#writing just hasn’t been the vibe lately

[pollenallergie]

sorry for exclusively shitposting lately, but in my defense- look! over there!! *points behind you and waits for you to turn around and look so i can make a break for it*

[taegimood]

— bestfriend!ot5’s reaction to you offering to help with their boner ♡

pairing: ot5 x fem!reader (separate) rating: nsfw, mdni wc: almost 3k oops 😭 warnings: some smut (oral obviously, m receiving), suggestiveness, perviness, pet names (babe, sweetheart, pretty girl), tiniest but brief bit of angst in tyun’s, some alcohol in jun’s, beomgyu being an annoying brat lmao

a/n - this took me forever to start (and to finish.. all in one sitting rip my eyeballs) but i loved writing this omg who wants a pt 2 follow-up 🫢

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yeonjun: this is the moment he’s been waiting for, y’all

it’s just like any other tipsy late-night shit-talk sesh on yeonjun’s living room floor, until it’s not. you’ve been lazily sitting against the foot of his couch facing each other while joking about beomgyu’s latest failure to get laid when somehow the conversation turns to your own personal sex lives. it’s not like you’ve never talked about that stuff with jun before; you’re best friends, after all. but something about tonight feels different. maybe it’s because you’ve been drinking, maybe it’s because the dim lighting of his living room is giving it a strangely sensual vibe, or maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you- facing you with his chin in his hand as his elbow rests up on the couch cushion, eyes more lidded than usual and sculpted collarbone peeking out from the sweater that at some point had slipped down his shoulder- but when the topic turns to your experiences with oral and he’s in the middle of complaining about how his last fling always gave him the worst head, what comes out of your mouth as you suddenly interrupt him is a shock to the both of you.

“i could do better.”

yeonjun’s eyebrows shoot up. the words had died on his lips. your own eyes are wide as you freeze, before fidgeting nervously, attempting damage control. “i mean.. from what i’ve been told. just saying.” you swallow hard as you inwardly kick yourself, avoiding his eyes and his silence as you bring the bottle of soju you’d been sharing to your lips in an attempt to feign casualty.

“is that an offer?”

it’s your turn to be speechless, nearly choking as you set the bottle down a little too hard, turning quickly to stare at him in shock; oh, he’s not joking. he watches you expectantly, a level expression on his face; though if you were to blink, you’d miss the smirk that his lips were threatening to inch up into. when your gaze flickers down to see the tent in his sweatpants that he hasn’t even bothered trying to cover, you swallow hard. the tiny crush you’ve always harbored for your best friend suddenly seems not so unreciprocated after all. you collect yourself. you’ve gotta be cool about this.

“well… do you want it to be?”

your best friend’s hands wrapped in your hair and his shameless moans filling the room as he pumps his cock in and out of your throat isn’t exactly how you imagined the night to go, but here you are! you can already tell from the lewd promises and filthy praises that he’s groaning out as you swallow around him — your legs will definitely be sore in the morning. <3

soobin: soobin.exe has stopped working

he didn’t mean for you to see, he really didn’t. you weren’t supposed to be home for another 15 minutes; what else was he supposed to do when it’s the first time all week that his hermit of a roommate has finally left their shared apartment and he hasn’t been able to comfortably get himself off since last weekend?

your convenience store run ended in disappointment as the tuna gimbap roll you were craving turned up empty on the shelves. with a grumble you had just grabbed the nearest container of ramen and a snack for soobin before trekking back to your apartment sooner than hoped for (by either party..), not in the mood to sit there and eat as you’d originally planned; but unbeknownst to you, soobin hadn’t heard you arrive back home, and also unbeknownst to you, he was stuck in a very… compromising position.

“soob, they didn’t have the- oh, fuck.”

rounding the corner into the living room to see your best friend seated on the couch with his sweatpants shoved down around his hips and his head thrown back as his hand fists up and down his very hard - very big cock - was definitely not on your daily bingo card. (or your lifetime one either, to be quite frank.) at the sound of your voice he’s acting faster than you’ve ever seen him move, a pillow shoved over his lap and his large figure smushed back into the couch cushions so quick that you question whether you even saw his cock at all, or if it was just your mind playing tricks on you. you decide that it wasn’t the latter, however, at the sight of his bright red face and quick, heavy breaths- a deer in headlights as his mouth opens and closes for a few moments, trying to find the words to speak.

you’re in the same boat — what are you supposed to say? hey, sorry that i caught you trying to get yourself off in our shared space that i also own which you’re very much aware of? and by the way your cock is the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen and i want it in my-

wait, what? you don’t even have time to process the sudden warmth between your thighs as soobin finally finds his words. well, kind of. “i-i’m so sorry, i swear i didn’t- i was just trying to- i thought you’d still be a while, i- it’s been so long since i-“ he cut himself off at the last part, an even deeper blush coming over his cheeks at his accidental admission. wonderful, now she’s gonna think i’m some sort of incel. but the last thing that either of you ever expects is happening as you step forward carefully, approaching his shocked form on the couch before stopping to maintain some distance.

“soob.. do you want help?”

let’s just say that his best friend slotted between his thighs as she bobs her head up and down his fat cock with eager moans and a mix of spit and pre-cum lewdly dribbling down her chin wasn’t exactly on soobin’s bingo card, either. but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t pay you back for it right after. <3

beomgyu: *laughs in your face* 👁️👄👁️ switch-up

um, did he hear that right?? it was an innocent instance of you utterly roasting each other into the grave with bullying remarks, just another tuesday for the pair of you- you’re just sitting on your bed in your usual criss-cross legged gossip-time position when beomgyu apparently decides that he’s bored laughing at something soobin did and chooses you as the better candidate to laugh at instead. the plushie of yours that he’d had resting in his lap is now a method of defense as you attempt to thwap him over the head with your own plushie, yelling at him to “take it back!” as he cackles mercilessly after claiming “at least soobin can get bitches if he stops being shy enough, you’re just an all-around lost cause.”

“you don’t even know what you’re talking about!!!” you whine as you finally manage to knock him onto his back, going in for the kill as your leg swings over one of his, your plushie smushing down into his face as his now-muffled giggles still ring out annoying as ever. “i get bitches too!” you defend yourself, although even your own words immediately cause you to cringe; damn, you really do sound like a loser, huh? but your momentary lapse of attention has beomgyu knocking your plushie away, laughing even louder as he responds “that is EXACTLY what someone who can’t get bitches would say.” you groan and smack his chest, rolling your eyes as he cradles himself dramatically. “you’re literally wrong. i’ve dated before! like once. and there was that other guy from the smoothie place last year.. we, like, hung out a few times.” but you’re mumbling now, pathetic to your own ears as beomgyu’s shit-eating grin grows with each word.

“you’re kinda proving my point, here, babe.” you shiver at the pet name, however condescending his tone may be. god, how is he still so attractive even when you want to strangle the fuck out of him? “you’re so cocky,” you complain with another roll of your eyes, an attempt to both distract yourself from beomgyu and distract beomgyu from the humiliating topic. he sits up to lean back on his hands as it’s clear you’re finished with your little murder attempt. “yeah, cuz of my monster cock.. that can get bitches.”

that’s it. the sudden urge to prove yourself to him overtakes you as you snap back, “i bet your ‘monster cock’ has never even seen head as good as what i can give.” another laugh— until he realizes you’re serious. the smile falls right off of his face. you don’t miss the way his fists clench around the blanket he’s leaning back on; or the slight strain in his voice as he answers, voice suddenly low and almost breathless- “yeah?”

you were right; beomgyu’s cock has never gotten head as good as what you’re giving him right now as your throat bottoms out with a filthy gag, no hesitation when you lift off with a pop before sucking on him hard enough to send his head reeling. you know what.. maybe beomgyu wouldn’t mind being proved wrong more often after all. but of course, he has to prove himself to you now, too. <3

taehyun: “if… you want to” he definitely wants to

taehyun was stressed. that was clear to anybody; the recent storm closing the businesses down for the week, including the local gym, and his own job that he of course relied on to pay rent. you had been over at his apartment when the weather took a turn for the worse; so now here you were, snowed in with no where to go, forced to work from taehyun’s computer, eat his food, and wear his clothes. (the latter of which neither of you would admit to being turned on by. …….yet.) taehyun was doing his best to work out from home with what little equipment he had, although he wasn’t able to do much, which frustrated him to no end — not as much because he was a gym rat, but more because it was his primary stress reliever. so today it doesn’t help, of course, that his pretty best friend is currently sat at his desk in one of his baggy sweatshirts and a pair of sweatpants that she had to roll 6 times to fit her little legs.

he didn’t mean to snap at you. when you accidentally knocked his extra monitor off the desk and onto the floor, cracking the screen, it was just because you turned around too fast— you were excited to see him :(— but it’s the last straw of the day for taehyun. he can’t work out properly, his job isn’t paying him during the off-time, he’s had a constant boner from you hanging around in his clothes all week, and now- now he’ll need to go get his stupid monitor fixed once the weather clears up. “shit, tae, i’m so sorry-“

“god, why are you so fucking clumsy, y/n?”

the silence causes instant realization as his eyes snap up to meet your wide, now-watery ones. “i’m.. i’m sorry..” you whisper, and immediately he wants to punch himself. “fuck,” he groans as he shakes his head, coming to kneel down in front of the chair you were still sitting in. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to snap at you like that. you’re not clumsy. i know it was an accident, please don’t cry.. i’ll pay for the monitor. it wasn’t your fault.” he’s murmuring while he soothes his hand up and down your arm. you’re shaking your head as you wipe at your eyes. “no, no, it’s okay; i know you didn’t mean to snap. i’m still sorry though. let me help pay for it…. i know you’ve been stressed, tyunnie.” you say the last part quieter, gentler as you meet his eyes. he hates that his cock twitches in his pants at something so innocent; but what you say next makes him feel much better about his own perverted thoughts.

you’re nervous about your next words. you really hope you’ve been reading the room right this last week. “let me help you..?”

his eyes widen, before he quickly recovers in an attempt to keep a level expression. “help.. me?” do you mean what he thinks you mean??? “the weather still sucks. there’s not much you can do, sweetheart.” he chuckles, testing the waters with a pet name as he studies your face carefully for a reaction. his eyes flicker down and quickly back up when your thighs squeeze together marginally in response. a-ha. “no, tyun… let me help you here.” you whisper with a soft, testing touch to the band of his sweatpants. oh, so you definitely mean what he thinks you mean.

who really needs the gym or your own closet after all, when you look so pretty on your knees for him with his cock down your throat as he calls you his pretty girl and promises to fuck you so good later just like you deserve? not the two of you, apparently. <3

huening kai: *spits out his drink* coughing fit

kai wasn’t kidding when he told you that he might be too busy to hang out if you came over, although this wasn’t exactly what you’d had in mind. when you headed over to his apartment you figured he was caught up studying for some big exam or something of the like; what you didn’t think you’d find was him yelling into his headset at beomgyu as his fingers flew over the buttons of his controller, leaning forward in his seat with crazy eyes and 3 open cans of energy drinks next to the screen. you sigh. “kai, really? this is what you meant by ‘too busy’..?” he jumps slightly at the sudden sound of your voice in his room, but doesn’t turn around. “y/n! yeah, sorry- i’m just in the middle of- FUCKING MOVE, BEOMGYU! of a tournament right now, been trying to rank up for hours- BEOMGYU!!!”

you wince at the intermittent screaming, plopping down on his bed to watch as you hear gyu’s protests of self-defense piercing through your best friend’s headset. “i think you’ll need a hearing aid after this..” you mumble, receiving no response as expected. however, you get bored after scrolling through your phone for a while, sulking shamelessly at the lack of attention you were receiving — although you were warned that if you came over he might not have any to give. you sigh, but you understand; these tournaments are important to hyuka, even if you couldn’t care less about them yourself. don’t get me wrong, you love gaming too, especially with your friends— especially with kai — but you weren’t exactly as obsessed as they were when it came to being the biggest legend in this group of - you squint - 100 players that this world has ever seen.

selfishly, you had almost even hoped for more from this evening… you’ve been trying to drop hints lately at your feelings for kai, although your level of success was yet to be determined. this would be the first instance all week that you’d have some alone time together; despite his claim to busyness, you still figured you’d try your luck by coming over. you eye the 3 energy drinks and his bouncing legs with a chuckle. what are my options here? hmm.. you’d worn some particularly short shorts tonight, knowing he’d definitely notice the plushness of your thighs.. experimentally, you stand up and approach his desk, standing next to it so he’d be able to see you if he shifted his eyes to the right. “hyuka, want me to get you some water? i don’t think you need any more of these.” you fiddle with one of the cans on his desk. he hums distractedly in response; you can tell he hadn’t heard what you said. “hyuka..” this time you reach out to card your fingers through his hair, effectively causing his fixed stare to snap briefly over to you in surprise; ‘briefly’ turning into a momentary distraction as his gaze catches onto your shorts, flitting back and forth between the screen and your soft thighs. “h-huh?”

“some water?” you repeat innocently. “o-oh, uh, yeah..”

when you come back, to say you’re shocked is an understatement as the bulge in his shorts has seemingly popped up out of no where, and the bright pink blush on his cheeks tells you he knows it, too. you don’t realize you’re standing there staring at it with the glass of water still in your hand until kai quickly mutes his mic, eyes still glued to the screen as he groans “i’m so sorry y/n, please don’t think i’m gross, i- i had no time to grab a pillow, we’re in the middle of a battle and my score is-“ wordlessly, you’re sinking to your knees and situating yourself beneath the desk. his bouncing legs freeze. “what- fuck, w-what are you-“

“can i help you? you can keep playing your game,” you ask sweetly. the sight of your innocent eyes blinking up at him nearly has him cumming in his shorts then and there as he breathes out, “fuck- are you sure?”

you definitely show him how sure you are as you worship his cock with your throat, all sloppy and wet, making sure his mic stays muted so beomgyu can’t hear the way you’re making him whine and moan as he bucks his hips up into your mouth the best he can. now just wait until his tournament is over and he has you all to himself. <3

[wanderer-six]

Late Night

AN: this tweet changed my life I could not stop thinking about this i needed to write this i need you all to b thinking about this too

Relationships: Hunter x Fem!Jedi Reader

Summary: You and Hunter have been together for years now, living out a happy life on Pabu. You're spending the night together, and time has done nothing to quell your desires.

WARNINGS: unprotected p in v, orgasm denial, edging (it's ok he can take it), old man hunter im dedd 18+ MINORS DNI

Word Count: 2k I did not proofread this apologies in advance if it's bad I hope u can at least get behind the Vibes u feel me

It’s another beautiful night on Pabu. The sun set over the island hours ago, and the moon now bathes the ocean in shimmering silver. As the day wound down, so too did the residents; the paths that bustle by day are all but empty now as everyone settles in for a peaceful night.

All around the island, there is quiet. The only sounds you hear now are the gentle drone of the waves, and his heavy breathing.

Like all the others, you and Hunter retired to your bungalow, but rest is far from your minds. In the dark of your bedroom, you and him are bare, chasing off any chill from the evening air with each other’s warmth. Hunter, the man you’ve loved for a lifetime, is beneath you now. You balance your hands on his broad shoulders, riding him slowly, wonderfully, biting your lip as he meets your gaze with weary eyes. 

Even after all these years, making love to him still feels as amazing as it did the very first night you shared together. Each roll of your hips fills you with more of him, and you can’t help but whimper when he hits every spot you love. It seems he hasn’t had his fill of you, either. Though time has had its effects on Hunter, it certainly hasn’t changed the way he yearns for you. Even now, he hangs on your every movement, his vigilant eyes darting between your pleasured expressions and your hips taking his cock.

Deciding he’s gotten a little too comfortable, you descend onto his length at a different angle, allowing him to reach deeper than before. At the sudden sensation, a groan catches in his chest. Between his labored breaths, he chuckles.

“You feel so fucking good, cyar’ika…” 

Humming through a smile, you rest your forehead on his.

“You’re one to talk, handsome…” Your fingers trail through his hair, still just as long as when you first met, but having faded to grey some time ago. “I can’t get enough of you.”

That confident, effortless smirk tugs at his lips. You’ve seen it a thousand times, yet each time he wears it, heat still rises beneath your cheeks.

“Heh… is that so?” Though his once defined, sharp muscles have softened from years of respite on the island, he still feels as strong as ever when he grips at your hips. “I guess time hasn’t gotten the best of me in every way…”

At this, it’s your turn to grin. You know it’s been a few long years since the two of you last saw combat; with the clones’ advanced aging, those years have counted double for him. But even if you’re older than you once were, you know you still have plenty of time left.

And it’s when Hunter starts to pretend as though he’s moments from death’s door that you like to remind him what he’s still capable of.

Without warning, you melt against Hunter, draping your arms over his shoulders and crashing your lips onto his. His tongue dances with yours, and as his arms hold you flush against him by your waist, you begin to roll your hips more quickly. You move faster, harder, riding him for all he’s worth. You revel in every little noise he makes, the way his eyes flutter shut in pure bliss. His fingers tense, clinging to your hips so desperately as to leave bruises.

In the Force, you feel how close he is. How near he is to losing himself fully in you…

… and right before he hits his peak, you lift yourself off of him, robbing him of the only thing he craves in that moment.

Hunter utters a groan, wincing through the torment of his denied release. He leans his head back against the wall, and you can feel his heart kicking fast against his chest.

“F-Fuck…” he hisses through gritted teeth.

Despite his anguish, you can only grin. You lean forward, lavishing him with gentle kisses as he settles down.

“Easy, Sergeant,” you sing. “I’m not done with you yet.”

As you kneel over him, he dares to glance between your legs. You’re so tantalizingly close to his aching length, and though his desperation is clear on his face, he knows better than to think you’ll be so generous. Utterly helpless, he shakes his head. 

“I’m too old for you to be teasing me like this…” he mutters, a weak smile tugging at his lips. You roll your eyes at his self-admonishment.

“Oh, enough…” With a deep exhale, you rest your forehead against his, and your eyes fall shut as you bask in the feeling of him. For every experience you’ve had in every corner of the galaxy, nothing compares to having Hunter all to yourself. “I know you can handle it, even if we may not be young anymore…”

Though he’s clearly just as lost in your attentions, this remark has him prop an eye open to sneer at you.

“‘We’?” he repeats with a chuckle. Sighing, he runs his rough hands up the curves of your waist. “You’ve still got your whole life ahead of you—even if you’re wasting it torturing an old clone like me…”

Your eyes warm, and you bite your lip. With a dangerous twist of your hips, you grind against him, earning a deep grumble from Hunter’s chest. Your lips linger by his ear.

“I think I know my Hunter by now…” you purr, voice low enough to make him shiver, “and if there’s one thing he likes, it’s a challenge.”

Without a word of warning, you lower yourself back onto his cock, taking him deep inside as you begin riding him again. Hunter goes rigid, fumbling for purchase against your hips as they overwhelm him with pleasure. Nothing could ever thrill you more than the way he touches you. For as long as you’ve been together, he’s known exactly how to make your body sing for him. Even now, a desperate mess beneath you, his hands run along your skin purely by instinct.

And luckily, you know his body just as well.

