#all i do is sprite and study

[harvestmoth]

this thing again

[technikki]

Tjis gif showed up on my tumblr recommended becuz of yoy. I hope youre happy

of course i'm happy it's always a joy to share canon lgbt rep from my favorite video games

[mollotovm]

made a Katana Zero oc. I liked the game, I found it very interesting, though the ending wasn’t the best for at least me ;; that’s more a krill issue though trust.

He isn’t the best oc, I know that there’s a billion things I could fix, but I like him, at least a bit. I know that the proper KZ fandom probably won’t, but I’ll accept any criticism as long as it isn’t just mean ^_^ ;; yet again I can explain him more if all 3 people to interact w this post want any explanation LOLSIES

[ctommy-chileno]

The real jump into adulthood was realizing I no longer can just think of a fangame and spend a week straight developing 24/7 because I have responsabilities now.

[lattehearted]

was gonna make an icon to go along with it but trying to make icons for f.ates sucks

anyway, C.orrin is so "i believe in love" from h.air coded, tyvm

[zprite-x]

The Boat Story

Im going to sleep now

[yoongsriverandme]

✩︵ 주문 — MIROTIC!

❝ You want me, you've fallen for me You're crazy about me, you can't escape me I got you under my skin (Ooh) … ❞

⤑ pairing: like crazy!park jimin x shy fem!reader

⤑ genre: smut, fluff, angst, rom-comy vibes, friends-with-benefits, s2l2f2l (they did some things out of order), idiots to lovers, college!au, fuckboy!au, reverse harem, mutual pining, "unrequited love," she fell first but he fell harder.

⤑ wc: 9.3k

⤑ summary: sleeping with your long-time crush was not how planned to confess your undying love to him, but if it was the only way you could be close to him then so be it. jimin's had a lot of lovers, and you're one of them, but why the fuck is he so bothered by the thought of you being with someone else?

⤑ rating: nsfw/explicit - proceed with caution!

⤑ warnings: fuck boy!jimin, popular "it" boy!jimin, shy "loser" girl!reader, lowkey toxic!jimin (i'm not sorry!), making out, bathroom sex, public sex, exhibitionism, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, A LOT of dirty talk, kinda shitty aftercare sorry, protected sex (pocket condoms 😓), JEALOUS jimin like holy shit, possessiveness, angst for a min, heavy pining, feelings realization, miscommunication, arguing, emotionally constipated!jimin, love confessions, angst with a happy ending (sorry nammy :/), not everyone gets a cameo this time sighs sadly.

⤑ date posted: march 9, 2025

⤑ authors note: HEY HEY HEY!!! bet you guys didn't expect this one!!! (i didn't either, random inspo struck me), but literally every single idea i've ever posted about IS sitting in drafts, and this one has been halfway done for weeks, so i figured i'd put it out there as i work on some of my other bigger pieces!

i ALSO just wanted to pop in here and say WOW, thank you so much for your support like... the feedback for my account has been phenomenal, and i want you all to know how touched i am!

with that out of the way, i hope you guys enjoy this fwb!au because wow was this a big one!

𓈒 ꪆৎ masterlist

⁘ preface: i only use bts as face claims! they are my muses, so anything they say or do, do not reflect their real life character!

The first time you ever talked to Jimin was when you had sex with him.

Now you know that sounds bad! 

But you had no idea what to do when he had come to you as you hovered awkwardly against one of the walls in the house party you had been forced to attend.

You were the designated driver for all intents and purposes, so the red solo cup that you had clasped in your hand was nothing but plain sprite, which was used as a mixer. 

‘Quite the devilish combination’ You couldn’t help but think as you swirled the carbonated liquid around boredly.

The room was stifling, filled to the brim with inebriated, sweaty bodies.

You were surrounded by sex, drugs and alcohol, some couples impatiently groping each other in the corner closests to you, and you forced yourself to look down, your cheeks warm at the blatant show of… affection.

It stunk, the music was too loud, and there were so many places you would rather be than here, like back home in your dorm studying, or watching an episode of your favorite show.

You didn’t fit into places like this, and you were one-hundred percent sure you had that fact stamped to your forehead.

The only pleasant part about this whole experience had been being able to see Jimin.

He was quite popular, and worlds away from you, but you couldn’t help but harbor a school yard crush on the pretty boy. 

He was just… tantalizing, with the way he spoke to the way he always held himself with a slight air of seduction. Boys and girls alike were ready to drop to their knees with so much as a word from the man, and you’re ashamed to say that you’re no different.

It was embarrassing, really, with how hard and fast you fell in love with somebody you barely knew, but he shared so much of himself, you felt as though you knew enough.

You know he’s funny, and kind, despite the… whorish, reputation that precedes him.

You’re in no place to judge, truly, because if he were to come up to you right now asking you if you would like to have sex with him, you would say yes.

“Lame party, right?” Sounds a voice from beside you.

You jump ten feet in the air, a bit of your drink spilling out over the edge of the cup as you fumble to keep the damn thing still in your hand.

“Uh – yes?” You answer with a slight grimace, your stomach drops to your ass when said host appears next to you.

Park fucking Jimin.

This was not what you meant! Not so suddenly! Not like this!

You stare at him dumbly as you spiral, and a small smirk tugs at the corner of his plush lips.

“You think?” He asks teasingly.

You instantly stumble to recover from your mistake. “No! Yes, no, I… I just –” You’re blubbering like an idiot, and Jimin seems to take great pleasure at reducing you to a flustered mess, but he relents with a laugh.

“”M just kidding.”

“No! I just… I’m not used to going to this sort of thing.”

“Oh?” Jimin questions with a raised brow. 

You put your drink on the small refreshment table next to you so you can wring your hands together as a nervous tick.

“I’m my friend's designated driver for the night, and they knew I wouldn’t be doing anything, so…”

“That’s selfless of you.” He compliments, and warmth spreads from the roots of your hair all the way to the tips of your toes. “Ah,” You try to wave him off. “It’s… it’s nothing. I don’t mind.”

“But also that makes sense.” Your brows furrow. “What makes sense?” You ask.

He bombards your space, hooded eyelids giving you a once over.

You’re suddenly very aware of how dirty and scruffed your converses are, and you fidget a bit under his scrutinizing gaze.

“That you haven’t come to one of my parties before, because I’d recognize your pretty face anywhere.”

Your eyes widened.

Holy shit. Was he hitting on you?

“Oh!” You laugh nervously. “That’s… that’s very sweet of you.” You gulp.

His smirk only gets deeper, and he leans closer so that his breath caresses the shell of your ear. If his intention is for you to be able to hear him over the music, he’s doing beyond a wonderful job at succeeding.

Your eyelids flutter rapidly, and your hands shake, and you have no idea where to put them as you lean back slightly.

“What do you say we go somewhere else?” He asks with a purr, pulling away just enough to gauge your reaction to his proposition.

Now, you’re not an easy girl. Jimin may sleep with anyone he wants, but you’re just not into that sort of thing, and you know better than to –

“Yes, please.” It comes out as a slight whimper, but he hears you nonetheless, because he takes you by the hand and pulls you through the throngs of people.

Your stomach is tied up in knots, and you’re not even sure if you’re still connected to reality.

Instead of taking you upstairs and into his room like you thought he would, he redirects you into the hallway and into the door, and your stomach drops slightly when he turns on the light to reveal a bathroom.

‘It’s nice’ You try to convince yourself, but your train of thought is cut off when a pair of heavy hands lay themselves on your jean-covered hips, pulling you closer to his body and trailing his lips up the side of your neck.

Your breath hitches and you let out a small, “Oh.”

“Do you still want this?” He murmurs into your ear once more, and you find yourself nodding rather enthusiastically, much to your embarrassment. Jimin just chuckles.

He spins you around, and your eyes land on the slope of his neck that disappears into his leather jacket. Fingers tuck themselves under your chin and force you to look at him.

“You’re a shy one.” He coos, and you shiver when his thumb caresses the corner of your mouth, dipping into it just a bit.

“I’m not used to this.” You admit with a self-deprecating grimace. “What a shame.” Is all he says before tilting your head back and connecting your lips.

The kiss is soft, softer than you would have expected from your soon to be hookup.

You’ve heard through the grapevine that he’s rather ferocious with his kissing, with spit and teeth, but somehow still making sure it's nice for his partner.

He cups your wrists and guides your hands to tangle themselves in his black mullet, and you’re relieved to be able to do something with your hands.

A whimper escapes you when his palms press you to him by the lower part of your back, turning you to the nearest wall for balance.

Soon, the kiss turns hungry, and you can feel the strain of him against his tight black pants, and you tremble, like putty in his hands.

You try your best to keep up with him, kissing back with a lot more fervour than you’ve ever done before.

You’ve had sex once, and that was just because you wanted to lose it before college, just so you could say you did it.

It was awkward because it was with one of the guys from your English class, and he looked like he didn’t know what he was doing either. It was stiff and it burned, and you weren’t sure if you were even turned on enough to participate in penetrative sex.

Well, the same can’t be said for you now, because you can feel the material of your panties grow damp with arousal, sticking to your folds and causing slight friction.

It’s when Jimin finally rolls his hips into yours is when you finally let out a true, loud moan.

“Thought you were going to be quiet all night.” Jimin teases, and you flush. “I - I’m sorry.” You mutter against his lips. 

He pulls back and strokes your cheek with the back of his knuckles. “Relax. ‘M just teasing.”

“Right, right.” You laugh demurely.

He lowers his head to the skin of your neck where he takes the skin of it between his teeth, and your hips buck into his on accident.

“Shit!” You curse, and you slap a hand over your mouth. “You like pain.” He says almost to himself. “Definitely noted.” 

You’re not sure what he means by that, but your mind seems to blank when his hands sneak their way to the button of your jeans, fiddling with the metal. That cursed thumb presses into the skin above the hem.

“Do you still want this?” 

“Yes, please.” You whimper. Jimin grins and you can feel it, because he places a gentle kiss on the surface. “How polite.”

You swallow a whine at his praise.

He pops them open with practiced ease, and pushes a hand into your pants, hissing when he comes in contact with your wetness.

“Fuck, you’re this wet just from kissing?” He asks in awe.

Jimin finally finds himself in your panties and you gasp when the tips of his fingers press on your clit.

“There it is.” He says to himself triumphantly.

He’s quick to flatten his hand, replacing the tips with the pads of his fingers, drawing quick but fast circles over the pleasurable bud.

“Jimin!” You cry, and your nails rake themselves through his hair, drawing him into you.

You hold him close as he rubs at you, and his free hand keeps himself balanced on the wall just above your hand, completely enveloping you with his body.

“Feels so good.” You mewl, and he nearly growls.

“God, you’re so cute.” He groans.

He takes his hand away and your eyes furrowed in confusion. Was it something you said?

You don't have much time to think because you’re being spun around and bent over the counter, and you’re face to face with your debauched features. 

“Jimin?” You ask, but you’re cut off by him snatching your pants and underwear down your hips and they pool at your ankles. 

You threaten to turn a scarlet red when he spreads your legs as far as they can go and just stares at your sex.

“Such a pretty pussy.” He rasps and you shiver.

He looks up and meets your gaze in the mirror, making to take his leather jacket off.

“‘M gonna fuck you with my fingers, then I’m actually gonna fuck you. Sounds good?”

“Amazing.” You squeak.

He presses his hand on your lower back to keep you anchored to the marble counter, while the other slips a finger in till he reaches the knuckle.

Your jaw drops in a silent moan, the slight stretch of it hurts for a moment, but your body soon adjusts to it, because he draws it out, no wonder noticing how it glistens in the dim lighting.

Then, he thrusts it back in, over and over and over again until a second one finds its place next to it.

The sounds that escape your cunt are disgusting, and you cross your arms to bury your head in them. 

You’ve never felt pleasure like this before, and when he curls his fingers just right, you all but wail.

“Found it.” 

He abuses your g-spot with a certain kind of cruelty, and an arm slips out from under you to scratch at the surface of the counter. Of course you don’t leave any marks, but the bluntness of your nails make it a makeshift anchor to this earth.

“Just listen to you.” He huffs. “She’s so sloppy.”

“Don’t – don’t say that.” You whine in humiliation. 

“Why not?” There’s amusement in his voice, and you hate how it makes another of arousal leak around his digits.

“‘Cause that’s dirty.” 

Jimin laughs. He actually fucking laughs and all you can think about is crawling into a hole forever.

“There’s a lot about me that’s dirty, sweetheart.”

You shake at the nickname, and he notices.

“Oh? You like it when I call you that?”

The condescension in his voice pushes you closer to the edge, and you can feel that familiar knot form in your stomach, the one you’re only able to create by yourself.

You clench around him and he gawffs.

“It seems like I’m not the only one that’s dirty.” He remarks. “What else should I call you?” He acts like he’s thinking as he twists his wrist into you without mercy, your legs shake.

There’s tears threatening to stream down your face.

“Hm. What about babe, or baby? Oh! Better yet, how about darling? Hm? Would you like that darling?”

Hearing him call you such sweet names does something to you, because before you know it, you’re catapulted over the edge. You spasm around him, and he just hums.

“There you go, good girl. That’s it.”

You shake as you come down from your high, and there are hands stroking the outside of your thighs, up your hips, and back down again.

Your eyes flutter open from where they squeezed themselves shut to find he’s already looking at you. His gaze is dripping in dark black molasses sticky with lust and want.

“Can we keep going, or are you at your limit?” Jimin checks in ever so gently. 

It makes you feel good knowing that he likes to make sure you know you’re still in control, and despite just having orgasmed, you find yourself painstakingly empty.

“‘M really good.” You slur, and a proud smile takes over his face.

He fumbles with the back of his jeans, and retrieves his wallet where he pulls out a condom from it. You eye it warily.

“I just put it in there yesterday, I promise.”

He makes work of his jeans, and you notice that he’s so so hard, and you almost feel bad for the poor man. Almost being the keyword, because when he releases himself from the confines of his boxers, you gape.

He’s averagely long, maybe even a little moreso, but god, is he thick.

