. “Oi, what’s that supposed to mean, then?”

“All I’m saying is I’ve seen your Pinterest boards," he drawls. He doesn’t even blink, just sips lazily, like it’s a known fact.

“Uh, excuse you. Those were from, like—2016.” She throws him a defiant glare. “I dress way better now. I’m timeless.”

He pulls a face, that familiar deadpan one with just the faintest twitch of a smirk. “You are definitely something.”

She whacks his arm. He doesn’t move it.

They go quiet again for a moment, the silence filled with the low hum of the playlist and the distant glow of the city. Everything feels slower up here—the cars below, the blinking lights, the way the night seems to settle around them.

It’s quiet, but not empty.

“…do you think we’ll still be doing this in ten years?” she asks suddenly, eyes still on the skyline.

Suna finishes his drink first, tipping the bottle back until it’s empty. He sets it down with a soft clink, then glances her way.

“You stealing my stuff and sneaking alcohol in my car?”

(Y/n) raises a brow, then drains the rest of her bottle too, wiping her thumb over the rim as she lowers it.

“Mhmm. And annoying you.”

Suna reaches over and takes both bottles, leaning back to place them gently in the footwell behind them.

“If it’s you, I’ll allow it," he says as he sinks back into his chair.

(Y/n) smiles and murmurs, "good."

Now that their drinks are gone, there’s nothing left to do but wait—at least another hour, maybe two, before it’s safe to hit the road again.

But neither of them mind.

The conversation flows as easily as the alcohol in her system, warm and aimless, stretching into the night like it has all the time in the world.

Their arms rest side by side on the centre console, bare wrists brushing in the dim light. (Y/n) glances down—two bracelets, gold and silver, still sitting snug after all these years.

She smiles.

[boredzillenial]

Heyyyyy so. I am really missing Miguel. Any thoughts about him? I'm in angsty or mild whump-ish mood. Something like "What happened to you?" "Who did this to you?" or anything at all, really.

Or if you're not in an angsty mood that's okay I just really miss Miguel and will take even a crumb of that gigantic moody wildcat. xoxo

Ivy I am so sorry it took me this long 😭 I hope this fic makes up for it! Who doesn’t love a “who did this to you”?!

The first thing that put you on edge when joining the spider society was the sheer amount of spiders in one place, the second was how absolutely nosey they all were. The third, was Miguel.

Every time you portaled in you were careful to wear your full suit along with an oversized jacket for comfort. Every mission you made sure you were either solo or found a way to keep clear of others during battles. Hoping and praying no anomalies would be too difficult to handle.

For the first couple months you were successful. Kicking ass and managing to not draw attention to yourself. But on a hard mission with a stray Morbius anomaly you were shit outta luck. Blood slicked down the open gaps in your suit despite your accelerated healing ability. Hiding underneath a stack of fallen pilings your breath came in shallow pants “Shit shit shit-“

In the darkness you could hear the whooshing of something moving around the open space. This Morbius was particularly brutal, his style of death by 1,000 cuts was taking its toll. In a moment of sheer panic you smack the distress signal on your watch.

After a glance down, your panic rose further at the wide tears in your suit. The cuts from this blood sucking prick had healed almost immediately but the heavy scarring from your past remained. Long and twisted, the pink tissue that never healed glared back at you. Suddenly you realize the whooshing had moved further away, but a tingling in your body told you something else was coming.

As you peaked around from your hiding spot the tell tale flashes of light from a portal filled up the space. For a moment you hoped it was some random lesser spider responded to your call but in an instant the huge blue and red suit that stepped into the room send you scurrying into the darkness.

A wide scanner emitted from Miguel’s watch and an ungoldly alert sounded when it landed on you. “Hey! Come on out it’s clear.” He called.

“Ah, thanks I’ll just portal from here. The Morbius anomaly went north - HEY“ your voice cracked as in one swift moment he’d moved the heavy concrete and looked down at you.

“Don’t be-“ his sentence halted and in an instant he’d dropped down to kneel infront of you. He phased his mask away to look at the skin across your side and outer thigh crisscrossed with scars more closely “Are you alright?” His voice was low, and the strength behind it made you hesitate. The lump in your throat had you responding only with a nod.

Heat rose in your chest as his gaze lingered “Who - did this…” his heated gaze flickered up to meet yours “did that - thing-“ the final word curled into a growl as he stalked after the anomaly.

“No it didn’t-“ you called out in a whisper as his broad tense frame stalked off into the darkness. After a few grunts and hisses the anomaly slammed into the nearest concrete wall, fear flashing in its unnatural gaze as it tried to scramble away. When it neared you could see the bruising under its pale skin before a light trap stopped it in its tracks.

Miguel came around the large cage, claws scraping across the lit surface as he came to stand beside you. “You… wanna talk about it?” When you glanced up his reddish brown gaze was waiting.

That lump returned, all it took was a shake of your head, and a grunt and a nod from him, and the subject was dropped. But from that mission on, things changed. Whether it was a silent presence at occasional meals, back up on routine missions, or even talks of leadership options to rank up in the Spider Society. From that mission on - you had a new, rather large, blue and red shadow.

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Angst with a happy ending, older Eddie, reader acting like a brat. Arguments then fluff. 18+, mdni.

🎀✨💞

Sex. Just sex. That's all you were to Eddie. Knowing it and accepting it was hard for you. So much so that you were in one hell of a mood.

And acting like a major brat. At first Eddie took it in his stride, maybe you were getting sick or you didn't sleep that good.

He usually had endless patience when it came to you. You had him wrapped around your little finger yet you didn't even know it. Not that Eddie would admit it but it was true.

Despite that your attitude was beginning to grate on him and he had enough.

Eddie loses patience. "What the fuck is wrong with you today? why are you so bitchy?" He's put up with your sullenness and attitude all day and he's tired of it.

"I'm fine" you snap, there's no way you could tell him what was really wrong. That you were completely in love with him and he only saw you as a fuck buddy.

Then that would be the end of your relationship and you didn't want it to end. You had grown attached to Eddie so quickly, you'd be heartbroken if your relationship ended.

"Obviously you're not fine if you've been in a mood all day. What the hell is wrong? Clearly I spoil you too fucking much because you're acting like a spoiled brat" tears pool in your eyes and you will them away.

"So now I'm just an annoyance to you?" You question him and he shakes his head, throwing his arms up in the air.

"I give up. You're twisting my words" you look away feeling your heart sink at his words. Maybe you should just tell him? Rip off the band aid or so to speak.

Unfortunately your mouth runs away with you before you can think about it. "You're the one who called me a brat" he rolls his eyes, folds his arms across his chest and gives you a dark look.

"Because you are! From the moment you woke up to now, all I've had is you bitching in my ear even when I asked you what is wrong, you don't answer"

Anxiety claws in your veins and you don't know what to say to salvage the situation. You shouldn't have been so moody, you know that but the argument had pretty much spiralled out of control.

"Well why don't I just leave then if I'm annoying you so much?" you snap and gather your clothes. He shrugs and his body language turns cold, colder then you've ever seen.

"Maybe you should" the tears flow freely at his tone and you kick yourself as you rush downstairs. You may have just ruined everything.

You were so scared that admitting your feelings to Eddie would mean you would lose him, and it was killing you keeping your feelings a secret.

Turns out that maybe you had just lost him anyway.

...

After the argument with Eddie you feel even worse and plan to cuddle in bed and shut off from the world just for a little bit.

Eddie had other plans. It isn't long before he's at your house, quietly letting himself in and making his way upstairs. He hated seeing you cry, it was like a punch to the gut and he was anxious to make it up to you.

He was also very keen to get to the root of the problem and why you were acting out so much today. Something was bothering you for you to act this way. He wanted to find out what it was.

Your quiet sobs reach him and it tears at his heart as he enters your room and finds you curled up on the bed. Hiding away.

Tenderly Eddie stokes your hair and you turn to face him. He wipes your tears away and sighs.

"You didn't have to come over so late. I know you're working early tomorrow" you murmur and he softens as he lays beside you.

"I'm my own boss. I make my own start time sweetheart. I had to see you. Couldn't sleep without my princess beside me could I?" He settles beside you and you smile.

"I'm sorry, I was bitchy. I didn't mean to be" he kisses your hair and nods accepting the apology.

"I'm sorry, princess. I shouldn't have yelled at you or called you a brat. Please tell me what's wrong? You're obviously anxious about something" you bite your lip and he waits for you to say.

"I'm scared" you whisper to him and he feels heartbroken at this. He never wants you to feel scared or that you can't talk to him, you can talk to him about anything.

"Princess, you can tell me anything. You never have to be scared of telling me anything" he holds you close and feels you relax. You still hide your face in his shoulder as you work up the courage to talk to him.

"I'm in love with you, I know you don't feel the same way but I just wanted you to know. It's killing me not saying anything"

Eddie is stunned. This is what got you so worked up, that you were in love with him? Did you think he'd reject you?

Jesus h Christ, did you not realise that he was so in love with you too? He'd never felt this way about anyone. It scared him how deep his feelings were but he has been planning to tell you for ages.

He just wanted it to be the right time and be romantic. Turns out he had waited too long and you were thinking he didn't love you.

That wouldn't do at all.

"I'm so in love with you. How can you not see that?" Eddie caresses your cheek and you feel all of your fears slip away. You snuggle into him and peer up with pure joy on your face.

"I love you too Eddie"

All of this angst and shit could have been avoided if you had both just spoken up sooner. Both of you make a vow that night to always communicate your feelings.

But first a lot of making up was required ;)

[luveline]

idk if you’ve done a request like this before but maybe roan (sweetest girl ever) gets moody and says something mean or does something mean to reader and maybe reader gets really sad over it and eddie helps roan apologize or make it better?

thank you you for your request! eddie and roan. fem!reader, 2k

Roan's hair is softer than her father's but twice as unruly. You hum and haw over what to do with it —she wants it out of her face because the weather is so, so hot today, your hands clammy even now, but lately she's complained about hairpin headaches. 

"Ready for brushing?" you ask. 

"No." Roan squirms in your lap. "Can you just put it up, please?" 

You nibble your bottom lip. You don't necessarily need to brush it, she's not going anywhere. She's lovely with or without neat hair, but… 

"I don't want it to get matted," you say, almost to yourself rather than her. 

"I want to go play," Roan whines.

You don't wince at her derision nor her impatience. She and her handsome father are the people you love most in the world, and to be able to do that, you've had to adapt to how children react. They can't control their bad moods with half the expertise of adults (though some of the adults you know can't do it, either). They need wiggle room.

And affection, undoubtedly. 

You stroke her hair back from her face. She jerks away from your touch. 

"Ro, I'm sorry," you say, in an attempt to assuage her unhappiness. Her fuse can be rather short. You'll all be happier if you can snub this flame before she has a meltdown. "I'm just trying to think of how best to do this, that's all. Can you give me a second?" 

