cosmicbolognesa

[cosmicbolognesa]

Fanfic! Dae-Ho x y/n pt 2/? (English & Spanish version) ''Bet on us'' / ''Apuesta por nosotros''

Fanfic! Dae-Ho x y/n 2/? Part 1: https://acortar.link/sV8saL

ENGLISH VERSION;

|| Things to consider when reading this fanfic: 🠊 You are taking the place of Young-mi, player 095. You’re not replacing her; she simply doesn’t exist, and you have her player number. 🠊 I try to keep the pronouns neutral so you can read comfortably regardless of your gender identity. 🠊 This is completely out of canon, and the characters do not belong to me as they are from the Netflix series "Squid Game."

🠊 Dae-Ho and you have been dating for almost a year. After moving in together, your financial situation has gone through a lot, and both of you have reached a breaking point. Overwhelmed by debt, each of you decides—separately—to join the games offered by a certain man in a suit and carrying a briefcase… without telling the other. Unfortunately, you reunite after the first game. ||

As you moved through the large room, you noticed in the distance how your partner seemed to be trying to approach a small group, much like other players apparently led by player 001, seeking advice. For your part, you didn’t feel ready to approach anyone yet. You looked around, weighing the odds and the faces of the people: dejected, hostile, absent...

You sighed, your fingers gripping the edge of your food can. That’s when, before heading toward the purple-haired boy who seemed to be oddly enjoying himself, you heard Dae-Ho call out to you enthusiastically from afar.

“Come here, come!” he said, not far from the small group around player 456. He gestured for you to join him, his energy unmistakable. You decided to go, and as soon as you arrived, he introduced you excitedly to a slightly older man, perhaps the age of your father or an uncle, with a kind demeanor and a faintly amused expression at Dae-Ho’s overflowing enthusiasm. Apparently, the excitement grew when he mentioned having been in the navy too. The stranger greeted you and nodded toward the “leader” of the apparent gang. This leader barely acknowledged you with a curt nod. There were no further introductions or names exchanged. A third person waved at you, and that’s when everyone turned at the sound behind them: the purple-haired young man and a long-haired guy were taking turns kicking someone on the floor.

You heard Dae-Ho comment on the vigor of youth, and you suppressed a smile since you weren’t much older than those two. The situation seemed serious, though everyone limited themselves to just watching, not interfering.

You were about to whisper to Dae-Ho that he shouldn’t get involved either when player 001 got up and descended the few steps toward the trio. Everything happened quickly, and in a matter of seconds, he had subdued them and restored what little order remained. The way he took control of the situation was, at the very least, admirable, and you joined in the applause that followed.

When he returned to your group, the conversation resumed. “Once again, we appreciate you letting us join your team,” you said later. “I’m sure we’ll make it out alive if we follow your instructions,” you added, looking at 456. “We’ll give it our all.” The other ex-marine chuckled and gave Dae-Ho a pat on the arm. “I see you share the same spirit!” he said, nodding at you.

Dae-Ho nodded energetically. “Of course we do! Not for nothing we…” But before he could finish, you stood up and interrupted.

“I think we should get ready to rest… and be prepared for tomorrow.”

The others seemed to agree and headed to their bunks. As for you, you walked a few beds away, Dae-Ho pulling your wrist as you went.

“Hey, wait…” he began, letting go of you in a quiet corner. “What was that? Can’t I say who we are?” he asked. His tone wasn’t harsh, but you could sense a hint of hurt in his words.

“Dae-Ho, don’t tell me you’re fully trusting them… We can’t share our personal lives with people whose names we don’t even know,” you replied, shrugging. “We’re in a competition. It’d be better not to trust anyone completely, don’t you think?”

“Look, I know we’re not on vacation here,” he said, placing his hands gently on your shoulders. “But we can’t be entirely defensive either. I think we have a better chance of survival with a good team, and that man has played before…”

“Yes, and he himself said everyone ended up dead. How are we supposed to trust someone who willingly got himself back in here?” You softly pushed his hands off your shoulders. “I only care about you and keeping us alive. For now, let’s just try to rest.”

You were heading toward one of the empty beds when he stopped you by tugging on the sleeve of your sweater as you passed.

“Okay, fine. We’ll do it your way, but don’t forget… I love you,” he murmured before retreating to an empty spot.

Maybe you were too harsh on him, but this wasn’t a place where you could let your guard down. Finally, you chose a bed near his, and as you settled into the thin sheets, you whispered, “I love you too,” before exhaustion took over.

You slept without truly resting, waking to a light touch on your shoulder and the loud sound of classical music. Groaning, you rolled over and pulled the pillow over your head.

“Turn it off, Dae-Ho. It’s early. Let me sleep a little longer,” you muttered.

Though you couldn’t see him from your position, he gave you a sad smile. “I wish I could… Come on, you need to get up. Today we’ll leave this place, and soon, you’ll be able to sleep as much as you want,” he said softly.

The weight of his words and the grim reality of where you were hit you hard. With a sigh, you climbed out of bed and headed to the bathroom to splash water on your face. Afterward, you rejoined the small group, who were now discussing strategy. They agreed that if everything went well, they should choose the triangle for the next game.

All the players were led up the brightly colored pink, yellow, and blue stairs, with guards watching every corner. Dae-Ho walked behind you, whispering words of encouragement—perhaps meant for you, for himself, or both.

When you reached the next game’s setting, it looked like a giant kindergarten playground, with two large rainbow-colored circles painted on the ground.

“This game will be played in teams. You have ten minutes to form your groups. Each team must have five players,” the speakers announced.

A wave of dread washed over you. This wasn’t the game that man had mentioned. Doubt filled your mind, just as it did for others, evident in their questioning glances.

“I thought you said you’ve been here before!” shouted player 100, confronting 456. “You said you knew the next game, but you lied!”

Despite having a thousand questions and fears of your own, the older man’s anger annoyed you. Fortunately, player 001 silenced him effortlessly, and the group refocused on the task at hand.

“Well… there are five of us. Let’s stick together,” suggested the ex-marine.

“Yes, please. I’ll risk my life if I must,” Dae-Ho quickly added, earning a pat on the back as the man nodded.

Before they could delve into speculating about what type of game awaited, a frail-looking young woman approached, asking if their group had room for one more.

“Sorry, we’re full and…” began Jung-bae, but the woman interrupted, desperation tinting her voice.

“Please, I can’t find a team, and I’m pregnant. I’m begging you,” she pleaded, placing a hand on her stomach. You noticed she wasn’t lying.

Words spilled from your mouth before you could stop yourself.

“You can take my place.”

Four pairs of eyes stared at you in disbelief, while one looked at you with gratitude.

“What are you…?” Dae-Ho began, moving closer to you. You quickly pushed him aside, speaking in hushed tones. “We’ll have a better chance if we split up. Trust me, okay?”

Not giving him a chance to respond, you turned back to the group. “Take her in. I’ll find another team. Don’t worry about me,” you assured them before running off.

Two minutes remained to find a group.

Your heart raced as you moved through the crowd of players, scanning for anyone missing members. You spotted a tall woman with short hair wearing number 120 on her sweatshirt.

“Hey, excuse me, do you need another teammate?” you asked, your voice tinged with urgency.

Relief washed over her face, and she nodded. “Yes, of course… Let’s find more people,” she replied gently, though desperation lingered in her tone.

Eventually, you managed to recruit an older woman and her son. With less than a minute remaining, a bold-looking woman with heavily lined eyes and colorful bracelets approached. She eyed your group up and down disdainfully.

“You idiots! Making me wait like this… You should’ve invited me earlier! I ought to stab you…”

You already disliked her, but with time running out, she became your group’s fifth member.

A loud beep signaled the end of the timer. Guards began organizing the teams, seating them in neat rows. The game was announced as a “five-legged race,” featuring five mini-games. You recognized them from your childhood, as likely did your teammates.

Once seated, you stole a glance at Dae-Ho, sitting rows away. His eyes were locked on you. You tried to nod, mouthing, “We’ll be fine,” though you weren’t entirely convinced yourself.

SPANISH VERSION;

|| Cosas a tener en cuenta al leer este fanfic: 🠊 Estás tomando el lugar de Young-mi, la jugadora 095. No la reemplazas, simplemente ella no existe, y tú tienes su número de jugador 🠊 Intento mantener los pronombres neutros, para que puedas leer cómodamente sin importar tu identidad de género. 🠊 Es totalmente outcannon y los personajes NO me pertenecen, ya que son del mundo de la serie de Netflix ''Squid game''

🠊Dae-Ho y tu llevan casi un año saliendo como pareja; a raíz de haberse mudado juntos, su situación económica ha pasado por mucho, y ambos llegaron a un punto crítico. Con tantas deudas, cada uno decide, por separado, entrar a los juegos que cierto hombre de traje y portafolio les invita…sin decírselo mutuamente. Lamentablemente, ambos se reencuentran después del primer juego. ||

Mientras te movías por la enorme habitación, pudiste observar a la distancia cómo tu pareja parecía intentar acercarse al pequeño grupo, de la misma forma que otros jugadores, al parecer liderados por el número 001, en busca de consejos. Por tu parte, no pareces animarte a acercarte a nadie, no aún. Miras a tu alrededor, sopesando las probabilidades y los rostros de la gente; desconsolados, hostiles, ausentes…

Suspiras, y tus dedos aprietan ligeramente tu lata de comida. Es entonces cuando, antes de acercarte al chico de cabello morado que parece incluso disfrutar el estar ahí, escuchas a Dae-Ho llamarte a lo lejos, con entusiasmo.

—¡Ven aquí, ven! — dice, no muy lejos del pequeño grupo del jugador 456. Te hace algunas señas, aparentemente animado. Tú decides ir y, ni bien has llegado, te presenta con emoción a un hombre levemente mayor, quizá de la edad de tu padre o un tío, pero con aspecto amable y levemente divertido ante el derrame de energía que Dae-Ho parece tener. Al parecer, la emoción crece al señalar que ha estado también en la marina. El desconocido te saluda y señala al ''líder'' de la aparente pandilla. Este no parece reaccionar, más allá de asentir secamente con la cabeza. No hay presentaciones más allá, ni nombres. La tercera persona te saluda moviendo la mano, y es entonces cuando todos se giran ante el sonido a sus espaldas; el joven de cabello púrpura y el tipo de cabello largo están golpeando a otro, turnándose para patearlo en el suelo. Escuchas a tu pareja hablar sobre la energía juvenil, y reprimes una sonrisa porque ustedes mismos no son mucho mayores que ese par. La situación parece seria, aunque todos se limitan a ver, sin interferir.

Tú estás a punto de susurrar a Dae-Ho que él tampoco se acerque, cuando el jugador 001 ya se ha levantado y baja los pocos escalones, en dirección a aquellos tres. Todo sucede muy rápido y, en cuestión de segundos, ya los ha dejado en el piso y ha restaurado el poco orden que había. La manera en que ha tomado el control de todo es, como menos, admirable, y te unes a los aplausos que le brindan. Cuando regresa con ustedes, la conversación se reanuda. —Nuevamente, les agradezco por dejarnos estar en su equipo— repites más tarde — seguro podremos salir de aquí con vida, si seguimos sus instrucciones— añades, mirando a 456. —Nos esforzaremos en todo— el otro ex marino se permite reí un poco, y le palmea un brazo a Dae-Ho — ¡Veo que comparten el espíritu! — dice, señalándote con la cabeza. El asiente enérgicamente. —¡Claro que sí! No por nada nosotros…— pero antes de que Dae-Ho continúe, te pones de pie e interrumpes —Creo que deberíamos prepararnos para descansar…y estar listos para mañana—. Los demás parecen estar de acuerdo y se dirigen a sus camas. Por tu parte, vas unas pocas literas más allá, Dae-Ho tirando de tu muñeca mientras caminan. —Eh, oye…— comienza, cuando te suelta por fin en una parte a solas — ¿qué ha sido eso? ¿Es que no puedo decir lo que somos? — pregunta. Aunque está un poco contrariado, percibes cierto dolor en sus palabras.

—Dae-Ho, no me digas que estás confiando totalmente en ellos…no podemos estar contando nuestra vida, ni siquiera sabemos sus nombres— repones, encogiéndote de hombros— no podemos contar cosas personales. Además, recuerda que estamos compitiendo, sería mejor no confiar totalmente en los demás ¿no crees? —.

—Escucha, sé que no estamos aquí de vacaciones ni de paseo — responde él, colocando ambas manos sobre tus hombros, siempre con suavidad— pero no podemos estar a la defensiva tampoco. Creo que podemos tener más probabilidades de salir con vida si tenemos un buen equipo, y ese hombre ya ha jugado antes…—.

—Sí, y él mismo ha dicho que todos acabaron muertos. ¿Cómo vamos a creer todo lo que dice, si él mismo volvió a meterse aquí por gusto? — niegas suavemente, apartándote de su toque— Sólo me importas tú, y mantenernos vivos…por ahora, intentemos descansar— estás por regresar a una de las camas vacías, cuando él te detiene, sujetándote por la manga de tu sudadera al pasar.

—Oye, está bien. Lo haremos a tu manera, pero no olvides que te quiero— murmura, antes de volver y ocupar uno de los sitios libres.

Quizá has sido muy severo con él, pero tampoco es que puedas relajarte en un sitio como ese. Al final, eliges una cama junto a la de él y, mientras te acomodas entre las sábanas, lo miras y susurras — yo también te quiero— antes de permitir que el cansancio te invada.

Duermes sin descansar realmente, pero te despierta un suave toque en el hombro, y escuchas música clásica a un volumen fuerte. Te estiras y ruedas, cubriéndote la cabeza con la almohada. —Apaga eso, Dae-Ho. Es temprano, déjame dormir otro poco— gruñes. Desde aquella posición no puedes verlo, pero el más alto te dedica una sonrisa triste, antes de responder. — Ojalá pudiera hacerlo…vamos, tienes que levantarte. Hoy nos iremos de aquí y pronto vas a poder dormir todo lo que quieras— responde. Es entonces cuando el peso de sus palabras y la realidad de dónde te encuentras te golpean. Suspiras y, una vez fuera de la cama, te diriges al baño para mojarte el rostro e intentar despabilarte. Al regresar, te reúnes con el pequeño grupo y vuelven a acordar que, si todo sale bien, necesitan elegir la figura del triángulo para el siguiente juego.

Todos los jugadores se encaminan a través de aquellas escaleras de colores rosa, amarillo y azul, con guardias vigilando en cada rincón. Dae-Ho camina detrás de ti, susurrando cada poco palabras de ánimo que no sabes si son para ti o para sí mismo. Tal vez para ambos. Cuando llegan al campo de juego, se encuentran con lo que parece un patio del jardín de infantes, con dos enromes círculos de arcoíris pintados en el suelo.

''Este juego será en equipos; tienen diez minutos para juntarse. Deben ser cinco personas por equipo'' dicen los altavoces. El estómago te duele; ese no es el juego que aquel hombre dijo, y te giras hacia él con duda en los ojos, al igual que otras personas. Las instrucciones se repiten y el tiempo comienza a correr.

—¡Dijiste que ya habías venido! — grita el hombre con el número 100, encarando al 456 —¡Dijiste que sabías qué juego sigue, y nos mentiste! —. Pese a que tienes mil preguntas y miedo, la voz y el derecho de aquel viejo hombre te irritan. Afortunadamente, 001 lo hace callar fácilmente, y vuelven a concentrarse en qué hacer.

—Bueno…somos cinco personas. Hagamos equipo entonces— dice el ex marino. —Sí, por favor. Arriesgaré mi vida si es necesario— dice Dae-Ho enseguida, y el otro le palmea mientras asiente. Sin embargo, antes de comenzar a discutir sobre qué clase de juego puede aguardarles, una joven de aspecto frágil se acerca a ustedes, preguntando si están completos o puede unirse. No la culpas, ya que estás un poco separado de ellos, mirando a tu alrededor. —Ah, lo siento, ya estamos completos y…— empieza Jung-bae. Pero la joven interrumpe, ahora con un tinte de desesperación en sus palabras— por favor, no encuentro equipo, y estoy embarazada. Se los suplico— ella se toca el vientre, y puedes ver que es cierto. Tu boca se abre y las palabras brotan antes de darte cuenta.

