#Transformers Dying Sun

[short-circuit-the-great]

You trust me, don’t you?

With my whole spark.

I wouldn’t go that far.

Why not?

Because we met when we were drunk.

Well, drunk me did something right.

You think so?

[woahits-transformers]

oh shit mf dying

I still dont trust him but I love seeing bugg-eyed first aid and ratchet explain this

[umbrrholly1997]

Top spamton headcanons?

I spent a whole day pondering this because I just have SO MANY. Most of my HCs are all over the place and I don’t think I’ve ever taken the time to write them all down (curse my inability to sit down and write!!!). Spamton’s just such an interesting critter and I think I unlock a new headcanon for him every week

This guy’s messed up methinks

Also wow Spamton w no pants im sure nobody’s ever thought of that before /j

[talaok]

How it was

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: After Abby's attempt at Joel's life, he's in the hospital, and while you try to navigate through the difficult feelings having almost lost him bring up, his mind seems to be on a much different, inappropriate, thing.

Warnings: talk of Joel almost dying, mentions of blood. Smut| oral sex (m receiving), attempt at fingering (lol), talk of f receiving oral, and Joel's dirty mouth.

a/n: i haven't watched the new episode yet bc im tired of crying but what i can tell you for sure is that did not happen, my baby is fine and ellie has never been happier.

"Well good mornin' to me"

You were bent over the armchair tidying what had transformed into your bed for the past ten days when you heard him.

His raspy morning voice had you turning around with a smile.

You let go of the blanket in your hand as you walked closer to his bed.

The rising sun was filtering through the windows of the hospital, illuminating his upper body with a golden light.

His face was still bruised and swollen and they hadn't yet taken his stitches out.

A bittersweet feeling filled your heart every time you looked at him, every time he winced as he sat up, every time you watched him struggle to walk for more than ten steps... it hurt, and yet it filled you with joy.

He was alive- he'd come so very close, the closest he'd ever come to the end of it all, and he had survived- he was still here, with you.

"Good morning" you beamed, taking his hand in yours as you sat on his bed "How're you feeling?"

He smirked, but you felt him squeeze your hand tenderly "Would feel a lot better if you turned around and showed me that view again"

You could only roll your eyes, chuckling softly.

"Really baby, you feeling any pain? You need something?"

His lips formed a soft small smile as he brought your hand to his mouth to leave a kiss on it.

"'M great babygirl, dontcha worry"

You very much doubted he was great, but you nodded nonetheless.

He never wanted you to worry, which was silly, because there was nothing else you did these days besides worrying.

"Now c'mon, give me some sugar"

"Joel" you protested immediately "I don't wanna hurt you, let's at least wait to see what the nurse says about the stitches"

You talked as if your protests had ever been anything but futile, as if the moment he gave you those sweet puppy eyes and his honeyed voice called your name you weren't already leaning closer.

"I don't care if it kills me darlin', just give me a kiss"

You stopped dead in your tracks, your mouth an inch from his, your breathing one with his.

"don't joke about that"

You knew it was just a stupid joke. But nothing was really a joke anymore, not since you witnessed him being carried into Jackson unconscious, his bloody face beaten to a pulp, his body so close to being lifeless... you knew that image would haunt you for the rest of your life.

"'m sorry, doll" he apologized, his eyes looking into yours with all the care and love inside him "'m here" he promised, squeezing your hand.

You closed your eyes for a moment, holding back the tears threatening to spill.

"Don't scare me like that ever again"

Your tone was serious, matter of factly, because it all was true. You knew, with terrifying certainty, that if anything like that were to ever happen again, you wouldn't survive it.

"I won't" he murmured, your hand in his the only thing grounding you "I promise you, darlin'"

There were so many more things to say, so many things you had to talk about, so many feelings, fears, and hopes bubbling inside you, and yet all you could do at that very moment was press your lips to his, kissing the man you'd feared losing forever, just to lose yourself in him.

The kiss was sweet, soft, tender even.

You didn't wanna hurt him, his lips were still cut and his cheeks were still bruised.

But despite it all, the feeling of kissing him was exactly the same. If there was one thing that hadn't changed, it was the way he made everything else disappear, every hurt, scare, and sadness dissipated into thin air when his lips were on yours- when his stubble grazed your face, his hands held you, his scent hugged you tight...

It always became just you and him.

And then Joel groaned in pleasure, and in what you knew from experience to be frustration.