Hair up? Clips out of her face? You know she's not in the best mood, and sometimes elaborate hairstyles make her feel better, but you can tell what she wants now is to be by herself with her dolls in the cool breeze of her standing fan. Simple ponytail, you decide. You and Eddie will just have to deal with any knots that happen when they happen–

"You're not good at hair, I should've asked dad," Roan declares, jumping off of your lap. 

You're startled, with barely the wits to say, "Hey, don't be like that, honey, I can do it–" 

"No, you can't do it." She snatches the hairbrush from you and turns the other way. "Dad will do it faster." 

"Hey," Eddie says, as though summoned by her mention. He stands in the doorway to the living room, a familiar yet foreign look on his face as he towel dries his wet hands. "Why are we talking to each other that way?" 

"Because she's slow!" Roan says, agitated, hands in fists at her sides. 

"Hey, no. I don't know why you're feeling unhappy, but being mean isn't going to make it go away. You don't talk to people like that, especially Y/N," Eddie says. His dark, thick brows furrow with frustration. 

Roan visibly gets more upset. 

"You want to go have five minutes?" Eddie asks her.

She throws her hairbrush on the floor and pushes past his legs, her footsteps like pangs of thunder as she stomps up the stairs. "Ugh!" she shouts. 

Eddie frowns at her as she goes but doesn't call anything more. You clasp the back of the couch in unsteady hands, a weird, strangling pressure wrapped around your throat like a hand. Your sides ache at your twisted position. 

Eddie, to his credit, isn't mad. He toes aside the thrown hairbrush with a confused pout. "What the hell just happened?" he asks. 

You're not sure. Roan's not happy because she's overwhelmed by the inescapable heat of summer, her TV volume is stuck slightly too loud at 27, and she didn't like the broccoli Eddie asked her to eat at lunch. Your slow hairstyling was the last straw, evidently. 

It hurts to have her angry at you. Hurts that she thinks you aren't measuring up to her father. 

You rub your eyes. "My fault. Couldn't get the brush through her hair 'n' took too long putting it up." 

Eddie lights up. You used to think it was theatrical, how he performs his affection, but the longer you know him, the clearer it becomes that he's just a dramatic guy. He sidles up to the couch and takes your face into both hands. 

"Not your fault," he says gently. Then, with more gusto, "She's grumpy, I'm sorry she took it out on you."

You try to play up to his bravado and find your own performance falling flat. "Yeah." 

His thumbs draw soft lines on your cheeks. You really like coparenting with him (though it feels a little weird to put it that way, and also very right) but in moments like this, you remember how much you love being his partner. How much you want him to kiss you and think you're pretty and smart and perfect. Eddie kisses the top of your head and gives you a hug over the couch, squeezing the tops of your shoulders, your face pressed to his neck. 

"It's not a big deal," you say. 

"No, it is. She's not having a good day, but I don't want her to be someone who takes it out on other people." He drops his lips to your forehead. "I'll go talk to her in a bit. Try not to take it personally, sweetheart. She knows how much you love her 'n' she knows she can be unreasonable with you like she is with me and Wayne. Blessing and a curse." 

You're reassured by the idea. Roan's showing off with you because she knows you're not going anywhere. She's moody and you'd been the first one to make a mistake with her today.

"I'm good at hair," you say unsurely. 

"You're great. Me and Ro have looked like a pair of Abercrombie models since we met you," he praises. 

"Think she's gonna be mad at me all day?" you ask. 

"Babe, you're mad at her." 

"I'm not," you say. 

"You're supposed to be." He gives your shoulder a rough rub. "I'm gonna go talk to her. Don't be upset, yeah? You're amazing." 

You accept a clumsy forehead kiss. 

Eddie leaves to soothe Roan's mood. You can imagine it now, his hip propped on the door jam, his unimpressed but patient look. You know we can't talk to each other like that, Ro. Even if we're not feeling good, we have to try to be nice. Do you know what's making you grumpy? Can I fix it for you?  

It's easy to guess what he's saying because you've heard it all before. He's a good dad. He might not always feel that way, but he is. 

You're not worried about Roan in any grand sense. She'll be okay. You're scared that what she said is true —you're not as good as Eddie at doing her hair. You're not as good as him at lots of things. 

You feel inferior to Eddie often as a parent. It's a given, considering that he's her primary caregiver, and has been since the day she was born. That's years of bonding and love you can't touch (wouldn't want to touch, really, wouldn't ever want to change how it happened at risk of messing up what you have now). You're not even really her official stepmom yet. 

What if Roan loved you because she was too young to know better? What if you're not good enough to take care of her?

Little footsteps drag down the stairs, followed by louder ones. You sniff and wipe the stressed tears that had been collecting in your eyes away, relieved to see Roan looking a little less enraged in the door. Eddie gives you a startled look at your expression, for which you can only offer a small smile. 

Roan doesn't mind the walk, standing in front of you where you're still sitting on the couch with ease. She glances at your lap where you clutch her hair ties in both hands, rubbing her own together guiltily. 

"Hi," you say hopefully. 

Roan looks at Eddie. You watch him nod from the corner of your eye. 

"I'm really sorry," Roan says. "For being mean." 

"That's okay," you say, holding your hand palm up atop your thigh, just in case. 

"Dad said you'd say that, but…" She eyes up your hand. You push it forward, and when she takes it, you draw an encouraging circle into her skin. "'Cus you love me, you don't get angry, but…" 

"What did you tell me, sweetheart? You can tell her. It's okay," Eddie prompts. 

Roan looks up. Brown eyes wide but soft brows pinched together unsurely, she says, "I didn't mean that you do hair badly. Please don't stop doing my hair, and kissing my cheek in the morning. Um, and playing dress up with me." 

"I'm not gonna stop doing those things," you say softly. Internally, you're relieved. "I love doing those things."

"Roan shouldn't have been mean," Eddie interjects. "Right?" 

"No, but she was having a bad day," you say, giving her hand a little swing. "Yeah? That's okay. I have bad days too, and I say things I wish I didn't." 

Roan looks uneasy. "You're not mad at me?" 

"Do you want me to be?" you tease gently. 

"No," she says through a shy laugh. Her stomach presses to your knee as she steps forward. "I didn't mean it about my hair."

"I know." 

She puts her hands up for you to pull her into your lap. You're more than willing to oblige, tucking her head under your chin. She's small in your lap. 

"I love looking after you," you murmur into her hair. "It's my favourite job. I know I'm not as good as daddy at things, but I didn't get all the training he got." 

"You're just as good as dad," Roan says. 

"You're better," Eddie says. 

You turn your head to grin at him. "Not true, but I'll keep trying, Ro. I'll get it." 

Roan fights to escape your tucking, her head tilted back, the blue glow from the fish tank cooling her face. "I love you now," she says. 

"Aw," Eddie says, though he looks shocked at himself, like it had slipped out unbidden. 

"I love you too," you say. More than you can explain. 

She puts her hand on your collar. "I'm sorry," she says again. 

"She knows, babe," Eddie says, flopping down onto the couch next to you both. 

"I forgive you straight away," you agree, rubbing the short breadth of her back lovingly. "It did make me sad, worrying you didn't think good things about me, but it's okay. I know you were getting annoyed. You couldn't help it." 

Roan's smile is so relieved you can't stop yourself from taking her face into two hands and planting kisses into the heart of her hairline. 

"Love you, silly," you say. 

"Share!" Eddie demands, his weight on your arm. 

Roan giggles as she's painted in kisses. Eventually, when her rosy cheeks have been covered inch to inch by kisses and she's so loved up her eyes are shining, she pushes you both away and holds her hands out. "I need space." 

You and Eddie laugh breathlessly and lean back into the couch, shoulder to shoulder. 

The older she gets, the more things like this are going to happen. She's going to have opinions, and expectations for you and Eddie. She's going to want space —she's going to need it, like she said. You don't mind giving her what she needs even if it is an adjustment, and even if she does aim her outbursts at you when she's overwhelmed. You do wish you could curl a strand of her hair around your finger, or stroke her cheek, but then she puts her hands on your shoulder. She's still blushing. 

"You're the best mommy ever," she says. 

"Did you tell her to say that?" you ask Eddie. 

"No way," Eddie says, dropping his head onto your other shoulder, his hair tickling your neck. "She just knows the truth, babe. I didn't have to tell her anything about it." 

[reallyhatethiswebsite]

dark raphael, possessive/jealous devil, devils being devils i guess

Read on AO3

-

“Mm…Haarlep…”

It’s over the moment that single word leaves your mouth. The strange, moody tension that’s been strangling the room reaches its crescendo. Raphael’s fraying patience snaps. Bursts into flame just like the shattered glass of wine in his hand.

“Enough.”

He’s at the bed in the blink of an eye, snarling like the fiend he is. Sharp shining teeth bared. He grabs Haarlep by the hair, twists, and rips the incubus away. Haarlep lands in a sprawled heap on the ground, but they don’t look pained or even angry. Insidious amusement paints their borrowed features instead, because this is exactly what they’ve been waiting for. What they knew was going to happen from the start.

“Leave,” barks Raphael, addressing Haarlep but never taking his dark eyes off you, naked and trembling on his red velvet sheets. “Now.”

Haarlep blows you a kiss and vanishes. You’re alone with your master. The man who owns you, literally, body and soul. The man who put you in this bed in the first place. It’s easier to watch his tail angrily thrash to and fro than it is to look him in the face. His gaze burns, devours you. Claims what is already his. He seethes with arousal, and jealousy. You’re afraid, confused, but your mind is so foggy with Haarlep’s aphrodisiac that Raphael’s mercurial temper only makes him more desirable. Only makes the ache in your cunt stronger.

“My little pet,” he murmurs, deliberate emphasis on every word. He looms over you. Grabs your chin, squeezing just hard enough to hurt. Presses the tip of his thumb claw on the soft plush of your bottom lip, pushing until blood beads beneath it. You whimper; nuzzle into his touch in the same breath. “There is only one name that should be uttered from your lips. Mine.”

“I’m sorry,” you plead, knowing it’s not enough to mollify him. This isn’t your fault. It’s his. But you’ll be punished for it anyway, because a devil like him isn’t going to admit he was wrong. He isn’t going to confess that he’s letting his jealous, coveting nature get the better of him. No, instead he’s going to do what he always does: indulge.

It was his idea to let you “play” with Haarlep. You were reluctant, your animosity towards the incubus stagnant yet secure, but it was what Raphael seemed to want, now that he and his pet demon are on touching terms once more. You’re always so good for Raphael, your Master. So obedient. Of course you couldn’t say no, and as soon as Haarlep’s spittle got to work, you forgot all of your gripes with them anyway.

Raphael, however, did not.

