#because...that's all that's left now isn't it?

[solxamber]

Winner Takes It All

The one in which they're too late.

Characters: Ace - Deuce, Leona - Vil, Jamil - Kalim

Angst no comfort!

divider credits to @chocolatebearstrawberry i love you <3

Ace - Deuce

"So, uh..." Deuce's face is redder than Riddle's hair as he fidgets with the hem of his uniform jacket. "We wanted to tell you something."

Ace glances up from his phone, sprawled across his bed in their shared dorm room. "Yeah? Did you finally figure out that two plus two equals four, Juice?"

You elbow him lightly, but you're smiling—that soft, fond smile that makes something warm unfurl in Ace's chest every single time. The same smile he's been hoarding like treasure for months, telling himself he has all the time in the world to make it his.

"Be nice," you chide, and God, he loves when you do that. Loves the way you defend Deuce but still laugh at his jokes. Loves how you've somehow managed to make your chaotic trio work when by all rights, it should have fallen apart ages ago.

"We're dating now," Deuce blurts out, and the words hang in the air like a death sentence.

Ace's phone slips from his fingers.

For a moment, the room is so quiet he can hear his own heartbeat thundering in his ears. Can hear the way his breath catches in his throat like he's been sucker-punched. Can hear the world reshuffling itself around him, rearranging into a configuration where you belong to someone else.

Where you belong to Deuce.

"Oh," he says, and his voice sounds strange and distant even to his own ears. "Oh, cool."

You're watching him carefully, your expression uncertain. "Ace? Are you okay?"

And that—that breaks something in him. Because of course you'd be worried about him. Of course you'd care about his reaction even in your moment of happiness. You've always been like that, always putting everyone else first, always making sure no one gets left behind.

He should have known you'd fall for someone who does the same thing.

The laugh that bubbles up from his chest tastes like blood and sounds like broken glass. "Okay? I'm great! This is hilarious." He sits up, forcing that familiar cocky grin onto his face even though it feels like wearing a mask made of knives. "Deuce actually managed to get a partner before me? Man, I really am losing my touch."

Deuce flushes darker. "It's not a competition, Ace."

"Isn't it though?" The words slip out sharper than he intended, and he sees you flinch. Sees the hurt flash across your face, and he wants to take it back, wants to swallow the poison before it can spread. But it's too late. It's always too late with him.

"I mean," he continues, dialing back the venom and cranking up the trademark Ace Trappola charm, "someone had to win eventually, right? And hey, at least it wasn't some random guy from another dorm. That would've been embarrassing."

You and Deuce exchange a look—one of those silent conversations that couples have, and isn't that just perfect? You're already developing your own language, your own secret world that doesn't include him.

"We were worried about telling you," you admit quietly. "We didn't want things to be weird between us."

Things are already weird, he wants to scream. Things have been weird since the day I realized I was in love with my best friend and did absolutely nothing about it.

Instead, he shrugs. "Why would it be weird? You're both my friends. I'm happy for you."

The lies taste like ash in his mouth.

"Really?" Deuce asks, and there's something fragile in his voice. Something that makes Ace remember they're supposed to be best friends too. That he's supposed to care about Deuce's happiness.

And he does. That's the worst part. Even through the jealousy and the pain and the way his chest feels like it's caving in on itself, he genuinely cares about Deuce. Loves him like a brother. Which makes this whole situation feel like a betrayal and a tragedy all rolled into one.

"Really," Ace says, and this time he almost means it. "You're good for each other. Deuce needs someone who'll keep him from running headfirst into traffic, and you need someone who actually listens when you talk."

Unlike me. The words hang unspoken in the air.

You beam at him, relief written all over your face, and lean over to hug him. For a moment, you're in his arms again—warm and familiar and perfect—and he lets himself pretend. Lets himself imagine this is you telling him you love him back, not you saying goodbye to whatever chance he never took.

"Thank you," you whisper against his shoulder. "This means everything."

You mean everything, he doesn't say. You meant everything, and I was too much of a coward to tell you.

Instead, he pats your back and grins when you pull away. "Yeah, yeah, don't get all sappy on me. Save that for lover boy over here."

Deuce groans and covers his face with his hands. "Please don't call me that."

"Oh, I'm absolutely calling you that. And Juicy. And honey bun. And—"

"Ace!" you and Deuce protest in unison, and the sound of your laughter mixing together is beautiful and terrible and everything he'll never have.

Later, after you've both left to go celebrate or whatever it is new couples do, Ace lies on his bed and stares at the ceiling. His phone buzzes with notifications—probably Cater posting something stupid on Magicam, or Grim demanding tuna.

He ignores it all.

The thing is, he'd always just assumed. Assumed you'd be there when he was ready. Assumed that someday, when he'd gotten his act together, when he'd figured out how to be the kind of guy who deserves someone like you—someday, you'd still be waiting.

He'd been building himself a fence, thinking he was being smart. Playing it cool. Not wanting to ruin the friendship if you didn't feel the same way. Too scared of rejection to risk it all.

But while he was busy protecting himself, Deuce was being brave. Deuce was showing up. Deuce was becoming everything Ace was too much of a coward to be.

And now Deuce gets to hold your hand in public. Gets to kiss you goodnight. Gets to wake up every day knowing he's the one you chose.

The winner takes it all.

Ace rolls over and buries his face in his pillow, finally letting the mask slip. Finally letting himself feel the full weight of what he's lost, what he never even tried to win.

His phone buzzes again. A text from you: Thanks for being so cool about this. Love you, Ace.

He stares at those three words until his vision blurs, knowing you'll never mean them the way he does when he types back: Love you too, loser.

The gods threw their dice, and someone way down here lost someone dear.

And all Ace can do is smile and pretend his heart isn't breaking.

Leona - Vil

The words hit him like a physical blow.

"Did you hear? They're dating now—officially."

Leona's grip tightens around his phone, knuckles going white as Ruggie's voice continues on the other end, oblivious to the way his housewarden's world just tilted off its axis.

"Vil and—"

He hangs up before he can hear your name spoken in the same breath as his. The phone clatters onto his desk, and Leona stares at it like it's personally offended him. Like it's the messenger he wants to shoot.

But the damage is done. The words are already echoing in his skull, bouncing around like shards of glass.

You're with him now.

Leona sinks back into his chair, one hand dragging down his face as something hot and vicious claws at his chest. It burns—Sevens, it burns like he's swallowed fire, like there's molten metal pooling in his lungs. He can't breathe around it.

He should have seen this coming. Should have known that someone like you wouldn't stay single forever. Should have known that when he let his pride and his fears drive you away, someone else would be there to catch what he'd been too much of a coward to hold onto.

And of course it had to be Vil.

Perfect, untouchable Vil Schoenheit. Everything Leona isn't and never will be. Where Leona is rough edges and lazy afternoons, Vil is polished perfection and ambition that burns brighter than the sun. Where Leona pushes people away with his sharp tongue and sharper truths, Vil draws them in with charm and grace.

The worst part? He can see it. Can see exactly why you'd choose Vil over the memory of what you had together. Vil won't make you feel like you're asking for too much when you want to hold his hand in public. Won't make you question if he actually cares when he gets distant and cold. Won't make you cry in empty hallways because he's too proud to say the words you needed to hear.

Leona's jaw clenches so hard it aches.

He wants you in his arms instead. And that's the thing that's killing him—you had belonged there. In his arms, in his space, in his life. You'd fit against him like you were made for it, like the universe had crafted you specifically to fill the hollow spaces he'd carried around his whole life. And for a while, a brief, shining while, he'd let himself believe it could last.

But he'd been a fool. Playing by rules he'd never understood, building walls when he should have been building bridges. Every time you'd reached for him, he'd pulled back. Every time you'd needed reassurance, he'd given you silence. Every time you'd tried to make it work, he'd found a new way to sabotage it.

Because that's what second sons are good for, right? Destroying things. Being the one who doesn't get the crown, doesn't get the happy ending.

The chair groans as he pushes back from his desk, stalking to the window. The sun is setting over the garden, painting everything gold and orange, and he wonders if you're watching it too. If you're watching it with him.

His reflection stares back at him from the glass—tired eyes, bitter smile, the face of someone who's lost everything that mattered and knows it's his own damn fault.

"The winner takes it all," he murmurs to his reflection, voice rough with something that might be tears if he were anyone else. If he were the kind of person who got to cry over lost love instead of just... enduring it.

But he's not. He's Leona Kingscholar, second prince of the Sunset Savanna, and he doesn't get to fall apart just because the best thing in his life chose someone better.

Even if it's ripping him apart from the inside out.

Even if he'd give anything—his pride, his title, his very soul—for one more chance to hold you and do it right this time.

Even if the thought of Vil's hands where his used to be makes him want to scream until his throat bleeds.

The sun disappears behind the horizon, and Leona closes his eyes.

Why should I complain?

Jamil - Kalim

"Jamil! Jamil, you'll never guess what happened!"

Kalim bursts through the door of Scarabia's lounge like a miniature sun, all bright smiles and boundless energy. He's practically vibrating with excitement, and Jamil doesn't need to guess what's put that particular glow in his eyes.

He already knows. Has known since he saw you and Kalim dancing together at last night's party, saw the way you laughed at something Kalim whispered in your ear, saw the way Kalim looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

"Let me guess," Jamil says, not looking up from the paperwork spread across the coffee table. His voice is perfectly level, perfectly controlled. Years of practice have made him an expert at hiding the cracks in his composure. "You asked them out."

"Yes! And they said yes!" Kalim spins around, arms spread wide like he wants to embrace the whole world. "Can you believe it? I was so nervous, but you know how you always tell me to just be honest about my feelings? So I did, and—Jamil, I think I'm in love."

The pen in Jamil's hand stops moving.

Be honest about your feelings.

Of course. Of course that's the advice that would come back to haunt him. How many times has he told Kalim exactly that? How many times has he watched him succeed simply by wearing his heart on his sleeve, by being brave in all the ways Jamil has never allowed himself to be?

Jamil clears his throat, forces the words out.

"I'm happy for you."

And the truly devastating part is that he means it. Even as his own heart is crumbling to dust in his chest, even as every breath feels like swallowing glass, he genuinely wants Kalim to be happy. Because that's what he's been trained to do his entire life—put Kalim's happiness above his own.

Even when it destroys him.

"I have to plan the perfect date," Kalim continues, oblivious to the way Jamil's world has just collapsed. "Maybe a carpet ride at sunset? Or we could have a picnic by the oasis! Oh, or—"

"The carpet ride," Jamil interrupts quietly. "They mentioned once that they'd always wanted to try flying."

You'd mentioned it to him. During one of those late-night conversations when it was just the two of them in the kitchen, when you'd help him prep for the next day's meals and talk about everything and nothing. You'd looked so wistful when you said it, so quietly longing, and Jamil had filed it away in his heart like every other precious detail about you.

He'd planned to take you himself. Had been working up the courage for weeks, crafting the perfect moment in his mind. After the next exam, he'd told himself. After Kalim's birthday celebration. After the inter-dorm tournament. Always after, always waiting for the perfect moment that would never come.

"Really?" Kalim's face lights up even brighter, if that's possible. "You always know exactly what people want, Jamil. You're the best!"

The praise feels like a knife between his ribs.

"I should go tell them now!" Kalim heads for the door, then pauses and turns back. "Actually, wait. You don't mind, do you? I know you two are friends, and I don't want things to be weird..."

Mind? Jamil wants to laugh, wants to scream, wants to grab Kalim by the shoulders and shake him until he understands that this isn't just friendship, that Jamil has been desperately, hopelessly in love with you for months.

But he can't. Because Kalim is looking at him with such genuine concern, such innocent worry about disrupting a friendship, and it's clear that Kalim has no idea. No clue that Jamil's feelings run deeper than casual companionship.

And why would he? Jamil has spent so long hiding, so long keeping every emotion locked behind layers of duty and propriety and fear. So long being the perfect servant who wants for nothing, who exists only to facilitate his master's happiness.

"Of course not," Jamil says, and his voice doesn't even waver. "Why would I mind? You're perfect for each other."

More perfect than we could ever be.

The thought tastes bitter as poison. Because it's true, isn't it? Kalim can offer you everything Jamil can't. Freedom. Adventure. A future without the weight of servitude hanging over every moment. Kalim can love you openly, publicly, without having to hide behind carefully constructed walls.

Kalim can give you the world. Jamil can barely give you an honest conversation about his feelings.

"Thanks, Jamil!" Kalim beams and rushes out, leaving Jamil alone with the wreckage of his carefully guarded heart.

The paperwork blurs in front of him. The numbers don't make sense anymore, each figure dissolving into meaningless shapes as something hot and desperate claws at his throat.

He'd been so careful. So cautious. Waiting for the right moment, the right words, the right everything. Terrified of rejection, yes, but more terrified of what acceptance might mean. How could he ask you to tie yourself to someone who isn't even free? Someone who can't promise you anything beyond stolen moments and hidden affection?

But while he was busy protecting himself, protecting you from the complications his feelings would bring, Kalim was simply... being Kalim. Open. Honest. Brave in the way that only someone who's never had to hide can be.

The winner takes it all, and the loser has to fall.

Jamil sets down his pen and buries his face in his hands, finally allowing himself this one moment of weakness. This one moment to mourn what never was and never could have been.

Tomorrow, he'll smile and congratulate you both. He'll help plan the perfect dates and give the perfect advice and be the perfect friend, because that's what's expected of him. That's what he's good at.

But tonight, in the silence of his own failure, Jamil lets himself grieve for the love he was too afraid to fight for.

Masterlist

[teamrtist]

Hello! Another fellow dice collector here to chime in. Strap in for my special interest infodump.

The d4, d6, d12, and d20, are from the brand HD dice. They're acryllic metallic blends: blue/gold with white, pearl purple with white, blue/purple with gold, and blue/silver with white respectively. The d% is HD's blue/purple opalescence set.

They look very similar to chessex gemini dice because they're generally knock offs and use acryllic instead of resin which make them cheaper and more widely available. So you'll see a lot of HD dice on amazon and ebay.