—Puedes tomar mi lugar— cuatro pares de ojos te miran con incredulidad, y uno más con agradecimiento. —¿Qué estás…?— empieza Dae-Ho, acercándose a ti. Tú lo empujas apresuradamente a un lado, para hablarle con rapidez —Tendremos más probabilidades de ganar si nos dividimos, confía en lo que hago ¿está bien?— no lo dejas responder y vuelves a dirigirte a los otros —Pueden acogerla, buscaré otro equipo, por favor no se preocupen— y echas a correr. Te quedan dos minutos para encontrar equipo.

Tu corazón late con rapidez mientras te mueves entre los demás jugadores, buscando a quien le falten miembros. A lo lejos ves a una mujer alta, de cabello corto. Lleva el número 120 en la sudadera. Te acercas a ella, esperando que puedas integrarte. —Oye, disculpa ¿te gustaría formar equipo? — le preguntas. Como respuesta, ella parece aliviada y asiente. —Por supuesto…— su tono es gentil, aunque también parece tan desesperada como tú. —Ven, busquemos a más personas—.

Al final, consiguen a aquella mujer mayor y a su hijo. Les queda menos de un minuto, y es cuando una mujer de ojos delineados y pulseras de colores se acerca a ustedes. Los mira de arriba hacia abajo, con suficiencia. —Idiotas insolentes, estúpidos a los que les gusta hacerme esperar ¡debieron invitarme a su equipo desde antes! Debería acuchillarlos…—.

Ella ya te desagrada lo suficiente con semejante presentación, pero no hay más tiempo, así que es la quinta en unirse a ustedes. Escuchan un pitido del reloj, y los guardias comienzan a ordenar los equipos para que se sienten en el suelo, en filas ordenadas; van a jugar a una carrera de ''cinco piernas'', superando cinco minijuegos. Los conoces, llegaste a jugarlos en tu infancia, probablemente igual que tus compañeros. Un par de veces miras a Dae-Ho, filas lejos de ti, su mirada puesta en ti. Intentas asentirle un par de veces, tratando de articular las palabras ''estaremos bien'', aunque no lo crees del todo.

[cosmicbolognesa]

"The Last Night" || Ascended Astarion and Tav || English & Spanish version

|| A narrative about Tav's last night before their conversion. Beware! I enjoy writing about Ascended Astarion with possessive and toxic undertones. There is no love here. ||

The moonlight streamed through the bedroom windows, bathing her bare skin in silvery tones. Shadows danced on the walls, cast by flickering candles swaying with the air thickened by desire and a certain tension. Astarion, reclined beside her, was a monument of beauty and danger. His crimson gaze glowed with an intensity that pierced the soul, as if every second spent together was meticulously calculated, as though everything had been perfectly orchestrated by him.

"My brightest star, my most treasured possession," he murmured, his voice soft and low. His pale fingers traced invisible lines along her arm, climbing to her neck. There, they lingered, his nails barely grazing her skin. "Every part of you... tonight belongs to me. Naturally, it has for some time now, but this is a particularly special occasion, isn't it?"

She held his gaze, caught between the magnetism he exuded and the weight of the decision she had made earlier. There was something about him, a kind of dark allure, that called to her like a siren's song. And she, fully aware of the danger, had surrendered to it moons ago.

The vampire leaned closer, his lips just brushing hers, a feather-light touch that sent a shiver down her spine. When he finally kissed her, it was with the depth of someone seeking to devour, to consume, to mark. His lips were cold, but the fire they ignited within her felt like it might scorch her.

His hands began exploring her with a mixture of delicacy and possession, gliding over her back, down her hips, as though he sought to memorize every curve, every contour. His fingers danced across her skin like she was an instrument only he knew how to play. It wasn’t the first time they had been together, but it felt that way. At least to her.

"Do you fear me?" he whispered against her ear, his cold breath contrasting with the heat he had stirred within her body. She shook her head, unable to speak, her breathing ragged as he led her into an abyss of pleasure and confusion. She could focus on nothing beyond the hungry kisses, the touches and caresses that left trails of fire wherever he grazed.

"Good," he replied, with a smile that blended tenderness and something much darker. "Because there’s nothing to fear... as long as you stay with me, of course," he added in a voice so soft she almost thought she had imagined it.

As always, Astarion moved with a confidence that bordered on theatrical, like an actor performing his role to perfection. His mouth explored every inch of her skin, leaving trails of kisses and light bites that set her body ablaze. Every touch seemed designed to map a path of pleasure across her, bringing her to the edge but never allowing her to fall completely. Not yet.

His movements grew more intense, his body pressing against hers with the surety of someone who knew exactly what he wanted. Astarion wasn’t merely touching her; he was claiming her. Every brush of his body against hers was a silent reminder of his dominance. When he finally made her his, it was with a passion that overflowed with both ferocity and a dark purpose that extended beyond mere carnal pleasure. His rhythm was calculated, oscillating between gentleness and ferocity, each thrust more intense than the last, his nails digging into her wrists, his mouth silencing any sound she might have made, bringing her to the brink again and again only to pull back and prolong the moment.

"You are perfect," he murmured, his voice tinged with a reverence that seemed genuine but carried an obsessive undertone, like someone polishing their favorite trophy over and over, admiring it. "Perfect for me."

His hands entwined with hers, pinning her as he leaned in to look directly into her eyes. His movements slowed, became deeper, and in that moment, she felt the world narrow down to just the two of them, to this act that felt like more than physical connection. It was too strong, too intense...

But even at the height of their intimacy, there was something in his gaze, a flicker that betrayed his true intentions. Because as Astarion gave himself to her, he was also shaping her, marking her as his—not just in body, but in spirit.

When they reached the climax together, she was certain something inside her broke and rebuilt itself all at once. But the moment didn’t end there. Astarion held her in his arms, his cold skin a relief against the heat still coursing through her body.

He murmured her name, caressing her face with a tenderness that seemed almost devout. "What we shared tonight is more than mere passion. It’s a bond, a vow... something eternal."

Before she could respond, she felt the brush of his lips against her neck. The kiss turned into a bite, a sharp pain that quickly gave way to overwhelming ecstasy. Astarion drank from her with an intensity that left her trembling, her body giving way as he held her firmly. For a brief moment, she seemed to surface from the haze, her heart pounding erratically. The vampire seemed to notice, for he sank his fangs deeper, his arms tightening around her, refusing to let go until she surrendered once more. She wanted to protest, but she was too weak, too lost in the haze he had created.

As the candlelight dimmed, a solitary tear slid down her cheek, though she couldn’t tell if it was from love or fear.

When he finally pulled away, his mouth was stained with her blood, his eyes glowing with a sated hunger.

"Now, my little love, rest," he whispered, carefully letting a single drop of his own blood fall into her parted lips. "You will be reborn. And you will be mine, forever."

The night continued, and as she lay spent in his arms, Astarion watched her with a mixture of tenderness and triumph. His affection for her seemed real, but so was his desire to control her, to turn her into something that could never escape him. And though his little fledgling didn’t know it yet, that night would mark the beginning of an eternity shared... on his terms. As the moonlight continued to filter through the window, he remained by her side, caressing her with gestures so gentle they contradicted the coldness in his gaze. For while on the surface it seemed like love, every word, every touch was a chain binding her more deeply to him, ensuring she could never break free.

SPANISH VERSION

La luz de la luna se colaba por las ventanas del dormitorio, iluminando la piel desnuda de ella con tonos plateados. Las sombras bailaban en las paredes, proyectadas por las velas encendidas que oscilaban al ritmo del aire cargado de deseo y cierta tensión. Astarion, reclinado a su lado, era un monumento de belleza y peligro. Su mirada carmesí brillaba con una intensidad que atravesaba el alma, como si cada segundo que pasaban juntos estuviera calculado con precisión, como si todo hubiese sido montado a la perfección, por él.

—Mi estrella más brillante, mi tesoro más preciado—susurró, la voz suave y baja. Sus dedos pálidos trazaron líneas invisibles por su brazo, subiendo hasta su cuello. Allí se detuvieron, sus uñas apenas rozando la piel—. Cada parte de ti... esta noche me pertenece. Naturalmente, lo ha hecho desde hace un tiempo, pero esta es una ocasión sumamente especial ¿verdad? —.

La contraria sostuvo su mirada, atrapada entre el magnetismo que él ejercía y el peso de la decisión que había tomado antes. Había algo en él, una especie de oscura atracción, que la llamaba como el canto de una sirena. Y ella, consciente del peligro, se había rendido lunas atrás.

El vampiro inclinó su rostro hacia el suyo, sus labios apenas rozándola, un toque ligero que envió un escalofrío por su columna. Cuando finalmente la besó, lo hizo con la profundidad de alguien que buscaba devorar, consumir, marcar. Sus labios eran fríos, pero el ardor que encendían en ella parecía quemarle.

Sus manos comenzaron a explorarla con una mezcla de delicadeza y posesión, deslizándose por su espalda, bajando por sus caderas, como si intentara memorizar cada curva, cada contorno. Sus dedos danzaron sobre su piel como si ella fuera un instrumento que sólo él sabía tocar. No era la primera vez que estaban juntos, pero así se sentía. Al menos para ella.

— ¿Me temes? —preguntó en un susurro, contra su oído, el aliento frío contrastando con el calor que él mismo había despertado en su cuerpo. Ella negó con la cabeza, incapaz de hablar, su respiración entrecortada mientras él la conducía a un abismo de placer y confusión. No podía concentrarse en nada más allá de los besos hambrientos, las caricias y roces que parecían dejar un rastro de fuego ahí donde él tocaba.

—Bien —respondió él, con una sonrisa que mezclaba ternura y algo mucho más oscuro—. Porque no tienes nada que temer... siempre y cuando sigas conmigo, por supuesto— agregó en voz tan baja, que ella creyó, por un momento, haberlo imaginado.

Como de costumbre, Astarion se movía con una confianza que rozaba lo teatral, como un actor interpretando su papel a la perfección. Su boca recorrió cada rincón de su piel, dejando rastros de besos y mordiscos ligeros que encendían su cuerpo como un fuego abrasador. Cada caricia parecía diseñada para dibujar un mapa de placer en su piel, llevándola al borde, pero nunca permitiéndole caer del todo. No aún.

Sus movimientos se intensificaron, su cuerpo presionando el de ella con la firmeza de alguien que sabía exactamente lo que quería. Astarion no sólo la tocaba; la reclamaba, cada roce de su cuerpo contra el de ella un recordatorio silencioso de su dominio. Cuando finalmente la hizo suya, lo hizo con una intensidad que desbordaba tanto pasión como un oscuro propósito más allá del placer carnal. El ritmo que marcaba era calculado, fluctuando entre la dulzura y la ferocidad, embestidas cada vez más intensas, sus uñas clavándose en las muñecas contrarias y su boca ahogando cualquier sonido que pudiera salir de los labios contrarios, llevándola a la cima una y otra vez sólo para detenerse y prolongar el momento.

—Eres perfecta —murmuró, su voz teñida de una reverencia que parecía sincera, pero escondía un matiz obsesivo, como alguien que pule su trofeo preferido una y otra vez, contemplándolo—. Perfecta para mí.

Sus manos se entrelazaron con las de ella, inmovilizándola mientras se inclinaba para mirarla directamente a los ojos. Sus movimientos se volvieron más lentos, más profundos, y en ese momento, ella sintió que el mundo se reducía a ellos dos, a ese acto que parecía algo más que sólo contacto físico. Era demasiado fuerte, intenso...

Pero incluso en la cúspide de su intimidad, había algo en su mirada, una pequeña chispa que traicionaba sus verdaderas intenciones. Porque mientras Astarion se entregaba a ella, también la estaba moldeando, marcándola como suya no sólo en cuerpo, sino en espíritu.

Cuando ambos alcanzaron juntos el clímax, ella estuvo segura que algo en su interior se rompía y se reconstruía al mismo tiempo. Pero el momento no terminó ahí. Astarion la sostuvo entre sus brazos, su piel fría un alivio contra el calor que aún palpitaba en su cuerpo.

Él murmuró su nombre, acariciando su rostro con un cuidado que parecía casi devoto—, lo que compartimos esta noche es más que simple pasión. Es un lazo, un juramento... algo eterno—.

Antes de que pudiera responder, sintió el roce de sus labios en su cuello. El beso se transformó en un mordisco, un dolor agudo que rápidamente dio paso a una sensación de éxtasis abrumador. Astarion bebió de ella con una intensidad que la dejó temblando, su cuerpo cediendo mientras él la sostenía con fuerza. Hubo un momento donde ella pareció emerger de aquella especie de bruma, y su corazón latió con fuerza, vacilante. El vampiro pareció notarlo, porque hundió los colmillos aún más y sus brazos la rodearon con mayor firmeza, negándose a ceder hasta que ella pareció volver a ceder. Ella quiso protestar, pero estaba demasiado débil, demasiado perdida en la bruma que él había creado. Y mientras la luz de las velas se apagaba, una lágrima solitaria resbaló por su mejilla, aunque no supo decir si era de amor o de miedo.

Cuando finalmente se apartó, su boca estaba manchada de su sangre, sus ojos brillando con un hambre satisfecha.

—Ahora, pequeño amor mío, descansa —susurró, vertiendo con delicadeza una sola gota de su propia sangre en la boca ajena—. Renacerás. Y serás mía, para siempre—.

La noche continuó, y mientras ella yacía agotada en sus brazos, Astarion la observó con una mezcla de ternura y triunfo. Su cariño por ella parecía real, pero también lo era su deseo de controlarla, de convertirla en algo que nunca pudiera escapar de él. Y aunque su pequeña y nueva engendro no lo sabía aún, esa noche marcaría el comienzo de una eternidad compartida... a su manera. Mientras la luna continuaba filtrando su luz plateada a través del ventanal, el permaneció a su lado, acariciándola con gestos suaves que contradecían la frialdad de su mirada. Porque, aunque en la superficie parecía amor, cada palabra, cada toque, era una cadena que la ataba más profundamente a él, asegurándose de que nunca pudiera escapar. 

[cosmicbolognesa]

"CONFUSION'' || outcanon, Stranger things

|| Hello, hello! Have you ever wondered what on earth Eddie was doing during the time he hid in "Reefer Rick's" cabin? I sure have! I think the show left us with plenty of questions, especially for us Eddie Munson fans (some of them answered in his book "Flight of Icarus"). So, here's another one of my writings dedicated to one of my favorite characters. I hope you enjoy it! ||

Eddie had no way of knowing. Really, if he had guessed they were hunting him and would go after his friends, he never would have made that call.

But how could he stay calm? Amid the pile of crap happening to him, knowing his beloved band of misfit geeks would be without him for—how long? Well, until the goddamn paranormal insanity stopped, and the neon arrow hanging over his head labeled "MURDERER" was cleared. Still hiding in "Reefer Rick's" house—a shady acquaintance of his dad's for whom he now worked—he could only pace from one room to another, emptying cans of beer and soda, wanting to claw his eyes out to erase the grotesque image of Chrissy Cunningham being consumed by that demonic thing. Her body floating in the air, bones slowly snapping...

What the hell was he supposed to do? He was terrified even to contact his uncle, knowing anyone who heard his story would think he was insane.

So, what then? He decided to take it one step at a time, and the first thing he thought of was making sure his kids were in good hands. Lighting a cigarette, he walked to the kitchen phone. He picked up the receiver and started dialing a familiar number. He waited a few moments, alert to hang up if he heard a parent’s voice.

"Hello?" Jeff’s familiar voice made him believe for a second that it had all been a nightmare.

"Hey, man. It’s Eddie..." he muttered, taking a couple of drags from his cigarette, his voice trembling.

