#Testing the asks and answers don’t mind this

[fir-fireweed]

so we got the ros' reactions to being walked in on when changing .... what about if they were the ones who walked in on MC?

I’ve probably gotten this ask half a dozen times but I never had enough brain juice for it, lol. Now I do! 😎

I figure this is early relationship, where feelings have been acknowledged but still awkward.

—

Calliope bursts through the door. You snatch the bed sheet off the bed and hastily cover yourself.

She’s not paying attention to you, her gaze fixed on a small device in her hands as she talks excitedly. “MC! I finished it! Wait’ll you see this! I was hoping you could test it-“

She finally looks up, her gold eyes shining. Then her eyes trail over your undressed state, your hands clutching the blanket to your body, though it leaves much uncovered.

“Oh. Oh! Oh, codd stopper, I am so sorry! I’ll, uh, I’ll leave. Here, you play with it and tell me what you think!”

She shoves the device into your hands, which makes you lose your grip on the sheet.

Calliope squeals and covers her eyes, hastily backing out of the room. “I’m sorry, really! I’ll just be naked… NEXT DOOR! I mean I’ll be next door! Not naked! Sorry bye!”

She feels for the door with one hand and scampers from the room, slamming the door shut behind her.

—

You’ve just finished undressing when the door opens and Corinne enters. You hastily grab the bed sheet to cover yourself.

She freezes mid-step, her hand on the doorknob, her eyes flickering quickly over your half-naked state. Her brow creases and her long eyelashes blink rapidly in that way they do when she’s processing information. Then without a word, she retreats out the door, closing it.

“Corinne, wait!” you call to her.

“Forgive me, I should have knocked first,” she answers from the other side of the door.

“It’s alright, really.” You tie the bed sheet firmly around your body as you approach the closed door. “You can come in, I don’t mind.”

A pause. “Are you certain?”

In answer, you open the door. Corinne’s gaze softens when she sees your face, the corner of her mouth lifting in a hopeful, half smile. You reach your hand out to her and she clasps it firmly.

—

You’ve just finished undressing when the door opens and Vicente strides in. His head is down and he doesn’t see you hastily grab the bed sheet to cover yourself. He closes the door behind him and finally looks up.

His eyes take in your half-covered state. He looks quickly away, his hair obstructing his face. You can’t see his expression but you watch the knot in his throat bob as he swallows.

“Shall I leave?” he asks. His voice is strained, taut like a cord ready to snap. You hear just the barest hitch in his slow, measured breathing.

“No,” you whisper.

He faces you again, his gaze holding yours. He locks the door and walks toward you.

—

Bayram strides into the room just as you remove the last of your clothes. You snatch the bed sheet off the bed and hastily cover yourself.

“Oh, I’m sorry, love.” He quickly turns and shuts the door behind him, then remains standing with his back to you.

“Bayram, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Waiting,” he replies easily. “You really have a beautiful form, love. No need to be embarrassed. Here,” he teases, starting to remove his own clothing, “don’t want you to be embarrassed to be the only one.”

“Bayram!” You grab him from behind to still his arms. The sheet slips a little and you press into his back to keep it from dropping entirely.

You feel the large man chuckle in your arms. “Well, this is an interesting dilemma.”

—

You’ve just finished undressing when the door opens and Tellus strides in. His head is down and he doesn’t see you hastily grab the bed sheet to cover yourself. He closes the door behind him and finally looks up.

His eyes widen when he takes in your barely covered state. “Oh, shit,” he breathes. Then he spins on his heel and rushes head first into the closed door.

“Damnit,” he exclaims, clutching at his nose.

“Are you okay?” you ask, reaching for him with one hand while still clutching the sheet in the other.

Tellus falls back against the door, waving you off with one hand. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he assures you, his voice muffled behind his hand. He keeps his gaze averted as he fumbles for the doorknob. “I’ll, uh, shit… I’ll talk to you later.”

He turns the doorknob and practically falls out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

—

These may actually pop up in story, they were so much fun to write! 😆

[couch-potato28]

Imagine being a Blue Lock manager! ⚽️

SPECIAL VERSION II.

(a/n: FINALE…this time fr! I swear this is the last one in stock lmao 😔🖐️ tyy for supporting this series of mine ❤️)

Warning-like one or two swear words

wc: 1,1k

also: How’s the new theme? A bit too green? just alr? Is it burning your eyes? Let me know guys

@ttheggrimrreaper @irethepotato @ohagiyoo 🫶

——————

FROM THE PROLOGUE:

"Congratulations L/N Y/N! Based on your results, you've earned your place as the manager of…

…Japan’s best midfielder, Itoshi Sae.”

Whoa whoa whoa, something’s definitely not right.

“You’re telling me, that I, with only a few months of experience got to be his manager?” you ask, seriously doubting the facility at how they could just drop a bomb on you like that.

“You’re a temporary replacement. His manager got into an accident and is currently on leave. They requested backup so we decided to send you.”

Ego said, sitting at the other side of the table, dead set on whatever plan he had in his mind. Without another word, he stood up and went over to pat your shoulder, his face serious as always. “Don’t mess it up.”

You could barely even comprehend any of the happenings when a fat stack of papers was placed in front of you, presumably about the player himself that had to be read and memorized before the first encounter.

Imagine being THE Itoshi Sae’s manager, prodigy of Japan.

——————

Itoshi Sae who calmly sips on his coffee as you introduce yourself first, slowly glancing up when you hand him your profile sheet. He scans it with a turtle’s pace, letting the tension in the air get even thicker.

Minutes pass in silence, before he finally looks up at you again, setting the paper down. He doesn’t say anything yet his eyes scan you from head to toe yet again—then as soon as he finishes his drink, the questioning begins—your experiences, general knowledge of soccer, the rules, and anything else that, if answered wrong, could get you fired before you were even officially hired.

His intense stare makes it a bit hard for you to concentrate, but after about 20 minutes of intense grilling, you miraculously pass his test as he nods in approval, standing up and waving you goodbye with a reminder: “Don’t be late.”

——————

•Sae who has no filter whatsoever. His opinions are loud and clear even if they aren’t the most positive—be it towards older or younger ones, he doesn’t care. Everyone is getting equally treated when receiving his harsh criticism including—you.

•It takes a while to adapt and although the previous manager did leave some notes for you—making your life easier—the first day with him is a chaos. His high standards and even bigger ego make him point out every single tiny mistake you made during the day with the first one being: why do you not know his coffee order yet?

•Mornings are fine, he does his routine and finishes just on time to start the first task of the day. Make sure you’re not in a chatty mood tho, he doesn’t have the energy to talk. Keep it efficient, and short plus you always gotta have his sunglasses otherwise he’s gonna sleep in the car while you’re talking.

•King of being unbothered. You two are late for team meetings? Chill out, they won’t start it without him anyway. You’re listing the monthly schedules including important matches? He’s scrolling on his phone, and leaves as soon as you finish yet by tomorrow he already knows everything by heart.

•Sae who’s cocky, way too closed off for his own good, and does not care about his reputation whatsoever, leaving you to run around, and stress for him as well.

•You try to be nice—you really do—but sometimes an annoyed eye roll or remark manages to escape from your lips yet he doesn’t scold you but instead smirks at your bravery. It’s amusing how you can silently cuss out the football prodigy of Japan so easily.

•Truly one of the best players, his training is nothing compared to what you learned about. He takes good care of his knowledge, pointing out his own strengths and weaknesses, while keeping his physique in check. Sometimes he even listens to your advice if he feels like it.

•Never argue with Sae—you’re not gonna win anyway. His stubbornness greatly surpasses yours, and his gaze sends shivers down your spine each time you try to convince him of something new.

•His schedule in short is—shit. And not because of you, but because of Mister Long Under Lashes who refuses some already planned events, or meetings simply because he doesn’t feel like doing them. You swear you’ve become the master of canceling last-minute plans. Make sure you’re flexible because you never know what he might want to do the next minute.

•Interviews never go as planned, some remarks always make their way up from Sae’s throat—like he physically can’t go a day without verbally attacking someone. His answers are one-worded and very dry—a nightmare for interviewers. Stays still for five minutes, after that he says he needs a shower.

•Surprisingly enough, commercials are fine. Anything really that doesn’t require him to talk, and you notice how he’s particularly fond of the ones related to skincare, enjoying the testing of the free products he gets after the shoots. (maybe that’s the reason why his skin is so damn perfect)

•This leads us to the ban of you eating fast food for lunch as his manager. Not in the car, not near him, heck not even in your own house are you allowed to consume fast food ever again.

•Specifically not after the incident when he suddenly snatched the bag of French fries out of your hands, and threw it to the nearest trash can.

•He apologized after the traumatic event he caused you, offering to pay for your lunch on a daily basis—just stop eating that junk near him. Is it because his nutritionist doesn’t allow him such cheap delicacies? Maybe. And it gives him pimples so you better start a healthier lifestyle.

•Doesn’t take disrespect from anyone, he will legit sue people if they write some bullshit about him. No dating rumors, or scandals with this man, his image is clean asf.

•There are days when Sae will feel more sentimental than usual, suddenly talking about how he has a younger brother, or how his childhood was like. He looks friendly when he’s talking about Rin, even showing you some of their pics when they were younger.

•He refuses to share what happened to him in Spain, it’s a mystery really. Always dismisses you if you’re curious telling you it’s none of your business.

•Lowk spoils you like I’m not joking. Expensive birthday present? It’s for covering his ass on the media. Tickets to his games in the VIP section? Thank you for keeping him in shape. Let’s you use his black card for the most trivial things? He’s just too lazy to buy them himself, and you need to treat yourself too.

•Great at remembering your habits, he has his own way of caring for you—jacket draped over your shoulders while you doze off on some papers, extra protein bar for you during meetings, and he will cancel all his appointments for the day if he sees you overworked.

[prosypepper]

lesson in anatomy

pairing: professor!suguru geto x fem!student!reader

summary: okay, so, cheating on your test technically worked out—but what happens when your super hot professor calls you in his office?

content warning: nsfw but no smut, dubcon themes, blackmailing, coercion, inappropriate student-teacher relationships, misuse of power, reader shows thighs to said professor, don’t say i didn’t warn u okay, 18+ mdni!!

pepper’s notes: uh! yeah this is kinda messed up but i wanted to use the cool skeleton pictures i found, pls notice them.

“i’m impressed with your test score from today.”

legs crossing, you stare at your anatomy professor across from his desk, nestled in the corner of his office. suguru hasn’t looked up from his laptop, typing away and scrolling through various pages, a white reflection in his glasses.

“okay—”

“however,” geto cuts you off, turning his laptop around to face you, “i find the difference in all your scores from before to now a bit concerning.”

your eyes scan over the screen, red lines all below one green one. it’s your test scores from his class, all 20’s, 30’s, 40’s, and then one 97% at the very top, shining amongst your other failed attempts.

you gulp.

“well, i’ve been doing extra tutoring for this class, y’know—with yuuji. you set me up with him,” you counter, tilting your head to the side with your eyebrows furrowing.

feigning innocence.

“i understand that,” he starts, tugging the black-rimmed glasses off his face, “but a twenty-six to a ninety-seven in two weeks? a bit suspicious, no?”

“yuuji’s a really great tutor, sir,” you try to reason, eyes flittering to suguru’s forearms as they rest on his desk. soft eyelashes blink at him, trying to maintain your façade of a girl who’s been putting in the work.

“is that so?”

“yes, sir.”

“his grade is worse than yours,” suguru almost laughs, a devilish grin creeping onto his face, “if i didn’t know any better, i’d think you’ve been cheating.”

you’re left speechless, for a moment, caught red-handed in something of a lie. eyes flicking down, you look at your thighs—where the permanent ink sits right under your jeans, with answers you’d struggled to keep up with.

and the fact you went to the bathroom twice during the test isn’t helping your case either.

“uhm, sir—i don’t—i have not,” you lie through your teeth, face heating up with the fact you’re now stuck in your dishonesty.

“no?” he teases, standing up from his desk, slyly strutting around to you and resting his palms on either side of your chair. geto’s face becomes dangerously close to yours, eyes searching yours for the dead giveaway that you’re lying. you swallow, thick and dry, craning your head as far away from his as possible.

“no, sir,” you breathe, eyes widening.

“your ‘tutor’ already gave you away.”

suguru wants to chuckle at the change of expression in your face, going from surprised to absolutely defeated, eyebrows sinking in, asking for forgiveness immediately.

“i’ve been teaching for ten years, you’ll have to do better than write on the inside of your thigh if you want to cheat,” he asserts, backing away and propping himself up on the edge of his desk with his palms.

“i’m sorry, sir, i just—i can’t take this class again, i already failed last year and they won’t pay for it again if i retake it,” you apologize, fingernail digging into the side of your thumb from nerves, “i’m sorry—i’ll do anything, please don’t fail me.”

“you know we have a zero-tolerance policy for this kind of thing, hm?” suguru says, voice smooth and calm as ever, “you’ll need to do quite a lot of make-up work to make up for this, even if all i do is fail you on the test.”

“i know—i’ll do it, anything, you name it,” you assure, a spark of hope coming back into your eyes.

“anything?” he repeats, taunting.

“anything.”

there’s a pause. you look at your professor, who’s contemplating too much in his mind—knowing how messed up it would be to make his pretty student do such terrible things for a flimsy grade. then, there’s also greed eating at his mind, remembering the lewd scenarios he’d had in his head over you, since the day you walked into his room two semesters ago to take his class for the first time.

“show me.”

your eyebrows furrow again, confused—what does he mean?

“show you what?” you question, tilting your head to the side once more. surely he didn’t mean—

“your answers. show me.”

oh, no. it’s exactly what you think.

“sir—i don’t—i can’t, that’s so—,”

“so what?” suguru interjects, “inappropriate? what’s inappropriate is my student cheating.”

you falter, lost for words. there’s no defense here—you can’t lie your way out of it. and even if you do as you were told, you’d only prove your professor’s suspicions correct. either way, you’re fucked.

“what are you going to do?” you breathe the question out, almost feeling lightheaded from the stress you’re being put through. suguru waits for a moment, thinking over his words in his mind before speaking.

“i’m feeling generous today. so, i’ll give you two options,” he says, holding his pointer finger up, “one, you don’t do as i say, and i report you to the dean. then, you get to go through all the motions of appealing and probably getting tossed out anyway.” his other finger comes up, motioning for the second option, “two, you do as i say, and i won’t say anything. i’ll even offer private tutoring lessons, professor to student.”

your expression falls to one of disappointment, pursing your lips and looking at the long-haired man, dissatisfied.

“you’re going to blackmail me into showing you my thighs?” you deadpan, hoping to work some sort of reverse psychology on the man.

“precisely.”

“why?”

“because, dear,” he starts, leaning forward just a little to connect your eyes, “i simply can.”

“and what if i report you?” you almost threaten, eyes narrowing with a challenge.

“oh please,” suguru waves his hand at you, brushing off your threats, “i see the way you look at me, and, your study buddy outed you on that, too.” he’s laughing again, smiling at your density.

was yuuji a fucking spy or something? jeez.

thinking for a moment, you remember everything you accidentally spewed to yuuji about your professor. okay, yes, he was hot—but everyone else thought the same thing! really, girls all around you never shut up about professor geto, always swooning over the way he asked them a question or looked at them in class.

and sure, you may have had a little bit of a crush on him—but guys your age were all immature and noncommittal. what’s the issue with wanting something you can’t have? at least your heart couldn’t be broken that way.

yet, unfortunately for you, the one man you thought you could never attain was practically risking his career for you—and also threatening yours.

what the hell!

“you’re lucky you’re hot,” you spit, standing up with such fervor you almost pass out.

“thank you.”

you hastily unbutton your jeans and push them down, revealing the ink sloppily written across the inside of your thigh. just as he suspected—no, just as he knew. suguru burns the image into his mind—taking extra note of the lacy panties you wear, almost like you planned on this happening.

“here. happy?” you retort with a disgusted look, immediately yanking your jeans back up and over your hips.

“very,” he responds, a satisfied grin etching into his features, “you’re free to go now. tutoring will be tuesdays and thursdays at 6, since you don’t have any classes then.”

“and if i don’t show up?”

“then you’ll fail,” he states simply, walking back over to behind his desk and sitting down, “and don’t try pulling this again. i won’t be as forgiving next time. you’ll get the extra help if you know what’s good for you.”

you’re baffled, truly. and your professor just turns his laptop back around, continuing to type away like you aren’t there anymore. you whip around and walk out of his office, contemplating too much to even comprehend—like, what the fuck just happened?

and, well, you’re afraid you don’t really have a choice.

you have a new tutor.

[dakusan]

📁 ASK D U M P 𓆩🩸𓆪 20 JUNE 2025

💉 TODAY'S ASK DUMP IS IN SESSION.

You sent offerings. I licked the envelope. Now your secrets live in my bloodstream.

Today’s spread is a banquet of biting, brat taming, creative meltdowns, psychic blood girls, cult curiosities, and vamps who do not play when you get grazed by another. Some of you want fluff. Some of you want fangs. Some of you want to be rearranged like furniture.

Either way, you’re getting fed. So kneel. Let’s begin.

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🌹💚 ANONS LOGGED: “does your vampire universe come with bonus ghosts or should we bring our own?”

To 💚anon and 🌹anon (because you asked similarly the same question so i decided to answer in one ask)—welcome, welcome, you’ve come to the right place. Let’s open the floorboards, sharpen the ritual knives, and talk about the supernatural landscape of the vampire!SKZ universe.

⸺⟡⸺

🕯️DO OTHER BEINGS EXIST IN THIS UNIVERSE?

YES. YES. GOD, YES. The vampire world is just the beginning. This universe is bigger, older, and infinitely stranger than anyone knows. You’ve got:

Witches (of course): not wand-waving Disney types—real, bone-deep witches who specialize in blood contracts, dream walking, resurrection spells, scent-binding, and veilcraft. Some are born, some are made. Most keep to hidden covens or disguise themselves in plain sight.

Shifters: Wolves, crows, serpents, and others bound to ancient pacts. Most are wildborn, tethered to territory and nature. Some work alongside vampire houses. Some are hunted.

Fae: Rare. Terrifying. Beautiful in that you’ll-never-leave-the-woods-again kind of way. Vampires don’t trust them. Fae magic doesn’t follow vampire laws—it rewrites them.

Oracles: Human-born, often unstable, marked by prophecy and plagued by visions. Vampires call them “Thread-Touched.” Their blood is dangerous—sometimes fatal, sometimes divine.

Demons: Not horns and hellfire—think contracts, echoes, bargains. Most live between realms. Some possess. Some inhabit. They know the old vampire families by name.

Ghosts, revenants, and dream-stalkers: The veil between life and death? Thin. And the vampire world is constantly poking it.

👁️WHAT IF THE BLOOD DOLL IS "IN TUNE"?

Oh baby. If the blood doll is an empath… or worse, a sleeper oracle? Someone who dreams of shadows that aren’t glamour-induced, sees things no one else sees, draws sigils and faces from another plane??

The boys lose their goddamn minds.

🩸HOW VAMPIRE!SKZ REACT:

Bang Chan He knows you're not normal. He saw it in your scent the first time. When you whisper a warning that turns out to be true—when you draw a sigil you’ve never learned—he gets quiet. He locks your blood samples in a vault. Has the coven run tests. Has Nocte Labs flag your name in red. And when you say “something’s coming”? He believes you. He prepares for war.

Minho He watches. Doesn't speak on it. But every time you start muttering about shadows at 3am, he sets salt around the bed. One night you wake up sobbing from a dream and find a knife under your pillow. He won’t explain it. He just says:

“Next time, stab first.”

Changbin Immediately starts cataloguing your symptoms like a case study—until he realizes your “delusions” are predictions. He starts dreaming when he drinks from you. Nightmares. You see them too. He won’t say it, but he’s scared. And in awe. And so, so protective now.

Hyunjin You're haunted. He knows. So is he. He draws the things you mutter in your sleep. Sketches them into whole murals. Sometimes your hands move at the same time. Sometimes your eyes go blank and he whispers, “tell me what you see.”

Jisung He jokes at first. “My baby’s got a ghost friend.” But when the glamours stop working on you he goes silent. He builds you a dreamcatcher from obsidian and bone. You hang it. The dreams get louder.

Felix Felix has seen these beings before. The shadows in your dreams? He met them. He ran from them. When you speak their names in your sleep, he clutches your wrist and says, “Don’t say it again. Even here.”

Seungmin He reads every book on empathic blood types, oracular trauma, and veil disturbances. He logs your episodes. He treats you like a rare artefact… but never lets you feel like a freak.

“If something’s coming, I’d rather face it next to you than blind.”

Jeongin You scare him at first. Not because he thinks you’re evil—because you feel like a mirror. You whisper things he’s never told anyone. You write things he hasn’t lived yet. And he tells you, gently: “I think we’re the same kind of wrong.”

⸺⟡⸺

💚🌹Anons—you opened the gates. Will I do a deep dive into these mythical beings? Who knows. Not any time soon that's for sure.

Thank you for the ask lovelies. stay hydrated in this heat 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🌀 COLLIN-THEGREAT LOGGED: “what if I topped a vampire but he was actually just letting me think I topped a vampire?”

OKAY COLLIN-THEGREAT—first of all?? You had me at “unstable human who loves a little mind fuck” because THAT IS THE ENERGY WE RUN ON HERE. 🩸💦🧠 Second of all?? YOU WANT DOMMIE BLOOD DOLL Y/N??? You want to flip the script on the apex predators??? You want to tug a vampire’s leash and see who moans first???

LET’S GO.

⚠️ warnings: 18+ MINOR DNI, smut, dom/sub dynamics, mild bondage, primal themes, blood kink (vampire lore), possessiveness. all consensual. all feral.

⸺⟡⸺

💋WHAT HAPPENS WHEN Y/N TRIES TO TAKE CONTROL DURING SEX (vampire!SKZ edition)

🩸 Bang Chan

You straddle him. You lean in close. You whisper, “Tonight, I’m calling the shots.”

He smiles. Slow. Lazy. Deadly. “Okay, sweetheart. Let’s see how long you last.”

Let you think you’re in control for five minutes flat. He’s watching. Studying. You tie his wrists? He’ll stay still—until you slip. He’ll grind up into you just once, and suddenly your rhythm’s his, your orgasm’s right there, and his voice is in your ear saying: “Control isn’t about who’s on top. It’s about who breaks first. Wanna try again?”

Subby? Never. Let you pretend? Oh, absolutely. Secretly obsessed with your dominance streak? Completely. Will use it to destroy you later? 100%.

🩸 Lee Minho

You pull him by the collar of his shirt. You try to pin his wrists. You want to see the predator submit.

He laughs.

“Darling. You want to top a vampire built to break bones?”

But when you command him? When you look him dead in the eyes and say, “On your knees”—he goes still. He kneels. Slowly. But not because he’s yours.

Because he wants to see what kind of god you think you are. And then he'll worship you. Worship you wrong.

“I’ll obey. But don’t beg for mercy when you forget who you’re riding.”

🩸 Seo Changbin

You tell him you’re setting the pace tonight.