Maybe he thought he’d enjoy watching his likeness take you apart in sexual ruin, like he had countless times before with countless different people. Maybe he thought he was “rewarding” you for your loyalty and dedication. Maybe he just didn’t consider that he’d feel so possessive over such a mundane, unremarkable trinket like your soul. He has thousands upon thousands, after all. There is nothing particularly special about yours. And yet, even as arousal coursed through his body and fattened his cock while he watched and felt the things Haarlep was doing to you, he’d clawed gouges into the armrest of the chaise where he’d been sitting – his private seat of power. Glared at your entwined bodies with mounting hate and envy.

It’s a beautiful and terrible reality, to be an object of Raphael’s affection. That’s the one and only thing you and Haarlep could ever agree on.

“Say it,” Raphael commands, slowly tightening his grip.

“Ah…say what?” It’s tough to think. You fight to stop yourself squirming, from rubbing your damp thighs together for some friction on your lonely, swollen clit.

“My name.” He’s holding you so tightly your bones creak. Instinctively you buck against him, gasping when your cunt throbs. Hungrily drools slick.

“Raphael!”

“Yes,” the devil hisses, eyes glittering in satisfaction at your small torment. He climbs onto the bed, crawls on top of you. Crushes you with his size and weight. The huge canopy of his wings block out the sight of all but him. His breath scalds your lips and cheeks, smells like smoke and wine. “You are mine. You belong to me. I own everything you are, and everything you ever will be. Never again will you think of another. Never will a name that isn’t mine tumble so sweetly from your lips. I am your eternity.”

He is your past, your present, your future. The Master of the House. His law, His word.

“Yes, Raphael!” You choke out. He’s squeezing your throat now. A trickle of blood leaks from your lip. His long forked tongue eagerly slurps it up, lingering on the wound he made. Tears well in your eyes but don’t fall, not yet. Tears of pain. Tears of frustration.

“There, now. That wasn’t so difficult, was it?” Raphael croons. You jolt when he wedges his thick thigh between yours. Your body moves without your input, grinding your wet cunt desperately against the surface offered to you. Black spots appear in the corners of your vision. He cuts off your airway to the point where you can barely breathe. You’ve always been afraid of suffocation, but with incubus spit muddling your senses, the endorphins and adrenaline just fan the raging flames of your desire. You rut harder against Raphael, mewling like a bitch. He sneers. “How pathetic.”

Yet, when he clicks his fingers and his clothes disappear, his cherry-red cock is so hard and heavy with blood it can barely stand up. Pearlescent globs of precum leak from its tip, catching on ridges, barbs and veins. His balls hang fat and flush and full, begging to be emptied. Sweat beads at his temples. His pupils expand to consume his fiery irises. As always, his biology gives him away, and such interesting biology it is. He runs hot, almost unbearably so, his rough and scaly skin near-scalding the sensitive flesh of your mons. You whine and whinge even as you press yourself closer, growing faint and weak from lack of oxygen. Instinct makes you flail and scratch at your Master. You would never try to hurt him otherwise. You adore him. You worship him.

He entertains himself for a moment watching you struggle. Watching you wonder if he intends to snuff the life out of your fragile mortal shell, unable to do anything but pine for a release of any kind. Fuck me, kill me, whatever you want. You can’t die, not in the traditional sense. Your soul is bound to Raphael, to the House of Hope. He’s murdered debtors before in fits of rage and they always end up roaming the halls again eventually. You don’t find out how today. He lets go of you, lets you suck in huge gulps of air. So magnanimous even in his disdain. Every heaving gasp is glorious, orgasmic. Your lungs burn. You burn. Raphael watches it all with black, sadistic pleasure. A crown of twisted horns upon his head for a king of sadism.

“Say it again,” he demands.

“Raphael,” you rasp. Obedient to a fault.

The devil growls. Thin lips peel back over his fangs. He manhandles you, grabbing your legs to part them further, push your knees up by your head to better expose your weeping cunt. He’s not gentle. His claws raze stinging welts down the backs of your thighs. He’s done toying. He wants to fuck. He wants to come. He wants.

He’s too big like this. He won’t fit. He doesn’t care.

One brutal, precise snap of his hips and he stuffs his infernal cock deep inside your cunt. You’re so wet he slides right in and just keeps going. The sound is obscene, but you can’t hear it. You’re screaming. The agony of his vicious prick, barbed and fat and intrusive, is also ecstasy. Union. Hurtling you into the abyss of orgasm you’ve teetered at the edge of for what feels like forever. You writhe and you cry and you sob and you beg, your cunt clenching hard, milking Raphael’s cock with every contraction. He endures it for barely a moment. This isn’t about you.

“Such a good pet,” he snarls, grunting with effort. His rhythm is cruel, fast, his thrusts unforgiving. Sloppy. He’s still upset. Will be until he’s satisfied. He cannot and will not be reasoned with until then. “Haarlep won’t touch you ever again. No one will. Only me. Isn’t that right?”

“Yuh-yes,” you eke out. Wracked by pain and pleasure in tandem. The kind that strikes you dumb, that brands itself into every iota of your being. Imprints a legacy upon you that you will spend the rest of the forever attempting to achieve again. You can’t tell where one ends and the other begins, and Raphael is not here to help you navigate the waters. He’s the one drowning you. He crowds you, fucks deeper, harder, yearning for your womb’s slick, soft squeeze. Rocks your body with each flex. His tight balls bump your backside. Every nudge of your clit when your pelvises meet sends a lance racing up your spine. The head of his cock kisses your cervix, demands entrance. He pants, open-mouthed, eyes half-lidded. Groans in delirious delight when he sees the tears finally streaming down your cheeks. Feasts on them. You’re so overstimulated even his slippery tongue feels like broken glass. Gods it hurts so good.

“Delicious,” purrs the devil. He’s unravelling. “Sweeter than all the wines of Baator. And it’s all for me.”

He pushes his face into the crook of your neck, and when he comes – a great, shuddering climax, his cock erupting into your womb with spurts of liquid heat, more and more and more – he bites down, making a perfect imprint of his teeth into your nubile, sweat-slicked flesh. You squeal, you can’t help it. He seems to like that, if the throb of his cock and its extra squirt or two of cum is anything to go by. Raphael stays there, breathing hard through his nose, muscles twitching as he rides out his orgasm. All you can do is lay still and grip the bed. You’ve never felt so full. Eventually, when he softens and pulls out, the two of you moan in unison for different reasons, copious amounts of his seed leaking from your bruised, aching hole to stain the sheets. The devil lays on his side, satiated (for now). You, however…

With the greatest highs come even greater lows. Haarlep’s venom is wearing off, taking with it the cushion of pleasure protecting you from the full force of Raphael’s harsh treatment. Bruising around your throat, scratches and bites and stretched ligaments… Of course, your cunt has it the worst. What starts as a dull, yawning ache becomes sharp, searing. Your fingers and toes curl with the effort not to howl. You couldn’t anyway, your voice too raw from screaming. What you make instead is a quiet keen of distress. Raphael, who was perhaps dozing, takes notice.

“Oh, you poor little thing,” he croons lazily, only after admiring his work. The state of you. There’s no real sympathy in his voice. No regret. You didn’t expect any. In a show of mercy, however, he does click his fingers and move the two of you into his rejuvenation pool. You’re soothed in an instant. Except for the bite. Raphael makes it very clear that’s there to stay.

[brookediamonds]

my ex's best friend (part three) | Axel Kovačević x Fem! Reader

Summary: The weekend is over and you and Axel come face to face with the outside world. That happens to include your ex-boyfriend, and Axel's best friend.

Word Count: 4.5k Warnings: None, angst, fluff

part one | part two

gif is not mine

Monday morning comes too fast, the weekend with Axel feeling like a dream as you walk through the school's main entrance. 

The hallways buzz with the usual chaos of lockers slamming, friends calling out greetings, the perpetual background noise of several hundred teenagers trying to delay first period as long as possible.

You spot Tory by your locker, her eyebrows shooting up the moment she sees you.

"Well, well, well," she says, folding her arms across her chest. "Look who finally decided to answer their texts."

"Sorry," you say, unable to keep the smile from your face as you spin your combination. "I was... busy."

"Busy," Tory repeats, drawing out the word knowingly. "With a certain tall, moody, Croatian, perhaps?"

Heat rises to your cheeks as you busy yourself with exchanging books from your backpack.

"Maybe." You twist the dial on your locker, not meeting her eyes. "It was a good weekend."

"A good weekend?" Tory presses, her voice rising with excitement. "Bitch, you disappeared for two days after leaving a party with Axel Kovačević. I need details. Lots of them."

You finally look at her, unable to keep the smile from spreading across your face. "We had dinner at that Italian place by the mall on Saturday. And he took me to the beach yesterday. We watched the sunset."

"And?" Tory prompts, leaning closer. "What about the stuff between dinner and sunset?"

You feel your cheeks warm as memories flash through your mind—tangled sheets, his accent thickening as he whispered your name, his hands mapping every inch of your body.

"A lady doesn't kiss and tell," you say primly, shutting your locker closed.

Tory rolls her eyes dramatically. 

"Fine, be mysterious. But that smile tells me everything I need to know." She bumps your shoulder playfully. "I haven't seen you look this happy in months."

Before you can respond, the warning bell rings, signaling seven minutes until first period. 

"I've got to get to Calculus," Tory says, already backing away. "But this conversation isn't over!" She points at you with mock seriousness before disappearing into the crowd.

You shake your head, smiling as you gather your books for English. The hallway is thinning out as students reluctantly head to their classes.

You're about to do the same when a familiar voice calls out to you.

"Hey, beautiful."

Your heart does a little flip as you turn to see Axel leaning against the lockers a few feet away.

He's wearing a simple ashy grey t-shirt over another white shirt, falling over his muscular body beautifully. His dark blue eyes light up when they meet yours, making your stomach flutter with butterflies.

It's only been a few hours since you've seen him (since he reluctantly left your house last night with promises to see you today), but somehow it feels longer.

"Hey yourself," you reply, unable to keep the smile from your face.

He pushes off the lockers and crosses the distance between you in a few long strides. The hallway is nearly empty now, most students already in their classrooms.

Axel reaches for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours with a casual intimacy that still feels new and thrilling. His thumb traces small circles on your skin, sending pleasant shivers up your arm.

"I missed you," he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear. His accent wraps around the words, making them sound like a secret shared between just the two of you.

"It's been twelve hours," you point out, though you can't keep the smile from tugging at your lips.

"Twelve hours too long," he replies, his eyes never leaving yours. 

His free hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing against your skin with a tenderness that makes your heart stutter. 

"I've been thinking about you all morning," he confesses, his voice dropping even lower. "About yesterday. About Friday night."