Your mouths were still connected, just as your hands, only his tongue was now sloppily tasting you deeper, as his other hand, his injured, tired hand, found your thigh, slowly traveling up and up until two of his fingers infiltrated between your thighs, rubbing your cunt through your jeans.

You couldn't help but huff a laugh.

There he was, bedridden and barely alive, and he was still trying to get in your pants... quite literally.

"Joel" you chuckled.

He didn't answer, instead, he only compelled his head to lean forward to deepen your kiss as his hands started fighting with the button holding your jeans together.

The angle was uncomfortable and he was very clearly struggling, but you just sighed into his mouth, silencing your amusement.

It took about a full minute for him to unbutton your pants, but once he finally did, he slid two of his fingers beneath the fabric as quickly as he could, which wasn't a lot given the position.

You obeyed his silent command to spread your legs, but even as his fingers reached your clothed slit, he couldn't do much more than try to caress your pussy.

"Baby" you murmured with a smile as he desperately tried to pleasure you "do you really think now's the time?"

"yeah," he breathed without missing a beat.

Just then his fingers drew higher and came in contact with your clit, making you stifle a soft moan.

But the jeans were too damn tight, and he really had no space to work with.

"take 'em off"

You couldn't help but grin.

He had not changed. Not one bit.

"Joel I can't exactly take my pants off in here right now"

He groaned, his big brown eyes pleading you.

"why not?"

You laughed as you took his wrist in your hand and started leading his fingers off of you, to which he protested with a frustrated noise deep in his chest.

"Because baby... not only is the door open" you said, glancing at it " but anyone could come in at any moment"

He groaned, his hand on your thigh now.

"That never stopped us before"

He earned himself a pointed glare with that one.

You weren't gonna be caught pantsless as your barely alive husband fingered you. No way in hell.

"Then put a sock on the handle or somethin'"

An amused snort left you at that.

"This is hospital baby, not a frathouse"

Those deep brown, expressive eyes of his were completely shadowed with lust- the man was desperate.

Ten days of no sex and he was already looking like a deprived, starved man... not to mention the fact that he had begun to touch you inappropriately on day two.

He almost died, and instead of wishing to watch the sun rise again or listen to birds chirp in the morning, all the man seemed to think of was pussy... yours specifically.

"please sugar"

Goddamn, those damned puppy eyes.

Those two words were all you needed before you got up and started towards the door.

You heard him groan behind you.

"You're gonna leave your man layin' here blueballed?"

You laughed softly as you closed the door, hoping to god that the nurses would get the hint and not come in.

You didn't answer, you just walked back to him, watching his eyes sparkle with excitement once you took the blanket off of him.

How the man still looked hot in a hospital gown was something that needed to be studied.

His left leg, where he'd been shot, was bandaged completely, while the naked right one showed off his hairy thighs, which made warmth spread low in your belly... yeah maybe you'd missed sex too.

Silently, your hand went to the skin that was covered by the very hem of his gown, slowly trailing up and up and up until you cupped his hardening manhood through his boxers.

"fuck" he breathed, struggling to prop himself further up on the bed to get a better view.

You raised your eyebrow, shooting him a look- the last thing you wanted was for him to hurt himself.

"You've got to listen to hear if anyone's coming and warn me if that's the case, ok?"

He nodded mindlessly, his sole focus on your hand stroking his dick.

"yeah- sure" he murmured, urgency and need straining his voice.

Yeah, you were fucked.

Nonetheless, you hiked his gown up and pulled his underwear down- his cock was hard as a rock and you hadn't even done anything more than put your hand on it.

You bent over, looking to the side at him as you slowly, oh so slowly, started kissing his tip.

He twitched in your hand as your tongue darted out to kitty lick him, precum leaking from him just in time for you to taste it.

You were looking at him with those godforsaken sexy eyes you'd get as you finally wrapped your mouth around him, and Joel... Joel was in another universe already.

He groaned, shifting his hips up with a painful grunt as you hummed around him, starting to bob your head as you fit more and more of him inside your mouth.

"Fuck me-" he couldn't help but moan "fuck that feels good darlin'"

He strained his neck as his head fell back against the cushions, his eyes shutting close as his tip hit the back of your throat, making you gag.

He was fisting the blanket so hard his knuckles were white as chalk, and his breathing was so erratic that he was half sure the doctors would run in at any moment because the monitor would pick up him having a heart attack.

"Jesus Christ" he groaned.