Again, you fuck him harder. Again, you feel the tension in his core, the white-hot release building inside of him…

Again, you stop just short, lifting off of him right before he can come.

Your poor sergeant whines again, his head lolling back as his eyes pinch shut. Between your legs, his cock throbs, twitching in desperate need for the stimulation you’ve so cruelly deprived him of. 

“A-ah…!” Between his heavy breaths, chest rising and falling arduously, he moans in complaint. “You’re… fuck, you’re driving me crazy…”

While he grovels in such a sorry state, you’re no worse for wear at all. You place kiss after languid kiss up his neck, tickling his skin with your breath.

“I can keep this up all night, handsome…” Pulling away just enough to catch his eye, you don a mischievous grin. “I think you can, too.”

 In the face of your taunting, Hunter surprises you when his smile softens. He cups your face with a trembling hand, running his thumb gently along your cheek. You lean into his touch, admittedly falling victim to his sudden tenderness.

“Tell me…” he asks, “what’s it gonna take for you to let me off, huh?”

You giggle, leaning forward to nuzzle your nose against his.

“Hm… I don’t know,” you sigh, playing coy. “I think you might just be too old to manage what I have in mind…~”

With a chuckle, he pinches your cheek. “Try me.”

Pulling away just enough to meet his eyes, you flash him a charming grin.

“Tell me you love me.”

Through his lust-filled gaze, Hunter raises an eyebrow above a half-smirk.

“What… that’s all?”

You nod. “Mm-hm. That is… if you think you can handle—”

You’re cut off when Hunter’s lips catch yours, meeting you in a kiss so deep you nearly feel like you’re drowning. His tongue toys with yours, so desperate to taste you it makes heat flood beneath your cheeks. Still, you can’t help but smile against him. Though Hunter likes to act as though he’s old and grey, now, you know he’s far from gone. In moments like these, you feel the fire that’s burned inside him since the very beginning. It hasn’t faded in the slightest. You know it never will.

When he finally pulls away, he doesn’t stray far, lips ghosting over yours as he holds your gaze with intense eyes.

“I love you, cyar’ika,” he breathes, a solemn swear. “Always have… always will.”

For the first time that night, it seems you’re the one on the backfoot. Eyes wide and innocent, you’re touched by the sincerity of his words. You know Hunter, know that he does everything to the fullest. But hearing for certain that his passion would be yours for as long as you both have left… your heart can scarcely take it.

With sudden desperation, you press your lips to his, and you bury his cock in your warmth. He moans into your mouth, and you moan back, losing yourself to the feeling as you ride him again. Tense hands grip at every part of you—your waist, your ass, your shoulders—leaving marks on your skin as he tries in vain to bear the sensation. But it isn’t long until his resolve begins to break.

As a gasp catches in Hunter’s throat, his lips break from yours.

“F-Fuck, cyar’ika… I’m gonna…”

You already know. You feel his energy shifting—you feel how close he is. His delayed release has only built up to something more intense… but this time, you don’t back off. You indulge him, rolling your hips even faster than before. With what little stamina he has left tonight, he’s thrusting into you, and you whimper aloud as he hits every perfect spot inside you. You’re as close as he is…

And when you reach your climax, you’re amazed he can stay conscious.

Hunter buries himself to the hilt in your cunt, coming deep inside you. Your orgasm milks him for every last drop, and given the way you’ve tormented him tonight, he has plenty to give. By the time you’ve sucked him dry, his overstimulated cock still twitching in your walls, he’s quivering beneath you, completely and utterly spent. He breathes as heavy as he would during the war, on missions that would see him running for hours… You’re sure he’ll ache just as badly, come morning.

After taking a moment to recover, Hunter opens his eyes, gazing up at you with a precious smile. Gingerly, you tuck his hair behind his ears, supporting his head as you meet him in a feather-light kiss.

“I love you, too, Hunter…” you hum, voice barely above a whisper. “Always have, always will.”

The smile he wears is genuine. He tilts his head to catch your hand, placing a kiss on your palm.

“I’m glad. I don’t know what I’d do without you, cyar’ika.” He pauses, then chuckles bitterly as he closes his eyes again. “Even if you’re liable to kill me, putting me through nights like this…”

Your grin turns more playful. Slowly, you lift yourself off of Hunter, relishing the way he shivers as his length falls out of you.

“Be thankful I’m so generous,” you tease as you lay beside him. You rest your head on his chest, sighing in utter contentment. “If I weren’t, you would be in for another round… or ten.”

Hunter chuckles, voice reverberating in his broad chest in a way that soothes you more than anything else could. Arm wrapped around you, he traces idle shapes on your skin.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something meaner to treat me to when we wake up tomorrow,” he sighs. His gentle lips press to your forehead. “But for now, let me get some rest, huh?”

Giggling, you nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck.

“Hm… all right. But only because I love you so much.”

The warm night air, the distant roar of the waves, the embrace of the man you’ll always love… you can’t imagine anything more perfect. But as always, Hunter finds a way to make the greatest things even greater.

“I love you more, cyar’ika. Always.”

AN: Thank you as always for reading mmwah mwah I hope you enjoy, always stay edging that old man ♥♥

[mandalhoerian]

Shai! Shai! I've thought of another scenario for Leon😊 Altho being a new fan I've come to the conclusion that Leon is the type to believe he's not good enough for his partner, he believes they could do better then him. So imagine a Leon who has finally accepted he has feelings for you and works up the courage to confess only for you to turn the tables on him and say you dont feel good enough for him. I imagine he would be in disbelief? How would he react to his crush telling him "You're too good for me Leon."?

too good for me | leon kennedy x reader

pairing: leon kennedy x reader (unspecified gender) genre: fluff, miscommunication, the "endeared badass x normal person scared shitless of the endeared badass" trope. no spice, unfortunately. only good vibes and leon being head over heels smitten. enjoy! word count: 2.7K? It's short! notes: hi sarah! i am SO SORRY this has taken forever. you requested this one month ago! its been so hectic lately, i've been having health problems that required regular hospital visits and tests upon tests, but now that my surgery (yeah i know... yikes) is authorized i'm only waiting for them to call me for the date and have all the time in the world to get my rest and write. i'm also working on your other (wink wink) request! thank you so much for being patient with me. hope this is what you had in mind! i also added my touch and ideas to it lmao. happy reading!!

🌀 read on ao3!

“You’re too good for me,” is the hesitant, small answer you give him while avoiding eye contact and playing with your fingers in front of your office’s shared coffee maker Leon had made countless paperwork excuses to be able to simply stop by — to his question, that is, about why you wouldn’t go on a simple date with him. 

You puff out an awkward laugh to smooth things over as humorous but it’s forced and not at all sincere. 

It’s taken Leon a whole inner journey (Spain. Mostly the simultaneous trauma and catharsis of Spain) to get over himself to recognize what his heart truly wanted but was too pussy to look at before, yet here you two are. The lone angel in his life telling the failure Leon is that he’s too good? For you?

He simply stares, dumbly standing there, piping hot coffee that’s actually incompatible with his taste buds he insists he must do a detour to get from here simply because you often do, stiff and awkward in his hold, thinking he heard you wrong because he hasn’t gotten a good night’s rest — rest, not sleep — in forever since he came back from Spain. 

He’s been forcing himself to come to work just for a glimpse of you and your pretty face to recharge his battery, heal his soul a bit, let you be all that occupies his mind despite being laid off after that outrageous mission that resulted in the president’s unwanted favor and nightmares upon nightmares with only anxious yet soothing thoughts of you as the best bad out of the worst he’s had to face— and what is it that you said again?  

“You’re joking right?” Leon says, pride not knowing if it should be broken or not because he’s not sure to take this as a rejection, and it isn’t his intention for it to sound that harsh. He’s not some asshole who can’t take no for an answer, it’s your reasoning that has him downright jamming like a gun.

Leon has to remind himself to switch off work mode because now you look mousey as if he has a paw on your tail, shoulders pulled into yourself.  “Sorry!” He feels so bad, heart expanding within his ribcage and it aches, fuck, he just wanted to ask you out and all he’s doing is scaring you. “I’m sorry, you were kidding. I didn’t get it— I’m kinda slow and you sound flat sometimes, of course you weren’t serious, I’m—”

“No, I was serious.” His eyebrows furrow at yet another self-degradation from you. “It’s you who has to be kidding. What do you mean too good for you?”

You are at a loss of words, mouth opening but nothing coming out, and finally look him in the eye and all Leon wants to do is lean down and capture your mouth, he’s heavily distracted by you licking your lips and swallowing, the sighting of the tip of your pink tongue makes his shirt suddenly suffocating and tight. 

“I mean,” you begin tentatively, unaware of what’s going on in his head, vaguely gesturing to Leon. “Well… You’re you, I mean… And I’m. Me. Look at you and look at me. Why would you even…?”

“Hey,” Leon sets his mug on the counter, closing his eyes and pinching the insides with his thumb and pointer. The implications alone sent a zapping headache through his skull that he knows he has to rest to be able to unpack, especially when he’s finally decided on seriously pursuing you in spite of himself. Leon can’t let this remain unaddressed, for your sake and his sanity. “How about I wait for you after work today and we talk about this somewhere else?” He’s squinting. “In detail.”

“We don’t really need to—”

“We do.” Leon wants you to see he’s serious about this — about you. “Because I see something here that I want to pursue and we can’t have any misunderstandings. Would appreciate it if you at least give me the chance to clear the air.”

“P-pursue?” You swallow and Leon’s mind wanders again. “Clear the air you say…”

He breathes in. “Can you give me your phone?”

You slap it into his palm almost immediately, the speed with which you obey him without asking him any questions surprises him. He wants to scold if you’re willing to hand over your mobile to any guy who asks, but supposes it’s not his place — is frustrated this is what it takes to get him annoyed, as well. He isn’t some young adult. Weirdly, you make him feel like one.  

He’s punching his own number in, despite the conflicting feelings, finally feeling like this is getting somewhere and he’s doing it when you start talking again, nervous. “You can uh, clear the air… right here… without taking me to a secondary location…” 

His eyes flick up to yours in confusion and you look to the right immediately, and back to him. To the right. Back to him. It’s somehow comedic, because why do you look like you’re cornered by some bad guy? 

You really look like you want to be anywhere else than here, Leon’s fucking this up and he doesn’t even know what he’s doing wrong. Was he going too fast? Should he have told you his number and let you save it instead? 

You’re mumbling, nervousness clear as day for reasons he can’t fathom, he hears you, but he doesn’t really understand. 

“What? What's wrong?" Leon asks, his voice laced with genuine concern. He takes a step closer, wanting to bridge the gap between you and alleviate whatever discomfort you were experiencing. "You seem... uneasy. Did I do something wrong?"

Your eyes meet his briefly, then quickly shift away again, as if you are struggling to find the right words. 

Leon's heart sinks. His intention wasn’t to make you feel nervous or pressured, especially when he is genuinely trying to connect with you — then, in a brilliant moment of heart-stopping realization, the fact that you might just not be interested slaps him in the face and he’s…

Well. Wouldn’t that be the reality? 

Leon is… He isn’t exactly the ideal man. Not with what he does, and how his life is. He’s aware of that. Have been running from forming connections because of what he knows will end up happening because of that. He can’t get attached and keep losing people — can’t keep getting hurt in the vicious cycle to prevent everyone from getting hurt. It’s been the bane of his existence ever since STRATCOM plucked him off straight from Raccoon City. Even if you work in the same field as him, just different offices, who is to say it will work out anyway? 

He’s getting ahead of himself. You might not like him at all in the first place. Jesus. 

Maybe you see him for what he is. Maybe you think he’s not  —- the effort’s not worth it, and you wouldn’t exactly be wrong in thinking so. You could be wanting something else in life that he only has the desire to give you, and not the promise. He wouldn’t blame you, hell, who would blame someone for being their own person with their thoughts, wishes, wants and goals in life? 

You’re too good for me, really, is his line. It has been right from the beginning, his excuse in running away from his undeniable, frightening attraction to you.

"No, it's not you," you finally managed to articulate, prompting Leon to release the breath he was holding, your voice shaky, playing with your fingers. "I just... I feel a bit overwhelmed. This is all happening so fast, and I never expected..."

Leon nods, his expression softening as he realizes the weight of the situation. He hasn’t fully considered how his sudden confession and determination to pursue you might have caught you off guard. He has been so focused on his own feelings that he hasn’t taken into account your own thoughts and emotions.

"I understand," he replies, voice gentle and reassuring. "I didn't mean to overwhelm you. I just... I couldn't keep my feelings to myself anymore. But please know that I don't expect an immediate answer or any commitment from you. I just… Well. I just wanted to tell you. See where this goes. Or, maybe, if that’s not the case… Get rejected for good so I can move on, you know?"

You laugh a little and it’s genuine — you have no idea how it turns Leon’s heart into putty right where it hangs between two lungs. “Do you really mean all of that?”

“Of course,” he says, offended the tiniest bit. “Why do you think I would joke about something like this?”

“It’s not about you joking, really…” You’re uncomfortable again, hesitating to tell him something. 

“Hey, you can tell me.”

“Can you promise you won’t get mad?”

“What am I, your father?” He snorts. “Come on, tell me.” 

You brace yourself for it and he doesn’t understand why until you say it. “You, um… You’re kinda scary.”

He blinks. “Sorry?”

“Sorry!” You raise your hands up in panic. “I don’t really mean it like that, not to insult you or anything, it’s actually admirable, I’m just saying! Discipline, work ethic, unmatched field performance! You’re very… Very, uh… Intimidating, yeah, that’s the word…? I mean, like… You, uh, you’re famous, you know, we all know your work, you’re very hard working, working hard, very hard work — uh, um… So it’s…”

“I scare you?” Leon swears he felt his eyes get bigger the faster you kept on vomiting words. “You think I would hurt you?” 

“No!” You reject strongly, waving a nervous hand at him. Silence befalls later, which you follow awkwardly with a silent, guilty. “Maybe,” after clearing your throat. 

 He had always strived to be a protector, but he hadn't realized that his image and reputation — what it had become after Spain — could have such an effect on someone he cares about. 

"I never meant to scare you," he says softly, his voice filled with genuine remorse, he puts the coffee mug on the counter and leans his hip on it, shoulders sagging a bit as he crosses his arms. The thought of you only feeling intimidation about him leaves a bitter taste worse than the coffee does. "I guess... I've always been so focused on work, on the dangers just around the corner — I’m aware how it might affect my relationships in the long run so I never attempted to form any at all, but I never realized how it might affect how people see me in the first place. I never wanted to make you, of all people, feel this way. I could never hurt you. Never."

“I didn’t want to imply you’re a guy who’d intentionally hurt someone—”

“Don’t worry about it,” he sighs, ruffling his hair to get rid of the awkwardness. “So I’ve just been bugging you this whole time, huh? Jesus. I’m so sorry.”

“No! No, don’t say that, you’re amazing! You’re like a hero around here…”

“Around here doesn’t mean shit,” he replies curtly, and regrets cursing like that in front of you immediately. It’s unbecoming of him — and doesn’t help his image in your eyes at all. He’s getting frustrated. His tone lowers into a softer, more disappointed, heartfelt one. “I only care about how you think of me.” 

“Well, you’re amazing,” you say again, bashfully this time, and it prompts him to look at you. There’s something shy about you now that has him standing taller in anticipation, wondering if it’s him reading this wrong or not. “It’s pretty well-known if you didn’t know.”

“I don’t know,” he prods, idiot heart fluttering at the way you’re flustered. “What do you think? Besides intimidating, I mean. Not reporting on the local gossip this time, if you don’t mind.”

“You seem like a nice guy,” you settle. The middle ground. “I’ve seen you with the president’s daughter.”

Leon's expression softens at your words, a mixture of relief and gratitude washing over him. He takes a deep breath, trying to let go of the tension that had built up within him. The mention brings a slight smile to his face, memories of Ashley flooding his mind, a fondness evident in his eyes. "Ah, Ashley. Yeah, that was quite the adventure. Though what can you be other than a nice guy when your mission is the president’s daughter?"

“I know a couple people who’d treat her like a package to be delivered. You prioritized her wellbeing more than anything.”

“What else was I supposed to prioritize?”

“You know what I mean. Emotional wellbeing. I’ve read your initial report and her statement. You cared about her.” A smile tugs at your lips, he can tell you’re a bit more comfortable now. "Especially during what you’ve been through. It's impressive how you handle yourself in those situations."

He shrugs modestly, a hint of pride shining in his eyes. You respect him. "I guess you could say it comes with the job. But it's not all action and danger, you know. There's more to me than just being a government agent."

Your curiosity piques, and you tilt your head, prompting him to continue. "Tell me more. What's Leon Kennedy like outside of work and missions?"

It catches him off guard that you want to know more and take the first step. You could have just rejected him. His heart picks up, chest expanding in excitement, he’s glad for the opportunity to share a glimpse of his life beyond the chaos of his work — he’s normally not eager to share pieces of his life like this, but… He’d give it to you on a silver platter, whether it'd lure you in or not. That’s how Leon knows he wants this with you so bad. “I wanna lie to woo you but… Would it be too unattractive to tell I really don’t have a life outside of work? I’m still trying to find some balance in my life. The upper echelon guys are pretty ruthless and demanding. I guess it means I can say I’m into traveling?”

“Is this the cool guy way of saying you’re an introvert these days?”

The unexpectedness of it is what gets him to throw his head back to laugh, and he catches you staring, scrambling to rub his face to get rid of it and regain some composure. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Pretty much.”

“Well,” you gesture at him, there’s a vague pink hue dusting your cheeks. “What are you into, then?”

God, he can’t stop, “Other than you?” from escaping his dumb mouth. He shouldn’t have said it. It’s too corny. So uncalled for. Your mouth hangs open and he wishes he could rewind the tape to take it back and choose some other option. “Say… What about we continue this discussion after work? I know a good coffee place. Let me make it up to you for invading your lunch time. I’ll tell you all about me, what do you say?”

You look at the clock on the wall, he knows you didn’t get to have anything because he decided to turn up and serenade you with unwanted attention, it’s two birds with one stone for him if you decide to accept — he wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t see a perfect moment to seize the chance. 

“Coffee sounds perfect,” you nod, with no pressure from him, and it lifts a great weight off his shoulders. “Would it be okay if I eat something too?”

Why are you so adorable? You don’t know that you own the power to get Leon to have your superiors let you go for the day, but he can’t get too excited right now. “Say the word and it becomes a dinner date.”

It gets you flustered again, you don’t know where to put your hands, and he’s so happy about it. “It’s a weekday… That’d be a bit exhausting…”

“Okay. Coffee date it is.”

He’s noticing you like the cheeky confidence, and it makes sense, considering the intensity had you intimidated. “Thank you,” you say. “I’d like that.”

“Believe me,” Leon can’t stop the grin from overtaking his expression. “My pleasure. You’re honestly too good for me.”

There’s the sudden urge to kiss you when vulnerability and shyness lights up your whole face, but he’ll take it slow. He has to take it slow. For himself. 

