#why. why. why. for what purpose. why. why??????

[belfry-ghost]

My contributions to the @haunting-heroes-creative-games banner!

[rose-tinted-kalopsia]

≡;-꒰ 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I  𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒚, 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔 𝒊𝒕 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓

╰┈➤ ❝ caleb x afab!reader | smut nsfw 18+ mdni

tags : pwp (with plot; honestly more fluff-centric with a lil smut towards the end <3), mention of nightmares, comfort, kissing, cuddling, heavy petting, dry humping, praise, dirty talk, inappropriate use of evol (kinda), use of pet names "baby" "princess", + "pipsqueak" like… once. lmk if i missed any tags !

wc : 2.4k

an : AAAAA i gave in 😭 some of you may know that im a chronic nightmare haver and. absolutely nothing . n o thi ng !!!!!!!!! is going to stop me from writing fluffy smut with the love of my life JSNFBWHF (++ mildly inspired by @starmocha 's post, ily you keep me (in)sane <3)

taglist : under the cut! (SIGN UP HERE)

KO-FI JAR / COMMISSIONS

You can't sleep, but at least he's right there to help you.

"Caleb…"

It started with a soft nudge.

"Caleb?"

There was no reply.

Your head lifted then, momentarily leaving the comfort of the pillow… only to be met with stillness. You could feel a huff threatening to spill from your lips, ever indignant over moments of lack of attention from him—yet, the dark of the room reminded you exactly where you were. A glance at the clock on his bedside table showed you an hour you shouldn't be awake at; not normally, at least. And if that wasn't enough, then the silent, sleeping figure next to you would have proved it.

It wasn't fair to wake him up. You were the odd one out.

And, yet…

And, yet…

You pursed your lips.

A beat.

Two beats.

Three.

"Caaaaleeebbb…."

His name turned into a whine, and this time, you sat up, reaching to roll him over onto his back.

Thankful as you were of his general attentiveness to you, you watched a little wave of recognition wash over him.

"…Hmh? Pip..squeak…?"

A hand reached out to rub at his eyes, voice thick and raspy, the lower octave jumping out to you. And with that unfocused gaze, and those slow movements… He wasn't quite awake.

Sheepishly, you pawed at his arm.

"Sorry, can't sleep…" you mumbled.

"Mmm… That's a shame, 'cause I sure can…"

You looked at him with a frown.

Still asleep, my ass.

The lazy smile on his face contrasted with the droopy eyes his expression still wore, and yet, he was still clearly awake enough to tease. You knew he was only getting under your skin on purpose, but nevertheless, you wanted at least a smidge of comfort—you huffed in an indignant manner, reaching out to give his shoulder a little punch in protest.

At your motions, he laughed quietly.

"Alright, alright. C'mere."

He reached out to ruffle your hair, and there was a slight moment of pause. You watched him scan your figure—there was a sort of appreciation to it, a soft, fond gaze that felt a lot like… Home. And then with a yawn and a stretch, his arms tugged you closer to his body until you hadn't much of a choice but to roll over on top of him, his arms circling around your torso to gently hold you in place against him.

"Better?" he murmured.

You could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the little thrum of his voice as he spoke—it was a low whisper in your ear, still somewhat fighting the sleep from his tone, but just soft enough to lull you into a sense of comfort.

A small smile spread on your lips.

"Mhm," you nodded against him; "A little."

He allowed you to move and adjust yourself over him, legs resting neatly on either side of his waist, your body curled right into him with your head resting right above where his heart would be.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

You smiled.

He felt safe.

"...Only a little, though? What's up? Nightmare?"

There was a yawn to his voice, and slowly, you felt him begin to absentmindedly run his hand up and down your back.

In truth, he didn't need to ask. He knew you well enough—you were like this often; there weren't reasons otherwise to why you would be awake at this hour. And he knew, too—there would be no sleeping for you until you could forget whatever images you'd seen in your head just moments ago. You needed a distraction.

He would provide it.

You felt him nuzzle his nose into your hair, planting a series of chaste kisses, the pad of his thumb placing a little bit more pressure onto your back if only to reassure you that he was there.

That everything would be alright.

"Mm… Hard to close my eyes when I can still see it…" You sighed and tilted your head, chin resting atop his chest as you cherished the way his other hand had moved to gently stroke through your hair.

"Yeah? S'okay, I'll stay up with you." You could see the way the sleep had more or less worn off of his features, almost as if the only thing that mattered to him in the moment was staying alert enough to help you fall back asleep first.

It was kind of adorable.

Your eyes softened, enough to let out a playful roll of your eyes. "Aww, look at you being all warm and caring~"

"And, what? You'd rather I not be? Says the girl who's always come runnin' back to me after falling and scraping her knee at the playground!"

"Hey, that's different! It really hurt, you know?! You were there!"

"Uh-huh. And might I add you were runnin' from some supposed ghost of the swing set, just 'cause it wouldn't stop moving?"

"Ugh, don't you bring that back! I didn't understand the laws of physics yet! What else can you do when you're ten and not a science gal?!" The smug little smirk on his face was infuriating enough, and were you not so comfortably snuggled up in his arms, you'd have reached out to smack it off of him yourself. "I am not a kid anymore, thank you very much."

But if you thought he'd use your indignance to push your buttons a little further, to your surprise, his only response was a chuckle. His head leaned down to kiss the top of your forehead; "'Course I know that, you're all grown up now. Just… Where would you be without me, am I right?" He smiled, and this time, his hand slide over from the top of your head over to the side of your face. Gently, gently, he coaxed your head up a little bit, palm cupping your cheek with a little caress of his thumb. "Some things don't change. And since you are my princess, then I gotta give you the princess treatment."

Giggling a little, you shifted slightly to nuzzle your nose against his. "…Geez. Okay, I concede. 'Specially when you call me that."

"Princess? You really like that one, huh?"

And despite the laugh in his voice; despite the playful roll of his eyes right back at you, he leaned in to place a soft kiss on your lips.

One kiss.

Two.

Light, feathery touches that fall into soft, breathy laughs—

Another kiss, and then another.

Slowly, you found yourselves lost in a quiet moment of feeling each other like this, foreheads pressed together, fingers gently running through strands of hair.

So close— so… comforting.

"Feelin' better, baby?" he murmured.

And you realized that the pointless bickering, the little bit of reminiscing—all that he'd done by means of pulling you far away from your dreams and into the reality that you shared with him.

Because it was really, truly, all that mattered in the end.

Smiling softly, your gaze dropped back to his lips as you placed a little kiss to each corner, cherishing the soft huff of laughter that fell from his own.

"Mhm," you whispered. "Much, much better."

So close, so comforting.

You could look into his eyes—warm, and pretty, and so inherently him—and they would be the only things you'd care to look at.

"D'you wanna sleep now? Or…" There was a playful lilt to the way he spoke, and his eyebrow raised—you could feel him press your lower back a little bit more against him, the subtle way his hand dipped lower to rest upon the curve of your ass. You didn't miss the smirk that edged at his lips. "If you're not sleepy yet, I could think of a couple ways to make you sleepy…"

Typical Caleb.

You swat at his arm playfully, a louder laugh falling from your lips. "Caleb! It's, like, three in the morning! I though you were sleepy?!"

"Uh, yeah, I am. But clearly you aren't."

"But that's 'cause—!"

You caught the roll of his eyes as he leaned up to give you another little kiss, and then promptly gave you a look.

"Heyyy. It'd help you sleep, right?" he offered a lazy smile. "And I told you I'd help you. You're in a pretty ideal position too, you know."

You were used to being curled up on his chest like this, but now that he'd suggested it, you had to realize that he was right—and perhaps as a little test, perhaps because you couldn't help it, you gave a little experimental roll of your hips.

The immediate gasp was more of a reaction than you'd expected, and then even you couldn't help the knowing smirk from spreading across your features.

"Shit— oh, that's how we're doin' this, huh?" He spoke through gritted teeth, but his hands had already slid down to rest at your hips. "Gonna use me to get yourself off, s'that it?"

"You suggested it!" you shot back, "don't you take back your words!"

"Oh, don't you worry about that. No way in hell am I takin' back anythin', princess." Another lazy grin despite the firm hold he had on your hips, and he cocked his head to the side. "Well? Go on, baby, do your thing."

It was near embarrassing how easily he could have you dripping wet with just his words, with his voice, yet you knew with certainty that you could have the same effect—every tentative roll of your hips brought out such delicious sighs from his lips, and you could watch with glee the way his eyes would flutter shut. You'd never been more grateful for the thin fabric of your pajamas; the stiff outline of his erection pressed so perfectly against you that the barrier almost didn't matter at all.

"Caleb…" you gasped. You'd fall into him as the movement of your hips sped up, and you could already feel the messy slick that had seeped right through your clothing.

"Keep goin' baby, just like that. Lemme feel you…" One hand slid back up your body, dipping beneath your shirt to caress your skin. "Such a pretty lil princess. You like this, huh? Grindin' all over me like this?"

His palm pressed into your skin—more, he mouthed. Faster.

And you nearly cried as you swallowed your own moans against his lips, feeling the way his hands dug back into your hips, urging you, urging you, guiding your hips into a frenzied rhythm.

Mindless.

Needy.

"M-mmhf, not— mm—! N-not enough, need m— mm—!" You moaned between kisses, and your eyes nearly rolled back into your head as the pressure around you steadily increased.

You knew what he was doing.

The minute he pulled back from your lips to take in the dazed look in your eyes, lips nearly red and swollen, you could see the surge of pride flash in his eyes.

"C-Caleb…" you whined. The hold on your hips was nearly bruising, but it was nothing compared to the way he'd push you so harshly against him, practically digging the shape of his cock into the dampness of your clothing. Slowly, slowly, you felt the cool air of the night hit your thighs, your wet slick mapping over his cock as your pajamas slid down to expose your panties.

Your hands gripped tightly onto his arms—

He wasn't lifting a finger.

"Ch-cheater…!" You huffed. "You can't…! C-can't use—hnng— y-your evol, like…!"

He only chuckled. "No? You said you needed more, though. C'mon, baby… S'okay, I got you. Gonna make you feel so good."

You groaned, burying your head into his chest, allowing him to move your hips as he saw fit.

Every needy drag and grind of your clothed cunt right against him had you soaking his clothing, pushing onto him, chasing that friction. And now that he wasn't kissing you—now that he had his hands free to roam your body, to tangle into your hair, to feel you…

He chuckled, pressing his lips down to your ear. "That’s right, moan so pretty f'me. Lift your head a lil, let me hear you, baby. Tell me how good you feel."

The tip of his cock grazed your clit, and your nails nearly dug into him with a cry. "W-wait—!"

Obedient.

You lifted your head to look at him, but your gaze refused to focus. A blur of hazy pleasure had you panting, moaning incoherent words…

He wasn't even in you yet.

"C-Caleb, wait, I need… I need you, ple— please, please, just fuck me, I-I can't…!"

You shivered, feeling his fingers reach up to trail the side of your neck with ghostly touches.

"You really do wanna make me do all the work, huh…"

"N-no, I, I just…!"

"Wanna cum, right? Well, nothin' here to stop you, baby. C'mon… You can do it, I know you can. I'm helpin' you already, you know?"

Your chest heaved, and you knew he was right. Every movement had you nearly crying, your hips rutting against him and nearly jerking each time he would lift to grind up into you. The pressure from his evol made you dizzy, and you could feel the pleasure building, and building, and building—

Out of the blurry haze of your vision, you could see him give you another smirk, and his lips were back against your ear.

"Cum for me, baby."

He pressed you tight against him, forcing himself to feel you, groaning into your ear at the way your body shook with a pleasure so undeniable.

"There we go, there we go, that's it..." Soft murmurs into your hair, hands rubbing comfortingly over your back. And as the intensity of your orgasm slowly faded away, you felt him pepper kisses into your hair, his arms wrapped around you in a hug so secure.

You were aching, sensitive. He was right; you could feel the fatigue settling over your body, every heave of your chest slowly lulling you to sleep—

He wasn't about to let you.

He flipped you over within seconds, his eyes raking over your body so intensely that you keened under the drag of his gaze.

It didn't matter that you'd begun to feel a little sleepy; you knew he wasn't done with you.

"C- Caleb, you…"

He brought a finger down to your cunt, your slick gathering in an instant. He brought it up to his lips; gave a little bit of lick. "Such a mess. Ugh, sorry, baby, I think I won't be able to sleep 'til I get my fill… Let me stay up a bit longer?"

A press to your clit had you doubting the puppy-like gaze he'd given you, and you groaned—

So hard to resist.

"You're making this up to me in the morning…"

taglist : @darlingdummycassandra @milkandstarlight @thoupenguinman @valyvinny @rafayelsheart @jellyroom2 @chemiru @ywnzn @pepprrmint @angel-jupiter @cordidy @raiyuxa @xai-mery @pikachuzhc @pixelcafe-network @interstellar-inn @hunters-association

an : that thing with the swing.. that's uh. that's based on personal experience. 😭

© rose-tinted-kalopsia. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

[wheelie-sick]

this is an unpopular take but actually yeah sometimes having low empathy does hurt people. it just doesn't mean that we're irredeemable monsters who need to be sterilized for the good of society.

sometimes low empathy makes people say unintentionally cold, mean, or downright cruel things

sometimes low empathy leads to a lack of care for others causing people to behave in hurtful ways intentionally

sometimes low empathy means that someone lacks understanding of why something is hurtful leading them to double down when confronted about it

sometimes low empathy makes attempts at offering sympathy clumsy and upsetting

sometimes low empathy can lead to attitudes about bullying such as "well I'm just telling [what I think is] the truth" without recognizing that certain comments can be hurtful even if you believe them to be true

while these actions are not acceptable or productive the big thing about them is that they can be learned from. not everyone can learn empathy- that's okay. everyone can learn to be a kinder, more considerate person.

denying that low empathy can lead to harmful behaviors does us no good. it erases many of us in favor of appearing respectable to the people who do not respect us.

yeah, I have low empathy. yeah, I have hurt people because of it- sometimes on purpose. I have learned from it. stop trying to make me the "wrong type of low empathy" or deny that the things I did were directly linked to my low empathy just because you think it makes you look bad. cool, you're perfect and your low empathy has never hurt someone but that's not true of many of us and you don't just get to throw us in the garbage can because we're inconvenient for your "low empathy hurts no one" narrative.

