#reader reflection

[iyemarathichiyenagari1971]

मारुती चितमपल्ली यांच्या लेखनाचा नवा पैलू ।। चितमपल्ली आणि गंडभेरूंड ।।

माझ्यासारख्या चौकस वाचकाचं सहज वाचनही निरुद्देश राहू शकत नाही, असं माझ्या लक्षात आलं. मारुती चितमपल्ली यांचे लेख वाचताना काय काय संदर्भ माझ्या डोळ्यासमोरून तरळून जात आहेत. वाचता वाचता मारुती चितमपल्ली यांच्या लेखनाचा एखादा नवाच पैलू माझ्या लक्षात येतो आहे. इंद्रजीत भालेराव ॥ चितमपल्ली आणि गंडभेरूंड ॥ मारुती चितमपल्ली गेले आणि पुन्हा एकदा त्यांची सगळी ग्रंथसंपदा समोर घेऊन बसलोय. याआधी ही सगळी…

[sweetcalebb]

Reader who can’t cum pretty please 🙏

Squirtings good tho~

LADS men helping you squirt ! ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

a/n: idk how everyone out there does these kinda prompts without it sounding like copy paste 😿 i have a newfound respect for u guys. I TRIED! and ik these were fast paced. sorry. also, did research, and u CAN squirt w out cumming!

context: you have a condition (medical or it's just hard, you decide)in which you can't come. you tell the boys and they insist they can take care of you <3

p.s. idk rafayel that well 😞 and i had another request similar to this one "they make you squirt for the first time I beg of thee <33" if that was u and u still want that after this pls let me know!

Caleb <3 !

Caleb lets out a shudder when your hand wanders down to the bulge in his pants. For weeks, this was your routine.

Messy make-outs, eager handjobs or sometimes blowjob, Caleb trying to return the favor and you nudging him away.

"N-no, not today," Caleb manages, gently grabbing your wrist and guiding it away.

You frown, your hand tensing slightly. "Did I do something wrong?"

Caleb swallows thickly, his cock giving a twitch of protest when he rests your hand at your side. "Not at all. I just—I feel bad."

"Why? I really want to, Caleb."

Caleb has to will himself not to give in to the way you say his name. "No, it's not that... I just can never return the favor."

He sees the flash of panic that passes through your eyes and quickly continues, "Which is fine! I don't have to touch you if you don't want me to, I just think we should give this a break for a little."

You glance down at the sheets, your face burning with shame. Both, at what you're hiding and the fact that he won't let you touch him.

Caleb scoots closer. "Hey, I really want you to touch me. Really, I do, it just doesn't feel fair."

You take a small breath, then softly murmur, "I can't come."

Caleb's brows furrow. "What?"

"I can't come," you repeat, heart beating wildly in your chest. "I've tried everything, I just can't. That's why I don't let you return the favor. You literally can't."

Caleb blinks. Then, utters a soft, "Oh."

It's quiet for a beat until he speaks up again.

"So, does it not feel good?" His voice is curious, not accusatory. "'Cus when you touch me it... It seems like you like it, but if you don't I don't want you to fa—"

"No!" you blurt out, a furious blush coloring your cheeks. "I like it. I like it a lot. I still feel pleasure, I just can't come."

Caleb lets out a soft breath, almost like it was meant to be a laugh but he subtly covered it up. "So... do you want me to touch you?"

You chew your lip, your body screaming a wordless yes even as you shake your head. "I can't come."

"That's not what I asked."

You take a second. "Yes.."

Caleb smiles, slipping his hand down your waist and tugging you closer until your stomach is pressed to his. "I can touch you all day and night if that's what you want. I don't care if you don't come."

"Your wrist will hurt."

He can't help the laugh that slips out at your warning. "Do you want me to, Pips?"

You nod again and he slowly slips his hand under the fabric of your underwear, teasing his fingers through your slick.

You can't help buck into his hand and Caleb sighs. "I could've done this sooner.. God, you've been so needy, huh?"

When you nod, he eases a finger in. There's almost no resistance and that makes his dick jump.

"I'll take care of you. I'll go as long as you want," he pushes a second finger in, "as hard or soft as you want." He starts pumping slowly, drinking in your expressions.

Your face pinches in pleasure, hands clinging to him as he effortlessly reaches that spot that makes your toes curl.

"This still okay?"

You nod, chest rising and falling with your uneven breaths. "Mhmm.. It feels—different.."

Caleb nudges his fingers deeper, rubbing along that spongy spot inside you. "Here?"

"Yes, Caleb!"

He gives a soft moan at how perfectly you squeeze around him when he rubs over that sweet spot. "Want me to keep touching you here? Or do you want to try something else?"

"Mmn! I–I don't know!" you gasp, your body arching into his touch against your will.

Caleb slows down, gently rolling you over so you can lie on your back. "I won't do anything you don't want. You tell me what you need, alright, Pips?" He leans down to capture your lips.

You can't even return it properly, too focused on the way your stomach curls and your hips jerk every time he pushes his fingers in. Was that normal?

"Why does it feel like I'm gonna—wait–" You bring your arms around his neck and hug him close. "Caleb, it feels like I'm gonna—"

"That's normal," Caleb says, slowing down just a fraction. "You're doing good."

But he keeps hitting that spot. Keeps the same pressure, the same speed, the same angle and it makes you think you might actually pee.

Wait, you think you are.

You can't even tell him to stop before you're making a mess all over him.

"I'm.. hnn.. I'm sorry, Caleb!" you squeal, squeezing your eyes shut and hiding your face in his neck as if that might erase the pure mortification of whatever the hell you just did.

Caleb inhales sharply, easing his out fingers to rub languid circles over your clit. "Shit. You—you're so pretty."

Your ears burn.

"Don't say that.."

"Why not?"

"I didn't... pee?"

"No," he responds, kissing the top of your head. "That was something else and you—" he breaks off on a groan, trying to withstand the urge to grind himself into your leg. "You were.. so perfect."

Caleb carefully pulls back to look at you. "Are you okay? Do you want to stop?"

You can still feel him stroking you in small circles, and despite how overwhelming that was, you don't want to stop.

"Can we... keep going?"

Caleb nearly shudders. "Anything for you, princess."

Zayne <3 !

Zayne presses a fervent kiss to your jaw, his hand slowly drifting lower. Down your stomach, and stopping at the waistband of your panties.

You squirm, your cheeks flushing as you grip his wrist. "Wait.."

Zayne instantly draws his hand back. "I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I got ahead of myself."

"No, no, not at all.. It's just.." You pause, your chest tightening.

"What is it?" Zayne's about to shift away from you when suddenly you cling to his shoulder and pull him back.

He flinches slightly, but he doesn't resist. "It's alright," he starts again. "We can simply—"

"I can't, Zayne."

Zayne blinks once. Then he nods. "I know. It's okay, we don't need to do this. We can—"

"No, Zayne.." You sigh, your whole body burning with embarrassment. "Touching me is pointless. I can't... I can't... come."

Zayne opens his mouth, then closes it again. Did he hear that right? You can't.. come?

"You have anorgasmia?"

You flush. You're not even sure what that word means, but the fact that you're even having this conversation—with Zayne of all people—is making it hard to breathe.

"I don't—I don't know." You shift uncomfortably, your hand squeezing around his shoulder. "I've tried. But I just can't."

Zayne looks at you thoughtfully. Then gently, he says, "Pleasure doesn't always need a climax. But if you don't want—"

"I want to," you quickly say, arching into him despite yourself. "I just didn't think you'd want to since I can't..."

Zayne lets out a soft breath through his nose as he leans down to press his lips against yours. "You know me better than that, don't you?" he murmurs.

You give him a weak nod and kiss him back, gently guiding his hand back between your legs.

Zayne's breath hitches, but he doesn't hesitate.

He starts rubbing you through your clothes, drinking in the soft sighs that come tumbling out when he puts just the right amount of pressure.

"Don't feel like you need to perform for me," he reminds quietly. "I'm not doing this to make you cum." He kisses you slower, matching the pace of his fingers.

"I'm doing this to make you feel good."

You sigh, your hips bucking into his hand. You can't help it. Some part of you wishes he would stop. You two could be at this for hours and you wouldn't finish. But another part of you is screaming at him to continue. To go further.

Almost as if he read your mind, Zayne carefully helps you out of your panties and nudges them aside.

You bite your lip, your face flushing as he stares down at you with pure adoration. He drags his hand down your stomach, then lower.

He runs his fingers through the slick mess between your legs, watching as your thighs twitch around him, like your body can't decide whether to squirm away or pull him closer.

"Relax," he coaxes. "I'll be gentle."

Zayne circles your clit firmly.

"This still feels good, doesn't it?" When your hips come off the bed in confirmation, Zayne smiles. "Good." He rubs faster, absorbing every shift and twitch like it's scripture.

"I won't—I can't come," you remind him, even as your body melts into his touch.

Zayne shakes his head. "Shh. This isn't about making you come. Just enjoy it."

You give a barely-there nod. Then slowly, carefully, you feel him push a finger in. You gasp, your hands fisting in the sheets.

"Is it too much?"

"No. No, it feels good."

Zayne nods, gently pulling his finger out, then pushing back in. He does it over and over again, making sure you're relaxed before he adds another finger.

"Is this still good?"

"Yes," you breathe out, wiggling your hips. "Please don't stop."

Zayne's breath catches in his throat as he pumps his fingers in your slick heat. He could stay here forever, listening to you, feeling you.

He lets out a soft groan, sinking in deeper.

The pressure makes your stomach tighten. He keeps hitting that weird, spongy spot inside that makes your whole body ache. You can't even keep your moans down long enough to ask him to wait.

Your thighs tremble and Zayne stills when a sudden gush of wetness spills against his fingers, down your thighs, and onto the mattress.

For a second, you're frozen. Humiliated. You've never done that—whatever that was. You glance up at Zayne, mortified, but his eyes are half-lidded, pupils blown wide like it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"You..—"

You squirm, your face flushing. "I'm sorry—"

Zayne shakes his head and surges down, capturing your lips with his. "Don't apologize. I don't want you to hold back with me."

You kiss back, your heart still pounding in your ears. "Was that..?"

"No. It's different," he murmurs against your lips. "But did it feel okay?"

You hum against his lips.

"Do you want to continue?" he asks, his fingers flexing inside you.

Yes.

Yes. Everything in you is screaming at him to please continue, but you just shake your head. "No, that was good."

Zayne stares, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. "Is that what you want?"

You chew on the inside of your cheek. "No..."

"What do you want, then?" Zayne shifts his fingers, the wet sound making your face burn. "Use your words."

"I want you to continue," you whisper.

Zayne hums, his lips twitching with a subtle smile as he leans up to press a small kiss to your forehead. "That's better."

Xavier <3 !

Xavier snuggles into your boobs, inhaling you like you're the only air he'll ever need. You sight softly, heat dripping low in your stomach despite your best efforts to keep your horny thoughts at bay.

"Xav.."

"Yes?" he murmurs, blinking up between your breasts.

The sight forces you to tear your eyes away. He's too good at this—the whole innocent 'I'm-just-resting-my-head-here' act when you know what he really wants.

"You're being naughty."

"No, I'm not." He closes his eyes and nuzzles into your chest again, his hands coming up to palm your breasts.

You'd been holding back with Xavier weeks given your... issues and he never questioned it too much. He was content with just kissing you, but he did get a little needy every now and then.

Like now.

You stare down and feel a pang of guilt. He's been so patient. Even when he wants it so much. You can feel it—physically feel how much he wants you when you two kiss and you're sitting in his lap.

You sigh, raking your hand through his hair. "Hey, Xavier."

"Mmn?"

"I'm sorry we haven't... gotten physical."

You mentally cringe.

"Don't apologize for that. This is good," Xavier hums, pressing a reverent kiss to your chest, the warmth of his lips seeping through the fabric of your shirt. "This is really good."

"But.. do you want more?"

Xavier looks up, blinking, like he can't decide whether this is a trick question or something you want an answer to.

"Um... I.. Is this a trick question?"

You give a rueful little smile. "No. Be honest."

"I mean, doing more with you would be nice. But I don't need it. I'm perfectly fine like this."

The ache between his legs might beg to differ, but he would never guilt you into doing something with him.

You stay silent, fidgeting with his messy hair.

Xavier immediately sits up when you don't say anything. "Did I say something wrong? Was that actually a trick question?"

You shake your head. "I just—I want to do things with you, Xavier... but... I can't come."

Now Xavier's silent. He wasn't expecting that.

"Oh. Do you know why?"

"No," you murmur. "I've tried everything. Nothing works. I even tried toys."

Xavier's face flushes at the mention of toys, eyes darting around like he's trying to find their hiding spots. Then, quickly he forces his eyes back to you. Now isn't the time to look for your secret dildos or whatever it is you tried.

"Oh," he says again, his chest tightening. "That's.. fine."

You pause. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, do you still feel good when you do... things?"

Your cheeks warm as you nod. "I just—I've never tried anything with you because it would be useless. I wouldn't—you know?"

The thought makes his cock twitch traitorously. Xavier shifts awkwardly, slowly crawling back over you. "I could still make you feel good, if you want me to."

He slides his hand down your waist and squeezes like it's the only thing keeping him from crumbling.

"Even though I wouldn't...?"

"It doesn't matter. I would do anything you want for as long as you want," Xavier insists. And he means it with every fiber of his being.

Your heart stutters and heat rushes between your legs.

"Is there anything you'd want to try?" Carefully, he dips his hand down your stomach, stopping between your thighs, his touch light. "I'll do it."

"Are you sure..?"

Xavier nods. "Positive."

Your body lights up at his answer, your head already swimming with all the things you've wanted him to do. But one thing sticks out.

Shyly, you start, "Would you... go down on me?"

Xavier can't bite back the strangled sound that comes out. "Yes," he breathes. "Yes, I would go down on you."

He slips his fingers under the waistband of your pants and underwear, waiting. "Can I?"

You nod, watching with clouded eyes as Xavier gently pulls your clothes off and dips his head between your legs. He pulls your legs over his shoulder and when you feel his breath on your needy heat, you think you want to keep him there forever.

He kisses you—soft at first, then harder. You just taste so good. Musky, a little sweet, too.

He wraps his hands around your thighs and starts eating you out like a man starved. You gasp, shooting your hand down to tangle in his hair.

"Xavier!"

He hums in response, the vibration making your toes curl. You didn't expect it to be so good, but it is. So, so good.

You roll your hips, unable to stop it and Xavier groans when he feels you. He even pulls your thighs to guide you on his face.

The sounds you two make are obscene. Wet, sloppy squelches, groans, and sighs that are borderline pornographic. It's something you never thought you'd experience.

And when Xavier slowly eases two fingers in, you nearly cry. How can he even reach that deep?

"Oh, God! X-xavier! You—You're—!"

He gives you slow pumps, his tongue working your clit at the same time. And when he curls his fingers, your hips jump.

"W-wait! Why does that feel so—?"

You can barely speak before he's doing it again. And again. And again. And again. You're a squirming mess, hips chasing his mouth and fingers.

"Xavier...! Wait I think I might—!"

Xavier moans when he feels you spill against him. But you're desperately trying to twist away from him, embarrassment stinging your cheeks.

You gasp. "Oh my god, did I just— I’m sorry, that was so gross—"

Xavier slowly eases away, chin and lips glistening with your arousal. He wipes it away, pupils blown wide pure adoration.

You can't even look at him, but you're still blurting out apologies like that might erase the mess you just made.

"Gross?" He breaths out an incredulous sound. "Are you kidding?"

You swallow hard. "It wasn't—?"

Xavier makes an incredulous sound. "That was the prettiest thing I've ever seen."

"W-what?"

"I loved it." He notes the way you're squeezing your knees together and feels a pang of guilt. "Were you enjoying yourself?"

You take a moment before giving a shy nod. "Yes. I just.. wasn't expecting that. Were you okay with that?"

"More than okay," he immediately answers.

"But that wasn't coming, was it?"

Xavier shakes his head. "No, not quite. You're sure it felt okay, though?"

"Mhmm.."

"Then, is it okay if I stay a little longer?" Xavier asks, sliding his hand over your knee.

Yes! You want to greedily pull him back down, but you see the way his chest falls and rises a little too quickly. "Don't you need a break?"

"No." He leans closer. "I don't need a break unless you do."

Your stomach flutters. "I don't need a break yet."

Xavier smiles, gently prying your legs apart and lowering his face between them again. "Then neither do I."

Sylus <3 !

"Something's been bothering you," Sylus says between kisses, his hands dragging up your sides and squeezing like he can't help it.

You sigh, arching into him. "What are you talking about?"

He presses a soft kiss to your head before pulling back. "Whenever we get intimate, you tense up." He cups your face, rubbing a soothing circle over your cheek before letting his fall to his side.

"You can tell me if this isn't what you want, sweetie. You always can."

You nod, grabbing his arm and pulling him back down as if to prove your point when you say, "I know... It's not that though."

Sylus chuckles when he feels you close your arm around his neck. "All right then. What is it?" He brings your hand up to his mouth and kisses it. Soft. Slow.

You smile, chest squeezing at the way his eyes never leave yours. "It's embarrassing.."

"There's nothing to be embarrassed of. Tell me what's on your mind."

You swallow hard, bracing yourself. "Um.. I really want to do stuff with you.. But I can't..."

Sylus quirks a brow, but he doesn't look accusing or judging; he is just curious. "Say more..."

"I can't.. come.."

There’s a beat of silence. A slow, terrifying beat, before Sylus finally nods in acknowledgment. "All right.. Do you want to talk about that more?"

Your cheeks burn an embarrassing red, but despite the heat, you still feel an odd sense of comfort. So, with a shaky breath, you start, "I still feel good. But there's just... no finish."

"No release," Sylus echoes, and you nod.

Sylus hums, nibbling on your knuckle. "So that's what it is? You don't want to burden me?"

You give a shy nod and Sylus almost can't help the scoff that slips past his lips. You frown, about to ask him what he's making that sound from when he leans down and kisses you. "You could never be a burden to me. In or out of bed."

You gasp against his lips.

"But—"

"No buts. Do you want to feel good?"

"..Yes."

"Then let me make you feel good."

–

The next time you see Sylus he pulls out a velvet-wrapped box, intricate designs engraved on its side.

Your eyes widen in surprise as you stare down at it, cheeks flushing like you already know what's inside.

"What's this?"

"These are options," he says, watching with an amused little smile as you slowly open the box. Inside are lubes, oils, and a few dildos. They look beginner-friendly, but it doesn't stop your mind from spinning.

"You don’t have to do anything tonight. Just… options for you, if you ever feel curious. I want you to feel safe."

You tentatively pull an oil out. "What's this?"

Sylus grins, his chest warming at the way your lips part with curiosity. "It's meant to enhance your pleasure."

Then slowly, you pull out the dildo. It's not as intimidating as you thought it'd be—It's actually a cute pink, not too big or too small, with a few ridges lining the side.

"Again, you don't have to try that."

Your mouth goes dry as you look back up at him. "I want to."

Sylus's lips twitch with a smirk. "You do?"

You nod, tapping the oil. "And... this too."

Sylus nudges the box aside and kisses the top of your head. "Tell me if you ever want to stop. This oil can be overwhelming at first."

You let him guide you onto your back and strip you down—slow and gentle. Like he would stay in this moment forever if you let him.

Then slowly, he rubs the oil on your clit, his touch making your back arch. Sylus smiles. "Does it feel good, sweetie?"

"Mhm."

"It'll take a few minutes to kick in, but in the meantime, we can explore with this." You watch, your stomach fluttering as Sylus applies a generous amount of lube on the toy, then gently nudges it at your entrance.

He watches every shift, careful not to hurt you.

And when he pushes it deeper, your little mewl makes him twitch in his pants.

"How does this feel, sweetie? Do you want more?"

You gasp, clutching his arm. "Yes, please!"

He presses deeper, giving you a moment to adjust. The second you start squirming your hips, he gently starts pumping the toy in and out, gauging your reactions. At the same time, he reaches down and starts rubbing firm circles over the achy bud between your legs.

You squeeze his arm tighter, your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt.

"Talk to me," he breathes. "Is it too much?"

You furiously shook your head. "No! Please don't stop!"

Sylus lets out a soft laugh. You're beautiful like this. He works over every spot he knows will have your back arching and your toes curling, building you to a high you didn't know was possible.

"Sylus...! I feel like—Ah! Every time you do..hahh.. that! It feels like I'm... I'm gonna..!"

Sylus smiles, slowing down, just enough to let you relax, but not enough to let you come down from the high.

"Shhh... Let go. You're not going to pee, if that's what you think."

You grab him impossibly tight. "P-promise?"

Sylus nudges the dildo deep, hitting that spot once more and you nearly lose it. "I promise. Do you still want this?"

When you nod, he doesn't stop anymore. He hits all the right places, again and again and again. Then you feel it—the pressure in your stomach, the sickening tightness—

You barely have time to speak before you're spilling yourself on the dildo and his wrist.

Sylus lets out a stuttered breath. "God, look at you… absolutely stunning."

You want to flush, ask him if that's really what you thought it was, apologize for just... spilling yourself but he's already leaning down and kissing you.

"That was okay?" you ask between kisses and he groans.

"That was perfect. You're perfect."

Rafayel <3 !

Rafayel leans back, lips kiss-swollen, and brows furrowed in concern. "Hey, you okay? You..." Rafayel pauses, unable to hide the hint of offense, "tense every time we do this."

You open your mouth, unsure of what you're even going to say, but Rafayel quickly continues. "It's fine if you don't want this," he assures you, slipping his hand into yours and squeezing. "Just tell me. I don't ever want to make you feel uncomfortable."

"No.. It's not that..."

He sees the way you seem to shrink. "Not that I’m demanding fanfare every time I lean in,” he jokes, hoping that might ease the tension.

Your lips curl up in a small smile. "I know..."

"Then what is it?"

With a shaky breath, you finally manage, "I can't come."

Rafayel's brows come together. "You.. can't come?" he repeats, relief flooding his chest when you nod.

Not that he's happy you can't come, but at least it isn't him.

"I'm sorry I didn't know," he murmurs, cupping your cheek and pressing a light kiss to your forehead.

You smile, leaning into his touch. "It doesn't mean I don't experience pleasure though.. I just," you shrug softly, "never finish."

Rafayel nods, thoughtfully. "You should've told me sooner. I wouldn't have—"

"No, Raf—" you laugh breathlessly, cupping his face in your hands. "I'm trying to say that I want to do things with you. I want to right now."

Your cheeks warm when you hear yourself.

"I still feel good. And if you didn't mind..—"

"I don't mind," Rafayel answers, already slipping his hand around your waist and pulling you close. "I don't mind at all."

"Then do you want—" You break off on a yelp as Rafayel scoops you into his arms. You laugh, curling your arms around his neck. "What are you doing?"

"Setting the mood."

You scoff, nuzzling into his neck. "You don't have to make this a big deal."

"Why not? You're a big deal to me."

He gently sets you down on his bed and dims the light before crawling over you. You swallow hard, every cell in your body lighting up the instant he leans down to kiss you because now you know where this is going.

He's slow, gentle. The way he always is, but he's also hungrier, needier.

His hands drag down your side, remapping your body before finally landing between your legs. He pulls back to look at you as he applies gentle pressure.

Your breath catches in your throat.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?" Rafayel asks, his voice low, laced with a hint of frustration. Not at you though, at himself.

"I just didn't know if you'd still want to... do stuff if you knew."

Rafayel lets out a small shudder, rubbing firm circles through your clothes. "Do you seriously think I'd walk away because I know you better?"

You give a slow shake of your head. "I'm sorry.. I shouldn't have thought—"

Rafayel kisses you again, his hands slowly working your pants and underwear down your legs. "Don't apologize. I'm sorry."

He's gentle when he nudges your clothes away. "I should've been more attuned to you," he says, his hand finding the heated skin between your legs again.

He drags his fingers through your slit, a quiet breath slipping out when he feels how much you've wanted this.

"N-no, Rafayel," you try, your hips rolling into his touch. "It's not your fault."

"It is." He crushes his lips against yours, his fingers slowly working over your slick heat. "Let me make it up to you."

You press your palm to his chest, feeling the steady beat beneath the faint whiff of turpentine and terpene clinging to his skin. Then you nod.

"Okay."

Rafayel doesn't waste a single second. He pushes in slowly, his mouth parting at the way you cling to his finger.

He waits until he's certain you're ready, then he nudges another finger in, drinking in the way your face pinches with pleasure.

"Tell me if it’s too much, or not enough. Every stroke is for you."

"It's enough," you mewl, the sound shooting straight to his core. He can't help it. You're so beautiful like this.

He curls his fingers once, gasping when he touches the spot that makes your back arch and your hips jump.

"There?" he asks. "Do you like that spot?"

You don't even know what that spot means, you just know it feels good so you give a furious nod. "Yes! I like.. It!"

Rafayel knows he should keep his teasing to a minimum. You're being so open and vulnerable with him after all, but it slips out unbidden.

"That's it." He bites his lip, a silent scolding, but then it comes out again. "Falling apart on my fingers.."

When you flutter around his pumping digits, he nearly loses it.

You cling to his shirt, heart pounding. "Feels so good... keep talking.."

Rafayel shudders, his thumb brushing against your clit when he speaks. "Yeah? You want to hear my voice?" His voice dips, jaw tensing from the effort of holding himself back. "Look at you... dripping all over me."

He hits that perfect spot. And once he finds the exact place that makes you breathe out a whiny moan and curl your toes, he hits it again and again.

"You're so beautiful."

You feel your stomach burn, the pressure inside you coiling tight. Too tight.

"Rafayel..!"

You gasp as you spill yourself over him, a furious blush painting your cheeks. You want to curl up and his in his blankets, but he's leaning down and pressing his whole body weight onto you, kissing you slow and deep.

"You're my most beautiful work."

You make a muffled sound into the kiss, melting into it. When he pulls back, his cheeks are tinted a cute pink and his breathing is uneven.

"You said... that you don't finish.. but you can squirt?"

You cover your face. "Don't say that!"

Rafayel smiles. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. It's gorgeous."