[darlingkikki]

omg, late to your ghoap post but au where you’re just crying asking if johnny doesn’t love you or take the relationship seriously because he kissed someone else while ghost is sitting there waiting for his kiss. thinks you’re so pretty hiccuping and crying but damn he wants that kiss already

Warnings: Manipulative Ghost, bitch boy Johnny (lmao but seriously), dubcon (mostly for the illusion of choice but the kiss is consensual)

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

I am in a writing funk but I forced myself to at least explore more of this because I so badly want to but my brain is mush :( (not edited so just focus on the vibes)

initial post linked here

Something dark and insatiable claws at the inside of Ghost’s skull. To repress it, his blunt nails bite into his palms. He watches Johnny’s hands cup your crestfallen face, his expression knotted with the heaviness of remorse. Above the sound of your hiccuping questions, he can just about pick up Johnny’s attempts to soothe your broken heart. 

“Course I love yeh. That hasn’t changed.” 

“Nah, dinnae say that. I did a dumb thing. I’m always doing dumb things. It’s nothin’ to do with yeh.”

“I pushed them away, just not quick enough. I didnae do anything more, I promise.” 

He’s unyielding in holding your gaze. His thumbs trace gentle, methodical circles on your cheeks, wiping away the moisture under your eyes. Selfishly, cruelly, Simon wishes you would stop sobbing already so he can take over. Johnny promised him a kiss from you, so a kiss is what he’ll be leaving with.

You seem to be a gentle, sweet thing so far, even with a pouty frown pulling the corners of your lips downwards. Sensitive too. (What other parts of you share that same description?). A few tears evade Johnny’s thumbs. They roll down the swell of your cheeks. Ghost licks his lips, imagining his tongue following the wet trails down to the collar of your shirt.

Fuck, he needs this kiss bad.

If Johnny is desperate enough for your forgiveness, maybe he can push this further with you. Convince him that a kiss isn’t enough. That you deserve—no, need something more. Johnny will be easy to sway. You, however, he’s still figuring out as Johnny calms you into soft sniffles. 

“There you go, now yer ready to meet my Lt.,” Johnny coos. He steps around you, putting his hands on either side of your face and angling you to look where Ghost has been standing this entire time. “Go on, give me hell Ghost.” 

Fucking finally. Ghost doesn’t respond. He can’t. Not when the sight of you has him sucking in a sharp breath. 

Christ, what a sight you are.

His body moves, driven by greed when you stare at him all confused and teary-eyed. His favorite combination.

“Good finally meetin’ you,” Ghost says. His footsteps are heavy against the wooden floor. He hasn’t even taken his boots off.

Johnny’s fingers tighten to keep you looking straight at Ghost. Like a puppeteer, though it’s clear who has the ultimate hold on the strings. 

“Why is he here?” You ask, trying and failing to turn your head towards Johnny. Nope, not yet. It’s Ghost’s turn now and Johnny bows out of the equation.

Their positions have switched seamlessly, like dancers performing around your body. Or soldiers following a meticulous plan only they are privy to. The smell of alcohol leaves your nostrils, replaced by mint and heady tobacco. It's sense whiplash and your confusion makes for an excellent distraction from your heartache. A distraction Ghost can use to worm his way in.

“I’m here to make it better,” Simon answers after a beat. His eyes are devilishly dark, indistinguishable from a starless night sky. Inky like pools of tar. He says your name with the familiarity of a lover. An undeniable hunger laces his voice and a shudder slithers down your spine. 

Oh yes, he thinks, smirking like a starving lion, you won’t need much convincing. Your reaction speaks volumes. Without waiting for your reply, he continues, “Your boyfriend's hurt you, yeah? You shouldn’t let him get away with it.”

He’s right, you know that. To forgive Johnny would only lead to a forever-repeating cycle of tears and heartache. But what choice did you have now? 

The luxury of choosing for yourself is a privilege these men have taken for themselves. 

Ghost leans in until his lips are just a hair’s breadth away. He’s dangling a carrot in front of your face—the answer to all your pain. 

Johnny's grip on your head loosens. Without it, you'd have forgotten entirely that he was still here, acting as the hard place Ghost urges you towards with a coaxing grasp on your hips, leaving you in his cage and Johnny a willful voyeur. 

He’s tied your neurons in knots, effectively cutting off any chance you have at making a less rash decision. He’s infiltrated your senses and made you his prey. No one could fault you for believing him when he tells you he’ll make it better. Let the warmth of his mouth be a band-aid for your pain and a knife in Johnny’s chest.

"Let me fix it," Ghost whispers, just before his lips are about to claim yours.

It's not a question.

[desmorotu]

more redacted headcanons!!!

some might be angsty? most of them?

꒱࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ

- i saw a hc where milo isn’t necessarily short, but the other guys are just unbelievably tall. in my head milo is 5’11, ash is 6’5, and david is 6’9. tank is the only one who looks deceiving bc they’re like 5’10 in my head but their wolf is as big as david’s. ppl from the outside make the joke that shaw security is secretly a tall person club

- guy was a music major before he switched to writing. i mentioned it in his playlist post but i get those vibes HARD. he also writes honey poetry because he knows they secretly like it

- i like the idea that darlin and angel came from a rough family upbringing because 1. it’s relatable to a lot of ppl and 2. it would explain why tank shoves themselves into harms way and why angel is so outgoing now. it shows different responses to trauma imo.

- babe sometimes has crippling panic attacks on the thought of angel being a latent empowered and leaving them alone as the unempowered person of the group, but in my mind babe is the latent one and they’re a fire elemental.

- sweetheart feels guilty sometimes for being empowered while the other mates aren’t. they know it has absolutely nothing to do with them and that they can’t do anything about it, but sometimes they feel a pang in their heart at the fact that the other two won’t feel their core swell and warm up when looking at their mates.

- starlight has night terrors about the time they fell down—both times. they also think about when avior fell and they can’t help but intrusively picture what he looked like when he finally landed. it makes them physically ill. avior has to be extra careful when talking back about their experiences sometimes.

- lovely is still goes to therapy every week to work through the trauma of adam, dying, and now they’ve added the summit on top of that. they’re withering away into a husk of themselves. they’re so exhausted with dealing with all of this pressure, but they’d do anything for vincent (and i think that’s going to be their downfall).

- gavin has been brought to tears on multiple occasions at the thought that freelancer loves him for him and not just because he’s an incubus. he’s had to muffle his sobs because he genuinely does not know how he deserved someone so loving. he hasn’t brought it up to them yet.

- i think that freelancer is on the ace spectrum (greysexual maybe?) and that gavin was the only person they’ve ever really had sex with, or wanted to have sex with. they trusted him enough to “show them the ropes” and he built their confidence to where it is now. gavin helped build their relationship with sex and while they’re still on the spectrum, they’re more positive about it and they enjoy that kind of intimacy with him.

꒱࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ

that’s all that i can squeeze out of my brain rn >:( i haven’t been on tumblr that much and UGH it’s just bc my real life is more interesting than my redacted life (which is a very good thing, but still it makes me sad) and i have no motivation to post 💔 but here are some hcs that have been on my mind lately :3 i hope they make sense

k byeee 💟

[mingtinysworld]

Don’t Hurt Me

Pairing: kang yeosang x fem!reader

Genre: smut

Word Count: 2k

Summary: The presence of a killer is made known on the news. Little did you know, you would have your own encounter with the man, experiencing a night you won’t forget.

Warnings: MDNI, mute yeosang, “psychopath killer” yeosang, mention of a knife, clothed grinding, unprotected sex (wrap it up folks), handjob, couple clit slaps

NOTE: the sign language is the italics in terms of conversation

A/n: lowkey this idea was much better written in my head💀 but I hope you like it! I tried to challenge myself with a new concept, and honestly imagining yeosang in this role got me hot and bothered so yeah. Please like, comment and reblog!! - J

It was a late Friday night and you finally got off of work, completely ready for the weekend. To celebrate, you found yourself drinking at the local pub, which is conveniently not frequented by others often. You lazily stir your drink as you lean your face in your hand, watching the tv with an detached frown.

There’s no one around at this late hour. Only the barman and you occupy the space, giving you the option of sitting wherever you’d like. The sports channel gets switched off all of a sudden, turning to the news. You lift an eyebrow in slight interest, trying to see if there’s anything worth paying attention to.

“We present tonight’s news with great urgency. There’s been a dangerous man spotted around town. His face hasn’t been revealed, but he is going around killing individuals. Stay diligent, and if you see anything suspicious, call 911 immediately.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. This little town has stayed relatively peaceful for the 7 years you’ve been living there, so imagining a killer going around shocks you. You know you should head home, but the warmth is pulling you down further in your seat.

Suddenly you can feel a cold breeze brush past your shoulder and you shiver involuntarily. You lift your head up from the counter and almost fall backwards from the shock. There’s a newcomer sitting next to you, very closely.

He has long, silky, sandy blonde hair. His nose is sharp and jaw so sculpted he looks almost statue like. His eyes are looking deeply into yours and you could spend at least an hour trying to decipher all the emotions residing in them. He’s got deep, dark eyes, that are nothing short of being sinful. It’s as if he’s silently beckoning you to fall headfirst into his gaze.

After a few moments of astonished staring at the stranger, you compose yourself and attempt to sit up as straight as possible. You straighten up your spine and make direct eye contact.

“Hey, how are you?” You ask, trying to not sound overly inquisitive. You feel alarmed for a split second when you see him lift up his hands from his lap. You involuntarily lean back, trying to put distance between you.

“Do you know sign language? I’m mute, but I can talk through writing as well.”

Your heart rate immediately goes down. The poor guy was just trying to communicate. Coincidentally enough, you actually do know sign language. Turns out the four years of ASL classes in high school paid off after all, and you feel grateful to your teachers. You instantly sign back to him.

“I do know sign language actually. What brings you here today?”

He gives you a cute, crooked smile and leans in a tiny inch closer.

“I saw a pretty girl sitting here, thought I’d keep her company.” He finishes off with a smirk.

You can’t help your surprise at his blatant flirting, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t like it. Trying to match the vibe, you flirt right back.

“Wow, I’d love the company of a very handsome man actually. Thank you.” You send a wink and immediately cringe at yourself. What is wrong with you?

He opens his mouth in a silent laugh and you can’t help but admire his perfect teeth. He really is a beautiful man, the type to catch the attention of anyone and everyone around him. You can bet that even your most straight friends would want to get in his pants, no questions asked. He notices your distracted state and waves a hand across your face.

“What are you thinking about pretty girl?” He asks.

You flush from being caught staring at him. You’re thankful that he can’t read your mind, but from the confident tilt of his head it looks like he can tell anyways. You think of an excuse but choose to tell the truth.

“I just think that you’re very pretty.” You say honestly.

His face brightens at your admission, and he scoots a little closer. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and you feel desire bubbling deep within. You can feel the soft puff of air from him against your own mouth and you dart your eyes between his eyes and lips. You close the distance between your bodies and slot your lips against his.

He moves along with you, breaths synchronizing. He slides an arm behind you, holding onto your waist with a gentle tug. His body warms you up and you melt into his touch, making you completely disregard the fact that this man is still a stranger. You cling to the edge of his shirt tighter when you feel a sharp, thin object against your ribs.

You pull back with a start and find that you’re held still by his strength. As you look into his eyes, you note with slight panic that his eyes have changed dramatically. He’s looking down at you with an excited malice, as if he’s looking forward to destroying you. You shrink down with dread, realizing that you’re utterly fucked.

You take a subtle glance at the tv which is showing the news still, and he catches the look, shooting you a toothy smile.

“Yeah, that’s right, I’m the ‘psychopath.’” He admits somewhat proudly. “I won’t hurt you though sweet thing. Not unless you want me to.” He drags a cold finger down your jaw, lightly holding you in place.

He removes the knife away from you, gazing at it fondly. “This little friend of mine has been with me through some things. Isn’t she beautiful?” A shudder goes through your body as you look at the sinister shine of the blade. He’s looking at you expectantly, wanting to hear an answer. You don’t bother using sign language anymore as he can hear perfectly fine. You only used it out of consideration, but there’s no more consideration left for him.

“I couldn’t care less about your stupid knife.” You spit with venom. You want him to be offended, to burst out in anger, but he only gives you the most irritating grin. It’s as if nothing can phase him.

“You’re so cute,” he shakes his head in what appears to be endearment. “I can’t wait to be buried in you.” Your eyes widen at that and you feel an involuntary fluttering in your core. You can’t believe that you’re getting turned on right now. The situation is absolutely absurd, a killer is sitting in front of you, and you’re getting your panties wet.

His eyes follow the movement of your thighs, trying to gain friction against each other. He splays out a hand against one thigh, keeping you still. You look at him with both shame and lust in your eyes, and he mirrors the latter. With a glance to the bartender, who appears to be heavily involved with his phone, he grabs your hand and drags you out of the bar.

You pull back slightly, making him stop in his tracks. “Wait, I want to know what your name is.” You ask him.

He looks intently into your eyes and answers. “My name’s Yeosang.”

Before you can say anything he drags you forward again. You walk for a few minutes until you reach a very shiny looking car. At a closer glance it appears to be a Ferrari. You look at Yeosang with a surprised look and his shoulders shake with a silent laugh.

“What, Princess? Were you expecting a trashy car from me?”

“I guess??” You say uncertainly with a shrug. He shakes his head again and opens the door for you. You get in and he closes the door after him. You sit there awkwardly for a second, not sure if you should do anything. Yeosang breaks you out of your thought however when he attacks your lips.

His lips are on yours in a flash, and you’re fighting with tongues. He squeezes your hip and slides his knee in between your legs, subtly rubbing against your now very wet panties. You should feel mortified, but all you feel is desire.

You grind against his clothed knee, and your clit catches it at an angle that makes you moan into his mouth. He grabs hold of your ass and moves you against him harder, eliciting pathetic mewls from you. You shockingly feel your climax approaching very quickly, and so could Yeosang apparently, and he immediately stops his movements. You whine in complaint but he shushes you with another intense kiss.

He quickly rids of his pants and your panties and pumps his cock a few times. You eye his length and your mouth salivates an embarrassing amount. You choose to give in to your temptations. You spit on your hand and slide it up and down Yeosang’s cock. He jolts in surprise but lets out a pleased hum, covering your hand in his, following the up and down motion.

If he wasn’t addicted to you already, he definitely is now. Seeing your tiny hand jerking him off sets off fireworks in his brain and he feels short of breath. He feels about ready to burst so he gently takes your hand away and has you lie down. He hovers above you and you can’t help but vibrate with anticipation.

He slides in slowly, filling every inch of space inside you. You arch your back in pleasure and throw your head back. Yeosang watches your reaction with eager eyes, needing you to feel like a goddess. He then watches your cunt sucking him in hungrily and loses all composure.

He pulls out until the tip is left, and slams back in with so much force your back bounces on the seats. He hits your sweet spot with every thrust, making you see stars, and you babbling incoherently by this point. You grab onto whatever you can find, his shirt being one of the items.

He slaps your clit harshly and you cry out at the sting. He slaps it two more times, leaving you a sobbing writhing mess. A knot tightens in your stomach and Yeosang can feel you clenching around him. He grits his teeth tightly and somehow thrusts even harder.

A few more sloppy thrusts later you’re coming undone around him. Your stomach convulses and your legs can’t seem to stop shaking. He pulls out and comes all over your stomach, ropes of cum coating your soft skin. He hangs his head and lets out a few deep breaths.

You close your eyes and bask in the afterglow. Quite literally, because the light of the lamppost is hitting your stomach and illuminating his cum brightly.

He looks around for something to clean you up with and finds one of his spare shirts. He cleans you the best he can and caresses your flushed cheek. You flutter your eyes open and find him looking at you with adoration, corners of his mouth lifting slightly.

He signs “thank you” and you let out a chuckle. “I should be the one thanking you, Yeosang.” He smiles softly and proceeds to put your clothes back on. As soon as the band of your skirt is snapped back onto you, you hear the sirens.

Yeosang stiffens in place, and looks at you with a distressed tilt of his eyebrows. He looks about ready to flee, but he hesitates. He looks around for something and you look on curiously. He finds a pen and paper and writes down some digits. He hands it to you and you see that it’s a phone number, along with an address.

“Come find me soon.”

With a mischievous wink he leaves the car and disappears into the night with the sirens fading away. You stay there for a bit, completely stunned with the turn of events. You can’t believe he just left you and the car like this, but you also can’t get over the intense passion you two shared. Slowly you get out of the car and head to your apartment where you should’ve been all along.

You do your regular nightly routine, get into pajamas and set your alarm.

You’ve got an important trip tomorrow.

[elainsgirl]

I’m already seeing gwynriels point the finger at SJM for tricking them into liking gwynriel and it’s just 😭 They have no one to blame but themselves. There hasn’t been a single romantic interaction between gwyn and az while elain and az have dozens throughout four books. They tricked themselves. This is entirely their own doing and they are still somehow making themselves the victims

Hey anon 🫶

LMFAO WHAT? Gwynriels have gaslit themselves into creating such an elaborate, crackship. No one else.

If you came away from acosf liking whatever gwynriel interactions there were, great. That is normal. Till this day, people still like the idea of Lucien and Feyre. Nesta and Eris. Etc. You are not going to like every single ship Sjm creates. It is also not her job to cater to YOUR specific preferences.

Gwynriel was created due to certain people in this fandom not liking elriels vibe/dynamic. That was it. They saw a single woman having innocent interactions with Az and managed to delude themselves that Sarah J mass - the queen who loves foreshadowing and setting crumbs well in advance- would introduce Azriels “mate” so late in the series. Every single gwynriel theory, point and arguement has been disproven countless times over with the canon text. Gwynriels ignored it and still shipped Gwyn and Az.

No where has Sjm shown gwynriel in a romantic light within acosf or the bonus chapter. Gwyn, canonically speaking, is not even Azriel’s love interest. They have no romantic tones - neither have shown romantic feelings or even basic attraction towards each other. Gwynriels “believe” that their development will come later on but that is choosing to ignore Sjm’s style for writing and foreshadowing relationships.

Nobody is going to believe gwynriels are the victims, all you have to do is a few hours of research and its clear that gwynriels were deluding themselves all along and purposely misconstruing Sjm’s very obvious hints towards elriel. Its all on the internet for anyone to search up. It is quite literally no one elses fault except from gwynriel stans. It is definitely not Sjm’s fault either - she couldn’t have made herself clearer in how she planned the spinoffs to go.

This is what happens when you purposely ignore chunks of the text, misconstrue scenes, use the wrong quotes in the wrong contexts, create fanarts romantacising scenes that were not romantic in the slightest between characters, etc. I fully expect Gwynriels and Eluciens to throw tantrums once elriel is announced and become spiteful (already have) and petty on purpose- but one thing they can’t do is feel “betrayed” by Sjm. She has made everything obvious for us. And it is. Also…let’s be honest. If elriel is endgame, antis lose a lot of credibility when it will come to the fandom.

[salty-croissants]

I gots a small request!

You know those big Japanese’s bath houses? They’re like big ponds,,, but for humans!

Maybe a cute reader x bullfrog, where bullfrog is just vibing and reader can’t help but gush at the lil frog like mannerism while soaking in a bath house after a long mission? 👀👉🏼👈🏼 perhaps he’s embarrassed when they point it out lol

Thank you for the request ! 

