#doing and recreating that with a crown

[rookschnapps]

narinder studying! I don’t think learning resurrection was easy

[the-official-account]

My new years resolution MIGHT be to go finish those wacky Aus loved so much. If my heart dares take on the curse

[summerhighlandfalls]

This is the full comic btw. Yes it’s Scott pilgrim fanfiction. The paneling sucks and the dialogue is heavy handed but. There’s a part of me that still really likes it

[notsodelirious]

you know what sounds so good rn? smoking weed with jason, cuddling him and cockwarming him. i think he’d love the closeness and the intimacy, heightened sensitivity for the warmth and skin to skin contact. i love high sex and intimacy send tweet.

hi, yes, absolutely you are very right

also I say I’m not taking anymore requests, and then turn around and write a drabble for an ask that wasn’t even a request lol—anyway, enjoy <3

synopsis: Smoking a blunt with your boyfriend while you sit on his dick

notes: NSFW MDNI, also said in two different places but like recreational drug use (it’s weed)

tags: established relationship, fluff, cockwarming, gn!reader (no mentions of the reader’s genitalia), wc: 600 words

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

 You brought Jason’s hand up to your face, a loose grip on his wrist as he held the joint for you. 

You took a small hit before settling back down against his chest, letting the haziness of the weed and the soft evening wash over you. 

It was seven. The sun was just about setting outside your apartment window, bathing the entire room in yellow and gold. You’d pulled the curtains closed but small rivulets of sun still poured in through the cracks. 

The TV was playing, an old movie that had come out before either of you was born—it had largely become forgotten but it filled the static silence. 

You giggled a little when you felt Jason’s chest rise under your head, then still, before he finally exhaled, making sure not to blow smoke in your hair. 

“Still okay, sweetheart?”

You hummed as you looked up at Jason, resting your chin on his chest—his cock was still buried deep inside you, a quiet but insistent presence as you tucked yourself against Jason. It was the closest you’d ever be able to come to crawling into his skin while cuddling. 

And it was a compromise you both enjoyed. 

You’d stolen his shirt halfway during the sesh—not entirely sure why, but you now enjoyed his shirt as he lay naked under you like a grecian statue. 

“I’m good,” you smiled before reaching up to hold his face and kiss the corner of his mouth. “You?”

“Doing great, love,” he smiled down at you as he squeezed you softly with his arm. “More?”

You easily shook your head, more than content with how you felt in that very moment. 

You would have suspended time if you could, basking in the closeness and weightlessness of life. 

Jason stretched to put out your blunt in the ash tray—the movement made his dick shift in you a little. Jason hushed you softly as you moaned. 

You felt his lips on the crown of your head, his arms readjusted around you, his heart beat beneath your ear. 

“Love you,” you mumbled as you kissed his neck, then shoulder, an absent almost soothing motion. 

It didn’t matter how many times you said those words, you meant it every single time, with the same affection every time.  

You never tired of saying them, not when it meant you got to watch Jason relax under your weight, watch the small shy smile that spread across his face when he looked at you. 

He’d mumble it back—some variation of it. Never I love you too, but everything else he did for you was steeped in so much adoration you’d never once questioned if he loved you too. 

“Still okay on my dick, pretty thing?” you heard him ask softly—for a moment you forgot about the question entirely, entranced by the feeling of his voice deep in his chest. 

“Hmm?” you looked up at him, squishing your cheek against his shoulder. “Yeah, I’m good. Do you want me off?”

“No, sweetheart,” he pressed his lips to your forehead. He mulled over his words, for a little while—a long while actually as you watched him try to sort his words in the right order before saying them, “You can stay there as long as you like.”

“Yeah?”

As long as you liked sounded nice. Forever, an eternity, like this sounded nice. 

Soon enough the illusion would be shattered when the sun finished setting and the moon rose in its stead; when you’d sleep off your peaceful high to get to work the next day. 

It wouldn’t last. 

But for a moment you could pretend that’d stay like this with Jason. For as long as you liked. 

 •─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

hi, I wasn’t meant to write this but I’m sick and up late so here you go <3

also as a side note: I headcanon that Jason doesn’t smoke (because you know, dying of asphyxiation might do that to a person) but,, the ask was really good and I couldn’t resist (also, Jason is a grown man and can get high if he wants, I just think he would use edibles)

anyway, requests are closed but you can find my masterlist and my wips list here!

[ilium-ilia]

In Limbo

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | mafia!au | masterlist

Chapter Twenty-Four: my girl

tw: smut, anxiety, mention of past non-con, blood/wounds, (slight blood kink if you squint really hard)

The stubble of Simon’s jaw scrapes against the side of your neck as he kisses you, teeth hovering over your carotid artery—yearning, but not biting; not yet. 

His knees press into the mattress, then hook beneath your thighs. Grunting, he pushes you up the bed, duvet dragging along beneath your body, bunching up around your head as if crowning you in a pillow of murky water. He pretends he does not feel the pull of thread—the way marred flesh wishes to separate, never to mend, always a gaping wound. He’s tasted you. Now, the only thing powerful enough to stop him from devouring you whole is your word. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” he murmurs hot against your skin. “Was bein’ a real arse.” 

Fingers running along the back of his skull, catching the short strands of his hair in your grasp, you hold him close in the crook of your neck. “You had me worried to death. 

“I know. I know, baby. Let me make it up to you.” 

His mouth wanders up. Throat, jaw, chin, lips—heavy on yours, grounding you while your arms wrap against the back of his neck again. Keeping him close. Keeping him safe. You think that as long as the two of you can stay like this, you’ll never let him go. You’ll never let him stray where harm can snatch him away from you. Not again. Not like this. 

Simon leans back, breaking your union with a quiet pop as the heels of his hands trowel into the mattress to keep himself from crushing you. You nearly begin to mourn the loss of him as he shimmies down your legs, but that loss abandons you the moment he leans to the side, leg bending, hand hooking beneath your knee to gently pry your legs open. 

The speed in which you comply shames you. You spread wide—you fall apart. Nothing but shards in his grasp, and Simon isn’t afraid to be torn to shreds as he falls back over you, hips nestled between your thighs, lips on yours again now that he can finally get closer to you. 

Dazed, you let him take control all while your hands mindlessly wander his body. Fingertips press into the bulging muscles in his back, and the thick layer of skin that covers them, over his scalp, the sides of his face, his chest. When you feel his heart thudding against his sternum, you almost start crying again. 

This is real. He is real, and in your arms, and Simon Riley is yours. 

“Fuck.” His curse is quiet. Forehead resting against your collarbones, nose pressing into your chest, he hisses between his teeth. “You dunno what you do to me, sweetheart.” 

Goosebumps dance along your skin as his thumbs start to hook beneath your shirt, rubbing at your waist. Your mind goes blank as his fingers wrap around your sides and dance towards the small of your back. Simon nearly groans when you lift your body, hands pulling at your shirt—an invitation, a request. He looks up at you, lips parted with excitement as he removes the unwanted garment. 

You try to keep the shame at bay as you lay here, chest bare, breasts fully exposed for Simon’s viewing. When you stare up at him, you realize that you’re too full of something else to feel that undesired trepidation. And when his hands reach for you, cupping your tits, you can only smile before his lips are on you again. 

A squeak escapes you as he takes one of your nipples into his mouth. The warmth of his tongue running over the sensitive tissue has you experiencing something you never could recreate on your own. He scratches an itch you didn’t even know you had, forcing your back to arch into him. Soft tissue against his maw, pushing against bone, caught between careful teeth. When he chuckles, it gets caught in his throat—thick, like honey. 

“That feel good, baby?” he asks as he peppers kisses over your chest. 

Nodding your head, you hum in confirmation as he begins to move lower. Simon crawls down your body, lips pressing below your navel, fingers curling into your pants, nails grazing along your hip bones. Blinking, you look up at him as he leans back to view you—his ardor manifests in his eyes, sweet walnut burning to a crisp with his desire. 

“Yeah? Could give you more, if you want.” 

Eyes fluttering, you’re raising your hips off the bed in invitation before you can fully comprehend what you’re doing. 

“Please,” you say, voice tight, near pathetic. 

Simon’s avidity is poorly hidden as he yanks your bottoms off, panties and all, before discarding them into some forgotten corner of the world. He sits back on his haunches to look at you, and for a split moment you feel your stomach twist as you take in the sight of his wound. Puffy, irritated skin protrudes in an angry line through the scraps of his shirt, stitches hardly holding the edema. 

It only worsens as you look down at yourself. 

You stare at your mons and the way your pubic hair grows out, and you’re suddenly thrown back in time to another one of Marco’s torturous tirades. Always caught between voracious teeth, your only salvation from being devoured is from Marco’s dissolute enjoyment in watching you squirm. It was grueling. Suffocating. He went on and on about how he imagined you looked beneath the clothes you always wear—what you hide yourself with. Menthol burning your nose, heart thudding in your chest, you can still hear him. Still feel him. 

Bet you’re nice and smooth down there. Clean, like the cute little school girl you are, aren’t you? A nice pretty pussy. 

You don’t know why you started shaving after that—fear, mostly. Anxious that if you ever did take him up on his wretched offer, and your body wasn’t the way he imagined it to be, that you would suffer through that pain all for nothing. That he would take that part of you and hold onto it forever and you would still be stuck where you always have been, where you always will be—

—all thoughts of Marco and your stomach-churning past dissipates the moment Simon’s mouth lands on your inner thigh. 

Open lips, dull teeth against your skin, his kisses trail upwards just as he settles himself on the bed between your legs, head resting in the widening space between your thighs. Nothingness swallows your mind, numbs it in sweet euphoria just as Simon kisses your sex. His arms curl underneath you, shoulders burrowing beneath your legs, hands spreading flat over your stomach as if bracing himself before diving in. 

Twitching fingers press into the back of his head the moment his tongue finds your clit. Warmth sears through you, cleaving you clean in half, splitting your torso until your gooey insides are on display, steam emanating from your core as Simon continues to feed that heat into you. It prickles like needles into your cheeks, then flushes down your neck and to your chest—is this nirvana? The ecstasy you’ve always thought that has been too far from your reach? 

As Simon continues—hands pressing into your stomach, lips suckling at your clit, gasps falling from your mouth—you notice the world begins to sway. The bed rocks as if moved by the gentle waves of the ocean; turbulence of the marine. When you pick your head up off the bed and look past the expanse of Simon’s shoulders and back, you realize his hips move. Gentle, rocking; he’s grinding into the mattress, grunts smothered by your cunt. 

Eyes nearly rolling into the back of your sockets, your skull crashes back onto the bed, hands eagerly pulling at him, mind spinning faster than gears on a broken clock. Everything pulls taut; muscles threatening to shred themselves apart, core tensing as if ready for a blow—your back arches. Your vision becomes prismatic. Multicolored waves of incandescent water rippling as it grows larger, swallowing you whole, devouring you until—

—it crashes. Sends fractures all throughout your body until the heat of your blood feels too much to bear. The sound that leaves you feels foreign on your tongue. An animal howl. A fox’s cry. Simon takes it as praise and runs with it, still working along your clit, lapping at the arousal that drips from you, at the spit, drinking up your whining until your voice breaks. 

“Ah! Simon,” you gasp. 

Palm against his forehead, you push him away with writhing hips, thighs quivering, twitching uncontrollably, and though it feels like marring himself, he unlatches. Simon leans back and stares up at you, pupils wide, surveying you, anxious to have caused harm or discomfort. All his worries melt away when he sees the exhausted smile on your lips and how your chest heaves in breathless chuckles. 

“Fuck, that was- I…” The words escape you. They stumble and fall, crashing to the ground before they’re fully gestated, but Simon silences the thoughts as he hums and begins to crawl up over you again, palms digging into the mattress until he’s blanketing your body and hiding his face in the crook of your neck. 

Though your body feels like liquid, you manage to wrap your arms around his neck, holding his head close to you as the dopamine waves of your orgasm ebb and flow. Simon’s body is a comfortable weight upon yours, but you notice a distinct shift. Something swelling. Growing. It presses against you. Cuts into your thigh. Its need screams, and still Simon doesn’t speak a word about it. 

“So goddamn beautiful,” he mumbles between kisses against the side of your throat. 

Humming at his praise, you return the gesture with a kiss to the top of his head. “You’re so good to me, Si.” 

“Yeah?” he prompts. “Does this mean you forgive me?” 

His teasing pulls a chuckle from you, but you sigh in contemplation as your thumb rubs along the nape of his neck. “Maybe. I might still have to think about it.” 

“Oh?” 

Simon falls to the side with a grunt, fresh wound pressing into the duvet as he situates himself beside you. Still too much of a liquid to properly move, you turn your head to follow him, eyes studying his face and the bright pink that dusts the thin skin of his throat. His fingers trace your collarbones before gently gliding down the valley between your breasts, past your navel—down, down, down before they’re running through the overgrown hair on your mons. 

“Reckon I should put a bit more work in, then.” 

His fingers rub along your overworked clit, sending jolts of electricity through your body that forces your legs to twitch. A shaky breath expels from your lungs as your eyes screw shut, hand reaching out for his shoulder for stability. It’s too much, yet not enough. Half of your body yearns for another release, while the other half is still stuck with Simon’s tongue on your sex. 

He drinks in the way your body shivers beneath his touch. Simon thinks this might be the first time he’s seen you so relaxed. Not even in your sleep are you this malleable—so far removed from worry that the stress no longer manifests in the fibers of every muscle in your body. 

Grunting, he props himself up with his elbow before cupping your cheek. When he leans in for another kiss, you realize you can taste yourself on his lips. The sapor is thick. Musky with hidden brine. The union remains chaste before he’s pulling away and prodding at your mouth with the pad of his thumb. 

“Open f’me, baby,” he whispers. 

Mindlessly, you obey. Jaw unhinging, he takes the opportunity to press his fingers into your mouth, middle and ring gliding along your tongue. Iron—it flows over your tongue like fresh ichor wet in your mouth. He watches your eyes go blank while your lips close around him, cheeks nearly hollowing out as if to suck him in further. Cursing, he pulls himself free before his fingers float down between your legs, quickly prodding at your cunt before slowly sinking in. 

He smothers your gasp with a kiss just as the burn kicks in. It’s a cleansing sort of fire. Something holy. Near divine. It only consumes you more as he pushes deeper, knuckles spreading you further than you’ve ever been able to do on your own fingers, hitting deeper, petting that spot inside you that has your vision tunneling. Simon keeps things steady, restraining himself to the point his muscles shake and shiver. He doesn’t allow himself to speed up until your hips begin to move, urging his pace to pick up. 

“Oh fuck, Si, t-that feels so good, I…” Your voice wanders off, punctuated with a small squeak as his palm grinds against your clit. 

“Yeah?” he asks. He props himself up further, body hovering over yours, desperate to see every thought that flickers through your glassy eyes. 

You’re full. Worked open. Cunt fluttering tight around his fingers—sweat glues you to the mattress, sheets sticking to your feverish skin as Simon forces you to melt into the bed. Always so tightly wound—you and your silly string—you unravel. Frayed edges. Bare wire. 

You always thought sex would be scarier than this. Something to dread. Something that would hurt and pull you apart piece by piece until you were dismembered and on display—nothing but carrion for vultures to peck at. Something to feed while you were left to starve. But there’s no room inside of you. There’s no space for your fear, for any trepidation, for Marco. 

It’s just you and Simon. 

“Please!” 

The word erupts from your mouth before you fully understand what you’re even asking for, but the moment your hands find Simon’s stomach, you realize it. It’s been in front of you this whole time. 

“Please, Si,” you murmur as his fingers begin to slow. “I want you. I-I need you so bad.” 

Simon’s fingers go still, fat digits still keeping you open as he exhales, warm breath traversing across your face. He stares at you like you’ve spoken some unfamiliar language. Brows furrowing, lips pursing—his eyes betray his confusion. Deep down, that same concupiscence rises from the depths, surfacing in a gossamer glint. 

“You sure, sweetheart?” he questions.

His voice rumbles deep in his throat, and when he feels the way you clench around his fingers at the mere sound of him alone, something writhes inside of him. A monster waiting to break free. A beast waiting to devour. Simon nearly comes undone when you nod and your hips buck against him once more, chasing the stimulation he’s halted. 

“Yes. Please, Simon.” 

