#listen if you were there you’d understand the depth of me thinking that

[tinytinyblogs]

It’s not how I think it is, right?

Yandere Skz paranoia drives them to ensure, in their own way, that you’ll never leave them.

Hyung line, Maknae line

Stray kids masterlist

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

Han

It all happened so quickly for you, a sudden shift that felt both surprising and confusing. But for Han, it was different; for him, it stemmed from a deep-seated paranoia. It was as if an irrational thought crept up on him, one he couldn't shake. In an instant, he made a decision—he wouldn’t let you leave the bedroom, holding you close as if he needed to keep you within his sight at all times, watching over you as though his entire world depended on it. At first, you didn’t understand what was driving him. He didn’t explain why he was behaving this way, keeping you so close, clinging as if you’d slip away if he let go even a little. But slowly, his intentions became clearer as he whispered the same words over and over: “Don’t leave me for anyone else. You’re mine, forever.” As you began to piece things together, you tried to reassure him, to find the right words to break through his fears. It wasn’t easy; telling him that you would never do such a thing, that his nightmare would never come true, seemed almost impossible in the face of his unrelenting anxiety. He clung to you tightly, his arms wrapped around you as though he feared even a sliver of distance could make you disappear.

Every time you tried to convince him, to calm him, he only seemed to hold you tighter, his gaze filled with worry, his grip trembling with fear of the imagined loss. He would listen to your words and, for a moment, a tiny sliver of calm would wash over him. But it wouldn’t last long—soon, his worry would resurface, and he’d draw you even closer, needing that constant reassurance. Each time he found a moment of peace, it was fleeting. You could feel him wrestling with his own thoughts, battling the terror of losing you. The cycle would repeat: he’d hold you close, anxiety pulling him back under, but with every gentle reassurance, he’d find a small piece of comfort, inch by inch. He suddenly enveloped you in a tight hug, nearly squeezing the breath out of you as he held you close. “I love you,” he murmured softly, his voice muffled against your shoulder, his face buried as he took in your scent, as if grounding himself in your presence. “I’m sorry for those terrible thoughts,” he whispered, his voice tinged with both regret and vulnerability. “Just… promise me,” he pleaded.

Holding on a little tighter, as though that promise could finally quiet his fears. He paused, his embrace tightening around you, as though he could somehow fuse his very being with yours, make you inseparable. You could feel the intensity of his heartbeat against you, each beat mirroring his quiet desperation. His fingers gently trailed down your back, pulling you even closer as he leaned in, his face nestled by your ear. His voice dropped to a low, almost hypnotic whisper, every word slow and deliberate, each one heavy with meaning, creating a tension that filled the space between you. “That you never…” he began, pausing as if he were gathering the strength to say what he truly felt, his tone both soft and unyielding, carrying a depth of longing that sent a shiver down your spine. “… ever leave me.” The words hung in the air, laced with an intensity that was both tender and possessive. It was as though he was baring his soul in that single request, seeking a promise that could quiet the storm of fear within him, a vow that would anchor him to the certainty of your presence forever.

Felix

That day, Felix seemed different—distracted, almost lost in his thoughts as he wandered around. Every task he normally stayed on top of had been pushed aside, his usual focus replaced by something deeper and more intense. Finally, he found his way to you, his gaze unusually sharp and serious. Before you even had a chance to greet him or ask what was wrong, he reached out, grabbing your phone from your hand with a swift, almost desperate motion. Without a second glance, he tossed it somewhere across the room, not seeming to care about where it landed or if it might break. All he wanted, it seemed, was for the phone to be out of reach—out of sight—so that nothing could pull your attention away from him. Without giving you a moment to process, he wrapped his arms around you, drawing you close and holding you so tightly you could hardly move. His weight pressed down, caging you beneath him as he looked down, his brows furrowed with frustration and something almost like hurt. “Why are you always on your phone?” he asked, his tone a blend of annoyance and vulnerability. “Am I invisible to you now?” The firmness of his hold surprised you, his grip so unyielding that you found yourself wincing.

You shifted uncomfortably, feeling his hands on your arms, and a quiet whimper escaped your lips. “Lixie, it hurts,” you whispered, hoping he’d ease up, but he didn’t seem to notice or maybe just didn’t want to. His hands stayed right where they were, holding you as if he was afraid you might slip away at any second. He held your gaze for a moment, his eyes dark and searching, as if they could read every thought running through your mind. “Are you texting someone?” he murmured finally, the question sounding almost like an accusation. His voice was low and controlled, but there was an edge to it, something he was struggling to keep hidden. The rawness in his expression, the tightness in his jaw, made it clear that there was more behind his question than simple curiosity. “No… I’m just scrolling,” you murmured, trying to keep your voice steady under the weight of his gaze. “I’m not texting anyone.” You repeated the words softly, patiently, even as you felt the tension in the air. For a few moments, he stayed quiet, his eyes searching your face like he was trying to read something hidden in your expression.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he sighed, a hint of relief breaking through the intensity in his gaze. “Alright…” he murmured, the frustration in his voice softening just a little. “Sorry for doubting you.” He pulled you a bit closer, and his grip loosened, though he didn’t let you go. Slowly, he buried his face back into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin as he nuzzled closer, as if seeking comfort and reassurance in your presence. A quiet pause settled over you, his arms still wrapped firmly around you, his hold just a bit gentler now. But then he spoke again, his voice lower, with a rough edge that made you shiver. “Just… if I ever find out you’re texting anyone else…” he trailed off, his tone carrying a warning that felt both protective and possessive, a reminder of the intensity behind his actions. He didn’t finish the sentence, but his words hung heavily in the air, leaving you with no doubt about the depth of his feelings and the lengths he’d go to keep you close. The silence that followed felt thick and loaded with everything unspoken between you.

Seungmin

Seungmin was known for his cool-headedness, the way he analyzed every situation with a level-headed logic that kept him grounded. But today, there was an unusual intensity in his eyes, a quiet storm lurking beneath the calm surface. He moved closer to you, his presence steady yet unmistakably firm, as if making his way into your personal space was the only way to calm his own thoughts. After a moment, he spoke, his voice soft but edged with a hint of something deeper. “You’re still talking to that guy, right? The one who’s always acting a bit too friendly with you?” His words were measured, careful, but his eyes gave him away, dark and assessing as he watched you closely, waiting for the smallest flicker of reaction. He wasn’t just asking; he was searching, dissecting every inch of your body language, every twitch, every glance. You shook your head calmly, answering his question with simple honesty, and for a moment, he looked visibly relieved. His shoulders loosened, his jaw unclenched, and he let out a quiet breath. But then he reached for your hand, his fingers curling around yours with a subtle possessiveness, as if needing that reassurance to truly settle his mind.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice dropping even lower, almost like he was speaking only to himself. “I don’t want any misunderstandings between us.” His eyes met yours, more intense than you’d ever seen them, and there was a hint of vulnerability mixed in with his seriousness. “It’s just… I don’t like the way he looks at you, or how he smiles. It bothers me,” he admitted, his gaze unwavering as if daring you to challenge him. “Stay away from him, alright? I don’t want to be the one who has to remind you who you belong to.” There was a warmth in his expression, a softness even, but beneath it lay something stronger—a quiet yet undeniable warning. His fingers tightened around yours slightly, not enough to hurt but enough to let you know he was serious. And despite the gentleness of his words, there was a finality in them, a reminder that while he trusted you, he wouldn’t hesitate to remind anyone, including you, just how deep his feelings ran. After all, he’d put so much effort into building trust between you two, nurturing it carefully so that you felt secure with him.

He didn’t want to shatter that bond over something as fleeting as jealousy. Ending things over his insecurities was the last thing he wanted. Sure, he could’ve easily put that guy in his place, maybe with a well-placed jab to the nose, but he knew there were better ways to handle it. “Just… let me know when you need to go somewhere,” he said, his expression softening into a smile that was both adorable and a little mischievous. “Then we can go together—I want to spend more time with you.” His tone was casual, but there was an underlying warmth, as though he was trying to make it sound as normal as possible. But maybe it wasn’t just about spending more time together. Maybe he liked the idea of having you close, of keeping you within sight so he could observe everything and keep his mind at ease. Still, his smile, so genuine and bright, made it easy to agree without a second thought, as if his only real desire was to simply be near you.

Jeongin

Jeongin had been acting differently, a little withdrawn and unusually quiet. He kept his distance, his gaze a bit sharper than usual, as if caught in his own thoughts. Days went by, and he hadn’t been his usual bright self—no playful teasing, no warm touches or quick, mischievous glances. Instead, he seemed to be calculating something, perhaps needing time to calm himself down or to plan his next move. It was like he was working hard to find a way to make sure no one else would even think about getting close to you. When you finally asked him what was wrong, he looked up, as if your question had given him permission to speak his mind. His face softened, but a touch of vulnerability lingered in his gaze, his usual confidence tempered by something deeper. “You know,” he began slowly, his tone shy, almost hesitant, “I’ve had something weighing on me lately. It’s silly… but I can’t shake the feeling.” He paused, the faintest blush creeping into his cheeks as he tried to gather his words. “I keep wondering if… maybe someone’s getting close to you, if you’re giving them more of your attention than you give me.” He glanced at you,

his eyes never leaving your face, as though studying every little reaction. “And I keep thinking… maybe you care about them more.” His words hung in the air, and his shyness melted away slowly, shifting into something more resolute, his gaze sharpening as his fingers brushed your hand, grounding himself in that small connection. “But it’s not true, right?” he asked, his voice gaining confidence. “You love me,” he murmured, his tone soft yet insistent, his eyes now intent on yours. “You don’t have a choice either,” he added with a small smile, almost like he was reminding you of a fact he believed was written in stone. “We’re together forever, remember?” That smile widened, creeping across his face, but it wasn’t the innocent, playful one you knew so well. There was a hint of something deeper, a fierceness in it, as though he were stating a claim he would never let go of. “I just need you to stay close to me,” he said, his fingers tracing over yours. “I don’t like the idea of anyone else thinking they could be important to you.”

There was an intensity in his gaze now, a silent promise, as if he’d already decided he would do whatever it took to keep you by his side. His voice softened, almost a whisper. “You’ll always stay with me, won’t you?” His question lingered, more of a quiet declaration than a request, a gentle yet firm reminder of the bond he’d carefully built with you and intended to protect, no matter what. "Why so quiet, hm?" he murmured, a teasing edge in his voice as he slowly inched closer to you. His gaze was locked onto yours, and you could feel a flutter of fear rise within you as your eyes widened under the intensity of his stare. You felt your breath hitch, eyes widening with a flicker of fear under his unbreaking stare. His voice dropped to a soft whisper as he leaned in, his lips barely brushing your ear. The way he spoke made your heart race, and you instinctively leaned back slightly, trying to process the moment. "Come on," he coaxed gently, his words carrying a weight that sent a shiver down your spine. "Say it. Tell me you’ll always be by my side." His eyes searched yours, filled with an intensity that made it difficult to look away.

🩷 @chaoticfaelle

[livvyofthelake]

accidentally felt genuine real and true emotion at a bbc merlin edit on tiktok to taylor swift’s electric touch. do you still think i’m cool and detached and ironic.

[girliism]

nerdy!art who based on his physique and good looks should be getting any and every girl he wants but instead he chooses to hide away in his books. he’s top of all his classes and does extra credit work for fun on the weekends, according to his roommate patrick he’s kind of a loser that needs to get out more. patrick invites him out to a lot of parties but art just ends up in the corner nursing only one drink before leaving early.

you were the opposite everyone on campus knew you. you went to every party thrown but you weren’t some slut you just liked being around people. now you weren’t stupid by any means but you also weren’t top of your classes.

“what do you mean i’m failing.” you looked at your math professor who just told you that if you don’t pass this upcoming test you’d fail his class. “i don’t think you’re understanding the material very well that’s why i assigned you a tutor.” a tall blonde with thick rimmed glasses walks up to your professors desk. “this is art, i’ve asked him to help.” art gave you a small wave. you’ve seen art around campus sitting under trees reading or stuck in the corner at a party. he was quiet only spoke when spoken to, you had no idea he was even in this class.

art cleared his throat. “you can come by my dorm tomorrow if you’re free.” art held on the door for you to walk out of. “tomorrows fine with me. you’re patrick’s roommate right?” art nodded “cool! i can get your dorm number from a friend of mine.” you smiled big at him. art gave you a closed mouth smile back before you guys waved goodbye.

“can you please not be here when she comes over.” it was saturday the day of yours and art’s tutoring session and he’s been cleaning up their dorm. “right i forgot you’re having a girl over.” patrick says raising eyebrows up and down before placing his cereal bowl in the sink not bothering to wash it. art pushes his glasses back up his nose bridge. “we’re just studying.” he mumbles going to wash patrick’s dish. patrick ended up leaving so art had the dorm to himself when you showed.

you sat on the couch in their dorm studying the place instead of the math problem art was trying to explain. “you got lucky pairing with zweig this dorm is partially an apartment.” art stopped talking to look around his dorm before shrugging going back to teaching you. “ugh i’m so jealous i’d kill for a dorm this big-” “you like to distracted yourself from your work when you don’t understand it.” art said cutting you off. you just stared at him not knowing what to say. art senses the awkward tension he created. “i’m sorry i didn’t mean to make you feel bad just if you payed attention i think you could really get it.” art spoke softly and you just nodded finally shutting up and listening to him.

studying with art was kinda fun. every saturday you’d meet at his dorm and listen to explain more in depth what your professor didn’t. at first art was very rigid but after a while you got him to loosen up. he now laughed openly with you and made stupid math jokes.

