constantly0lost

[constantly0lost]

❤️❤️❤️ oh gosh what is reddit cazador hahah

so this fic tells cazador's story from being a spawn under vellioth, to usurping and killing vellioth using reddit's advice, to becoming a vampire lord and getting roasted on r/aita for being a narcissistic parent. the current plan is that it's told as if you are scrolling through cazador's reddit account

here's the start of it:

i haven't worked on it for ages hahah. im pretty sure the idea has merit though

thanks for asking <3 <3

[constantly0lost]

[constantly0lost]

I'm crying

[constantly0lost]

Content: Dae-ho x GN!reader. Dae-ho is insecure and has self-esteem issues (stretchmarks, fear of abandonment, expectations of what a man should be etc) This was mostly me working through some stuff. Domestic fluff but a little sexy too. No games, everything is fine. Approximately 1k words.

Stripes

Dae-Ho is the perfect boyfriend. Sweet, funny, and so attentive. A big cuddly tiger with a big beautiful heart. 

He’s the type of man who doesn't simply stop to help seniors cross the street, but also carries their groceries all the way home, changes the burned out lightbulbs they can't reach once he gets there, and leaves with a home-cooked meal and the honorary title of “sonja.”

And he loves you. Absolutely, completely. He looks at you like you’re a miracle, he treats you like royalty, and he kisses you like he was born to make you happy. 

But in his eyes, he's never enough.

His hips are wedged between yours, the delicious weight of him pressing you into the mattress. Strong arms, not a cage around your head, but a cradle; there’s no safer place on earth than within them. And his lips, so soft and so very devoted, kissing, trembling, whispering against yours: “Damn, I could kiss you for hours.”

Your hands drift down his back, the cotton of his shirt bunching between your fingers as you attempt to untuck it from the waistband of his trousers. And for a moment there’s a glimmer of hope that tonight will be the night he lets you continue, but that hope is quickly put to rest by the slanting of his eyebrows and a muffled grunt of protest. Because as big and strong as Dae-ho is, he’s also completely terrified.

“Ah, no,” he whispers, his breaths trembling and dewy against your lips, “Let's leave it on.”

“I want to see you,” you tell him. It isn’t the first time. In the months you’ve been together, Dae-ho has never once let you see him without his shirt. Not with the lights on, anyway. 

In the dark it’s fair game, your hands stroking, squeezing, caressing muscle and soft fat, his moans never louder than when your lips and tongue are on his chest. He lets you feel it all, the way his back flexes beneath your fingernails while he’s dedicated to your pleasure, the quiver of his belly right before he comes undone.

“It’s sexier this way, don’t you think? You all… naked. Me not.” He smiles weakly, the cracks in his bravado showing way earlier tonight. The desperation, the fear in his eyes is heartbreaking.

“But I want to see my sexy man.”

“Look, I can promise you you’re not missing anything. Nothing worthwhile.”

“Dae-ho…”

Surely he hears the way his words sink to the very pit of your stomach. Because you know. Not all of it, he hasn’t gotten to the point where he can tell you everything, but you know enough. It isn’t his father’s words exactly that fall from his lips, but nevertheless the sentiment is tainted by the late great man’s expectation of what his son— what a man– should be. 

Your palm rests against the side of his cheek, thumb caressing the downward curve of the corner of his lip. Your movements are slow and deliberate; you’ve learned the hard way how easy it is to make Dae-ho flinch when he gets inside his head. 

“You’re enough, Dae-ho,” you reassure him.

He shakes his head, his hair tumbling over your hand after an evening spent running your fingers back through it. “That’s the thing, I’m not. At all.”

“You're perfect–”

“I'm not–

“To me.” You're assertive but not forceful, firm but gentle, and you know that's what he needs right now. “I’m not going to force you to take your shirt off. Even if we're together for fifty years and I never see your body I'll still be the happiest person alive because I'm with you. But I can promise you that I’ll love you no matter what. No matter what it is that you're afraid of me seeing.”

His jaw flexes as he glances toward the lamp glowing golden on the nightstand. For a moment you half expect him to dive for it and plunge the room into that familiar, comfortable dark. But he doesn’t. He simply sits, shifting his weight so he’s straddling your thighs, and puffs out his cheeks, forcing a breath. “Alright. Please… Please don’t leave me after this.” And then he takes off his shirt. 

And he’s exactly how you imagined, yet somehow even more beautiful. Soft and strong inside and out. Gorgeous, grabbable even. “Holy fuck, Dae-ho…”

He winces like you raised your hand to slap him. “See, they’re bad. I should never–”

“Wait, what? What's bad?”

“These,” he said, twisting at the waist to show you his hips and the sides of his chest, and the deep reddish brown stripes adorning them. 

“Stretchmarks?”

His lips fall into a crestfallen frown as he reaches for his shirt, but you stop him with a gentle hand. “Dae-ho…”

“Don’t, it’s alright. I know. I know it’s something women get all the time but it's weird for a man to have them.”

You shake your head in confusion, “What? It’s not just women. Anyone can get them, it’s just where you’ve grown.”