You can tell the difference because of the fonts between the companies, here's comparing chessex gemini blue/steel (left), and the HD blue/silver (right)

Notice how the fonts are slightly different? Now look back up at the original artist's rendering. It's a testament to how closely they studied these dice; the fact that you can tell what brand they are from how meticulously they drew the numbers is INCREDIBLE.

heres a breakdown of the two fonts for anyone interested, with red sections highlighting key differences:

I'm not sure on the d8, but it also isn't chessex as the grooves for the numbers are too deep.

Now for the good stuff – the d10!

It is in fact chessex! The style of the 7 gives it away. And it's a style of dice im the most fond of: Borealis! They're glittery and shine like stars, hence the name.

"But Maris, I don't see any glitter in the dice that were painted!" I hear you say. Well, the glitter is so fine that it appears more like a glow than actual sparkle sometimes.

So here's a line up of what could be the mystery d10

The font colour for frosted dice is either white or black so we can safely cross those off the suspect list. Now, the glitter in light green and teal borealis can be either light blue, or dark blue, depending on when it was made.

Fun fact, these dice were once made with glitter that was used in european currency notes, and has since become a restricted substance! I lovingly call these older, very rare dice "Illegal dice", but other collectors call them "Old Glitter" or "OG" for short. The newer versions are called "New Glitter" or "NG".

I've trained myself like a sight hound to look for these rare dice, that's why I can identify borealis with little evidence. That dark blue glow within the die screams old glitter to me, but without a video to confirm is, this could either NG with the newer, light glitter, or a diffused dark glitter within the resin. Its the blue/black or white/gold dress all over again.

All that to say, I'd love to say it's an old glitter light green borealis, but the colours in the painting are more blue than green. so I think the mystery die is a very transparent new glitter teal borealis. But what do you guys think?

Gaming Dice.

I learned a lot about edges and light and color relationships here.

[mona-risms]

Just figured it out. The entire Huntr/x group has a massive praise kink, most likely from their ✨shared trauma✨ of being rejected/isolated for one reason or another. Honestly I can't picture any of them responding exceptionally well to any form of degradation (again because they've already been there and done that already). Literally that one audio just:

Rumi: Give me the biggest fucking praise buff- 🤗

(Reader): You're such a good girl~

Mira: HOLY FUCK TREAT ME LIKE THAT 🫢

(Reader): Good fucking girl

Zoey in the background: YES I AM!! 🤩

Literally three losers trapped in hot bodies 😭 but you'd be absolutely right and you will be hearing NO objection from me. They've already dealt with some form of degradation in their lives (not in a fun way), and even if it IS a sexual setting and sure they're aware that some people kinda like it bc it's a form of reclamation anyway, it's. Unless it's VERY light and teasing degradation, it's really really not for them. Methinks they'd have individual preferences when it comes to it though

Rumi would respond best when it comes to being praised for her appearance, which seems shallow at base level but think about it w me for a sec. She's grown up believing that she should be ashamed, that she should hide her patterns or else she'll be nothing but a demon to everyone's eyes—even managed to convince her that Zoey and Mira would NEVER accept and understand her if she told the truth and showed them proof of her descent. If you tell her how she's such a pretty girl for you, all ruined while you fuck her brains out, and if you even target the parts that she thinks are 'monstrous' like her patterns or her eyes or literally anything? She's gone. Her entire body's shaking from the force of her orgasm and her claws might damage the bed but oh well!!!!

Zoey would LOVELOVELOVE being praised for being good, which is why in one of my earlier entries I've said how she adores petplay. She CRAVES affection AND approval, especially considering her people-pleasing tendencies—she wants to be more than enough for you, she wants to do everything you ask of her, she wants to give you everything you want, she wants you happy bc you happy and satisfied is her own reward!!! There's that small nagging feeling constantly inside her that gets her thinking if she isn't good then you won't want her anymore :( so bombard her with praise about how she's your good girl, taking everything you give her and squeezing down, all dripping wet and obedient, and those thoughts'll float away as she keeps on babbling and saying thank you with tears in her eyes

Mira wouldn't really voice it out, not really, but the way to get to her may actually be by being possessive during sex. Stay with me here, right. She's never felt like she belonged anywhere, considering her 'problem child' status that most definitely got her feeling shunned left, right, and centre. She's not possessive in general, and if YOU were like deathly possessive yourself she'll even sit you down just to kinda like have a talk w you about it. But when it comes to intimacy and kinks? Oh. Oh my god. There's something about you calling her yours and no one else's, about you gripping onto her tight as if letting go would tear her away from you, that gets her so fucking hot and bothered. Bc her whole life she didn't belong anywhere and yet now you're telling her she belongs to you??? FUCK she'd have such a deathly grip on you too, and her body's movements as it arches as close to you as possible more than speaks for her

Overall these girls def need to be praised so much :( not just in sex but in general as well. It gets them feeling a bit of heat in their core but also it makes them so happy :(((( they deserve love

[dark-night-hero]

Imagine being the non-mc significant other of lead guitarist! Sylus. part3

Imagine walking back into the pub where everything first started falling apart. The lights are dimmer tonight or maybe your eyes are still too tired to see them the same.

Imagine you did not come with the intent to argue. You come because your chest is too heavy and your heart is too loud. You come because something in you whispers that maybe there's still something worth hearing.

Imagine the pub owner sees you first. Her lips twitch with something between surprise and relief. "He's in the back." She said before you even ask. "Haven't touched a single drink. Haven't said a word.”

Imagine you nod and make your way past old wooden tables and soft murmurs of strangers who don't know how your world just cracked open a few nights ago.

Imagine your heart skipping as you see him. Sylus. Hood up, hands locked in front of him, staring at something small in his palm like it's the only thing keeping him together. You don't need to see it to know it's the pick. Your pick.

"Sylus." You say. His head snaps up. You expect surprise, but what you see is something worse, remorse. Deep, carved into his bones. Regret. "You..." His voice cracks. "You came back."

"I needed time." You tell him honestly, watching his jaw clench and release like he's bracing for impact. "I think I overreacted." "No." He says immediately, standing too fast. The table wobbles between you. "You didn't. You didn't overreact. I fucked up."

Imagine the way silence falls between you, tense but not hostile. Not anymore. "I didn't know you were there." He says, softer now. "I wouldn't have played it if I knew. Hell, I shouldn't have played it at all. That song..." He runs a hand through his silver hair. "That song was a ghost I thought I could bury by giving it one last breath. But instead... I ended up making you bleed."

Imagine you didn't speak. Not yet. He seems to need to say it all. "I looked at her because..." He looked ashamed, looking away from you. "I needed to see for myself that it was done. That whatever I thought I still carried was nothing but dust. And it was. It is. But by the time I realized that, I had already hurt the only person I ever wanted to sing for again."

Imagine he took a step closer and hold out something to you. Your pick. The one you gave him with his initials on it. The one that stayed behind when you left.

"You gave this to me like it meant something." He said. "And I threw it away with a song that wasn't ours. I betrayed your trust, and I don't deserve it back. But if you let me..." There was a pause. "If you still want me... I will never sing another note that doesn't have your name in it."

Imagine you take the pick from his hand slowly. His eyes search your face like he's memorizing it for the last time. "You sang like she still mattered." You say. "You looked at her like you forgot I existed."

"I didn't." He says. "Not for a second. I just got pulled back into a version of me I don’t ever want to be again. One that hides, one that lies, one that doesn't deserve the kind of love you gave me."

Imagine you look down at the pick in your hand. It's warm from his touch. He never stopped holding it.

"I'm not perfect." Sylus started, voice rough. "But I love you. More than anything. More than every song I’ve ever written, more than the stage, more than the past. I love you. And I'll spend the rest of my life proving it if you let me."

Imagine the ache in your chest still lingering, but the edges beginning to soften. Maybe he didn’t choose the past. Maybe he just got caught in it. And maybe love isn't about never messing up. Maybe it's about choosing to stay even after the music stops. You look up at him. "Sit" You say quietly. And he does.

Imagine the two of you talking long after the bar begins to empty. No big declarations. No dramatic kisses. Just words. Honest, painful, healing words. You don't promise anything tonight. You don't have to. But for the first time since that song, Sylus looks at you like he found his rhythm again.

Imagine for the first time since you walked out, you believe it might be possible to stay. And maybe as selfish as it may sound. He was going to sing only just for you again.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°

: f*cking b*tch I knew I was forgetting something.

[mindless-existence1]

Kpop Demon Hunters

Humanized!Jinu x Manager!Reader

Summery: Jinu has a thing for the Saja Boys Manager whos friends with the Huntrix girls. Huntrix and Saja Boys work their magic and get you guys to confess

Authors note: Pretend Rumi and Jinu never had a thing pls 🙏 also requests are open for kpop demon hunters, check my page for more info.

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When Jinu started the band he didnt really think about it fir the long run. Once the hunmoon was broken and Huntrix eas taken down the band would disban. But the hunmoon didnt break and now hes in a rising star kpop group.

With no experience whats so ever.

Thats when Huntrix stepped in as the experienced idols they are and got the hook up for the Saja Boys. Their good friend who was a recent jobless manager, you!

The last group you worked with spontaneously disbanded so you were left without a job. Not that you were too upset the group you were with kinda sucked.

So when you heard your besties found you a new group the hot upcoming Saja Boys you jumped at the opportunity. Honestly it was an amazing gig, you got to hang out with a group of hottest that are actually nice? And they treated you like royalty because you saved them from going under real quick.

You made sure their media coverage was good, they were ready for any shows, etc etc. It wasnt too hard to keep them at the top, already famous from the start. But they werent exactly good at the industry part.

You liked all the guys they were nice considering their demon origin, Rumi and the girls had given you the run down on the whole situation and you were already aware of them being hunters. You bonded with Jinu especially though.

Maybe it was the fact he used to be human, or that he was so nice to you, or that he was willing to hang out the most. The other guys were interested in learning about humans and their ways but Jinu wanted his humanity back and you were helping him.

Showing him how the world has changed and what new wonders there are. Your admiration for the man slowly turned into a full blown crush in a matter of months. It was blatantly obvious, at least to the girls... and Romance who said he'd keep it a secret but if you wanted advice you know where to find him.

You just couldn't believe someone like Jinu would be into someone like you, his manager. But the girls couldn't take it anymore so- during their much needed break- they had an intervention with you at a sleep over.

You and the girls were all in the bath house, Mira and Rumi had been chilling but Zoey was pleading with you. "Y/n please you are such a catch!" She shook your shoulders. "Zoey, Zoey! I know, I know im just doubting the fact hes into me." You say.

"Oh no he totally is." Mira deadpans. "What do you mean?" You ask confused. "What do you mean what do I mean its soooooo obvious." Mira answers. Zoey and Rumi nod their heads with her words and adding sounds of agreement.

"Nuh uh no chance." The girls collectively groan "Common y/n!" They all collectively say. "You have to talk to him trust us!" Zoey pleads with you and finally you stop her "ok ok ok ok calm down ill- ill talk to him" they all side eye you with a knowing look "I promise."

Now unbeknownst to you the boys were having a similar conversation themselves. It was after practice, you had just left to go hang out with the girls and Jinu just so happened to be caught. He was the last to say good bye and sent you out with a wave.

He had watched you walk away with a longing look in his eyes. "Isn't Romance supposed to be the lover boy here?" Abby teased him with a question, leaning against him his elbow on Jinus shoulder.

"Cut it out Abby, he cant help he's got a crush." Baby teased, the others walking up to where Abby and Jinu stood. "I don't know what you guys are talking about." Defensively Jinu held up his hands.

The guys all look at him with a "be so serious" look. "I think I know what im talking about a bit more than you do," Romance spoke up, "and I say you've got a crush." Jinu rolled his eyes while the others nodded their heads.

"He's right theres no point in denying it." Abby told Jinu, Romance was working over time to keep his mouth shut about 3your3 crush. But he gave you his word and he wouldnt breja that trust.

"Well what am I supposed to do about it?" Jinu asked, more of a rhetorical question then anything. But Baby just rolled his eyes, "is this guy dumb? Ask her out idiot!" Jinu shoock his head.

"I cant shes our 3manager3 did you forget?" Jinu said. "What that got to do with anything? It'll be fine trust us." Romance reasoned with him, "it is quite painful to watch you two" Mysteyr some up from behind the boys.

"See even Mystery agree with us!" Baby said his voice raised a bit. Jinu groaned, gently slapping his face and dragging his hand down. "Fine fine I will." Jinu said after some contemplation.

"Swear it!" Romnace pointed at him. "I swear." The guys nodded and started walking away towards the door to their rooms. "You should say something about her being your soda pop-" Baby started but Jinu elbowed him in the side.

"Shut up" jinu said, but he turned his head to hide the blush creeping up to his cheeks.

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If enough people ask for pt2 where they confess I'll write it

[tifa-simp]

Interesting.

I always felt like SOLDIER Cloud is closer to Sephiroth than Zack. But that's because I associate SOLDIER Cloud with pre Nibelheim Seph more than post Nibelheim Seph. However, with First Soldier and Crisis Core context, I think it's safe to say sane Seph actually torments himself a lot by his sins. Sephiroth called himself all kinds of name to desensitize himself from all the killing, he tried to convince himself that this was his true self, while knowing damn well that it's not. Sane Seph was a liar, and he tricked himself for so long that when Nibelheim happened, he broke. His belief, his life, his purpose, all lies, all fake, nothing is true anymore. And he knew. Deep down, he's always aware of the truth. But that's why he clung even harder on the lie, to protect himself. That's why the Nibelheim massacre is such a turning point for Seph. He didn't discover the truth, he finally learned to accept it.

While Zack is different. If I have to make a comparison, he's like Gon from Hunter x Hunter. He's not good, he's pure. He decides what to believe and does whatever benefits his belief. Monster, Wutaian, Soldiers, and Turks are all the same. They're "the other side", as in "me and they". If you're on my side, I'll ride or die for you. If you're on the opposite side, you're enemy. All left is to fill the blank.

If you're on -Shinra side-, I'll ride or die for you. If not, die.