Your mouth felt better than anything on this earth at the moment. You were sucking him so tight and god but you had him so deep inside you.

"Just like that" he breathed, watching your eyes water as you forced almost all of him down your throat.

It had been four years and you still couldn't get all of him in- at this point you'd given up trying- He was just too damn big.

"so good for me sweetheart" he grunted, observing his cock go in and out of you "Such a good girl-fuck"

Your hand had found his balls, massaging them tenderly- which meant Joel was pretty much done for.

"Goddamnit-- I'm gonna- I-"

He erupted, filling your mouth with his spent before he could even finish the sentence- and you were more than happy to swallow it all up.

He was breathing heavily, watching you with half-lidded eyes as you smiled up at him, before tucking him back in his boxers and putting the blanket back on top of him.

All sounds from outside suddenly filled the room again, reminding you of where you were... and what you'd just done.

"What did I do to deserve you?" he asked, smiling as you reached his side again.

"beats me" you teased, leaving a quick kiss on his lips.

He groaned from deep in his chest, his hand coming up to stroke your cheek.

"We still need to take care 'f ya darlin'"

"no, we don't" you immediately shook your head.

A side of his lips twisted into a smirk as he got an idea.

You didn't wanna take off your pants, and it's not like he could much to change position given his state, so that meant only one thing...

"Sit on my face"

And yes that idea made you hornier than you already fucking were, but unlike your husband, you still had some sense of decency left in you.

"I'm scared to hurt you when I kiss you and you think I'm gonna sit on your face?"

He looked at you for a moment, trying to figure out if there was any way he could convince you- unfortunately, the results came back negative.

"A man can dream" he sighed as he guided you down for another kiss.

"Let me get a taste at least"

Your lips parted in stunner- he really was desperate today.

"Jesus baby" you huffed, your mouth betraying you with a smile "H-how am I even supposed to do that, you really shouldn't force your hands to struggle too much, it could be bad for-"

His eyes sparked with mischief as he murmured "There ain't nothing wrong with yours though, ain't that right sugar?"

Heat crept up your face as you understood, but seeing the unadulterated need in his iris, the strain in his voice as he whispered 'Just a taste'... in seconds your own hand was in your panties.

"This is dirty..." you murmured, eyeing the door as your fingers delved between your folds, gathering up your slick.

"we've done worse" he breathed, his eyes only on what was happening beneath your jeans.

The worst part was that you actually had.

You swallowed thickly as you pulled your hand out of your pants, guiding your glistening fingers to Joel's mouth.

He wasted no time opening his lips, sucking greedily on your digits, a groan rumbling from deep in his throat at the taste.

You bit your lip, watching the scene unfold as you pressed your thighs together to relieve some of the burning pressure.

He would have probably gone on for god knows how long if you hadn't pulled your fingers out of his mouth.

His cock was hard again and he was goddamn tired of being in this hospital bed.

He wanted to go back to his old life. To his house, his wife, his daughter.

He wanted to get back to waking you up in the morning with his tongue between your thighs- not... this.

So he brought your head down, guiding you for yet another kiss that overflowed with all the hopes and dreams he had about it all going back to how it was.

"fuck me-" he groaned in between desperate kisses "I miss our life- I miss... shit babygirl, I your pussy"

You laughed softly into his mouth before leaning away, a devious spark in your eyes.

"Tell you what...I'll wear a skirt tomorrow" you murmured, ghosting his lips "and I think the weather might be a bit too hot for panties"

The groan he let out at that caused a nurse to worriedly rush in.

[short-circuit-the-great]

Yeah

my forever favorite character dynamic of all time

[hislittlesparklejumpropequeen]

Such a wondrous and painful thing to be loved

Remmick x female!reader

Warnings; somnophilia, non-con touching, non-con oral sex, messy kissing, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, bodily fluids, blood exchange, SELF HARM, SUICIDE, murder, vampire transformation, mentally unstable character, bad parent-child relationships, awful family dynamics, stalking, obsession. Summary: Remmick survives that night in Mississippi and wonders around the world for decades. Until he sees you, a quiet girl from a dysfunctional family. Word count: 11.8 k A/N: very little proofreading, sorry if there are mistakes. Don’t forget the check the warnings pls.

“Get the damn suitcase girl.” Your mother’s loathsome voice echoed in the open field as your father was walking back and forth between the old car and the house. You picked up the suitcase from your mother’s hand and looked up to the house your parents bought just few days ago. Your dad was swearing under his breath about the amount of things your mother packed, and your mother was screaming in the house about how everything was broken.