[jinxvex]

OH MY GOSHHHH CRYBABY READER AND CAITLYN 😵‍💫😵‍💫 can we have something like caitlyn fucking crybaby reader with her strap and she is soooo mean about it ☹️ like our makeup is running and she's being so condensing UGH I NEED HER BADDDD

♱ lesson learnt. ♱

lil drabble bc i’m lazy! + (a oneshot that may or may not involve ellie williams is in the works though…)

syp. mean mommy!cait fucking you with her strap after you got smart in front of her colleagues at a fancy event.

cw: nsfw content!!, strap-on sex, mommy kink, she slaps you once, choking, degradation/mocking, rough sex, vulgar language/cursing (obv), she's real mean!!

at this point in time, you were unsure what you had said or done to make it to this point.

did you have too much wine? say or do something fucked up because of it? have a little too much attitude? arrogance? conviction? nerve…?

your vision went white simply thinking of reasons as to why or how?

‘where was i?’

‘when the hell did i get here?’

nevertheless, it’s a certain ‘who’ that snaps you out of your self-questioning turmoil with a striking *SLAP!!* across your tear-stained cheek.

“are you even listening to me, whore?” caitlyn spits at you with a venomous tone which is a daunting contrast to her usually sweet and caring voice.

she’s currently looking down at you from above—hands gripping the skin at the back of your thighs and legs planted firmly on the end of the bedspread. her hair is falling out of her neat ponytail and her eyes are dark. the darkest you’ve ever seen them. she has your legs resting on her strong shoulders with your hands bound together by a rope above your head.

the position you’re both in should be considered missionary on steroids because of the way you can feel her cock pressing against your cervix so magnificently yet, almost painfully. she’s pounding into you mercilessly, forcing you to take her cock for the way you acted towards her in public.

“you are so lucky i’m even fucking you right now. so lucky. do you have any idea how foolish you’ve been tonight? a disrespectful little slut, is what you are.”

as you look at her, eyes threatening to roll to the back of your head and tears streaming from your face, you can’t help but silently beg her, what for? who knows? her roughness sparks a string of desire that courses through your veins up to your brain.

“aww, poor girl. it’s so fucking deep, isn’t it? i bet you can feel it in your throat.” she’s taunting you. her dick thrusting inside of your cunt makes nasty, loud sloshy noises—makes your pussy drench the space below you.

“maybe that’s why you’re unable to speak.”

wrapping her hand around your throat, she squeezes harder the faster she moves in and out of you, “you love this. you love it, don’t you, darling? i can tell by the way you’re getting me all wet. so dirty.”

“ungh—f-fuck! y-yes, mommy!!” you respond to her for the first time in what seems like forever.

you feel the pure frustration seeping through her skin into yours, not just because of the sweat dripping from her brow onto your neck but because her stare sears daggers into you everywhere all at once.

“hmm. mommy can’t even punish you properly because you enjoy it. you enjoy being treated like a toy… solely for my usage. mine.”

the more she taunts and teases you, the more slick pools out of your puffy cunt—the more you tip closer to the edge.

“since you enjoy acting so heinously, you’re going to cum so much. so much, you’ll be begging me to stop, sweetheart. but i’m not going to.”

“not until you’ve learnt. your. fucking. lesson.”

…

AHHH!! i jumped 4 joy when i saw this rq thank u thank u!! 💋

(yes i used the british spelling for ‘learned’ on purpose.)

[halbarryislife]

I just graduated college and took my capstone on propaganda. Not the just the history of it but also its evolution, how it works, and what makes the best propaganda.

With the ‘unbanning’ of tiktok and the inauguration being within a day of each other a lot of propaganda has been thrown at us. I want to share what is called “the ten rules of hate” from Matt Taibbi’s book “Hate: Inc: why today’s media makes us despise one another”, which was published in 2019.

To give some context for the ten rules, Taibbi says in this chapter (chapter two) regarding the news cycle, "after generations of doing the opposite, when unity and conformity were more profitable, now the primary product the news media sells is division."

But before I state the rules I just want to remind everyone PROPAGANDA OCCURS ON BOTH SIDES. Neither side is better than one another when it comes to propaganda, it is a necessity. I say this as a democrat who believes the next four years are going to be hell. Just today I saw propaganda from both sides, ironically fitting into these ten points.

THE TEN RULES OF HATE:

There are only two sides

The two sides are in permanent conflict

Hate people, not institutions

Everything is somebody else's fault

Nothing is everyone's faults

Root, don't think

No switching teams

The other side is literally Hitler

In the fight against Hitler, everything is permitted

Feel superior

What most people get wrong about propaganda is that its intention is not change your thought process immediately, no. The purpose of propaganda is to nudge you in a certain direction. Whether that be you seeing that trump unbanned tiktok and for a split moment you think 'maybe he isn't so bad' or seeing an instagram post from Path2Progress saying 'it's a dark day in America' and you get a tinge of fear.

I am making this post because I want you to be able to look at the media you are soaking up and be able to notice that people are trying to manipulate you. Of course, there are other points to propaganda that I did not get in here as I could write several papers on this subject, which I have.

And before anyone says in the comments, "but Trump is literally Hitler", I'm just going to point out that this cycle of calling people Hitler started long before Trump's presidency in 2016. Glenn Beck, who's a conservative commentator really began the "Your neighbor is literally Hitler" movement. In Taibbi's book he writes, "Beck was awesome at this. Al Gore was Hitler. Obama was constantly Hitler." I know must Democrats would not consider these men to be Hitler, but I use this example to demonstrate its use in years past on the other party.

I am going to leave you with a quote from one of the first books written about modern propaganda. It's called "Propaganda Techniques in the World War" and was written by Harold Laswell, then published in 1927.

“But by far the most potent role of propaganda is to mobilize the animosity of the community against the enemy, to maintain friendly relations with neutrals and allies, to arouse the neutrals against the enemy, and to break up the solid wall of the enemy.”

[lil-leon]

imagine the ROTTMNT brothers switching bodies, but because they don't switch brains they have each others quirks/habits.

Like, If Leo and Donnie swapped, suddenly Leo is infodumping about Jupiter Jim and unicorns while stimming.

Meanwhile Donnie is realizing what it feels like to not have the urge to do all of that. At the same time Donnie [instead of staying up late on purpose] is realizing what insomnia is like as well as the concerning thoughts he did not know Leo got.

Raph is being more talkative and rambly because he's stuck with Mikey's ADHD brain and oh wow why can't he sit still-

Then there's Mikey in corner internally screaming because he's dealing with Raph's anxiety and suddenly everything his brothers are doing could be a threat.

It's not a personality swap situation, they still act the same, but they're stuck with bits of each other that aren't 100% personality related.

[merrydoom]

As funny as these memes are, they drive home to me that the general public doesn't really understand capitalism or how evil billionaires really are. To achieve that level of wealth, it isn't a matter of having accumulated something as "concrete" as money in a savings account. Billionaires COULD "lose it all" in a few weeks because getting to that level of wealth requires multiple balls in air at any given time. Debts and credit lines and funds and corporations and real estate. Stock and other speculative, theoretical values assigned to things that aren't real but require large amounts of human suffering to attain.

Billionaires don't have 999 million USD in their accounts. That's part of why they never see themselves as "rich". Why they always feel like they need more, because capitalism only works if they are trying to get more. At that level of wealth, if you are not making more, you are LOSING "money". There is no keeping what you have made and stopping. It's either accumulating or depleting.

This is also why ethics are penalized and viewed as a nieve hindrance more and more as you work up through wealthier and wealthier circles. It is that every person has a level of ethics that acts as a limitation to how far they are willing to go on that ladder. The richer someone is the more they are going to view what you consider standard human empathy as a stupid fairy tale that you haven't realized "nobody actually lives by" because it holds you "back".

That's also why wealth is best predicted by birth. It isn't only that they have massive boosts to generate wealth. (Money makes money) it's that kids raised in groups that socialize them to believe that level of selfishness is normal have a leg up on everyone still trying to act in prosocial ways.

The next time you hear our politicians say something about being middle class, or rationalize that they aren't part of the elite, or some other tone deaf Comment about how broke they really are: remember that they really believe it. Because they are always conscious of how close they are to sliding down. The same as the rest of us. EVERYONE feels like they are just about to lose it and fall into the pit of not making ends meet. That is the way the system is set up to function. That is how capitalism works.

It isn't a bad system that enables bad people to take advantage of everyone else. Capitalism is EVIL. It rewards and REQUIRES evil to function, and it never rewards anyone playing with a feeling of peace or safety. The only prize that the billionaires have won is that they know they are better off than the majority of the world. That's it. That was the whole trophy. They don't feel peace. They don't feel safe. They don't feel complete or like they have achieved their potential. Their entire point of living is to cause suffering to everyone so that they know they are better off.

It isn't about having enough money. The purpose is to know that we don't have enough.

[amphitriteswife]

A call from God

Source: Castlevania Nocturne

Pairing: Alucard x fem Vampire! Reader

Summary: Alucard meets you during his trip to Paris. Although you got along greatly with Annette and Richter, he seems wary of you. During the night Annette went to the Spirit realm and Richter fell asleep, he questions you.

.

.

.

Alucard sighs, his eyes casted down onto the empty, dirty and gloomy street. His eyes sometimes taking a few glancing in the reflection of Annette in the glass of the window. Richter had been fast asleep, not that it mattered. He was a human after all, he needs all the sleep he can get. Especially since they’re oh so close to finally stopping Erzsabet. He couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of worry. They lost Sekhmet’s mummy to Drolta, a vital mistake that changed almost everything. They have no choice but to rely on Annette’s ability and hope that she’ll finds Sekhmet’s soul. Alucard glanced at Annette, her eyes were still closed yet it from her eyebrows it was obvious that she was busy. He took in another breath, the feeling of your eyes on him had been annoying him for ages. His gaze turned to you, eyes narrowed and a rather distasteful look was present on his face. It was clear that he had his guard up with you, a sign that he did not trust you. His lips parted, showing a white ray of teeth with his signature fangs much like yours. You looked calm, as if nothing was wrong. It irritated him to no end. Your smug grin and charming words didn’t work on him. His eyes met yours, red. The color of a vampire’s eyes. Although he was both human and vampire, he didn’t fit with either. It made it rather lonely, but after almost more than 300+ years you’ll get used to it. It wasn’t his intention, but he stared at you. And you stared back. How daring you are, most would avoid him or try to kill him. After all it all depends on which perspective what causes him to be a foe or friend. He was needed to stop Erzsabet from having the world caged in only night and having her turn into Sekhmet. A belmont is needed to in these cases, and a user of magic too….so what was your purpose?

‘Why did you come here?’

The question sounded rather simple, his tone was soft like usual but there was no doubt that it was more than an accusation than a question. Your eyes darted from Annette to Alucard, he wasn’t looking at you anymore, but rather onto the depressing streets of Paris.

‘My god ordered me to do so.’

Your answer caused him to hum at you. Your god? So you’re religious. Well it’s not unusual to be religious, especially im this given time where believe is one of the most important things one can have in their life. His eyes glanced at your reflection in the glass of the window, he hadn’t expected you to look at that same exact spot to make eye contact. Are you always this sharp?

‘Christian?’

‘I do not believe in the Christian god.’

‘Pagan then?’

‘Yes’

Your answers were short and to the point. Nothing less but also nothing more. You don’t believe in the Christian god, that does not narrow it down whatsoever. Ofcourse in this time not many believe in the pagan gods, feeling as if they had been abandoned by them and choosing to convert to Christianity. Not a bad choice, but the leaders of the church didn’t handle the people with grace. yet even so, if your god had spoken to you, who ways that it was a match for the goddess Sekhmet. She was after all the bringer if many good and bad things. Goddess of war and medicine. A respected warrior goddess based of Ra’s vengeance. He had sent her down to earth to destroy the mortals who conspired against him. Yet the bloodlust was too much, the goddess almost wiped out all of humanity and Ra had to trick her with beer and let her go back to him. A famous myth that was told in all of time when Hathor and Sekhmet were believed to be the same person. A terrifying yet admirable goddess….

‘Does your god stand a chance to Sekhmet?’

The sudden sound of your earrings ringing made him look towards you. Your eyes wide, a rather creepy smile plastered on your face. Had he offended you?…stop looking at him like that. Perhaps he can see why you look at him the way are. But still, he needs to know if your god can actually face Sekhmet, she’s strong, very. very. very strong. It sound logical right? You took a few steps closer to Alucard. Your red eyes looking into his golden ones. The soft sound of your snicker could be heard in the room. To Alucard it was loud, yet it hadn’t woken up Richter. How clueless he was for doubt your god. Your voice laced with pride as if you were speaking about the most glorious thing to ever exist.

‘My god is more than fit, the greatest, the best. The destroyer. The chaos, the vengeance. It’ll be all over.’

Alucard raised an eyebrow. You were speaking like a mad woman. Much like Erzsebet or Drolta. He let out a scoff. Prideful huh? But it doesn’t explain anything about your god to him. Not one bit.

‘You talk big, but can it really, realistically speaking ofcourse.’

The sound of your laughter intensified, your hand grasping his. Eyes gleaming with adoration, your red colored lips twisting into a smile.

‘There is only one god. Who can handle lady Sekhmet…the god is ruthless. He rides his chariot across the desert, the sand blowing along with the wind. Lord of the red sea. Hair painted crimson from the mortals blood. He who killed his own brother for the throne of Egypt. Who casted chaos on Egypt in his time of ruling. The mighty god who was the closest to being compared with Sekhmet …lord Seth.’

Alucard softly gasped…Seth? The ruthless god who killed his brother Osiris into pieces, threw him into the Nile, Stole his throne and caused chaos onto Egypt? That’s your god? A god many feared out the depth of their hearts, His worshippers were treated as cult members. His role as husband also faded away as his wife, Nephthys, also had a child with his brother Osiris which caused the existence of the god Anubis. Many found Seth to be evil and later on casted him aside to be a deity of the Persians.

‘Seth…an evil god that was rumored to be male Sekhmet…not a bad choice.’

‘Tch. Evil? My god is not evil, he may be a villain but he is not evil. What would someone like you know about my god?’

‘Well, the myths tell a different story. Killing, corruption, violence. Do I need to continue?’

A low growl escaped your lips. How dare one talk about Lord Seth this way? Unbelievable…yet not uncommon. Yes, it did anger you. But anger won’t help the situation. You took a few breaths. Your eyes falling closed before they opened and looked at Alucard, who found it rather amusing to see you distressed. Once again, a rather smug smirk made its way to your lips.