You peek through your fingers. "Really?"

"Really."

He gently pulls your hands away and kisses you again. "Thank you for showing me that side of you."

"Thank you for helping me."

—

@cafekitsune for dividers!

i didnt like this.

[buckyschair]

FLIRTING NEVER GOT YOU NOWHERE

Pairing: Azriel x Day Court! Reader

Summary: You’re an archivist from Day Court visiting Velaris, what happens when you visit a nightclub and things go wrong? Or do they go oh so right? AKA you flirt with Azriel in a bar and sex ensues !

read part 2 now - AFTERGLOW

A/N: I’m lowkey tired of shy insecure self insert fics so I wanted to write a piece about a bold unapologetic bitch who gets what she wants :) This is a very self indulgent fantasy based on rude things men have said to me at bars and how I wish someone had shown up for me. Like yeah I can stand for myself but also what if Azriel stepped up. I also made her bisexual because I’m gay 💅

Content Warnings: smut, cunnilingus & oral (so like m&f receiving), unprotected PIV sex (I am not going to spend my one precious life researching faerie contraceptive methods, so just imagine you’re on magic birth control or whatever. Or don’t, if you’re into that!), female reader (w nipple piercings ooo), gross liberties taken with whatever Day court has going on, unwanted advances from a guy in a bar, uhhh minor gay slur, it’s maybee more OC than self insert cause I gave her a lot of personality, shamelessly self indulgent, no use of Y/N

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. AND I MEAN IT !

Word Count: 12.4k

read on AO3

The flashing lights and lively music that had been a tonic just minutes ago now pounded through your skull, as jarring as the words you’d exchanged with some dipshit at the bar moments ago. You set your eyes back on the dance floor. Where was that group of females you’d mixed with earlier to save you now? You’d come to Rita’s to let loose a little after being cooped up in dusty corners of libraries for weeks now. You wanted to experience Velaris’ famed nightlife. Despite this place coming highly recommended, you were beginning to wonder if you shouldn’t have trusted that shy priestess’ taste in nightclubs.  

“Come on, what’s wrong with you?” The male’s whiny voice didn’t quite hit the macho tenor he was aiming for as he yelled after you. You whip back around, incredulity written on your face.

“What’s wrong with me?” you snarl. “I’m so glad you asked, buddy ,” you see his pretty boy attitude shift into a sneer at the moniker, “cause I am not the one. What the fuck is your problem?” 

Two steps and you’re back up in his space, just as he had invaded yours moments earlier when you’d rejected his advances. He didn’t seem to enjoy the treatment either, now that it was clear you wouldn’t stand for his shit. You could buy your own liquor. Especially when the other offer came from someone who thought appropriate eye contact involved breasts and an introduction equated to wandering hands. 

“What, are you one of those carpet munchers or something?” he tries to deflect. Your eyes narrow. This fucker is in for it now. You can’t blame a guy for wanting to get his dick wet. However, you can blame him for being an entitled bigot about it. 

“You son of a bitch,” you start, your face hardening into a sneer, your stance subconsciously shifting to a defensive position. At this, his eyes widen and his mouth parts but before he can speak– “You think just because someone doesn’t want you, they must be categorically repulsed by males?” You snort, eyeing him up and down. “I’m surprised you haven’t been laughed out of this bar yet. I’ve seen dog’s piss land more artfully than your attempts with females tonight. If you’ve somehow hidden some sense behind that ego, I suggest you take it with you when you leave.” 

He chokes on air, eyes wide and face taught. Okay. Weird. You know you can be ruthless, but typically your feminine stature in a mini skirt meant you had to work harder than that to make a bastard sweat in fear. 

His glassy eyes are focused over your shoulder. You turn your head, keeping the corner of your eye on the sorry male in front of you. When you catch the hulking Illyrian form behind you, you lose that focus as you take in wide shoulders and simmering rage. Rage directed at the whelp still pissing himself behind you at the bar. This new male’s face is a hard mask, his lip curling in disdain.  

“You heard the lady.” Your stomach drops at his voice, deep and resolute. “I suggest you take her advice.”

Azriel watches the slimy bastard hightail it out of the crowded club. You miss the pathetic scene of his flight, only catching how the male in front of you relaxes when his target finally makes an exit. You’re glad he’s been keeping his eyes on the other guy, cause you’ve been staring in shock. His muscled arms, toned chest, looming wings, thick thighs– okay. That you could handle. Under ordinary circumstances. But two shots deep, in your most revealing outfit, and through the swirling lights, seeing the tattoos that peak out over the top of his vest at his collarbones and pecs… you swallow, forcing your mind back to the situation at hand as his eyes shift from the figure disappearing behind you. 

His pinched brows relax as he takes you in. “Looks like you had it under control,” he says, raising one eyebrow- one glorious eyebrow, a hesitant grin making its way onto his face, as if he was impressed. 

“Not the first time I’ve had to put someone in their place,” you shrug, off balance from the abruptly ended confrontation. Before this male appeared, you’d been gearing up for a fight. Boundaries are simple for you. Cross one and you remind them where you stand. He nods, his face solemn in understanding. 

“I saw things getting heated. He looked like he was about to… grab you.” His lips twitch, like he still hasn’t decided if he should do something permanent about it. “Then you were removing yourself from him. And here we are.” 

“Here we are,” you repeat. His words, simple as they were, made your spine itch. “Thanks for having my back.” You meant it. You know you could have handled him on your own, but nonetheless, it was nice to have the cavalry arrive right on time.

He flashes you a brief tight lipped smile, the picture of courtesy, “Anytime.” He shifts, like he means to leave you to yourself now that the drama had concluded without any blood. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” you blurt out, almost in reflex at the male now in front of you. “As thanks.” 

His eyebrows raise momentarily in surprise. Curious, you think. Surely the hunk of male was used to females showering him in liquor and more. You notice the lights around him go blurry– oh shit. Those are shadows. Fuck. 

Realization hits you. No fucking way you just asked the High Lord’s inner court shadowsinger if you could buy him a drink. You kick yourself inwardly, but keep your face a mask of coy request. 

“There’s no need to thank me,” he says genuinely, slightly shaking his head, even as his cheeks flush lightly, his eyes skirting up your figure. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“Of course I don’t,” you smirk, confidence rushing through you at his reaction. “Consider it an unnecessary but kind gesture, tit for tat,” you tease, since you both know that his presence alone certainly scared off the unwanted male, even if he didn’t need to lift a finger. He cracks a grin at that, the minor barb landing exactly as you’d intended.

“Sure,” he shrugs.

A simple acceptance, so casually offered, lands you deeper than you ever could have expected to get with a high ranking member of a foreign Court. He lets you order him something neat, grunting in appreciation when he catches a whiff of the dark liquid in his glass, same as yours. 

“Cheers.” You clink your glass to his, hiding your smile with a drink. It burns down your throat, grounding you. His hand had gently hovered over your lower back as you’d taken your seat at the bar again, ready to help but also blocking anyone’s view. Even though he hadn’t touched you, the ghost of his hand may as well have scorched your skin for how you felt it.   

“What’s your name?” you ask, suddenly realizing that while you know who he is, you’d never caught his name. Was it confidential information?

“Azriel,” he replies. “Yours?” You tell him, and he hums, repeating it. Your name on his mouth makes your insides burn, but you remind yourself it’s probably just the liquor. 

“Am I allowed to say your name out loud? Or is it a court secret?” you ask, and he graces you with another grin. He looks around conspiratorially before leaning in, which sends a thrill through you. 

“My friends call me Az,” he murmurs lowly. “Just to be safe in the eyes of the law,” he adds with utter seriousness, only betrayed by the glimmer in his eyes. You laugh at that, excited apprehension making you sensitive to his every word. 

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Az.” You swear his shadows twitch at your words. You’re enjoying sitting here with him next to you, his body curved towards yours, knees almost touching. Your body relaxes, all the tension of the evening’s events replaced with a pleasant thrum of vitality.

“Likewise,” he says gruffly. You wonder if he feels the same intoxicating energy between you. His hazel eyes blaze even in the dim light of the quiet corner of the bar, his soft hair sticking slightly to his forehead in the heat of the packed bar. You want to brush it away, but you resist the sudden urge. You’re not sure what to say next. Ordinarily, you’re adept at conversation, but the powerful presence before you renders your mind blank.  

You’re relieved when he says, “I haven’t seen you here before.” His gaze pins you. What is he seeing? What is he looking for? You’re not sure what he finds that causes him to elaborate, “I would have noticed you.” 

“I would have noticed you, too,” you breathe.

“Doubtful,” he drawls in a playfully contrarian tone. His shadows dance along his wings over his shoulders, swirling almost in arrogance around the horns at their apex. 

“What? Do they normally keep you hidden in the shadows?” you prod, flashing your teeth. He exhales sharply from his nose, rolling his eyes at your ridiculous implication. Encouraged, you place your hand on his knee under the bar top. 

“Do they bully you?” you ask sweetly, dropping your voice quietly in mock concern. 

He coughs a little laugh at that, then schools his features into a pained expression. 

“Yes. Yes, they bully me.” You bite your lip at the image of him playing fragile, wounded. Your hand on his thigh is on fire. “Horribly,” he adds, voice wobbling.

“Let me know if you need help with that,” you tell him, with equal sobriety. “I could lend you my services, I have a certain skill in intimidation.” 

His composure breaks at that, and he laughs from his gut this time, and you join him. The sound is prettier than any music.

“My hero!” he exclaims, gasping through his laughter, grabbing the hand that you pull away from his knee. You giggle as he grasps your hand securely, bringing them to rest together at his knee. His thumb brushes your knuckles while he smiles at you. It takes all your discipline to fight the shudder that threatens your body. 

“This is my first time here,” you answer his initial prompt, gesturing around the lively bar. “I’m actually visiting from Day Court.” He quirks his head at that. He looks strangely adorable like this, curiosity cracking his typically closed off expression. 

“You’re from Day?” 

“Yeah.” Several of his shadows break away from his form to explore you, like you’ve suddenly become an irresistible object of interest to them. “I was an archivist at one of the central public libraries, and recently… I’ve been brought on to work in my Lord’s personal collection.” Azriel looks curious at that, so you continue, “Lord Helion is a generous boss.” His eyebrows shoot up at that. 

“Not like that!” you defend, blushing, aware of his reputation. “He trusts me,” you amend. 

“So I’m here for your libraries. After…” You’re remiss to mention Amarantha, despite her destruction coloring every sphere of your work. “Well. We all lost something, didn’t we? Now my role is to see what information can be recovered and preserved in my Court once more.”

Azriel listens intently, seeming to understand exactly what gave you pause. He nods as you finish. He also works in information, he tells you, although his intelligence operates in a different arena. You tell him more about your research when he prompts; the long hours in dimly lit rooms, the sweet but introverted colleagues, and, despite what an endless endeavor it was, the excitement when you discover just the right source. 

If someone had asked you that morning, you’d have been certain that an archivist’s work would bore anyone with such a high profile role as his, but he sees the heart of your contribution, the valuable work of recovery. 

His concentration on your every word would be unnerving, if it weren’t so enthralling. He maintains eye contact even as you gesture wildly with your free hand, snorts at all your jokes, and asks questions to keep you talking. It doesn’t escape you how he poses these questions just as the conversation might have naturally turned towards him. He deftly pulls information out of you with subtle cues, a question here, a curious look there. Once you’ve dazzled him with stories of your life back in Day and bored him with the details of your work, (although you did your best to pepper in your favorite stories, like the time you discovered an entire catalogue of ancient erotic court poetry), you dare to ask him about his own life here at the Night Court. 

You expected him to continue deflecting, as he’d been so fascinated by your home court, but he actually responds with some substance. Azriel pauses before pointing out his family, a group of equally breathtaking and imposing fae in a booth at the other end of the bar. He keeps it brief, but shares how he met Cassian and Rhys in a training camp and hasn’t known a moment's peace since. Despite his harsh words, you catch the tenderness even as he grumbles on about Mor and Feyre, and Amren, who isn’t here tonight, which he says you can detect by the lack of frightened screams. You’re equally shocked and delighted by the casual humor with which he treats them all. 

It’s not lost on you that he’s just told you about his family when you had asked about him. Yet between his calculated words and their meaningful tone, he’s actually sketched quite an intimate picture of his life and his values. 

You like the rhythm of his curt words, how he says a lot with a little. Occasionally, his dry humor will catch you by surprise, and he’ll grace you with a wry smile as you laugh. The spymaster can be quite unexpectedly cavalier at moments, much to your delight. He meets your playful verbal sparring with just as much fire.  

After chatting amiably for a while, a comfortable silence falls between you as you nurse your drinks. Azriel surveys the crowded room, ever on alert. You take the chance to brazenly observe him. You can’t pick what to focus on. The slope of his nose fascinates you, you wish you could reach out and trace it. The elegant planes of his face are punctuated by strong features, his brows, chin, and jaw all bold. You wonder how he’s such a successful spy when he’s built so distractingly. Especially with such expansive wings, currently tucked behind where he perches on his stool. His careful arrangement of them does little to hide their imposing glory. You suddenly wish you could see them splayed out in full spectacle. 

Over the duration of your research at Night Court, you’d come across descriptions of Illyrians, read about their culture, their physical traits. Their wings were closely guarded, sensitive parts. You were curious about flying, what it felt like, if they enjoyed it. You feel his rough hand on yours still, noticing their size and the thick veins under his scars. You force yourself to reel your mind out of the gutter, instead diverting to wonder at the marks that cross his hands. When you look back to his face, his unreasonably fashionable lashes flutter as he finally catches you observing him. You see high color in his cheeks, but he doesn’t call you out. You finish your drink, noting that his glass is also empty.

You motion your glass to the bartender, chatting briefly while he pours you two fresh ones. You can barely focus on the pleasantries you exchange, aware of Azriel’s eyes on you. His expression is soft, yet heady. Intense. His gaze traces your features in the same way you had just admired him. 

You turn back to him eventually to push his drink into his hand. His eyes reluctantly move from your exposed back and briefly over your lips before meeting your eyes. You immediately look away, scanning the bar absentmindedly as you flick your hair over your shoulder. The motion exposes your neck, testing, aware of his gaze still on you. He takes a long, slow drink, his eyes never leaving you. When you swallow, you see his eyes follow the movement of your throat.

“Is this a gay bar?” you ask abruptly.

He chokes, coughing into his arm. “What?” 

“Is this a gay bar?” you repeat, your nose scrunching in a wince at his reaction. You’ve never seen him so caught off guard, didn’t know it was possible. He catches your grimace, and quickly recovers, wiping his nose as he recovers from his coughing fit. He nods in confirmation. 

“You must think us horrible,” he says, referring to his court, compared to Day, which was much more open around sexual attraction and orientation, he guessed, if their High Lord was any indication. He thought of Helion’s history of advances to him, and Mor and Cassian for that matter. “First, that bastard talks to you like that. Then–”

“No!” you interject. “No, your people are just more… reserved. I didn’t see anything indicating it… but I noticed a few ladies sitting together like we are. So I wondered…” you flounder. It’s his turn to wince.

“Why?” he asks. “Are you looking for a lucky lady?”

“Not tonight.” You hide your grin behind a sip, as his eyes widen almost imperceptibly at your meaning, his pupils dilating. You’d enjoyed your fair share of females, males, others… Your eyes narrow on him then. “Wait, why are you here then?” 

��It’s Mor’s favorite club.” He shrugs. “And I don’t mind playing security in case any oblivious males wander in with big ideas in the wrong way.” 

“Ahh. So you don’t usually come to the gay club to pick up females?” 

He just snorts at that, shaking his head at your nonsense. You don’t miss how his shadows perk up at your choice of words. You grin, showing him your teeth as you prod further. 

“So I should feel special then?”

You hear his sharp intake of breath, the only sign he understands your implication. He sets his drink down, his eyes on yours, questioning. Your heart thuds heavily in your chest as you watch his motions, tense with anticipation. You meet his gaze, confident and steady. You’d seen how he had devoured you with his gaze moments ago. 

“What are you implying?” he grunts, voice thick. 

“I think you’re smart enough to figure it out,” you whisper, your eyes on his. 

He only hums, his hand coming to cradle your face, caressing your jaw. The touch arouses your senses, a slow flame flickering to life in your abdomen. His pupils are blown wide, like he’s found a mystical reality in your eyes. It’s his gaze flickering to your lips before finding your eyes again, imploring, that causes you to break. “Are you gonna make me say it?” 

“Yes.” He squints, unyielding. 

You whine. You whine . You’ve never whined for a male in your life. There’s a first time for everything, you suppose. After all, you were sent here for research. A new experience such as this could certainly fall within that wheelhouse. Azriel was generously helping you with your research, exploring your capacity to keen for someone in desperation. You take in his capable hands, his broad shoulders and wings, his delicate lips. The fantasies flashing in your mind force you to confront your desire. It’s been brewing all night. 

“I want you,” you speak with utter clarity. 

That’s all it takes and he’s tossing back the rest of his drink, his hand sliding down to catch your arm, unwilling to break contact. And then he’s ushering you out of your chair, ever the gentleman, and rushing you through the crowd until you hit the fresh air, your feet on the cobblestone street for the barest moment before he sweeps you up again, one hand gripping your hip, the other placed firmly on your jaw. His breath comes in short pants as his flared eyes meet yours, again questioning, allowing you control. 

In answer, you angle your head up to meet his mouth in a furious kiss. Your hands circle his neck, grasping his hair, blindly trying to find purchase as your lips connect. All your sensory experience fades save for the burn of his mouth on yours, and the feeling of his hands pressed to your body. You taste the lingering spice of the liquor you’d shared and beneath it, something earthier, the taste of him. You pour all your passion and need into the contact, and you feel the same charge from him. His ravenous kiss is a window to the tempest inside, his desperation evident in every move of his powerful jaw against yours. 

When he pulls away, he’s panting hard, a grin threatening to overtake his majestic features, his lips swollen and shining in the starlight. 

“We doing this on the street, or…?” you prompt breathlessly.

He takes in the thankfully deserted street outside the noisy club. “Good a place as any,” he shrugs. 

You scrunch your nose and tug his hair. His laughter dissolves into a groan at your actions. “Fuck. You’re killing me,” he breathes.

“I’m about to,” you say, exasperated with the delicious male entangled with you. 

“My place?” he asks. You nod quickly, in desperation for his touch as much as desire to get out of the public area. He hums again, “And here I was thinking that you Day Court fae were so much more open and shameless about these things.” 

You scoff at his words. 

“You’d better be worth the trouble,” you grumble, hiding your mirth. He flashes you the cockiest grin, and you’d smack him if you didn’t want to preserve his mouth’s function for better uses. 

“Trust me, baby, I am.” 

“Prove it.” 

His eyes flash at your taunting. “Hold on,” he growls.

You swallow a scream as his wings extend, and his legs bend briefly before leaping into flight. His arms wrap tightly around your frame, and you cling to his neck fiercely. You recall your fantasy about his wings from earlier in the evening. As you soar into the night sky, you find yourself admiring them once more, their power and his deft command of them. 

“I can’t believe you’re admiring me instead of the view.” His voice interrupts your thoughts.

“If I look at the view, we might be seeing some of that whiskey from earlier again,” you admit, your stomach dancing from so many different stimuli on your nervous system. The flying, the anticipation of sex, the sheer proximity with the stunning male who carried you now. 

“We’re not far away,” he assures. Sure enough, when you risk looking away from his elegant, aerodynamic form, you see the city below rising into the cliffside where the court’s residence was perched. 

You barely have a moment to take in the magnificent columns and lavish ornamentation of the palace balcony after he sets you down before he reconnects your lips. His blistering appetite sets your own aflame again, his hands sliding along your form, pausing briefly at your exposed midriff. 

When he first appeared behind you in the bar, he had been gallant and polite, the perfect picture of a noble courtier. As you’d flirted over your drinks, his wry humor had surfaced, and now this unbridled passion had emerged. There certainly was more to the shadowsinger than met the eye. Your insides fluttered at the intimacy of your insight into the divine male who you were currently swapping spit with. You thanked the Mother that you’d dedicated yourself to flirting all these years in good faith, without ever knowing that your dedication would be rewarded in such fine form. Against your will, your mouth began to curve into a smile against his. 

With backbreaking effort, you break away from his lips. He goes to follow your lips, but you stop him with a chaste kiss before pressing kisses along his jaw and down his throat.

“Sorry for the turbulence,” he gasps out as you continue your assault on his neck. “I needed us to get here. F-fast.” 

Your only acknowledgement of his words is the flick of your tongue over the spot under his jaw you’d just marked. How considerate of him. Even when he’s melting beneath you, he maintains his manners. The devil inside you wonders what it would take for him to abandon his civility. Between kisses, you glance down to see his leathers barely restraining him. You figure you might not need an elaborate plot to find out after all.

He growls as you notice his arousal. You look up from the crook of his neck, and his expression turns your core molten, desire written plainly across his face. His hands had wandered down to your ass, where he now taps gently, urging you up into his strong arms. Your heart leaps as he picks you up, but he doesn’t take off flying this time. He carries you further into the interior, your legs coming to wrap around his midsection, your arms secured again around his neck. He’s holding you by your thighs like your weight is nothing, causing you to burn in anticipation of how he might throw you around later.   

Fire throttles through your veins at the incessant touch of his wet lips on your neck. He’s dedicated to returning the favor of your vicious attack on him moments ago. You have no idea how he successfully navigates the hallways despite being buried under your jaw, for all you know he’s using your moans and whines to echolocate. 

It’s a short trip, but right when you were about to beg for him to just take you in the hallway, he walks you into a simply furnished room with expansive windows and another balcony that offers a sweeping view of the city. Starlight streams in, painting the room and the male carrying you in a silver glow. The breathtaking midnight ambiance does nothing to distract the soldier currently working through your meager defenses via bruising open mouthed kisses to your collarbone. His fervor makes your skin dance, it's been a while since your body has received such attentions.

“Fuck, am I glad I caused a scene with that bastard earlier. Got your attention an’ all.” You mean it as a joke, but his expression darkens with reserved aggression. 

“That was meant in jest,” you clarify. 

“He was leering at you all night,” Azriel growls, between wet kisses to your neck. “I still might tear his throat out.” 

His words go straight to your core. 

“He’s long gone,” you force yourself to say casually, despite how his words affected you. Between that and his tongue, it’s a wonder you’re still stringing together coherent syllables. “How would you even find him?” you laugh, attempting to divert the male’s intensity. 

He pulls away from your neck and gives you a pointed look. “It’s… kind of my job,” he says.

“Oh,” you say foolishly. Right. Azriel is the court’s Spymaster. He probably has his shadows tailing the bastard at this very moment to make sure he doesn’t bother anyone else. He could easily eliminate anyone he so chose. “Right.” 

He shakes his head at your antics, finally walking you over to the bed. In your research, you never came across anything about shadowsingers, so you’re not sure if his shadows had read your mind – but he throws you on the bed exactly as you’d fantasized, powerfully and precisely, your body bouncing as you gasp in shock and delight before he follows you, crawling onto the bed to hover over you. 

His wings flare slightly as his legs settle between yours, one of his knees hooking under your leg, exposing your clothed core to his every brush. 

“Do you want me to kill him for you?” he purrs into your skin. You gasp, at his words as much as the twisted thrill they send through you. You look into his eyes, and slap his shoulder at the mischief you see in his expression. He laughs at your indignation. 

“I would if you wanted me to,” he reiterates, an arrogant grin spreading across his face. “I might do it just because it seems like it would turn you on.” You gasp again at his words, face flushing in embarrassment. “No need to be embarrassed, baby.” He returns to placing lazy kisses along your neck as you moan beneath him. 

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, voice heady. You almost can’t bear it. He’s making you feel so good with just his mouth on your neck. You’re not sure how you’ll survive the night. 

Azriel must be determined to take you within an inch of your life, you think. His next dizzying move is to grab your hands from where they’d begun exploring his body to trap them above your head. To your relief, he ends his siege on your neck, instead serving slow torture as he reconnects your lips in a sensuous kiss, your body singing as you lay pinned beneath him. You feel his hard length press into your thigh. By his quiet moans, you recognize the same ardor he displayed earlier, though at an easier pace now that he has you where he wants you. That just wouldn’t do. He can’t have all that muscle mass just to keep it covered, poised tantalizingly out of sight above you. 

He’s reading your mind again, you think, as his fingers toy with the hem of your top in silent question. You sit up rapidly, his quick reflexes narrowly avoiding your head colliding with his nose. 

“Yes, please! Finally,” you nod, his laughter echoing in reply at your eagerness. “You want to help?” you ask. His face is flushed from your activities but you swear it deepens at your words. You raise your arms, allowing him to lift the silky black material from your form. He’s silent, starlight flashing on the dark expanse of his pupils, blown wide. You would be unnerved if it weren't for the way his chest is rising and falling dramatically, the hunger in his gaze, in his parted lips. You see him start to crisply fold the slim fabric before his brain kicks in and he throws it aside haphazardly. While you love a tidy male, you do prefer one with such a proper sense of priorities. 

“Good boy,” you coo absently, preoccupied with absorbing every detail of his reaction to your lace clad chest. 

“You’re fucking perfect,” he sighs finally, his eyes flickering to yours as his hands hover above your breasts. You bite your lip and grab his hands to connect them to your waiting chest.

“Touch me, Az. Don’t be shy with that mouth either,” you order as he scowls playfully, already palming your tits with zeal. You see his eyes widen as he feels them, specifically the bars in your nipples. His mouth falls open, and it's your turn to flash him a smug grin even as he has you writhing from just his rough hands playing with your chest. 

“I’m not shy,” he grumbles brattily. You allow his attitude given how he quickly follows it up by placing his mouth back to your chest, this time exploring further from your collarbones, moving to skim the tops of your bra and the valley between your breasts. 

“It’s not my fault you make me crazy,” he groans, his eyes glistening like the spit dangling deliciously between his mouth and your skin. 

You just moan in response. How are you supposed to respond to that coherently? Especially as he cruelly pulls away for a brief moment to shrug off his vest, revealing the inked expanse of his chest and the curling hair trailed low on his stomach to disappear beneath his leathers. 