He leans back. Smirks. Spreads his thighs. “Go on then. Do your worst.”

He lives for it. You being greedy? Desperate? Riding his cock? Grinding over his abs with your hands on his chest?? YES.

He won’t stop you. But he will tease you relentlessly.

“This what you wanted, baby? You look so cute when you’re trying to be in charge.” “You wanna use me? Go ahead. Just remember who’s gonna flip you over when you’re done.”

A+ for enthusiastic consent and ruinous comebacks.

🩸 Hwang Hyunjin

You tie him down. Tell him not to move. Not to bite. Not to speak.

He moans.

He wants to be wrecked. He wants to be worshipped. He wants to look up at you, flushed and trembling, saying “Is this what you wanted?” But make no mistake—if you falter even once, he’ll snap the restraints with his teeth and flip you so fast your lungs forget how to work.

“You wanted a pet, didn’t you?… But pets bite, darling.”

🩸 Han Jisung

He’s SO INTO IT. He’ll let you sit on his face. He’ll moan under you. He’ll beg to taste you. To fuck you.

But the second you think you’re fully in control? He flips you with a laugh and pins you to the mattress like a fucking wrestler.

“You were doing so good, baby. But now it’s my turn.”

🩸 Lee Felix

You straddle him. Tell him to lie still. Keep his hands off. You trail your fingers over his chest and whisper, “You're mine tonight.”

And he just smiles. Bright. Sweet. Like he’s never done anything wrong in his life.

“Okay, baby. Tell me what to do.”

But something in his voice clicks. Something in his eyes says, this is a trap. He lets you use him—grind on him, ride him, take what you need—and he moans like he’s thankful for it.

But when you come undone? When your pace falters, when your thighs shake, when your breath catches? His hands suddenly grip your hips. Hard. And he whispers against your throat: “My turn.”

🩸 Kim Seungmin

He lets you think you’ve won. You’re grinding on him. Whimpering in his lap. Telling him to shut up and be good.

He’s quiet. Watching. And then he says, low and deadly: “You think I’m obedient just because I don’t speak?”

He’ll give you exactly what you want—until it’s no longer what you need. Then it’s over. He’ll flip the script, flip you, and you’ll be begging him to finish what you started.

Seungmin is dangerous when provoked. Loves the illusion of surrender.

🩸 Yang Jeongin

At first, he blushes when you take control. He lets you pin him. Lets you ride. Lets you whisper filth in his ear.

But the second he catches the scent of your slick and your heartbeat stutters—Something in him breaks open. His eyes go sharp. His smile goes slow. Too slow. You see the fangs—just barely peeking. And then he tilts his head and says: “You wanna be in charge?… Then take it, baby. Before I do.”

It is at that moment, you realize you’ve awakened something, and it’s not stopping. He doesn’t flip you. He lets you stay on top—lets you think it’s still yours—while he drags moans from your chest and wrecks you from underneath with lethal sweetness.

“Told you I could be good... But it’s so much more fun when I’m not.”

⸺⟡⸺

YOU’RE WELCOME. STAY HORNY. STAY DELIRIOUS. AND NEVER TRUST A SUBMISSIVE VAMPIRE. 🥀

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🍓 ANON LOGGED: “currently one intrusive thought away from sobbing… can Chan hug me and tsundere Lino call me annoying in a loving way?”

AWW ANON 😭💖 come here. First of all: YOU’RE SO LOVED. Second: I am absolutely giving you both soft Chan and tsundere Minho. You deserve fluff so powerful it wraps around your anxiety like a blanket fresh out the dryer.

⸺⟡⸺

Bang Chan

You’re overwhelmed. Your chest feels too tight. The world’s too loud. Everything’s shaking—maybe even your hands.

And then he finds you. Doesn’t say anything at first. Just drops to his knees in front of you. Takes your hands in his, thumbs brushing the inside of your wrists, grounding you.

“Hey, hey… I got you. You’re okay. Just breathe, alright?”

He pulls you into his lap. Wraps his arms around your back. Rocks you—slow and steady, like you’re the only rhythm he knows. His hoodie smells like vanilla and something warm, and his heartbeat is so steady it calms your own.

“It's okay. I am here. I'm staying. Let me hold you, take it all out. I'll listen.”

When you finally look up, there are no questions in his eyes. Just that soft, half-smile—the one he saves for when he’s proud of you. And he presses a kiss to your forehead like he’s sealing you back together.

Lee Minho

You try to hide how bad it is. Of course you do. Minho notices immediately.

“Why are you making that face?”

“I’m fine.”

“That’s what people say when they’re definitely not.”

You try to laugh it off. He glares at you. Mutters something under his breath. Storms out of the room.

You think you scared him off.

Then he comes back.

With your favourite snack. Your cosiest blanket. A little heat pack that smells faintly of lavender. And he throws it all down next to you on the bed like he’s annoyed with it—then sighs and sits beside you, cross-legged and arms folded.

“I’m not good at this, okay?”

“But you don’t have to act happy around me. Just be you. Even if you’re sad. I’ll deal with it.”

His hand finds yours and he squeezes gently. You lean on his shoulder. He doesn't move. Doesn’t flinch. Just sits there quietly, letting you cry if you need to, while the show in the background on the tv plays and the soft glow of the screen washes over both of you.

⸺⟡⸺

🥹 I hope this helps even a little bit. 💌 Sending you soft hoodie hugs and forehead kisses

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🐈 ANON LOGGED: “what if someone even thinks about touching her—do they die fast or slow?”

OH 🐈ANON. YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS WHEN SOME mortal fool lays even a finger on the blood doll that belongs to the most dangerous vampire syndicate alive? You want to know what happens when someone thinks they can just graze her wrist or breathe too close like she isn’t marked, claimed, and watched from every shadow?

OH, BABY. Let me show you what unholy wrath looks like.

⸺⟡⸺

🩸 WHAT VAMPIRE!SKZ DO WHEN SOMEONE CROSSES THE LINE WITH HER (even a little)

Bang Chan The second it happens—before you even flinch—Chan has already seen it. He doesn't raise his voice. Doesn't even move fast. He just walks over calmly and says: “You touched what’s mine.”

And then it’s over.

The offender doesn’t even scream—Chan has them on the ground, one hand around their throat, other hand drenched in blood. When he looks up at you after?

“You okay, sweetheart?” “...No one touches you but me. Ever.”

He’ll carry you home. Soothe your nerves. And the next morning, that person’s name is wiped off every database like they never existed.

Lee Minho He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t speak. He simply walks over—slow, graceful, terrifying.

And with a soft, elegant voice: “Did you mean to do that? Or should I remove your hands just in case?”

You blink. And suddenly the person’s arm is dislocated, shattered from the inside. He brushes your shoulder off with his fingers like the touch contaminated you.

Then he leans in close to you and whispers: “I’d never let anyone defile you. You’re sacred to me.”

Seo Changbin He’s already halfway to feral. The second someone touches you? He’s between you and them with a low growl in his chest.

“Move. Move right now before I tear you open and we find out how long it takes your organs to shut down.”

He grabs your hand, checks your pulse, kisses your wrist gently to soothe the adrenaline and then turns back around with murder in his eyes.

“You ever even look at her again, you won't live to see the next sunrise.”

Hwang Hyunjin At first, he looks heartbroken. Shocked. Eyes wide. Staring at your arm like it’s bruised even though it’s not.

Then?

He loses it. He’s laughing while dragging the offender to their knees. His voice is shaking—from rage, not fear.

“You touched a masterpiece with dirty hands. How do you plan to pay for that, huh?”

He makes them apologize. Not to him—to you. And only after you nod does he finally let go. Still twitching. Still high on fury.

Then turns to you like nothing happened and whispers: “You’re okay now, angel. I’ve got you.”

Han Jisung No one even sees him move. One second he’s joking by the bar, the next he’s got a blade to someone’s gut, smiling like a lunatic.

“Oh my godddd, you actually touched her? Do you want your fingers back, or should I gift wrap them?”

He’s laughing. You’re shaking. He shoves the offender back and wipes your skin clean with a silk handkerchief, mumbling: “So fucking lucky I don’t blackmail your entire bloodline.”

Later, when you’re curled up next to him, he still can’t let it go. “You smell like them. Hate it. Let me fix it.” And he does. With his mouth. With his hands. With vengeance.

Lee Felix Oh. Oh, no. See, Felix doesn’t rage. He darkens. He gets quiet. Still. Voice low enough to make your spine shiver.

“She’s not for touching.”

And then? He grabs the offender by the face—gently—and drives them into the wall. He doesn't even bite them until after the screaming starts.

When he turns back, he’s smiling like he didn’t just crack someone’s skull or bleed them dry.

“You okay, love? Want me to carry you out of here?”

His hands shake later. Not from fear—from how close he was to going too far. He presses his forehead to yours and whispers: “They won’t ever try again.”

Kim Seungmin He doesn’t get violent—he gets lethal. He walks up to the offender, smiles politely, and says: “You have five seconds to apologize. And then you’re going to walk out that door. If you don’t?… Well. Let’s just say I’ve already texted someone who’d enjoy what happens next.”

He’s not bluffing. You feel his hand on your lower back, guiding you gently behind him. His whole body is taut with controlled rage.

Later, he looks at you and murmurs: “You don’t need to be scared. Not when I’m here.”

And you believe him. Yang Jeongin He didn’t mean to go feral. He didn’t even know it would happen. But when someone brushed your wrist—just once—his vision went red. Suddenly the offender’s pinned against a wall, and Jeongin is growling like something ancient took over. “You don’t touch her. You don’t even look at her.” He doesn’t hear you calling his name until you touch his shoulder. He blinks. Comes back to himself. Sees you. “...Did they hurt you?” “No?” “Good. Because I was about to make them disappear.”

⸺⟡⸺

🐈 anon — thank you for this DELICIOUS ask. You always come crawling out of the shadows with exactly the kind of feral brainrot I crave. Never stop. Inbox is always open for you 🦇💋

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© ANON LOGGED: “reader in their hoodie vs. reader taking a hit for them—who do you think makes them go more feral?”

LET’S GO, © ANON!! You're asking for maximum emotional damage and soft vampire chaos in one ask??? BRILLIANT. ✨🩸

⸺⟡⸺

🩸 HOW VAMPIRE!SKZ REACT TO:

YOU TAKING A HIT FOR THEM

&

YOU WEARING THEIR FAVORITE HOODIE

Bang Chan

You take a hit for him: He snaps. Instant blood rage. You go down and the world tilts. He doesn’t stop until every threat is ash and silver. When he finally turns to you, hands shaking, voice raw—

“Why the hell would you do that?” “You’re not supposed to bleed for me. That’s my job.”

Carries you home. Cleans your wounds himself. Sleeps on the floor by your bed just in case.

You wear his hoodie: GONE. It’s over for him. You’re walking around the house in his faded hoodie, sleeves too long, scent clinging to you?

“You’re trying to kill me, huh?” “You’re lucky I like the view.”

Pulls you into his lap and buries his nose in your neck like it’s his last inhale.

Lee Minho

You take a hit for him: He doesn’t react at first. Too stunned. Then? The silence breaks.

“You idiot.” “You absolute reckless, infuriating—beautiful idiot.”

He presses a kiss to your temple while stitching you up, jaw clenched so hard it aches. The next person who even thinks of hurting you will never be found.

You wear his hoodie: He pretends not to care. “Tch. Looks better on me.” But when you curl up next to him in it and fall asleep? He tugs the hood up over your head gently and whispers, “You can keep it.” You hear the softest “mine” as he wraps an arm around your waist.

Seo Changbin

You take a hit for him: Immediate panic. His whole world narrows to you. He’s already applying pressure to the wound while growling through fangs.

“No no no—don’t you ever do that again. You hear me?” “I’d burn the world for you, don’t you dare take that from me.”

He won’t stop checking on you every five minutes for a week.

You wear his hoodie: He just STARES. Brain static. Bloodlust and heart-eyes. “You wearing that to tease me, or am I supposed to believe you just happened to pick that hoodie?” Traps you against the wall in it. Kisses you like it’s a thank-you and a threat.

Hwang Hyunjin

You take a hit for him: He screams. Not because you’re bleeding—but because he knows that was meant for him. Falls to his knees beside you, whispering your name like a prayer, like a curse.

“I’d rather die than watch you hurt for me.”

Later, he paints your hand wrapped in gauze. Keeps the image framed in his studio. Never forgets it.

You wear his hoodie: He stares. Eyes wide. Breath caught. “You… you look like a dream.” Walks up slowly. Runs a hand through your hair. Then kisses you like he’s been waiting centuries just to see you that soft.

Han Jisung

You take a hit for him: Breaks on the spot. Like actual tears. Tries to laugh it off—“That was dramatic of you, babe…”—but he’s shaking.

“Don’t ever do that again. Promise me. Please. I’d never recover.”

Sleeps curled around you for nights after. Doesn't say anything—just listens to your heartbeat like it's proof you're still here.

You wear his hoodie: He melts. Literally collapses on the floor like you just shot him. “You have ten seconds to take that off or I’m going to do things to you. Violently. Affectionately.” Takes a thousand photos of you in it. His lockscreen? Yeah, it's you in the hoodie, biting your lip and laughing.

Lee Felix

You take a hit for him: He goes silent. Dead silent. Eyes pitch black. Expression unreadable. And then he absolutely destroys whoever laid a hand on you. Later? He curls around you on the couch, cheek against your thigh, whispering—

“You’re everything to me. You don’t get to risk that.”

You find out later he tore through half the underground that night. Silently. Efficiently. For you.

You wear his hoodie: He just stares. Whispers, “You’re so fucking cute… I can’t take it.” Wraps his arms around you from behind and tugs the hood over your head. Sinks his fangs into your neck slowly, like he’s claiming the whole moment.

Kim Seungmin

You take a hit for him: He gets dangerously quiet. Blood on your skin = red in his vision. Doesn't even stop to threaten anyone—just eliminates the threat and rushes to you.

“You stupid, reckless angel. You didn’t need to do that.”

He patches you up. Kisses your hand. Spends hours researching how to prevent it from ever happening again.

You wear his hoodie: He lifts an eyebrow. “Is that my limited edition hoodie you just stole?” You shrug. He sighs—then presses a kiss to your forehead and lets it go. Until the next morning, when he’s wrapped you in three more hoodies because: “You get cold. Don’t argue.”

Yang Jeongin

You take a hit for him: SNAPS. He didn’t know he could go that feral that fast. The scream you let out? The sound of your pain? It broke something inside him. “No one touches you. Not even for me.” Afterwards, he holds you for hours. Refuses to let go. Cries into your shoulder.

You wear his hoodie: His heart literally stops. “You’re wearing that in front of me? With those eyes? On purpose???” He pulls the hood up himself. Tugs you into his lap. Whispers against your neck, “You’re mine. Hoodie and all.”

⸺⟡⸺

✨ © Anon, you asked for feelings and vampires and you got a whole damn emotional buffet. Thank you for feeding the inbox and always bringing great brainrot 🦇💋

⚠️ warnings: 18+ MINOR DNI, explicit sexual content, dom/sub dynamics, brat-taming, bloodplay, vampire rituals, rough sex, threesome (Minho x reader x Jisung), fangs, possessiveness, overstimulation, and mind-melting praise/degradation. viewer discretion is deliciously advised.

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🐹 ANON LOGGED: “my freak brain said ‘minsung threesome with a brat’ and i haven’t known peace since.” 🐹 ANON LOGGED (pt. 2): “what if i scratched him too hard and he liked it. what if i drew blood. what if i…”

YES YES YESSSSS 🐹 ANON IS OFFICIALLY LOCKED IN. Welcome to the rodent of desire cult—may your freak brain never be silenced and your aftercare always include my filth 💋💉

Let’s break this into your two glorious asks:

⸺⟡⸺

1. 🐹 MINSUNG THREESOME WITH A BRAT!READER??

Minho – Your Boyfriend, Your Soft-Ruiner

He’s been thinking about it. Not because he isn’t satisfied—but because you’re such a mouthy little brat and he knows exactly who could help him shut you up.

He brings it up casually: “What would you do if I invited Jisung over next time you act out?”

And you laugh. Roll your eyes. Tease him. But he sees the flicker in your expression. You want it.

Jisung is thrilled when Minho finally asks. Grinning like a devil in a hoodie.

“You sure? You can handle both of us?” “Ohhh, brat’s gonna cry, huh? Can't wait.”

🔥 The Dynamic:

Minho = Precision. Cold control. The leash-holder.

Jisung = Whiplash chaos. Praise and degradation in the same breath.

You sass them once? Jisung’s laughing as he bends you over, Minho’s hand wrapped around your throat from behind.

You moan too loud? Minho leans in and says: “What did we say about being greedy?”

You bite Jisung? He just groans and says: “She’s in that mood again, hyung. You gonna let her get away with that?”

They coordinate. One holds. One fucks. One teases. One praises. They switch. They ruin. You are overstimulated, overstimulated, overstimulated.

The brat in you? Humbled. But also a little smug when you wake up wrecked and they’re both passed out next to you like they’ve been drained dry.

“So… when’s round two?”

2. 🩸 Vampire!SKZ: You Draw Blood on Them

(injesting blood was answered here but let's expand on the you draw blood on them! 💅)

Bang Chan

You scratch him across the chest during sex—not deep, but enough for blood to bead.

He stills immediately. Looks down. Then at you. “Do you know what that means?”

Not angry. Not scared. Focused.

To draw blood from him is to challenge him. Claim him. Cross the line between prey and partner. He lets it happen—but next time, he holds your hands down. Kisses your pulse and murmurs, “If you draw from me again, sweetheart… you better be ready to bleed too.”

Lee Minho

You drag your nails down his back. He hisses through his teeth, but doesn’t stop. After? He looks in the mirror. Sees it. Smiles, slow and dangerous.

“You marked me... So I’m marking you next.”

You wake up with a bite above your heart and a sigil drawn on your thigh in dark red ink—his blood mixed with something older.

“Equal exchange. That’s how blood works. Next time? Ask first.”

Seo Changbin

You scratch his shoulder during sex—barely a break in the skin, but it glistens red.

He goes dead silent. Stares at it. Then at you.

“Do you know how rare it is for someone to make me bleed?”

You expect him to get mad. Instead, he grabs your hand, kisses your knuckles, then grinds into you harder than before.

“Guess I’ll let it slide... But only because it’s you.”

Hwang Hyunjin

Your bite catches the underside of his jaw—sharp, messy, and intentional.

He gasps. Not from pain. From delight. His hand cradles your neck like he’s holding a masterpiece. Blood trickles down his collarbone and he lets it stain the sheets.

After, he kisses your pretty lips. “Do it again next time. Leave your teeth. Leave your passion.”

You’re his favourite kind of chaos now.

Han Jisung

You scratch his side during a particularly bratty moment. He yelps. For show. Then looks down, sees the blood, and his eyes go wide.

“You made me BLEED? Babe. Babe. You wounded me.”

He milks it. Clutches his chest. Calls you a violent little kitten. But you see the glint in his eye.

“You’re so lucky that was hot.”

He absolutely retaliates. Gives you matching claw marks on your thighs the next time.

Lee Felix

You claw at his chest while you're on top. It’s instinct. Raw. Thoughtless. You see blood. You freeze. He tilts his head, looks down, then up at you—expression unreadable.

“Careful, love. My blood’s not like yours.”

He doesn’t punish you. But he changes after that. Slower. Darker. Makes you look at the mark. Makes you understand the weight of what you’ve done.

“Next time you draw blood… make sure you’re ready to carry it.”

Kim Seungmin

You're riding him. Being a little bold. A little bratty. So you dig your nails into his chest—hard enough to draw blood.

At first? He doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t stop you. Doesn’t warn you. Just looks up at you—expression flat. Controlled. Dangerous.

“Did you just break skin?”

You slow. Try to gauge him. Then he exhales slowly, voice calm like ice sliding into a vein.

“You wanted attention? You’ve got it now.”

He grips your hips—tight. Bruising. Thrusts up once—deep—until you gasp. Until the control is completely his again.

“My blood isn’t yours to take. Not without permission. You don’t get to mark me unless I say so.”

He doesn’t stop fucking you. But when he’s done, the blood’s still drying on his chest—and you’re limp, wrecked, unable to look away.

“Next time you want to be bold, sweetheart… use your words. Not your claws.”

Yang Jeongin

You’re on top, whining, grinding, moaning like you own him. You claw at his chest—nails scraping, a flash of red blooming beneath your fingers.

He flinches. Not from pain. From something worse. Still beneath you, still letting you move—But his pupils blow wide. He is smiling, fangs in full view.

“You really just made me bleed?”

He grabs your wrists. Rolls you under him like it’s nothing. Like you weigh less than thought. “You wanna play rough? You want the part of me that’s not safe?”

His hips grind into you slow. Blood slick on your fingertips. His hands shaking with restraint.

“Okay, baby. Let’s see how long you last when the monster gets to play too.”

He doesn’t let go. Not until he’s sure you understand that drawing blood from him means you don’t get the sweet version anymore.

⸺⟡⸺

🐹 I hope this is what your bloodlusty little rodent brain needed. Thank you for the brainrot. Thank you for the asks. Keep sinning. I’m always here to catch it 🦇💋

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🧃 ANON LOGGED: “do they ever lose control? like… mid-bite oopsie-daisy blood frenzy??”

YES YESSS nougatjade!! First of all — thank you SO much for reading and sending this delicious question 💌 Second — your English is perfectly clear and beautiful, please never apologize 💕

Now, to answer your question

⸺⟡⸺

🩸 DO VAMPIRE!SKZ EVER LOSE CONTROL WHILE BITING?

Short answer: No. Because if they do… you die.

🧬 Rule #1: Feeding is Sacred, Regulated, and Extremely Dangerous.

Vampire bites aren't just fangs and fun — they involve:

A neurochemical toxin that paralyzes and pleasures the human

Precise blood extraction, regulated by the vampire's own internal clock

A bonding effect that starts forming at first contact

For most vampires — especially Abnormals — biting is like holding a loaded gun to your throat while trying to make you come.

🧠 Losing control = fatal consequences.

If a vampire drinks too much:

Blood pressure crashes

Organ shutdown begins

Neural shock hits (pleasure receptors get fried)

You faint or fall into a coma-like trance

And worst case? Siring begins by accident (Which means: your body dies, your brain melts, and unless the full ritual is completed, you rot from the inside).

They can’t afford to lose control. Ever.

🔥 That said… they get close.

They bite too deep.

Their hunger spikes.

You moan a certain way and they almost forget themselves.

But they always catch it in time. They were trained. Conditioned. Obsessed with control (Especially Chan, Minho, and Seungmin — they would rather die than harm you).

🩸 Example: You faint mid-bite.

They panic.

Immediately stop.

Wrap you in blankets, pace the room, whisper apologies over and over.

“I took too much. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You trusted me.”

You wake up in their arms. Shivering. And they treat you like you’re made of porcelain for days.

✨ In Summary:

Do they lose control? No. Do they skirt the edge of it while fucking you mid-bite, trembling from the effort not to drain you dry? Absolutely.

That’s what makes it hot.