“That’s not what my mother said. She said girls get them if they eat too much, and women get them when they carry babies–”

“Well she was wrong,” you say, slowly raising your hand to touch it to the warmth of his belly. There are faded marks there too, silvery trails around his navel. “Anyone can have them. Lots of people do. You’re so handsome, Dae-ho. And your body is beautiful.”

“It's not, you know… manly.”

“It is, but that's beside the point. It's you. It's your body. And it's so beautiful.”

His muscles tense beneath your palm, his slow breath shaking. He watches your hand as it curves around his hip, then up to his chest. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” You smile, feeling him relax under your touch. “What does your name mean?”

A slanted smile lifts his frown, “Big tiger.”

“Yeah, and what do tigers have?” 

He considers your question for a moment before raising his hands to make claws, and then his eyes widen. “Stripes?”

“Right.”

You can see him working through it, his gaze lowered but not looking at anything in particular, his mouth curving from that downtrodden frown to a slanted grin. “Tiger stripes, huh?”

“Mhm.” You slide your arms down to his biceps and gently pull him down towards you.

He bends to your will so easily, his eyes searching yours, soft and curious. “Thank you.”

“Thank you. Now let me see if I can get you to purr.”

“Actually tigers can't purr,” he says, leaning forward into your embrace with a smile so bright and genuine you can't help but adore him, “but that's not important right now is it? Maybe I can be the first.”

[constantly0lost]

[constantly0lost]

Terribly Cruel

Flamey x Ango. Selfship. SFW. Pining. So much pining. Ango's low self-esteem. TW: alcohol. Set pre-Flango. 1.5k words.

Happiness for Ango exists in slivers, but some days– no, most days– he suspects he deserves even less. Weary eyes strained from the blue light of screens, stomach churning from the relentless stress of his position, head pounding, thoughts simultaneously whirring and muffled by haze. Work. Mend. Atone. But again, that’s what he deserves. Certainly not anything more.

Never anything more.

Take a day off, Assistant Counselor.

Why don’t you save that for tomorrow and come to the company social?

Did you even go home last night? You look like you haven’t slept all week.

He hears it all too often. But they don’t know what he’s done. Not really. And neither does she. And it’s killing him.

The death of one friend, the loss of another, promotions, kudos, hearty claps on the back, a gun to his head. 

Excellent work, Sakaguchi, you did what no one else could.

Yes. Yes, he did, didn’t he? No one else could lie to his friends like that, detach himself entirely from his emotions, remain so cold and calculating. That’s what he’s good at, afterall. Ango Sakaguchi doesn’t care who he steps on, who he betrays, who he gets killed. Turn any street corner in Yokohama and you’ll likely find someone he’s stabbed in the back. 

Quite simply, he doesn’t deserve anything even close to friendship like hers. And yet he clings to it like it’s his lifeline, while memories of the past attempt to push him down to the depths. 

He breaks away from her, mentally at least, twice a week but finds he can never go through with it. Just another cruelty. He lies to her every single day. 

Because when he looks in her eyes he knows he’s fooled her into thinking he’s a decent man. 

She sits and drinks with him, talks about her work while he vaguely alludes to his own. She laughs and teases him affectionately. She makes him smile; lassos those skittish little shreds of happiness and gives them back to him sliver by sliver. 

And then there are the glances that linger, the softening smiles and softer eyes. The questions that neither of them have had the courage to speak aloud, the warmth he feels when he’s with her. 

Whatever it is, it’s far more than he deserves. It would be a kindness to put an end to it.

It’s late when he finds his resolve in the bottom of a whisky glass. He forgoes a cab in favor of walking through the frigid rain, every pelting drop a form of flagellation as his footsteps echo through the empty city streets. 

Cold, calm and detached, that’s all he is. Cold, as he ignores the pleas of his heart and resolves to set her free for her own good. Calm, as sweat trickles from his temples and his stomach ties itself in knots. Detached, as he rings her doorbell in the dead of night, feeling his treacherous soul lift when she comes to the door and greets him with a perplexed but unmistakable warmth.

Red hair loosely pulled back, the softness of her body somewhat– but not quite completely– hidden by an oversized shirt and pajama pants that pool around her feet. God, how he wishes he was there for any other purpose. 

“Ango? What are you doing? It’s pouring down–”

“I don’t deserve you,” he interrupts, his resolve allowing him to remain upright when all he wants is to stumble into her arms. “This can’t go on.”

Her faltering smile shatters him to pieces. Cold, calm, detached.  

“What do you mean?”

“We can’t be friends.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

No, of course she didn’t, silly, perfect thing, but she isn't dissuaded by the shake of his head. “I’m not a good person. I- I lie and… I can’t… I can’t. I can’t tell you–” He isn’t sure when he began crying.

The warmth of her palms against his cheeks soothes the biting cold of the night. “Ango, whatever it is, whatever you’ve done, come inside and let’s just talk about it. I’m sure we can work it out.”

Why won’t she let him cut her free? Why must she continue to absorb his poison despite his attempts to let her go? He complies without complaining as she urges him inside, props him on the couch, and leaves him alone for less than twenty seconds before returning with what must be the warmest, softest towels in existence. 