“Can I taste you, baby?” Scratch that thought. How are you supposed to respond to that coherently? “Gonna let me make you feel good, huh?” Azriel begs, his voice thick with need. You nod, delirious at the mere suggestion. 

“I need to hear your words, angel,” he smiles, seeing the fog in your eyes, needing to know it's all for the right reasons.

“Yes, Az. Yes, please,” you manage. He presses a quick kiss to your lips, humming in satisfaction, before moving his touches down your body. 

He handles you like you’re the most cherished thing he’s ever beheld, but not like you’re fragile. You can’t remember the last time a male handled you with such awe and respect. You whine as he kisses your stomach, making your center melt. You’re sure you’re dripping at this point, but you can’t be bothered to feel embarrassment in the presence of the Illyrian kneeling before you in reverence, his mussed hair a dark halo, his leathers conspicuously strained at his crotch. 

He tugs you to the edge of the bed, carefully situating you with a pillow as he kneels on the floor. You feel like a boxing dummy that he’s strategically setting up just to destroy. 

“I’ve been looking forward to this all night,” he admits as he sets your knees over his shoulders, your feet kicking his wings lightly. You realize you haven’t even taken off your boots, you’re not even sure when he took his off, but as you go to mention your shoes and your skirt, he kisses the inside of your knee and the words die in your throat. 

He rubs his hands over the tops of your thighs, pulling pretty moans from you as he kisses along the inside of your legs, towards where you need him most. You’re really not sure what his plan is with your skirt and underwear– until he dives right in, licking you over your clothed center, eliciting a garbled sound you hardly recognize as yours. 

Your skirt is so short it offers no real barrier, except slightly obscuring the tip of his nose as it digs salaciously into your clit. A shadow curls around his ear, and he makes eye contact with you as he hikes your skirt up slightly, so you can see his every move. 

“Eyes on me, angel,” he commands softly, and any response you might have had chokes and dies on your lips. He deftly hooks his fingers in your undergarments, aggressively pulling them to the side. And then his mouth is back on your core, and it’s an overwhelming sensation, his warm tongue licking a stripe up your center, then relaying to repeat the motion down to your opening. You grip the sheets in a feeble attempt to ground yourself. One of his hands strokes your thigh while the other keeps your wild hips pressed firmly into the mattress. 

He pauses only to murmur soft praises as you tremble at his caresses. At this point you’re seriously concerned about your erotic future. What if this male ruins you for everyone else? What if you can never successfully pleasure yourself again? You know you’ll never be able to replicate the bliss he’s currently delivering. His mouth scorches you, he’s taken on a slow and steady rhythm, lapping and sucking, that’s unstringing your body from your soul. You’re not sure that you’ll ever recover. You’re grateful that you have no plans tomorrow because you’re not sure you’ll be able to walk. Maybe you’ll be able to roll yourself down the palace’s endless steps and to the library where one of the priestesses might take mercy on you and nurse you back to health. You could pay them by recounting this experience, surely this prime fuel for fantasy would equate to some kind of currency. With a generous exchange rate. 

Your eyes shoot open as his mouth leaves you, your moans taking on a pained note at the visceral loss. 

“Baby,” Azriel chides. “I asked you to keep your eyes on me.” 

You hadn’t even realized you’d closed your eyes as you’d been calculating the exchange rate of sexual fantasy fodder to gold. You will yourself out of the delirium, but his glistening mouth isn’t helping. 

“Stay with me, angel,” he murmurs, thumb rubbing encouraging circles on your inner thigh as you babble something rude about his upbringing while he takes the moment to slip your ruined undergarment down your legs. 

He’d given up on holding you down, so you grind into his face as he resumes his merciless consumption of your molten pussy. The vibrations of his moans on your core multiply your pleasure delectably. The whole glorious sky of the Night Court seemingly flashes across your vision as he lowers his rough fingers to add pressure to your sensitive bud, swirling pleasure explosive as shooting stars. 

“You taste so good, baby,” he praises. “This all for me?” he asks as he gathers your slick with his fingers before resuming his strokes. All you can do is moan helplessly in affirmation. 

When he finally sucks your clit into his mouth, the pressure has you gasping, gripping his hair to anchor yourself to him, to the pleasure he’s delivering straight to your weeping core. He alternates between licking and sucking your clit while he teases you with his thick digits. He looks utterly engrossed, devoted to your trembling form, working you meticulously. 

“Azriel,” you warn. Your breath quickens just before your body stills, broken noises escaping your lips, falling like a beautiful reward on his waiting ears. The release is more powerful than anything you’ve experienced in recent memory, rocking you to your teeth. 

He works you through the aftershock of your orgasm, continuing to lick and thrust until your spasms quiet, your breathing calmed from its fervent staccato as he cleans you out. 

“Hey, are you still with me?” he asks, concerned. 

You realize you haven’t said anything and he’s been sitting rubbing the tops of your thighs softly while you come down from your high. Too tired for words, you bend to guide his head up to meet yours in a luxurious kiss. It invigorates you, languid as it is, his tongue exploring the backs of your teeth as he sucks in a long breath before moaning into your mouth. 

His arms come to cup your face, dislodging one of your legs that remain thrown over his shoulder. It falls with a loud thud as your booted heel meets the floor, your limbs like lead. The sound makes him jump and pull away guiltily as he takes in your state of collapse. 

“I’ve never been better,” you confess candidly. 

He smiles at that, ruddiness in his cheeks deepening at your declaration. 

“I can’t believe they let you walk free about the lands,” you continue, egging him on, shaking your head. “You’re a goddamn menace! That mouth should be regulated! I should have gotten security clearance to have that experience.” 

He buries his head in your knee, his shoulders shaking in mirth as he hides from your praise. He kisses your knee and you curse the rubber feeling in your legs, wishing you could kick him for his insolence. Instead you pet the back of his neck, soaking in the sight of him between your legs. 

You don’t know it, but he’s soaking in your image as much as you are his. You look ethereal splayed out above him, his shadows skirting around the silver light glowing on your scalp, creating a kinetic halo fit for a queen. In your bra and hiked up skirt, catching your breath on his bed, your vitality is on full display for Azriel’s keen eyes, your pulsing life form beating and raw to his senses. Even in your state of undress, your appearance is regal, striking in command above him. He feels his shadows writhing in excitement, thrilled with your energy, matching the gravitational anomaly in his gut. 

Azriel is reminded of the gravity of battle, how for centuries he has waded through enemies time and time again in a familiar yet shapeless pattern of destruction. Despite the wrathful chaos, there’s a rhythm he’s come to anticipate. Amidst the waves of common soldiers, every division or so, he will fall into the gravity of a real threat, usually an enemy commander, an opportunity to face a real contender. Their paths of destruction will orbit briefly before colliding in gruesome ruin. He knows he’s been lucky to emerge in the land of the living after these conflicts. 

At this moment, he’s strangely reminded of that repulsive kind of attraction, of power to power, as he once again faces a real contender. It’s a total inverse, yet your magnitude presents a similarly brilliant polarity. The aftershock of your pleasure is a welcome sequence compared to the grim aftermath of such a battle. He much prefers your sacred subversion of that profane impact. As you stroke his hair, it feels like redemption. It feels like his twisted history of bloodshed could be transformed and redeemed as justice under your tender hand. 

He kisses your knee once more, blinking away the stinging in his eyes. His thoughts return to the present as you shift above him, sinking to his level on the carpet to capture his lips with a kiss once more. You hum, tasting yourself on him now that your senses have recovered from his euphoric torment. 

The impatient male lifts you up effortlessly, and you let him stand the two of you, until he moves to take you back to the bed. You twist, and Azriel allows you to spin him so that you’re backing him towards the cushions. He groans into the kiss as your fingers brush his lower abdomen, skimming the edge of his leathers. You feel the reverberation of it in your own stomach. 

“Are you going to let me return the favor?” you ask with a devilish grin. The sight of your soft tongue and sharp canines makes his wings twitch, willing his shadows to relax their riot, but they betray him. His eyes shine with need, breath hitching as you dip a finger under the waistband of his pants. 

“I need to hear your words, angel,” you mimic his earlier words. 

“Do your worst,” Azriel grunts, instantly regretting his words as he catches your wicked look. 

You push his shoulders so he throws himself dramatically against the bed, wings flared slightly in anticipation. His mouth falls open as you move away from him, but his protests die as he sees you reach behind your torso to unclasp your bra, finally revealing your chest to him fully. His throat thickens, fists clenching in the sheets as you run your hands along your form, massaging your breasts, relieved to be unconstricted at last. The moonlight glitters on the jewelry in your hard nipples, attractively ornamenting some of your favorite features. Looking at the male barely restraining himself in front of you, you almost feel bad for how riled up he is. 

Taking pity on the simmering Illyrian, you cut your strip tease short, planting a slow kiss on his lips before kneeling before him. If Azriel was concerned about your magnetism earlier, he’s certain it’s fatal now. Your fluffed hair, dislodged skirt, and bare chest all poised to drive him insane with want. When you finally slide his leathers down his thighs, he’s relying on his centuries of training to keep himself under control. The sight of his impressive length, swollen and rigid against his stomach, has your thighs clenching.    

You stroke his upper thighs, kissing along the inside of his knees. His dick twitches as you wrap your hand around its swollen girth. Your first experimental tug elicits a deep stuttering groan from the male. His expression is almost flustered, skin flushed and damp. Despite the sweat you’ve both broken, it’s not doing anything for the chafing. Dissatisfied with the dry friction, you use your brain, quickly locating the nearest source of wetness, which happens to be between your legs. Azriel’s jaw looks like it's about to break from tension, his eyes wide as he follows your hand disappearing under your skimpy skirt. When you grip his cock again, it’s to spread the slickness along his member. You look up at him innocently as you continue pumping, finding a satisfying rhythm. 

“You like that?” you ask teasingly. 

“You’re gonna kill me, angel.” He can’t contain the shudder that racks his body at the image and sensation of your firm hand pumping his dick. He’s worried about losing brain function with the lack of blood circulating anywhere else in his body. His chest heaves, and he forces himself to focus on breathing regularly as you drag your hand up and down him, squeezing occasionally at the base. When you lick flat along the underside of his length, his wings flap in a brief frenzy. 

“Just like that,” he cries. 

You grin at his reactions, his broken moans and spasms only encouraging your actions. After he just rewrote your pussy’s worldview with his tongue, you’re delighted to serve him the same experience. 

“You look so stunning on your knees for me.” 

He grasps your scalp, keeping a light hold on your hair as you bend to place shallow licks at his head. His strangled groan has you wrapping your lips fully around his neglected tip. 

“Fuck,” he exhales. 

The salty musk of him fills your mouth as you breathe through your nose to focus on his sensitive head. You use your hand to pleasure him from the shaft as you suck lightly on the end of his cock, swirling your tongue. His moans of rapture send thrills through you. You look up at him, entranced by the pleasure written on his face. You bob your head, taking him in further, causing him to curse again. You don’t bother with taking all of him, you’re not trying to choke and die even on this divine dick, and your mouth is full as it is, tears threatening your waterline. Your saliva mixes with your slick, coating him, delivering layers of pleasure through Azriel, vibrating from his spine to his toes. The wetness of your mouth and the warmth of your hand ease him stroke by stroke into his ecstasy. 

When Azriel feels his wings seize up and his toes begin to curl, he tightens his fist on the back of your neck, pulling you abruptly off of his cock. You glance back up at him, appreciating his delirious arousal, his flexing thighs. His inked chest shines, slick with exertion, his whole form sharpened into an enticing point fit just for you. 

“Sorry,” he wheezes. “I didn’t want to finish like this, I want to feel you.” 

You nod, biting your lip. 

“This isn’t over,” you promise in a whisper to his furiously hard member, placing one last tender kiss at the base of his cock. He shudders at the abrupt touch, and you laugh at your own antics. His eyes shine with humor and lust. 

“Come here,” he begs, pointlessly, since he pulls you up to his lap effortlessly, and you offer no resistance. Your bent knees rest on either side of his thighs, your cores separated by mere inches as you straddle him, your feet coming to rest against his shins. He presses kisses into your mouth, jaw, and collarbone in manic succession, your hands coming to tangle in his hair. 

“Fuck. Don’t tease now,” you chastise him as his mouth finds your nipple, flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud, your back arching instinctively into his touch. 

“What do you want from me?” he retorts, continuing his biting caresses. 

“I want you to fuck me, Azriel,” you order, emphasizing your words with a sharp tug on his dark locks. He snarls against your chest, hips bucking involuntarily. 

“I thought you liked putting in some work, baby. You sure seemed to enjoy being on your knees for me just now,” he taunts.  

“You need me to do the work, huh?” you muse, and his motions pause at your jab. “Fine by me,” you sigh, swiftly gripping his length and sliding over him before he can comment. His head whips up from your chest, fiery response dying in a whimper at the sensation. You notch him at your entrance, pausing to make sure he approves your actions. 

He catches your look, but instead of replying he takes advantage of your hesitance to grab your hips and rub himself against your folds, both of you groaning at the delicious feeling of your collision. 

“Come on, baby. If you’re so tough, have your way with me,” he coaxes, the brazen words lacking any real bite as he strains beneath you. With shaking hands, you reach between your bodies, your skirt ridden up again to fully expose your dripping core, where you finally guide him to your entrance. His head falls into your shoulder as you take him in, moaning noisily as you adjust to his size and girth. 

“Shit,” you pant, overwhelmed on all fronts between his groans nuzzling into your neck, his strong hands grabbing at your hips, and his delicious length stuffing you so completely. 

“Baby. Oh, angel,” he chokes, equally impaired with pleasure. 

You shift your hips tentatively, gasping. He throws his head back in bliss, his hands tightening on your hips. 

“You feel so good around me. You feel so good,” Azriel chants. 

His eyes squeeze shut as he rides the waves of euphoria from you swiveling in his lap. As absorbed as he is with his own pleasure, he’s still acutely aware of your body’s every response. Your breathy whines and moans, your clenching walls, your stuttering hips. You find a rhythm rocking against him, not so much thrusting as grinding, but your choking walls and the spectacle of your chest bouncing in his line of sight are doing it for him just fine. 

“That’s it. Use me, baby,” he urges, moaning filthy encouragements as you ride him.

When your hips start to falter, he coos in sympathy, seeing your frustrated need. He uses his hands to guide your hips over him, leaning back so he can angle thrusts to meet each motion. 

Your body feels like it’s fully alive, awakened by his actions. He meets your urgency with an unrelenting pace. His concentration is dead set on where your bodies join, watching his cock disappearing into you over and over. He loves this feeling, of giving himself over to you, using his body to create pleasure instead of pain. 

“Let me hear you. Is this what you needed, huh, baby?” he coaxes. 

The familiar burning sensation builds in your abdomen. When he hears your cries pitch higher, your restraint spent, he knows you’re close. It takes all your concentration to meet his blistering kiss as he fucks into you at a frenzied pace. You cry into his mouth as one of his hands comes to circle your clit, sending waves of pleasure deep into your core. There isn’t an inch of your body unaffected by his assault. You feel the pull of pleasure even in your teeth as it burns in your thighs and licks up your spine. 

The pressure in your core builds until one particularly hard thrust has you seeing stars behind your eyelids, bringing your release crashing over you. 

He fucks you through it, concentration moving to your face, to see every stage of your satisfaction play out. The severity of his gaze only heightens your sensitivity as you ride out your second orgasm of the night. You might have to give him an award or something if he keeps this up. You’re still shaking when his hands release your hips to rest on your thighs, stroking them in reassurance while you catch your breath. You feel him still hard inside you. You’re not sure what else you’re in for tonight, but you know your tenure on top is just about over, your stamina exhausted. He must see it written on your face because a lazy grin spreads over his stupidly charming face, his thriving male ego on full display.

“Don’t start,” you blush. 

“What? I didn’t say anything,” he laughs, looking at you playfully from under his eyelids. You see a shadow slipping away from his ear. The fuckers! Have they been informing him on your feelings all night, telling him exactly what will drive you crazy?

“Okay, big boy,” you drawl. “How about using that endless stamina for a good cause,” you suggest wolfishly, signalling that you’re not waving a white flag just because you got a little winded. 

“Is this arrangement contingent on the boots staying on, or…?” he searches, quirking a brow, still stroking your thighs that rest atop his. Your heart leaps, you totally had forgotten that you were still half dressed. You’re still wearing your skirt– well, you suppose wearing would be a generous description, seeing how it had scrunched into a thin band at your waist– but your boots were decidedly still on your feet. You’re surprised that your aggressive physical activities hadn’t dislodged them. 

“Yeah, sorry. Boots stay on,” you shrug, swallowing a laugh. “Why? Aren’t you into them?”

Azriel laughs at that, and the sound and its vibration remind you that he’s still very much buried inside you. You clench around him and he groans, capturing your hip with a hand as he twitches.

“I’m very much into them,” he sits up fully to murmur into your cheek, humor muted by his evident desire. “You look dead sexy. I just wonder if they might hinder our joint agility,” he begins tactfully. 

You laugh at his diplomatic words, and he chuckles along. 

“I can’t believe they didn’t come off!” you admit. 

He laughs at that, and soon the two of you are reduced to howling tears at how long you’ve managed to keep your shoes on. He wipes his eyes, shaking his head and mumbling about what an inappropriate yet compelling endorsement you could make for the responsible cobbler, sending you into another fit as he lifts you off of him, perching you on the edge of the cushions. 

He stands to pull the laces of your stomper boots, delicately slipping them from your feet, your socks following, his hands rubbing soothing patterns along your calves. His actions are innocent, yet the look in his eye is anything but. He looks ravenous, but he’s giving you a moment. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy this bit as much as what came next. Azriel just made you come twice and then belly laugh in quick succession. You know he’s fully employed too. He is turning out to be a man of many useful talents. This is dangerous territory. 

“I am a little sad to see them go,” he sighs, jokingly, once your shoes were finally sitting on the floor next to him.

“You know, if you want me to wear them in your bed, you could just fly me all around the city so they never get dirty,” you joke from your position laid on the cushions. He rolls his eyes, but he’s beaming at you as he comes to stand between your thighs, and you can’t help but grin back. It’s been a while since you’ve had this much fun with someone. Nor is it lost on either of you that you’d just implied you might end up in his bed again. You don’t mind the admission, even as it hangs in the air. He’s a spymaster anyways, one way or another he’d figure out what you’re thinking. 

“Noted,” is all he replies to that. “Lift your hips for me, angel.” 

You feel your breathing hitch, affected in unladylike ways by his respectful words. You lift up slightly so he can slip your skirt down from your waist. 

The simple movement dissolves the momentary limbo of your activities, and all the passion of the evening returns to you in full effect as you lay nude before him. He leans over you from where he stands, his hulking form and silhouetted wings imposing. His appetite is apparent, his massive length waiting and ready at his abdomen, angry at having been abused without satisfaction. Azriel has been fighting all night, you realize, and now he’s poised to claim his rightful glory. 

You reach out to pull him towards you. As he crawls over you, his wings flutter shut, as if he means to tuck them safely behind his form for the rest of the night. 

“Don’t you dare put those away!” you huff in frantic offense. 

“What?”

“Your wings!” you exclaim. 

“My wings?” he repeats. 

“I’d like to look at them,” you request, quite nicely, you think, as he settles between your legs. 

Azriel isn’t fooled by your innocent expression. He captures your lips in a bruising kiss, jaw working to claim every inch of fleshy territory. Without warning, his wings flare out, fanning your face with a rush. Your eyes shoot open to see your spoils, the leathery panes blocking the dim light from reaching your entwined forms. Heat rushes through you as you examine them, the thin veins and small scars whispering of stories he has yet to tell. His mouth works along your jaw as you revel in his illustrious form above you, fully claiming you into his world of shadows. He pauses by your ear, scraping his teeth along the sensitive shell before speaking lowly.

“You think wings and murder are sexy, you keep your boots on while you’re getting fucked… My girl is a freak.” Your heart soars at his words. 

“Your girl?” you question. He freezes in his next kiss, ego vanishing, as if he’s not sure if he should be bashful. “I like it,” you declare. He pulls back to see the honesty of it in your eyes, and you know your face is sporting a twin banner of blush. 

“Of course you do, you freak,” he says affectionately. 

Your resounding grin fades into a groan as he runs a scarred hand up the inside of your thigh. He looks at you expectantly, the question in his eyes.  

“I do think your wings are sexy,” you admit. He snorts, and you know that’s not the answer he was looking for. 

 “Are you planning to just lie there, perfect and naked on my bed all night, or are you going to let me fuck you properly?” he huffs out in desperation, not one to be outdone. 

His hips grind against your thigh in emphasis. He is well and done with your larking. 

“Well, gods, let me think about it, at least!” you shoot back mischievously. 

You’re just toying with him now, but in your defense, he makes it so fun. 

Azriel’s head falls to your shoulder, growling. But his gnarled hand vanishes from your thigh and his hips pause their motions. You feel a rush knowing that if you decided you were done, he would stop everything, despite his evident need. All night, he’s been so generous with his energy, from defending you back at the bar, to helping you get off as you struggled to ride him. Your pussy throbs at the power he’s offering up to your pleasure, freely and without expectation. You don’t quite know why you’re being mean, he certainly hasn’t earned it. 

He looks up at you, his cheeks ruddy, his shining eyes searching, and you find your answer. It was simply empowering to see Azriel, a male usually so meticulous in his presentation, fall entirely apart for you. Everything about him was tantalizing, but watching him wield his historic power for your pleasure was the most grievous indulgence.

“Tell me,” he urges, seeing the whirl of emotions on your face. 

“I need you inside me,” you relent. 

His growl is the only warning you get before he sheathes himself inside you in one swift movement, relieved to obey your command. Groans fall from both your lips at the feeling of him pressed into you so spectacularly. 

“Oh, oh , Az,” you revel in the feeling.

“That’s it, baby,” Azriel coaxes. 

He eases you into it with gentle thrusts, placing kisses down your chest. His pace is slow, languid, like he wants to take his time with you, tearing you apart with precision, thrust by thrust. His hands clutch your hips in an attempt to still your thrashing. 

“You’re doing so good for me,” he coos. 

Your hands are all over, his hair, his shoulders, his arms, urging him to move, move, move. He blows a hot exhale across your breasts where he’s been occupied, steadying himself mentally before looking into your face. What you see only fuels you further. In his gaze is raw desire, desire that he’s keeping carefully controlled as he gives you what he thinks you need. Even buried inside you, he reigns himself in, commanding his passion in preservation of your comfort. His mind is screaming at him to drive faster, so much so that it drowns out your sounds of agreement in his ears. His slow strokes are a torment to you both, a needless sacrifice on his end. 

Typically, you might appreciate how considerate he was being. But also, typically, you didn’t have a male buried inside you while you claw at whatever part of his largeness you can reach. What you need right now isn’t his courtesy, what you need is the full force of his passion, unchecked, to do battle with your own. You aren’t used to settling for less than what you want, so everything in you feels confident when you pull his face up to yours, noses brushing as he gasps into your open mouth.

“Az. I need more,” you state clearly. His hooded eyes flare as he finally sees the enormity of your fervor, how it matches perfectly blow for blow with his own. 

“Hold on,” he breathes, pressing a kiss to your mouth in acknowledgement. 

You don’t know if he means it literally or not, but you’re taking no chances as you cling to him. He pulls out slightly more, just enough to give him room to angle your leg up, his muscled arm holding your bent knee, allowing his hips unfettered access to your center. The shift has you whining against him, writhing as he gives you exactly what you asked for. You’ve never felt anyone so deep inside you, kindling that burn so deliciously. 

And then he’s pounding into you at full charge. 

“Come on, baby, give it to me,” he gasps. 

In the throes of your pleasure, you note how his chest heaves, though the steadily punishing pace of his hips never falters. Your legs are numb in some places where you had feeling earlier. You chase your high together in an uphill battle, both worn and equally dedicated to seeing this through to its fateful conclusion. 

“Doing so good for me, angel,” he encourages, and you mumble curses at his tender tone while he sets a brutal rhythm on your cunt. Your hot breath mingles, his forehead pressed to yours, like he needs every part of you to be connected, like when he draws out of you, he’s acutely pained for that moment it takes before he’s enveloped by you again. Watching him is intoxicating. Raw, starved agony tightens the elegant planes of his face as your leg scrapes lightly against the edge of his wing over his shoulder, and he shudders. 

The contact evidently rouses something deep within him, his shadows writhing impishly along his wings. They slip invisibly over his shoulders, under the canopy of his wings to trace infuriatingly over your torso. One ravishes your breast, phantom pleasure coursing down to meet the brimming well of your desire. Their delight at your convulsing form under their ghostly caress is only matched by Azriel’s own fixation. His stare borders on obsessed, eyes blown out. He blinks, failing to clear his carnal fixation, pressing a maddening kiss to your mouth in drunken bliss, muttering your name like a prayer. 

“That feel good, baby?” he grunts. 

“Yes, Azriel, please,” you cry, not even sure what you’re asking for. 

His pace is ruthless, and, far from quieting your own ache, it's successfully unpinning your every inhibition. It's as if his shadows are scouting every crevice of your being to shake out a thrill from any and every forgotten corner. Something shakes loose deep inside your chest as his brutal magnetism pulls pleasure from you. You set it aside to focus on the ecstasy being painstakingly, greedily delivered to your drenched core. You moan his name at the heat pulsing through you. 

Azriel looks fucked out, his brows slick with tension and his mouth gaping as he absorbs you with equal adoration. You see your own need reflected in his face, and you feel like you’ve taken a hand mirror into a reflecting pool for how endlessly your bliss echoes between you. It’s mind bending, how it drives you crazy knowing he’s crazy for how he drives you crazy– you could almost laugh at the absurdity of it if you had any remaining breath. And if it didn’t feel so riveting, the symmetry of your hunger.  

“I’m close,” you hiccup, body heavy with expectation, the smoldering heat growing to a fever pitch as he pummels you. 

“I’m with you, baby. I’m right here with you,” he gasps. 

One of his hands snakes down to encourage your clit with tight, fast circles. His attention, though, is on your face, watching the way elation plays across your features. The added sensation sends you over the edge, your third release blowing through you in scalding waves.