It doesn’t take much more convincing than that. Your very word alone could bring him to his knees, and if he wasn’t already lying next to you, it just might have. Carefully, he pulls his fingers out of you before his body moves away from yours, slipping off of the bed and onto his feet. In a single, rigid motion, he shucks his shirt off, presenting his torso and the injured flesh that lies beneath. 

Able to finally take in the full view of what Marco had done to him, your stomach drops when you realize how far back it goes. It slices along his ribs, going so far along bone and muscle that you don’t think your hand could fully wrap around the cut. Then, there’s the stitches. How many of them there are. How the skin pulls away from the thread. 

For a moment, you forget all about it as Simon’s hands work at the button of his trousers. Belt flinging free with a clink, blue jeans falling past his hips and over his thighs. Then, he is finally bare before you. Fatty muscle coating his abdomen, dark hair below his navel, a wide scar on his thigh—a thick cock in his hand, and the odd silver dots that line the shaft. 

“What is that?” The question leaves your mouth before you are able to think better of it, but you still can’t get your eyes to leave him. Ruddy tip, fat veins—you’ve never been so eagerly terrified in your life. 

As he finishes kicking his jeans off, Simon looks down at himself with furrowed brows before a crooked smirk pulls at his lips. “Oh, these?” he asks. He pulls his cock up so that it’s flat against his stomach, underside in plain view. You try not to pay attention to how far along his own abdomen it reaches, or how it’s supposed to compare to your own body. “My piercings?” 

“Piercings?” you repeat. Now that he’s said it, it makes perfect sense. Several barbells cut through his skin, all lining up like railroad tracks along the bottom of his penis. You count a dizzying amount of piercings… 3…4…5…

“It’s called a Jacob’s Ladder,” Simon chuckles as he lets himself go. Instead, he leans forward, hands hooking beneath your knees to pull you closer to the edge of the bed. Your squealing giggle makes him grin wider than you’ve ever seen as he places your legs to rest on either side of his hips. “Makes sex feel better. Both for me, and you.” 

As if to prove his point, Simon rests his cock on you. It’s warmer than you expected—emenating heat from his needy tip as his shaft settles right into your slit. Then, he moves. Languid thrusts, his piercings run along your clit with ease, well aided by his tongue and mouth from before, and you gasp as that electricity begins to build once more. Each bell sends a jolt through your body. Back and forth, as if sawing you open, your body shivers. 

“O-Oh, that feels- yeah that’s good,” you stutter just as your eyes flutter shut. 

Humming, Simon leans forward. One hand holding himself up, and the other cradling the back of your head to look at him, you feel the way he grinds into you, how he leaks onto your abdomen, warm and sticky. “Yeah? Do you want more, baby?” 

Bottom lip catching between your teeth, you nod. Simon chuckles and shakes his head as his thumb rubs along your jaw. 

“Gonna need to hear it from ya, sweetheart,” he goads. 

“Please, yes, I-I want more,” you spew like a broken faucet. “I love you so much, Si, I just- oh fuck.” 

Lining himself up with your cunt, he hardly pushes in before your mind is wiped clean—slate fresh and glistening. You try to throw your head back as he goes further, but Simon’s grip won’t let you. He keeps you steady. He keeps you looking at him as he moves in, then slightly out, then further; easing himself, letting you take all the time you need. 

Once he fully bottoms out, you exhale hot against his face. Your body is so full, so heavy. He’s filling something you never knew was empty, something you know he can’t leave because if he does, then you’ll always be aware of this cavern. Of this void within you. 

Then, his lips are on yours, drinking you in, palm against the base of your skull to hold you steady as he begins his thrusts. They’re careful, near courteous. Each drag brings with it a slow wave of fire that burns and spits. Swirling embers rising in your chest, up your throat, into his own mouth as you groan with shaky vocal cords. Your hands reach for Simon’s shoulders to hold yourself steady through the rocking as you moan into his mouth, knees digging into his sides. 

Simon only allows himself to speed up when your hips begin to writhe again, silently begging for more. Even then you can feel the restraint building within his muscles. How he chains himself back, collared and leashed, a bad dog turned good yet still yearning to fall back in his old ways. 

“That feels so good,” you mumble against his mouth. Humming in agreement, Simon trails kisses along your face until he’s burrowed in the side of your neck again. Dull teeth nip at your tender skin, and you gasp. “I just—fuck—this is- you are…” 

None of your words come out right. Jumbled. Half formed. Still, Simon smiles against your skin. 

“Yeah, baby? You’re so goddamn perfect, you know that?” he asks. His hips jerk forward, rougher this time, like a tick he can’t hold back, and your mellifluous gasp has him yearning for more. “Drivin’ me fuckin’ insane. I’d do anythin’ for you. Fuckin’ anything, you know that?” 

When you can’t bring yourself to think of a coherent answer, Simon pulls his torso off of you, body leaning back so that he’s standing once more. Hands gripping your hips, he once again pulls you closer, bum halfway off of the bed, before he hooks his arms beneath your knees, pushing your legs closer to your chest. This angle has him slicing through you, cock stretching you wide, pistoning so deep into your cunt that each thrust has you losing your breath. 

You slap a palm over your mouth to hold back a contorted moan. “Oh my god, Simon, f-fuck!” 

“My girl,” Simon growls over the lewd squelching of your pussy. “Gonna take good care of you. Gonna do whatever it fuckin’ takes. I love you so fuckin’ much, baby. Fuckin’ hell, I’m- you dunno what you fuckin’ do to me, sweetheart.” 

Knees pressed further to your chest, you feel that cord within you begin to fray. Exposed wire. Charged metal. Sparking. Shooting. Igniting. Your toes curl as your knees begin to stiffen, but Simon doesn’t allow you to become too rigid. Pushing himself deep inside and growing still, he drops one of your legs so that his hand is free to thumb over your clit, and you squeal. His name falls from your lips, fragmented and brittle, and he groans. 

“Yeah, that’s right, baby. C’mon. Yeah. Yeah, that’s it.”

Then, he feels it. The contractions. Heavy, throbbing, pulling tight around him, fluttering like butterfly wings and a hummingbird’s heart. And he sees it. You. Eyes widening, then closing, pulse pounding in your neck, jumping through your skin as your head tilts back, mouth half open, breasts pushing into the air. 

His girl lays out before him, cracked open, spilling like pomegranate seeds from an empty husk with a smile on her face. Simon doesn’t think he can fall more in love with you than he is in this moment. The sweet ivory peeking between wetted lips. The weak perspiration that dances along your collarbones. Something within him lurches despite the lack of stimulation—it tightens like a hand around his throat, snapping free like a rubber band pulled past its limit. 

“Shit,” he hisses. 

Simon yanks himself free of you, and you gasp at the sudden loneliness inside your cunt. Raising your head off of the mattress, you watch the way his hand wraps around the base of his cock, knuckles white as his cum shoots free in long lines on your stomach. He pants, chest heaving and stomach tensing, muscles faintly showing through a comfortable layer of fat, and you find yourself breathlessly laughing. 

You think you finally understand what everyone means when they talk about sex; this was… fun. 

Collapsing on top of you, Simon’s body blankets your torso, lips once more on your throat, cum smearing on your stomachs. Your laughs continue to flow as his stubble scrapes your skin, and you hum at the way his arms tighten around you, pulling you close, keeping you safe. 

For a moment, as the two of you lay there in each other’s arms, the world feels quiet. There is not a single car running through the street or vibration that cuts through the wall—there is only your heart beating in tandem with Simon’s. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?” Simon lazily murmurs into your neck. 

“Me?” you repeat with a scoff. “Yeah fucking right. I’m not the one who came home with a million stitches.” 

His silence is smothered by a quiet smile against your skin. “Anythin’ for you, sweetheart.” 

The heels of his hands dig into the mattress as he pushes himself up, feet on the floor, body awkwardly leaning into you and the bed. Simon stares down at you and your glowing skin, that radiating smile no longer shrouded in secret fear, in skipped heartbeats, or agita. His cum still stains your skin—thickening as it cools, bright sheen going dull as it dries—but his smirk fades when he sees the red. 

Ichor. Fresh, oxygenated blood. Splatters. Drips. Bright spots on your torso. Grimacing at the sensation, you look down at yourself alarmed, but your eyes only grow wider when you notice the several popped stitches that fray along the laceration on his chest. 

“Simon, your cut,” you remind. 

“Didn’t even feel it.” He says with a huff. “It’s nothing. I think I’ve got a few butterfly bandages somewhere.” 

This is the part of sex no one ever told you about—the aftermath. The tending. Both you and Simon end up in the master bathroom together, fully naked, cleaning one another up. Wet rag against your stomach, he cleans up his mess. The best and worst parts of him that stain your skin soaked up in pink tinged cotton and tossed aside. Each swipe along your body is followed by a kiss. You are not disgusting or ruined from his intimate touch—you are all the more attractive. All the more loved. 

When it’s your turn, you sew him together with trembling hands. Untrained fingers delicately place bandages and pull skin together, mending the damage Marco had caused. Here, up close, you get to see just how far the harm goes. Further than skin deep. Further than it ever should have gone. He makes no sound as you pull the bandages taut, but you see the clenching of his jaw, the heat building in his throat. Simon hides it well, but it still hurts him. His anger still dwells somewhere within him, coursing through every artery and vein that has yet to cauterize shut. 

Once you’re finished, you wash your hands clean in the sink, rosy water swirling down the drain. Simon presses himself behind you, chest against your back, bare skin melting together, arms wrapped around your torso. You’re hardly able to dry your hands before you’re being assaulted with an onslaught of kisses. 

“You’re adorable,” you chuckle, damp hands resting on his forearms. 

“Thought I was an idiot?” he challenges. 

“That, too.” 

Gently, he spins you around to face him before he’s embracing you properly. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as you rest your head against him. The two of you begin to sway. Bare feet on cold tile. Skin tightening from the cold, yet basking in his warmth. Your eyes flutter shut. Your mind buzzes, unknown radio frequencies cutting through your brain, nothing but a jumbled mess. 

“How’re you feelin’ baby?” he asks. Careful fingers glide along your spine, tracing the curve.

“Good,” you hum. “Maybe a little sore. Definitely ready for bed.” 

“Sore?” Simon repeats, alarmed. “I wasn’t too rough, was I? You could’ve told me to stop if-” 

“No,” you interject, grip on him tightening. “No, it was good. Perfect.” Head rising from his body, you look at him, eyes locking together. “I love you.” 

With one more kiss, the two of you prepare for bed. Simon opts to wear an old tanktop marred with grease and oil stains to ensure he doesn’t bleed on the sheets, and in no time the lights are off and the two of you are in each other’s arms. Head on his chest, right ear pressed against his ribs, the sound of his heart and blood filling your hearing—you’re almost able to fall asleep before it hits you. 

The mess. 

It’s halfway through February. Your last payment to Marco was in November. You doubt he’s idly sitting by, content with the fact that you’ve vanished from existence. That you’re here in Simon’s arms, virginity gone, no longer his to claim. His discontent is proved by the forming scar now tainting Simon’s skin. Swallowing, you nuzzle your nose further into his side. 

“Si?” you ask. 

“Yeah, baby?” 

“When you said Marco had pictures of me… what… what kind of pictures were they?” 

Even motionless in bed you feel the change in Simon’s body. The tension slices through him worse than a blade, unkind and unrelenting. Fingers curling. Fists clenching. It’s like he’s back in Tsar Trading again. Ready to fight. Ready to kill. 

“You shouldn’t worry ‘bout that, baby,” he whispers as he pulls you closer. 

The beat that separates your thoughts and mouth lasts for only a second. 

“They were from that day, weren’t they? The one I told you about, when Marco made me…” It dies on your tongue. Shrivels. Dissipates into dust. 

There’s no use in lying to you. “Yeah.” 

Silence falls over you like a weighted blanket, but Simon doesn’t dig for a response too quickly. He lets it settle. Lets it surface the way it needs to—naturally, slowly, lest he causes more harm. 

“I always thought that people were taking pictures,” you admit, voice more even than you anticipated. “I never knew for sure because he wouldn’t—like—let me look anywhere else but… well… I just—their sneers. The laughing. I just don’t know if the closure makes me feel better or worse.” 

“He’ll pay for it one day,” Simon promises. It’s a solemn troth that ought to scare you, but doesn’t. “I know that won’t make you feel better, but he’ll never do anythin’ like that again. He’ll leave you alone. Won’t ever lay a fuckin’ finger on you. You’ll at least get to heal from that cunt ‘n everything he did to you.” 

Yes. Payment. Revenge. Simon has told you as such over these last few weeks that he’ll take care of everything for you, still, there is secrecy to his words. There is something he’s withholding. When he first mentioned it—this nameless task he must complete for your sake—it only worried you. 

Now, it terrifies you. 

“Will you have to eat a cockroach for it?” you anxiously jest. 

“Maybe,” he humors. 

You hum, but it’s dull. Empty. Lacking warmth. “Will you at least tell me what it is before you have to do it? What it really is? Whatever… whatever it is?”

His thumb glides over your arm, gently rubs into your skin. Lovingly. Adoringly. “Course.” Leaning up, he presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “Try not to worry ‘bout it too much, baby. Like I said, I’ll take care of it.” 

“Okay.” 

“Promise?” 

A chuckle escapes you when Simon throws your own verbiage back in your face. Grinning, your fingers tap against his sternum, gentle and mindless, like he’s the only distraction you need. 

“Promise.”

follow @mother-ilia to be notified of updates | get early access to chapters here

[s-4pphics]

the party. II (sevika + vi + abby)

SYNOPSIS: reddit: a place for thought-dumping and being horny WORD COUNT: 6.5K WARNINGS: sevika, vi, and abby play rugby(kinda minor plot tbh), oc is a crazy redditor and wears skirts, STALKING, 90% SMUT MDNI(dubcon + VOYEURISM!! + degradation + munching + mult orgasms + dirty talk + scissoring + fingering) recreational drug use/drinking, some cringe A/N: fuck it everybody finna be in this.... heyyyy guys another collab w lottie bc duh ART BY LOTTIE LOT I LOVE U DEAR @trackinglessons … also callback to scumbag!abby missing her bad a lil taglist :) @marvelwomenarehot0 @falrydyke @alittlextrahoney @professionalgirlk1ss4r

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller       3mi

are college parties always this wild??

[f21] omg hey guys i’ve been MIA… 

ngl i’ve been getting my shit rocked for the past 12 hours i see why ppl go on my strange addiction as therapy… i need to be publically humiliated so i can stop thinking ab sex. thats real conversion therapy…. anywho im outside the frat rn and uh it look lit n whatever but some dude jumped outta window from the 3rd floor n he might be dead idk i don’t have my glasses on lol he’s just laying there fr unbreathing …. he’s cute tho #FAKEGAY the line to frats r so long im literally freezing n im not near the entrance pneumonia incoming 

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller       14mi

finally inside…. i feel like im sneaking out for the first time😭😭 why do i feel so guilty like wtf is this a byproduct of being loved conditionally by family or sum idk whatever WE TURNING UPPPP 

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller       3mi

my girl walkedd up behind m e 2 kiss my che eeek and my other gi dl spanked me in front of every1…… i need to be spay

Quite familiar, squeezing hands land on your hips and your phone hits the sticky fucking floor and some bitch with stiletto pumps steps on your gahtdamn phone who the fuck wears —

“Where ya been?” The scent of Crown Royal nearly sends you into a frenzy — alfuckingmost, but your phone screen is still glowing bright and orange with your half-assed cry for help Vi is right fucking behind you

“Uhhh… oh y’know, explorin’, whatevs.” You try to kick your phone closer, but you just end up slipping on whatever substance dirties the floors. Your girlfriend catches you, though, as always — hollers, okay? Need some water? 

And instantly, you’re horny. You needa nut. You politely decline the drink. 

“Come smoke with us...” She proposes. 

The bodies that surround you seem to move in slow-mo. Us who? 90% of the soccer, football, and swimming teams are here getting gyrated on but, oh, wait… 

Sevika’s not in here… Or is Don Julio obscuring your vision? Is Don Julio a real person? A commander of the Crusades; A possible descendant of Julius Caesar. Hm…

Vi’s still waiting on your response. You use her expectancy as an excuse to bend over and grab your phone and you’re instantly disgusted. Your case clings to your fingers like glue. Instead of vomiting up all the poisonous liquids in your system, you accept it as a sign from the universe. Stop putting your fucking phone down! You clench your device in your hands. Shoulda brought a fucking purse. 