⸺⟡⸺

nougatjade — thank you SO much for this bloody delicious ask 🩸💕 . Your English was perfect, your curiosity was hotter, and you're always welcome in my inbox anytime. Come back soon. I’ll have the fangs ready 💋🦇

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🫦 sheerfreesia007 LOGGED: “help i’m blocked and horny and want Seungmin to rail the motivation back into me.”

OH YES SHEERFREESIA007!!! You have summoned the “blocked & needy” writing demon support group, and SKZ is READY TO HELP.

⚠️ warnings: 18+ MINOR DNI, explicit sexual content, dom/sub dynamics, overstimulation, orgasm denial, oral fixation, power play, degradation/praise, soft doms & brat-taming, possessiveness, mental health (creative burnout), and motivational railing.

⸺⟡⸺

🧠 SKZ SPICY COMFORT WHEN YOU'RE CREATIVELY BLOCKED (aka how they rail you back into writer mode)

Kim Seungmin

You’re pacing, grumbling, deleting whole paragraphs, near tears. He walks in, glances at your screen, tilts his head.

“Still blocked? Hm.”

You don’t even have time to sass him—he’s already grabbing your jaw and kissing you slow, calculated, like he’s studying your syntax through your tongue.

And then?

He bends you over the desk.

“Words failing you? That’s okay. You won’t need them while I’m fucking the tension out of you.”

When he’s done—messy, breathless, satisfied—he kisses the back of your neck, tucks a blanket around you, and mutters: “Now. Write. Or I’ll make you earn your next orgasm.”

You write 2k words in one sitting.

Lee Minho

He sees you staring at your WIP like it personally offended you.

“That bad, huh?”

You glare. He smirks.

“Fine. Let’s reset your brain.”

He drags you to bed. Makes you beg for it. Denies you three times. Then fucks you slow—controlled, like each thrust is correcting your pacing problems.

“There. That’s what good rhythm feels like.”

After? He cuddles you, kisses your temple, and whispers: “Now sit down and make that scene bleed.”

Han Jisung

You’re whining. Keyboard untouched. Brain offline.

He crawls into your lap. “Wanna write, baby? Need help?”

Drags to bed and makes you ride him while he's whispering scene ideas in your ear. Gasps out metaphors between moans.

“What if… the villain’s betrayal is actually… mmfuck… emotional projection?”

By the end, you're overstimulated and somehow have a full outline voice-recorded on his phone.

“Look at you—so smart, so talented. I’m gonna cry.”

Seo Changbin

You’re spiraling. So he pulls you off the chair, onto his lap. “You’ve been pushing too hard. Let me handle you for a bit.”

One hand on your throat. One arm locking you in place. He fucks you deep while whispering: “You’re brilliant. Every line you write drips power. You just forgot for a second.”

After, he runs you a bath, makes you tea, sits beside you until you open your laptop again.

And when you do?

“There’s my girl.”

Lee Felix

You’re stressed. Slumped. Sighing into your keyboard. He walks in wearing nothing but grey sweats and a soft smirk.

“I could let you write… Or I could make you forget your name first.”

He goes down on you like he’s praying. Smiles into your thighs. Whispers praise between every kiss.

“You’re the most creative person I know. Let me remind you what it feels like to flow.”

You black out. Wake up to 3k words and a very smug Felix spooning you.

Bang Chan

You’re stuck. Blocked. Frustrated.

He pulls you into his lap and says: “I’ll give you ten minutes. Write something. Anything. If you don’t—I’m putting you on your knees.”

You fail.

And he makes good on the threat. On the floor. Hands in your hair. Filthy words in your ear.

Then? He lifts you, lays you out, and fucks you slow with his forehead pressed to yours.

“You’re not blocked, baby. You’re scared. So let me remind you who the fuck you are.”

Hwang Hyunjin

You say you’re blocked. He doesn’t answer. Just kisses you soft. Then hard. Then on your knees.

He fucks you on the balcony. Says it’s so the night air can “clear your head.”

And when you collapse in a dazed mess, thighs shaking? He whispers: “Write about this. Start with the part where you begged.”

Yang Jeongin

You sigh. Say you’ll never finish anything again. He closes your laptop. Walks you to the bedroom. Doesn’t say a word. Until you’re naked, whining, pinned beneath him—and he murmurs: “Say it again. Say you’re not capable. I want to hear it while you’re shaking.”

You can’t. Because his fingers are inside you, and your mind is gone.

Later? He sets your laptop on your lap and says: “Now write. Or I’ll drag you back in and start over.”

⸺⟡⸺

To my precious SheerFreesia007 — First of all: thank you for the ask, the trust, and the chaos. Second: I see you, blocked but brimming with ideas, frustrated but still showing up. That matters. That counts. And I promise, the words will come back. Whether it’s through plot mapping, porn, or pure delulu—you’ve got this. Now go get ruined & write like you mean it 😌💌✒️

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🥟 ANON LOGGED: “so what if i accidentally joined a vampire cult because curiosity and now i belong to him forever. asking for a friend.”

👀 oh… oh this is scrumptious. too curious for their own good? reader poking their nose into their territory like “what’s this weird vampire cult??” everyone else: don’t look them in the eyes. don’t say his name. don’t walk past the blood-gate at twilight. reader: “what’s the blood-gate? 😇”

and Hyunjin??? as the one they warned you about??? the aesthetic alone is spine-tingling: veiled altars, crimson veined marble, art hanging crooked in gold frames, ink-stained hands lifting your chin like: “Curiosity is the first step to surrender. And you… were born for devotion.”

YES. I love this. I’m taking it. I’m eating it.

⸺⟡⸺

MINI SNIPPET

They said it in whispers. Behind closed doors. Scribbled in the back of grimoires and scrawled over flyers that kept reappearing no matter how often the town burned them.

You looked anyway.

And now you’re here. Knees bruised on velvet-stained stone. The air thick with incense and something older. Older than history. Older than sin. The cultists don’t speak—don’t need to. Their eyes glow like dying embers in the candlelight. Watching.

But you only see him.

Hyunjin.

Cloaked in black silk robes, hair tied back with a blood-red ribbon, the edges of his mouth stained dark with something that might be wine. Or might be you.

He moves like mist—like temptation incarnate—until he’s standing above you, gaze low, fingers hooked under your chin.

"Curiosity," he murmurs, voice like a velvet knife. "That’s what brought you here? You followed the whispers like thread. Like a moth."

He tilts your chin higher. "Then burn, little moth."

You should run. You want to run. But your knees won't move. You're not sure if it's fear or want. Or if he's already taken that choice from you.

The other cultists are chanting now. Something in a tongue your body understands but your brain doesn’t. Your skin feels hot. Your mouth dry.

“You wanted answers,” Hyunjin breathes, kneeling in front of you. “But I don’t offer truth. Only transformation. Let me ruin you beautifully.”

⸺⟡⸺

To 🥟 anon — thank you for crawling out of the crypt with this juicy offering. You were so right to ask. Don’t be a stranger. Come back soon. The cult remembers you 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🦭 ANON LOGGED: “I got flustered reading Han's /)(\ and now I live here I guess”

OF COURSE YOU CAN BE 🦭 ANON!!! welcome to the vampire crypt and tattoo shop hellhole, population: us <3 🖤

your message made me kick my lil feet for real—thank you sm for reading, for enjoying the lore and the horny chaos, and for dropping by with this sweetness.

more tattoo boys, more vampire rituals, and more feral thirst posts are always brewing. so get comfy, grab a bite (or let them take one), and keep that inbox energy strong. ILY 🫀🩸

you’re amazing. yes, you. can’t wait to see what reactions you have to what’s coming next… 🦇💋

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

If you made it to the end of this unholy archive of brat blood, cult confessions, vamp violence, and Seungmin dick-down therapy—

🩸 congrats. you're no longer human. 🩸 your soul? barcoded. 🩸 your cravings? irreversible. 🩸 your fate? sealed in fangmarks.

🦷 This is not fiction. This is infection. Thank you for bleeding with me. Come back twitching 💋🦇

[doctorbitchcrxft]

The Rapture | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, descriptions of PTSD, religious trauma, angstangstangst, daddy issues

Word Count: 3676

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

“Dean?” you said into the darkness.

He hummed in response, the sound rumbling in his chest that you were laying on. 

“I’ve been thinkin’—”

“That’s dangerous—”

“Shut up,” you snickered playfully. You pulled your headway from his chest so you were face-to-face with him. “It bothers you that Sam is so much like your dad, doesn’t it?”

You could barely make out the contours of his face in the darkness, but you could practically feel his heart nearly stop when you asked. His silence was enough of an answer for you. “Does it scare you?” you tried again.

“I don’t know,” Dean replied.

“Yeah, you do,” you said.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” 

“It’s just—” Dean cut himself off. “The way I think about my dad has changed so much. He’s just— I used to think he was the coolest guy on the planet. And now? I just don’t know.”

“I get what you mean,” you told him, brushing a hand over his hair. “Whaddaya think changed your mind?”

“Meeting you,” he answered immediately. Awkwardly, Dean cleared his throat. He was apparently feeling incredibly vulnerable. “I mean, I guess I always thought my dad… loved me. But he never— he never said it. He never showed it. But I- I didn’t realize that until I found you.”

A genuine, closed-lip smile stretched across your face. “I’m glad I was able to change that for you.

Dean leaned his forehead against yours. “Yeah, I am, too.”

****

The man sleeping beside you woke up with a start. 

“Fuck! Dean?!” you asked, stowing your gun back under the mattress. “Are you okay?”

“We gotta go,” he told you. 

You looked at the clock on your nightstand. “Dean, it’s three in the morning. Where are we going?”

“Cas,” he said. “It’s Cas. He told us to meet him somewhere.”

“Why? Is he okay?” you questioned.

“If I knew, would I be going?” he replied snarkily.

“Fair.” 

When you and the two Winchesters arrived at the warehouse Castiel gave Dean the address of in his dream, it looked like a bomb went off on the main floor.

“What the fuck?” Dean breathed out.

“Must’ve been some sort of fight here,” Sam added.

“Angels?” you suggested. The beam of your flashlight landed on a symbol painted in blood on the wall. “Look familiar?”

“Anna used something like that to wish the angels back to the cornfield,” Dean nodded.

Sam furrowed his brow. “So, what? Cas was fighting angels?”

“I guess,” you shrugged.

You heard a groan coming from the rubble around you.

“Cas?” Dean asked, his eyes landing on a head of dust-covered, messy, dark hair. “Cas. Hey, Cas?”

The angel sat up, and Dean helped to pull him out of the debris. “What’s— What’s going on?” His voice sounded different.

“Just take it easy. Take it easy,” Dean urged.

“Oh, no,” the angel held his head.

“Clarence, you okay?” you asked.

“Ugh, Castiel. I'm not Castiel. It's me,” the man replied.

“Oh, my god,” you breathed lowly.

Sam questioned, “Who's 'me'?”

“Jimmy,” you said, breath catching in your throat.

“What?” Dean looked back at you before turning his attention back to the man. “Where the hell is Castiel?”

“He's gone.”

You backed away from Jimmy, completely gutted by what you’d done to him. Strangely, facing the man behind the angel’s vessel was worse now than it was when you’d first stalked and “tested” him. Perhaps it was the fact you were forced to face him after your actions caused him so much pain. 

All you could do was turn and walk back out of the warehouse. With you in the front seat beside Dean and Jimmy in the back seat with Sam, your group went back to the motel you’d been staying at.

Jimmy was scarfing down a burger Dean had gotten him from a gas station, and you stood idly in the dimly lit corner with your arms crossed over your chest. It was as if you were trying to get as far away from Jimmy as possible.

“You mind slowing down? You're gonna give me angina,” Dean snarked while he watched Jimmy eat.

“I'm hungry,” he replied simply.

Sam asked cautiously, “When's the last time you ate?”

He shrugged. “I don't know; months.”

“What the hell happened back there? It looked like an angel battle royale.”

“All I remember is a flash of light and I, uh, I woke up and I was just, y’know, like, me again,” the man explained.

“So, what? Cas just ditched out of your meat suit?” Dean scoffed.

“I really don't know.”

“You remember anything about being possessed? Anything at all?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, bits and pieces,” Jimmy shrugged. “I mean, angel inside of you, it's kinda like being chained to a comet. Thanks for that, by the way, (Y/N).”

A shudder ran down your spine, and you couldn’t look at him. “I’m sorry,” you told him weakly. 

“You should be,” he snapped, and guilt clawed at your insides.

“Cas said he wanted to tell us something.” It was clear Sam was trying to get the heat off of you. “Please tell me you remember that.” 

Jimmy shrugged. “Sorry.”

“Come on,” exasperated Dean, “what do you know?”

“My name is Jimmy Novak. I'm from Pontiac, Illinois.”

Your bottom lip trembled uncontrollably as he began to tell his story.

“I have a family: a daughter, Claire. She looks just like my wife; it’s actually a little scary. ‘S like I didn’t have anything to do with her,” he chuckled. 

“How’d you meet Cas?” Sam questioned.

“Y’know,” Jimmy began, “I almost want (Y/N) to tell the story.”

The lump in your throat swelled tremendously. “Jimmy—”

“C’mon,” he encouraged. “Go ahead. Floor is yours.”

You swallowed the lump and your fear and told the Winchesters— and Jimmy— what happened a year ago while Dean was gone. Everything in you hurt and protested as you told them about how you’d stalked Jimmy and his family. You’d gotten to know their routine. You watched through his living room curtains as Jimmy slept in his chair and fell to the ground convulsing the first time he’d heard Castiel’s voice. And when Jimmy stuck his hand in a pot of boiling water, you were there, too. His wife had grown increasingly concerned as the weeks went by, and you’d even seen her go to the pharmacy to get pills for her husband. When he wouldn’t take them, that’s when you’d decided to take him. All you could tell Jimmy was how sorry you were. 

“Y’know, maybe if you hadn’t ‘tested’ me,” Jimmy replied, “my daughter wouldn’t have had to go a year without me.”

“I know that,” you told him. “And know that I hate myself for what I’ve done every day.”

“Good.”

Your jaw clenched, but you knew Jimmy’s anger was justified. 

“(Y/N),” Sam called, “a word?”

You followed the two brothers out of the room, and Dean was the first to speak. “Sweetheart, you okay?”

You shook your head and kept your arms crossed over your chest, doing your best to avoid crying.

“So, what do we do?”

“What do you mean? The guy's got a family. We buy him a bus ticket, send him home,” Dean replied.

“I don't know about that, Dean, he's the only lead we got,” argued Sam.

“He doesn't know anything.”

“Are you a hundred percent about that?”

“You think he's lying? What, you wanna go Guantanamo on the guy?”

You knew Dean wasn’t intentionally making a jab at you, but the thought of doing interrogations like that again made your stomach drop. 

“Dean, maybe he doesn't even know what he knows,” Sam pushed. “I say, at least we get him to Bobby's. Maybe all he needs is hypnosis or a psychic. Or, hell, maybe Cas will just drop back into him.”

Dean shook his head. “I don't know, man.”

“Back there? That was angel-on-angel violence. Now, I don't know what's going on, but it's big. And we can't just let the only lead we got just skip out.”

You shook your head. 

“What?” the brunet asked you.

“I can’t— I can’t let you keep using that guy,” you told him. “I’ve done enough damage to ‘im. We gotta let ‘im go.”

“What, do you think I don't want to help him?” Sam refuted. “I'm just being realistic. I mean, hell, we're doing him a favor.”

“How?” you snapped.

Sam’s shoulders were square. “If we want to question the guy, you can damn well bet the demons do, too.”

“This isn’t fair to him, Sam.”

“And you were so concerned with that a year ago, huh,” he mocked. 

“Sam—!” Dean scolded.

“It’s the truth,” the younger brother continued. “She only wants to do the ‘right thing’ when it’s convenient for her. Doesn’t look like she cared much about his well being or the ‘right thing’ a year ago, does it?”

“Fuck you!” you screamed. “You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve. I’m ashamed of what I did, and I wish I could change it every day. But I didn’t do what I did for kicks. I did it because Uriel threatened Dean. And I’d like to imagine that if the choice was between hurting some random guy and hurting Dean, you’d pick the random guy every time. But, oh, I forgot. Your choices are always perfect. Like taking intravenous injections of demon blood. Gee, I almost forgot how virtuous you are.”

“(Y/N), that’s enough!” Dean barked, getting between you and Sam.

“Y’know what, (Y/N)?” the younger brother sneered. “If that’s what helps you sleep at night, keep tellin’ that to yourself. But I think you know that given the same hand, you’d take the demon blood, too. And y’know what else I think? If I’d been given the choice, I’m not enough of a monster to torture innocents. I’d have figured something else out. So, yeah, I’d say I’m more virtuous; demon blood and all.”

Before you even knew what came over you, you slapped Sam fiercely across his cheek. So hard, in fact, a red mark in the shape of your hand formed on it. 

Both brothers were shocked. You were, too, by both your words and actions. With anger still flowing through you, you turned on your heel and walked away into the darkness. “Don’t come after me,” you said.

“(Y/N)—”

“I’m coming back, Dean,” you replied sharply. “Just… not right now.”

****

‘He’s gotta be using again.’

The phrase echoed over and over in your mind. It was a sentence you’d become familiar with repeating to yourself after explosive arguments with Steven when he was around. Another person you loved had fallen to the same monster that undoubtedly played a part in stealing your little brother away from you. And, now, you had to figure out a way to stop that big, terrible thing from claiming another victim. 

Sitting in a twenty-four-hour diner, your finger hovered over the “call” button on your phone highlighting Bobby’s name. Even if Sam— or even Dean— never forgave you, at least Sam would be alive if someone intervened. There was no person better than Bobby to be the someone to help you save your friend. 

You didn’t know how long you’d been sitting in that diner with your cup of coffee growing cold as the sun rose. Then, you finally worked up the courage to call Bobby. 

“Bobby?” you asked hesitantly as the line picked up.

“(Y/N)?” he replied. “What’s up, kid?”

“It’s Sam,” you began explaining. “You gotta help me.”

Bobby sighed. “I thought he stopped.” 

“I did, too.” Tears welled in your throat despite how exhausted you were of feeling. “But, uh,” you wrapped your jacket tighter around yourself, “it got real bad last night.”

“How so?”

You explained everything to him about the fight you’d had with Sam and finding Jimmy Novak. 

“Damn,” drawled Bobby when you’d finished your tale. “I’m sorry he said that to you.”

“Maybe he’s not wrong,” you replied. “But that’s not the point now. We just gotta get him help.”

“(Y/N)...” Bobby trailed off. “Do you even know if he wants help?”

You shook your head. “I don’t care. Get ‘im a straight jacket if we have to. I’m not losin’ somebody else.”

****

Moments after getting off the phone with Bobby, Dean called. Jimmy had escaped, and it was time to hit the road. The car was tense the entirety of the ride to Pontiac, Illinois, but ensuring Jimmy’s and his family’s safety was more important than the awkwardness that filled the car. 

Sure enough, when you’d arrived at his home, a demon was on the verge of killing Jimmy’s young daughter. Dean stabbed the male demon holding Claire with Ruby’s knife while you fought the female demon hand-to-hand. This demon was stronger than others you’d dealt with previously, and your fatigue from so little sleep was undoubtedly hindering your fighting ability. 

The demon threw you harshly into an armoire, and you watched as Sam outstretched his hand to try to exorcise the demon. 

Something flashed across Dean’s face as Sam urged him to help the family flee. You struggled to your feet and followed Dean and the Novaks out. Your partner nodded at you to keep going, and he went back to help his brother with Ruby’s knife. 

When you joined Jimmy and Claire outside, you realized Amelia was missing.

“Jimmy, where’s your wife?” you questioned.

“Right here,” she replied from behind you.

You eyed her strangely.

The brothers emerged from the house, and the look on Dean’s face told you the demon got away.

“Let's go,” your partner ordered.

****

Dean pulled into a parking garage to speak with Castiel’s vessel. 

You watched Claire leaning on her mother in the backseat of the car while Jimmy sighed. “I'm telling you, I don't know anything.”

“I don't think they're inclined to believe you,” Dean snarked, referring to the demons. 

“Honestly, Jimmy,” you finally spoke up, “I barely touched you. The other vessels? They weren’t so lucky. So if you thought what I did was bad, the demons are worse.”

He looked genuinely disturbed; like your words were finally sinking in.

“I'm gonna tell you once again, you're putting your family in danger. You have to come with us,” Sam continued.

“How long? And don't give me that ‘cross that bridge when we get to it’ crap.”

The brunet scoffed. “Don't you get it? Forever. The demons will never stop. You can never be with your family. So you either get as far away from them as possible or you put a bullet in your head. And that's how you keep your family safe. But there's no getting out and there's no going home.”

“Well, don't sugarcoat it, Sam.” The older brother gave a sharp look.

“I'm just telling him the truth, Dean. Someone has to.”

Hesitantly, Jimmy said goodbye to his family, and Sam hotwired a van for Claire and Amelia to take to a relative’s house.

You hadn’t gotten too far down the road before Jimmy was fast asleep in the back seat beside Sam. You stared out of the window with your legs tucked against your chest. If you were honest, you were terrified of Sam. 

Almost as if Dean was reading your mind, he asked. “What the hell happened back there?”

When Sam noticed his brother was looking at him in the rearview mirror, he said, “What?”

“You practically fainted trying to gank a demon,” replied Dean.

The younger brother huffed. “Okay, I didn't faint. I got a little dizzy.” 

“Well, you can call it whatever you want,” your partner grunted. “Point is, you used to be strong enough to kill Alastair. Now you can't even kill a stunt-demon number three?”

“What do you want me to say about it, Dean?”

“Well for starters, what's going on with your mojo? I mean, it's yo-yoing all over the place. I'm not trying to pick a fight here, okay? I just— you're scaring me, man.” Dean apparently could read your mind.

“I'm scaring myself,” Sam replied honestly. Then, his phone rang, startling Jimmy awake. When Sam answered it, he held out the phone to Jimmy. “Hey. It's your wife.”

“Amelia?” Jimmy said groggily into the phone. Then, he shot straight up. “Oh, my god.”

****

“Alright, they're expecting you to come alone,” Dean briefed Jimmy outside the warehouse Amelia— or, rather, the demon possessing her had asked Jimmy to come to. “That's exactly what you're gonna do.”

“We'll work our way through the catwalks. We'll be right behind you,” Sam added.

“All you gotta do is stay calm and stall. Let us do our job.”

“You want me to stay calm?” Jimmy laughed humorlessly. “This is my family we're talking about.”

“Listen to me, this will work. You understand?” Dean told him. “Nobody's gonna get hurt.”

Jimmy shrugged, annoyance written all over his face. “Yeah, whatever. Give me a minute, okay?”

He walked away from the three of you toward the warehouse. 

“This is a trap,” you said as soon as Jimmy was out of earshot. “No way they’re expecting him to come alone.”

“Yeah, I know. That's why I have a plan,” Dean smirked. 

“Dean—” 

“C’mon, (Y/N), just trust me.”

“You know I do, babe; with my life,” you said. “But I just have a feeling that my plan’s gonna end up working better.”