If you're on -honnor side- (the definition based on Zack ofc), you can live. If not, die.

If you're on -Cloud's side-, you can live. If not, die.

Zack has the authority over his own belief. There's a checklist in Zack's moral compas, and anything closer to his criteria will take the place, in which, life is not the priority. Don't take this the wrong way, but Cloud's life isn't what is important. It's Zack's affection for him. The reason Zack tried so hard to save Cloud cos he has become the next closest thing that fits Zack's criteria, his cause to die for. Aerith is also in the same category cos Zack was trying to go back to her, too. Now the first condition is fulfilled, the second part becomes much easier: the enemy to kill.

You can see this trait in SOLDIER Cloud's behavior. Let's take Tifa as the cause and watch:

Bombing reactor is something Tifa can't do? I'll do it.

Johnny is someone bringing trouble to Tifa? Die.

The troopers got in the way of Tifa's business? Die.

Scarlet and her men are putting Tifa in danger? Die. (You can argue that Seph possessed him in Gongaga, but I'm sure he wouldn't have any problem killing them on his own volition.)

Later in the temple, his goal changes to the black material, and the pattern remains. Tifa has openly expressed her uneasiness with this many times and has to physically restrain him on multiple occasions. But the thing is, SOLDIER Cloud doesn't enjoy killing. He does it out of necessity. This is a trait that neither belongs to sane nor insane Seph. Sane Seph kills against his will and insane Seph kills for his own enjoyment. Killing isn't a moral challenge to Cloud, it's just a mean to an end.

And I say THIS is the biggest trait of Zack in SOLDIER Cloud. The trait of a killer.

Zack Fair has a really fascinating relationship with killing where a lot of the rest of the cast doesn't. He fights people as well as monsters and gradually stops being able to differentiate the two. He helps clear out beasties and ghoulies but he also intros the game with a massive attack on a foreign nation just to shore up corporate interests and for a good chunk of the game places those two activities in the same spot in his mind. One of his side projects at work is quashing the last remnants of rebellion in said occupied country and rooting out the spies in their resistance, at which point he hands them over to his bosses to be interrogated and presumably tortured. But if he comes face to face with the same people in a combat scenario, he won't kill them, because he views their desire to see themselves free as an honorable trait. Then he turns around and attacks hordes of people who defected Shinra. He uses the blunt side of his sword, not to spare lives, but because he doesn't want to damage the sharp edge.

Wutai forces and Genesis clones have a different categorization to him, something he can mentally label as "other". But after Nibelhiem, your primary enemy type becomes other Shinra soldiers. Just after Zack has had his realizations that the monsters he was wiping out share a haunting amount of basic building blocks with his coworkers. And with himself.

Actually, let's pause. Zack is the only character we see have any sort of acceptance of being Jenova-ed. Every other character is unwilling and usually not even a conscious being yet, but Zack A) knows what is being done to him, and B) openly states he wants those monstrous traits for himself. "Those wings / I want them too." Up to this point, every other character has equated being Jenova-ed to being baser, to being subhuman, but Zack at the very beginning tried to convince Angeal that it meant freedom. Power to do what you want.

Zack Fair willingly and with open arms embraced being made less than human because he thought it would give him the strength to break out of captivity.

So he busts out, and the first thing he's greeted with it a horde of enemies that he knows are human, has worked and talked with, and are in fact the same shape and type of person as Cloud. Just a couple cutscenes ago, these were his coworkers.

The easiest way to get through them is to set them on fire and blow up the munitions they're carrying on their person.

(It's such a beautiful demystifying of the elemental system. I love it.)

Oh also, you're on a time limit, so you gotta kill all these guys fast, because they're trying to go for the weak spot, Cloud, who can't fight and is getting dragged away.

After that, the next thing Zack does is find a gun and start taking long ranged killshots.

There's a tangible feeling of a lesson being learned.

Zack is (I think?) the only SOLDIER we ever see use a gun. It's worth noting that even the most fallen of SOLDIERs stick to their flashy blades and their weird swordfights. Other characters even comment how bizarre it is, but ffvii also runs on that fantasy world logic where if you just Get Good enough, swords are just as good as guns if not better. Guns are the lower, more primitive weapon, fit for grunts and hitmen but not elite fighters.

(I could also go into detail on how some of the SOLDIERS weapon are sold as bespoke merch in world, and basically another tool in the toolbox of how to sell these flesh and blood men as mythologized products. But we don't have time to unpack all of that.)

For Zack, we know that his sword is even a symbol of honorable combat and a legacy of trying to do the right thing. Zack picking up a gun is basically debasing himself to being just another man in the field. And it's a sniper rifle. The weapon guaranteed to get him as little contact with his opponent as possible and does not even give them a chance to fight back. But it's whatever gets the job done.

Zack starts the game as someone who kills people, but it's hand-waved aside the same way it is for most everyone else, only for him to bite that awareness apple like five minutes before it becomes absolutely vital he survive at all costs. Zack becomes aware that he's on a slippery slope and due to circumstances has to start sprinting. Over the course of the game, we watch as Zack Fair goes from being someone who kills people to a killer.

[kiplex]

✧ Thinking about Puppy Hybrid Caleb ✧

Puppy Hybrid Caleb x F reader (HC)

WC: 437

EXPLICIT CONTENT MINORS DNI

Tags: Puppy! Caleb, implied separation anxiety, Caleb stealing panties, Caleb using those panties 😏

A/n: We all knew this was coming after my drabble LMFAO. Thank you all for 100 followers!! I promise I'm working on something for Rafayel and Xavier rn. One of the two full length Caleb fics I have is almost done, I just despise writing long form smut so it's taking forever 🥸 anyway thank you reading my stuff!!

Puppy hybrid Caleb who is loyal, super cuddly, a great companion, and super well behaved! Well… mostly well behaved.

Puppy hybrid Caleb who has a habit of whining the second hears you pick up your keys. He knows that means you're leaving for work, leaving him!

Puppy hybrid Caleb who makes it an effort to hide your keys now. You always find them eventually but you are so sick of being late to work.

Puppy hybrid Caleb who sits by the door and waits for you to return from work everyday. His ears drooped and his tail tucked behind him.

Puppy hybrid Caleb who decided to take up stealing your clothes while you're away at work now. Out of spite, because how could you do this to him!

Puppy hybrid Caleb who is particularly fond of stealing your panties. They smell the most like you, that's definitely the only reason why, it's not because smelling them makes him feel all fuzzy. Definitely not…

Puppy hybrid Caleb who maybe takes a break from intensely watching the door in anticipation of your arrival back home and lays on your bed. Burying his face into your pillow huffing your scent.

Puppy hybrid Caleb who gets a little overwhelmed by your scent and gets intensely horny. He didn't mean to… He just gets this way when he misses you. He's a good boy, he swears!!

Puppy hybrid Caleb who fishes a pair of panties you changed out of this morning from your hamper, bringing it to his nose. His tongue finds the dried slick that you left behind, giving it a test lick.

Puppy hybrid Caleb who enjoyed that a little too much his tail wagging, his ears perked, his dick stiff in his pants.

Puppy hybrid Caleb who flops back down on your bed, panties still pressed to his nose. His hips rut against the mattress. Soft little whines escape his mouth.

Puppy hybrid Caleb who can't take it anymore and drops his pants to wrap your panties around his throbbing cock.

Puppy hybrid Caleb who jerks off using your panties. His hips meeting his hands with each thrust, his canines leaving bite marks on your pillow as he attempts to keep his moans to a minimum.

Puppy hybrid Caleb who cums all over your panties with a sharp whine, some of it drips onto your sheets. He'll worry about that later.

Puppy hybrid Caleb who's whole body freezes the second he hears the door open to the bedroom. “Caleb! Bad dog!!!"

Puppy hybrid Caleb who isn't allowed to sleep in the bed tonight after the stunt he pulled today.

You can find my master list here

[socialistexan]

I do have to appreciate the irony of conservatives screaming for a decade about how Obama was a socialist Muslim from Africa (when he is none of those things) as a scaremongering tactic and then people went, "huh, I think I did like that more than what we have now," and voted for an actual socialist Muslim from Africa.

It rules so much. I am genuinely overjoyed, and from what I've seen everyone to the left of Third Way is at least cautiously embracing him.

Zohran isn't radical, he's barely even a socialist, he just embraces the label which the right has really drove into the ground through overuse and now it doesn't have the scare factor anymore. If they're going to call all of our candidates that, we might as well get the real thing.

This almost kind of feels like a Trump moment, but in reverse. When can we start talking about Mamdani Derangement Syndrome, because it's been all over Twitter the past few days.

[destinysbounty]

On the topic of mergeswap AUs, most of the ninja could be shuffled around to different Merge scenarios with equally compelling results, but I maintain that by far the most *interesting* swap would be Lloyd-Zane. That is to say, Lloyd gets put in the coma pod while Zane is left alone in the monastery.

Out of all the post-Merge scenarios, I think Lloyd would most severely be fucked up by completely sleeping through it - he wakes up to find that not only is the world different, but his friends have spent *years* struggling to survive without his help. He's supposed to be their leader, their guide, the chosen savior of prophecy. It's his job to look out for them, isn't it? But he wasn't there. The world fell apart, his team is in shambles, and everyone has suffered innumerable traumas as a result...and he wasn't there for any of it. Knowing Lloyd, the self-imposed guilt would absolutely eat him alive. Also, once again he is chronologically displaced - before it was the age of his mind and body being mismatched, and now he is once again missing several years of his life.

(Also I think it's funny if we put Lloyd in Zane's pod specifically, especially if he's still the Conduit. Because that means he woke up, immediately jumped into the fight against Imperium, and then like 10 minutes later volunteered to take on life-changing god powers from some random talking dragon. All without any context for anything that is going on whatsoever.)

As for Zane...god, where do I even start.

So, putting Zane in the monastery is fascinating for a number of reasons.

Out of everyone on the team, the ones who consistently cope with isolation the worst are Cole and Zane. That's not to say the others enjoy it, per se, but they're all at least able to lock in and get shit done as needed, trauma be damned. But Cole is very community-oriented and comes a bit unglued in the absence of a community to rely on (DotD, s10), and Zane...oh boy.

Zane is usually the one to die, so he is rarely put in a position of grieving the others. His only instances of mourning the absenceof a loved one are:

His father, which happened off-screen so we don't know how he handled that initially (he seems to be okay in s3, but knowing Zane he probably just repressed the feeling and moved on)

Nya in Seabound, which he was so ill-equipped to deal with that he turned off his emotions entirely

Pixal in DR, where he was so unable to handle her absence that he straight up stapled a photo of her to a broom and started talking to it. Also with Kai getting lost in superhell, which we don't really see him grieving over but also we don't see much of that from anyone so uhhh I'm choosing to ignore that for now.

Picture it. Zane, alone in the monastery, with none of his friends around and no way of knowing what happened to them. All he can do is sit and hold vigil in the hopes that they will eventually come back (something something Echo Zane lighthouse parallels). I'm not saying Zane would start taping his friends' photos to random appliances by the end of week 1 and cry over his tenth ice sculpture of Pix by week 2, but uhhhh....actually no that's exactly what I'm saying. Provided he doesn't miraculously find a way to get himself killed while chilling in the monastery, I give him like 6 months before his sanity completely unravels.

Another reason for swapping Zane into Lloyd's spot is that whoever is in the monastery at the start of DR also gets to be the mentor to the new ninja. And that puts Zane in a *very* interesting position.

Zane is, on both a meta and narrative level, a support character. He's your medic, your backup, your HQ, and he can even be your damsel in distress. He's not really a leader by nature, and it is rare for him to take charge or assume a position of authority unless the situation demands it of him. He's generally content to sit back and let everyone else take charge - he let Cole take the lead during the prison break in s4, he's one of the only ones not to express pushback when Lloyd officially becomes the leader, etc.

It's actually a bit odd how rare it is for him to lead, bc it feels like everyone else has way more instances of flexing their leadership skills. Off the top of my head, i can think of exactly three occasions where Zane assumes a position of authority:

For about 10 mins in s5, which ends in him glitching out and talking backwards

In s14 when he became Captain Zane, but that was mostly for comedic effect, and authority goes back to Lloyd and Nya once the situation actually gets serious

In s11 when he became Ice Emperor, but he had to be magically corrupted, mind-wiped, AND gaslit in order for that to even happen.

(You could argue he took charge during the Snake Jaguar incident, but he didn’t take charge of the whole team and also it didn't end well.)

All this to say, Zane doesn't have a positive track record with being in charge. Probably even worse, now that he has all that Ice Emperor baggage to deal with.

So what do you do with a character like that? Naturally, you give him a gaggle of wide-eyed children to look after and tell him to teach them how to be ninja. Lloyd was already hesitant to be their master in canon, but Zane would be even worse.

Furthermore, Zane, uh...doesn't really have many friends outside of the ninja (aside from his falcon, who hasnt existed in the show for years). Cole has the Upply and the Finders, Nya is close to Ronin and became good friends with Bentho, Kai has Skylor and Wyldfyre, Lloyd had the resistance and Akita and now the next-gen kids, Jay started an entire cult in Prime Empire and also seems to be on good terms with Unagami, and even Wu is close to Faith...but who does Zane have outside of the team? Vex, maybe? Possibly Borg, even though that relationship isn't explored onscreen? Sally, who gets one whole episode spotlighting her and Zane before vanishing into obscurity?

This even continues in DR, too. Theres a new cast of characters to befriend and connect with, many of whom share a lot in common with Zane, but he doesn't really interact at length with anyone but his old friends and Frohickey.

True, a lot of that can be blamed on Zane's gradual narrative dehumanization depriving him of meaningful personal connections, but in-universe you could also attribute that to his self worth. Zane is so wrapped up in his belief that he exists to serve and protect, and he is so strongly devoted to the ninja that he can be a bit one-track-minded about it. He loves his family so much that he doesn't have time to care for anyone else in the same way. They are his world, his everything, his life's purpose...without them, he is nothing. Can you say "codependent"?