‘Myths can be many things Alucard. They’re not always reliable. It could be re-tellings. Or in another perspective. Perhaps even a fanfiction. But do not forget, myths are made by the mortals. Not the gods.’

Your words made Alucard think for a moment. You had a point. Myths were indeed written by mortals and not the god’s themselves. Interesting take. For the first time, a rather genuine smile formed on his face. You were smart, smarter than he thought. Although he does not trust you nor the God of the desert and chaos, Seth. You still have gained something else, his admiration. His gaze fell upon yours. Although your god had spoken to you: How will he be of help? Sensing the question Alucard had, you gave him and answer. A truthful answer.

‘I am a vessel, My body is Seth’s. He trusts me. And I trust him. If he wishes to interfere with this matter ye will posses me. And if he doesn’t then he won’t. After all, he is just a forgotten god…my forgotten god…and this god oh so is needed to kill the true evil most claimed him to be.’

[anonymous-dentist]

Maybe there would be less conflict on the server if there wasn’t a faction whose entire life hangs on causing chaos and clip farming.

The admins said it themselves weeks ago- Tango even said it to Pangi directly on stream, the creative kills are meant to be clips. That’s why pvp doesn’t count even though there can be some REALLY creative pvp plays, and even though you can get some really popular clips out of it (see: Pangi killing Tubbo.) It’s also why it’s now against the rules for anyone to give their lives for Red Team like Foolish did, that isn’t ‘exciting’ enough

It’s the same logic that Purgatory was run under: everything had to have the capacity to go viral. Former admins said that the teams were split the way they were to create the most conflict possible, and that seems like what’s going on with the Realm.

A lot of people have started complaining about how much chaos and violence there is on the Realm these days, and they’re also following the Purgatory Way and blaming everything on one specific group of people (Red and Green Teams) rather than acknowledging the flawed server system as a whole.

If Red Team doesn’t get an ‘exciting’ kill, they all die. This is inherently flawed because it forces people into specific actions while ignoring the purpose of the server: personal choice and freedom. The server wasn’t meant for lore! Tubbo said as much before day one, but this was immediately changed as soon as the Red Team was introduced. Now, people joining the server are forced into the Red Team and told they have to kill. Sure, they can not- like Sausage and uh. The majority of Red Team, who haven’t really logged on past day one- but they’re still bullied and attacked by the other characters for the simple crime of being on Red Team. Unlike the other factions, Red Team never got a choice. They aren’t allowed to change teams, and nobody from another team can join their team (except Jack Manifold ig.) They’re all forced into the role of villains with no choice to join, say, Blue or Yellow.

All this has done is created the conflict that people are complaining about. Nobody on Green can show where they live because it’ll be trapped by Ros or Aimsey. Pangi and Pili can’t sit on a roof and talk without being condescended to and accused of wrongdoing. Foolish can’t talk to Pili without being looked down upon by his kingdom.

And then the players who wanted a low-stakes casual server can’t join anymore because everything ties back to ‘Us vs Them’. Slimecicle dipped on day one, probably because he’s done wkth MCRP. How many players stopped logging in once there started being lore and conflict essentially forced upon them by the server’s very rules?

Every time someone on the server has come up with an alternative to the violence and chaos, such as getting people who don’t join to voluntarily get killed by Red Team, it’s shut down by the admins. Meanwhile, there appears to be favoritism towards the server’s ’good guys’, like Ros’ and Tubbo’s protection butterflies or rule changes that only seem to benefit them. While some of those rule changes are because members of Red or Green find out ‘loopholes’, it’s also kind of crazy how every rule change has benefited Yellow and Blue and hurt Green and Red.

Is this favoritism purposeful? Almost absolutely not, but it is convenient for causing conflict. Tensions rise as a result of all these things combined, and it’s all manufactured and really just not fun to watch anymore. Yellow is sick of being ‘targeted’, Blue is sick of Green and Red existing, and Red is sick of having to kill. (Green is just kind of vibing tbh, they’re chaotic and violent even without the killing rule.)

Even if the factions event ends soon, which I hope it does for the sake of the server, the fandom won’t be any less toxic. The conflict will continue in some way because this is what the server has built up as its base for content: conflict. None of it is natural, it’s all manufactured, and it’s all extremely Not Fun.

So don’t get angry at Red for killing and trapping, that’s all they were created to do. And that will never change.

[trashytracktales]

Heyy girliee, first of all I want to say that your writing is absolutely amazing. I’ve been reading your Lando fics for the past couple of days and “endings, beginnings” had me feeling butterflies in my stomach 🫢 I wanted to ask you if you could write something about lando and reader being friends but constantly having sexual tension building up between them. Maybe they flirt with each other but never think of it as something so serious and one night after a party they completely destroy each other. I fully trust you with this and how you’ll develop the story haha and don’t hold back. Thank youuu :*

Think twice | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── Thank you so much for the love on Endings, beginnings & I appreciate you for taking the time to share this. Hope you like it 🤍🎀

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𐙚 summary ──── What starts as a chill party, where they sit in their old habits, ends with new boundaries crossed and a heavy tension they can no longer ignore.

𐙚 pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, swearing, mentions of alcohol and drinking, friends to lovers, bit of jealous!Lando, smut, slight teasing, praising, fingering & oral (sit on it), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex.

𐙚 word count ──── 4.8k

𐙚 date ──── Jan. 21, 2025

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THE TWO OF them are always standing next to each other, no matter the room they’re in. The context, just like the reason why this happens, is redundant. Plus, they don’t even do it on purpose; rather, they are unconsciously drawn to each other like two magnets.

The party has finally slowed to a lazy hum, the music just a tolerable background noise now. People linger in clusters around them, their voices a distant murmur blending with the faint bassline of a forgotten playlist. The living room is dim, lit mostly by the glow of a string of fairy lights drooping across the ceiling.

It was supposed to be a small gathering, but then a friend told a friend, and that friend told their friends. And now, it’s almost impossible to find a private spot to catch your breath without breathing someone else’s air.

Somehow, they did. They are tucked into the corner of a couch, their space a small bubble of comfort. Her legs are draped over his lap, bare skin warm against the fabric of his black jeans. He’s cradling her calf in one hand, his thumb absentmindedly stroking her skin.

Her fingers thread through his curls at the back of his head, twirling them lazily. It’s a casual gesture, but it sends a shiver through him every time she does it.

Their conversation shifted into easy gossiping about a mutual friend — someone they both think is trying a bit too hard with their Instagram posts.

“It’s fucking obvious he’s fishing for attention,” says Lando, sounding almost conspiratorial.

“I know, right? The cryptic ass captions, the mirror selfies. He thinks he’s smooth with it, too,” she replies, giggling at the thought.

Lando grins, his thumb still tracing circles on her leg. The banter feels safe, the kind of effortless connection they’ve always had. But underneath it, there’s a quiet tension that neither of them is ready to address. Because they are, maybe, a bit tipsy, or because none of them has ever had the courage to take it further, for some reason.

“Alright, I need to pee,” she announces suddenly, getting ready to stand.

But Lando tightens his grip on her legs, his lips twitching in a smirk. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do,” she insists, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “If I don’t go, I might pee on you.”

Lando shrugs, “Go ahead. Then I might discover a new kink,” he encourages her.

“New?” she laughs. “That implies you already have at least one.”

Lando winks at her without saying a word, the corners of his mouth curling into a mischievous smile.

She rolls her eyes, smiling back at his immature behavior. “My God. You’re actually the worst. Move.”

He doesn’t. Instead, Lando, just stares at her with an expression that’s visibly different. His usual playful gaze has shifted to something more intense, and she tells herself he’s just a little... intoxicated. Still, it makes her heart skip a beat, because he looks so adorable when his eyes focus on something so intently. And so hot, that it makes her almost forget why she wanted to get up in the first place.

“Lan, I’m not joking, I actually have to go,” she whispers, her voice softer now.

He exhales, loosening his grip but not before giving her leg a small, reluctant squeeze.

“Don’t get lost,” he says, the words carrying more weight than they should.

She shakes her head, slipping off the couch and disappearing into the hallway. Lando watches her go, his eyes trailing after her like he’s afraid she might actually not come back.

Which is ridiculous, because he should not care. There are lots of other girls that he can take home tonight if he wants to.

Want, being the keyword.

Leaning back against the couch, he sighs, running a hand through his hair. He’s always known she was the embodiment of the perfect girl for him — funny, kind, and loyal. But tonight, there’s something else in the air that makes his mind wander. The way she carries herself, her laugh, the way she makes everything around her seem brighter.

Lando realized long ago that he wants to he in her presence. The truth hit him like a punch in the gut. And he still feels that punch sometimes, especially when he sees her interacting with other people. Especially men.

He’s had thoughts about her before. Many thoughts. Wild fantasies he brushed off as nothing more than fleeting curiosity. And they’ve joked about it, too, their drunken ‘if we’re single at 35’ pact a favorite running gag. But tonight, it doesn’t feel like a joke — he might actually marry her if she keeps letting him invade her personal space like that. Except she wouldn’t have let Lando do that if she didn’t want him there.

He finds himself smiling at his own thoughts. But then, an unwanted stiffness claws his body.

She’s on the way back when a guy leaning against the wall near the bathroom is blocking her path. He’s tall, too close for Lando’s liking, and he is gesturing animatedly. She’s always too polite, smiling as she talks, but Lando notices the way she shifts her weight, edging away slightly.

Something close to jealousy ignites in his chest, but he manages to tame the feeling by looking away, and forcing himself to take a slow sip of his drink. She can handle herself, he knows that. But he’s also ready to step in, just in case he needs to. Most men don’t take ‘no’ for an answer, and he’s aware of how insistent some of them can be.

When she finally returns, Lando’s mood has shifted drastically, and she notices it the second she looks at him.

“Hey, you good?” she asks, plopping back down and swinging her legs over his lap again.

“Yeah,” he says shortly, his hand resuming its absent stroking on her shin.

Her brows knit together. “Not you lying to me. Come on, Landinho, what’s with you?”

“Nothing,” he insists, but his tone is clipped, and his eyes won’t quite meet hers.

She punches his arm lightly, trying to break through whatever wall he’s just put up. “You sure?”

He looks at her then, and the vulnerability in his gaze takes her breath away. “Sure,” he says. But his hand tightens slightly on her leg, like he’s holding onto her in more ways than one.

Her heart clenches. Lando is her friend, the one person she can always count on, but in this moment, she feels the air between them growing in different direction. It’s not the first time, and it doesn’t make her uncomfortable, but it’s not easy for her to sit in it, either.

“You’re being weird,” she states, trying to lighten the mood, but her voice wavers.

“Yeah, sorry,” he mutters, forcing a small smile. “Just tired,” adds Lando, but there’s something he hides behind his eyes, something that makes her chest ache.

She studies his face, her teasing words dying on her lips. His eyes are heavy-lidded, the usual spark dulled by the late hour and maybe one drink too many. His movements are slow, lazy, his thumb still caressing her skin.

“I can see that,” she says gently, sliding her legs off his lap. “Up. Come with me?”

The sudden loss of contact pulls him out of his haze, “Where?” asks Lando, his voice faintly slurred with exhaustion.

“Do you trust me?” she replies with a knowing smile, standing up and extending a hand to him. “My god, Lando. My friend gave me keys to one of the rooms upstairs in case I wanted to crash.”

He hesitates, glancing at her outstretched hand before finally letting out a soft laugh and taking it.

They make their way upstairs, the faint thump of music growing quieter with each step. The room isn’t far, tucked at the end of a hallway. She unlocks the door, revealing a small but cozy space. The room is dimly lit, with a single bedside lamp casting a muted glow over the single bed that’s pressed against one wall, a small dresser, and an armchair in the corner.

Lando steps in behind her, the faint hum of the party fading as the door clicks shut. His gaze sweeps over the room, taking in the space. She lingers by the door for a moment, turning the key with a soft click, locking them in; the sound feels final, and heavier than it should.

Lando notices the bed immediately, his eyes narrowing briefly before he rubs the back of his neck, a gesture that betrays his unease. His voice is low and uncertain as he says, “You know what, I can crash on the couch downstairs. It’s fine.”

She tilts her head, her lips curving into a small smile as she watches him fidget. “You can,” she agrees, knowing that Lando has the superpower to fall asleep anywhere, no matter the place or how loud the background noise is. “Unfortunately, I locked the door,” she adds with fake concern in her voice.

Lando glances at her, his expression caught somewhere between playful and wary. “Yeah. You can unlock it, though.”

“But I won’t,” she replies, her smile softening, her words carrying an unspoken challenge that Lando catches immediately.

His lips part, and for a moment, he says nothing, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. Then, quietly, his voice dipping lower, he says, “Then don’t.”

His words linger between them, and she feels the weight of his gaze as it shifts to her. There’s no teasing in his expression now, no trace of the lighthearted Lando she’s used to.

She lets her arms fall to her side, her pulse quickening.

Lando’s chest rises and falls steadily, though there’s a tautness to his posture. His gaze darts back to the bed, then to her, and she swears she sees a flicker of something in his eyes — fear? Desire? Anticipation?

His jaw tightens, his eyes searching hers, and she feels the weight of everything left unsaid pressing down on them both. Every glance, every touch, every joke that lingered a second too long — it’s all there, bubbling to the surface.

The tension between them that has simmered for months, maybe even years, suddenly feels unbearable. Lando’s eyes meet hers once again, and the quiet resolve in her gaze breaks something inside him. And then, suddenly, a glance he catches from her it’s all it takes. The restraint he’s held onto for so long snaps like a rubber band stretched too far. Before he knows it, he’s closing the gap between them, his hands cupping her face as his lips crash against hers.

She responds instantly, her hands tangling in his curls as she pulls him closer. The kiss is all-consuming, months of buried feelings and unsaid words spilling out in a rush. It’s intoxicating, a heavy blend of alcohol and the faint sweetness of her cherry lip balm. His lips are soft, impossibly so, molding against hers like they were made to fit. The taste of him is dizzying, a perfect balance of warmth and want, and each movement of his mouth sends sparks of heat rippling through her.

It’s overwhelming, the way Lando kisses her — gentle, but with a growing intensity that leaves her breathless, her heart pounding as if it’s trying to match the rhythm of his. His fingers trail down to her neck, squeezing lightly and pulling her against him as they stumble backward toward the bed.

“Do you know how long—” he begins against her lips, his voice rough with need.

“Too long,” she cuts him off with another kiss while her fingers are rushing to tug at the hem of his shirt.