The mention of Friday night sends heat rushing to your cheeks as memories flood your mind—his hands on your body, his lips against your skin, the way he looked at you like you were the only girl in this world.

"We're going to be late for class," you grin, though you make no move to step away.

Axel glances at the nearly empty hallway, then back at you, a mischievous glint appearing in his eyes. "I have a better idea."

Before you can ask what he means, his hand tightens around yours, and he's pulling you down the corridor, away from your first-period classroom 

Axel pulls you around a corner, his pace quickening as he checks over his shoulder to make sure no teachers are watching. 

Your heart races with the thrill of breaking rules, of following him blindly through the emptying hallways.

"Where are we going?" you whisper-laugh as he leads you down a corridor you rarely use.

"Patience," he murmurs, that accent making even simple words sound like a caress.

His hand is warm around yours, his grip firm but gentle as he navigates the maze of hallways. Finally, he stops in front of the door to the old music practice room.

With a quick glance in both directions, Axel tries the handle. It gives with a soft click.

"How did you know this would be open?" you ask as he pulls you inside, closing the door behind him. 

"Old habits," Axel says with a wink, pulling you further into the small room. "I used to come here during study hall last year. Nobody ever checks it."

The practice room is small, maybe twelve feet square, with soundproofing panels lining the walls. 

A dusty upright piano sits in one corner, sheet music still perched on the stand as if waiting for a student who never returned. 

The blinds are drawn over the single window, casting the room in a soft, diffused light.

"So," you say, raising an eyebrow as Axel locks the door behind you. "You brought me to a secret room to... practice scales?"

He laughs, the sound rich and warm in the small space. In one fluid motion, he pulls you against him, his hands settling at your waist. 

The heat of his palms seeps through your shirt, making your skin tingle.

"I had something a bit different in mind," Axel murmurs, his voice dropping to that low register that never fails to send shivers down your spine.

His hands slide up your sides, one coming to rest at the small of your back while the other cups your face. 

His thumb traces your bottom lip softly, his dark orbs tracking the movement with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

"Like what?" you ask, though you already know the answer, can feel it in the way his body leans into yours, in the heat of his palm against your cheek.

Instead of answering, Axel bends down, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly deepens. 

You melt against him, your books dropping forgotten to the floor as your hands find their way into his light brown hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands.

His hands are restless now, sliding from your waist to your hips, then back up again, fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt to touch the bare skin of your back.

You gasp into his mouth at the contact, your own hands gripping his shoulders tighter. 

His lips leave yours to trail hot kisses down your neck, finding that sensitive spot just below your ear that he discovered this weekend. 

The gentle scrape of his teeth against your skin has you tilting your head to give him better access, a soft moan escaping your lips.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you all night," Axel murmurs against your skin, his accent thicker with desire. "Couldn't sleep after I left your place."

"Me neither," you admit breathlessly as his hands continue to explore. 

His hands slide up under your shirt, fingertips tracing patterns on your bare skin that make you shiver despite the warmth of the small room. 

Your back presses against the wall as Axel's body covers yours completely, his height making you feel deliciously small beneath him.

"I wanted to see you before class," he whispers against your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "Couldn't wait until lunch."

You laugh softly, your hands slipping under his shirt to feel the warm skin of his back. "So you decided to make us both late instead?"

"Exactly," he murmurs, capturing your lips again in a kiss that steals your breath. 

His tongue traces the seam of your lips, seeking entrance that you gladly grant. The kiss deepens, becoming something hungry and desperate that has heat pooling low in your belly.

You're about to respond when a noise from the hallway catches your attention—footsteps approaching, then pausing outside the door. 

You both freeze, eyes locking in a moment of shared panic. Axel's hands still beneath your shirt, his body going tense against yours.

The doorknob rattles, and you hold your breath, heart hammering in your chest.

"Locked," comes a muffled voice from the other side. A familiar voice that makes your blood run cold.

Miguel.

"I thought you said he'd be in here," another voice says—probably Hawk. 

"He usually hides out in here when he wants to be alone," Miguel insists, his voice clearer now. "I need to talk to him about this whole ‘Y/n’ thing. Robby swore he saw them leaving together."

Your eyes lock with Axel's in the dim light of the practice room, panic coursing through your veins.

His hands slide from beneath your shirt, but he doesn't move away, instead pressing his finger to his lips in a silent plea for quiet.

"Let me try calling him," Miguel says, his voice muffled through the door.

Axel's eyes widen, and he frantically pats his pockets. The color drains from his face as his hand closes around the shape of his phone in his back pocket. 

You both realize the danger at the same moment, if Miguel calls, Axel's phone will give you away.

In the hushed stillness of the practice room, you can hear Miguel's voice clearly. "It's ringing."

Axel fumbles with his phone, desperately trying to silence it before the inevitable happens. 

His fingers fumble with the volume buttons, but it's already too late.

The ringtone is deafening in the small practice room, bouncing off the soundproofing panels that were designed to contain music, not hide teenagers skipping class.

Your heart nearly stops as silence falls in the hallway. You can practically picture Miguel and Hawk freezing, heads turning toward the door like predators catching a scent.

"He's in there," Miguel says, his voice hardening with certainty.

The doorknob rattles again, more forcefully this time. "Axel! I know you're in there, man. Open up!"

Axel's eyes meet yours, panic giving way to resignation. His thumb hovers over the red decline button, hesitating for just a moment. 

Then, with a resigned sigh, he silences the call. You hear Hawk excuse himself, saying he needed to meet his own girlfriend before class.

"What do we do?" you whisper, panic rising in your chest as Miguel pounds on the door again.

Axel runs a hand through his hair, as he makes a decision. "There's nowhere to hide in here. I have to face him."

Your stomach drops at his words. "Both of us?"

He studies your face for a moment, his expression softening. "No. You stay behind the door when I open it. He won't be able to see you right away."

"Axel!" Miguel's voice comes again, louder and more insistent. "Open the damn door!"

"Just a second!" Axel calls back, his accent slightly more pronounced with stress. He turns back to you, cupping your face in both hands. 

His eyes search yours, an apology already forming in them.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. "This isn't how I wanted things to go."

You nod, understanding but terrified. Your heart pounds so loudly you're certain Miguel can hear it through the door. 

Axel gives your hand one last reassuring squeeze before gently maneuvering you behind the door.

With a deep breath, Axel unlocks the door and pulls it open just enough to reveal himself in the gap, his tall frame effectively blocking the view into the room. 

You press yourself against the wall behind the door, holding your breath, praying Miguel won't try to push his way inside.

"What the hell, man?" Miguel's voice is sharp with irritation. His eyes narrow as he takes in Axel's disheveled appearance—hair mussed from your fingers, lips slightly swollen from your kisses.

"Dude, I've been looking everywhere for you," he continues, trying to peer past Axel's shoulder into the practice room. "Why aren't you answering your phone?"

"I was busy," Axel replies, his voice cool and collected despite the tension radiating from his body. 

You can see the muscles in his back tighten beneath his t-shirt as he maintains his position in the doorway, effectively blocking Miguel's view.

"Busy?" Miguel repeats, suspicion creeping into his voice. "Busy doing what exactly?"

"Thinking," Axel says simply. "I come here sometimes when I need space."

You hear Miguel scoff. "Right. And that's why you locked the door.”

"Forgive me for wanting a moment to myself," Axel says, his accent thickening with irritation. "What's so urgent anyway?"

Miguel runs a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration you recognize all too well from your time together. His jaw clenches as he takes a step closer to the door.

"Robby told me something interesting about the party Friday night," Miguel says, his voice dropping lower. "Said he saw you leaving with Y/n."

Your heart stops in your chest, blood turning to ice in your veins. Behind the door, you press yourself harder against the wall, as if you could somehow disappear into it.

"And?" Axel's voice remains impressively steady, though you can see the tension in his shoulders.

"She’s my ex and you’re my best friend. I want to know if it's true," Miguel presses, an edge creeping into his voice. "Did you leave with her?"

Axel hesitates, and in that fleeting moment of uncertainty, his eyes instinctively flick toward where you're hidden. 

It's barely a glance, just the briefest shift of his gaze, but it's enough. Miguel catches it instantly, his years of karate training having honed his ability to read body language. 

His eyes narrow, following Axel's line of sight to the space behind the door.

"Who's in there with you?" Miguel demands, his voice hardening as he takes a step forward.

Axel's hand tightens on the door frame, his knuckles turning white. "Miguel, listen—"

But Miguel is already moving, using his shoulder to push past Axel's tall frame. The door swings wide, and suddenly you're exposed, pressed against the wall with nowhere to hide.

Time seems to freeze as Miguel's eyes find yours. 

Miguel's eyes widen, a flurry of emotions crossing his face in rapid succession—shock, confusion, hurt, and finally, anger.

The silence that follows feels endless, the three of you frozen in a tableau that nobody knows how to break.

"You've got to be kidding me," Miguel finally says, his voice dangerously quiet. 

His gaze flicks between you and Axel, connecting dots you can see forming in his mind. "This is why you've been acting weird all weekend?"

Axel steps forward, positioning himself slightly between you and Miguel. 

"It's not what you think," he says, though the words sound hollow even to your ears.

"Really?" Miguel's laugh is harsh, devoid of any humor. "Because what I think is that my best friend has been hooking up with my ex behind my back."

"Seriously?" The word escapes your lips before you can stop it, sharper than you intended. "Don't be such a hypocrite, Miguel."

His eyes snap to yours, narrowing slightly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

You take a step forward, feeling something inside you shift. For months, you've avoided confrontation, avoided him, avoided everything that reminded you of how it ended. 

But standing here now, with Axel's steady presence beside you, something crystallizes in your chest—a certainty, a strength you'd forgotten you possessed.

"It means," you say, your voice gaining confidence with each word, "that you started dating my best friend literally the minute we broke up."

Miguel's expression falters, a flash of guilt crossing his features before he masks it with indignation. "That's different."

"Is it?" You cross your arms, standing your ground. "You and Sam were together two weeks after we broke up. Two weeks."

The pain of that betrayal resurfaces, but this time it doesn't cut as deep. "You didn't even have the decency to tell me yourself. I had to find out from Tory."

Miguel at least has the grace to look away, his jaw working as he struggles for a response. "That was... I should have handled that better."

"You think?" Your voice rises slightly, years of bottled emotions finally finding release. "And you know what? You never even apologized. Not once. You just expected everyone to move on, to accept that you and Sam were together, like I was supposed to be fine with it."

"I didn't—"

"You didn't what?" you challenge, your voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside you. "You didn't think about how it would feel for me? You didn't consider that maybe, just maybe, your actions would hurt someone who cared about you?"

Miguel shifts uncomfortably, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before meeting yours again. "Look, what happened between us—"

"Is in the past," you finish for him, your voice softer now but no less firm. "And what I do now, who I choose to be with now, is none of your business."