Undeserved. All of it. 

“You've been drinking,” she mutters, but she isn’t being unkind or judgmental, just stating facts as she gently takes his fogged-up, rain-speckled glasses and towels off his hair. “God, you’re soaked.”

His lips tremble as the cold runs through him, his soggy suit clinging to his slender frame. Goosebumps raise along his arms and the back of his neck, and he tries in vain to conceal the chatter of his teeth. 

“You’re sleeping here tonight,” she tells him, concern etched across her brow. “I’ll wash and dry your clothes but you’ll have to borrow mine tonight. And take a shower, okay? Lukewarm. You need to warm up slowly. I’ll make you some tea.”

He’s unused to taking orders from anyone but the chief, yet he groggily obeys, finding himself swept along by her gentle authority. 

The shower water sobers him and throws the world into perspective; that he’s in her home, naked, head over heels in love, and completely unable to do a thing about it. He can’t bring her into his world, can’t risk losing her. Ango simply can’t let anyone get too close; it’s the price he pays for doing what he does. 

He will not put her in harm’s way.

He emerges sheepishly, only a tad tipsy, a towel wrapped securely around his hips, another draped over his shoulders to conceal most of his torso. 

She lays out clothes for him on her bed, apologetically giving him the only options she has available: a pair of olive green sweatpants and a soft black t-shirt cut with a V-shaped neckline.

“No, I think you look fine,” she says, barely stifling a laugh when he appears in the living room wearing her clothes. Sweatpants too loose around his hips and too short in the leg. The t-shirt exposing a pale inch of midriff yet billowing around his slender chest. 

And he smiles, despite himself, somewhat comforted by the ridiculousness of the situation. That even when he’s low and it feels like he simply doesn’t have a place in the world, there’s her, there’s laughter, there’s relief. 

“Will you stay and talk?” He asks as she fusses, setting up a futon for him, bringing him stacks of blankets and soft pillows. She could have him sleeping in a cloud and always fear it wasn’t soft enough for him. He could sleep on a bed of nails and insist she had done too much to accommodate him. 

“Yeah, what about?”

End it, he tells himself, his heart breaking as she sits cross-legged on the floor beside him and looks at him with those eyes he wishes were his to gaze into. But how can he end it? In her home, in her clothes, comfortable and safe in her warmth.

And it occurs to him that it might simply be easier– no, kinder,  to confess; to admit he’s in love with her and let her do the rejecting. To let shame do the work of keeping him away when he lacks the discipline to leave her be. 

But then there’s that hope. That treacherous, selfish hope that she’ll reciprocate. That she’ll respond to his confession with her own, that life will be good from then on, filled with love and kindness he most certainly does not deserve.

But what life could he offer her? What kind of love could it be if he could never truly tell her anything? How long until she realized how terribly lonely it would be to be his, how many nights would she fall asleep alone? And how long until she began to believe his absence was proof he never truly loved her in the first place. 

No. To love her is cruel. But then… isn’t that what he is?

He steels his nerve, and prepares to leap. “I—”

“Oh!” she says suddenly, clumsily pulling herself to her feet, “Hold on, I forgot your tea.”

“Ah, don’t worry about that.”

“No, no, I promised,” she says, already disappearing through the doorway to the kitchen, leaving him completely dazed.

And there’s little he can do but bark a bitter laugh at the absurdity of it all, and thank the universe for giving her a way out.

“I’m so in love with you,” he whispers to the empty room, in desperate need of an outlet for the warmth billowing, swelling, swarming in his chest. “Isn’t that just terribly cruel?”

[constantly0lost]

me talking in the tags on tumblr dot com

[constantly0lost]

Something Else

Content: Fluff. SFW. Nam-gyu x gn!reader. Your second date with Nam-gyu goes wrong, and yet when you're together everything is completely right. Canon-divergent, no games. Lots of cursing but it's all affectionate. STILL on my soft Nam-gyu bullshit.

For Nam-gyu, second dates were a rare thing. Not because he didn’t want them, but because his date had usually gotten what they wanted by the first. Free drinks, free drugs, access to the VIP lounge, introductions to performers. But you hadn’t asked for any of that.

He accepted the second date with you, cautious and braced. And then told himself it probably wouldn’t happen. 

But it did. And he was not ready.

You were dressed up— fucking gorgeous, actually— waiting for him to get ready with the promise that you were going to take him out to dinner. Standing there looking like an angel in the midst of his shithole apartment while he scrambled around in a threadbare t-shirt and yesterday’s boxers.

He was certain there wouldn’t be a third date, not after seeing him like this. In fact he was surprised you hadn’t dipped while he brushed the fuzz off his teeth. He probably would have.

But no, you were still there in the living room, waiting patiently for him while he looked around, fingers tangled in his hair, searching high and low for literally anything clean that he could wear. 

“Shit, I’m— I don’t think I have anything, y’know… nice.”

“That’s alright. Just go casual.”

He pursed his lips and stood with his hands on his hips. “Ah, shit.”

“Nothing casual either?”