But now, he's alone in the monastery. He doesn't know if his friends are alive. All he can do is sit and pray and hope they come back to him. And after years of waiting, he crosses paths not with his family, but with two new kids. They want him to teach them to be ninja. But Zane is too afraid - afraid of leaving his post, afraid that being in charge will bring out his inner Ice Emperor...afraid of betraying his family by finding a new one.

He does agree to help them in the end, if only because he exists to protect and they need protection. But the whole time, he is afraid, and anxious, and painfully unsure of himself. But just as he teaches them how to be strong, how to fight, how to be brave and kind and selfless...they teach him how to believe in himself. How to reclaim his sense of identity. How to stand on his own without his friends, and how to make new ones. How to live for his loved ones, rather than dying for them.

(And yeah, okay, a small part of it this is definitely spite for the way he's been unilaterally snubbed by DR canon. I won't deny that)

Personally, if I were to write a mergeswap AU that's probably the direction I'd take. But then again, I might just be on some next-level copium and desperately trying to make Zane actually relevant to DR in some meager way

[naamahdarling]

Cranking your hog with children in the house also upsets these people, btw.

The idea of pleasure as addictive is so fucking toxic. Wanking isn't bad.

It can be a compulsive and destructive behavior, that isn't disputed, compulsive behaviors are disorders, and compulsive behaviors are certainly present in some but not all cases of various addictions, but there are major components of addiction (diminishing returns in the pleasure center of the brain -- the brain does not seem to exhibit this wrt masturbation -- physical dependence, risk to health and life) that are never present in these people. Treating it like an addiction does not work and in fact causes people harm. Calling it an addiction is inaccurate and irresponsible. It may seem like splitting a hair, but it isn't. It's very important.

Studies have shown a very common element in the distress associated with "sex/porn addiction" is religiosity and shame. Not just being someone who masturbates. It seems like the culture of shame and repression is the toxic factor here.

"Food noise" is...hmm. I have very low dopamine, and so I think about food A Whole Fucking Lot, or I did until I got my dose of ADHD meds raised and it stopped. Which was nice, I won't lie. So I've experienced what people would probably label as "food noise". But I'm skeptical of its validity as a problem on the scale people are now talking about it being, because even if we grant that thinking about food all the time to the point that it becomes genuinely upsetting is a thing, we have such a dysfunctional and unrealistic cultural relationship with food that I don't trust ANY mainstream discussion or medical discussion about how we eat not to be deeply, deeply unhealthy.

It's the same with sex negativity, which is having a revival even among left-leaning people. You cannot have a rational and healthy discussion about sex OR food in a social climate that deems sexuality as gross and inherently damaging and food as a vice and fatness as a massive character flaw. I'm absolutely not going to be able to meaningfully discuss "porn addiction" or "sex addiction" with people who have a really fucked-up relationship to the idea of other people's sexual habits. I also don't trust people whose knowledge of psychology, sexual psychology, and addiction comes primarily from the internet. I don't trust much of what psychology says about it, either! If you don't think people should get their sex ed from porn, you also should not think that people should get their information about sex and addiction from talk shows and wellness sites, social media, Facebook, Reddit, etc.. There is a large and growing body of evidence that calling this "addiction" is inaccurate and inappropriate and leads to crap outcomes in treatment, which people exhibiting compulsive behavior do need help with.

Fuck it. I don't trust ANY talk about things we culturally consider nasty, indulgent, immoral, immoderate, etc. People just can't fucking cope with the idea that human beings should be allowed to do pleasurable things that aren't causing them distress or negatively impacting anyone else. Someone being bothered by the idea of a coworker's UNCONFIRMED daily masturbation -- during what is likely the only breathing room he gets away from kids and an insufferable-sounding wife that judges him so hard she'll bring it up to strangers -- does not count as being negatively impacted.

I think people should be left the fuck alone and allowed to do what they want with their bodies.

This is not an addiction

[sashaforthewin]

Too Many Beds, rated G (also on ao3)

"We're all full up if you're looking for a room, young man," the lady at the counter said as she glanced up from her copy of Better Home and Garden magazine. 

"Oh, I actually have a reservation. Last name Harrington."

"Oh, yes! Good thing, too, or else you would be sleeping in your car. With the boat show in town, all the rooms are booked up in the area."

"Perfect! I mean, it's perfect the boat show is happening," Steve fumbled.

"...Yeah. Well, I'll get you checked in."

A few minutes later, Steve came striding out of the office jangling a key at Eddie.

"Today is our lucky day, they had one room left! All the others in the area are sold out, some sort of boat show, apparently," he shrugged.

Eddie smiled and tossed Steve his bag, though he didn't throw well so Steve had to pick it up off the ground, then Eddie grabbed his own bag and followed. 

Steve led them up the stairs to room 217. He took a deep breath and unlocked the door. He shoved it open to discover... two beds.

He stood in the doorway staring. Eddie made a noise of confusion as he had to squeeze past Steve to get into the room. 

"Is there something wrong?"

"Yeah," Steve said, "this isn't the right room."

"Didn't they only have one?"

"Yeah. Yeah, but... this is...it's a smoking room, it was supposed to be non-smoking," Steve floundered.

"Eh, in motels like this the non-smoking rooms smell just as heavily of cigarette as the smoking rooms, so I don't think it really matters," Eddie laughed as he started to settle in on the bed closer to the bathroom. 

"I should just go... see if I can get some money off for it or something."

"Heh, suit yourself, man," Eddie responded as he flopped down onto the ugly bedding.

Steve speed walked back to the office and entered.

"We're all booked up! Oh, it's you. What can I do for you, hun?"

"Sorry, my reservation was for one bed but the room you gave me has two."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"What's the problem?"

"I booked one bed because I wanted one bed," Steve explained. 

"Well you've got one bed, plus another bed. I'm only charging you the single room rate, don’t worry."

"Can I switch to one with just one bed?" Steve asked, getting desperate. 

"What part of booked up did you not understand? A couple came in and wanted one bed so I gave them yours and you got theirs. I don't understand why you have a problem with an extra bed?"

She looked at him genuinely wanting an answer, so Steve just sighed and thanked her, then headed back to the room. As he approached the door to the room, he stopped. He took a deep breath, then headed back downstairs to the payphones outside of the office. He fished a quarter out of his pocket and dialed Nancy’s number. 

"Hello?"

"Hey Nance, we've got a big problem."

"Oh no, did he flip out about the bed?"

"No, there's two beds!" Steve yelled, then looked around and lowered his volume. There was nobody in the parking lot but still. 

"Steve, you were supposed to get one bed, how did you screw up the reservation?"

"I didn't! They gave my room to someone else and stuck us in a room with two beds!"

"Oh. Well shit," she replied.

"Yeah, and with the boat show in town, there's nowhere else. And now we are stuck in this stupid middle of nowhere town in separate beds and I knew this plan wasn't going to work."

"I mean, it was kind of an absurd plan," Nancy pointed out.

"It was your plan! I could've tried to make a move on him in the comfort of my own home for free!" Steve complained.

"But you didn't. Make a move, I mean. It's been months and you've done nothing about the crush."

"Hey, are you almost done on the phone?"

Steve startled and dropped the receiver. Eddie was standing right behind him.

“He’ll call you back, Robin,” Eddie said into the receiver and then hung up.

“Nancy, actually.”

Eddie looked momentarily surprised.

"Uh, so did you... hear anything?"

"I heard enough. Saw you out of the window come up and then leave again and I got curious."

Eddie turned and walked off toward the room, then glanced back when Steve wasn't following. Steve couldn't read the expression on his face, so he cautiously followed back up to the room. 

As soon as the door was closed behind him, Steve found himself pinned against it by Eddie. 

"How much of this trip was a scheme to get into my pants?" Eddie demanded to know.

"Um. All of it. I'm really sorr-"

Steve didn't get to finish his apology before Eddie's mouth was on him. 

They ended up using both beds, just one at a time.

[obscuremantisman]

GREAT!! so I was wondering if you could do the John Doe Rochas313 skin x reader....heh. because there is no rochas313 x reader and i love my boy💔💔 take ur time!!

SKIN!Rochas313 x Reader

CW: This shit all ooc because i created a whole ass lore, bro 💔💔. I spent most of my time drawing him instead of writing this ngl, also i have him as 21+ years old. YES, THIS FOLLOWS THE SAME READER IN THE OTHER FORSAKEN POSTS.

update: uhhh, hello! (((・・;) i've been occupied... with being a lazy ass, that's all.

Rochas thought things couldn't get worse. His world was corrupted. He was alone in it with this... this thing.

It all happened so quickly... He didn't know how to react. His body felt... numb? Not really, but it was reaching that point. He was scared... or at least he used to be? Everything feels so fuzzy, so underwhelming. Rochas313 couldn't bring himself to care...

He remembered a few things, his friends, or where they? He didn't know. Their faces are all... blurry. All he knows is that they left him behind once things got riskier, once he was like this... or did they? Weird, he couldn't remember.

Hmm...? When did he reach this place? He doesn't remember leaving his map. There is so much yeast, so much space to grow.

Who are they?

These people... They stared at him with wide eyes. The fear, the disgust, and pity in their eyes. It all had him.. flustered.

Please don't look at him... He knows he doesn't look good, knows he's a danger, knows he's nothing more than a host to a disgusting parasite, so stop looking, stop looking, stop looking, stop it, stop it now!

After his very first round, things got messy. Missing walls, misplaced decorations, glitched items, and roots everywhere. Yeah, you can bet the Specter didn't like that. Where's Rochas313 now? In the void, a place he can't mess with nobody.

The void is a map specifically designed for Rochas313. It seemingly has nothing in it except for a powerful, frequently updated anti-virus and a giant screen showing all that happens around the forsaken realm to keep him distracted from his own thoughts. The rounds, killer's lobby, and survivor's lobby are constantly watched by him. His favorite? survivor's lobby. They always put up a little show every round break, and they.. they remind him of someone.

Rochas is a biological cage. He successfully keeps the virus under check once left calm, but once aggravated enough... The parasite takes full advantage of his instability, which is why he's given access to watching others in the first place, but it's not like it could get out for long enough to cause any real damage. The specter learned its lesson once Rochas313 almost got a bite out of one of the survivors...

The Specter isn't interested in getting rid of his existence because if he dies, the parasite will find a way to remain, and it's constantly hungry for obvious reasons. The forsaken realm is full of nutrients, and that little virus is very much interested and sneaky, so yeahhhhhhh Rochas313 has to stay.

You met him by pure coincidence.

He had been particularly bored that day and, by accident, saw a glimpse of one of the survivors getting brutally cut in half. Yeah that messed him up and fucked his day up, enough to give the virus control for a few seconds and teleport him inside said round.

He just popped up behind Taph, said guy too distracted with trying to take back an explosive you were holding far up in the air just for fun.

It was definitely a surprise to the botb of you when the whole map shook and started glitching. A few of the walls even fell, and you swear some trees disappeared.

But alas, you, a curious freak, threw the explosive in your hands right away to another direction and approached Rochas313 to have a better look while Taph didn't waste another second to run off desperately once he peeked behind himself.

You only ever saw a few pictures and videos of him back in the days when you were just a normal human having an average life, and the fact he was here while there was already another killer for the round? You were rightfully curious. You didn't even realize that he was able to see you until he attempted to slash your body, wood claws phasing through your body, earning a confused incoherent grumble.

That had you even more surprised. A killer that was able to see you? You had to torment this guy affectionately.

As if analyzing you, his soulless eye stared onto yours while you poked him around, his body growing bigger as the virus was actively consumed assets until the sky turned red and suddenly... the both of you disappeared. The specter had once again sent him back to his prison.

Rochas313 doesn't usually speak. There's roots growing in his throat.

After meeting you, though.. he put an effort in cutting off these little branches so he could communicate better. He doesn't know sign language, and making gurgling noises was very much embarrassing. It hurts, but the only way to cut the roots off is to reach them with his hands, so he always makes sure to do it properly so his voice can stay for a week. It rarely doesn't leaves him bleeding but you don't need to know that.

He loves your company! If it was up to him, he would've been following you around just to talk.

Being around someone that doesn't stare at him with fear and that is nice to him even with the way he looks has definitely skyrocketed his mood and overall mental health.

Unfortunately, he barely gets to meet with you , nor see you around. The giant screen in his void can't catch your form properly, like a ghost caught on camera. That is why you proposed a simple way to have contact... a hunt.

Every new round, you, along with a few useless objects in the round, build simple things around. A 'hello' made from rocks, a chair with the drawing of a cat made out of grass on top of it, some plates piled up with a plant on top. Simple things to keep him happy, to show you cared.

One time you sticked your hand inside his empty eye socket. If you weren't able to go through solid things, you're sure your hand would've been stuck and possibly eaten.

Surprisingly, but not so much, Rochas couldn't feel a thing! That's why you made it a little hobby to stick flowers in it when you had the chance, even if they all eventually disappeared. That dumbass virus eats it every damn time. No romantic action that involves such things as gifts is allowed in its sight or it'll fucking find a way of chugging it down.

But how do you guys even meet? And how do you even leave the void??

Rochas hasn't been completely honest about the ways he gets out of the void. Sure, the virus takes over if he's unstable, that you knew, but what if... what if he's been letting, more than once, the virus take control just to get the chance of meeting you, hmmmm? Would you be nad at him? Eh, definitely not, but he's quite embarrassed to tell you he does that. He doesn't want to seem clingy.

And as to how you get out of the void... You discovered how to do so by accident. You were just chatting with Rochas after what seemed like maybe a few days after you both got stuck together in his void, and while you were pacing around, you touched the screen which Rochas uses to watch things around and sluuuurrp. Guess who got sucked out of the void.

Overall, Rochas is just a chill, kindhearted guy who just happens to be the host of a highly powerful virus. He cherishes every moment together with you and appreciates your gifts and attention with all his heart, even if sometimes all the affection overwhelms him.

Give him a little kiss on the cheek and his flesh side with be as red as C00lk1d's skin, while the wooden side will be sprouting flowers. He melts faster than butter on the pan.