Axel's hand finds yours, his fingers intertwining with yours in a silent show of support. The gesture isn't lost on Miguel, whose eyes narrow as they fix on your joined hands.

"How long has this been going on?" His voice hardens as anger begins to replace shock. "How long have you been seeing her behind my back?"

You feel Axel tense beside you, his tall frame straightening as Miguel's accusation hangs in the air. The practice room suddenly feels too small for the three of you, the tension thickening with each passing second.

"It's not like that," Axel begins, his accent more pronounced with emotion. "It just happened."

Miguel's eyes darken as they shift to Axel, his former friend now standing tall beside you. "So what, man? You've just been waiting in the wings all this time, watching for your chance?"

You feel Axel tense beside you, his fingers tightening slightly around yours. His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking along his cheekbone as he struggles to maintain his composure.

"It wasn't like that," Axel says, his accent thickening with emotion. "I never planned—"

"Save it," Miguel cuts him off, stepping closer, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "I trusted you.”

He walks past the both of you, avoiding eye contact, leaving you and Axel alone in the room. 

You begin to feel the guilt eat at you, as you watch Axel run a hand through his hair. 

Miguel and Axel have been friends since they were kids, and now you questioned if you stood in the way of that. 

"You should go talk to him," you murmur, glancing down at your feet. 

Axel turns to you, his blue eyes softening as he takes in your worried expression. 

He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with gentle fingers. The simple touch sends warmth cascading through you despite the tension still hanging in the air.

"He needs time," Axel says, his accent wrapping around the words like a caress. "Going after him now would only make things worse."

You bite your lower lip, guilt gnawing at your insides. "I didn't mean to come between you two. You've been friends forever and I—"

"Hey," Axel interrupts gently, one hand moving to tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. "This isn't your fault. None of it."

"But—"

"No," he says firmly, his thumb caressing the bottom of your face.. "This is between Miguel and me. We'll figure it out. But I need you to understand something."

His eyes hold yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

"I don't regret this," he says, his voice low but firm. "I don't regret us. Not for a second."

Something warm unfurls in your chest at his words, chasing away some of the guilt and uncertainty. His hand moves to cup your cheek, thumb tracing small circles against your skin.

"I've waited too long to be with you," he continues, the emotion evident in his voice. "Miguel will be angry for a while. He has that right. But eventually, he'll understand."

"Are you sure?" you ask, leaning into his touch. 

"One hundred percent," he states. 

The bell for first period rings in the distance, its shrill sound barely penetrating the thick walls of the practice room. 

You glance toward the door, reality intruding on the bubble you and Axel have created.

"We should probably get to class," you say, reluctance evident in your voice. "We're already late."

Axel nods, though he makes no move to step away from you. His hand slides from your cheek to the nape of your neck, fingers tangling gently in your hair.

"Let me walk you to class," he murmurs, reluctantly stepping back from you. "At least we can stretch these last few minutes together."

You gather your books from where they fell to the floor earlier, straightening your clothes as best you can. 

Axel runs his fingers through his hair, attempting to fix the mess your hands made of it.

As you reach for the door handle, Axel's hand covers yours, stopping you. You look up to find his eyes searching yours, something vulnerable flickering in their blue depths.

"Are you okay?" he asks softly. "With everything that just happened with Miguel?"

You take a deep breath, considering the question. The confrontation with Miguel was uncomfortable, painful even, but standing here with Axel, you feel surprisingly... light.

Like something that had been weighing you down has finally lifted.

"I'm okay," you say, and you're surprised to realize it's true. 

"Actually, I'm more than okay." A smile spreads across your face, warmth blooming in your chest. "For months I've been hiding, Axel. Avoiding places, changing my routes to class, all to not run into Miguel and Sam. I've been making myself smaller, like I was the one who did something wrong."

You reach up, your fingers brushing his cheek. "But standing there, finally saying what I've wanted to say for so long... it felt right. Like I could finally breathe again."

Axel's eyes soften, his hand covering yours where it rests against his face. 

"You never cease to amaze me," he says, his voice low and intimate in the small space between you. "I've always known how strong you are, but seeing you stand up to him like that..."

His admiration warms you from the inside out, making you stand a little taller.

"Do you know what the best part is?" you ask, a small smile playing at your lips.

Axel shakes his head, his eyes never leaving yours. "Tell me."

"I don't have to hide anymore," you say, your voice gaining confidence with each word. "And I don't have to hide this. Hide us."

Your hand slides from his cheek to rest against his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath your palm. 

Axel's eyes darken slightly at your words, something possessive flickering in their blue depths. His hand covers yours where it rests against his heart.

"No," he agrees, his accent thickening with emotion. "No more hiding."

His lips find yours in a kiss that feels like a promise. It's gentle but certain, warm and full of possibility. 

Your body melts against his, the world outside this room momentarily forgotten.

When you finally pull apart, Axel's eyes are darker, his breathing slightly uneven. His thumb traces your bottom lip, which tingles pleasantly from his kiss. 

"You know," Axel murmurs, his eyes roaming your face with undisguised appreciation, "seeing you put him in his place like that..." He pauses, his accent thickening as he searches for the right words.

You tilt your head, curious. "What about it?"

A slow smile spreads across his face, transforming his features from serious to playful in an instant, while his eyes hold a mischievous glint in them.

"It was incredibly hot," he admits, his voice dropping to that low register that sends shivers down your spine. His hands settle at your waist, drawing you closer. "Confidence looks good on you. A total turn-on, actually."

You laugh, shoving his shoulder playfully. "Is that so?"

"Absolutely," he says, not backing down. His fingers trace small circles against your hips as you look back towards the door, where the real world existed. 

"We should go," he says reluctantly, though he makes no move to step away.

You nod, equally reluctant to break the moment. With a sigh, you reach for the door handle again, this time turning it and stepping into the now-empty hallway.

The bell has long since rung, marking you both firmly in the "late" category. Axel follows you out, carefully closing the practice room door behind him. 

The hallway stretches before you, empty and quiet save for the distant sounds of teachers lecturing behind closed doors.

Your footsteps echo against the linoleum as Axel walks beside you, his tall frame casting a long shadow under the fluorescent lights. 

The silence between you isn't uncomfortable, it's charged with everything that just happened, everything that's changed since Friday night.

"So," Axel says finally, his accent wrapping around the word as he shortens his long strides to match yours. "Which class are you missing right now?"

"Biology with Ms. Patel," you reply, clutching your books tighter to your chest. "She's going to kill me for being this late."

Axel's lips curve into that half-smile that still makes your heart skip. "Want me to write you a note? I can be very persuasive."

You laugh, the sound bouncing off the lockers lining the hallway. "Oh yeah? And what would this persuasive note say?"

"That you were helping a fellow student in distress," he suggests, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Or that you were conducting an important sound experiment in the music practice room."

"Very believable," you retort, bumping your shoulder against his arm playfully.

As you round the corner, the hallway widens, and you can see your biology classroom at the end of the corridor. Your steps slow involuntarily, reluctant to end this moment between you.

Axel seems to sense your hesitation, his own pace slowing to match yours. His hand brushes against yours, fingers lightly intertwining with your own in a touch that's both casual and intimate.

"I'll see you at lunch?" he asks, his voice soft in the empty hallway.

You nod, turning to face him fully as you reach the classroom door. "Meet you by the math wing?"

His smile widens, reaching his eyes in a way that makes your heart flutter. "I'll be waiting."

You're about to turn away when Axel's hand catches yours, pulling you back gently. Before you can react, he leans down, pressing a quick kiss to your lips right there in the empty hallway.

"For courage," he murmurs against your mouth.

Heat rises to your cheeks as you pull back, glancing nervously toward the classroom door. "Someone might see."

"Let them," Axel says simply, his blue eyes holding yours with quiet intensity. "No more hiding, remember?"

The confidence in his voice, the certainty in his gaze, makes something shift inside you. Like a weight you didn't even realize you’d been carrying finally lifts.

You squeeze his hand once before slowly letting go.

"Right," you breathe, a small smile tugging at your lips. "No more hiding."

Axel's grin returns, softer this time, proud. He steps back, giving you space to slip into your classroom, but not before your fingers brush once more in parting.

As the door clicks shut behind you, your pulse is still racing.

Because for the first time in a long time, it feels like you’re walking into the day with your head high, and your heart full.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

Masterlist

Taglist: @ggrgcribg

(a/n: I know I have a few requests for toxic!axel smut so thank you for your patience, it's on its way!)

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♱ Ｃｉｔｉｅｓ Ｉｎ Ｄｕｓｔ ♱

♱ Pairings: vampire!hyunlix x chubby!fem!vampire!reader, vampire!bang chan

♱ Genre: vampire au/horror/angst/fluff

♱ Summary: After their lover’s taken by vampire hunters, Hyunjin and Felix are willing to do anything to get her back but finding her is only the beginning of a journey down a twisted, blood soaked path where they find there are much scarier things in the world besides them and the biggest threat of them all may be closer than they think.

♱ Word Count: 3.9k-ish

♱ Warnings: vampires, blood, violence, expressions of pain/loneliness/heartbreak, some fluffy kisses. this chapter’s more emotionally driven than ultra bloody (future chapters will for sure get a lil gory), & that’s all

♱ A/N: I’m literally so nervous posting this. It’s the first fic I’ve written in a while and moody vampires are my happy place so I really hope this finds the people who love them too and you guys enjoy it.

I'm also thanking @anyamaris for giving me the confidence to post my writing and for always taking the time out to read my stuff🖤

A vampire can meet her end in any manner of ways. She might find a sharp object driven through her chest, the bones of her ribcage fractured around her faintly beating heart.

Or she could find herself cast out into the sun for a minute too long where she’d roast fiercely from the inside out until she was nothing more than ash in the wind. 

The list goes on, if only briefly, and every hunter knows these methods like a prayer. But there’s another list. One that only certain hunters hold knowledge of. Not a list of ways to kill a vampire but of ways to make them wish you had.

You had the misfortune of coming across the latter. For you there was no archaic wooden post whittled into a stake, no afternoon spent sunbathing in the park. Locked away in the mausoleum of a dead man you've never met, you’re as alive as you’ve ever been.

Alive but paralyzed by the deprivation of the only two things that made eternity worth living. The taste of blood, warm and sweet on your tongue, and the euphoria of a love whose absence has rotted a hole in your heart. 

100 days you’ve been here, turning to stone like the angelic statues that guard your tomb, and the pain grows impossibly deeper as the next approaches.

But you’ll not have to suffer another night in this hell. You’ll be free, you’ll taste blood again, feel truly alive. Your loves will see to it. 

Standing at 712 ft tall, the Žižkov Television Tower looms above the romantically gothic city of Prague. It’s breathtaking beneath the night sky. Endless miles of beauty in every direction begging to be admired.