You cry out as your orgasm staggers you, hands blindly tugging his hair, holding him to you as you shatter. The pulsing grip of your cunt pulls him along the edge as he works you with quick thrusts. 

At the sharp scrape of your nails on his scalp, his own pleasure snaps, waves of bliss cresting over you both in lock step, smoothing twin grooves of delight in your souls. He fucks you through it, his face buried in the side of your neck, his kiss biting with teeth as he tries messily to stifle his groans. The guttural noise of his cries shakes the room, your own heartbeat barely perceptible in its wake. When the quaking stops, he slumps down over you, totally spent. 

You lay there in a daze for gods know how long, struggling for air together. He presses kisses into your shoulder until your cries quiet down and your breathing comes more easily. Azriel has definitely fucked before, so he doesn’t know why his heart is beating so wildly at this encounter, why he’s still greedily tasting your skin, why he’s so reluctant to pull out of you. When he feels like he has it under control, he peeks his head out from your neck. A grin is plastered on his gorgeous face, his hair sticking up in a stupidly charming fashion, his eyes shining with frightening levels of energy and mirth despite his limp form atop you. 

“I can’t believe I found you in a gay bar,” he states. You flick his ear, nose scrunching at his audacity. 

“You are ridiculous. Is that really all you have to say?” you accuse breathlessly, still gone soft in a delicious haze. 

Azriel chuckles, shifting over you, so that his head hovers over yours again. 

“No,” he says carefully. He slides his hand to move yours from his hair, bringing it to rest on the cushions above your head, his fingers twining with yours. Your brows furrow at the delicate gesture, you’d blush if he wasn’t literally inside you still. 

“I just thought ‘holy fuck, please marry me?’ might be a little intense to lead with,” he offers, and what you see dancing in his eyes holds too much gravity to be mistaken for pure humor.

Your insides flutter again at his words, dumbfounded. 

He means it as a joke, but there’s something in his eyes you wouldn’t mind waking up to every day for the rest of your life that feels dangerous. This was a fun, sexy adventure with a fun, oversized Illyrian, you rationalize. You’d reassess that flicker in your chest again after you were fed, rested, and bathed.  

Azriel has similar ideas it seems. He slips out of you, your body protesting at the loss. He must sense this because he places a mollifying kiss to your stomach as he gets up from the bed. He returns shortly to find you still splayed out in total content, and hands you a tall glass of cool water. You didn’t realize how parched you were until you drank half the glass in several gulps, refreshing your dry throat. Azriel appears again with some towels. 

He takes the glass when you offer it back, but instead of setting it aside he brings it to his own lips, finishing it off in one long drink. Your mouth goes dry again at the sight. You’re well and truly fucked if the sight of him finishing your water gets you excited. It’s not like you hadn’t just swapped spit with him in more exciting ways. You’re certain he notices you staring, but he doesn’t comment. 

“Can I clean you up? Or do you want to…” he gently motions with the damp towel once he’s done torturing you with his pornographic drinking. You allow him to wipe you down, his gentle motions confident and efficient. It makes your body hum in a new way, how he handles you with casual reverence, hands skimming your flesh to check for tender spots before he cleanses there. You see your own glow reflected in him, one of utter contentment. 

He crawls onto the bed with you, pulling back the blankets and cushions around you in a swaddled sort of cocoon before settling on your chest, his arms wrapping around you, wings coming to rest on either side of your form. You brush his wild hair from his forehead, and he hums as he nudges his head more firmly into your palm. He lets loose a long sigh when you brush your hands through his dark locks, eyes closing in contentment. His sore muscles loosen as he curls into you. It’s a powerful image, the hulking Illyrian sprawled lazily atop you in utter calm. 

“Bed time,” he declares, much to your amusement. His nose brushes your sternum, and he sleepily kisses your skin before cracking a yawn. His swirling shadows quiet as he drops his guard for the night. Your eyelids begin to sink, despite your determination to memorize your position tangled with him. You swear you hear a whisper in the dark, a wordless plea in your ear, stay . Not that you have much choice with his bulky form practically trapping you against his bed. 

“Good night, Azriel,” you murmur. 

Sleep must have taken you seamlessly after that because next thing you know, the cool light of dawn is streaming in his open windows, illuminating the peaceful figure still resting on your chest. You wonder what the protocol for this is, if he expects you to slip out before he awakes. On your occasional hook ups, you’d never slept over before. Usually you would have left after, or woken up in the night and skipped. This time, you didn’t have the same avoidant fear marching you out the door. 

In the night, Azriel had shifted, so now he lay with only one leg slotted between yours, his grip on your waist loosened. You try adjusting your back so that your head can lay more comfortably on his pillow– his soft and supple pillow, you note. His grip tightens on your waist at your movements, his brows furrowing in irritation in his sleep. 

A grin blooms on your lips at his unconscious gesture. You relax into his large bed, pride singing in your veins. He was certainly decisive about your spending the night, and now with the prospect of a quiet, intimate morning before you... You know it was an involuntary movement, but all the same. You’re starting to think he might be into you. And you’re definitely into his mattress, you muse, closing your eyes to submit to the allure of his plush bed. Though it’s his pleasant weight resting over you that really lulls you into sleep. 

When you wake up later in the full light of morning, you find Azriel watching you with appreciation. 

“Good morning,” you mumble, feeling your face flush. 

“Good morning,” he agrees, his voice rough with sleep, pulling you into his chest. 

Your muscles protest, still sore, but it's a pleasant sting, you decide as you relax into him. You could spend all morning like this, wrapped in his strong arms. 

“Did you sleep well?” he asks sweetly.

You nod, sleepily praising how comfortable his bed is. He’s shifted to press you against his firm chest, his hand coming to rest on your back. As you shift to nuzzle into his shoulder, you feel his half hard cock digging into your hip. His words from the night before rise to mind amid the heated memories of your shared activities. My girl , he’d called you. You figure you should act like it. If you work this right, this could be the first of many mornings spent in his bed.

You press your hips into his growing erection, and his eyes flash in warning. The sleep fades from his gaze as his hand at your back holds you in place against him. 

You begin meaningfully, “I don’t have any plans today–”

“Thank the Mother!” Azriel growls, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss. Warmth flares in your chest at his eagerness. Little do you know how Azriel is plotting similar schemes even as you lose yourselves to the magnetic bliss of your connection. You’d always been a flirt, but it had never earned you such a glorious reward. 

“Did you enjoy yourself last night?” you ask teasingly. 

“You know I did.”

“Well don’t push yourself now, I don’t expect you to be able to outdo last night,” you sigh mockingly. 

His expression unnerves you, the challenge registering on his face in a slow, wickedly sensual smile. 

“Oh, but I intend to.” 

_

A/N: THANKS FOR READING!! This is the first fic I’ve ever "published"! I really enjoyed writing Azriel, he’s fun to play with. Also yeah maybe I implied that they were soulmates cause I am a lover and casual isn’t in my vocabulary, baby! Let me know what you think, I meant it to be flirty and then smutty and then it became kinda sweet, so hopefully you enjoyed the ride :) Let me know if you want part 2 ??

[darkstaria]

"Hehehe..." You snickered quietly to yourself, rapidly pressing the buttons on your remote. The ceiling reflected your desire, rapidly changing colours as you did so. Smart lights were so cool.

A knock sounded at your door.

"Hello!" Called the bane of your existence.

"Not here!" You called back.

"I'm coming it anyways!" Dick sauntered in through your door as if your four individual locks meant nothing to him. Damn. Next time you're buying a barricade. Jason could probably be persuaded to install it. Stick it to the old man and all.

"Get out." You stated.

You changed the light into a deep, dark red.

"I'm here because Bruce is busy." Your unwanted visitor explained. "It's great that you're having fun and all, but using your light to flash SOS in morse code is going a bit too far, wouldn't you think?"

"No." You replied, a deadpan expression on your face.

"Well Bruce thinks it is, so this is your warning. Stop flashing in morse code, or he's talking the bulb out."

"You would take this away from me?" You pleaded, tears welling up in your eyes. You had gotten extremely good at that lately. "My one solace in this cruel, lonely-"

"We're always extremely happy to hang out with you." Dick cut in, bemused.

"-mansion." You continued as if he had never spoke. "You would really do that? To me? ...your sibling?" The tears were perhaps getting a bit out of control, but you'd rather be overacting than under.

"Unfortunately yes-"

"Unfair!" You shouted. "Besides, Tim taught me how to use the light this way, if anything you should be blaming him! Favouritism!" Yous screeched. If tears didn't get him out volume would.

Dick winced, so you were clearly doing your job.

"I'll.. see what I can do." He muttered, turning away.

You breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, alone once more.

"Oh by the way!" He turned back.

Damnit!

"It's family movie night tonight! You know the rules, whoever caught you in your last escape attempt gets to cuddle you for the whole night, and you know who that was!" He laughed. You hated him. That attempt was one of your best yet, until he showed up.

Dick left, laughing all the way.

You sighed, a deep and long breath. How frustrating.

After a little bit, you looked up again, turning your room into a brilliant pink.

"Hehehe..." You continued fiddling with your remote. It was really fun.

[aventurineswife]

You know those videos of Dads and their dad reflexes with their baby’s? Like how they catch their kids before they land on their heads? Can I request Aventurine, Sunday, Dr Ratio, Blade, and Jing Yuan doing that?

Not really part of the request but I like to think Yanqing made it his mission to be a “big brother” to his generals new baby and has had a moment where he was alone watching the baby and saved it from hitting their head poor guy probably panicked💀

Caught in the Moment

Tags: Aventurine, Sunday, Blade, Jing Yuan, Ratio, Domestic Fluff, Fatherhood, Protective Dads, Gentle Moments, Character Reflection, Calm Affection, Parenthood, Quiet Peace.

Warnings: Mentions of past trauma (Blade), Mentions of immortality (Blade), Mild violence (mentions of near danger).

A/N: please, he probably had a heart attack! 😭🙏

It was a quiet evening at Aventurine's lavish home, the dim glow of luxurious lamps casting a soft hue over the room. He sat at the long, sleek table in the dining room, tapping a pen rhythmically against the polished wood as he mulled over some calculations. Despite the grandiose trappings of his surroundings, tonight wasn’t about strategy or high-stakes games—this was his time with the child.

Aventurine’s latest gamble was one he hadn't anticipated: fatherhood. And while he was known for his cunning and calm in the face of danger, he had no strategy for this—no game to play. His child was his greatest unknown, and they had a way of defying expectations.

Suddenly, from across the room, the unmistakable sound of small feet scurrying broke the silence. Before he could register the moment fully, there they were—his little one, gleefully running toward him. But, alas, the floor was slippery beneath their tiny shoes.

Aventurine’s heart skipped a beat. Without thinking, he pushed himself from the table, his expression an unreadable mask, though his body tensed as he tracked their trajectory. His child, still oblivious to the danger, began to stumble—hands reaching forward for balance, their tiny body tipping perilously.

His movements were lightning-quick. Without hesitation, he swept in and caught them mid-air, lifting them up just before they could crash into the floor. His arms cradled them with the same calculated precision he applied to business deals.

They giggled, unaware of the near disaster, while Aventurine couldn’t suppress a small, wistful smile. The adrenaline rush of the moment lingered for only a second, but it made him realize that, in this chaotic game of life, he’d finally found something worth playing for.

"Careful there," he said, his voice light and playful, masking the fleeting unease he felt inside. "You’ve got to pace yourself in this game."

The room was bathed in the soft glow of early evening, a tranquil calm that was almost otherworldly. Sunday stood by the window, his gaze drifting toward the distant horizon as he reflected on his recent decisions. His mind, always occupied by existential ponderings, occasionally sought refuge in the simple joy of watching his child play.

They were playing by the couch, their little fingers gripping the soft carpet beneath them as they tried to stand, tottering on wobbly legs. Sunday smiled softly, his eyes flickering with pride. A part of him couldn’t help but admire the resilience they displayed—a quality he himself had struggled to find in his own past.

As they took another step, Sunday’s serene focus shifted into mild alarm when they lost their balance. Their body tipped forward, heading toward the edge of the coffee table.

Without a moment's hesitation, Sunday’s wings fluttered slightly—a subconscious reaction—and he moved forward, his tall figure flowing across the room in a series of graceful strides. He reached out just in time, his hands effortlessly catching them before they could collide with the table.

The little one blinked up at him, eyes wide in surprise, and he simply smiled softly, cradling them close to his chest. It was the kind of simple moment that his idealistic heart cherished—a moment that needed no words, just the soft comfort of protection.

“You’ve got to learn to balance in life,” he murmured gently, his voice like a soft breeze. “But don’t worry, I’m here to help you.”

For a brief moment, he felt the conflicting pull of his old idealism—his desire to shield them from harm, even if it meant navigating the murky waters of his own internal struggles. But for now, he let that quiet turmoil fade into the background, focusing only on the warmth of the child in his arms.

The laboratory-like atmosphere of Ratio’s home was filled with the soft hum of mechanical devices and the constant presence of books and research papers, creating an environment that was always abuzz with activity and intellect. Despite his usual air of self-assurance, today was different. Today, he had been tasked with looking after his child while he took a break from his intellectual pursuits.

Ratio was sitting at his desk, absently fiddling with his latest experiment, when a sudden shriek broke his concentration. Looking up, he saw his child—still too young to understand the consequences of their actions—leaning precariously over the edge of the nearby chair, trying to grab at something just out of reach.

Ratio’s heart rate quickened, but only for a moment. He had no time for hesitation. A flash of motion, and before the child could tumble from their position, he was there. His hand shot out, fingers grasping the back of their tiny shirt as he yanked them back into his arms.

"Impressive," he muttered under his breath, a rare smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he straightened them up in his arms. "Calculated risk taken... or perhaps not. Should’ve known better than to allow you to wander too close to danger."

The child, seemingly unperturbed by the near-miss, giggled and reached for his glasses, earning a soft chuckle from him. His reaction was a blend of calculated precision and the rare warmth he afforded only to those few who had earned it. He placed them back on the floor gently, adjusting his posture as he turned back to his work.

"Always be careful when testing boundaries," he murmured, his tone both pedagogical and affectionate. "Though, you’ll likely break a few rules before you understand the full implications."

The quiet flicker of pride—almost imperceptible in his usual cool demeanor—was enough to remind him that perhaps, just maybe, there was more to life than pure intellect and unrelenting pursuit of knowledge.

The night had settled over the Xianzhou Luofu, its vast corridors bathed in soft moonlight as Jing Yuan sat on the large velvet sofa in the living room. The quiet hum of his surroundings was a welcome change from the bustle of his duties as General. Tonight, however, was not about politics or strategy. It was time with his child.

They were seated on the plush carpet, playing with colorful blocks, the room filled with the gentle sound of their laughter. Jing Yuan's eyes flickered from his quiet reflection to the playful movements of the child, their small hands stacking the blocks with surprising focus.

Just as he was about to indulge in a rare moment of relaxation, the child, a little too eager in their exploration, began to stand, wobbling unsteadily as they took a tiny step forward. Jing Yuan’s eyes narrowed slightly, tracking every movement as they teetered dangerously close to the edge of a low table.

In an instant, his reflexes kicked in. He rose from his seat, his tall figure moving with an elegance that belied his usual languid demeanor. Without a sound, his hands shot out and caught the child just before they tumbled forward. The child, now cradled safely in his arms, blinked up at him, startled by the sudden movement.

"Careful," Jing Yuan said softly, his voice filled with a calm, knowing affection as he gently set them back on their feet. "It's easy to forget your balance, but it’s important to always be mindful of where you’re going."

The child giggled and reached for his arm, as though offering their own small form of reassurance. Jing Yuan smiled, his eyes softening in that rare moment of warmth, the fleeting sensation of peace that he had worked so hard to cultivate within the Xianzhou now extending to the quiet sanctuary of his home.

The dim light of Blade's home flickered, casting long shadows across the room where Blade sat, his arms folded across his chest. His usually cold, calculating demeanor was softened for the moment—he was at home, a place where the sharp edges of his mission seemed to dull just a little. His child, their presence almost a contradiction to his tortured past, was moving around the room, their tiny steps full of excitement and exploration.

His eyes followed them with a trace of something unspoken in his gaze. For all his power, his immortality, and his resolve to bring an end to his suffering, this—this quiet domestic moment with the child—was a reminder that there were things beyond his tragic existence.

But it didn’t last.

With a sudden, clumsy movement, the child, still unsteady on their feet, lost balance and began to fall towards the sharp edge of a table. Blade’s instincts kicked in—no hesitation, no thought of consequences. His hand shot out and, with uncanny precision, he caught the child in mid-air, their small form colliding gently against his chest. For a moment, the stillness was overwhelming. Blade’s heart didn’t beat, but in the silence, he felt something stir—a fleeting warmth that felt both foreign and familiar.

"Watch your step," Blade murmured, his voice low but laced with a tenderness he couldn’t quite hide. His gaze softened as the child looked up at him, a wide grin on their face as if nothing had happened.

The child wriggled out of his grasp, reaching for the toy they had been playing with earlier, completely unaware of how close they had come to danger. Blade stood for a moment, his gaze lingering on them, before a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips—an expression he rarely wore, but one that seemed to fit in this quiet, domestic world that somehow had found its way into his immortal existence.

"Even the smallest steps can be dangerous," he murmured, almost to himself. "But I’ll always be here to catch you."

And with that, Blade returned to his silent watch, torn between the eternal path he had chosen and the fragile peace that, for now, seemed to be the only thing worth holding onto.

[lambilegs]

✮🃜🃚🃖🃁🂭🂺✮

striking a deal (sevika x reader)

contains: sevika being a jackass (what's new tho I still love her), gambling, reader sort of being a hater against gambling due to the negative impacts its had on their friend, enemies-with-a-bit-of-desire sort of vibe going on, reader is called a "girlfriend," very sfw, not much explicit romance and just a bit of flirting + attraction

a/n: hiii pookies so this is my first fic for miss sevika!! I hope it's accurate to her character and you all enjoy <33 would love to hear what y'all think hehe

art: four gentlemen of high rank playing primero

✮🃜🃚🃖🃁🂭🂺✮

"hey, do you know where I can find sevika?" you tentatively ask the bartender. he's some nervous looking kid who's probably going to quit after two weeks of witnessing the shit show that is the last drop since vander was killed.

not that you can blame him. you rarely frequent this part of the undercity, avoiding it for both the sake of safety and your own sense of sanity. you couldn't stand half the crap that went down here -- all the drunken fights, the sloshing of alcohol spilling and soaking through nearly every visitor's clothes, the lewd public displays that sent your face burning and ducking down -- and, of course, the gambling.

the damn gambling you had been imploring your friend, zafar, to put aside for almost half a year now. ever since he had lost his younger sister to an "intervention" enforcers had made at a party a year ago, every bad habit of his that had once been a small spring in the ground, roots shallow, had blossomed into a rotten, ugly plant that had spread faster than the blink of an eye could capture. you tried to be there for him, you did, but you also had your own family to take care of, and with his new friends being nothing but a bunch of enablers, he had now landed himself into a world of debt.

why, you ask? he had made the stupid decision to play with one of silco's little henchmen, sevika, whose reputation at cards is so notorious that even you've heard of it from your dinky little corner, far away from this place. you had heard rumours of her, some admiring, others downright terrifying. her help in smuggling shimmer, the ass-whooping she did for silco, how she was a constant presence when it came to the drug lord. that was enough to drain you of any admiration you could've beheld for such a strong woman. you had seen what shimmer did, the power it had in crumbling people's bodies, mental states, and their ability to keep living. you don't approve of anyone who's involved in the horrors of it.

the only reason you're here now is because zafar came to you sobbing this morning, grief heavy in his eyes over the money he had lost. he claimed sevika cheated it out of him, and while you still aren't sure as to how true that is, you'd at least try to set the record straight with her. you want to do something, anything, for standing around and watching zafar self-destruct no longer feels like a valid option. you promised him you'd try to see if you could convince her to return his money, under the condition of him avoiding gambling as best as he could and beginning to work part-time at the shop where you worked so he could have a more reliable source of income.

you can only hope this shitty plan will be in your favour. already, your stomach is tightening with anxiety, the knot circling and circling to bulge against your gut and make you slightly nauseated. but, you try to, at least physically, keep your cool, schooling your features to be calm, levelled and devoid of any jitters or twitches.

the bartender cocks his head to a dark corner near the jukebox. "right there. why, you've got business with her?"

a spring of irritation flickers through you at his prodding. the less he knows, the better. "in a way." you nod your thanks, then make your way to her.

you had seen flashes of sevika before. rallies, protests, gang fights. a blur of dark hair, a murky red cape and swinging fists. that's all she ever was to you. so, now, to behold her in her full state, feels... intimidating, to say the least. she carries herself as though the rickety wooden boards and worn out hinges of this place are her prized palace and she's the hailing king, rightfully seated on her throne. her dark lips are twisted into a leering smirk, haughtily bringing her cigar to them and taking a prideful puff from it. you swallow hard. you're definitely out of your league.

you linger nearby, watching through the crowd and awaiting an opportunity to approach her. when the men around her slam their palms down on the shared table, groaning and shutting their eyes in clear loss, her arm tossing towards them cockily, you stiffen up. you have an opening.

as the losers begin to file away, shoulders slumped in defeat, you can't help but feel a twinge of pity for them. everyone in this city struggles, one way or another. to have those struggles tied off with a loss in poker is a downright cursed fate. you try not to meet their eyes, sliding through the sweaty bodies until you reach her table.

you pause in front of her, hands twiddling as she collects the coins. you wait for her to look up, and when a few seconds pass and no such thing happens, you clear your throat.

eyes still casted onto the table, she speaks. her voice is like sand that's fallen through the surface of the ocean, rough and textured, impossibly deep and smooth. "you waited your turn long enough. what do you want?"

you flinch. "waited my turn?"

she tilts her head in the direction you came from. "you were lurking there. just watching, or is there something you need?"

jesus, and here you had thought you were at least a bit subtle. "oh, I--"

"didn't think I'd notice you?" she scoffs, scooping up the coins and pouring them into a small sack. "you almost fell head-first when bunny-face bumped into you."

your eye nearly twitches. "okay, well, good observation, I guess." honestly, it's impressive. you had expected her to be all brawn, no brain. "I'm here to talk to you about something."

her eyes finally meet yours. they're nearly silver, a dark grey that flashes under the colourful lights. her gaze is piercing, punctuated all the more by her dark eyebrows that are drawn in curiosity. "make it quick."

that's all you need. "okay, well, my friend, zafar, gambled with you last night."

"okay."

"well, you won, and took a bunch of his money." you wobble on your feet, hesitation seizing at you due to the accusation you're about to lay out. she could probably snap your neck in less than a millisecond. you've heard of her ability to totally crush any enemy designated to her by silco. definitely not a person whose bad side you want to get on. hopefully, nothing of the sort will happen if you express yourself in enough of a civilized way. "he, I don't know if it's true, but he says you cheated." you avert your eyes, the hand in your pocket gripping tightly onto the handle of your dagger. you haven't had to use it, not yet, at least, but in the undercity, it's better to be safe than sorry. and, frankly, you're expecting the worse from her.

which is why you nearly flinch when the corner of her lip twists up, and she says, "a common scapegoat for losers."

protectiveness immediately kicks in, searing through your body and urging you through your fear. you know it's hypocritical, considering you, too, don't fully believe him. but, still, you at least know his character, whereas she's just riding off her assumptions. "he could just as well be telling the truth."

"oh, yeah? is that why he sent his little girlfriend to save his ass?"

gross. the insinuation feels nearly as offensive as her insults towards him. "I'm not his girlfriend. and I volunteered to come here myself."

her eyes flicker up to you, and you rear back when they linger on your face, skimming over your features before settling back down to the table. "and while that's nice, and well, pretty stupid of you, I didn't do any cheating. anything he lost was because he couldn't play his hand well."

you grit your teeth together. "I'm not stupid. I just came here for a friend."

"a friend who clearly is a sloppy poker player and likely to lose to anyone who has the playing ability of a child." she snickers, and you catch sight of the split between her two front teeth, a little gap protruding. you force yourself to meet her eyes. the last thing you'd want is for her to catch you staring at her mouth.

what's worse is that you can't even argue back with her on this. for all you know, zafar very well may be a shit player. probably is, in all honesty. it wouldn't surprise you -- he always was impulsive as hell, and you wouldn't bat an eye to discover that challenging sevika had been an in-the-moment decision of his. but, you know what he's been through. you know how down in the dumps he is financially, and just how desperate he's gotten. his mourning has only made it worse.

"okay, well," you trail off, not really knowing where to continue. you didn't really lay a plan for yourself, and now that she's swiftly shut you down in a manner which you have no rebuttals for, you're not sure how to proceed.

"was that all?"

"no." you force your shoulders to straighten, hoping you sound somewhat firm, maybe even dignified. "is there any way you can return his money? he's been through a lot this year, and--"

she cuts you off with a bark of laughter, the raspy noise of it harsh and grating to your ears. the anger it's stirring in you probably isn't helping either. "okay. listen, friend of...?"

deadpan, you respond, "zafar."

she nods. "yeah, whatever his name is. this game comes with risks, and one of them is losing all your shit if you play with no tact."

you suck in a sharp breath at the condescension in her tone. "I'm well aware of that. but, listen, he's had a hard time of it lately, and--"

"and what? we've all had a hard time of it lately. if he chose to put his life's worth on the table, that isn't my problem."

"I'm not saying it is, but c'mon, can't you have a little empathy now and return his money?" you stick an incredulous finger at the table. "you have enough as is! no need to drain every zaunite of their hard-earned money before you're satisfied."

her eyes flutter in what seems to be exasperation, but you firmly planted, both on your feet and in your stance. physically, you can't do shit against this mass of muscle. but, maybe, just maybe, you can verbally get somewhere.

she stares up at you, elbows propped on her knees. "if it's so hard-earned, why did your friend gamble it away? are you asking me to return someone's money because they were an idiot?"

frustration begins to gnaw at your stomach, a burning sensation swarming through your insides and making you tense up. "I'm telling you, he's not in his right mind right now. things have happened in his family lately, and it's been hard for him."