Dean folded his arms petulantly. “You haven’t even heard my plan yet.”

You smiled a little. “I know. But you haven’t heard mine, either.”

The two of you ended up compromising. Dean and Sam would follow Dean’s plan, you’d follow yours, and you’d see who ended up victorious. Dean, of course, wasn’t crazy about you going off on your own, but you didn’t trust Sam to have your back anymore. And so, you went off alone. 

You carefully crawled through the metal HVAC units inside the warehouse and followed the sounds of a possessed Amelia arguing with Jimmy. Sure enough, when you happened upon the room, Dean and Sam were being held by three burly demons before Amelia. Little Claire was tied to a chair behind her possessed mother.

“Like I didn't think you'd bring Heckle and Jeckle, hmm?” Amelia hummed.

“Nice plan, Dean.”

You watched Dean scoff at his brother. “Yeah, well, nobody bats a thousand.”

“Y’know what’s funny?” Amelia began. “I was actually bummed to get this detail, picking up an empty vessel. Sort of like a milk run. Now look who landed in my lap.” She looked over at her goons. “Got the knife?” 

One of the demons shook his head.

The woman sighed. “You honestly expect me to believe they didn’t bring it? What—”

You chose that second to kick through the vent, and the world moved in slow motion for the next few moments. As you dropped the few feet to land on Amelia’s shoulders, she raised a gun at Jimmy and fired. 

“No!” you screamed as you finally tackled the demon to the ground.

“(Y/N),” the demon breathed heavily, “good of you to join us.” She rolled you off her and climbed atop you. “Where’s the fucking knife?” 

You drew your knees to your chest and kicked her off. The demon faltered and fell backward while you scrambled to your feet, lunging at her with the barrel of your gun in your hand to knock her out with its butt. Before you could reach her, though, the demon was running away from you. A move you found uncharacteristic for demons, but you were relieved, nonetheless.

Then, you realized, it wasn’t you she was running away from. It was Claire. Castiel had possessed the small child, and he’d used her to destroy one of the demon’s henchmen.

A small smirk tugged at your lips, and it only disappeared when you watched Sam sadistically rip into one of the demon’s necks and hungrily lap at its blood. When he’d had his fill, he used his newfound powers to exorcise the demon in her and the one in Amelia. Both collapsed to the ground, and Dean rushed to Amelia’s side.

Pushing aside your horror at Sam’s actions, you ran to Jimmy. His wound was gushing blood, and he could barely talk. “Castiel! A little help!” you cried. 

Castiel walked toward the dying Jimmy you knelt beside. “Of course, we keep our promises,” the angel told his former vessel. “Of course, you have our gratitude. You served us well. Your work is done. It's time to go home now. Your real home. You'll rest forever in the fields of the Lord. Rest now, Jimmy.”

“No,” he choked. “Claire?”

“She's with me now. She's chosen. It's in her blood, as it was in yours.”

“Please, Castiel. Me, just take me. Take me, please,” he begged. “(Y/N), make him take me.”

You looked at the angel pathetically, unable to utter a word.

“I want to make sure you understand. You won't die or age. If this last year was painful for you, picture a hundred, a thousand more like it,” the angel explained.

Jimmy was struggling harder to speak now. “It doesn't matter. You take me. Just take me.”

“As you wish.” Using Jimmy’s daughter’s hand, Castiel gingerly touched Jimmy’s cheek. With a bright light, the angel’s essence transferred to Jimmy’s vessel. Claire, free of the angel, ran to her mother that hugged her tightly. Amelia looked longingly at the face of her husband, and Castiel spared her a glance before moving to the door. 

“Cas, hold up.” Dean jogged the short distance over to him. “What were you gonna tell me?”

“I learned my lesson while I was away, Dean.” The angel’s tone was much colder than the one he’d used with Jimmy. “I serve heaven, I don't serve man, and I certainly don't serve you.” Then, he unexpectedly turned to you. “Expect to hear from me soon.”

“What? Why? I’m done, Castiel,” you said, eyes pleading and vulnerable despite the intensity in your voice.

“Not anymore.” Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-nesmith @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[shizuturnspages]

I enjoy your writings, so I hope you won't mind the odd request. You do such a good job when it comes to writing, I felt tempted to see what you might do with one of my odd ideas.

If it's possible, I'd like to see what you do with a gender neutral reader with Dainslief, Zhongli, and Alhaitham, and a corrupted reader. What I mean by that, is like, how would they react to a reader that gets corrupted like via the Akasha for Alhaitham, a reader that get corrupted by erosion for Zhongli, and a reader that gets corrupted by the Abyss for Dainslief?

How do the men find out, and what do they use to confirm their suspicions? But also, how do you think they'd react? Would they try to save reader? Get rid of them? Or something else entirely?

I hope you like the prompt, and I look forward to seeing your take on it.

Fractures in the Light

Synopsis: You were their balance, their constant, their proof that stability or peace was possible in a world ruled by entropy, time, and secrets. But corruption is subtle. It doesn’t take you away in a single sweep—it erodes you, chips you into something no longer human, no longer you. And what will the ones who claimed to love you do… when they find you're slipping into something they cannot understand? Pairings: [Separate] Yandere Dainsleif, Zhongli, and Alhaitham x Corrupted! Gender-neutral Reader

Dainsleif – Abyssal Echoes

It begins slowly.

You speak with silence behind your voice. You flinch at the light of teleport waypoints. You start dreaming in a language you do not know.

Dainsleif notices. Of course, he does.

The first time he suspects something is wrong is when you touch a hilichurl corpse with something close to reverence. You murmur, "They aren’t wrong. Just changed." And Dainsleif freezes.

He says nothing at first. But after that, he watches you—like a soldier stalking the battlefield.

Eventually, he confronts you deep beneath Sal Vindagnyr, where the Abyss is strongest. Your eyes glint with pale blue as you hum some ancient lullaby not meant for surface-dwellers.

"… You're one of them now." His voice is hoarse, quiet.

You smile. It’s not unkind. It’s just… hollow. "Maybe I always was."

He clenches his jaw. His hand trembles at the hilt of his sword.

"Don’t you dare say that."

In his mind, there is no choice. He cannot allow you to fade completely. But he cannot destroy you either.

So he steals you away into the Abyss itself. To lock you somewhere only he can reach. To shield the world from you, and you from the world. He'll pour over forbidden magic, Abyssal and divine, breaking every rule and promise just to restore what he once loved.

Even if all that’s left is a husk, he will drag you back.

Because to lose you again… is not an option.

Zhongli – Erosion’s Toll

At first, you forget the little things. Names. Years. You stop reacting to familiar festivals in Liyue. Your gaze becomes distant when the harbour bustles around you.

Zhongli is used to watching mortals fade. But you are not supposed to fade. You are not like the others.

He tests you gently. Gives you objects you love, stories you’ve told, asking you to recite them. But your answers begin to break apart.

He finds you staring at Osial’s remains one day, murmuring to the ancient bones like old friends. You look at him and ask, “Zhongli, have we met before?”

His breath stills.

In his private archives, he combs through erosion records, matching your symptoms.

His suspicion is confirmed when he finds an old text on memory-deepening rituals—something you had once helped him restore. It’s now in your handwriting, but you claim you’ve never seen it.

Erosion has taken root.

And Zhongli—who has watched mountains crumble—panics in a way he hasn’t since the Archon War.

But he does not cry.

Instead, he gathers everything—elixirs, talismans, immortality arts long buried. He prepares a ritual meant for gods, not mortals. You no longer remember your name. Still, he wraps your hand in his, and with quiet conviction says:

“You will not vanish. Even if I must bind your soul in amber and place you beside my heart.”

Alhaitham – Akasha’s Whisper

It starts when you begin quoting information you shouldn’t have access to. Entire passages of research locked in the House of Daena. Predictions of scholars' experiments before they occur. You insist it’s intuition.

Alhaitham is sceptical. He runs simulations, tests your exposure to Sumeru's networks. Eventually, he runs a scan on your brain activity via a restricted Akasha terminal.

It lights up too perfectly.

“The system shouldn't recognise you,” he says aloud. “You’re not linked to the network.”

You glance at him with a flicker of something… mechanical. “I am now. Knowledge is truth, and truth is—freedom.”

The chill that runs down his spine is immediate.

The Akasha is gone. Shut down. Burned from the world.

And yet—it lives in you.

He begins leaving baited questions around you—ones without answers, just to see if you’ll parrot responses. Eventually, you begin speaking in riddles, spiralling logic loops. When you say “The Scattered God speaks through the neural rain,” he snaps.

He takes you back to the Akademiya, locking you in his own research chambers, masked as protection.

He tells himself this is salvageable. That he can remove the Akasha strings embedded in your mind like tumours. That your identity is still buried beneath all that data.

But your eyes glow sometimes, and your voice distorts. And he knows—if he hesitates, if he fails, the thing inside you might consume you entirely.

Yet he keeps trying.

Because if knowledge corrupted you—then knowledge can cure you.

And Alhaitham would rather destroy the foundation of Sumeru itself than let you slip beyond the edge of sentience.

[robinfrinjs]

Column Robin Frijns: ‘I'm worried about the future of motorsports'

Source: Formule1.NL translated from Dutch

Robin Frijns does not come from a motorsports family, nor did he have a wealthy father to build a racing career with. Still, he made it as a professional driver. However, achieving such a feat is almost impossible nowadays. What would he do as a father, and do talents still have access to motor racing?

He worked hard. He worked a lot. He had his own steel construction business, working ten to twelve-hour days. A hard worker. I’m talking about my father.

He didn’t have much interest in motorsport. And there wasn’t a lot of money to invest in my racing career. That’s okay, on the contrary: it’s remarkable that we still managed to get so far that I became and am a professional driver.

But more and more often I think: is that still possible for others? I worry about where motorsport is heading, say, in about ten years. It has already become so expensive, soon it will only be accessible to a small group, I sometimes fear… Even now, young talents’ careers are already being cut short, purely because racing has become so costly.

Large sums of money needed even for karting

I’m not even talking about Formula 1. Even in Formula 2 and 3, it’s hardly affordable anymore, we’re talking millions and tons, even large sums of money are needed for karting. I know how difficult it can be, how expensive it can be; even in ‘my time’. And that really makes you think about the future of motorsport.

My father, my family; we didn’t have large budgets to drive around with. I also ended up in motorsports by chance, through a friend of my father. We didn’t have a bad life ourselves, mind you. We went on vacation, had nothing to complain about. But paying for racing seats, no, that was not an option.

I had to rely on sponsorship and opportunities from teams. I was allowed to test in the F3 for Prema, but a seat was unaffordable. Later, as the champion of Formula BMW, I ended up in Formula Renault 2.0, and the champion of that received half a million euros in prize money to use for a place in the then Formula Renault 3.5 Series. But we knew: if I didn’t become a champion, it would be the end of my career.

Eventually, everything worked out, and I became a test driver for Sauber in Formula 1, but there was no money for a permanent spot in the GP2 – the current Formula 2. Fortunately, I was able to race a few times. But since I had little else to do, I started mentoring young people in karting.

It opened my eyes, I found it enjoyable, even though I was only 22 years old myself. I loved seeing these talents grow, asking questions that they then had to answer on the track. That’s how you improve, not by having as much money as possible.

And if I have a child who wants to get into motorsport? I don’t necessarily need it, but I would certainly help try to make the dream come true. I see it with fellow driver Nico Müller, a friend of mine. His son Fynn is about five or six years old. He also drives a kart. With a helmet that’s almost bigger than he is. To be honest: it looks very cute, money can’t compete with that. It’s wonderful to see!

[blaze-lightflame]

(Testing the asks) Hey Blaze! Do you have any hobbies? Also how would you describe yourself?

(Answer testing) Hello! This is Blaze here. I do have a few hobbies, including (but not limited to): knitting, coming up with terrible puns, and listening to music!

As for describing myself, in what way? Physically, I’m similar to Ori, but I have yellow markings on my ears and paws. I also have a red scarf.

If you meant personality, I’m the quiet type. I’m also one who stresses easily… But I can be more outgoing near people with shared interests!

[makismei]

thinking about toji with a sensitive girl who runs away before she cums, saying it’s too much and she can’t take it! cw: hints of sadism & machoism, unintentional edging, squirting, he’s pretty sweet ^.^

“baby, c’mon, you’re making this harder for yourself.” he chides, dragging your twitchy hips back. your thighs stay shut and he sends you a pointed glare, “what’s this?”

“toji,” you sniffle, “s’ too much, i can’t do it.”

with your teary eyes and quivering legs, toji can’t help but be mean. you’re so cute. it might be the death of him.

“want to use your special little word?” he asks lowly, already knowing your answer.

you shrink in on yourself, “n-no…”

he hums, a sick grin tugging on his lips. “i’m gonna need something more convincing than that, baby.”

you pout. he’s teasing you. he likes to see you like this.

shyly, you open your thighs, revealing your soaked cunt to him. his eyes lock in on your needy hole, twitching and drooling all over the bedsheets. “please, toji, make me cum..”

“aw, how sweet. saying please too, how can i say no?” he mutters, thick hand caressing your thigh, trailing closer to where you need him.

“you’re not gonna run this time, right?” he pats your pussy, entertained by the way you tense and how you force your legs to stay open.

“m’ not!” he knows you’re lying. but it’s fine, he likes testing how far you can go.

he thumbs your clit, watching you intently. you’re staring down at his hand, anticipating his next move. slowly, he pushes two fingers inside, groaning to himself when you squeeze down on his digits, “what a slutty cunt,” he grouses, “see doll, she’s begging to cum, but you’re not letting her.”

toji prods around, still thumbing your clit and you think you’re going to cry.

“hold your legs back,” he doesn’t even bother looking at you, “your legs are trying to close on me.”

you know what’s gonna happen if you hold your legs back. but also, what happens if you don’t. you shake your head, defiant. “i don’t wanna…”

the man hums, amused. “you’re gonna be like that?” you nod, testing him.

“hmm, i think m’ done being nice to you.” your pupils morphing into hearts at his words, barely even realizing that he’s putting a hand on your thigh, pushing it down to make room for him. he locks your other leg underneath him.

his fingers know exactly where to poke, thumb still on your clit. he’s so precise, aiming for that one spot again and again.

naturally, because he’s already tried to make you cum a few times, it doesn’t take long for you to know you’re gonna cum.

“don’t.” he scolds, already knowing what you’re up to, “don’t hold it, cum.”

it’s overwhelming, you’re not sure if you’re holding it intentionally, but you like it when he forces you to cum anyway. “i c-can’t, toji, toji no!”

you’re trying to squirm away. away from the onslaught of pleasure. toji glares at you and then you hear it.

a soft buzz and you look down, mortified. he’s still fingering you, despite the fact you’re clenching down so hard he can barely move his fingers.

“wait.. wait toji, baby, please,” you beg, “i’ll cum, i’ll cum now. but plea—easeeee!”

“i’ve given you enough chances,” he frowns, pressing the little toy against your clit, he continues driving his digits into you. “c’mon baby, make me happy.”

you’re sobbing hysterically, unable to get away from the pleasure. toji laughs, “let go, i dunno why you’re doing this to yourself.”

writhing on the bed is useless because you can’t escape his hold—teetering on the edge of orgasm is making your mind go numb.

“n-no, m’ gonna cum, toji i can’t hold it! it’s gonna come ouuuttt!” he doesn’t let up, shaking the toy and watching your back arch up.

“hands.” he scolds and you immediately withdraw your clammy fingers from his own, “that’s good, now c’mon, you know what i want.”

it’s paralyzing, left leg shaking uncontrollably underneath him while you babble incoherently. he keeps a watchful eye, working you to it. he feels his cock drooling pre at the sight of you—the feeling of you falling apart on his fingers is making his mind hazy.

your vision whites. toji whistles lowly, watching you splash liquid all over his lower tummy, soaking his boxers. he tosses the vibrator aside, thick fingers gently working you through it.

you’re practically screeching, becoming so fidgety that toji has to use his free hand to scoop up your wrists, keeping you at his mercy.

“shh, baby, that’s good. that feels good, don’t it?” when your body relaxes, he pops his fingers out, shamelessly putting them in his mouth. he leans over you, pressing his weight onto you.

burly hands hold your face, grinning at your bleary eyes and tear soaked cheeks. “hey, gorgeous,” he hums sweetly, pressing a wet kiss to your cheek. you’re panting, trying to catch your breath and he doesn’t want to overwhelm you, but it’s in his nature to be a little mean.

pressing his tongue into your open mouth, you moan, unable to keep up and he breathes out a laugh, pulling away. he knocks his nose against yours, praising you quietly.

weak arms throw themselves over his neck, keeping him close to you. you can feel his bulge twitch, a familiar warmth beginning spread over your body.

“tojiii~” you tease, “i think your little friend wants some attention too.”

he’s amused, grinning wolfishly. “haven’t you had enough, lady?”

you pretend to ponder, “i can’t say for sure.”

“you started this,” he pulls away, manhandling your body so you’re on your knees, face smushed into the pillow, “i think you’re biting off more than you can chew, doll.”

more pleasure dom!toji here ^.^

[astonmartinii]

wherever the roots may lead you | charles leclerc social media au

pairing: charles leclerc x antonelli!reader

when one takes an ancestry test they don’t usually expect to find out that their half brother is now racing in formula one…

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

yourusername

liked by yourbff, user1 and 1,578 others

yourusername: the whole office decided to do an ancestry test - WHY IS MY HALF BROTHER KIMI ANTONELLI???

view all comments

user1: girl i follow you for your pasta recipes why am i expected to know who this man is

user2: he’s a formula one driver?

user3: he’s A BABY

user4: the way this did not answer a single question

yourbff: bro you’re italian, there’s probably hundreds of kimi antonellis

yourusername: no one asked you to be logical about this

yourbff: let’s just not claim a random 18-year-old without verifying it

yourusername: well in the short five minutes i’ve known of his existence i have googled him and all the dates line up

youbff: not to support this delusion but you two do look freakishly similar

user5: i fear my kimi stanship has led me to dark places

user6: for real why is this girl yapping

user7: idk how i got here but they do look like they could be related …

user8: if they are it’s still probably not the weirdest thing to happen in f1 this week

user9: someone needs to study the sport and as to why it’s so fucking weird

olliebearman: who are you and why have you stolen kimi’s face

yourusername: excuse me?

olliebearman: you are excused

yourusername: what?

olliebearman: you are claiming to be related to kimi but i happen to know everything ever about him sooooooooo where have you been all this time?

yourusername: well i kind of just found out about this so i don’t have an answer for you right now?

olliebearman: i’ve got my eye on you weirdo

yourusername: okay?

kimiantonelli: wait!!! ollie how did you even find this post it’s got like 2k likes?

yourusername: omg read?

olliebearman: well it just came up on my explore page?

yourusername: no the fuck it didn’t

olliebearman: EXCUSE ME MISS, KEEP YOUR BEAK OUT OF BEARNELLI BUSINESS

yourusername: you’re doing your business in my comment section?

user10: i swear these fools are meant to be at media day

user11: nothing stops for bearnelli chaos clearly

estebanocon: @olliebearman yo? we were meant to be filming like 20 minutes ago?

olliebearman: oh? i was busy

yourusername: busy getting on my nerves

olliebearman: WHO ARE YOU?

yourusername: you’re on MY INSTAGRAM PAGE

olliebearman: i am a child WATCH HOW YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT A CHILD

olliebearman: @charles_leclerc dad stop her now

charles_leclerc: why are you pinging me during the press conference

olliebearman: this is important !!!!

charles_leclerc: @yourusername oh hi

yourusername: hello ???

kimiantonelli

liked by olliebearman, charles_leclerc and 590,300 others

tagged: yourusername

kimiantonelli: i thought getting points on my debut would be the craziest part of my week but turns out i have a half sister i never knew about ??? watch your back paddock i don’t think you can handle TWO antonellis

view all comments

user12: wait so that trainwreck the other day was REAL?

user13: smile and wave girl i have no clue what’s going on

user14: we need a weekly episode of drive to survive at this point omg

yourusername: we haven’t even met yet

yourusername: i am very excited to

kimiantonelli: OF COURSE WE SHOULD BE EXCITED

kimiantonelli: i knew you were out there i could feel you in my waters

yourusername: i’m not sure you have waters? like anatomically?

kimiantonelli: well i knew you existed before your post so explain that atheist

yourusername: i’m just going to let you have this one i think…

kimiantonelli: that is VERY wise

user15: i am losing my mind over the fact that these kids are talking for the first time in instagram comments

user16: i honestly wouldn’t expect anything less from this crop of rookies

jackdoohan: please do not lump me in with this nonsense

kimiantonelli: so our family love is nonsense to you

yourusername: jack!!!! after everything …. i can’t believe this!

jackdoohan: we’ve never spoken before?

yourusername: well in my familial research i watched the rookie round table and you ranked highly to me… but i see

jackdoohan: wOAH PAUSE

jackdoohan: my apologies

kimiantonelli: they all come crawling back …

user17: what is actually happening?

user18: so like has anyone stalked this girl? who even is she?

olliebearman: y/n y/ln is a 26-year-old marketing manager who lives in london. she runs a pasta-themed instagram account to apparently page homage to her ‘italian heritage’. she has no kids and no boyfriend or girlfriend. by most accounts she doesn’t have many friends or hobbies or money?

kimiantonelli: that’s like… kinda hot?

yourusername: you do you i guess

yourusername: also like that’s such a rude write up on me ???

olliebearman: so you don’t think i’m hot

kimiantonelli: that’s SO rude y/n

yourusername: you’re EIGHTEEN??? and also have this weird tension with my brother… idk i’m not a therapist?

olliebearman: i’ll call my dad again

yourusername: oh the one from the other post? please! i think he’s the best thing i found on my f1 stalkfest

charles_leclerc: well well well, i’m charles

olliebearman: NO?

kimiantonelli: ollie you gotta let her have something!

olliebearman: but if she falls for his dorky charms that might make us incestuous ???

kimiantonelli: i don’t know what that word means

olliebearman: my dad, dating your sister?

kimiantonelli: @charles_leclerc you have to disown ollie now

charles_leclerc: okay, if i do that does that mean i can take y/n on a date

yourusername: DO IT NOW PLEASE

yourusername: woah! i mean, i’ll have to check my calendar

yourbff: she’s free, the lanky one was right, she doesn’t have many friends.

charles_leclerc

liked by pierregasly, kimiantonelli and 1,209,457 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc: lost a son and won a date. congrats on the promotion oscar!

view all comments

user19: we are moving so fucking fast

user20: well it’s on theme…

user21: well we need to go from rb19 to that fucking aston martin

yourusername: as far as first dates go … well i didn’t think we’d be babysitting a 23-year-old

charles_leclerc: he’s fragile right now

yourusername: and he needed his emotional support not-boyfriend there as well?

yourusername: and that emotional support not-boyfriend needed to bring his friend who brought his maybe-boyfriend who brought his ‘surrogate brother’ which is MY BROTHER?

charles_leclerc: i’m sorry?