Lando groans as they tumble onto the bed. Their breaths are loud and uneven, filling the small space as their lips crash together again, need and desire fueling every movement. Her palm presses against the small of his back, coaxing him between her legs. He instinctively follows her guidance, his body lowering against hers until his forehead rests on hers. At that, Lando sighs, not with frustration but a soft exasperation that halts them both.

“Are we… okay?” he asks, half-amused and half-concerned. “We shouldn’t—we should not do this. Not like this.”

She doesn’t release him, her hands still on his sides, her legs loosely wrapped around him. “We are,” she assures him, her voice calm but insistent. “It’s just us, Lando.”

His brows furrow, his lips parting in disbelief. “I know. I just don’t want you to wake up tomorrow and—”

Her hands move to his face, cupping it firmly and forcing him to look directly at her. “Regret it?” the girl asks, her thumbs stroking his cheekbones. “Don’t be silly. You know this isn’t about tonight. I’ve wanted you for a while now. I know you do, too.”

His eyes flicker with something raw, and he swallows hard. “I do,” he agrees. “But. It’d be such a waste to mess it up.”

The weight of his confession settles over them, and he falls onto the mattress beside her. For a moment, they both stare up at the ceiling, their fingers brushing tentatively before intertwining. It’s quiet, save for the hum of the party faintly bleeding through the walls.

And then, “You’re such a good kisser, by the way,” she finally breaks the silence.

He lets out a chuckle, visibly affected. “You’re not making it any easier.”

“I’m already messed up because of you, Lan,” she confesses, turning onto her side, her fingers finding his arm and tracing slow patterns along its length. “I trust us. No matter the outcome.”

Her hand travels to his chest, her fingers brushing lightly over his collarbone before moving to his jaw. She traces the line of it, her touch light but electrifying. Finally, her thumb brushes over his bottom lip, her gaze following her movements so closely, as if she wants to devour him.

Their thoughts run wild, revisiting every stolen glance, the tension, the want — it’s always been there. Every moment brought them here.

And now?

“Do you, really?” asks Lando, his voice laced with curiosity.

She nods, her hands sliding down to rest over his, her fingers curling around his. “Completely. I trust us to figure it out as we go. Don’t you?”

He lets her words settle, a warmth spreading through his body. He does. But he still has to think twice before agreeing to something so drastic, especially when he is faced with something he wants so badly that it makes him burn with impatience.

Finally, Lando sighs, looking at her.

“It’s not a big deal, right?” she says with a quiet laugh, her voice tinged with both affection and relief. “We’ve always been good at just... being us.”

He smiles at that, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. “That’s true. We’re pretty fucking great at that.”

Lando’s breathing hitches as she guides his hand to her ass, pressing it against her curves with an undeniable confidence. His grip tightens instinctively, and she drapes a leg over his waist, pulling herself closer. Their eyes lock, her fingers tracing his features, as if committing every contour to memory. They’ve never been so close to each other, and the intimacy of the moment makes his heart race, while hers almost melts under the warmth of his body.

“You’re going to ruin me,” he admits matter-of-factly.

Her lips curl into a faint smile. “Hopefully,” she whispers, her hand traveling south, to work on unbuttoning his jeans.

Lando swallows hard, his gaze darkening as he grips her tighter. “If I fuck you tonight…” his voice drops, laced with a possessiveness that makes her shiver. “I won’t be able to let another guy come anywhere near you again.”

Her eyebrows arch in surprise, finally able to put the pieces together, understanding why Lando was acting so strange earlier.

“Are you jealous, Lando?” she teases, though there’s a flicker of curiosity in her tone.

Lando’s response is silent; instead, he leans in, his lips finding the soft curve of her neck. He sucks lightly, then harder, leaving a blooming hickey that makes her gasp.

When he pulls back, his voice is firm, “No, I just want people to stay away from what’s mine.”

Her breath catches, and before she can stop herself, the word escapes her lips in a near-whisper. “Yours.”

The corners of his mouth twitch, but he doesn’t say anything, letting the intensity in his gaze speak for him. She pushes at his chest, making him fall back against the mattress with a soft laugh, and crawls on top of him, her thighs straddling his hips.

Impatiently, her hands work on his shirt, pushing it up his chest. “Off,” she demands, tugging until he lifts his arms and lets her pull it over his head.

His hands waste no time, slipping under her skirt and pulling at the lace of her panties. “These,” he says quickly, his breath warm against her collarbone, “are in my way.”

With a sharp pull, he slides them down her thighs, and she shivers as the cool air kisses her damp skin. She leans down, burying her face in the crook of his neck to hide her embarrassment as he guides her hips forward, her bare core pressing against the warmth of his abs. The firm ridges of muscle beneath her send a jolt of pleasure through her body, and she lets out a soft moan.

Lando’s hand tightens on her hip, his thumb brushing over her skin. “Look at that,” he breathes heavily, “What got you so excited, hm?”

She whimpers at his words, the heat pooling in her cheeks as much as between her thighs. “Don’t—” she mumbles into his neck, her voice muffled and shy.

He chuckles softly, the vibration of it against her skin making her shudder. “No, that’s so hot,” he teases, moving her hips just slightly so she drags against him. His own breath catches, and his hips shift upward, pressing the hardness of his length against her thigh. “You feel what you’re doing to me? It’s mutual.”

She lifts her head, her eyes meeting his as she lets her fingers trail down his chest. Next, she adjusts herself as her hand slides lower, brushing against the waistband of his pants before she pushes them down just enough to free him. His cock springs free, and she bites her lip at the sight of it, her own arousal growing as she reaches out to wrap her hand around him.

Lando groans, his head falling back against the pillow. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice rough and full of longing.

As she leans down to press her lips to his chest, her tongue flicking over his nipple, a sound escapes him that’s somewhere between a gasp and a moan. She glances up again, amused. “Well,” she teases, her voice playful but sultry, “I think I just found your new kink.”

Lando lets out a weak chuckle, his hand tangling in her hair as he pulls her back up to kiss her. “Shut up,” he speaks over her lips, but the way his hips buck against her hand tells her she’s right. “Everything you do is my kink,” he whispers, the rawness in his voice making her heart race.

Her cheeks flush a deeper shade, and with a playful glint in her eye, her hand squeezes his cock lightly, eliciting a sharp inhale from him. “Sorry,” she giggles, feigning innocence, “I just wanted to make sure.”

He scoffs, shaking his head with a smirk before his hands cup her ass firmly, pressing her harder against him. His voice is rough and dripping with need as he almost begs, “Come sit on my face.”

The unexpected plea is leaving her breathless, painting her face in confusion. “What?” she stammers, her voice nearly swallowed by the thrum of arousal coursing through her.

“Yeah, you heard me,” Lando assures her, his tone insistent, his eyes ablaze with anticipation.

Without waiting for her to argue, he pushes her skirt up around her waist, revealing the soft skin of her thighs, and pulls her closer to his face. She hesitates for a moment, her nerves warring with her desire, but when his strong hands guide her gently and his lips press a teasing kiss against her inner thigh, she gives in. The first swipe of his tongue against her entrance makes her gasp, her hand flying to the wall to steady herself.

Lando groans as he tastes her, the sound vibrating against her core and sending shockwaves through her body. One arm wraps tightly around her thigh, anchoring her to him, while his free hand drifts down to his cock, stroking himself in tandem with the rhythm of his tongue. Her moans spill into the air, mixing with his as Lando’s mouth works her over like a man starved, warm and wet and utterly relentless.

“Lan,” she breathes, her voice shaky as the intensity builds. Her hips jerk against his mouth instinctively, and he responds by pulling her even closer, burying his face deeper between her legs.

His tongue flicks, swirls, and presses in all the right places, and she can barely keep herself upright. She has to press both of her palms on the wall, but even then it’s not enough to keep her grounded. Not when Lando laps at her clit, his fingers digging into her thighs to keep her still as her body begins to tremble.

“You taste so fucking good,” he informs her between strokes of his tongue, his words muffled but clear enough to make her toes curl.

As her breaths turn shallow and erratic, she feels the pressure coiling tightly in her abdomen. Lando senses it, too, and his grip tightens, his movements growing more fervent. “Wanna come for me?” he asks as impatient as she is.

Before she can even process his question, her climax crashes into her like a tidal wave, her thighs trembling around his head as her moans echo through the room. Lando doesn’t stop, his mouth and tongue coaxing her through every pulse and tremor until she’s gasping for air.

In one swift, effortless motion, he pulls her down onto the bed and flips her over, positioning himself above her. His lips are slick, his gaze heavy-lidded with lust as he pumps two fingers into her, the wet heat of her still clenching around him.

“That’s it,” he encourages, his thumb brushing against her sensitive clit as his fingers curl inside. “Let me feel you.”

Her body arches off the bed as another wave of pleasure crests over her, Lando’s name spilling from her lips in breathless cries. The sheer intensity of his touch and the quickness of it all leave her spinning, her mind barely able to keep up as he drives her over the edge once more.

By the time her breathing begins to steady, Lando leans down, his lips brushing hers in a lingering kiss, tasting her satisfaction on his tongue. He grins against her mouth, utterly smug but entirely captivated.

“See how fucking delicious you are?” he whispers, and she can only nod, still lost in the aftermath of him unraveling her completely.

Seeing the pleasure etched across her face, Lando can barely hold it together. His hands tremble slightly as he shoves his jeans and boxers down for good, freeing himself at last. His cock, heavy and flushed, rests against her thigh, the warmth of her skin giving him goosebumps. He breathes heavily, his chest rising and falling in sync with hers as he pauses for just a moment, meeting her gaze with a mix of vulnerability and pure lust.

“Are we really gonna do this?” asks Lando, his voice hiding too much desire under its raspy tone.

His eyes search hers, looking for any hint of doubt. Luckily, there is none. She just nods frantically, her hands sliding down his back to cup the firm muscles of his ass.

Her touch sends electricity through him, and she guides him where she needs him most, her body arching in anticipation. “I want you. Please.”

Without breaking eye contact, he sinks into her, and the world stops for both of them. His head falls forward, a low groan rumbling from his chest as he feels her warmth envelop him, her slick heat drawing him in effortlessly. Her body opens for him so easily, so perfectly, that it steals his breath. The tension that had coiled tightly in her frame melts away as her legs wrap around his hips, pulling him closer.

Her arms encircle his shoulders, holding him tightly while she gasps Lando’s name. Her voice is music to his ears, and he presses his forehead against hers, the connection between them both overwhelming, yet grounding. Her fingers slide into his curls, playing with the strands at the nape of his neck as her hips shift instinctively, adjusting to his size.

“God, you feel…” he trails off, unable to find the words. Instead, he lets his body speak for him, drawing back before thrusting forward again. His movements are purposeful and powerful, each one making the bed creak slightly beneath them and pushing her up and down the sheets.

Her lips part with soft cries, her fingers tightening in his hair as her body meets each of his thrusts. “Lando,” she moans, her voice full of need and adoration, spurring him on. “Yes, that feels so good. Don’t stop.”

He catches her mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing her sounds as his hands wander over her body. His fingers hook under the hem of her t-shirt, and he tugs it upward, breaking the kiss momentarily to pull it over her head. The sight of her bare skin, flushed and glistening, takes his breath away. Her breasts are adorned with black lace, and the contrast against her skin ignites something primal in him.

“Stunning,” says Lando just as his hand drifts to her chest, brushing over the delicate fabric.

The way she arches into his touch, her nails scraping lightly against his shoulders, drives him wild. His thrusts deepen, his hips moving with purpose as the room fills with the sounds of their bodies meeting, her moans, and his ragged breaths.

“Fucking hell,” he rasps. His jaw clenches as he feels her tightening around him. “You’re killing me. So tight and—”

Before he can finish, she pulls him into a kiss. It’s shallow, their lips barely meeting as they breathe each other’s air. Her nails dig into his back, her legs trembling as she holds him as close as humanly possible.

“You’re so good, Lando,” she murmurs, her voice quivering, her praise like gasoline on his fire. “My favorite boy.”

Her words send him over the edge of control, his hips stuttering as he thrusts deep inside her, feeling her walls begin to flutter and clench around his cock. Her back arches, her head burying into the pillow as her orgasm crashes over her like a tidal wave. Again.

Her moans are unfiltered, and she clutches him like he’s her lifeline, while Lando stills inside her, groaning low and long as her body grips him so tightly that knocks the air out of his lungs. He presses his forehead against her chest, their breaths hurried as her aftershocks pulse around him so sweetly. Her nails scrape lightly down his back, grounding them both, continuing to whisper his name like a prayer.

It’s enough for Lando to surrender to his own orgasm, his body trembling as wave after wave of release takes him over. He stays buried inside her, unwilling to part just yet. The warm tightness around him makes him shudder, his hand gripping her thigh to anchor himself.

When he finally pulls out, he hesitates before pressing his knee between her legs, feeling the slick warmth of their combined arousal smearing against his skin. She squirms against him, her overstimulated body trembling, her hips shifting involuntarily as aftershocks ripple through her.

Lando watches her, his eyes dark with satisfaction, his voice husky as he whispers, “Forget 35. Let’s get married tomorrow.”

She exhales sharply, a laugh bubbling out of her. “I’m down,” she teases, her tone light but affectionate. “Let’s book the venue now.”

He looks at her, gaze softening, filled with something deeper as he reaches behind her and, with one measured motion, unclasps her bra. The suddenness of it catches her off guard, her eyes widening as he tosses it aside like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Before she can say a word, Lando leans over the side of the bed, fishing for his shirt. He finds it, holding it up, then tugging it over her head, the oversized fabric swallowing her frame.

“Perfect fit,” he says softly, his fingers brushing against her arms as he helps her adjust it. The gesture makes her chest tighten, her heart swelling with an ache she doesn’t fully understand yet.

After that, Lando slides back into his boxers and pulls the covers over both of them. The bed is small, forcing their bodies to press together in a tangle of limbs. It doesn’t feel awkward, though. It feels like a new home, safe and peaceful.

He rests his head on her chest, his breath warm and steady against her, while his hand absently caresses her through the fabric of his shirt, his fingers brushing over her nipple. Everything about the moment feels somehow so normal, like they’ve been this way forever.

The silence stretches on, so comforting, until she suddenly breaks it with a soft groan. “I have to pee again.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2025

[enbyorge]

I have a Secret^TM Stop Crying Sooner (ish) technique, and I will never tell a single person what it is ever.

Why?

Because the second someone even thinks in my general direction about "gUiDiNg mE" through my own freaking thing, it will never work again.