He catches you staring and winks.

“Think you can take it?” He pokes and you huff. “Of course I can.”

He raises a brow at you, but rolls the condom on in a tortuously slow pace.

“Hurry up.” You whine, and he swats your ass.

“Be patient.” He chides with a hiss, but you’re still reeling from the sting of the slap to even comprehend what he just said.

Jimin settles a hand on your shoulder, the other helping him line himself up to your sopping wet entrance.

“Ready?” 

“Mhm.”

You both watch each other as he splits you open on his cock, and his head falls back as he groans through his clenched teeth.

“Oh!” You quiver on his length, reaching back to grab one of his hands and breathing out a sigh of relief when he meets you halfway.

He’s twitching inside of you, and you appreciate the few moments to gather your bearings.

“Move, please.” You mewl, and he doesn’t hesitate to listen to you.

Jimin drags himself out, breaking your eye contact to look down at where you’re wrapped around him. You’re so wet, the velvet of your gummy walls are making him feel a little faint.

Then, he thrusts back in until his hips are to your ass, and then he repeats, just for a few slow moments before picking up the pace.

The hand on shoulder pulls you down to meet his thrusts, and you cry out.

“Shit, Jimin!” 

“I know, I know – Fuck, you feel so good.”

His plowing is brutal, the tip of his cock spearing and bullying your g-spot with a pace that you can’t quite keep up with.

He releases your shoulder to grab each arm to help his leverage, and your eyes roll into the back of your head. You’re sure you’re drooling, but you can’t find much shame in it because it feels so good.

You know that Jimin has ruined you for anybody else, mind, body, and soul, and you’re not sure how you’re supposed to escape him now.

His grunts and groans are guttural, and you know he’s close. You encourage him by clenching around him.

“God – what happened to the shy girl I met in the living room, huh?” He pants. “All I see now a cock hungry slut.”

You let out a surprised moan at his words.

“Oh, yeah? You like when I call you that? Like when I let you know exactly what you look like?”

“Y-yes.” Is your garbled reply.

“Aw… is my baby too cock drunk to even respond?” Jimin tuts meanly. “That’s okay, because I’ve got you, right?”

He’s giving you whiplash with the mix of his words, and you miss the way he calls you his baby.

“Oh, shit I’m close.” He announces. “You gonna let me cum in this tight little cunt of yours?”

“Mhm! Mhm! Gonna –” You hiccup. “Gonna let you do whatever you want.

That seems to soothe something possessive inside of him because he finally cums, and the pulsing of him against that spongy spot inside of you grows to be too much, because you follow right behind him.

It’s quiet in the bathroom as you both stop to catch your breaths, but he pulls out after a few moments of silence, tying up the condom and tossing it into the trashcan next to the toilet without a care.

“You okay?” He asks as he makes to pull up his jeans, and you’re kind of just… stunned.

Is that it?

“Uh… yeah, I’m alright.” You try not to let the disappointment show on your face as you reach down and tug your pants on as well.

Your arms ache from the strange position they were forced into, as well as your stomach from where it had been digging into the ledge of the counter.

“Good.” Gently pushes you out the way so he can wash his hands.

You just stare at him flabbergasted, kind of at a complete loss at what to say.

Do you ask what you are now? Did this mean anything? Were you just another hookup? Were you –

You’re cut off by soft lips meeting yours, and your stomach flutters something pleasant.

Maybe he did like you back and this was a complete misunderstanding, maybe he –

“Call me if you’d like to have some fun again, yeah?”

He speaks against your mouth.

Somehow he’s managed to scribble down his number and hand it to you, which you take somewhat blindly.

He’s already out of the door before you can blink, sending you a cheeky wave as he disappears into the crowd once more.

Your experience with him already feels like a dream when one of your friends drapes themselves over you.

“Finally found you!” She says with a giggle. “Where were you? Me and Sana have been looking everywhere.”

You cringe as you remember your duty, but before you can respond, her nose scrunches up.

“God you stink. Did you have sex?” She asks in disgust.

“No.” You say with a few blinks. “It’s probably because of the party.”

“Oh… okay.” She giggles.

You’re ashamed to say you’ve met up with him a few times after that, finally having the courage to give him a call after a particularly hard day of finals.

He sure did fuck the stress out of you.

This wasn’t how you imagined yourself finding your way into his world, but if sex was the only way you could have him then so be it.

But that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

He still met up with other girls, still blew you off, still kept you as a secret from his friends. You were just another notch on his bedpost, and it made you almost sick to think about.

Time spent with him after sex was just… confusing.

Someday’s he would allow you to stay over afterwards, maybe even asking you to watch a movie with him, or sometimes he would talk around you leaving until you eventually caught the hint.

It was such a push and pull relationship, and you had no idea what all of this was for.

Were you friends? Acquaintances? Fuck buddies? Friends with benefits?

You had no idea what you were or who he wanted to mean to you, but it was slowly ripping you apart.

He had invited you to another party after a particularly long session, and maybe it was just the sleepiness in him talking, but it almost sounded as if he wanted you to be there.

He nuzzles his face into your shoulder, the black of his hair sticking to his forehead due to the sweat.

You nibble on your lip, tugging the duvet up to cover your bare breasts.

The tips of his fingers graze your arm gently even though his eyes were closed, and goosebumps rose under his ministrations.

It was moments like these that you grew fond of because of how few and far in between they were, when Jimin allows that vulnerable side of his to peek through. You found him beautiful.

You couldn’t stop staring at him, even when the muscles in your neck protested the awkward angle.

You could count every freckle on his cheek, every eyelash he had, and you had to bite back a smile at the sight of his crooked front tooth peeking out through his swollen plump lips.

“Mm.” He groans, and forces himself to crack an eye open. 

Your eyes flutter in embarrassment at almost being caught, but he seems none the wiser. 

“(y/n).” Jimin mumbles. You find a way to wind your arm around his neck, settling a hand in his hair, rolling the ends of the damp strands between your fingers.

“Come to this party ‘m throwing.” Jimin slurs.

You finally allow yourself to smile then. “Why? I’d like to think last time was a bit of a mess.” You tease. He just grumbles. “Never feels like a mess when I’m with you.”

Your smile quickly falls.

It was crowded once again, but you felt a sort of superiority at your fucked up relationship with him.

You went searching around for him; maybe you guys could actually talk this time! Maybe share a beer and talk about your favorite music!

Your body thrummed with all the different types of things you could do when you found him, but not in the way you wanted.

He had another girl pushed up against the wall, just like he had you in the bathroom on that fateful day.

‘But he wasn’t kissing her how he had kissed you’ You tried to reason with yourself, even as tears began to form in your eyes.

This was embarrassing. So fucking embarrassing.

You were so much better than this. You were a smart girl, you had things going for you, your life shouldnt revolve around a man who could not give any less of a fuck about you.

You find yourself stumbling away - backwards might you add - and you accidentally bump into someone, their liquor spilling over and down the back of your shirt.

You yelp, and it’s loud enough to catch Jimin’s attention, but you don’t notice because of how fast you spin around to face the person. 

“Oh God, I’m so sorry!”

“Sorry, sorry!”

You and the stranger speak at the same time, and you look up to find that he was quite… handsome.

He was tall, broad shouldered and obviously thick under that sweatervest he was wearing - which fuck it was too hot for that, even for you - and dimples settled into his cheeks and glasses that were raised high on his face, perched on his nose.

“No, no!” You wave away his apology nervously. “It’s fine! It’s my fault, I didn’t see where I was looking!”

“I shouldn’t have been carrying so many open drinks at the same time when I knew how crowded this place was, so it’s okay.”

You just watch as a genuine smile seems to spread on his face.

“How about this: we're both at fault, and we're sorry. Does that sound good?”

You find yourself nodding with a small smile. “Yeah… that sounds good.”

He stares at you, and you stare back, but then your eyes fall on a dark stain on his vest. His eyes seem to follow your gaze because he tries to wave you away this time.

“Hey, listen, it’s fine, it happens all the time! I’d say you took the brunt of it. How about you come with me, and I’ll get you a new shirt?”

Going with a guy that you’ve never met before to “get a new shirt” doesn’t seem like a good idea, but the image of Jimin plastered to that girl is all but tattooed on the back of your eyelids.

“Okay, yeah.”

The man’s smile gets bigger, but then falls as his gaze flickers to something behind you. Your brows furrow in concern, but before you can turn around, an arm slides itself around your waist.

“I think I’ve got it from here. Thanks man.”

You’re surprised to see Jimin next to you all but glaring at the tall man’s face, and there’s a prickle of irritation in your gut. The weight of his arm on you feels like a hot iron with the way it burns, and you step out of his grip just slightly.

The guy seems to notice, because his gaze narrows right back at him.

“Is this guy bothering you?” He asks.

Your eyes widen at the sight of the dog fight that might happen before you, and you just sigh.

“No, it’s fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure…” You let your voice die out, and the guy seems to make the connection.

“Namjoon. Kim Namjoon.”

You grin slightly. “(y/n).”

“Great. Bye, Kim Namjoon. Thanks for ruining her shirt.”

Jimin tugs you along behind him, and he’s silent the whole way to his room, and you’re half tempted to snatch yourself from his grip.

“What’s your problem?” You ask once you’re finally safe behind closed doors.

“What do you mean what’s my problem?” Jimin’s voice is hiding a thin layer of anger that you can hear clearly.

“You were such an asshole to him! And he didn’t “ruin” my shirt by the way. It’s just beer. It’ll get out.”

“That doesn’t matter. You were about to fuck off and go with some guy you didn’t even know!” He throws his hands up in the air like it’s obvious.

“Okay? It’s my business on who I go and “fuck off” with. The guy looked nice, so I trusted him.”

He scoffs. “Oh yeah, so you just trust any guy that asks you to leave with him? It’s so obvious he wanted to fuck you, and you were just going to do it with a smile on your face.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “You can’t be serious right now.” You breathe.

“Very.” He says flatly.

You encroach in his space, getting in his face and settling him with a glare.

“I came to look for you at a fucking party you invited me to, and then I find you with your tongue down some random girl’s throat.” You sneer. “So forgive me if I’m a little peeved that you’re bothered by who I might go fuck.”

Jimin doesn’t know why he’s so bothered. ‘Doesn’t know why seeing you laughing and smiling with that guy makes something in his gut twist in disgust.

“I don’t like him.”

You lean your face away from his.

“That’s what you’ve taken away from this.” You let out an incredulous laugh, and the amusement behind your eyes is fake.

“I…” You shake your head. “I can’t believe this.”

“You are not who I thought you were.” Something in you wilts. “You are a grade A asshole, Park Jimin.” You spit his name like it’s a slur, and something inside him dies.

“What?” It’s his turn to scoff. “Don’t tell me you like me or something?” He knows he’s being mean, but he’s hurt, and he feels as though he has nothing else left.

“Excuse me?” You look like a kid who got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Guilty.

There’s a sickening pleasure that takes root in his heart knowing that you want him like that.

“You’re doing this whole weird, possessive girlfriend thing.” It’s his turn to step in your space. 

“Well, sorry to say, but were just fuck buddies. I don’t want to be with you. All I want you for is a booty call, nothing more, nothing less.”

His words are like a knife to your heart and you deflate.

The tears burning behind your eyes finally fall, and your hand twitches at your side.

“I fucking hate you.” Is all you can say.

You push him out your way and he lets you, watches as you leave.

‘Good’ He thinks.

He tries to convince himself that the quicker he cuts this thing off, the easier things will get, because he doesn’t like you like that.

Right?

Right.

Your head was pounding by the time you had found your way back to your dorm, your shaking hands made it near impossible to get the key in the lock, but you managed it.

You hadn’t expected Sana to be there, bed engulfed by books and different studying utensils.

“Hey.” She greets mindlessly, flicking through papers in a certain folder before huffing and closing it when she clearly doesn’t find what she needs.

Your grip on your keys grows weak and they clatter to the floor, and she looks up in alarm, just as you take in a loud, pitiful sniffle.

“Oh, (y/n).” 

She scrambles to get up and you fall forward, trusting her to catch you, and she does, even if she’s extremely confused.

You’re sobbing into her shirt, and your chest twists and everything just hurts.

Jimin’s words feel like a slap in your face, and your heart burns like you had actually been slapped. You would have preferred that if you were going to be honest.

“(y/n), please. You have to tell me what’s wrong.”

“I liked him.” You sob. “I liked him so much, and, and, and –” You’re close to hyperventilating at this point, and Sana just seems to grow more anxious, because she pulls away from you and cups your cheeks.

“You need to breathe for me.” She says with a nervous albeit reassuring smile. 

You attempt to take a deep breath. 

“Good, that’s good, just keep trying.”  

Eventually, your breathing evens out, and she leads you over to your twin bed, seeing as hers is a bit of an organized mess right now.

“Now, can you finally explain to me what happened?”

Your hands shake as you make to pick at your cuticles, but she catches the habit before you can get to it, encasing your hands in hers.

“There’s a lot of things that you don’t know.”

“Okay…”

“But you know I like Jimin, right?”

“Mhm, like… big time.”

“Well, do you remember that party that you and your friend forced me to?” 

“Mhm.”

“Well… while I was waiting for you guys to be ready to go, Jimin approached me.”

“Oh my god?” She says excitedly, but you give her a sad smile.

“Don’t get excited just yet.”

“Anyways,” You continue. “He talked to me, then invited me to… you know, sleep with him.” Your cheeks burn as Sana stares at you dumbfounded, but you keep going. “The sex was great, don’t get me wrong, but he was so distant after everything was done.”

“He gave me his number and asked me to call him if I ever wanted to hook up with him again.”

“Douche.”

“Sana.”

“Sorry not sorry.”

You laugh a bit and she grins, relieved.

“Well, I did.”

“(y/n).” She sighs, releasing one of her hands to rub at her forehead.

“I know, I know! I also know I’m gonna sound really stupid when I say that I thought he actually liked me, but he… but he said some things to me tonight that really broke my heart.”

“Before we get to that, what made you think he likes you back?” She wasn’t trying to be mean by asking the question, you knew better. 