“ART!” you ran over to where he was sitting under a tree. art closed his book standing up when he saw you rushing toward him. “look what i did.” you shoved you test paper in his face smiling. “a B congratulations you’ve officially passed.” you couldn’t contain the squeal that came out of you when you pulled art into a tight hug. “no thanks to you. how will i ever repay you.” you pouted. art just shook his head saying there was no need. you gasp. “delta phi is having a party tonight you have to come and hang out with me.” the second art heard the frat name he was already declining. “parties aren’t really my thing.” art scratches at the back of his head. “bullshit dondalson, you saved me from failing which mean we have to celebrate. you’re coming weither you like it or not.” you gave art an excited smile and he gave you a nervous one back.

(a part 2 will be happening 🙏🏽) part 2.

[strwberri-milk]

a/n: cue me listening to the same secret time over and over to put me in the right mindframe for this bc I don’t have either of the cards for the AB set for this goddamn FISH – im still learning about him/specifically abysswalker raf as well bc I know nothing outside this audio so there are indeed going to be some growing pains uwu im still learning his voice but im in love w him <3

Wrapped in Moonlight

AO3 || Rafayel x Fem!Reader || Soft Smut, Mild Angst || 3, 503 Words

additional tags: accidental mask kink, fingering, vaginal sex, first time having sex [w/ e/o], first kiss [w/ e/o], rafayels acc so in love with you, i like the moon and havent ever had to write a lot of water motifs before

The dull thrumming of his heartbeat in his ears has never been louder, not until this moment here, with you.

Your eyes look up at him from where you lay on your bed, teeth lightly worrying over your lips as you take a deep breath, shaking your head as though to shake away the words that had his feet planted firmly on the ground. You’d taken to summoning him more often as of late and even if he could, he would never reject your requests. Rafayel knew that it was dangerous but he couldn’t think to care, beginning to crave being by your side in ways that drove him mad.

“I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you. Please, just forget I even said anything,” you begin to plead, averting his gaze and retreating further into your lush sheets. Sheets he knows the feeling of, the barely there warmth that his fingertips longed to feel, his resolve cracking every time you sleepily ask him to stay until you fall asleep.

“Your Highness doesn’t think I’d really be able to forget such a request, does she?” he decides to say instead, wanting to lean into a slightly more playful side of his persona to cope with the swell of emotions crashing down into his chest.

You stay silent and he decides to take this opportunity to step closer. His gloved hand parts the beaded curtain, your breath catching in your chest as you see the way the candle’s light faintly illuminating his face. Rafayel’s eyes are intense, something you’ve always noticed when he looks at you. All thoughts begin to cease as soon as his eyes meet yours, leaning in closer to you.

“Did you really think that I’d forget that you asked me to kiss you?”

The words hang heavy between the two of you, an unnamed but not unnoticed tension sitting on your shoulders once again. It felt like the two of you were constantly doing some song and dance, skirting around the way you both felt about each other. He looks like he’s got something more to say, watching you intently before stepping away. The clicking of the curtains gives you something else to focus on as you try to still your erratic heartbeat, hearing him draw the curtains to your room open at the same time as him blowing out the candles.

He stands in your window for a moment, the moon’s light wrapping around him so intimately you can’t help but be jealous. You shift in your bed, unconsciously crawling towards him. The sound makes him turn to look at you, hues coloured with something you can’t quite understand. You think you’ll drown in the depths of them but you can’t be bothered to care. If it meant being able to touch him, even for just a moment then you’d be more than willing to suffer that consequence.

“Rafayel, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I just didn’t think before I spoke.”

And you couldn’t, not when he looked at you like he wanted to devour you or whenever he’d touch you gently to reassure you of his presence.

Silence and tension continue to colour the air between the two of you and you have a fleeting thought that this might be the last time you ever see him. You couldn’t ever summon him again, not after leaving things like this. Rafayel can feel your eyes flitting over his figure, imagines that you’re committing his features to memory.

“It’s quite the opposite,” he admits after some time, long strides closing the distance between the two of you in no time.

You find yourself being pushed back against the bed. Slowly, Rafayel pushes you to lay on your pillow, staring up at him in the moon’s light. He looks ethereal like this and you can’t imagine how you’re still capable of any sort of thinking right now.

A slight chuckle leaves his lips at the sight of your eyes widening. His hand goes to cup your face, leaning in so close your noses would be touching were it not for that infuriating piece of leather that keeps your breaths from intermingling. You have half a mind to ask him again, this time in the form of a wish to see if he’ll accept but you feel your mind go blank as you feel him press his face against your neck.

“What are you-”

Your words devolve to gasps, hands going to cling onto his shoulders as you feel him periodically press a little harder against your skin. If you close your eyes and really focus you think you can feel his lips pressing against the leather, kissing you through his mask. His breath rings in your ear, you trying to keep your gasps quiet to avoid drawing attention to your chambers.  

“Fulfilling Your Highness’ wish. Is that not what you wanted?”

You know that even this much is more than you could ever ask for, Rafayel always watching you cautiously whenever your hands would near his mask. You understand that he has his reasons for privacy and you would never ask him why but now, you’re just desperate to feel his lips on your skin, desperate to know if it’s as good as you’ve fantasized about. The only solace you get is the warmth of his body seeping through his clothes, teasing the tips of your fingers as you try not to act desperate for more of his touch.

“I can feel you holding back. Don’t tell me Your Highness is getting greedy?” he laughs breathily, the slight pant in his voice unnoticed by you with how divine it feels to be under him.

“I don’t want you to hate me,” you manage to mumble, biting back a slight moan when you feel his arm creep under your back and push you closer to his face.

“Hate you?”

The words leave his throat almost bloody. Just the sheer thought of hating you made his stomach churn, murky waters of his affection for you maddened that you could ever think such a thing. His hands tighten their grip on your body to a way that’s almost painful, looking up at you with a look that has so much want in it that it steals the breath out of your lungs.

“I could never hate you.”

His hair tickles your throat as you feel him settle against your neck, nuzzling into you and resting his hand on your waist. You try to turn to face him but the weight of his body stops you, Rafayel giving you a sound of disagreement.

“I told you already. It’s quite the opposite.”

You try to ask him to clarify, about to open your mouth when you he quickly gets up. He looks at you quickly before going to look around your room, shaking his head good naturedly at the slight furrow of your brows and parted lips. You watch him rummage through your things, getting even more confused when he returns with a strip of ribbon between his fingers.

He crawls over your body again, tilting your chin with his knuckles. You think you’re imagining it in the low light but the apples of his cheeks seem tinted red. Curious, you bring your hand up to the side of his face. You’re glad that he doesn’t seem to be flinching away from your touch. A smile graces your lips when you feel how warm his face is, Rafayel now pulling away from you slightly.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks, a slight pout in his voice.

“You’re warm,” you laugh, bringing your hand closer to his face.

Your fingers brush against his ear, sure with how warm they are that he’s bright red. Your fingers trail down the curves, nail tracing the shape of his jaw down to his collar. He doesn’t shy away. Instead, his hand goes to grab your wrist, the ribbon tickling your skin as he leans in closer.

“This is your fault. You know that, right?” he scolds lightly.

“If it weren’t for you my heart wouldn’t feel like a hurricane over the ocean. Do you feel that?”

He brings your wrist over to rest on his chest, your palm resting over his heart. True to his word you can feel his heart pounding under your fingers. He presses his chest against you, brows furrowing as your fingers press against him.

“You should be more understanding, Your Highness. You can’t just do these things to people and leave them washed up on the beach during low tide. It’s cruel.”

The way he pitches his voice in your ear makes you swoon and you’re glad you’re already laying down. Your knees feel weak and you barely register his thumbs tracing a smooth line across your cheek. You’re both so close to each other that you’re suffocating in his presence.

“Are you willing to face the consequences?” he whispers into your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

Weakly, you nod. With this, he brings both his hands to your face and suddenly you have your vision obscured by the ribbon he pulled out earlier. You bring your hands up to reach for it, immediately stopped by his strong grip.

“You said you’d be willing to accept it. You trust me, don’t you?”

His voice is raspy, laced with something more than just the question he’s asked you. There’s a weight to his words, something dragging down the vowels and accentuating the bite of his consonants. Your breath is caught in your throat as you wait for him to finish tying the ribbon behind your head, whimpering softly when he brings his thumb to press against your bottom lip.

Forced to wait, you try to imagine what he might do now. Your mind runs wild, barely listening to the sounds around you when you feel his weight on your body again. You reach out for him but gasp when you feel his lips press against your bare skin. The sound is indecent and you’re embarrassed you were even capable of making it but when you try to hide it you feel him bite you, squeaking in response.

“Don’t hide from me. I want to hear your voice. Don’t you think I deserve a bit of a reward for this?”

He continues to litter your skin in featherlight kisses, and you realise that his clothes don’t seem as thick as they usually are. You can feel his skin through the thinner layers, about to say something when his lips press against yours. It’s soft, barely there but the contact is enough to make your mind spin. You get the sense that he’s testing your boundaries and before he can pull away you wind your fingers through his hair, kissing him more insistently this time.

“I hope you don’t mind the blindfold, but I think it’s more exciting this way, don’t you think? This way, you’re forced to guess what I’m going to do next to you,” he breathes against you when he finally pulls back.

“You just like teasing me,” you mutter, scared to admit just how much you liked this and wanted him to keep going.

“I’m just trying to get revenge on you. You’ve been teasing me too! Don’t act like you’re innocent in all of this.”

He starts to trail kisses down your neck again, sucking gently against your collar. As much as he would like to, he can’t leave any marks on your skin. Something even semi-permanent like that seems far too cruel for someone like him to leave on someone like you. He reveres you and you can feel it in the way he kisses you, showering your body in an affection he’s never felt for anybody else.

“Rafayel – please –” you whimper, his name coming off your tongue his own siren song.  

“Please what? I won’t know what you want if you don’t tell me,” he hums, hand going to play with the fabric beginning to bunch under your waist.

He slots himself between your legs and your knees rest against his hips. You wish you could see him, look at the expression on his face. You wish you could watch him press kisses to your skin, watch his fingers tighten against you the way they are now, the way his nails scratch lightly against your skin between the slits of your nightgown.

“More, please,” he hears you ask weakly. “I need more of you. Rafayel? Please?”

He thinks he should tease you more but considering your current state and his own desperation he decides not to. Instead, he pushes up the fabric on your legs slowly, trying to see if you’ll stop him. When you don’t and instead try to egg him on by making it easier for him, he lets his hands rest on your thighs now laid bare for his hungry gaze.

“Are you sure? This is really something you want?”

The question is desperate, Rafayel not knowing if he wants you to stop him or not. His body longs to be pressed against yours, to make you say his name that prettily over and over again. He thinks he’ll die if he can’t have it, kissing lower and lower over the fabric on your chest to convince you to say yes.

He doesn’t know that he doesn’t have to fight that hard for you.

You clasp your fingers with his, bringing them to rest on the inside of your thighs. He’s glad he can’t see the look in your eyes, knowing that if he did it’d make all of his resolve crack if this is how bold you’re already being without being able to see the effect you have on him.

Tentatively, he brings his fingers closer to the heat burning between your legs. It doesn’t take him long to feel the damp spot between your legs and recognise that it’s getting damper with each kiss he gives you. You start to whine as his fingers tease your slit through your underwear, your body feeling things you didn’t know you could feel just with his touch.

“I didn’t know you were capable of such dirty things Your Highness.”

Despite his teasing words, you can tell he wants it just as much when he slips his fingers between the fabric and your body, fingers haphazardly exploring your body as he kisses your lips again. He swallows each moan you give him desperately, relishing in the whimper you give him when his fingertips start circling your clit.

“You’re the one doing this to me,” you whine, hips bucking against his palm as his fingers slip inside.

“You’re the one who started this. I’ll stop whenever you tell me to,” he mumbles against your neck.

Your moans are louder now and as much as he’d love to have everyone hear how good he makes you feel he also would hate it if your maid came in and saw what was happening. He covers your mouth with his free hand, ignoring the way it feels to have your gasps pressed up against his palm. He wants to ruin you, make you cry and scream from pleasure and have you be his for the rest of time but here, in the quiet of your bedroom he’ll settle for just this for now.

His hand stays focused, letting you moan and gasp into his palm as he fingers you. You feel his palm rest against your body, thumb replacing his finger as he the heel to rest against your core. He can make out gasps of his name when he hits a certain part inside of you and decides it’s too cruel to keep your mouth covered like this. You immediately moan his name, quieter this time to avoid being heard by your staff.

You clench around his fingers, the hand not bracing against his chest going to grab his wrist. Rafayel gives you a breathy laugh and you bury your face against his neck, continuing to moan and plead for him quietly.

“Please – Rafayel – I –“

Your own words are cut off quickly by your impending orgasm, biting into his shoulder to try and hold back your noises as your hips arch into him. The bite of your clothes against your skin as you writhe does nothing to impede the feeling of his hand on your cunt, Rafayel’s voice gently talking you through your orgasm. Stars litter the space of your eyelids, Rafayel’s arm coming to hold you against him.

When you finally come down you find yourself placed carefully in Rafayel’s lap. He’s taken off his shirt and unbuttoned his pants, gently tracing shapes on the skin of your lower back. Your blindfold is still on but you don’t doubt that the hard planes of your bed is Rafayel and when you hear his voice come from just above you you know you’re right.