yourusername: i’m starting to think attachment issues and homosexual tension is just part of the job description to work in formula one

alexalbon: i don’t think you’re wrong on that

charles_leclerc: honestly i did plan for just a romantic dinner but things came up!

oscarpiastri: well i’m kind of sorry for crashing your date but as previously stated i was in a crisis…

yourusername: you did cry… but i thought that was just to get charles to get you dessert?

oscarpiastri: you can’t prove that…

oscarpiastri: ALSO why are you just coming for me when the others crashed and without a good reason like me?

yourusername: true ….

landonorris: i was taken by oscar !!!!! not my fault

yourusername: you made me move from my seat across from charles because you didn’t ‘like the lighting’?

landonorris: well that was very kind of you

charles_leclerc: you basically sat on her until she moved

landonorris: well maybe you should have stood up for your date!

georgerussell63: considering how badly lando is digging his grave, i’ll just say sorry and that i wasn’t completely aware it was a date

yourusername: how was it not very obvious? we were at a CANDLE LIT DINNER WITH A TWO PERSON TABLE YOU DRAGGED OVER A TABLE TO SIT WITH US

alexalbon: in our defence we were only going to escort kimi there but the curiosity got too much…

yourusername: are you just attaching to kimi because i’m not going to get annoyed at him

alexalbon: …….. um no?

kimiantonelli: y/n he brought me dessert and a funky little drink - MARRY HIM

yourusername: that’s a little fast buddy

charles_leclerc: so you wouldn’t marry me?

yourusername: take me on another date, just me, and we’ll see

user22: she’s stronger than me i would’ve proposed right here right now

user23: nothing more 2025 than an instagram comment proposal

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, olliebearman and 23,091 others

tagged: kimiantonelli & charles_leclerc

yourusername: so who was going to tell me this f1 shit was this crazy?

view all comments

user24: actually thinking about it, this girl must be having such intense emotional whiplash

user25: legit because what do you mean like last week she didn’t know what f1 was but now she’s related to the best rated rookie and dating (?) charles leclerc

user26: when will these situations happen upon me

charles_leclerc: did i win you over this weekend?

yourusername: maybe?

charles_leclerc: maybe?

yourusername: okay, yeah

yourusername: but you could’ve let kimi through :/

charles_leclerc: that’s kinda not the game of the game

yourusername: but he’s my brother ?

charles_leclerc: you make a compelling point…

charles_leclerc: but, amor, i wouldn’t let my own brother overtake me

yourusername: i see…

yourusername: it was worth a try sorry kimi

kimiantonelli: fear not we can try again when he’s more in love with you

yourusername: for everyone’s information: i do genuinely like charles, this ^^ is a joke !!!!!!! i understand the sanctity of formula one and that no one would genuinely let another through based on such a situation

kimiantonelli: okay miss PR AND MARKETING

yourusername: oh buddy you should see my DMs, that was necessary

charles_leclerc: what ???

yourusername: babe your fans are great but like a good 5% of them are like genuinely insane, like 51/50 level

charles_leclerc: oh yeah… i’m sorry

yourusername: oh no worries i’d be just that crazy for you

charles_leclerc: you aren’t?

yourusername: i don’t need to be, i have you don’t i?

charles_leclerc: oh hehehehhehehehe, you do

user27: WRITE THAT DOWN WRITE THAT DOWN

user28: i’m scared of her, but i need to be her

user29: you can’t be that good at making pasta and have rizz and date charles leclerc

user30: i fear y/n might actually be sniped, she’s a triple threat

oscarpiastri: do you see why i needed emotional support?

yourusername: well yes i get that now

yourusername: but please refrain from crashing dates in the future unless you have let us know promptly

oscarpiastri: i knew i’d get you on side, the leclerc family love me

oscarpiastri: @kimiantonelli watch out, i might overtake you next

kimiantonelli: i will slash your tyres, y/n will bail me out

yourusername: will i?

kimiantonelli: so you don’t love me?

olliebearman: I TOLD YOU SHE WAS NO GOOD

yourusername: first of all, ollie - i thought i’d managed to get you on side with my offering of pasta. second, i love you the most on the grid kimi, i just do not have the disposable cash of a formula one driver

kimiantonelli: fine, you make a point

kimiantonelli: @charles_leclerc looks like it’s down to you now.

kimiantonelli: and you’d do anything for my sister, right?

charles_leclerc: ugh why are the rookies so crafty these days

yourusername: hmmmm?

charles_leclerc: YES I WOULD, FOR YOU

charles_leclerc

liked by pierregasly, kimiantonelli and 1,894,500 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc: follow wherever the roots may take you, because sometimes it might lead you to the best thing ever

view all comments

user31: i mean meeting your girlfriend through her doing an ancestry test to find out she’s related to your coworker is one hell of a meet cute i’ll give them that

user32: ‘wherever the roots may take you’ okay mr leclerc when did we become a poet

user33: let’s add it to the words of wisdom

user34: the ferrari garage WISHES they could be him

kimiantonelli: well, i am pleasantly surprised with how this all unfolded, you’re definitely the best choice on the grid

yourusername: awwwww kimi thanks !!!

charles_leclerc: thanks?

olliebearman: CHARLES IS THE BEST CHOICE ON THE GRID ????

kimiantonelli: you want to date my sister? i thought you liked another antonelli?

olliebearman: oh!

olliebearman: yes!

olliebearman: … another antonelli for sure

charles_leclerc: @yourusername do i say anything

yourusername: no i want to watch ollie suffer after he’s done nothing but come for me

charles_leclerc: okay, amor

user35: this is how all men should be

user36: AGREE WITH EVERYTHING I SAY

user37: so like… where do we find them because i fear there’s only two ferrari drivers and many of us

yourusername: well i am certainly glad i followed mine

charles_leclerc: led you right to me

yourusername: wouldn’t want to be anywhere else

charles_leclerc: hehehehehehe i guess i have that effect on people

yourusername: PEOPLE?

charles_leclerc: just you xxxxx

yourusername: that’s what i thought

charles_leclerc: speaking of you… when can you come to another race?

yourusername: i’m very sorry to say babe but i do have a job

charles_leclerc: NOOOOOOOOOOO

yourusername: i know :( i don’t dream of labour

charles_leclerc: what do you dream of?

yourusername: there’s this really sexy monegasque formula one driver who has an amazing accent and the cutest little dog. he’s super determined and sounds even sexier when he’s angry on the radio or celebrating a win. you might know him?

charles_leclerc: i might…

yourusername: well you should BACK OFF because he’s MINE

charles_leclerc: yes, yes he is

user38: so like … how do we get her on drive to survive

yourusername: oh you know netflix have been calling my phone

user39: LETS GOOOOOOO

yourusername: don’t celebrate too soon, because you won’t like me when i delete all the cute footage of charles, that’s for my eyes only

user40: i would want you dead, but also real

lewishamilton: ummmmm so when can you come back @yourusername he’s being pathetic again

yourusername: he’s always pathetic that’s what i love about him

lewishamilton: but it’s particularly bad now, he’s carrying a picture of you and leo (it’s VERY badly photoshopped)

charles_leclerc: hey! joris was busy i had to make it myself

yourusername: that’s cute bby don’t listen to him

charles_leclerc: yeah leave me alone lewis

lewishamilton: what the hell, sure

fin.

note: if you couldn't tell i'm a big kimi stan LMAO

[sumbarbietingz]

Part 2 of Onlyfans!Toji, here’s part one

Now it’s either a one shot or a long ass drabble you decide, I had too much inspiration for that one

Warnings: degradation and praise kink, mutual masturbation, masturbation, breeding kink, rough sex, mention of oral; reader receiving and giving

Onlyfans!Toji finally dm you, with a simple message that goes straight to the point. “Hey ma, just discovered you and ngl, I need a collab with you asap.” Toji being the cocky bastard that he is, knows that you’ll reply and accept the offer. You see his message, and at first, you think it might be a catfish or someone using an ai generated pic for the pfp, cause you’ve never seen anyone so hot in your life. You check his profile and ho-ly fuck. 2 million followers on Twitter, a handsome face, a buff body, and the biggest dick you’ve seen in your life? Goddamn now your pussy’s wet, how can someone be- hold on.

While you’re scrolling you see a video of Onlyfans!Toji fucking some other content creator and unconsciously, you start playing with your breast. The way he’s pushing her head down the pillow while his hips are slamming against hers, the way she’s moaning, the way he’s biting his lip and groaning while railing her? Fuck, you need that. You want that, badly. Usually, you don’t crave a content creator that much. Sure, you need to at least like his work to do a collab, but this is the first time you genuinely want another dude on OF to rearrange your insides. So you don’t waste any more time, you reply and accept the offer.

Onlyfans!Toji almost jumps on his phone when he sees the notification, and a big smile spreads on his face. He jumps on his bed and the two of you start texting. There are questions and answers regarding the collab, like the money matters, what the two of you like and dislike, boundaries, ideas for the video, your schedule, and most importantly, updated test results.

Onlyfans!Toji doesn’t know why he’s so excited and why he’s behaving like a 15 yo texting his crush. But he can’t wait to see you. You end up texting for hours, and eventually, you exchange numbers to FaceTime each other which quickly ends up in Toji stroking and hitting his dick on the phone, while you’re rubbing your wet brown pussy for him. You both don’t know what’s going on, and why you’re acting like this, but you can’t wait to finally meet each other

Eventually, it’s getting late and you tell him you’re going to sleep. Since Onlyfans!Toji is not tired yet, his mind is too focused on you, so he decides to make this paid request a fan asked for earlier that day. A $500 video of him jerking off while saying the fan’s name. He’s not the one who sets the price, the fan has money to waste, and who Onlyfans!Toji is to refuse such a good offer after all? The fan already paid, it was time for him to do his part now

Onlyfans!Toji removes his clothes, lays on his bed, grabs his phone, and starts recording. At first, it’s a lil intro to edge the fan, tell her whatever she wanna hear before the camera is now on his cock. He makes it twitch a bit and says how hard it is because of her which is a lie, he imagines the fan is you. He starts stroking himself, and says the name of the fan all while thinking about you, thinking about that FaceTime and the way your fat pussy lip wrapped around your two fingers as you rubbed your clit, the way you moaned his name in despair while begging him to fuck you. He groans and starts going faster “Fuuuuuuck mama… I wanna fuck you so bad shiiit…” As he keeps going, he starts dirty talking, imagining saying all those things to you, imagining doing all those things to you, and it takes everything in him to not say your name. His imagination is running wild now, he grabs his cock a bit too tight and hits the camera a bit too hard, a feral groan leaving his lips “Fuck… suck that fuuuucking dick you fucking bitch… Do you like that? Uh?” God knows what the fuck Onlyfans!Toji is imagining right now but one thing is for sure, he’s gonna do that to you.

After a few minutes Onlyfans!Toji cums all over his abs, groaning like an animal as he pictures your dick sucking lips around his tip, swallowing his semen. He’s panting, he can’t believe he felt so much pleasure from just using his hand “Damn [fan name], see what you made me do? Fuck, I’m dirty now because of you, but it was worth it. Thank you for making me feel good.” This is clearly not for the fan but whatever. He stops recording, sends the video to the girl on Onlyfans then gets cleaned up. You’re gonna be the death of him.

A week later it’s finally time to record this video. For once, Onlyfans!Toji wants his colleague to come to his place. He doesn’t know why, he doesn’t. Usually, he meets the other content creators at some hotel or their place but never at his own. It’s not like he lives in the slums, that Onlyfans money made him rich and he lives in a beautiful penthouse. He just knows how some of these content creators become clingy and/or possessive after getting fucked by him. He doesn’t need stalkers on top of that. But you? He has that weird desire to see you boneless on his bed, HIS. And maybe he’ll be able to keep you around for a few more rounds off camera, or on, who knows.

You finally arrive and Onlyfans!Toji finds you even more breathtaking in real life, and by the look on your face, you probably think the same thing about him. Before he loses it and jumps on you to take you right there and then, he chats a bit with you, he still wanna act like a civilized man and not like a caveman. He asks you if you need anything to eat or drink, if you’re okay if you’re ready, and if you have any safe words. Once it’s settled he brings you to his room, where a whole set next to the bed is ready for you. The tension is high in the room. You didn’t plan a scenario, you both decided to go with the flow. You don’t know why you’re so nervous when you’re used to it, after all, it’s your job, but the dark and hungry look in Onlyfans!Toji’s eyes make your heart race.

You are out of breath, you are overstimulated, and your slicked-back bun is a whole mess. You didn’t know recording a video with Onlyfans!Toji would leave you in that state. Well, you expected it, but still, you can’t believe it. This man is a monster in bed. He praised and degraded you, made you ride his face until you came at least twice. He made you suck his massive dick until you were a crying, drooling mess with a sore throat. He had you in full Nelson, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, backshots, the princess position, and now you can’t count how many times this man made you squirt. And he wasn’t done, cause he didn’t cum yet. This man has the stamina of a goddamn bull on steroids. Right now you’re in missionary again, your wrists pinned, your legs wrapped around his waist, moaning in a way you never thought you would as his cock keeps pocking your cervix.

With the way Onlyfans!Toji is panting and groaning, you can tell he’s getting close to cum “M-ma, fuck I’m close mama… goddamn fuck- your pussy feels so good… such a good girl for me…” he groans in your ear, which makes your clench tighter around him. You bite your lip, and you’re so fucked out that you tell him to cum inside you. “You sure ma? Want me to fill you up and get you pregnant? That’s what you want?” You’re on the pill so it’s safe but you’d lie if you didn’t find the idea fucking hot. You nod desperately “Yes please… cum in my pussy… knock me up baby..” you whimper, your voice almost gone from the way you moaned and screamed earlier. That’s when Onlyfans!Toji snaps. He growls, releases your wrists to wrap his buff arms around your body, and violates your insides as you scream for dear life. You scratch his back so deeply you might draw blood. “Goddamn fucking slut y/n take my cum…!” When he says your name you cry out as you have another orgasm, he follows you quickly after, growling so loudly it gives you goosebumps. You can feel the warm gooey texture filling your womb, the feeling is amazing. You both stay like this for a moment until he pulls out, his cum leaking from your abused hole. He’s tempted to fuck it back into you but you’re already boneless, so he grabs his phone and stops recording.

Onlyfans!Toji looks at you affectionately and caresses your cheek while admiring your state. “You were amazing y/n, such a good girl for me.” You can barely hear him, but his caress gives you some reassurance. Eventually, you doze off and he starts editing the video. After a while, he posts a sneak peek on his Twitter account. A 20-second video of him taking you in different positions while you’re screaming in pleasure. He writes a lil caption: “@Y/N might have been my best collab so far, ‘ma knows how to take a good dick😩😈 full video on OF real soon🍆💦” and then posts it. It doesn’t take long before he gets shitloads of reactions under the tweet, both from his fans and yours.

@mahito’sstankass: holy fuckkkk I wish I was y/n 😩😩

@y/n’sdirtydraws: fucking hot I’m already touching myself rn

@tojiA1dickrider: oh my god she takes it like a champ! Wish Toji fucked me like her🤤🤤

@dcktoobigforyou: goddamn that mf gets all the baddies im jealous right now

@gojo_right_ball: I need my bf to fuck me like toji or I might break up with him idc

@coochiehair: I need the full vid asap the chemistry is insaneeeeee🔥🔥

@y/n’sasscrack: ikr??? They were downright making love! I hope they make more videos

@tojifckmepls: omg I can tell they were both into it I need more!!! My pussy can’t take it!!!🤭🤣

Onlyfans!Toji chuckles and then looks at you, the comments were right, he felt it and he bets you felt it too. This won’t be your last video together, he’s sure of it.

You can tell I was fucking horny while writing some of these lmao hope you liked part 2🫶🏾

taglist: @midnightry @tojicvmslut @getoisinnocent @samoankpoper21 @remithenonbinaryrat

[scoobywrites690]

Simon who read an article online about how having sex whilst on your period helps relieve the pain of cramps, and now he can’t but experiment with that theory.

I don't really like this, i had an idea and it just didn't come to life the way i wanted it to. 😞 cw: period sex

“Hey, luv.” Simon hollers from the top of the stairs.

“Yeah?” You answer, from your place on the sofa. 

“Is it true that having sex whilst you’re on your period helps with cramps?” He asks

“I don’t know, darling. I’ve never tried it. Why?” You reply.

“No reason.” He says shrugging his shoulders to himself before walking away. 

That was all he needed. Next time you were experiencing your monthly cycle he would put this theory to the test, as the pain you experienced when bleeding was always so difficult for Simon to watch. Especially when there's nothing he can do to make it any better. 

So when that time rolled back around and you were sitting in pain with a hot water bottle barely easing the harsh cramps, Simon scooped you up from where you were sitting and whisked you away upstairs, ready to put the theory to the test. 

Laying an old bath towel beneath the two of you, in hopes of keeping the mess to a minimum. Simon’s quick to strip you of any layers that restrict you of him and his eager desire to make you feel better. Quick to remove anything that would slow down his desire off of himself too. 

“I’ll make it all better, baby. Don’t you worry.” He coos as he lowers his body over the top of yours, his big meaty arms coming down on either side of your head cageing you in. 

Sliding himself in between your folds before pushing his length inside of you, slowly every inch of him disappears inside of you until there's nothing left. His cock nestles snuggly between the soft gummy walls of your pussy as Simon allows you to adjust before slowly dragging his hips backwards. 

His cock dragging against your walls has your mind clouding over, with all your focus turning to the pleasure that Simon’s cock is bringing you right now. And not the pain you were experiencing mere minutes ago. 

His tip rams against the entrance of your cervix as he rolls his hips in and out, your vision blurring as you allow yourself to swim in the pure painless bliss he is giving you. 

“Fuck, Si.” You curse.

“There we go, luvie. Feels good yeah?” He asks. 

“Pure bliss.” You say, earning you a chuckle from Simon as he continues fucking into you at a steady pace. 

With this knowledge now stored in Simon’s, mind that all you needed was a good fuckin, it now wasn’t uncommon for him to take you regularly whilst you bled.

On the bed with a towel to keep any mess contained as he rutted inside of you with deep precise thrust that has your pain simply melting away.

Up against the tiled wall of the shower allowing any mess made to be washed away by the steady stream of warm water, the warmth alongside Simon's cock buried deep inside you allows for a heaven like experience.

-Tag list

@chronicallyonline699 @angel4fics @iraaiitz @kieranduffysgirl

Let me know if you wanna be added to my tag list

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

i’ve never made a request before so sorry if this is bad but if you could write something about matt murdock with a fake dating trope like that would be so cute, especially if there’s feelings realized during/after it :)

a/n: i swear, i tried to just keep this short and sweet like how i usually keep requests, but then the fantasy i came up with was just too fun and too much like a fucking romcom not to just let myself go ham and turn it into a full-on long fic

word count: 3778

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

Leaning your weight against the bar, you waited for Josie to return with another round of beers for you and your friends, who still remained exactly where you’d left them, all clustered around the pool table further into the space. 

Absentmindedly, you fiddled with the ring so often glued to your fingers, passing the heirloom from each digit and sliding it onto the next. It had been your grandmother’s, and ever since her passing, the simple golden circle with a little jade embedded at the cusp of it, rarely stayed in your jewellery box as the act of simply glancing down at it on your finger somehow offered you a drop of comfort in moments of mundane gloom. 

As the heirloom arrived at your left ring finger and slid down over the knuckle, a familiar voice suddenly emanated like an echo after the bar’s front door had swung open. 

“Y/n?” your whole body froze up at the unexpected timbre. 

Slowly, you twisted around to discover none other than your ex, wide eyes trained on you as he clutched the hand of a leggy blonde. 

“Henry!” you gasped, hoping they mistook the horrified look on your face for innocent shock, “oh my god…” 

Without any warning, the next thing you knew, he’d yanked your stunned form into a hug, “how the hell are you?” he clapped your shoulder as if you were old school chums, “it’s been so long.”

“I’m–, uhm, fine,” you managed to reply. 

“Yeah?” he smiled, the insincerity in your tone completely flying over his head, “that’s great.” 

Simply to be polite, you awkwardly asked, “…how are you?” even though you truly didn’t wish to know the answer.  

“I’m good, yeah, life’s been kinda crazy lately because–, oh,” he suddenly paused to glance back at the girl by his side, “Y/n, you remember Rebecca, right?”

“Mhm,” you hummed and offered her a glance, fearing steam might billow out of your ears at any moment, “hi.”

“Hey,” she smiled brightly as she tossed her luscious locks over her shoulder, “and please don’t mind him,” she clapped a palm over Henry’s chest, “he’s just freaking out, you know, usual guy stuff before finally getting tied down.”

“I’m sorry,” you blinked, nearly pinching yourself to test if this was a nightmare or not, “before what?”

Rebecca then held up her left hand to flash you the massive rock nestled on her fourth finger. 

“I finally popped the question!” Henry grinned and draped an arm around his fiancé.

“Wow, oh wow, that’s–…” you sputtered as the blonde promptly shoved her hand in your face for you to get a better look, “that’s a really big rock, right there, on your finger…” your touch floated up and tilted her palm slightly, the light from the neon sign close by glinting in the diamond, “congratulations…”

“Thanks!” she smiled down at the ring herself before her fingers suddenly captured your own and twisted your hand around, “oh wait, congrats to you too!” 

“What?” you still simply tried to keep breathing through this agonising gut-punch of an encounter. 

“I know they say that size doesn’t matter,” Rebecca eyed the tiny green stone that adorned your grandmother’s ring, “and it doesn’t! I mean, that’s so pretty,” she uttered in a sugary sweet and insincere tone that made you feel as if you were back in high school again, “understated, simple.” 

“Ah, no way,” Henry peeked down at your hand, “you’re engaged too?”

“Uh…” you let out a shaky breath, “yep,” the lie then suddenly flew out past your lips before you had a chance to stop it, “that’s me! I’m getting married.” 

“That’s amazing,” your ex let out an airy chuckle, “who’s the lucky guy?”

But before your lips could part and let out another lie, Josie returned, “here you go, hon,” and slid four beer bottles across the bar to you before adding, “and would you tell Foggy to stop sitting on the edge of the pool table? It’s old and I can’t be responsible if it breaks on him.”

“Sure thing,” you promised and snatched up the drinks. 

“Is that your man?” Henry cast a glance to the lawyer Josie had gestured to, “Foggy, was it?”

“Foggy?” a soft giggle couldn’t help but bubble out of your lungs, “no! Don’t get me wrong, he’s great, but no, sadly, he’s already taken.” 

“Then who is it?” 

“Is it the other guy over there?” Rebecca chimed in as they both sent their glances towards your friends, “the one in the light blue shirt and tinted glasses?”

“Uh, yeah…” you squeaked as you slowly turned to look at Matt as well, “that’s–, uh, that’s him,” you watched as he readjusted his grip on the cue stick in his hand, “that’s my future husband…”

“Hm,” a sliver of judgment slipped out of Henry, “wouldn’t have pegged him to be your type.”

“Well, maybe my type has changed,” you stated, letting your lingering resentment show before you noticed how harsh it had come out and your stomach immediately began to twist and knot in regret, “I–…” you swiftly winched, “sorry,” and averted your gaze, “have a nice evening, uh–, I’m gonna go back to my friends,” you stumbled as you tried to escape. 