[Oops, I made a rant]

If I'm crying in public, I'm probably losing my mind and definitely absolutely terrified. The only way other people could possibly help is to stay far enough in front of me that I don't think you might try to touch me (or that I could at least get away if you did make that very bad mistake) and ESPECIALLY not go behind me.

Honestly, if I'm crying in public, there's a huge chance my back was touched, and an even bigger chance I either have heard or will hear "tHeY DiDn'T ToUcH yOu oN pUrPoSe!!1!" Which will instantly make me think of that idiocy every time I think of the person who said it for the rest of my life.

Fact: My amygdala doesn't care in the slightest if you MEANT to make it mistake you for an axe murderer. Say sorry if you must, but never mention the incident again. I'm more likely to forget you were even there the day it happened if you just leave it at one perfunctory "sorry" and pretend nothing happened. It probably wasn't actually your fault beyond a completely human level of not noticing the proximity of my back to your elbow/shoulder/whatever.

These incidents would escalate so much less if people just let me stand with my back pressed firmly into a wall for a few minutes until I can get over it on my own. And if it didn't coincide with physically painful (to me) levels of noise.

TLDR: Don't touch someone when you don't know for absolute certain that you, personally, would be acceptable touch to them, personally, in that exact moment, and don't get defensive at people for not instantly deciding you are the most trustworthy person on the planet. No one owes you trust in a panic attack, meltdown, (I hate that term, but that's a me thing.) Etc.

Trust is earned through good behavior while not expecting trust to be given.

Also, if you don't know someone, don't decide to play doctor with their heads. Panic does not justify white-knighting, and the person panicking does not deserve to be your prop to earn cool points.

Grounding techniques don't really work for me especially in public... "five things I can see" I see a bunch of people pissing me off

[tahbhie]

The Act of Writing Psychotic Characters 

Part 1: Attention vs Intention

It's been a while since I received this request, and I ensured I took my time with the thoughts, evaluation, and analysis. This topic will be covered in three parts, so here's the first.

Before we proceed, please note that I am not a psychiatrist, psychologist, or any professional in that field. This is just an insight into how this kind of concept can fit into your novels.

Okay, let's begin.

The Attention vs Intention part of this topic will discuss two ways of portraying these type of characters in scenes. 

First, you need to understand that psychotic characters aren't psychotic based solely on their speeches or actions. If that's all you have in mind before approaching a story, you might leave a huge gap in the execution.

Rather, it's how they feel—the desire to satisfy their current emotions.

They have drives and motives, but most especially beliefs which, in most cases, are hardly understandable by other people. It's wrong and unacceptable by society, but to them, they wouldn't do it any differently.

That's why most psychotic characters have no remorse. You simply can't apologize or feel sorry if you don't 'believe' that you're in the wrong.

➜ Attention Psychosis

Psychotic characters whose main purpose in a story is limited to presence (i.e., showing up in scenes and visibly serving the role of a psychotic character) are attention psychotics. You don't flesh out their backstory or why they are who they are.

Their drives and motives aren't talked about enough to the point of justification. Readers hardly care about them, but the action they bring to the scene creates a rich narrative with the purpose of psychosis.

In summary, their role is minor. We see such cases in movies like The Babysitter.

Let's agree that none of the cult characters in that movie are exactly sane, as their main aim is to end their victims’ lives in the sickest ways possible. However, there's a certain character, Max, who simply enjoys the idea of "killing and seeing people bleed."

That has exceeded the central idea of being a cultist who gets involved in blood sacrifice to achieve their 'dream life' like the rest of the characters. It's now something more and different.

Something that has to do with homicidal ideation.

Max worked in a diner where he dealt with people that annoyed him so greatly that he wanted to kill them. So he got the opportunity to join a cult and do just that.

It was plain clear this guy had something else going on for him, but throughout the movie, his character had no special attention or even a peek into his thoughts. Although, it still worried the audience. Job done.

➜ Intention Psychosis

When a story is centered around a character's mental state, their motives, drives, beliefs, actions, and the story actually unfolds by going deeper into this concept, you have intention psychosis.

If not entirely, at least mostly, it defines the entire plot surrounding that character. People get to understand why they are who they are, their mode of action, what drives them, and even a peek into how they perceive the world around them.

Such scenarios are seen in movies like The Joker and Pyramid game (Korea). The audience gets a glimpse into their overall life and understands at least to an extent why they are the way they are.

Their beliefs get twisted for certain reasons, and there was just no stopping them. Here the characters were more than a presence; they were a central core.

In the movie Joker, we watched Arthur’s impoverished life unfold, with every event and incident worsening his condition further.

Baek Ha-rin in Pyramid Game literally created an entire game system to watch a student, who happened to be her old friend, suffer both physically and mentally. She went to great lengths to carry out this nefarious act under the guise of the game. Although this movie encompassed more than just this storyline, it was hard to ignore the unhealthy drive and actions of the young lady with an innocent face.

Before incorporating a psychotic character in your novel, determine their form of portrayal and appearance in the overall story. Are they going to serve as an attention psychotic or an intention psychotic?

Inspired by @sothera

Stay tuned for the next part!

۝ Before you go! ۝

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[celuere]

when our hearts intertwine

pt. 2 of tangled hearts

pairing: arlecchino x fem!harbinger reader

context: you can’t help but collide on a stressful day.

cw: one-sided hate sex, arle being a pathetic lesbian, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, arle orgasms while eating pussy what a looser, yearning lesbians, mutual pining omg im so sick, homophobic crucabena uhm, mentions of drug handling and sex work, sexual harassment for like one short paragraph

word count: 5.2k

wanted to give reader a certain character depth so i added a few flashbacks. also didnt‘t flesh reader‘s backstory out by a lot on purpose since i wanted to leave space for y’all’s self inserts or ocs lore mwuah

you hated harbinger discussions.

not because pierro thought it was an amazing idea to announce this meeting the same morning you woke up with a dreadful headache from last evening‘s… wine tasting.

but because you had to look at her face.

one would think she‘d return the gesture and blatantly ignore you, but no. her eyes slipped over to you at least once every few minutes. studying you with an unfulfilled desire burning in her crimson x‘s, it almost made you think she felt guilty. but for what?

there was nothing she should possibly feel guilty for. she just tossed you aside without further explanation and took a pretty thing back to her hotel yesterday. you knew. of course you did. the apologetic look on her face yesterday was all you needed.

and now she sat there in front of you. with the guts to look sorry. after ignoring your attempts to mend things, waving you off when you tried talking to her, it pissed you off. greatly. for all the same reasons that make her an outstanding diplomat of her majesty, she was unbelievable bad with her feelings. but you could handle her fairly well in the past. 

she couldn‘t find the words to talk to you after moments of shared vulnerability and intimacy? tracing her curse marks while resting her head on top her bare chest while you listened to the steady beat of her heart was also fine with you. she never outright confessed how deep her feelings for you actually went but you never minded it when she‘d sent you whole poems each day she wasn‘t near enough to bathe in the comfort of your presence.

but now the sight of her almost ticked you off. childe raised an eyebrow as he noticed your clenched jaw before his eyes wandered over to his colleague, raising an eyebrow at how her gaze seemingly pinned you to your chair.

arlecchino seemed to catch up to the ginger‘s lingering attention on her, raising an eyebrow herself as she stared him down. he knew exactly what that lookmeant.

„mind your own business.“

he just sank back into his chair with a sigh tickling the back of his throat.

„i didn’t know i was taking care of a bunch kindergarteners today, lady brighella. care to enlighten us as to why you seemingly want to stab lord arlecchino with your eyes? maybe if you look hard enough she‘ll manage a sneeze.“, the jesters raw, low tone bounced off the marmor walls of zapolyarny palace as he folded his hands in front of him.

perfect. the last thing you needed was your superior berating you in front of your colleagues like a 12 year old. 

„with all due respect, sir pierro, i have no idea what you’re talking about.“, you didn’t plan on humiliating yourself any further, so you avoided looking back into arlecchino‘s direction.

you missed the deathgrip in which she engulfed her glass of wine.

„seize it, brighella. spare me the theatrics, i already bestowed you with your part of the plan. you‘re dismissed.“, a gloved hand waved you off into the direction of the exit, the guards already starting to pull the big mahogany door open for your leave.

your mouth fell slightly open.

he did not just kick you out. 

for something she was responsible for.

„you‘re dismissing me because a certain person in this room can‘t seem deal with the consequences of her ow-”

„i‘m dismissing you because your recent attitude is irritating and nowhere near reasonable for someone your age and status. i won’t repeat myself“, now narrowing his eyes at you, pierro nodded his head into the direction of the widely opened door.

you were 100% sure a blood vessel just popped in your forehead by how hard you were biting down whatever insults rested on your tongue. 

making sure the feet of your chair were screeching loudly enough as you shoved yourself back from the table, you snatched up your stuff and rushed out of the conference room.

to hell with them.

„no need to follow her, lord arlecchino. you‘re still needed in this conversation.“

and to hell with her too.

„she looks miserable. i have never seen her like that. ever.“

„i don’t care, ajax.“

„don‘t you think you should at least try and talk to her? i get that you are angry, you have every right to that, but you can‘t keep on going out of your way to make her feel so bad instead of-”

„ajax, would it hurt you to shut up for once?“, tone so sharp it could cut through the icy heart of her majesty itself. you were so sick. so sick of your friend trying to play therapist. sure, ajax was despite his title as „the childe“ still a kind-hearted soul who wanted only the best for his comrades but after weeks and weeks of failed attempts to mingle into yours and arlecchino’s relationship… you wanted to strangle him now.

„i am merely trying to help. you know her better than i do, it couldn‘t possibly hurt to just… talk with her“, the ginger crossed his arms now and tilted his head. those blue eyes trying to read you. trying to pry into your thoughts and soul.

„get out, tartaglia.“

you could only make out the faint cussing beneath his breath as he slammed the door to your laboratory shut behind him.

a deafening silence filled the room, a soft comfort to your boiling blood. you allowed yourself to sink back into the cushions of your chair as you repeated his words over and over in your mind. 

„talk to her.“

what is there to talk about? you were never in a serious relationship. you rarely woke up next to her after another one of your nightly rendezvous. you never spent the mornings together with making breakfast. neither of you ever allowed yourselves to whisper those three words during moments of raw skin, needy kisses and shared vulnerability. sure, they lingered on your tongue. you could taste them. most of the time they tasted like bad alcohol, reminding you of how they were best kept to yourself, how you’d regret opening up your heart to her, just like you would regret a bad glass of wine.

will it ever stop? the sharp pain in your chest anytime your gaze wandered over to her? it was cruel. so cruel for her to have this kind of effect on you. it‘s not easy to sit though hour long meetings and discussions when she is sitting in the same room as you. breathing the same air as you. feeling those bloody x‘s resting on your face for longer than you would like. it caused your heart to swell and your chest to tighten. your thoughts suddenly growing to loud for your head, blending out the heated conversations occurring just a meter away from you as your breath grows heavy, lungs feeling suddenly so awfully small and tight. 

you almost lost it last night, when she led this strange lady over the dance floor. chuckling with her. eyeing her up and down like she used to do it with you when you were laying helpless and naked underneath her.

it almost knocked the air out of your lungs when she still had the nerve to lock eyes with you for the last time of the evening. a look full of despair and agony. screaming. screaming to you. for you. and all you could do was sit there. watch and try to delude yourself about the reasons why she would leave with this woman. alone.

you were in love with arlecchino peruere.

and there was nothing you could do about it.

„Peruere?“, the afternoon breeze gently brushed through the hearth‘s garden, a few loose hairstrands now hindering your view on the kneeling girl in front of you. she seemed to be focused on the little grasshopper that‘s been sitting in her palm for a while now.

„hm…?“, those unique pupils slowly averted their gaze up to you, but not before they lingered on the bandage that covered up the most recent addition to your collection of scars. 

„mother said i‘m getting adopted tomorrow.“

a gust of wind hit peruere right into the face, sending the small insect off her hand. the happy chirping of the birds that surrounded the estate just a few moments ago seized from existence as your words rung in her ears. echoing through her usual raging mind. but right now there was nothing but silence.

what was that feeling boiling up in her stomach?

„don‘t you have anything to say, peru…?“, you almost looked a little hurt, your tone growing nervous. shouldn‘t she be happy for these news? for you? at the chance of escaping this living hell where death was looming at every corner?

then why couldnt she help but feel… anxious at the thought of you leaving her and clervie behind? no more evenings spent together patching each other up. no more sneaking out of the safety of your beds to go gazing upon the stars. clervie would always give them funny names while you‘d give them meanings. 

all of that would disappear. be different. feel wrong without you.

„no… no i‘m glad for you… it‘s just…“, the white-haired girl seemed to struggle with finding the right words for you. she didn‘t want to offend you or make you feel like you should rather stay here in this slaughterhouse. 

a rare wave of unease washed over you at her loss for words. was she angry with you? even disappointed? but the way those crimson x‘s darted around the ground, as if she was searching for answers between the rainbow roses surrounding you told you something else.

you were just about to say something as peruere‘s blackened fingertips snaked around your hands, giving them an almost desperate squeeze as she rose up from her knees. and she was still a head smaller than you. but you bit that remark down. or rather it was quickly forgotten by the way your heart pounded in your chest. sending your blood racing through your veins.

mother always preached about how two girls looking at each other like this was wrong. sinful. but how could the warmth of your skin against hers feel so right? the way her eyes found your lips and then locked gaze with the shimmering color of yours. it didn‘t make any sense.

„peruere, wha-“

„i promise to find you again. to come looking for you with clervie at the first chance we earn.“

but fate had different plans for the three of you.

neither did she come looking for you. five years have passed and now you were both stuck in the harbinger ranks. it has been a week since peruere‘s arlecchino’s appointment as the knave and she didnt do more than nod into your direction on her first day. was it the pressure? clervie‘s and mother‘s blood sticking to her hands? a few weeks ago she was considered a teenager, now she is running the house of the hearth all by herself. a seventeen year old in charge of other children as traumatized and scarred as her. the only difference? arlecchino has always been a natural at masking her true feelings. the average fatui subordinate is already describing her as „cunning“, „cold“, „manipulative“. and it angered you. everything angered you recently.

you‘ve bore the title as „brighella“ for barely five months but compared to her, your workload has been easy. potions here, poisons there. interrogating traitor‘s or possible spies before eventually executing them after turning them into your own personal test subjects… you‘ve experienced worse. and still. 

you were farther away from her than ever before.

the stench of bitter opium and long forgotten dreams caused you to scratch the tip of your nose. your sense of smell is definitely going to be fucked up once you made it out of here. hopefully without having to wash the blood and innard off of your clothes from the man sitting before you. 