“You’re awful to me, did you know that?” he muses, groaning slightly when you reposition yourself slightly and brush up against his cock.

“Stop that! I can’t believe you right now.”

“I’m just trying to get comfortable! This is just as much your fault as it is mine,” you say hazily.

You sit up on your knees, carefully putting your arms around his shoulders. You reach behind yourself to touch him, shuddering at the gasp he gives you against your arm. You feel his tip prodding gently against your opening, sinking down slightly. When you hear him gasp again you know you have him where you want him.

“You really want this?” you ask him huskily, mirroring his words from before.

Your hand rests on his cheek and you can feel him nod, continuing your slow descent onto his lap. It takes you a second to adjust to his size, hugging his neck tighter as you moan. His hands come to rest on your hips and he shifts slightly to create a better angle for himself. This makes him sink into you just the slightest bit deeper, you whimpering pathetically as he starts a slow, languid pace thrusting into you.

“Rafayel!” you gasp, hands bunching in his hair as you let him dictate the pace.

“Shh, shh. It’s alright, Your Highness. I’m here for you. Don’t worry – I’ll make you feel good. You know I will,” he mutters into your ear, continuing his gentle grind into you.

For the umpteenth time you wish that you could see him. For now, you have to sate yourself with his pretty moans and gasps, the way he feels inside of you and the affectionate kisses he peppers across your skin. Thanks to his pace you feel yourself coming to a slow build of your orgasm, his soft words of praise and coaxes going straight to your cunt. He groans every time you clench around him, the feeling of your pussy finally being wrapped around him making it hard for his mind to stop swimming.

He angles his hips to find that spot inside of you that makes you see stars, bringing a hand down to your clit despite how much he loves holding you because he knows he’ll love the feeling of you cumming around him more. When you give him a sharp gasp he knows he’s found it, thrusting more insistently. You grind against his pelvis, not wanting it to be over too quickly but still desperate for your release.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” Rafayel asks, pulling you out of the depths of your stupor just barely.

“I can feel it. You’re getting so tight around me – if you squeeze me like this then I’ll cum too. It’s okay, just let go. I told you I’d make you feel good, didn’t I? You’ve already done so well. Just a little bit more, okay?” he coaxes, the sound of his voice tipping you over the edge.

You cum with a broken cry of his name, holding onto his shoulders tightly. It takes him just a couple more strokes inside of you to cum himself, unable to think of anything but filling you up and claiming you as his in this small way. The two of you sit together, coming down from your shared high. You whine a little about still wearing the blindfold but that’s quickly quieted by him kissing you again, telling you that it’s part of the condition for him kissing you.

Your breathing slows together and after a minute he feels you becoming dead weight. He laughs to himself when he realises that you’ve fallen asleep on him, carefully moving you aside to lay you back down on your bed. After cleaning the two of you up and tucking you into bed he gives you one final kiss to your forehead. You make a small noise of complaint, Rafayel kneeling at the side of your bed to take one last look at you for the night. His hand rests on your cheek softly, pretending that this didn’t drastically change everything.

“I love you. Sleep well, my Princess,” he whispers, the far away sound of waves lapping on a shore the only witness to his words.  

[the-prettiest-teardrop]

🍄‍🟫 and 🕷 with luke castellan maybe? Have a good day! ❤️

“REALLY?”

Pairing- Luke Castellan x reader

Warnings- Kissing, angst, crying, hiding emotions, hurt/comfort.

A/n- Sorry if this feels a bit rushed, I was struggling with trying to end this!

“C’mon, you gotta admit it, you and Y/N would make a good couple.” Chris comments. Chris, Luke, Clarisse, and you were all hanging out on the dock. Luke was layed down beside you, propped up on his elbows, head occasionally resting on your side. The comment caused your heart to flutter, your unspoken feelings for Luke coming to mind.

“No offense, but I’d never date her, we’re friends, and I wouldn’t want anything else.” Luke says with a light scoff, causing a pit to form in your stomach. Your sudden upset must’ve been somewhat present on your face with the way Clarisse immediately raises her eyebrows and then looks between the two of you in a knowing gesture. You quickly stifle a laugh, trying to make it seem as if you weren’t upset.

“You sure? Not like you’re pulling all the ladies.” You tease in an attempt to hide how upset you truly were.

“That’s where you’re wrong.” He shoots back, making you sit up right, Chris and Clarisse also now paying more attention. “You know the new girl? Emma? We’ve been talking and I think we might start dating.” The news shakes you. It was one thing if he didn’t reciprocate feelings, because then he’d treat you as he always had, but a girlfriend could change your relationship. 

“Dude, that’s awesome, took you long enough.” Chris finally says, breaking the seconds of silence that had fallen over the group. 

“Yeah, I’m glad you’ve got someone now.” You say with a laugh, hoping he doesn’t hear the sadness in your tone.

“Aww, you happy that you’ll finally get to be alone for once?” He jokes back, push you lightly, causing you to rock a bit. You laugh, not quite knowing how to react.

It was hard watching the two of them walk around, the way she looked up at him, smiling at his laugh, hands on his chest. It burned, watching her get to do everything that you should be doing with him. He had been ignoring you in favor of her, acting as if you didn’t exist.

 Well, that was until a knock came at the door of your cabin. It was just you in there, sitting on your bed, reading your book. When you open the door, you’re met with Luke, his face red, hands shaking lightly.

“Can I come in?” He asks quietly, a tremor in his voice.

“Um, sure.” You reply, tone matching his own. The two of you move to his bed, sitting down on the edge of it.

“She- she said we couldn’t ever be together, I wasn’t good enough for her.” He says, turning to wrap his arms around you. You could tell he was trying not to cry, which broke you.

“Luke, I- I’m so sorry.” You say quietly, you wanted to be mad, but with how sad he was, you didn’t have it in you.

“I thought someone finally wanted me.” He whispers, head tucked into the crook of your neck as you held him in your arms. You could feel the tears warm your skin as he cried.

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m here for you.” You soothe, but you desperately wanted to pour out your feelings to him, to tell him you loved him, wanted him. 

“Can I just lay with you?” He asks timidly, picking his head up to look at you with glistening eyes. You nodded softly, moving to lay down in the small bed with him, tugging a throw blanket over you two. 

As you laid there, you began to find some sort of confidence, pulling it from somewhere inside you to finally tell him.

“Luke- I- fuck, I can’t believe I’m actually saying this out loud, but I- I love you.”

“I love you too.” He replies, not understanding the depth of it.

“No- I love you, like, more than a friend.” You breathe out, finally saying what you’d waited so long to say.

“What?” He says, moving away from you in bed and sitting upright. Your heart stops as he moves away from you.

“Listen- just forget I said anything. It just hurt to hear you say that you didn’t think anyone wanted you when I’ve wanted you for years and years.” You explain, also moving to sit up and meet his eyes, searching in them for some sort of reaction.

“No, no, I’m not mad at you, I- I just didn’t think you’d feel the same way.” He says, releasing a breath that he didn’t know he was holding.

“Really?” You ask in breathy tone, not believing him, even as he moved forward, placing his large hands on your cheeks. He moved forward, and finally, his lips pressed to yours, all the love, sadness, and anger the two of you had been to poured into the way your lips moved against each other. The feelings hidden for years finally revealed.

[theminecraftbee]

Once again, Zedaph finds himself outside the closed gates of the Deep Frost Citadel, tapping his feet with annoyance. Honestly, by now you’d think the stupid thing would understand Zedaph always gets his way, when it comes to Tango, but no, Tango’s stupid base keeps trying to stop him.

“I told you, I’m not here to negotiate, I’m here to pick up my friend,” Zedaph says irritably. The gates of the base don’t respond, and don’t open. “I have a very important nap to be taking, I’ll have you know, and I will not be stopped by… by base chicanery!”

There’s a deep, rolling growl from somewhere in the bowls of the citadel. It sounds like ravagers.

“Oh, don’t you threaten me, you know I’ll run around and die in there all you want as soon as it’s ready. Not even afraid, am I? You’ve had your taste of the good old Zed flesh, but no sir, you aren’t getting me today. The high-voltage wires were a good trick last time I came to bother Tango, I admit, but it won’t work again!”

Another rumbling growl. Zedaph huffs. It would certainly be nice if Decked Out spoke in human to him, so he wouldn’t have to keep guessing. Even sheep would be better—Tango may have an affinity for beasts, but Zedaph only has an affinity if the beasts are also silly.

He makes an educated guess. “Yes, yes, I know you’ve ‘eaten him’ or whatever. Well I’ll have you know that Tangos have more nutritional value after watching me take a very important nap. And also dying. Its enriching. You like enriched Tango—okay, okay, that wasn’t the complaint, geez, you don’t have to shout at me. At this rate I’ll just use my pickaxe to break through the door, and then what will you do, huh? Nothing. You’ll do nothing, because you’re a big stupid building in the ground, and Tango was my friend first.”

A rumble.

“Haha, yeah, take that. We’ve been friends for years. You might be his magnum opus, but you’ve never made him sign a custom body pillow with your beautiful face on it, have you? That is the bond of men! No base can do anything about that.”

A louder rumble. Zedaph feels what he thinks is supposed to be fear and desire to wander into the depths and die or something silly like that. Zedaph isn’t certain, because it’s not as important as Zedvancements. This is one of Zedaph’s special abilities: if it’s not as important as whatever he’s doing right now, he’s very good at ignoring it until it becomes important. So, like, the Citadel is trying to lure him to his death, but that’s less important than taking a very deadly nap while Tango watches with horrified awe, so he’ll just ignore it until later.

Works every time.

“Listen, I’ll bring him back in one piece! Have I ever lied about that? I never do. He always comes right back to work, even when I do distract him, and he’s chipper again, right? I barely even disrupt things. Not that you could do anything if I did, of course, you hunk of stone and ice.”

Zedaph stares at the closed doors for a bit longer. He thinks this is about when anyone else would either die on the spot, or run away screaming, or maybe just come in and feed themselves to a ravager, but the that’s because the other hermits very frequently don’t have anything better to do than to get caught up in other people’s nonsense, in Zed’s experience.

Zedaph simply has so much nonsense of his own that he can out-stubborn even Tango’s base. Like he said: a special talent.

Slowly, as though greatly reluctant, the gates open.

“Thank you, geez! Was that so hard?”

Zedaph stomps through to the hidden access door of the Decked Out maintenance tunnels, grabbing one of the supplemental oxygen masks as he does. He sighs as he realizes that Tango, once again, has forgotten he needs to breathe. Hopefully, the fact Zedaph is currently keenly aware of needing to breathe on account of planning to not do that ten times in a row does not remind Tango.

He finds Tango taking a nap tangled in some high-voltage redstone lines. This time, Zedaph knows better than to touch them. It had been a mite embarrassing the last time. “Tango! Hey, Tango!”

“Wuh?” says Tango, eloquently. “I’m up, I’m up, level three’s almost done I swear—”

“Tango, get up, I have bedroom tricks to show you!” Zedaph says.

“I’m up! Zed? Oh hey! What are you doing all the way out here?”

“I told you. It’s urgent, Tango, urgent. I have bedroom tricks only you can assist me with.”

“Well, that’s a good time I wasn’t expecting,” Tango says.

“No, you idiot! Get your head out of the gutter, and come on! I have things to do!”

“Okay, Zedaph, geez, geez, lemme just—”

“I’ve already asked your stupid base,” Zedaph says. “It’s fine. Now, get out of those wires before I get shocked or something, and we’re going to go have fun.”

Tango slowly uncoils himself. “Right. I’ll get ready and—” Zedaph whips a pair of sunglasses out of his pocket. Tango pauses before smiling brightly. “Oh, you’re the best.”

“I really am,” agrees Zed, and he grabs his best friend’s hand and leads him out of the Deep Frost Citadel to show off his latest contraption. He turns around and sticks his tongue out for good measure at the base as they go. Hah. Take that. The best. There’s no beating it.

And there’s no keeping him away from Tango. Zedaph guarantees it.

[pulisicsgirl]

gonna be the death of me - mason mount

summary: as his publicist, Y/N is willing to do whatever Mason needs to make him comfortable at his latest sponsored photoshoot

pairing: Mason Mount x publicist!reader

word count: 2.4k

warnings/tags: no established relationship, suggestive language, sexual tension(??), they're both down so badly for each other it's insane

requested: no

notes: surprise!!! I think I speak for all of us when I say we were caught completely off-guard by Mason's new Nike ad... 🫣 But anyway, I was inspired by it to write out a blurb or two, but this one just kept going and it turned into a full-length fic 🤭 So... enjoy?? Also, I couldn't pick only one picture for this fic so please enjoy both of these

As a publicist, there was nothing unusual about you attending an event with one of your clients. Especially when it was for a sponsored ad that you’d had a large part in organizing. But something about this one felt different—a nervous, fluttery feeling in your chest as you walked in the front doors.

Maybe it was the fact that it was Mason, a client of yours that you maybe fancied just a teeny tiny little bit, no matter how hard you tried to convince others that it wasn’t the case.

Or maybe it was the fact that the partnership you had organized for him involved him modeling in nothing but his underwear.

Yeah, it was probably that.

In an effort to remain professional, you had done everything in your power to remain cool and collected that day. You had waited for Mason to arrive, meeting him at the doors before the two of you strolled into the building to determine what needed to be done and where he needed to go.