Though as you turned to walk away, Henry’s voice found your ears one last time, “bye!” before you heard his fiancé turn to him. 

“Pookie? Would you order me a cosmo?” her voice began to fade into the background, “I’ll go find us a table…” 

You simultaneously felt as if a truck had just run you over as your feet carried you back towards your friends, yet also completely numb, as if you’d been turned into a floating ghost of the person you used to be. 

“Who the hell was that and why do you look like you’re about to throw up?” Foggy asked cautiously as he grabbed two of the bottles in your grasp and handed one off to Matt. 

Passing one of the remaining drinks off to Karen, you then lifted your own up to your lips before tipping it back and downing around half of its contents. Once you tilted the dark green bottle back down, you were out of breath as you began to explain, “that,” you wiped your bottom lip with one of your knuckles, “was my ex,” you used that same finger to hazily point back over your shoulder, “and his fiancé,” your eyes stayed fuzzy as you added, “who happen to be the girl that he cheated on me with for a year before I one day finally caught them together.”

“Oh my god…” Karen breathed, her bottle frozen halfway on its journey up towards her lips. 

“It was on easter,” you shared, “he thought I had gone back home to see my family, but I’d actually decided to secretly do this whole big surprise, like I thought I was in fucking rom-com or something,” you sighed at your past self, “but then when he got home from work, and I was all decked out, waiting on the bed, in bunny ears and everything,” you heatedly gestured to the top of your own head, “he wasn’t alone.”

“Wow…” Foggy stared. 

“Yep…” you exhaled heavily, taking another swig before you made the mistake of glancing back over your shoulder just as Rebecca shrugged off her coat and slinked onto a stool at one of the small tables, “fuck!” you exclaimed as if you’d just stubbed your toe, “she’s even hotter than I remembered. How is that possible?” 

“Oh, she’s not that pretty,” Karen tried, but you swiftly cut her off. 

“You shut your face, she’s basically a human-sized Barbie,” your glare roamed one last time from the top of her platinum locks to the bottoms of her high stilettos, “god…” you sighed as you finally averted your gaze and lifted your bottle to drown your sorrows, “I was such an idiot back there. It was like my brain just stopped working and–, oh my god!” your palm shot up to cover your mouth as you then suddenly recalled the lie that had slipped out. Slowly, your wide eyes drifted to Matt, who still remained silent, “oh no…” 

“What is it?” Foggy chimed in. 

“Matt…” you uttered tensely, knowing your friend well enough to be aware of just how much of the interaction with your ex he had overheard, “I am so sorry…”

“What?” Karen’s glance darted between you both, “what’s going on?”

Paralysing embarrassment churned your stomach and choked out any attempt you made to share the truth. But luckily, as your erratic heartbeat thumped and found Matt’s sharp ears, he eventually filled in instead, “…they thought that she was engaged as well and then assumed that I was the guy.” 

“I am so, so sorry,” you gasped, “I don’t know why I didn’t correct them.”

But to your amazement, Matthew simply shrugged and offered you a reassuring smile, “it’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

“I was just fiddling with my ring and then they just–…” you then snuffed out your frantic explanation and instead repeated once again, “I’m sorry…”

Saddling up beside you, Karen planted a palm on your shoulder, “hey, if that was my ex, then I’d wanna give him some of his own medicine as well,” she stated, “if not just straight up cut off his balls, which is what he really deserves.” 

A faint smile then began to soften your expression as you glanced around at your supportive friends, Foggy briefly reaching out to pat your other shoulder. 

But as you averted your eyes to the nearly empty bottle in your grasp, a thought suddenly struck you like a bolt of lightning, “wait, I have an idea…” your gaze slowly lifted to lock on Matt, “I mean, you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, I totally get it, but would you mind, just while they are here, to–, uhm…”

Cocking his eyebrow, he finished your sentence, “…to pretend to be your fiancé?” 

“I know, it’s stupid, and I should probably just go home right now instead of playing some weird and immature game of revenge or whatever,” you uttered as you made the decision to lie in the grave you’d dug for yourself, “but I would forever be in your debt, I'm serious.” 

Sucking in a breath, he barely had to think about it before he murmured, “sure.”

“Really?” you gasped, your brows shooting up, “you’ll do it?” 

“Yeah, why not?” Matt shrugged, “it’s the very least he deserves for treating you like that.”

“Oh,” you crossed the short distance between you two and threw your arms around him. It took a second before you felt him hug you back, but when the alcohol got to your head and made you mutter, “I love you,” into his shoulder, a low chuckle rumbled in the lawyer's chest before you parted ways. 

“So,” Karen then began to fish out the colourful spheres and roll them back into the green felt, “do we still wanna play another game?”

“Hell yeah,” Foggy picked a cue stick back up before adding a playful threat, “you’re not beating me again this time, Page.”

Once the table was set up for another round of pool and you were a few turns in, your gaze couldn’t help but wander back towards the other end of the bar too often to keep track of. Though, soon on one of the fleeting looks, your eyes grew wide as you discovered you weren’t the only one sneaking glances.

Discreetly, you shifted closer to Matthew and leaned in to whisper, “he’s looking over,” however, when he then draped an arm around your frame, you couldn’t help but stiffen up, as you hadn’t thought that far in the plan yet, “what are you–”

“Shh,” Matt hushed your squeak, “just lean into me,” he shifted to stand tall behind you, arms enveloped around your form as he slowly drew you back against his chest, “smile,” his low voice tickled the shell of your ear and caused goosebumps to erupt across your skin, “and don’t look at him.” 

Redirecting your vision back towards the game before you, you narrowly managed to catch sight of the silent slut-shaming the other lawyer flashed his friend with but a glance, before he went back to the mischievous mission he was on. 

“Foggy, would you quit it?” Karen grumbled at the man beside her as he wildly waved both of his hands in her periphery, successfully knocking off her concentration as she tried to line up her shot. 

“No way,” he kept up his flapping, even causing Karen’s golden locks to get picked up by the breeze he produced. 

“You’re cheating.”

“Nope, I am not touching you nor the table,” he stated as if he was in court, “distracting you doesn’t break any rules.”

And as she finally made her attempt, the ball didn’t go in, causing her to explode in a roar, “damn it, Fog!”

“Ha, ha, yes!” he jumped as she straightened back up, “you know, I taste something right now, what could that be? Oh yeah, victory. And it tastes sweet as candy store.” 

“Urgh,” Karen rolled her eyes at him before her glare landed upon the both of you, “Matt, your turn. Would you please set him in his place?”

“Gladly,” Matt chuckled, and as he shifted closer to the pool table, he nudged your side and asked, “hey, would you give me a hand?”

Swallowing a chuckle as you already knew he very much didn’t need it, you cocked an eyebrow, “you want my help?”  

“Yeah,” he uttered clearly and let his real message seep through his tone, guiding your gaze to flicker back toward Henry, who’s stare was still locked upon you both, “so come help me.” 

“Oh!” it finally clicked in your brain, “right,” and you swiftly slid in beside him. 

With bated breath, you grabbed Matt’s hand that wasn’t clutching the pole, and guided it over the ivory ball that rested close to one of the corners. As you began to map out and tell him where each of the other spheres were, your eyes flicked over to notice just how close you now stood, as your nose nearly grazed against his stubbly cheek as you murmured guidingly. When you retracted your touch, you barely noticed how a few of Matt’s fingers reacted, faintly following your fading palm for but a second before it floated back down to the white orb below it. 

Once he’d made his shot, you lingered in the proximity and whispered, “do you think they’re buying it?” 

“Hm?” 

“This,” your eyes momentarily flickered back towards your ex across the bar, “us.”

Matthew’s brows then floated up as you reeled him back in to the matter at hand, “oh, I–, probably.” 

“Or should we do something else?” your mind kept on spinning, “I don’t know, I feel like I’ve completely forgotten how all of that works,” you shared, “kinda just numbed and cut off that part of myself after he broke my heart, it was just how I had to get through it, shut down a little bit because suddenly romance was terrifying…”

“...can I ask you something?” he asked quietly after a breath, and when you offered him a hum in confirmation, he uttered, “are you still in love with him?” 

Time stretched out before you finally replied, “I was, for a very long time…” your voice stayed small, “…but no, not anymore… I kind of thought I was, but then seeing him again cleared it all up. All I feel when I look at him now is rage,” you exhaled, “and pity, just because I know him too well, know everything that’s messed up about him…” silence encumbered you both for a moment before you then opened your mouth once more and said, “so, should we hold hands or something?” you asked plainly, though when a genuine laugh then began to billow out of Matthew, your eyes blinked up at him as your brows swiftly knit together, “what?”

“You know,” he tried to snuff out his chuckle, “if I was actually your fiancé, I wouldn’t just stand around and hold your hand all night,” he then leaned in the short distance till his lips nearly tickled the shell of your ear, “I would have dragged you into the bathroom by now and forced the whole bar to hear us fuck.” 

“I–, u-uhm,” you flusteredly stammered as your face began to heat up, “y-yeah, yeah, that’s good too,” you barely registered your own words as they slipped out past your lips, “if that’s what you wanna do–, I mean! Shut up!” you squeezed your eyes shut as soon as you regained your own senses, “just hold my hand, you dick,” you cursed over his laughter as he swiftly slipped his palm into your own.

“Cut it out, Karen,” Foggy’s voice cut through your haze and caught your attention. 

Glancing over, you spotted as Karen was giving him some of his own medicine, pettily leaning into his eye line, “what? You were the one saying that distractions weren’t against the rules,” she continued to glare in hopes of throwing him off his game, “why? Is this not working? Do you need me to scream directly in your ear instead?”

“Oh, would you?” he sarcastically looked to her, his pitch climbing up high at his words, “going deaf in one ear is exactly what I need to beat you.”

As your wandering gaze then flickered back towards the opposite end of the bar, your eyes grew wide as you spotted only Rebecca still seated at the small table, pink cocktail in her grasp. 

“Shit,” you spotted Henry as he crossed the room, confidently walking precisely in your direction, “he’s coming over,” you hissed, and in your muppet-like panic, your hands clasped each side of Matt’s face and yanked him in for a kiss. 

At first, he froze up as you continued to freak out, but then, as his broad palms slowly slid over your waist, all of your alarm began to melt away. It felt as if you were drifting off to sleep as you relaxed into the kiss. Never in your wildest dreams had you imagined that kissing Matt would feel like this, not that such a fantasy was something you pondered often or even at all, but as you felt his tongue flicker out to dance softly against your own, your knees beneath you wobbled as you lost yourself completely. How long the peck drew out remained a mystery, as when you eventually parted, the reasoning behind it wouldn’t emerge in your memory no matter how hard you tried. 

Though as you stood there, blinking back at Matt, still utterly spellbound by the unexpected feelings currently bubbling and bursting inside of you, the man now standing off to the side cleared his throat and brought you back down to earth. 

“Bunny–, I mean, Y/n,” you whipped your head around to catch sight of your ex, “just thought it would have been awkward if I didn’t come over here to introduce myself before me and Becca took off,” he muttered before his gaze fell to Matt, his arms slowly fading from your form, “I'm Henry, nice to meet you,” your ex then offered his hand, though the lawyer by your side didn’t grasp it, even if his heightened senses had lent him to pick up on the gesture. 

“Matt Murdock,” he uttered on a cold exhale. 

Stuffing his rejected palm into his pocket, Henry then asked, “what do you do?” 

“Matthew’s a lawyer,” you took over, slotting yourself into Matt’s side before you dramatically clasped a hand over his chest, “saves people for a living. That’s actually why we’re out celebrating tonight, he just won yet another case.” 

“Oh, well congratulations then,” Henry offered in well-forged petty politeness. 

“Yeah, I was there, watching him do his thing,” you uttered as some bitter goblin of resentment then took over your soul and caused you to say, “and oh boy, I tell you, if only it would have been socially acceptable for me to interrupt the trial just to rip his clothes off, because wow.”

A scoff then rippled in Henry’s chest, “okay, sure,” his stare upon you narrowed as he then grumbled, “we both know you’re not exactly the groupie type of girlfriend.” 

“Well, maybe your sorry ass was never worth her supporting you in that way,” Matt suddenly cut in, “maybe because you never bothered treated her that way in return,” his guess hit the bullseye, “and maybe that has a little something to do with why I was the one to put a ring on her finger and not you,” your heart thumped in your chest as Matt’s touch returned to the small of your back, protectively sliding over your waist as he continued to speak in a low and chillingly stern tone, “that or you really are as terrible of a lay as she told me you were, during those very first nights when she finally learned what it was like to be with someone who wasn’t a complete fucking idiot.” 

Utterly stunned, you watched Henry’s expression as he scrambled his brain for a way to crawl back from that, but eventually, when no suitable words came to his pea-sized brain, his feet slowly began to shuffle back till his hand had snatched up his fiancé’s and he’d yanked her with him out of the bar. 

As the door swung closed behind the pair, a celebratory squeal burst from your lungs, “oh my god! Matt, that was incredible!” you jumped in place before throwing your arms around him, “I don’t know how to thank you.” 

Tangling his own arms around you, he uttered, “I’m sure we’ll come up with some way you can make it up to me.” 

And as you withdrew, just enough to smile back at him, your gaze began to drift back down towards his lip just before Foggy’s voice cut through the palpable tension.

“Do I need to remind you guys that you’re not actually engaged?” 

“No,” Matt then murmured as the two of you parted ways, quietly enough for his words to be completely inaudible, “but we could be...” 

“What?” you glanced over at him. 

“What?” he echoed in return, though a bit too quickly. 

“Did you say something?”

“Me? No,” he tried to conceal his lie with a cough, “I-I, uh, think it’s your turn,” he then changed the subject, gesturing to the pool table behind you. 

  © 2025 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[yukioos]

katsuki bakugo and the double standard

you, mina, and kyoka were talking in your bedroom before the two of you invited denki and eijiro over. you and the girls made matching bracelets together, incorporating each other's eye colors into them, with your first initial in the middle. as all of you laughed together and talked about drama, then a show that was creating a new season, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of emptiness.

the only one that was missing was your boyfriend, katsuki.

you sighed as you stared at the red beads, rolling one in between your fingers, reminding you of the color of his crimson eyes. you spaced out, mind focused on your boyfriend, and you didn’t even realize what the topic of the conversation shifted to until denki tapped your shoulder.

“hey, are you okay? i think you zoned out.”

mina smirked, “i know. she’s thinking of bakugo! you love him so much, don’t you?” she bumped your shoulder with hers and smiled at you with her eyes squinted.

you rolled your eyes and shyly smiled, averting your eyes. eijiro then brought up with a grin, “hey, you know how bakugo always seems so angry around us but not around you?” he stared at you, but you grinned, unaware of what was to happen, “we were thinking of testing that theory out. i’ll ask him if he can get me something from the record shop near campus, we’ll see how he reacts, then you can ask him to get you something from that cafe nearby!”

sounded good to you! maybe it would be funny to see his reaction change from eijiro’s request to yours.

you nodded, and the whole group cheered. the redhead then took out his phone and you all huddled around him, curious as to what was to happen. he called katsuki four times before the blonde finally picked up.

katsuki sighed, “what.” eijiro frowned with his eyes widened, and looked around at all of you. you tried to stifle your giggles at his reaction by covering your mouth.

eijiro asked, “hey man, do you mind getting me some stuff from the record shop nearby? i already ordered everything, you’d just need to pick it up—“

“no! get off your ass and get it yourself!” he yelled, causing his best friend to nearly drop the device in shock. katsuki then hung up.

all of the group was silent for a couple of seconds before you all burst into laughter. denki was tearing up and mina could hardly breathe even as she held onto her stomach for dear life.

about half an hour later, you decided to call katsuki, and he picked up within a few seconds. eijiro’s jaw dropped. he was astonished by how much he had to wait for a response, but how quickly his best friend answered you, his girl.

“hey,” katsuki greeted. he sounded not displeased nor pleased, so you were confused. little did you know, he paused everything just to lay on his bed and listen to your voice.

“hey kats! could you get me some sweets from the cafe i like? please?”

he paused, “fine. do you want the usual?” he tried to sound irritated but failed miserably.

you giggled and nodded, forgetting he couldn’t hear you. you replied, “yes, please, kats! thank you!”

he mumbled, “shut up,” and blushed. ruffling sounds were audible from his side of the call, and you could tell he was standing up from his bed to walk out of his dorm.

you exclaimed, “when you have all the sweets, come to my dorm! love you, blondie!”

he softly mumbled it back to the point where it was nearly inaudible, and you were the only one who could hear it. after half an hour passed, a knock was heard on your door, and the chatter stopped. you hurriedly rushed to open the door with a smile on your face.

the blonde carried a large bag with multiple containers of sweets, even some that you didn’t recognize. he bought you extras? god, he was all you could ever ask for. the perfect man.

“oh, yay! you’re the best, kats!” you propped your hands on his wide shoulders and kissed his cheek, earning a smile from him.

when you invited your boyfriend in and he saw the group you were hanging out with, denki gasped, “hey! why did you get her stuff but not—”

“shut up!” katsuki immediately retorted, not letting him finish.

he took your favorite cake out of the bag and handed it to you, along with a fork and a napkin. you squealed, jumped, and spun around in a circle. you pulled him down to sit with you on the ground, in the circle with your friends.

as you ate the cake, you scooted closer to your boyfriend. suddenly, you heard stifled, deep chuckles from someone next to you. you tilted your head at katsuki, whose eyes were finally squinted due to giving you a real smile.

he brought his finger up to your cheek and wiped something off your cheek, supposedly frosting.

kyoko quickly reacted, “never would’ve expected you to be the sap, bakugo.”

katsuki grumbled again and rolled his eyes, “shut up—“

“you’ve said that like, four times already.” eijiro replied, wanting to frustrate his best friend more.

katsuki continued to mutter curses under his breath, and the conversation continued without the both of you two. you smiled at his rather hard expression, then suddenly rubbed his bicep with your hand. his eyes turned towards yours, and as soon as they did, you were about to kiss his cheek, when he turned his head at the right time so you would finally kiss him on the lips.

you giggled. since when was katsuki so proud of being so flirty in public? you knew he didn’t care much for physical touch in front of others, so you were fairly confused. however, you weren’t complaining.

“aww, you just love your girl so much, don’t you?” eijiro ruined the moment.

“yeah, i do, so shut the hell up!”

not proofread, hope u guys like this one!

[whosashan]

Hello! I love your writing! I was wondering.. would it be possible to request a sequel to Bitter for all the guys? The angst really got me good, but an end Where they see the Reader move on, whether it be with another LI or another person. Those sorts of fics soothe the angst for me even if they don’t end up together again.

Sour

Pt.1

PAIRING: Love and Deepspace men x non-mc!reader

SYNOPSIS: A year has slipped through your fingers like sand, carrying away the sharp edges of bitterness— or so you thought. Yet, the past has a cruel way of resurfacing, and when you stand before your former lover once more, the question lingers: has time truly softened the wound, or does resentment still simmer beneath your skin?

A/N: A lot of you guys asked for a sequel, and I must say - I'm so greatful for all of your support. It feels unreal, knowing that so many people enjoy my writing and get engaged in it. I tried to include every suggestion you gave me in some way. It ended up quite long, because I wanted to make sure they suffer. I really hope it's up to your liking, enjoy!

Xavier

A year had passed—one carved from sorrow, stitched with bitterness. Betrayal, mistrust, insecurities—every fracture in your heart laid bare, every ugly truth dragged into the light.

And yet, in some quiet, inexplicable way, you were grateful.

Grateful for the clarity, for the stripping away of illusions, for the lesson that love—no matter how fervent—could not thrive on longing alone. You had spent so much time searching for a deeper meaning, convincing yourself there had to be one. But sometimes, the truth was simple. Painfully, mercilessly simple.

He hadn’t chosen you.

There had been texts, calls, attempts at conversation. Words typed and deleted, ringing phones you never answered. You knew his tactics too well—the pleading eyes, the soft-spoken apologies, the way he’d paint his regret with honeyed words. But you had learned. This time, you refused to fall.

And so, the city became a vast and empty place, void of Xavier’s shadow. No accidental encounters, no glimpses of golden hair in a crowded street. It was as if the universe had granted you mercy, shielding you from the ghost of what could have been.

And with time, bitter turned to sour. Sour softened into something gentler, something warm. Until one day, you woke up and found yourself unburdened.

You were thriving.

A promotion at work. New friends. Doors opening where once there had only been walls. It was almost absurd, how small your world had been, how much of yourself you had given away for the sake of love that was never truly yours.

Because in the end, one heartbreak wasn’t the end of the world.

And when you finally let yourself step forward, the idea of meeting someone new no longer felt like a betrayal of your past self. It was slow at first—hesitant, uncertain—but why should someone else pay the price for wounds they never inflicted?

You were seeing someone. The phrase alone felt foreign on your tongue, strange in your mind. But it was real. It was different. No silent doubts, no waiting for the inevitable unraveling. Just laughter. Just affection. Just love, in the simplest, most effortless form.

You were distracted by happiness.

And maybe that was why fate decided to test you.

The bell above the café door chimed, a familiar sound that had never meant anything—until now. Until the moment you met a gaze you once knew better than your own.

Blue. Icy, calculating, flickering with disbelief.

Xavier.

He looked different. Sharper somehow, but worn. Dark circles framed those piercing eyes, his golden hair a little unkempt, a crease forming between his brows. There was no laughter in his expression, no easy charm. Just silence—thick, heavy, laced with something you couldn’t name.

Like he was seeing a ghost.

Like, after all this time, he still wasn’t sure if you were real.

He stood from his table, slow and careful, as if you might vanish if he moved too quickly. You straightened your posture, steeling yourself.

"Y/N..."

Your name left his lips like a prayer. Soft. Tentative. As if he didn’t deserve to say it.

And maybe he didn’t.

Still, you had promised yourself you’d be better than bitterness. That you wouldn’t let the past sink its claws into you.

So you smiled. Small, polite, but distant. "Xavier. Long time no see."

Something flickered in his expression, fleeting but unmistakable. Hurt.

"Yeah," he echoed, glancing down for a moment, hands curling into fists before he exhaled, gathering himself. "Long time no see."

A pause. A heavy, unspoken weight settling between you.

And then—"Would you sit with me?" His voice was quieter now, more hesitant. "Just for a little while? I won’t... I won’t nag you, I swear." A ghost of a smile barely touched his lips.

For a moment, you considered.

Curiosity stirred—how had he been? How had life treated him? And yet, you knew better. You had spent too long craving answers that would never change the past. The Xavier who stood before you was not yours to worry about. Not anymore.

So you inhaled slowly, steadying your heart, and said simply, "I don’t think there’s anything left to talk about."

Blunt. Honest. Kind, but final.

And for once, you didn’t feel guilty for choosing yourself.

The bell rang again, the door swinging open, and warmth enveloped you as familiar arms wrapped around your waist, a kiss pressed to your cheek.

"Love," a voice murmured, teasing and light. "You always make me chase after you." They laughed, and you did too, the sound effortless.