You took a deep breath as you watched your father enter the house to scream back at her. When you were left alone outside, you looked around the field. You were middle of nowhere with closest neighbours an hour away with car. No cars drove past. No electricity. It was quite literally pure silence. Nothing at all. The thought sent shivers down your spine as the cool wind surrounded you. The weather was chilling out here, grey clouds covering the sun light that barely reached the surface.

Your hair covered your vision for a moment with the wind and you felt like seeing a silhouette in the horizon, near that one big tree that was slowly dying yards away from your new home. When you were seeing clearly again, there was no one. You blinked once or twice before your feet moved to enter the house.

“Cannot believe you dragged us with you into this shithole.” Your mother spoke aloud, almost like a scream as she was trying to move the old, creaking rocking chair into the corner of the living room. You moved quickly to help her which she responded only with a grunt.

“Ya can go back to your own shithole if you want, bitch.” Your father said from the kitchen that was right next to the living room. You saw him standing next to the window and smoke his cheap cigarettes. Your mother said something under her breath which you did not pay attention to.

That was your normal at this point. Since you knew yourself, your father and mother hated one another. Yet none of them had dared to part their union as they knew no one could put up with their shit as each other did. You did not know if there was a time they loved one another. Maybe it was before you came into this world. You were not asking questions about their relationship or your family dynamics anymore. The questions were not fixing them, only giving you headaches.

You all sat down and ate dinner together. A dinner that was full of your silence and their bickering. After dinner everyone found a place for themselves in the old house and ended the night.

You had chosen the bedroom on the second floor, end of the corridor. It was a small room with a double sized bed, a small wardrobe and a very tiny desk that looked like it was about to collapse. You walked to the window that was at the foot of the bed and saw the backyard. Like before, it was just nothingness for kilometres. The sun was setting, and the chilling weather was getting proper cold.

You changed into your nightgown and got into bed as moonlight already filled the room. You knew you were going to struggle to sleep in your new bed, new room. The place gave you the creeps but you had no other choice. You were already missing your life in the city and would go back if you could. If your whole family wasn’t searched by the money collectors your father was in debt to. You knew about his gambling and alcohol addiction. And you knew how it always got him and rest of you in trouble. Your family was always in debt to somebody. A friend, a neighbour, the bank, the boss… but it was a different matter when they were trying to get either their money or your life. So the only choice left was collecting everything you owned and move into a countryside house that your parents bought in the time of life and death.

You had no friends to tell about your departure, no boyfriend to give you a goodbye hug. No one cared if you just disappeared or died. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. And your breathing slowed down with the exhaustion of the day.

—

A hand was on your thigh. The touch was cold as ice and soft as feather. It went up and down on your skin, caressing so gently that you felt your breathing get stuck in your throat. Then you felt nails, sharp nails like claws dig into your skin, deep enough to draw blood. You hissed with the pain before a hand covered your mouth. You opened your eyes immediately, only to be greeted by a pair of red eyes looking down at you.

Your heart was beating so fast that you wanted to cry with the pain in your chest. The hand on your thigh moved up, until it reached your stomach then your breasts. Cold, cruel fingers pinched your perked nipple, twisted it until your body trembled in pain again. The red eyes were so close to your face that you could not see the owners of them.

That was a demon on top of you, you were sure. A demon from hell, came to ruin you. Tears spilled from your eyes and dropped to his hand that was covering the half of your face. You heard him hiss when your tears touched his skin. Then you felt him press himself down, letting his body go on top of yours. You were sure you were going to die tonight, in seconds maybe. He was going to kill you or your heart was going to fail.

“Do you think you know what it means to be loved?” He leaned in closer, until there was only inches left between your eyes and his own. His whisper came in like a dagger, cutting, butchering trough your senses. You felt your skin tingle and burn. Your tears were burning your eyes and his touch on your skin was making you shake like you were freezing.

This was something unholy. This was something from hell. This was something that made you feel unclean.

“It is such a precious thing to be loved.” He spoke like a snake hissing. His words and his eyes were making you want to cry. Was this a punishment because you never knew how to love? Was God this unfair when he was the one who cursed you with this life?

His hand traveled to your throat and his finger wrapped around your delicate neck. The pressure made your breath get stuck in your lungs, unable to escape. It was then, the hand that covered your mouth lifted. You could not speak, you could not breath. Your lips were parted, your tongue slightly sticking out with the hope of getting any oxygen. Instead you felt something foreign on your tongue. Something that felt like sin.