If Mason was honest with himself, he felt like he was a bit out of his depth with this photoshoot. He had never even been someone to parade himself around topless, let alone in only some tight-fitting underwear.

He had agreed to the shoot months ago, when things hadn’t been going so well for him. He had been struggling with his transfer to a new team and thought that maybe trying something new was just what he needed to snap him out of it. Unfortunately, it had taken quite some time to iron out the details, and now Mason’s nerves were getting the best of him.

So when one of the staff involved in the Nike shoot had approached him, a bottle of body oil in her hands, his stomach sunk to his feet. He only half listened as she explained that it would make the shots look more appealing.

“We understand that this can be a bit uncomfortable, so if you’d like to have someone from your team that you’re more familiar with help you apply it, that would be completely fine. If not, one of the stylists can assist you.” She gestured toward the team of people who had put a few light touches of makeup on his face just about 20 minutes ago.

The Nike team had been nothing but wonderful and accommodating with Mason the entire day, and he really appreciated the effort they had put into making him feel comfortable. He was momentarily relived by the alternative he had been offered, but the relief was short-lived when he realized that the only person on his “team” was you.

The staff member guided him to a cozy dressing room just off the hallway from the main area and explained that he could change and leave his things in this room until the photoshoot was over. There were a few sets of the underwear that he would be modeling laid out for him and a robe hanging to the left of the door.

Mason changed and spent the entire time trying to convince himself to just have one of the Nike staff help him. He didn’t want to make things weird. Part of him did want you to rub your hands all over his body, but he didn’t want the first time you did it to be for something like this.

No matter how much Mason tried to muster up the courage, he just couldn’t shake the way that the idea of a complete stranger oiling him up just compounded the nerves he was feeling, to the point that it made him feel sort of sick.

So minutes later, he was approaching you, body covered by the robe that they had provided for him. You noticed, as he shuffled in your direction, that he was fiddling with his fingers, a nervous habit of his. That, combined with the sheepish look he gave you as he stopped at your side, confirmed that he was feeling a bit anxious.

“Hey, Mase. You doing okay?”

Mason had to ignore the way his heart fluttered at both the nickname and the expression of concern on your face.

“Um, yeah, I-“ he started, stumbling over his words a bit. “If I’m honest, I’m pissing myself at the moment.”

Your eyebrows drew together in sympathy, knowing how difficult it must be to be paraded around like this.

“You’re going to do amazing, okay?” you smiled at him, and he only nodded in response. As he shifted back and forth on his feet, you knew there was something else on his mind.

“Um, could you… could you actually do something for me?”

“Anything, Mase. What do you need?”

Having worked with numerous high-profile clients, you learned that when a client asked for something, the answer was always “yes” and if it was something you couldn’t do… well you needed to figure out how to do it anyway. But Mason had never been one to give you much trouble. He had always been extremely kind and considerate of you.

“This is, um… well it’s a bit strange, and if you want to say no that’s completely fine, but,” he paused, taking a brief glance up at your face before he spoke quickly so he didn’t chicken out. “They gave me this oil I need to put over my chest and back and everything and they said I could have someone from my team apply it so it would be someone I’m comfortable with.”

He took another short pause as he tried to gauge your reaction. Your heart skipped a beat as you realized what he was saying. He must have noticed the slight falter in your expression.

His team… you’re his entire team today. He means you.

“If you don’t want to, it’s completely okay. I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t—”

“Mason, it’s okay,” you rested your hand on his shoulder to reassure him. “I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, still feeling a bit hesitant. “I would really appreciate it. I’m just… I’m feeling a bit nervous about the whole thing, and I’m not overly fond of the idea of a stranger putting their hands all over my body.”

But you are fond of the idea of me putting my hands all over your body?

You mentally slapped yourself, trying to rid your mind of the filthy thoughts that were running through it.

“Don’t worry about it, Mason,” you smiled at him reassuringly, masking the way that your heart felt like it was going to leap out of your throat. “That’s what I’m here for, right?”

That was absolutely not what you were there for.

So that was how you found yourself following Mason into the dressing room that Nike had set up for him.

You couldn’t help the little flutter in your heart as you noticed that, rather than leaving them on the floor, he had neatly folded his clothes in a pile and placed them on a table in the corner of the room. You weren’t sure why that small detail affected you the way that it did.

Mason untied the belt of the robe, slipping it from his shoulders and tossing it over the back of the chair. You cast your eyes to the floor, suddenly feeling flustered at the sight of his nearly naked body, covered by only a tight-fitting pair of boxer briefs that left very little to the imagination.

It blew your mind that anyone who looked like he did could be feeling nervous or insecure about showing himself off. But Mason was merely human, after all, like anyone else.

You did your best to be as calm and causal about the situation as you possibly could. Mason approached the large vanity in the room, pointing you to the bottle of oil he had been instructed to apply to his body sitting on the counter in front of the mirror. You unscrewed the cap, placing a bit in your hand and telling Mason that you would start with his back.

You figured starting there would give you a moment to collect yourself before you had to look at him, face-to-face.

You rubbed the small amount of oil between your palms to warm it before placing them flat over Mason’s back and the touch of his skin on yours felt like an electric shock. You didn’t miss the way that the muscles in his back tensed slightly when you first touched him.

You spread the oil over the soft skin, from his shoulders, down to his waist. As you rubbed it into his lower back, you couldn’t help but admire how the underwear he was modeling hugged his bum.

No! Stop! Get it together, Y/N!

You tried to force yourself to think of anything else—anything other than Mason and his bum and the fact that you were oiling up his naked back.

You began analyzing the kind of oil they were using for the shoot (you had to come up with something, right?). It was sort of light and didn’t make his skin look greasy, like a swimsuit model or anything. It more so had the appearance like he had done a light workout and worked up a thin layer of sweat.

I can think of a few activities we could do to work up a sweat…

You shook your head, trying to snap yourself out of whatever this effect was that Mason was having on you.

Deciding that his back was finished, you stepped around to Mason’s front, pouring a bit more of the oil into your palms and running your hands over his arms.

Then, the only bit left to do was the bit that you didn’t know if you would survive… his chest and stomach.

You discreetly tried to take a deep breath, biting the inside of your cheek as you started at the top of his shoulders, brushing your hands over his collarbones before your hands drifted lower. You felt the heat rushing into your cheeks.

Mason prayed silently that you couldn’t feel the way his heart was hammering in his chest as your palms smoothed over his skin. He felt like every inch of him was on fire as you touched him in a way that was more intimate than you ever had before.

But as he tried to focus on anything other than how much you were putting him on edge, Mason glanced down to your face and realized he wasn’t alone in how he felt.

He watched as your cheeks burned bright red and you refused to look even remotely close to his face. He felt suddenly a bit lighter at the realization that you were just as tense as he was.

“I thought I was supposed to be the one that was nervous here,” he mumbled quietly, attempting to break the tension in the room.

He could tell you were fighting the grin that took over your face almost immediately. “Oh shut up, you,” you tried to keep up appearances, but it fell flat and Mason could read you easily. You both giggled softly.

You finished up the last bit of his torso, smoothing your hands down his sides, over his Champions League tattoo that you tried to admire without him noticing, and across his tummy. You noted the tiny mole on the upper part of his stomach, swiping a finger over it as you brushed the last bit of oil onto him.

You took one step back from him. “Alright, I think that should do it,” you spoke as you tried to wipe at an itch on your face with the back of your hand.

Mason noticed a shining spot of oil that you left behind. He stepped forward, nearly closing the gap between you as he lifted a hand, wiping it off of the tip of your nose with his thumb.

You gazed up at his face, unable to get away with just gluing your eyes to his torso the way you had been before. The look in his eyes was unreadable as he dropped his hand from your mouth to your jaw, just slightly pulling your lower lip down with his thumb, watching your reaction closely.

The tension between the two of you could’ve been cut by a knife. You felt as though you had stopped breathing as the you stood there, neither daring to make a single sound. Your eyes darted around his face, taking in all of the features you had never noticed before. His hand continued caressing your jaw as you held your hands cautiously on either side of him, afraid to make more of a mess with your oil-covered hands.

Abrupt knocking on the door of the dressing room caused you both to jump, snapping out of the sort of trance you had been in.

“We’re ready for you in 5!” a voice shouted from the other side of the door.

Both of you took a step back from each other, suddenly aware of how close you had been standing. Mason cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck as he tried to gather himself.

“Will you be alright?” you asked, remembering how nervous he had been feeling just a few minutes ago.

“Y-Yeah, I-“ he hesitated for a moment. “Yeah,” he repeated, this time a little more certain.

Seeing how flustered you had been at seeing him the moment he had taken off the robe and how you had blushed at your fingers touched his skin had been the confidence boost he needed to be a little more sure of himself. Seeing the way that you had reacted to him made him feel ready to go out and do the photoshoot.

You watched a soft smile pass over his face, and you wondered what could possibly be going on in that gorgeous head of his.

“Alright,” you giggled at his expression, now seeming much lighter than he had before. “I guess you should head on out. I’ll clean up here and then I’ll be right there.”

Mason nodded, slipping the robe back over his shoulders before he turned to walk out of the room.

With the sudden boost of confidence, he spun on his heel, dipping his head to place a quick kiss on your cheek, and then he was out the door before you had the chance to react.

Your eyes went wide as you took a moment to process everything that had just happened. When you turned to the vanity to begin tidying up, you caught sight of your beet red cheeks. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath as the biggest grin took over your face.

This boy was certainly going to be the death of you…

tag list:@landoslover @thoseboysinblue @lovelynikol16 @swimmingismywholelife @masonsrem @bracedes @neverinadream @lizzypotter14 @notsoattractivearenti @chilwellspulisic @mm-vii @10vnderhaze

[hueningsloverr]

౨ৎ 60 months !

pairing: taehyun x reader summary: a close-knit relationship with taehyun is something to be earned, and you seemed to have done just that. word count: 1.1k extra: have we all gotten over txt world tour? I HAVENT !! go terry fuck it up!! apart of my anniversary series that i accidentally never finished!

taehyun was unlike anyone you had ever met before - and that was saying something considering you knew many people. he was more reserved than others, yet at the same time he was so outgoing.

his duality was what drew you to him initially - how could one person have so many different personalities? then you found out he was an idol, and it made a decent amount of sense. it was apart of his job to act one way on camera and another for the different concepts. when he was off camera he was able to be himself.

what drew taehyun to you was the fact that you studied his behavior; every time he did something that seemed out of line for how he acted that day, you payed great attention to it. it was almost as if you took mental notes on how he acted so you could draw out a map of behavior.

but you’d never fully be able to uncover every last detail about the boy, and he’d never fully know everything about you either.

it was a fact that both of you had come to terms with early on in your friendship, and though at times you seemed displeased by it, you largely accepted the fact.

still, there were moments when you felt an unspoken understanding between the two of you, like you could read each other's thoughts without needing words. taehyun had a way of looking at you, his eyes soft yet probing, as if he were trying to see the depths of your soul. in those moments, the walls he built around himself seemed to crumble, even if just for a second.

as your friendship grew, so did your curiosity. you found yourself wanting to know more about the person behind the stage persona, the real taehyun who laughed at silly jokes and pondered over the mysteries of life.

and he, in turn, seemed equally intrigued by you. your quiet confidence, the way you seemed to observe the world with a discerning eye, fascinated him.

there were late-night conversations that spanned hours, where you shared your dreams, fears, and everything in between. it was during these times that you felt the closest to him, and you cherished these moments more than anything. yet, despite the bond you shared, there was always a part of him that remained elusive, just out of reach.

one evening, after a particularly grueling day of rehearsals, taehyun invited you to the rooftop of the building. the city lights sparkled below, and the night air was cool against your skin. he leaned against the railing, gazing out into the distance.

"you know," he began, his voice barely above a whisper, "sometimes i wonder if anyone truly knows me. not the idol, but the real me."

you turned to him, searching his face for any hint of emotion. "i think people see different parts of you," you said gently. "and maybe that's enough. maybe we're not meant to be fully understood by anyone."

he nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "maybe you're right. but hey, i'm glad i at least have you. you seem to see me in ways others don't."

your heart swelled at his words. it wasn't a grand declaration, but it was enough.

in that moment, you knew that the connection you shared with him was special, even if there were parts of him that remained a mystery.

as the night wore on, you stood there together, comfortable in the silence, knowing that some things were better left unsaid. and that was okay. because sometimes, the beauty of a relationship lies in its complexities, and the unspoken understanding that comes with it.

days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. your bond with taehyun only deepened. you became his confidant, the person he turned to when the pressures of fame became too much. you listened without judgment, offering him a safe space to express his worries and fears.

one evening, after a long day of interviews and photoshoots, taehyun showed up at your door, looking more exhausted than you had ever seen him. without a word, you let him in and led him to the couch. he collapsed onto it, letting out a deep sigh.

"rough day?" you asked softly, sitting down beside him.

he nodded, closing his eyes. "you have no idea. sometimes it feels like i'm being pulled in a thousand different directions, and i can't keep up."

you placed a hand on his shoulder, offering him a comforting squeeze. "you're doing amazing, tyun. it's okay to feel overwhelmed. just remember to take care of yourself too."

he opened his eyes and looked at you, a hint of gratitude in his gaze. "thank you. i seriously don't know what I'd do without you."

you smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "i'm always here for you."

in that moment, you realized just how much taehyun meant to you. he wasn't just a friend; he was someone you cared about deeply, someone you wanted to see happy and thriving. and you knew he felt the same about you.

as time went on, your relationship with him continued to evolve. you attended his concerts, cheering him on from the crowd. you celebrated his successes and comforted him during his lows. and through it all, your bond only grew stronger.

one rainy afternoon, taehyun invited you to his favorite café, a cozy little place tucked away from the bustling city streets. the sound of raindrops tapping against the window created a soothing backdrop as you sipped your coffee.