"EDDIE?!" Jeff practically yelled but quickly tried to lower his voice. Eddie heard movement on the other end, probably Jeff heading somewhere more private. "What the hell happened? They’ve been questioning us all over the place! Henderson’s called Gareth like ten times, then the rest of us. Where are you? We heard about that Cunningham girl..." The confusion in Jeff’s words was clear. "Eddie, for God’s sake, what’s going on?"

"It wasn’t me, okay? I didn’t do it, Jeff!" Eddie was almost shouting, feeling that now-familiar lump rise in his throat. "I swear, I really didn’t..." He inhaled deeply and stubbed out the cigarette in the sink, his hands trembling. "I’d never do something so fucked up. I... I wouldn’t."

"Hey, wait. We know that," Jeff interrupted. "We know you, man. We’re just confused about what happened. Were you dating her? Did someone break in to... I don’t know, rob the place or something? What happened?" Jeff’s tone was concerned but also trying to make sense of things.

"I can’t explain it now, Jeff... but listen to me. I need you to keep things going, okay? I don’t know when I’ll be back. I don’t know when I’ll clear all this shit up or when they’ll leave me alone. You know all the crap they say about us... about me. I’m screwed, but ‘Corroded Coffin’ and the Club have to keep moving. Don’t stop rehearsing, keep pushing Chuck to polish those damn chords, and make sure Gareth doesn’t stop practicing his tempo changes," Eddie said, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. "The new campaign is ready, everything’s still in our classroom. Grab my folders and the manuals. You’ve got to keep instructing Gareth and keep him prepared. You’re in charge until then..."

"Shit, shit, shit... Eddie, we’ve all been worried about you, and now you’re saying all this like it’s some kind of fucking goodbye... You are coming back, right?"

"Of course, of course... but until then, if I hear you guys are playing anything different from our stuff or that ‘Corroded Coffin’ is now doing Madonna covers, I’ll make you pay," Eddie warned, forcing himself to use his usual energetic, impulsive tone. "Take care, Jeff. And—" he couldn’t finish because the call was cut off. He tried dialing again, but the line was dead.

Damn it, Rick! How long had he been locked up that the phone bill probably hadn’t been paid? Ugh. Hopefully, the little he’d managed to say to Jeff would be enough. He resumed his erratic pacing, weighing what his next move would be. At least the two things that mattered most to him weren’t left in some kind of limbo.

SPANISH VERSION

|| ¡Hola, hola! ¿Alguna vez pensaste en qué rayos hacía Eddie el tiempo que pasó oculto en la cabaña de ''Reefer Rick''? ¡Yo sí lo he pensado! Creo que la serie nos dejó con muchas preguntas a los fans de Eddie Munson (algunas de ellas resueltas con su libro ''El vuelo de Ícaro'' ). Así que, comparto uno más de mis escritos dedicados a uno de mis personajes favoritos ¡ojalá te guste! ||

Eddie no había tenido forma de saberlo. De verdad que, si hubiese adivinado que estaban dándole caza e irían por sus amigos, jamás habría hecho aquella llamada. Pero ¿cómo iba a quedarse tranquilo? Entre toda la pila de mierda que estaba sucediéndole, el saber que su amada pandilla de frikis inadaptados se quedaría sin él durante ¿cuánto tiempo? Bueno, hasta que la puta locura paranormal cesara y la flecha neón que pendía sobre su cabeza con la leyenda ''ASESINO'' fuesen aclarados. Escondido aún en la casa de ''Reefer Rick'', aquel viejo conocido de su padre y para quien ahora trabajaba, sólo podía moverse de una habitación a otra, vaciando las latas de cerveza y refresco, queriendo arrancarse los ojos ante el hecho de no poder olvidar la grotesca imagen de Chrissy Cunningham siendo consumida por aquella cosa demoníaca; su cuerpo flotando en el aire, los huesos quebrándose lentamente... ¿Qué demonios se suponía que iba a hacer? Le daba miedo incluso contactar a su tío, sabiendo que cualquiera que escuchase su historia lo tomaría por un demente.

Pero entonces ¿qué? Decidió ir un paso a la vez, y lo primero que se le ocurrió necesitaba hacer, era dejar a sus chicos en buenas manos. Encendió un cigarrillo y fue hacia el teléfono de la cocina. Alzó el auricular y empezó a girar el disco para llamar a un familiar número. Aguardó unos momentos, alerta para colgar si oía la voz de un padre o madre.

—¿Hola?— la familiar voz de Jeff le hizo creer por un momento que todo había sido una pesadilla.

—Hey, hombre. Soy Eddie...— un par de caladas al cigarrillo y la voz temblorosa.

—¡¿EDDIE?!— notó cómo el otro hacía un esfuerzo para controlar su tono y oyó movimiento al otro lado de la línea; posiblemente estaba dirigiéndose a un lugar más privado— ¿qué carajos pasó? ¡Nos han estado interrogando por todas partes! Henderson llamó a Gareth unas diez veces, y luego a los demás. ¿Dónde estás? Oímos lo de esa chica Cunningham...— la confusión en las palabras de su amigo era más que evidente— Eddie, por amor de Dios ¿qué está pasando? —.

—No fui yo ¿okay? ¡yo no lo hice, Jeff! — Eddie casi estaba gritando, sintiendo el ya familiar nudo en la garganta subir poco a poco— lo juro, de verdad...— inhaló profundamente y apagó el cigarrillo en el fregadero, las manos temblorosas— nunca haría algo tan jodido. Yo...—.

—Eh, espera. Lo sabemos. — interrumpió el moreno— te conocemos, viejo. Sólo estamos confundidos sobre lo que pasó. ¿Salían juntos? ¿Alguien entró a.…no sé, robar o algo así? ¿Qué pasó? — el tono del chico era de preocupación, pero también intentaba comprender lo que estaba sucediendo.

—Ahora no puedo explicarte, Jeff...pero escúchame. Necesito que sigan con la agenda ¿bien? No sé cuándo pueda volver, no sé cuándo voy a limpiarme de toda esta mierda, ni cuando me dejarán en paz. Sabes toda la basura que se dice de nosotros...de mí. Estoy jodido, pero ''Corroded Coffin'' y el Club necesitan seguir en marcha. No dejen de ensayar, sigan presionando a Chuck para que pula esos malditos acordes y que Gareth no deje de practicar el cambio de ritmos. — se frotó los ojos con la mano libre mientras seguía hablando— la nueva campaña ya está lista, todo sigue en nuestra aula. Agarra mis carpetas y los manuales. Necesito que sigas instruyendo a Gareth y se siga preparando. Estás a cargo hasta entonces...—.

—Mierda, mierda, mierda...Eddie, todos hemos estado preocupados por ti, y ahora me dices todo esto como si fuera una puta despedida...vas a volver ¿no?—.

—Claro, claro...pero hasta entonces, si me entero de que se han puesto a tocar algo diferente a lo nuestro o que ''Corroded Coffin'' ahora toca covers de Madonna, les haré pagar— advirtió, haciendo un esfuerzo enorme por usar el habitual tono enérgico e impulsivo que lo caracterizaba. —Cuídense, Jeff. Y--- — no pudo seguir hablando, porque la llamada se cortó. Probó marcar nuevamente, pero la línea estaba muerta. ¡Carajo, Rick! ��Cuánto llevaba preso, que la factura del teléfono seguro estaba vencida ya? Uh, ojalá que al menos lo poco que había hablado con Jeff sirviera de algo. Reanudó entonces sus erráticas idas y venidas, sopesando cuál sería el próximo movimiento. Al menos las dos cosas que más le importaban no habían quedado en una especie de limbo.

[cosmicbolognesa]

|| English & Spanish version||

"The Echo of Your Escape" / "El Eco de tu huida" (Ascended Astarion x Tav)

|| A short narrative crafted with love, inspired by the song "Within You" by David Bowie, featuring Ascended Astarion and Tav. I hope you enjoy it!

How does this piece sound to you? Link

The echo of your footsteps resounds through the empty halls, each sound more distant, fainter. I trace you as you move from one room to another, like a ghost wandering through the mansion... drifting further away, as if space could separate us, as if the mere act of walking could untangle the bond I’ve woven.

"Why do you run?" I murmur, though the chamber is empty. My words dissolve into the darkness, the same darkness that has always been my home. But this time... this time, I feel you pulling away from me, the shadow no longer embracing me as it once did. And yet, I would follow you to the darkest corners of this world, hunt you if I must, because you are mine.

Naturally, I find your resistance pathetic. Adorable, yes, but futile.

I stop in front of you, my gaze locking onto yours, and for an instant, I see the reflection of what we once were. Something wavers in your eyes, that spark of defiance I used to admire so much. But now... now I see you tremble. Not in fear—not yet—but in doubt. In hope. That ridiculous hope that I might change, that ascension hasn’t entirely consumed me.

You begin your usual spectacle of sermons and pleas—about leaving, about talking, about "recovering us." “I am not the same; I know. But neither are you, darling. We are no longer naïve, fragile souls waiting to be saved. Now, there is real power, and you crave it, though you deny it.”

You take another step back. Why do you look at me as if I were a monster? A bitter laugh escapes my lips. Despite everything, I find your disappointment somewhat amusing. "What did you think would happen?" I step closer to you again, each word a caress, and I allow myself to speak slowly, making my point clear. “That I would let you run? That you would ever be free to leave me?” My cold hand touches your face. It’s so soft that, for a brief moment, the urge to strike you threatens to take over. “You are my precious creation. My pet. Without me, you would be lost, broken, and you know it. Because no one could give you what I do, and no one would do for you even half of what I have done.”

You feel the weight of what we are. It hurts you. I see it in how you press your lips together, how you avoid my gaze. You try to cling to the idea of who I used to be, to an Astarion who might have loved you in a tender, yet weak and pathetic way. That man died when I ascended. What remains now is so much more. It is perfect, superior to everything. “Do you think you can still escape? That you’ll wake up, and everything will be as it was before? Do you think this is just a bad dream?” I whisper, leaning closer to you. “All your strength, all your courage... none of it can stand against what I am now. And you know it. You’ve known it since the moment you chose to stay by my side.” My grip on your face is firm, my nails grazing your cheek lightly, refusing to let you look away.

Your hands tremble, and for a second, I think you’re about to touch me. But you don’t. Instead, I lower my hand, and you pull away, letting that cold emptiness grow between us. My teeth clench, my patience thinning. Why must you insist on being so infuriating?

“You’re afraid. I see it. But you also feel... something else.” I close the gap between us further. I won’t give you a moment’s respite. I won’t allow you to doubt again. “That desire to return to me, to surrender. Because you know you belong to me.”

You retreat another step, and my eyes harden. “Run as much as you like, pretend if you must. Go ahead, flee. But you will always belong to me. And when you finally accept it... when you fall to your knees before me once more, it will be by your own will.”

SPANISH VERSION

|| Pequeña narrativa hecha con amor, inspirada en la canción ''Within You'' de David Bowie, con Astarion ascendido y Tav. ¡Espero que te guste!

¿𝗖𝗼́𝗺���� 𝘀𝘂𝗲𝗻𝗮 𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗲 𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗼? https://acortar.link/0tl4Gk

El eco de sus pasos resuena por los pasillos vacíos, cada sonido más distante, más tenue. La distingo moviéndose de una habitación a otra, como un fantasma vagando por la mansión...alejándose, como si el espacio pudiera separarnos, como si el simple acto de caminar pudiera desatar el lazo que he tejido.

—¿Por qué huyes?— murmuro, aunque la alcoba está vacía. Mis palabras se disuelven en la oscuridad, misma que siempre ha sido mi hogar, pero esta vez... esta vez, siento que me apartas de ti, que la sombra ya no me abraza como antes. Y sin embargo, te seguiría hasta los rincones más oscuros de este mundo, te cazaría si fuera necesario, porque eres mía.

Naturalmente, encuentro que tu resistencia es patética. Adorable, sí, pero inútil.

Me detengo frente a ti, mi mirada atrapando la tuya, y por un instante veo el reflejo de lo que éramos. Algo vacila en tus ojos, esa chispa de lucha que solía admirar tanto. Pero ahora... ahora te veo temblar. No de miedo, no aún, sino de duda. De esperanza. Esa ridícula esperanza de que pueda cambiar, de que la ascensión no me haya consumido por completo.

Comienza tu ahora usual espectáculo de sermones y peticiones acerca de salir, de hablar, de ''recuperarnos''... —No soy el mismo, lo sé. Pero tampoco lo eres tú, querida. Ya no somos ingenuas y débiles almas, esperando que nos rescaten. Ahora hay auténtico poder, y tú lo deseas, aunque lo niegues—.

Te alejas un paso más. ¿Por qué me miras como si fuese un monstruo? Una risa amarga escapa de mis labios. Pese a todo, encuentro un tanto divertida tu decepción. —¿Qué pensabas que ocurriría? — me acerco a ti de nuevo, cada palabra una caricia, y me permito hablar con lentitud, dejando claro mi punto. —¿Que te permitiría huir? ¿Que alguna vez serías libre para dejarme? — Mi mano fría se posa en tu rostro. Es tan suave, que por un breve momento el deseo de golpearte amenaza con dominar. —Eres mi preciosa creación. Mi mascota. Sin mí, te perderías, te romperías, y lo sabes. Porque nadie podría ofrecerte lo que yo, y nadie haría por ti ni la mitad de todo lo que he hecho—.

Sientes el peso de lo que somos. Te duele. Lo veo en cómo aprietas los labios, cómo esquivas mi mirada. Tratas de aferrarte a esa idea de quien era antes, a un Astarion que podría haberte amado de un modo tierno, pero también débil, patético. Ese hombre murió cuando ascendí. Lo que queda ahora es mucho más. Es perfecto, es superior a todo. —¿Crees que aún puedes escapar? ¿Que despertarás y todo será como antes? ¿Qué crees esto? ¿Un mal sueño? — susurro, inclinándome hacia ti. —Toda tu fuerza, todo tu coraje... nada de eso puede enfrentarse a lo que soy ahora. Y tú lo sabes. Lo has sabido desde el momento en que elegiste quedarte a mi lado— el agarre sobre tu rostro es firme, mis uñas rozan ligeramente tu mejilla, sin permitirte apartar la mirada. Tus manos tiemblan, y por un segundo, pienso que vas a tocarme. Pero no lo haces. En cambio, bajo la mano y te apartas, dejando que ese frío vacío crezca entre nosotros. Mis dientes se aprietan, la paciencia se agota. ¿Por qué insistes en ser tan molesta?

—Tienes miedo. Lo veo. Pero también sientes... algo más. — Me acerco más, no te daré tregua. No permitiré que vuelvas a dudar. —Ese deseo de volver a mí, de rendirte. Porque sabes que me perteneces—. Te retiras un paso más, y mis ojos se endurecen. —Huye todo lo que quieras, finge si quieres. Corre. Pero siempre me pertenecerás. Y cuando finalmente lo aceptes... cuando caigas de nuevo a mis pies, será por tu propia voluntad—. 

[cosmicbolognesa]

(English version) Fanfic! Kang Dae-Ho x y/n

Pt. 1/?

|| I’ve tried to keep the pronouns neutral to make it comfortable for everyone reading this, and I’ve also kept the FC neutral. For now, this is all my brain allows me to write at this hour, but I’ll be back to keep updating. A little patience, please!

I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. We love Dae-Ho here! ❤️‍🩹||

↳ 𝗢𝘂𝘁𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗻 •Squid Games

The room was packed with people. Some spoke in whispers, others remained completely silent, studying the strangers with whom they would share their fate. The room had white walls adorned with drawings of children’s games. The masked guards stood motionless, like shadows watching every move of those beginning to grasp what they had gotten themselves into.

Kang Dae-Ho leaned against a wall, arms crossed, trying to stay calm as he assessed the situation. This wasn’t his first time in a hostile environment, but this time, the uncertainty was worse. His mind replayed the initial instructions: settle your debts or die trying. A promise as simple as it was terrifying and deadly. He had survived the first round, but what guaranteed the same luck in the next game? He began to question whether voting to stay had been the right decision when everyone was called to line up for their food portions.