“Because there’ll be moments after we are done hooking up where he’d be super sweet. Like, sometimes he would cuddle me, or ask me to watch a movie, just things outside of the common hookup aftercare.”

“But then tonight,” You sighed. “I went to the party he invited me to, and caught him making out with some other girl, and so I went to leave but then I bumped into this guy.” You smile a bit at the memory.

“His name is Kim Namjoon, and he was super sweet – spilled a fuckton of beer on my shirt though.”

“So that’s why you smell like that.” 

“Yep.” You laugh. “And then Jimin came up and acted all… jealous and possessive and shit. Took me up to his room, we argued, he accused me of liking him and laughed in my face and called me just his fuck buddy after I didn’t deny that I did.”

You look up to find Sana seething.

“I’m going to call Taehyung.”

Taehyung was one of Jimin’s best friends, and he was currently groveling at Sana’s feet trying to be with her. Though she likes him, she wants to make him work for it just to see if he’ll lose interest, even though you know it’d kill her if he actually did.

“Why?”

“To break it off with him in solidarity.”

“What?!” You asked incredulously. “No, absolutely not. Taehyung is a good guy. You don’t need to do that for me.”

She regards you with a raised brow.

“Are you sure?”

You find yourself nodding. “Kinda need some roomie time right now.” Your eyes fall to her studying materials. “But if you’re too busy, I –”

“Nope. Let’s go.”

You laugh joyously as she begins to put her things away, and you make for the small fridge in your room where your sweet treats are held. 

Maybe things are going to be okay.

The next week is like a living hell.

You’ve basically made it your life’s mission to avoid Jimin as much as possible. You had already blocked him after a few encouraging words from Sana.

She still ended up calling Taehyung in the end, putting him in the dog house until his friend got his shit together. You could almost hear his pout as he begged her not to. She hung up on him.

The weather was nice, with early spring wandering around, you could finally start to wear flowier clothing, as well as study outside again.

Your head is so immersed in your book that you don’t see someone approach your table until a finger gently breaches your line of vision and taps the page.

You startle a bit and look up, and you're greeted by Namjoon’s sheepish face.

“Sorry, I didn’t know another way to get your attention, you looked really focused.”

“That’s sweet, but it’s okay. You could’ve interrupted me.” He gestures to the seat across from yours. “Can I sit?”

“Yeah, yeah! Go ahead!” You begin clearing things out of his way, and he smiles gratefully.

“I didn’t see you again after you left.” With that guy, is what’s unspoken, but you caught it anyways. “Yeah… uh – something came up, so I had to leave early.

His mouth forms an ‘o’ shape and he nods. “I see.”

“Yeah.” You grimace.

“Well I –” Namjoon swallows nervously. “I wasn’t able to tell you, but I think you’re beautiful.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh.” You breathe in surprise, and the man visibly deflates. “Unless that guy was your boyfriend, then I’m sorry! Oh, God, I should have asked first.”

“No, no! He’s not my boyfriend.” You reassure him. “‘M surprised, is all; and very, very flattered.”

You know you should reject his advances, but you’re hurt, and he’s just… so sweet. A complete contrast to Jimin, and you think he’s the change of pace that you needed.

“I think you’re handsome if that makes you feel any better.” The words feel wrong coming out of your mouth, but you grin nonetheless when his cheeks warm an admirable red.

“I…” You meet each other's eyes, and look down at the same time, laughing shyly.

Maybe Namjoon could be good for you.

“You look pathetic, man.” Taehyung speaks through a mouthful of instant ramen disgustingly.

Jimin hits him upside the back of his head, and the poor boy winces.

“Ow!”

“Don’t forget you’re in the dog house too, idiot.” Jungkook mumbles from his side of the table.

“So what you’re telling me is that you want me to beat your ass?”

“I’m just saying.” He shrugs. “Hyung fucked up, and now you’re being punished by association. No (y/n) means no Sana.” 

Jungkook’s right.

Ever since that night, Jimin’s desperately been trying to forget about you, about how hurt you looked. He almost feels sick thinking about it.

He admits that he could have handled that situation a lot better, but it was like something had taken over him. As soon as he’d seen you with Namjoon, and how willing you looked, something inside him just… snapped.

“I’m just waiting for hyung to admit that he was jealous and go and fix it.” Taehyung says simply. “It’s obvious that he’s in love with her, and I have no idea why he won’t just go and tell her.”

“I’m not -” Jimin hissed, “In love with her.”

“Yeah man, you are.”

Jimin’s eyes narrowed, but his attention was stolen by your laugh.

You were laughing because of him.

You looked so sickeningly demure talking to him, wringing your fingers together and kicking out your legs as a nervous tick. You usually only ever did that when you were with him.

Jimin liked the effect that he had on you.

He liked how your eyelashes fluttered when he complimented you, how you held on to him when he fucked you, how you kissed him back like you meant it. Sure, your body was nice, but so was your personality.

You were kind, studious, selfless, and he wasn’t sure what drew you to him the first night he had met you.

He thought that your hidden affections were all for him, but it proves that he was mistaken. That’s fine. You could be with anybody that you wanted to.

‘Just not him’ Is supplied unhelpfully.

The thought shouldn’t bother him as much as it does.

It’s just… Jimin doesn’t do the whole commitment thing. The last time he had a partner, it blew up in his face, so he just finds that casual one night stands was just the easier way to go.

But things between you and him were never casual to begin with, huh?

“Listen,” Taehyung starts once more, and points his chopsticks at Jungkook. “Jimin-hyung, he'll realize what he wants when it’s too late. Girls like (y/n) don’t come around as often as they should.” Then, he dives back into his noodles.

Jimin’s eyebrows furrowed. Were they right?

He turns his head to look at them. “Was it ever casual between me and her?” He can’t help but ask.

“No.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Wow, okay.”

“I mean, you let her sleep in your bed, hyung.” Jungkook basically scoffs. “You’ve never let any of your hookups stay the night, or cuddle with you; yet somehow she’s different.”

Different.

That was the key word here.

You were different.

The last few weeks with Namjoon have been nice.

The man was smart, and kind, and overall just a sweet, gentle giant that deserved everything in the world; but you knew deep down in your heart that you couldn’t be the one to give him that.

You saw it in the way that he looked at you, starry-eyed on his worst day, and heart-eyed the best. You can’t find it within yourself to feel flattered by it anymore, because you know that you don’t deserve it.

You don’t deserve his chivalry, his affection, and maybe - hopefully not - his love.

You’re ashamed to say that this whole rebound business blew up in your face like you went ahead and personally strapped the bomb to yourself.

You didn’t know how to tell him you didn’t like him like that, just how you had no idea how to tell Jimin you loved him after months of sleeping with him; exactly how that fateful night you said yes instead of no.

The words on the pages in front of you bled together like a big blob of ink, and Namjoon’s large foot snuck over to yours under the table and trapped it playfully.

You tried not to allow the grin you gave him to look like a grimace, even as he acted like he was reading as well. You were sure both of your reasons were entirely different.

You needed to put a stop to this, you needed to tell him you didn’t see him that way and you just wanted to be friends.

“Hey, Namjoon –”

“Do you want to go on a date with me?”

“Of course.”

Fuck. 

The look that Namjoon gave you was beaming, and you felt tears sting at the back of your eyelids.

You said yes to a date like the stupid, idiotic, selfish, terrible person you are. 

Namjoon had offered to walk you back to your dorm after your study session was over, but you couldn’t look at him anymore, the guilt crawling around in your stomach becoming something almost too much to handle.

“No thanks, Nammy.”

“Okay.” He pouts a bit. “But you be safe, alright?”

For the first time today, you gave him a true smile. “I will!”

The walk back to your dorm was slow, and heavy hearted, and you were so lost in your head, you couldn’t see that you were about to walk into someone until their hand shot out and caught you.

“Oh!” You squeaked, your head shooting up.

Your eyes widened at a very disgruntled looking Jimin.

He didn’t look as put together as he used to; his black mullet ruffled out of place and his black leather jacket rather wrinkly. 

“(y/n).” He spoke.

It had felt like forever since you heard his voice, and it took you everything in your power to not shut your eyes and bask in it.

You swallowed heavily. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“But I do.”

“That’s not how this works.”

“(y/n) please.”

You stare at him before huffing and crossing your arms. “Fine.”

“Thank you.” He breathes, and you finally notice how close you are, because you stumble back to finally put some space in between the two of you. If Jimin’s hurt by the action, he doesn’t show it.

You hate how much that bothers you.

“I fucked up.”

“No.” You instantly put a hand out to stop him. “You don’t get to say that to me.”

“What?”

“You started this whole thing, Jimin! I… I admit that I do like you, and I’ve liked you for a long time, but you don’t get to be the one to say you “fucked up” and regret everything you did.”

“Why not?” He asks, almost offended.

“Because you’ll never change!”

Jimin looks taken aback by your outburst. 

“You’ll tell me you’re sorry, we’ll fuck, and then it’ll be this process all over again. You don’t get to just do that! I need full commitment, and that’s not something you’re able to give me.”

“Plus,” You continue, taking in a deep breath. “I’m seeing someone right now.”

Jimin fucking snorts.

“Don’t tell me you have a date with the Namkim guy.”

“It’s Namjoon, and yes, I am. He’s nice.”

“Oh, is that it? He’s just nice?”

“And… and he’s smart too!” You exclaim almost petulantly. “He gives me flowers and tells me how much he likes me all the time, unlike you, who’s so emotionally constipated that not even laxatives would be able to help you!”

“Wha –” Jimin laughs in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me! I’m gonna go on a date with a guy who actually likes me!”

You straighten your tote bag on your shoulder and brace yourself, straightening your posture.

“Now if you excuse me, I have a date to plan for, and homework to do.”

“What? (y/n)! Come back, I’m sorry!”

“No!”

You’re not going to lie and say you didn’t replay your entire interaction with Jimin for the rest of the week.

There was something about talking to him that gave you the energy to get through class, the haunting realization that maybe he was worth a damn. 

Wondering what would have happened if you had allowed him to apologize instead of cutting him off, of accepting his apology and allowing yourself to be with him in that way.

But you know, you know that if you were to go back to your old routine with him, it’d kill you. It’d kill you to watch him flirt with other people, or watch him take them home.

You fiddled with the strap of your dress, staring at yourself in the mirror and feeling awkward at the fact that the material only looked good if you didn’t wear a bra.

You were going to a restaurant with Namjoon; it was a nice, original first date idea. You’d talk over food, and get along just fine!

Namjoon was a nice guy. He was sweet, and he wouldn’t try to fuck you on the first date.

Oh, God, would he?

You really hope not.

“Damn girl.” Sana whistles from her spot on her bed. “You look sexy! You’re gonna blow that nerd’s socks off!”

“Sana.” You warned. “Be nice! He’s not a nerd. He��s just studious.”

“Sure. Every Philosophy major is studious.” She giggles to herself.

“Oh! Do you think he’s a virgin?!”

“Sana!” This time it’s a whine, but your arguing is interrupted by a couple knocks on the door.

“Oh, God, it’s him!” You whisper in a panic. 

You continue to mess with the front of your dress, pulling the hem up at the top to try and hide as much boobage as possible.

“Stop!” Your roommate hisses. “You look great!”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! Now go!”

You waddle over to the door and pull it open, your heart melting at the sight of a good looking Namjoon in front of you.

His hair was tastefully rumpled, a button up shirt tucked into a pair of slacks that hugged his thighs deliciously.

Wow, you were really hogging this man for yourself.

There was another stab of guilt when his eyes fell on your figure and he swallowed, his cheeks painting themselves an adorable pink. 

“W – wow, (y/n). You look amazing.”

“Thanks.” You say shyly. “Should we go?”

“Oh! Of course, of course!” 

He offers you his arm and you take it.

The conversation between the two of you was kept light, even as you got into the Uber that he had paid for.

“I uh – I don’t have my license.” Namjoon had sheepishly admitted to you one day.

He usually rode his bike to places, so you were surprised to see that he had splurged for today.

Shame burns in your gut once again.

(y/n): 0, Guilt and shame: the winner.

The restaurant was nice as you were led to your table, and very quiet.

You shuffled around in your seat, sheepishly ordering water as Namjoon looked over the menu.

“I’m so happy we're doing this.” Namjoon says after you get your drinks, and you sip on the freezing tap water.

“Yeah…” You speak after a few hefty gulps of your drink.

“I meant it when I said you looked gorgeous tonight.”

“Ah…” You fluster. “Where did all this confidence come from?”

“It comes from me wanting to ask you a question that you’ll answer truthfully.”

Instantly your heart falls into your ass, because you know exactly what’s coming.

“I might be a bit of a stick in the mud, but that doesn’t mean I’m blind, (y/n).”

“I can see that you haven’t really been in any of… whatever we have going on. And I’m not even going to lie, I don’t even think we’ve had anything to begin with.”

“What gave it away?” You ask with a grimace. “That.”

“That?”

“That thing you do with your face when you lie.”

You blink at him in surprise.

“Oh.”

“And you’ve done it every single time I’ve tried to flirt or compliment you. I’m surprised you even agreed to go out with me.”

“I…” You feel like you’re going to throw up. “I swear I didn’t mean to lead you on! There’s just been this thing, and I can’t tell you what it is –”

“Yes you can.”

“Pardon?” You ask in surprise.

“You know exactly why you can’t commit fully to this.”

“I…” You deflate in your seat, fiddling with the napkin. “You’re right.”

“It’s that guy, right? The one from the party?” 

Namjoon’s words aren’t hurt, judgemental, or angry, they’re just factual. Like how he gets when he breaks down a piece of difficult text in one of his ancient little books he likes to read.

“I should start from the beginning shouldn’t I?”

“We’ve got all night.”

So you do. You start from that night at the party, over how you’ve felt these last few weeks, even as the food had come and gone, you two hadn’t stopped talking.

You had refused to let him pay at the end of the night, and you literally almost had to fight him over splitting the bill.

“This was supposed to be a date.” He speaks with a pout, and you just laugh. 