"i've been thinking a lot lately," taehyun said, breaking the comfortable silence. "about life, about us."

you looked up from your cup, curiosity piqued. "what about us?"

he took a deep breath, his expression serious. "i know we've always said that we can't fully know everything about each other, and i've come to terms with that. but i also think… maybe that's what makes our relationship so special. we keep discovering new things about each other, and it keeps things interesting."

you nodded, understanding where he was coming from. "i know what you mean - it's like we're on this journey, together, and there's always something new."

a small smile played on his lips. "exactly. and i wouldn't want it any other way. "i've been at this for sixty months, you know?" he added, pausing slightly while he tried to formulate the proper words. "and until you i've never met someone who wasn't one of the boys that could even somewhat understand me."

in that moment, you felt a profound sense of contentment. you realized it didn't matter if you knew every last thing about taehyun, simply knowing him in the slightest was enough.

"well, here's to me making sixty months of progress in just a few months." you grinned, raising your coffee cup in a joking manner.

"here's to you - to us."

a/n: finally returning to this series after like 4 months whoopsies

©2024 - all rights reserved to hueningsloverr, please do not plagiarise or translate any of my work

[awkward-walking-potato]

gambit x gn!vampire reader that’s 500 years old? I like to think Remy would want to get to know some past history that the reader had experienced?? Or maybe just getting to know more about the readers mutation day by day??

An eternity

The moon hung high in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the grounds of the X-Mansion. Inside, the common room was bathed in a soft, warm light, the ambiance perfect for an evening of quiet conversation. You, a 500-year-old vampire, had been a part of the mansion for a while now, your presence adding an air of timeless grace and mystery.

Remy LeBeau, ever curious and eager to understand the people around him, had taken a particular interest in you. He found your age and experiences fascinating, and though he was charmingly laid-back, he was also genuinely intrigued by your long life and the stories you might have to share.

One evening, as you both sat in the common room, Remy settled into a comfortable armchair across from you. He had a playful glint in his eye, a sign that he was about to delve into a topic that piqued his interest.

“So, chérie,” he began, leaning forward with a casual, yet sincere curiosity, “I’ve been thinkin’. You’ve had a whole lotta years to collect some pretty interestin’ stories. Care to share any of ’em?”

You raised an eyebrow, a faint smile playing at your lips. “And what makes you so eager to hear about my past, Remy?”

Remy’s grin widened, his eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and genuine interest. “Well, you’re a bit of a mystery, y’know? Five centuries worth of experiences, and I’d love to know what makes you tick. What kind of history do you carry with you?”

You considered his request for a moment, touched by his genuine curiosity. It was rare to find someone so genuinely interested in your past, and it made you feel valued in a way you hadn’t expected.

“Alright,” you said, leaning back in your seat, “I suppose I could share a few stories. What would you like to know?”

Remy leaned in, his attention fully on you. “I’m curious about the times you’ve lived through. What was it like during the different eras? What kind of adventures have you had?”

You began to recount tales from your extensive history, starting with the early days of your life, when you first became a vampire. You spoke of the grand cities you’d seen rise and fall, the significant events you’d witnessed, and the remarkable individuals you’d encountered. Your stories ranged from the beauty of Renaissance art to the tumultuous periods of war and revolution.

Remy listened intently, his eyes never leaving your face. He was captivated by the way you spoke of the past with a mix of nostalgia and insight. “That’s incredible,” he said, his voice filled with admiration. “You’ve seen so much and been a part of so many different worlds. It’s like you’ve got a front-row seat to history.”

You smiled at his enthusiasm. “It’s been quite the journey. Sometimes it feels like a lifetime ago, and sometimes it feels like just yesterday.”

Remy’s gaze softened as he took in your words. “I can’t even imagine what it must be like to have lived through all that. But I’m glad you’re here now, and I’m glad you’re willin’ to share a bit of that with me.”

You felt a sense of connection and appreciation as you continued to share your experiences. Remy’s interest in your past was not just about satisfying his curiosity; it was a genuine attempt to understand you better, to see beyond the surface and appreciate the depth of your character.

As the evening wore on, you found yourself feeling more at ease with Remy’s presence. His genuine fascination with your past made you feel like your experiences were valued and cherished.

When you finally concluded your stories, Remy leaned back with a contented sigh. “You’ve got an amazing life story, chérie. And I’m glad I got to hear it. Thanks for trustin’ me enough to share.”

You looked at him, touched by his sincerity. “Thank you for listening, Remy. It means a lot to me.”

Remy reached out and gently took your hand, his touch warm and reassuring. “Anytime, ma belle. I’m always here if you want to share more. You’ve got a lifetime of stories, and I’d be honored to hear ’em all.”

As the night continued, you felt a newfound sense of closeness with Remy. His genuine interest and respect for your past had strengthened the bond between you, making you feel seen and valued in a way that was both comforting and profound.

[aphroditeinthesea]

I love your work so much omg 😭 🙏🏻 you’re such a good writer 🫶🏻

I saw you were looking for requests 👀 and I was wondering if you’d be willingly to do Leo Valdez x f!reader where they are kinda rivals (yk they just bicker all the time) both working on the argo together or making weapons with a team in the forge. But then some guy joins their team and starts mansplaining the basic equipment. There’s just situation after situation where the reader will explain something to the guy and he won’t listen but then the second Leo says it he gets it. And at first Leo kinda notices but just thinks it’s because he’s in charge and stuff. At some point though he overhears the guy showing her how to do something (the wrong way) and he’s like “yo back off man, she knows what she’s doing”. Maybe he even protects her from open flames when the guy almost burns her handling the equipment wrong (something she’d told him a million times before)?? Maybe both happen idk?? The two just become close after that and he ends up confessing or something

Sorry about how much I wrote 😭 your request rules said you liked the requests to be specific and I wasn’t sure how in-depth to write… so if that’s too much you can totally take a bunch of it out lol (I work with power tools because I’m an arts major and I’ve had so many guys trying to explain basic power tools to me… so this has been on my mind for MONTHSSS)

“ i’m a feminist, obviously (but i wouldn’t really mind him saving me) ”

leo valdez x fem!reader 🔨

⚠️ o/c being creepy, mansplaining, almost getting set on fire

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

“That’s not,” Y/N stormed over to the boy. She grabbed the wrench out of his hands and began turning it, “righty tighty, lefty loosey.”

“What did you just say to me?” He scoffed.

“You were turning your wrench the wrong way, Valdez,” she replied, handing the tool back to him.

He grabbed it from her, crossing his arms, “for your information, that’s exactly how I wanted it.”

She rolled her eyes, “did you sleep, like at all?”

“A little.”

She huffed, “get some sleep, I’ll clean up.”

“No,” he defended, “I just need to finish this up-”

“If you try to use power tools why you're half asleep, you'll end up getting yourself killed,” she grabbed the wrench from him again, “and you know who’ll have to clean up your dead body? Me, and that’s gross.”

“You're too good to me.”

“Fuck off.”

He chuckled, wiping his forehead, “okay, fine. I’m heading out.”

“Bye,” she waved him off.

“See you later, sweet cheeks.”

“Shut up!”

He closed the door of bunker nine behind him, leaving her alone. She sighed with relief, tightening a few loose screws.

She hummed to herself as she began cleaning the mess around her. She picked up some tools, placing them back on their shelves.

“Nice song.”

She jumped at the voice. She turned around to see a boy standing by the stairs. “What are you doing?”

“I’m Marcus,” he replied, walking closer to her, causing her to slowly back up, “son of Hermes.”

“Well, what are you doing here?”

He put a hand on the ship, “heard you're working on this Argo thing, figured I could give a few pointers.”

She grabbed a toolbox, quickly walking away, “we don't need any help, thanks though.”

“Come on,” he smiled, following her, “you can always use some help, the more the merrier, right?”

“Take it up with Leo,” she answered, avoiding eye contact with her. She rushed to collect her things and made an escape to the door.

“I’ll walk you back.”

“I’m fine,” she sighed, opening the door and walking out.

She almost forgot about the incident the next day when she walked into the bunker. She found Leo with an annoyed look on his face, digging through a toolbox.

“What’s up with you, Bernard?” She commented as she walked towards the son of Hephaestus. She knew it was a stupid name, but she did love how much he hated it. She also loved the fact that he didn't understand it (she started using it more after finding out he had never seen the Santa Clause movies).

He sighed, “Mr. Macho over there,” he nodded his head toward the boy from the night before playing with a blowtorch. “He convinced Chiron that he should be working on this, too.”

She scrunched her face, “he gives me the creeps.”

“You know him?”

“He came in here last night after you left,” she explained, “I think he has a thing for me or something.”

Leo’s face tensed, his fist clenching around the hammer he held, “you think?”

“Hope not.” She took a deep breath before walking past the tall boy to grab some extra wood.

“Hey,” he grinned at her, “miss me?”

She forced a smile, walking away from him, “you know it.” She cursed herself for trying so hard to be nice to the little fucker, but she really didnt feel like starting something right then.

The day went on with her desperately trying to ignore his comments towards her. She found herself staying by Leo’s side in hopes that Marcus would think they were dating. As much as the idea grossed her out, it was better than some weirdo thinking he had a chance with her.

“I’m gonna head out,” Marcus mentioned, wiping off his hands with a rag.

“Bye,” Leo spoke flatly. Y/N stayed silent but let out a breath of relief when the boy walked out.

Leo looked up at her, noticing her change in demeanor, “are you okay?”

“What?” She met his eyes, “yeah, yeah,” she nodded, “I’m fine.”

He raised an eyebrow, “are you sure? Because I can figure out a way to get him out of here, if you want?”

She shook her head, “thanks, Leo. But, I’m fine, really.”

“Okay,” he breathed out before looking back to continue what he was doing.

She grabbed the blowtorch Marcus had formerly been using. She began using it (i don't know how they work i’m sorry), when Marcus walked back into the bunker, he immediately rushed over to her.

She rolled her eyes as he wrapped his hands around hers, “you're using it wrong.”

“I don't think I am.”

“No, you hold it like this-”

“She knows what she’s doing,” Leo called over.

Marcus just shook his head, “see when you do this,” soon the flames blew back towards them. Marcus threw the blowtorch down in the direction of Y/N in a panic. The flames spewed out and before Y/N could react, she felt herself pulled into a corner, tanned arms wrapped around her.

“What’s the matter with you?!” Leo yelled, his arms tightening.

“Look, it was her fault,” the son of Hermes motioned his hand towards the girl.

“Are you kidding? Since she’s been here, nobody’s almost died (italic). Then the second you walk in you almost turn her into toast!”

She nervously sighed. She slowly reached her hands up to hold onto his forearms, brushing her thumb against his skin.

“You shouldn't have a girl working on this in the first place, there's no way she knows anything about this!”

Leo took a deep breath before yelling once again, “get out!”

“What?” The boy scoffed.

“Get out!”

Her heart rate quickened. Despite all her fighting with him, she had never seen him this angry. She watched as Marcus shook his head before stomping out of the bunker.

Leo’s grip on her loosened, letting turn around to look at him, “are you okay?” He asked, briefly looking her up and down for any wounds.

She nodded, “I’m okay,” she looked up at his face, yet avoiding eye contact, “thank you.”

He softly smiled down at her, “yeah, well, that guy was an ass.”

She giggled, nodding in agreement.

“Don't worry, I’ll set him on fire next time I see him.”

She wrapped her arms around his torso, “thanks, really.”

“Of course,” he nestled his nose into her hair, “if anything happened to you, I think I would have actually killed him.”

“Good to know.”

[grxmreaperx]

Professor Hoffman Pt. 2

Pairing: Mark Hoffman x reader

Word count: 2k

Warnings: 18+!! Smut! Dirty talk, cockwarming, p in v penetration, age gap (everyone is over 18!), mentions of spanking and oral (f! receiving)

Summary: You’ve grown accustomed to your weekly tutoring sessions with your favorite professor, but even if you are doing better in the class, Professor Hoffman believes you need a lesson in focusing.

read part 1 here!

here is the highly requested part 2 to my professor hoffman au! hope you guys like this one, i included a cockwarming kink since i wasn't super happy with how the last fic with that kink turned out. let me know what you guys think <3

“Now, someone tell me what you thought of the interrogation I just showed you.”

The deep voice of your professor drug you out of your daydreams. Your gaze fell onto the man at the front of the room, his hands pushed deep in his pockets as he waited for an answer. It was an understatement to say you had been distracted in that course, even more than you had been before your “meeting.” Your mind wandered even more than it did before, except now it wandered to memories of your so-called tutoring sessions.

He did help you with course work during your session, but not in a conventional way. He would reward you for completed assignments and an understanding of the concepts, typically involving his head buried between your thighs. And for any wrong answers you gave, you received punishments, walking out after your session with handprints on your ass.

“How about you, Miss,” he said, staring straight at you. “What did you think of the interrogation?”

He smirked. He knew where your mind had been, he knew what you thought about during his class and it sure as hell wasn’t the video you were supposed to be watching. He watched you intently, tilting his head slightly, waiting to hear your response.