His tongue was on yours. He was not kissing you, no. It was just his tongue entering your mouth and taking the last breath in your system away. Unlike his hands, his tongue was warm. So warm that it made your loins burn. His body between your legs, pressing himself hard against you and his warm tongue in your mouth made your underwear get wet in seconds. His tongue played with yours, his spit dripping into your mouth and making you open your lips more.

Your tongue traced over his lips and his teeth. You winced in pain when his sharp teeth poked the flesh of your mouth. Then you realised what you were doing. This was not a man on top of you, it was the devil. You heard him laugh when your body trembled under him in terror.

“What a beautiful girl waiting to be loved.” He whispered and you opened your eyes, drenched in sweat and moonlight filling your room, making you almost blind.

You sat ip on your bed in rush, hands finding your throat as your breathing echoed in your new room. Your whole body was burning and your legs were shaking. Your fingers found your underwear, and met with the wetness of your arousal, bringing the rosy tint of shame onto your cheeks.

You looked at your window, it was still dark outside early in the morning. Was it all a dream? No, a nightmare. A nightmare that felt too real. A nightmare that messed with your body. You threw the covers away and got up. Your gaze immediately found the blood stains on your white nightgown. You stopped breathing as you lifted the skirt up. There they were. Wounds that were freshly cut on your legs, blood smeared around them. Your heart started to beat faster, your fight or flight instincts kicking in. How could this be happening?

You jumped in the spot when your mother’s voice echoed in the house, reaching up to the second floor and you. She was calling your name. What time it was? Barely 5 in the morning and she was wide awake which was unusual.

“Come down, help me with this shit.” She spat out as you heard a loud knock at the front door. You quickly changed into your daily clothes and tossed the bloody nightgown into the corner of the room.

As you were going downstairs, you heard your mother and father talking, rather arguing about something again. They were at the entrance, the door wide open, wind blowing into the house and making the long white curtains of the living room float. They did not pay attention to you as you stood next to stairs and listened to their conversation about the kitchen sink not working. Then someone appeared behind your father, a man holding a box. Your father moved to side with the noise behind him and you saw him have the biggest smile you have ever seen in your entire life. Your cold, piece of shit of a father was smiling. Genuinely smiling at this man at the door.

“Come on in son.” Your father said and you looked at the man carefully for the first time. He had dark blonde hair, blue eyes that pierced trough your soul and a smirk that made the hairs on your neck stand up. He did not look at your father, or your mother. For those few seconds his gaze found you and never left you. You wanted to run up to your room and hide under your blankets. You wanted to get behind your mother and beg your father to shut the door to this man’s face.

He stepped into the house and left the box next to the door. Then your father turned to you and your mother, his hand on the man’s shoulder, patting softly. He was so gentle with him that it felt strange. It was like you were seeing another side of your father. It was like this was not your father at all.

“This is Remmick.” Your father uttered the words and your chest got tight. “He lives in the town. He helped me carry some things and gave me a lift.”

“My mama always said that I should help my neighbours, sir.” He said, and hearing his voice made you want to vomit.

“What a good son she had raised.” Your mother said, cheerfully, her earlier grumpiness long gone. Remmick smiled shyly at your mother's words and he kept his smile on his face until he looked at you again.

“My daughter.” Your father introduced you to Remmick. He gave you a small nod, his smile still stretching his lips and his eyes shining with something you could not name. He did not look genuinely happy nor kind. He looked like he had something sinister in his eyes. The way he gazed at you made your stomach twist.

“Hello.” You said, your voice cold compared to your parents who were watching the interaction between you two.

“Hi.” He said, his voice low and deep, coming from his throat. You felt chills run down your spine. “Nice to meet ya.” He extended his hand out.

You looked at his hand, your throat going dry. Then your palm found his own, his fingers hugging your hand and holding tight. Your lips parted with need to suck a breath in. The coldness of his hands made your body shake and the make the pit in your belly grow. It felt like he opened a black hole somewhere in you, and it was swallowing everything.

“Come, have breakfast with us, son.” Your father said as he kept patting Remmick’s shoulder. For a moment you saw Remmick frown in annoyance, as if your father disrupted something. Then his mask came back on, a smile widening on his lips. You looked at his lips for a second. They were pale and looked dry. You felt your mouth water.