You two worked well as friends, because you nudged his foot. “Yah! We can go on another date soon, okay?”

He just laughs with a shake of his head.

When you guys leave, you offer to pay for your shared Uber when you spot someone you weren’t expecting.

Jimin’s in the parking lot, leaning against his car and looking around. When his gaze lands on you, his slouched position straightens, and your heart stutters in your chest.

“This guy is like the fucking boogeyman.” You murmur, and Namjoon laughs once more.

“I uh… may have sort of called him here.”

Your head whips around and you stare at him in betrayal. “What?!”

“Listen. You and him have some shit to work out, and - bless your heart - we both know you don’t have a backbone, so I think it would be better if you both fixed this, or ended it for good.”

You can’t help but just stare at him. “Where did you even get his number?”

“Taehyung. The poor man’s been practically begging me to leave you alone and let Jimin fix this because he’s been sexiled.”

You sigh, glancing over at a waiting Jimin who’s watching you hopefully.

“You won’t be here for solidarity, will you?”

“For both our sakes, I think you know the answer to that.”

You swallow, turning your attention back to him. “I really am sorry about how everything went down between us. You’re a great guy, and I’m sure one day another person will be able to see that. I’m sorry it’s not me.”

He shrugs his shoulders. “It’s alright, I need to worry about my studies anyways.”

You smile sadly at him, and he just chuckles and shakes his head, pulling you into his warm embrace.

“I mean it (y/n),” He starts when you separate, “It’s okay, but you need to go, because Jimin looks like he’s about to throttle me, and I’m not really interested in fighting someone tonight. I have a test in the morning.”

Your smile is a little less sad this time, and he waves you off.

The walk to Jimin feels like a walk to doom; it’s silent, tense, and you’re unsure about where you’ll end up at the end of the night.

“Hi.” You breathe awkwardly. You grasp onto your clutch purse like a lifeline.

“Hey.”

“Uh…” You begin, but Jimin just sighs, opening the passenger door, and gesturing for you to get in. “We need to talk.”

Your shoulders deflate. “Alright.”

Even though he said you needed to talk, the car ride is silent, even as you watch yourself being pulled into a parking lot, the man stopping and turning his car off.

“So, are you going to let me speak this time, or are you just going to cut me off again?”

You scowl. “Is that really how you want to start this conversation?”

“No, no, fuck I’m sorry. I’m already fucking it up.” His hands grip the steering wheel, twisting them around nervously.

“I’m not used to this.”

“Used to what?”

“Dating, feelings, that kind of thing. And I thought that if I hurt you, and never had to see you again, that those things would just go away, but they didn’t.”

He slumps back in his seat, casting his gaze out the window before turning his attention towards you.

“When I saw you with him –”

“Namjoon.”

“Yes,” He all but hisses, “With Namjoon, I felt sick to my stomach. Like something was wrong, like he was taking something from me.”

“But I was never yours to begin with.”

“Yeah,” He sighs. “I know, and that’s the issue.”

“You were right about me being an asshole, because I was. I projected all of my weird, little possessive feelings onto you and totally flipped out when I should have just talked to you.”

“But instead I pushed you away, said things I didn’t mean, and you still went with that guy, and I felt horrible.” Jimin hesitantly reaches out a hand – an olive branch of sorts – and waits for you to take it.

He hopes you take it.

You look at him and back down to his hand, before lifting yours and intertwining your fingers.

“What are you trying to tell me, Jimin? Because… because if we do this friends-with-benefits bullshit again, I think it’ll actually kill me.”

“I don’t think I could handle that even if I tried.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that seeing you with the other people that aren't me makes me feel sick to my stomach, and I’d rather have you all to myself like the nasty, greedy bastard I am.”

“Like a boyfriend.”

Jimin finally smiles.

That beautiful, eye closing smile that makes your heart skip a beat too many.

“Yeah, (y/n), like a boyfriend.”

“Does that make me your girlfriend?”

“I would sure hope so.”

You grin as well, happiness painting over your features as you watch him.

“What does this mean for us now?” He leans forward into your space, and this time you don’t move back, just gazing up at him with wide, curious eyes. “This means that you’ll hopefully let me kiss you.”

“Well lucky for you, I’m feeling nice tonight.”

He snorts and rolls his eyes, yet connects your lips together. Your eyelids flutter shut.

Euphoria. That’s the only feeling you could describe after feeling the plushness of his mouth after so long. It’s felt like centuries since you’ve touched him, and every nerve in your body lights aflame.

You tangle your fingers in his hair, and his hands cup your jaw, tugging you to him over the center console.

“I can’t go that far.” You pant with a chuckle, and he huffs a small smile.

“Backseat?”

“Please don’t tell me you want to have makeup sex in the backseat of your car in the middle of the park.”

“You want to have makeup sex?” His eyes glimmer. It’s your turn to snort. “I thought that was obvious.”

“Then no, we're absolutely not doing that here.”

“Then let’s get out of here.”

“Yes ma’am.”

© yoongsriverandme 2025-26

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

im begging you to make more shapeshifter!141 tormenting witch!reader pleek

since you said pleek :)

65 / 1.1k / part 2 of shapeshifter familiars!141 tormenting witch!reader

...

You pour two warm cups of cloudy sloe ale—one for you and one for Price. You're the only one who feigns enough interest to sip it.

Price laces his hands together and leans forward. "I didn't come for blood."

None of them did, apparently. You curl your hands around your tin cup. He wasn't supposed to come at all. He visits when the moon is full. That was the deal. "I understand that."

Price’s gaze flicks to a bit of drying blood on your hand, and you feel his displeasure at the sight. "Then you also understand my irritation when I learn I've been kept in the dark."

"About what?"

"A number of disturbing reports from the townsfolk."

"Hm." Tension rolls through your muscles before you force them to soften. "I wasn't aware you spent time in the village. Do you visit often?"

Price doesn't like your coyness. His voice loses some of its politeness. "The villagers have become too savvy. They forge protective charms. They invoke holy names. They line the thresholds of their homes with salt and rue." He leans forward. "Now, how would they know to do that?"

You swallow delicately around the lump in your throat. "Old folk tales, I imagine."

"Folk tales?" He chuckles. "They're not paying protection money to cupboard sprites. Old tales don't teach them how to bless trees and cut the lumber into cradles."

"Then I wouldn't know. The villagers don't speak to me on principle."

"Then you have no knowledge of this? You’ve accepted no coin from them in exchange for your talents?”

"You know I'm banned from trading in the village market. The guards would take my head off the moment they caught me inside the walls."

“Maybe so. But there are other ways of propagating information, aren’t there?” Price leans back, arms crossed. “Rumors spread.”

You scoff to sound braver than you are. "They've puzzled out how to keep you away from their daughters. It has nothing to do with me."

Price's blue eyes flicker. "We’ve been quite careful with our food source. Gone out of our way to be discreet. They shouldn't suspect us of being in the area, let alone come up with protections against our kind."

You tilt your head in a stiff shrug. "Maybe Soap let one get away."

"Soap is brash. Not sloppy." Steel creeps into his voice. "He's more likely to bite his tongue off than spill our secrets."

You go to sip your ale again, but Price's fingers latch around your wrist as you raise it.

"Careful with that." His grip tightens as he forces your hand back down to the table. "You'll inebriate yourself if you're careless."

You slowly release the mug. After a long beat, he releases your wrist.

He doesn't say anything else, but you can't meet his eyes. The cold metal of his rings still burns against your skin.

He studies you in silence. The dry glint in his eye tells you he doesn't need to pry for what you're hiding from him. He knows already. But a deal is a deal, and you're under his protection. "Regardless of the reason, our feeding options are suddenly limited. If you insist on keeping my boys half-starved, we'll travel outside our territory to offset your stinginess."

"Fine. We’ll suspend our contract."

"Certainly not."

Your jaw sets. "A temporary suspension of our terms would serve all parties' needs well enough, would it not? You seek your fill elsewhere."

"I will seek it where my needs are most pressing."

"I don't have the means to leave my hut. I assure you I'll keep to myself until you get back."

Price smiles, and your heart sinks. "Another witch might. You?” He hums. “Besides, you know how they get when they're deprived."

You’re hyperaware of Ghost's shadow falling over you. His rough hands cover the back of your chair. It creaks in his grip. You squelch the instinct to cover your blind spot and, fisting one in your skirt under the table to steady your nerves, keep your back to him. You also ignore the gleam of two other sets of eyes behind Price, hovering in the pitch-blackness of your kitchen.

“That’s kind of you,” you say finally, “but there’s no need to be overprotective.”

Price stands. He pours the last sip of your ale out onto the soft dirt floor. You hadn’t even seen him pick it up. "We'll come for you tomorrow night, witch. You'll travel with us."

Your head spins. No, no, this isn't how it was supposed to go. You covered your tracks. You planned perfectly. He can't just uproot you—can't just kidnap you like this.

"No, I—" You stand before you realize it. All four shapeshifters turn back to glance at you. Price looms halfway out the front door. You steady yourself with a white-knuckled grip on the table. "I'm not leaving my home."

Price takes in the defiant look on your face and the tense, brittle set of your body. "No? Hmmm." He rubs his beard. "We're in a tight spot, then. Ghost, what do you think?"

The scars on Ghost's tight scowl gleam in the candlelight. "I think she owes us a meal, and we expect to eat. One way or the other."

Gaz scoffs. "There’s a proper solution."

Soap grins. "We could just take her, you know. Suspend the contract and make her come with us."  His eyes light up. "We could have a lot of fun on the road."

"Not if there's a fight," Gaz says, eyeing you. "She can make real trouble if she wants to."

"No' if she knows what's good for her."

"That's enough," Price says. He looks back at you. "Lads are in a mood. They've been feeding from the villages as a stop gap, and they're not nearly full. Their tempers are short, their stomachs are growling, and they have energy to burn. You understand?” His gaze steadies on your neck. “We'll be back tomorrow night. You'd better be ready to go or else ready to give them a full meal."

Soap’s grin sharpens. The implication is obvious. Payment is payment. If you don't give them what they want, they'll take it by other means.

They turn to go. Ghost is the last to step over your threshold. "Blood won't be enough," he says. Then he's off, a black dog bounding into the night.

...

← part 1 / [part 2] / part 3 ➡

more Price / more Ghost / more Soap / more Gaz / masterlist

[tofupixel]

TofuPixel Links + FAQ - Commissions Open!

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🎨 Pixel Art Beginner Guide

Hello, I'm Tofu, a pixel artist based in England. I work full-time doing pixel illustrations or game-art. I started learning in my early 20s, so no it's not too late for you!

I run a 7k+ member Discord server called Cafe Dot, where we host events like gesture drawing and portrait club.

I currently have Good Omens brainrot so expect some fanart on this blog. I also occasionally do/reblog horror art so be mindful of that!

Due to so much AI nonsense on every platform, all my public work will be filtered/edited with anti-AI scraping techniques. Supporters on my Ko-Fi can see unfiltered work and also download it.

🌸 Want to learn how to do pixel art? Check my tutorial tag!

Other tags:

tutorial (not pixel specific)

my art

follow (artists i recommend)

🌟Free Stuff!!!

❔FAQ

What app do you use? I use Aseprite on PC and occasionally Pixquare on iOS (use code tofu for 30% off Pixquare!! <3) Free alternative: Libresprite on PC

Why does your art look so crunchy / compressed? Glaze

How did you learn pixel art? I first started out watching MortMort and making tiny sprites. Then once I started getting interested in landscapes/environment art, I did many, many Studio Ghibli studies.

How can I also protect my art? You can use Glaze and Nightshade- Glaze protects against Img2Img style copying, and Nightshade poisons the data so the AI thinks it's the opposite of what it actually is. There is a lot of misinformation going around (likely from pro-AI groups) so do your own research too! If you're a pixel artist you can also tilt or blur your art after upscaling, which will make it near useless to AI models (or regular thieves) once downscaled again.

Feel free to send me an ask if there's anything you want to know! I am always happy to help beginners :--3

[ijbolgawon]

THE BASTARD'S WITCH. kaz brekker

in which. kaz finally gives in, even if it makes him look weak

wc. 1.2k

a/n. i suggest listening to this song since it's one of the main reasons i even wrote this lol

Kaz Brekker knew the sound of footsteps approaching, the distinct rhythm of each person who dared step into his office. He heard the short creak of the floorboards outside his office, the subtle shift of weight, and for a brief moment, he thought it was her.

Y/N.

His grip on his cane tightened as he turned around.

But it wasn't Y/N. It was Pekka Rollins.

Two of Pekka’s men loomed behind him, their postures too relaxed, too sure of their authority.

“Mister Brekker, isn't it?” Pekka greeted, his voice like the slow drag of a blade against stone.

Kaz didn't move. He slowly watched as the man pulled a chair in front of him as his men grabbed Kaz’s shoulders, kneeling him in front of Pekka.

He made a show of looking around, as if he were the one letting Kaz stay here, rather than the other way around.

“You’re after the Heartrender,” Pekka asked, even if it sounded more like a statement.

Kaz’s expression didn’t waver.

Pekka smiled, all teeth. “Go ahead. Take the job. But if you do, I’ll make sure your little Summoner doesn’t see another sunrise.”

A long silence.

Kaz forced himself to remain still. Not to react. Not to show the way the words latched onto something deep, something ugly.

“She’s not my concern,” Kaz said. Even to his own ears, it sounded hollow. He felt his own cane being pressed to his throat.

Pekka chuckled. “That so? Then why does it feel like she is?”

He leaned forward, slowly. “I’ve been watching her, Brekker. Ever since she came to the Menagerie, I knew she was special.”

Kaz’s fingers twitched inside his gloves, his hands itching with anger.

“She still wears that collar,” Pekka continued. “Still belongs to Heleen. Which means —” His voice dropped, his words slow and deliberate. “She belongs to me.”

Kaz said nothing.

Pekka studied him, his head tilting slightly. “So here’s the deal. If you want the Heartrender, you kill her. If you want Ghafa’s freedom, you do it for me.”