“YEAH!” You turn to scream to Vi… right when the fake ass DJ decides to skip to the next song. A large number of people glance at you in confusion. At least no one told you to shut the fuck up! 

Vi’s not embarrassed in the slightest. She laughs, in fact. She’s so endeared by you. Times like this are when you start feeling a little guilty for all the bullshit you’ve done. Just a smidge though. Still gotta get your rocks off! 

“Yeah?” She cheeses against your shoulder. 

“Yup!” 

… What are you agreeing to, again? Vi’s a love witch: she forces your train of thought into obscurity with her beauty. Don Julio should not be tampered with any longer! Electricity travels up your arm when her hand circles around yours to guide you out and onto the patio, through the glass door and yeah, they’re blazing out here. It’s loud as fuck. 

“SEV!” 

You follow the sonic of Vi’s shout and your legs forget their function when you see your location. 

Oh fuck. Wow. Okay fuck fuck holy fucking shit! 

Very large tall big bulky muscular women overtake your view. The whole fucking rugby team is out here puff-puff-passing; Nothing but tatted arms and girthy biceps made for hunting teeth and legs legs legs everywhere. Did Don Julio slice your throat in the name of justice or whatever the fuck your high school history teacher tried to lie to you about and sent you to heaven? Dyke heaven? 

28 eyes lock onto your cowering form, directly behind an unsuspecting Vi who waves, very lighthearted, very demure: meanwhile, war rages within you. The war of hormones and fertility and whore-ism—

“Hiiiiii—“

Vi’s so cute with her pink cheeks and slowly fading black streaked hair. Her pink is coming through, for sure! You should ask her if it’s natural. Seems to be so, truly, look at her roots! Barely even fried… 

Anything to distract you from the questioning looks being thrown your way from very attractive women. All 14 of them await your introduction and you’re really wishing Don Julio never spared your soul— 

“Who’s that?” 

A girl with freckles — lazily kicked back with a heavily tatted arm and beanie points at you, unsmiling. No one’s smiling, actually. You shrivel up and die right there. You’re only a shell now. Soulless. Your spirit’s flying around in search of a new muscular thigh to ride on. You’re forced to hold in a dreamy sigh at the memory: on your bed, both your thighs locked around Sevika’s one while Vi guided your hips from behind. 

“Don’t be rude! This is—“

Your eyes find Sevika’s while Vi fills in for you. Tinted red and trapped in delirium, but still Sev; her pupils scale all the way down your bare legs. Why does she look so good right now? Fuck your life! 

There’s a big ass bong in her heavily ringed hands. What’s up with her and compression shirts? It’s December for fucks sake! Is she not cold? You sure hope not because she looks mighty fucking good holy fuck— 

Find a distraction so you don’t hyperfixate on the invitation she’s so clearly throwing your way! Her lap is calling again, oh God, find something else quick quick quick! 

“—And this is Abby!” 

Oh. 

Distraction detected. Abby… Abigail Anderson! A complete and utter virginity-obsessed train wreck, but a hot one! Campus raves about her like they’re paid to do so; Everyone still gossips about what she did to that soccer player a few semesters back: took her virginity and ghosted her… and the streak continued until one of her bed posts smashed that same soccer player for revenge. Messy, messy. Sick work on everyone’s part. You love it!

Abby woulda really liked you if she’d got to you sooner. Vi and Sev touched you first. You’re probably all used up in her eyes. She’s gross for thinking like that. 

… Is it bad to say you’re kinda digging that? Just a tad! She looks so sweet and cozy where she sits on the lounge chair in a damn pink cashmere sweater! Who wears sweaters to a fucking rager! 

Abby stares at your legs with the same intensity as Sevika, “Nice to meet yo—“

“I’M A LESBIAN!” You shout. 

And the crowd goes silent. Bullet to the brain. Fuck Don Juilio! Sevika smiles, though. Abby laughs a little. “We all are, baby! Welcome to the winning team!” 

“HOOPLAH!” You exclaim, much louder this time. 

“… YEAH!” “WOO?” A few of their teammates whom you need so desperately attempt to support. Confused laughter explodes all around, and for the first time in your life, it’s not at you, but with you… you think! Just like that, their entire team relaxes in your presence… Don’t they? 

You love lesbianism! 

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller       22s

um… hey yall. one of my huzz keeps looking at me like she wants to get me pregnant but im sitting next to her friend… idk i think they’re friends they keep giving each other dirty looks… my hu keeps glaring at her whenever she touches or talks to me directly…. or am i tripping idk chile i might be contact high. maybe it’s bc she’s blonde idk i think ppl hate blondes irl 

anyway my sunshine is so cute when she’s drunk she’s like a big teddy bear…. i think. not gonna talk her punching some guy in the face earlier men deserve it. #MISANDRY

—

Vi’s eyes are on Sevika, but Sevika’s eyes are on Abby who has gotten very close to you on that couch, and her gaze is not inviting. 

No one would describe Sev as possessive. She’s the complete opposite; very free-spirited, go-with-the-wind-of-her-vape kinda energy. Hooking up with people that don’t dangle off her hip is one of her favorite pass-times. She’s okay with you being around, tagging along due to her phone never being blown with messages asking if she’s coming to pick you up for the party, or demanding to see her again, or begging for flowers, and she was thankful. You showed up to the party alone, got drunk alone, danced alone until both her and Vi searched to ensure you made it safely. You’re charming… in a weird way. 

Sevika finds it alarming how comfortable she’s become around you. She’ll admit it’s outta character — she’s not a people person, only clinging to those who’ve read and understood her deeply, and even then, it took ages to open up. She can’t help it, your eccentricity hoards space by force — you have your own little nerdy way of life but she likes that. Thinks it’s hot how little you care about being perceived… In some cases. There are moments where she can’t pinpoint where your mind wanders, and one of them is right fucking now. 

You’re pretty chill for the most part, but she knows her teammate isn’t, so why the fuck are the two so damn close? 

Abby’s naturally overbearing — your polar opposite, but you’re snuggled up like two peas in a pod: she’s all in your space, complimenting you, caressing your shoulder with care and ease because you’re allowing her to. Sevika’s track record isn’t the best — terrible, she’ll admit, but Abby’s could override the entire team’s history combined. She’s manipulative like that; lures people in with the scent of cherry blossoms and a smile that shines like crystals before devouring, staining her fangs in their blood. 

The two of them drifted apart some time ago, but it seems they’re the only ones aware of their covert friction. They challenge each other in silence on the field, in front of their team, even in front of Violet; Coach pinned it as petty jealousy of one another initially, but they’d both rather be shot dead than admit that. 

The scene plays out in front of a spectating but frazzled Vi. She adores both of her friends and loathes their disdain for each other, but when you put two domineering personalities together… this is what you get, she supposes. Their falling out was never grasped by her; one second they’re fine, the next they’re not, like an old, married couple. Sevika and Abby are usually able to keep their secret animosity under wraps so their coach refrains from questioning, but Coach isn’t here. Just bud and liquor and you. How could someone with so little understanding of human nature have this much control? She’s got no option but to respect it — what power you have. 

Abby’s eyes move in an instigating triangle; from you, to Vi, to disgustingly smug at Sevika, then back to you. What the hell is she playing at? Vi catches Sevika’s gaze for a blip, and Vi, with a silent plea, shakes her head no. 

Please don’t start. Please don’t just leave them be, she’s fine—

But her eyes shut in defeat when Sevika rises from her lone spot, jaw cinched tight when she approaches the two of you.  

“HEY-O, Amazonian lesbo!” You sing-song between chattering teeth and jumpy legs. Sevika can’t stop the smile that puffs her cheeks. Poor thing, you must be freezing. 

“Captain.” Abby greets with an arched brow and a tilt of her head while she pets the back of your neck. Incredibly mocking, and Sevika’s instantly annoyed. 

“‘Sup.” She greets short and stiff before redirecting back onto you, “Cold, babe?” 

“I’m freezing!” Sevika extends a hand, and you accept her warmth graciously, already being pulled from your seat, “Where the fucks the food!” 

“No food, hon. Vi has Ritz. Go eat.” 

“More like… Vi has the shitz!” You expel through wheezed laughter. Abby snorts from behind. 

“HEY WHAT THE FUCK NO I DON’T— “

You laugh all the way over to Vi, leaving Abby and Sevika to mentally strangle each other in silence. Abby kicks her feet on the small table in front of her, arms extended on the back of the couch. 

“She yours?” The blonde jerks her head in your direction, shoveling crackers down your throat while Vi rubs your back and observes them with caution. Abby sends her the toothiest grin. “Never seen you so in love. It's cute.” 

“I’m not fucking in love, I just met her,” Sevika attempts causality, shoulders raising in nonchalance with her hands shoved in her pockets. 

“So what’s the fuckin’ issue, babe?” 

Sevika hisses, “You as usual. Leave her the fuck alone.” 

“Or what." Abby smiles, and Sevika’s tempted to beat her face in, but she refrains; Vi will hate her til further notice. She throws her one last threatening glance before leaving Abby to obnoxiously laugh alone. When Sevika reaches you, she removes her jacket and wraps you in it. 

She bites down a laugh when you shove your nose in the sleeve and sniff. She guides you inside, Vi trailing close behind. 

—

“You seriously took a shit at a party?” You mock while you untie your shoes. 

“Shut the fuck up, no I didn’t,” Vi shuts — and locks oooolala — some random pedestrian’s bedroom door before leaning back against it with folded arms. The walk upstairs was hectic; if Sevika wasn’t there to lead you all the way up the stairs, you woulda been trampled. The later it gets, the wilder the party becomes and to be honest, it’s scary down there. Too many people throwing up and trying to crowd surf!

“Rate your first party, babe. You look like you had fun.” 

You fall onto the large, unmade mattress. You really hope cum doesn’t stick to your dress because don’t people fuck at parties? Or was that another movie myth? “I did… But I couldn’t find anywhere to pee and I think somebody was grilling hotdogs on the pool table—“

Your rambling diverts your attention, and Vi’s glad for it. Sevika’s seething from where she sits on the rolling chair across the room, pins Vi where she stands with scalding pupils. Sevika’s infuriating to deal with when she’s like this; faded and bothersome and jealous. 

“—Yeah, I dunno, very fun though, despite the death.” You conclude, and their staring contest breaks for a second. 

“THE WHAT—“ “HUH—“

“Yeah, crazy, I dunno if the cops were called or what but… yeah… OH, and I made a new friend!” 

Vi stiffens when Sevika grills lowly, “Oh, did ya? Who?” 

“Abby Anderson! Who'da thunk, right! She’s so nice and—“

“Abby, huh?” Sevika interrupts, eyes locked on an excited you. Vi silently begs you to shut up. 

You nod with enthusiasm, “Yeah! Y’know those rumors or whatever don’t do her justice, she’s funny as fuck! Not mean at all!”

Sevika scoffs silently. Pulls her vape out her sports bra. Hits it with an attitude unbeknownst to you. You’re really trying not to salivate. “That’s not your friend… you know that, right?” 

You glance at Vi in confusion, but she stares at the floor with a tapping foot, “What do you mean?” 

She finally sighs. Here we fucking go. 

“Exactly what I said.” 

“… m’really fucking confused, right now. Why don’t you think we’re friends —“

“Because you’re not.��� Sevika finally snaps, and you wince. She watches you stammer with blades for eyes. Is she really mad at you right now? “She’s not your fucking friend. You’re getting too fuckin’ comfortable.”

“I dunno if we’re friends either, if we bein’ real,” She gestures between the two of you, and your entire rib cage shatters from the pulses in your chest. Water builds in your ducts. “We’re… what d’ya mean we’re not friends?” Your throat dries around tears that may or may not flow depending on her answer. 

She huffs, “I don’t think friends do what we do, baby. That’d be pretty fucked up, wouldn’t it?” 

She’s playing with you. She has to be! You’ve grown so close in the past… 14 hours! Your sheets are proof of your inseparable bond! Sevika likes you just as much as you love Vi! She does she does they both do!

“I— I’m…”

“You’re what.”

“Sev, ease up, c’mon…” Vi interjects quietly, stares in displeasure. Defends you like a knight, and your tears finally fall. From overstimulation, from sadness, from gratitude? You don’t know but it’s too much. You wipe your face and salt soaks your wrist. 

Sevika finally looks at you, still upset, “Stop crying.” 

“I’m not crying, my eyes are peeing.”

“Jesus fucking—

Vi huffs pitifully before ushering to stand in between your legs and thumb to at your wet cheeks, every glide from her rings freezing your tears in place. Every cell in your body is prepared to confess their devotion to her. 

“Relax,” She hushes before her tone drops to a whisper, “She’s being fucking stupid right now, ignore her.”

“Shut up.” 

Vi ignores Sevika and pecks your nose before both your cheeks, and your heart explodes into some warm, gooey substance. Feels like slime. Pink, glittery slime. She plants two extra smooches on your forehead and chin just to be safe, and your smile stretches for miles in result. A fat one gets smacked onto your lips before they rest by your ear. The sludge in your chest instantly burns red hot and thin. 

“Let’s cheer her up.” She whispers so lowly you can hardly hear. 

“What’re we gonna do?” You say louder and Sevika snickers at your failed secrecy. Maybe she’s not upset anymore? 

“Think you can take dick?” She purrs on your throat. 

“Like… like, whatchu mean? Take a dick where—“

“The fuck are y’all talkin’ about?” Sevika husks around one last puff before laying her robotic spliff on the desk. 

Vi’s head whips to face Sevika, “I’m settin’ us up. Say thank you, Violet.”

“Fuck you, Violet.” Sevika sasses.

“You might if ya fuckin’ behave.” 

“Can I watch?” You snort ecstatically. 

2 pairs of blank stares are thrown your way. You cough awkwardly, “Uh, so about this dick thing—“

Vi rubs the bridge of your tickling nose with a comforting finger, “I wanna see how much you can take if you’re down.”

“I can take a lot mentally, so I’m sure the same translates physically.” 

“Yeah, okay.” Sevika wisps snarkily. 

… That hurt a little. All you dream about is taking strap! What happened to following your dreams? How could they ever question your aspirations? You look past Vi, right at Sevika.

You want her to like you again! You like being liked! If this is what it takes, then so be it! You’re never drinking again after tonight, so you might as well use your courage for good! You don’t even know what you’re saying but Sevika’s just as surprised as Vi… Maybe it’s working? You can’t really tell. 

“You can obliterate my, uh… um… my vagina walls as an apology… or something like that. Sorry for talking to Abby. I promise I didn’t think anything of it. I—ACHOO— sorry… I’ll take your dick, Sev. In my throat if ya wanna, or whatever. Coochie…” You shrug in suggestion, “Uhh, yeah. Do you accept my apology?”

Silence sets in the small space before Sevika explodes into laughter. Vi laughs so hard she falls face first on the bed, and you do stare at her ass. She’s wearing cargos! You sneeze again. 

Sevika wipes her eye, “Can I get that in writing?” 

“Write in this pussy… and whatnot?” 

“Make sure to say whatnot when you cum on me.” 

“Oh wow, okay, sure.” Whatever gets her going!

“Take that dress off. ‘S got Abby germs.” 

You smile… and sneeze. 

—

Life is great. Wow. Bless up for sure. You and Vi’s cooters are inches apart. You’re naked, she’s naked, and Sevika isn’t but she’s watching very closely from where she kneels at the edge of the bed and your thighs tremble from anxiety!

Your girlfriend’s fucking perfect; so scarred and strong and tatted and built. When you shakily peeled her tank off, almost-healed teeth marks rested in between her tits and trailed all the way down to her hip bones. Ouchie… You wanna do that to her!

Sex in porn can only train so much before you’re forced to get out and smash on your own. You’re a pro watcher, but in real life… You’re slacking, let’s say that, but neither Sev or Vi have made you feel bad about your clumsiness. You haven’t had the privilege to touch either of them due to their determination to teach; experiment on you for their own research, study you, but you hope to change that soon. Vi touches you like you’re married, and you wanna do the same; you don’t think she’s in love with you yet but she also could be. Her hands would be nowhere near the porn industry. They’re too delicate, not demanding or crude or evil — you’ve seen some crazy shit on the web, good heavens. Forever traumatized. 