The virus actually feeds off a great chunk of his emotions, so it was a surprise when he was all timid and a stuttering mess. Apparently his little parasite preferred negative emotions, which is why Rochas appears numb and tired most of the time.

But with that aside.. now you know a way to get a big reaction out of him.

there it is, sorry i took so long,,,,

[xxsyluslittlecrowxx]

isekai and in over my head.

chapter three │ there's no wiki for this.

it starts with you waking up in what might be a coma, probably isn't a otome game, and is definitely not your life. It ends with five dangerously attractive men forming an unofficial committee to keep you alive, loved, and under constant emotional surveillance.

ABOUT │ 2.3 k words. f!reader x 5 Li (non-romantic so far). slice of life.

TAGS │ isekai. for shits and giggles. flirting. banter. fluff. survivors guilt.

NOTE: wow. absolutely wow. i went in to this not expecting anything. just writing for my own sanity. and the fact that you guys love it this much? fuck this community is amazing. thank you sm for the support!

INDEX │ chapter one ✧ chapter two ✧ chapter three ✧

chapter three │ there's no wiki for this.

THE DOOR CLICKED...shut behind Tara with a chirpy, “Rest up!” and the second her footsteps faded down the hall, I dropped the smile I’d been holding like a tray of drinks that had overstayed its welcome.

One beat.

Two.

Then I doubled forward, bracing my hands on my knees, and let out a noise I can only describe as part whimper, part wheeze, part this-can’t-be-happening-to-me.

Because I’d done it.

I had successfully faked normalcy long enough to be left alone.

And now—I was alone.

In an apartment I didn’t recognize but was apparently mine. Sleek. Immaculately organized. Suspiciously dust-free. The kind of place that came scented like bergamot and quiet breakdowns. Stainless steel accents. Dimmable lights. Not a single dish in the sink.

I was standing in someone else’s life.

Someone composed. Someone capable. Someone who didn’t show up to their interdimensional apocalypse wearing bloodstained pants and one sock.

I stumbled over to the coffee table—real wood, glass top, coasters no one ever used—and collapsed onto the couch like a marionette whose strings had just been very politely severed.

A framed photo on the sideboard caught my eye.

I blinked at it. Once. Twice.

It took three full seconds to realize I was in it.

Me. Smiling. Positioned neatly between Caleb and Zayne. All of us laughing like we shared inside jokes and complicated history and the occasional brush with death.

Which, sure, might’ve been sweet—if it weren’t borderline existentially catastrophic.

Because I didn’t belong in that photo. Didn’t belong in this apartment. Didn’t belong in this story.

Not with them. Not here. Not like this.

I grabbed a throw pillow and clutched it like a life preserver. The silence pressed in, thick and padded, the kind that didn’t care how close I was to falling apart.

My legs wouldn’t stop twitching. My heart kept thudding like it was trying to get ahead of something. I couldn’t breathe without noticing how weird breathing had become.

I wasn’t panicking. Not yet.

But the runway was cleared. Engines on. Takeoff imminent.

I leaned forward, pulled the pillow tighter, and muttered, “Okay. Okay. Let’s think.”

Which was optimistic, really—considering half my brain was still screaming about Zayne’s jawline and the other half was building an isekai survival flowchart using crayons and fear.

I shifted the pillow to my lap and reached for the notepad I’d found earlier—tucked beside the bookshelf like a secret. Cream pages. Gilded edges. It looked far too expensive to be defiled by my nonsense.

Naturally, I grabbed a pen and got to work.

The Isekai Disaster Log. Title at the top. Underlined. Bold. Possibly cursed.

Step One: Identify Method of Entry. – Truck-kun? No. – Fell into a book? Also no. – Video game glitch? Closer… but there was no dramatic boss fight screen-suck. – Summoned by higher power? Still pending.

I tapped the pen against my lips, trying not to think about how unhinged this all looked—sitting cross-legged in someone else’s apartment (mine, technically, fictionally), scribbling genre tropes like a conspiracy theorist with a soft spot for K-dramas.

Because that’s what I was, wasn’t I? A placeholder. In high-waisted pants.

Next Section: Potential Exit Routes. – Defeat final boss → unlock return. – Earn true love → reset cycle. – Regain original body → body-swap reversal. – Die → classic dramatic reset (not ideal). – Confess truth → universe implodes?

That last one I underlined three times. Then drew a skull. Then a frowny face. It made me feel slightly better.

I tossed the pen aside and flopped backward into the cushions, arms flung wide like a swooning opera widow. The ceiling stared back—matte, pale, too sleek to be real. Probably had hidden heating vents and mood lighting triggered by emotional instability.

I blinked.

“Okay,” I said to no one. “Let’s say this is an isekai. Let’s say I got pulled into the body of the character I’ve played for years. Let’s say I’ve overwritten her like some cursed save file from hell.”

I sat up again—faster than necessary—and seized the notepad like it had personally offended me.

New Heading: Ethical Implications. – I stole her life. – I stole her wardrobe. – I stole her contact list, her unread messages, and—oh my god—I stole her men. – Her SSRs. – Her entire romance arc with the most devoted, animated, emotionally generous love interests ever coded.

I scrawled across the page: I AM THE PROBLEM. IT’S ME.

Taylor Swift would be ashamed.

Some small, rational part of me whispered, It’s not like you meant to. You didn’t hit “Steal MC Identity” in the settings menu.

But that part was quickly drowned out by a louder, nastier voice—one that sounded suspiciously like the YouTube comment section under a spoilery reaction video:

You’re ruining the canon. They loved her, not you. You’re breaking the story. You’re just a fan with access.

My throat tightened.

I reached for the water bottle on the counter, then stopped. It wasn’t mine. Nothing in here was mine. Not the framed photos. Not the notes in my inbox. Not the half-unwrapped gift on the kitchen island with a tag that read:

Don’t open until tomorrow – C.

I didn’t even know if C was Caleb or someone else entirely.

The guilt settled in my chest like a paperweight—heavy, cold, polished by years of fandom, lore, and longing.

I was a reader who’d fallen into the game.

But I wasn’t supposed to edit it. I was supposed to cheer from the sidelines. Cry when the confession finally happened. Not be the one getting tackled mid-battle by Caleb or scanned under sexy-doctor scrutiny by Zayne.

I pressed both palms to my face.

What if I couldn’t leave? What if this wasn’t temporary?

What if I was stuck here forever—playing the part of a woman who had earned every bit of love this world gave her, while I just flinched every time someone touched my shoulder?

My hands dropped. I stared at the notepad.

Pages torn. Corners dog-eared. Ink smudged by my own uncertainty.

A new plan began to form.

Not an exit strategy. That wasn’t coming anytime soon.

But a coping mechanism. A survival guide. A soft reboot.

If I couldn’t leave—if I was here for the long haul—then I would be so nice. So harmless. So deeply inoffensive that if the real MC ever came back, she’d look at my log of wholesome side quests and say: Wow. You really took care of my save file.

I nodded to myself. Out loud.

“I’ll smile more,” I told the wall. “I’ll bake muffins for Caleb, even if I nearly die turning on a space-age oven.”

And above all?

I would say nothing.

Not one syllable. Not a single whisper about who I really was.

Because this world had rules.

And I had read enough manhwa to know exactly what happens when you break them.

Best-case scenario? Narrative collapse. Worst-case? A tear in reality. Everyone dies. Caleb cries. The End.

So I was going to be good.

Like, really good.

I was going to smile at everyone like I’d graduated top of my class at the Hunter’s Association Charm Academy. I’d say things like “great teamwork” and “thank you for your service” with such radiant sincerity that even Zayne would log it as medically viable.

I’d become the kind of woman people described as “so lovely” and “just a joy” and maybe even “strangely polite given the circumstances.”

With that sacred vow in place, I folded the notepad shut, gave a resolute little nod, and stood.

Immediately tripping over my own foot on the way to the sink.

Because grace, it seemed, was not included in my starter kit.

Still, I rinsed my face. Brushed out the knots in my hair with something called an ionizing detangler. Changed into a pair of sweatpants I prayed were actually mine and not something the real MC had once emotionally bonded with. Every motion was deliberate. Precise. Good girl on her best behavior.

I was going to pass for normal if it killed me.

Which, frankly, it still might.

Then came the knock.

Soft. Polite. Almost apologetic.

I froze mid-sip from a pastel mug that read: Hunters Do It Better.

One gentle knock. Then another.

A beat. Then—

“Your lights are still on.”

The voice was deep. Calm. The kind of voice you’d hear during a power outage and just trust. Familiar, too—like velvet cut with steel.

I crept toward the door like it might bite.

Then—

“It’s Xavier.”

My entire soul left the chat.

No. No-no-no-no—

Because Caleb and Zayne coexisting in the same timeline made sense.

But Xavier?

The quiet, lethal swordsman with the voice of a lullaby and a gaze that could skewer you into next week?

That meant—

Oh god.

That meant they were all here. All of them.

Not spaced out by chapter unlocks. Not split across plot branches. All. Together. In canon proximity.

I flung the door open more out of panic than purpose.

Xavier stood there like a moodboard come to life—hoodie sleeves pushed to his forearms, hair slightly tousled, expression unreadable. One hand in his pocket. The other holding—

A thermos.

He blinked, slow and unbothered.

“I saw your lights.”

I nodded. Then realized I was nodding like a socially anxious bobblehead and stopped.

“I—yeah. Lights.” I cleared my throat. “They’re… on.”

Another blink. Another pause.

Then, tilting his head just slightly:

“You okay?”

Which, to be fair, was a complicated question.

Physically? Fine. Mentally? A patchwork quilt of anime tropes and impostor syndrome. Spiritually? Somewhere between “lost in a cutscene” and “actively dodging God’s gaze.”

“I’m great,” I lied. “Perfect, even.”

He gave a small nod—slow, deliberate, as if filing the answer away in a database for later review.

Then he held out the thermos.

“Chamomile.”

My brain short-circuited.

Because nothing in the romance route prep guides—nothing in the character notes or fandom wikis or fan-translated interviews—had ever warned me about this.

Not quiet night visits. Not sleep tea. Not the soft weight of care wrapped in a mundane gesture.

“Oh,” I said, brilliant as ever. “Thanks. That’s… nice.”

“I can stay.”

He said it without drama. Without loaded meaning. Just a simple, solid offer, like staying was something people just did when they noticed someone might need it.

I opened my mouth. Closed it.

Then, very, very dramatically—

Shut the door.

Because this world didn’t make sense.

Because if Xavier was here, calm and lethal and handing out herbal tea like it was standard field protocol—

Then Sylus might be next.

And Rafayel.

And if that happened?

I really would die. Right there. On canon soil. Of romance-induced heart failure.

From the other side of the door, his voice came again—low, steady, perfectly calm.

“If you change your mind…”

I didn’t answer.

Just leaned my forehead against the cool wood and whispered, half to myself, half to the devs:

“Fucking hell, InFold. Are you trying to murder me?”

I stayed like that for a while.

Just breathing.

Forehead pressed to a door that had no idea how high the stakes were. That didn’t care about timelines or fan theories or character routes or the logistical nightmare of making muffins in a kitchen where you didn’t recognize the knives.

The air on the other side stayed still.

Eventually, footsteps.

Not angry. Not impatient. Just quiet.

Xavier didn’t wait for permission. He didn’t knock again. He simply left—offering space like someone who understood the weight of silence and had no desire to fill it.

Which was kind, really.

And also maddening.

I peeled myself off the door like a sticker someone had given up on and slumped back into the living room, thermos still in hand. The tea was warm—floral, faintly sweet. It tasted like a lullaby I hadn’t earned.

I sank into the couch and stared at the ceiling.

Plain. Elegant. Ambivalent to my suffering.

“I’m in a dating sim,” I muttered.

It wasn’t a revelation. More like a Google Maps reroute: You are here, even though I’d known for hours because nothing around me had changed. Except here, the landscape was made of heartbreak rendered in high definition, elite military uniforms, and a doctor who looked like the human embodiment of a soft-focus lens.

And they were all in love.

Not with me.

But with her.

The one who belonged. The real MC.

I looked down at my hand—the same hand Caleb had held, Zayne had examined, Xavier had offered tea to—and curled it slowly into a fist.

“I didn’t ask for this,” I whispered. “But I have it.”

So maybe I couldn’t fix it. Maybe I couldn’t undo the weird narrative tumbleweed that rolled me into this story. Or explain why no one could see through me. Or how I’d managed to fall face-first into the Super Bowl of boyfriend content without so much as a strategy guide.

But I could survive it.

One kind gesture at a time.

I would become the world’s politest interloper. The most considerate impostor. The human equivalent of a please and thank you wrapped in seasonally appropriate gift wrap.

I would make muffins. I would compliment everything. I would be so pathologically nice that if the universe did collapse, it would at least whisper, thank you for your service on the way out.

And I would say nothing.

Not to Caleb. Not to Zayne. Not to Xavier. Not to Sylus or Rafayel or anyone else who might appear in this dimension like it was just another Tuesday.

No world-breaking honesty. No selfish confessions. Just saintlike patience, passive support, and possibly chamomile-induced enlightenment.

“Okay,” I exhaled.

I curled into the corner of the couch, clutching the thermos like it held divine answers.

Lights still on. Ceiling still boring. Tea still warm.

“I can do this.”

Beat.

“I think.”

To be continued...

♡ taglist : @spicypomegrana2 @asilaysdead @sunshine-angel08 @demon-master-zero @mosscoveredmist @glassandhoney @adrasteiax @mentaltrouble2201 @inutrasha94 @aweebs @noxus123 @in-a-far-away-land @pastelsweaters-and-bubble-t

[crowfish-brainrot]

Mistakes Were Made Part 3

Adrenaline can make people lusty, and that's what inspired this fic. Also, if I was MC, my sexy self would be fuckin' all five of these men until I got into a relationship bc I am weak and they are too hot to not. Soooo, this might get kinda messy, but it'll end in a good (poly?) place.