“Well, the suspect’s body language was very interesting. He was closed off and held his arms around himself for comfort, hinting that he may be guilty, or at least very uncomfortable with the subject.”

He nodded. “Very good observation.”

You decided to press your luck, wanting to get back at him for picking on you. “I have another observation too, if you’d like to hear it, Professor.”

He furrowed his brows slightly. “Go on.”

“Well, in the interrogation, you didn’t exactly try and build rapport with the suspect, which probably would have been ideal in this case. You were quite aggressive, Professor.”

You hardly registered the turning heads, other students’ eyes widening as they listened. Professor Hoffman was known in the criminal justice department as a hardass, not taking any disrespect from faculty and students alike. You knew your classmates were shocked; no one else would dare talk to him that way.

You watched his jaw clench slightly, looking down as he tried to compose himself. Trying to stop himself from dragging you back to his office right then.

He looked back up at you. “I don’t believe I asked for your thoughts on my behavior in the interrogation.”

“No, but you did ask what I thought of the interrogation. And I thought you were a little too aggressive.”

He sucked in a breath. “I suppose I did. How about you see me after class and we can talk a little more in depth about your thoughts, hm?”

You tried to keep the smile off of your face. “Yes, Professor.”

You heard whispers around the lecture hall, heard the disbelief that someone had spoken to Professor Hardass that way.

Your friend turned to you, a look of shock glued to their face. “What the fuck was that?”

You shrugged. “What? I was simply sharing what I thought.”

They let out a small laugh. “You’re fuckin’ crazy. You must have a death wish.”

“Something like that.”

--

Later that day, you made your way through the now familiar hallways leading to Hoffman’s office. You tried to keep your pace steady, trying not to appear too excited in case anyone saw you. You knew what you were in for, you couldn’t get the look on his face when you had talked back to him out of your head.

You knocked softly as you stood in the open doorway, attempting to look as innocent as possible. “Hi, Professor. You wanted to see me?”

He set down his pen, leaning back in his chair as his eyes took you in. “Sit.”

You closed the door behind you, setting yourself down in the chair facing him. You took him in: the neat hair that was slightly tousled after a long day, his shirt sleeves rolled up above his elbows, his tie loosened around his neck.

“Do you think you’re clever, sweetheart?” he asked in a low voice.

“I do, actually.”

He chuckled. “Of course you do. How clever do you think you’ll feel when you can’t walk out of this office, hmm?”

You squeezed your legs together, trying to stop the blush from rising in your cheeks.

“What’s the matter, baby?” he asked mockingly. “Not so clever now?”

You tried to think of something to say, some sarcastic remark to wipe that look off of his face.

“Did you bring your book with you like I told you to?” he asked.

You nodded.

“Good girl. Get it out and get over here.”

You pulled the criminology textbook out of your bag before making your way around his desk. You set yourself down on his lap, laying the book out on his desk. His hand snaked around your waist, fingers drawing small circles around your hipbone.

“I think we should try something different today, what do you think sweetheart?”

You looked at him. “Something different?”

“Well, it’s obvious what we’ve been doing hasn’t been working. You’re still not paying attention in my class. And now you’re talking back to me. It’s time we try something different to teach you.”

You shifted slightly on his lap. “What are you thinking?”

He smirked, gently grabbing your hand and moving it to palm him through his dress pants. “I’ll tell you what we’re gonna do baby,” he started as you felt him harden against your hand. “You need more focus, don’t you? So, you’re gonna open that book and explain to me every concept in the reading for tomorrow. And you’re gonna keep my cock warm while you do it. We’ll see how well you focus then.”

Your eyes widened at his words, feeling a spark between your legs.

“How does that sound, sweetheart? You gonna strip for me, or you just gonna sit there and stare at me all day?”

You quickly stood, discarding your clothing as he undid his belt. You made your way back over to him, facing his desk as he guided your hips. Your mouth fell open as you sunk down onto his cock, not stopping until you were fully sitting on his lap. He wrapped an arm around your waist, placing teasing kisses along the back of your neck.

“Go on, baby. You better get started.”

You opened the textbook, staring blankly at the words on the page. You tried to focus on the words, tried to take in any information you could as your eyes scanned the page. You gripped the arm of the chair, forcing yourself to focus on anything other than the feeling of him inside you. He held you still, not allowing you to move.

“You gonna tell me about what you’re reading, or are we going to have to stay like this all day?”

You tried to clear your head, tried to focus on the words in front of you instead of the ache between your legs.

“The strain theory,” you began, before he shifted underneath you. You froze, letting out a small sound at the movement. “That’s not fair,” you cried.

“What’s not fair, baby doll?” he asked, placing a kiss on your shoulder. “Go on.”

“The strain theory says that…” you sucked in a breath as he ran a hand over your thigh. “That people turn to a life of crime if they can’t reach their goals.”

He thrusted up into you slightly. “Good girl. That’s right. Keep going, baby.”

Your nails dug into the soft leather of the chair, trying to keep the little bit of composure you had left. You tried to roll your hips slightly, to get some sort of relief, before a hand wrapped around your throat.

“I wouldn’t do that, sweetheart. Do what you’re told, or I won’t let you cum.”

You let out a small whine, eyes fixing back on the book in front of you, quickly trying to absorb enough information to please him.

He ran a hand over your stomach, pressing gently just below your belly button.

You let out a soft gasp, even more aware of the feeling of him inside you. “You’re such a bastard,” you breathed.

He chuckled. “You still think you’re clever, baby?”

You tried to ignore him, quickly reading the next page. “Self-control theory says that crime is caused by…” you let out a breath as he ran his lips down your neck. “By people looking for instant gratification.”

“Good girl,” he praised. “Do you think you’ve learned how to focus?”

You could tell his restraint was failing: his breath was growing shallower, his hips shifting in his seat. You decided to test your luck once again, rolling your hips against his. You felt his forehead press against your back, a small groan leaving his lips, and this time he didn’t stop you.

“Yes, sir,” you moaned, and he let himself go. He quickly stood, pressing your front down onto his desk, hand wrapping in your hair.

“So good for me, aren’t you sweetheart?” he said, beginning to thrust into you. You could’ve sobbed from the feeling, the feeling you had been yearning for. You wrapped your fingers around the edge of his desk, trying to keep yourself steady. You let out a loud moan as he set a quick pace, your punishment tormenting him as much as it did you.

His hands roamed down your back, settling on your hips. He gripped them tightly, pulling you back to meet each of his thrusts. The sound of your whimpers filled the room, legs beginning to shake. You were so sensitive from your punishment you could already feel yourself getting closer to the edge.

He grabbed your leg, hooking a hand under your thigh, and lifting it onto the desk. You cried out as he pressed deeper into you, filling you to the brim.

“You gonna be a good girl and cum for me, baby?” he groaned.

You nodded frantically against the wood, a chorus of “yes’s” falling from your lips. He speed up his pace, hands gripping you so hard you knew you’d have bruises. You felt you body shake as you reached your high, holding the edge of the desk tightly to keep yourself grounded.

You felt his forehead press against your back as his pace faltered, one hand coming to rest next to your head as he reached his own climax, spilling inside of you.

He slowly pulled away, helping you up off of the desk and setting you on the edge. He grabbed your clothes off of the floor, handing them to you before zipping his pants back up.

You noticed the textbook on his desk as you began to dress. You had hardly even registered it underneath you, but some of the pages were torn, the paper covered in sweat.

You gave your professor a look, gesturing to your ruined textbook. “You better buy me a new one of those, that shit is expensive.”

He chuckled, fixing his shirt. “Yes, yes, I’ll buy you a new one. I see where your priorities are.”

You smiled at him. “Listen, that’s a lot of money you just ruined right there. And if you want me to be able to focus in your class, I’m gonna need a new one of those.”

He shook his head, smiling. He grabbed your chin, pulling you closer as his lips met yours. The kiss was surprisingly soft, his hand moving to rest on your cheek.

“Have I told you lately that you’re my favorite student?” he asked, pulling away just enough to rest his forehead on yours.

You laughed. “You’re my favorite professor.”

tag list: @bee-who-isnt-french, @enigmatic-blues, @kujofam, @aliengutzstuff, @mysunfishpeedinmyroom, @slut4hoffman, @schrodingersjigsaw, @hoffmansnightmare, @karmaswitch, @mrs-hotforhoffman, @returntodustsblog, @capan-deveraux2, @switchbabeeexo, @librababe99, @honimello

[gay-dorito-dust]

soft shy insecure reader comforted by s/o raiden? headcanon or oneshot, hes so cute i need his hugs!

This went on for a bit, maybe ooc but I can never tell cuz once again I was half asleep when writing this so…yeah. 🦦

The moment Raiden finds out that on this particular day that you were feeling insecure within yourself, he knew what he was going to do and that was going to help you through it the best way he can.

Raiden didn’t think it would be right of him to just not be there for you when you needed someone to be there to stabilise your footing when you tripped and be ready to catch you when you’d inevitably fall later on. Raiden was more than ready to be that person, it was practically engraved within his heart and soul, it was his code.

He stood stand tall and strong like an oak tree in order to uphold and protect those who could no longer carry themselves any further.

Upon reaching you, Raiden would sit himself down next to you and would then ask in a low and steady voice;

‘is there a particular reason as to why you don’t like the way you look?’ Wanting to hear you speak your mind, to speak your feelings. He genuinely wanted to understand your perspective because not once would Raiden interrupt you or cut you off midway but instead chose to listen to you intently; his warm, understanding eyes reused to look away from your own.

His eyes looked at you so deeply that you couldn’t help but become vulnerable and open beneath his gaze, but in the way where you knew that you were in a safe space to shed a few tears, have bouts of frustration and allowing yourself to be angry without fear; even going into great depths as to why you didn’t appreciate nor accept the body that you were in, recounting events that enforced this awful and damaging mindset, telling you that you were just that fucking hideous and disgusting to even look at that.

And god forbid if you were to be seen at in any other way that wasn’t negative, your mind made you believe that you were a joke to be laughed at -or even a bit gullible- to ever believe that such words of kindness and adoration could ever be used to describe someone of your physique. It just wasn’t possible and you didn’t think it would become reality either but then Raiden came into the picture...until you replaced through no fault of his own.

Raiden throughout this was so kind and so incredibly patient with you, that once you had gotten everything off of your chest, of which that had been weighing you down on for as long as you could remember and then gradually being crushed beneath it’s unbelievable weight; you felt a weight had been taken off of your shoulders and yet it didn’t make much of a difference as to how you felt before.

‘I just don’t think I’m worth you Raiden.’ You finalised, looking at him from beneath your eyelashes before gesturing towards your reflection within the mirror before you. ‘I mean, look at me.’

‘I am looking at you right now.’ Raiden replied, not looking at the mirror but more so at you directly. ‘And all I’m seeing is a beautiful/handsome/viberant soul at war with itself over imperfections that I wholeheartedly adore as I do the rest of them.’ He could see the disbelief within your eyes as they stared deeply into the pair staring back at you from the reflective surface. So Raiden then stood up, catching your attention almost immediately, as your thoughts raced to every possible conclusion as to why he chose to stand up but before you could get the words out, Raiden had already offered out his hand to you with a gently smile.

‘Take my hand.’ He said softly.

‘Why?’ You questioned, skeptical.

‘Just trust me, my heart, I want to show you something.’ Raiden gently ushered.

You didn’t question him any further and reached out for his hand, where he’d then grasp it gently and then Raiden proceeded in pulling you up from your bed, bringing you closer to the mirror.

‘What do you see?’ Raiden asks before moving himself behind you so he could hold you against him and rest his head upon your shoulder.

‘I see a person who isn’t pleasing within any sense of the word.’ You began. ‘I see someone who spent putting too much effort into being someone their not and are now realising that they’ll never be desirable to anyone because they were never meant to be desired. They were meant to be mocked, shamed and belittled for even attempting.’

‘We couldn’t be looking at two different very people.’ Raiden tells you, his eyes meeting yours through the mirror. ‘For the person you speak so ill of is the same person that I have devoted my entire heart into loving for the rest of my life.’ He then presses a kiss to your shoulder, then a couple more after that in quick succession, cussing a warmth to spread across your body. ‘I adore the person I see before me because to me, they took both my heart and my breath away the moment I saw them, then leaving me desperate as to known their name as it left their lips sweetly.’

When you didn’t say anything, just absorbing his words and letting them sit within you, Raiden then continued. ‘The person I see before me has enchanted my mind, consumed my every thought and even graced my dreams with their presence, something they still do to this very day and do you wanna know who their name is?’

‘My name.’ You replied meekly, pointing toward yourself and Raiden smiles as he presses a kiss to the side of your head, making sure to linger there before pulling away. ‘Yes y/n, it’s your name, my love.’ He muttered softly, tugging you closer to have you against his chest, all the while his strong arms kept you in place. Raiden’s embrace was warm, soft and loving, so much so that you couldn’t help but melt just that little bit deeper into his hold; burying your head into his neck, having become a little exhausted as a smile gracing your lips.

[wo-mary]

Letter from the Abyss

«Oh, Louis.

How many years have passed since you killed me? How many years have passed since the poison coursed through my veins while you gazed at me with loving yet distant eyes, unaware of what you were doing? How many years since you embraced me from behind while I sat with my throat slit, drowning in my own blood? How many years since your heart shattered from killing the one you loved?