"are you forgetting where you live? things happen in every family here. being smart is how you survive. if your friend can't do that..." she shrugs, continuing to sweep the coins into the opening of the sack. "then, that's not my problem."

"being a decent person helps in surviving in this place, too. being there for each other and our community. don't you care about that?"

her movements halt for a second, eyes flicking between you and the table. you nearly crack a grin and do a little rejoicing dance. bingo.

you add a sticky sweet tone to your voice, pleading and coaxing. you've heard she frequents babette's brothel, and if that's any indication about where her romantic interests lie, maybe you'll be able to woe her into complacency. "c'mon, I promise, he'll never gamble with you again, and if he does, take anything and keep it. but, please, just this one time, help him out, hm? do it for him, do it for your people."

her face, which was stoic only moments ago, shatters into a loud round of laughter, her palm smacking against her knee. "I gotta hand it to you, the 'for your people' thing was a nice touch." she stands up, and you try not to blink too hard at the sight of her towering over you. jesus, she's gigantic. no wonder people are scared shitless of her. no wonder you were scared shitless of her. "now, be honest. was the money yours? boyfriend left you and stole from the cookie jar? told you you had to come and get it back yourself?"

the more she talks, the more you get the sense that to her, this conversation is simply something to toy with, and just engage with as a playful little pastime. it only causes more anger to ooze within you, fiery and hot within your guts, like lava. this isn't a game. this is about people's lives, people's financial sustenance. she must earn a decent amount of time for her work for silco, and yet here she is, milking the people of zaun who don't know any better or who are too entrenched in their habits to put a stop to their gambling.

you want to make a jab at her that's as harsh as the blow to your ego was. it might risk you a limb, but you're praying the surprising amount of calm she's shown so far is a sign that your safety is secure. "you know what? I was stupid for coming here in the first place. to think one of silco's little servants would actually have a moral compass."

unfortunately, her irritatingly cool collection not only keeps your physical wellbeing in check, but does the complete opposite to your pride. for all she does is stare down at you, the long, blue scar seeping through her cheek curling as she chuckles, the noise husky and rough, like crushed velvet. "ouch. good one. anyone else might've gotten offended by that." her stormy eyes skip to your lips for a split second. "quite the mouth you have on you."

what the fuck is that supposed to mean? is that a pass or a genuine comment on your temper, which is very much flaring up? either way, you're determined to try harder to goad her. "yeah, well, I'm sure it has no impact on you, right? after all, you spend your days contributing to half the shit going down in this fucked up city."

her jaw suddenly clenches, mouth pressing together. you would've thought someone in this business would be a bit more discreet with the physical manifestations of their moods. but, sevika is like an open book, grey eyes wide, and eyebrows sunk down, her newfound disdain clear as day. "what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"the shimmer," you answer, squinting at her, praying the expression conveys how stupid you think she is. "your little boss has just tossed it to this city and watches the damages of it unfold without doing shit. wasn't his glorious plan to make this city a better place, not fuck us over even more?"

"the shimmer is helping," she retorts, her voice harder than before, lined with a firm pressure that had been absent in her prior teasing and casual dismissal. "we have something that topside could only wish for, something that gives us an advantage."

"an advantage?" you laugh bitterly. the injustice of it all, the agony you see your people in everyday -- it all floods your insides, wracking you from within. "it's been years since it's come about, and nothing has changed. piltover is still on top, and in addition to that, they have hextech." you make sure your eyes pointedly lock onto hers, hoping she feels every single fibre of your rage. "just admit it. you guys haven't done shit."

"and what exactly are you doing?" her voice is lowered to a heavy whisper, and you feel the noises surrounding you two melt away into a light, background buzz. the iciness of her voice feels almost worst than any other stupid tone she's taken since you started interacting.

"something you and your boss don't seem to be helping at all with." you give her a tight-lipped smile, your gums aching with how hard your teeth press in together, the disjointed shapes of them uncomfortable and crooked as they mash at the edges. "trying to survive."

her nostrils flare, her burning glare pulsing through the barrier of your skin and making your insides turn from the onslaught of anxiety that enters. god, will she unleash some goons on you now or something?

"sevika!"

you jerk at the sudden sound, whereas sevika simply blinks down at you, gaze unrelenting. "what?" she calls out.

uncomfortable at having her eyes still pointed at you, you turn to the voice, seeing a man with small, rectangular glasses hanging off his nose looking awfully mopey.

"you promised us another round," the guy wails, tossing his hands in the air.

you swallow hard at the silence that ensues, still feeling her stormy eyes hooked onto you. after a moment, she says, "maybe later."

the man's shoulders sag as he heaves a dramatic sigh, turning to who seems to be his friend, whimpering, "she's too busy with her date."

you grimace at the mistake, though the disgust you feel at it is fused with an irritation directed at the way your stomach spins at the word 'date.' you're not stupid -- sevika is, objectively, pretty attractive. hot, some people might say. but, jesus, she's a bitch too. and working with silco, which makes for a very unappealing combination.

"come on," she drawls out. you turn back to her, the anger from before now replaced with a wide smirk, one sharp eyebrow lifted up inquisitively. "I can't be all that bad, can I?"

you roll your eyes. this conversation has strayed too much as is, and you're not about to let it tiptoe off into flirtatious territory. "are you going to give my friend back his money or not?"

"hm," she ponders, and lifting a hand to stroke her cheek. you can immediately catch a whiff of the falsehood in the gesture, and tap your foot, waiting for her to just solidify your assumption. "no, I won't. but, do give him my regards."

you grunt, shaking your head. despite your expectancy of it, you can't help but feel a stone of disappointment sink through the waters of your body, falling to the bottom with more impact than you'd like. you shouldn't expect anything of her, there's no reason for you to feel disappointment. your expectations shouldn't have gotten this high in the first place. "of course. have a good day."

as you whirl around to leave, she grabs your forearm, callouses brushing against your skin. "hey, I just turned down a poker game for you."

"uh, yeah, and as a reward, you get a departure from me that doesn't include a kick to the shin." you snatch your arm from her grasp, trying to direct your thoughts to her shitty words as a desperate attempt to ignore the warmth in your stomach. "you're welcome."

with her snarky laugh ringing in your ears, you practically dash to the door, wanting to get out as soon as possible.

it's awful, but at the opening, something in you whispers for you to look back once more. it's okay -- it's reasonable, right? you barely frequent this place, anyone would want to catch one last glance at such a notorious woman in your city, no matter how degenerate and callous she is.

the only con to this is as soon as you find sight of her through your tentative search of the crowd, she's already staring back at you. at being caught, you internally cringe, the feeling only intensified by a tenfold when she tips her head at you with a grin.

ugh. never again.

two weeks later, you find a crisp envelope laying out on the mat outside your front door. in neat, cursive writing, it reads:

A thank you gift for the free business consultation. Do with it what you will. Whether you or someone else needs it. - S

[love-others-despite-differences]

Even though God already knows its important to talk about it with him, I never understood This before but think Of it like this you can see whats happining in your Friend or coworkers life From social media but its so much more exciting when they want to tell you about it

To have a relationship with god we must be intentional about knowing him Not only through The bible( even though its very important) but through prayer as well

[yuwuta]

fwb with katsuki feels like an snl skit like you’ve got to be joking with him if you propose that after you two have fucked. hooking up with the boy you’ve known since you were five and then asking to keep it casual between you two is insane. he could bite you, he could threaten to tell shoto (who would pinch you), he could lace your hands together and threaten to drag you both out into heavy traffic if you don’t go out with him, he could just say “get real?” and then proceed to take a nap on top of you for the next four hours, he could flick you on the forehead, he might even cry, he could threaten to tell izuku (who would kick him), he could squish your cheeks between his palms and tell you to stop spewing nonsense, he could threaten to tell his mom (who would pinch the both of you by your ears), he could scream, he probably will bite actually. it doesn’t matter it all ends in him “talking some sense into ya since i clearly fucked your brains out” while he makes you dinner and you agree to go out on a real date tomorrow

[maidenofcrows]

Too many jokes about Kaz becoming Wylan’s father figure. Not enough jokes about Wylan and Jesper adopting Kaz. Not in a child-parent way, but more of a feral cat way.

[saetiate]

sae is definitely someone who loves you more and more through every stage of your relationship. he loves you even more when you’re engaged than when you were dating, he loves being married to you and growing old with you. he loves watching you grow as a person. watching smile lines and starlight grey hair settle into your image, sees it as proof that he made you feel happy and loved. loves the thought of knowing he was there before and after it

it’s such a beautiful and honestly rare thing to have someone who’s love only grows for you with every milestone and who feels like knows everything about you by heart whilst simultaneously feeling like he’s rediscovering you over and over again.

[loserlvrss]

( ɪˈfemərəl ) ㅤ𓈒 ㅤ𓈒 you and the popular twitch streamer, 𝙃𝘼𝙀𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙉, had dated for years, breaking up because of a misunderstanding. and now you're haunted by the ghost of your failed-relationship, doubting whether you should reach out again. however, it all comes crashing down because of one sweatshirt and a tweet. 이동혁 &𝔣em! 𝔯ea.❛angst, half-smau, eventual fluff, streamer!au

or alternatively┊life gives you a second chance with the man who understood, and never sought to change you.

𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬───language, emetophobia, panic disorder, severe depression & anxiety disorder, mentions of food & not eating, argument, self-loathing, drinking / alcohol usage, perental truama / mentions of being an orphan, skinship, crude humor ⟡ est. wc : 1600THOU+ CLiCK4MORE (part two coming soon)

001: Whoever You Became and Whoever You Thought You Should've Been 

You've always been sure of yourself. That was never an issue. You always knew what you wanted and how to achieve the goal effectively. Yet, now you can’t even decide what to eat for breakfast—so you go without food most days.

The little girl you were would be disappointed in the mess she was looking up to. She’d be disappointed to have watched the walls of her castle crumble. She’d be disappointed to know that fairy tales were just stories made up by lonesome adults. You feared, she’d just be disappointed in you. You weren’t the person you thought you’d be by now. Well, actually, you thought you weren’t much of anything anymore. In reality, you’d lost all sense of whoever you became and whoever you thought you should’ve been.  

Yes, you knew that you’d been walking a fragile line; within everything. Your social life was crumbling, your career on the verge. The thought of romance was non-existent. You genuinely felt like you couldn’t breathe right anymore. Nothing was satisfactory. You never thought you’d watch things fall apart but, here you were watching it replay again and again every night. You couldn’t unsee or un-feel it no matter how hard you tried. 

You knew the risk taken but, sliding down a steep hill wasn’t in the 5-year plan. You, of course, couldn’t even regret what happened. You couldn’t regret giving it a try because, isn’t that what life is about? New experiences?

Yet, you still do. You still crave what you had and lost.

You were so confident but it seemed like everything changed just as quickly as it started. 

“Y/n! C’mon, dance with me!” A voice called out as a sashaying—painting worthy—woman made her way through a small crowd. She had smooth black hair and complimenting sharp features. “Please!” She begged, gripping your hand within hers and pulling you into the pile of people she’d just weaved between. 

Unfortunately, the beat-heavy music, that has been doing a decent job and drowning out your thoughts, had subsided into a slow-dance. Still, that didn’t stop her and she wrapped her arms around your neck, pulling yours up to mirror hers. 

We swayed to the music as she started speaking, “He’s not even here but, he’s still on your mind.” She didn’t roll her eyes visibly, however, audibly, it got the message across. “He’s not even worth your time anymore, babe! Who the fuck even is he? No one, exactly! Stop with the sad girl shit,” She pouted, “it’s supposed to be our hot girl summer.” 

“But I wanted taken-girl summer.” 

“No such thing!” She replied mockingly, “You’re too good for him anyways, I mean, look at you! You could have anyone you want crawling at your feet, yet, you still want him—a fucking twitch streamer? Oh my god,” 

Your eyebrows furrowed, more in sadness than confusion. The funny thing is, Alexa liked your relationship with Donghyuck. She was your number one supporter but, overnight, she became his number one hater. And, it’s not like you could blame her, it’s exactly the best friend thing to do. 

She was right though. Right now, you both were supposed to be celebrating her brother’s birthday but, here you were sulking over someone who wasn’t even close. Truthfully, you were sulking over him every and anywhere you went. It was pathetic, you knew that. It’s been months since you broke up. However, in hindsight, a few days wasn’t even allowed to compare to the two years you’d spent together. You wished that the hypothetical bad days outweighed the good ones but, they don’t compare. 

Donghyuck was always good to you. 

You weren’t always a vulnerable person, having to grow thick skin to survive. However, all it took was one funny boy to fuck up your life. He held part of your heart (still) and part of you would still give the rest back. Part of you would let him walk back into your life just as quickly as he left. 

You wanted to say that you and him were never getting back together but, that’s a door you feared would never fully close—no matter how long you stayed apart. 

“He’s not just a streamer, Lexa. You’ve got it wrong.” 

She cocked her head, “Tell me then, what is he?” 

You didn’t want to reminisce. You didn’t want to cross back over the bridge you worked so hard to crawl across. He was a core-memory you couldn’t escape and you knew leaving it in the past wouldn’t be so easy. You were his but he wasn’t yours. He still had a tight grip on what you wanted to do and where you wanted to go, even if you’ve fallen so far down his list of priorities. 

“He was good to me an—”

“Most people are good to you, y/n! You’re fucking y/n!” 

You bit your lip, “This was different, he understood me.” 

She huffed, readjusting her grip unnecessarily, “And? Anyone who understands you gets to call you their girlfriend for two years? I’ve known you for fifteen! What does that make me? I’ve seen this play out before, y/n, can’t you just listen to me this time?” 

You and her were much alike, externally stubborn, and you knew that if the roles were reversed she wouldn’t be acting all high and mighty. 

“You’re better without these stupid men who let you go!” She explained adamantly, trying to drill the message in deep, “You always get better.” 

Except, this time you couldn’t swallow your pride. He was different. He felt real in comparison to the flings you previously had and lost. He did understand and never looked at you like a hopeless girl he could save. You weren’t his challenge to fix. 

Because of that, he was the first person you could truly say that you loved. 

“When?” Your eyes glossed over, heart beating a physical pain throughout your chest. “When do I get better, Alexa?” 

She sighed, “When you let yourself.” 

You finally stopped abusing your bottom lip, letting it go. “What if this time it’s different?” 

She pat your cheek with the palm of her gentle hand—even if sometimes it wants to slap some sense into you. “It’s not. You’ll get over him, just give it some more thought.” 

But that’s all you’ve been doing. Giving him a thought, then another, and another, and another. It was a never ending loop you couldn’t escape the helpless feeling of. 

The rush of adrenaline was a scary thing. 

You tried a solemn smile, “Yeah, okay.” 

The only way to get her to stop was to agree—even if she knew it was fake. Somewhere deep down you heard her. 

And, it’s not like you didn’t want to move on, you just never thought you’d have to. If you’re being honest, you never thought you’d watch the two of you breakup like you did. You thought that if you ever broke up, it would have had to have been because of something awful. Yet, it was the complete opposite and maybe that’s why it hurt more than a little. You broke up mutually because even though it’s said that opposites attract, you weren’t so sure. Too different from one another to go on. You know now that the feeling inside of you for those years was only too good to be true. You should’ve known the storm would roll in at any second, sabotaging a sunny day. You should’ve known the whole thing would hit the fan and splatter against the wall. You should’ve known you would let your demons win. Donghyuck knew everything about you, and you should’ve known that to let him in meant letting them in as well. 

You hate how fast you switched sides, and how easily you gave in. That wasn’t like the old you but, you didn’t even know who the old you was anymore. And now, you had much less of a clue who the new you happened to be. 

You also had no insight on him. Sure, you could’ve pulled up one of Heachan’s (his online persona) streams. But, you gave him nothing, and got nothing in return. You acted like strangers so well one would think you’d actually never known each other. Just two people in the same circle. 

You didn’t want to yearn for a boy who didn’t even want you anymore. But, all you wanted was him. 

002: Fuckass Streamer Award Goes To…

You smiled, replying, “thank you,” as you read over the (specific) comment that was complimenting the selfie you used for engagement purposes. “It was after Alexa’s brother's birthday party—my running to the convenience store drunk, fit.” You read over the comments a little bit more, some saying that you were too dressed up to just go to a 7-eleven. “I take my outfits very seriously guys.” 

You took a bite of the food at your side, scrolling through your music options. You didn’t plan on posting the stream to YouTube so, you weren’t really concerned with what was played. 

“Are we fucking with Niki, chat?” You switched back to your Discord, “Oh my God, Jisung’s obsessed with me!” 

You clicked, finally answering. A ping! filled your ears, making you jump. Then a familiar voice filled them instead, singing along to the song that you had just started playing: Lowkey. Your heart rate was through the roof, hand clutching your chest. “Oh my God! I almost stabbed myself!” The voice laughed through the attempt at hitting a higher note. “Remind me to turn that off later, okay?” 

"Hey! You ignored me, and then decided to flame me on the main."

“Well, don’t be so easy to flame then, emo boy. I didn’t need you to scare the fuck outta me—like Freddy did you.” You laughed loud, putting the fork down, turning Jisung’s voice up. He still hummed along while trying to hold the conversation. 

The chats messages were out of control, some thirsting over his deep voice, others reminiscing past streams you two did. Honestly, you’d met a lot of people through Heachan, Jisung one of them. They played first-person shooter games or League, and occasionally Haechan would teach you, putting his hand over yours and pressing the keys. It made your heart thump, a shooting pain in your chest. 

You were just glad no one needed to choose sides after the breakup.  

The song changed to: Sugarplum Elegy. Jisung took a second to actually acknowledge the chat’s messages (for him, obviously), greeting them. 

Then he went silent when he realized, knowing that he was probably testing the waters, you tried to play it off, leaning back in the chair so your chat could (hopefully) not see your eyes glossing over. “H-hey, what if we played a game, Ji?”  

He cleared his throat, “Yes? Okay! Yeah,” He shouted, dragging out the end, “What should we play? Roblox? Minecraft? COD? Stardew?” 

You hummed, ooh-ing at his options until they peaked your interest, “Roblox! Roblox!” Your fingers started clicking against the keyboard, he was doing the same, pulling up the game. “Although, when we do an in-person stream, we need to play a scary game again–like when you and Donghyuck played Five Nights at Freddy’s. Maybe Poppy’s Playtime Chapter Three.” 

You must’ve not realized the words that came out of your mouth; too intrigued by the games you scrolled through. But, the chat started speeding by again, and the air felt stale, static heard over the other end of the call. 

“What? What happened?” You asked, still oblivious. Well, that was until it practically smacked you like a train. You had to pretend like you weren’t in the middle of its wreck. 

You heard Jisung audibly swallow, also pretending (for your sake) that he didn’t hear it either, “No, nothing! You just scrolled past a suss-ass game. Speaking of, what do you want to play?” 

“What about…I don’t know, one of the well known ones? Then chat can join too.” 

“Well, yes.” He should’ve just said duh! “But, which one? Natural Disaster Survival? Dress to Impress?” 

“Wait! Natural Disaster Survival! I’m so good at this one!” He typed for a second, and then an invitation popped onto screen, you pressed it, the loading screen taking over momentarily. 

It should’ve been funny how you could relate almost anything back to Donghyuck. The first time you played this game—even the first time you played Roblox—was with him. 

You bit your lip trying to focus on the game instead of the looming thoughts of him in the back (and front) of your head. Mostly, because if you thought about him too long, you’d start to wonder if he ever did the same. But, you couldn’t even get close to watching a video he uploaded or stream of his to read between his lines. Still, you wondered, if you ever reached out, would he reply or would it be radio silent? Would it give you the closure you think you crave? 

You shouldn’t hold your breath. 

For now, you were just two people who used to be more. And, you don’t know why that made you so sad. To think you used to share every dark and twisted secret—to hold the words so closely. To think you could’ve been so much more almost kills you. Sometimes you feel like you didn’t give it a shot, but in reality, that’s all you did. 

You guess that you both wanted something the other couldn’t give…or maybe it wasn’t like that at all. Maybe he gave you everything you could’ve ever wanted and that's why it was so goddamn hard to get over this speed bump. You know it would be easier to loathe him, to pretend like he did something terrible and unforgivable. Although, he wasn’t like that no matter how many times you imagined it. No matter what you told yourself, it was never convincing enough. Every scenario ended with you being the bad guy in your story. Every scenario led back to him, and as much as you wanted to hate it, that was what got you through the night.

It’s said that time heals all, but how much time exactly until it becomes something deeper than surface level? 

“I win!” Jisung shouted. 

You had, obviously, died earlier; the chat mocking your statement about being good at the game. But you just wanted to brag to Jisung—the man who was good at every computer game. It was annoying, actually. 

You started playing a different game, Jisung shouting, “Y/n! Y/n, I think they’re e-dating! That’s against the rules, let’s report them!” He laughed like he was scheming, “I did it! I reported them! Haha, losers!” 

“At least they have someone—you and I are shit outta luck, buddy.”

“Damn…” He sighed, “I’m looking—”

“You’re great and all, but I’d actually rather date anything else.” You interrupted. “I think Jaemin, Mr. Pussy Slayer himself would be better.” 

He scoffed, “Bold of you to assume I was talking to you! Bro’s before hoes, Y/n.”  

Your jaw dropped, “Oh my God, and the fuckass streamer award goes to…” You yelled down the mic, “Just say i’m fucking ugly next time, damn.” 

Laughter erupted over the call, filling the tense air with something lighter. The chat spammed L’s, TMI’s or random romantic-confessions to each other. Then your MOD’s started spamming, no dating in the chat otherwise you get banned (jokingly) as retaliation. 

They calmed down and so did your shared laughter, Jisung admitting that he had to leave to film a video—which you complained about not being invited to. Then, you said your goodbyes, ending the call. 

“Guys, I should leave too.” You pouted your lip out, “I’ll be back soon, promise.” 

You turned off the stream and almost sighed in relief, though it felt all but relieving. Honestly, you felt nervous, guilty even. Your hands shook as you shut down everything, turning off the lights and leaving the room with a shut door. 

You couldn’t let the thought go. Does he feel the same way you do? Has he been kept up at night wondering if you loved someone else? Does he remember all the firsts and lasts you two had, like you can’t get out of your head? Do his thoughts echo your name, like his replays on yours? You felt like a scratched record, repeating what you already knew; what you feared most, how much you do regret it.  

You said you wouldn’t—that you couldn’t—you decided mutually that it was for the best that you went your separate ways, and to not dwell on the past. But, here you were, doing the opposite. Would he think it was as pathetic as you do? 

You hated how much he lingered on your nerves and flowed through your veins like a pretty poison. You hated how you had to meet someone so good you know you’ll never have better. And, you hated how much his thoughts and emotions were a mystery—a mystery you craved solving. You knew that if you died tonight, you’d regret not reaching out. Unfinished business or something. But, what if you didn’t die during the night and had to face the consequences of your actions? What if you had to face him again one day? Would you be able to? So many hypotheticals you weren’t sure you really wanted the answers to. 

The ghost of your failed-relationship will always haunt you, and it only gets worse in the dead of the night when you’re alone with your thoughts. The cold moon always mocked you, never answering your silent pleas for someone to fix what you couldn’t turn back time to—something you used to desperately cry out for. Now, you know no one is listening. And it should be humbling, yet you don’t care how many times you have to keep his sweatshirt over your body to get even a bit of sleep. 

At least you were sleeping now. 

But, you never thought you’d have to imagine ways to figure out how to make someone miss you. You never thought you’d want to make him suffer like you were. However, you never thought you’d feel lonely like you used to feel his heartbeat against yours. 

Nevertheless, it’s always the one who got away, wasn’t it?

003: Plotting an Evil Scheme

Periodically, You’d go through the stages of grief. Sometimes you would even go through them so fast it felt like you were listening to a crazy, heavy-metal song. One moment, you’d go from crying, to accepting, to being happy it happened, to sad it ended. More often than not, you’d linger on the last. 

Every time you almost broke the distance, your finger would land on Alexa’s contact, because if you asked her to, she’d talk you out of it. And, at first she was sad that it ended as well. You knew she didn’t want to tell you no but, she still did because she had more loyalty to you—knowing it was what you needed. 

Now, she believes it’s what you still need. 

DND.  SOS

HEY GOOGLE!  The sza album?  🔥🔥

DND. Fuck off.

HEY GOOGLE! I'm just kidding What's up babes??

DND. What do you think is up I'm about to break down

HEY GOOGLE! You want me to come over?

DND.  No, what I want is for it to stop hurting so bad

HEY GOOGLE! You're going to make me cry

DND.  Then we'd be crying under the same stars How romantic  Just kidding!  No romance here at my place.

HEY GOOGLE! You're throwing a pity party again

DND. This time you're uninvited  Good night, Alexa.

HEY GOOGLE! Y/n  I didn't mean it like that You're just always sulking over Haechan It makes me sad I just want to see you happy again

You couldn’t help but feel like you didn’t know how to be happy again. You honestly just felt like you were here—there was no other way to describe it. It was just a comatose feeling, neither swinging one nor the other way. Honestly, it felt like you’d just been taking a never-ending bad trip. 

You stared at the spinning fan above your head, watching as it rounded and rounded the same path. You couldn’t not see yourself in it—relate to its mannerisms of the inanimate object which obviously couldn’t feel as you did; that couldn’t feel in general. 

You thought breaking up was hard, but the battle truly began the moment you realized you were alone, after so much time of having someone there. Memories were silhouetted where the paint wouldn’t cover—where the pain still lingered. 

You turned to your side, staring out at the blank wall; the fan making your head feel dizzier than usual. Your stomach turned with it…or maybe it was just the thoughts. Reality was, you couldn’t tell much anymore. You thought you had it figured out but, here you were, steps back once the sun went down. Funny how the darkness worked with your imagination.  

If only these four walls could talk, you probably wouldn’t be wondering how he felt. You’d probably be in a much different situation if only the plaster had mouths. Though, you’d rather they didn’t narrate everything they’ve seen since his absence. 