„lady brighella… i didn‘t expect a harbinger visiting my charming establishment today.“, reaching over to light up yet another cigarette, while his other hand rested on one of his… lady‘s behind, you ignored the other one taking care of whatever is going on between his legs.

pig.

if it weren‘t for the sake of pierro‘s plan you would have blown this place up to bits long ago. but you needed a sample of his opium before you can follow your own ambitions regarding this dirt hole. 

nod-krai has always been known for their suspicious activity regarding drugs, weapons, sex work and unethical researches. why the tsaritsa didn‘t order the organization to shut them down for good? you don‘t often find logical reasoning within your archons plans, didn‘t need to. that‘s not why she appointed you with your title.

„i‘ve come to maybe negotiate a deal between the two of us. it has come to our attention that you‘ve been tinkering with our trading routes lately in favor of your… totally legal business.“, the last three words were laced with an undertone only a diplomat could allow themselves in this part of snezhnaya. you could see his breathing stop for the shortest moment, pupils darting around the room before he gestured the various women to get off of him.

„speak. what is your deal with us.“, he thankfully zipped up his pants rather fast. you wanted to avoid a direct look into his crotch so you rather transferred your attention to the small spider webbing it‘s way down on your shoulder.

deciding to ignore his rather disrespectful tone, you spoke up, „deal is the wrong word… perhaps an ultimatum would fit the terms i‘m about to offer you much better. we‘ll so gratefully allow you to continue to run your… extraordinary establishment if you were so kind to hand us over around…“, fifty. you needed fifty milliliters, „eighty milliliters of your finest opium.“

his jaw ticked before he decided to stand up from the plushy red sofa. he did not like that.

„you fatui scum always think you can walk in here with your ridiculous terms and deals and expect us to bow down. the least they could do is send in a fucking man instead of a stuck-up bitch. 340k or your leaving empty handed, no matter how often you swing your fancy title around.“, he took a deep inhale of his cigarette before blowing out the smoke right into your face. you merely waved it off.

you should have taken capitano with you when he offered to accompany you. however, you never needed a man‘s help to get where you are today. you certainly don’t need it now.

„340k for eighty milliliters is anything but reasonable. you want to take a moment and rethink your decision, i assure you.“, usually you‘re not a fan of letting your strength speak unlike a certain orange-haired friend of yours, but despite the temperature of the room slowly beginning to drop- well… at least they should start to drop, but the frost on the window melted away as fast as it came. and when did it start becoming so warm? either way your attempt to direct this negotiation in your favor crumbled to dust. and directly attacking was something you wanted to avoid at all costs. words it were then.

„unreasonable, you say? does 100k and my dick down your throat sound better to you, sugar?“, a shiver ran down at the sound of his sultry voice cooing right into your ear, his disgustingly warm breath which reeked of a bad oral hygiene and rotting food almost forced your breakfast back up into your mouth. and he had the audacity to lay his filthy fucking hand on your ass.

„what do you think abo-“, a crisp snap bounced off of the walls before tuning out in a far away echo. the room was suddenly engulfed in darkness as the candles on top of the crystalline chandelier were stripped of their flames. 

„am i interrupting something?“

your blood ran cold at the sound of her voice filling the room before you blinked and stared up at a pair of bloody x‘s glowing amidst the darkness as arlecchino cleared her throat and the office was drowned once again in a dim light. 

and before you was standing the knave.

her fatui coat hanging loose around her shoulders and she made sure to make use of her sudden appearance when her eyes glided over to the bastard behind you. too bad you were missing the priceless look on his face. he was shitting himself senseless.

„l-lady arlecchino-! wh-what a pleasant surprise to welcome you here today-! if i had k-known about your visit i-i would have arranged according preparations for you-! can i offer you-“

„spare me the drama, monsieur laurenz and let go of my… colleague. it‘s in everyone’s best interest.“, not waiting for his reaction, she pulled you close to her side with a grip so… gentle despite her obvious cold, almost pissed off demeanor. 

you ignored how your heart tightened at this simple touch between the two of you. how on earth did she know you were here? and why is he seemingly shitting himself at the simple sight of her?

„o-oh, i was just about to wrap up a deal with lady brighella-! girls, hundred milliliters of our finest opium, pronto-!“, as soon as laurenz clapped his hands, the ladies were out and about hurrying into the back.

„ah, then i must have had something on my eyes when your hand was touching her inappropriately just a few moments ago, right?“, if looks were deadly he would already be bleeding out on the floor by now.

feeling like a damsel in distress that just got saved from her knight in shining armor, the feeling slowly but surely turned into something… bitter… sour. she made you look like a fool who can‘t wrap up a deal all by herself without things escalating and losing the upper hand. you almost ripped your wrist free of her grip. 

you cut the monsieur off as he was about to explain himself, „he was just about to hand me over a hundred milliliters for the cheap price of 50k mora.“

arlecchino cocked an eyebrow at the number you just named.

„50k? let‘s make it 10k along with an apology to lady brighella, right monsieur?“

„i- o-oh surely-! lady brighella, i am offering my sincerest apologies for my inappropriate behavior and remarks-!“, even when he bowed down to you, you could see the visible drops of sweat that formed on his bald head.

just what did that woman do to him that reduced this arrogant douchebag to nothing more than a stuttering idiot?

because it turned you on.

„it‘s whatever… but i appreciate your forthcomings a lot…“, your voice came out bitter, despite the perfect outcome. it made you look like you needed her. and you didn‘t. never. at least thats the lie you believed to be true.

when the workers finally came back carrying a wooden boy wrapped in a fancy golden ribbon, it was time for you get the hell out of here.

„monsieur, make sure the lady makes it out of here safely. i still have some personal business to take care of with you.“

„that won‘t be necessary, but thank you, arlecchino. i‘ll see myself out on my own.“

you noticed her clenched jaw almost immediately. your refusal didn‘t seem to sit well with her. good.

once back in your laboratory, you didn‘t waste any time and got to work on your researches. measuring around ten milliliters of the opium in one of your graduated cylinders as the bone marrow mixture boiled over the bunsen burner in the corner while you wrote down every single one of your observations. you still had to mix up some other stuff that‘s sitting neatly organized on the iron table in front of you. 

if it were a normal evening you would have gone to bed long ago.

but today was anything but an ordinary day. you couldn‘t stop thinking about the recent events in nod-krai. couldn‘t shake the feeling of your body growing hot and needy at the bare presence of arlecchino. and my god you hated it. you hated how your body betrayed you in every way when it came to her. you didn‘t want to feel this way towards her. didn‘t want this weakness in your profile any longer. being near her felt like offering a recovering alcoholic a glass of wine. 

your worries were consuming you to a point where you didn‘t notice the door to your laboratory opening and shutting again. softly.

„we need to talk. please…“

you didn‘t flinch at the sudden interruption. merely paused your movements for a brief second before continuing.

„go home, arle. there is nothing to talk about.“

„i am home.“

you set the erlenmeyer flask back down on the table before you dropped it on accident. or crushed it on purpose.

„no need to lie to yourself. not when it‘s just the two of us.“

„the least you could do is look me in the eyes instead of turning your back to me.“, you did not turn around. nor did you answer her. not because you didn‘t want to. but it‘s hard to form any words when your heart is almost jumping out of your chest. stupid, stupid heart.

for a good few seconds arlecchino kept quiet. it‘s like waiting for a storm to come.

„a simple thank you for my help back in nod-krai would have sufficed.“

now whipping your head around, the words spilled out faster from your mouth than you could have stopped them.

„thanking you for what? making me look like a stupid coward?! well, thank you, o holy knave for helping me make a fool out of myself! now get the fuck out of my lab.“, your words were dripping with anger. your heart now racing for completely different reasons as you tried stabbing her with your eyes.

but arlecchino was unmoved. if it weren‘t for the agonizing look in her face. 

„i did not make you look like a coward. you were in need of help. i happened to be the-“

„you made me look weak.“, your bare tone could have cut through the thickest steel with ease. 

„…we both know that‘s a blatant lie.“

„just like you lied to me when you promised to find me again. and now you‘re just tossing me aside-“

„stop it with the accusations, i did not-“

„you tossed me aside. you took someone else to bed and you‘ve been the reason for every single one of my problems in the past damned weeks and yet-“, you nearly didn‘t notice how your feet dragged you towards her, „you have the nerve to stand before me, berate me and act like you didn‘t rip my heart out, peruere!“, your voice cracked as you raised your voice at her. merely a few inches seperating the space between you and arle looked… besotted with you. her breath came out shaking as she eyed you down with a glimmer so gentle and lovingly in them that it caused you to take step back from her. 

„s-say something… fucking hell arle, say something…!“, the anger boiling beneath your skin slowly turning into something akin to embarrassment, causing your cheeks to slowly start flushing in a dark red.

„say… say it again…“, her words barely came out as a whisper.

„i-i beg your pardon…?“

„my name. say it again…“, a cursed hand suddenly grabbed after your wrist to pull you back closer to her. gentle. light enough for you to pull away if you pleased.

but you didn‘t.

„arle-“

„not that one…“, you could hear how trembled her breath came out when she slowly bent down to your face.

every signal inside your body screamed at you to pull away. to smack her across the face. to not let her red-painted lips touch your uncolored ones.

but your heart betrayed you once again.

„peruere…“

she was over you in an instant. lips coming crashing down on yours as she pushed you backwards until your ass met the edge of the table. tongue pushing its way into your mouth as her hands cupped your face so sickenly tender as if she was scared you‘d pull away if her grip dared to get too tight. she tasted so sweet. of love, desire and all the things you‘ve missed in the past weeks. she licked up the mixed spit covering your chin before plunging right back onto your lips. your moans getting mixed up in the crash of unspoken apologies and a love that never had the chance to fully start blooming.

she was quick to put you up on the table but not before carelessly shoving any obstacles out of her. a glass shattered on the floor. you didn‘t care when her fingers hooked underneath the hem of your pants.

„lift… kiss lift your hips for me…“, she moves the attention down to your neck as you oblige with a hum, now peppering desperate, wet kisses all over your skin down to your torso until the fabric has been removed just enough for your legs to shake them off. 

you could feel her smile against your sweaty skin before working up your shirt over your breasts that were covered in a plain white bra.

she still licked her lips at the sight.

„so beautiful…“, your stomach flared up at her longing gaze before a black hand went around your back to open up the hindrance on your chest, merely shoving it up to expose your already hardened nipples to her sight. she loved it. loved how bare you looked underneath her. how your body was already overheating and the stain on your panties she noticed earlier… it made it so easy for her to slip a hand in your panties. she never stopped clipping those two specific nails. thank celestia.

„the distance between us nearly killed me, doll.“, you moaned as her lips engulfed your nipple while two of her fingers slipped so easily inside of your wetness. you were already pulsating around her by the time her digits found your weak spot. you arched into her, fingers running through her silky hair as you gasped for each time she so effortlessly rubbed your inner walls to mush. 

your tit was long covered in her lipstick and spit by the time she switched sides. biting, nibbling and sucking at you, it just didn‘t seem to stop for her, or you.

when deciding she paid girls enough attention she moved back up to your face, lips hovering just a few millimeters above yours.

„ride my hand, pretty girl… c‘mon now, you can do that for me…“, with another devilish curl of her fingers you started moving your hips in sync with the movements of her hand. your moans bouncing off the tiled walls and right into her handsome face. she only smiled down at you.

„just like that… look at how tightly you‘re gripping my fingers…“, with another hit to your sensitive spot you creamed over her fingers, her name falling like a desperate prayer from your lips as you covered her in your arousal.

arle cooed, letting you ride it all out on her hand as you felt the weight fall off of your heart along with your climax. you were never aware how much you needed that. needed that from her. how much you needed peruere to shower you face in gentle kisses as her fingers leave your warmth before she made you watch as she licked your slick of her fingers. groaning at the taste of you. and she wanted needed more of that. but before she could sink down onto her knees before you, you stopped.

„d-do you really think you deserve that…?“

„e-excuse me…?“, her eyes darted down to your soaked slip and back up to your face. she felt like she was gonna burn from the inside out of she couldn‘t bury her tongue into you in the next seconds.

„do you… deserve to eat after what you‘ve done…?“.

you were talking about isabella.

„i… no… no, i don‘t…“, peruere almost looked ashamed at the memories she recalled. she hated herself for that night. and you knew it.

„was she better than-“

„no.“

„hm…“

arlecchino sighed as she leaned her face against your inner thigh, „please… believe me when i tell you this… she was nothing more than a distraction, she meant nothing to me- i promise i‘ll make it up to you however i can, just- please, [name]…“, she almost let a whimper slip when you sighed.

„th-then go ahead- Ah-!“, you didn‘t remember her being this face, tongue gathering your juices in her mouth as she eagerly swallowed. it almost made you think she starved herself of any nutrients the way her groans were swallowed by your soft flesh. she was eating. with her whole heart. your slick dripping from her chin down to her neck as a pair of two strong hands kept quivering legs pressed apart. were you always so sensitive? or why were you nearly screaming over her bare tongue? your lungs burning from the lack of oxygen, you just couldn‘t get enough of it in between all the moans and gasps leaving your mouth. praying to celestia that she left your pussy intact and functioning was the only option left for you. you don‘t interrupt someone mid feast.

you tugged at her hair when you came all the way over her tongue, soft sobs starting leave your mouth at the overwhelming sensation but she didn‘t stop. it was like she was stuck in her own world which consisted of only two things: her mouth and your cunt.

eating was starting to feel wrong. she devoured you. nose deeply nuzzled into your puffy clit while she made sure her tongue left you disoriented each time she fucked it right back into you.

bon appletea or whatever you used to say back at the hearth.

suddenly her movements slowed down as she just merely whimpered against you. you could feel her rapid breaths against your wetness when she pulled away from me. she was panting.

„did… d-did you just…“, you watched her slowly get back up from between your legs, her jacket stained in your fluids which… looked oddly good on her…

„yes. what about it.“, not a single ounce of shame visible in her face. unbelievable.

you sighed as she grabbed a few tissues from a package that‘s been resting on the table before she started cleaning her face and neck up. compared to you she still looked put together if it weren’t for the messed up hair and the pussy stains on her clothes.

„are you already done…?“

she paused. looking you down before she got to work on opening up her tie.

„of course not.“

you will have a talk with her about everything tomorrow.