“I cannot sir, I gotta head back. Thank you. Welcome to town.” He said as he escaped from your father’s hands and stepped outside. The sun was slowly rising and bringing the new day. Three of you stood at the entrance, your father and mother looking at him with a smile as he walked to his truck. You could only watch as suspicion and fear creeped into your heart. You heard your mother and father walk back into house as his truck’s engine started to work.

Before he drove away, he looked back at the door. When his deep blue eyes found your figure, standing, looking at him with curious eyes, he smiled again. A smile that was vastly different from the ones he gave to your parents. You felt breeze hit your skin as he looked up and down at you, like some wild animal examining his prey and trying to decide if you were worth the hunt. You shut the door as your breathing quickened. The sounds of his wheels filled your ear.

After breakfast you picked up your book and notebook, made your way outside. You could not stay in the house, with your parents who seemed to go back to their usual selves after Remmick left. For the whole breakfast, he was the only thought that occupied your mind. You could not erase the image of him looking at you, deep into your eyes and holding your hand in his own cold ones.

It was strange, very strange. For some reason meeting him right after waking up from that horrible nightmare made you feel sick. Your mother made some comments about you not helping her settling down in the new house but you did not say anything back as you left. You looked around the empty countryside. The sun was at the top, burning mercilessly and making it difficult to breath. It was a nice day compared the yesterday. You held your bag in your shoulder tighter and started to walk on the sidewalk. Your attention got caught by the big, old tree that was few acres away again.

You sat down by the tree and leaned against the trunk. It was nice under the shade. You grabbed your book and continued from the chapter you left. The sweet autumn wind cooled the heat of your body and the sounds of birds filled your ears. This was peaceful, you thought. Far away from the arguments and screams of your parents, far away from the questions that busied your mind, far away from the dangers of the world. It was just you and the silence.

“Hi.” You jumped with the voice of the stranger that came from somewhere close. When you turned around quickly, it was a young man in a jumpsuit and large hat, looking at you under his long eyelashes and smiling awkwardly.

“What the hell?” Your voice came out shocked and scared when you stood up and took a step away from him. His expression changed immediately and a look of concern filled the lines of his face.

“Sorry for scaring you.” He said as he took his hat off and pressed it against his chest in the kindest way possible. “I live down the town. I’m the preacher’s son.”

His accent was strong and from the clothes he was wearing, you could see that he was from this area. You took a deep breath before you introduced yourself.

“I’m Jimmy. Nice to meet you.” He said and looked at you shyly.

“You scared the hell out of me Jimmy.” You said as you sat back down. He giggled at your words before he took his place next to you.

“Sorry. I just got excited when I saw a new face around here. Not many people come to countryside these days.” He pointed at the open field as he spoke. You could see your house from the point you were at. And it felt liberating to be away from it.

“Is that so Preacher’s son?” You said with a small smile on your face. Jimmy laughed with your words before he looked at you. His eyes were emerald green and his eyelashes were dark as night. His nose was straight just like his defined jawline. You could see the freckles and little sunburn over his cheeks. God, you thought to yourself, he was very much beautiful.

“Are y’all planning on staying long?” He asked. You shook your head to confirm.

“It looks like it.” You answered as you looked back at the house. The thought of staying at this place with your parents for long time sounded dreadful.

“You should be careful around this place.” You frowned with his words. Then the pit in your stomach seemed to come back when you looked at him again and saw his shy, playful expression had faded away.

“What is that mean?” He seemed to not to know how to answer your question. Yet he knew he had to answer it now since he changed the mood of the conversation.

“How to say… there are things in this town, I mean that’s what people around says. I personally never saw something but we always lived by some rules.” He took a deep breath and pulled out a cigarette from his jumpsuit’s pocket before he started to speak again. “Don’t let anyone in that comes to your door after sunset. Don’t even open the door. Don’t talk to them.”

The seriousness of his voice sent shivers down your spine. He took a deep breath from his cigarette. You opened your mouth to speak yet no words came out of your mouth. What was that mean? Who could knock on your door after sunset when there was no one living around? Or why shouldn’t you let them in? Were people that dangerous in this area? You felt cool breeze shake the branches of the tree above you.

“It’s getting late. You should head back.” Jimmy said as he tossed the finished cigarettes to the ground. He got up and offered his hand for you to hold. His calloused hands felt warm against your skin. He grabbed your book and bag before he smiled and looked at your house.