Her hands are tender where they stroke your chest. She can probably feel your heart beating in her palms. Right through your titty meat, how embarrassing. 

Then she starts giggling like an angel call the fucking ambulance before you go into cardiac. 

“You seeing ghosts?” She coos. 

“Nope, just God.”

“I didn’t even do anything.” 

“Don’t have to. I’m dead already. Thanks, uhh, internet.” 

“Oh yeah? You’re dead?” 

“… Yup.” Your voice drops a heavy amount when she takes your limp hands in hers. She extends them up her torso until they rest over her breasts, pressing your hands down so you can squeeze. Aneurysm incoming it’s hitting in your brain—

“How’s that feel, Casper?” 

“… Oh, gee wiz!” You squeal. 

Vi cackles with her head thrown back, “You’re so fucking cute, I’m gonna bite you!” You laugh with her even though you’re on the brink of death for the 40th time tonight — someone save you, you’re begging! 

“I like how your hands feel.” 

“I like how your tits feel.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yup.” 

“Yup,” She snickers and leans down so your titties smash together, “Gimme a kiss.” 

Your lips pucker playfully, and she pecks them. Licks them a little and you grin. “I can’t wait to stretch you out,” Her voice melts in your ears and you shudder beneath her, “Gotta make sure you’re ready.” 

“Be honest,” you whisper, embarrassed, “Is it gonna hurt?” 

“You want it to?” 

Your eyes meet the wall, “… No comment…”

Sevika chuckles while Vi comforts, “You’ll be fine, baby. We gotchu, okay? We’ll take it easy and go from there.” 

“A-Are we about to scissor?” 

“Uh huh, you excited?” 

“Yes,” you groan. 

Sevika caresses your sweaty forehead and your heart soars so high that it splatters on the ceiling like a gunshot wound, “You wet enough? Need some head first?” 

“M’okay… wanna feel…” 

“Then ask her nicely,” Sevika nods towards a smirking Vi. Her head tilts, awaiting, and you’re instantly reminded of Abby. She did that whenever she patiently waited for your response to her curiosity. Thank God Sevika can't read minds. 

“Violet…”

“Yes, baby?” 

“Can I… can you, uh…”

What would a pornstar say what would a pornstar say 

“Want me to fuck you til you cum?” She hums on your cheek and your heart thrashes in your chest. 

“Yeah… want that.”

“Then ask me.”

“Violet…”

You feel her smile, “Yes, baby?”

“Can you fuck me until I cum, please?” 

She plants a doting kiss on your cheek before separating from you to sit on the mattress with her knees pointed towards the ceiling, “Course I can. Sit up, babe.” 

You follow like a klutz but you’re here and her pussy glistens right there and so does yours. It takes you a second to replicate her guidance, but you’re eventually comfortable; the two of you resting back on your palms, your legs spread far enough for Vi to sit comfortably in between, one leg crossed over yours. Your cooters are nearly high-fiving! You can see her clit jump! 

“Gonna go slow, okay? Just do what I do,” She whispers, and you nod. You’re trying really hard not to stare at her pussy but it’s right fucking there in all its glory! It’s right there! Will she let you eat it one day? Will Sevika—

Your brain screams bloody murder when Vi closes the space between your nethers. 

—

Sevika prides herself in being patient. 

When something is foreign to her, she waits. Regardless of how dire or stressful a situation becomes, she’s often able to resolve it with stealth. She takes her time to plan and organize because it holds her hectic life together, and if that’s lost, so is she. It’s in her nature to be observant. It gets her answers, solves the riddles that wrack in her mind with ease all because she watched and waited. 

That attribute could be the reason she allows you to remain a mystery. You waltzed into her life by accident and now she’s stuck wondering what it is you want from her, her best friend; a relationship? A dirty secret? It hasn’t been that long. You're still a stranger, after all. Call it an obsession; she still has trouble wrapping her head around what allures her to you. It’s a desire she has trouble describing. You're really, really weird, but somehow that makes you one of the most attractive people she’s ever met in her life. 

You being on the brink of your second orgasm while her best friend practically rides you isn’t what entrances Sevika. There’s something about your character; you’re so blunt and comfortable and trusting. She would never allow herself to be as unguarded with a stranger as you are. There’s something something something that she’s determined to pull from you, prick from your brain. 

Why are you really here?

Please, baby, oh fuck, yes —

Vi begs when she takes and you beg her to take and Sevika thinks you’re a match made in heaven. She watches the two of you close up, dangerously personal. How your urges force your bodies against each other; you push when Vi pulls and pulls when she pushes. Both your thighs are soaked with each other and Sevika would kill to be in between them. 

Structure. You and Vi are combative in your own right and Sevika mediates your tension. It’s perfect. You fit in between them so well, slid between them like butter. Why would anyone come in and jeopardize that?

Her spirit slams back into her body when a soft hand curls around her wrist; there’s barely any pressure, a bit insecure, and she knows you’re nervous. Your eyes are on her, the pleading in them almost louder than your exclamations of satisfaction. Are you still mad at me? 

For talking to Abby. Sevika should say yes — the ruthless part of her wants to so you’ll work harder, but she swallows it. The stare she gives you is hard, and your hand squeezes tighter on her. Sevika being mad makes you wetter, she can see it with every glisten between your legs. You look like you’re boutta cum again. 

Fucking Abby… Always prepared to wreck something that’s perfectly made for her. 

You were so quick to take both of them… Would that have been the case for Abby, too?

Okay, Sevie? 

She immediately softens at Vi’s breathless inquiry, and she nods. Keep going. 

Vi arches a brow with a suggestive smile. 

We’re gonna cum for you, baby. Talk us through it? 

Those eyes… Vi’s greatest weapon. How could Sevika ever deny her?

She never will, so she moves. Stands from the floor to climb in behind Vi because she’ll always be first and she’s mad at you; a vengeful hand encloses around her best friend’s throat while she whispers the filthiest shit in her ear. Calls her a slut before kissing her like she loves her. Tells her to fuck you harder. Show her who she belongs to. 

Sevika’s tongue gets loose when she finds your gaze. You’re a fucking mess; the glitter on your lids melt down your fluttery eyes like tears. Your pupils are so apologetic and blown and searching for acceptance but she ignores you, and she thinks you might cry but she wants you to. 

You want Abby so fucking bad? She’s right downstairs. Why would you waste your time up here? Obviously we don’t give you enough. 

Sevika only says it because Vi’s distracted by her own euphoria, eyes dislodged in her skull with drool rolling down her cheek from how good you’re fucking on her, but Sevika takes care of it with her tongue. She should be watching Vi, but she watches you, cautiously eyeing the two of them like a frilled rabbit. She’ll rip you to shreds if you give her the chance. Any sign of weakness and you’re hers to tear apart, just like that. Limb from limb. She craves you. 

Can’t take it, baby, ‘s so sensitive, Vi whimpers up at Sevika with her nails in your thigh, and Sevika kisses her forehead to soothe. Tells her it’s fine. Tells her to scoot over because she’s got you. 

Vi doesn’t go too far. Slides in right next to you, actually. Your legs shake and your fingers curl around the mussed blanket. Sevika crawls to you, and you flinch when her hands latch onto your thighs. Your eyes are the same, but frantic. Please, don’t hate me, please please please. Your little sneeze is the icing on the cake. 

Her grin is sinister. Excitement radiates off you. 

Vi kisses your cheek and slides a sneaky hand down your torso, past your tummy and hips, touches right where you need it most, and your jaw slacks when she spreads you open for Sevika. Vi nudges your cheek with her nose, gets you to face her so she can kiss you, all dazed out and sloppy. 

Such a good distraction. 

A thick finger breeches your walls without warning, and you squeal into Vi’s mouth while she rubs your clit to pacify. Sevika has learned you pretty well, she thinks; knows exactly where to press to get your thighs clamping down on her wrist. She moans when your tightness chokes her; so slippery and aching and desperate on the inside. It matches your exterior perfectly. Your pussy’s begging her to give it to you. Nice and hard. 

So she slides another one in; Vi can barely kiss you because you’re so loud so she tongues at your throat. Sevika knows you’re close; she can feel it, how hard you attempt to drain her, riding that edge. 

Gonna take this dick like a good slut when we get home? She purrs. 

Yes, Sevie, yes yes yes!

Sevika gathers spit in your mouth and it splashes all over cheeks and nose and mouth. She scoffs a laugh when your fingers lace through her slobber to greedily shove in your mouth, Atta girl, get me nice ‘n wet, feels real good, huh? Show me how much you love when I’m inside you. 

More thoughtless bouts of pleasure are forced from you before Vi presses an aiding hand on your tummy. Sevika’s entire forearm is drenched in your scent, body knotted up tight as you thrash and cry and scratch all over Vi until red streaks down the side of her. She licks your tears from your cheek while your head hangs off the edge of the mattress and all Sevika can think about is making you keep your promise; taking her deep in your throat, hot and snug while you choke and slobber all over her. 

They’re so hypnotized by you, the door opening hardly shakes them. 

“Well, well, well!” 

Everything stops… Well, except you, you’re still cumming… and Sevika’s still fucking you… and Vi hasn’t moved either. Maybe nothing stopped.

“Got all your dogs on a leash, don’tcha Cap?” Abby whistles from the door that was very much so locked. Abby’s seemingly unbothered by you on the brink of a second orgasm, your hand attempting to push Sevika’s body off yours, but Vi holds your wrist down. 

“Hiii. How’d ya get in?” Vi questions while she shushes you, and Abby dangles a key off her middle finger. “Ellie sent me to get a bong replacement!”

“You live here now?” Sevika demands in annoyance. Fucks into you deeper. Smirks when you start wailing when she hits that spongy spot. 

“I don’t. Ellie does. She just lets me in when she’s feelin’ lonely… You guys, too, evidently,” She gives you the filthiest stare, “Hey, dollface! Havin’ fun? I could hear you all the way down the hall!” 

“Oh, God, Sevie, ‘m cumming again!” 

“Yeah, ‘m sure you are,” Abby rasps and Vi giggles, “So, what, is she the team’s new communal pussy or somethin’?” 

Vi tuts, “No… we’re just showing her how to do it herself.” 

Abby squints skeptically, “… Riiight, right…” 

Vi doesn’t catch the look Abby throws at you, but Sevika does, and she almost chucks one of your shoes at her face. A hyena preying on the injured. She can hear the devilish cogs turning in the blonde’s head. 

“Don’t be like that, Abby, c’mon… friends in need?” 

Abby smiles, “In need alright—“

“A-Abb — Y?”

Abby takes that as an invitation to come a little closer. Too close for Sevika, but you don’t seem to mind, “Yeah, honey, I’m here. Big meanie Sev’s doin’ ya in right?” 

“Fuck yes—“

She hums scoffingly, “Uh huuuh, looks like it, make her proud—“

“Can you get the fuck out!” Sevika shouts, and you and Vi flinch. She sends Sevika a harsh glare. 

“Jesus, calm the fuck down! Look,” Abby points at your fucked-out expression, “She likes it. Gamer freaks love this typa shit. She probably manifests having orgies in her diary.” 

Sevika sighs in irritation and she pulls out before sitting back on her heels, silently taking in how your slick glues to her fingers, and you almost start sobbing but Vi comforts you. Kisses you quiet while she holds you close, whispers encouragement in your ear while you whimper. Abby takes the chance to ease in close to Sevika, right beside her, eyes gawking at her dripping fingers. 

“Look, Cap, ‘m not the one to judge, but,” She shrugs, whispers right in her ear, “to put it light, she’s a desperate fucking loser, and what I’ve learned is that they love any bit of attention they can get. Makes ‘em feel good. You shoulda seen her earlier. She was almost in my lap ‘n all I had to say was she looked nice.” 

Sevika scoffs, but she finally meets the eyes of her conniving teammate. She’s plotting; It’s in her smile. Abby nudges Sev’s arm with her own, “C’mon, let her have this. She’ll be a fucking vet in her little Discord servers. Make her a star.” 

“You fucking disgust me.” Sevika says vehemently. 

“Doesn’t look like it, Captain.” Abby scales down Sevika’s body and back up until she meets her eyes again. She’s wound up so tight and Abby’s drinking it all in. “C’mon, for old times sake.”

Abby nearly gets strangled right there. Old times sake: chasing girls together, fucking them together, whatever else they did that she wishes she could forget, but it’s her history just as much as it’s Abby’s. When Sevika denies her an answer, she snorts in annoyance before moving to sit on the edge of the bed, thigh right beside your head. 

“Hey, baby, can ya look at me?” You take direction like a dream when you’re fucked out, eyes teary and face warm to the touch. Abby’s convinced you’d do anything to get on her good side at that point. 

“Can you take some more? I think you can take some more,” Before she can even finish, you’re consenting, “Yeah, I know you can, such a sweet girl.” 

Vi shudders with you, eyes glossy where they watch her, and Abby smirks down at her, “You are, too, as always.” The blonde gets her blushing. 

She looks over to Sevika with a hand shielding her mouth. She whispers with a finger sneakily pointed at Vi, “I think your girl wants me, Cap. Still gonna kick me out?”

Sevika is prepared to say yes, but she catches Vi with her lip jutted, silently begging to let Abby stay while you tremble next to her. She exhales so hard it sounds like a snarl. Abby smiles. 

“Do some shit I don’t like and I’ll fuck you up,” Sevika threatens, and Abby rolls her eyes. Sevika should know that she’s the last person to try and intimidate. She loves that; she’ll simply have to up her riskiness. Her finger blindly points at Ellie’s messy dresser. “There's some crazy shit in there, Sevie...” 

Sevika sighs before standing tall to head to Ellie’s drawers. Her laundry isn’t even folded, just slung on top of the cheap wood, “‘m sure you’d know, fuckin’ dirtball.” 

“Don’t flirt with me.” Abby’s heat wafts onto Sevika and she knows she’s behind her. Before Sevika can reach for a drawer handle, her wrist gets submerged in cherry blossom and red fingernail polish. 

Her tongue loosens to cuss her teammate out, but Abby whispers before she can try, “Can’t leave evidence… Ellie’ll get mad at me…” 

Sevika’s frozen; pink lips enclose around her fingers that drip and soak and smell of you. Abby swirls her tongue around the length of them, sucks them clean for her. “She taste good?” Sevika hums, and Abby sucks greedily in approval. 

A tight moan rings from the bed and their eyes hunt for you and Vi. Abby gives Sevika one last kiss on the tips of her fingers. Vi’s on top of you with her hand gripped tight on your neck while she orders you where to touch. Your hand labors between her legs, sloshing deep in her wetness while she curses in your mouth. 

Abby’s sly; takes the leap while Sevika’s distracted to drop to her knees in front of her, fingers already latching onto the fabric of her leggings. She hisses when a braun hand tugs at her hair, redirecting her gaze upwards. 

Sevika’s breathes unsteadily. “You lock the door?” 

The blonde sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. Sevika’s grip tightens when Abby’s head shakes in denial. 

[emmiesoverthemoon]

so agitating!

rivalries between fraternity and sorority leaders always get confronted one way or another… who knew hate sex was served with a side of feelings?

pairing: fraternity leader han jisung x sorority leader reader tags: enemies to lovers. smut and fluff. non idol/college au. requested! @sunwie hope u enjoy wc: 1.9k

an: u will have to forgive me if the american college terms are inaccurate, i am australian so this is uncharted territory.. if there’s anything off you dont see them…

you always knew the fraternity boys were trouble. their parties spread across campus like wildfire, laughter spilling into moonlit lawns, empty beer cans rolling underfoot, and that signature bass-thumping playlist echoing from every open window.

at the center of it all stood han jisung.

jisung had this lethal kind of charisma— a cocky grin that set teeth on edge, dark eyes always flickering with some unspoken dare. he wore his frat letters like a crown, strutting across campus with an easy swagger that made every girl glance twice and every rival clench their jaw.

your sorority, ran on a different pulse. elegant, pristine, kind, woven together by charity events and spotless reputations. you took pride in keeping your girls above the mess, practically untouchable. and yet, your house’s feud with jisung’s was an eternal campus legend: prank wars that escalated to petty vandalism, stolen mascots, and once, an entire fountain filled with soap.

he called you uptight behind your back— you pretended it didn’t thrill you to hear.

everything came to a head at the annual charity mixer, held in a communal recreation centre on campus. a fragile truce, the air thick with forced civility. you arrived draped in a sinfully short white satin dress, your sisters flanking you like loyal sentries. heads turned as you stepped through the doors—you had that effect, and you knew it. you revelled in it.

and there he was. han jisung, perched on a folding table, beer in hand, wearing that stupid devil-may-care smirk that involuntarily caused your eye to twitch. his gaze cut through the crowd and locked onto yours like a hook.