CONTENT NOTES FOR ALL PARTS: 18+ MDNI. LaDs men x MC (you), Casual Sex, Pre-relationship, Complicated Feelings All Around. Smut & Angst. Smut with Feelings. No use of Y/N. Possibly ooc bc I'm still getting back into fanfic. Oral f&m receiving, p in v, unprotected sex bc its fiction, creampies, softdom!Xavier, brattamer!Zayne, brattyswitch!Rafayel, switch!Sylus, dom!Caleb brattyswitch!MC, but it's all fluid imo. light bond*ge, sp*nking, size difference, overstimulation, improper use of evol, semi-public sex. Nicknames used in all parts: canon nicknames as well as bunny, princess, love, & darling. F reader. MC is described as being curvy and strong with some fuller titties bc I love titties. Possibly MMF if I get to a part 6 Unedited. You get this raw (just like our Lads!)

Xavier | Zayne | Rafayel (this part) | Sylus | Caleb

It was meant to be a simple gallery event. No wanderers and minimal drama. You expected the worst part of the evening to be pulling Rafayel out of the house by his ear. How wrong you were.

The only lights faced the paintings themselves, each one stunning and beautiful in a way that surpassed any words you had. Rafayel literally turned his nose up at the endless praise people gave him. He wasn't interested in talking to anyone but you, much to poor Thomas' displeasure.

He dressed in a stunning black suit with fine rose gold embroidery. It fit his lean frame like a glove, and the blush pink button down he wore underneath his jacket brought out the warm pink tones in his eyes. Rafayel was a beautiful man, anyone with eyes could see that, but tonight he looked like some sort of ancient god given form, and it took a significant amount of focus to keep your eyes off him.

Your dress matched his suit, and he insisted you wear it. Made of sleek black silk, the dress hugged every curve of your body. Rose-gold embroidery dipped down the sides until it met your hip. The blush elements came in the makeup on your face, and the pale pink pearls that made up your necklace.

Your guns were holstered under your dress, hidden around the curve of your inner thigh. The dress left little room for hiding weapons, but you never went out without your trusty guns. For good reason.

One minute, Rafayel was pouting beside you because you told him you both had to stay for at least one full hour before vanishing. The next, he was gone. As if he vanished. He loved to slip away. Hide and seek seemed to be a favorite game of his, so you didn't immediately worry. At least not until you found a trail of blood leading toward the back of the exhibition hall.

Twenty minutes later, you held onto a woozy Rafayel while authorities led the two assailants out the back door of the gallery. The blood was theirs. Rafayel was safe and uninjured. However, being unable to find him, seeing the blood, and the fight all sent your adrenaline sky-rocketing. He made it worse when he told you they stabbed him with some sort of injection, but he refused to go to the hospital.

"Don't worry, cutie. This isn't the first time this has happened. I'll be fine in a bit."

You didn't ask how he knew that, or when this happened to him before. You doubted your nerves would like the answer. Your time with Rafayel at the Nest proved to you he wasn't all sassy remarks and dazzling smiles, and you were content to leave that mess alone. For now. You were almost certain Rafayel and Sylus knew one another somehow, and you weren't quite sure if you wanted to open that can of worms. So, you held Rafayel upright as you waited for your taxi to arrive.

"You can't take your eyes off me, Miss Bodyguard. They almost got me." Rafayel rested his head on your shoulder. His bottom lip jutted out in a soft pout. "I could've died, you know?"

"I know," you said, your voice flat. "I take my eyes off you for one second, and you disappear."

"It's that bounty. You really should be more alert."

You rolled your eyes, but you didn't disagree with him. "Next time we go out, we should have earpieces. Maybe something with a tracker."

"You don't need a tracker to find me, do you, cutie?" He batted his long lashes at you. Gods. He was so fucking gorgeous. And annoying. Sort of like Sylus in that way. They both irritated the shit out of you sometimes, but somehow their irritating behavior also made you wet. You sighed. You were in fact a hunter. You obviously liked a challenge.

You didn't respond. The cab showed up and you helped Rafayel in before sliding in beside him. The driver headed toward Rafayel's studio, and your eccentric employer-turned friend slumped against you. "You're gonna take me inside, right? I'm still dizzy."

You bit your lower lip as you thought about what to do. The battle and almost losing Rafayel had your heart thrumming and with that came the slick wetness between your thighs. You needed to take care of yourself before you made another mistake. You already had Xavier as your regular fuck buddy, and you stopped by Zayne's place some nights to work extra energy out of your system.

You had two sexy men you could visit, either one would be happy to take care of you, if they were available. You did not need to add a third to your roster. This would probably be the worst yet, because you worked for Rafayel. Sure, you already fucked your co-worker and your doctor, but the Lemurian you were hired to protect? Yeah, that was a step too far, even for you. Also, with his fame, there was a chance things could go public and you didn't want that kind of attention.

Still, when he looked up at you with those big, sapphire-rose eyes, you couldn't deny him. He did need you, and he was only inebriated because you didn't do your job right. You just had to keep it together long enough to see him to bed. Then you could leave Rafayel alone to recover, get laid, and check on him in the morning.

"Yeah, I'll help you get inside and settled."

That seemed to please him. Rafayel kept his head on your shoulder the entire drive back, sometimes whimpering softly and mumbling about being dizzy. You did your best to soothe him with gentle words and rubbing his head, both of which he seemed to like. He nuzzled against your shoulder, and his nose brushed against a sensitive spot on your neck. You almost moaned, but you caught yourself before it happened. His hot breath brushed over your neck, seemingly content to stay put.

Each breath and soft, contented sigh against your neck brought goosebumps to the surface of your skin. His lips were so close. If he kissed you there? You would be done for. You tried to keep your mind from wandering down that path, but you couldn't stop the thoughts, and you grew even wetter on the too-long drive back to the studio.

Once you got back, you helped Rafayel inside. He seemed more out of it than he was when you got in the car. He clung to you like he needed you to be able to stand, and that sent your worry spiking up.

"Are you sure you shouldn't go to the hospital?" you asked.

"I'm sure. Help me get to bed. I'll sleep it off."

You led him inside and helped him through his house to his massive bedroom. Sketchbooks, drying canvases, and countless candles dotted the floor. You carefully dodged every obstacle and pulled back the sheets, setting him down in bed. Moonlight poured in from the glass ceiling above, settling over the bed and haloing his lithe form.

"I can't fall asleep in my suit. Won't you help me get these buttons undone, cutie? I'm too dizzy, I can't see them." Rafayel pouted.

You didn't believe him at first, but it did take him a solid thirty seconds to kick off his shoes. The gods were truly testing your self control. It was time to be brave. You could do this. He was obviously not sober, you wouldn't touch him right now if he begged. No matter how beautiful the flush of his face would be when you -- nope. You cut that thought off before it could finish, refusing to go down that rabbit hole. You undid the buttons of his jacket, released his tie, then unbuttoned his shirt. He lifted his arms, and you peeled the clothing off his body.

His bare chest came into view. Rafayel's body was as much of a work of art as the rest of him. You knew he was a Lemurian and lived part of his life in the sea, but damn. Built but lean, his shape was made to cut through the waves. His waist made your mouth water, but you restrained yourself from sinking too far into your depraved mind.

He leaned back on his arms and looked down his torso at you. "I need help with the belt, too." You hesitated, for just a moment, and his brows drew together. A moment later, his lip curled up into a smile. "Miss Bodyguard."

He caught where your mind wandered off to, and you narrowed your eyes at him. "What?"

"Someone is having dirty thoughts when I'm weakened. That's bold, even for you."

Your mouth opened. Then it closed again. You had nothing to say for yourself, and your cheeks heated.

Rafayel grinned. "I promise, I'm being a good, honest boy. I really do need help."

You took a deep, steadying breath and your fingers made quick work of his belt. One handed, you slipped it off his waist. "You have to do the rest yourself. I'm going to get you some water."

"Don't be gone long, I might need you again," he said.

Your body buzzed as you all but ran out of his bedroom. You took your time going to the kitchen, grabbing a glass, and filling it with ice water. Rafayel loved to play games. It was in his nature to tease and needle you, to make flirtatious jokes then pretend he didn't mean them like that. You accepted it for what it was. A Pisces man being a Pisces man, some fun banter, and a slight headache. He didn't talk to a lot of people, and you were easy to get a rise out of. That's why he teased you so much. It didn't mean anything. It couldn't mean anything. You would not add a third man to your roster. Especially not this man. Is his dick like a human's? Nope. Stop thinking about his dick!

To calm yourself down, you splashed cold water on your face. It didn't matter how much you two bantered. It had to stay banter.

You wouldn't put it past him to fake something like this, but who were you to question him? He was drugged because you failed to do your job right. How much of it was an act, and how much was real suffering? Only he knew.

You slowly made your way back to his bedroom. He was right where you left him, leaning on his arms, looking at the sky, only now his pants were on the floor, leaving him only in thin underwear that hid nothing.

"I was starting to worry you forgot about me," he said. "Again."

You hated how hard it was to not look at his crotch. As calmly as you could, you handed him the glass. "Drink."

"So bossy." His tone was teasing, but he did as you bid. He drank fast, and a drop of water seeped out around the glass, dripped down his plush lower lip, his chin, then lower. You pulled your eyes toward the ceiling before you followed that drip all the way down his abs.

"Thank you, cutie." He handed the glass back to you and you placed it on a coaster on his bedside table.

"Is there anything else you need before I go?" you asked.

"You're leaving me?" He looked up at you, his beautiful eyes wide and brows drawn.

You looked down at your dress and the room around you. "I was going to head home."

"But what if I die? Thomas won't find me for days."

"If you're so ill you think you might die, then I should call an ambulance." You pulled your phone out of the clutch around your wrist to dial for medical services, but he stopped you.

"I'm not," he confessed. "I'm...nervous. There was an attempt on my life less than an hour ago, you know?"

"And those who tried to carry it out were arrested. You're safe here."

"What if I don't want to be alone?" he asked, his voice low.

Your eyes fell to his face and you knew it was a mistake. The puppy eyes did you in every. single. time. He could murder someone in front of you, give you those eyes, tell you he didn't do it, and you'd find a way to believe him. Those big, beautiful eyes of his were dangerous things, and he used them as well as his dagger.

"I can't exactly sleep in this," you said.

"Raid my closet, then. I'm sure you'll find something," he said.

You did as he suggested. You found the brown hoodie he wore on more casual days. It covered your ass and hit low enough you were fairly confident you wouldn't accidentally flash the scrap of fabric that barely covered your lower lips at him. You hung your dress up beside his suit, then wandered to his bathroom to wash the makeup off your face. Clean and ready for bed, you stepped back into his bedroom. "I'm going to sleep on the couch downstairs."

"Nope. Too far. What if an assassin gets to me before you?" he crossed his arms. "You need to stay here."

"Whatever gods can hear me right now, please grant me the mental strength needed to not hop on Rafayel's cock tonight." You sent the prayer out into the aether, hoping that someone was listening, and that you would find that strength. When you looked back to Rafayel, the grin on his face signaled danger. "What?"

"Nothing, cutie." He patted the side of the mattress. "Come here."

Setting your guns and clutch on the nightstand, you peeled back the covers and got into his bed. The cool sheets caressed your skin, and the down-filled pillows were plush and soft. His bed might've been the most comfortable you'd ever laid in. Your eyes fluttered closed, and you hummed a low, pleased sound.

"Comfy?" Rafayel asked, a hint of playfulness in his voice.

You opened your eyes and gasped. He hovered a breath away from your face. Any sign of inebriation or dizziness vanished from his expression. Only the playful glint in his eyes remained, and his lip curled in a devastating smirk.

"Yeah," you said, breathless. "Very comfy. Goodnight."

His gaze burned into your skin, and you tried to ignore him. You rolled to your other side, away from him, but his gaze never faltered. Your heart raced. Loud in your ears, it eclipsed all other sounds. Slick arousal soaked through your thin panties, and you squeezed your legs together for some sort of relief. You found none.

"Having trouble sleeping?" he asked, his voice light. "I can practically hear you thinking over there."

"You're staring at me," you deadpanned. "Kind of hard to sleep when I'm being watched."

"My artistic eye is always drawn to beautiful things," he said. "It's in my nature. I can't help it."

You looked over your shoulder at him. Dressed in his hoodie, your hair tossed in a messy bun, with no make up on you didn't exactly feel stunning. You scoffed. "I would've believed you if you told me that when I had that dress on."

"You looked gorgeous tonight, but you're the most breathtaking like this. It's your natural beauty, ya know? Stunning simply because you exist. Like the moon, or the sea."

"What the fuck did they inject you with?" You flipped over to face him. "You sound like a lovesick poet."

"The injection is wearing off. I feel fine, I'm just telling you the truth." Rafayel rested his head on his hand, propped up slightly on his pillow. His sapphire-rose eyes were soft. Honest.

Your stomach flipped. Butterflies took flight and your heart thrummed faster than hummingbird wings. You swallowed past the lump in your throat. "Um. Thank you. Goodnight."

Your squeezed your eyes closed, and you heard him chuckle beside you. The sound soft, full of mirth and something like contentment. Butterflies swarmed in your stomach, and your pussy fluttered in time. Gods, his laugh. His eyes. His fucking everything.

Why did every man in your inner circle have to be so damn hot, charming, and downright perfect in every single way? Oh no, you had a mysterious knight-in-shining armor type with a fat cock, a handsome renowned doctor who made you scream and beg at the curl of his fingers, and now you were in bed with a sexy, famous artist merman who spoke poetry about you. Truly, you were suffering.

"If you're having trouble sleeping, you can always ask me for help," Rafayel said. "I'll do whatever you want, even if it means using my body."

His voice dropped into something low and hot. It filled the space between you with the warmth of a sinful promise. Your pussy clenched hard around nothing, and gods, it hit you just how empty you were.

He laid flat on his back and patted his bare chest. "Come here, cutie. Let me help you fall asleep."

You knew it was a trap. The way his eyes burned with heat. The low, heady siren song of his voice. He laid back with an arm behind his head, stretching those stunning muscles of his taut. Your throat dried. It was a trap, and yet, you willingly slipped into it. Your head settled on his pecs, and your arm naturally draped across his body and rested over his heart. His arm wrapped around you and cradled you against his chest.