The young man moved with the others, and it was precisely in the line that he recognized you. You were weaving through the players ahead, walking with a silver-wrapped package in your hands along with chopsticks. His mind struggled to process the fact that you were there, in the same room.

Worse yet, in these deadly games. His eyes lingered on the way you moved, your hair—the same hair he had brushed so gently many times before—your profile...

He snapped out of it and called your name from his spot, a thousand questions buzzing in his head like furious bees.

You almost dropped your food at the sound of the voice calling you. You froze, heart racing, a knot forming rapidly in your stomach. In mere seconds, your initial surprise and confusion gave way to less pleasant emotions. Why, of all places, had you both ended up in this slaughterhouse?

With determined steps, you approached him, your brows furrowed and lips pressed into a tight line. Dae-Ho whispered your name, his voice tense and loaded with emotion. “Why the hell are you here? You weren’t supposed to be... How did you—?” But as he shuffled along the food line, you cut him off, unsure of what to expect. You didn’t even know what the remaining games would entail; only that you were here for the promise of money to start a better life. And now, knowing that not only your life but your partner’s as well depended on surviving, the whole situation turned into a nightmare.

“I’m wondering the same thing!” you shot back, looking up at him. “I thought you were in Busan! You said you had more interviews, that you were close to getting a job!”

Dae-Ho clenched his jaw, his gaze darting between you and the nearby guards, wary of drawing unwanted attention to their conversation. The situation was bad enough already. When it was his turn to get his food, he grabbed the package and moved to stand in front of you, both finding a spot near one of the massive bunk beds, thankfully with few people nearby.

“Of course I lied,” he thought but wasn’t about to admit it so easily. Instead, he lowered his voice, leaning slightly toward you. “And what about you? What happened to those night classes you couldn’t stop talking about?” he countered in a sharp whisper, gesturing briefly with his free hand. “Is this what you were doing? Why didn’t you say anything?”

He couldn’t hide the mixture of worry and anger in his tone. He knew you well but never imagined you could throw yourself into something so dangerous. It was all too much. After the massacre during that horrific game of "Red Light, Green Light," arguing was the last thing you had energy for—especially with him. “Dae-Ho,” you sighed, your exhausted gaze fixed on him, “we don’t have money, and the debts keep piling up. How long have we been scraping by with odd jobs? We have nothing...” You moved to sit on the edge of an empty bed, the taller man following close behind. “I couldn’t keep watching you try to shoulder it all alone... It’s my responsibility to help bring in money too...”

“I know, I know,” he replied, running his free hand over his tied-up hair, frustration evident. “But that doesn’t justify risking your life. You shouldn’t have entered this...”

“Oh? And you should? What makes it any different?” you shot back. “Look, it doesn’t matter anymore! We’re both in this hole now, and we have to get out of it ALIVE. All the money in the world won’t mean a thing if we’re not here to fix our situation.”

Dae-Ho seemed to wrestle with his response but eventually let his shoulders drop, exhaling loudly. “You make it sound so simple...” he muttered, his voice softening. “Forget the money. What if something happens to you? You’re everything to me, you know that. Please, we need to stick together. We need to think of a way to survive until the next vote. We can do this.” And though it seemed he was saying it more to himself, he sat beside you. “We have to be ready for anything...”

You nodded as you stirred some of the food in your container. Both of you took a few bites, unsure of what to say. You had been dating for less than a year, you were young, and in your desire to move things forward and try to improve your lives as a team, you decided to move in together, sharing Dae-Ho's way too small apartment. Your savings had been dwindling at an alarming rate, and the jobs you managed to get paid very little. Your student loans were still due, and more expenses kept knocking at your door.

Of course, there was also the fact that the little money you had managed to save disappeared the night you decided to help out that high school friend of yours. You believed her sad story, and since your partner was out most of the day working, you saw no harm in letting her stay for a couple of days. That was enough for her to steal your debit card and social security number, vanish, rack up purchases in your name, and take what little you had left. Naturally, Dae-Ho didn't blame you for wanting to help.

“So...” he said after a while. You already knew that, between the two of you, he was always the one who talked the most, even in the worst moments. “How? How did you end up here too?”

“A stupid game of Ddakji...” you admitted. “At first, I didn’t believe him, but when that guy showed the money, I... well—” you took another bite before continuing— “I thought a bit of quick cash wouldn’t hurt. It seemed like an easy solution at the time. I didn’t know it was going to be a million times worse.”

True to his nature, your partner moved his free arm to give your shoulder a gentle squeeze before wrapping it around you, making sure not to disrupt your eating. “Same situation... I thought it was a joke...” he confessed. “I imagined anything but competing with others to win money or die.” You could sense the shiver that ran through him as he spoke, but you didn’t say anything. Instead, you moved a little closer to him, shoulder to shoulder.

“You know what? As messed up as this is... I’ll admit, it’s good to see you. I hope we can get out of here and turn this into just a bad memory.”

In response, Dae-Ho nodded vigorously. “Of course! We’ll get out of here, pay off those damn debts, and start a new life from scratch, you and me. You’ll see!” With renewed energy, he stood up in front of you. “Listen, we need to move. I’m guessing you heard that guy talking too...” He set his food down on the bed for a moment to mimic the movements he’d seen from player #456. “‘Stop, stop!’” he imitated, then returned to his previous stance. “That guy knows what he’s doing... we should stick close to him. We need alliances—we have no idea what the next game will be.”

Despite his optimism, you didn’t respond right away. Fear and uncertainty about your future wouldn’t leave you alone, and though you were desperately trying to hold on to your partner’s words and enthusiasm, it was hard. Dae-Ho seemed to notice, as he stepped forward and took your free hand in his.

“Hey... we’re in this mess together, and we’re going to get out of it, okay? Try to eat a bit more, and in the meantime, I’ll start looking for allies for us... we can do this,” he repeated, giving you that smile you loved so much, tilting his head, his hair moving slightly, and his eyelids crinkling just a little. “I need you to trust me and help me—I can’t do it alone.”

And as you watched him begin to move toward that man and others seeking his help and comfort, you thought there was no way you could keep going if anything happened to him. You finished your food quickly, and after a few more bites, stood up. It was time to start looking for potential allies too, though it didn’t seem like an easy task.

[cosmicbolognesa]

(Spanish version) Fanfic! Kang Dae-Ho x y/n

Pt. 1/?

|| He intentado ser neutro en cuanto a los pronombres, para que sea cómodo para todo quien lea esto, y también mantengo el FC neutro. De momento, esto es todo lo que mi cerebro me permite escribir a estas horas, pero volveré para seguir actualizando. ¡Un poquito de paciencia, por favor!

Espero que lo disfrutes tanto como yo. ¡Aquí amamos a Dae-Ho! ||

↳ 𝗢𝘂𝘁𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗻 •Squid games

La sala estaba llena de gente. Algunos hablaban en susurros, otros permanecían en completo silencio, estudiando a los desconocidos con los que compartirían el destino. La habitación tenía paredes blancas y dibujos de juegos infantiles. Los guardias enmascarados permanecían inmóviles, como sombras que vigilaban cada movimiento de aquellos que empezaban a comprender en lo que se habían metido.

Kang Dae-ho estaba apoyado contra una pared, con los brazos cruzados, intentando mantener la calma mientras evaluaba la situación. No era la primera vez que estaba en un entorno hostil, pero esta vez, la incertidumbre era peor. Su mente repasaba las instrucciones iniciales: saldar las deudas o morir en el intento. Una promesa tan simple como aterradora y letal. Había sobrevivido a la primera ronda, pero ¿qué aseguraba tener la misma suerte en el próximo juego? Comenzaba a preguntarse si haber votado por continuar ahí había sido una buena idea, cuando todos fueron llamados a formarse para recibir su porción de comida. El muchacho se movió junto a los demás, y fue precisamente en la fila cuando te reconoció; estabas moviéndote entre los jugadores de adelante, caminabas con un paquete plateado en tus manos y palillos para comer. Su mente no terminaba de procesar el hecho de que estabas ahí, en la misma habitación.

Peor; en aquellos juegos mortales. Sus ojos observaron la forma en que te movías, tu cabello -ese que tantas veces había cepillado con suavidad-, tu perfil… Reaccionó entonces, y te llamó desde su lugar, mil preguntas revoloteando como abejas furiosas en su cabeza.

Por tu parte, casi tiras la comida al reconocer la voz de quien te llamaba. Te detuviste en seco, el corazón latiendo deprisa y una punzada en el estómago creciendo rápidamente. En cuestión de segundos, la sorpresa y confusión principal dieron paso a sentimientos menos agradables. ¿Por qué, de entre todos los lugares, habían ido a parar al matadero?

Con pasos firmes, te moviste hacia él; tu ceño fruncido y los labios en línea recta. Dae-Ho te llamó por tu nombre, su voz era un susurro, pero cargada de tensión—. ¿Qué demonios? ¡No se supone que deberías estar aquí! ¿Cómo has podido…? — pero mientras él avanzaba en la fila de comida, tú lo cortaste. Aún no sabías qué esperar. Ni siquiera podías saber de qué iban a tratar los juegos restantes, solo que estabas ahí por la promesa de dinero para una vida mejor, y ahora el saber que literalmente tu vida -y la de tu pareja, maldita sea- dependían de seguir ganando, convertía todo en una pesadilla. —¡Me pregunto lo mismo! — dijiste, alzando el rostro para mirarle. — Creí que estabas en Busan ¡dijiste que tenías más entrevistas, que estabas cerca de un empleo! —.

Dae-ho apretó la mandíbula, su mirada alternando entre tu y los guardias cercanos, temiendo que su conversación atrajera atención no deseada. Ya era bastante malo todo aquello. Finalmente, llegó su turno de recoger la comida y, una vez que tuvo el paquete en sus manos, se movió para quedar frente a ti, ambos cerca de una de aquellas enormes literas, afortunadamente con pocas personas cerca. "Por supuesto que mentí," pensó, aunque no estaba dispuesto a admitirlo tan fácilmente. Bajó la voz, inclinándose ligeramente hacia ti. —¿Y tú? ¿Qué hay de esas clases nocturnas de las que no parabas de hablar? —replicó en un susurro cortante, señalándote brevemente con un gesto de la mano libre—. ¿Esto es lo que estabas haciendo? ¿Por qué no dijiste nada? —.

El hombre no podía evitar que la preocupación se mezclara con el enfado. Te conocía bien, pero nunca imaginó que podrías lanzarte a participar en algo tan peligroso. Todo era demasiado y, luego de la masacre en aquel horrible juego de ''luz roja, luz verde'', lo último que tenías eran fuerzas para discutir. Menos con él. —Dae-Ho— suspiraste, tu mirada exhausta fija en él— no tenemos dinero, y las deudas siguen acumulándose. ¿Cuánto tiempo llevamos sobreviviendo con trabajos pequeños? No tenemos nada…— te moviste para ir a sentarte al borde de una de las camas vacías, el más alto siguiéndote detrás. —No podía seguir viendo como intentabas cargar con todo tú solo…a mí también me corresponde intentar llevar dinero a casa…—.

—Lo sé, lo sé— respondió, su mano libre pasándose encima del cabello atado, la frustración evidente— pero no justifica el hecho de que estés arriesgando tu vida. No debiste entrar aquí…—.

—Oh ¿y tu sí? ¿Qué diferencia hay? — contraatacaste. —Mira ¡eso ya no importa! Hemos caído en este agujero los dos, y tenemos que salir de él CON VIDA. De nada servirá que el dinero aumente, si no estaremos ahí para arreglar nuestra situación—. El muchacho pareció debatirse con su respuesta, aunque al final dejó caer los hombros y exhaló ruidosamente. —Haces que suene tan fácil…— su voz comenzando a suavizarse— olvida el dinero. ¿Y si algo te pasa? Eres todo lo que tengo, ya lo sabes. Por favor, necesito que sigamos juntos. Necesitamos pensar en la forma de sobrevivir hasta la próxima votación. Podemos con esto— y aunque parecía más bien decirlo para sí, se sentó a tu lado— tenemos que estar preparados para cualquier cosa…—.

Asentiste mientras revolvías un poco de la comida en tu recipiente. Ambos tomaron algunos bocados, no muy seguros de qué decir. Llevaban menos de un año saliendo, eran jóvenes y, en su deseo de avanzar las cosas y tratar de mejorar su vida como un equipo, decidieron mudarse juntos, compartiendo el -demasiado- pequeño piso de Dae-Ho. Los ahorros habían ido bajando con una velocidad alarmante, y los empleos que conseguían pagaban muy poco. Tus deudas estudiantiles seguían en cobro, y había más gastos a la puerta de su hogar. Por supuesto, también el hecho de que el poco dinero que habías conseguido juntar desapareció la noche en que decidiste acoger a esa amiga tuya del instituto. Creíste su triste historia y, como tu pareja solía pasar casi todo el día fuera por cuestiones laborales, no viste problema alguno en dejarla quedarse un par de días; estos fueron suficientes para que tu tarjeta de débito y número de seguro social fuesen robados y ella desapareciera, sobrecargando compras a tu nombre y haciéndose con lo poco que te quedaba. Naturalmente, Dae-Ho no te culpó por haber querido ayudar.

—Entonces…— dijo luego de un rato. Ya sabías que, de los dos, él siempre había sido el que más hablaba incluso en los peores momentos— ¿cómo? ¿Cómo terminaste aquí también? —.

— Un estúpido juego de Ddakji…— admitiste— al principio no le creí, pero cuando ese tipo mostró el dinero yo…bueno— comiste un bocado más antes de seguir— pensé que no estaba mal un poco de dinero rápido. Me pareció una solución fácil en ese momento. No sabía que iba a ser un millón de veces peor.—.

Fiel a su esencia, el contrario movió el brazo libre para darte un suave apretón en el hombro, antes de rodearte con el mismo, sin incomodarte para que pudieran seguir comiendo. —misma situación…pensé que era broma…— confiesa— imaginé todo, menos competir con más personas para ganar dinero o morir— pudiste notar el estremecimiento que lo recorrió al hablar, pero no dijiste nada. En cambio, te acercaste un poco más a él, hombro con hombro. —¿Sabes qué? Por muy jodida que esté la cosa…admito que es bueno verte. Ojalá podaos salir de aquí y esto sea un mal recuerdo solamente—. Como respuesta, Dae-Ho asintió enérgicamente. —¡Claro! Saldremos de aquí, vamos a pagar esas malditas deudas y a comenzar una nueva vida desde cero, tú y yo. ¡Ya lo verás!— y con energía renovada, se puso de pie, frente a ti. —Escucha, tenemos que movernos. Supongo que también escuchaste al tipo que decía…— puso su comida en la cama un momento, para imitar los movimientos que había visto del jugador #456 — ''¡alto, alto!''— imitó, antes de volver a la postura anterior— ese tipo sabe lo que hace…deberíamos mantenernos cerca, necesitamos hacer alianzas, no sabemos qué rayos vamos a jugar después…— pese al optimismo del más alto, no respondiste enseguida. El miedo y la incertidumbre de su futuro no te dejaban en paz y, aunque intentabas desesperadamente aferrarte a las palabras y entusiasmo de tu pareja, era difícil. Dae-Ho pareció notarlo, porque avanzó para sujetar tu mano libre entre las suyas.

—Oye…estamos juntos en esta basura, y saldremos de aquí ¿bien? Intenta comer un poco más, y mientras tanto empezaré a buscar aliados para nosotros…podemos hacerlo— repitió, dándote esa sonrisa que tanto te gustaba, con su rostro ladeado, el cabello moviéndose a la par y sus párpados arrugándose un poquito.— Necesito que confíes y me ayudes, no voy a poder hacerlo yo solo—.

Y mientras lo observas comenzar a moverse en dirección a aquel hombre y otros que se han acercado a él en busca de ayuda y consuelo, piensas que definitivamente no podrías seguir adelante si algo le ocurre. Apuras tu comida para terminar y, luego de algunos bocados más, te pones de pie y es hora de comenzar también a buscar rostros de posibles aliados, aunque no parece tarea sencilla.