You closed your eyes, and it always seemed like the perfect opportunity for your memories to mock you. Honestly, you wish you couldn’t dream anymore—but, that would mean you’d have died, and that created more hypotheticals you couldn’t deal with right now.  

“Love,” A tender voice called out, and you quickly went to find it, “My daughter! Where are you?” She called again once you reached the entrance of the house. The woman embraced you, wrapping her strong arms around you and kissing your cheek. You did the same, slightly delayed from shock. 

You don’t even know if she realized what she said, but you could see it written across Donghyuck’s face when you turned around. You watched as his mother sashayed past him, adjusting the bag of food in her hand. 

Donghyuck’s mother was enlightened by him shortly after you two had started talking. He told her about you being practically homeless, what put you into the system at fourteen. You never lasted very long with the families you were placed with, always being sent back like you were just a free-trial. Eventually, you lost all hope of finding one that would actually want to adopt you. Then years went by, you turned of age and suddenly you were out in the big, scary world. 

“Did she just…” He trailed off, watching tears threaten to spill from your eyes. You nodded, pulling your bottom lip into your mouth and hugging your arms around yourself–trying to stop the faucet to the waterworks. 

Donghyuck pulled your wrist free, then closed the distance between the two of you. You sniffled softly, and he kissed the crown of your head. You didn’t have to tell him how much it meant to you, because he knew how hard you took rejection and how fast you absorbed any kind of parental figure. He knew you looked at his mother like a superhero. He knew you almost envied their mother-son relationship; how close they were, while yours were deemed unfit by the court because they didn’t want to clean-up. 

It still stings that they didn’t want you enough to get their shit together. 

Still, Donghyuck’s mother didn’t realize it but, those little words that probably had no meaning to her, that were just subconscious, were as deep as Mariana’s Trench to you–they were as much of a mystery as it was too. Words that satisfied a small part you’d thought you lost. It almost felt like fireworks were going off as it replayed. It almost felt like a part of your heart was clicked back into place. 

Oh, how you had so much to lose. 

“Why do you only have Doritos? What on Earth is Prime? Didn’t I teach you how to cook?” She rambled, scolding her son and catching both your attention, “Come here! Why do you have nothing to eat, Donghyuck? How are you even alive? Come help me cook something…you’re lucky to have her, oh my gosh.” 

Sirens woke you up; metaphorically, and as they flew past your window. You gasped for breath and wondered if your subconscious mind knew that you practically died every night, holding your breath like it was the last before taking a plunge. Though, they long passed by the time you turned over, the familiar fan still spinning. 

You shivered but your body felt like every fiber was set aflame. You kicked off the blanket in an attempt to regulate, the cool air not soothing any part of you. You just wanted to peel your skin off, feeling sticky and sickly, a cold sweat covering your pores. You groaned as you pushed yourself into a seated position. Your stomach churned again with the same kind of agony as before you miraculously fell asleep. 

You thickly swallowed, though now it was just lumped in your throat, and got from the drenched covers. Anyone who would see this out-of-context would think you were sick or having a terrifying nightmare, when the reality was much different. This was one of the good dreams; now bittersweet. And, you tried not to ask yourself about the elephant in the room but, you couldn’t help wondering if she’d still think of you the same way. 

It was sickening. You thought you could throw up.  

Maybe, in hindsight, that was because you already felt like doing so. But still, the knife of rejection cut you deep, straight into your heart you could physically feel it–spreading around your chest in the form of a burning sensation with little sharp sparks of pain here and there. You potentially thought that you were having a heart attack. 

It didn’t fade but the anxiety of a critical situation did. You knew the feeling all too well. You knew the pain like the back of your hand. It’s said heartbreak takes a toll on people. However, they didn’t tell you it would feel like dying. So, what a surprise you got when you woke up drenched in a cold-sweat for the first time. Then again, and again. Until eventually, it became your normal routine to fall asleep, wake up early in the AM and wash up. You wouldn’t fall back asleep no matter how hard you tried but, you were used to the scattered feeling throughout the day. 

HEY GOOGLE! I’m sorry y/n Just text me when you wake up

DND. Another day  Another slay

HEY GOOGLE! not funny. did you have that dream again?

DND. All lowercase??  You must really feel comforting right now

HEY GOOGLE! you bet i do🥰 try to get some more sleep

DND. And you stop watching crime documentaries at 3am Go to bed

HEY GOOGLE! You first

DND. Funny🫤

You practically peeled the clothing from your body. The sticky sensation gave you sensory-overload and made you mentally-gag. Then you put them into the basket, already filled with a week's worth of washing before stepping into the turned-on shower. 

The water ran over your skin but today it didn’t make you feel any less dirty–any better. It wasn’t soothing like it usually did. Honestly, it made you feel worse. Why’d it get to fall so freely and you couldn’t? Why were you envious of inanimate objects? 

Your body lowered to the ground, knees coming up to your chest. You wrapped your arms around your legs, placing your head against them; it was already heavy from the water droplets. 

You wanted it to make you feel better. 

Maybe living in Hell would be better than purgatory–there, at least, you’d know where you stood. Maybe feeling something would be better than nothing. But, everyone wants what they can’t have, and you were no exception. Honestly, it made you feel like a spoiled brat. You couldn’t look at yourself without thinking it–without being jealous of the people who get to walk around with him in their mind without feeling a sense of betrayal. 

You could hear a part of you plotting out an evil scheme, saying, if you can’t have him, no one can. Does that make you crazy? 

Well, that’s got to be better than numb. 

004: Your Burden to Bear

Were you grasping at thin air? Were you just holding onto a false sense of security? You guess you haven’t really accepted what you know has happened. You wondered a lot but, most of all, you wondered how long you’d fight yourself on the edge of a cliff. Afterall, it was just a matter of time until you toppled over the edge into a treacherous cavern. Would you even hate the free-fall as much as you hate looking across the trench? Because the other side looked so close but you refused to look down. 

You opened the fridge, the artificial light illuminating a sliver of the kitchen. It was now around half-past five, which seemed like an acceptable time for adults to wake up–though, you’d been up for much longer. 

Your eyes scanned the few options on the shelves, lingering on the pink-capped Soju for longer than they should have. Instead, you grabbed the bottled water, twisting off the top as the door swung closed quietly. 

Honestly, you wished you realized what you had before it was all in the past-tense. How can you feel lucky to have known him but still appalled by that exact thought? But, that’s the age-old story, isn’t it? So, maybe Alexa was right. Maybe you shouldn’t be throwing yourself another pity party. The silence just knew every way to get to you; to weave its way into your brain chemistry and alter it. 

You leaned against the countertop, sighing out, then taking a drink, only now realizing you felt overly parched. 

You wondered how many goodnights were just goodbyes in disguise. You wondered if you ever met face-to-face again, would it just be another one in the making? 

Maybe ripping off the bandaid and airing out the wound would be better than letting it fester in the dark. You, purposefully, haven’t even searched out a picture of him since Hell broke loose. You couldn’t help but feel like you’ve been dragging it on because you wanted what you knew and not change.  

Did what Alexa’s been saying for months finally make a dent in your unstably-stone mind? Well, each step you took you always back-tracked once you got deeper down one of your rabbit holes. 

Fuck, you’ve got to get out of your godforsaken mind, because you’re really starting to think that you wont ever reach the other side like Alexa says you will. You’re really starting to fear a full-body takeover by someone who probably hasn’t given you a second thought, when it seems all you do is give him a second, third and fourth. 

Right now the Soju felt like it would satisfy your insatiable thirst–but, you’d leave it, going back to your room. One thing you refused to do, no matter how sad you got, was turn to alcoholism. Look where it got your parents. That’s a guilt you didn’t (couldn’t) live with. But, you’re sure they don’t live with it, it would just be your burden to bear. Actually, it looked like it would be exactly like it is now anyways, so did it really matter if you drank or not? You’ve already lost your sense of self.  

You put the bottle on the side-table, turning to the mattress and taking the covers off of it. You bunched the sheets in your arms and carried them to get washed, because last night was especially bad for you, despite it being a good dream. 

You shoved them into the washing machine and went to drag your dirty clothes out of the bathroom. If you were going to wash one thing, you might as well do the others. You then turned it on, after putting a rightful amount of detergent. 

You backed against the wall, watching as it began to fill. You thought if you lost track of time you’d stand there for the full fifty minutes–yet, that didn’t seem like the worst way you could occupy your time. 

However, it was cut short when the keypad to your apartment door started singing individual notes with each press of the password. Two options ran through your mind: you were going to die because somehow a murderer got the password to your door, or it was Alexa. 

“Look who it is.” The black-haired woman motioned for you as you rounded the corner to meet her. “I brought you this, please eat it.” 

In her hand were two things, an iced-coffee, which was for herself, and a bag from a nearby grocery store. She handed you the bag and went to explain the contents. 

“It’s just a fruit platter because, I don’t know, this is the only thing I see you eat nowadays.” She also handed you her other things (keys, wallet and coffee) to hold while she took her shoes off. She laid them in an orderly line against yours and went to take her necessities back. “Yeah, I pay attention to you.” 

You laughed but it was honestly kind of nice. You knew she cared about you–at least, it’s been fifteen years, so you hoped she did. Alexa’s been the only thing keeping you together. You know it probably doesn’t look like you’re coping but, without her it would be much worse. 

“I can’t believe you promised to stream at six in the morning–with me. Who the fuck does that?” Alexa rambled, going into the kitchen. You could hear things hit the countertop, a cabinet then opening. “You remembered, didn’t you?” She called out. 

Reality was, you simply didn’t find space inside your brain for that information after you put it out to the world. Another reason you probably wouldn’t be a functioning human being without her. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be awake this fucking early! It’s like seven hours I’m missing right now!” You wondered what time it was now. She had a habit of being late, and you hadn’t even started setting up the stream. 

You found your way into your guest-bedroom (makeshift office), switching on the light and illuminating your setup. You turned your computer on, logging everything back in–which, thankfully, you hadn’t done much of the opposite yesterday. Flicking to the bottom of the screen, it was 5:55am, which just meant the stream was going to be later than planned but, it was almost not going to happen. 

You pulled up Twitch, logging that in too and pulling up your just chatting screensaver. The waiting room was already starting to fill, almost 40k people at its peak. You turned on music for them, watching as they spoke indirectly to each other. 

Alexa joined you a few minutes later, sitting down in the chair next to you. She placed the fruit platter in the middle of you two, handing a fork to you. 

“Ready?” You asked, and she nodded. 

A smile plastered her face as you took the waiting screen off, unmuting and then greeting the chat. She followed your lead, saying hello to them as well. 

She got comfortable quickly, despite not being a streamer. “You guys know what this bitch did to me?” Her head turned briefly your way, “She made me get up at five for this stream! She’s lucky I like her, chat.” Her hand went up into view with her five-fingers out to exaggerate the time she had to wake up. 

“I remember you guys being very interested in Alexa and I’s friendship, and that’s how this stream came about. I don’t know why we said we’d do it at six in the morning–must’ve been something to do with most of the viewers' time-zones, or something.” You shrugged, stabbing a piece of watermelon with the fork, “Ask us questions.” 

You read over the chat trying to pick out a good one, chewing the fruit slowly. Alexa pointed to the screen, sharp-black stiletto nails tapping it–it was one-hundred percent someone saying something rude about the two of you, but it only caused a giggling fit. 

Eventually, Alexa found a question worth answering, “I mean, this question doesn’t have anything to do with our friendship but, I like to brag.” She laughed, a competitive glint in her eyes, “How many languages do we speak? Well, I speak English, Spanish and Korean. An interesting spread, I know.” 

“I technically speak more!” You butt-in, which earned you a daring look. “English, French, Japanese and Korean.” 

“You don’t speak French, you can only read it!” She huffed, “So, we basically speak the same amount.” 

“Isn’t reading harder?”

“For your dyslexic ass!” Alexa slammed her fork down dramatically, making you laugh. She then perked back up just as quickly, almost like a light had gone off inside her mind, “You know what she did to her French teacher?” 

Your hand shot out, cupping her mouth before she had the chance to spit it out. She licked it (what did you really expect?) but she's done worse, so you didn’t flinch away. 

“No, no…that’s not a story for chat. Only Belle and Jisung know–should I tell them what you said to our English teacher instead?” Her eyes narrowed and she slouched down, surrendering. You slowly backed your hand away, ready to slap her mouth again if she started telling the mortifying story. 

“How’d we meet? What about that? Can I tell them that?” She asked, her sharp eyes beaming into yours. You nodded, leaning back into the chair and putting more fruit into your mouth. 

She smiled, “Alright, this was, what? Fifteen years ago?” She grabbed your hand when you confirmed, “The teacher sat us next to each other. She was a little introvert–I know, hard to believe.” 

“Basically, she called me a little bitch because I wouldn’t introduce myself to the class, and then, I don’t know how, we became friends.” You mumbled the rest, “Where’d she even learn that word, we were like seven.” 

“No! I didn’t say that! I was a little saint at that age.” 

Your eyebrows rose, “A saint with a biting problem, maybe.” 

Her mouth hung open, then she mimed biting your arm through the sweatshirt you were wearing. You both giggled at each other again, playfully pretending to be piranhas. 

“But honestly, Alexa’s so scary that no one fucked with us during school. Mostly because of her biting reputation–” She smacked your arm, “Sorry, resting bitch face–But! She really helped me, and I owe her so much.”

She mimed wiping under her eyes dramatically, throwing her arms around you in a side-hug, “Stop! I love you–don’t actually stop, I love compliments–but, I love you so much, Y/n!”

“I really don’t know where I’d be without her.” 

“I know, I keep you in check.” She said as she broke from you, dusting her shoulders off confidently, “I’m just the bestest-best friend in the whole world.” 

Your eyes rolled at her, despite knowing it was true. Then, you went to read the chat some more; them awe-ing over your long-lasted friendship. 

“Well, this turned into me and Alexa bickering like a married couple instead of a Q&A,” You stated, “But, what’s my favorite song? Ooh, that’s so tough. At the moment it’s We Can’t Be Friends and Past Life. Obviously they’re so good but, honorable mentions are Dear God and Did You Like Her In The Morning. Shameless plug for my playlist, by the way.” 

You turned to Alexa, who looked like she was deep in thought, “I’m taking this so seriously, it’s not funny.” She explained, calmly looking off-screen to somehow focus herself, “W-what was the one song you played all the time? Please remember my an–”

“Try Again?” 

“Yes!” She shouted, “I loved it so much!”

Your finger shot up abruptly, “Clip it and send it to Jaehyun, Alexa’s a fan.”

The chat spammed ‘done!’, Alexa sitting back and nodding. She first heard the song, soon after your breakup, when you two went for a drive because you refused to be home alone. It was really therapeutic, yet dangerous, to cry and sing along to it–which is something Alexa always let you do. 

The other questions you answered were cliché things that honestly, you were expecting. Mostly things like, your favorite memory, who’s older, and etc. 

After a while, you ended the stream, saying your goodbyes to the chat after answering the (stated) last question: when are you two getting married for real?

Alexa grabbed your shoulder, rubbing down your arm soothingly. You were an anxious person, it’s always been like that; worse due to your introverted nature but, with someone you never had to worry. And you hated that you became dependent on that reliability. 

“Mom wants you for dinner, please come over later.” Alexa got from the chair, “She misses you, and so does Saja.” 

You waved her off and got up too, “Alright, I’ll be over at like…four, to help cook. Okay?” 

She jumped excitedly, pressing a kiss to your cheek as she hugged you close, “Perfect! I’ll buy wine!” 

“I got it.” You said, “I’ll pick up her favorite on the way.”

“You’re an angel, Y/n. I’ll tell her you’re coming!” 

She left, probably to go back to sleep as if she didn’t just drink a large coffee, and you repeated the steps to renew the room for the next use. 

You know why when she left the feeling of having no air crashed upon you. You almost clutched your chest, though, you also knew the feeling wasn’t something abnormal. It’s always funny the physical toll that anxiety takes on people because, at first, you always thought you were dying, sending you into a deeper frenzy. Now you know, if you were going to die, it wouldn’t be from that. 

005: Pictures Like Memories 

You walked the wine aisle, searching out the perfect one. Alexa’s mother was a woman of class, red being her favorite–though it couldn’t be too sweet or too dry. Though it needed to be bitter enough to give her a buzz after a while. Alexa, however, liked what she could afford. And, during highschool (when you shouldn’t have had a fake) that consisted of bottom shelf alcohol. 

You grabbed a pretty gift bag, specifically designed for wine, as well as a little green sweater with embroidered flowers. It had caught your attention, putting a small smile on your face–and your therapist used to say you should hold onto the little things that made you happy. 

That was before the small things turned bigger.

Alexa’s mother was the only other person who treated you like a daughter, so you never felt bad buying the best for her–she deserved it. She’s stated on multiple occasions that if she was able to adopt you back then, she would’ve. But, she was going through a messy divorce, soon falling into financial hardship. She could barely afford to keep Alexa, much less another kid and her fees. 

Still, she did the best she could for you. She let you stay over whenever you could, she’d even pick you up from school with Alexa, and buy you presents for Christmas and your birthday. As far as you knew, she was practically your mother; more of one than your biological one that is. 

You loved her dearly, and it broke your heart that you watched her cry with you. You never wanted to cause her sadness, just as much as Alexa but, you watched them both fall out of love with him too–and, that, you felt a guilt for. 

You’ve had your fair share of boyfriend’s throughout your life to cope with the abandonment. Most lasted only a couple months max, the rest, less. However, it seemed like Donghyuck had a special way of creating space in his heart for anyone. And, that, he did for everyone he met. Maybe, that’s why it killed you more than anyone else ever has because there was always someone after. 

However, now you know there’s not. And, you hate that you only got so close. It felt like you gave up–you hate giving up. You hate how you didn’t even put up a fight to the proposition…if only you could go back in time. 

“Excuse me?” You looked from the shelf to where the voice came from, whether or not it was talking to you, “Hi.”

Your eyebrows rose, and you fought with the urge to pretend like you didn’t hear him or be nice and greet him back. Did people even still meet like this? But, you didn’t really like talking unnecessarily, more of a listener, especially men you didn’t know. 

He approached you, and your posture straightened–mostly because you were on edge. “This may be forward but, I think you’re really cute. Can I have your SnapChat?” 

You huffed out a laugh, trying to play it cool. You swore you could see Alexa’s murder-documentary-watching ass trembling in the corner of your mind. “I’m sorry…” You said the first thing that came to mind, “I have a boyfriend.” 

"But, y-you hesitated. I swear I'm not trying to be creepy–"

You pulled out your phone, “Look, I’m sure you’re great.” Then scrolled through your camera roll. Alexa would literally kill you if she saw you still had these pictures, but right now you were glad you couldn’t delete them. You turned the screen around, an obvious picture of yourself and Donghyuck being more than friends. “But, I’ve been in a relationship for years now.” The man flicked his eyes from the phone to your face and then back to the phone. He made a disgusted sound, mumbling something about how you weren’t even that cute anyways and other things you’re sure you didn’t want to catch. 

After he turned the corner, the shuffling inaudible, you readjusted the bottle in the crook of your elbow, looking down at the screen. You had to choke down the tears that threatened to spill and turned off the phone. A shallow breath left your lips and you made your way to the front desk.

“Did you find everything okay?” 

You looked to the clerk, trying to focus yourself back down on Earth, “Yeah, thank you.” 

He smiled, ringing up the items you placed on the wooden counter, "Do you want to use this right away?" He picked up the little sweater and gift bag. You nodded, and he put them together.

You pulled out your wallet, then your ID and handed it to him. He looked it over for a moment, and within that moment you thought he wouldn’t let you buy the wine. But, he handed it back and you paid. 

He then handed you your items and you waited by the door for your Uber. 

Traffic was the same as usual, excruciatingly slow. Eventually though, you came to a stop in front of the house Alexa’s mom had bought a few years ago. She was the definition of better on her one, and you wondered if you could ever be too. However, she wasn’t in your DNA the way she was Alexa’s. 

You walked to the front door, rang the doorbell as solely the way of announcing you had arrived, and went inside. You walked through the house and into the kitchen, where loud music and even louder talking was going on. 

“Honey!” Alexa’s mom’s dog, Saja (though she wasn’t much of a lion), jumped from her spot on the ground as you entered. You put your bags onto the surface next to you so you could pet her. “I was so happy when Lexa said you’d be coming!” She grabbed your face, pulling you up-right and planting a kiss onto each of your cheeks. “I missed you so much!” 

“I missed you too. I’m sorry I don’t come around often anymore.” 

She steadied your head to look into her eyes, “Don’t be. You can now.”

Alexa emerged from behind you with the bottle of wine already in her grasp, “What the Hell! This is so cute!” She held up the sweatered-bottle, “Mom, look!”

Her eyes broke from yours, then to the bottle. You watched as they lit up with admiration. She pulled you into another hug, then went to find the opener. 

Alexa ushered you to sit down at the island in the meantime, and she resumed cutting onions next to you. 

“Was the rest of your day okay?” She asked, almost awkwardly. You laughed quietly, “Did you sleep some more after the stream?” 

“It was fine, Alexa. Did you sleep some more?”

"You bet your sweet-ass I did!" She started to giggle to herself, going back to focusing on not chopping her fingertips off as well, "Best nap I ever fucking had. I swear, it felt like I died and then got revived." 

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you figured it was just a notification from YouTube saying that Belle had uploaded; she was the only notification you still had on. But, it was weird when another came right after it. 

While pulling it from your pocket, you pressed the side-button, the notification revealing itself with your face-ID. 

You couldn’t have said this day would arrive. You couldn’t have said you’d react the way you did–the way you were. Frozen, staring down at the notification that illuminated your screen. It just had to be one thing after another today, didn’t it?

But you put it out into the universe, didn’t you?

HYUCK Hey I think we should talk. 

Alexa tried to look over your shoulder, coming around the island, but you quickly turned it off and shoved the phone under your thigh. 

“What is it?” She asked, placing the knife against the cutting board, “What? You never hide, I’ve seen the worst photos of you. What is it?” Her face deadpanned, and that’s when Alexa’s mom came back with the bottle opener and three fancy glasses. 

She must’ve sensed something was wrong, stopping what she was doing as soon as she reached to be directly across from you two. “What happened?”

Alexa turned to her, “She’s not telling.”

“Nothing happened!” You (unconvincingly) stated, “It was just…YouTube. Jisung posted.”

YouTube my ass, Y/n!” She held her hand palm up to you, “What’d someone say? Was it Twitter?” 

You hesitantly started to grab your phone from under your leg, explaining in the process, “I turned those off a long time ago. I-it was a text.” 

“From who?”

Alexa snatched the machinery from your hand as soon as it was in her view. You watched nervously, awaiting her outburst once she got the password through. Suddenly her eyes were wide, and the phone was being shoved into her mother’s hands. 

“I’m going to kill him!” She shouted, getting from the stool to pace the hardwood, “How much prison time is murder?”

You released your lip, trying to crack a joke, “Should we ask Siri?”

But, she didn’t find it funny, actually she grabbed the phone back from her mother who was now approaching you with open arms. You felt them wrap around you from the side, and she kissed the top of your head. 

“My love, it’s okay. Don’t respond–you hear that Alexa? Don’t answer him!” Her daughter grumbled but put the phone down without (hopefully) doing any damage. 

Alexa’s mother broke away from your hug and went to open the wine, “You need this more than ever.” She stated, putting your phone into her back pocket and filling a glass until, practically, the rim. 

You had no idea how quickly something could shift–honestly, you willed the phone to ring so many times, yet, the time you didn’t, it does. The world never seemed to work with you, always against, and right now it felt no different. So conflicted. In a few drinks, however, you’d probably be crying on the floor. 

006: A Damn Sweatshirt 

It had been two days. You didn’t get another text, and it took everything in you to not disappoint Alexa and her mother by replying. However, you were never good at controlling your mind. 

You stared at the open messages. You could re-sight the last texts you’d sent to each other–texts you’d often find yourself reading, like an idiot, to get to sleep. 

Now, laid out was not a confession like you wanted. Actually, laid out was more confusion. What’d he want to talk about? Well, if you replied, he’d answer that. But, you still couldn’t find the right words to say back.  

You turned off the phone again, laying it face down against the mattress. Tears rolled down the sides of your temples, joining it as splotches. If you knew way back when, all the distress this would cause you, would you do it the same again? The question to re-open the door lingered in your head. Your hand was already on the handle, all you had to do was pull. 

You turned your back to the phone, though it didn’t last as long as you wanted it to. Honestly, you have no idea how you lasted through last night. The night before Alexa didn’t give you your phone until absolutely necessary. And, even then, she threatened you. 

HYUCK Hey I think we should talk.

Y/N Okay, talk then.

You didn’t know why you expected an answer right away, especially after you hadn’t replied for days. It was also half past three in the morning. You hated how this was going to turn into a game of chase, like you were a bunch of cats and dogs. It almost made you wish you were face-to-face. 

Just as the phone was about to turn off by itself, the screen illuminated once again. Your heart stopped beating and beat all too quickly at the same time. 

HYUCK Have you been on twitter recently?  You were wearing my sweatshirt. In that one stream with Alexa.

Y/N Oh  Obviously I can't lie since there's ss. Sorry, you can have it back. If that's what you want.

HYUCK But that's not what I want to talk about. I want to know how you are. I asked Alexa about a month back,  but she blocked me on everything. I can't blame her. 

Y/N Not well, Donghyuck.

HYUCK Oh

You hadn’t realized the hoodie (that you were wearing now) was that recognizable. Of course, you usually tried not to wear it in streams for a different reason; the reason being that it would tell Donghyuck all that needed to be said aloud. 

You hated that Twitter was practically harassing him, while you peacefully remained blind behind your turned-off notifications. He reached out to you because of a hoodie, not because he really wanted to. 

You felt sick. Your hands immediately started to shake. How come you wanted this, but now you really can’t handle it? Maybe you should’ve stuck to pity parties. In reality, maybe you shouldn’t have manifested all of this to the moon. She’s always been tricky, but apparently she listens. 

What’s next? The walls are going to talk too?

HYUCK Honestly Me neither, Y/n.

Y/N What does that mean then? For us

HYUCK What do you want it to mean?