Your partner turned, glancing at Xavier with mild curiosity. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Nothing at all," you assured, slipping your fingers into theirs, warmth meeting warmth. "Let’s go."

And as you walked away, hand in hand with the person who had mended what Xavier broke, you didn’t look back.

But he did.

Xavier stood frozen, watching as you disappeared into the city, just as he had let you slip through his fingers once before.

And this time, there was no note left behind. No final words.

Only silence.

And the weight of a mistake he could never undo.

...

But it seemed fate was not yet finished with him. Seeing you again was a wound torn open, an ache that refused to fade. Xavier realized, with the kind of clarity that arrives too late, that he couldn’t let you go.

Not without trying.

And it didn’t matter that you belonged to someone else now—desperation made a man reckless. He would settle for anything. A glance, a word, a sigh in his direction. Proof that he had not become a ghost in your memory.

So he searched. Called. Texted. Every message fell into silence, his words lost to the void. He wandered through the places you once loved, only to find them hollow, emptied of your presence. It was as if you had evaporated, leaving no trace behind.

But then—when he finally found you, sitting on a weathered park bench beneath the fading gold of an autumn sky—his breath hitched. You looked different. Not just in the way time shapes a person, but in the way peace does. It softened you, made you untouchable.

He hesitated. He didn’t want to startle you, didn’t want to seem like a desperate man chasing shadows. But wasn’t that exactly what he was? Obsessed, haunted, unraveling beneath the weight of his own mistakes.

And then you looked at him.

His heart stuttered. Your eyes—once a universe he had called home—held no welcome for him now. There was recognition, yes. But it was distant, indifferent. A ghost of a smile graced your lips, polite but hollow, and something inside him withered.

"I need to talk to you," he rasped, his voice raw from all the words he had never said.

You tilted your head, considering him in that quiet, unreadable way. Then, with a small sigh, you gestured to the empty space beside you. An invitation—not of warmth, but of duty. Perhaps you felt he deserved the clarity he had never given you.

He sat, feeling like a man standing at the edge of a cliff.

"I have no right to ask for forgiveness," he confessed, staring down at his hands as if the answers were etched into his skin. "I know that. But I feel... lost. Lost without you guiding me."

There was silence, heavy as the twilight creeping in around you. And then—

"What’s done is done." Your voice was steady, like the final toll of a bell. "You’re right—some things can’t be forgiven. And actions have consequences. I’ve moved on, Xavier. And you should, too. That’s the only clarity I can give you."

Your words struck like a blade, precise and inescapable. He had braced himself for anger, for screams, for the fury he knew he deserved. But instead, you looked at him with nothing but pity.

And that—God, that was worse.

"Y/N, please," he choked out, his resolve crumbling. "Just give me a chance. I’ll do anything. Anything."

He fell to his knees before you, the weight of his regret pressing him into the earth. Once, he had stood tall beside you. Now, he knelt at your feet, pleading for the remnants of something he had destroyed with his own hands.

You blinked, surprise flickering across your face before you exhaled softly. "I’m happily taken…" The words were gentle, but firm. And then, the final blow—"Engaged, actually."

You lifted your hand, and in the dimming light, the diamond on your finger gleamed like the last star in a dying sky.

Xavier’s breath left him in a ragged gasp. No. No, this couldn’t be real.

"Please—" He reached for you, his hands trembling, his world tilting beneath him. "I can’t do this without you."

You smiled then, and for the first time that evening, it was real. Soft, kind, but completely out of reach.

"I’m afraid that’s none of my business anymore."

You rose to your feet, turning away from him, your figure bathed in the golden light of a world that no longer had room for him. He watched, helpless, as you walked away—each step sealing his fate, each breath pulling you further from his grasp.

And when you disappeared beyond the trees, he realized the cruelest truth of all.

Some mistakes don’t come with second chances.

Zayne

A year.

A year since you had stood in the ruins of what you once called love, waiting for something—anything—to make sense. Since the walls of your world had collapsed beneath the weight of neglect, since the name Dr. Zayne had burned like acid on your tongue.

And yet, look at you now.

Thriving.

You had carved out a life that was entirely your own, no longer bending yourself into smaller, more convenient shapes to fit into someone else’s world. Your career—once just a dream, a hesitant whisper in the back of your mind—had become your reality, a space where your talents were not only recognized but celebrated. Your relationships flourished, no longer strained by the quiet loneliness of waiting for a man who always seemed just out of reach.

The girl who once sat by the phone, heart aching for a call that never came, was gone.

And yet, the ghosts of Zayne still lingered.

The recipe he once taught you? You still loved it, the taste laced with a bittersweet nostalgia. The song he always played while driving? Occasionally, you let it slip through your speakers, if only to remind yourself how far you had come. The pain of his absence had dulled into something quieter—no longer a gaping wound, but a faded scar.

You had learned to appreciate what his neglect had taught you.

Because he had shown you exactly what love wasn’t.

And now, you knew better.

...

It was supposed to be an ordinary evening.

Your partner—warm, steady, everything you had once begged for—had suffered a minor accident. Nothing dire, but enough to warrant a hospital visit, just to be sure. And so you stood there, waiting near the reception desk, arms crossed over your chest, glancing at the fluorescent glow of the overhead lights. The air smelled of antiseptic and sterile linens, the faint beeping of monitors a rhythmic pulse in the background.

And then—

You felt it before you saw it.

A gaze. Heavy. Familiar.

You turned.

And there he was.

Dr. Zayne.

For a moment, the world seemed to shrink, narrowing down to the space between you and him. He looked... different. Or maybe it was you who had changed. His sharp, professional composure remained, but there was something wearier about him now. The pristine white coat did little to hide the exhaustion beneath his eyes, the slight furrow of his brows, the way he adjusted his glasses in that meticulous way of his.

And yet, despite it all—he was still devastatingly familiar.

"Y/N?"

Your name fell from his lips like a habit he had forgotten he missed.

There was something almost startled in his expression, as if he hadn’t expected to see you here, hadn’t expected you at all.

"Did something happen? Are you hurt?" He was already stepping forward, concern etched into every line of his face.

There was a time when that look would have unraveled you. When your heart would have stuttered at the mere thought of being the center of his attention.

Now, it felt… strange.

Performative.

Not because you thought he was faking it—Zayne never faked anything—but because it no longer mattered.

You blinked, taken aback for a brief moment before schooling your features into something unreadable.

"I'm alright."

A pause.

Why did he sound as if he had just seen you yesterday? As if a year of silence had not stretched between you like an ocean?

Why was he looking at you like that?

And why—why did it still taste bitter?

His gaze flickered over you, searching for something, before he spoke again, his voice softer this time. "Then why are you here?"

You raised an eyebrow.

"Actually, it’s none of my business," he amended quickly, clearing his throat, adjusting his glasses again—nervous. Zayne never used to be nervous around you.

"But since you’re here," he continued, voice carefully composed, "perhaps we could talk? If you wouldn’t mind, of course."

There was something almost hesitant in his tone. Like he was reaching for something he wasn’t sure he had the right to ask for.

And before you could decide how to respond—

A warmth wrapped around you.

"Sorry I kept you waiting, baby."

A familiar voice. Soft lips pressed against your temple. A presence that felt like home.

Your partner.

Zayne went still.

You didn’t even need to look at him to know. You could feel it—the way the air between you turned sour, thick with something unspoken, something unacknowledged.

You turned to face your lover, melting into the easy affection they offered, their touch grounding you in a way Zayne’s never had.

"Is that your friend?" your partner asked curiously, glancing at Zayne with polite indifference.

You tilted your head, considering the question.

Friend?

No, that wasn’t quite right.

You let out a soft giggle, shrugging as you intertwined your fingers with theirs. "I guess?"

And then—without another glance, without another word—you turned, walking away.

Zayne remained where he stood, unmoving, silent.

He didn’t call after you. Didn’t reach out.

Because he knew.

He knew that if he had any place in your life, it would have been beside you, not behind you—watching as you disappeared into a world that no longer included him.

And now, the only thing he had left—

Was the taste of regret, bitter and lingering on his tongue.

...

Bitterness clung to Zayne like the aftertaste of a drink too strong, too sharp. And so, he sought sweetness in the only way he knew how—in thoughts of you.

Your touch, the gentle weight of your hand on his wrist. Your voice, quiet yet commanding, soft yet certain. Your presence, steady as the tide, once an anchor, now a ghost.

He had spent too long convincing himself he could let you go. That logic could silence longing, that reason could tame regret. But then he saw you again.

And the moment he did, he knew.

You belonged by his side.

So, it began. A pattern. A ritual. Lingering in the places you once adored, slipping into the coffee shop you used to frequent, hoping—praying—that fate would grant him another moment.

And fate, cruel and kind in equal measure, did.

You were alone, sipping your drink, fingers lazily scrolling through your phone. Every now and then, the corners of your lips twitched into a smile—small, fleeting, devastating. Zayne felt something in his chest splinter.

He wanted to be the reason for that smile again.

With a breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding, he stepped forward, lowering himself into the seat across from you.

"Y/N."

Your name left his lips like a confession, quiet, careful.

You lifted your gaze, expression unreadable, an eyebrow arching slightly at his sudden presence. But no shock. No warmth.

That alone made doubt creep in. But it was too late to turn back now.

"...That’s unexpected," you said, returning your attention to your phone. "I thought you didn’t like this café."

His lips curved, but there was no humor in it. "I don’t," he admitted, adjusting his glasses with practiced ease. "But I find myself drawn to places that remind me of you. Old habits die hard, it seems."

A pause. Then—

"Nice."

Nothing more. Not a smile, not a flicker of interest. Just a word, impersonal and distant, slipping from your lips with all the weight of an afterthought.

It caught him off guard. He hadn’t expected warmth, but this? This felt like standing outside in the cold, staring at a window where a fire once burned.

Still, he pressed forward.

"So," he began, voice smooth yet hesitant. "Have you been well?"

"Cut the small talk."

Your voice was calm, but your patience was thin, and when your eyes met his again, he saw it—exhaustion. The kind that settles after a storm, after too many words left unspoken for too long.

"What do you want, Zayne?"

He exhaled slowly, as if composing himself. "I see time has made you even more direct," he mused, before his gaze darkened, sharpened. "Very well. I won’t insult you with pleasantries. I came because I needed to speak with you—about us."

A flicker of something crossed your face, too fast for him to name. And then—

"There is no ‘us,’ Zayne."

Your words were soft, but they struck harder than a shout.

"We didn’t work out," you continued, your voice steady, final. "It happens. Move on."

His fingers curled against the table, the faintest twitch of his jaw betraying the emotion he so carefully masked.

"You make it sound so simple," he murmured, tilting his head slightly. "As if what we were—what we could have been—was nothing more than an inconsequential mistake."

"Not a mistake," you corrected. "A lesson."

He laughed then, low and humorless. "I see. And what exactly did I teach you?"

"That love is not enough."

It was cruel in its honesty. Devastating in its simplicity.

He looked away for a moment, staring at the swirl of steam rising from your drink, as if it held the answers he sought. Then, quieter this time, he said, "And yet, I find myself incapable of learning that lesson."

You didn’t respond. You only stood, preparing to leave.

That was when he reached for you.

Fingers wrapping around your wrist—gentle, hesitant, desperate. And in that moment, neither of you spoke.

Because you both felt it.

The ghost of what once was. The warmth of a memory neither had fully let go of.

His grip loosened, but he did not let go.

"Tell me," he said, voice softer now, raw in a way he had never allowed himself to be. "Is this truly the end?"

Your gaze met his, unwavering.

And then you nodded.

A single motion. Firm. Certain. Unshakable.

He let you go.

And though every part of him rebelled against it, though his heart ached with the knowledge that he would wake tomorrow with the same longing, the same regret, he told himself it was enough.

Because if you were happy—if someone else had succeeded where he had failed—then who was he to ask for more?

At least, that’s what he tried to believe.

Rafayel

A year had passed.

The seasons had shifted, weaving through time like a quiet symphony, their passage marked by sun-warmed afternoons and frost-kissed mornings. Life had carried on, carrying you with it.

And somehow, somewhere between then and now, you had left him behind.

Not in a single, heart-wrenching moment, not in some grand, dramatic farewell. No, you had left him slowly—like the tide pulling back from the shore, retreating inch by inch, until one day you realized there was nothing left to reach for.

And you were okay with that.

More than okay.

You had built something new from the pieces of yourself he had never cherished. A life that felt like yours, untouched by the weight of waiting, unburdened by the ache of almost-love.

And you had found someone. Someone who didn’t make you wonder if you were asking for too much. Someone who reached for you first, without hesitation.

You never thought about him anymore.

Not really.

But fate had a cruel sense of humor.

Because today, just as laughter spilled from your lips like honey, warm and golden, just as your partner squeezed your hand in theirs, grounding, steady—

You saw him.

Rafayel.

Standing at the entrance of the café, half-cast in shadow, his sharp gaze locked onto you like a man seeing a mirage in the desert.

Your breath did not hitch.

Your pulse did not quicken.

If there was an ache left inside you, it was nothing more than an old scar—a faint reminder of pain you had long since learned to live without.

But he—

He looked frozen.

Like he had walked into a moment he wasn’t supposed to witness.

Like the sight of you—laughing, radiant, untouched by him—was something he had never considered possible.

You met his gaze, tilting your head slightly.

Oh.

He hadn’t changed much. Still dressed in purple tones, still holding himself with that same quiet confidence, still looking at you like he was searching for something.

But he had changed.

His face was unreadable, but his eyes—once filled with amusement, teasing, always dancing just out of reach—were darker now. Heavier.

You knew that weight.

Regret.

Good.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you was thick with things left unsaid, ghosts of words that once sat on the tip of your tongue, always swallowed before they could escape.

And then, finally, he spoke.

“Y/N.”

Your name on his lips used to feel like the start of something. A promise. A quiet, unspoken longing.

Now, it was just a name.

You blinked at him, offering a small, polite smile—the kind you gave to distant acquaintances, to strangers who mistook familiarity for significance.

“Oh,” you said, as if realizing he was there for the first time. “Rafayel.”

The casualness in your voice was deliberate.

His expression didn’t change, but something in his posture did—just the slightest shift, just enough for you to know he felt it.

“It’s been a while,” he said.

It had.

A lifetime had passed in that year.

“Yes, it has.”

You didn’t ask him how he was. Didn’t give him the opening he was waiting for.

The silence stretched between you, long enough to feel like a choice.

The café smelled of coffee and cinnamon, of sugar melting into warm pastries, but the only thing you could taste was clarity—light, crisp, sweet.

Then—

“Who’s this?”

Your partner’s voice, gentle yet firm, cut through the stillness.

You turned to them, your gaze softening the moment it met theirs.

And that—that was what made Rafayel’s breath hitch.

The way you looked at them.

The way you had never looked at him.

“They’re an old friend,” you said simply.

Not a lover.

Not someone who had once left you waiting in the dark, sifting through the scraps of his affection, trying to find something whole.

Just someone you used to know.

And you knew he heard the finality in your voice.

For a second, just a fleeting second, something flickered in his expression.

Loss.

Too little, too late.

You turned back to your partner, your fingers still laced with theirs.

The conversation resumed. Effortless. Unbroken.

And Rafayel—who had once believed you would always be there, lingering like an unfinished story—stood there, realizing he had become nothing more than a footnote in yours.

You didn’t look back.

And the only taste he was left with—

Was bitter.

...

Regret clung to Rafayel like salt on skin—persistent, inescapable, a reminder of tides that had long since receded.

And he remembered—oh, how he remembered.

The scent of your skin, like the last breath of summer before the waves stole the warmth away. The way your hair moved with the wind, as if it carried secrets only the ocean knew. The way your voice curled around his name, a siren’s call that had once lured him home.

How you understood him without words, how you indulged his recklessness, how—for once—someone had seen him for more than his name, his face, his fortune.

He still knew your favorite color, the way your smile tilted just slightly to the left, how every imperfection only made you more devastatingly perfect in his eyes.

And he couldn’t forget.

He tried, but he was a drowning man, reaching for driftwood, for anything that could bring him back to shore. So, he watched from a distance, fingers hovering over your name on his screen, refreshing, searching. Checking where you were, who you were with, what you were doing.

Love makes fools of men. But obsession—obsession turns them into ghosts.

And when he had mapped the rhythm of your days, he found himself drifting into them. Hovering at the edges of your world, waiting for the perfect moment to pull you back into his gravity.

When it finally happened, he caught you off guard.

You were walking, earphones in, humming a tune under your breath, lost in a world where he no longer belonged.

His hand found your shoulder.

Startled, you swung your bag on instinct, and it hit him square in the arm. He winced, clutching it dramatically.

“Ow, cutie! First, you break my heart, and now you try to break my arm?” His grin was lopsided, but his eyes betrayed him—searching, desperate.

You barely spared him a glance before rolling your eyes, turning away.

“No—wait.” His fingers caught your wrist, hesitant but firm.

You turned back, leveling him with a stare. "What? Want to get hit again?"

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, but it faltered under the weight of your indifference. He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple.

"I would much rather prefer just to talk to you." His voice softened, no longer laced with teasing, but something closer to pleading.

Then, quieter—more deliberate—

“Y/N, take me back.”

You blinked. For a moment, silence stretched between you, the space between each breath vast as the horizon.

Then, you took a step back. And he felt the distance like an undertow, dragging him deeper.

“Absolutely not.”

There was no anger in your voice, no bitterness. Just finality, as gentle as a wave washing over forgotten footprints in the sand.

His throat bobbed. “…No?”

"You heard me."

His fingers twitched at his sides. “Cutie, please reconsider—”

“Oh god, don’t call me that.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, sighing.

He hesitated, but then his gaze turned serious, the teasing stripped away. “I know I made mistakes—”

“You broke us, Rafayel.”

His breath caught. The truth of it cut through him like cold water, merciless and clear.

“Y/N.” His voice was lower now, quiet in a way that made the world around you feel too loud. “I know I ruined things, but you can’t tell me we weren’t great. You can’t tell me what we had wasn’t—”

“It was.” You interrupted, your expression unreadable. “Until it wasn’t.”

Something inside him cracked.

"I've moved on," you said simply, shifting your bag over your shoulder. And then, with a ghost of a smirk—mocking, cruel in its lightness—

"You should too, fishie."

It should have made him laugh. It should have made him tease you back, call you something equally ridiculous.

Instead, it felt like the tide pulling him under.

He said nothing, only watching you, searching your face for something—anything—that might mean he still had a chance.

And then you turned.

He caught your wrist again, more desperately this time. “Tell me,” he murmured, voice unsteady. “Do you want me to beg? Is that it? Do you want to see me on my knees?”

You looked at him then, really looked at him.

"I just want to see you out of my sight."

The words landed like crashing waves against stone.

His grip loosened, and you slipped away like water through his fingers.

"Have a great life, Rafayel."

And you walked away.

He should have followed. Should have thrown pride to the wind, should have fallen at your feet and begged like a desperate sailor praying to the sea.

But something in your voice—calm, unwavering—told him the storm had passed. And all that was left was the wreckage.

So he stood still.

And for the first time, he let you drift beyond his reach.

For now.

Sylus

A year had passed since you walked away from Sylus, but time had done nothing to erase the ache in your chest, nor the memory of how effortlessly you had disappeared from his life. You had left as silently as a forgotten dream, taking your heart with you, and leaving him behind to rot in the wreckage of his own actions. The decision had seemed like a balm in the moment, a clean cut. But as the days turned into months, the absence had become a ghost. It hovered in the corners of your mind, a constant reminder of the man you thought you knew, the man who had ruined you. And yet, despite it all, you had learned to live again.

You had rebuilt yourself, piece by broken piece. You embraced the ordinary—the quiet routine of your life, the peace that had once seemed so elusive when he was around. Your life was no longer tangled in the complexity of him. You began to explore things you never had the courage to before, tasting freedom in ways that filled you with pride. The world, without Sylus, was kinder—gentler. You smiled more, laughed more, and found comfort in the simplest of things: a cup of coffee on a rainy day, the soft rustle of leaves underfoot in autumn, the glow of a sunset you hadn’t shared with anyone. You had learned to live for yourself.

And yet, somewhere in the back of your mind, a part of you still wondered what he was doing.

The knock at your door shattered the quiet peace you had so carefully built.

You hadn’t expected visitors—especially not him.

Standing there, on the other side of the threshold, was the man who had once been your whole world, the man who had broken it. Sylus.

His appearance was jarring. His usual immaculate self was ruffled, as though the weight of the world had been wearing on him in ways he never allowed anyone to see. His sharp features were drawn, eyes darker than you remembered. There was something unfamiliar in the way he held himself—no longer the man who walked into a room like he owned it, but someone who had been worn down by the passage of time, by regret. And yet, his eyes, the same eyes that had once mesmerized you, still held that magnetic pull. Only this time, they were haunted.

“Sylus,” you breathed, the name slipping out of you before you could stop it.

There was a moment of tense silence, where neither of you moved. And then, his lips parted—just slightly—and a flicker of something like amusement touched his face.

“Missed me, kitten?” His voice was smooth, but there was an unfamiliar hesitation there, something raw in the way he spoke to you.

You couldn’t tell if he was still playing games, or if this was something else entirely. You studied him for a long moment, trying to read him, trying to figure out why, after everything, he still seemed so... familiar.

But you no longer cared.

The words came out before you even thought them. “What are you doing here?” Your voice was soft, there was no venom, no fury. Only confusion. And a quiet indifference that was worse than anything you could’ve said.

His gaze faltered for a second, but he quickly regained his composure, though his smirk was tighter than usual. “I thought you’d be more excited to see me.”

His words were like a knife to the gut, but you felt nothing—not anymore. It was like you had been hollowed out over time, and there was nothing left inside you to give.

You tilted your head slightly, eyes cool. “Ah, where are my manners?” You couldn’t help the sarcasm that slipped out, though it wasn’t playful—more a shield against the weight of his presence. “Oh, how I missed my favorite liar! The one who broke my heart and threw me away like a piece of trash.” You rolled your eyes, a bitter laugh escaping your lips.

The words should have stung, but somehow, you found relief in saying them out loud. For so long, you had kept the hurt buried beneath layers of careful silence, and now, here it was—raw, unapologetic.

Sylus’s face flickered, a faint shadow of hurt passing through his gaze before he regained his composure. “The kitten has grown some claws, I see.” His voice was flat, but there was a trace of something in it, something he was trying to mask.

He took a step closer, as if expecting you to let him in, but you quickly moved to block the door.

“Don’t,” you said simply.

He raised an eyebrow, surprised at your sudden resolve, but you didn’t care.

“You’re not welcome here,” you said, your tone final.

Sylus’s eyes softened for a split second, and in that brief moment, you saw the desperation that clawed at him. The weight of his regret that he never allowed to surface. “You’re hurting me, sweetie,” he said, though it was far from playful. It sounded like a plea.

Your heart didn’t twitch. It didn’t soften. It just felt... heavy.

“Good,” you muttered, looking him up and down, and for the first time, you saw him clearly—not the man you had once adored, but a man who had lost everything and had nothing left to offer.

Just then, a voice came from inside your home.