“look who decided to grace us with her presence,” he called out, voice low and teasing, eyes glinting under the harsh gym lights.

you rolled your eyes, fighting the heat crawling up your neck. “try not to spill cheap beer on my dress tonight, frat boy.”

his grin widened, sharp and knowing. “no promises, princess.”

all night, you felt it—the push and pull of his attention, each sly glance across the room, each smirk when your eyes met. the tension buzzed beneath your skin, coiling tighter each time he laughed too loud or leaned too close to another girl.

by midnight, you found yourself on the patio, cool night air brushing your heated cheeks. and then han was there, sliding in beside you, his cologne sweet and sharp, the warmth of him licking at your edges.

“tired of playing queen bee?” he murmured, close enough that your shoulders brushed.

“tired of pretending you’re not desperate for my attention?” you snapped back.

he laughed, rich and low, and something in your chest cracked open. his hand ghosted along your waist, fingers curling into the silk of your dress.

“you know,” he drawled, voice softening as he leaned in, “i think you like our games just as much as i do.”

you opened your mouth to retort, but his lips were already on yours— fierce and hungry, no pretense left between you. it felt like setting a match to gasoline, months of tension erupting in an instant.

he pushed you backward until your spine hit the cold brick wall. you grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, tugging him impossibly closer, tasting beer and mint on his tongue. his fingers fumbled up your thigh, hitching your dress higher, and you cursed into his mouth when he squeezed.

“you want me to stop?” he breathed, forehead pressed to yours.

“don’t you dare,” you hissed, eyes wild.

he groaned, low and guttural, before yanking your panties to the side. the first touch of his fingers had you arching, nails digging crescents into his shoulders. he worked you open with deliberate, teasing strokes—middle and ring finger sliding in and out, thumb circling your clit. a duet of motions abusing your pussy until your head fell back against the brick and you gasped his name like a secret plea.

“look at you,” he panted, kissing down your jaw. “so fucking pretty when you beg. just admit you’re weak for me already.”

electing to not dignify him with a verbal response, you instead answered by pulling his belt open with shaking hands, struggling with his zipper due to your nail extensions until he cursed beneath his breath and helped you. the moment he pressed against you, thick and hot, you almost sobbed with relief.

“ready?” he asked, voice wrecked.

you could only nod, and then he pushed in, inch by torturous inch, filling you so deeply you thought you might shatter. your leg wrapped around his waist, anchoring him as he started to move—slow at first, savouring the way you clenched around him, then faster, harder, chasing that sharp edge neither of you could resist.

your cries tangled with his groans, echoing into the empty night. every thrust blurred the lines between hate and hunger, your rivalry burning away in the heat of his mouth on your neck, his fingers bruising your hips.

when you finally came, it tore through you like a tidal wave, leaving you shaking and clinging to him. he followed with a hoarse moan, burying his face in your neck, hips stuttering as he spilled inside you.

afterward, you stayed tangled up against the wall, breaths mingling, the world beyond that small corner feeling impossibly far away.

“this changes nothing,” you whispered, even as your fingers carded through his hair.

he looked up at you with a crooked smile. “sure, princess. whatever you say.”

but one night turned into another. then another. sometimes it was in the frat house’s basement after a party—music still pulsing faintly above, his hands already greedy on your hips as he slammed the door shut, dragging you into the shadows. other times, it was in your sorority suite when the girls were asleep, muffling your moans into his shoulder as he fucked you nice and deep on your perfectly made bed.

each encounter began with snide remarks, sharp words that curled into heat. his smirk always ignited something reckless in your veins; the way he’d say “you look so good when you’re pretending to hate me” right before he swallowed your gasp in a kiss. your fingers would tangle in his hair, yanking him closer until your teeth clicked against his.

clothes fell away in a frantic mess—dresses bunched around your waist, his shirt tossed across the room, jeans shoved down just enough. his mouth found every weak spot: your throat, your collarbone, the soft curve of your breast, each kiss turning your body into a live wire.

sometimes he took you against the wall, your legs locked around his waist as he pounded into you hard enough to hurt your thigh muscles. other times, he laid you out carefully, tongue tracing lazy circles over your clit until you were sobbing, fingers clawing at the sheets. he loved to tease, to hold you on the brink until you were trembling, breathless, begging him to finish you.

and each time, no matter how rough or how slow, your hands would find his face at the end— cradling his jaw, your thumb brushing across his flushed cheek. his hand would find your stomach, fingertips gently rubbing against warm smooth skin. in those small moments, something unspoken trembled between you, fragile and frightening.

somewhere between the heated hookups and the breathless fights, he started staying longer afterward. he would collapse beside you, sweat-slicked skin sticking together, his arm slung over your waist as if it belonged there. you started tracing the small scars scattered along his shoulders, the faded bruises from roughhousing with his frat brothers, the dimple on his lower back.

in the pale dawn light, he pressed gentle kisses to your forehead, your cheek, the bridge of your nose—as though you were something sacred, not just an enemy to ruin.

he began buying your favourite drink before morning meetings, sliding it onto your desk without a word. you started keeping an extra hoodie of his in your closet, pulling it on when you missed the warmth of his arms. he teased you for it, but you noticed how his eyes softened each time he saw you wearing it.

his touch softened too. the way his fingers traced your sides after, the slow kisses on your stomach, the long, quiet moments where he simply held you. both your walls crumbled without either of you even realising.

by the time midterms rolled around, you had stopped pretending. stopped pretending that your heart did not skip when he texted “come over” at two a.m., or when he kissed your temple before slipping out of your bed. you no longer denied the way his name left your lips in reverent whimpers when he moved inside you— more so now slow, intimate, deliberate, like he wanted to memorise every shiver, every sigh. instead of before— rough and hastily, the sex being only enough to get the job done.

one night, after a particularly heated argument during a joint event, you stormed into his room at the frat house. your words were sharp as knives— accusing him of sabotaging your presentation, yelling about reputation, dignity, and control.

he listened silently, leaning against his door, eyes heavy on you. and then he was crossing the room, grabbing your wrist, spinning you against the wall, flushing his chest to your back.

“you want control?” he growled, voice hoarse. “or do you just want me to take it from you?”

your lips crashed together, teeth scraping, breaths mingling in short, ragged gasps. he took your shirt off, his hands greedy, exploring every inch of you as though he could not bear a single barrier between your skin and his. he fucked you hard and fast, his forehead pressed to your shoulder, your moans echoing off the walls.

somewhere in the haze, your fingers curled into his arm and you pulled him closer. “ji— please—” you choked out, not even sure what you were begging for anymore.

he groaned, thrusts stuttering as his own edge neared. “fuck— say it—”

“need you,” you sobbed. “need you so much.”

your confessions spilled out in half-broken syllables, tangled with curses and his name. when you finally came, it ripped through you like lightning, your body trembling so violently he had to hold you up. he followed with a desperate cry, burying his face against your nape, hips jerking as he spilled inside you.

after, the silence felt charged, heavy. he rested his forehead against yours, breathing you in.

“say it again,” he whispered.

you swallowed hard, fingers carding through his damp hair. “i need you,” you repeated, softer now, eyes wide and unguarded.

his lips parted as though he wanted to say something else, but instead he kissed you— slow, searching, almost gentle.

that night, he did not leave. you fell asleep tangled in his arms, your leg thrown over his hip, his fingers tracing lazy circles into your back until you drifted off.

and in the days after, something shifted. he held your hand openly at the next event. he kissed your forehead before meetings, regardless of who was watching. you caught yourself smiling at his texts, waiting for him outside his classes just to see that stupid grin spread across his face.

it started as war. it became an addiction. and then, slowly—so painfully slowly—it transformed into love.

real, terrifying, heart-shaking love.

and maybe, just maybe, this time neither of you wanted to deny it anymore.

tysm for ur kind request + sorry it took like five ever for me to get to it🥀 hopefully i’ve made it up to you

taglist (join here): @burlesquerade @makeitworse @petersasteria @gdinthehouseee @aizshallnotbefound @floofeh-purpi @ldydeath @wcnderlnds @ttturnitup @breakmeoff @sherrayyyyy @ricecake9999 @leni111 @scream-queen-25 @spiritualgirly444 @fairyprincesslvr21 @loonybunny1 @uuchii @sherxoo @m-325 @slut4junho @galgal-egg @queenofdumbfuckery @lezleeferuson-120 @loveloveloveloverrrr @cherr-y-eji @jinniesgirl @cozypaint @madebybec @allaboutsan @skzbyemmy @skyearby @roseanne-yoon @leeknowsimpstay @lomllino @starlostjisung @xitsjeonglix @nightshadeblooming @btch8008s

[aeristudios]

2099: A Seventeen Series

50 years ago, the milky way as we know it was destroyed, leaving the remaining human population to find find shelter in another galaxy—deemed The Shattered Nebula. Now it's 2099, and with civilization spawning across several planets, we will follow the lives of the thirteen souls of Seventeen as they carve their paths through love, danger, destiny, and the beyond...

Genres: fluff, angst, smut, sci-fi au, dystopian au

General warnings include heavy topics, depictions of violence and murder, talks of murder, uprisings/rebellions, morally grey characters, recreational drinking, use of guns, etc. Each story will be explicitly tagged and will be 18+ ONLY.

If you would like to sign up to be tagged for each story when it's released, you can sign up here.

✦ Thank you @hobeemin for the banner and dividers ✦

See You, Space Cowboy

✦ ⋆ ࣪. With a bounty on your head, you are determined to get your revenge at all costs… even if it means losing the man that you love.

pt. 1 pt. 2 visual concept 1 visual concept 2 playlist

Girl With The Spider Tattoo

✦ ⋆ ࣪. Jeonghan doesn’t do feelings. He runs his business, takes care of his sister, and lives his life attachment-free. He was okay with that until you showed up, too perfect and careful lies. But despite that, he wants you anyway.

coming soon

Like Wildfire

✦ ⋆ ࣪. She was someone soft from his past, a dreamer who longed to be with the stars—someone who had no business surviving in the bloodstained world Soonyoung lives in. She disappeared during an uprising, and he assumed she was dead. Now, years later, he finds her with the rebels, with eyes like wildfire, ready for revenge.

coming soon

 Lucid Dreams

✦ ⋆ ࣪. After a near-death experience, Investigator Jun starts seeing you in his dreams, someone he doesn’t know but feels deeply connected to. When he tracks you down in real life, you claim never to have met. But each night, the lucid dreams grow stronger… and your reactions start to change.

coming soon

The Fixer

✦ ⋆ ࣪. Chan is a fixer—always ready to please, trained to obey… except for when it comes to you.

Sleeping With The Enemy 

✦ ⋆ ࣪. You're the daughter of a rebel general, forced to marry the crowned prince Joshua to unite the warring factions. You hate each other and it's no secret. But an attempt on your life forces you to share chambers with him, and you aren't so sure you hate him anymore.

coming soon

What Lies Within

✦ ⋆ ࣪. You’re hired to investigate a string of murders tied to relics once held in the now-destroyed Oracle Vault. Minghao, a famous ancient artifact curator, agrees to help you, but only if he gets to keep the relics. The deeper you go, the more disturbing the truths become, and you find yourselves fighting for your lives— and running into each other’s arms.

coming soon

Save Me

✦ ⋆ ࣪. You're a prisoner from Mechara for a crime you did not commit, locked in a floating penitentiary. Injured during a riot, you’re taken to the infirmary, where Seokmin, the resident medic, treats you under strict surveillance. He’s gentle, careful, too kind for this place. And as much as you don’t want to, you start to trust him.

coming soon

T.K.O

✦ ⋆ ࣪. Seungkwan is a smooth-talking promoter who runs underground fights. Everything was going fine until you entered the ring and knocked him off his feet.

coming soon

Cordis

✦ ⋆ ࣪. You’re the sole survivor of an explosion from a chemical lab in Zoie City. Jihoon rescues you, bringing you to his station. He monitors your vitals daily as you recover, watching your heartbeat stabilize in sync with his own. He insists it’s clinical. But he’s lying

coming soon

Erased

✦ ⋆ ࣪. You sell memories on the black market—sliced, edited, and projected. Vernon is your most loyal client, always buying memories that don’t belong to him. One night, he brings you a memory chip he found—a forbidden one—and asks you to watch it with him. It’s a memory of the two of you: laughing, kissing, saying goodbye. You don’t remember it. But he does. And someone out there wants that memory erased—for good.

coming soon

Need You

✦ ⋆ ࣪. You overheard something you shouldn’t have, and you’ve been on the run ever since. Almost at the end of your rope, you turn to the one person you know would drop anything to save you—even though you still hate him for breaking your heart.

coming soon

Peaches

✦ ⋆ ࣪. Seungcheol is at the top of the world as the head of The Organization. He’s respected, feared, and if you are an enemy? Run. But once a month, he returns to his serene hometown to visit his mother… and buy peaches from the girl who doesn’t flinch when she looks him in the eye.

coming soon

[httpknjoon]

the princess and the rockstar | jjk

[PROLOGUE]

plot | Once upon a time, there was a crowd-favorite crown princess who found herself romantically involved with a famous rockstar. See how they will try to navigate the world and maybe live happily ever after.

genres | angst, fluff, modern royalty!au, celebrity!au, established relationship!au

pairing | rockstar!jungkook x princess!reader

note | made a lot of changes... this one's only a prologue! i'll be posting the first chapter in a couple of days :)

main masterlist | series masterlist | spotify playlist

[EXCLUSIVE] Royalty, Romance, Rumors: Zafiro's Queen YN Tell-All Interview With Kaira Bahl

For the first time ever, Queen YN of Zafiro sits down for an afternoon tea with The Solar’s very own Kaira Bahl to share about her journey to being the youngest ever to head a monarchy, along with telling personal stories and addressing rumors from the past. From being the world’s loved crown princess to Zafiro’s first female and youngest leader, Her Majesty opens up about what it truly means to be a queen.

As I arrive in front of the Sapphire Palace, it is surprising to see the Queen YN herself waiting by the big sapphire blue doors of the palace. Sticking to her known fashion sense, Her Majesty stunned in a customized floral Dior knee-length belted dress and white gloves. Her most-prized silver crown was absent from her head.

When I asked about it, she laughed, “It’s too heavy. I don’t wear it around at home.”

Home. Home for Queen YN is the Sapphire Palace, which is known to have 542 rooms, which include rooms for royal guests, royal staff, state meetings, offices, and bathrooms.  It also has recreational areas that Queen YN is planning to open to the public as she shared on her 20XX State of the Nation Address, one of the firsts Her Majesty has done since she was crowned five years ago.

The Queen led me to her favorite part of her home: The Garden. She proudly showed off different plants from places all over the world. She shared how each is a gift from friends, world leaders, and local Zafirons who are all aware of her passion for nature. I curiously asked what is her favorite among the countless plants. She then asked one of her staff to help her carry a vase full of reddish-orange flowers.

“These are tiger-lilies! I loved it for many reasons, but I will tell you one… I love it mainly because of the thousands of symbolisms about it,” she winked, still wearing the youthful smile she had years ago.

We had our interview in her garden. A spot was already set up for us under her acacia tree, a simple blue couch and center table with cups of tea and a variety of biscuits on it. Just like what we agreed on in the first place, this interview will only be documented through an old-school recorder and a notepad. She firmly asked for camera restrictions. The Queen also asked for my solo appearance, no teams allowed, as she will be alone during the whole interview. Just the two of us. Finally, Her Majesty asked to read the whole article first before I publish it online.

So, reader, if you are reading this article, please know that this is approved by Her Majesty herself. Anything that you might find offensive or displeasing to The Queen is already worthless for a battle cry. Again, Queen YN herself has reviewed everything in here.

With that, shall we start?

For every minute that passed, Jungkook's phone has been receiving messages from anyone who knows him. It can be from his phone's messaging app, Instagram's direct message, Facebook Messenger, or even email. He gets mentioned with every post of excerpts from your unexpected interview that was just posted tonight at midnight.

Now, it's almost three in the morning.