[cosmicbolognesa]

(English version) Crowley meets Samson

|| A little writing from our favorite demon, just doing his job.

『 Then Samson cried out to the Lord, saying: “O Lord, remember me, I pray, and strengthen me, I pray, just this once, O God, that I may take vengeance on the Philistines for my two eyes.

Judges 16:28 』

...

From the beginning, the idea had seemed absurd.

I mean, did they really have to go through all that trouble of tempting Delilah first, and now, dissatisfied with the results, they had to stir up the drunken Philistines to have them bring a blind and chained Samson to the feast?

Crowley took another sip of the wine that the servants were passing around in small wineskins; it was sweet with a hint of spice, good and expensive without a doubt. His feet led him through some of the guests who were eating and shouting praises in the form of chants to Dagon, though most were so drunk that Crowley thought that, if the creature existed and could hear such a ruckus, it surely wouldn't be pleased. He vaguely wondered if God truly was. The redhead then approached the crude main table, where the group's leaders were drinking. A few persuasive whispers from the demon were enough to spread mockery and begin the humiliation of the prisoner. As no one seemed to pay much attention to the man with glasses as dark as his clothing, he was able to get closer to Samson and, after another sip of wine, spoke.

"This stuff is pretty good, you know? Though, of course, you’ve never tasted—nor will you ever taste—a single drop, right?" he mentioned casually. "I mean the wine," he clarified, remembering that Samson couldn’t see him, nor the wineskin he was holding. The man turned his face slightly in his direction, with his hair covering part of his face, offering no response, too busy murmuring a prayer to God. Crowley clicked his tongue. "Yeah, um...I don't think that will do you any good. God is probably too busy right now, and they"—he glanced around—"they don't seem too interested in making peace with you. I don't blame them, of course..." he shrugged as the other continued murmuring his pleas. "Anyway, if it comforts you, I'm here to watch how 'the sins of these men will crush them'—and yes, literally! Oh well...what can I say, man? It’s probably about to happen..." he raised the wineskin towards the blind man before drinking the rest.

He made his way to the exit just as they were placing the man between the two pillars of the place, still chained. By Satan, didn’t they realize? Well, it wasn’t his problem. He just had to reap the fruits. And so he did. When the first rocks began to fall and the foundations of the place collapsed, Crowley was already at a safe distance and merely watched the rubble and the pieces of bodies sticking out from the dust and sand. Without a doubt, Samson would have his place in heaven, but there were at least three thousand souls secured for his own side.

[cosmicbolognesa]

(Spanish version) Crowley conoce a Sansón

|| Un pequeño escrito de nuestro demonio favorito, haciendo su trabajo.

『 𝐸𝑛𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑠 𝑐𝑙𝑎𝑚𝑜́ 𝑆𝑎𝑛𝑠𝑜́𝑛 𝑎𝑙 𝑆𝑒𝑛̃𝑜𝑟, 𝑦 𝑑𝑖𝑗𝑜: 𝐷𝑖𝑜𝑠 𝑚𝑖́𝑜, 𝑎𝑐𝑢𝑒́𝑟𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑎ℎ𝑜𝑟𝑎 𝑑𝑒 𝑚𝑖́, 𝑦 𝑒𝑠𝑓𝑢𝑒́𝑟𝑧𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑎ℎ𝑜𝑟𝑎 𝑠𝑜𝑙𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒 𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎 ��𝑒𝑧, 𝑜ℎ 𝐷𝑖𝑜𝑠, 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑎 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑑𝑒 𝑢𝑛𝑎 𝑣𝑒𝑧 𝑡𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑎𝑛𝑧𝑎 𝑑𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑠 𝑓𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑜𝑠, 𝑝𝑜𝑟 𝑚𝑖𝑠 𝑑𝑜𝑠 𝑜𝑗𝑜𝑠.

𝐽𝑢𝑒𝑐𝑒𝑠 𝟷𝟼:𝟸𝟾 』

…

Desde un comienzo, la idea le había parecido absurda. Es decir ¿en serio había que hacer todo aquel rollo de tentar primero a Dalila y ahora, no conformes con los resultados, también había tenido que alborotar al montón de filisteos borrachos para que mandasen traer a un ciego y encadenado Sansón al festejo?

Crowley bebió otro sorbo del vino que los sirvientes repartían de un lado a otro en pequeños odres; era dulce y con un regusto a especias, bueno y caro sin duda. Sus pies le condujeron entre algunos de los invitados que comían y gritaban alabanzas en forma de cánticos para Dagón, aunque la mayoría estaba tan ebria que Crowley pensó que, de existir la criatura y escuchar semejante alboroto, seguramente no estaría complacido. Vagamente se preguntó si Dios realmente lo estaba. El pelirrojo se acercó entonces a la tosca mesa principal, donde bebían los líderes del grupo. Unos cuantos persuasivos susurros por parte del demonio, bastaron para sembrar la burla y que la humillación al prisionero empezara. Como nadie parecía tener particular atención en el hombre de anteojos tan oscuros como su vestimenta, pudo acercarse a Sansón y, tras otro sorbo de vino, habló.

— Esta cosa es bastante buena ¿sabes? Aunque, por supuesto, jamás probaste -ni tomarás- una sola gota ¿no? — mencionó casualmente— de vino, quiero decir— aclaró al recordar que Sansón no podía verle, ni el odre que mostraba. El aludido medio giró el rostro en su dirección, con el pelo cubriendo parte de su rostro y sin ofrecer una respuesta, demasiado ocupado en murmurar una súplica a Dios. Crowley chasqueó la lengua — Sí, uhm…no creo que eso te sirva de nada. Seguramente esté muy ocupado ahora mismo, y ellos— echó una mirada a su alrededor; todos parecían haber vuelto a dedicarse únicamente a beber, comer y cantar a gritos— no parecen muy interesados en hacer las paces contigo. No los culpo, claro…— se encogió de hombros mientras el otro seguía murmurando sus peticiones— en fin. Si te sirve de consuelo, estoy aquí para ver cómo ''los pecados de estos hombres terminan aplastándolos'' ¡y sí, literalmente! Oh, bueno… ¿qué te digo yo, hombre? Seguramente está a punto de suceder…— alzó el odre en dirección al ciego, antes de beberse lo que quedaba.

Se encaminó a la salida justo cuando ponían al hombre entre los dos pilares del lugar, encadenado aún. Por Satán ¿es que de verdad no se daban cuenta? Bueno, no era su asunto. El sólo debía cosechar los frutos. Y así lo hizo. Cuando las primeras rocas empezaron a caer y los cimientos del lugar se derrumbaron, Crowley ya estaba a una distancia prudente y sólo contempló los escombros y los pedazos de cadáveres que sobresalían entre el polvo y arena. Sin duda, Sanson tendría su lugar en el cielo, pero había al menos tres mil almas aseguradas para su propio bando.

[cosmicbolognesa]

(English version) +18 Eddie Munson

|| Continuing with my eternal love for Hellcheer, here’s another short narrative: Eddie and Chrissy have been dating for a while. She’s traveling with her family, and Eddie can’t stop thinking about her, missing her… ||

An hour had passed since his call with Chrissy, and he already had to fight the urge to reach out again. The Cunningham family had only been gone for six of their planned fourteen days away from Hawkins, on a family trip his girlfriend had told him about in advance. Even so, despite spending as much time together as they could before she packed her bags, he missed her as if they’d been apart for months. It was past ten at night, and he knew calling the hotel number she’d given him again would only get him in trouble with her judgmental mother, so he decided to leave it alone.

Since he wasn’t sleepy and had no plans for that Friday night, he grabbed his acoustic guitar and sat barefoot at the foot of his bed, practicing the opening chords of "I Have a Dream," an ABBA song he wanted to memorize perfectly to surprise his girlfriend when she returned. However, he barely got halfway through before he set the instrument aside and flopped onto his back, frustrated with himself. He couldn’t think about anything but her—her beautiful smile and the way her small nose crinkled when she laughed at his jokes. He rolled over onto his stomach and pulled a box of letters and keepsakes Chrissy had given him from under the bed. From it, he took a green-and-white plaid scrunchie. He remembered the day he’d kept it vividly—the way he’d gently gathered her ponytail in his hand to hold her head while kissing her, wrapping his other arm around her waist.

Lost in memories of Chrissy, intimate moments they’d shared in his room surfaced, too. As he slid the scrunchie over his lips, catching the faint, sweet scent of her perfume still clinging to it, he ached for her presence more than ever.

His mind swirled with images of their passionate kisses, the warmth and softness of her skin, and the quiet noises she made when things got heated. With these memories playing vividly in his head, he soon noticed his pants becoming uncomfortably tight. Eddie muttered a quiet curse as he kicked them off, leaving him in boxers halfway down one leg and his dark T-shirt with a Gizmo print—undoubtedly a gift from Chrissy. Lying on his side, he let one hand drift to stroke himself, his thoughts consumed by his girlfriend. As his movements quickened and he stifled his own moans into the pillow, his free hand gripped the scrunchie tightly.

His eyes were squeezed shut so hard he saw white flashes behind his lids, a familiar tingling coursing through his body as he teetered on the edge. His forehead was damp with sweat, dark strands of hair clinging to his neck and shoulders. Just as his thumb began circling the tip, one leg propped over a cushion for better leverage, the first wave of release hit him. Behind his closed eyes, an explosion of multicolored lights and dazzling white bursts filled his vision. He stilled his hand and muffled one last moan, breathing heavily, the scrunchie still clenched in his left hand.

Sticky and sweaty, he missed Chrissy more than ever, but at least after cleaning up the mess on his bed, he’d finally be able to get some sleep.

[cosmicbolognesa]

(Spanish version) +18: Eddie Munson & Chrissy Cunningham

|| Siguiendo con mi eterno amor al Hellcheer, traigo otra pequeña narrativa: Eddie y Chrissy llevan un tiempo saliendo juntos, ella está de viaje con su familia, y Eddie no puede dejar de pensar en ella, de extrañarla… ||

Una hora había pasado desde su llamada con Chrissy, y ya tenía que luchar por no tratar de comunicarse una vez más. La familia Cunningham llevaba apenas seis de sus catorce días planeados fuera de Hawkins, en un viaje familiar del que su novia le había contado con anticipación. Aun así y pese a que habían pasado tanto tiempo juntos como se les permitió antes de que ella hiciera las maletas, la extrañaba como si llevasen meses separados. Pasaban de las diez de la noche, y sabía que llamar nuevamente al número del hotel que ella le había dado no iba sino a traerle problemas con su prejuiciosa madre, así que prefería dejarlo estar.

Como aún no tenía sueño y no había ningún plan para ese Viernes por la noche, sacó la guitarra acústica y se sentó descalza en el pie de su cama, repasando los primeros acordes de ''I have a dream'', canción de ABBA que quería memorizar a la perfección para sorprender a su novia una vez que ella volviese. Sin embargo, no iba ni a la mitad cuando soltó el instrumento y se tumbó boca arriba en su cama, frustrado consigo mismo. No podía pensar en nada más que no fuese ella, su preciosa sonrisa y la forma en que su pequeña nariz se arrugaba cuando reía con sus bromas. Rodó de bruces para sacar de la basura bajo la cama, una cajita con cartas y detalles que la porrista le había dado en diferentes ocasiones, quedándose con una de sus scrunchies a cuadros verde oscuro y blanco; recordaba bien el día en que se había quedado con ella, la forma en que enrolló la mano suavemente en la cola de caballo de su novia para sujetar su cabeza mientras le besaba, rodeando su cintura con la otra mano.

Sumergido en los recuerdos con Chrissy, pronto se hicieron presentes memorias de íntimos momentos que ambos habían compartido precisamente en su propia habitación y, al deslizar suavemente la liga sobre sus labios y notar el débil olor al dulce aroma de su pareja en esta, no hizo sino anhelar su compañía más que nunca.

Su mente estaba llena de imágenes con los apasionados besos y caricias que ambos han compartido, las sensaciones de la cálida y suave piel de su novia, los tenues ruidos que ella hace cuando los besos suben de tono y, con todo esto rondando su cabeza, no tarda en notar que sus pantalones ahora incluso le molestan. Eddie no tarda en maldecir en voz baja mientras se deshace de estos y, quedando en bóxer a medio poner en una pierna y su camiseta oscura con estampado de lo que parecen ser miniaturas de Gizmo -un regalo de Chrissy, sin duda-, pronto se encuentra de perfil y usa la mano libre para comenzar a acariciar su propio miembro, sin dejar de evocar el dulce recuerdo de su pareja. Conforme sus movimientos son más rápidos y necesita ahogar sus propios gemidos en la almohada, la otra mano se aferra al scrunchie y sus ojos están cerrados con tanta fuerza que ve destellos blancos, un familiar cosquilleo envuelve su cuerpo y siente que está al borde de un abismo; su frente está cubierta de sudor y algunos mechones de cabello oscuro se han adherido a su cuello y hombros, mientras continúa. Es justo cuando su pulgar está describiendo círculos en el glande y tiene una de sus piernas doblada encima de uno de sus cojines para estar más cómodo y sus movimientos sean más rápidos, que llega el primer espasmo. Tras sus párpados cerrados hay una explosión de luces multicolor y destellos de un blanco reluciente, deja de mover su mano y ahoga un último gemido mientras respira con dificultad, sin aflojar aún el agarre del scrunchie en la zurda. Está pegajoso, cubierto de sudor y extrañando a Chrissy más que nunca, pero al menos después de limpiar el desastre en su cama podrá dormir un poco.

[cosmicbolognesa]

(English version) ''Am I go too fast, Angel?''

|| Another fandom I absolutely love is Good Omens, so here's a little interaction I came up with between Crowley and Freddie Mercury, where Freddie listens to Crowley vent about his heartbreak. I hope you like it! ||

𝖨 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖽𝗂𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝖶𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖽𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗈 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝖨 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝖡𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖵𝖺𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗈 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎

"Six thousand, six thousand bloody years and counting," he complained once again, rolling over the grand piano. His glasses rested on the left side, and his sorrowful silhouette reflected on the instrument's surface. "Is that a short wait? How can he believe I'm 'going fast'? Do you think I'm really speeding things up? DON'T ANSWER THAT, I DON'T WANT TO KNOW. ACTUALLY, I DON'T CARE WHAT HE THINKS!" The demon didn’t even allow the other to speak.

"Darling," Freddie sighed, "I usually adore your visits during my free time, but tonight I have plans with Brian. So, I would greatly appreciate it if you'd stop writhing around and just tell me how I can help you, love." The man barely brushed the keys with his fingers, humming to himself and occasionally glancing at his friend. "Can I be frank with you?" He played a few notes before lowering the lid and focusing his gaze on Crowley.

The redhead shrugged and flipped onto his stomach, resting his head on his hands. "As if saying 'no' would make a difference. Shoot."

𝖮𝗈𝗁, 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾, 𝗈𝗈𝗁, 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝖻𝗈𝗒 𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍'𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗂𝗇' 𝗍𝗈𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍, 𝗁𝖾𝗒, 𝖻𝗈𝗒? 𝖲𝖾𝗍 𝗆𝗒 𝖺𝗅𝖺𝗋𝗆, 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝗒 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗋𝗆 𝖳𝗁𝖺𝗍'𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝖨'𝗆 𝖺 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗈𝗅𝖽-𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝖻𝗈𝗒

"I want you to tell me, in your own words and WITHOUT resorting to insults, why it’s so painful for you that this little man asked to slow things down with his… relationship," the singer requested. Despite the softness of his tone, he tried to be firm and to get his dear friend to finally admit what he really felt.

"Friendly relationship, F-R-I-E-N-D-L-Y," Crowley emphasized. He huffed and flipped onto his back again, staring at the beautiful gold chandelier in Freddie's luxurious, spacious living room. "It's not pain, let's start there. It's frustration, for the record. Do you have any idea how much we've been through together? The hundreds of 'random moments' we’ve crossed paths and just happened to help each other out? I'm talking tons of lives, thousands of times where 'by sheer coincidence'—" he drew exaggerated air quotes with both hands— "we ended up in the same place to grab a drink or just chat." As he spoke, memories paraded through his mind at lightning speed. "For Satan's sake, I hate this. I hate feeling the stupid urge to get him those chocolates he loves—and taking the chance to deprive someone else of them, or tempt some overweight monk under a strict diet with a sudden sugar binge—just because I might run into him. I detest that those stupid imported tea bags remind me of him, you know? Every fiber of my being is sick of seeing some damn porcelain tea set and wondering if he has it in his collection."