He continued, a slight smirk forming on his lips, “Or maybe I’ll just kill the witch myself. And we’ll see if you still care to finish the job after.”

A heartbeat of silence. Then another.

“I’ll deal with her.”

Pekka’s smirk widened. “That’s what I like to hear.”

And then, just as quickly as he came, he was gone, leaving him alone, knees stuck on the wooden floor. Kaz stood there for a long moment, his mind already working, already calculating.

He would deal with her.

The job was supposed to be simple. In and out. No blood.

Yet Y/N found herself gasping against the alley wall, pressing a trembling hand against the wound just below her ribs. The knife had been quick. She hadn’t even seen the attacker’s face.

One moment, she was making her way back from the job Kaz had sent her on, the next, steel in her ribs. Blood seeped through her fingers, warm and thick.

She straightened, forcing herself upright as she heard footsteps. Making her way back to Slat, barely alive, a trace of blood sticking to all the buildings she had passed by.

Throwing herself on the nearest chair inside, she ripped her coat open, fingers grazing over the bloody cut. Her free hand grabbed the aid kit, mindsely searching for the needle and the thread.

There is no way she could've done it by herself, but she didn't want anyone to find out she had failed at the easiest job: she was a Grisha after all.

As soon as she began stitching, Jesper made his way inside, a soft smile on his face.His grin faltered when he saw her.

“Well, that’s not good.”

Y/N exhaled sharply, “Brilliant deduction.”

Jesper walked forward, gaze flicking to the blood darkening her coat. “What happened?”

“I accidentally stabbed myself”,she jokes, showing him that she was not in the mood.

Jesper sighed, defeated. “Kaz is already pissed, you know. And now this?”

“Why is he pissed?”, he takes in her frown, then his face suddenly changes. Like the realization hit him. ‘You can't tell her’, he recalls Kaz's words, and he wishes he hadn't opened his mouth.

Jesper hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Pekka paid him a visit.”

Not failing to notice the way she stiffened, he continued.

“He made a deal,” his voice was too casual, too careful. “A million kruge. Inej’s freedom. But there’s a condition.”

Y/N swallowed. “What condition?”

The door slammed open. Kaz barely had time to look up before Y/N stormed in, her coat unbuttoned just enough to reveal the blood staining her shirt.

He took it in immediately: the slight hitch in her breath, the tension in her shoulders, the fire burning in her eyes.

“You’re going to kill me for a million kruge?” she asks, voice latching with despair.

Kaz shut his ledger. “You should be resting.”

She scoffed, stepping forward despite the limp in her stride. “Is a million kruge more important than me living?”

Silence.

Her breath came sharp, uneven. She reached into her belt and pulled out a knife, flipping it so the hilt faced him.

“Then do it.”

Kaz didn’t move. Her fingers curled around his wrist, forcing the knife into his palm. “Do it, Brekker.”

He felt the weight of it, the cool steel pressing against his skin.

Then, slowly, he placed the knife on his desk and stepped toward her.

She backed away instinctively, but her wound betrayed her, her knees buckling, and she stumbled.

Kaz caught her before she could hit the ground, his gloved hand draped around her waist.

Her breath shuddered, their lips almost touching. “You’d do anything for your freedom, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes.”

Her fingers curled around his sleeve, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Then kiss me.”

A command.

Kaz saw the shift in her eyes, the pull of her power curling around the words. But he had already anticipated it.

His fingers pressed into her wound.

She gasped, her body jolting as pain lanced through her. And then he kissed her.

His lips crashed against hers, sharp and unyielding, stealing the breath from her lungs. It was not soft or gentle. It was the same as everything Kaz did: calculated, precise, deliberate.

When they finally pulled away, she winced, a sharp inhale cutting through the silence. Kaz looked down.

Blood.

His hand was still pressed against her wound.

Understanding flickered in her eyes, then horror.

“When a Grisha is in pain, their powers don’t work,” Kaz murmured. “I knew you were about to command me.”

He had been pressing on her wound from the moment she stumbled. Not to hurt her. Not to stop her.

But to choose. To choose the kiss. To choose her.

Y/N’s hands trembled against his arm, the pressure he was applying making her even more dizzy.

“Kaz…”

He stepped back, his touch remaining as a ghost on her skin. The weight of the moment settled between them, thick and suffocating.

“I’ll deal with Pekka.”

Then, before she could say anything else, before she could look at him like that, he turned and walked away.

[ethereacals]

MANIAC

the one where you don't go back to the boys.

part two of the conan gray series

“i wish i were heather” out now!

synopsis: after getting cheated on by your previously expected soulmates, a change in perspective occurs and you find yourself falling for a different set of three.

warnings: foul language, slander on the marauders, sexual innuendos, mentions of smoking, a small taylor

"PEOPLE LIKE YOU ALWAYS WANT BACK WHAT THEY CAN'T HAVE."

Leaving Hogwarts early for Christmas this year was not something anyone could've forshadowed.

You, the girl who spent most of her time studying for her upcoming OWLS in November, had disappeared without a trace.

Of course most of your close friends knew where you were, and some not so close friends did aswell.

"She can't just run away from her problems." Said Sirius, his leg bouncing anxiously from the news Regulus had just sprung onto them.

"Sirius, It'll be fine, okay? When they get back to school, we can formally apologize and move on, right?" Remus attempted to reassure Sirius, but he in reality he felt quite crestfallen.

Lily sat quietly, already regretting her decision to do this with them.

In her head, she knew they had every intention to not cheat and solve things the right way— but she hadn’t helped.

It all started one night at a loud and ear-shattering Gryffindor victory party after a successful win for their Quidditch team.

She got drunk, and they were completely wasted.

And you weren’t there.

So their drunken minds believed it would be a missed opportunity if they didn’t take their chance with Gryffindors golden girl.

Lily knew she should’ve said no, she should’ve gone back to her dorm and hid from them for the rest of eternity.

But fate clearly had other plans.

And after secrets, longing stares, and lingering touches that the truth finally came to light.

and it was all at your expense.

“So— When will our Reggie be joining us, Meadowes?” Evan slurred, his voice carrying a heavily intoxicated tone.

“Soon enough, he’s got one more OWL to complete and then he’s on his way.” Dorcas mused as she gently pet the head of her tipsy sleepy Gryffindor girlfriends head as she babbled on about Quidditch.

Evan nodded drunkenly— before taking another swig.

Dorcas seemed so peaceful with Marlene— who had surprisingly accepted her invitation to spend Christmas with the Slytherins, though Marlene truly wasn’t prejudice against them like others were.

They seemed so… in love.

You had love once.

Remember?

They’re gone.

Remember?

They’re gone.

“I— I had love… once—“ You hiccuped sadly, beginning to sob for the umpteenth time this evening.

You were extremely drunk, who could really blame you?

“Aww… Treasure…” Barty (who surprisingly was very sober) cooed, encapsulating you in a bear hug as you cried into his chest.

“How many more times is she going to do that?” Asked Peter, who— by the way: lied to his friends and said he was going home for Christmas.

He was only visiting for the night, as he was currently visiting his girlfriend— Sybil Trelawney who lived in town.

“Who knows, Pete. Who knows..” Evan slung his arm around him.

“This should be the last time before she realizes that she doesn’t need them, that’s what the sprites are telling me.” Pandora smiled, petting your hair gently in comfort.

“Pettigrew, you should turn back to your rat-pack and tell them they’re trash.”

You spat, in broken sighs.

Obviously, Peter felt a bit of offense to the rat slander but alas— they weren’t aware of his rat-secret.

Quite a shame.

“Sure thing, L/N.”

'FEELS LIKE WE HAD MATCHING WOUNDS BUT MINES STILL BLACK AND BRUISED.'

on December 19th, Regulus had finally arrived at Barty's flat he'd rented for the holidays.

Marlene, Dorcas, and Peter had their departure just the day before, leaving just you, Pandora, Evan, Barty, and Regulus.

Pandora had just wished you all goodnights and dream blessings before nodding off to your shared room for your stay.

"So, anyone up for some firewhiskey?" Offered Evan, who held a giant bottle of the substance.

"Just a small bit, Rosie." Barty accepted his offer graciously.

"Need anything, amour?" Regulus mused in your ear, by far he was the most comforting one. As the other two just distracted you with their own twisted ways of thinking and chaos.

"I'm alright, Reggie. Thank you." You nodded politely, you had felt incredibly off this break.

Though they all weren't stupid, they knew why you were acting strange.

Every year since third year; You and the boys would leave Hogwarts and spend Christmas with the Potters.

Snowball fights, roaring fires, Effie's hot cocoa, the memories echoed through your brain like they were music blasting from your headphones.

Every time you closed your eyes to sleep, you would see endless slideshows of everything you had ever done with them.

The nights of passion, the hugs, the pre and post-quidditch game good luck and good job kisses, the play fights, the happiness.

Your life was black and white before you met them, they brought the color.

But they showed you colors they knew you couldn't see with anyone else.

Well, besides your 'best' friends.

Were you really just that? Just friends?

You were a year younger than the Marauders, same year as Regulus.

and Sirius would be so pissed off if he found out that you were sleeping with his brother-

...

Wait.

Who gives a fuck about Sirius?

Who cares what intelligent insult will come out of Remus' mouth?

And James, he liked Regulus once.

They'd hate you.

But,

Maybe you wanted them too.

So, you ended up taking a few shots of firewhiskey.

Okay,

More than a few.

"Um- actually, Reggie. I- I do need something." You slurred, holding onto your sober ex-boyfriends brother best friends nimble shoulders like he was your lifeline.

"Yes, amour?"

"I want a kiss."

Evan spat out his drink back into his cup, and Regulus' face heated up significantly.

"I'll give you a kiss..." Barty clambered over his boyfriends as his cold, veiny hands meet your waist.

His hands skim your body up and down, before pecking your lips softly, as if he was asking for acceptance.

"Can I kiss you?" Barty spoke so softly, he may have been chaotic and insane- but he was extremely cautious and respectable with things like this.

"I-I wanna taste you so bad.." Evan cooed at Barty's sweet words, as he held an extremely flustered Regulus in his arms, watching the scene in front of him unfold.

"Barty- please, kiss me." You mewled, barely finishing your sentence as he dived into your lips.

His lips surprisingly tasted like cherry chapstick, even though he had just been chugging firewhiskey.

After feeling like an eternity, Barty broke your kiss.

"I've wanted to do that since fourth year." He mumbled drunkenly, gazing up stupidly and lovingly at your blush-kissed face.

His kisses were heavenly, and so were Evan's, and Regulus'.

And needless to say, you didn't return back to Pandora that night.

'YOU'RE POINTING AT THE STARS IN THE SKY THAT ALREADY DIED.'

The return to Hogwarts was an awkward one at that.

But returning back to Hogwarts feeling happier than ever with your boyfriends? That was the best return you could make.

Hand in hand with Barty, you strutted into the Great Hall.

Evan and Regulus trailed behind, as you rambled on and on to Barty about something.

James stared your direction, and you unfortunately met his gaze.

He wasn't dense, he could see how your bright smile seemed to dim.

He smiled, softly.

James knew that they'd never get you back the way they had you.

He should've realized that you were the light of their lives.

Everyone should've woken up to see you.

They hurt you.

And this was their price.

They had to watch you thrive, with three other men.

Who would treat you like a goddess, something they never sought time for.

taglist; @hisparentsgallerryy @cultish-corner @asexualbuthorny @prettylittlewrites @champomiel @hellothere7 @anakinsluvrr @lady-balem @awkwardalie @nosteponduck @eeviee4 @dreamygirli3 @navs-bhat @angemyrtille @mrssslangdon @siillly @makanirock05 @hcqwxrtss123 @wolfyychan @nislame @lalalandincraz @rorywright @ih3artpjo @st4r-girl-official @pain-in-the-ashe

[asriels-college-life-dr]

Asriel's College Life - Update + Teasers!

It's been a while since the last update! I wanted to share some progress with you guys since you're at least interested in what this project is all about.

Art-wise, our concept artists have done very well with bringing our upcoming cast to life. You've seen Asriel, his roommate Baphi, and her human friend Clyde, but there's more folks in Ebott College than you've seen so far: both monsters AND humans!

We're working on a pilot episode for this sprite comic project that will establish Asriel and the rest of the cast, as well as the world and the overall vibe of the story. I hope you look forward to it!

Writing-wise, has admittedly been slow going. I work in short bursts, which is why having other writers to talk story and scriptwriting really helps get the script done.

If you're a writer and have experience with script for screenplays or even novels, also reach out to us!

We're also looking for concept artists, especially those who can draw backgrounds! If you can draw buildings and nature and maps and concept art of towns and campuses, please reach out to us!

Teaser Time!

Meanwhile, our art team has been doing well in bringing our cast to life! I hope you enjoy this look at the monsters and humans that study at Ebott College for the rest of this post!

"One of them becomes important to him, can you guess why?" (art by @MrBendyFeathers & @luztechnowitch)

Party slime! Fun fact: They're both Simley.

Someone who is happy in a way he isn't.

Someone who becomes important to him, despite their differences. (art by @heartlessmushr1)

A history professor.

A friendly face.

An antagonist.

That's all for this update! If you'd like to follow this comic for when the pilot comes out, check out our server!

[theethighpriestess]

Chapter 1 - The First Bite

A/N: First off, I wanna thank @nahimjustfeelingit-writes for coming up with this dope ass idea & @anaiyaflys143 for suggesting I write it. I hope I do you both justice. I think I want this to have multiple parts, but I need life to cooperate. Hope y'all enjoy!

*All character images created by me ☺️*

Characters: Elias "Stack" Moore, Eden Taylor (OC)

Warning(s): 18+, Adult Language, Supernatural Elements, Typical Vampire Shit, Vampire Kink, Explicit Sex (Not yet, but it's coming)

Summary: Eden’s broke. Her rent’s late, her car sounds like it’s choking, and her dreams of making it as a singer in New Orleans are getting harder to hold onto. So when she sees a sketchy little ad offering big cash to be a “discreet donor,” she answers it. She tells herself it’s just money. Just blood. Just once. But the contract’s signed, the room is breathing, and Eden? She might’ve just stepped into something deeper than debt.