He smelled like the sea breeze, something fresh and calming to your senses. You breathed him in, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you did so. Rafayel always ran a little cooler than humans, and the difference in temperature was a balm over your heated skin. Yet, despite your comfort in his arms, your clit throbbed. Needy and aching, it brushed against your too-slick panties and you had to stifle a whimper.

"You seem uncomfortable. What's wrong?" Rafayel stroked your spine in gentle, lazy patterns that did nothing to help the ache between your thighs.

Damn it. You couldn't hide this for much longer. Rafayel had a sensitive nose. As a Lemurian, he picked up on every subtle change in perfume, body wash, or detergent you used. For some reason, thinking that he knew how wet you were only made it worse.

"I get like this after hard battles, or nerve-wracking situations," you said, keeping your voice matter-of-fact. "I was worried about you, and now I'm having a hard time relaxing. My body is tense. That's all."

Rafayel hummed. "I can help you relax, you know. If it will help you sleep, I'm happy to use my body in any way you need."

"Raf," you warned.

"What? I'm serious. You can use me however you like, cutie. My face is an excellent seat."

"What?" you squeaked, sitting up slightly.

"Have you considered that you might not be the only one who gets tense after high-stress situations?" Rafayel pulled you back against him, and threw the blanket off. His cock strained against the fabric of his boxers, a wet spot at the head. Holy fucking gods. You didn't expect Rafayel to be packing a fucking sea monster in his well-tailored pants. Were all Lemurians so well endowed, or was he just blessed?

"Won't you help me, princess?" Rafayel looked down at you, his eyes dark and wide. Your hand absentmindedly traced down his stomach, and he whimpered.

That fucking sound did you in. You swallowed hard. “I’ll help you.”

Rafayel closed the distance and captured your mouth in a heated kiss. He devoured your lips like he was starved and desperate, like he needed only you and nothing else. Your head spun, dizzy with the pure need that passed between you. His large hands settled on your hips and he effortlessly lifted you on top of him. You straddled him, your lips still connected with something that caught like gasoline. Deft fingers gripped the hem of his hoodie and lifted it off your body, parting from your lips just long enough to toss it to the side.

He took in your body. Strong from all your training, but soft and yielding to his firm grip. Your heavy tits heaved with your panted breaths, and your nipples hardened in the cool air of the bedroom. “Beautiful. You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured.

Coming from him, the artist, the one who knew beauty and how to pull it from nothing but pigments and brush strokes, the words carried a weight. They resonated through you and you found yourself unable to breathe. His fingers toyed with the thin scrap of lace around your hips.

“Can I rip these off?”

“Yes,” you said.

They were gone, torn off your body an instant later. He held them off to the side, and his eyes trailed between the soaked scrap of lace and your now bare pussy.

“Fuck. You need to come bad, don’t you princess?”

“Maybe,” you huffed.

He chuckled and tossed the pillows behind him to the side and scooted down the bed. “Sit on my face. Use me to make yourself come.”

“Are you sure?” You asked.

“Yes. Sit on my face. I need to taste you, please.”

You nodded and you settled over him, one leg on either side of his head. Strong arms locked over your thighs and he pulled you down to his face. You let your full weight settle on him, and he groaned into your soaking cunt.

You gripped the headboard for leverage and ground into Rafayel’s face. You looked down your body, meeting his heated gaze from between your thighs. Hair mused and face flushed, he was a devastating sight. So gorgeous it punched the air out of your lungs.

His nose rocked against your clit as his tongue slipped inside you. You were so wet, so needy, the simplest brush of his tongue sent a shock of pleasure dancing down your spine. He barely touched you, and you were already on the brink.

You ground into his face, chasing the coiling spark of pleasure building in your core. His eyes never strayed from your face, and you couldn't look away. The intensity of his gaze and the skilled roll of his tongue forced broken gasps out of you. Your thighs trembled, but he held you steady, nuzzling into your cunt like he belonged there.

His talented tongue curled just right, and you were lost. Your back bowed and your knuckles went white on the headboard in an attempt to steady yourself. You cried out his name as you came. His answering moan as he drank you in only extended the wave of intense pleasure. You tried to lift your hips away, but his arms locked around you, keeping you in place as the overstimulation hit. You whimpered and leaned forward, still trying to lift your hips.

"Where do you think you're going, cutie? I wasn't finished with my meal." Rafayel nipped the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. "Do you really want me to stop?"

Your head spun. His voice, husky and playful did dangerous things to your insides. Your stomach flipped. You were sensitive, sure, but his tongue was heaven.

"No," you said, breathless. "Keep going."

He pulled you back down, fully on his face the second the words were out of your mouth. You whined at the sharp edge of overstimulation wearing on your nerves, but gods, his face made the perfect seat. He ate your pussy the same way he kissed you earlier. Starved, full of need. Like you and your pleasure were the only things that mattered.

You rode his face, rolling your hips to chase the burning pleasure he stoked within you. His moans matched yours in desperation and intensity, as if tasting you, pleasuring you, did the same to him. As if he got off on being used by you. Your hips rolled back, and his lips wrapped around your clit. He sucked, and you gasped.

"Right there, fuck! Raf you feel so fucking good," you praised, your voice high and breathless.

He shuddered under your praise, and he sucked harder. Between the steady suction of his lips and the steady roll of his tongue over your clit, your second orgasms came crashing down far faster than you expected. You tried to hold back, for just a moment longer, but his talented tongue wouldn't let you.

Rafayel shoved you over the edge of your second release with a firm suck that stole your breath. You gushed over his face, the release hitting you so hard you could only scream his name. He worked you through it, his sucks softening as the wave ebbed. You slumped against the headboard, too worn out to hold yourself upright.

You lifted your hips, and this time he let you go. You pushed yourself up on trembling thighs, and blinked around the stars in your vision as you looked down at him. Fuck. His pupils were blown wide with lust, cheeks flushed, and face coated in your come. Wet skin reflected the pale moonlight, showing just how much a mess you made. His smirk sent aftershocks of pleasure skittering up your spine. He planted soft kisses to your inner thighs, and you shuddered.

"Oh gods," you sighed, your body so senitive that even the softest touch bordered on too much.

"Gods?" Rafayel chuckled, the sound dark and teasing. "No. I'm the only one here with you, princess." He flipped you over so fast you were dizzy. One moment you clutched to the headboard for dear life, and the next you were pinned beneath him, his lean, muscular frame looming over yours. One hand held both your wrists and pinned them over your head. He leaned down, stealing all the air from your lungs. His eyes flashed a vibrant blue as he spoke. "If you're going to call out to anyone, you call out to me, and me alone."

Your pussy fluttered, empty and needy. "Yes, Rafayel."

"Good girl," he cooed. The teasing, playful note in his praise only made the husky tone of his words all the more tantalizing. You shivered, suddenly hyper-aware of him. The heat between your bodies, the weight of his eyes, and the sensation of his hard, hot length pressed into your core shattered all thoughts outside of him.

He released your wrists and captured your lips in another kiss. This one was more consuming, more dominating than you expected from the man who told you to use him not twenty minutes ago. Yet, you surrendered to it, and to him, all the same. Your dynamic with Rafayel was fluid, all teasing and banter, always changing who came out on top. It seemed your dynamic in bed would follow a similar pattern, and you couldn't help but moan into the kiss.

Rafayel pulled back, just enough to meet your eyes. "Can I fuck you, princess?"

The way he said it, his voice husky and dripping with the same amount of need you felt nearly made you come. You both needed this, needed each other, so you said the only thing that mattered. "Yes, please!"

His lips met yours again, and in one fluid roll of his hips, he was bare above you. The hot length of him dripped his need all over your stomach. He pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses into your neck. "Let me hear you, cutie. Don't hold back."

You nodded, unable to form words. With one last kiss on your neck, he reached between your bodies and lined himself up with your entrance. Not quite as long as Zayne, but somehow thicker Xavier, your head spun just looking at it. That thing was a monster, and you weren't sure it was going to fit.

"Don't worry, cutie. It'll fit just fine." Rafayel notched the head at your entrance and hummed. "Now, if I was in my true form? Then you'd have something to worry about."

Your mind reeled from that bit of information and while you were distracted, he pressed forward. The stretch of his cock stole your breath. It burned slightly, not painful, just heat, as he pushed deeper inside you. He cursed as your fluttering cunt squeezed around him, but he didn't move any faster. He slipped in slowly, giving you his cock inch by inch until your hips were flush.

Your legs wrapped around his hips and your hands clutched his forearms to steady yourself. He rested his forehead against yours, a low moan falling from his mouth. You struggled to breathe. Buried inside you as far as he could go, the tip of his cock brushed your cervix. Stretched around him so wide, there was no room for anything but sensation. You moaned, high and breathy, as you adjusted to him.

"Fuck, Rafayel, yes!"

"Do you feel how deep I am, cutie?" Rafayel rocked his hips forward, forcing a loud moan out of your mouth. One hand traced down your side, then to your clit. He rubbed it in a small, tight circle, and your back arched off the bed with a sharp moan. "Look how well you fit around me. My princess."

The slight edge of possession in his voice made your eyes roll back into your head. You rocked your hips, seeking more friction, but he held you still.

"You want me to move? Beg." Rafayel's command came with a weight that forced your eyes open. His eyes held the same playful mischief as normal, but his tone was serious. Sharp. "Tell me how much you want this. Let me hear you. Otherwise, I'll stay right here all night."

You blinked. His brow raised. You swallowed hard, unsure. His hips pressed forward, applying more pressure on your cervix while his fingers abandoned your clit. Your resolve broke.

"Fuck, Raf, please!" you whined. "Please fuck me. I need you to move. I need you to pound into me, to make me come all over your cock, please. Fuck. I'll fuck myself on your cock if you don't want to move. Please, please, just fuck me. I need it. I need you!"

"Fuck yourself on my cock, huh? Is that how you want to use me, princess?" he asked.

"Yes!"

"Maybe I'll let you next time. Right now, I think I'll use you."

"Please, Rafayel! Please use me!"

"Fuck. If you insist." His devilish little smirk made your heart flip, and then he moved. The drag of his fat cock along your walls hit just right, stealing your breath. Your vision blurred, and you made a low, desperate sound as he fucked into you.

On his knees, he held your hips in his strong hands, keeping you in place as he pounded into you. His eyes drifted from your face, to you heavy, bouncing tits, to the place where you joined. You struggled to keep your eyes open, the pleasure too intense, but you also couldn't look away from him. Strands of amethyst hair clung to the thin layer of sweat on his forehead. His muscles rippled with every thrust, and the veins in his hands strained under his tight grip. His beautiful face contorted in pleasure with each deep stroke.

One hand reached up to grip your bouncing tits. He kneaded the soft flesh in his hands, then rolled your nipple between his deft fingers. You cried out, the added sensation nearing too much for your already overstimulated body.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he moaned. "A stunning work of art. A Goddess given flesh. Look at you, my beautiful br--princess."

"Raf-ay-el!" you screamed his name when he slammed in hard, forcing the very air out of your lungs.

"That's the sound I'm looking for. Again."

He thrust in hard a second time, and you gave him the same cry of his name. High, breathless, loud. Edged with a hint of desperation.

"Fuck yes. Keep singing for me, cutie. Just like that."

You did as he commanded. You couldn't help yourself. Not when he fucked you so thoroughly. He moved his hips in smooth, fluid motions, pulling back and slamming in over and over at the exact right angle. The wet sounds of your fucking filled the space between your screams, both getting louder the closer you got to your third peak.

"Are you going to come for me, my princess?" he asked.

"Yes, Raf, please!" you moaned. "Keep fucking me just like this. Please, I'm so close. You feel so good!"

"Come for me. Let me feel you."

You broke. Shattered. Came apart as you gushed around his fat cock. White hot pleasure burned through your blood, and stars filled your vision. You screamed his name so loud your throat burned, and yet, he didn't stop fucking you. Each roll of his hips only extended your release, and by the time the wave ebbed, another already beckoned. Overstimulation burned at your senses, but you didn't want him to stop.

"Where do you want my come, cutie?" he asked.

Your brain screamed only one answer. Probably the dumbest answer you could give him, but logic went out the door awhile ago. Plus, you weren't technically the same species, so it was fine. "Inside me. Come inside me, Rafayel. Please."

Whatever threads of control he had snapped in that instant. He fucked you hard, loud, needy moans falling from his lips. He lifted you into his arms, holding you tight against him as he buried his face into your neck. He came a moment later, and as the first slightly cool spurt filled you, his teeth bit into your neck. Your back bowed and you came with him, the sensation too much for your overstimulated body.

Rafayel stilled only as long as it took him to come. His still-hard cock rocked in and out of you, just enough to hit your sweet spot before fucking back inside until he hit your cervix. Deep, firm strokes that sent your mind melting out of your ears.

"Raf, I can't...'s too much!"

"Yes you can. Come on, cutie, give me just one more. Then we'll take a break."

The fleeting conscious thoughts you had stalled. A break? He planned to keep fucking you after he came a second time? You were too fucked-out to think too hard about it, so you moaned. You were so sensitive, too sensitive, but the drag of his cock, the way his body enveloped you, how he held you against his chest, you didn't want it to stop, either.

"One...more," you agreed.

"Good girl," he praised. "I know you can do it. Come one more time. Just for me."

His pace, his gentle praise, and the way he clutched you like you were something precious added to the overwhelming wave of pleasure that built within you once again. Your orgasm hit with all the warning of a lightning strike, and burned twice as hot. You screamed his name once again as you convulsed around him, the pleasure rising out of your very bones.

"That's it, princess. Good girl. Fuck, fuck, fuck! I'm gonna fill you up again."

"Please," you whined.

Rafayel groaned and held himself all the way inside you. His lips found the other side of your neck and he bit down there, too. He filled you a second time, somehow with more come than the first. Each spurt extended your release. Finally, the pleasure stopped. Your ears rung. You panted your breaths. Sweat slicked very inch of your skin, and your thighs were sticky with your combined release.