He fell silent as he noticed Freddie simply watching him with a subtle smirk. Crowley knew that look all too well.

"Darling…" the man attempted, reaching to stroke the demon’s coppery hair.

"No, shut up. Say it, and I'll make you lose that stupidly magnificent voice of yours."

"Crow-leeeey—"

"YOU’VE BEEN WARNED."

Seeing the demon wouldn't relent in his stubbornness, Freddie simply sighed and busied himself brushing his fingers through Crowley's hair. "Why is it so hard for you to accept your fate? Love is, in my opinion, something worth suffering for—even every day of your life."

𝖮𝗈𝗁, 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝖻𝖾𝖺𝗍 (𝖦𝗋𝗈𝗐 𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋, 𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋) 𝖮𝗈𝗁, 𝗈𝗈𝗁, 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗆𝗒 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗍? 𝖢𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗂𝗍 𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝗒 𝗁𝗈𝗍-𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝖽𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗅𝗅

"I’m NOT supposed to feel ‘love.’ That kind of thing is reserved for the other side and for you mortals. I once told William that, just as he was writing the ending of 'Romeo and Juliet.' You find pleasure in suffering; we’re only meant to add numbers below, not 'experience' things," the demon stated firmly.

"'Not supposed to' is very different from 'not wanting to'… and from what I gather, you’ve spent more time here with us than… you know," he tilted his head downward. "So who cares? Besides, isn’t the greatest act of rebellion to defy what’s imposed on you?" Crowley didn’t reply. That line of reasoning was one of the strongest reasons his friend would inevitably end up among his ranks someday. “Are you sure they didn’t send you from down there, man?” questioned the demon, a little more spirited. In response, Freddie tapped his nose lightly with the tip of his index finger before adding, “Don’t change the subject.”

𝖨'𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖨 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝗈 𝗋𝗈𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖲𝖺𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽, 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗐𝗂𝗌𝗁 𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖮𝗈𝗁, 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾, 𝗈𝗈𝗁, 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝖻𝗈𝗒 𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍'𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗂𝗇' 𝗍𝗈𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍, 𝗁𝖾𝗒, 𝖻𝗈𝗒?

Finally, Crowley gathered the courage to turn around once more, looking at his friend from where he still sat atop the piano. “Is that what it’s like for you guys?”—his yellow eyes locked on brown ones—“To feel as if you’re thrown into a church, completely naked, then doused with holy water on every inch of your skin while a heavenly choir blares at full volume in the background, every time that person doesn’t seem to feel the same?” The other man laughed at the example, shrugging as he lifted the piano lid again and pressed a few keys. “Oh, darling, I don’t know how terrible that is for someone like you, but for people like me…” he offered a sad smile. “Well, it feels like your heart shatters into a thousand pieces, but you’d die without hesitation for a single look from the person you love. You’d give up anything material, surrender your soul and entire existence just to see them. Sometimes, it’s giving up your own happiness for that person’s well-being,” he explained.\

𝖶𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗆𝗒 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖥𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗆𝗒 𝖿𝖺𝗇𝖼𝗒 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝗅𝖾𝗉𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖨'𝗆 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎

“These things are maddening,” he murmured in response to the singer. “In my existence, I’ve seen countless stories, all revolving around love, and let me tell you, they always end badly. Someone gets beaten, beheaded, burned alive, has their eyes gouged out and is left bald, or ends up jumping off the first cliff they see… or the guillotine. And I assure you, we didn’t invent this whole romance thing… though it’s cruel enough that maybe I should look into who patented it.”\

𝖳𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 (𝖨 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗈𝗍 𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌) 𝖨 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖨'𝗆 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖳𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌

For a few minutes, neither spoke, each lost in their own thoughts. Freddie played a melody to which Crowley—for once—paid no attention. In his head, he replayed fragments of the conversation they’d just had, struggling not to dwell on phrases like “your heart shatters into a thousand pieces” and “you’d surrender your soul and entire existence just to see them.” Hadn’t he already given himself over to the angel? Hadn’t he long since given up on staying away, ready to follow him anywhere in the world, just to keep seeing those blue eyes he loved so much? That silly little smile before savoring a dessert or trying a new dish at a local restaurant? Didn’t he count the days until their meetings, their teatime outings, or delivering a gift he’d “gotten just to annoy the other side and score points for Hell”? Didn’t he feel something warm and heavy in his chest every time he noticed the disgustingly pure and angelic aura Aziraphale seemed to emanate as he kindly helped every stranger on the street?\

(𝖲𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝖻𝗈𝗒𝗌…)

He straightened slowly, hopping down and giving his friend’s shoulder a couple of pats. “You know, I think there’s a table free at the Ritz tonight; I should head off now. Say hi to May for me today and, if Roger calls, give him a whack in the crotch from me.” After their goodbyes, minutes later, Crowley was in the Bentley, driving home

Driving back in style in my saloon will do quite nicely Just take me back to yours, that will be fine (Come on and get it) Ooh, love (There he goes again) (He's my good old-fashioned loverboy) Ooh, loverboy

Twenty minutes later, he was at home, sitting in the chair in his study, dialing a number he already knew by heart. He only had to wait a few seconds to hear his voice, and suddenly, the world felt a little less disgusting.

What're you doin' tonight, hey, boy? Everything's all right Just hold on tight That's because I'm a good old-fashioned (fashioned) loverboy

"Hey, Angel. Got any plans for tonight?"

[cosmicbolognesa]

(Spanish version) ''Am I go too fast, Angel?''

Otro de los fandoms que me encanta es el de ''Good Omens'', así que traigo una pequeña interacción que se me ha ocurrido entre Crowley y Freddie Mercury, contándole sus penas de amor. ¡Espero que te guste!

𝖨 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖽𝗂𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝖶𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖽𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗈 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝖨 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝖡𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖵𝖺𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗈 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎

—Seis mil, seis mil pu t os años y contando— se quejó una vez más, rodando encima del gran piano de cola. Sus lentes descansaban al costado izquierdo, y su triste silueta se reflejaba en la superficie del instrumento— ¿eso es poco tiempo de espera? ¿Cómo puede creer que voy ''rápido''? ¿Crees que de verdad estoy acelerando las cosas? NO ME CONTESTES, NO QUIERO SABER. EN REALIDAD, NO ME INTERESA LO QUE CREA— el demonio siquiera daba tiempo a que el otro dijese nada.

—Querido— suspiró Freddie— usualmente adoro recibir tus visitas en mis ratos libres, pero esta noche he quedado en salir con Brian, así que apreciaría mucho si dejas de retorcerte y me dices cómo puedo ayudarte, cielo— el hombre apenas rozaba las teclas con sus dedos, tarareando para sí mismo y de vez en cuando mirando de reojo a su amigo— ¿Puedo serte franco? — apenas y tocó unas notas, antes de bajar la tapa y centrar la mirada en Crowley. El pelirrojo se encogió de hombros y giró boca abajo, apoyando la cabeza en las manos— Como si decirte ''no'' fuese a importar. Dispara—.

𝖮𝗈𝗁, 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾, 𝗈𝗈𝗁, 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝖻𝗈𝗒 𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍'𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗂𝗇' 𝗍𝗈𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍, 𝗁𝖾𝗒, 𝖻𝗈𝗒? 𝖲𝖾𝗍 𝗆𝗒 𝖺𝗅𝖺𝗋𝗆, 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝗒 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗋𝗆 𝖳𝗁𝖺𝗍'𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝖨'𝗆 𝖺 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗈𝗅𝖽-𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝖻𝗈𝗒

— Quiero que me digas, en tus propias palabras y que NO te limites a insultos, por qué es tan doloroso para ti el hecho de que este hombrecito haya pedido ir más despacio con su...relación— pidió el cantante. Pese a la suavidad de su tono, trataba de ser firme y lograr -de una vez por todas- que su querido amigo aceptara lo que realmente sentía.

— relación amistosa, A MIS TO SA— enfatizó Crowley. Resopló y volvió a quedar boca arriba, la mirada en el bonito candelabro en oro que poseía Freddie en su lujosa y amplia sala de estar. — No es dolor, empecemos con eso. Es frustración, que conste. ¿Tienes idea de cuánto hemos pasado juntos? ¿Los cientos de ''momentos por azar'' en que hemos coincidido y casualmente podido ayudarnos? Te estoy hablando de montones de vidas, miles de veces en que ''por mera coincidencia''— dibujó unas grandes comillas usando ambas manos— quedamos en el mismo sitio para tomar algo, o sólo charlar— conforme hablaba, los recuerdos desfilaban en su mente a toda velocidad— Por Satán, odio esto. Odio llevar tanto maldito tiempo sintiendo la estúpida necesidad de conseguirle esos bombones que tanto le gustan -y aprovechar para dejar a alguien más sin comerlos, o bien, tentar a algún monje obeso puesto bajo un estricto régimen alimentario y obsequiarle un repentino atracón de azúcar clandestino- cuando sé que podría toparme con él. Detesto que esas estúpidas bolsitas de té importadas me recuerden a él ¿sabes? Cada fibra de mi ser está harto de ver una maldita vajilla de porcelana y preguntarme si la tendrá en su colección— calló un momento al notar que Freddie simplemente le observaba con una sutil sonrisita. Conocía esa mirada a la perfección.

—Cariño...— intentó el hombre, llevando una de sus manos al cobrizo pelo del demonio.

—No, calla. Dilo y haré que pierdas esa estúpidamente magnífica voz—.

—Crow-leeeey—

— ESTÁS ADVERTIDO—

Al ver que el demonio no cedía en su terquedad, el otro simplemente suspiró y se mantuvo ocupado cepillando con sus dedos el cabello del otro — ¿Por qué te cuesta tanto aceptar tu destino? El amor es, en mi opinión, una cosa por la que vale la pena sufrir incluso todos los días de tu vida—.

𝖮𝗈𝗁, 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝖻𝖾𝖺𝗍 (𝖦𝗋𝗈𝗐 𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋, 𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋) 𝖮𝗈𝗁, 𝗈𝗈𝗁, 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗆𝗒 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗍? 𝖢𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗂𝗍 𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝗒 𝗁𝗈𝗍-𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝖽𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗅𝗅

— Yo NO debo sentir ''''amor''''. Esa clase de cosas están reservadas para el otro lado y para ustedes los mortales. Alguna vez se lo dije a William, justo cuando escribía el final de ''Romeo y Julieta''. Ustedes encuentran placer en sufrir, a nosotros sólo nos corresponde aumentar los números de abajo, no ''experimentar''— puntualizó el demonio.

— El ''no deber'' es muy diferente a ''no querer''... y por lo que entiendo, llevas más tiempo aquí con nosotros que...ya sabes— con un movimiento de cabeza señaló hacia abajo— así que ¿a quién le importa? Además ¿no hay mayor muestra de rebeldía que ir en contra de lo que te están imponiendo? — Crowley no dijo nada. Aquella línea de pensamiento era una de las razones con más peso por la que justamente su amigo terminaría perteneciendo a los suyos tarde o temprano. —¿Estás seguro que no te enviaron de allá, hombre? — cuestionó el demonio, un tanto más animado. En respuesta, Freddie le dió un toquecito en la nariz con la punta del índice, antes de agregar— No desvíes el tema—.

𝖨'𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖨 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝗈 𝗋𝗈𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖲𝖺𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽, 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗐𝗂𝗌𝗁 𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖮𝗈𝗁, 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾, 𝗈𝗈𝗁, 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝖻𝗈𝗒 𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍'𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗂𝗇' 𝗍𝗈𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍, 𝗁𝖾𝗒, 𝖻𝗈𝗒?

Finalmente, Crowley se animó a girarse una vez más y observó a su amigo, estando aún desde arriba del piano. — ¿Es así para ustedes? — los amarillos ojos puestos en los marrones— ¿Sentir como si te arrojasen dentro de una iglesia, completamente desnudo y luego te salpicaran en cada milímetro de piel con agua bendecida mientras de fondo suena un coro celestial a todo volumen, cada vez que esa persona parece no sentirse igual? —. El otro rió ante el ejemplo, encogiéndose de hombros mientras nuevamente alzaba la tapa y presionaba algunas teclas— Oh cariño, no sé qué tan horrible sea eso para alguien como tú, pero para los que son como yo...— le dedicó una triste sonrisa— bueno, sientes el corazón romperse en mil pedazos, pero morirías sin dudarlo por una simple mirada de la persona que quieres. Renunciarías a cualquier cosa material, darías tu alma y toda tu existencia sólo por verle. A veces es renunciar a tu propia felicidad por el bien de esa persona— explicó.

𝖶𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗆𝗒 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖥𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗆𝗒 𝖿𝖺𝗇𝖼𝗒 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝗅𝖾𝗉𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖨'𝗆 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎

—Estas cosas son para volverse locos— murmuró en respuesta al cantante— en mi existencia he visto montones de historias, toooodas girando en torno al amor, y déjame decirte que siempre acaban mal. Alguien es apaleado, decapitado, quemado vivo, le sacan los ojos y lo dejan calvo o termina saltando del primer acantilado que vea...o también en la guillotina. Y te aseguro que nosotros no inventamos esta cosa del romance...aunque es algo bastante cruel, quizá deba buscar quién tiene la patente—.

𝖳𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 (𝖨 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗈𝗍 𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌) 𝖨 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖨'𝗆 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖳𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌

Durante unos minutos ninguno dijo nada más, cada uno sumergido en sus propios pensamientos. Freddie tocaba alguna melodía a la que Crowley -como pocas veces- no prestaba atención. En su cabeza repasaba algunos fragmentos de la conversación que acababan de tener, y le costaba mucho no pensar en eso de ''sientes el corazón romperse en mil pedazos'' y ''darías tu alma y toda tu existencia sólo por verle''. ¿Que no se había entregado a sí mismo a disposición del ángel? ¿No había renunciado hacía muchísimo tiempo a permanecer alejado de él, dispuesto a seguirle a cualquier rincón del mundo, con tal de poder seguir viendo esos ojos azules que tanto le gustaban, su boba sonrisita antes de saborear algún postre o probar un nuevo platillo en algún restaurante local? ¿No contaba los días para esos encuentros, las idas a merendar, o entregarle algún presente que -según él- había conseguido sólo para fastidiar al bando contrario y darle puntos al Infierno? ¿No sentía algo cálido y pesado a la altura del pecho, cada vez que se fijaba en la asquerosamente pura y angelical aura que Aziraphale parecía emanar cada vez que iban por la calle y tenía algún gesto amable con todos los desconocidos que veía y ayudaba gustosamente? ¿Esa necesidad de acudir en su ayuda, incluso si -literalmente- debía arder por él e incluso recibir alguna llamada de advertencia por parte de sus superiores infernales?

𝖫𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖧𝖾𝗒, 𝖻𝗈𝗒, 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖽𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆? 𝖧𝖾𝗒, 𝖻𝗈𝗒, 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝗈? 𝖨 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝗒 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇

Las cursis declaraciones con flores y promesas que los mortales acostumbraban a usar no eran para nada el estilo de Crowley. Lo suyo era atormentarse a sí mismo durante la noche, cuando había pasado todo el día visitando a Aziraphale rodeado de sus libros y tazas de té y sentía que no había ningún lugar en todo el plano que preferiría visitar. Era terminar sus silenciosos reclamos sobre su injusta caída y degradación con un ''lo único bueno de esta mierda es que le he conocido a él'', y pensar que al menos, entre toda la basura que formaba parte de su vida, había un cálido y agradable rayo de sol. Una persona que no le miraba como si se redujeran a ser simplemente ''enemigos naturales'', sino como un ser vivo. Podía ser él mismo, sin ningún protocolo que cumplir o reglas absurdas a las cuales tener que limitarse.