He rubbed his hand across his mouth and huffed through his nose. He’d screwed it up, and there was nothing to do but attempt to cling onto his last remaining shred of dignity. “You can just go home. I’ll call you a taxi or whatever.” 

You hid it decently well, but he couldn’t help but notice the crestfallen expression on your face. 

Should’ve seen that coming. Shouldn’t have given a shit. Did though. “I’ll put you on the guest list, don’t worry. Just text me your full name and anyone else you want to bring—”

“Guest list?”

“Yeah, for the Pentagon.”

You frowned, “That skeevy nightclub? Why would I—” And you must have seen the shock written across his  face as you hurriedly backpedaled. “Oh! Oh fuck that’s where you work, isn’t it?”

“Heh! Yeah.”

Was he relieved? Maybe. Convinced? Not quite. “You’re not trying to get into the VIP lounge? You don’t wanna meet Thanos or someone?”

“No?”

“Oh… so… you want drugs or someth–”

“No, Nam-gyu. I don’t want drugs.”

Okay, no, there had to be something. You were fucking with him. “Then what are you here for?”

“Dinner?” you said, like it was the most obvious answer in the world. “I wanted to hang out with you.”

Nah. No way.

He wasn’t sure when he’d begun pacing, but he had, pulling his hair and slicking it back over his skull. You and him? You with your pretty face and nice clothes and so many good points he could spend a week listing them all. Him in his underwear, probably reeking of spilled drinks and stale smoke. 

“I could go and get us something to eat and bring it here?” you suggested

“Uh,” he frowned, giving it more thought than he probably needed to. “Yeah, sounds good.”

You were probably going to dip, he thought. He gave you money for the food anyway. 

Except you didn’t dip. You came back, two bags full of food. Comforting jjajangmyeon, spicy beef bulgogi, fresh kimbap, golden fried chicken… you’d brought a damn feast, and you handed him the exact amount of “change” he’d sent you out with. 

“You paid on the last date,” you said, rummaging through one of the bags for napkins while he tried to put the money back in your hand. “And you can pay for the next one, deal?”

Next one… next one, “oh shit, for real?” He felt the tug of what must have been an absolute shit-eating grin spreading across his face. “Alright, smooth talker.”

Maybe it wasn’t love yet but he was headed that way. Dangerously fast.

After dinner you sat with him on the couch, the TV blaring in the background as you joked about him laying his head in your lap. 

“Go on,” you said, gesturing to your thighs. “I don’t mind.”

He laughed about it and grumbled that you were crazy, but his heart was racing, his cheeks rosy apples as he inched closer and called your bluff. Except you weren’t bluffing at all. 

“There… isn’t that better?” you asked, running your fingers though his hair, tucking the front part behind his ears and smiling down at him like he was someone.

He could have burst into tears. 

But he didn’t. He shivered and felt his breath catch in his chest, but he pushed down that deep and sudden swell of feeling as much as he could. 

The second date. The second fucking date and he was melting with his head on your lap, letting you run your fingers through his hair. 

All his life he’d tried so hard to ensure people perceived him as anything but this vulnerable. His entire persona was a delicately crafted facade; the type of man who wouldn't hesitate to lash out, a necessary part of any group he was in, grasping at coattails while basking in the glow of those blessed with a radiance he had never quite managed to conjure for himself. Always the sidekick, the hype man, the fucking groupie. Never the one in the limelight. 

But you, the way you were looking at him…  you made him feel like maybe he was capable of being something more. Wonderful, perhaps.

It was too much. 

He found himself laughing, placing his hand over your face and pushing you away. “Ah, motherfucker, stop it.”

“Motherfucker?!” 

“Yeah, that’s you.”

Thank fuck you were you, laughing along with him and lightly smacking his forehead in retaliation. That only made him laugh harder, until he was heaving for breath, knees tucked to his chest, his neck twisted so he could hide his face and giggle against your stomach.

It was all so much; the feeling, the acceptance, the forgiveness, tolerance, all of it. All for him. He hardly knew what to do with himself.

And then your fingers were threading through his damn hair again, your laughter fading to the type of adoring smile he never thought he'd ever see aimed his way. “You're something else, Nam-gyu.”

Yeah. With you, maybe, he had the chance to be. 

[constantly0lost]

Something Else

Content: Fluff. SFW. Nam-gyu x gn!reader. Your second date with Nam-gyu goes wrong, and yet when you're together everything is completely right. Canon-divergent, no games. Lots of cursing but it's all affectionate. STILL on my soft Nam-gyu bullshit.

For Nam-gyu, second dates were a rare thing. Not because he didn’t want them, but because his date had usually gotten what they wanted by the first. Free drinks, free drugs, access to the VIP lounge, introductions to performers. But you hadn’t asked for any of that.

He accepted the second date with you, cautious and braced. And then told himself it probably wouldn’t happen. 

But it did. And he was not ready.

You were dressed up— fucking gorgeous, actually— waiting for him to get ready with the promise that you were going to take him out to dinner. Standing there looking like an angel in the midst of his shithole apartment while he scrambled around in a threadbare t-shirt and yesterday’s boxers.