[revelboo]

"...can u give it back?" GIRL THIS ISNT A GAME OF CATCH what is HAPPENING

READER GET UR SHIT TOGETHER WE GOTTA LOCK IN

Reader have some self respect challenge level failed hheheheaaaaa

You guys crack me up, but accurate I feel like

I should retroactively go back and add the 18+ warning to the first chapter of everything. I keep seeing new folks stumbling on the start of a fic out in the wilds of Tumblr and just slowly liking chapter by chapter. And I can’t help but watch in horrified fascination, because I know they’re going to run into smut eventually

Everything Is Alright Pt 116

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• "And there's the sire," Megatron growls as your shoulder creep up to your ears hearing the thud of peds running in the hall. And you really just want to hide inside Soundwave's cassette compartment and not deal with any of this, because this isn't your fault but you're sure the fallout is still going to be your problem to deal with. Why are aliens so weird? Can't make yourself look at Megatron or Soundwave. And then there's Starscream bursting through the door, denta bared and looking half mad until his optics find you. You catch a glimpse of the absolutely feral look on Megatron's face as Star rushes for you, hands out in demand that Soundwave hand you over. You really liked it better when Megatron looked shellshocked, just staring at nothing. Because right now? You imagine that's how a serial killer would look as he holds a still beating heart. "Starscream," Megatron says and the fine hair at your nape lifts as you try to decide whether you want to be in Star's hands for this or not.

• "Are you okay, little one?" Watching you cringe down into Soundwave's hands and refuse to look at him, he glares at Megatron. Suspecting the warlord's been trying to turn you against him again, but he can't not reach for you. Servo's feathering over you as you turn an almost pleading look toward Megatron. "What happened?" What had Megatron done to you? Wants to ask if it was the spark, but not with the warlord right there. Grinning at him. Wings lifting slightly when that expression really registers. Because he's seen it before, when he'd first been introduced to Megatron. Splattered in someone else's energon and grinning just like that. And he notices the resigned set of Soundwave's shoulders. Knows that Megatron knows about the spark and he grits his denta.

• "Neither of you thought to tell me that our little pet was sparked?" Megatron asks, voice low and reasonable. And dangerous. Soundwave cups his hands around you, head lifting as he and Starscream both turn to face the warlord, his spark constricting at that 'was.' Fear thrumming through him as the Seeker's wings drop sharply and you still won't look at them. Had you lost the spark after all? He's aware of Megatron lifting the arm with the cannon attached to point a servo at you in his hands, but he can't tear his optics from you. Because you look upset, but not that upset. You look like you think you're in trouble somehow.

• "Was." Starscream repeats and his raspy voice has a dangerous edge you recognize. That's the tone he uses right before he does something stupid. "What did you do?" He's staring at Megatron, denta bared. Wincing as his turbines begin humming, you grab at his servos when he starts to pull away and he looks down at you, those red optics cold with fury. And your breath catches, wanting to let go instead of making yourself hang on to him. Hate when he looks at you like that and just knowing Megatron is going to make things worse on purpose. It’s like neither of them can help it when they’re anywhere near each other.

• "I tried to save our pet," Megatron growls, servo shifting to point at Starscream. "After you severed Soundwave's bond. And our dear little pet repaid me by gifting me your spark." And as infuriating as all of this is, the look of abject horror on Starscream's face almost makes up for it. He's aware of Soundwave just looking down at you in disbelief when you hide your face in your hands. "I suppose it's mine, now. Good to know how fully you trust me, pet. Enough to fully bond to me."

• Tearing his optics from Megatron to stare at you only to find you hiding your face still lets him know Megatron's telling the truth. That Megatron has somehow stolen this from him and you. Stolen his future. Pulling air sharply through his vents as his head lifts to that stupid, smug grin, Starscream lunges for Megatron with a snarl aware of you yelling at him to stop.

Previous

Next

[pattwtf]

Well, yeah! No drama at all, but now this showed up wanna share something that's been on my mind these days...

This happened to me lately with someone... Loved their blog and I used to like and rb their content (credits in tags and all, I always try to # creators names at least...). Maybe a supportive comment here and there, but that was all.

Haven't interacted in any other way like... ever, so I really don't know what went wrong, I mean it. And I found out they blocked me trying to share one of their posts, already RB by somebody else. If not, I would have thought maybe they took some time off Tumblr or... Yeah, whatever, you feel me.

Spent a couple of days wondering why... I've never had any unpleasant situations with anyone around here... so I did give it some thought. Especially cause I felt terrible thinking that maybe I had made someone uncomfortable to that extent without knowing it at all.🥺

But then I just came to the conclussion that... It's perfectly perfect! If something didn't work for them..... It's totally fine. It just shocked me a bit, since I try really hard to spread love anytime I log in here... (which I don't do so often lately, btw... Been so sick, now I'm tired af and I need to catch up on soooo many things... I feel if I'm not around as much as I did, I'm gonna lose so many of your awesome creations, guys😭)

I still think the talent and content of that account owner are wonderful, in fact, and I feel sorry for not being able to see it anymore and not knowing if I did anything wrong so I could fix it! I promise I try my best to be as respectful, kind and supportive as much as I can and you all deserve, so whatever it was, I can say that I did not do it on purpose, nor was I consciously aware of having done it. I don't intend to get anything out of this post other than to be at peace with myself, not having had the opportunity to discuss the issue directly with this person.🙏

In case any of you ever feel bad about something I post, share, etc. just talk to me! I swear I'm friendly🥹❤️😅

Once I got it out of my system... HAPPY MONDAY! 😜🌹

Sorry for making such a big deal out of a silly thing, but it had to be the first time...!

when you click on the blog of someone who has you blocked and tumblr says “that isn’t anyone” im always like gaggggg that’s right they’re a nobody

[qwibkwib]

Promised 9

chapter - 0

Fromis_9 x Male reader Word Count: 4.5k+ Chapters : One

a/n: This is just set up of the story, no smut in this chapter. but this chapter is important, for the story.

The classroom buzzed with the faint whispers of students exchanging notes and furtive glances at their phones. You sat slouched at the back, staring blankly at your open notebook, the pages still pristine except for a single doodle in the corner: a coffee cup. You idly tapped your pen against the desk, your thoughts drifting far from the lecture.

“Mr. Kang Junho!”

The sharp voice of your Professor Min snapped You back to reality. The room fell silent, and all eyes turned toward you. You straightened, blinking rapidly as the professor leveled a stern gaze at you from the podium.

“Care to join us in this riveting discussion, or are you busy solving life’s great mysteries back there?” Professor Min’s voice was tinged with sarcasm.

“Uh, no, sir. I mean, yes, I’m listening,” You stammered, scratching the back of your neck. A few chuckles rippled through the classroom.

Satisfied, the professor adjusted his glasses and continued, pacing slowly across the front of the room. “As I was saying, today’s topic is about myths and their reflection of humanity. Take, for instance, the legend of the Promised Nine.”

The room quieted, the students now leaning in slightly. Professor Min always had a way of making even the dullest of topics sound compelling.

“Long ago, during a time when humanity was steeped in chaos, war, and unrelenting greed, there was a king—a wise man, yet weary of the barbarism that plagued his people. No matter how many treaties he signed or how many battles he fought, peace was fleeting. He despaired, knowing that humanity’s greatest enemy was not the sword but the emotions that drove men to wield it: pride, envy, wrath, greed, gluttony, sloth, lust, apathy, deceit…”

Junho’s attention perked up. There was something strangely familiar about the words, though you couldn’t place why.

“So the king, in his desperation, climbed the tallest mountain in the land to plead with the deity who ruled the heavens. He begged for salvation, not for himself, but for humanity. The deity listened, moved by the king’s earnestness. But salvation comes with a cost.”

Professor Min paused dramatically, glancing at his captivated audience. “A promise was made—a sacred pact between the king and the deity. Aid would be sent to humanity, not as armies or riches, but as nine beings, each representing the most volatile of human emotions. Their purpose? To keep the balance of these forces, preventing anyone from consuming the world.”

He walked over to the whiteboard and wrote the words The Promised Nine in bold letters.

“But there was a catch,” he continued. “The deity warned the king that these emotions, though tempered, could never truly be eradicated. The Promised Nine would struggle with the very forces they were meant to contain. And should even one of them fall to the temptation of their burden…”

Professor Min trailed off, his gaze sweeping the room.

“What would happen?” a student near the front blurted, unable to resist.

“Should one of the Nine succumb, their emotion would consume them entirely, turning them into a force of destruction. And that destruction could spread unchecked, tipping the scales and plunging the world into chaos once more. To prevent this, the Deity decreed that the Nine would be connected to a chosen mortal—an anchor. This anchor would serve as their confidant, grounding them when the weight of their burden became too great to bear.”

He turned back to the whiteboard, writing in large, bold letters: The Promised Nine.

“The anchor is as important as the Nine themselves,” he said. “Without them, the balance could not be maintained. The king agreed to the Diety’s terms, knowing full well the cost. And thus, the Promised Nine came into being.”

Professor Min stepped back from the board, his expression somber. “But the Diety’s warning still lingers in the echoes of time: no balance lasts forever. The story of the Promised Nine reminds us that humanity’s greatest strength—and its greatest threat—lies within ourselves.”

The shrill ring of the bell echoed through the room, breaking the spell. Students began packing their bags, the hum of chatter returning.

“Read chapters six through eight for next week!” Professor Min called over the noise.

You gathered your things slowly, the tale still turning over in your mind. As you slung your bag over your shoulder and made your way to the door, you muttered to yourself, “Promised Nine, huh? Sounds like something out of a fantasy novel.”

— You exit the lecture hall, slipping into the stream of students flowing out into the bustling campus courtyard. The sun dips low in the sky, casting long shadows and a warm orange glow over everything. You glance at your watch—just enough time to get to your part-time job.

The café isn’t far, a cozy little spot just outside the university gates. Its charming wooden sign, Golden Brew, sways slightly in the breeze. The place is always busy, a favorite among students and faculty alike. But there’s one reason it stands out from the dozens of other coffee shops around: its owner, Gyuri.

You push through the door, greeted by the familiar hum of chatter, clinking cups, and the hiss of the espresso machine. The café smells like roasted beans and freshly baked pastries—a comforting combination that feels like a second home.

“Junho, you’re late!”

The voice is soft yet commanding, and you immediately straighten, turning to the counter. There she is—Gyuri, the radiant owner of Golden Brew. Her beauty is the kind that leaves people momentarily breathless. stood effortlessly graceful in her casual white t-shirt and mint-green cap, her gentle features framed by stray strands of hair and a gaze as warm as the morning sun

“I-I’m sorry, Ms. Gyuri,” you stammer, bowing slightly as you head toward the staff room to put your bag away.

“It’s fine, just don’t make a habit of it, okay?” she replies, her voice as warm as the golden light streaming through the café windows.

“Yes, of course!” you reply quickly, though you can’t shake the sense of unease you always feel around her.

It’s not fear, exactly. Gyuri is unfailingly warm and generous. She treats her staff like family, remembers the names of regulars, and always has a smile for everyone who walks through the door. Still, you find yourself hyper-aware of her moods, as though disappointing her might lead to something far worse than a lecture.

When you emerge from the staff room in your apron, Gyuri is already behind the counter, expertly steaming milk for a cappuccino. “Can you handle table seven’s order? They’ve been waiting a bit.”

You grab the tray, carefully balancing two lattes and a slice of cheesecake, weaving your way through the maze of tables. It’s almost automatic at this point—sidestepping bags, dodging half-turned chairs—but when you reach the corner table, you stop.

She’s there.

Seoyeon.

She’s a regular, not a student or faculty, just... always here. You’ve seen her enough times to notice the details: the dark circles under her eyes, natural and striking, framing her otherwise delicate features. She’s beautiful in a way that sneaks up on you—her sleepy, almost lazy demeanor masks something deeper.

She’s hunched over her laptop, typing slowly, as if testing each word before committing to it. The oversized navy shirt drapes over her frame, and her hair carelessly tied, some falls messily around her face. You set the tray down gently, not wanting to disturb whatever she’s working on.

“Thanks,” she mutters without looking up, her voice soft, almost as if she’s halfway to falling asleep.

You nod, even though she doesn’t see it, and glance at her screen. It’s filled with text—lines upon lines of words you can’t make sense of from this angle. Stories, maybe? Essays? You don’t know, and it’s not your place to ask.

As you turn to leave, she stretches, her movements slow and languid, like she has all the time in the world. For a moment, you wonder what keeps her coming back here, day after day, to sit in that same spot, typing away.

But you shake the thought off. You’ve got other tables to serve.

.You make your way back behind the counter, tray in hand. It’s a small relief to retreat to this spot, even if only for a few moments. Manning the cashier is easier—less weaving between tables, fewer chances to trip or spill something. The register beeps softly as you organize receipts and prepare for the next wave of customers.

The door opens, and the atmosphere in the café shifts. It’s subtle, like a faint breeze stirring through a room, but you notice it immediately. Heads turn—students and faculty alike—and conversations falter as if someone hit pause.

You glance up and freeze.

Jiheon.

Her name is spoken in hushed tones across campus, her presence both admired and untouchable. She moves with an effortless grace that feels out of place in the mundane setting of the café, her bright smile commanding attention without even trying. But it’s her eyes that hold you—the way they curve into crescent moons with a hint of something sharper, more mischievous, just beneath the surface.

To your utter disbelief, she walks directly to the counter. Your counter.

“Hi there,” she says, her voice smooth and casual, like she’s greeting an old friend. Her gaze locks onto yours, and her smile widens slightly. “You’re Junho, right?”

You blink, caught so off guard that you almost drop the pen in your hand. “Uh… yeah?” Your answer comes out as more of a question than a confirmation.

Her smile grows, as if your awkwardness amuses her. “Thought so. I’m Jiheon.” She leans in just slightly, resting one hand on the counter. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Your wariness kicks in. Jiheon—the Jiheon—is talking to you? Asking for your name? It feels like the kind of thing that only happens to other people. Your eyes flick briefly to Gyuri at the other end of the counter. She’s busy steaming milk, not even sparing a glance in Jiheon’s direction.

“Nice to meet you,” you manage, your voice steadier this time, though your thoughts are racing. “Uh, caramel macchiato?” You blurt the question out more out of instinct than anything else.

Her laugh is light, lilting, but there’s something playful in it, like she’s already decided you’re her new source of entertainment. “Hmm. Good guess,” she teases, tapping a finger against the counter. “Sure, I’ll have that. But I’m impressed you remembered. I didn’t think I was that predictable.”