I was slowly and agonizingly dying an impossible vampire death. Every cell of my body, every fragment of my soul, was pierced by unbearable pain. And all I could feel was how I sank into your strong arms, descending into the inescapable darkness. At least, I was grateful that it was you who did it, and not someone else.

Did you at least believe that I loved you, mon cher?

You didn’t think I was perfect, but you felt that I was a lot. But I couldn't help my love, and from the lack of yours, I made sure we both drowned in my bottomless, soul-crushing love together.

You didn’t think I was sane and saw me as a bloodthirsty, unbalanced killer. But that was my language of love — hysteria, tears, abuse, demands, and keeping you in an iron grip. Every time you tried to get close to someone else, I nearly turned myself inside out. I wanted to vomit. I wanted to destroy everything around me. So I destroyed everything around you.

You didn’t think we were meant for each other, but I saw in our impossible love the most sincere and genuine thing. Yes, it was built on your suffering, on your immense black void, which gradually consumed me too.

You didn’t believe I was faithful to you, and only saw my betrayals. But they weren’t infidelities; they were weak, miserable attempts to get your attention, to stir strong feelings in you, to make you love me as much as I loved you.

I tried to be gentle and tender. But you didn’t respond, and every time, I chose my demons to show my love for you, Louis.

I tried to speak openly, but you didn’t listen, so I committed all sorts of foolish acts just to reach your heart.

Oh God, how I loved you, Louis de Pointe du Lac. I loved you so much, mon cher, that I became cruel. To you. To myself. To the world. I was a raw, exposed nerve, capable only of erupting with emotions and suffering. And when you were killing me, I thought — yes, God, yes, I’ll stop feeling this. He will end my life, and there will be no more love. He will end my life, and there will be no more suffering. He will end my life, slit my throat, poison me, burn me in the furnace… the same one where I burned the useless human bodies that meant nothing to me…

But you didn’t finish your mission. I remained in pain. In suffering. With a soul shattered into pieces. Fully united with my own black hole, the one I so desperately tried to escape by making you my lover, by making you fall in love with me, by loving you all my life.

I was left alone with an impossible, imperfect love for you. Left without you. Oh, Louis, you can’t imagine how immense this pain was. It cannot be measured by instruments, by years, by the depth of a soul. It cannot be compared to anything. But it can be felt. And, you know, maybe if you had known back then that I hadn’t completely died, you would have thought that I was preparing to kill you too, to give you that same unbearable pain, and you’d be right. But while I was dying and regenerating at the same time, I faced unbearable despair and gave up. I stopped fighting. Stopped struggling with you. Stopped making plans against you. I just broke apart and let that despair swallow me to the very depths.

Oh, Louis. How many years have passed? And only now are you reading this letter. And if you’re looking for a reason why I did this, then read the letter again. Then again and again. And understand that I’m still slowly dying. I’m still alone with this impossible love for you, mon cher.

And maybe, with a small part of my soul, I still wish you would finish killing me. Because I can’t do this anymore.

Forever yours, relentless and unbearable, Lestat de Lioncourt»

[daryltwdixon]

The Promise of Us: Chapter 21

You

The two of you move through the woods, your boots crunching over fallen leaves as Daryl keeps a steady pace ahead. His eyes are focused on the ground, tracking, but you can tell by the stiffness in his shoulders that his mind is elsewhere. You keep your distance, the silence between you heavy and tense.

Your own thoughts are a tangled mess of anger and betrayal, each step making the frustration inside you grow. You’d been waiting for this moment, waiting for the chance to say something—to make him understand the depth of your hurt. But the words stick in your throat, caught somewhere between fury and pain.

After a few minutes, you can’t hold it back any longer. “So, you were just never gonna tell me, huh?” you snap, your voice sharp enough to cut through the silence.

Daryl’s head jerks up, but he doesn’t turn to listen to you, and after a moment, he continues on walking, “What ya talkin’ about?” he says under his breath.

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “You know damn well what I’m talkin’ about, Daryl,”

His expression shifts from confusion to annoyance as he stops abruptly to turn to you, “Y/N, I ain’t a mind reader so if ya got somethin’ to say–”

You step closer, your tone clipped. “The Governor wants me, Daryl. I was the damn bargaining chip. And you—you just let me walk around clueless while you and Rick decided to change your minds and offer Michonne instead, you know how fucked that all sounds?” His eyes widen, and there’s a flicker of something close to panic before he forces it down. His jaw clenches. “We ain’t tradin’ nobody,” he says defensively, voice rising. “Rick changed his mind, woulda never been you anyway,”

“That’s not the point,” you snap, voice cracking with anger. “You didn’t even have the guts to tell me! I had to hear it from Merle!”

He looks away, his shoulders hunched. “I was just tryin’ to keep you safe,” he mutters, but there’s a rough edge to his voice, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you. His hands tighten, knuckles going white as he holds his crossbow down.

Your hands shake with the force of your anger, and you step even closer, voice low and furious. “And what about what I wanted, Daryl? You didn’t think I deserved to know?”

His head jerks back up, his eyes burning with guilt and frustration. “What good woulda come from tellin’ you? You’d just be more scared, more pissed off—and for what?”

“Maybe I had a right to be pissed off!” you shout, your voice raw. “But I didn’t even get the chance, did I?”

His face darkens, and he takes a step toward you, his voice low and rough. “You never told me what happened Y/N. You never said a damn word about what went down between you and the Governor. I’m tryin’ to protect you, but I don’t even know what from!”

You freeze, the rawness of his words cutting through the rage. The memories flood back uninvited, and the shame twists deep in your chest. He softens, his own frustration melting into something closer to desperation, “You don’t gotta tell me or nobody else what really happened. But I can’t protect you if I don’t know what he’s after. Rick said he wants you as some kinda pet or some shit,” his lip curls at the last words, fury blazing across his features.

You open your mouth to respond, but then you see movement ahead. It’s Michonne, slicing cleanly through a walker’s head with her katana. You and Daryl both tense, the argument shoved aside by the immediate need to confront her.

Daryl raises his voice, “Hey!” he growls, filled with urgency and anger as he approaches her through the tall grass in the clearing, “Where’s my brother?”

Michonne looks up, eyes hard and focused. She doesn’t say anything as she takes in the two of you, and your heart pounds in your chest as you look around the open field, dead walkers scattered. He slows as he approaches her though, and you’re right on his heels, watching for any sign of Merle or worse around you.

Daryl slows as he gets closer, his earlier fury replaced by something colder, more fearful. You stay on his heels, your senses on high alert, every rustle of the wind making your skin prickle. “You kill ‘em?” he asks, his voice quieter now, but still carrying the weight of everything ahead.

You steal a glance at Michonne, trying to read her expression, but her face is stone—unreadable, as if she’s gauging Daryl as much as he is her. Then, slowly, she shakes her head, her eyes never leaving his.

Your breath catches sharply. So, he’s alive. Did he go back to the prison? Did he keep going? Where the hell is he headed? 

Oh–the trade. He was at the farm.

“He let me go,” Michonne finally says, her voice low, almost gentle.

Daryl’s face hardens at her words, but there’s a flicker of relief in his eyes. He takes that as a cue to keep moving, his steps purposeful but frantic. As he passes her, he mutters, “Don’t let anyone come after me,” and then he breaks into a run, pushing past her and continuing along the path he believes Merle took.

You don’t hesitate. You jog to catch up, your gun raised and ready, but you pause briefly in front of Michonne. Your eyes lock, both of you sharing an unspoken understanding—a mixture of pain, regret, and resolve. There’s a flicker of something else in her gaze, a silent apology, maybe even guilt.

You feel a tightness in your chest as the weight of what Daryl is about to face—what you’re both about to face—settles over you. You force yourself to look away, swallowing back the rising lump in your throat, and sprint forward after him.

❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥

As you approach the deserted barn for the second time that day, a chill snakes down your spine. Something feels terribly wrong. Your eyes narrow at the sight of a black car, abandoned in the dry grass. Bodies litter the ground—both walkers and people, their limbs twisted unnaturally in death. Instinct kicks in, the hairs on the back of your neck prickling. You lock eyes with Daryl, your gut already coiled tight with dread. You signal left for the field and point for him to circle right behind the barn. He nods, but his eyes linger on you, filled with a silent urgency, almost like he’s trying to say something he can’t put into words. You tear your gaze away, rifle raised high and ready, and press forward.

As you continue on, you can hear the unmistakable growl of a walker up ahead, and see it crouched down over a body. It’s gnawing on the flesh of someone you don’t recognize– the wet, sickening squelches of torn muscle and skin filling the air. The walker’s eyes suddenly snap up when it hears your footsteps, meeting your gaze.

The sight knocks the wind out of you. A strangled sound escapes your throat as you take in the familiar features—the skin close buzz cut, the piercing blue eyes now bloodshot and hungry. 

You want to scream, to rage, but all you can do is stand there as Merle Dixon gets on his feet, nearly tripping over the bloodied body that was his meal to come for you. His steps are unbalanced, shuffling, but persistent as he comes at you. Fresh blood and bits of flesh hang from his mouth, but when you look lower to his chest you can see the dark, crusted, old blood that was his death blow. 

“Merle,” you choke out finally, voice breaking as he comes in front of you, arms stretched out to you. Tears blur your vision as you step back, letting the rifle fall and swing back as your hands slip from it to push him away. You shove, hard, and he snarls, fingers still trying to reach for you. Sobs come hard and fast out of you as you gasp for your breath, looking at the man who was bitter, crude, violent, but fiercely loyal and always by your side.

“You damn idiot!” you scream, throwing your hands on him again and shoving with all your might. He stumbles back like he’s drunk, but his hungry eyes still meet yours, as if he’s still there underneath it all. It’s a twisted, horrifying reflection of the man who’d been like a brother to you. He’s the closest person you’ve ever lost to this fate. Sophia was a gut punch, but this? This feels like your heart is being ripped out. Your face is hot and wet with tears as strands of loose hair cling to it, your expression twisted in anger and grief. Merle keeps coming at you, and after you push him one more time, your knees buckle underneath you. You collapse, sobbing uncontrollably, the grief overwhelming. He falls fro the impact of the push. It takes him a moment to gather his limbs again to come back up. 

“Daryl!” you scream, your throat raw, voice tearing from the depths of your soul. It’s a desperate, terrified call for the man who knew Merle better than anyone. Footsteps pound the ground behind you, and you glance up to see Daryl rushing forward, knife raised—but he stops short. Your sobs feel like they’re breaking your ribs as you watch Merle from the ground. You're shaking so badly it’s almost like the earth underneath you is moving, quaking with your grief as well. 

Merle is back on his feet, his eyes piercing at you with a new frustrated snarl curling his lip as his rattling breaths come closer. Daryl is suddenly in front of you, and he pushes him back. It’s not as hard as you had shoved, and as Merle comes back for him, Daryl is backing up, almost cowering as the cries come from his mouth. 

The sight of Merle, now a walker, seems to shatter something inside him. He falters, his steps becoming hesitant, the knife lowering as he takes in the horrifying reality. You watch, paralyzed by your own grief, as Daryl’s face crumples, the tears streaming down his cheeks unchecked.

Merle snarls, lunging forward again, and Daryl backs up, choking on sobs that rip through the air. He’s not fighting anymore—he’s collapsing under the weight of everything Merle was, everything he lost. His cries mix with yours, a cacophony of pain that fills the empty field. 

“Daryl,” you manage to choke out through your own sobs, your voice barely a whisper, “we need to—” 

But before you can finish, Daryl surges forward, a guttural roar escaping him as he tackles Merle to the ground. His knife plunges into Merle’s skull with brutal force, once, twice, over and over again. The impact is fueled by years of rage, of lost moments and broken promises, of love that never found the words. It’s raw, violent, the blows landing harder each time until Merle’s face is unrecognizable—reduced to the mangled remains of a man who once fought tooth and nail for his brother.

You clamber up to Daryl as he pushes the knife in one more time, your hands gripping his shoulders. He falls back easily, his cries louder as he collapses back onto you, onto the ground. You hold him back against your chest, arms wrapping around his shoulders and chest, pulling him close. His back presses against you, his body shaking with raw, uncontrollable sobs. You hold him tight, your own tears wetting his neck, your face buried in the crook of his shoulder.

The two of you remain there, tangled in each other’s grief, as the full weight of the loss settles over you. Merle, who had sacrificed himself to save you, to save Michonne, is gone. And in this moment, all you have is each other—the one thing neither of you can bear to lose.

[googoobabajogwick]

Death

Summary- You’re excommunicado and go to John for help at first but he doesn’t like the conclusion you come to.

Word count- 2k

Tw- in depth suicide

You knocked on the wooden door repeatedly and when he didn’t answer you began to pound on the door with two hands.

“John. John, it's me, please open the door.” You yelled out, crying.

Just as you finished speaking the door flew open and you fell forward, into a pair of arms.

“Oh thank god. Oh thank god. I’m in big trouble, a lot of trouble, John.” You rambled out so fast he could barely understand what you said.

“What?” He asked you.

You shut the door and locked it. Pants left your body as you tried to catch your breath. The two of you stood like that for a few seconds before you stood up straight, still trembling. You were terrified and made your way to his couch. Shaking you sat down and that’s when he noticed you were covered in blood. His eyes widened. Your throat felt dry and his stare was making you uncomfortable.

“Could I get a glass of water please.”