He was certain there wouldn’t be a third date, not after seeing him like this. In fact he was surprised you hadn’t dipped while he brushed the fuzz off his teeth. He probably would have.

But no, you were still there in the living room, waiting patiently for him while he looked around, fingers tangled in his hair, searching high and low for literally anything clean that he could wear. 

“Shit, I’m— I don’t think I have anything, y’know… nice.”

“That’s alright. Just go casual.”

He pursed his lips and stood with his hands on his hips. “Ah, shit.”

“Nothing casual either?”

He rubbed his hand across his mouth and huffed through his nose. He’d screwed it up, and there was nothing to do but attempt to cling onto his last remaining shred of dignity. “You can just go home. I’ll call you a taxi or whatever.” 

You hid it decently well, but he couldn’t help but notice the crestfallen expression on your face. 

Should’ve seen that coming. Shouldn’t have given a shit. Did though. “I’ll put you on the guest list, don’t worry. Just text me your full name and anyone else you want to bring—”

“Guest list?”

“Yeah, for the Pentagon.”

You frowned, “That skeevy nightclub? Why would I—” And you must have seen the shock written across his  face as you hurriedly backpedaled. “Oh! Oh fuck that’s where you work, isn’t it?”

“Heh! Yeah.”

Was he relieved? Maybe. Convinced? Not quite. “You’re not trying to get into the VIP lounge? You don’t wanna meet Thanos or someone?”

“No?”

“Oh… so… you want drugs or someth–”

“No, Nam-gyu. I don’t want drugs.”

Okay, no, there had to be something. You were fucking with him. “Then what are you here for?”

“Dinner?” you said, like it was the most obvious answer in the world. “I wanted to hang out with you.”

Nah. No way.

He wasn’t sure when he’d begun pacing, but he had, pulling his hair and slicking it back over his skull. You and him? You with your pretty face and nice clothes and so many good points he could spend a week listing them all. Him in his underwear, probably reeking of spilled drinks and stale smoke. 

“I could go and get us something to eat and bring it here?” you suggested

“Uh,” he frowned, giving it more thought than he probably needed to. “Yeah, sounds good.”

You were probably going to dip, he thought. He gave you money for the food anyway. 

Except you didn’t dip. You came back, two bags full of food. Comforting jjajangmyeon, spicy beef bulgogi, fresh kimbap, golden fried chicken… you’d brought a damn feast, and you handed him the exact amount of “change” he’d sent you out with. 

“You paid on the last date,” you said, rummaging through one of the bags for napkins while he tried to put the money back in your hand. “And you can pay for the next one, deal?”

Next one… next one, “oh shit, for real?” He felt the tug of what must have been an absolute shit-eating grin spreading across his face. “Alright, smooth talker.”

Maybe it wasn’t love yet but he was headed that way. Dangerously fast.

After dinner you sat with him on the couch, the TV blaring in the background as you joked about him laying his head in your lap. 

“Go on,” you said, gesturing to your thighs. “I don’t mind.”

He laughed about it and grumbled that you were crazy, but his heart was racing, his cheeks rosy apples as he inched closer and called your bluff. Except you weren’t bluffing at all. 

“There… isn’t that better?” you asked, running your fingers though his hair, tucking the front part behind his ears and smiling down at him like he was someone.

He could have burst into tears. 

But he didn’t. He shivered and felt his breath catch in his chest, but he pushed down that deep and sudden swell of feeling as much as he could. 

The second date. The second fucking date and he was melting with his head on your lap, letting you run your fingers through his hair. 

All his life he’d tried so hard to ensure people perceived him as anything but this vulnerable. His entire persona was a delicately crafted facade; the type of man who wouldn't hesitate to lash out, a necessary part of any group he was in, grasping at coattails while basking in the glow of those blessed with a radiance he had never quite managed to conjure for himself. Always the sidekick, the hype man, the fucking groupie. Never the one in the limelight. 

But you, the way you were looking at him…  you made him feel like maybe he was capable of being something more. Wonderful, perhaps.

It was too much. 

He found himself laughing, placing his hand over your face and pushing you away. “Ah, motherfucker, stop it.”

“Motherfucker?!” 

“Yeah, that’s you.”

Thank fuck you were you, laughing along with him and lightly smacking his forehead in retaliation. That only made him laugh harder, until he was heaving for breath, knees tucked to his chest, his neck twisted so he could hide his face and giggle against your stomach.

It was all so much; the feeling, the acceptance, the forgiveness, tolerance, all of it. All for him. He hardly knew what to do with himself.

And then your fingers were threading through his damn hair again, your laughter fading to the type of adoring smile he never thought he'd ever see aimed his way. “You're something else, Nam-gyu.”

Yeah. With you, maybe, he had the chance to be. 

[constantly0lost]

Nam-Gyu Kiss Headcanons

SFW. Vague references to drug use. Kinda fluffy kinda angsty. Still on my soft Nam-gyu agenda. Help.

At the club:

Pounding music and flashing lights, his lips wet and eager, smiling against yours.

Fading black cherry on his tongue, his fingers teasing the hem of your clothes.

He's touchy-feely when he's sober and even more so now.

"Let's run away together."