This was really nice and creative ! I enjoyed writing it :D 

I actually ended up making a whole little story out of it instead of the usual headcanons , cause I live for Bullfrog and the reader being soft to each other :,)

Hope this turned out okay !

Details : use of gender neutral reader ;

established relationships ; 

no warnings needed 

If there was one thing that you and your boyfriend enjoyed the most after a long , harsh day , it was the tranquility of your favorite bathhouse : 

just the two of you , alone with the relaxing warmth of the water , without having to worry about anything or anyone else … 

That was all that either of you could really ask for . 

< Ahh , now that’s better … are you comfortable , mon amour ? > 

< Mhm … > 

You smiled , glancing at Bullfrog who was sitting right next to you in the bathtub , and then gave him a little kiss on the forehead . 

< I’m so happy we got to do this today . It’s been a while since we came here , hasn’t it ? > 

< Oui … speaking of which , I’m very sorry I haven’t been able to spend more time with you y/n , but - > 

< There is nothing to apologize for my love : Eden has really been stepping up their game lately , today’s been proof of that … so please don’t feel guilty about it , okay ? > 

He smiled softly in response , grateful for your understanding , then he leaned his head on your shoulder , letting out a content sigh : your presence alongside the calm atmosphere of the bathhouse was already making him feel a lot more at ease each passing minute … 

Your eyes couldn’t help but wander on the fresh scar on Bullfrog’s back , a result of a particularly difficult fight that had taken place just a few hours ago … 

Not like that was any news : traces of old and recent battles could be found all over his tiny body , and every time you looked at them the thought that he was willing to get hurt over and over to keep those around him safe made you feel … quite worried . 

However , those morbid reflections disappeared the second you turned around , only to realize that Bullfrog had been staring at you the whole time you had been silent …

< Heh … enjoying the view , darling ? ~ > 

He let out a tiny gasp as he heard your words , shaking his head while looking away … you could swear his cheeks were slightly red .

< Ah - j-je suis desolat , I just - > 

The assassin took a deep breath , fidgeting with his fingers while giving you a shy smile .

< You look so beautiful right now , mon cher … I mean , you always look beautiful , but after all we’ve been through today it just feels … different , you know ? 

Plus I am quite exhausted , I’ll admit , so looking up at your dreamy visage made me so comfortable I almost fell asleep …

I hope that’s not too weir - mm — > 

Bullfrog was caught off guard the moment you leaned closer to his face to place a kiss on his lips , but after a moment of surprise he gladly reciprocated , his arms surrounding you in a gentle hold while little waves caused by your movements shook the surface of the otherwise completely still water … 

After a few minutes of bliss you both pulled away and you caressed his cheek , your eyes never leaving his .

< It’s not weird at all , Bullfrog … 

You’re always so sweet to me , and I love you so much for that reason alone ~ > 

He looked up at you in awe , his breathing still slightly labored after being showered with so much affection , and he buried his face in your chest , the sound of your heartbeat making him feel like home …

< I love you too , y/n … you really do mean everything to me ~ >

[hexcii]

First actual post of 2025!

I just want to take the time to ramble a bit about TNG. The Name Game is very special to me if I’m being honest, it’s the first fic I’ve EVER written (not counting drabbles and the random oneshots rotting in my google docs) and it’s been such a surprise to see so many people enjoying it. It’s such a weird feeling, so many people liking my writing and art feels so surreal

TNG has only been out for six months and it’s already surpassed every expectation I had of it, and I want to thank all of you guys for that :)) I never expected my lil health comfort fic to attract this much attention, it’s a little scary haha!

That’s truly what made me write this fic though, (skip this part if you don’t wanna hear about my health struggles 👍👍👍👍)

I’ve always been disabled but I had no idea I was up until maybe late 2022 to early 2023? But my health really started to decline throughout 2023-24 because 11 years of professional level circus training when I shouldn’t have been working out at all finally caught up with my piece of shit body and my symptoms got worse really really fast. And that was really fucking scary, and it’s definitely taken a toll on my mental health too. So, for comfort, I decided to turn to the dca lmao, I remember being incredibly inspired by the song Happy Hare by Yaelokre and that started this whole thing. So, I just put together the vibes I got from that song, a fnaf-esc plot along with the dca and my own struggles with my disabilities and boom! The name game woo!!!

It’s really special to me, I don’t think I would’ve been able to go through the whole medical process as well as I did without it (that’s not to say it hasn’t been a hellhole cause uh yeah healthcare kinda sucks for the disabled (and afab people) but that’s a whole other rant for another day)

Does this count as a love letter to my own fic? Oh well, I just wanted to ramble on about my feelings about it. I’ll probably write more fics after I finish TNG but I think it’ll always hold a special place in my heart <33

And ofc I wanna thank you guys for reading it and giving me so much support :]] I love reading your guys’ comments and tags (AND GOD THE FANART???? NEVER IN A MILLION YEARS DID I EXPECT THAT)

And also another thanks to @r0tting-rat @pluck-heartstrings @naffeclipse and @bamsara for inadvertently getting me inspired to write hehehe (sorry for the random tag I hope that it’s okay-)

And another another thanks specifically to @miahead for encouraging me to write it in the first place and dealing with my shenanigans in the process of writing each and every chapter, love you!! <3333

[gothcsz]

𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Chapter XX.

GIF by bestintheparsec

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: The night of the ritual.

WORD COUNT: ~9.1k

RATING: 18+ Explicit topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. Minors DNI.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC TAGS: dead dove: do not eat!, kidnapping, mc is held hostage, allusions to SA (nothing explicit. will be explained later on), hallucinations, humiliation, wound care, hurt/no comfort, crime thriller vibes are vibing, demon worship, cult ritual, supernatural elements, non-consensual drug use, angst, whump, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i'm missing any other tags please let me know.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS: The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized.

A/N: i’m going to hold y’all’s hand when i say this... i am putting paloma through it 😓 i was initially going to just bang everything out and post it in one big chapter, but as i was writing... i just felt like it would be better if we let the suspense of it all do its thing and end with a cliffhanger. i am a sucker for ‘em, even if they’re so frustrating (in the best way possible) 😭 i hope that all the lore revolving the cult has been concise and strong enough to hold up during the ending bit of this. i wish i could say things are going to get better from here but they’re not… they’re actually going to get worse 🤠 as always, feel free to drop any type of feedback/support on this blog or on ao3. i'd really appreciate it 🖤

♰  read on ao3. ♰

♰  playlist | pinterest | series masterlist ♰

When ten minutes pass, Javier brushes it off. She’s probably just caught up in something. It’s nothing to worry about.

But when twenty minutes roll by, that’s when the unease creeps in. He starts pacing the living room, fighting the urge for a cigarette, glancing at the clock.

Where is she?

By the time half an hour has come and gone, he’s dialing the library, wondering why Paloma hasn’t come home yet. The phone rings and rings, but no one picks up. His stomach tightens, and he wills himself to remain calm. She’s probably fine.

At the hour mark, Javier’s behind the wheel, speeding into town. Maybe she’s still upset from the argument they had earlier, and instead of coming home, she went to Tammy’s.

But when Tammy tells him she hasn’t heard from Paloma for a few days now, a knot twists in his chest.

Panic threatens to take hold, but he pushes it down. He can’t let it consume him—not yet. Not until he has a real reason to worry.

But she has that damn habit of disappearing to sulk in random places when she’s upset. And that habit is gnawing at him now.

He drives to every spot he can think of, the abandoned tracks, the clearing behind the cemetery, the creek—but there’s no sign of her.

That terrible feeling grows, heavy and unshakable. He marches into the sheriff’s department, jaw set, not caring who sees the frantic look in his eyes.

He storms the file room, ripping through boxes. His hands tremble as he plucks out the file he’s searching for.

“Fuck!” He curses under his breath, jaw tightening as the photo of Paloma’s mother stares back at him.

Now, he has a reason to panic.

He should have known when he first laid eyes on it. The familiarity of her features—her eyes, her hair, her smile; it was all too close to Paloma. Too close to ignore. But he had, all because his mind was completely elsewhere at the time. Now look where that got him.

It’s like a scene from a horror film, where everything snaps into place too late.

The recent victims; brunettes in their mid-twenties with similar features, similar backgrounds—they resembled her.

The staged chamber, the gore, the man who killed himself.

All of it was leading to this, tying up the gruesome mystery with a neat little bow, like a gift Javier wishes he could burn. They had been played—manipulated, distracted from seeing the bigger picture.

Whoever orchestrated this whole thing has been after his girl from the very beginning.

He fights the urge to smash his fist into the nearest wall, to tear down every shelf in the room in a fit of blind rage.

But what would that solve? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Rage won’t lead him to her. Fear won’t undo what’s already been set in motion. All he can do is cling to hope, even if it’s slipping through his fingers.

The ultimate goal of this fucked-up cult—their twisted mission—is to birth the flesh reincarnate of their so-called, bullshit deity.

His blood runs cold at the thought of Paloma being used in some horrific ritual, being touched, violated, forced into madness.

He’s shaking, on the verge of a panic attack, his heart slamming against his ribcage like it’s trying to escape. But he forces himself to breathe—slow, deep, steady breaths, locking the perturbation away. 

Javier puts out an APB, his voice tight as he details her car, her appearance. Every word feels surreal, like it’s not really him saying it, like he’s watching someone else’s nightmare play out.

Romeo’s going to hear this, and he’s going to have to explain how they missed all the signs, how Paloma has been in danger this whole time.

The weight of it presses down on him like a thousand pounds of guilt.

Gathering what he needs and delegating some of the overnight officers at the station, he frantically drives to the Leighton house.

He’s already chain-smoked half a pack. That nasty habit he’s been trying to shake is clinging to him. The file in his hands feels too light for the bomb he’s about to drop.

How the fuck is he supposed to do this? How do you tell someone their wife’s past is tangled in a nightmare, and that their daughter—a woman they both love—is at the heart of it? How do you stay composed when you’re barely holding yourself together?

“Where the fuck is my daughter?”

Javier’s barely set foot out of his truck when Romeo’s fists twist in his shirt, shoving him hard against the vehicle.

The impact rattles through him, but all he can see is the wild, desperate look in the sheriff’s eyes—a terror that matches his own but runs even deeper, cutting into every line on his face.

“Romeo, listen to me!” Javier’s voice is authoritative, that familiar guarded wall of stoicism building as his trademark defense mechanism to the absolute anxiety that’s gnawing away at his body. “This is gonna be hard to hear—I’m barely making sense of it myself—but I need you to listen if we’re going to figure this shit out.”

Romeo’s grip tightens, then slowly loosens, and Javier seizes the moment, shoving the older man back, no longer giving a fuck about keeping the peace.

He yanks the folded photo from his jacket pocket and holds it up, letting him get a clear look. “Tell me. Is this Paloma’s mother?”

Romeo’s gaze flits to the photograph, and the recognition that floods his face is immediate.

His fingers snatch the photo from Javier, and his expression cracks, aging him in just a matter of seconds. “Where did you get this?” His voice is barely a whisper, “What the fuck is going on?”

Javier’s own dread deepens. “From the old files,” he says, voice hollow. “The ones from the original group. She’s connected to all of this. They both are.”

He takes a breath, then begins to explain everything he knows. He lays it out, bit by bit—the tangled web of what Paloma had uncovered, the twisted threads that pointed to this cult, the fake leads that had kept them chasing shadows. Every word feels like glass in his throat.

Confusion, fear, anger—every emotion etched on Romeo’s face makes Javier feel like he’s the one who has failed. 

“Did you know about any of this?” he asks, though he already knows the answer from the lost look in Romeo’s eyes.

His mouth opens, then closes. He seems to gather himself, shoulders dropping under a weight he’s only just begun to grasp. “None. When I met Abby… she was just a woman startin’ over. She’d moved into a small house near the church. Said her parents had passed and she needed a fresh start. Picked a random town—that’s how she ended up here.” The sheriff’s gaze drifts to a place Javier can’t reach, caught in the bittersweet memory of his late wife. 

“Paloma said she found this out by going through her mom’s things,” he says carefully, each word a stone dropping into his gut. “But I don’t think she was telling me everything.”

Silence stretches between them, heavy and loaded as they lock eyes in an unspoken understanding.

They need answers, and every second they waste is another second Paloma could be slipping further away.

“Before we make accusations,” Javier says, forcing himself to stay grounded, “we need to dig through their belongings. There has to be something there—a lead, a hint—something that’ll tell us who’s behind this.”

“But you already know who it is, don’t you?”

Javier’s eyes darken, and his jaw locks as one name barrels into his mind, clear and hateful: August.

The red flags he had dismissed, convinced they were just a byproduct of his hate for the guy, now stand out like beacons.

He meets Romeo’s gaze, a grim certainty settling into his features. “I believe it’s Augustus Dixon and his group.”

Romeo’s face twists with anger, and he grits out, “Motherfucker—” His fists clench, his whole body radiating fury.

“Be pissed off later. We’ve got a job to do.”

They stalk up the stairs, both men moving with purpose—Romeo heads for his wife’s things while Javier makes his way into Paloma’s room.

It feels surreal, even wrong, to be rummaging through her life like this. The last time he’d been in this position, it was in Jessica’s room, and even then he could see the resemblance her space shared with Paloma’s—but he’d never thought he’d be here, seeing his girl as a victim.

His fingers skim over a leather-bound book tucked away on the top shelf in her closet, hidden behind a jewelry box. It’s as if she’d placed it there purposefully, stowed away out of reach.

When he pulls it down, he realizes it’s a scrapbook brimming with photographs and clippings.

Inside, he finds images of Calmana, surrounded by groups of men and women, all dressed in matching, traditional attire. A towering cathedral looms in the background, religious iconography scattered throughout—symbols he now recognizes from his research.

Maps, faded with time, span several pages, and in the center lies an intricate, sprawling family tree with Paloma’s name written at the bottom.

He spots envelopes tucked between the pages, each one addressed to her in cursive hand.

He calls out for Romeo, and the sheriff is by his side almost instantly, his expression a twisted mix of hope and dread.

“What’d you find?” 

Javier silently hands him the scrapbook, keeping the envelopes for himself. 

One by one, he opens them, unfolding each paper. His breaths come out ragged, and he feels his stomach drop as he reads.

They’re love poems—explicit, filthy in their adoration. Line after line, they detail all the things August wants to do to her, each word penned with obsession.

The praises he lavishes on her, how he calls her a spectacle, the power he insists she wields—it’s like poison seeping into Javier’s mind. 

His hands start trembling, and the implications tighten around him like a noose.

Romeo, sensing his agitation, reaches out, his voice rough. “What’s that—what did you find?” 

Javier jerks the papers away, swallowing hard. “Trust me. You don’t want to see these—not now.”

“Let me see them, Javier! Goddammit, my daughter is in danger!”

Before their back-and-forth can spiral any further, Javier’s walkie talkie crackles sharply, an officer’s voice coming through:

“A dark green, 1970 Buick Electra matching the APB put out an hour ago has been found in Lake Fraiser alongside an unidentified female body.”

The air thickens and shatters as Javier and Romeo lock eyes, both of them wearing the same look of wide-eyed horror. 

“Romeo—” Javier tries, reaching out, but the man is already out the door, the scrapbook falling from his hands and hitting the hardwood floor with a hollow thud that reverberates in Javier’s chest.

He mutters a quick fuck and scoops it up, rushing after him, yet the sheriff is a blur, tearing down the driveway with the kind of desperation only a father can muster when everything he loves is on the line.

Now that he’s left alone, Javier grips the railing, and the weight of it all—of losing her—comes crashing down. His heart’s splintering, his chest tight, mind skidding out of control.

This is what he’s been running from all along—failure… loss… grief. Now it is all coming back, circling like vultures, ready to take the one thing that’s ever brought him true happiness.

But he forces himself to breathe, to anchor his mind to the one cold comfort he has left. “He wouldn’t kill her. He needs her.” The words taste bitter, chilling him, but they hold him steady.

Paloma is at the center of this plan—there’d be no sense in taking her, just to end it so abruptly.

Despite everything, he finds a sliver of reassurance in that cruel logic. He clings to it with everything he has, because right now, it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

Javier pulls up to Lake Fraiser, where the scene is a flurry of first responders, flashing lights reflecting off the water’s dark surface in sharp reds and blues.

He parks haphazardly, barely cutting the engine before he’s out of the truck, heading straight toward the area cordoned off by yellow crime scene tape.

His heart slams against his ribs as he spots Romeo, kneeling by the edge of the lake beside a body draped in a white cloth, his face blank, almost empty.

Javier’s eyes dart to the surrounding officers, scanning each one, trying to get a read on the situation before he speaks.

“Is it her?” His voice breaks the stillness.

Romeo doesn’t look up, his gaze locked on the covered body. “…No.”

Relief floods through him, dizzying him for a moment before his gaze lands on a tow truck pulling Paloma’s car away from the scene. 

He clenches his jaw, forcing himself to swallow back the bitter uncertainty rising in his throat.

Romeo stands slowly, brushing the dirt off his hands, his expression hardening as he relays, “Just got a call from the hospital. Our girl from the woods finally woke up. Tonight of all nights.” He chuckles dryly. “Asked to speak with me specifically. So I’ll head that way tomorrow after she’s been stabilized properly… which means you’ll be in charge of all this.” He gestures around them vaguely.

The pulsing emergency lights cast fractured shadows over their faces.

“It’s best for you to step back momentarily. Clear your head. You’re too close to this,” Javier adds quietly, “She’s your daughter.” And while Javier is her lover and every inch of him is fraying at the edges for her, he understands that his pain won’t amount to the agony that Romeo is drowning in.

The sheriff’s silence stretches, words hesitating on his tongue, until finally, with a quiet confession, he murmurs, “I was too harsh on her. On you. I was an asshole, and if it’s any reconciliation—thank you for tryin’ to get her out of this shitty town.”

Javier’s caught off-guard but doesn’t show it, the self awareness on his behalf is appreciated. “I’d do anything for her.”

Romeo studies him for a moment, as if measuring the resolve behind his words, then he nods, his expression taut, “Gonna start combing through everythin’ back at the station. Probably call Olsen, see if he’s got any cameras ‘round the library so we can get a timeline goin’.”

These two men are similar in that regard, backing themselves into their jobs to mask the turmoil inside. They talk through some of the procedures before Romeo is pulled away by other officers, leaving Javier to handle things here.

He forces himself to switch gears, to summon every bit of authority he has left to do his job. He’s got a dead body to assess, a team to command, and then—then he’ll focus everything he’s got on finding Paloma.

Paloma stirs awake, the pitch darkness of the early morning pressing in from all sides.

She’s disoriented—a dull ache in her head and the sting of thick, abrasive rope biting into her wrists.

Her hands are suspended and bound above her, tethered tightly to an old, rusted pipe overhead, which creaks slightly as she shifts her weight.

She can feel the grit of dried blood matting her hair against her temple, the aftershock of Sloane’s vicious hit with the bat ringing sharp behind her eyes. Her boots are missing, leaving her barefoot against the cool concrete ground.

As reality sharpens around her, she realizes this isn’t a dream and it nauseates her, instilling panic in her heart.