Most humans couldn’t dream of ever reaching the heights necessary to indulge but one man’s found himself lucky enough to take it all in. Maybe dangling upside down by your leg doesn’t technically count as luck but it’s all about perception. 

“Please! Just let me go!” the bloodied man begs, the wind cold and sharp as it whips his tears back against his red cheeks. All of the blood’s rushed to his head and his view of the horizon has blurred into something reminiscent of watercolor painting. 

“Let you go?” Hyunjin giggles, perched atop a platform. “That’s a really bad choice of words but okay.”

The dark haired vampire loosens his grip on the man’s ankle, reveling in the cry of desperation that leaves the man’s lips. Hunters are always this way when you catch them. So very pathetic. So weak. 

“Wait! No! No! Please!” the man cries in the split second before his ankle’s secure in Hyunjin’s grasp again. “I don’t know where she is. I swear to God.”

“You swear to god when you lie?” a deep voice questions, unamused with his hypocrisy. “Do you not claim to do his work? And you take his name in vain?” 

Hyunjin looks to the blond haired companion at his side, “Felix, are you telling me you don’t believe the words of this upstanding gentleman?” 

“I’m telling the truth!” the man insists, his nose beginning to snot, turning him into a blubbering mess. “I don’t know where they put her. After we took her…” 

Felix’s eyes pulse a deep, electric red at those last four words. After we took her. “So you took her! Where?” he shouts, his voice near animalistic as he reaches down, grabbing the hunter by the neck. 

It’s dizzying for the man to find himself upright for the first time in what seems to be an eternity but there’s no time to breathe a sigh of relief. Indeed, he can’t breathe at all. Felix’s hand is tight around his neck, crushing his windpipe at a torturously slow pace.

When he saw these creatures cloaked in back, their elegantly sharp features forming in the darkness of his apartment, he knew what they were and what they wanted. Who they wanted. And death inevitably lay before him.

Truth or lies? Would either change his fate? He hasn’t come to decide and there’s little time now for contemplation. 

“You need to calm down” Hyunjin cautions, razor sharp nails drumming against the metal railing. 

“Calm down?” Felix snaps, his fangs glinting in the moonlight, “You heard him. They took her. He took her! Why aren’t you angrier? Or do you even care?” 

In the blink of an eye Hyunjin is on his feet, his hand hovering near Felix’s throat, prepared to choke him the way he does the poor limp man he dangles like a ragdoll. 

“Bad things happen when we let our anger get the best of us and we don’t want that. Do we?” Hyunjin warns through gritted teeth. 

His gaze still locked on the man, Felix’s rage calms barely enough to sense. Hyunjin rests his hand against the porcelain skin of Felix’s neck, violence melting into its own strange form of empathy as he pats it gently.

They came here for the same reason and the success of this, like all they’ve ever done in their afterlife, depends entirely upon their ability not to kill each other. But other people? Well, that’s a different story. 

“One last chance. Where’d you take her?” Hyunjin presses the man, knowing every second spent here is a second wasted. 

With two sets of immortal eyes burning a hole through his very soul, the man makes a decision on his life. A decision he regrets in an instant. 

“Don’t r-remeber” he croaks out.

“Yikes” Hyunjin hisses, disappointed but almost equally excited to finally be rid of this scumbag, “Wrong choice of words yet again. Seems to be your thing.” 

Felix frees the man from his grasp, tossing him out into the night like garbage. It’s been said that when you fall from a building you black out before hitting the ground but there’s much more that happens before that final moment.

A fear so overwhelming you find yourself going borderline insane. Collapsed blood vessels. Rupturing cells. All before you hit the ground and become a piece of abstract art to be washed away in the morning. Messy, messy stuff. 

As the hunter’s screams fade into the distance below, the two vampires are left in an uncomfortable silence heavy with the weight of questions unanswered. They dropped everything to come here, chased down every lead possible, and now their most promising one is hurling towards the ground at 120mph. 

“I know she’s here somewhere” Felix sighs, breaking the silence, “I can feel her. She’s so alone, Hyunjin. She thinks we forgot about her. I can’t let her think that.”

Felix’s voice begins to crack, the heartbreak almost bringing him to tears. 101 days and every single one of them has been like a living hell. Getting closer was supposed to make things better but the closer they get the more the pain clouds their vision, thickening like fog until it’s impossible to see beyond it. 

Hyunjin can only wish for the words that will make this all better. Anything at all to cool the pain searing through their chests. Even with Felix’s eyes almost pleading for him to say something that will make him feel less alone—less like he’s the only one hurting—Hyunjin can’t manage to let the wall down. Building it was all he could do to keep from burning this city to dust and any chance of finding his love right along with it. 

“Right. Why do I bother? Why don’t you go back home, Hyunjin? Go rot with all your paintings. You always did like them better.”

Hyunjin parts his soft, rosy lips to issue another passive threat but, as quiet as his next breath, Felix disappears, abandoning him to a new brand of silence. The kind that leaves Hyunjin’s mind to race uninterrupted, sending memories washing over him so viciously he can’t resist being swept away. 

Painting by moonlight.

Hyunjin has done it countless times in the last 300 years and it never loses its charm. There’s something so romantic about it. So relaxing. Tonight’s hunt had demanded a brutality of him that he seldom likes to reveal but with every stroke of the brush against canvas the beast within him calms, lulled back to sleep by the sound of water rushing from the ornate fountains of the back garden.

The subject of Hyunjin’s painting sits peacefully in the distance. A sprawling English manor that he’s called home for the past 50 years. Despite an external appearance that might have one think people were once beheaded on these grounds by some temperamental tyrant—they likely were—it emanates a sense of warmth from within and the source of it just sped past in a blur of light, nearly knocking his painting over. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” you apologize, stopping to catch your breath. Carefully straightening the canvas back out on the easel, another blur whisks by, knocking you into the grass. 

“Tag! You’re it now!” Felix declares gleefully, his limbs intertwined with yours as you struggle to sit up.

“I can’t be it if you break my back.”

“Your enemies don’t care if they break your back, my little flower” Felix hums, picking blades of grass from your hair. 

Hyunjin rolls his eyes, turning his attention back to his painting as he mouths every word that Felix says next. 

“You have to keep your endurance up. Never let anyone get the advantage. Life may seem sweet behind these walls but trust me…”

You let out a giggle at the faces Hyunjin makes as he mimics a dead serious Felix. It isn’t that you don’t take Felix seriously. He’s lived much longer than you have, gone through things you couldn’t imagine. All he wants to do is protect you, it’s more than anyone ever did for you in your mortal life, but sometimes you wish he’d stop worrying. For his own sake. 

Felix frowns, your giggles drawing his attention to Hyunjin. “Are you making fun of me?” 

“Making fun of you?” Hyunjin gasps, crossing his legs. “I’d never make fun of you baby brother.”

“Baby brother? You’re older than me by 5 months!”

Hyunjin grins, never bored with his ability to get under Felix’s skin. “5 months and 26 days. Can’t forget the 26 days.”  

As much as you adore their trademark bickering, the grass is itchy and your back actually hurts. You’re hardly in the mood for this tonight.

Grabbing Felix by the collar, you kiss him before he can take Hyunjin’s bait. You only intend for it to be the faintest peck, just enough to shut him up, but he wastes no time pulling you on top of him and enveloping you in his arms.

The kiss deepens as his fingers massage the fullness of your figure through the plush cotton of your dress. His touch makes any bit of pain you feel melt away, replacing it with a tingling sensation that spreads throughout your entire body.

You forget in this moment that anything else exists in the world. There’s only the feeling of his lips pressed against yours, your hearts matching each other’s rhythm as the heat grows between you. 

Hyunjin can feel it too. Every sensation Felix takes in. It snuffs out his own senses, replacing the feeling of the carved wooden brush in his hand with the sinfully tempting softness of your flesh. He can taste you on his tongue, smell the delicate floral scent of your perfume. It’s everything he wants and nothing he needs right now. 

“I guess I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it. Go hurl myself into the sun or something.”

Hyunjin makes no attempt at hiding his irritation as he walks off, leaving his things behind. 

“Is that jealousy I sense?” you tease, appearing in front of him with an innocent pout on your face. 

He shoos you away,  offended at the accusation that he’d ever waste his energy on such an insignificant human emotion.

“No. Just bored” he lies, attempting to step around you. 

You block his way, placing a hand on each of his cheeks to keep his eyes fixed on you. “You’re both very special to me. I love you and I never want you to get so…bored that you forget that.” 

It’s silly to imply that your love is something he could ever question. There are many things he’s come to question in this world but the day will never come where that’s among them.

No matter how close he finds himself teetering on the edge of that thing called jealousy. Just having you near him, staring at him with stars in your eyes like he’s the center of the universe, is enough to bring him back from it. 

Hyunjin takes you by the waist, pulling you closer and into a kiss much deeper than the last. He has a way of enchanting you so completely that you’d swear you were under a spell. A spell cast on your soul, laced within his kiss, and sealed with the fingertips that trail their way up your spine. If there’s a way to break it may that secret remain buried for the length of eternity. 

“I love you too” he whispers, sending all of the blood from your last meal rushing to your cheeks.

“Good because you…are…it!” You tag him on the shoulder and disappear into the surrounding forest, cloaked by the shadows of the trees.

Felix hops to his feet, knowing Hyunjin’s competitive streak won’t let him sit this one out.  “Do I get a head start?”

Hyunjin laughs, baring his fangs, “Just shut up and run.” 

Felix follows your lead and Hyunjin wastes no time taking off after the two of you. Suspecting that you’ve found yourself a hiding space by now, Hyunjin focuses on who he senses closest to him. Maneuvering through the trees with a graceful swiftness, Hyunjin zones out the symphony of the night to isolate the sound of Felix’s breathing.

Felix has managed to make it imperceptible enough that a less experienced vampire may not know he was breathing at all. Picking up speed, he circles around Felix, slamming into him as he jumps to perch atop a branch.

Felix hits the ground with a thud, rolling through the dirt and into a small pile of leaves. 

“I really have to learn how to fall.”

Hyunjin helps him to his feet but not without rubbing it in. 

“All these years and you still can’t outrun me.” 

Felix shrugs, dusting himself off, “Maybe I just wanted to slow you down.” 

“Betrayal!” Hyunjin gasps, “You’ll pay for this later.” 

He turns to chase after you, determined not to let you get one up on him, but Felix grabs him by the arm, a look of concern painting his face. 

“Do you smell that?” Felix frowns, sniffing the air.

His nostrils are assaulted by the bitter smell of something burning nearby. He takes a few steps back towards the house and the air grows thicker with the scent of wood burning like kindling for a campfire. But it’s more than that. 