Word Count: 5.5K

New Orleans, 2005

Eden stared blankly at the digits on the weathered ATM.

$14.26.

All the money she had left from her work-study check that wouldn’t replenish for another week. Between rent, paying for studio time, and outfits for her upcoming shows, Eden had left herself broke and destitute yet again.

“Who told you to take the term ‘starving artist’ so literally?” she muttered to herself, tucking the receipt into the pocket of her tattered jean jacket.

She hadn’t eaten a real meal in two days. Just a gas station honey bun, half a bottle of warm Sprite, and whatever sleep could trick her body into thinking it was full. Her rust-colored Honda ran on a quarter tank and prayer, the engine coughing every time she turned the key. The inside smelled like jasmine body spray, fried hair, and quiet panic.

Fishing her Motorola Razr from the depths of her tote, she scrolled to the contact labeled “Pops.” She stared at it for a long moment, thumb hovering, before finally pressing CALL.

Three rings. A click.

“Yo,” came the gravelly voice on the other end. Always detached. Always mid-something more important.

“Hey,” Eden said, trying not to sound too pitiful. “You got like…twenty dollars I could borrow?”

A long pause. She could practically hear him blinking.

“Sorry, kiddo, I’m all tapped out.”

She knew it was a lie. He always said that. She could hear a game show buzzing faintly in the background, followed by the sound of beer cracking open. But she didn’t press it.

“It’s cool, Pops.” She cleared her throat, pushing down the lump forming there. “I’ll make something shake. I saw an ad for a babysitting gig in the Garden District, so I’ll try that.”

“Good,” he said, voice already drifting. “See? You ain’t gotta always be runnin’ after those stage lights. Just find somethin’ steady.”

She didn’t respond. Just hung up and slid the phone back into her purse like it was a loaded gun.

Back at her tiny studio apartment in Mid-City, Eden sat cross-legged on her futon, her open planner in her lap. A flyer for an open mic night at Tipitina’s was pinned above her bed with a pink glitter pushpin. She had two weeks to come up with a new track and scrape together the $80 she owed her producer for the beat she was using.

She opened her laptop, praying it would connect to the neighbor’s spotty Wi-Fi. While it loaded, she scribbled in the margins of her notebook:

“I ain’t tryna sing for scraps, I want velvet on my mic stand Moët in my vocal booth, not noodles from the nightstand…”

Cute. Maybe.

She clicked over to Craigslist. Typing “cash gigs” in the search bar had become second nature.

Dog walking. House cleaning. Foot modeling?

But then, something new. Something far from anything she’d seen listed before.

“DONOR OPPORTUNITY – NIGHT WORK. DISCREET. HIGH COMPENSATION. 21+ ONLY. Must be comfortable with blood. Text 504-9VAMPYR.”

Eden raised an eyebrow. 

“Blood?”

She clicked anyway.

The ad was vague but intriguing. It promised “stress-free, safe work” for “exclusive clientele.” It also mentioned “consent-based feeding arrangements,” which sounded... weirdly medical. Or criminal.

She almost exited the tab—but her mouse hovered over the last line:

“Neck: $300/hr. Wrist: $400/hr. Inner thigh: $550/hr. Discretion required.”

She burst out laughing, sharp and alone in her little apartment. “Yeah, okay. That’s definitely a scam. Probably run by some dude named Clarence with a fake fang kink.”

But something about it stuck. Along with her passion for music, she also had a passion for all things occult: vampires, black magic, and everything in between. She was the bayou bruja stereotype personified, save the fact that she didn’t actually know any spells.

Eden wasn’t sure what it was about this ad that had her so curious. Maybe it was the dollar signs flashing in her mind. Perhaps it was the way her stomach twisted with nerves and low-grade hunger. Or maybe it was the fact that being bitten on the thigh for rent money somehow felt less soul-crushing than waitressing at a chain diner where the manager hit on her.

She grabbed her phone and typed quickly.

Eden T. | Type O- | Available Nights

Then she added, like a joke she hoped the universe would get:

“I sing too, in case that’s relevant.”

She snickered to herself until the number responded, almost immediately.

504-9VAMPYR:

“Voice matters more than you know. You’re expected tonight. Come dressed in black. No perfume. Bring ID.”

Attached was a pin drop to an address in the Warehouse District. The kind of place that always looked abandoned from the outside but was crawling with secrets beneath the surface.

Eden stared at the screen. Then at her closet.

She had a mesh crop top, a fake leather skirt, and her beat-up Doc Martens. Close enough to black. She pulled them out with a sigh and laid them across her unmade bed. Her hands lingered on the hem of the skirt, suddenly wondering if she should shave. Then she laughed out loud, dry and humorless.

“Girl, if he’s a vampire, you think he cares about some stubble?” she mused, glancing down at her untamed bikini line.

She peeled off her hoodie and leggings and tugged on the outfit with practiced ease. The crop top rode up a little too high, showing off the silver belly ring she got impulsively after a poetry night and three Hennessy shots. She tightened the straps on her Docs and pulled her curls into a high puff, fluffing it just enough to look intentional.

Eyeliner came next. Heavy, winged, and slightly uneven, like it had been applied in a moving car or in the middle of a breakdown. She smudged a bit of charcoal shadow beneath her lower lashes for good measure, giving her eyes that soft, smoky bruised look, like she hadn’t slept in days but might still stab you if you stared too long.

A dusting of translucent powder dimmed the natural shine of her skin, but she let her freckles peek through. She dabbed a hint of burgundy gloss on her lips and pressed highlighter onto the high points of her cheeks and the tip of her nose. Just enough to glow under bad lighting.

She looked like something out of a Southern ghost story. Part beauty queen, part grieving widow. Like the kind of girl you'd see barefoot on a sagging porch in the heat of July, black veil over her eyes, sipping sweet tea that might just kill you.

She stepped back from the mirror and tilted her chin to the left.

She didn’t look like someone about to audition for a vampire sugar daddy.

She looked like someone who had nothing left to lose.

But that was the thing about having nothing. It made you bold. Eden didn’t feel fear. Not yet. What she felt was unavailable. Numb, on the edge of something primal. Like her instincts were holding their breath, waiting to see if she was about to step into a miracle… or a casket.

She grabbed the rose water mist from her nightstand, hesitated, then spritzed a light veil of it over her curls instead of her neck. Just a whisper of hydration and a ghost of a scent that faded almost instantly. The text had said no perfume, and she wasn’t trying to test boundaries with creatures who drank life juice for breakfast.

She grabbed her keys, slipped her phone into her bra, and stared down at her chipped black nail polish before muttering, “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Then she locked the door behind her.

The drive to the Warehouse District felt longer than it was. The rust-colored Honda coughed once at a red light and stuttered like it was nervous, too. Eden slapped the dash like she was coaxing a stubborn mule.

“Not tonight, baby, c’mon…”

She turned up the radio, some old Destiny’s Child track with a beat strong enough to drown her thoughts. She sang along half-heartedly, mouthing the lyrics more than meaning them, her fingers drumming against the steering wheel like she was trying to tap the fear out of her bloodstream.

Her mind didn’t cooperate.

What if it’s a cult? What if they drain you and leave you in a ditch behind a daiquiri shop? What if it’s real?

She wasn’t sure which possibility scared her more.

She pulled up to the address just after midnight. The building loomed like it had been waiting for her. It was tall, industrial, and built from bones and bad decisions. The kind of place that still smelled faintly of sweat, rust, and prohibition. Like someone had converted a cotton mill into a nightclub and then forgotten to put up a sign.

All the windows were blacked out. No buzz of neon. No music. No movement. Just that single red light above the steel door, blinking slow and steady like a pulse. Or a warning.

Eden sat there for a second longer than she meant to, the engine idling as her hand hovered near the key. Her stomach flipped, hard and sudden. It was that same twist she felt before going on stage, before she opened her mouth and let the world judge her voice, her dream, her want.

That anticipatory ache. That leap of faith you had to take before a mic, a man, or a monster.

Then she got out.

The air hit her like a wet rag, thick with humidity, heavy with something else. Something older than the pavement beneath her boots. The breeze curled around her ankles and crept up her spine, stirring the hem of her skirt and making the back of her neck prickle.

There was a scent in the air, faint but unmistakable. Jasmine. Smoke. No, ash. Burnt incense. Like the end of a ritual.

She stepped forward, gravel crunching beneath her boots, the only sound in the stillness. No music. No voices. Just her breath and that red light, blinking above her like a slow countdown.

When she reached the door, it opened before she could knock.

Not with a creak. Not with a dramatic hiss. Just a smooth, effortless glide, like whoever or whatever was on the other side had been expecting her the whole time.

Eden paused in the threshold, heart thudding against her ribs like a warning bell. She glanced once over her shoulder, back at her Honda parked under the flickering streetlamp, its paint dull and flaking like old blood.

She could leave. She could run.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she squared her shoulders, tucked her gloss-smudged lips into a tight line, and stepped into the dark.

A man stood just inside. Pale. No older than thirty, if you could even put an age on someone like that. His black dress shirt was perfectly pressed, tucked into tailored pants that caught the low light like water. Silver chains shimmered across his collarbone, subtle and cold. White gloves on both hands, like he was either about to serve a five-course meal or prep a body for burial.

His eyes swept over her. Not sexual, not even curious. More like he was measuring her for something. A scan. Efficient, impersonal. She might as well have been a barcode.

“You’re Eden,” he said.

It wasn’t a question.

“I am,” she replied, doing her best to keep her voice steady.

“Follow me.”

So she did.

The hallway was long and narrow, padded in deep red velvet that brushed against her shoulders every few steps. The walls breathed warmth, but the air stayed cool, scented faintly with clove, old paper, and something floral that had long since dried out. Dim amber sconces flickered along the path, casting warped shadows that stretched and curled with her movements. It didn’t feel like walking into a building. It felt like being swallowed.

Each step took her further from reality. Her dad’s voice in the car, still ringing with disappointment. The zeroes in her bank account. The half-finished demo she couldn’t afford to master. All of it fell away, like static detaching from a radio dial. She wasn’t sure if she was floating or sinking.

The man said nothing, just led her deeper.

Eventually, they reached a door. It looked ancient, carved with symbols she didn’t recognize. Something that felt older than language, older than the city itself. They pulsed faintly under the glow of the hallway lights, as if alive beneath the grain of the wood.

The man knocked once. A dull, heavy sound.

Then he turned the handle and pushed the door open. He didn’t go in. Just stepped aside and motioned for her to enter.

Eden hesitated. Only for a second. Long enough to feel her heart rise in her throat, thick and loud. Then she stepped over the threshold.

And the world changed.

The air inside was cooler, denser, but it didn’t chill her. It settled around her skin like silk. Everything glowed in shades of wine and shadow. Low lights glinting off crystal, velvet drapes billowing near tall windows sealed shut. Music played somewhere far away, too soft to follow but rich enough to taste.

It wasn’t a room. It was a scene. A set. A spell.

Her eyes adjusted slowly, drawn toward the figure seated at the far end.

And that was when she saw him.

Her eyes adjusted slowly, drawn to the figure at the far end of the room.

He sat like he owned more than just the building. Like he owned the hour, the tension, even the breath in her lungs. Leaning back in a high-backed leather chair, one leg crossed over the other, fingers resting loosely on the armrest, he looked every bit the gentleman devil.

He wore a deep burgundy suit that soaked up the light like velvet. It was tailored so sharply it could’ve drawn blood. Gold embroidery traced the lapels in delicate patterns, only catching the light when he moved. Serpents, maybe, or ivy, curling like secrets. A thick gold Cuban link chain sat heavy against his chest, and a matching pinky ring caught the lamplight when he lifted his hand to his jaw.

His skin was smooth, the kind of smooth that didn’t come from skincare, but from time. A warm brown, almost bronze, like whiskey left out in the sun. He looked like he could be in his late twenties, but Eden could feel the weight behind the stillness. The kind of quiet you feel in old houses or graveyards.

Then there were his eyes.

They held a faint glow, not glaring or artificial, but soft and strange, like candlelight burning behind thick purple glass. The color wasn’t the unsettling part; it was the depth. If she stared too long, she’d probably see everything he’d done and everything he wanted from her now.

And when he smiled—

It wasn’t wide. Just a small curl of his mouth, more on the left side, like he was letting her in on a secret she didn’t deserve to hear yet. That’s when she saw it. A gold open-faced grill on one of his fangs, subtle and gleaming. Not flashy or loud, just intentional. The kind of accessory that told you he’d been rich for longer than you’d been alive and had nothing left to prove.

Eden’s breath caught before she could stop it. She wasn’t sure if it was fear or fascination. Probably both.

He didn’t stand.

He didn’t need to.

His voice rolled out, low and velvet-smooth, the kind that made people lean in without realizing.

“Eden,” he said, her name sitting on his tongue like something rare and expensive.

She nodded once. “That’s me.”

His gaze flicked downward, taking in her boots, her skirt, the smudge of eyeliner she hadn’t meant to look perfect. He wasn’t judging her. He was gathering details, building a file in his mind.

“Pretty name,” he said. “Pretty girl.”

Her jaw tightened at the compliment. She’d heard it too many times before from broke boys and drunk strangers. But from him, it didn’t feel cheap. It felt like a warning.

“Thanks,” she replied, her voice quieter now.

Stack tilted his head just enough to shift the mood. Not much. Just enough to make her uneasy.

“I’m Elias Moore,” he said. “But folks around here call me Stack.”

“Stack,” she repeated.

He gave her that same half-smile.

“I like a girl who listens.”

Then he rose from his chair.

Not quickly. Not slow either. Just smoothly, like he didn’t have to try. He was taller than she expected, and his frame filled the room like music you couldn’t turn down. He moved with purpose, not just confidence, but certainty, like the floor had always been waiting for his footsteps.