𝖨𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗈𝗅𝖽-𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝖲𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝖻𝗈𝗒𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖱𝗂𝗍𝗓 𝗐𝖾'𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝖺𝗍 𝗇𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗂𝗌𝖾𝗅𝗒 (𝖮𝗇𝖾, 𝗍𝗐𝗈, 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖾, 𝖿𝗈𝗎𝗋, 𝖿𝗂𝗏𝖾, 𝗌𝗂𝗑, 𝗌𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇, 𝖾𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍, 𝗇𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝗈'𝖼𝗅𝗈𝖼𝗄) 𝖨 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗉𝖺𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗂𝗅𝗅, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝖾

Se incorporó lentamente y bajó de un salto, antes de dar unas palmadas en el hombro de su amigo. — ¿Sabes? Creo que esta noche hay una mesa libre en el Ritz, debería irme ahora. Salúdame a May hoy y, si Roger te llama, dale un golpe de mi parte en la entrepierna— y tras la despedida de ambos, minutos después Crowley estaba en el Bentley y conducía rumbo a su hogar .

𝖣𝗋𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗂𝗇 𝗌𝗍𝗒𝗅𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗆𝗒 𝗌𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖽𝗈 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗇𝗂𝖼𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝖩𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖾 (𝖢𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗂𝗍) 𝖮𝗈𝗁, 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 (𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇) (𝖧𝖾'𝗌 𝗆𝗒 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝖻𝗈𝗒) 𝖮𝗈𝗁, 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝖻𝗈𝗒

Veinte minutos más tarde, estaba en su casa y se sentó en la silla de su despacho, marcando un número que ya conocía de memoria. Sólo tuvo que esperar unos segundos para oírle y que el mundo pareciera un poco menos asqueroso.

𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍'𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗂𝗇' 𝗍𝗈𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍, 𝗁𝖾𝗒, 𝖻𝗈𝗒? 𝖤𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀'𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖩𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖳𝗁𝖺𝗍'𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝖨'𝗆 𝖺 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗈𝗅𝖽-𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖾𝖽 (𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖾𝖽) 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝖻𝗈𝗒

—Hey, Angel. ¿Tienes planes para esta noche?—. 

[cosmicbolognesa]

(English version) Eddie's Munson 𝘕𝘚𝘍𝘞 𝘢𝘭𝘱𝘩𝘢𝘣𝘦𝘵

|| I’m sharing this NSFW Alphabet about Eddie Munson that I was tasked to answer for an activity in the wonderful roleplay group where I usually write. Long live Hellcheer!

A: Aftercare (How are they after sex?): He absolutely loves holding Chrissy, wrapping her up, or simply keeping her in his arms once they’re done. Nothing brings him more joy than covering her with soft kisses and ensuring she’s okay. His gestures range from finding her clothes or a blanket to venturing out in his boxers to grab water or soda—whatever his princess needs.

B: Body (Their favorite part of their body or their partner’s): He doesn’t care much about his own appearance but adores every inch of Chrissy’s skin. He can’t stop telling her how beautiful she is, using everything from Tolkien references to song lyrics. Hands, eyes, legs, lips, nose, chest—he doubts there’s anything imperfect about her.

C: Cum (Anything related to it): They’re still too young to deal with a pregnancy, so they use protection. Since it’s 1986, Eddie is the one who usually buys condoms, and he doesn’t mind at all. He avoids finishing inside or on her body without consent or prior agreement. No matter how much he enjoys it, the last thing he wants is to make her uncomfortable or cross her boundaries.

D: Dirty Talk (Do they like it? If so, can you give an example?): He’s not a fan and doesn’t think it’s particularly comfortable. Maybe he’ll ask her about it in the future.

E: Experience (How experienced is your character with sex?): While Chrissy isn’t the first girl he’s had sex with, being with her is more intimate. He prioritizes her comfort and pleasure above his own.

F: Foreplay (What does your character enjoy in foreplay?): It depends on the moment—whether it’s planned or spontaneous. Caresses, escalating make-out sessions, and maybe some music to set the mood.

G: Goofy (How serious are they during sex?): Eddie loves making Chrissy laugh to help her relax before foreplay. He enjoys seeing her comfortable, and a little humor always helps things flow naturally.

H: Hair (Do they enjoy hair-pulling or having their hair pulled?): He loves when she buries her hands in his curls and gives a gentle tug, signaling she’s enjoying the intensity of the moment. Likewise, he enjoys placing his hand on the nape of her neck and pulling softly, ensuring he doesn’t hurt her or break the moment. As for grooming, Eddie trims but doesn’t shave completely. He doesn’t care if Chrissy does or doesn’t groom; he supports whatever makes her feel comfortable.

I: Intimacy (What does your character consider an intimate act?): If it’s planned, there will be music, candles, and maybe even flowers. If it’s spontaneous, he focuses on making her feel comfortable and desired, whispering how much he loves her and how beautiful and sexy she is while maintaining touches and eye contact. One of his favorite intimate moments is holding her gaze and tightly entwining their hands while he’s on top of her. Even he can’t describe how special and intense it feels.

J: Toys (Do they use toys? Do they hate or avoid them?): It’s 1986, so toys aren’t exactly easy to come by or a common topic of conversation. Besides, he puts effort into making sure his hands, mouth, and… other parts are more than enough for her.

K: Kink (It speaks for itself): He’s fascinated by the variety of expressions Chrissy has during sex. He loves watching her face, stealing occasional glances when she’s on top or beneath him. There’s one particular expression she makes—when he’s fully inside her—that drives him to hold her even tighter and kiss her passionately.

L: Location (Favorite place to have sex. Is it risky or safe?): Chrissy’s room, with the door locked and curtains drawn.

M: Masturbation (How often do they do it? Do they let their partner do it for them?): While he doesn’t do it as often as he used to, he resorts to it when they can’t see each other as often as they’d like. He enjoys when she does it, but he much prefers using his hands on her body.

N: NO (What’s a definite no during sex?): Anything involving pain or discomfort for Chrissy is completely off the table. He deeply respects her boundaries and would never do anything that might hurt her in any way.

O: Oral (Do they enjoy giving or receiving?): Though it makes his legs feel like jelly and he could probably sing higher than Rob Halford in Victim of Changes, he could spend hours between Chrissy’s thighs, going crazy over her taste and scent.

P: Favorite Position (It speaks for itself): Nothing beats having her on top, taking control of the rhythm and moving her hips faster and faster. But he also loves switching it up and being on top, sharing kisses while their hands are intertwined above her head.

Q: Quickie (What’s their opinion on a “quickie”?): He loves them! There’s always time for sex, even if it’s just half an hour before a D&D campaign or cheerleading practice. He’ll never say no to a few stolen moments with her.

R: Noise (Are they noisy or prefer silence?): Though he loves reminding her how beautiful she is and asking if she’s enjoying herself, most of the time his moans, pants, and heavy breathing speak for themselves.

S: Stamina (Do they like long sessions or multiple rounds in a day?): It depends on the intensity and how much time they have together. Sometimes it’s a quick eight to ten-minute session; other times, it’s a longer forty-minute rendezvous if neither of them finishes too quickly.

T: Taboo (What does your character consider taboo?): Anything involving anal is not something he’s eager to try. While he’s curious—thanks to some comments he’s overheard—he wouldn’t bring it up outright.

U: Unfair (Do they enjoy teasing or being teased?): He loves teasing Chrissy, but when she’s the one in charge, he usually ends up begging her to “put him out of his misery.”

V: Virginity (What was their first time like?): He’s not entirely sure, but he thinks he was 16 or 17 the first time he slept with someone.

W: Wild Card (Random option: A headcanon about your character related to the topic): He loses his mind every time Chrissy climaxes, especially when it’s on his hands, with her clutching his hair and her moans giving her away.

X: (Random option: A closely guarded secret related to the topic): It’s not something he shares, but he hasn’t only been with girls.

Y: Yearning (How much does your character desire their partner?): A single touch from Chrissy on his thigh or an intense kiss is enough to make him want to take things to the bedroom.

Z: Zzzz (How quickly do they fall asleep afterward?): Usually, it’s after her. He loves softly caressing her back or using his fingertips to give her gentle scalp massages. What else can we say? He loves her too much.

[cosmicbolognesa]

(Spanish version) Alfabeto NSFW: Eddie Munson

|| Les comparto este Alfabeto NSFW sobre Eddie Munson que me tocó responder para una actividad del maravilloso grupo de roleplay donde suelo escribir. ¡Larga vida al Hellcheer!

A: Aftercare (¿Cómo son después del sexo?): Disfruta muchísimo de abrazar a Chrissy, arroparla o simplemente mantenerla entre sus brazos una vez que han terminado. Nada le gusta más que llenarla de cortos besos y asegurarse de que está bien. Sus gestos incluyen desde buscarle ropa, una manta o hasta ir en calzoncillos por algo de agua o refresco para ella, lo que su princesa necesite.

B: Body (Su parte favorita de su cuerpo o de su pareja): no le importa mucho su propia apariencia, pero ama cada centímetro de piel que tiene Chrissy. No para de decirle lo hermosa que es -usando desde referencias tolkenianas, o fragmentos de canciones. Manos, ojos, piernas, boca, nariz, pecho… ¿acaso hay algo en ella imperfecto? Lo duda.

C: Cum (Lo que sea que tenga que ver con ello): aún son muy jóvenes como para cargar con un embarazo, por lo que suelen usar protección -siendo 1986, es Eddie quien normalmente compra los anticonceptivos, no le molesta- y evitará correrse dentro o en alguna parte de su cuerpo, si no hay consentimiento o no lo han acordado. Por mucho que lo disfrute, lo último que quiere es incomodarla o rebasar sus límites.

D: Dirty Talk (Si les gusta o no el hablar sucio y si sí, podrían ejemplificar): no es fanático, y no cree que sea algo cómodo. Quizá en un futuro le pregunte a ella.

E: Experiencia (¿Qué tan experto es su personaje con respecto al sexo?): si bien Chrissy no es la primera chica con quien tiene relaciones sexuales y antes ya ha habido otras personas, con ella es más íntimo y prioriza la comodidad y placer de su novia por encima del propio.

F: Foreplay (¿Qué le gusta a su personaje en el juego previo?): depende mucho del momento ¿es algo planeado o improvisado? Caricias, sesiones de besos que van subiendo de tono y quizá algo de música para crear ambiente.

G: Goofy (¿Qué tan serios o no son durante el sexo?): a Eddie le encanta hacer reír a Chrissy para ayudar a que se relaje antes del juego previo. Le gusta que ella se sienta cómoda y las cosas fluyan sin forzar nada, por lo que algo de humor siempre va bien.

H: Hair (Si tienen el gusto de jalar el cabello o ser quien lo haga, vello, etc.): AMA cuando ella hunde las manos en sus rizos y tira con poca fuerza, en señal de estar disfrutando la intensidad del momento. Así mismo, le gusta poner una de sus manos en la nunca de Chrissy y jalar suave, para no llegar a lastimarla y romper el momento. En cuanto al vello, Eddie simplemente lo recorta, no le gusta afeitarse del todo. No le importa si Chrissy tiene o no, no cree que afecte y siempre apoyará lo que sea que a ella le guste y haga sentir cómoda.

I: Intimidad (¿Qué considera tu personaje un acto íntimo?): ¿es sexo planeado? Habrá música, velas y quizá flores. ¿Es de último momento? Se esforzará en hacerla sentir cómoda y deseada, procurando susurrarle lo mucho que la ama y cuán hermosa y sexy le resulta, siempre manteniendo el contacto y las caricias. Una de las cosas que más le gusta y considera muy íntima, es cuando sostiene su mirada y entrelazan fuertemente las manos, estando sobre ella. Ni él puede describir lo especial e intenso que resulta.

J: Juguetes (¿Utiliza juguetes? ¿Qué tipo? ¿Los odia o desconoce?): 1986, no son precisamente fáciles de conseguir ni un tema de conversación frecuente. Además, se esfuerza para que sus manos, boca y miembro sean suficientes para ella.

K: Kink (Se explica por sí solo): está fascinado con la variedad de expresiones que tiene Chrissy durante el sexo, ama contemplar su rostro, dando ocasionales miradas cuando ella está encima de él, o debajo. Hay una expresión en particular -cuando está completamente dentro de ella- que le provoca aferrarla aún más duro y besarla con intensidad.

L: Lugar (Su lugar favorito para tener sexo. ¿Es riesgoso o seguro?): la habitación de Chrissy, con la puerta bien cerrada y las cortinas abajo.

M: Masturbación (¿Qué tan seguido lo hace? ¿Deja que su pareja lo haga por ellos?): si bien ya no lo hace tan seguido como antes, recurre a ello cuando no pueden verse tan seguido como les gustaría. Le gusta que ella lo haga, pero prefiere mil veces usar sus manos en el cuerpo de su novia.

N: NO (¿Qué NO permite durante el sexo? ¿Qué le disgusta o "apaga"?): definitivamente, nada relacionado con dolor ni que pueda resultar incómodo para ella. Respeta muchísimo sus límites y jamás haría nada que pudiese herirla de ningún modo.

O: Oral (¿Le gusta darlo o recibirlo?): aunque siente que sus piernas se convierten en jalea y podría cantar más agudo que Rob Halford en Victim of Changes (???), podría estar horas entre los muslos de Chrissy, enloqueciendo con su sabor y olor.

P: Posición favorita (Se explica por sí solo): ninguna le resulta mejor que tenerle a ella encima, tomando el control del ritmo y moviendo sus caderas cada vez más rápido. PEEEERO también le encanta intercambiar y estar sobre ella, compartiendo besos y con las manos entrelazadas por encima de la cabeza de Chrissy.

Q: Quickie (¿Qué opina de un "rapidín"?): ¡le encantan! Siempre hay tiempo para el sexo, así sea media hora antes de una campaña de d&d o un entrenamiento con las porristas. Nunca se negará a unos momentos a solas con ella.

R: Ruido (¿Son ruidosos o les gusta más el silencio?): aunque le gusta recordarle constantemente lo hermosa que es y preguntarle si está disfrutando, muchas veces sus gemidos, algunos jadeos y respiración ruidosa hablan por él.

S: Stamina (¿Les gusta las sesiones largas? ¿Varias veces al día?): depende de la intensidad con que sea el encuentro y del tiempo que dispongan juntos. A veces pueden ir desde una ronda de ocho o diez minutos, a encuentros de cuarenta minutos o un poco más, si es que ambos logran resistir y no correrse al poco tiempo.

T: Tabú (¿Qué considera un tabú su personaje?): cualquier cosa relacionada con s ex 0 - 4n@l. No es precisamente algo que desee practicar, pero ha oído algunos comentarios y tiene curiosidad, claro que no va por ahí diciéndolo.

U: Unfair (¿Les gusta ser tentados/molestados a hacerlo o ser quien tiente a la pareja?): le gusta molestar a Chrissy, pero cuando es ella quien manda, suele rogar para que ''termine con su sufrimiento''

V: "Virginidad" (¿Cuál fue la primera vez de su personaje?): no está muy seguro, pero cree que tenía 16 o 17 la primera vez que estuvo con alguien.

W: Wild Card (Opción random: Un headcanon de su personaje con referencia al tema): enloquece cada vez que ella se corre, especialmente si es en sus manos, mientras se aferra al cabello de este y sus gemidos la delatan.

X: (Opción random: Un secreto muy guardado referente al tema): no es algo que cuente, pero no sólo ha estado con chicas.

Y: Yearning (¿Qué tan deseoso es su personaje?): basta un simple roce de Chrissy en su muslo o un beso intenso para querer llevar las cosas a la habitación.

Z: Zzzz (¿Qué tan rápido cae dormido después?): normalmente es después de ella. Le gusta darle suaves caricias en la espalda o usar las yemas de los dedos para dar pequeños masajes en su cuero cabelludo. ¿Qué más podemos decir? La ama demasiado

[cosmicbolognesa]

LOVE THEORY 101

Tw: dead dove do not eat,manipulating, gaslighting, torture (ig but not in details), just messed up af

Husband! Salesman x wife!reader

Your scared.