He doesn't give you time to answer before his tongue pushes past the threshold of your lips.

Even like this some part of him is terrified to hear your response. But he drowns it out. With you, with pills, with blinding lights and blaring music.

He likes to be bitten, to feel your teeth sink into the plush of his lower lip, to be claimed and marked and made to feel wanted.

Moans into your mouth, loud and unashamed; damn near pornographic.

Pin him to the wall, to the couch, to the hood of his car, anywhere. Just make him yours.

Wrap his hair around your fist and tell him you love him. He needs those pretty lies like he needs his next hit.

Let him pretend just for tonight that life is blissful, beautiful, and worth holding on to.

Let him pretend he's worth a damn.

When he's sober:

Slow and tender, his fingers and cold sliver cradling your face.

His breath quickening when you kiss him back, his lips hesitant, tongue shy.

Gentle kisses, and oh-so loving, completely at odds with the way he wants to be perceived. Savoring each second like you'll be ripped out of his arms.

It terrifies him that he has something so good. Something to lose. Something he's absolutely certain he'll fuck up eventually.

Sometimes he wishes you'd break up with him, get it over quickly. It'd be kinder to you both.

Pulls back to check in, always braced for rejection. It's going to happen sooner or later. C'mon. Just pull the fucking trigger already.

But you look at him with stars in your eyes. "You're so handsome, Nam-gyu."

"Shut up," he laughs, hoping you don't notice the way he's trembling, because what else can he do? He's no good; just a junkie drowning in debt, and the sooner you realize it the better. "Just kiss me."

That icy facade is thin as hell and melts at the first brush of your lips.

He hopes to god you don't hear the way he whimpers into your mouth when you run your fingers through his hair.

Maybe, just maybe, the invitation on his bedside table has the answers. Maybe when the debts are gone he can start working on becoming someone worthy of being kissed by you.

[constantly0lost]

Warm to the Touch

Content: NSFW. Nam-gyu x reader. Reader has a pussy. Nam-gyu gets cold at night and wants to share your bunk. Dirty talk, fingering, thigh humping, finger sucking. Kiiiinda public sex but no one sees (you're in the dorm) and there's no P in V. He's pretty soft, giggly, and silly. Brief mentions of canon-typical violence. I wrote the entire thing with little hearts floating all around me. Approx 1700 words.

Time didn’t mean anything inside the games. There was no daylight, no clocks. Just painted skies, the rumble of your stomach that told you it had been too long since they fed you, and the bone deep exhaustion that set in after the adrenaline had died down. 

You’d survived another game, and now you lay in your bunk at the very bottom of a stack of five, enjoying a much-needed sleep. The mattress was thin and the blanket wasn’t exactly cozy, but it may as well have been the comfiest bed in all the world simply for the fact that you had survived another day. You were that bit closer to making it out of this.

And yet, your reward was cut short. 

You found yourself being shaken, a firm hand cupping your shoulder and rapidly rocking you from side-to-side, tearing you out of your dreams and back into the harsh reality of the predicament you had found yourself in. The dorm was quiet, still lit by the golden glow of the piggy bank suspended from the ceiling. It wasn’t lights up, not yet. 

“Awh, you awake too?” a voice you immediately recognized as your ally, Nam-gyu’s whispered from the shadows beside your bed. His hand remained on your shoulder, his fingertips lifting the edge of your blanket just a fraction. “It’s kinda cold, right?”

As you rubbed the sleep from your eyes and squinted at him in the dark, you noticed the slight shiver in his breath, the way his hand trembled against you. It wasn’t unusual for Nam-gyu to shake, especially when he was coming down from whatever the fuck he and Thanos had gotten into to make it through the day. “You’re cold?”

“Fucking freezing. Move over,” he muttered, his features softening with an endearing tilt of his head. You didn’t need the lights on to know he was pouting, “Please?”

You knew he’d just annoy you until you gave in, so you cut your losses, shuffling over to the edge of the bed and making room for him. Well, as much room as you could– the cot was small, and as he clambered beneath the covers and settled in beside you, it quickly became apparent that there wasn’t room for him at all.

Body-to-body, face-to-face, there was hardly an inch between you. He tucked one arm beneath the pillow, propping up his head. The other hovered as he struggled to find a place for it, letting it dangle above your waist, then down to his thigh, and then up again, tucking it against his chest.

“See, isn’t that better now?” he said, his face just a few inches from yours as his dark eyes– jet black in the night– bore into yours. “I was so fucking cold up there.”

“Your feet are like ice,” you grumbled as his bare toes pressed against your shins. 

He grinned then, mischief sparking in his eyes as he tilted his foot to press his soles squarely on your warm skin. 

“You’re such a pain in the ass,” you hissed, fighting off the instinct to squirm away and instead trapping his feet between your calves. “There. Go to sleep.”

“Mhm.”

You closed your eyes and tried to tell yourself that this was completely normal. The fact that his breath tickled the tip of your nose was fine. That he adjusted his position so that it wasn’t just his ankles, but his calves woven between your legs didn’t mean a thing.