She barely remembers the car ride or the way they dragged her down here, everything muddled from the hit she’d taken until she’d finally succumbed to unconsciousness.

Now, the throbbing intensifies as she tugs instinctively at the ropes, her wrists burning, but no amount of pulling loosens her bonds.

Frustration and terror mix, unwieldy coiling in her chest and tears sting at her eyes despite her attempts to fight them back. She doesn’t want to imagine what they plan to do to her.

She knows Javier and her father have to be looking for her. They must be tearing themselves apart with worry. She can almost hear her father’s harsh reprimands and Javier’s quiet, determined rage—they’re relentless when it comes to protecting her. 

They’ll find her. They have to.

The cellar door creaks open and she freezes, her pulse skittering as August, Sloane, and Gabriel descend the stairs.

The dim light barely touches their faces, but she doesn’t need to see them clearly to know what they’re capable of.

She tries to hold her head high, pushing back the tears, refusing to let them see the fear that’s boiling inside. She won’t give them that satisfaction, not if she can help it.

Their footsteps echo against the walls of the basement. August stops just close enough that she can feel his presence invading her senses, suffocating, his familiar smirk tugging at his lips.

“Good morning, P,” he drawls, voice dripping with the charm that managed to slither its way into her heart.

What she once found magnetic in him is now hollow, a mask that hides something so unfathomable. 

“Pretty nasty cut ya got there.” Sloane’s voice drips with fake sympathy. Her eyes glint with that special brand of cruelty she’d always kept hidden behind a guise of friendship.

The satisfaction in her tone is unmistakable, like she’s savoring every moment of seeing Paloma in such a vulnerable state.

The urge to spit in their faces, to lash out, is almost unbearable, but she remembers her daddy’s lessons, advising her to stay calm, to never let them know how afraid she really is.

Every word of advice he’d ever given her about self-preservation hangs heavy in her mind. 

She keeps her face blank, her mouth a hard line.

“Silent treatment, huh?” August steps closer, his hand reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from her face. His fingers are inches from her forehead when she sees the sick satisfaction in his eyes, and she can’t suppress the involuntary grimace as his fingers hover over the gash near her forehead.

The moment of weakness feels like a win for him, his smile widening as he grazes her wound, pressing just enough to send a wave of pain radiating through her skull and a fresh stream of blood to trickle out.

Sloane watches her reaction, faux innocence weaving through her sneer. “You make for a pretty damn good damsel in distress. Thought you’d put up more of a fight, if I’m bein’ honest. You really disappointed me, doll face.”

Paloma’s grip tightens around the rope until her knuckles ache. She wants to tell her off, to fight and scream—but instead she just turns away, refusing to even look at them.

August’s hand cups her chin as he forces her to meet his eyes, eyes that once held promises of affection and loyalty now filled with something so dark and consuming.

His fingers dig into her soft skin. “I need you to look perfect, little dove. All stitched up and pretty.” His thumb trails along her chapped bottom lip. “Gabriel,” he calls, not even glancing back at the other man, “Tend to that. Tonight’s a big night, after all. Lots to prepare for.”

There goes that trepidation again. Her mouth twitches, half-ready to break her silence and demand to know just what the hell he’s talking about. But she’s already committed to keeping quiet.

Gabriel lingers behind them, shifting uncomfortably, the first aid kit clutched tight in his hand.

He doesn’t say anything, just stands there as usual, eyes flicking from Paloma to his partners, some part of him clearly unsettled yet too cowardly to intervene.

He’s her best shot of getting out of here, she just knows it.

“‘S’okay, you ain’t gotta talk,” August’s coos. “I actually prefer you like this—makes things a hell of a lot easier. The others…” He snorts, shaking his head.

How many other unfortunate women had been dragged down here, suffering at his hands?

“Too squirmy, too squeamish—like fuckin’ pigs.” His laughter is mirthless and Sloane joins in with loud, exaggerated snorts that mimic a pig’s squeal. The sound claws at Paloma’s ears.

There’s this twisted admiration in his stare as he studies her. “That’s why I knew I needed to have you. No one else on this planet holds a candle to the magic you have, Paloma. You should stop bein’ so scared and embrace it.” He murmurs, dropping his voice to a whisper.

His hand snakes down from her jaw, tracing her neck, lingering in an unsettling crawl between her breasts before settling at her hip.

His fingers dig in, and she flinches, her body stiffening in revulsion. He smirks at her reaction, savoring her discomfort like a fine wine.

“I’ll be back to check on you later, alright?” His tone is falsely tender. "Gotta make sure everythin’ is perfect. Can’t afford any fuck ups now—I’ve been way too patient for this."

He steps back at last, allowing Gabriel to shuffle forward with the kit in hand.

With a jerk of his chin, August motions for Sloane to follow him. She blows Paloma a mocking kiss and winks with a saccharine sweetness that really piles on the hatred that burns a little hotter for her specifically.

The heavy cellar door slams shut, casting them back into dim silence as the first pale light of dawn begins to creep through the basement windows.

Paloma’s heart pounds as their shadows disappear, leaving her helpless in the creeping morning light.

“What are you goin’ to do to me?” Her voice is hoarse, each word scraping her dry throat like sandpaper, but she can’t keep quiet now that they’re alone.

Gabriel wordlessly drags over a stool, placing the first-aid kit on top. He opens it, sorting through supplies as though she isn’t even there.

Paloma yanks at her restraints, the old pipe groaning in protest. “Fuckin’ say somethin’,” she snaps, anger edging her desperation. “It’s the least you could do—just… tell me.” She hates the pleading tone that slips through, the last thread of her control unraveling as she imagines what fate awaits her.

His gloved hands move to clean her wound, and she clenches her jaw against the sting, glaring at him as if she could force him to talk through sheer will. He’s careful and practiced, clearly having done this before.

“The Crimson Rite,” he mutters, brows furrowing as he concentrates, his voice a barely audible murmur. “It’s where the conception will happen… on the altar of incarnation.”

Paloma’s heart stumbles, her mind racing to piece together the fragments. “What the fuck are you even sayin’?” Her voice wavers, but there’s no denying the chill in her spine.

She knows what those words mean on their own, but together, they paint a picture she’d rather not face—the harrowing reality of how August truly plans on using her.

“August’ll explain,” he replies, brushing her off with the indifference of a man following orders. “He’s better at that shit than I am. I just do what he asks and stay outta the way.”

“Like a fuckin’ coward,” she spits.

The needle pauses, its sharp tip hovering an inch from her skin, and he raises his eyes. “You get all lippy with me, but keep your mouth shut around them? What, I ain’t intimidatin’ enough for you?” 

She holds his gaze, defiance simmering behind the exhaustion in her stare. “Nothing about you’s intimidatin’ enough to keep me from tellin’ you exactly what I think.”

His lips twist downward, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he resumes stitching, each tug at her skin rougher than the last. 

“At church that day, you were warnin’ me, weren’t you?” Her voice is barely a whisper, the memory of that awkward conversation rattling in her mind. “S’not too late, Gabe. You can still help me outta this… We both can be outta here ‘fore the sun comes up.”

There’s a lapse, just for a second, in his eyes—something she wants to believe is regret, a part of him she hopes she can reach.

The sliver of optimism she’s mustered might awaken that dormant part of him buried under layers of August’s bullshit and the bitterness life has forced him to swallow.

But he shakes his head slowly, avoiding her gaze as he finishes stitching her wound, his hands deft. “You don’t get it. Don’t matter if I do the right thing. He’d find us—he always does.” He sprays her wound with a numbing mist then covers it with a small gauze.

“He wouldn’t find us,” she insists, her voice fraying. “Daddy would protect us. He’d make sure we’re safe.”

He lets out a low, humorless chuckle. “Yeah? He promise you that or somethin’? ‘Cause from where I’m standin’, you don’t look all that safe.”

A bitter, frustrated cry escapes her as he begins to pack up his kit, her pleas bouncing off him like stones against steel.

“Please, Gabe, don’t leave me down here alone,” she chokes out, and the words twist something deep inside her, pulling her further into a desperation she’s been trying to keep at bay.

“Breakfast’ll be down in a few hours,” he mutters, almost as if talking to himself, keeping his voice low and detached. “Probably get you a shower at sundown so you ain’t all sweaty and grimy. Needs you all fuckin’ pristine.” The last words slip out like a hiss, a disgusted edge in his tone. “S’gonna be a long day for you down here. Scream all you want; ain’t nobody around worth a damn to hear it. You got a better shot at rubbin’ the skin off your wrists than gettin’ out of that rope.”

Paloma snaps, her control breaking in a flood of panic and fury as she yanks at her restraint, her wrists burning as she curses him, calling him every name her mind can summon.

The words pour out in a desperate torrent, trying to cut him, to provoke something human out of him, anything.

But he stays silent, barely flinching, his face a mask as he gathers his things, turning his back on her without a word. 

When the cellar door finally slams shut, it echoes through the basement, and her last shreds of resolve crumble as she sinks into sobs.

The thoughts come in fragments, jagged and bitter, cutting her deeper than any wound.

The way things were left with her father—how they’d argued and he looked at her with that final, dismissive silence, like she’d become a stranger for daring to chase her own life beyond their town.

The love that took root so unexpectedly, so completely with Javier. He came into her life at the perfect time, pouring a rare, tender kind of intimacy into her soul; the kind that made her feel seen for the first time in her life.

He was a good man who’d endured his own share of hardships —and she let their last conversation end in anger and frustration. She’s just like her father.

Perhaps if she had told him the full truth about how she came across her mother’s past, she wouldn’t be in this mess at all.

This mess—it’s her inheritance. Not a blessing like August wants her to believe, but a curse Calmana left behind, the forced sins of her mother she didn’t choose but can’t escape.

Her suicide is starting to make more sense.

It all makes her feel like a lamb at slaughter, her life never really hers, and now her blood and body are an offering to feed whatever he believes she’s meant to bring to life. 

The promise of an explanation later on hangs over her like a guillotine. Does she even want to know? Will it make a difference?

She got herself kidnapped by trusting them all, falling for August’s romantic words and impressive knowledge. All of his lies. She’d thought she was smart enough to see through him, to keep a grip on her own heart, and instead, she’d unknowingly let him manipulate her.

Sloane was right—she is the helpless damsel she always denied being, someone who hadn’t fought hard enough to save herself. 

Paloma has to believe she’s got people searching for her, that they’re smart enough, relentless enough to find her before night falls. She has to cling to that hope, however fragile, because right now it’s all she has.

Her cries fill the empty space around her until exhaustion claims her in silence.

The basement is her prison as the sun traces its lazy arc above.

The day drags on in a haze of stale air and the natural sounds of bugs chittering about. On occasion, she’ll hear people walk by or see their shadows through the small windows.

She's trapped here, the only visits marking the hours coming when Gabriel brings a bucket for her to relieve herself—like she’s some kind of animal—or sets down a tray of food she refuses to touch.

“You need to eat,” he says, setting the tray with her dinner on the floor. His hands working on cutting the thick rope binding her wrists, each tug and scrape freeing her a fraction at a time.

“What’s the point? M’gonna die anyway,” she mutters, exhausted but still pissed. “Won’t matter if I’ve got a full stomach or not.”

He shakes his head. “You’re not goin’ to die, Paloma. You’re too important to all this. How haven’t you realized that yet?”

“Oh, forgive me if I haven’t picked up on all your twisted bullshit,” she snaps. “You all speak in fuckin’ tongues and riddles. No one’s told me a damn thing that makes any sense.”

At last, the final fiber of rope snaps, and the weight drops from her wrists. She lets out a low, relieved sigh as her arms fall to her sides, stiff from the hours of suspension.

The ache in her shoulders is intense, and her wrists are lined with red from the coarse bondage.

“Don’t try anythin’ stupid,” he warns, his voice low. “They might not kill ya but they’ll hurt you in ways that’ll make you wish you were dead.”

She doesn’t doubt it, so she reins in her impulses and instead glances at the food, the bitterness slowly giving way to resignation.

If the chance to escape comes, she’ll need her strength. She takes the cup, drinking greedily, barely noticing the water spilling down her chin—it’s just a relief to feel the dryness ease, something grounding in a nightmare that feels endless.

The meal tastes dull, but she swallows it down anyway, each bite a fight to hold onto her sense of self, to stay sharp.

Gabriel watches her with that quiet, unreadable expression.

“I tried leavin’ years ago, when August first started buildin’ the group.” He looks down, his mouth pressing into a grim line. “But he caught me at the train station. Gave me the ass-beatin’ of my life. Locked me up in a shed in the middle of the woods for days, left me there until I learned my lesson. I swear, I lost every bit of myself in that dark place.” His voice lowers to a whisper. “After that, I never thought ‘bout leavin’ again... not until he got his sights set on you.”

Paloma’s chewing slows, her eyes flitting over to him, reading the conflict etched in his expression.

For August to treat Gabriel, his so-called “brother,” with such brutality to keep him in line... it makes all too much sense now, why he is August’s silent shadow, obeying every command.

“His obsession with you is different. Everythin’ suddenly became different. He has this way of makin’ you submit to him that gets me wonderin’ if all this Eurynomos shit is actually real.”

The twisted loyalty, the deep-seated fear that’s tangled around them like shackles, intertwined with stories of divinity.

She’s barely scratched the surface of what August is capable of.

“That’s terrible,” she whispers, sympathetic to what he’s been through. “I’m sorry... ‘n I get why you’re scared, but there’s two of us now. We could make a run for it, slip away while we have the chance.”

Her food is forgotten as Paloma edges closer, her gaze steady and imploring. For a moment, he genuinely considers their escape.

But the heavy, thunderous creak of the cellar doors breaks through the moment, both of them jerking apart.

She scrambles backward until her back presses against the cold, damp wall, her heartbeat racing as Gabriel stands abruptly from his stool, his face hardening again. 

It’s only August this time, his usual shadow—Sloane with her biting sneers—thankfully absent.

He strides down with a bag in one hand and shower supplies in the other, eyeing her like she’s some prized possession he’s been itching to inspect. 

“Unrestrained, ate her dinner, and didn’t even try to run? My, my. Little dove, you’re such a good girl.” He passes the items to Gabriel as he steps closer, and she hates the way she’s wedged in a corner, wishing she could melt into the wall or skitter away like a mouse.

He crouches, gently moving the gauze out of the way, his sharp gaze examining the stitches worked into her head wound. “S’lookin’ better already. Now, let’s get you a shower. I can smell you from here, and, sweetheart, it’s not exactly appealin’.”

“Fuck you.”

He smirks, the cruel curve of his lips almost congratulatory. “There she is. Glad to see that fire hasn’t died just yet, my love.”

With a vice-like grip, his hand latches onto her arm, dragging her up to her feet and across the basement to a sad excuse for a shower—no curtain, nothing remotely resembling privacy, just exposed plumbing and mildewed tile. He shoves her into the cramped space, gesturing at her with a command that chills her: “Strip.”

Her stomach tightens, and she squares her jaw. “Turn around.”

A laugh bursts from him, sharp and mocking. “You think you’re in any position to make demands? You may be special, darlin’, but that don’t mean you’re runnin’ shit. Now strip, or I’ll tie you up and rip that little outfit off myself.”

She grits her teeth, fists clenched. “No.”

His smile vanishes, replaced by a darker, crueler expression.

In a flash, his hand is around her throat, shoving her harshly against the slimy tile, the back of her head meeting the hard surface making her cry out in pain.

Her breath snags as his grip tightens around her neck, the cool press of a switchblade grazing the scar on her hip, making her pulse hammer in her ears. “Don’t push me,” he growls, the blade’s edge nicking her skin just enough to sting. He knows exactly where she’s sensitive, and he revels in her flinch. “I’ve told you—I don’t like hurtin’ you, but I will if I have to. Strip. Now.”

He releases her, the air rushing back into her lungs, making her cough.

Her hands tremble as she peels away her clothes, starting with the long, flowing skirt that puddles around her ankles, leaving her in just her underwear and camisole.

August’s eyes rake over her, and his silent demand pulls at her last nerve.

She swallows back her tears, fingers shaking as she slides the straps off her shoulders, letting the fabric fall to the floor and then stepping out of her underwear, kicking the pile aside.

Now entirely naked, her arms wrap protectively around herself to shield what she can. She looks away, the sting of indignity making her skin crawl, willing herself not to cry.

August steps forward, adjusting the shower’s dial, and the pipes clank and groan as water finally bursts out of the rusted shower head, icy at first. She shivers, her teeth clattering, and only once the water turns warm does the chill ease up.

A snap of his fingers brings Gabriel closer, setting the shower supplies within reach. August then places them at her feet, his mocking gaze never leaving her as he drags a worn wooden chair up, seating himself like a perverse audience settling in for a show. 

Paloma doesn’t move, clinging harder to her body, her nails digging into her own skin, praying he’ll lose interest and turn away. But he just smirks. “Don’t be shy, P. Not like I haven’t seen you naked before.” His tongue drags over his lips, blue eyes glittering darkly, drinking in her discomfort.

She would rather die where she stands than have him touch her, lingering his hands over her body like a wolf savoring his meal. Slowly, reluctantly, her arms fall to her sides, shoulders curling inward, as she begins to wash herself.

The hot tears mix with the water streaming down her cheeks, each drop hiding the sobs she’s swallowing.

August’s stare trails over her figure, his smirk deepening every time she flinches under the weight of it.

He doesn’t hide his hunger, watching her every movement—the rise and fall of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the sway of her shoulders as she soaps herself in silence.

Gabriel’s eyes stay firmly on his boots, shame evident in his posture. 

Finally, she shuts off the water, chest heaving as she swallows down the humiliation, covering herself again and feeling his satisfaction lingering in the room like a toxic cloud.

A towel lands at her feet, and she grabs it, pulling it around her trembling frame, feeling like her skin might crawl right off her bones. 

“Got this dress made just for you,” August says casually, standing then pulling out a white dress and red flats from a worn bag. He tosses them onto the chair he’d just been sitting in, not making any effort to move or look away, and she swallows back the lump in her throat.

She’s barely holding herself together, her fingers fumbling with the towel as she dries off, eyes darting between the two men.

One won’t meet her gaze, too timorous, and the other stares at her with lecherous eyes.

She slips on the dress, it’s something she would’ve picked for herself under different circumstances; calf-length, delicate ladder lace along the trim, cap sleeves, and three charmeuse red ribbons that match the shoes.

But the beauty of it feels like a cruel mockery against the ugliness of this moment. 

“You look so beautiful,” August purrs, “Get a good look at yourself.” 

She’s forced in front of an antique mirror, the glass warped and cracked, but she can still make out her reflection. 

The dark circles beneath her eyes, bruised skin, the way her hair clings to her damp skin, the faded pallor of her face against her outfit—she looks like a ghost.

His hand slides to her shoulder, pushing her hair aside as he leans in, trailing his nose against her skin and inhaling deeply. “You smell like summertime.” He presses his lips to her neck, and bile rises in her throat.

Then, he pulls back, her mother’s cross pendant in hand, fastening it around her neck with a satisfied smile.

Her heart clenches once she sees it. She’d left that at Javier’s, tucked away safely with all the other things she moved out of her childhood home in preparation for their big trip.

The thought of August being in his space, doing God knows what, gets her alarmed. “What did you do to him?”