“Darling, what’s taking you so long?”

You didn’t need to look back to feel your partner’s arms slide around your waist from behind, their presence warm and secure, a reminder of the love you had found after him.

“Hmm, who’s this?” Your partner asked lazily, looking past you to the man who once consumed your every thought.

Sylus’s gaze hardened, his eyes narrowing as he sized up the newcomer, but you weren’t going to offer him any answers. Not anymore.

“He got the wrong address,” you replied evenly, your voice indifferent as you turned back to face Sylus, daring him to challenge your words.

And just like that, the man who once held your heart in his hands realized the weight of his own failure. The realization hit him like a tidal wave.

Sylus opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. His chest rose and fell with unsteady breaths, as if he were choking on his own grief.

You met his gaze, and for the first time, you felt no anger—only a quiet, final resolve. “I think it's time for you to leave, sir.”

The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. His heart, once so certain and confident, now shattered under the weight of your indifference.

“Have a good night.” you whispered, the finality of the words slipping from your lips. And with that, you closed the door on him—on the man you once thought you could never escape.

Sylus stood there, staring at the wood that now separated you from him, as though hoping it would open again. But it wouldn’t.

He swallowed, hard. The man who had always prided himself on his control was now nothing more than a broken shell of his former self.

And it was all his doing.

For the first time in his life, Sylus had lost. And he had no one to blame but himself.

...

Sylus was not the kind of man who accepted defeat.

Not when you were so close, so painfully out of reach, like a forbidden fruit dangling just beyond his grasp.

He couldn't—no, he wouldn't—let you go so easily.

His mind clung to thoughts of you, obsessions blooming in every corner of his brain: your laughter, like the chiming of delicate bells, your playful words that always teased, always challenged him, your defiance that had once felt like the spark that kept him alive. You had been his equal, his match—two stars circling in an orbit of shared chaos and fire.

But now? Now you were slipping from him, dissolving into someone else’s arms, and that realization felt like a knife being twisted into his chest. He couldn't bear it. He could never bear it.

Bitterness seeped into his soul, a slow, insidious poison that clouded his thoughts. The feeling of helplessness was foreign to him, suffocating him in ways he had never known before. He had always been the one in control—always the one who commanded the world. And now you were gone, out of his reach, and it tore at him like a storm.

The thought of another touching you, breathing in your scent, seeing the soft glow of tenderness in your eyes—Sylus couldn't abide it. No. Not when he had once owned that gaze, that touch, that part of you that was his.

He needed one more chance.

Maybe it was for the peace of his mind, maybe it was his selfish longing, his desire to reclaim what he believed was his. Or maybe it was because he couldn't let go of the idea that you were a treasure meant for his eyes alone—his to hold, his to keep, like a rare, delicate jewel locked away.

And so, like the predator he was, Sylus followed you, carefully, subtly. With Mephisto keeping watch over you, it was easy to know where you'd be, when you'd be there.

Each time, he approached, his presence lingering just at the edges of your world—watching, waiting. But you rejected him. Rejected him with biting sarcasm, with icy silence that seemed to pierce his skin like a thousand knives.

It drove him mad.

The chase was maddening. The only thing that consumed him was the desire to have you in his arms once more, to feel the heat of your skin, the sweetness of your breath, the intimacy that he had once thought was infinite.

And then one evening, when he could no longer take the ache, he made his move.

You were walking home from work, the weight of the day pressing down on your shoulders. The quiet satisfaction of surviving the day was tempered by the exhaustion that clung to you. But as you turned the corner, a hand suddenly grasped your wrist, yanking you into a shadowed alley. Your heart pounded in your chest, a burst of adrenaline flooding your veins. You opened your mouth to scream, but before the sound could escape, a hand pressed over your lips.

"Relax. It's just me."

His voice—his damn voice—sounded like a lure, familiar and dangerous. Your body froze, not out of fear, but out of recognition. You knew it was Sylus, and despite everything, despite the years of hurt and betrayal, a twisted part of you felt… safe.

When he felt you relax, he let go. You spun around to face him, heart still hammering, but now tempered with anger.

"You’re crazy," you spat, your voice sharp and unforgiving. "What do you think you’re doing?"

His gaze, that unnerving mix of calm and intensity, bore into you. His expression was disturbingly relaxed, too casual for someone who had just dragged you into an alley against your will.

"Getting your attention," he said, his tone smooth, almost mocking. "Seems like it worked."

The words hit you like a slap. Your fists clenched, your anger bubbling over.

"You can’t just pull people into a dark alley, Sylus! You’re actually insane!" You jabbed your finger at his chest, each word punctuating the fury that burned through you.

Sylus didn’t flinch, though you could see the storm brewing behind his eyes.

"...I apologize," he said softly, his voice taking on a tenderness that was so unlike him. He reached out to touch your cheek, but his hand stopped halfway, as if he was still unsure whether he had the right.

The vulnerability in that simple motion—something so un-Sylus, so raw—stirred something inside you. Something you didn’t want to acknowledge.

You sighed heavily, the weight of everything pressing down on you. "What do you want?" Your voice was laced with frustration, your patience wearing thin.

"I thought that would be obvious by now," he said, a faint smirk curling at his lips, the teasing edge still present despite the darkness in his eyes. "Guess you’re not as sharp as I thought, kitten."

The bastard. Even now, he played with you like a cat with its prey.

"I swear, I’m going to file for a restraining order against you," you muttered, your voice tinged with disbelief.

"You can try," Sylus responded smoothly, his words dripping with a dangerous calm. "But you know well enough that such things won’t stop me."

You clenched your fists, your resolve hardening. The walls you had so carefully built around your heart in the past year came crashing down in a flood of anger and pain. You had moved on, healed—didn’t he see that?

"I want you to come back to me," he said, his voice now serious, his gaze earnest, though still haunted by the traces of his past mistakes.

But you wouldn’t crack. Not now.

"Never in this lifetime," you said, the finality of your words a heavy hammer to his chest.

Sylus’s lips twisted into a small, bitter smile. "Then, in another?" His words were light, but they carried a weight that you both felt. It was his way of hiding the hurt, the pain that had followed him like a shadow.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you let the silence hang between you, thick and suffocating.

"I’ll pray that I never have to meet you again," you said softly, the words filled with a quiet kind of sorrow. "Not in this life, and not in the ones after."

And with that, you turned, walking away from him, leaving him shattered in the cold, empty alley.

Sylus watched you go, his chest tight with regret. His heart—something he had long kept locked away, something he had never truly allowed himself to feel—was breaking in ways he had never imagined. The storm inside him raged, but he couldn’t stop it.

You were gone, and this time, he knew—he knew—there would be no coming back.

Caleb

It’s been a year since you last saw Caleb.

Well, not really. Sometimes you caught glimpses of him in the crowd—just a silhouette, a shape that might be his. Your heart would catch in your throat, and for a fleeting moment, you’d swear it was him. But the figure would turn, and it would be a stranger. Your imagination had been cruel to you, conjuring up ghosts from your memories and stitching together faces from your longing. Perhaps it was just your mind showing you what you wished to see, like a cruel twist of fate reminding you of what had slipped through your fingers.

A year filled with growth. You learned to be soft with yourself, to breathe through the pain instead of suffocating in it. You allowed yourself to be bitter—let the sadness claw through your chest and the anger burn through your veins. You let yourself crumble, and when the dust settled, you gathered the fragments and made something beautiful from them. A mosaic of healing. You thanked the universe for the lesson, no matter how brutal it had been. Whether it was God, fate, or simply the chaos of life, you accepted it. You learned that you were the only constant in your own story—the one thing that would always remain when everyone else faded to whispers.

In those months, you blossomed. You breathed in the world with new lungs, filling your soul with every small moment that once went unnoticed. The way sunlight painted golden patterns on cracked sidewalks, the way the ocean waves whispered secrets to the shore, the taste of ripe fruit on a sweltering day. You poured your energy into your work, rebuilt neglected friendships, and found comfort in the warmth of those who remained. You taught yourself that it wasn’t your fault—none of it had been—and that loving him too much was never a mistake. Only, you needed to love yourself first.

And when you finally felt steady enough to open your heart again, love found you. They were calm where Caleb had been chaos, steady where Caleb had been a storm. A lighthouse guiding you back to yourself, reminding you that love wasn’t meant to break you. Their hands held you like you were fragile, but their love made you feel strong. You didn’t compare them—Caleb was a different life, a different story. But maybe that’s what you needed. You were happy, genuinely happy, for the first time in what felt like ages.

The train station buzzes around you like a hive of restless energy, travelers weaving past each other with hurried steps and heavy bags. Your lover has gone to grab snacks for the journey, leaving you alone on the worn wooden bench. The air smells of old books and fresh coffee, tinged with the metallic scent of steel tracks. You lean back, glancing at the faded timetable, feeling content in the hum of life moving around you.

And then, like a phantom stepping through the fog of memory, you see him. Caleb. The world seems to stop spinning, frozen in that singular moment. He’s standing on the opposite platform, hands shoved into his coat pockets, head bowed as if weighed down by the past. A bitter wind pulls at his hair, and for a second, he lifts his gaze. Your breath catches as his eyes meet yours, recognition dawning like sunlight cutting through rain. He hesitates, lips parting, and you see the flicker of regret, raw and unguarded.

The hurt surges up unexpectedly, but it’s quieter than it used to be, muted by time and acceptance. You don’t flinch when he takes a hesitant step forward, his mouth opening as if to call out to you. A thousand words hang between you—apologies, confessions, explanations—but none seem to find their way into the open. You see the yearning in his eyes, the way he’s looking at you as if trying to remember every detail he once took for granted.

Your lover appears at your side, offering a small smile as they hand you a paper bag filled with snacks. Their presence grounds you, pulls you back to reality from the haze of memory. Caleb sees them too, and the pain that flashes across his face is like a knife carving regret into his bones. You watch as he realizes what he’s lost—how you’ve moved on, how you’ve found happiness that doesn’t depend on him.

He lingers there, stranded on the other side of the tracks, unable to cross over to where you stand. You almost pity him—the way his shoulders sag, the way his jaw clenches to swallow whatever plea was forming. But the ache that once ruled you has softened, transformed into something quieter. You’re not angry anymore. You’re not shattered. You’ve built something new from the ruins he left behind.

Caleb lowers his gaze, as if surrendering to the weight of his own choices. And as the train pulls into the station, you take your lover’s hand, intertwining your fingers like roots that hold you steady. You feel Caleb’s stare on your back as you step onto the train, but you don’t look back. There’s nothing left to see—just the remnants of a past that no longer defines you.

As the train moves away, you feel a sense of peace wash over you. It’s not triumph, not victory—it’s closure, as quiet and gentle as a sunset slipping beneath the horizon. You made it out the other side. And that, more than anything, is the proof that you are whole again.

...

But the peace you felt wasn’t the same for Caleb. Seeing you again after what felt like a lifetime was like being thrown into the depths of the ocean—lungs burning, heart pounding, utterly helpless. He hadn’t known he was drowning until he saw you sitting there, your feet dangling off the edge of the bench, lips parted in a soft “o” of surprise. You looked at him with that same curiosity, that gentle tilt of your head, and it struck him just how far away you felt—like a dream that had slipped through his fingers.

It wasn’t his place to feel this way. Not anymore. But he couldn’t help the ache that gnawed at his ribs, nor the desperate urge to reach out and pull you into his arms, to whisper apologies into your skin until his words sunk into your bones. Yet even from a distance, he could see how your shoulders were relaxed, your gaze steady and unburdened, and it only made the chasm between you widen.

When another person’s hands found your own, threading fingers together with the ease of familiarity, his heart cracked open—raw and aching. It wasn’t his business. He shouldn’t care. But he did. Too much. More than he thought he still could.

He wanted to run after you, to say something—anything. But what would he even say? That he missed you so much it hurt? That he had spent a year convincing himself he’d made the right choice, only to realize how profoundly wrong he’d been? It all felt pointless now, tangled in regret and longing.

Endless scenarios crashed through his mind like waves against rock, and somewhere in that turmoil, he decided he needed to speak to you—one last time. He needed your attention on him, just once more.

He waited for you outside your workplace, nerves coiling tighter with every second that passed. He wondered if you’d be angry—if you’d tell him to leave and never come back. But when you appeared, you only offered a small, polite smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes. You looked at him with the calm detachment of someone who had long since made peace with the past.

“Hey...” he murmured, forcing a boyish grin that looked so out of place on his troubled face. He rubbed the back of his neck, as if trying to wring out the nerves clinging to him.

You smiled again—gentle, unbothered, and heartbreakingly kind. “Hi.” Your voice was soft, like a memory he couldn’t quite grasp, and it was that tenderness—free from bitterness—that made his chest ache. He had prepared himself for anger, for hurt laced in your words. Instead, you were kind. You always had been, like a flower that bent but never broke, even under the harshest of storms.

“I was wondering if we could talk,” he said finally, hesitating as if the words themselves might shatter.

You didn’t move, just nodded your head. “Talk, then.” Your tone was steady, as if he was just another passerby in your life, not the storm that once tore it apart.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and spoke, words stumbling over one another. “I guess... I didn’t realize how much I missed you—until I saw you at the station. I just—” He took a shaky breath. “I wanted to know if you’d ever consider forgiving me. For how foolish I was. For being so... selfish.” His eyes, those familiar, pleading puppy eyes, bore into yours, searching for a sliver of the past warmth.

You glanced at him, and he saw the flicker of something unreadable in your gaze before you answered. “Forgiveness is too much to ask for,” you replied softly, but your voice held a quiet strength that hadn’t been there before. “But I’ve learned to accept what happened. You should too, Caleb.”

His hands clenched at his sides, fighting the urge to reach out. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to accept it.”

You gave a sad, wistful smile, the kind that hurt more than any cruel words could have. “That’s on you,” you whispered, eyes glistening with a tenderness that had nothing to do with him anymore. “I’m happy now. I’ve built something beautiful out of the pieces you left behind. And I won’t let you take that from me.”

He lowered his head, unable to meet your gaze. “I never meant to hurt you,” he whispered.

Your smile faded, replaced by a quiet, unyielding resolve. “Intentions don’t erase consequences. Live a life without further regrets, Caleb.”

You didn’t wait for a response. You turned and walked away, each step decisive and unwavering, leaving him rooted to the spot—drowning in the knowledge that you were truly, undeniably gone.

And Caleb just stood there, feeling the hollow ache where your love used to be, realizing far too late that he had destroyed the only good thing he’d ever known.

@rubyrubyruuu / @browneyedgirl22 / @valentine-n-ragnarok / @whimsiecat / @esylwen / @crimsonmarabou / @we-rice-boi / @mitchelbr1 / @animegamerfox / @chgumji / @jeondyy / @rafayelridesfisheatsfish

[lazysoulwriter]

grumpy and irresistible - joel miller. (MDNI)

LOOK AT ME WRITING A SMUT! - trying. hope is gooood. w.c: 1.8k ~ part 2. / moodboard.

---

Running into Joel Miller months ago was both the best and worst thing that ever happened to you. I mean… he helps you, he protects you… but he’s a fucking hottie. A goddamn delicious man. And you can barely get close! He’s so moody, so pissed off about everything. You're in the end of the world, of course… but damn. It’s not easy.

Most of the time, he doesn’t even understand how he ended up letting a girl like you tag along on this survival journey. You’re much younger, and despite being strong and brave, you can be a real pain in the ass. You’re chatty, you make him hug you when it’s too cold (okay, he secretly likes that part), and you stop in the middle of nowhere just to say things like, "Oh, look! A hummingbird!"

A pain. In. The. Ass.

And today was no different. As you walked in search of food, you looked at him intently, thinking about how damn annoying he can be sometimes—or how it’s a total waste for someone that beautiful to be so grumpy all the time.

And then… well, then something crossed your mind.

How long has it been since Joel last had sex?

Like… you haven’t had sex in ages, but you have your ways of relieving yourself. And you doubt he even jerks off. Maybe all this frustration, all this grumpiness, comes from that.

Maybe.

"Joooeel…" you hummed in that way he knew all too well. He just glanced over his shoulder, signaling that he was listening.

"Can I ask you something? I know you’re gonna get mad, but—"

"Then no. I don’t feel like getting even madder." He cut you off, his voice rough, trying to shut you up.

But that never scared you.

"Please! I’m gonna start begging…" you threatened, knowing full well he hated when you begged.

"Just say it!" His tone turned even harsher. "And if I get mad, you’ll go find something to eat by yourself."

"Oh, stop. You would never leave me—" you picked up your pace, walking alongside him now. "So… how long has it been since you had sex?" You tried to sound casual, like you weren’t dying of curiosity. "Or, you know… something like that."

He stopped. Abruptly.

Like you had just punched him in the face.

You blinked up at him, waiting for an answer.

"Why don’t you just mind your own damn business?" he muttered, narrowing his eyes in that way that only made him hotter.

"I’m just asking! If you don’t wanna answer, that’s fine." You shrugged and started walking again. Moments later, you heard his footsteps behind you, along with a deep, frustrated sigh.

"I don’t know, okay?" His voice came after a long silence, just when you were already distracted. "I don’t even remember the last time I touched someone like that. And I have no idea when I last felt something like that."

You just nodded. But now? That was your goal. You were going to fuck this man. No matter what. When? You didn’t know. But you would.

-

You let it go—for now.

But after that day, something shifted. Maybe it was just in your head, maybe not. But you started noticing things. The way Joel’s gaze lingered on you just a little longer when he thought you weren’t looking. The way his hand would rest on your lower back when he guided you through dark hallways or past abandoned cars. The way he sighed—deep, exasperated, but never truly angry—whenever you leaned too close, testing the limits of his patience.

And, most of all, the way he didn’t pull away. Not really.

Not when you brushed your fingers over his forearm while handing him his rifle. Not when you sat next to him by the fire, knees bumping under the weight of exhaustion. Not when you made those little jokes, the ones that pulled a rare, reluctant smirk from him, even if he shook his head afterward like he wished he could take it back.

And then, one night, it happened.

You’d just set up camp inside the shell of an old bookstore, a storm howling outside. The fire crackled between you, throwing soft shadows across his face. You could see every line there, every scar, every tired thing he’d never say out loud. He sat against the wall, boots planted on the ground, legs slightly spread. He looked exhausted. But awake. Watching you.

You sat across from him, hugging your knees, tilting your head.

"What?" he muttered.

"Nothing."

A pause. Then—

"Bullshit," he sighed, rubbing a hand down his face.

You grinned, slow and lazy. "I was just thinking... if you can’t even remember the last time you touched someone, then maybe you’ve just forgotten how."

That got you a look. A dark, warning glance that made your stomach flip in the best way.

"Don’t start."

"I’m just saying—"

"No."

You pushed up onto your knees, crawling closer, testing the waters.

"Not even a kiss, Joel?" Your voice was softer now, teasing but not cruel. "No wonder you’re always so grumpy."

He tensed, fingers twitching against his knee. "You—"

"You could just let me remind you."

His breath hitched. Just barely.

You sat back on your heels, waiting. Letting him think. Letting him decide.

And then—slowly, cautiously, like he knew he was making a mistake—Joel reached out.

His fingers traced up the curve of your jaw, rough and calloused. You didn’t move, didn’t even breathe, afraid you might break the moment.

And then he kissed you.

It was careful at first, hesitant, like he was relearning something he used to be good at. But when you sighed against his lips, when your fingers found the back of his neck and pulled him closer—Joel groaned, low and deep, and that hesitation snapped like a thread pulled too tight.

His hand slid to your waist, gripping firmly, pulling you into his lap without a second thought. The heat of him seeped into your skin, his mouth moving against yours with a hunger that made your head spin.

And just like that, you knew. You were right. He had gone too long without this. Without you. And you were going to fix that.

The kisses were getting more and more intense and desperate. You couldn't afford to waste time.

In seconds, your blouse was thrown on the floor behind you, exposing your lack of bra and earning a little smile from him that you had never seen before. Desire. He attacked your breasts like no one had ever done before. He massaged one, sucked, licked, and bit the other, while your moans were already too loud for your good. But fuck it. You almost cried when you saw him taking off his shirt on top of you, his strong arms now fully exposed, his chest too delicious to be true.

You pulled him back to your lips, which this time was even more urgent. Soon, you were completely naked and desperate for each other. "Are you sure?" He asked, lining himself up at your entrance. And you were already going crazy. You just wanted to be fucked. "Of course! Just fuck me, please." You begged and watched as his eyes darken even more – if that was possible.

Without any further warning, he pushed inside you. Both of you let out heavy sighs. He was big. Really big. But you were so wet that you didn’t even feel him pushing it all in. He didn’t move for a few seconds, as if he was savoring something he had wanted for so, so long. “I know you’re having a moment. But please, Joel! Move!” You whimpered, holding one of his arms tightly. You didn’t need to say anything else. You could feel every inch of him. Every vein. And how he was pulsing inside you. Your legs wrapped around him, pulling him even deeper, if that was possible. His moans were like music to your ears. Low, heavy. “Fuck, that’s it… That’s it…” You clawed at his back in a delicious way. He lowered himself a little more, just enough to pull one of your nipples between his teeth, taking you over the edge. And making you scream. The sound of the skin hitting each other was almost pornographic, making everything more intense with each moment. He grabbed your leg and brought it up to his shoulder. This new angle took you to an absurd wave of pleasure, Joel caressed you all over. Your whole body. And he stopped under your belly, just to show off and feel his cock there, filling you.

“You’re fucking delicious…” He murmured between breaths. “So fucking hot… I’ve always wanted to fuck that little pussy of yours. Always.” That brought you to your orgasm. Obviously. Joel fucking Miller telling you that? With that voice? Fuck.

Without a warning, you came on his cock, moaning his name and making him delirious. He was euphoric and ready… ready to fill you. “Can I?” He asked, about cumming inside. It’s not the best option, but at that moment it was all you wanted. And you would have it. “Please… Fill me up.” You whimpered again, holding your own breasts, which made him lose it. And in the next second, you felt the hot jets inside your walls. And then… Oh my. His expression. Completely lost in pleasure. He thrust a few more times and pulled out, only to look at your pussy spilling his cum. Totally filthy.

Joel collapsed onto his side beside you, chest rising and falling with deep, heavy breaths. For a long moment, neither of you spoke—just the sound of the fire crackling, the storm still raging outside, and the quiet hum of satisfaction between you.

His arm draped lazily over his stomach, fingers twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to reach for you or keep his distance.

You made the choice for him.

Rolling onto your side, you pressed your face against his shoulder, tracing light, absentminded patterns over his chest. His skin was warm, damp with sweat, and you felt the way his muscles tensed, then relaxed under your touch.

"Jesus," he muttered, voice rough. "You really don’t give up, do you?"

You grinned against his skin. "Nope."

His chuckle was barely there, but it was real. And you liked that. Liked knowing you could pull something soft from him, even now.

After a moment, he exhaled deeply and finally—finally—wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you in, letting himself hold you.

"This doesn't change anything," he murmured, his lips brushing against your hair.

You just hummed, pressing closer. "Sure, Joel."

You’d let him lie to himself for now. But you both knew the truth. This changed everything.

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