When he stopped in front of her, close enough for her to feel the stillness coming off him, she realized he didn’t wear cologne. The flyer had warned against perfume, and he clearly followed the same rule. But still, there was a scent. Faint and warm, like sandalwood, old leather, maybe even dried jasmine crushed into parchment.

He raised a gloved hand.

“You can leave anytime you want,” he said. “But if you take one more step, you’re choosing not to.”

She looked at his hand. Elegant. Dead. Gold ring catching the light.

Her heart kicked hard in her chest.

She didn’t take his hand.

But she didn’t move away either.

His hand hovered in the space between them for another second before he let it fall.

Stack nodded toward a low velvet chair across from his own. “Sit if you want. Or stand. Some people feel safer that way.”

Eden moved without thinking, sliding into the seat like her knees might give out otherwise. Her palms were sweating, but she kept them in her lap. He didn’t look like the type who’d offer napkins.

The silence stretched, but it didn’t feel empty. It felt full of decisions. Stack poured two fingers of something amber into a crystal glass from a decanter by his elbow, then slid it across the table toward her. He didn’t pour himself one.

Eden stared at it. “Is it safe?”

Stack grinned, just a flash of gold and teeth. “Safer than most things you’ve done to chase a dream, I’d bet.”

She didn’t answer. Just stared down at the drink and finally lifted it, more out of pride than thirst. It burned, but not bad. Smooth like molasses with a bite at the end, like it knew you had secrets and didn’t mind.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Let’s talk about the job.”

Eden sat straighter. “Alright.”

“You know the basics,” Stack said. “You let someone feed. You get paid. How far you want to go is up to you.”

He tapped a long finger against the table, slow, like a metronome counting down something important.

“Neck’s three hundred an hour. Wrist’s fourhundred, thigh’s five-fifty. Shoulder anywhere else, we can negotiate. You can sign on as a regular, or keep it casual. We also offer exclusive arrangements. More private. More lucrative. More dangerous.”

Eden pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and nodded, pretending she wasn’t halfway to hyperventilating. Her mouth felt like cotton and her stomach wouldn’t stop fluttering. But her voice held steady.

“What’s the risk?”

Stack shrugged. “Some vampires don’t know when to stop. Some donors fall in love. Some folks just aren’t built for it. We vet both sides, but accidents happen. That’s why we sign oaths. Confidentiality. Consent. Boundaries.”

She stared at him for a moment. “And you? What do you do here? Besides sit in velvet and look... like that.”

He smiled again, but slower this time, like he appreciated the jab. “I run this place. I built it. I make sure the hungry don’t get sloppy, and the desperate don’t disappear. That’s my job.”

“And if I disappear anyway?”

Stack’s smile faded, not into anger, but into something quieter. He looked at her in that same scanning way from before. Like he was looking past the makeup, past the attitude, down into the parts of her she didn’t let people touch.

“You got people who’d come looking for you?”

Eden thought of her dad. His voice on the phone, always clipped when she brought up music or asked for help. She thought of her name on the caller ID and the way he probably paused before letting it go to voicemail.

“No,” she said. “Not really.”

Stack didn’t look surprised. “Then you’re the kind of girl this place was made for.”

The room settled into stillness again, thick as gumbo. The only sound was the soft buzz of something electrical and the faint thump of music far beneath them. Eden’s thoughts were running in circles, dragging every old warning and new curiosity with them.

She thought about her bank account. About the way her car shuddered when she turned the key. About the silk dress she wanted to wear for her next show that still sat in the consignment window with a tag she couldn’t afford.

She thought about her voice. That gift she was chasing like it owed her something. Every sacrifice. Every studio hour. Every burnt-out candle and scribbled lyric.

And then she thought about this room. This man. This offer that felt like it came from a door she didn’t know she’d already opened.

“What happens if I say yes?” she asked.

Stack’s eyes didn’t blink. “Then I’ll take care of you. I’ll make sure you’re fed, rested, paid. Protected. You give me your time and a little of your blood. I give you everything else.”

“And if I want more?” she asked, softer now. “Not just money. I want freedom. A little power of my own.”

For the first time, something shifted in his face. Not surprise, but interest. Real interest.

“You’d be surprised what blood can buy,” he said. “Especially when it’s yours.”

Eden exhaled slow. She didn’t know if she believed him, but she wanted to. That scared her more than anything.

She looked down at her chipped nail polish, at the ring she kept on her pinky for good luck, then back up at him.

“I’ll try it,” she said. “Once.”

Stack nodded like he already knew. He stood again and reached into his jacket, pulling out a folded piece of parchment. Not paper. Parchment. The kind that smelled like it belonged in a museum. He laid it on the table with a small, weighted pen.

“Name, date, initials here and here. Once you sign, the room changes.”

Eden raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

Stack’s purple eyes gleamed. “You’ll see.”

She stared at the parchment. Her heart thumped a little faster now, but she didn’t hesitate.

She signed.

And the room breathed.

Not literally, but that’s how it felt. The wallpaper shifted, shadows deepened. Something behind her spine tingled, as if the walls were watching now.

Stack watched her, too. “You hungry?”

Eden blinked. “A little.”

He extended a hand. This time, she took it.

His hand was cool. Not cold like death, just cooler than it should’ve been. Like he hadn’t been touched by sun or sweat in years. Eden followed him through a second doorway that hadn’t been there a moment ago. She could’ve sworn that wall was solid when she walked in. Now it opened like a secret.

The new room was quieter. Darker, too, but not in a threatening way. It felt... sacred. The lighting came from candles tucked into glass sconces, their flames barely flickering. The walls were painted a deep garnet that made the space feel like it had been dipped in wine. Heavy curtains hung in the corners like they were hiding more than windows.

At the center of the room sat a low velvet couch and a wide leather chair shaped like a throne, but not gaudy. Worn in. Like someone had loved it for a long time. The air smelled faintly of clove and something richer, something warm. It wrapped around her like a robe.

“Sit wherever you’re comfortable,” Stack said, his voice lower now, closer to a whisper.

Eden moved to the couch. Her legs didn’t feel like her own anymore. The velvet was soft under her fingers, like the kind of fabric rich people bought without checking the price tag. She leaned back and took a breath.

Stack remained standing. He didn’t hover, didn’t crowd her. Just watched.

“I’m going to ask again,” he said. “Are you hungry?”

Eden nodded. “Yeah.”

He smiled, slower this time. Less show. More meaning.

“Good. Then we’ll make it clean.”

He walked over to a cabinet near the back of the room and pulled out a shallow silver bowl, etched with symbols she didn’t recognize. Then he lit a bundle of dried herbs and let the smoke curl into the corners. It didn’t choke the air, just warmed it, changed it. Eden felt something loosen in her chest. The fear didn’t vanish, but it dulled.

“This is how we start,” he said. “No one touches without consent. You say stop, I stop. You say no, we’re done. Say the word mercy if anything feels wrong.”

She nodded. “Mercy.”

“Good girl.”

The words should’ve felt patronizing. But they didn’t. They felt like a key turning in a door.

He set the bowl on a low table beside the couch, then took off his gloves. His hands were ringed in gold and the veins under his skin looked faintly violet, like there was something strange running through him.

“Where?”

Eden’s throat went dry.

She remembered the ad. Neck. Thigh. Wrist. Options like a damn menu. It sounded transactional until it was real. Until you had to say it out loud to someone who would actually do it.

She tilted her head, just slightly, exposing her throat.

“Neck,” she said. “Just there.”

Stack moved slowly, no rush in him. He came to sit beside her, close but careful, like she was a page in a holy book he wasn’t sure he had permission to read. He didn’t touch her at first. Just looked.

His eyes had that same violet glow, soft and low like candlelight. There was no hunger in them, not the way she’d imagined. No animal in the shadows. Just need, steady and patient.

He brushed her curls back with a single finger. His touch was deliberate. Reverent.

“You’ll feel pressure,” he said. “Then warmth.”

She nodded, even though her heart was hammering so hard she could barely hear her own breath.

He leaned in.

His mouth was cool against her skin, not open at first. Just resting there. Then she felt it. A brief, sharp ache, like a pinprick from a needle that knew where to go. Not pain exactly. More like being opened.

Then came the warmth. A slow pull that tugged at her chest and her belly and somewhere deeper. It was dizzying. She gripped the couch cushion beside her and let her eyes fall shut.

She thought it would feel like something being taken from her. But it didn’t. It felt like something shared. Something circular. Like her blood was telling a story and he was just listening, slow and careful, taking only what he needed.

When he pulled back, he let out a slow breath against her skin.

“That’s enough.”

Eden blinked her eyes open. Her limbs felt light, her mind foggy but soft, like she’d just come out of a warm bath.

He pressed a cool cloth to her neck, then leaned back to give her space.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

She had to think about it. Then she smiled.

“Like I just got kissed by something dangerous.”

Stack chuckled, low and pleased. “That’s because you did.”

He stood and reached for a small black envelope on the side table. Inside was a stack of crisp bills. Cash. The real kind. Eden took it with fingers that still tingled.

“This is yours,” he said. “For tonight.”

She didn’t count it. She didn’t need to.

Stack looked down at her, head slightly tilted. “You ever want more, you know where to find me.”

Eden stood, a little shakier than she expected. She gathered her purse, her keys, her thoughts. Her neck still throbbed gently, but not in a bad way.

“Thank you,” she said, unsure if that was the right thing to say.

“You’re welcome,” he said. “And Eden?”

She turned.

His eyes were glowing again, soft but unreadable.

“You were made for this.”

She didn’t answer. She just walked out into the night, heart pounding, mouth dry, and mind racing. The street outside was the same as when she’d arrived. But she wasn’t.

Not anymore.

The rust-colored Honda didn’t shudder this time. It purred like it was just as stunned as she was.

Eden drove with the windows down, letting the thick New Orleans night wrap around her like a wet velvet shawl. The air was rich with honeysuckle, oil, and the ghost of a second line that had long since moved on. Her neck still buzzed, not with pain, but with presence. A lingering echo of fangs and breath and a moment that felt like it cracked something open inside her.

She rolled past the neon flicker of corner stores and daiquiri shops, the cracked sidewalks of uptown giving way to potholes and porch lights. Her thoughts moved as slowly as her car did. Heavy, syrupy things that stuck to the edges of her brain and refused to form full sentences.

She’d sold her blood. Just handed it over like a receipt. Signed her name on a scroll older than any contract she’d ever seen. Sat inches from a man with glowing eyes and a golden fang and said yes.

And yet… she didn’t feel wrong.

Her heartbeat was steady now, settled. Her limbs were loose and lazy, like her body knew something she didn’t. Like it had crossed a threshold and didn’t see a reason to go back.

At a red light, she glanced at the cash in her passenger seat. Real money. More than she’d made in a month of folding sweaters at the campus bookstore. Her fingers twitched with the urge to count it, to be sure, but something in her resisted. That wasn’t what mattered.

What mattered was how she felt. And for once, it wasn’t desperate.

It was dangerous.

She parked outside her apartment just after two a.m., the same flickering streetlamp buzzing above her like always. Normally, she would’ve slumped inside, peeled off her shoes, microwaved something sad, and stared at her ceiling until sleep came to find her. But tonight she sat still in the car, engine off, listening to the sound of cicadas and the low rumble of the city that never really slept.

She touched her neck. There was no bandage. Just skin. Tender, yes, but smooth.

Like he’d never been there.

But he had. And her body remembered.

When she finally made it inside, Eden didn’t bother undressing. She collapsed onto her bed face-up, curls fanned across the pillow, clothes still sticking to her from the sweat of the night. She meant to scroll her phone, maybe check her email. Instead, sleep came hard and fast.

And with it, the dream.

She was back in the velvet room, but everything was softer. Louder. Redder. The walls pulsed like they had a heartbeat. Candles melted into puddles on the floor, filling the air with the smell of blood-orange and clove.

Stack stood across from her, suit jacket off now. The sleeves of his burgundy shirt rolled to the elbows. The gold on his wrist glinted in the candlelight, and his grill caught her eye when he smiled.

Not a smirk. Not cold.

This smile was hot and low and deliberate.

He crossed the room without a word, steps soundless, until his hands were on her waist. His touch wasn’t demanding. It was magnetic. Her body leaned in before her mind caught up.

“Still not scared?” he murmured.

His voice brushed her skin like silk and sin.

“No,” she said, or maybe just thought it. In dreams, it didn’t matter.

He pressed his forehead to hers, just long enough for her to feel the thrum of something ancient behind his skin. Then his lips traced the spot on her neck he’d bitten. Not kissing. Not quite.

Tasting.

She gasped.

And woke up breathless.

Her bedroom was dark and quiet. The fan whirred above her, and outside someone’s dog barked once, then stopped. Her skin was slick with sweat, but she didn’t feel hot.

She felt hollow. Wired. A little drunk on something that hadn’t happened.

She stared at the ceiling, heart pounding, and reached for her phone.

The screen lit her face in blue, and for a moment, she didn’t recognize herself. Her eyes were too sharp. Her lips too calm. She looked like someone with secrets. The kind of girl you warned people about.

Eden opened her messages and scrolled to the last number in her phone.

504-9VAMPYR.

She stared at it for a long minute, thumb hovering. Then she typed three words.

When’s the next?

She hit send. No emoji. No punctuation. Just intent.

The message delivered with a quiet chime.

And Eden leaned back in her bed, the dream still clinging to her skin like smoke.

She didn’t know what came next.

But she knew she wanted more.

Her phone buzzed again.

Tomorrow. Midnight. Same place. Wear red.

Tag List: @whoaitslucyylu @omgffs @healanette @secret89sblog @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @uzumaki-rebellion @soufcakmistress @thickemadame @blackpantherismyish @kumkaniudaku @youreadthatright @post-woke @chaneajoyyy @kissmyafropuff @empressdede @melodyofmbaku @blktinkerbell @turbulentvoids @writerbee-ffs @jasssdee1 @cerya @hearteyes-for-killmonger @theegoldenchild @theogbadbitch @honggihwa @dashhoney25 @jackierose902109 @hotcommodityyy @browngirldominion @j0ysyndr0m3

[ducksido]

TWST where gn!Yuu accidentally forms an (overblot boys) harem, and before anyone could confess, they get asked out and began to date someone else. I need to see their reactions, i need the angst.