August looks momentarily confused by her query, but then his smirk grows as he eyes the pendent and sees that look in her eyes. “Don’t worry, I didn’t touch your precious narc. He ain’t been home all day. He’s out there, sniffin’ around for you like a lost dog. Thought about killin’ him, but… I think he’d suffer more thinkin’ he failed you. Just another life he couldn’t save, huh?”

The words press against those bruising, sore spots on her heart. She scowls, throwing back as much defiance as she can muster. “You wouldn’t get close enough to try.” Her voice trembles, but she knows Javier and what he’s capable of. 

He just shrugs, the malicious glint in his eyes unwavering. “Maybe not. But Sloane?” He grins, knowing how even mentioning her gets under Paloma’s skin. “Now, I think she could.”

He doesn’t give her time to respond, moving to bind her hands again, this time in smooth silk restraints that feel uncharacteristically gentle against her wrists.

Time moves in slow motion, she becomes unresponsive, like a melancholic statue, as he brushes her hair, fussing over her appearance as if she were some doll, changing the gauze over her stitches.

Her hope of getting out of this has diminished. Gabriel won’t help her and August has run the two men competent enough to figure this out in circles, so tangled up in deceit to find her.

The evening melts into night, shadows deepening when he finally leaves, just to return moments later with a steaming cup of tea that smells rancid and earthy, like decay.

“Drink up.”

She shakes her head, refusing it, but he pries her mouth open, forcing her to swallow the scalding liquid. It’s bitter and burns her throat, her tongue singed as she swallows unwillingly. 

“See? Wasn’t so bad,” he taunts her, wiping away some of the remnants that spilled from the corner of her mouth.

The effect is immediate; her mind hazes, thoughts swirling, until her body feels sluggish, as if it is no longer tethered to her.

Just as her vision starts to fade, a red, body-length veil is draped over her, the fabric casting her world into blood-hued darkness.

“I need to see it again.” 

Javier pinches the bridge of his nose at Romeo’s request, fingers then pressing hard against his closed eyes as the footage gets rewound. 

It’s the only evidence they have—a single security camera capturing what transpired. The grainy video shows her crossing the street, pausing, and then August and his accomplices stepping into view. She runs, disappearing off-camera for what feels like a lifetime, before being dragged back and shoved into the bed of the truck.

Each time Javier watches, another shard of him breaks away.

Romeo shifts beside him, watching the screen with unrelenting focus. He’s insistent, searching for anything, some small clue to pinpoint where they went.

Javier, though, is at his limit, fighting the urge to hurl the screen across the room.

“Romeo,” he begins, a little strained, “we’re not going to find anything new here.”

“We missed shit before. Can’t afford to miss anythin’ now.”

They’d spent the whole damn day combing through the trio’s hometown, hoping for any piece of intel, some breadcrumb that would lead them to the group’s hideout.

The search had been maddeningly fruitless. Fayette’s local authorities helped spread the word, but there was nothing, no tracks, no whispers, no real leads to follow.

Every registered address tied to the three was a dead end. Their only childhood homes, a trailer park, had burned down over a decade ago, leaving no trace, no history to sift through.

Everyone close to them—parents, guardians—were either dead, in prison, or admitted. The few family members with any sense had cut ties long ago.

“They were hellraisers,” the retired sheriff had muttered. That’s all the town could say, the simple acknowledgment that the trio had always left destruction in their wake.

The only useful piece of information they dug up was that August had left his job at a local grocery store to work for some woman, an outsider no one really knew.

She’d shown up, taken August with her, and he’d returned a few years later with a more hardened resolve, recruiting Sloane and Gabriel.

After torching some local acreage and serving time for arson, they’d vanished from Fayette until the recent spree of murders started.

“He’s been planning this for a long time, Romeo. They knew how to hide; they’ve done this before.” Javier mutters, frustration simmering in his tone.

They’d tried running a partial plate of the truck, only to come up short once again.

Javier moves near the blinds, unable to keep watching her kidnapping, glimpsing the sea of people that make up their search parties gathered in their too small department.

The faces blur together, civilians and first responders alike, all waiting for direction.

“It’s probably best if you go to the hospital and get Harper’s statement. She’s cleared to talk, right?” 

Romeo takes a beat longer to respond, clearly grappling with his own anguish. “Yeah. Got the official call ‘bout ten minutes ago.” 

“If anyone’s got something to give us that can break this open, it’s her.”

The room is quiet except for the low murmur of voices spilling in. The tape finally ends and Romeo’s gaze falls to the corner of his desk, where a lone photo of Paloma sits; she’s grinning with his cowboy hat perched high on her head, radiating joy.

He stares at it like he’s trying to draw strength from that moment, then he slowly picks it up, pressing his lips together in thought, handing it over to Javier.

“Here. This is the one I used for the flyers.”

Javier swallows hard, taking it, his thumb grazing over the image, his own heart sinking. This is the Paloma he can’t let slip through his fingers, the one who belongs right here, laughing and safe. Not wherever she was now. 

Romeo’s tone holds firm determination. “Do what you gotta do. For her. You understand me?”

Javier just nods, no words left to offer in the face of everything unsaid.

The sheriff lets out a long, heavy sigh, the kind that speaks of too many hours awake, too many close calls, too many second chances lost to bad luck or timing or whatever fate is left to them.

He grabs his jacket, slinging it over his shoulders, steeling his expression as he leaves the office, moving through the throng that instantly swells around him.

They close in with questions, worry, and hope—all of it colliding in one tense space.

Seeing them converge on Romeo, Javier takes a steadying breath and steps out right behind him, his presence commanding even in his silence.

He straightens, letting the authority in his stance speak for him, his gaze hard as he begins relaying their plan with swift, unyielding precision.

The world tilts and sways as Paloma returns to half-consciousness, vision still muddled from the drugged tea that has her head feeling like it’s filled with lead and limbs sluggish.

She’s seated upright in an ornate, over-decorated chair with her hands still bound in front of her. She tries to blink away the fog clouding her mind, but the red veil over her face continues to shroud her vision.

Her stitched wound throbs faintly, then suddenly, she’s being lifted and carried by four indistinct figures.

The swaying motion makes her sick, but she’s too weak to cry out, her voice nothing more than a ghost lodged in her throat.

She starts to feel the dampness of the humid Texas night pressing into her skin, the scent of flowers floating in the air, sickly sweet as it mixes with the distant smell of incense.

She’s paraded down a candlelit path where kneeling figures line the walkway, bowing in silent reverence. The sound of murmuring voices hums around her like a distant, dreadful lullaby. 

Finally, the procession stops, and her chair is lowered to the ground.

Her surroundings feel unreal, like a fever dream she’s trapped inside. A dark shadow moves in front of her, reaching to pull her to her feet. She tries to make out their face, but it’s just a dark, hollow blur.

Her legs tremble as she takes a few shaky steps, guided by an iron grip that steers her from the soft earth to a hard surface. Somewhere to her right, she hears a voice—August's—so sharp that it almost makes her ears bleed.

“We have to capture this moment.”

Paloma’s body is positioned, hands adjusting her like she’s an ornament rather than a person. She can barely keep her knees from buckling, her body swaying as they try to hold her up.

Her mind is a mess, every thought tangled, every movement slow, as if she’s moving underwater.

She falls, just as she hears the flash of a camera, her legs finally giving way, but hands grip her before she hits the ground, lifting her, steadying her as her head lolls to the side.

Then, in one swift motion, the veil lifted from her face.

August stands there, close enough that she can see every cold line in his face, conforming into possessive delight. 

He’s dressed to match her, red bows on his collared shirt, the same lace design on his pants.

Her skin crawls as his fingers trace the side of her face, his voice a leering purr. “My special little dove.”

He pulls her close, spinning her so that she faces their creation in her honor. The white marble gleams in the halo of the candlelight, surrounded by a sea of blood-red spider lilies, their spindly petals stretching out like claws.

Candles of every size and shape cast their shadows over the altar, illuminating the intricate carving of their emblem, miniatures and other offerings strewn about.

“All for you,” his lips brush against her ear.

The hands surrounding her are unyielding as she’s lifted and maneuvered onto the cold slab, the hard surface unforgiving beneath her back.

Her wrists are freed only to be tied again, the silk binding each one to a small stone pillar at each side.

Her ankles follow, strapped to the pillars near the end of the altar, legs bent slightly and spread, leaving her trapped and exposed.

Her breath quickens, each ragged inhale catching in her throat as the reality of her fate crashes down with brutal clarity. The red veil is drawn back over her face.

Tears blur her sight, mixing with the snot and sweat as she starts to sob, desperate cries spilling from her lips, pleas tumbling out in a desperate stream that echo out into the vastness of the field.

“Please… please, let me go. You don’t have to do this, please.” Her words come out strangled and slurred but she’s ignored. She jerks against her restraints, each movement growing weaker as the drug saps her strength.

August stands before his followers, his voice low yet electrifying, every declaration steeped in reverence and simmering triumph. 

“For centuries, we have waited in the shadows, prayed in whispers, bound by oaths that our forebears swore. Those before us dreamed of this moment, yet they were weak, too fearful to claim what was rightfully theirs. We will not repeat their mistakes. The bloodline of the first, the birthing bloodline, flows through her veins, and she is ours. Eurynomos will have a body made of flesh and bone, a place in this realm, because of us.”

Paloma shakes her head side to side, desperate to block out August’s devious words. Just as a surge of strength flares within her, sharp fingers dig into her shoulders from behind, pressing her back down, anchoring her in place.

Through the haze of drowsiness, her blurred vision lands on Sloane, looming over her with a short, black veil shrouding her face. Beneath it, Paloma can make out an expression as evil as it is watchful.

“No more dreams. No more consuming or offering flesh that rots before dawn. Our devotion, our patience, has led us here. We are the last of our kind—the ones who bring forth the new age. Now is the time for fulfillment. Now is the time to step into the eternal night and bring our deity home.” 

His gaze sweeps over the bowed heads, the flicker of candlelight dancing in his eyes as his words coil around them like a vow.

Sloane relinquishes her hold, seemingly fading away.

He approaches her slowly, each step deliberate, his hand drifting up the length of her body. His fingers come to rest on her cheek, stroking gently, almost reverently.

August leans in, his nose brushing against hers, and without a word, he presses his lips to hers, a slow, possessive kiss over the sheer material of the veil.

She wants to pull away, to resist, but she’s trapped within herself, her will slipping as though he’s holding the reins to her very soul.

When he pulls away, his voice lowers to a rhythmic timbre, the words twisting together in an incantation she can’t understand.

Each syllable makes her sink further into delusion, the compromising position heightening her vulnerability. 

The weight of her own helplessness crushes her as she lies there.

Suddenly, the speaking stops. An unnatural silence blankets the moment, thieving sound until it’s just her shaky, pitiful cries. Even the cicadas quit their insistent chirping.

Paloma blinks, barely able to see through the veil, but she watches August step back until his figure is swallowed by the darkness beyond the altar. 

She shivers as a chill wind flows over her body, extinguishing the flames around her and plunging her into the night, save for the heavy, luminous moon hanging full and merciless above.

Two glowing eyes flicker into view at the far end of the clearing. They hover, eerie and inhuman, watching her with a predatory patience.

A twig snaps in the shadows. Her breath catches. Another snap, closer this time.

Blood rushes in her ears, but above the pounding, she hears something else—labored breaths, thick and wet, the sound too guttural to be human. 

Her body locks up and quivers as a shadow casts up to the very heavens, emerging from the backdrop of trees, its form towering and monstrous. It seems to stretch endlessly, merging with the dark sky above, as if it could reach out and seize the lunar sphere.

Paloma tries to scream, but her body is frozen, paralyzed in a state of unholy dread.

Her eyes widen, tears leaking silently, her throat closing tight as the figure moves forward.

The dark, hulking mass leans over her, and she feels something press down on her belly, then sharp claws caress her bare legs, creeping upwards, scratching at the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. 

Her chest tightens as if she’s having a heart attack, fright coursing through her like poison. She can’t breathe, feeling herself teeter on the edge of consciousness.

Black spots swallow her field of view as her eyes roll to the back of her head, and in that instant, she’s slipping away, her mind yanking her away from this horror, casting her into the darkness of her own making as she loses herself, the terror too great to bear.

[chickenpizza420]

hhrhrhrhr do you think you could write something with Johnathon and the reader being roommates in college and he’s creepy around them but the reader is lowkey into it and ends up fucking him or something GAH I fucking love the way you write him 😭

TW: dub//n 😈 VERY MUCH NS//FW

LOVE U ❤️ SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT❤️

Word count: 2855

Jonathan is a creep. He’s the reason why all dorms should be divided by gender, but for some reason yours isn’t. You can’t stand him. He always has to talk to you for some reason and he is beyond annoying. You can’t bring anyone over because of him, he will talk up a storm until you guys excuse yourselves. That’s not even the worst part…

The worst part? The way he stares at you. The way you can’t even change a jacket without him gazing pervertedly at your exposed flesh. The way your underwear and sock drawer seem more unkempt than the way you left it before class, but you can’t prove anything.

Jonathan isn’t always so bad. He’s better now. It took months for you to get comfortable with him, and a lot of aggression from you to force him to act right. Well, not exactly comfortable, but you can tolerate him.

It’s not like you had a choice. You’ve been waiting forever to change dorms but it doesn’t seem like that’s going to happen any time soon. It’s either force comfort, or go through hell.

At least he hasn’t touched you at any time, not that you know of. You two are civil.

Tonight you’re going out with your girls, getting wasted, and having the time of your life. You study most of the time and have rarely gotten the chance to go out this semester, or even dressed in something other than casual clothes.

You leave the dorm to shower and get ready. You look almost like a different person and for once people can actually see what your body looks like. You take a deep breath before entering. You know damn well Jonathan’s weird ass is going to do or say something strange.

You carefully open the door before walking in and grabbing the hem of your tiny dress before shimmying to pull it down as much as you can.

Jonathan is sitting down at his desk, on his computer, as usual. As soon as you step foot in the door his eyes are glued to you, almost star-struck. You roll your eyes in annoyance. His reaction is expected.

"O-oh!" His eyes are open wide excitedly and turns his gaming chair towards you. "You look great!" He gives you a sheepish grin, a light blush spreading across his cheeks. He rubs the back of his neck almost nervously. "Are- are you going out tonight?" His eyes dart down to your thighs, his smile falters, a bit unusual from him.

"Am I going out?" You raise an eyebrow, put your hands on your hips and bend down to get at his eye level. "What do you think, Jonathan?"

You can hear him audibly gulp. He looks away from you, he almost looks sweaty. "Um... Y-you... you're not dressed very... um... you shouldn't be out like that... it's dangerous," he stammered, his eyes flickering nervously.

This pisses you off beyond words. You poke him hard in the chest with your finger. "Don't ever tell me what to wear again..." You back away from him then walk over to your desk to get your purse. You can feel his eyes burning into the back of your thighs.

As you hook your purse over your shoulder you glance back at him with narrow eyes. “I’ll be back late, if I even come back.”

You turn your head away and head for the door, refusing to look back at him. In your peripheral vision you can see that Jonathan’s face has a different expression than usual, could he be frowning? You’ve seen him upset before of course, but not like this. The vibe felt different as you were leaving, you feel your shoulders getting heavy. It feels like… he’s jealous?

“Have fun! Be… be safe!” Jonathan blurts out just seconds before the door shuts completely.

You swallow, hard. You feel bad leaving him there. It doesn’t seem like he gets out much and your relationship with him has improved greatly over the last few months. Should you have invited him? A wave of guilt hits you until your friend calls, thankfully.

You answer and she wants you there ASAP. You scurry off to the party and shake off any bad thoughts you have. Hours pass by, you are wasted beyond comprehension and are practically dragging your feet across the hall. You didn’t even get to kiss anyone tonight but you had a great time with your friends and are so fucked up you don’t even think you can wash your face.

You even struggle to get your keys out of your purse and drop them on the floor. You have to slide down the door in order to avoid falling flat on the ground. As you pick up your keys you press yourself against the door to use it once again as an aid for standing. You hear various sounds, like music, talking, shuffling of feet. Hopefully it’s just remnants of the loud booming music from the party. It’s almost 4AM for crying out loud. He always sleeps late, but not this late.

You pray to god he’s knocked out cold. You press your keys inside slowly and twist the door knob anxiously. You feel a slight bit of anger as you push the door open realizing that-

“No. Fucking. Way.” You think.

He's still up in the dark glaring at his computer screen, worst timing ever.

“Oh! Hey!” Jonathan waves to you excitedly. “I didn’t think you’d be coming home!”

You sigh and walk inside. You toss your purse to the floor and slam the door shut behind you. He doesn’t even jump. You step out of your shoes and leave them by the door before walking to your bed and diving face first into it.

“You know I was just!-“ He still keeps rambling to you, not getting the hint that you want him to shut the fuck up. You try tuning him out as much as you can but he’s about to give you a headache.

"You know what Jonathan?" You interrupt. A loud sigh escapes your lips and you rub your temples in annoyance. You can’t take another word from him right now. Sleeping was a top priority. "I was really counting on you being asleep right now."

“Huh? O-oh!” He sheepishly smiles and rubs the back of his neck again. “I just… I just didn’t think you’d come back tonight! I was just up thinking… and I wanted to play some games to distract myself!”

You sit up from the bed and tilt your head to the side. "I wanted to sleep... to have peace and quiet for once… and maybe even get rid of some stress!" You grin, the alcohol still hitting. A thought crosses your mind. It would be funny to play with this pathetic man's feelings for once. He always makes you uncomfortable, why not make him? "Maybe I wanted to play with myself for once..." You smile at him and look him up and down.

“W-what!?” He stammers. Jonathan’s face is beet red, you can see his embarrassed expression from the computer’s light reflecting on his face. He’s speechless.

“What do you mean what?” You put your hands on your knees and lean forward towards him. “Maybe I wanted to touch myself Jonathan. You know I didn’t even get to kiss anyone tonight?” You can see his hands trembling in his lap, his thighs are pressed tightly together. He’s very rigid, almost like when you two first met.

“That’s- that’s… too bad! Haha…” He lets out a small awkward laugh and moves his chair slightly to the side.

“Yeah… I really need to relieve my stress.” You lie back down onto your side, still facing him. You bring your knees closer to your chest and put a hand in between your thighs teasingly. “I could just do it here while you’re awake though.” You cover your smile with one of your hands.

Jonathan has no words. He just stares at your body. His eyes resting on your lower half. Your dress is riding up your body sloppily and he can’t help but look. He licks his lips feeling desire surging through his body as his mind races.

“Look at me Jonathan…” You begin to rub your folds teasingly through your panties while glancing at him to see his reaction. You rock your hips against your hand and fake a small moan to see what he’ll do. To your disappointment it seems like he has no reaction, he’s still in place biting his lips together.

That’s embarrassing… A blush spreads across your cheeks. Immediately you regret your actions. You slowly remove your hand from in between your legs and turn your back towards him then scoot towards the wall, making room on the bed. You keep your mouth shut in shame.