Hyunjin picks up on it too, glancing back to spot flames dancing in the windows of the place you call home. Without thinking, they race back through the forest, effortlessly closing the distance between them and the burning manor.

They make it to the backdoor in time to see it engulfed by flames that climb the side of the building, torching the rose vines you spent all summer tending to.

“Stay back here!” Felix shouts, already charting an alternate course into the house, “I’ll go around front and find another way in!”

Hyunjin watches in shock as the windows of the top floor shatter, sending glass cascading to the ground. The way the fire’s burning, it doesn’t make sense. There’s no pattern. No source. Something’s not right. 

And that’s when the true panic sets in. The realization that something’s missing. Someone’s missing.

“Where is she?” he asks, his heart sinking. 

The question stops Felix where he stands and his eyes drifts back to the forest. He may nag you about the need to sharpen your abilities but you’re the most perceptive vampire he’s ever met. If they picked up on the scent of smoke you would’ve too. You’d be here by now. 

A new possibility opens up, turning his stomach. You wouldn’t have gone back into the house. You couldn’t have. He shakes it off, venturing back into the garden to find you.

Hyunjin has the same worry but can’t bring himself to quiet it. Taking a few steps back, he closes his eyes and hurls his body through a first floor window. His body slams against the floor, dislocating his shoulder. The pain is blinding, shooting through his right side like a jolt of electricity. 

Flames roar around him, swallowing up everything he ever held dear and none of it means a thing. There’s only one thing he cares about and he’ll lose himself before he loses you. Crawling to his feet, cuts littering his once perfect face, he calls out to you but is met with only silence. 

Outside Felix has abandoned the garden to search for you in the woods where the only creatures returning his cries are those of the woodlands. They scream for you until their throats are raw. Beg for any sign you’re there until tears sting their eyes and stain their cheeks. Until the flames eat the walls like acid and the forest becomes a black barren sea. 

They search for you, weep for you, but you’re gone—ripped away from them—and the pain they feel now is nothing compared to what’s to come. 

Flowing through the city’s center, the Vltava River is said to be a place where one can find peace. Amongst all the lights and buzzing tourism, this spot on the bridge was supposed to be soothing but, unfortunately for Felix, he can only muster up annoyance and something he’s yet to recognize as a drop of envy. 

Below him private yachts and ferry boats float their way up and down the river. They’re brimming with humans laughing and partying. Their joy permeates everything, giving the city a feeling of lightness that he promptly rejects.

A few months ago he might’ve found this city charming, maybe even smiled at the simple joys humans seem to find in life, but now all that’s beautiful feels tainted. 

“It doesn’t have to be,” a friendly voice reassures him. 

Felix jumps back, startled by the sudden appearance of a young man not much older than he is. Dressed in all black designer clothing from head to toe, he still manages to carry himself with the laid back energy of the type of guy who’s everyone’s best friend. But there’s something off about him and it makes Felix’s skin crawl.

He extends a hand to Felix, a peace offering of sorts before the war has even begun. 

“It doesn’t have to be what?” Felix asks, staring at his hand as if it were laced with poison. 

“Tainted. Darkness and beauty can coexist, yeah?” 

“How’d you…”

The man’s eyes pulse red, answering Felix’s question in an instant. Another vampire? He recognizes that accent. It’s similar to his own. This one’s not from here. 

“I’m from Australia. Name’s Chris. Nice to meet you, Felix.” 

Felix’s skin’s no longer crawling, it’s crawling off.

Chris keeps his hand out, a sugary sweet grin stretched across his lips. He’s immovable and something tells Felix if he doesn’t give in now they’ll be here all night.

He cautiously shakes his hand, trying to assess the vampire’s intentions without giving too much away. Mind reading isn’t a gift all vampires have. It’s a power said to fall to the eldest or craziest amongst them and it’s much too early to say which to file this one under. 

“A vampire who can read minds,” Felix sighs, unimpressed. “I’ve never met one of you before. So is this what you do? Just go digging around in people’s minds without their permission? I already hate it.”

“You’re sassy. I like you” Chris laughs, taking a moment to admire the view. “Too uptight though. It won’t kill you to unwind a little. Take in some of the sights. Ever been to Olšany Cemetery?”

“A vampire hanging at the cemetery?” Felix scoffs, turning back to the river. “A bit cliche, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know. Would you risk being cliche if it meant finding her?”

Felix’s blood runs cold, rage melding with confusion. Chris pats him on the shoulder, a superficial display of familiarity for the blissfully ignorant humans walking by. 

“Probably wanna rip my head off now, hmm? But you can’t” he taunts, “Not in front of all these people and even if you tried to fight me I can assure you that you’d lose and your little Hyunjin would be left all alone in the world again. How depressing.”

Felix grabs him by the wrist, threatening to crush it as he peels his hand away from his shoulder. “What are you talking about?”

Amused by the whole ordeal, Chris sees no reason to hold out. That isn’t why he came here after all.

“In Olšany Cemetery there’s a mausoleum. It’s guarded by two marble angels. An architect’s buried there” he trails off in thought, pretending to forget where he was going with this, “Oh yes, but he’s not there anymore. There’s somebody else.” 

“Somebody like who?” 

Bone should be splintering right now from the force of his fingers contorted around Chris’ wrist but nothing’s happened. It hurts like a pinch from a child, barely enough to bat an eye at, let alone inflict genuine pain. Maybe this vampire isn’t older or crazier than he is. Maybe he’s both.

“The girl you’re searching for. Go there and you’ll find her but be careful…” Chris warns but his words fall on deaf ears as Felix shoves past him, having heard everything he needs to abandon the unpleasantness of this interaction. 

There’s nothing about this stranger that he trusts. In fact, he’s never met anyone he disliked so much so soon but this isn't a lie. There’s no logic for it, no sound reasoning to justify why he’s digging his phone out to find the fastest way to some old cemetery on the edge of the city.

He knows nothing of the vampire’s motives or how, even with his abilities, he knows all that he does. They’re questions whose answers will have to wait until he finds you and nothing in the world, not even his own doubts, can stop him.

“I was just gonna tell you to be careful. She’s not who you think she is anymore” Chris mumbles to himself. “Actually I think she’s something far better.” 

[knoepfl]

A Halloween to Die For

Hey hello there! Since today is Halloween (in Germany) I thought I'd do something special^^ During the day there will be several posts about certain characters during Halloween! So make sure to check Tumblr out for once in a while. Be prepared and enjoy Stu Macher as you boyfriend on Halloween. I swear its a SCREAM!!! ♡♡♡

Characters: Stu Macher × You (Reader)

Trigger Warnings: Read it and find out~

Masterlist

Words: 2055

---

Halloween had always been special in Woodsboro, but this year felt different. Maybe it was because of the biting autumn air, or maybe it was because you were spending it with him—Stu Macher, the guy who always found a way to make even the most ordinary days feel like an adventure. And today wasn’t going to be ordinary at all.

---

Your alarm rang early, too early, but before you could even rub the sleep from your eyes, a knock came from your window. Stu. You could already feel your heart skip a beat as you groggily pulled the curtains aside, revealing his wild grin. He was standing outside, in full werewolf costume—fake fur, snout, and all.

“Morning, babe!” he yelled, his breath fogging up the glass. “Ready for the best Halloween ever?”

You smiled, half-amused and half-exasperated, as you slid the window open a bit. "Stu, it’s not even eight. How are you already this hyper?"

"I live for Halloween, you know that!" he exclaimed, hopping down from the windowsill. “Come on, we gotta hit school early. You know Billy’s already planning pranks, and I won’t let him have all the fun.”

Rolling your eyes, you couldn’t help but smile at his energy. Stu had a way of pulling you into his chaotic world, and as much as you loved it, today you had a plan of your own. But first, you had to survive school.

---

Woodsboro High was decked out for Halloween—paper skeletons hanging from lockers, carved pumpkins in the courtyard, and a buzz of excitement filling the halls. Almost everyone was in costume, but none were quite as loud as Stu’s. His werewolf howls echoed through the corridors, making students laugh or roll their eyes, and teachers give him warning looks. But Stu was Stu, and there wasn’t a thing anyone could do to control him.

You, on the other hand, hadn’t donned your costume yet. That was reserved for later—the grand reveal. Stu had no idea what you were planning, but you knew it would blow his mind. Until then, you played along with his pranks and antics, trying to keep up with his relentless energy.

Lunch was spent with Billy, as usual. He gave Stu a deadpan look, unimpressed by his werewolf ensemble. “Seriously, man? A werewolf?”

Stu just grinned, flashing his fake fangs. “Better than your brooding trench coat, Loomis. Trying to be Dracula or just a moody guy?”

Billy smirked but didn’t answer. He was more focused on the upcoming night, his eyes dark and calculating. You knew Billy had plans for tonight, darker than Stu’s playful tricks, but for now, it was just pranks and laughter.

Stu kept you close throughout the day, stealing kisses between classes and pulling you into his whirlwind of pranks. At one point, he managed to set off a harmless but shocking popper in a teacher’s desk, sending papers flying and students into hysterics. You laughed so hard that tears pricked at the corners of your eyes.

Between classes, he’d tug you aside, pressing you against lockers and leaning in close, his grin softening into something more affectionate. “You having fun yet?”

You’d always nod, your heart racing when he was near. He had that effect on you—wild, unpredictable, but also sweet in ways no one else saw.

---

As the school day ended, Stu practically dragged you out of the building. His excitement was contagious, but you had your own agenda. "I have to head home for a bit," you told him as you walked to the parking lot.

Stu’s face twisted into a playful pout. "Home? Babe, we have a haunted house to hit!"

You smiled. "I know, but I need to get ready for tonight. I’ll meet you at the haunted house, okay?"

He narrowed his eyes, suspicious, but eventually shrugged. “Fine, fine. But don’t keep me waiting too long. I wanna scare the crap out of you in there.”

Laughing, you kissed him on the cheek and slipped away, knowing your costume reveal later would be worth the wait.

---

The sun had just begun to set when you met Stu outside the Woodsboro Haunted House. It was a yearly attraction, and while some found it cheesy, Stu lived for it. The place was packed with kids from school, all eager to experience the horror inside. The exterior was draped in fake cobwebs, and eerie green lights illuminated the crooked, makeshift mansion. You could hear the screams of those already inside, and it sent a chill down your spine.

Stu, standing at the entrance in his ridiculous werewolf costume, was practically bouncing on his feet when he saw you. “There’s my girl! Ready for some scares?”

You smiled, a mix of excitement and nerves twisting in your stomach. Stu grabbed your hand, his excitement contagious, and led you inside.

The haunted house was dark, with low-hanging fog rolling along the ground. Every few steps, something jumped out—an actor in a bloody mask or a hand reaching from a coffin. Stu laughed at each one, throwing an arm around your shoulders, his body warm against yours.