Y/N Don't do that. I can't be the one to make the decision again. I already regret the last one.

Mutuality was taken lightly–when it was leaned more on one side from the beginning. You thought whatever you could’ve said wouldn’t have mattered. You would’ve still broken up because it’s what you were both convinced the other wanted. What you were convinced the other wanted.

Except, it was pushed onto your shoulders more than his…or so you thought. You felt it more than he did. You said the words–agreed–and made the mistake to end it, but he vowed to keep it that way. And, for a while, it seemed like he did. Well, until he texted Alexa to ask whatever he needed to ask, and she didn’t respond. 

You felt like you could’ve gotten some kind of concrete closure months back. But, that’s not her fault, the message didn’t even reach her eyes. 

You guess, you’re not so different after all.

Y/N I wish I could read your fucking mind, Hyuck. Spell it out for me. Tell me you've moved on and I'll stop. I'll take off your sweatshirt  and you'll never hear about me again.

HYUCK Then I'd be lying to you. But I'll tell you want you want to hear, if you answer one question.  If it was any other day of the year,  would we have broken up?

Y/N I don't understand what you're asking me. Do you want me or not? 

HYUCK Right, fine. Spell it out. I haven't been the same without you, and I don't know why that is. Obviously, you must still love me too.

Y/N Too?

HYUCK You must be stupid to think I'd ever  fall out of love with you just like that. Y/n, you had me a wrapped  around your fucking finger. Have** I just want to know what was so special, that I still can't get you out of my head.

Y/N Oddly enough, I'm not glad to know that the feeling is mutual.  It kinda makes it worse. We wasted months. I cried for months.  And it was this fucking easy? 

HYUCK I'm sorry.

Y/N That pisses me off, Donghyuck. You're pissing me off.

HYUCK You didn't reach out either. At least I tried eventually. What were you going to do?  Wait until you felt better? Until you got over it? 

Y/N Eventually it would've gone away.

HYUCK If the feeling's mutual, then you don't truly believe that.

Y/N Don't tell me what I believe.

HYUCK Then tell me what you want to hear. I'll say it.  Do you want me to hate you?  Do you want me to be the bad guy?  Whatever you want, Y/n. 

Y/N I just want you to honestly  tell me if that was the end for us. If so, then I'll leave us in the past.  I mean it this time. 

HYUCK That'd never be the end for us.  But that's not what you want to hear, is it?

Truth be told, part of him was right, because part of you didn’t want to hear that. Part of you didn’t want to see, that’d never be the end for you two, written across your screen. Part of you wished he’d hate you and rip the rest of the heart he owned into pieces. But, the other part of you was drowning in conflicting emotions.

You could see the storm rolling in from the distance and you were stranded on a life-boat, surrounded by nothing but open ocean. You feared you’d soon see their depths. 

Y/N No, but it's what I needed to hear.

007: Everything Looks The Same Blurry

You weren’t on top of the world now that you were enlightened. Still, you pretended like you hadn’t swung the door open and crashed a hole into the plaster. You thought you’d know how to feel but, you felt just as–if not more–clueless than before. You fought with the urge to drive the distance to see what he meant face-to-face. Though, you feared that would make everything worse. Maybe letting it fester was a better option in hindsight. 

That’d never be the end for you two didn’t have to mean you’d date again, right? It could mean you could be civil; maybe even friends one day. But, you still couldn’t get it out of your sponge-like mind. Everything inside of you wanted to further question Donghyuck, ask what the fuck he wanted, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to do that. 

Not when it seemed he didn’t know either.

It should be easy to type but every time you hit a letter you erase it just as quickly. It’s like you know nothing you say would ever be enough to air-out what you’ve been feeling for months. The silence in the night also should’ve made this easier–you become reckless then. Yet, you still erased what you tried to say. 

Your stomach turned again as you sat at the marble-island of your kitchen. Your phone was in your hands, but all you were doing was staring at it through teary eyes. The words blurred together…but everything looked the same blurry. 

It’s been months…is what you told yourself to keep you alive. You were happy then, you could be happy now. Though, the memories flashed like a badly timed montage every time you closed your eyes–or left them open. You couldn’t escape no matter how far you ran because it seemed they had the stamina of a gold-medalist.

Donghyuck wasn’t even that far away, and that wasn’t easy to know. You both sought out where you reside now when you were still together. Obviously, you two didn’t want the distance, and now you’re not sure if you still do. 

It’s frustrating how unsure of everything you actually feel. You just wanted a sense of security, even if only for a short amount of time; maybe that would help you feel less like you were chasing a spirit. 

Your phone pinged in your hand, and you reluctantly looked down quicker than you thought you would. It wasn’t Donghyuck, the man you suspected it to be, but another creator asking if you’d join their stream. 

Was this all you were good for? Was this your cycle nowadays? It was getting repetitive. You hate boring but, that’s what your life is now: stream, try to sleep, make unrealistic choices, and repeat. 

Of course, you agreed, writing out a cookie-cutter cheerful message back. Exclamation marks and words you dragged out too many letters. You were getting too good at pretending for the camera. You were afraid that the life would drain from inside your eyes–or you just deserved an Oscar. You wondered if Donghyuck would notice, but you had to stop the thought before it buried you up to your head in its relatives. 

You didn’t want to be a sob story, especially without knowing the root of the problem. But, you could jump into any conclusion and, in that moment, it would be convincing enough. You could go on and on about every little thing you think you’ve done wrong or wish you could take back. 

You were reaching your limit. You felt like you were going to word vomit…or maybe just vomit. 

At this point, you’re not sure closure would be sufficient. Maybe committing arson and burning down what you two built would cause some sort of erasure–yet, no matter how hard you think you do, you don’t want to forget. You don’t want to lock up the memories and throw away the key. However, what if it turned out to be one-sided? How would you handle another fracture in your heart from him? 

The devil never did bargain, and you were bad at making deals. 

You feared you’d never be mentally prepared enough to know the answer to the many, many questions that flowed through you like a poison. You also feared you wouldn’t really have a choice in the matter but, time will tell. 

You could feel the road was splitting, and a new question emerged; go off towards a cliff, or continue floating in the storming ocean? You feel like you were blindly leading yourself into the dilemma with your eyes wide open. Would all this questioning be worth it in the end? Or would all this eventually fade into nothing but a past-tense? You were about to wear your heart on your sleeve when it should remain in your chest. In reality, you could probably think this out logically, but nothing about love is logical and you’re scared to admit that you’re scared of that. You don’t want to wait for nothing at all, but you don’t want to let go of the what-if’s because, what if? What if he cut so deep, it’s now engraved into your code? 

You have nowhere else to run. You had to make your choice now and get into the driver’s seat. You’d soon free-fall off the cliff, or go down with the ship and meet the depths of the ocean. You were cornered, and this would be your only retreat, because living in turmoil isn’t better than Hell. 

As much as you wanted to be okay with never knowing, you, simply, were not. You’re sure you could eventually choke it back but, deep down, there’s nothing worth fighting for then. That’s something that sat in your throat like a drug that wouldn’t stay down; love isn’t love if it’s not worth fighting for. 

It’s time to wake up now and face the reality of the matter. You dug your grace, isn’t it time you laid in it? Isn't it only fair that you realize the mistakes you’ve made, and let the fire burn around you and the silhouettes of what you won’t forget? You crashed the burden upon yourself, and now you have to accept the gravity whether you want to or not. 

008: Damage Control

The dramatics were getting…well, just that, dramatic. You convinced yourself you didn’t want to cope, while also convincing yourself you had to figure out a way to cope. You were running in circles, on the same old track, and that was getting annoying. 

Whether or not mentally you were in the best place tonight, Alexa was dragging you out to meet some of her online friends. She wasn’t even a streamer, or online figure per say, but since she was strongly associated with one, and her extroverted personality, she effortlessly connected with people of the sort. 

She always looked out for you, ever since you were young. She was the sister you never got a chance to have. You were grateful she tried her very best to be understanding–even if she didn’t understand. Underneath, you were so different but similar in many ways. You probably wouldn’t have been friends under normal circumstances, though it seemed the world placed exactly who you needed in exactly the right moments. 

You pressed your hands together, your heels clicking against the sidewalk. Alexa had her arm linked with yours, smiling from ear to ear. She was gorgeous–always so beautiful, it made you wonder if anyone had ever seen you the way you see her. 

“Y/n,” She stopped, placing her other hand against your bare arm, “You’re going to be okay, just take a breath.” Her words were comforting in themselves, but the truly solemn look on her face told the rest of the narrative. 

You forced a smile, “Okay…” You shakily agreed. 

Then she went back to leading you to the entrance of the building. Outside was a woman, looking down at her phone and typing away with cherry-red nails. She had soft features that genuinely just made her look nice–and the smile that plastered her face when she spotted the two of you, just confirmed your suspicion. Her hair was an ashy blonde, styled in effortless waves. She wore a white-ruffled dress that hugged her frame tightly, and similar black heels to yours. 

Alexa dragged you the rest of the way, and with the speed she was going, it made it almost impossible for you to not trip; you stumbled, earning laughs from the two as you concluded your journey. 

The woman’s hand replaced where Alexa resided moments before, “Are you alright?” She asked, steadying you. 

You nodded, and pulled the girl into a quick squeeze, “Yes, It’s so nice to finally meet you in person.” 

“I know, we live so close–and played Among Us so often, I’m surprised it’s taken us this long!” 

You glanced at Alexa, who was now bringing the woman into a hug, holding her tightly for a moment, “Yeah, well, Minjeong is my friend.” She shot you an annoying look of competition, but you just brushed her off. 

Appearing in your view from behind the two girls was another dark-haired person. This time, however, it was a personably-familiar face. 

You brushed past them, a smile pairing with your actions, “Well, Jaemin’s mine!” You embraced the man, and Alexa huffed, crossing her arms in a fake pout. You shoved the girl playfully, linking arms with her once again. 

Jaemin and Minjeong said their hello’s and then the four of you fully realized you were blocking the entrance to the karaoke bar. The rest quickly linked arms with you and Alexa, giggling as you pushed each other through the exasperated sighs of other customers. 

You eventually found the room that Alexa had rented for a few hours, just to have a, so called, party, for no apparent reason.

The room was dimly lit, with a table and booth-like bench facing the stage. TV’s lined the walls, as well as flashing lights and speakers. Minjeong and you sat together, Jaemin already checking out the microphone and music options; flipping through the binder. 

Minjeong turned to you, “Do you know if anyone else is coming?”

You shrugged a reply, “Probably–Alexa does whatever she wants in the moment.” 

As the saying goes, speak of The Devil, said girl appeared with a tall black-haired man at her side. She also had a tray of alcohol and shot glasses, which you laughed in disbelief at. 

“Look who I found!” She shouted, placing the tray against the table. 

“Jisung!” You stood up, briefly embracing the streamer over the table, “How’s it been? How’s my favorite emo boy?” 

“No, I found Tito’s.” Alexa grumbled, pouring it into the short glasses, “But, Ji’s cool too, I guess.”

Jaemin joined the circle for the shot, swinging his head back in the process. You scrunched your face at the smell of your least-favorite alcohol, nonetheless, taking it easily.  

“A shot? Without me!” Another man entered through the door, and suddenly everyone was yelling happily, “Some friends you all are!” 

You fully emerged from the table, embracing the other popular League of Legends streamer on your way to join Jaemin in singing Rocketeer, which you saw him cue up. 

“That’s all I get, Y/n? I’ve known you forever, and I don’t even get a hello?” He turned around, laughing out at his statement, “Only Alexa gives me this treatment.” 

You grabbed the microphone as the music started, “I’m sorry, Chenle! This is my song!” You practically pleaded before you sang the chorus down the mic like rent was due and you were lacking the funds.  

You and Jaemin finished the song with an impeccable performance–you were surprised he even knew it in the first place–your rapping skills outshining and earning the most outrageous cheers. Minjeong and Alexa tag teamed Britney Spears’ Toxic next, then Jisung and Chenle took turns for a while. In the meantime, you had another shot with Jeamin, then another with Alexa, and Minjeong, then Chenle and Jaemin.   

You were five shots deep and almost at the period of seeing stars when another man entered with his hands shoved down his pockets. And you think even if you had amnesia, you’d still recognize him. Your eyes went wide and you gripped Alexa’s arm, turning away and back like he was just a figment of your fucked-up imagination. It had to be some kind of joke. But, you watched as he spun on his heels, a sickly look falling on his face. 

Your eyes stuck to Alexa, who was just as shocked (if not more) than you were. She glanced your way with a look of disapproval. Yet, it didn’t matter, everything you convinced yourself of was crashing upon you. 

You practically jumped the table, a concerned glint on the faces that hadn’t seen who entered and just as quickly left. You stumbled over and through the door faster than Alexa–or anyone–could protest or try and change your mind. 

You were dead-set on stopping the man, locking your sights on his turned back and grabbing his arm. He didn’t fight, like you compelled him with a firm touch to obey and turn around. He avoided eye-contact with what seemed like the remains of his will-power.  

“Hyuck…” There was a nauseous look on his face, one you’d seen reflected back at you countless times, “W-why? How?” You couldn’t seem to get any words out; at least, nothing of substance. 

“I didn’t know you’d be here, Y/n.” 

You caught a glance of your hand so naturally holding his wrist, and you thought you might lose your mind. The feeling–taste–that your name from his lips gave you was a sense of doom, like he was a reaper coming to finally save you. 

Take you.

A pit formed where all the happiness from earlier faded, “I’m going to leave, go back inside and enjoy your night.” 

The words appeared and left too quickly for you to think about taking it back, “How the fuck am I supposed to do that!” You yelled, cocking your head, “How am I supposed to enjoy my night after this?”

He finally looked into your eyes, teary and holding back. If they were the window into one's soul, his were crystal clear. “I wouldn’t have come if I’d known. I promise, I’m sorry.” 

Apologies you didn’t want to hear. How were you supposed to water a rotting grave? How were you supposed to save something that was already dead? You wanted concrete closure, but you put your foot in the closing door, holding it open. Questions lingered–like they always have–in the air and clung to it like frost. 

His heart was heavy, and it weighed on your mind. 

But, did yours do the same for him? 

He turned from you, making your hand fall back to your side, “Wait! That’s all I get? Are you fucking serious, Donghyuck?”

He didn’t turn back but you could hear him perfectly fine–as if there were no other sounds in the raging world. “What do you want from me then?” He asked. You huffed out at his audacity; that stupid question again. “You looked happy in there–I’m happy you’re going out with your friends.”

“Fuck off…nevermind.” You crossed your arms, “You’re not.” 

Months of yearning for this to be the words that rolled off your tongue. Why couldn’t you just say it? You’ve been drowning in it, suffocating with the thought: him. You wanted him.

“I’m not, what?” He turned again, a dissatisfied look on his face, cheeks glistening (only a little) under the neon signs. 

"Being honest with me." 

He mirrored your arms with his, "And, you know me so well?" 

your eyebrows rose, and as if it was a tidal wave crashing onto you, you gawked. Of course you do–as much as you wished it wasn’t true. "How could you think I don't?" 

A familiar voice called from behind, grabbing at your shoulders to turn you away from Donghyuck. “Y/n! That’s enough!” 

His words were covered by Alexa’s, and you could barely comprehend what his reasoning was. 

“Because, you never called.” 

“What?” You looked over your shoulder as Alexa ushered you away, shouting. “What did he say, Alexa?” 

It might’ve been the alcohol but, you quickly realized that that was the most you’ve spoken in months, and you were very much still tangled in the webs he spun. The side-effect of love was a broken heart, and you should’ve known there were consequences. 

Now, your stomach twisted, yet, this time it felt different. You covered your mouth, and Alexa got another horrified look on her face when she noticed. Your breath was starting to shallow, and you shook within her grasp. Tears spilled from your eyes as you huffed for air, only causing the nausea to worsen. 

She turned to you, even with the threat of being thrown up on, “Calm down,” Her hands ran up and down your arms as she looked into your eyes nervously, “It’s fine. He’s gone now.” 

That was the problem, wasn’t it? 

But, somewhere deep down, you still knew what his gaze felt like against you. 

You were losing vision by the second as the feelings got deeper inside of you. You were losing the battle against yourself. Your knees were about to give out from under you, still, you couldn’t muster up the strength to reach out for Alexa; your own stone heart was making you feel like a million pounds. Everything was spinning and blurring together like a water-colored painting from Hell.

For a moment, nothing mattered. Your mind had gone blank, completely and utterly taken over with blending thoughts–seconds, minutes. You couldn’t stop spiraling. Was this what the depths of the ocean looked like? Or, did you stumble off the edge of the cliff? 

Only one person truly knew what you needed in the midst of the chaos. And, was that really comforting to know? 

Donghyuck wrapped his arms around you, holding you steady enough to stumble towards the nearest building. You could hear Alexa echo concern for the situation unfolding, stating that she had it under control. However, he was more concerned with the fact that you’d be mortified throwing up in front of onlookers when you finally came to. 

“I need you to try and work with me here–try and focus on breathing–I’ll do the rest.” Whether or not Alexa wanted to bicker with him, she let go. She once trusted him too. You nodded hesitantly, hyper-aware of the way his hands felt like fire on your waist. The way it felt like something chemically charged with his nerves on yours. 

Then, you practically peeled yourself from his arms…voluntarily? Well, it must've been. Hurdling through the bathroom door and gripping the porcelain. You’re not only lucky that you made it, but that it was also a single stall.  

Alexa clambered in quickly after, shoving Donghyuck from her way and taking your hair into her hands. She shot him a challenging look, and he backed away with his hands up, surrendering. 

“Oh my God,” You mumbled, “I’m sorry. I’m really—”

“Why are you apologizing right now?” She stated, not asked, “Just throw up, you’ll feel better.”

You feared you never would. You feared this would end up in flames–whatever, this was. You feared that you’d just lost him entirely. At least with no contact he lived in your mind. But, miscommunication leads to fallout. And, that's exactly what you did. 

“Hyuck,” Alexa quickly refocused on the task at hand, glaring into you hunched over the toilet still. You were barely audible over the chatter outside the door. “Will you take me home?” 

“What! You don’t mean that, you’re drunk!” The dark-haired girl shouted into your ear, “I’ll take you home—call you an uber, something.” 

“No, I’m fine. I’m fine,” You were laying your armor down, “You need to go back inside,” You tried to joke, “And handle damage control.” 

And you needed to claim your belongings in this wreckage. 

She protested some more, pulling your neck straight by your hair. But, all you were focused on was his answer. You knew it would tell you things you weren’t sure you wanted to know anymore. If you were prepared for the answers that haunted you? Only time would tell. 

“Yeah, I’ll take you home.”

009: To Sink or Swim

Unfortunately, you sobered up quickly. It was a family trait of yours that the high never lasted, and that’s why your parents kept going back for more.

You felt bad for leaving your friends—especially Alexa—without an excuse. But, you couldn’t lose him again. You wouldn’t survive it. 

And, that's how you ended up in the passenger seat of his car, looking out the window into the distance. You were just trying to distract yourself from the deafening tension casted over you. 

You held your breath, mumbling, “Thank you,” 

The rhythmic tapping against the steering wheel stopped, his voice taking over the silence, “I couldn’t just…” He replied slowly, dragging it out to a critical pause, “leave you like that. I couldn’t just let go.” 

“I’m sorry,” You laced your fingers together, “For being a burden.” 

“Why—what’s there to be sorry for when it’s not true?” 

You sighed, “I don’t know…you name it, and I’m probably sorry for it.”

In reality, you couldn’t list the amount of things on two hands, or even four. What a twist of fate this has become. You felt like every fiber that made up you had a reason to be sorry. It was parasitic. You couldn’t help but think that you’d mutually been through too much as adolescents. You were a student, focused on big future plans, and he was a career-driven twenty-something year old. You didn’t have time for romance, and frankly, neither did he. But, he was your heroine; the drug that’s too easy to start and too difficult to quit. It was your fault you both got derailed and addicted to the feeling, chasing a high you’d never live down. 

Donghyuck briefly turned his head, then looked back to the road, “Y/n, can I ask you something?” He quizzed. You hummed lowly, almost wishing he didn’t hear your approval to go on. “Did we—no, wait—were we on the same page, you know, when we broke up?” 

It was so easy for him, huh?

The rain started pouring down metaphorically, soaking you with the doubts that you thought you already casted away, “Wha-what did you mean then?” You swallowed the bile in your throat, “Back then?” 

“Did we both want that, for real? Is that what you really thought?” 

Your head slightly turned his way but you were too stunned to go any further. So, you opted for looking straight out the windshield, and your cheek found place between your teeth. 

“Is that not true?” 

He stuttered for a moment, the anticipation killing you. “N-no.” You’d never felt air so cold before, “I thought I told you I haven’t been the same since.” It’s like he knew every way to torture you, to keep you shaking from his side-effects. Because you were so damn affected by him. “You asked me what that meant for us…do you think that maybe we could at least be friends? Because, without you in my life at all, I swear, isn’t what I want.” 

“Hyuck,” 

“But, I understand that it might be too much. I mean, we used to…you know. I’m sorry, I just—I don’t know what to do.” 

Instinctively, your hand reached out and sat against his arm, “You’re rambling.” You cut him off. 

“I’m confusing you,” He stated, more to himself than you, “Okay, Y/n. I’m saying I can’t live without you.” 

Your eyes went wide. Everything felt like it had started spinning, your stomach (once again), your mind, you were spiraling into a state of oblivion. This was the depths of the ocean, you were sure of that. It was cold and dark and silent, and you felt like you couldn’t breathe without water filling your lungs. 

If you didn’t want to know, you shouldn’t have asked. Donghyuck has never had anything to hide from you, and you’ve always known it was only a matter of time until the questions were answered. 

“Don’t take me home.” You blurted, and if he wasn’t already at a complete stop, the car probably would’ve jerked, “I can’t be alone, Hyuck.” 

You were so tired of feeling so. 

It seemed like everything was in the process of crashing down. And you were sick of wishing you could breathe underwater. Everything you thought you knew about yourself was a one-way street that was paved in a straight line but the destination just got further the closer you got. 

Were you just losing your mind? You thought that if you screamed, no one would hear you—though it seemed he didn’t need words to. And, isn’t that what you wanted? You guess you better hold your breath and learn to swim. 

Otherwise, you’ll drown. 

010: I Want You to Sleep Alone, If Not With Me

It wasn’t gone, you hadn’t gotten better. You guess, it was only a matter of time until you finished what you started—for better or for worse. You were both walking a fragile line. One wrong move and you’d topple to opposite sides. But, maybe, strangers were better than lingering friends or reflections of lovers. 

You wondered from time to time, if you just deleted his number and pretended he didn’t exist, would it give you the sense of security you desperately craved? Or, did you know what you truly wanted? You couldn’t tell anymore. 

Tears, silently, rolled down the side of your face. 

Gravity was never something you were fond of; the center of it, the way it holds you down, anything. You were never fond of tearing yourself open, but it’s hard to care when you’re bleeding out. 

You weren’t drunk anymore but, part of you wished you still were. Maybe then you wouldn’t be laying on your ex-boyfriends couch crying as he sat on the floor, back to you. You wondered if he noticed (he did), yet, you couldn’t blame him for the internal conflict it caused. How would you react if the roles were reversed? You weren’t even sure what to do, so, how could you even begin to predict his next move, let alone, what was running through his mind?

You two were like a storm cloud over the calm ocean; or a cliff with a deep cavern. You wondered which metaphor suited your failed-relationship best but, reality was, you knew the answer. You knew where you resided. You just wished it was the eye instead of the winds.

He hadn’t spoken another word to you since you laid on the cushions. Truthfully, you don’t remember how you ended up in this position. You don’t remember what possessed him to bring you to his house over any other place—maybe familiarity? Maybe you didn’t want to remember so then you could make up whatever scenario made you feel less for him. You knew you were headed down a one-way street you wouldn’t be able to turn back around on. You had to choose whether to see it through and live with the outcome or hit the brakes. 

But, maybe, Hell together was better than Hell alone.  

You looked at the blank TV, then down a little to the glass coffee table that had various half-drank water bottles. You wondered if he had someone over. You wondered if she was a better fit for him. You wondered if the cherry in her chapstick tasted better. You wondered if she made him sleep through the night. You wondered who she was. 

Or, maybe, you were just delusional. But, jealousy was one Hell of an emotion to play with. 

Your voice broke, “Did…you have someone over?” 

He didn’t speak for a moment. You could tell he was pondering a response and that made you wonder if it would be the truth. 

“Jeno and Aeri came over,” He sighed, “But, don’t get the wrong idea, Y/n. I meant when I said I haven’t been the same. And the thought of anyone else trying to take your spot is…” 

You managed to push yourself upright, Donghyuck turning around with the sound of leather against skin. You looked away, to the kitchen; sleek, modern and clean. His mother had been over recently, too, you figured. 

You quickly wiped the tears away, hoping—but knowing—he’d already seen them, “You keep saying that,” You mumbled through an exasperated breath, utterly defeated by the past couple hours, “But, what does it mean exactly?” 

Again with the question that pissed you off, “What do you want it to mean?” Frustrating you beyond belief. He knew you were barely holding on, your capability to comprehend cryptic words minimal. At the moment, you fought with yelling back at him; it seemingly the only way to get your thoughts across. 

Since the first page in the story of your relationship, Donghyuck and you would never yell at each other. And, if you did, it would die just as quickly as it lived. He was good at getting over it and initiating apologies. He knew you hated confrontation and didn’t trigger you. He knew you could work it out civilly, so, why did it seem like fighting was the only option now? 

But, at least you were on the same page now. 

“Are you making shit up in your head again?” He glanced at the way you were looking away from him, “Don’t do that.” 

“I-I’m not making shit up! I’m trying to figure out what you mean, Hyuck!” Sometimes anger, frustration, sadness and everything in between overpowers your better sense of judgment—or maybe you yelled because he knew all the ways to bring you back to Earth. 

Sunshine…your sunshine.

“Don’t yell, I know that’s not what you want to do. Let’s not fight.” 

“No!” You could feel the fear enter your body, but maybe this is what you wanted from him, “No, Donghyuck. You don’t get to do that.” However, he got harder to read the longer you’d been away. 