You close your eyes shut in an attempt to go to sleep and hope that he’ll forget everything you did in the morning, or even better, that you’d forget. You can hear the sound of him getting up from his chair and bite your lips anxiously waiting for him to go to his bed.

“You… You’re so beautiful.” He whispers out to you. He sounds close. You can feel his body weight shifting onto your bed. You’re too anxious to turn your head towards him. His hand lingers in the air above your thighs, hesitantly, before deciding to give into his impulses and gently touch your thigh. He brings his body close to yours, his chest pressed tightly against your back and his hardness pressed into your backside.

Your heart has never beat this fast for him. It’s about to pound out of your chest. The liquor combined with his hard manhood pressing against you turns you on like crazy. You tremble against his body. He’s much taller than you thought, he feels huge next to you. He grinds his hardness against you and trails his fingers along your soft skin to lift your dress up above your hips.

You grab his wrist. “I-I don’t know John-“

“Please.” He interrupts. “Please let me show you how much I want you.” His lips graze against your neck. His fingers begin to trail upwards and in between your thighs, his touch becoming more insistent as you squirm against his body. He brushes two fingers against your warmth and presses lightly, rubbing up and down softly.

“I want you… I need you…” He plants passionate kisses along your neck. His fingers continue stroking you, pressing harder, more forcefully. “Do you like this?” His breath hot against your ear as he continues to kiss you. He rubs circles sweetly around your clit and you can’t help but moan. It fuels his desire to take you even more. It isn’t long before your panties are dampened with your wetness.

Without permission Jonathan’s hand makes its way underneath your panties and allows his fingers to explore your wetness with unapologetic force. He plunges one of his fingers inside of you, as deep as he can.

“Ah!” You yelp out. You didn’t expect him to force his finger inside without asking. “Wait Jonathan!” You grab his wrist in an attempt to pull it out of you but your desperate tone and panting only heighten his own pleasure.

“No. Let me do this for you…” He forces another finger in and begins to pump them in and out quickly. “You’re so wet…” He begins to grind his hardness against your ass again. “It’s because of me… because of how I’m touching you…” He begins to suck on your neck, ready to leave hickeys on you and mark you for the next few days.

“Mmph!” You try to hold in your moans. You’re ashamed that you’re so wet from this pervert assaulting your pussy, but it feels unbelievably good. Your pussy tightens around his fingers and you wrap your thighs around his hand and grind against it.

Jonathan backs his crotch away from you for a moment. Using his free hand to reach into his sweats and pull his cock out. He presses his body against yours again even tighter, sandwiching you in between his own arousal and his fingers relentlessly plunging into your wetness. Your panties are slipping off from all of the friction rubbing against you.

Once again with his free hand he reaches down to yank your panties down to your knees. Your glistening sex and ass fully exposed to him. “Feel how much I want you.” He slips his cock in between your thighs and begins to fuck them. You whimper pathetically as he continues his assault, your juices dripping onto your thighs.

“I can’t hold back any more…” He withdraws his fingers from inside you abruptly and sits up on the bed to grabs your thighs, spreading them apart and lifting you up higher. He keeps your legs spread with one arm and grabs his cock to position it with your entrance. You look down at it with furrowed brows and a pathetic look on your face.

“Jonathan please-“ You cry out before being interrupted by his palm covering your mouth.

“I’m going to fuck you.” He breathes out, his voice low and hungry. “No more holding back. You’re mine.” He grips your thigh tightly before driving his raw hard cock into your wetness without warning, filing you completely.

You cry out in pain for a moment. He pounds into you with a rough intensity not caring about the pain you’re currently in, only about the pleasure that he’s going to give you. “You’re mine…” He revels in the sound of your moans and the sight of your desperate expression. You reach up to grab his shoulders for comfort as he fucks you into the mattress.

He can feel the tightness and the wetness enveloping him, enticing him to thrust harder, faster. He continues to pound into you with a relentless intensity, his hips meeting yours with a primal rhythm. The power he holds over you consumes him.

You place a hand onto the bed and try backing your hips away from him. You can barely take his poundings. The lewd sounds of your wet slick pussy and skin slapping against skin fill the room.

"No!” He raises a hand and gives you a light slap on the cheek as a reprimand. “You're my little fucktoy," he growls, his words laced with both possessiveness and desire. "And I'm going to use you however I please." He grips onto your hips, bringing you back down even harder onto his cock to accommodate his deep, forceful thrusts.

“Ugh!” You moan out. “Please! Slow down!” Your legs begin to shake as you struggle to keep them straight, your hands desperately clinging onto his shoulders again for support.

Ignoring your request, he continues to fuck you with an unyielding intensity, his grip on your hips growing tighter, leaving marks in his wake. He pounds into you mercilessly, his cock hitting all the right spots within you. Your sensitive pussy contracts around his length, the pleasure and intensity building once again. “You can take it…”

You lean your head down in shame. Your core begins to shake. You bring your arms down to hold onto your stomach. No, no no! You can’t hold it in. You’re about to cum all over his cock. Your face reddens and Jonathan can feel your impending release. He revels in the shame that washes over you, and the sound of your desperate cries.

The orgasm tears through your body, overpowering you completely. Despite your best efforts, you can't hold it in any longer, and you squirt all over his cock. Your warm juices cascade down your thighs and his. Leaking all over the bed.

"That's it. Take it!” He continues his forceful thrusts, pushing you to your limits and beyond. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, echoing with the intensity of your encounter. With a low growl, Jonathan releases his load deep within your core, his hot seed flooding your insides.

“You’re mine forever…” He remains inside of you before pressing his lips against yours and forcing his tongue into your mouth. You don’t fight him back. You let him explore your mouth and even suck on his tongue encouraging him to go further. He pants into your mouth like an animal, continuing the kiss before withdrawing his cock from inside of you. His seed leaks out of you. Jonathan hasn’t released himself in a long time and you were the perfect outlet to use.

He picks your tired body up from your bed and brings you over to his, tucking you into the sheets and pressing himself against you into a warm embrace. “You were made to be mine…” He breathes out before planting a loving kiss onto your head as you fall asleep. As you drift off into slumber he plugs a finger inside of you, making sure some of his cum stays inside of you the entire night.

You two are both so worn out that you sleep together all throughout the night until the afternoon without moving an inch away from each other.

~~~~~~~~~~~

I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOYED IT❤️

LOVE YOU ALL❤️

[watchmegetobsessed]

For blurb night maybe something about H's new necklace? I love it so much, it's so delicate!

A/N: this is literally the only blurb i was able to write lol

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

Maybe you shouldn’t have drank that last margarita. Or those last two. How many did you have? Four? You can’t remember.

You’re drunk. Not the blackout kind, but you’ll definitely need one of Harry’s disgusting looking green smoothies in the morning that somehow work magically when you’re hangover.

You’re drunk enough to feel a constant buzz, a lazy smile etched onto your face, glassy eyes scanning over your group of friends, everyone’s talking, laughing, having a great time and the vibes are just immaculate. It’s been a while since the last time you had a night out, at first you didn’t want to come tonight either, but Harry convinced you it would be fun.

Of course, he was right. He’s always right. But you’d never admit it to him.

The vacant seat beside you moves back as your boyfriend returns from the restroom, his arm instantly draping over the back of your chair and you lean into him without a second thought. He presses a kiss to your forehead before placing himself back into the conversation.

You have no idea what the people around you are talking about, it’s just one big buzz surrounding you, but even in this dull state, your ears pick up Harry’s soothing voice. Turning towards him you comfortably take your time to examine his side profile, the soft stubble on his face, the sharp edge of his jawline, you admire the way his nose moves when he talks, his puckered lips that you want to kiss so badly. There’s not one thing about him that you don’t find absolutely enchanting.

Your gaze runs down his neck, fighting the urge to just lean in and kiss it, bite it and then you fixate on the delicate necklace that hugs the base of his neck.

It’s been his favorite lately, he got it for Christmas from Gemma and he hasn’t taken it off since then. It suits him so well, the tiny pearls, the thin chain, you find it so pretty you almost want one for yourself as well, but you wouldn’t be able to rock it the way he does.

The longer you’re staring at it, the less you can hold yourself back and when he absentmindedly squeezes your shoulder you give up your resistance and lean in. At first it’s just a kiss on the base of his neck, but then you take the chain between your teeth and tug on it gently, making sure you’re not ruining it. It’s enough to get his attention, he peeks down at you with a smirk tugging on his lips, watching your nibble the necklace before letting it go and pursing your lips at him.

“What are you doing?” he asks, pulling you closer to him, nuzzling his nose into your hair.

“Nothing,” you grin cheekily. “I like your necklace.”

“Yeah? Do you want to wear it?” he asks, ready to take it off and give it to you, because he’s just that selfless when it comes to you, his favorite person in the world.

You shake your head. “No, it looks better on you.”

“I’m sure it would look nice on you too.” He brings a hand up to your face, then it slides down to your neck until he can trace the base with his fingertips. “Would love to see you in it. Nothing else.”

“Mmm, I like the sound of that.” Your grin widens as you push yourself up until your lips could meet his.

“Keeping that in my mind for when we get home,” he chuckles against your mouth.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[cha-melodius]

Hello hello! Firstprince at a trashy American fast food or fast casual restaurant of your choice please!

(Idk if Waffle House counts as fast food or fast casual, but it had the right vibes. 😂 Thanks so much for the fun prompt, carrot!)

Infinitely Late at Night

(T, 2.7k, read below or on AO3)

Alex can’t pinpoint the first time he truly notices the man who sits at the third stool from the end of the counter. It’s almost as if he’s always been there, just outside of the periphery of Alex’s vision, until finally something about him sticks in Alex’s mind. Perhaps it’s that, from the back—which is how Alex mostly sees him—he’s not very notable. Tall, blond, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, wearing the most boring and nondescript clothes you could imagine. But then, one day, as Alex is taking a little break to stretch his back after hours of being hunched over a computer, his eyes catch on the man and he thinks: Huh.

There aren’t a lot of people who regularly come to this Waffle House in the wee hours of the night during the week, which is one of the reasons Alex likes it. There’s Joe, who comes in at 5AM the end of his overnight shift, and Cindy, who stops in around 2AM for a cup of coffee in between bus routes. Then there’s Alex, who started coming here during his first year of law school for all-night study or writing sessions, and who still finds his way here when he can’t sleep and needs to get out of his apartment. Which is regularly. He always camps out in the same booth in the front so he can watch the night sluggishly move by through the front window when he’s not working. There’s something comforting about the smell of frying bacon and waffle batter, and Pamela who works overnights always keeps his coffee topped up.

He likes his routine. He’s not expecting it to change.

Once he notices the new(?) blond man, though, he can’t seem to stop. The way he hums softly sometimes, snatches of melodies Alex can’t place. The curve of his full lips, just about the only things that are flushed with color on his otherwise pale face. His long, elegant fingers first, drumming idly on the countertop as he bends over a book to read, or curling around a ceramic mug. The lilt of his British accent when he exchanges a few words with Pamela. And once, Alex accidentally caught his gaze when he got up to leave, and he got briefly trapped in the most stunning pale blue eyes he’s ever seen. The man never eats anything, no matter how long he stays, only orders a cup of tea and leaves an enormous tip when he departs.

Alex is fascinated despite himself, even though everyone knows you mind our own goddamned business in the Waffle House at 3AM. Where did he come from? What is he doing here? Not even Pamela knows—he’s asked, on nights when the man hasn’t shown up—and Pamela knows everything.

Then, one day Alex is coming back from the bathroom and not paying attention to where he’s going, and his shoulder collides with a very solid body. The mystery guy barely moves, but he lets out an oof as Alex bounces off of him, only narrowly keeping his feet.

“Fuck, sorry man,” Alex apologizes, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he stares. He’d known the man was tall, but it still surprises him how far he has to look up into those startled blue eyes. Up close, he seems to be about Alex’s age, though it’s very hard to say. There aren’t any obvious creases marking his skin, but there’s something that feels oddly ancient in the man’s gaze. Mesmerizing, even when his eyes drop to follow the movement of Alex’s tongue. Alex feels caught in it.

Something had hit the ground when they’d bumped into each other, and Alex finally tears his eyes away and looks down to find a worn leather notebook on the floor. It falls open when he picks it up, the pages full of dense, elegant cursive in an unusual red-brown ink, but he doesn’t have a chance to look at it closely before the man snatches it away, holding it close to his chest with clear alarm.

“That’s mine,” he says sharply, his eyes wide.

“I know,” Alex replies carefully. “Just picking it up for you. Y’know, since I was the reason it was on the floor.”

The man swallows. “Right. Thank you.”

“I’m Alex,” Alex says, sticking out his hand. Perhaps predictably, given his odd behavior, the man just stares at it. “You’re a regular now, huh? I’ve seen you around.”

The man blinks slowly, making no move to shake Alex’s hand, and Alex is just about to drop it and give it up for good when he finally reaches out. His hand is soft and cool to the touch, his neatly trimmed nails standing in contrast to Alex’s bitten-down ones.

“Henry,” the man says. “I just moved here a month ago.”

“Night owl, or night shift?”

Henry hesitates. “A bit of both, I suppose,” he answers after another few beats. “I do work nights.”

“Better than just not sleeping,” Alex laughs self-deprecatingly.

“Perhaps if you didn’t consume coffee at quite that rate,” Henry says with a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, which surprises him. Alex hadn’t realized Henry had been noticing him, too.

Alex grins. “Everyone’s a critic.” He lets a moment of silence pass; the faint clatter of dishes filters out from the kitchen. “You were heading out?”

Henry nods. “My next shift.”

“I’ll let you go, then,” he says, even though he wants to ask doing what. Henry didn’t offer, and he’s not pushy enough to ask. Yet. “See you around, Henry.”

~~~~~

He does see Henry around after that, quite a bit. Sometimes they just exchange greetings and stick to their own business. Sometimes Henry sits with him in his booth, after Alex invited him one time and it became a bit of an irregular habit until eventually Henry sits with him more often than not. He learns that Henry is a year older than him and he’s been living in the US for a while, but only recently moved to Texas. That he came here to escape the family business and ended up in it anyway—though Alex doesn’t find out what that business is.

He also learns that Henry is witty and smart and really fucking charming. When he fixes Alex in that pale blue gaze of his, it’s like nothing else exists in the world. Alex is, for lack of a better word, entranced. He wants to spend more time with Henry. Get to know him. Kiss the coy smile off those full, pink lips.

“Hey, uh,” Alex ventures one evening, fidgeting restless in his nervousness. “You ever do things in the daytime? Like, maybe we could have a normal meal together? Go for a walk?”

Henry smiles at him, an odd wistfulness to the slant of it. “Not usually, no. I mostly sleep during the day.”

The thing is, Alex is also pretty sure Henry is a vampire.

Vampires aren’t real, of course. Everyone knows that. But the list of evidence Alex compiles is pretty damning. Extremely pale skin. Only active at night. Never eats regular food. Seductive as all hell. Preternatural reflexes—Alex once saw him catch a falling teacup at a speed that shouldn’t be humanly possible. Sometimes talks like he’s from an earlier century. And more than once, there have been little dark splatters on his clothes. Henry said it was ink, but it could have been blood.

Alex doesn’t want to think about why none of this seems to matter to his interest in Henry. Maybe it’s Henry’s vampire mind control powers. Maybe it’s just Alex’s tendency towards shitty self-preservation. Regardless, Alex still wants him. Wonders how to broach the subject. Hey, just so you know, I’m a blood donor. That’s probably too cheesy. He’s workshopping it.

For now, they spend time together, and Alex catalogs every time Henry’s gaze lingers on his hands, or on his body, or on his lips.

Alex is pretty sure Henry wants him, too. Hopefully, for more than just a meal.

~~~~~

Their visits to the Waffle House don’t always overlap. Alex isn’t there every night, and some nights, Henry doesn’t show. Alex tries not to worry. They’ve never exchanged phone numbers because they see each other so regularly. It’s not lost on him that Henry could just disappear and Alex wouldn’t know how to find him again, but he still hasn’t gotten up the nerve to ask. He’d need a reason, wouldn’t he? And every time he tries to suggest they do something else outside of sitting at a Waffle House in the middle of the night, Henry brushes him off.

It’s fine. He’s perfectly happy like this.

It’s nearly 4AM, which means Henry’s most likely not showing, and Alex decides to call it a night. He’ll go home and scrape together a few hours of sleep, then come back tomorrow. So what if he’s getting less sleep than ever before because he doesn’t want to miss the chance of seeing Henry at the Waffle House? He’s managing.

By this time of night, the air has lost all of its lingering heat, but somehow it feels closer than it did when he came in. The sounds of traffic from the highway nearby are muffled, and everything is unnaturally still. Alex picks up the pace as he heads toward his car, hunching over a little as his hand tightens on his satchel.

“Alex.”

Alex’s steps falter and he looks over his shoulder, but there’s no one there. “H?” he calls out. “Is that you?”

A shadow moves near the rear of the building, slowly resolving into the shape of a person. Tall, lanky, broad shoulders. His face is shadowed, but the harsh streetlights cast a glow around the edges of his pale hair. It’s gotta be Henry, because no one else matching that description should know his name. At least not anyone who’d be at a Waffle House at 4AM. 

“Anyone ever tell you it’s kinda creepy to hang out in the dark?” Alex asks with a nervous laugh as he takes a few steps closer, glancing over his shoulder into the darkness pressing in around them. “What’re you doing out here?”

The man-who-might-be-Henry doesn’t move, and Alex keeps approaching, drawn in despite the warning bells going off in his head. Something pulls him in, inevitably and inexorably, and his feet move without his permission until he stops in front of Henry—or, not Henry, because when the man finally looks up his eyes are completely black in the low light, and his mouth is hard and cruel as it splits into a vicious grin.

“Waiting for a meal,” he growls in a voice full of gravel and nails.

With a speed that definitely isn’t human, his hand darts out and closes in the front of Alex’s shirt, hauling him nearly off his feet as he swings around toward the building. The back of Alex’s head slams into the brick wall when he’s shoved up against it, and he gasps as stars burst in his vision. Trying to blink them away, he struggles against the man’s hold, but the single hand might as well be pressing with a thousand pounds against his chest.

“Mm,” the man hums, leaning in close to Alex’s neck as his other hand comes up to press just above Alex’s collarbones, icy cold where they dig into soft flesh. “He’s always had good taste, I’ll give him that.”

Alex digs his fingernails into the unyielding wrist, choking as his vision swims. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a flash of gleaming white. Fangs.

So vampires are fucking real. Alex would feel vindicated if he wasn’t scared absolutely shitless. Fuck, if he gets himself turned undead, June’s never going to let him hear the end of it—

The vampire jerks backward, as if struck by an invisible blow. A second later, Alex realizes that he wasn’t struck but dragged away by another person. Tall. Blond. Blue eyes almost glowing in the low light. And absolutely covered in blood that’s spraying everywhere as he draws a gleaming knife across the vampire’s neck. A horrible gurgling keen pierces the night for a split second, only to be cut off when Henry drives a wooden stake up under the vampire’s ribs and into his heart.

The only sound that breaks the dreadful silence that follows is the ragged sound of Alex’s breathing.

“What,” he croaks out, “the fuck.”

Henry kneels by the vampire’s supine form, an odd sort of regretful expression on his face. “I’ve been hunting him for a long time,” he mutters before he glances up at Alex again. “You’ll want to look away for this part.”

Alex doesn’t need to be told twice, nor does he let himself think about what Henry might be doing back there. He hums to himself to drown out any sounds, staring up at the stars, until he feels a gentle hand brush his shoulder.

“I thought they turned to dust when you staked them?” Alex asks. The vampire’s boots are just visible out of the corner or his eye.

“A common myth,” Henry says, a little wryly. “Are you all right, love?”

Alex clears his throat and narrowly resists reaching up to touch his own neck as the endearment lands squarely in the middle of his chest and sends out warm fingers that chase away the lingering chill from the vampire’s grip. “Fine,” he says. “Though it’s possible I have a mild concussion? I don’t know how else to explain what just happened. Are you some kind of vampire hunter?”

“Monsters, more broadly. Vampires are the most common, though.” Henry gives a small, humorless laugh. “The family business.”

“Fuck,” Alex says. “I just thought y’all were in, like, marketing or something.”

“You thought I worked nights… in marketing?” Henry asks dubiously.

“I didn’t really think about it that hard, ok?” Alex huffs. “Can we go back to the part where you saved me from a vampire?”

Henry’s face crumples. “I’m sorry, Alex. I should have known he’d go after you.”

“Hey,” Alex says gently, “it’s not your fault.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Henry says, his lips twisting bitterly. “He had a penchant for turning people that I… care about. I think he liked the sport of it. It’s part of why I’ve not let myself get too close to anyone in years.”

“Oh,” Alex breathes as the implications of all of that sink in. “You care about me.”

Henry gives him a look like he’s being ridiculous. “To a rather dangerous degree, as it turns out. I nearly got you killed. Or worse.”

Alex moves before he even knows what he’s doing, grabbing Henry on both sides of his face and hauling him into a bruising kiss. It’s a little awkward because of the angle and the fact that Henry freezes, but a second later he’s kissing Alex back just as desperately. He does not, however, put his hands anywhere on Alex’s body, which is as disconcerting as it is disappointing.

“Why aren’t you touching me, baby?” Alex nearly whines, his lips still brushing Henry’s. He’s shaking now, whether from the adrenaline crash or the terror of realizing how close he came to death finally catching up to him is hard to say, but he’s pretty sure he’s going to die if he allows more than an inch of space between them right now.

Henry makes a sound like he’s been wounded. “I’m covered in blood, darling,” he protests, though he punctuates it with another kiss. “Don’t want to get it on you.”

“I don’t care about the fucking blood, hold me, please—”

Turns out, there’s nothing in the world that feels better than being wrapped up in Henry’s strong arms.