Terrified actually and yet you still plant a soft kiss on your husband's cheek before he goes of to work, like you always did every single day without fail

He bends down slightly for you to be comfortable, a smile gracing his handsome features which you observe as he breaks away, whispering you a soft "goodbye" before he walks out of your house

You notice the way his smile never really reaches his eye, the way it vanishes immediately the second he's not facing you but you know better to question him

He likes it when you obey him, nodding to his evey word silently, soaking up his instructions. He likes how you don't question him,

Atleast not anymore

No, he demands that you don't question him

To be really honest, you and your husband never really got married, even if you did who would show up?

By law, the both of you were wedded as a married couple, the both of you signed the marriage contract, followed by a gentle kiss and some not very gentle ones

In theory your husband was perfect

He was gentle, slowly guiding you whenever the both of you went out, his hand on your lower back or his hand gently resting on your hips

Gently brushing your hair back whenever it got in the way, making patterns on your skin while you layed in bed next to him

He was sweet, whenever people saw the both of you in public they would gush, sometimes faces painted with envy, sometimes faces painted with joy upon seeing such a pure love

Young highschool couples gazing at the both of you while the girl would excitedly whisper to her boyfriend, saying that was what she wanted them to be in the future

Or old couples approaching the both of you, telling the both of you to stay happy and to hold on to eachother, they swear that young people these days don't know how to love eachother but says that the both of you were proving then otherwise.

He was wealthy too, and he made no efforts of hiding the fact. Buying you whatever you said you wanted- no he bought you things that you didn't even say you want. Even the smallest thing you glanced at was soon in the mercy of your palms, the receipt thrown away promptly

He even bought you your dream house, the very one you dreamed of having when you were a teenager, your teenage scrapbook filled with pictures of celebrity houses or pictures of houses from magazines, next to the pictures a lengthy description of how the house would look like

He made sure whatever you owned was perfect. Too perfect infact, it made your skin shiver

He strived for perfection, he expected it too

He was handsome, so very handsome. The first time you saw him you were left speechless, the air inside the room leaving you gasping, his dark eyes, smootly combed back hair and his smile. Oh god the smile that was etched in his face

His face

You could never forget it even if you tried too

Your a good wife too, in theory, atleast you think. Your husband might argue and say that you were perfect.

Always waking up early to pack him his lunch, making him his morning cup of coffee just the way he liked it

No sugar, no milk, just pure pure, hot black liquid in his cream coloured cup which it contrasted against

Helping him wear his suit, a white plain shirt accompanied with a grey or dark blue blazer and pants, the usual colour he sported

You'd stand infront of him, inbetween his legs as you combed his hair back, gelled and slick. You knew how exactly he did his hair, how he liked it done

Never forgetting to bade him goodbye as he left for work, kissing him on his cheek, still wearing your apron, sometimes the kiss would linger for a second or two before you'd pull away

He likes that too

And when he comes back home, tired after a long day at work, you don't ask him what he does, you don't know the answer to it either but your smart enough not to mention it, you simply ask him how was his day with a smile on your lips

He'd simply grunt in return taking out his shoes while you'll swiftly help him with his blazer and shirt, before taking them away for washing

You always prepared dinner on time, the food layed ready on the table warm and toasty, all his favourite dishes lined up.

God, he loved it that you knew him so well, it made him go crazy, he simply glances at the table and back at you

You make him go crazy, he is crazy

After dinner he'd make love to you,

but that wasn't love, no love doesn't feel like that, you think

Infact it was closer to hate, desire, craving. It was closer to obsession, it was the farthest thing to love

But what would you know about love?

Only a person who loves you would take care of you the way your husband did. Only a person who loves you would take someone's as broken as you and marry that person, only he would tell you how much he loves you while your squirming and struggling against his touch when your pinned down by him

Only a person who loves you would spare your life

If this was what love truly felt like then you were terrified of it, but it was all you had left now

when your husband is away at work your left all alone at your house, you feel uncomfortable, fidgeting against the soft sofa

The accuracy sends a shiver down your spine while your eyes traced the corners of the walls, the exact colour, exact descriptions

This truly was the house of your dreams, living in it also felt like a dream except you weren't sure if that was a good thing or not

You turn on the washing machine, sorting out the different colours of clothes when your eye spies on a pile in the corner

You notice them as your husband's

You pick it up, your hands against the fabric, before you can stop yourself you take a sniff of it

Expensive perfume, a little bit of sweat and suddenly your taken back by a disgusting smell, you gagg, bile raising in your mouth as you turn away from the jacket, dropping it on the ground

You look down at your hands and there's an unmistakable red painting them

Blood

Something goes quiet inside you, you could only hear the soft rumble of the washing machine as you stared at your hand

You bend down, turning over the jacket as you held your breath, there it was, a bloodstained corner and something inside of you told you that it wasnt your husband's blood

You think, why didn't i notice this before? Why didn't I say anything to him before?

But you did. You did notice it. You notice the bloodstains he brought home everyday after he comes back from work but every day you don't say anything and the next day when your washing his clothes you ask yourself why you didn't notice it, why you didn't question him

You gaslight yourself into feeling better about yourself, you are better than him aren't you? Your not like him, your a good person.

You are

You are a good person, so why were you forcing yourself to believe it

Little do you know, After you wash his clothes, scrubbing and scrubbing the bloodstain away with your own hands cause the machine doesn't do it justice

After you iron it, and fold it, keeping it neatly, your husband would throw it away, all with a gleam in his eyes

He doesn't wear clothes tainted by other people, but he finds it amusing, how you, his sweet wife would not say anything to him about it

How you would mumble to yourself, gaslighting yourself into ignoring everything, telling yourself whatever it is you mutter to yourself to make you feel better about yourself, your moral compass and your ethic judgement

He knows he has ruined it all, he has ruined you, but seeing you cling on such a belief that your still pure, fuck that turns him on so much

Every day he pushes you, he pushes the last bit of humanity out of you and it works. He sees the way you choose to ignore how messed up he is, he sees you justifying yourself for staying with him

It makes him so happy, you make him so happy

And so he gives you whatever you want, anything you so far glance at. He can afford it, his dirty money, the one stained in his victims blood can afford it atleast

He makes sure everything is to your liking, your house, your apartment, he knows every single thing about you, it makes goosebumps appear in his skin, he has so much power and information over you

He knows you think he's handsome, don't think he didn't see your face when you first saw him.

The way your eyes widened and your chest rose, the air inside the room stripping away in a mili second

He shot your friends right infront of you, I guess they were you friends atleast

Your eyes filled with tears while you tried to look away, his hands tightly gripping yours, pulling your closer to him, him and the gun in his other hand

He leaves you gasping, groaning, screaming, it makes him want to hear it even more

Your eyes search for any amount of pity or guilt in his dark eyes, but it's pitch black dark, the white surrounding his eyes contrasting against his iris

His hair, which was smoothly slicked back was now slightly messy and frayed, few of his strands sticking out, covering his forehead which was scrunched with excitement, completly enthralled while yours was filled with terror

He coos at you, poking the gun inside your mouth, telling you that the odds of you living are 1 to 6, changing the entire trajectory of the game

He tells you russian roulette is more fun when played this way

He pulls the trigger, you wince, shutting your eyes tightly, i want to live please, you think- no you beg

A shot comes out, you feel smoke in your mouth but your still alive, your heart beat still beating swiftly, your head throbbing, your tears cascading down your face but your still alive

"The chances of your survival was 1 to 6, you getting your head blown to bits was 5 to 6" he says, the gun lingers at the tip of your lips before it slowly exits your mouth and thats when you see it

The most scariest thing you've ever seen in your life, more scarier than your friends getting shot infront of your eyes, more scarier than the gun, more scarier than the dark look in his eyes when he shoved the gun in your mouth

The man infront of you smiles, his lips stretch and widen, there's a glint in his eyes that wasn't there before but that seems more dangerous to you, more horrifying than staring at his soulless black eyes

"You survived" he murmured, his voice beyond a whisper but you could still hear the excitement dripping down every syllable "good job"

He kisses you, you don't expect it to be so soft and tender, your hands are still behind your back, you thrash against his touch

"You beat all the odds" he murmured

Just like him

You beat all the odds, his precious sweet wife

Another reason why he likes you, your husband recollects while entering the house after a long day at work

And now, your welcoming the man who killed all your friends, who almost killed you with so much tenderness in your voice

Your broken

He likes the fact that it was because of him

He smiles when you help him remove his jacket, leading him into the dining room, he holds your hand, pressing his body against yours

"Sweetheart" he touches your lips and you freeze. You've seen that smile before

"let's play a game"

[cosmicbolognesa]

i’m reading the best 457 fic i’ve ever read rn. i keep having to pause and process because of how freaking good it is, holy cow.

[cosmicbolognesa]

(English version) "You're not alone, Dae-Ho"

|| After much hype, I decided to write this small narrative about the last we saw of Dae-Ho and the rest of the team. MY BOY DOESN'T DESERVE SO MUCH HATE FROM THE FANDOM! And I really need an interaction between him and Hyun-ju, so I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Dae-Ho my baby boy, sweet baby boy.||

The echo of the constant gunfire still echoed through the halls of the complex as Dae-ho ran towards the Dormitory, breathing heavily, his heart racing. His shoes made an irregular rhythm, reflecting his growing anxiety. The adrenaline that had pushed him to volunteer to look for ammunition was now turning into a tight, oppressive knot in his chest. Every shadow seemed to stretch and distort, as if the place itself conspired to trap him. The stairs seemed to shift, the pastel tones blazed with intensity, and the bloodstains on his clothes felt horribly heavy.

Upon reaching the Dormitory, the air was thick with a dense silence, broken only by the sound of his panting. Dae-ho didn’t pay attention to the players waiting there, huddled in corners, among corpses and half-destroyed bunk beds. He began searching among the fallen guards’ bodies, his hands trembling as he rifled through their belts and pockets looking for the precious bullets, feeling for the magazines before gathering them into the hoodie like a sort of bag. He tried to block out his mind, focusing on the task, but the sight of the lifeless bodies, the vacant eyes of his fallen comrades before the riot, pulled him back to a memory he had tried to bury for years.

He was young, barely a recruit in the Marines, when the incident occurred. A routine operation that went terribly wrong. He remembered the chaos, the screams, and the dry sound of nearby gunshots. Back then, he hadn’t even learned the basics about weapons, he was a rookie, an easy target for the jokes of his comrades. The image of that Marine, a recruit his age with whom he had barely exchanged words, falling under a hail of bullets, came back with horrifying clarity. He had frozen then, unable to move as the horror engulfed him, and now, years later, that same terror was trapping him again.

"Please, please no," he mumbled as one of the magazines slipped from his hands. He knelt by a guard, trying to pull a magazine from his belt, but his fingers refused to cooperate. They were numb, as if the weight of the past had paralyzed them. He couldn’t even hear what Yong-sik was saying. Others had approached to help him gather the magazines, but he seemed to move, albeit erratically, more on autopilot.

"You’re weak, you’ve always been," his father’s voice echoed in his mind, accompanied by memories of his constant scoldings. As a child, he had been the target of his father’s disdain, ridiculed for his interest in games and skills he shared with his sisters. "You need to toughen up. Men don’t cry, they don’t tremble. You’re a boy, not another daughter." But here he was, trembling like a leaf, trapped between the weight of his history and the terror of the present.

Dae-ho moved towards the doors, clutching the fabric wrapped around the ammunition too tightly, and his radio on his pants crackled with the desperate voices of his teammates, waiting for his help.

"I have to go, I have to get there," he repeated over and over in his mind. However, he hadn’t taken many steps when the gunfire grew louder and more constant. His eyes scanned the pink walls and stopped at the abundant crimson stains, the bodies on the floor, the smell of gunpowder...

"DAE-HO!" his radio blared, "WHERE ARE YOU?! WE NEED YOU, DAE-HO. WE NEED MORE AMMUNITION!"

The young man grabbed the radio and stared at it. He wanted to run and help, prove that he was as useful as the other comrades, but his body wouldn’t respond. Terror had paralyzed him, and instead of advancing, his feet slowly retreated, dropping the radio.

(...)

The lights in the Dormitory seemed to intensify when Hyun-ju arrived, her figure stained with blood, sweat on her forehead, dark hair disheveled, her eyes searching for any sign of her teammate. Time was running out, and she needed the magazines to hold on a little longer out there. Had he fallen? Had they caught him, perhaps? It was one of her worries, and that’s why she had come to find him. They couldn’t afford more casualties on their side, nor could they run out of bullets. It was Yong-sik who guided her to one of the bunk beds, where she found the youngest. Geum-ja and Jun-hee were also near the bed, both trying to make sense of what was happening and the condition of the teammates who had started the riot. The others, most of whom had voted for the circle to continue the games, were at the far end of the room, whispering and completely lost.

"Dae-ho!" Hyun-ju called firmly, her voice like an anchor in the midst of the chaos. But he didn’t respond, trapped in a spiral of fear and guilt. She quickly approached and asked what had happened. "The magazines? Have you found them?" she urged, looking around. "Dae-ho, we need to hurry!"

"I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I couldn’t… forgive me, Hyun-ju," Dae-ho repeated over and over. She moved to gather the ammunition, and when the boy shrank back, gasping in fear at seeing her extend her hand, Hyun-ju understood.

As a former sergeant in the special forces, she had seen men crumble under pressure, but she had also learned how to help them regain control.

Aware that any sudden movement could worsen his condition, Hyun-ju crouched in front of him, her eyes quickly assessing the situation. "Dae-ho, look at me," she ordered softly, but with the authority she had gained from years of service. When he didn’t respond, she carefully extended her hand, ensuring he saw the gesture before touching him. As soon as she made contact with his arm, Dae-ho flinched violently, as if expecting another blow.

"I won’t hurt you," Hyun-ju said, her tone low and calm. "I don’t want to harm you. Breathe with me." She inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, setting a steady rhythm for him to follow. "Inhale, two, three, four. Exhale, two, three, four." She repeated the cycle over and over, until his gasps began to synchronize with her breath.

Finally, Dae-ho looked up, his eyes clouded with tears. "I’m no good for this… I’ve never been any good. They’re all dead, right? It’s my fault they’re dead... they surely all died. Jung-bae counted on me." The words spilled out of his mouth, mixed with small gasps that threatened to trigger another panic attack.

Hyun-ju stared at him. "Fear doesn’t make you weak. You’re here, facing all of this. But you need to focus now. If you can’t do it for yourself, do it for the others. They need you, they’re still out there, fighting," she squeezed his shoulder gently, a quick gesture. "I need you. We need to go, Dae-ho. They need us now."

Little by little, Hyun-ju’s words reached him. Dae-ho nodded, with small but determined movements. His lower lip trembled, as did his hands, but he managed to get up. Together, they began to gather the ammunition, this time with Hyun-ju guiding each movement, offering support and direction with every step. Unfortunately, at that moment, soldiers in pink masks and outfits burst in, shooting at the ceiling and ordering everyone to get on the floor. The little stability Dae-ho had gained shattered, and Hyun-ju started reloading her weapon, determined to face them alone.

A tug on her arm made her turn sharply. It was Geum-ja.

"No, don’t do it," she whispered urgently. "Please, don’t die like this. We need you too."

To Hyun-ju, surrendering alongside the others, abandoning the small team still resisting outside, felt painful and inhuman. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t okay. They had trusted her to return! Her mind raced, calculating probabilities, strategies to counterattack… and then Geum-ja added, "That boy needs you," nodding toward Dae-ho, who lay face down on the floor, trying to stifle a sob with his hand, muttering more apologies and names. "She needs you too," said the elderly woman, looking at Jun-hee. "Stay with us, Hyun-ju," she asked once again, before collapsing on the floor next to her son. The soldiers continued shouting orders, and with a broken heart and guilt eating away at her, Hyun-ju finally set the cloth with the magazines and the rifle under the bunk, before lying down on the floor, next to Dae-ho. Once there, she reached out with her right hand to take one of his, intertwining their fingers, feeling the violent tremors of the younger one. She added a little more strength and held him firmly, a silent reminder to let him know, with a quick squeeze, that they were all together in this hell.