Jungkook has barely slept for the last couple of hours. His phone is somewhere in his bedroom, set on Do Not Disturb mode just so no one can reach him in this confusing time. Instead, he has his laptop on his dining table, staring right back at him while he holds a glass of ice-cold whisky in his left hand. The interview article is said to be a long read, requiring almost an hour to read the whole thing. But he found himself stuck in a single part of the article for three hours now.

Suddenly, looking at the tiger lily inked on his arm suffocates him. He looked away as he felt tears burning the corners of his eyes. He gulped away whatever was blocking his throat. He wanted to close his eyes, but every time he did, all he could see was you tracing the said tattoo with your index finger, then looking up at him with a small smile.

A smile that he had last seen that day. He tried looking for it in your recent photos, but he could not find it anywhere.

Taking the glass to his lips, Jungkook tries to swallow down the ache he has been feeling, hoping that it will shake off the memories out of his head and the numbness in his body. But it didn't work. Nothing worked.

AN EXCERPT FROM THE INTERVIEW:

"I pledged to be protective of everyone, whether they are from my nation or not. And if things happened between me and another person, I like to make sure that the encounters or the relationship will just remain between us."

note | hello! i'm reconstructing this series and it has been sooo long since I posted anything about this. so please let me know if you still want to be on the series taglist. i will be making a new one, so please reply below if you still want to join it. thank you! <3

THE PRINCESS AND THE ROCKSTAR TAGLIST

@rbrm094 @rjsmochii @sugaslittlekookies @saintsugar @thvlover7 @alpha-mommy69 @natalia-rmnva @coralmusicblaze @stupendouscookiehumanmug @namgoogieee @yoonjinhusbands @borahaeb1ch @lilliankoo @gxtwllsn @taechvita @snkyuv @canyon-lwt @hiii-priestess @jksgirlhere @razzletaffy @bbtsficrecs @jnk-pop @jjeonjjk7 @tokkiggukie @cuntessaiii @annoyingcolorfox @kooliv @jksgirlhere @razzletaffy @oopscoop @hani0407 @taebae19 @yunki-yunki-yunki @hellbornsworld @kissyfacekoo @ficluvr613 @kpopssuregi @prettypink11 @diamondjeon @raemanova @jalexad @lveegsoi @qualityjoonie @recklesselfless @minewlove @yooforeaa @joonwater

PERMANENT TAGLIST (CLOSED)

@dunixxd @cixrosie @jksjx @embrace-themagic @buttvi @starbtslove @missseoulite @vanntaesworld @kenqki @imajinthis @stopeatread @seolaquotes @greyrain23 @chimchimmarie @petalsofink @jayhope88 @moonchild1 @laylasbunbunny @nikkiordonez12 @misshale21 @marblemoonstones @senaqsstuff

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Overblot Universe (4) | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

Part 1 • 2 • 3• 5

There he was 

The first overblot you witnessed 

The Overblotted Riddle was as regal as ever 

Standing above your gilded bed fit for royalty decorated by arches of spinning ink 

You could see guards that looked similar to the entrapped dormmakers during the event

Standing in front of heart shaped doors that resembled an inky reflection of the Heartslabyul’s dorm

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, (Y/n). I haven’t forgotten how you ran from my forces meant to bring you home.”

“I…was just scared. Your army was fighting with Jamil’s and I just didn’t want to get in the way.”

Riddle scoffed,”You think I’d allow any of my vassals hurt you?! I thought you heard me last time we saw each other.”

His gloved hands clutched your cheeks and chin forcing you to hold his gaze

“In my world, I am the law. I am order manifest! 

The words brought back the memories again

But you couldn’t drift off especially now that Overblotted Riddle was smiling 

You could practically smell the idea of something awful coming from him

He let his ink gloved hands trail from your jaw to rest around your neck

“I have been eagerly awaiting the day I’d meet you again. For so long I’ve been replaying the sight of the collarless king working alongside those rogue cards.”

He pulled away leaving a ring of ink that tickled your skin, shaping to hug your neck letting a black splattered rose hang from it’s center

“All this time I’ve thought about having you and now I’m this close to having everything be perfect.”

You watched his eyes drift down your body, letting yourself follow his gaze 

Finding your outfit to be matching his own, you hoped it was just the ink doing its things

He beckoned you to follow him 

And the moment you deliberated you could feel the bodice of your outfit slightly squeeze 

So that was it’s purpose+

You hurriedly caught up to him minding the overwhelming line of soldiers collared and at the ready 

“Riddle what do you plan to do?”

Riddle’s distorted chuckle exploded into a diabolical laugh

Calming himself he turned over his shoulder as you both left the dorm/castle for the garden

“I’m recreating where we met of course. An unbirthday celebration that changed everything. A coronation that would have been perfect if you and those cards didn’t ruin it.”

Arriving to the entrance of the garden it was exactly as he said

The table and treats for an unbirthday party all different shades of black with that sheen that said was ink

All surrounding a grand stage where to thrones sat at the edge of it

He took your hand, more gentle than you were expecting and led you on a red carpet that led to the thrones

Out of nowhere this Riddle brought out a box setting it on a pedestal

He opened it to reveal a crown…fit for a king

“Bow, (Y/n) and receive your right as my king.”

Idia’s crown flashed in your mind making you cower instinctively

His glare was paralyzing

“Bow. (Y/n).”

The pressure around your body was intense, as if sapping your energy to make you fall to your knees

Riddle sighs,”That’s good enough.”

He places the crown on your head 

It doesn’t hurt like Idia’s but it feels hard to remove 

And as Riddle helps you stand you can feel the something wet drip from the  crown and into your eyes

But it doesn’t burn…more like clouding your vision as you were led to rest in the throne

“Now! Bring the relic! It’s power will be what finalizes your king's coronation!”

Carried by many of the soldiers was the mirror–The mirror that you originally traveled to 

“That–”

“Recognize it? This is the accursed object that let me bring you here. But it���s done it’s job and no one has any intentions of you using it again.”

“Wait but I have—to–go back!”

The overblotted Riddle gave you that sly smirk all to similar to the dormleader you knew

“You’ll find that world will fade from memory when the portal does as well.”

With a trumpet sound and coordinated shouts an ink covered axe was brought to Riddle

Despite being so close you couldn’t lift yourself from the throne, courtesy of the ensemble you were wearing

You could feel your tears blend with the ink trailing down your face as the Overblotted Queen raised his axe to smash the mirror

You tried to reach in vain as he brought the axe down

You felt as though it was helpless 

Until you heard a whisper

“(Y/n) don’t despair we wouldn’t leave you by yourself.”

A new bout of energy let you sit up

“Oh my gosh! It’s you! You’re here!”

“Hush, we’ve got to be quick the main event is on its way.”

“I summon thee cauldron!” 

[potatowes]

My attempt to recreate the Magolor Build-A-Bear that I saw in a parallel universe. The plush there had a 1/86 chance of zapping you like one of these but mine only plays sounds. No recording yet but he's gonna say some lines such as:

"Hee hee hee!"

*happy chirps*

*sighs*

*Magolor Cannon sound*

*cheerful unintelligible gibberish* "Kah-bee" *additional cheerful unintelligible gibberish* (My personal favorite, I always quote this one 🥰)

More ramblings ahead:

Apple-cinnamon scent because of the True Aren- a-according to Build-A-Bear lore, magic smells like apples. Cinnamon because black holes can be cinnamon-scented. A heart of gold since I know he has one, despite everything.

I did the Heart Ceremony, too. I made extra sure to do it correctly, as Kirby Star Allies showed me what happens if you do it wrong (galaxy-wide hate plague) and it sounds like a hassle.

The second coronation is much cuter this time. Beautiful eyes... like I heard, from my Brother™ before.

I like the crown scar fanon, so why not? The iron-on vinyl crinkled a bit from too much heat. I think it makes the scars look more edgy so fine by me. 😅

"-but to answer that, we need to talk about parallel universes... dude, are you even listening?"

[directdogman]

A little nugget of Crown + Milt characterization:

I had a long talk the other night (I was putting off sending an important email. I'm very responsible) and revealed a bit about Crown + Milt's characters. It's a lil long, but figured I should put a slightly touched up version of it here for everyone to see:

Crown was born disabled and was rejected VERY harshly when he tried to join the army, even after building his own set of mechanical legs. He was used to those in power mistreating him. As such, he never felt like he really belonged in power deep down because it was an environment he was unfamiliar with, surrounded by people who reminded him of those he'd always despised.

That's how he felt around 'real' politicians. He felt like he was in a joke + was waiting for the punchline. He felt he HAD to fight to keep what he had because those in power didn't WANT him there. He didn't belong. Here, there or anywhere. A freak only around by happenstance. He didn't just disagree with the motives/actions of others in power, he despised them for what they were. People who would never understand where he came from, what he had to overcome to get there and because of all that: what was at stake if his plans failed - that a world would never exist where he could've lived a full and happy life if he'd never had the opportunity to leave his garage.

He looked at the public as well-meaning, but somewhat dim. People who only knew enough to know what affected them personally. But he didn't hold it against them. They were products of their environment, of the systems that he was trying to undo. What he wanted was a mass revolution. A highly educated, dedicated and at times aggressive population that would recognize when their rights were being trampled and do something about it. He saw himself as a wolf on the side of sheep, and he wanted to make the public more like himself, so the fight for justice would never die. Every man a protagonist!

Milt's upbringing wasn't like Crown's. He didn't suffer from disability and his true sexual orientation wasn't known, so he faced little adversity for it, outside of the odd accusatory remark, which he was able to tolerate (as taking it personally would've given him away and put him in danger.) His family were well off, unlike Crown's.

He never understood Crown's mentality, as a result. He knew they had to fight to enact change, that the powerful fight to keep things the same because they benefit from it. But, the idea of seeing those around him as different (be it other people in power or the population themselves) - Milt couldn't fully grasp that part of Crown and at times, struggled to come to terms with the fact that the partner of his revolution, that aimed to create class awareness and solidarity - saw people as different to himself.

Marla understood Crown's perspective though. Despite perhaps sharing more ethical values with Milt, growing up poor + with a disability of her own (Mingus' cane was originally hers, after all), she saw eye to eye with Crown more in this regard. She viewed those who held onto power + failed to wield it for the good of others with a deep, searing contempt, which she was felt just as intensely as he did.

Of course, Milt never had Crown's insecurity. Just different inner demons of his own from the war, which haunted him in a very different way.

Crown believed that because he was able to change his own destiny, he HAD to change the destiny of others. He couldn't waste the opportunity he had. That the stars themselves had aligned in a one of a kind freakish accident, that their journey was one way and that nobody would ever get the chance to recreate their strategy, because those in power would know what to watch for next time it was tried. Crown couldn't have it be for nothing. he couldn't let everyone down.

While Milt looked at his past with survivor's guilt. The things he had to do to survive during the war. The faces of men he'd killed haunted him in his sleep. And he never forgot that he was alive because others were not. If he made mistakes, made the world a worse place… then the deaths of those he fought alongside who didn't come back were for nothing. He'd know for sure that the voice in his head was telling the truth - that he should've taken each and every bullet that felled his comrades. If he'd been braver, done more, generations of good families would've stemmed from the men he fought with who never made it home.

Crown and Milt had so much in common and their connection was quite deep - but as much as they knew about each other, neither could fully understand this one difference in the other and it wound up being the thing that ultimately killed their relationship.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Dreamy Kisses

Summary: It's been three years since Alastor left you in the middle of the night with nothing to remember him by except a single bowtie, forgotten in his haste. You missed him more with every passing day and every year, you hoped he would attend the one party you never missed. Perhaps this year your dream would come true.

The sound of your voice came, humming lightly along to the music in your head, the sounds of your memories. It was your memory that haunted you, replaying the sound of Alastor singing along with the jazz he would often play. He lived in your mind, a pale recreation of the man you had loved for decades, but that was all you had. 

Bitter, hot wind, stinking of sulfur, whipped at you, sending your hair flying out behind you. It was long now, longer than you had ever kept it in life. Alastor had been fond of longer hair, but even so, it was longer than you had ever kept before he had… before he had left. 

You hesitated, looking up at the towering staircase and the radio tower it lead to. The walk wouldn’t be hard, not now that you were stronger. Before your death, the walk to the tower alone would have exhausted you. 

After death, you rarely had to do any long walking you didn’t want to do. It wasn’t something you could just avoid anymore, though. That, like so many things, was off the table. No longer could you just melt into the shadows and appear in the tower. 

You didn’t mind the walk, and you wouldn’t mind the climb. It was something you had grown to enjoy, though you dearly wished for company during it. Not just anyone’s company- you wanted to indulge in a long, relaxed walk with Alastor at your side, your arm tucked under his. 

It was New Year’s Eve. Another spent alone. Your third now, but that didn’t stop you from coming here. 

You again traced the spiraling staircase up the center of the radio tower, leading to the office suspended halfway up the primary tower. It was from this tower that all of his broadcasts originated, the crown jewel of his territory. 

“I miss you,” you whispered as you wrapped your hand around the cold steel railing. The tink of your heel as it hit the metal stair seemed to echo in your heart. “I miss you so much.” 

You waited for a moment, giving him a chance to show up and tell you how silly you were. Alastor would never leave you, you know that. He always came back. He always comes back. Always. 

Except this time. 

No. You argued with your heart and your mind. You knew better. Alastor would come back. He had to come back. He had to come back for you. 

It’s been three years since you woke up, New Year’s Day, alone. Three years. 

Alastor had gotten bored. He was tired of you. You were weak, holding him back as he continued his rise to power. 

But he was gone. His rise to power was no longer continuing. If anything, it was falling in his absence. Though you tried, you lacked the power to maintain the stronghold on his considerable territory. As each year passed, fellow overlords chipped away at what was his.

“I’m coming,” you whispered, heels ticking against the wooden steps with the beat of your dead heart. “Please, wait for me.” 

He wasn’t. You knew he wouldn’t be up there. The radio station was dark, dead. It was as dead as the air on the station he played his personal selection of music, chitchat and horrors on. 

For decades, no one dared rival his channel, but now if you just turned the dial, you could replace the dead sound of what had been his channel with music. People were no longer scared to broadcast on the radio, using other frequencies, moving more and more in on what was his domain. 

You never turned the dial, though. Mimzy and Rosie both looked at you with pity, each changing the station to a newly arrived rival station, filling their spaces with music he did not play. Your home remained silent, playing only the records you and Alastor had purchased together. Your heart and your home were a shine to the man you shared both with for so many decades. 

“Please, be there,” you whispered, climbing closer and closer to the door. Each step had tears gathering in your eyes until you couldn’t hold them back anymore. 

It was shameful, dangerous to cry in the open in hell, but the risk was minimal here. This was the center of his territory and while you struggled to hold on to his control in his absence, this area remained untainted by challenge. This area, so close to the home you had shared with him and the radio tower he had founded his empire in hell with, was as close to a private, safe place as you’d get. 

“Please,” you choked on the word. “Please, be here.” 

Tears ran freely down your cheeks as you wrapped your fingers around the knob. The door rattled as you tried to pull it open, willing it to be unlocked, waiting for you. The steel was cold under your touch, unmoving as you tried to turn it. 

That’s okay, you told yourself. He just kept the door locked. That’s what he did when he wasn’t expecting you. 

But he would have been expecting you. This was what you had done every New Year’s Eve. This was where you went, together, to watch the fireworks. Every single year, for decades.

Every year, that was, until a few short years ago. 

The key- the only key- was in the pocket of your dress. Your hand trembled as you reached for it, pulling it free. Your breath choked, tears threatening to give way to sobs as you slotted the key into the lock and turned. 

The door swung open with a squeak of hinges that betrayed years without proper maintenance. Alastor wouldn’t have stood for it. That squeak alone stabbed into your chest, reminding you he hadn’t returned to care for the space he had invested so much power in. The puddles of the bayou had dried up a year ago, leaving nothing but patches of dirt and brittle dry reeds. 

“Alastor?” You knew he wasn’t there, but that knowledge did nothing to stop you from calling out to him. 

Hope. That’s all you had. Hope. It was what had gotten you through life, through your death and through your afterlife. 

Each day that passed, each week, each month, each year was working to steal that hope from your heart. The demon of time threatened to steal the only thing you really had left anymore. How long could you really resist it? 