“Do what?”

You scoffed, “Pretend.” 

He looked up at you, the inside of his lip being bitten, “Then neither do you, Y/n. Just fucking say it.” 

You, once again, let out an annoyed sound. Why should you—why shouldn’t you? What harm would it really do that’s not already been done? You had already broken up after devoting years of your life to each other. Cut the red string that attached you to him. Hell, a few days ago you two weren’t even on speaking terms. 

You guess you owe it all to a fucking hoodie. 

It was selfish but, when it came to Donghyuck, that’s all you could be. That’s all you could grasp on to; your jealousy, your envy; for the clothes that got to lay against his skin. For the people who could look at him without feeling vertigo. 

You reached the top with him, and now you were holding a stone-heart while sinking towards the ocean floor. 

“I want you to sleep alone for the rest of your life…if not with me.” 

011: The Very First Page of Lingering Lovers, Not The Last

Lingering lovers. It’s true, you were aching from the first and last time you spoke. However, some time within those painful days, you’ve realized what you failed to see in the past. You understood what you were feeling; under it all you’ve always understood the countless nights that seemingly lead you nowhere. He would always be your Holy Ghost, and that is, to feel it, is the only way to get through it. And, to admit it, only made you better for it in the end. 

Of course, you were still the same old you—with the same old patterns. You were about as predictable as rain. However, you didn’t manifest to the moon anymore. 

The phrase circled you like a bunch of ghosts you couldn’t fight, much less, banish. The phrase that shouldn’t have left your lips, yet clawed their way to the tip so easily. 

You want him to sleep alone for the rest of his life…

Your palm fell flat against your face, your forearm overtaking it after a second. Disappointment collided against the ghastly words, and honestly, it just made you want to pick a side. You’d been playing both the sinner and the saint for so long. 

And now, It blew up in your face. 

Why’d it have to be so humbling to say exactly what you didn’t mean to say? Drunk words are sober thoughts, except you weren’t drunk anymore. And, you feared that was no excuse. 

If not with you. 

You sat up, almost brutally slow, a pained groan leaving your lips as you felt sweat drip from your body. You fought with texting Alexa but you knew she had gone out the night before, her makeup still in your bathroom—actually, she was probably still dancing away, or at Chenle’s house by now. You couldn’t hate her for living the life you both promised but, she’d never had someone reach so deep and tangle her wires like Donghyuck did you. 

You were better after the fall, you knew you were, but that didn’t stop the tears from pricking your eyes. He’s still everything you’ve ever wanted.

You felt the cold paneling press against the soles of your feet, the image of something grabbing your ankles flashing through your mind. Then, you made your way to the bathroom, carving out the same path like clockwork. Déjà vú was all you saw in the person staring back at you—your wretched reflection.

You know it’s said that pain won’t last forever but you were so lonely it hurt. And, the swirling thoughts made the hauntings worse. 

You scoffed at the tears that rolled down your cheeks, “You’re so fucking ugly when you cry,” You mumbled as you practically slapped the tears away, “Always crying for someone who doesn’t give a fuck about you anymore. Losing all your goddamn friends, for what? Fucking snap out of it!” 

You didn’t realize you had your phone clenched in your fist until the buzz caught your attention. Your heart rose into your throat and sank to the floor all at once. Before you could even comprehend who it was, you brought it up to your ear, quickly answering. 

The voice stuttered, like they were convinced you wouldn’t pick up at this hour. And, honestly, you couldn’t even blame them. 

A breath left your lips, and slowly they started to speak, “Y/n? Why are you awake?” 

Your head cocked subconsciously, “Why’d you call if you didn’t want me to answer?” 

“Can I be honest?” He sighed, and you hummed in response, “I just wanted to hear your voicemail.” 

And, suddenly, it was silent. It made you wonder if everything you’d been thinking for the last month was untrue. Maybe he did mean it when he said that he wanted you in his life, even if not romantically. And, now you’re starting to think you meant what you’d said a little more than you thought. 

You were believing more and more that you were going to die on this ocean floor but your mermaid potions at ten never worked. 

“Wh-why?” You need to hear it—you need him to say the words you’ve craved so desperately, “Why’d you call me, Donghyuck?” And, maybe he was just a couple inches away, filling his lungs with water just as much as you were. 

“I don’t know, honestly. I don’t know why I did it. It was just too late when it started ringing. I know you would’ve freaked out if I hung up, especially this late. I j-just didn’t think you’d answer, so I let it ring…a-and maybe, maybe I wanted you to answer.” Your tears remained silent but by no means slowed. “Y/n…I can’t stomach you loving someone else.” 

Your stomach replaced your heart, the bile burning your esophagus as it rose. Sure, you knew you needed to hear it put simply, but it didn’t stop you from feeling sick and used. He had count of your scars and knew just what strings to pull to make them all reopen. 

The cold cup of coffee you kept reheating, vowing to drink it. 

The sequence of events was like an acid trip. Headlights shined through the windshield, blinding you, but only until it passed in the opposite direction. Where you were headed was also a blur. However, it was only a few minutes away in reality. Your brain was swirling with the ghosts you so inconsistently wished you could get rid of. The ghouls that made fun of your state, slurring your questions and thoughts together until eventually it'd drive you crazy. 

Your eyes felt heavy, the edge of the road seemed so easy to collide with, though you didn't shift the wheel like it screamed for you to do. 

You pulled into a familiar driveway, the lights of your car illuminating a very monotonously looking man—face frowning and hands together. In reality, you wondered if you looked the same. Two reflected souls tethered together so tightly. 

In reality, it was a once in a lifetime event. A supermoon. The dying of a star. An eclipse. A supernova that would consume everything around it.

Cold as the air was, your skin felt hot when they collided. You closed the door lightly, the noise making his body shift to face you. You knew you couldn't escape your history by burying what you didn't want to remember, because even fossils can be rediscovered. And, heartbreak didn't have to be messy, but looking at his face close up again made you think it ought to be for it to stick. It's true, you loved him to death. You just feared that that would be the death of you.

You hated how indebted to his shadow you actually were.

As if the mood couldn’t further, droplets started to paint the sweatshirt you hadn’t gotten the chance to take off. The realization sunk in, and the nausea came back. It’s crazy what a piece of fabric did to you—for you—swinging the door right off its hinges, you couldn’t even close it now if you tried. 

You were two people holding onto what you lost, and maybe you could meet again down the line. 

Maybe it’d be different this time.  

"I've missed you so fucking much, Hyuck." 

He slightly motioned for the front door, looking up at the crying sky, "Why don't we go inside, pl—"

"No, I'm not going inside." You shook your head lightly, looking down at the pavement, "I'm sorry but I need to stay out here and keep my head clear. Just for a second."

You couldn’t tell if the rain had just fallen onto his skin or if he was crying, and honestly, you couldn’t tell if you were as well. All you did know was that your emotions were fighting a vigorous battle against each other right now—a battle you were no longer good or evil in. 

“I love you so much…” He grabbed your face like he was about to plead you to change your mind, “I’ve loved you since that stupid day we streamed The Sims together, Y/n, please. I can’t lose you.” 

There was no one better. He was your redemption. He was your eternal sunshine. He was between every shade of black and white. No matter how many bridges you burnt, he’d build another just to get back to you. 

Your past, present and future life. 

“Please,” You just couldn’t let him go, no matter how hard you fucking tried, “Don’t leave me alone again, Hyuck.”

He pressed his lips to yours and it’s like the world stopped moving. If your life was a puzzle, then he was the missing piece. He was the X that marked the spot. He was the ghost that haunted you and will always remain as a stain on your heart. 

But, even ghosts can move on into the afterlife.

© soph 2025. reblogs ────& feedback r appreciated ૮´ ꒳`ა thnx !

🐻📦ˊˎ- since i just neglected to post the chapters, i made it a long-fic instead. this is just part one still though! also, this was kinda proof read, so, sorry for mistakes lolz

𝔱ags┊@kstrucknet @k-films @blossomnet @starlit-network @neocity-net @bbangbies @blue-jisungs @hhaechansmoless @dinonuguaegi @worldwidecutiemaya @chenlezip @nctrawberries @mmjjh1998 @luvs4haechan @nctfreak @hyuckluvr-com @cookiehaos @kiszjuli @yesohhsehun @spacejip @bettyschwallocksyee @desssss-0 @nctubatu | fill out form to added for part two

[callsign-coolsquirrel]

Lazy Day 🦈

theyre watching the cinematic masterpiece,Oceans (2009),for the 12th time this week. Spencers being a JABBERJAW and explaining whats happening even though its literally a documentary and his excuse is that the baby responds better to his voice :)

ALSO i have an alt version of this on my Patreon consisting of older/later season!Spencer 🤭

[playg0d]

i’ll kick you out and pull you in | carmen berzatto

—

you were halfway through your nightly routine, skin dewy and hair damp, when you heard knocking at your door.

you weren’t expecting anyone.

two short raps, then nothing. not loud. not rushed. just… hesitant. it was late. too late for packages, too late for neighbors, too late for visitors.

but still, you opened the door. robe tied loosely, feet bare on cold tile. and there he was.

carmen.

his hair was a little messy, curls looser than usual, like he'd run his hands through them too many times. he was wearing a suit, the collar of his shirt unbuttoned. and something about the way he stood felt strained, like his whole body was bracing for something he hadn’t rehearsed.

he blinked when he saw you. a beat, a flicker. like he forgot what he came to say. his gaze lingered, caught on the robe, on the familiar ease of you standing in front of him. but he quickly looked away, jaw tight.

you blinked back, caught off guard. “... carmy?”

he didn’t answer at first. just looked at you with an expression you couldn’t read yet. as if that were supposed to be enough, as if you were supposed to know.

you stepped back slightly, unsure, but the door stayed open. your body shifting just enough to let him in.

he crossed the threshold slowly, like he wasn’t sure if he should. eyes flicking around the room like he half-expected someone else to be there.

“are you okay?” you asked, voice soft.

he turned and nodded too quickly. “yeah. yeah, i–uh. sorry. i just...” he hesitated, then: “you weren’t at the wedding.”

you nodded slowly. “i had things to take care of.”

he hummed, awkward. shifted his weight. didn’t quite meet your eyes. “right. yeah. no–i just… didn’t see you. wasn’t sure.” his mouth tugged to the side, like he knew how flimsy it sounded.

“what are you doing here?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper, as if the distance between you now defined how softly you had to speak.

he didn’t have anything to say to that. no more excuses lined up. and you could already feel a bad thing twisting in your stomach, like nerves knotting up.

“you checkin’ if i left chicago?” you tried to joke, but it came out flat, a little too sharp. because you didn’t know why he was here. and the way he kept looking like he was about to say something and then didn’t was starting to get to you.

he shrugged, scratched the back of his neck. “nah, i just… talked to marcus, and he mentioned–”

your brow lifted. “mentioned what?”

he flinched. just slightly. “nothing. forget it. it’s stupid.”

“carmen.” your voice was softer now, but steady. “you’re the one who showed up at my door past ten.”

his eyes finally met yours. 

it hit hard. like a strike to your soul. that same storm in them. want, guilt, something desperate. he looked exhausted by his own heart.

“he said you knew luca,” he spoke, eventually. “and i don’t know–you’ve been spending time together or whatever, and i just thought–fuck, i don’t know...”

you stared at him, confused, until it clicked. 

your eyes widened and your expression hardened. “are you serious?”

he said nothing.

“you came here to ask me about luca?”

he ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “i know it’s stupid, alright? i know how it sounds–”

“yeah. it sounds fucking insane.”

“i just–” his voice lifted, a little desperate now. “i heard how he–fuck, talked about you, and marcus just mentioned you two had been hangin’ out, and i guess–i don’t know, okay? i just thought maybe you were…”

your heart raced. not from guilt. there was nothing to feel guilty about. but because this wasn’t fair. he wasn’t yours. he never was. not truly. but he was here, looking at you like he could break.

“that’s rich,” you murmured, the sweetness slipping from your tone. “you think you can show up asking about my love life when–”

he shifted in place, jaw clenched, voice trying to find footing. “i just–i thought–”

you cut him off, stepping forward. “thought what? that i ran off to fuck the next chef who’d talk to me?”

his face twisted, as if you’d slapped him. “i didn’t say that.”

the air bristled between you, sharp and vibrating with intensity.

“no, i’m not with luca,” you snapped. “i’m not with fucking luca! you’re being so fucking ridiculous right now!”

his eyes flicked up to yours, wild, searching. “then what was–marcus said–”

“marcus said what?” your voice was rising. “that i know him? that we’ve hung out a few times? jesus, carmy.”

he looked like he wanted to disappear. or punch something. maybe both.

“i didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly.

“really?” you pressed. “because i’ve heard things too, carmen. about you.”

he froze. he didn’t wanna go there. not tonight.

“listen to me,” he said, voice carrying an underlying tremor. “he said you and luca were–i don’t know. close. i didn’t know you even knew him, and marcus just–he said it, and i didn’t ask questions, i just–i got confused, alright?”

“you believed it.”

“no,” he said, but it was weak. “not really. i just… i dunno. i just didn’t know.”

you stared at him.

“i know him because of marcus. they’re friends. i’ve seen him a couple times. that’s it.”

your tone sharpened. “oh my god.”

he stepped forward, desperate. “i know, okay? i know how it sounds, i fucked up. but i’ve been–i’m trying. i’ve been trying so fucking hard to keep my head on straight, and then i’m at the wedding and marcus says your name and luca’s in the same sentence and it’s like–i don’t know. everything went sideways.”

you laughed bitterly. “you don’t get to come here and act like you have any right to ask. especially not when you’ve been off trying to make things work with someone else.”

his silence was heavy, eyes locked onto yours.

you shook your head, frustrated.

“how is it fair you come here demanding answers? how the fuck is that fair, carm?”

he scrubbed his face with a rough hand. “it’s not. i know it’s not. i just–i couldn’t stop thinking about it, about you. it was killin’ me.”

your head tilted in disbelief. “you wanna know what’s killin’ me? that you think you can show up here, throw this shit at me like you’re jealous, when you’re the one going back to someone else.”

“that’s not what–” he started, but you cut him off.

“you think i don’t know?” you said, quieter now. “that you’ve been trying to make things right with her? and i get it. she’s safe, and your family loves her, and mikey used to say she was the love of your life. makes sense.”

“don’t–” he started, voice clipped. “don’t do that.”

“don’t do what?” you demanded. “don’t state the obvious? don’t bring up the part where you’re picking someone else, but still coming around acting like you get to ask who i might be with?”

“that’s not fair,” he retorted, louder now.

you blinked, stunned. “you wanna talk about fair? you’re trying to fix things with her, but still showing up at my door. asking about me. looking at me like that.”

his voice lifted, agitated. “‘cause i don’t fuckin’ know what to do! alright? i’m tryin’ to do the right thing, and i don’t even know what that is anymore. every time i think i got it figured out, you… you… i can’t keep it straight, okay?! i fuckin’ can’t!”

you met his gaze, your breathing ragged. “you don’t get to be jealous.”

“i am jealous!” he burst out, like the words caught him off guard. “fuck, i am. i know i don’t get to be, but i am. and i can’t fucking help it!”

your heart stuttered. because there it was. but it wasn’t enough.

“we never even said it,” you whispered. “not once… not really. and now you’re here doing this?”

he swallowed hard. nodded, like it hurt to admit. “i know.”

you looked at him, and it tore through you. he was a mess. a beautiful, aching, unfinished mess. and tonight, you were truly seeing him: how tired he looked, how sad. 

how much he still felt, and how much he still hid.

somehow, this turbulent exchange spoke more clearly than any words either of you had ever said aloud. it told you everything you needed to know. the most painful confession.

“you can’t keep showing up like this,” you said, voice breaking. “either get your shit together, or stop haunting me.”

if there’d been room for laughter in that moment, maybe carmy would’ve let out a bitter chuckle. because the truth was, you were the one haunting him. he wasn’t even sure you realized what that word meant to him. how it had clung to his family for years. but you said it like that. clean, pointed. and it felt like a knife to the heart. like you’d known all along.

he looked like he wanted to say something then, like he had something to reveal sitting there on the tip of his tongue.

but the words didn’t come.

they never did.

his mouth opened again, but still… 

nothing.

and that silence said more than anything else ever could.

you took a shaky breath. nodded once, almost to yourself. “that’s what i thought.”

his eyes flickered. “i didn’t mean to hurt you. hurting you’s the last thing i’d ever want.”

you smiled. weak, sad and so tired. “sure.”

he looked at you, really looked. and the robe suddenly felt thinner under his gaze. his hand lifted like he might reach for you, but he stopped himself.

it was quiet for a beat too long. the kind of quiet that carried weight, like a full-body ache. 

you stepped back and gestured toward the door. “you need to go.”

his whole face dropped. “wait–”

“i can’t do this, carm.” your voice wavered, but you kept your spine straight. “i’ve spent so long wondering if you’d ever say something. do something. and now, after everything, you come here because of some bullshit story about luca?”

he shook his head, stepping forward. “that’s not–”

“but it is,” you cut in, sharper now. “and even if it wasn’t, it doesn’t matter. because you’re with someone else. or you’re trying to be. and i can’t keep standing here, breaking my own heart just to make space for yours.”

carmy’s chest rose, fell. he looked like he wanted to fight it, argue, do anything but leave. but deep down, he knew.

he looked at you like it might be the last time. “i don’t know how to–how to say it right.”

“yeah,” you whispered, biting the inside of your cheek. “that’s always been the problem.”

you moved toward the door, hand on the knob. your fingers shook. 

“goodnight, carmen.”

he didn’t move right away. but eventually, he relented. slow steps. heavy silence. 

one last glance. a quiet plea he didn’t know how to voice.

you shut the door before you could second-guess it. before you did something stupid like pull him back and kiss him breathless. tell him how much you missed him, how handsome he looked standing there in a suit. how much he looked like he should’ve been yours. like he always had been. even if he never really was.

you just stood there, forehead resting against the wood, the silence pressing in. you hadn’t heard his footsteps. not even a creak of the floor. which meant maybe he was still there, right outside the door. just like you, stuck on the other side.

but you didn’t check.

because if he was gone, it would’ve shattered you.

and if he was still there, it would’ve undone you.

your hair was still damp. little drops rolled down your neck, cold and slow, like they were trying to anchor you to the moment. you didn’t move. you let them trace your spine. part punishment, part grief.

“i’m not affected,” you whispered to no one, like a prayer. like a joke.

“i’m not affected,” again.

but the tears were already there. hot, quiet, unstoppable.

you crossed the apartment in slow, uneven steps. the robe slipped a little at the shoulder, but you didn’t fix it. you made it to the bed and sat on the edge for a second too long before letting yourself sink down.

it all settled in at once.

the quiet. the ache. the space he filled for a moment and the way it still lingered, like a phantom limb.

you curled onto your side, pulled the blanket halfway up, arms crossing over your chest like a shield.

and all you wanted was to fall. not sleep, not dream. just fall. out of the noise in your head. out of the weight in your chest. out of the mess of wanting someone who would never choose you out loud.

that was the only thing left to do now.

so you let go.

and you fell.

 ₊˚⊹♡

thank you for reading. please reblog or comment. or both ☻

[thejudgingtrash]

Ryomen “I fucking hate children, no I don’t want some of my own, having the brat still lurking around is enough” Sukuna who immediately can tell his wife is pregnant by sensing her fluctuating cursed energy which will lead him to threatening her to tie her to a bed because she dared to lift something (a water bottle) aka putting his heir in “direct” danger ✍🏾✍🏾

[aventurineswife]

Can you write Aventurine's reaction to seeing his baby opening eyes for the first time and revealing Avgin eyes?

A World Worth Seeing

Summary: In the quiet of a desert nursery, Aventurine holds his newborn child for the first time. As the baby opens their eyes, the unmistakable mark of their shared Avgin lineage, Aventurine is overwhelmed by a flood of emotions. Memories of his painful past and the loss of his clan resurface, but so does a newfound hope. Determined to give his child a better future, Aventurine vows to protect them and ensure their life is free from the suffering he endured.

Tags: Dad!Aventurine, Parent-Child Bond, Emotional Reflection, Hope and Redemption, Avgin Heritage, Found Family, Fatherhood, Vulnerable Aventurine, Post-Trauma Healing.

Warnings: Mentions of Past Trauma, Brief Reference to Slavery and Loss, Emotional Content‼️

A/N: CRYING, THROWING UP, 😭 WHY?! Ahem, I love Dad Aventurine or dilfs in general, I hope this fic makes you cry‼️🤗💖🫶

The nursery was quiet, save for the soft hum of the desert wind filtering through the window. Aventurine sat beside the crib, his usually flamboyant demeanor replaced by an uncharacteristic stillness. In his arms rested a small bundle wrapped in soft, white fabric—his child. The baby stirred slightly, their tiny fists curling and uncurling, and Aventurine’s heart beat faster than it ever had at the gambling table.

He hadn’t prepared for this moment, not truly. For all his meticulous strategies and contingency plans, nothing could have readied him for the weight of fatherhood. He gazed down at the infant, his hair falling over his face as he adjusted the blanket.

“Come on, little one,” he whispered, his voice unsteady but warm. “Let me see those eyes.”

The baby stirred again, a soft whimper escaping their lips before they blinked slowly, their tiny eyelids fluttering open. Aventurine held his breath as two vibrant eyes were revealed—magenta and cyan, with the unmistakable black pupils of an Avgin.

His heart stopped.

For a moment, the world fell away. The distant sound of the wind disappeared, the weight of his past faded into silence, and all that remained was the tiny being in his arms. The sight of those eyes—so strikingly familiar yet entirely unique—triggered a torrent of emotions he wasn’t prepared to face.

Memories rushed in like an unbidden tide. His clan. His mother’s gentle voice. His sister’s laughter, long since silenced. The horrors he’d endured, the chains around his wrists, the pain of losing everything. And now, here was his child, carrying the unmistakable mark of their shared lineage. A lineage he had fought to preserve, even as he tried to bury its painful legacy.

Tears welled in Aventurine’s eyes, but he quickly blinked them away, his signature grin faltering for only a moment. “Well,” he finally managed, his voice soft and laced with an unfamiliar vulnerability, “aren’t you full of surprises, just like your old man.”

The baby cooed, their tiny fingers reaching out and gripping Aventurine’s thumb with surprising strength. He chuckled, a sound filled with both awe and disbelief. “You’ve got your Papa’s eyes, huh? I guess fate had a hand in this one.”

For the first time in years, Aventurine felt something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel: hope. This child was more than a reminder of his past—they were a chance at a future he never thought he could have. A future where his clan’s story didn’t have to end in tragedy. A future where this little one could live free, unshackled by the pain and cruelty that had shaped his own life.

He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to the baby’s forehead. “Don’t worry, little star,” he whispered, his voice trembling slightly. “I’ll make sure you never have to face what I did. I’ll give you a world worth seeing with those beautiful eyes.”

The baby blinked up at him, their gaze curious and unclouded by the weight of the world. Aventurine smiled, his resolve solidifying like the roll of a perfect hand. Whatever risks he had to take, whatever games he had to play, he would do it all for them.

In that moment, holding his child with their shared Avgin heritage shining back at him, Aventurine realized he’d already won the most important gamble of his life.

If I see more Dad!Aventurine reqs, I'm gonna cry fr‼️😭💔😕

While writing this fic, I saw this, I'm not okay ☹️💔

[svnscape]

REFLECTIONS — 𝐧𝐚 𝐣𝐚𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧

i never knew somebody like you, somebody falling just as hard

written series presented to you by svnscape — ALL RIGHTS RESERVED ©

synopsis — you saw him everywhere. in magazines, social media, billboards, in your own house from the tv of your humble living room, his dazzling looks with that enchanting smile, looking back at you like it’s your own reflection. and you can’t really escape your own reflection, can you? 12 years of confusion, self loathing, pain and suffering and he was still here, making his presence known more than ever, looking back at you like he’s known you’d be back, back with that dark grey cloud suspended over you and his, his melting right with yours because god knows that the shiny smile of his was just a ticking bomb or an hourglass, waiting for your arrival to unleash it all .

pairing: photographer!na jaemin x set director!reader

series warnings: each chapter will have its own cw — death, major character death, substance abuse, verbal abuse, family trauma, self harm, suicide and suicidal thoughts, severe depression and anxiety, low self esteem, aquaphobia, suggestive and mature content, explicit language, explicit scenes, toxic relationships, attachement and abandonment issues, exploitation. everyone is fucked in this series don’t get too attached. the way i invision and write some of the characters is not the way i see them or the way they are in real life, keep that in mind.

status: to be released mid july - august

taglist: reply to be added

series playlist (recommended): reflections — the neighborhood, indigo — sam barber & avery anna, softcore— the neighborhood, doubt (demo) — twenty one pilots, stressed out — twenty one pilots, use me — pvris & 070 shake, bad desire (eng ver) — enhypen, eyelids — pvris, heartbeat — childish gambino, porcelain — faouzia, formula — labrinth, escapism — raye & 070 shake, black mascara — raye, prisoner — yuta, photograph — ed sheeran

REFLECTIONS

— 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

— 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 pt1 | pt2

— 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞: “seoul: year 2024”

tba….

author’s note: this series is very dark… i can’t be normal and write something happy i am SORRY. been thinking about writing this for a while now and i’m finally happy that i gathered all my functioning brain cells and put them to use to write this series. i am LOVING writing the chapters and immersing myself into their world. i think this series is a mix of a bunch of lyrics i read, book lines and real life events that have blossomed into whatever this is and unfortunately (or fortunately) jaemin was just the first person i thought of writing this series for. like i said earlier, this is not reality and this is not how i view any of the people mentioned in this story. y/n is also an oc and you can invision her as anyone you’d like.

i hope you enjoy this series as much as i’m enjoying writing it and i hope it brings you whatever you’re looking for when you’re immersing yourself into a fictional universe. as usual, as this is a complex story, my asks and replies are always here for you to write to me whether it’s a question, a feedback or if you want anything more about this series. happy reading ! (you’re gonna need tissues i’m sorry once again)