At one point, a chainsaw-wielding maniac burst through the walls, revving his weapon and chasing a group of girls. You yelped in surprise, but Stu just grinned, pulling you closer. "You scared yet?" he teased, his breath warm against your ear.

You shook your head, laughing despite the adrenaline. “Nope, just having fun.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Good. ‘Cause the real fun starts later.”

---

After the haunted house, you told Stu you’d meet him at the party. “I need to get into costume,” you said, smiling mysteriously.

Stu pouted but agreed, giving you a quick kiss before heading off to his house to help set up. His curiosity was piqued, and you could see it in his eyes—he had no idea what to expect.

When you got home, you took your time getting ready. The costume you’d chosen was far better than anything you’d worn before—a stunning, ethereal outfit that blended elegance and a dark, haunting beauty. You looked in the mirror, your confidence rising as you finished the final touches. Stu had no idea what was coming.

---

Stu’s house was packed by the time you arrived, the loud music and laughter spilling out onto the lawn. The decorations were over-the-top, as expected, with orange and purple lights illuminating the sprawling front yard, and fog machines creating an eerie atmosphere.

When you stepped inside, the room seemed to pause for a moment. Heads turned, eyes widening as you made your way through the crowd. You knew your costume was impressive, but seeing the reactions made you feel unstoppable. And then you spotted him—Stu, standing in the middle of the room with Billy by his side, his eyes practically popping out of his head when he saw you.

“Holy—” Stu started, pushing his way through the crowd to reach you. His jaw dropped as he took you in, his goofy werewolf costume suddenly paling in comparison. “Babe, you look—” He couldn’t even finish the sentence, his hands hovering awkwardly, like he didn’t know where to touch without ruining the costume.

You smiled, twirling slightly so the fabric swirled around you. “You like?”

“Like? Babe, you’re the hottest thing in here! I mean, I knew you were gonna blow me away, but damn!” He grabbed your hand, pulling you into a tight hug, his excitement bubbling over. “Come on, we gotta show you off!”

Stu paraded you around the party like a proud boyfriend, grinning ear to ear as he introduced you to everyone—even those who already knew you. He couldn’t help himself, his hands always resting on your waist or pulling you close to his side.

---

As the night wore on, the party at Stu’s house reached its wildest peak. People were everywhere, the music blaring, and laughter mixed with shouts echoed throughout the house. Stu, ever the life of the party, had been drinking more than usual. By now, he was stumbling through the crowd, his arm lazily draped over your shoulder, trying to keep himself upright.

“Babe, c’mon,” Stu slurred, leaning heavily against you as you guided him up the stairs toward his room. “I’m not done yet! We gotta… we gotta party more!”

You couldn’t help but smile at his drunken insistence, even though it was clear he was completely done for the night. “Stu, you can barely walk. Let’s get you to bed, okay? You’ve had enough for one night.”

He pouted, his lower lip sticking out in a way that made him look oddly boyish, despite his towering frame. “But I don’t wanna go to bed. The party’s still going!”

“I know, but you’re not going to enjoy it much if you pass out on the floor,” you said gently, keeping your arm around his waist to steady him as you reached his bedroom.

Pushing the door open, you led him inside, and Stu flopped down onto the bed with a dramatic groan. “You’re no fun,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleepiness, even though he was still trying to act like he was ready for more.

You smiled softly, sitting down beside him on the edge of the bed. “I’m plenty of fun. But right now, you need to get some rest.”

Stu’s eyes were half-closed, but he looked up at you with a dazed, needy expression. “Don’t leave, though,” he muttered, reaching out to grab your hand. His fingers were clumsy and a little sweaty, but the gesture was sweet. “Stay with me… I don’t wanna be alone.”

You chuckled lightly, running your thumb over his knuckles. “I’m not going anywhere, Stu. I’ll stay right here.”

He let out a whiny little noise, his body shifting restlessly on the bed as if he couldn’t quite get comfortable. “Mmm… you always make me feel better,” he muttered, his voice dropping into a softer, almost vulnerable tone. “Just… just don’t leave, okay? I need you.”

You felt your heart melt at how soft and helpless he sounded. It wasn’t often that Stu let his guard down like this, but when he did, it always tugged at something deep inside you. Leaning down, you gently caressed his cheek, your fingers brushing against the warmth of his skin. “I’m right here,” you whispered. “I’ll stay with you.”

Stu leaned into your touch, his eyelids fluttering as he let out a quiet sigh. “You’re… you’re the best,” he mumbled, his words slurring even more as sleep began to take hold. “I don’t… don’t deserve you.”

You smiled softly, your hand drifting up to his hair, running your fingers through the messy strands. He always loved when you did that—it seemed to calm him down, even when he was at his most energetic. His eyes fluttered shut as he nuzzled his head into the pillow, the tension in his body slowly melting away as your fingers worked through his hair in gentle, soothing strokes.

“You’re such a baby when you’re drunk,” you teased lightly, though your voice was filled with affection.

Stu let out a soft, whiny groan, barely coherent as he clung to your hand. “Not a baby… just… tired. And I want you here.”

You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “I’m here, Stu. Just relax, okay? I’ll be right by your side.”

His grip on your hand loosened slightly, and his breathing started to even out as sleep began to claim him. But before he drifted off completely, he whispered, “Love you… so much…”

Your heart swelled at the words, a warmth spreading through you as you continued to stroke his hair. “I love you too,” you whispered back, your voice soft and full of emotion.

Stu finally fell silent, his body sinking deeper into the bed, and you stayed with him, your fingers still gently running through his hair. The party downstairs was still raging on, but up here, in this quiet moment, it was just you and him. It was in these moments, when Stu let down his guard and showed his more vulnerable side, that you were reminded of just how much he meant to you.

You stayed by his side, your hand resting on his cheek as he slept, a soft smile tugging at your lips. No matter how wild the night had been, it always came back to this—just the two of you, wrapped up in each other’s warmth, finding comfort in the quiet moments.

---

Happy Halloween

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 32

part 1 | part 31 | ao3

cw: explicit sexual content, smoking

"Holy shit," Steve gasps as he shudders through aftershocks. Holy shit. Holy shit. He's never coming alone again; wonders if he could get away with asking Eddie to record some sort of audio for future use, because- because fuck.

Eddie's incredible. Made him tease himself for what felt like hours — featherlight caresses over his stomach, his hips, his thighs — and when he finally let him come, Steve nearly fucking died. Supernovas in his vision, trumpeting angels in his ears. Alpha and Omega; the beginning and the end type of shit. His heart went all off rhythm, and his entire body shook, and that melted honey feeling crystalized inside his chest; a sugar cube embedded in the center of his heart.

"Holy shit," Eddie echoes on the tail of a breathless laugh. He looks just as fucked out as Steve feels, flushed and fucking gorgeous, and Steve hears him shuffling around behind him; tucking himself back into his shorts, taking off his ruined shirt. He wipes his sticky hands on the fabric then moves to clean Steve up, using his t-shirt as a rag; dragging it over Steve's stomach, his pubes.

Steve giggles. "That tickles!"

"You're welcome," Eddie grins. He tosses the shirt onto the floor, and Steve moves to take his off.

"Here," he offers, "take mine." The thing's rucked up under his armpits, probably a little gross from sweat, but he doesn't want Eddie to be cold, and he especially doesn't want him to get up to find a new one. Feels like he might evaporate if Eddie leaves right now.

Eddie pushes him back down gently, and when he looks at him, it feels... reverent.

Like adoration.

Sugar cubes.

"Nah, Stevie." He bends to kiss his forehead with a wet, playful smack. "You keep it."

Steve settles back between his thighs and peppers kisses over the tattoos he can reach, stopping at one he asked about earlier. The fluffy cloud, the sleeping fox. "Will you tell me about these now?" Another kiss. "If you want."

Eddie sighs and sits up straighter; lights himself a cigarette. He pokes at each tattoo in turn, the skin dimpling under his touch, and says, "Fox, and Skye. My half-siblings."

"You have siblings?"

"Sure do. Four and seven last time I saw ’em. And yes,” he adds with a smirk in his voice, “my mom was a dirty hippie, in case their names didn’t make that abundantly clear.”

Steve laughs under his breath. "I see why you didn't want to talk about that before."

He traces the outline of the art; thinks about all the other stuff he doesn't know about Eddie, about his life outside of school, outside of Hawkins. Startles himself a little with how badly he wants to learn.

“Son of a bitch…” Eddie whispers. He sounds like he’s talking to himself, and when Steve glances up at him, his gaze has drifted to the middle distance, staring somewhere past the mirror and the guitar hung on the wall.

“What is it?” Steve asks. A dark smudge of anxiety cuts through the afterglow. It's probably nothing, but three years of fighting monsters has set him permanently on edge.

“Nothing," Eddie assures, blinking fast to snap himself out of it. "Sorry. I'm just— just realizing they’re both way older now." He licks his upper lip; clucks his tongue. "Jesus. I haven’t seen them since ’79.”

Oh. “How come?” He probably shouldn’t ask. Feels intrusive and rude.

Eddie doesn’t seem to mind. “Oh, you know,” he answers, and his tone is flippant, swooping melody, but Steve can hear the vulnerable quiver lurking just below. The slightest tremor; a flicked bass string. “Pretty classic tale. Mom remarried, I was the moody teenage step-son getting in the way of the guy’s fresh start. Also,” he sucks in another puff of smoke, croaking on the exhale, “turns out hippies can be homophobes, too, so...”

“Wait, seriously?” Steve twists to sit upright, to spring into action, as if he’s about to— what, exactly? Fight the past on Eddie’s behalf? (He’d do it, for the record, but he’s pretty sure it’s not an option. Not unless one of El’s siblings knows how.) "Eddie, that sucks; I'm so sorry."

“Down, boy,” Eddie snorts, voice gone husky from the smoke. "It's fine; it's old news."

He clearly doesn't care to wallow when he just got his rocks off, so Steve eases himself back down; borrows the cigarette. When he hands it back he jokes, "Should I be worried that it’s, like, kinda hot when you talk to me like I'm a dog?”

Eddie hollers out a laugh, his head knocking against the wall, all those wild curls bouncing around his shaking shoulders. "Jesus Christ. You're fucking dangerous," he beams.

Steve smiles back; pokes the comic bubble on Eddie's knee. "You like danger."

"Little shit.” He rolls his eyes and smiles, softer now, biting it back. The cassette reaches its end. A peaceful hush falls over the room. "Yeah. I guess I do."

—

Later, when the moon is high and the weed's all gone and sleep tugs at their eyelids like a needy kid; when they're curled on their sides face-to-face on the bed, Eddie reaches across the gap between them and says, "Stay?"

Steve takes his hand; brushes his lips over bare knuckles. "Kiss me?"

"In the morning," Eddie promises. "If you still mean it, ask me then."

—

part 33

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