The door swung closed behind you, slamming shut with an echo through the empty room. The dim, dark red glow of night in hell bathed the room in that hellish glow. On the ground, in the dust, you could see the footsteps of a more hopeful ghost. You wanted to be her again. You wanted the hope you had in that year or the year before. 

You wanted to have more hope than you had now.

“Alastor,” you moaned as you collapsed into the chair, covered in a year’s worth of dust that hadn’t been disturbed once since you had last visited, exactly one year ago. 

Fingers wrapped around the bundle of fabric in your pocket, pulling it out. It was all you had left of him. He had taken everything else that belonged to him alone. Everything left belonged to you together or was yours alone. 

There had to be a reason. You had to believe that he had a good reason for leaving, for breaking your heart. He would come back and tell you why. It would all make sense then. Everything you went through- it wouldn’t all have been for nothing. 

There had to be a reason. 

The clock, ticking loud in the empty room, marked the passing seconds. It looked over the space that had once been so full of life, a near silent witness to the constant passage of time. Dust clouded the glass, dimming the polished wood of the case, as it did everything in the room. 

Tears splashed onto the control panel as you leaned forward, face sinking into the palms of your hands as a ragged sob tried to rip through your chest. It was almost time. Blindly, you reached out and flipped the first switch.

The consol came to life with a hum. All throughout the Pride ring of Hell and as far into the other rings as Alastor’s- no, not Alastor’s power anymore. The radio was powered by your power now. Alastor wasn’t here. The reach wouldn’t be as far, but you hoped the signal would reach throughout pride at least, forcing radios on and dials to turn to his station. It was something you never asked around to verify, fearful that you simply were not powerful enough. 

Another switch flipped, the click seeming far too loud in the silent room. Recorded music played, coming to life with no warning. It was the same music every year and would run for the last hour of the year. You said nothing before starting the jazz tape. 

Alastor would have. 

There was nothing you could say that would live up to his parting message of the year, so you simply said nothing at all as music filled the airwaves, pouring out from speakers around the city just as it did from the speakers within the radio tower. 

Songs you listened to every year clawed at you, jagged knives ripping through the scars that had grown over the open wounds of your heart over the last twelve months. Each jaunty piano key ripped your heart open. The warm horns blew every wall you had built around the sadness of your heart, trying to contain it as if it was an infection.

“Oh, Alastor.” The words felt like they were cutting their way out of your chest. Each syllable felt like a knife ripping up your throat. “Al…” 

You slumped forward in Alastor’s chair, arms folding as you crumpled forward. Your head was heavy as it fell on to your arms. Tears dripped, splashing down onto the console. Each drop felt like it shattered your heart. 

Every single year, you thought there wasn’t anything left to break. Every single year, your heart found a new way to break. Each song played, reminding you of years spent listening to these same songs as glasses clinked and heels tapped against the ground while the man you loved more than anything in existence spun you around the broadcast room. 

There was none of that now. 

Now, there were only just the well-worn records and the sound of your soft sobs, mixed with the splash of your tears. 

So you cried. 

And cried. 

And cried. 

Until…

The sound was so soft. You almost didn’t hear it. The whisper squeak of hinges, of a door being pulled open that should have remained closed. It should have been louder, but you were so tired, the sound seemed to float just past your ears. 

“Cher?” It was just as soft, a ghost of sound caressing your exhausted ears. It wasn’t real, you knew that. It was nothing more than the ghosts conjured up by an exhausted mind. 

Right?

And then a large, clawed hand wrapped around your shoulder, fingers flexing as he shook you. Wearily, you lifted your head, preparing yourself to face the empty room, knowing full well he wasn’t there. 

He couldn’t be. 

He left. 

It was just a figment of your imagination. 

Except, as you lifted your head and turned in the chair…

“Alastor?” 

He wore his best. It was what he always wore for new years, a memory of what he had worn in life. A tailcoat in a rich rusty color that you could paint from memory, at least if you had any talent at all, hung folded over his arm. 

His shirt, bright red, the color he loved so much, spread over his shoulders and chest, well fitted. It would have been scandalous in your time, but that didn’t stop him from saving a little money and using less fabric on his shirts. In truth, though he never admitted it, you always thought he favored the tighter fit on his lean frame.

What you knew for sure was that you did.

Your legs struggled to support your weight as you stood slowly from the chair. Surely your eyes had to be the size of saucers as you looked at him, the man you loved, the man who had left you years ago, leaving nothing but the scent of him behind. That and a bowtie, forgotten, lost in the folds of your dress, thrown to the floor in a moment of heated passion. 

“Cher,” Alastor said again, his voice a balm on the wounds of your shattered heart. 

You launched yourself at him, though it didn’t feel like your legs should have been able to produce the force needed to do so. 

His arms snaked around your waist, pulling you into him as if the momentum wasn’t enough. His shirt bunched under your fingers as they curled into a fist, clinging to him as you looked up at him through the sea of tears gathering in your eyes, only to cascade down your cheeks in a waterfall of emotion. 

“You left me.” Your voice came out as a squeak, hardly strong enough to produce sound at all. “You said you wouldn’t leave me.” 

“I’m back,” Alastor cooed, thumb wiping the tears away from your cheek. “I didn’t leave. I only stepped away for a moment.” 

“But you-” the sob that ripped through your chest cut your words off. 

“I know,” Alastor said. “I’m sorry, Cher. I have always come back for you, though. Haven’t I?” 

You nodded, timidly. His words did not dull the hurt in your heart, though there was so much comfort in hearing his voice. The pain did nothing to stop you from clinging to him. 

“I- I’m so damn mad at you,” you said, though your voice did nothing to carry that anger. 

“As you should be,” Alastor answered, just as you knew he would. “But would you dance with me, anyway?” 

“Why should I?” You tried to sound defiant. 

“Because I am back now?” Alastor said, ears twitching atop his head as his smile pulled wider. “And because you love me.” 

Alastor’s hand ran over your back and shoulders, smoothing down your arm before plucking one of your hands up off his chest. You followed as he stepped through the room, slowly leading you through a dance that didn’t match the tempo of the music. 

“I do,” you admitted, reluctantly. Through all these years spent alone, abandoned within the ring of hell that was your home, you loved him still. “But do you still love me?” 

“Of course.” His voice was cheery, happy. He sounded like he had just been away for a meeting, a few days for a trip or a hunt, not years. “I have loved you from the moment I took my first breath. I simply needed time to grow into a man to discover it.” 

“I didn’t think you would come back,” you whispered, tears finally drying on your cheeks. There was no reason to cry anymore. Alastor was here. He had come back. He was back. 

“I always come back,” Alastor soothed as he spun you around his broadcast room as if nothing had happened. “I will always return to you. You must believe that.” 

“Okay.” You sighed as his arms circled you again, holding you close as the energetic dancing of your time gave way to the soft swaying that came with the much more romantic tune of the next song. 

“Can you forgive me for missing the last few of our New Year’s Eve parties?” Alastor asked, leaning down to bump his sharp nose against yours. “Since I’ve come back for this one?” 

“Al,” you leaned into his embrace as the final song of the year began. “I don’t need you here for parties or broadcasts. I need you here for me. I need you to be here with me.”

“Forgive me, Cher?” Alastor nudged your nose again. “I knew you would be strong enough to stand your own feet in my absence, and you have.” 

“I didn’t want to do anything without you.” The pain stabbed into your heart again, but you smiled at him just the same.

“I know, but you did,” Alastor whispered, the static of the radio falling, revealing the sound of him alone as the song came to a close. “It’s almost the end of the year. How do you want to start the new year?” 

“With you,” you answered, voice soft. “Together. The way we always have. The way it’s supposed to be.” 

“Will you do me the honor of allowing me to kiss you?” Alastor’s voice was as naked as it was when he had asked you to marry him, a lifetime ago, kneeling in front of his mother’s tomb. 

“Always.” Your hands ran up his chest, wrapping around his sharp shoulders. 

Long ago, Alastor set the recording, so if it started on time, it would end just as midnight struck. The music faded as the final song ended. Just as silence fell in the studio, Alastor leaned forward, sealing his lips over yours, hiding away his wide, demonic smile. 

The loud explosions of fireworks broke the silence, lighting up the sky over the entertainment and technological districts. For a moment, the explosions within your heart drown out the sound. 

You clung to that sound and the feeling of Alastor under your hands as the boom of the fireworks grew louder and louder. One rocket shot off to the side, whistling as it approached the broadcast tower. The explosion rattled the tower, from where the metal beams extended into the ground right up to the antenna that sent the signal far and wide. 

The force of the explosion startled you, jerking you out of your moment. You sat up, back slamming against the chair as you choked on a scream. The chair rolled and rattled as you whipped your head back and forth, looking for him. 

He was right here. 

He came back.

“Alastor?” you called out, standing on trembling knees. “Please.” 

You took a trembling step away from the control tower.

“No.” The word was a broken sound that matched each jagged bit of your heart. “Please. You were here. You came back.” 

Your knees stung as you fell to the ground, the hard wooden floor offering no comfort. He was here. He was right here. You had danced with him. His arms were around him. You talked to him. You kissed him.

He was here. 

He was here. 

He had come back.

He never came back. 

It was a dream; you realized as you threaded your fingers through your hair, pulling at the strands as you curled in on yourself. Tears ran down your face, a painful reminder of how weak you were as your heart shattered. 

All your life, you had depended on men. From your father to Alastor, you were you were nothing but a pawn on the board of men. Alastor left. It had been years. He wasn’t coming back. You were a pawn that had, after all these decades, been discarded by the master of the board. 

It was time that you put it away. You had to put Alastor away. You had to put it away. You had to move on. 

This year, you would stand on your own two feet. 

This year, the only kiss you had was one last kiss brought to you by your dreams. This year, that would be the only kiss because Alastor was gone, and he was not coming back. 

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers including the first page of the next chapter of MisD a day early!!

[theseinfernalangels]

Love Letters — Garrick Tavis ☀️

Synopsis: Recovered Correspondence between Lieutenant Garrick Tavis and Lieutenant Cosette Camden, Princess of Navarre.

 Takes place over the course of the first part of Iron Flame and is for Day 3 of Garrick Week: Distance.

The contents of this recovered correspondence are not dated, but are believed to have been sent between the timeframe of July 29th and December 3rd, 634 AU. This is not a completely recovered set of writing. Whilst included missives were found in the ruins of the Samara and Montserrat outposts, other letters are actively being sought after by scribe and rider alike for insight on personal relations within harsh military structures. Just for studying. Totally just for studying.

— A personal addendum from Jesinia Neilwart, Curator of the Scribe Quadrant of Basgiath War College

Princess,

Fuck. It’s not even been a week without you, and I can already feel myself coming apart (No — not like that. I wish.). Everything would be so much easier with you here, but at the same time, I’m glad you’re in Monserrat rather than Samara. This place is not for the faint of heart, and while you are the most capable woman I know, I can already tell that riders are eaten alive here. Especially when you’re me. I have to start from ground zero all over again to make people trust me, fight twice as hard for all the same privileges that others are handed so easily.

I can’t help but wonder if it’s the same for you. Have people started suspecting about you yet? I doubt anything would happen — you’re an active service member with incredible skills — but a part of me worries that someone will be there to snitch you out. Stand your ground, beautiful. You’re more than any of these people can claim to be, anyway.

I’ll try to keep my missives as brief as possible, although I’d try to write whole tomes for you if I had the time. I love you in ways that consume me wholly. Please stay as safe as you can.

Yours forever, 

GT

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

Garrick,

I can say with upmost certainty that no one here knows a thing, besides that we are together. Seriously — the amount of times I’ve been referred to as “Tavis’s Girl” rather than my own name is appalling. I don’t know many people here besides this one girl from my wing, who decided upon meeting that we are friends. I quite like her. She makes for good company.

I’ll be honest with you, my love; I’m lonely. I miss you more than I miss the sun in a hurricane. Sometimes, I wake at night reaching for you, only to be met with nothing but sheets. Disappointing, but fine.

I’m so sorry I can’t be there with you. Had I known that you’d be sent to Samara, I would have requested to be there, too. I don’t care if it’s dangerous — you cannot convince me that there is a place safer on this Continent than being by your side. Even surrounded by hundreds of infantrymen and dragons, I would still feel better if I could see you. Oh, well. I can be patient, I suppose. 

I send you all the love from my place here. Rest assured I am safe and sound, despite the constant conflict. Send Xaden my best, too — I can’t imagine he has it any easier, especially with his Violet ordeal.

Thoroughly and utterly yours,

CC

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

Princess,

I’m glad you’re at least making connections with people — but who am I kidding? That’s what you do best. If your jackass brother weren’t the crown prince, you’d make the fairest queen of all.

You want to know what’s funny? Second to being classified as a traitor, people know me as yours, too. I guess sticking to one another like glue for three years paid off. 

Xaden wishes you well. The lucky bastard gets a couple of days every two weeks to go see Violet. I’d say I’m jealous, but I think Chradh would choke at the thought of being mates with Seachran. Correction — he just yelled at me extensively.

I would try and tell you about my days, but I’m afraid there’s not much to talk about right now. All we do is train and fight, with some recreational fighting on the side. Gambling is a big deal here, apparently. I bet I could cheat my way into getting the weekend off to see you, but I know you prefer honesty over everything. You’ve always been better than me, you righteous little light.

I heard that there was an attack near you recently. I imagine you are perfectly fine, but quick correspondance would be much appreciated.

Still terribly lovesick,

GT

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

My love,

Rest assured that I am okay. That "attack" was nothing more than a drift of gryphons gone astray. They were taken out quickly, with an efficiency that…Well, I’ll be honest. It scared the shit out of me. I forget sometimes that we’re actually in the service and not students anymore. 

Physically, I am fine. Emotionally? Drained. There is only so much time some can go without seeing the one they love, and despite what you may think, I am a woman of very weak willpower. Perhaps we spent a little too much time together back in Basgiath, because I find myself watching for you around every corner and through every door. It saddened me at first, but now it’s pretty funny. No one here even looks like you, yet I still was hopeful anyway. Perhaps that is foolish. I find it comedic. I think I have to — or else I’ll find myself succumbing to the things that haunt me otherwise. 

Don’t ask. It is best to leave it at that.

Tell me everything and anything you want. I would gladly listen to hours of strategizing and arguments just to hear your voice. You wouldn’t have to cheat, either. We both know that you’re the best of the best, and anyone who thinks they can one-up you just because of a damned relic can kiss my ass.

Always, always, always,

CC

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

My darling,

Nothing in that beautiful mind of yours could ever be foolish. On the contrary, the same is happening to me. Riorson tried to assure me that it was fine, since some of the women here, “look like you, anyway,” but I disagree. None of them have your smile. They don’t have the freckles that only show themselves in the summer. They don’t have your inclination to take others under their wings, and they certainly don’t have your eyes. I don’t think anyone does.

Oh, yeah. They don’t have Seachran, either. I think we’d know if they did.  

I think you’ve boosted my ego tenfold, but that’s not much of a change, as far as I’m concerned. No time for being humble when I’ve got a lovely woman waiting for me and a bunch of dark wielders ready to hunt me down.

Call me a dreamer, but I can’t wait until this is over. I have so many things I want to show you. To share with you. To be with you. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, and perhaps you’ll think I’m a sap, but that’s alright. You could call me a traitor straight to my face, and I’d just appreciate how it sounds on your tongue.

Still drowning within you,

GT

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

My love,

 Firstly, I would never entertain the thought of calling you anything like that. You deserve only the sweetest of words from me, and that’s all you’ll get — unless you decide to be a dumbass.

Maybe you are a dreamer. Maybe it is wishful thinking. The thing about being a light-wielder, though, is that you learn to wish on stars frequently. I am a dreamer, too. Let me share a piece of my dreams with you.

When this war ends — because we will end it — all I want is you. I don’t care where we go, whether it be Aretia or someplace else. Just us and our friends for a while, taking chances and getting to take a moment to breathe air that isn’t tainted with blood. I see the sun, and that river you’ve told me so much about, and waking up to fresh sheets and warm touches. We can be soft and keep it that way,  just you and me, and then…I’m not quite sure. I have thoughts, but I don’t like being too forward. 

Fuck that. Never mind. I want a life with you. A family — a real one, where we never question if someone loves another or if their presence is wanted in the first place. I’ll give as much as you will, because I know you will without asking. That is why I want it in the first place; there is no one else I’d share the sentiment with.