He sighed loudly, contentedly, his head shifting on the pillow beside you. “Mm… you’re so warm. We should do this every night, don’t you think?”

“Go to sleep, Nam-gyu.”

A quiet chuckle sounded beside you, followed by the pressure of his arm, draping across your waist. In the short time you’d come to know Nam-gyu, you’d learned that he placed great value on the concept of personal space… and being up in everybody’s. Not that you really minded. Comforts were hard to come by in the games, and there were certainly worse ways to spend the night. 

You opened your eyes to see his, intently staring, his lips pursed as though holding back a giggle. 

“Now now, Nam-gyu,” you whispered, all too aware of the people sleeping above and around you, “if you wanted to cuddle you should’ve just said.”

He sputtered, a snorting laugh bursting from him that had you clamping your hand over his mouth and trying to stifle your own with the back of your arm. 

“Shut up,” you hissed. “God, you’re so…”

So what? You weren’t quite sure. Concerning, most definitely. Terrifying, yeah… at times. You were definitely glad you were one of the ones in his good books. In fact, he’d saved your life at the expense of two others that very same day. The scarlet staining his shirt was practically pressed to your heart. 

“So…?” he continued, his teeth flashing against the pillow of his lower lip. “So what? C’mon. What am I?”

“Cute,” you settled on, enjoying the way his eyebrows shot up at that. “You know… for a pain in the ass.”

The moment the words left your mouth you regretted them. He lay there, mouth agape eyes wide, “Oh shit, for real? We flirting now?”

“Shut up.”

“We are! We’re fucking flirting. Alright, my turn, my turn,” he whispered, wriggling closer, his finger tips pressed to your lips as if to silence any protest. “You know what you are?”

You shook your head, hoping to appear nonchalant. But your pulse had certainly picked up its pace. 

“Uh-huh. You’re warm,” he said, smirking as if he’d given the smartest and suavest answer possible. God, this fucking guy. But he didn’t stop there. “You’re hot, obviously. Uh… you’re nice. Yeah. Like, out of everyone, you’re the only one who gets my name right every time. Not… like, Nam-su. Or, you know? Asshole. Motherfucker. Or Junkie or whatever.”

He chewed his lip while he waited for you to speak, while you considered your response, while you wondered just how far you were willing to take this. 

Yeah, you were flirting. And you meant it. 

“You're hot too, Nam-gyu,” you said, watching his pretty lips pull into a satisfied smile. 

“Shut the fuck up,” he giggled, covering your mouth with his palm for a moment before pulling it back. “Say it again.”

“What? That you're hot? Nam-gyu.”

“Fffuck…” he whispered, nearly moaning. Tilting his head downward, he pressed his forehead to your chin. The scent of his hair flooded your senses; sweat and blood, and the underlying aroma of him– neither offensive or pleasant but somehow weirdly comforting. Human. “You have no fucking idea what you're doing to me.”

You did. You could feel it brushing against your thigh; growing, twitching just from the sound of his name on your lips. Hard and needy. His arousal stirred yours. 

With heat pooling between your thighs, you lowered your head to whisper in his ear, “What do you think we’d be doing right now if we weren’t in here?”

Those pretty dark eyes shot up to you, his lips slightly parted around a question he seemed to consider. Any other time Nam-gyu spoke first and let his thoughts roll in a while later like an unpredictable storm, but now he was silent. And if his eyes were anything to go by as they danced across your face, his mind was racing. “Huh?”

“What would we be doing right now if we were alone? In your bed…”

“Oh fuck,” he breathed, trembling. Deep ridges appeared between his eyebrows.

“Would we be fucking?”

He nodded. His hips twitched.

“Hard and fast? Or nice and slow?”

“S-slow,” he whispered. “I’d wanna take my time with you.”

It wasn’t the answer you were expecting, and it had you burning up, heat prickling over your cheeks. “Yeah? You on top of me, hm? Pressing me into the mattress.”

“Mhm— fuck…”

“Just your dick?” you asked, adjusting your thigh for him to let him press against it. 

“Huh?”

“How would you get me off? Would you just fuck me with your cock, or—?”

“Tongue,” he ground out, “God, I wanna eat you out so fucking bad. Taste you. Have you pulling my hair while I make you cum.”

“Show me,” you said, near breathless as you lifted your hand to press your fingers against his mouth. 

He was quick to catch on, his eyes falling shut as he parted his lips to tongue and suck your fingertips. A low moan escaped him, the slow rocking of his hips becoming more incessant, more desperate. For a few moments nothing mattered but the dewy heat of his cock rutting against you, the slippery sensation of his greedy tongue flicking over your fingers and making your pussy throb. 

And then his fingers were sliding beneath the waistband of your sweats, lingering just above your clit until you bucked against his hand, making a silent demand to continue. Silent but for gasping breaths and whispered praises. He was damn good with his hands too, his long fingers stroking you deep, the cold silver of his rings pressed against your entrance, the heel of his palm massaging your engorged clit. 

Desperate, needy, Nam-gyu clung to you, shuddering in your arms as he came apart and brought you careening over the edge with him. Swallowing down your moans with slow, hungry kisses that had you forgetting where you were. In those few moments, the world was good. 