Bonus points if Yuu's bf is not very good to them...

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle had plans.

He was preparing himself. Studying love confession etiquette, writing drafts of what he'd say, even considering asking Trey to bake a tart to go along with it. But before he could put anything in motion, Yuu showed up to lunch... holding hands with someone else.

He froze mid-step. He didn’t scream. He didn’t rage. He just… went quiet.

And when he watched Yuu’s “boyfriend” brush off their excited chatter, interrupt them, and walk ahead without waiting—he felt it like a crack through his chest.

“You enforce all the Queen’s rules except the ones about how hearts should be treated.”

Leona Kingscholar

Leona always thought if he ever wanted something bad enough, he’d just take it. But you weren’t something he could just snatch up like a trophy.

He thought he had time. Thought the bond you two had was proof enough. He let himself believe you'd see how much he cared even without saying it.

Then he caught sight of you sitting under a tree, laughing nervously as your boyfriend scrolled on his phone, not listening.

Leona didn’t say anything. Just scoffed and walked past.

Later, when he was alone, he lay back in the grass and muttered,

“Tch. Guess I waited too long.”

And he hated how bitter it sounded.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul had everything planned. Candlelit dinner in the Lounge, contract shredded ceremoniously, and an offer not of business—but of his heart.

But then Jade told him.

“Yuu is dating that third-year from Pomefiore. The quiet one.”

Azul laughed. A sharp, painful sound. “Oh? Hah… good for them.”

He watched you later, flinching slightly when your boyfriend ignored your concern. You brought them soup; they didn’t even say thank you.

Azul tightened his gloves.

“So that’s what they chose? All my feelings… outbid by neglect.”

He hated how small he felt.

Jamil Viper

Jamil knew he wasn’t supposed to want things like this. Attention. Care. Love. He shoved it down because someone like him isn’t allowed to have those things—not freely.

But you gave them. So easily. You smiled at him like you saw him.

And still, you ended up with someone who never even looks you in the eye.

Jamil watched from afar, hidden in the shade, as your boyfriend left you to carry both your bags, trailing behind.

“You deserve someone who sees how brightly you shine, not someone who walks ahead like you’re invisible.”

But he said nothing. As always.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil doesn’t do “crushes.” He does admiration, respect, and—quietly—devotion. You made him want to be softer.

He never confessed because he thought he had time. He was building trust. Stability.

But when he saw you walk into the cafeteria with someone who wouldn’t even wait up for you… Vil’s smile turned brittle.

“Love is like skincare, you know. Neglect leads to decay.”

You deserve someone who cherishes you like art.

Vil turns away, and the ache in his chest sits like cracked porcelain under foundation.

Idia Shroud

He rehearsed his confession for months. Digitally simulated thousands of possible outcomes. Even created an entire visual novel titled “Code: Love.exe” starring the two of you.

And then…

“Did you hear? Yuu’s dating that boring normie from Ignihyde.”

The air left his lungs. He stared at his screen in silence. The sprite of you glitched for a second before blinking in idle animation.

He saw them together once, in passing. Your smile was still warm—but less frequent.

“Did I really lose to that NPC?”

He deleted the game.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus never knew jealousy until now.

He never thought to compete. He thought you cared for him—truly. He thought your visits, your laughter, your fearlessness in his presence meant something.

And then Sebek stammered out the news.

When Malleus saw you next, you looked… tired. Like joy wasn’t clinging to you the way it used to.

“You are not happy,” he said simply.

But you smiled and insisted, “I’m fine.”

He didn’t press. But the air around him grew colder.

“Then why do I feel like you’re slipping further and further away?”

He returned to his tower, where the wind carried no answers.

Bonus: What They Don’t Know

You notice, eventually. The way your boyfriend talks over you. How they don’t defend you. How they make you feel small in the quietest ways.

And one day, when you sit under the stars, alone and numb, you remember Riddle’s careful discipline/Leona’s hidden patience/Azul’s respectful distance/Jamil’s listening silences/Vil’s warm critiques/Idia’s digital gifts/and Malleus’s ever-present watch.

You wonder if you chose wrong.

You wonder if it’s too late to turn around.

And somewhere—maybe close, maybe far—someone who loved you in silence whispers:

“I would’ve treated you like you mattered.”

[saltynatto]

“i bought one for you too!” — gojo satoru.

contents. shy satoru (ooc satoru); all fluff, no smut; this is intended to be adorable.

natsu : i literally wrote this drabble when i was supposed to be studying for my final exams! ⊙﹏⊙ one minute i was revising the heck outta myself, and another minute i was typing this on my phone! anyway, this was just something i whipped up after not writing anything for so long. it might be a little rusty, and i might edit here and there whenever i reread it again. hope you enjoy!

“... i bought one for you too! here's haribo— the sour one you love. here's your strawberry pocky. here's your twix. and here's your sprite— i wish you would choose 7up more though, they're better. and here is... your cadbury!” he claps his hands in excitement after showing you a haul of what he got from the convenience store.

gojo satoru, the adorable nerd you recently got to befriend with because of an assignment then takes a seat beside you, pushing aside the snacks to make room for his laptop and books he fished out from his backpack. you eye everything he brought to your study session with a growing adoration in your heart, especially after such an adorable haul, and now you have to hold your urge to kiss his cheeks as your offer of gratitude.

“thank you, toru”, you give him a small, appreciative smile as you reach for the sprite, which is the only thing you asked from him, clicking it open with your fingers. “but honestly, you don't have to bring this much for me. i'll pay you back later, okay?”

he stills from ripping the packaging of the strawberry pocky, turning to face you slowly with a jut out bottom lip. “wha—why? don't you like them? :(”

in response, you quickly swats your hand dismissively. “no, no, that's not what i meant” you gulp slightly, no wanting to make him beat himself, especially after such a kind gesture. “i mean, these sure are a lot. is it okay for you?”

his pout immediately falters, which is quickly being replaced with a determined expression as he responds with a vigorous nod of his head. “sure! i mean, i have to buy you some too if im gonna buy them for myself”

he then pulls a stick of pocky and munches on it. “i just thought that would be the least i could do for you. after all, you gave me a complete set of kimi ni todoke mangas for my birthday the other day”

you gape slightly. so he figures it was you that sent the manga set to his house. a smile blooms wider on your lips. he's endearing, and you can't help but to stare as he munches happily on his snacks, all the while having his free hand flipping through the book.

so he likes my gift, you whisper, and a sense of happiness washes all over you.

he whips his head when he notices your stare. his blue eyes peeking behind silver, thin-rimmed glasses that's sliding down the bridge of his perfectly curated nose. he tilts his head, his eyes belying the confusion he feels when he meets your gaze, wondering what makes you staring that intently at him.

he wants to say something, or at least try to tease you for being awed by his face, but the more he gets stared at by that mesmerizing eyes of yours, he gets nervous under your gaze.

baby boy is quick to fiddle with the paws of his sweater, averting his eyes elsewhere, just so he could avoid squirming under your gaze. “wh-what? is- is there something on my face?”

cuteness, baby, you want to coo, but instead, you let out soft giggles at the effect that you have on him, easily making him nervous with a bit of a staring.

“adorableness”, you mutter, in which he quickly looks at you. “m- me?” he would ask to confirm, his cheeks grow even warmer, as he pushes his glasses up from sliding down his nose.

you hum with a simple nod of your head. “yes, baby” the words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop them.

baby; he likes it coming from you.

he's about to plan a wedding in his mind.

you take a pocky that is opened on the table, before propping it in between your lips, your eyes not leaving him. he gulps when his eyes trace how your lips would purse around the stick, wondering their softness.

“d-do you like me adorable?”, he suddenly asks and as he does so, his eyes flicker towards your face to gauge on your reactions.

you chuckle. “i like you adorable, smart, stupid, nerd and all, if you haven't notice yet”, you smoothly slide in. “i gave away my sacred complete collection of kimi ni todoke mangas, for starter” winking at him, you chew on the snack tauntingly.

a sudden confession from you makes him grows redder, and he suddenly forgets how to act in front of you. an animated kettle reaches its boiling point on top of his head, prompting him to hide his face behind his arms, shying from your gaze.

“oh no—” he lets out, which you respond in a fit of soft laughter.

“hey, what? that was your only response? are you rejecting me?” you tease, trying to pry him away from where he hides his face on the table.

“n-no! please!” he exclaims, stilling like a statue even as you pull on the sleeves of his sweater to make him look at you, and you laugh aloud.

“aww, where's a good boy?” tilting your head to get a peak of his face, you manage to get a look on his red face as a proof of his malfunction state, but he's quick to shield himself from you. “aww, what? can't i have a look now?”

your teasing gets to him one by one. he shakes his head without looking at you, prompting you to giggle in satisfaction as you stare at the back of his head in adoration.

he's too adorable for his own good, you might cry to yourself when you got home later.

[hannyoontify]

warnings | lots of marriage talk, utah mom/white christian fall girl aesthetic slander

[16:40] “i’m gonna marry the fuck out of you one day.”

jeonghan’s abrupt and out of pocket statement catches you off guard and you snort loudly. “okay, casanova. why don’t you actually try asking me out on a proper date first.”

your best friend stuffs his mouth with another spoonful of the lasagna you just made him.

“i’m being serious. if your cooking is this good every single day, i might have to marry you. how does a june wedding sound?”

you placed a finger on your chin, pretending to ponder the endless possibilities of seasonal weddings as you stood behind the kitchen counter. your apron was tied snugly around your waist and your cheeks were still warm from the heat of the stove you had just been using.

“i’ve always been a fall person rather than summer…” you saw jeonghan’s eyes shine with an indecipherable glint.

“no…. baby….. please don’t tell me you’re into the white utah mom aesthetic,” he paused, then continued after a small gasp. “or the white christian fall girl aesthetic? ohhh god, i’m marrying a fiend.”

you burst into laughter when jeonghan buried his head in his hands as if he had just received news that his favorite cranberry sprite was to be permanently discontinued.

“i never said yes, loser. wouldn’t my opinion matter concerning my own wedding?” you approached jeonghan, untying your apron as you went. he leaned against the island, pressing his empty spoon against his lips as his eyes intently watched you move across the room.

“okay, then what about a september wedding? too early?”

you swatted jeonghan’s side with the wadded up apron you had in hand as you walked past him. “you’re getting way too ahead of yourself, han.”

he shot you an offended look, his jaw dropping and his eyes blown wide, as if you had accused him of murdering baby kittens. “way ahead of myself? why, you don’t wanna marry me?”

“aren’t there a million things for you to do before even considering putting a ring on my finger?” your tone was light and you were speaking in a joking manner, but some part of you wished jeonghan seriously considered you as more than just a friend. you knew this was all just a joke to him. this was just his way of playing with you. “besides, how are you so sure of yourself?”

“hm? what do you mean?” jeonghan slipped his arm around your waist, strong enough to stop you in your tracks but gentle enough for you to push past him if you really wanted to.

you didn’t. so you stayed in place, trying your best to ignore the warmth of his arm against the thin fabric of his your shirt.

jeonghan gazed at you with a serious look in his eyes—a sight rarer than him not stealing your fries to see if ‘they tasted good enough for you.’

“i mean…” your tongue darted out to nervously lick your lips. “how are you so sure of yourself? what makes you think i’ll say yes?”

he shrugged. as he did, a piece of hair shifted and fell onto his forehead and your fingers itched to put it back to place. “i’m the only one you’ve got.”

your mouth dropped open in almost offense. “did you just call me bitchless?”

he quirked a brow at you. “if the boot fits.”

you could see that jeonghan was clearly enjoying himself with the way the corner of his lips danced and struggled to stay neutral as his eyes studied yours.

“you’re being mean…” you mumbled. jeonghan silently laughed as he watched you pout, his shoulders shaking. when he finally stopped, jeonghan looked at you with an unreadable look in his eyes.

“and you’re being clueless.”

“you’re being—! huh?” you paused mid-sentence, confused as to what your best friend meant by calling you clueless. “what do you mean clueless?”

jeonghan stepped forward, causing you to stagger backwards. one foot after another, this slow chasing movement continued until your back was pressed against the marble counter of the kitchen and his arms were caging you on either side of you.

“what do you think it means?” when you didn’t respond, jeonghan pressed you further. there was a teasing lilt in his voice that told you he was enjoying this. “what do you think it could possibly mean, [name], hm?”

your eyes drifted to jeonghan’s lips for a split second. it wasn’t your fault! he was standing inches away from you and it was like his lips were screaming for your attention. you swore it was for a split of a split second, but jeonghan, that little shit, somehow caught that. he smiled and stepped a little closer.

“my lips are flattered by the attention, but they’re starting to feel a bit objectified. care to apologize?”

a wave of heat crept up your neck, painting your ears red at the notion of getting caught staring. “s-“

“mm. too late,” jeonghan pressed his finger against your lips, as if to shush you. “they’ll only settle if you give them one thing. or else you’re going to be contacted by their lawyer.”

“oh, really? what could the settlement be?” crossing your arms over your chest, you watched jeonghan as he playfully rubbed his chin with his fingers in consideration.

“i think you already know,” jeonghan shot you a knowing look. “don’t make me bring patricia and have her say it.”

patricia was the hand puppet he invented back in high school when he wanted to convince you to do something stupid with him, like skipping class. or jumping over the school wall and spraining his ankle.

“lord, have mercy.” you muttered breathlessly.

jeonghan barked out a short laugh before grabbing you by the waist, tugging you closer. his eyes never left yours. “you have no idea how long i’ve been waiting for this.”

as your lips finally met jeonghan’s, after years and years of pining, it was everything you imagined and more. your fingers gripped your best friend—now lover’s shirt tightly when he pulled away with a bright smile on his face. jeonghan’s forehead rested on yours and he pressed a soft kiss on the tip of your nose.

“i’m going to marry the fuck out of you one day.”

reblogs and feedback is always appreciated ^-^