~~~~~

“I can’t believe you thought I was a vampire.”

“C’mon, baby. You kinda fit the profile.”

“Only because the entirety of your knowledge of vampires comes from films.”

“And Buffy.”

“Oh, of course. An unassailable source. Why on Earth do I put up with this?”

“Because you love me?”

“Mm.” Henry kisses him, soft and slow. “That must be it.”

[cowboybeepboop]

Through the window

“Fuck you”

“Baby thats what youre gonna do”

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x fem!reader

Genre: smut

Word count: 2214

Summary: Late night self pleasure turns into more than self pleasure.

Warnings: p in v, mainly porn with some plot, disgusting words for clit cause it got a little awkward at 1 am, use of vibrator, age gap (like three years), major daddy issues, kinda some Voyeurism, roughness from Bradley but with sweetness, praise kink, hair pulling, getting caught.

A/N: Literally just me writing this while sobbing to Shawn Mendes songs, also I wrote most of it while sitting out in front of my school 💪😩💪 I’m a fucking vibe. I don't know if there's like a big fandom on here anymore considering Top Gun Mav has been out for a while now but yk who cares. Also lowkey have been binging Harry Potter and the last of us so maybe I’ll write some of that later. Not proof read like ever

Bradley has been your built-in best friend, being Mavericks daughter means that you spent the majority of your childhood eating dinners with Carole, having Carole brush your hair and tuck you into bed. Carole Bradshaw became your adoptive mom, she taught you to cook, bake, sew, she helped you with your homework and made sure you knew your worth.

Mav was hardly ever around, he put his heart and soul into being a better person so that Goose wouldn’t be disappointed in him, this being said he forgot about the responsibility of actually taking care of his child. But you never blamed him for it, maybe it’s because when he was there with you all he ever wanted to do was cuddle on the couch watching your favorite films. Sometimes he would come home and lay his head on your lap and you would brush and braid his hair.

So, because of your sometimes absentee father, Bradley filled in. He was there with Mav for every milestone, kindergarten graduation, elementary school choir concerts, he even took time from his busy schedule to come to your highschool graduation.

Which makes your sexual attraction to him all the more disgusting, he basically was your stand in father, even though he was only 3 years older than you. But when Maverick finally realized he had a responsibility to spend more time with you, Brad stopped being like a father figure and more like an older friend who you had the hots for.

Bradley hasn’t been home for months-or longer, you totally haven’t been counting, and it totally hasn’t been exactly 8 months 3 weeks and 5 days. He isn’t planning on coming back any time soon, at least if he is he hasn’t told you, which is why you’re stuck pouting with your face between your hands as a few people purchase drinks from the bar.

You work at Penny’s bar, The Hard Deck, which is lowkey awkward considering your dad used to date her. But nonetheless she treats you like her own daughter. The only thing you dislike about working with her is the fact that she scolds you when you flirt while working, it's understandable but makes you want to roll your eyes.

Maverick walks in with a small smile on his face, sitting down at the bar in front of you, “How’s your day Y/N?”.

“It’s pretty good Mav, Penny might want to talk to you though,” winking at him you walk away, heading in the direction of the dart board.

“Hey boys, need a refill?” you smile sweetly, tapping your heel against the wooden floor softly.

“Thank you, baby girl,” Hangman smirks as he hands you the empty bottles, “you know which tab to add it to right?” he nods toward Coyote.

You give a small nod and head back to the bar to grab two more beer bottles, you add the total to Coyote’s tab. He lost in darts, even after covering Jake’s eyes, one more night and you don’t think you’ll be able to withstand his charm any longer.

“Y/N it’s time for you to clock out, if you want to beat the rush and get to your date on time,” your eyes light up.

“Thank you Pen!” you smile gathering your things before clocking out. “See you tomorrow evening.” Penny nods at you, smiling at you softly as you rush out of the door.

__________

Hours have passed along with another failed attempt at online dating. Both things have led to you lying in your bed holding your breath as you imagine what it'd be like if Bradley came home and surprised you.

It started off innocent, him holding your waist close to him, the heat radiating from his chest as you sucked in a deep breath. Basking in his mahogany, sandalwood and vanilla musky scent, it made your knees weak, your eyes roll into the back of your head.

Your body felt hot, like you were boiling from the insides out. Squeezing your legs tightly together to keep your panties from soaking your bedsheets.

While biting your lip you carefully open the shoebox hidden underneath your bed, grabbing your bright pink bullet vibrator. If your dad came home, you’d know, so locking the door wasn’t a big priority.

Sucking in a deep breath you relax against your plush mattress. Licking your lips you spread your legs being gentle while unbuttoning your shirt, being slow with each button to build up the tension.

Once you finally peel off your blouse, you throw it to the side of the room before leisurely unzipping your skirt. You’re starting to become impatient, every part of your body is aching to be touched by Bradley’s calloused hands.

“For fucks sake,” a soft whine escapes your parted lips, squeezing your eyes shut you begin roaming your hands all over your body. You squeeze the soft part of your body, moaning Bradley’s name as you do so.

Spreading your legs, you pull down your panties, running a finger through your soaked lips. Once you find the bundle of nerves you start rubbing soft and steady circles into it, this causes your hips to jerk a little while your eyes roll back.

You wrap a hand around your neck putting a comfortable amount of pressure on it, soft moans spill from your lips as you push your hips up begging for more friction. You press the smooth button, listening to the faint hum, you press down two more times. The soft hum from before has become more intense and slightly louder.

Let’s be honest, masturbation is nothing compared to sex. Especially the sex you’ve been dreaming and lusting over since age 16.

A soft smile forms on your lips as you press the rough tip against the hood of your clit, your muscles all tense up while your breathing stops for just a second. It sounded like a rock or something else small had hit your window, after waiting for a few seconds you decide it's probably nothing and press the vibrator against your nub.

You bite down on your lip harshly, squeezing your neck roughly. Sadly, you have a shitty toy because desperate times call for desperate measures so there isn’t much more it can give. Removing the hand from your neck, pushing two fingers into your pulsating hole.

Unbeknownst to yourself, there was now a visitor in your room, one who snuck in from your open window. Hiding in the dark corner next to your window, a hand clasped against his mouth as he absorbed the sight of you desperate and needy begging for more.

“Bradley harder!” you moan loudly, as you pick up the pace of your fingers,your back arching. Cum spills from your pussy, you sink back into the mattress, sighing discontentedly.

“Oh, Sweetheart.” the familiar voice rings through the now silent room. You instantly throw your hands over your chest and squeeze your legs together tightly. “If you needed some help you could have just asked for it.” Bradley walks out into the middle of your room, staring down at you with darkened eyes.

“B-bradley, when did you get in here?” you try to play it cool but sweat is forming on your forehead as you rapidly cover up with a blanket, eyes shifting to the window.

“Do you mean, how much did I see? Or rather how much I heard?” He raises his eyebrows with a smirk, you nod as your cheeks turn a deep red. “Not much, just you pleading for me to be rougher, is that really how you like it princess?”.

“Bradley! Shut up,” you cover your face with your hands while trying to figure out the best thing for you to do now. “Look, I didn’t know you were stopping by. I’m sorry that you, uhm, that you saw what you saw.” Your voice cracks while you barely take a breath, his shoes clack against the floor as he makes his way to you.

The dip in the bed being the sign that he’s next to you. “Y/N, I really don’t care.” He pries your hands off your face. “I know you didn’t know I was coming into town, because it was a surprise.” He sucks in a deep breath, “I just didn’t know I was the one who would be surprised.”

The room fills with silence, just your accelerated breathing and the ticking of your alarm clock. “Hey Brad… Can you please leave?” you push your face into your knees.

Bradley licks his lips, “I think I have a better idea,” he runs a finger down your spine while pressing kisses into your shoulder. Your body relaxes into him as you sigh quietly, he pulls your face from your legs “Look at me, my pretty girl,” you slowly open your eyes while avoiding making eye contact,

“Darlin’ I want you to look in my eyes,” biting your lower lip you look up at him innocently, his hands move to cup your cheeks and pull you into his face. “Fuck, you’re so hot,” he grips your neck and leans into kiss you.

You move onto his lap while tangling your fingers in his hair, he groans into your mouth before pulling back. Bradley pulls away from your lips and moves to kiss your neck, using his body to push your back against your bed. You gasp as he explores your body with his mouth, calloused fingers pinching your nipples.

Arching into him you moan loudly as he pushes a finger into your throbbing pussy. “You like that?” his voice low and seductive, using his thumb he presses your nub softly. Bradley presses kisses all over your stomach, groaning at the sight of you so needy under him, pre cum leaks from his tip as he grinds against the bed.

“I need you right now, please,” you grab Bradley by his face and pull him up. Kissing his lips passionately while grinding down on his fingers.

“Oh what a needy little slut you are, huh?” He pushes two more fingers into you, “is this what you needed? Or is this a little more up your alley.” He smirks while wrapping a hand around your throat, applying ample pressure.

“Fuck you,” you groan, lips parting as your chest heaves, gasps pouring from your mouth.

“Baby, that's what you’re gonna do,” he taunts, Bradshaw has had enough. He finally lays down and pulls you onto his stomach, his hands massage your thighs as he lifts your hips up.

“Bradley wait,” your hands rest on his chest, “ condom, left middle drawer”. He leans over grabbing the small golden wrapper, ripping it open with his teeth, fumbling with the latex as he squeezes it over his tip.

“Thanks for reminding me princess,” he tucks your hair behind your ear, “now ride me babe,”.

Lining your hole up with his tip you begin to lower yourself down on him, moans leave your parted lips. He furrows his eyebrows, hands moving up to cup your breasts, you sink down on his length, wincing at the uncomfortable stretch.

“Fuck, good girl,” bradley groans, his shakey breathing fills your senses. You lift your hips slowly bouncing on his dick, he grabs your ass squeezing roughly. Your hands explore his abs as you use his body to steady your own.

Your eyes squeeze tight, body tightening up around him. Twirling your fingers into your hair you grasp the strands pulling at his roots.

Bradley flips the pair of you over, his eyes dark and dominant as he hovers over you, his hips thrust into yours at a steady pace. He lowers his head to suck on your erect nipple, one hand wraps around your neck squeezing just enough to slow your breathing.

Your arms wrap around his neck as you pull him to you, kissing his lips passionately, your nails dig into his back. Bradley presses his middle finger into your clit, rubbing rough circles into it, while trying to hold back moans you bury your face in his nape.

His thrusts become sloppy, bradleys hand tightens around your neck causing you to arch into him, he leans down sucking dark hickeys into your neck. “Darling, I’m so close,” the sound of skin slapping fills the room as you nod in response.

“Me too Bradley,” you whine quietly. Bradley uses his middle and pointer finger to rub sloppy circles into your sensitive nub, causing your body to jerk forward and your eyes to flutter shut, soft moans fill his ears.

He runs his hand through your hair pulling your head back. Bradley throws his head back in pleasure, you begin to tighten up around him drawing out a long groan. “Rooster,” you chant his name, “more, please I need more,”, he complies with your desires and angles your bodies so he hits even deeper.

Hugging your body close to his, he thrusts a couple more times before you cum around him, Bradley slows down as he cums. His body jerks softly, “Thats the best welcome home present ive ever gotten love,” he whispers into your ear.

Your bedroom door opens, revealing Maverick, “Get your clothes on and meet me in the living room,” his stern voice shakes you to the core.

Well shit

[astroyongie]

Stray Kids September Reading 2023

Note: please take it lightly

Bangchan

Love: Remember that person he was stalking? Well it seems like Chan has a little competition here, because despite having a huge crush on them he also figured out that this person is already on a relationship which made him very sucky and pouty about the whole thing. 

Career: He has been working a lot lately, I feel like he has been training to the point of exhaustion sometimes simply because there’s new skills that he wants to be perfect in. I have to admit that chan is working a lot and giving a lot of himself at the moment to please the fans and the audience. 

Self: Chan is going through a very creative period, where he has new ideas and new concepts in mind. It feels like he is working a lot on those to make them come out into fruition and be able to express himself in other ways. He is also figuring out new ways of communicating with the fans. 

Minho

Love: There was a huge conflict between him and his partner. I couldn’t figure out the reason why they argued, I just know it was really a big argument to the point where he has been completely ignoring and avoiding them lately. So for now I don’t really know his relationship status. 

Career: I keep believing that Minho isn’t happy in the group partially because there’s a lot of dishonesty within the group but also with the company that keeps seeing them as less than human beings. Minho thinks the company aren’t taking action for the consequences it brings upon the members and himself and that the whole thing is unfair on why some members have the right to certain things while others don’t. 

Self: His self doubts about everything in his life have been blocking him a lot from the potential good things in his life. I believe that this time, Minho is lacking of emotional maturity to deal with the things that upsets him. 

Changbin

Love: This boy is annoying when it comes to love, because once again I am picking up on his self negative thoughts about love, in a way where he believes he doesn’t deserve love. So he restricts himself from being in a relationship despite being in love or having crushes. 

Career: Thankfully he is learning to be more spontaneous and I think he was finally able to get the green light to compose and to write again without having to follow a certain vibe for the group. This honestly makes Changbin happy because he is able to show his colors instead of having to adapt to what “some people” and the company expect them to do. 

Self: He is working a lot of forgiveness, both for people he loved that hurt him and for himself because he knows he hasn’t been easy to deal with either. Changbin is moving on from all the nativity in his life which is very good. 

Hyunjin

Love: His co-dependencies never end and although he knows with his crush it’s over, that doesn’t stop him at the moment from trying to get affection from others in a way to show his crush that he is done with them but at the same time I think Hyunjin is self eluting himself since there’s a lot of inner feelings that he is ignoring. 

Career: He will be probably traveling somewhere soon for his work, but other than that, I see that Hyunjin is living a very fast paced life when it comes to his career. He just keeps going through his schedules without complains. I am a bit worried about this because he doesn’t seem like resting much 

Self: Hyunjin is going through a very dark period of his life in a way that even himself cannot see. From what I see, he doesn’t eat much, does a lot of restriction without even noticing (so if he doesn’t eat It’s not order of the company but him that doesn’t even notice that he isn’t taking care of himself). I see some type of addictions, probably drinking too much but I cannot be sure of this since it could be only related to his shadow self that is very prominent at the moment. Also Hyunjin is like being very hyper sexual too, which could be the reason why I see negative attachments. 

Han

Love: I think Han is on a relationship at the moment that just begun but the not so good side of it is that he already created a emotional dependance on this person the same way he did with his ex. It seems like it’s the only way he has to reassure himself of his relationships. 

Career: He doesn’t trust one bit on his company, at least not with the projects for his solos. Just like Minho, he is bittersweet on certain things and doesn’t understand why there’s always some other members that get to get all the credits

Self: He is working a lot for his career, and it seems like his productivity is the only thing that matter for him at the moment. Han as a strict routine he is following in order to show his company what he is capable of providing for the group musically speaking. 

Felix

Love: This boy is completely lost with his life to be honest, especially when it comes to love. He lacks direction, he doesn’t know what he wants, what he craves, what he needs. And every time it seems like he finds a way to create arguments with the ones he loves without understanding why 

Career: His sponsor isn’t very okay with the few contracts that they made and there’s definitely some delays when it comes to his solo projects. Felix is dependent on the money that is being used and for the moment he hasn’t been reaching nor being able to proceed with the rest of his projects. 

Self: He has been very introverted lately, he doesn’t speak much with people and he is often alone, in his mind trying to work on his self worth and development. I am just scared that he isn’t taking care of his proper needs;

Seungmin

Love: His relationship is going perfectly fine, it’s full of good things and Seungmin and his partner are still able o see each other and having a heathy relaitonshio/ for now everything shows long term success for their love. 

Career: Lately he has created healthy and clear boundaries with the company and his sponsor so things seem to be going rather well for him. Seungmin is happy with his situation, he is able to speak his mind without being afraid and he has become a lot more independent as well. 

Self: At the moment his energy is very strong, because Seungmin is full of ambition. He now knows what he wants for his career, what are his goals and how to access them so he is taking a lot of shadow actions in order to get what he wants. 

I.N

Love: Single, this boy is just living his life and having fun with his friends. I feel like he goes out a lot, he parties with other idols too. He is just a young man enjoying his life as a young adult.  

Career: What the company makes him do isn’t aligned with his personal values and because of that Jeongin has a lot of decisions to make that sometimes overwhelms him. Because he doesn’t like his idol image but at the same time he cannot change it. 

Self: He is expanding as a person, he is working on himself and trying very hard to have overseas opportunities for himself and his career. Jeongin is focused more on himself than the group at the moment.