“Fuck,” he breathed, that familiar, contagious smile glimmering in the half-light. He raised his fingers to his mouth, lapping at the taste of you like he couldn’t get enough,  “Are we in love?”

You rolled your eyes and he laughed it off, but his words didn’t ring quite so hollow when he fell asleep; warm, curled up with you snoring softly against the crook of your neck, the fabric of your shirt firmly bunched in his hands like he had no intention of ever letting you go.

Thank you so much for reading. I'm slowly getting my writing mojo back and Nam-Gyu is definitely helping. If you'd like for me to write more about him please let me know! Interaction is so so appreciated so please consider reblogging or commenting if you liked it. Screencaps in header by @sombrashe <3

[constantly0lost]

I literally cannot stop smiling at this Flango art by Moonie on Vgen. We're so in love 🥹

(Reblogs are okay!)

[constantly0lost]

Listen... people will tell you that you can't buy happiness but they're stupid and wrong, okay, you can literally buy sliced water chestnuts at the store and add them to your stir-fry and crunch crunch crunch crumch

[constantly0lost]

Greek God

[constantly0lost]

From a state hearing in Texas

[constantly0lost]

"The north wind doth blow, And we shall have snow, And what will poor robin do then, Poor thing? She'll sit in a barn, And keep herself warm, And hide her head under my wing, Poor thing!"

◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡

I'm so in love with this Flai art that I commissioned from Kami on Vgen 🥹 she was amazing to work with and I can't stop looking at this beautiful piece of art.

(Okay to reblog)

[constantly0lost]

The Aftermath

Dazai x GN!reader x Chuuya. Polyamorous fluff and cuddles after a battle. Mentions of Chuuya using corruption and canon-typical violence and injury. Approx 650 words.

AN: special request for @rossithepixie I hope you like it! Thank you for requesting and for all the joy you've given me.

It seems strange to lie so comfortable and safe after a hard night drenched in bloody chaos. 

You, Dazai, and Chuuya; the three of you have been through hell and back several times over tonight, but now you’re home, wound around each other so tightly you aren’t quite sure how you’re ever going to sort through the tangled mess of limbs to find your own. Not that you have any intention of moving. Not tonight. 

Dazai’s fingers gently slide up and down your back, feathery, soothing touches that border on ticklish. His heartbeat is a steady thump beneath your cheek. His other arm– along with yours–- is wrapped securely around Chuuya, the redhead’s snores drawing silent chuckles from the two of you. Well, that and the way his cheek seems to melt against Dazai’s chest. 

Not to mention the dark patch of drool soaking the brunette’s shirt…

“Look at our boy,” Dazai says, keeping his voice low and soft so as not to wake him. “Just like a little puppy dog.”

You try hard not to laugh aloud as Chuuya’s brows pucker and he murmurs something which almost sounds like, “Go fuck yourself, asshole,” before falling back into a deep sleep.

Chuuya deserves to rest more than anyone after tonight. Corruption had ravaged his body almost too long. He’d gotten the job done but not without completely exhausting himself and risking everything in the process. And now the horror of it only seems to serve as a stark comparison for the peace and comfort you find in one another. Those agonized, throat-shredding screams replaced by sleepy breaths. Your loving touches tracing the same paths blood had poured down just hours ago.

“You should get some sleep too,” Dazai says, the hand on your back sliding up to cradle the nape of your neck, nimble fingers rubbing slow circles at the base of your skull that have you melting. "It's been a hard night."

“I almost thought we were going to lose him this time,” you admit. 

“I wouldn’t have let that happen. He owes me too many favors and I intend to cash them in any day now.”

“Be serious.”

Dazai doesn't answer, the silence that follows only broken as he hums to himself, a tune he’s almost certainly making up, his fingers still dedicated to the task of soothing you to sleep. Even now, his touch is gifted with the ability to quell turmoil and catastrophe. Each gentle caress speaks for him; I was scared too, but I’ve got you, both of you, and you’re safe with me, just as you keep me safe too. We’re three Musketeers, a perfect trinity, you’re all that I have, and I won’t let anything in this world come between us.

But his lullaby is soon cut short, silenced by Chuuya’s hand and the scowl on his face. “Hey… shut up.”

“Chuu-yuhh!” Dazai grins behind your lover’s palm, “We thought you were dead!”

“A state you’ll be all too familiar with if you don’t quit singing.”

“You mean it? Don’t tease me like that if you don’t mean to follow through.”

“Uh-huh… You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?” Chuuya grumbles, settling back down on Dazai’s chest. His weariness is evident in his eyes, but the light is back in them as they drink in the sight of you and his lips pull into a familiar, good-natured, crooked smile. “You’re supposed to keep him in line, y’know.”

“Now now Chuuya, you know it’s impossible,” You say, fixing the copper strands of hair tumbling over his pretty face and tucking them behind his ear. “It takes both of us.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” he concedes, letting his eyes close once more, soothed by your gentle touch.

And when you look to Dazai for his reaction to your teasing, you find he’s already asleep, his face a picture of serenity, his arms still wrapped around the two of you for dear life.