You feel your face heat up, fumbling to punch her order into the register. “It’s not that, I just—uh—” You stop, realizing anything you say will just dig you deeper.

She watches you, clearly enjoying the way you stumble over your words. “Relax, Junho,” she says, her tone soft but undeniably amused. “I’m just messing with you.”

Handing her the receipt, you attempt a smile. “Coming right up.”

Instead of moving to find a seat, she lingers by the counter, her eyes drifting lazily around the café before landing back on you. “Nice place. Gyuri’s done a great job here, hasn’t she?”

Your gaze flicks to Gyuri again. Still busy. Still not looking this way. “Yeah, she has,” you reply, keeping your voice neutral.

Jiheon tilts her head, her smile still firmly in place. “You two seem close,” she muses, her tone light but probing. “Gyuri’s lucky to have someone like you helping her out.”

The way she says it makes you feel like she’s toying with you, testing your reaction. “I just do what I can,” you say cautiously.

Her eyes light up, as if you’ve said something particularly amusing. “I bet you do.” She straightens up and takes a step back. “Well, Junho, it’s been… enlightening.” Her smile takes on an almost cat-like quality. “Thanks for the drink. I’ll be around.”

As she walks away to find a seat, the tension in your shoulders eases, but her presence lingers like a shadow. You glance at Gyuri one last time, hoping for some kind of reaction, but she’s focused on the drinks in front of her, her usual calm smile in place.

And yet, for just a moment, you swear there’s something almost knowing in the way she glances at Jiheon’s retreating figure..

— The bell above the door jingles as the last customer leaves, and you let out a long breath, leaning against the counter. The café feels different now—quiet, peaceful, but heavy with the lingering scent of coffee and pastries. It’s nighttime, and the warm glow of the overhead lights gives the empty space a cozy but slightly eerie feel.

“Good job today, Junho,” Gyuri says, flashing you one of her signature warm smiles as she locks the cash register.

“Thanks, Ms. Gyuri,” you reply, your voice softer than usual in the now-empty café.

After finishing up your closing duties—wiping down tables, stacking chairs, and sweeping the floors—you grab your jacket and step out into the cool night air. The streets are quieter now, with only a few scattered groups of students heading home. You adjust your backpack, your thoughts already drifting toward the comfort of your cramped boarding room.

As you turn a corner, someone bumps into you.

“Ah, sorry,” you mumble automatically, stepping back.

The girl doesn’t even glance up, her eyes glued to her phone. She’s wearing what looks like an e-sport jersey jacket, its bold colors contrasting with the dark street. Her brown hair catches the ambient glow of the streetlights, faintly shining as she moves past you. For a brief moment, her face is illuminated, and it’s enough to leave an impression.

She’s stunning.

Before you can fully process it, your impulse kicks in. You take a step forward, clearing your throat. “Hey, uh, I’m Junho...”

But she doesn’t respond. Her focus remains solely on the screen of her phone, and she keeps walking, oblivious to your presence.

You stand there for a second, feeling a bit foolish, then shake your head. The image of her lingers in your mind as she disappears into the night, leaving you with nothing but the quiet hum of the street.

When you finally reach your room, you fumble with your keys and push the door open. It’s as small and cramped as ever, but it’s yours. You toss your jacket onto the single chair by the desk, only to realize something’s missing. Your bag. You groan, running a hand through your hair. You must’ve left it at the café in your rush to leave. There’s no helping it—you’ll have to go back.

The walk feels longer this time, the quiet streets amplifying the sound of your footsteps. As you get closer, a strange unease settles in your chest. The air feels heavier, the streetlights casting elongated shadows that seem to move just out of sync with your steps. Your skin prickles, as if something unseen is watching.

When you reach the café, you notice something strange. Cars are parked outside. Not just any cars—luxury vehicles, sleek and expensive, the kind you’d expect to see in a high-end district, not outside a cozy student café. Their polished exteriors gleam under the soft glow of the streetlights, each one a testament to sophistication and taste.

Your gaze drifts across the lineup, catching details that feel oddly personal. A jet-black SUV, imposing and understated. A sapphire blue Porsche, sharp and vibrant, eerily luring you in. Your eyes stop briefly on a compact car that feels out of place among the giants—a Mini Cooper. Its emerald green paint shimmers, the kind of green that feels rich and alive, paired with racing stripes that speak of personality rather than pure extravagance. It’s less ostentatious but undeniably stylish, a subtle standout among its peers.

As you approach, an inexplicable resistance builds inside you, like a pressure against your chest. Your feet feel heavier, your thoughts fuzzier, and for a brief moment, you consider turning around. The café seems distant, almost unreal, like it’s shifting away even as you step closer. But you shake it off, forcing yourself forward.

You head to the backdoor, fishing out the spare key Gyuri gave you for emergencies. Pushing it open, you step into the staff area and spot your bag right where you left it. Relieved, you sling it over your shoulder and turn to leave.

That’s when you hear it.

The faint jingle of the front doorbell breaks the silence, followed by muffled voices.

You freeze. The café should be empty, but there’s a light seeping through the crack of the door leading to the main lobby. Slowly, you step closer, curiosity outweighing caution.

Peeking through the door, you see her.

She steps inside like she owns the air she breathes, her presence commanding yet effortless. Her long, jet-black hair cascades down her back, perfectly straight, with sharp bangs framing her face. Under the glow of the café lights, her striking blue eyes seem almost unnatural, as if they were cut from the sky itself.

For a moment, her gaze sweeps the café, and then it lands directly on you.

Your heart skips a beat. You’re sure you’ve been caught—your face heats up, and you’re ready to stammer some excuse about being here after hours. But her expression doesn’t shift.

Her lips curl into a smile, slow and deliberate, as if she’s been waiting for this very moment. It’s the kind of smile that feels personal, like it holds a secret meant only for you.

But then, as quickly as her eyes found yours, they slid away.

It’s deliberate—you’re certain of that. She must have seen you. And yet, she acts as if you’re invisible, as if your presence is of no consequence. She turns, her hair sweeping behind her like a silk curtain, and addresses the others in the room.

From your hidden vantage point, you take in the scene.

The café, which should have been empty, is instead alive with movement. A group of women fills the space, each one radiating an aura of distinct confidence and beauty. They aren’t just sitting or lounging; they seem to command the room, transforming it into something that feels foreign, almost sacred.

“Chaeyoung,” one of the women calls out, her tone both teasing and sharp, “you’re late.”

Your eyes dart to the source of the voice, and your breath catches—it’s her. The same woman you bumped into earlier, the one engrossed in her phone. She’s still wearing that e-sport jersey jacket, looking as effortlessly confident as she had before.

“And Nagyung? You’re not late?” Chaeyoung fires back, her tone teasing, her smile sharper now.

The casual banter between them feels like watching something private, yet you can’t look away.

Your gaze shifts to the rest of the table. The initial shock of seeing Chaeyoung fades as you take in the others, each of them equally striking in their presence. You almost stumble backward when you spot familiar faces.

Gyuri, whose warmth you’ve come to rely on, sits with an unfamiliar coolness about her. Her brow is furrowed, a faint trace of annoyance crossing her usually gentle features. It sharpens her striking appearance, making her seem like someone you’ve never truly known. There's a tension in her posture that makes you feel like you're seeing a side of her that’s been hidden until now.

Seoyeon leans lazily toward the women beside her, her relaxed posture contrasting the air of composure around the table.

The woman Seoyeon is leaning into feels strangely familiar, as if you should recognize her. She matches the others in beauty, her jet-black hair framing a delicate face. A soft smile plays at her lips, radiating warmth and charm. With luminous skin and deep, expressive eyes, she exudes an effortless elegance that captivates without even trying.

And as if that weren’t enough to leave you reeling, on the other side of the table, you recognize Lee Saerom.

The Saerom. The top celebrity, known for her flawless visuals and commanding performances.

Sitting next to her is Song Hayoung, the famous songwriter and soloist whose music dominates every chart. 

They’re casually leaning into the conversation, as though their combined fame and aura aren’t enough to make this room the most exclusive place in the city.

“Is Jiwon not here yet?” Chaeyoung asks as she slips into a seat, her voice nonchalant, but her eyes scanning the room with interest.

The front doorbell jingles, and the door swings open.

“I’m here!!” a bright, piercing voice calls out.

Your head swivels toward the source, and there she is. Jiwon, bounding through the entrance like a whirlwind of energy, her grin lighting up the room before her words even have a chance.

“Jisun, did you bring food?” Jiwon’s question comes rapid-fire, her tone playful but undeniably demanding.

The woman Seoyeon was leaning into rose. She moves with calm precision, her composure stark against Jiwon’s lively presence.

"Of course, I brought food. Wouldn’t want you to starve." Jisun says, her voice soft but firm, as she produces a stack of containers seemingly out of nowhere. She places them on the table, the gesture practiced, as though she had been anticipating the request long before it was asked.

It hits you then. Roh Jisun. The world-famous chef. Known for her culinary brilliance and beauty. You've seen her multiple times before in magazines, tv, or online articles. You can hardly believe she's here, so close, exuding an effortless elegance.

“Can we finally get started? I still have to clean up after all of you,” Gyuri complained, her annoyance clear.

Now that the group had gathered, all eyes shifted to Saerom, who was waiting for their attention.

“Our youngest is losing control,” Saerom began.

“We all constantly are,” Nagyung shrugged off the concern.

“This isn't the same, you know that,” Saerom replied firmly.

“Don’t try to ignore these meetings, Nagyung. I’m losing millions just being here,” Jiwon said, flaunting her wealth.

“Must be nice having all those millions,” Hayoung remarked. While her gaze focuses on the only fork on the table, in the hands of Chaeyoung.

“You’re a millionaire too. Why are you eyeing my money?” Jiwon shot back defensively.

“Ahem!… Losing control?” Gyuri steered the conversation back on track.

Saerom, now commanding their full attention, spoke with purpose.

“We need to consider finally finding an anchor.”

“Then we’ll get an anchor. Meeting is done,” Soyeon said with a yawn, stretching.

Charyoung, still twirling the fork between her fingers, smirked. “Do we have to? I’ve been liking her attitude recently.”

“It’s time,” Saerom replied, her tone serious. “We can’t risk it. If deceit consumes her…”

“It will consume all of us,” Gyuri finished, her voice dark.

You stay frozen, trying to make sense of the conversation. Consume? Anchor? Deceit? The weight of their words sinks in, and though you know you should leave, something keeps you rooted to the spot. The truth behind their cryptic conversation is just out of reach.

Then, without warning, a soft voice whispered near your ear.

“Curiosity can be dangerous, you know.”

You nearly jump out of your skin, spinning around to find Jiheon standing inches away, her signature eye-smile curved upward in amusement. You’re certain she wasn’t there a second ago. How could she have gotten so close without making a sound?

“Wha—how—?” you stammer, instinctively taking a step back, only to hear the door creak open behind you.

Seoyeon, now fully awake, leans forward slightly, her drowsy facade giving way to genuine surprise. “How did he get here?” she asks, her voice carrying a rare edge of curiosity. Her eyes scan you, but it’s not just scrutiny—it’s disbelief, almost as if you’re some kind of anomaly.

“Who’s this?” Nagyung asks, clearly not remembering you.

“Junho,” Gyuri says softly, her voice now laced with concern and confusion. “How are you here?” Her warm demeanor has returned that almost makes you feel safe. Almost.

Your mind scrambles for an explanation, but Jiheon, ever calm, steps forward, her gaze fixed on you as if she’s reading your very thoughts.

“He overheard,” Jiheon says simply, her tone neither accusatory nor dismissive.

“Clearly” Jiwon crosses her arms, her lively energy dampened by suspicion. “Why did you let him through?” Jiheon doesn’t answer. Instead, she steps forward, closing the already narrow distance between the two of you. Her eyes glint with an eerie amusement, her head tilting slightly as she examines you like a puzzle she’s just begun to piece together.

“Regardless of how,” Saerom says, her voice cutting through the murmurs and drawing every gaze. She rises slowly, her commanding presence quieting the room once more. “What matters is why. What did he hear?”

“I didn’t mean to listen!” you blurt out, your voice shaky as you raise your hands in defense. “I—I just came back for my bag, and then I heard voices, and—”

“And stopped to eavesdrop,” Chaeyoung interrupts, her voice playful but her eyes uncomfortably sharp.

“No! I mean—yes, but not like that!” you stammer, feeling the weight of their collective stares crushing you. “It’s not what you think! I swear I won’t tell anyone!”

Gyuri sighs, stepping closer. “Junho, you don’t understand. This... what you’ve heard... it’s not something you can just walk away from.”

“I don’t know how you got through the mist ” Jisun adds, her tone firm but not unkind. “But this isn’t something just anyone can know.”

“Maybe,” Chaeyoung says, her lips curving into a sly smile, “he’s not ‘just anyone.’”

“Enough.” Saerom’s single word silences the room, her authority undeniable. Her eyes pierce through you, weighing your very existence. “What’s done is done. The question now is what we do with him.”

Your heart pounds in your chest. “Wait!” you cry, your voice desperate. “I swear I won’t say anything! I don’t even understand what I heard! Just let me go, and I’ll forget everything!”

“That’s not how this works,”  Hayoung says from across the room, her voice carrying an edge as she’s now holding the fork she was eyeing earlier.

Jiheon smirks, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she takes another step closer. “Oh, Junho,” she purrs, her voice dripping with playful malice. “It’s not your fault, really. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” She tilts her head, her smile widening. “But... well, it’s a little late for regrets, don’t you think?”

Her hand lifts, faint cyan light dancing at her fingertips, and you can’t tear your eyes away. The glow reflects in her eyes, making her look ethereal and otherworldly.

“Jiheon, stop!” Saerom’s voice cuts through, but Jiheon doesn’t even flinch.

“Relax,” Jiheon says lightly, her tone almost soothing as she looks at you. “I’m just helping him... rest a little.”

“Jiheon!” Saerom’s command comes sharper this time, but it’s already too late.

Jiheon’s fingers flick, the cyan light tracing an elegant pattern in the air. “Just a little nap,” she whispers, her voice lilting and playful.

The moment the light touches you, an overwhelming drowsiness washes over your body. Your knees buckle, the edges of your vision darken, and Jiheon’s playful smile is the last thing you see as the world fades to black.

a/n: Before you move one the next chapter, can you guess who's who, with their pairing emotion? (Pride, Greed, Lust, Envy, Gluttony, Wrath, Sloth, Deceit, and Apathy)