John nodded and went to get you a glass of water. As he was in the kitchen his phone went off. He was getting the text you were excommunicado you couldn’t stop yourself. You whipped your gun out and pointed it at him as you couldn’t take any chances. He looked at you shocked as your arms trembled.

“Put your phone down.” You warned him.

“I already saw.” He responded.

“I can’t take any chances.” You started to cry again.

“I’m not going to kill you, tell me what happened.” He said.

See the two of you were sorta friends. You didn’t talk much but when you did you could for hours. The two of you had helped each other on a couple hits and that was it. You being at John’s was pretty random and you didn’t know why you came to him. Probably because you knew he was a good guy. Even though he was the Baba Yaga he was different.

You began to explain how you were seeing the man who held your marker. It was a stupid thing but you had fallen for the fucker. Never should you have dated the one who owned your life basically. You truly fell in love so when you found him with another woman you couldn’t help but shoot him, right between the eyes. You’d plead temporary insanity if The High Table would listen but they wouldn’t.

You had a few days before they found the woman he was with. With her as a witness they knew it was you in no time. Since then you’d been fighting and fighting. You were tired and injured. At the end of the day John really couldn’t help, but deep down you knew he wouldn't kill you. When you finished he still had his hands up. You put the gun down.

“I’m in deep, deep shit. John.” Your voice broke.

“There has to be a way.” He answered you. “I can help you.”

The two of you stood in silence while you thought. John still barely knew what exactly was happening but he knew what excommunicado meant. He couldn’t help you. You could see no way out. Maybe the best way out would be to just do it yourself...

“I think I have to kill myself.” You admitted and sat back down on his couch.

“What?”

“You can’t help me and they won’t stop. Life doesn’t mean anything to me. Not really. Some things are nice but I don’t know? I die and it all stops and I become one with the Earth again. It doesn’t sound too bad to me.” You told him as you shrugged your shoulders, “we’re all stardust baby!”

It was said in a joking tone John didn’t find funny. He came to sit next to you. You sounded way too serious about this. Your hand found his and you squeezed it reassuringly.

“Killing myself gives me the ultimate freedom. If they kill me I lose that freedom. I know it doesn’t make sense to you but you’re not the one they’re after. Plus if you help me you’ll be punished or excommunicado as well.”

“No. You’re not killing yourself, we will find a way.”

“I have the willpower to do it. At this point I want it. It’s the only way I go out my own way. Not with a bullet in my skull or a knife in my throat or stomach.” You stopped crying by now.

John looked at you a bit disturbed before shaking his head. You had decided this was the best bet. You were going to die and you knew that. There was no way out. The horror stories you heard of those that had tried scared you more than death. You couldn’t do that. Suicide wasn’t the worst option right now.

You took a deep breath and exhaled, feeling weirdly calm.

“Stay here the night and think about it.” John said.

“My mind is made up but I will thank you.” You smiled at him.

The two of you talked all night about stupid things with John constantly throwing in ideas how to help you. Some of those ideas included hiding you, changing your identity, pleading your way out or killing your way out of it. Each time you argued why it wouldn't work and then changed the subject. By the end of the night you were exhausted and fell asleep to one of John’s stories.

When you woke up you were on the couch with a blanket. How sweet, you thought. You got up and stretched, enjoying the feeling one last time knowing today would be your last day. Not caring it wasn’t your home you made yourself a cup of coffee and listened to your favorite songs with headphones in. You’d have to leave soon before John woke up.

While you listened to your music you thought about ways you’d do it. Gunshot to the head, slit wrists, pills, hanging… All options seemed like a good idea until you thought of the best plan. You would take pills and throw yourself out to sea. It seemed like a beautifully poetic way to go out. A huge ‘fuck you’ to The High Table. There was a cruise leaving tomorrow perhaps you could sneak on.

That way, when you threw yourself over the edge, you could give back as the animals and fish of the sea would feast on your decomposing body. At least you would be useful in your death. The High Table would probably cremate you and just get rid of the ashes so you liked your more artistic idea.

It was also summer time. Which meant you could relax before you did the deed. As you stood up to leave you bumped into John who had somehow snuck in the room while you were daydreaming. He didn’t look pleased that you were leaving without saying goodbye.

“Ah sorry.” You rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly.

“Going somewhere?” John asked.

“Just out.”

He stared at you with a deadpan look for a few moments.

“YN.” He said.

You continued to have a mini staring contest with him before sighing and rolling your eyes. Your arms crossed and you started tapping your foot.

“So what? Am I on suicide watch now? Is this what we’re doing?” You were getting annoyed.

You understood he was against the idea, most would be, but most didn’t function like you did. Maybe if he was in this situation he would fight. John seemed like a fighter but you weren’t. You wanted to die painless, enjoying the little things you appreciated. Like drinking and relaxing in the sun.

Your life was not important to you. Not in a depressed way, in fact, you’d love to live but you could still see no other way. You were going to die one way or another. This was now your dying wish, to go out your own way. John would have to understand that or…

“Move or I’ll fight till you kill me. Your choice. I’m dying either way. Hey, you could collect my bounty.” Your tone was playful but the seriousness was laced within.

“You’re giving up.”

“No, I’m saving myself.” You countered. “From a death I don’t want.”

“How can you act so nonchalant about this?” John asked in disbelief.

At this you just shrugged your shoulders. You didn’t know, you just didn’t care. In a way you felt more at peace than you ever had before. You felt free. John still stood before you and you went to grab your gun. Your eyes widened when you felt nothing at the side of your hip. He had taken your gun.

You muttered a ‘fine’ before cracking your neck, preparing for a fight. John went from speaking to you with disbelief to looking at you with it. Your mind was made up and he couldn’t change it. He didn’t want to fight you or hurt you and he wouldn’t. Just when you thought he was about to get into position, he stepped aside.

“Wait here. Please.” He went into his room and then came back out with a gun in his hand. “It’s fully loaded.”

“Thank you.”

You hugged him goodbye and left.

*

You had been drinking all day, deciding getting drunk was the best last thing to do. The cruise ship was packed with people and you worried about being able to find a private spot. You knew you would though, you just had to wait till night time.

Getting in was easier than you thought, only having to fight a couple hit men on the way. You felt relieved you didn’t have to fight John. That sounded painful and you were trying to have a relatively painless last day. You were glad they still had last minute tickets even though they cost an arm and a leg. It didn’t matter, money didn’t matter anymore.

You gambled big at the casino and spent it all on high grade alcohol. Then you laid on the deck in the sun all day and danced with random people as the sunset came. It was a nice day but sadly it had come to an end. Why didn’t you do this in the first place? You didn’t need to kill that jackass.

You knew that was the booze talking anyways and decided to slip away from your group. Back in your room you opened up your small bag, the only thing you brought, which had rocks and a bottle of pills in it. You sang your favorite song as you started to pack your pockets with them.

Your head rocked back and forth as you bopped your head to the song you sang. Once you felt heavy enough you grabbed the pills, slipping them into your already too full pockets and stood up. Enjoying one more good stretch, you reached for the ceiling and bent backwards a little bit. You smiled as you finished, always loving a good stretch.

Grabbing your last drink, you made your way towards a more private part of the boat. The left side back, where the rooms were. There would be a couple people but you could pass yourself off as a drunk person who needed air. When you got there though you weren’t alone.

There stood John with his hands in his pockets.

“Holy shit! Have you been here this whole time?” You asked him loudly, feeling the effects of the alcohol.

“Yeah.”

“Wow. You’re crazy for that I had no idea! Are you here for the bounty? Because you’re running out of time.” You slurred and pulled out the pill bottle, showing him.

“No. You don’t have to be alone.” Was all he said.

“Well that’s sweet of you. Today has been the best day out of the shittiest week I’ve ever had. I had my heart broken and now a death sentence. Damn.” You rambled on, trying to open the bottle which was proving to be hard in your inebriated state. “This life kinda sucks.”

John nodded but watched you struggle. When you finally got it open you did a mini cheer before pouring the whole bottle into your hand. He looked at you with a broken expression that caught you off guard. You physically shook your head and looked at him.

“Well same shit different day. That’s how life goes.” You shrugged your shoulders and knocked back the pills with vodka.

John looked on in horror but stood still. This is what you wanted. It took him all his willpower not to rip the bottle out of your hand and shove his fingers down your throat. You chugged the rest of your drink and panted when you finished. This was too easy though it hurt that your friend had to be there to see.

You threw your arms around the railing of the boat and let the wind and sun hit your face. It felt nice and you were suddenly comforted with the fact John was there. You felt warm and calm.

“YN please there has to be a different way.” John pleaded with you.

“I don’t believe there is. Not without you becoming involved and I can’t have that.” You smiled at him. “Having you here is a bit nice but don’t stay if you’re going to stop me.”

“They wouldn’t kill me.”

“No, but they would outnumber you.”

John stopped trying to argue with you, instead he did something that surprised you. He started to cry. A couple tears rolled down his face and his shoulders shook. You stood up straight. This was ruining it. It felt painful to watch him weep at your death. You had the willpower but he was making it harder.

It was starting to hit you that John considered you more than a friend. Maybe not even romantically but something strong was there. You felt bad because you just didn’t feel the same way. Maybe if you guys had more time but you couldn’t entertain that thinking anymore. There wasn’t any more time.

“John. I do this because I have to die anyways, I broke rules. I killed the one who held my marker, they will kill me.” You almost wanted to yell at him. “Let me go out on my own terms. Please!”

John took a moment before forcing back the tears. He knew you were only getting loud because he was changing your mind but you were also right. With all his years of experience and training he put distance between the two of you. You were just a friend, a little more than a casual acquaintance. He could pretend you paid him to do this.

John had no choice but to watch you die. He could leave. But he couldn’t because in the end, no matter how hard he tried you weren’t a stranger and he didn’t want you to be alone. You could almost feel a coldness about him as you felt a shift in the atmosphere changing. The warmth he felt for you was leaving him. It stung but you understood. He nodded at you.

“Thank you.”

You flopped back onto the railing and let out a sigh of relief, feeling tired. Your legs almost lost their balance as the medication started to take effect. It was almost time to throw yourself overboard. You tried to hold yourself up as the wind hit your face one more time. This really wasn’t that hard, even with the little blip.

As you got more and more tired you looked back to John who was still staring toward you. His fists were clenched but he stood like a soldier whose orders were to stay put. His eyes looked glazed but far away as they looked past you, out into the ocean. Soon you would be food for marine life and you’d never see his beautiful face again.

You looked up, bending so far backwards against the railing you felt like you could roll back and fall, towards the stars. They looked so pretty, almost as pretty as him. Why were you having these thoughts? You always knew John was an attractive man but it never seemed as true as now. Oh well, it was too late anyways.

You stood up, fast, and as straight as you could and stumbled almost falling over the edge. A laugh escaped you and you looked at him one more time, keeping your footing. You were glad you didn’t feel sick or any pain. He stood there. You took a deep breath, feeling the air fill your lungs and tasting the salty air one last time.

“Goodbye John.” You said.

The ship hit a wave causing you to trip and fall over the ledge. You felt the cold water consume your body and like that, you were out. John stood on the ship and let a tear fall before walking to the ledge. He couldn’t even see your body in the dark. You were gone.

“Goodbye YN.”

[elliebirdwrites]

RWRB and grief

The Red, White and Royal Blue trailer is out and I’m very “If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more” about it. (Like, can’t be in the tag because I get very irrationally angry and despondent and melancholy and what in the actual fuck it’s just a g-d movie) I can only re-watch the trailer so many times so I decided to re-listen and re-read the book this weekend. 

And I was sitting in my car, sobbing because of this fucking book and what Bea says to Alex in chapter 13.

“So, imagine we’re all born with a set of feelings. Some are broader or deeper than others, but for everyone, there’s that ground floor, a bottom crust of the pie. That’s the maximum depth of feeling you’ve ever experienced. And then, the worst thing happens to you. The very worst thing that could have happened. The thing you had nightmares about as a child, and you thought, it’s all right because that thing will happen to me when I’m older and wiser, and I’ll have felt so many feelings by then that this one worst feeling, the worst possible feeling, won’t seem so terrible.

“But it happens to you when you’re young. It happens when your brain isn’t even fully done cooking—when you’ve barely experienced anything, really. The worst thing is one of the first big things that ever happens to you in your life. It happens to you, and it goes all the way down to the bottom of what you know how to feel, and it rips it open and carves out this chasm down below to make room. And because you were so young, and  because it was one of the first big things to happen in your life, you’ll always carry it inside you. Every time something terrible happens to you from then on, it doesn’t just stop at the bottom—it goes all the way down.”

“Do you understand?” she asks him, looking right into his eyes. “You need to understand this to be with Henry. He is the most loving, nurturing, selfless person you could hope to meet, but there is a sadness and a hurt in him that is tremendous, and you may very well never truly understand it, but you need to love it as much as you love the rest of him, because that’s him. That is him, part and parcel. And he is prepared to give it all to you, which is far more than I ever, in a thousand years, thought I would see him do.”

Imagine being forty years old and feeling like someone has finally, for the first time, put into words what’s been true for most of your life but you could never explain it or understand it and it kept you from having any kind of meaningful relationship because it was this thing that isolated you so completely you’d convinced yourself you were fine and didn’t need anything or anyone. 

Anyway, thinking a lot about being eleven and losing my dad - one day he went out for a run and never came home - and not ever understanding why I spent my life feeling broken and like “a problem that deserved to stay hidden” until Casey had the gall to put it in their book.