So call yourself a dreamer and a sap. Just know that I am ten times more delusional than you are.

Dreaming of you,

CC

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

My brightest light,

You can’t just say things like that and expect me to be normal about it. No, I am not crying; it is just exceptionally hot sharing a room with three other riders.

You want my dreams? I’ll give them all to you. I want it all. All of it. The sun, the river, the sheets, the touches, the family. I will give it all to you if you do the same for me. Actually, I’d give it all to you, regardless. You deserve every fucking moment of it for everything you’ve given me. 

Will we have any idea of what we’re doing? Probably not. Neither of us have parents to consult, and I don’t quite understand children, but that doesn’t mean we won’t try. How many do you want? We’ll go from there.

Chradh says he’ll give us parenting advice. I’d sooner let him barrel-roll me into the side of the outpost.

Shit. He’s taking it personally now.

As I was saying, I want to give it all to you. The moment I have the chance, I’ll come to you and we’ll talk it out. I have something to ask of you, anyway. Tell me when it’s best for you, and I’ll fight like hell to get my forty-eight hours, and I’m not sharing. I know it’s not much, but it’s what I can manage without getting my ass kicked — even though, between you and me, I couldn’t care less if Command got mad at me. They’d have to find me to execute me, and fortunately for the both of us, I’m pretty fast.

I’ll be in your arms soon,

GT

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

My love,

I also have my forty-eight hours for you. I wasn’t even aware we could do that, but according to command, I’ve been out fighting so frequently that they’ve decided to give me a break of my choosing. Part of me wants to be offended and wonders if they think I’m delicate; the other part couldn’t care less. I haven’t had a break since the moment I slid from my mother’s womb on to her bedroom floor. I think I deserve it.

The end of November or beginning of December would suffice, I think. Since they won’t consider rotating stations until April, the halfway point is probably the best option — for both convenience’s sake, as well as my sanity.

I cannot wait to see you! I have not slept very well since the night before Reunification Day — the last night we had together. Where you should be laying, I have only sheets to cling to. If they smelled like you, maybe I would complain less, but no. I probably average a good four hours, but I know I’ll get at least six with you.

To put it bluntly, I need you here. Desperately. The end of November, at the earliest, please. Ask any question. Request anything of me. I don’t care. Please, just come home to me.

Don’t keep me waiting,

CC

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

“I miss you.”

His words are mumbled into your hairline, his lips brushing against your skin like a midnight prayer. It may as well be; the moon, bright and swelling, paints his skin white as milk against the stone alcove you rest under. Despite his softness, his word choice has you frowning and tilting your head up.

“But I’m right here,” you reply, one brow furrowing in confusion.

Garrick just smiles. “I know,” he says. “But I still miss you. I miss you when I’m at Samara. I miss you when I’m on the battlefield. I miss you when you’re three inches away from me.” He presses a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose. “No matter where I am, I miss you.”

“Ah.” Has Garrick always been so poetic? Or is this just another change made by the distance and the four months that have separated the two of you?

You could barely go four months without him. You’re not sure if it’s romantic or pathetic. 

“Something on your mind, lovely?” Garrick asks, slipping a finger under your chin to pull your eyes to his. His eyes, wonderfully hazel, search yours carefully. It’s no secret to him that you’ve been struggling without him there beside you, and it’s not like he can say any different.

“No.” You tuck your head into his shoulder and sigh. “I just can’t wait for the next few months to be over. They’re talking about transferring some people out, so I’m hoping luck will be on our side and I’ll get sent to Samara.”

A low chuckle leaves him. “I’m not sure you’d enjoy it there. Unless you’re into watching two sweaty, shirtless men go at each other while everyone else drinks.”

That puts a mischievous smile on your face. “Does one of those sweaty, shirtless men happen to be mine? Because I’d totally be into that.”

That painfully adorable dimple flashes on Garrick’s cheek. “Pervert.”

You shove him playfully, although he doesn’t budge a bit. “Don’t act like you would pass up the opportunity to see me fight someone in just my bindings. I’m surprised you haven’t campaigned for it yet.”

“Well…” He glances around before snaking his hands around your hips and pulling, trapping you further into his embrace as you let out a little squeak of laughter. “I’m definitely not against the idea.“

You lean in and press a light kiss to the hollow of his throat. “You wouldn’t get jealous of other men seeing me without my leathers?”

Garrick scoffs, but the cocky grin is too obvious in his voice. “Wear whatever you want in front of any man. At the end of the day, you’ll end up with me, anyway.”

You snort but shake your head fondly. It’s been three years since the two of you started going out, ever since that terrifying October of your first year. For every day since then, you’ve gone back for Garrick, and he’s always come for you. You didn’t even mean to propose the jealousy scenario, but grateful satisfaction blooms in your gut. Garrick is a lot of things, but he’s certainly not insecure.

“Alright, wise guy,” you joke, poking him in the ribs and receiving a mocking pout in return. “You wanted to ask me something. Talk.”

His eyebrows raise in surprise, stretching the scar on his face a little like he didn’t expect your demand. “Someone’s eager.”

“Of course I am,” you shoot back. “I haven’t seen you in months. Haven’t heard you in months. Ask me everything so your voice sticks with me better.”

He just shakes his head, relaxing against the wall and reaching for the ends of your now-loosened hair. “You missed me, too?”

Your lips purse as you flick him in the chest, your eyes softening as he catches your hand to bring it to his mouth. “Of course I did, idiot. And I’ll miss you in forty-eight hours. Now, spill.”

His lips tense in the way you know is him holding back a dirty joke, and then he just smiles, wrapping an arm around your waist to anchor your body to his.

“…I’ve been thinking,” he says quietly, after a few heartbeats. “About us.”

Oh? You tilt your head. It doesn’t surprise you, given how often you’re thinking of him, but it’s definitely not something you think he’d need to ask about.

“These past few months…” He sighs roughly. “They’ve been painful without you. Really fucking painful. I never imagined how often I’d go to bed and not be able to sleep without your head tucked into my shoulder, or how pissed off I’d get when you’re not there to keep my head set.” 

Your gaze softens, a hand coming up to brush against his unscarred cheek lightly. “Gare…”

He brushes his thumb against your lower lip, shushing you gently. “No, listen. Let me say my piece.”

Your lips seal almost instantly.

He starts again. “You’ve always been right there, you know? Even before Threshing, before we even properly met, you were there. Defending Freya from those assholes. Defending mefrom your brother, even though you knew fully that he wanted both of us dead. I thought you were insane back then.”

A wry smile cuts across your face. “Not now?”

His fingers glide across your jaw. “I digress. And even after that…you never left. Never. Not when you knew we were hiding something. Not when I had to lie. Not even after War Games, and I knew you wanted to scream at me.”

His eyes find yours. “Somehow, despite everything, you’ve never left. Do you know how many people in my life get to say that? It’s not many.”

“Like that’s hard?” you reply quietly, tracing up his relic with your pinkie. “You never gave me a reason to leave. In fact, you’ve only ever given me reasons to stay. I’ve never had that before, either — a reason to stay where I am, perfectly content with what I have.”

“I want you to have that.” Garrick reaches down into the pocket by his thigh, but it’s out of your line of sight. “Always. A reason to stay. A life that you want that wasn’t just thrown your way for the sake of convenience. A place where you’re truly happy, like we talked about. The sun. The river. A family.”

For reasons you can’t quite comprehend, your heart starts racing, knocking your breath from your lungs. Sure, Garrick’s always been a sweet-talker when it comes to you, but this? This is nothing short of a confession. 

But he didn’t say he had a confession. He said he had a request.

You search his eyes, the hazel glow growing brighter in the starlight. “…I don’t understand what you’re trying to ask of me.”

He just smiles. Not cocky. Not cheeky. Just gently. Wanting. Earnest. 

It sets your heart ablaze.

“Lovely.” He shifts a little, adjusting his grip on your face so his thumb can trail over your cheekbone — no doubt re-memorizing the pattern of your freckles. “I can’t do it without you. Anything, really. Sleep, walk, fight the war, live. At the end of the day, I’m just a man, and I never want to have to let you go.”

The cool skin of his fingers brushes against yours as he laces your palms together, pressing something small and cold in between your hands. You watch him quizzically before you bring your hand away from his, flipping your palm towards you and choking once you catch sight of what he’s places in it.

It’s…a ring.

Relatively small, it is. A silver band, patterned in small designs that spread across the surface. The gem lays carefully within the widest spot, golden yellow and glinting in the light. Smaller, matching gems dot against the band. Citrine. They’re beautiful, just like sunlight.

No. Not just sunlight. Your light.

Your breath catches. Oh, gods. 

It’s not just a ring. It’s a ring.

Your head snaps up, meeting his eyes that are lit with pure, unadulterated adoration.

“Say you won’t let go of me, Princess?” he asks, cupping your cheek in his palm.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

You blink once. Twice. A third time, just out of habit. You open your mouth and then close it, your voice stolen away from pure disbelief.

He wants to marry you. To stay with you.

It’s enough to make you start crying like an infant.

“Fuck.” You press your face into his chest, not caring that your hot tears are soaking into his tunic with every shaky breath that leaves you. “Oh, gods.”

A hand ghosts up your spine, cradling you carefully. That’s when you feel it — the gently weight of something pressing into your spine. Cold. Heavier. 

Another ring. His. When did he slip it on?

“Lovely?” he prompts, dragging his lips against your forehead. “Are you—“

You cut him off by tearing yourself away from his chest, meeting his confusion-filled gaze with your own, packed with every thing, every feeling, every moment you share with him. Your eyes drop to his lips, and then trail back up shakily. Watching. Waiting.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Thoroughly and utterly. Yes. Please. Stay with me, forever. Please.”

His lips are on yours before he can even agree, sealing the promise into your mouth.

Searing. Binding. Filled with every ounce of joy and love and light and longing and want.

You’ll never have to let him go.

And, as if in response, the moon starts to glow a little brighter.

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[xspeter]

LOML

luke castellan x fem!reader

angst, angst, angst. mini blurb to help me get my flow back :) based off of LOML by Taylor Swift.

Percy Jackson isn’t sure what’s worse. Luke’s betrayal, or the look on your face when you find out. He’s sure he’ll get nightmares about it.

You’d had a wide smile on your face, the woven flower crown in your hair hinting that you’d just been out at the flower fields with your siblings.

You’d been called to help patch up Percy after what you had been told was a fight, but the somber energy in the room immediately told you something was off. It was too suspicious to have Chiron, Mr. D, Percy, Annabeth, and Grover all in the room for what was supposed to simply be slapping on a band-aid.

The smile on your face fell, and was instead replaced with a subtle frown. Your eyebrows furrowed, and you crossed your arms over your chest uncomfortably. “Is something wrong?” You asked, eyeing everyone in the room.

Percy swallowed and hesitantly glanced to Annabeth, who already had the remnants of tears in her eyes. And if the glossiness told him anything, it was that she was about to burst out crying again. Not that he could blame her.

He watched your frown grow as recognition flashed across your face. You and Luke always had been so in tune to each others emotions, he’s honestly surprised you didn’t notice the lack of his presence earlier.

“Y/N-” Chiron started, but you interrupted him. “Where’s Luke?”

Silence.

Percy didn’t believe in soulmates. It’s weird, because after finding out about greek gods and mythological beings being real, you’d think soulmates wouldn’t be that far off the table. But, they were.

But you and Luke had something Percy could tell was special. It wasn’t just a relationship - it was like a sacred bond bestowed upon the two of you by the gods themselves. Wherever Luke was, you’d be sure to follow, and vice versa. Fuck, you’d practically finish each other’s sentences as corny as that sounded.

That’s why he was so confused Luke would throw it all away so easily.

“Y/N…” Mr. D started, and Percy was sure it was the most emotion he’d ever even seen from him. You immediately began shaking your head, hands trembling as you stared at the ground. “Where is he?” You questioned again.

More silence followed, and Percy knew no one wanted to answer you, and he could understand why. Still, he took a breath and forced himself to look up at you. “He’s gone.”

It was like the five stages of grief flashed in your eyes simultaneously - merging together but still so distinguishable.

“No, he’s not.” You whimpered, “He’s in his cabin. I just saw him barely an hour ago-”

“He tried to kill Percy,” Annabeth finally breathed out. “He wants to overthrow the gods.”

You shook your head, a disbelieving laugh leaving your lips as you ran a trembling hand through your hair, moving up the white flower crown until it was lopsided on your head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” You said through gritted teeth, “Luke wouldn’t do that. I know him. I know him. He wouldn’t. It must’ve been- been a shapeshifter or something. I mean, with all the other monsters out there there has to be a shapeshifter right? Yeah. That’s all it was. It wasn’t Luke.”

Percy squeezed the table in front of him until his knuckles were white, doing his best to choke down his tears. It was a tempting idea, one that he’d have no problem believing if it hadn’t been for the look in Luke’s eyes. No monster could recreate that kind of rage.

“It was him,” Percy spoke up, “I know it was.”

“You don’t know anything!” You yelled, eyes wild and skin paling, “You don’t know Luke like I do! He wouldn’t do this! Sure, he gets mad at the gods sometimes, but don’t we all? It doesn’t mean we’re gonna up and start a whole rebellion!”

Grover attempted to reach out to you, tears forming in his dark eyes, “I know it’s hard-” He attempted, but you practically jumped away from him. “Don’t touch me.” You growled lowly, pointing an accusing finger in his face. Grover didn’t argue.

Everyone in the room stared at you in pity, and it made you sick. You’d show them. Luke was in his cabin right now, probably trying to sleep or playing with one of the younger campers. Because that’s what Luke does - that’s the Luke you know.

You were the love of his life. He’d told you just two days ago during a secret picnic on the beach way past your curfew. You’d choked up, but told him the same through your tears. Luke had kissed you so hard you swore you were seeing stars, and you remember thinking this kiss had felt different than all the others. Almost desperate, like he was trying to grasp onto something he knew he was losing.

No.

Luke was in his cabin.

You’d left the Big House without even a grunt, practically sprinting across camp to the Hermes cabin. You didn’t care about the weird looks the stragglers were giving you, didn’t care about the soft ache in your legs. You needed to see Luke. Needed to feel him. Needed to intertwine your souls again.

You were panting by the time you reached it, throwing the doors open and looking around wildly. “Luke?” You called, voice breaking a bit as you did.

“Y/N?” someone said, you didn’t know their name. Or maybe you did. You honestly couldn’t remember right now, the only thing running through your mind was Luke.

“Have you seen Luke?” You asked.

The camper shook her head, blonder hair falling in front of her face as she did. “Hey, are you okay-”

You were gone before she could even finish her sentence. You spent hours searching for him, like he was a pair of house keys you’d lost and desperately needed in order to go home.

The moon was high into the sky by the time you stop, your vision blurry with tears and muscles burning. You’d even prayed to your father at some point - which was something you rarely ever did.

You fall to your knees in the grass, hand clutching at the golden bracelet on your wrist. Like had given it to you two nights ago on the beach, embroided in it were the letters “LOML.”

He’dtold you it was because you were the love of his life, but right now in this moment, with your chest puffing and knees weak, you think it may stand for something else.

Because while you may be the love of Luke Castellan’s life, he was the loss of yours.

[000marie198]

I think Sonic characters should be allowed to be artists more often

...

Amy is already a painter, a culinary artist, and a chef. She also has a lovely aesthetic sense. I can also kinda see her collabing with Honey to design dresses and outfits. She also making screenplays & comics!

Cream compiling flower vases and bouquets and crowns.

Rouge having a knack for interior designing and makeup and blending in skills while still standing out.

Vector being a sound and music artist, composing remixes and mashups etc

Tails creates logos and graphic interfaces and has architectural designing skills

Knuckles being a damn good sculptor and being great at wood carving

Sonic secretly makes chaotic graffiti's and him doodling on random stuff and having a talent in music and singing and similar performative arts. Not to mention that swordsmanship is also an art just as much as it is a skill.

I think Shadow would enjoy learning crochet. He'd also kill at figure skating.

Espio setting up a meditation garden, Espio doing calligraphy, Espio doing poetry!

Charmy doodling cartoons and stickers.

I can definitely see Blaze doing fiery ballet. And other recreational arts.

And Silver with his awe-inspiring massive structures made using random scraps and debris

....

Let Sonic characters be artists