Rafayel set you down on the bed gently, and he kissed your forehead. "Such a good girl. Do you feel better now, princess?"

You nodded, words too hard for you to manage. He stayed inside you for a few minutes as you both caught your breath. He pulled out of you slowly, and to your surprise, he was still half-hard.

He promised to be right back, and all you could do was lay there. Fucked out, full of come, and realizing that mistakes were made yet again. You really needed to stop getting into situations like this, though, you wouldn't say you were upset to be here. You were so fucked out you felt like you were high, and you had a sneaking suspicion that if you asked him to, Rafayel would fuck you 'till you passed out and keep going until you woke back up.

You had two nights of marathon sex with Xavier, each time after he came back from a secret mission he couldn't bring you on. Still, even he tired after round three. Rafayel looked like he could go for six more. Probably because he was Lemurian, or something.

He came back with a warm cloth and cleaned you up, his touch gentle and words soft. Soothing in a quiet tone as he tended to you. Once you were both clean, he settled back into bed and pulled you onto his chest. Your head rested over his heart, and it beat steady and strong in your ears. You nuzzled into him as he pulled the blankets over you. Ignoring the call of sleep was a hopeless task wrapped up in him, so you gave in and fell into a deep slumber full of dreams of a world beneath the waves.

Your phone alarm blared at far-too-fucking-early-for-this o'clock. You blinked at the blinding sunlight that poured in from the glass ceiling above. Rafayel groaned under you and hid his face in a pillow.

"Turn it off! It's too early."

"It's my work alarm," you mumbled. You rolled off of him, and he made a pouty noise in protest as you scrambled to find your phone. You turned off the alarm, then sent a quick text to Jenna, telling her that you aided in an arrest last night and would be late coming in.

You still needed to get home, shower, eat something, get dressed, and get to work. Hopefully, Xavier would already be gone by the time you got back to your apartment. He was jealous normally. If he knew you spent the night with someone who wasn't him?

Yeah. He'd throw a fit, despite the fact that you weren't exclusive. Which is why, you usually went to see Zayne when Xavier was off on missions.

"I gotta get going," you said.

"You should call out." Rafayel propped his head up on his arm as he looked over at you. "You came down with something. You're sick. Only I can take care of you, so you have to stay here. With me. All weekend."

"I can't call out, Raf. We've had this conversation before. Don't give me that look!" you whined. "That's not fair!"

"What's not fair is having my cuddle time interrupted because someone has to clock in somewhere," he huffed.

"Yeah, well, not all of us can be millionaire artists." You rolled your eyes as you tried to gather yourself. You couldn't not talk about what happened last night. You couldn't have him thinking this meant anything more than it was. Silence stretched between you, and you could practically feel him sulking from across the bed. You turned to face him. "Listen, about last night..."

"What about it?" he said, his voice cool and detached.

"I'm really busy. I don't exactly have time for a relationship. You're busy too. And I technically work for you, which makes this kind of complicated." You caught yourself rambling so you took a deep breath, then continued. "I just want to be sure you know this is casual. Probably not an all the time thing. It was great, really fucking great, but I don't want to overcomplicate things between us, you know? We're friends, and if you really need me like that, I'm happy to help but it can't be more than that."

Rafayel looked at you, his face too neutral to be good. You knew his expressions well enough by now, and that one never meant anything positive.

"Alright. If that's what you want. We'll keep it casual. But, you should know something important, Miss Bodyguard."

"Yes?"

"I've been stroking my cock to thoughts of you for months, and now that I've had a taste of you? My hand isn't going to be enough anymore. If you're worried about the ethics, we can work that out later, but casual or not, I will need you like that again, and again."

Your stomach flipped and your sore cunt clenched. Damn it. "I'm fine with that. We'll need to talk about this more, but I really do need to get going."

"Take the hoodie," he said. "A designer sent over some matching couple sets. In the back of my closet there should be some pants that fit you. Want me to drive you home?"

You thought of how Xavier turned off the streetlights on your block that one time you spoke to a co-worker that wasn't him outside of your apartment for ten minutes too long. "You don't have to. I can call a cab. I know it's early for you."

"You sure? If you're already running late, waiting for a cab will only make you later."

He had a point. Fuck. "Alright, but I live close to the Association building. Walking in will give me time to eat."

Rafayel smiled like he won, and your stomach flipped again. You prayed to whatever gods were listening that Xavier would not be anywhere near your apartment when you showed up.

A/N: Our fishie is tied for my #1 with Sylus, so obviously I love him & had so much fun with this part! I want to do one of these with each LI before we start getting into overlap territory, and if we get there or not really depends on how much y'all want that. So, lmk! Either way, the next part of this series is going to be all about our favorite Dragon. I hope y'all are ready bc I'm already melting!

Masterlist | Next Part

[saintzweig]

overthinker gf that struggles to communicate x art donaldson :")

– angsty ig, no resolution because i'm like that :3 i've had this in my drafts for the longest time and i wanted to finish it so i did yay

your roommate sighed for the hundredth time as she watched you roll over your bed once more, a frown evident on your face as you threw your phone somewhere beside you. "no text?"

you shook your head, blinking away the anxious tears springing in your eyes. "he's probably still at practice" you sigh, looking over your bedside clock. 10:40 pm, tennis practice usually ends at 9.

"did you two fight or something?" your roommate spoke from her bed, typing away at her laptop. "no, i mean– i don't know, nothing happened. it was just, for the past few weeks we were like, inseparable, you know? but not in an unhealthy way, we just enjoyed each other's company but now the vibe is weird. he isn't texting as much, the other night he hung up in the middle of the call then just forgot about it"

"how long has this been happening?"

you give her a lazy, sheepish smile. "three days?"

"jesus, (y/n)."

you sit up, ready to defend yourself. "it's not just that! it's–, he introduced me to his friends, tashi and patrick. they're dating and tashi is really nice to me but they're ... close"

"so what? she's dating someone else and he's dating you"

you stared down onto your lap, fiddling your fingers anxiously. "yeah, i know. i guess i just feel, left out? they all have something only they have in common, y'know?"

your roommate sighed, shutting her laptop closed and leaning back onto her bed. "have you atleast talked to him about it?" you shook your head.

"i don't know, he's got a lot on his plate and i don't want to bother him. maybe it'll pass" you respond with a sigh, falling back onto your bed. you prayed it will.

the next few days had been weird, you weren't having problems with art but it wasn't perfect either— you were floating in between. and for an anxiously attached girlfriend like you, that was enough to make you spiral.

you chewed on your bottom lip, your laptop situated on your lap long forgotten. it was half an hour past midnight and you haven't received a single text from him since this noon. you tried your best to calm yourself, he is a student athlete after all, his schedule probably sucks and he's exhausted. you shook your head with a sigh, returning to face the screen and attempt to finish your paper.

your phone buzzed beside you and you scrambled to grab it from under the covers. it was him, art, video calling.

your previous thoughts forgotten as you clicked on answer. "hey" you smile, "where are you?"

the video was blurry but clear enough to show that he was in a diner booth. "i'm just grabbing something to eat with tashi and patrick, there wasn't much to eat at the party"

"party?"

"oh yeah, i didn't tell you? the seniors on the tennis team threw sort of a farewell party. here, say hi to tashi" the brunette appeared beside him, waving at the camera with a big smile— clearly intoxicated.

you tried to ignore the jealousy bubbling in the pit of your stomach, watching as she rests her chin on art's shoulder. "hey tashi" you greet back, "where's your other half?" you didn't mean for it to come out that way, in a sort of back off warning tone.

"he's out in the parking lot having a smoke" she giggled before pushing herself off art, "i gotta go pee" you hear her say. and when she leaves, you're silent.

art furrows his eyebrows as he brings the camera back to face him, "baby, you okay?"

you swallowed the lump in your throat, nodding stiffly. "yeah, yeah i'm just tired. been working on my paper for hours now and i still haven't finished."

"maybe you should sleep first and do it tomorrow?" the blonde says.

you lowered your eyes, "yeah, maybe." you wanted to say what was bothering you, ask if the two of you are okay but for some reason, it wouldn't come out.

"you know i miss you, right?" his voice coarse through the line, "i've just been really busy lately and i'm tired. i'm sorry"

you shook your head, your voice small. "it's okay, i miss you too" maybe you were so deep in overthinking things that you made it all about you, he's just exhausted. that's it.

"go sleep, i love you"

"g'night, art." you dropped the call.

[gothicfied]

hi!! i LOVE your writing! i was wondering if you could write something about dae ho meeting reader in the game, maybe she doesnt speak korean? like theres a whole language barrier thing and he sort of becomes her unofficial translator? something cute like that <3 thank you!!!

Kang Dae-ho / Player 388 with a foreign reader

Pairing: Kang Dae-ho / Player 388 x foreign!reader (SEASON 2)

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: Mentions of gunshots, killing, death (Typical Squid Game stuff), this is set in Season 2, Reader doesn't have a specific ethnicity/race and is just said to be foreign to South Korea, other than that it's just fluff, not proof read (English isn't my first language... how ironic)

A/N: Alright, so this request is literally like 6 months old AND I AM SO SORRY TO THE ANON WHO ASKED THIS😭 this has been sitting here in my drafts, unfinished until now. Season 3 came out today and I obviously had to binge watch the entire thing. I won't spoil anything, but I'd rather take S2!Dae-ho over S3!Dae-ho and I can definitely write more about the former. Anyway, I'm glad you enjoy my writing and I hope this doesn't suck lololol

This place was so bizarre. You didn't speak Korean, or at least not well enough to understand what was really going on. When you came to South Korea to study, you didn't think the living experience would be so expensive and exhausting. Coming here, being put into these uniformly tracksuits and only being talked to by your number gave you an eerie feeling.

If it wasn't already hard understanding what was going on — Because you certainly didn't expect this when the guy in the suit gave you an opportunity to win money — it's definitely going to be hard now: When other people started looking at you funny. Because you're not from there, they recognized it straight away. With your broken Korean, you understood whispers like "Look, a foreigner.." and "What's someone like that doing here?" It made you feel even more left out.

From context clues and certain English words the other players used while talking, you kind of picked up on what this thing is. You play games, if you win you get to go to the next round, if you lose... you're out. And you single handedly got to experience what it meant to 'be out'.

No one told you anything. No pink guards, no other players, no one had the decency to let you in on things. While nervously standing in this big arena, walls painted to look like grass with a baby blue sky and a big doll-like statue standing roughly 20 meters on the other side, you suddenly felt a tap on your shoulder.

You quickly snapped your head back to see a guy with the number 388 printed on his jacket. "It's Red Light, Green Light." He told you, his English sounding better than you had expected. You felt so relieved when finally hearing a familiar language and you expression immediately softened while looking at him. "What?" The man pointed at the statue on the other side. "You know.. the game? You go when it's Green Light, you stop when it's Red Light."

Your eyes followed the direction his finger pointed at and nodded like you understood him. "Thank you." The man smiled at you and patted on your back, saying something back in Korean you could hardly make out.

The language barrier made you miss the whole frenzy monologue the guy with the number 456 had before the game started. When looking around, all you could see is shocked faces, people in distress or the complete opposite: People not taking him seriously. You didn't know what was going on, but as soon as the statue of the girl turned to the tree behind her and a jingle started to play, everyone made a move in her direction. You did too, what else could you do?

Then suddenly— Pang. A gunshot, really loud, echoed through the arena and killed a girl. Frozen in shock, you watched as the other players around her started to freak out and move, getting shot one by one, orchestrating an absolute massacre.

It's a miracle you made it out.

On the way back to the sleeping area, or whatever this was, you felt a familiar tap on your shoulder behind you. "Hey," It's Player 388. "You made it!"

"Yes. Thank you again.. I just. I don't understand, they literally killed these people. I don't understand anything, what is going on here—?" Dae-ho saw the discomfort and fear in your eyes and decided to tell you what Gi-hun had previously yelled at all the participants. The things that went down at the Game were gruesome, but man, he couldn't even imagine trying to survive while not even understanding the language.

"So.. wait, you're telling me that when you get eliminated during one of those Games you get killed? Like they fucking shoot you?" You asked Dae-ho, who had now also introduced himself to you, and he just nodded. "He said that." He pointed in the vague direction of where Gi-hun had retreated once in the sleeping area again. "Dude, no this is so fucked up.. I gotta go! We can't die in here, they can't do this?"

You started to hyperventilate. Die? In this shithole? Oh my god, why did you even say yes to this stupid thing? It should've been suspicious enough that a guy in a suit would play a traditional Korean childhood game and slap you if you lost. But.. you needed the money. Carefully, Dae-ho placed a hand on your shoulder and looked around to see if anyone was listening in on your conversation.

"I will help you." He said with the most calm expression ever. Sure, he was scared himself, scared shitless even. But, seeing a young woman — A foreigner — in such distress.. it reminded him of his sisters. And he always swore up and down that he'd protect them, too.

"They don't," Player 388 pointed around the area, "Speak English well. I will help you, okay? I can tell you things." His Korean accent was quite cute whenever he spoke, which made you calm down a bit more and smile. You, again, expressed your gratitude to him and sniffled a bit. "Is there no way out of this?"

Dae-ho shook his head. Well, he didn't know, but he just assumed there wasn't. He went on to ask you more about yourself in general, why you were here, where you came from. It was nice having a conversation in English after trying to learn and speak Korean for months on end.

"I'm so sorry. Korea made a bad impression on you." You chuckled a bit and shook your head. You knew how to appreciate the country, it's culture and it's people. But this was definitely weird and definitely illegal. Dae-ho was here for you, though. He made you that promise now.

"I will protect you and help you, okay?"

Slowly, you raised your hand and held out your pinky for him to interlink with his. "Pinky promise?" The man looked at your hand and then back up to you with a confused look on his face. "Pinky... promise?" You smiled when you understood that he doesn't quite get what you mean. Or maybe he just hasn't ever heard of the expression before. "Like.. pinky promise, you do this," With your other hand you took his to make the same motion and interlinked your pinkies, "And now you're not allowed to break the promise."

Dae-ho grinned. "Okay, pinky promise."