“I can walk you home.” He said as you were fixing your dress. You shook your head to decline his polite gesture.

“Thank you. I wouldn’t want to bother you. Thanks for the company.” You said before you started to walk away. You could feel his eyes on your back as you got away from the tree. Before you were not too far away, he called out your name.

“Remember the things I said. Maybe it’s just superstitions but it wouldn’t hurt to follow them.” He said as he put his large straw hat back onto his dark brunette, wavy hair. The sun was setting and the orange lights were washing all over you. For a moment you saw his green eyes shine under the sun light and realised he could be one of the most beautiful humans you ever saw.

“I will.” You said with a small smile and walked away from him and the tree.

The days were coming to an end quickly with the upcoming winter and you hated it. It was getting dark very early and it was not getting any brighter until it was late in the morning. There was nothing to do other than reading, writing and sleeping. The days were warm enough yet the night was freezing cold.

After dinner with your parents who seemed to be very calm after you got back, you found yourself in your room, in your bed again. The blood covered nightgown was still in the corner, tossed around on the dirty floor. You could not bring yourself to pick it up and see the small blood stains again. For some reason not seeing them made them feel unreal and did not remind you of the nightmare. You got under the covers, bringing your book with you. it was easier to fall asleep when you were not thinking of other things.

As you were embraced by the comfortable arms of sleep, you felt like floating. There was a noise that sounded like wind in your ears. Every breath that you took in, you felt like rising up and up. The weight of your body was not there. The weight of your thoughts weren’t there. Everything was light as feather. There was a warmth all over your body. There was warmth between your legs. The tingling sensation under your belly made you squeeze your thighs in need for some sort of friction. You could feel yourself getting wet and your clit throbbing in need.

Then came the warmth of something unfamiliar. The wet, warm thing went between your folds and made you shriek like an animal in heat. You threw your head back when the unfamiliar tongue licked up and down between your folds. The lips that wrapped around your clit in the most delicious way brought you into the high levels of pleasure. He sticked his tongue into your clenching, awaiting hole, his skilful muscle moving in and out as if it was made for it. A loud moan escaped your mouth when his nose was nudging against your clit. The pleasure was too much that you tried to close your legs and get away to breath properly.

Yet his strong hands grabbed your hips harshly and he pressed his head deeper into your cunt. He was just breathing in your scent and getting drunk with your taste. You were about to pass out with his tongue deep in you. Then suddenly the tip of his tongue hit that one spot that made you scream until your vision went completely black and you stoped breathing. Your body was shaking uncontrollably as you tried to catch your breath and open your eyes.

It felt like you were in another dimension. It was so dark in your room that you could not even see your own hands.

“Look at me.” He said, his voice low and deep in the darkness of night. Your gaze met with pair of red eyes and the bliss of your extraordinary orgasm left you in seconds. You wanted to scream for help and get away from him. Yet your body was not moving nor a sound was coming out of your mouth.

“When you were young you wished that someone loved you. All those nights you cried yourself to sleep as a little child and expected someone to come to your room.” He said as he leaned closer to you, his cheek pressed against yours and his lips right next to your ear.

“Expected someone to ease your pain and soothe your heart. Yet no one came.” He whispered, his voice is cold. You could hear the smirk in his tone. He was smiling as he spoke your pain out. You wanted to throw up and cry until you could not move anymore.

“No one loved you. But I do.” He said as the weight of his body suffocated you. There was a musky smell that came from his body. It was dominating and off putting. He smelled like death and it was filling all your senses. Only thing you could feel on your exposed skin was him. Only thing you could smell was him. Only thing you could hear was his cruel words and only thing you could taste was him when his lips found yours. His mouth tasted like you and every life he had consumed to this day. You kissed him back with a hunger that scared you. His warm tongue entered your mouth just like it entered your hole moments ago.

His sharp teeth cut your lips and tongue yet you did not care. All you wanted was kissing him until he consumed you too. There was an urge in you that wanted to be eaten by him. You imagined him feasting on your flesh, his teeth crashing into your bones and your beautiful, thick blood flowing down his chin as he ate. The image made you moan into his mouth.

“I’ll come for you, little dove.” He said and you gasped as you rose in your bed from your sleep. Your hands came up your chest immediately to ease your fast breathing and heart beats. It was broad daylight outside. The sunlight was creeping into your room and warming your skin. You just looked at the white covers of your bed as the moments from your dream filled your mind. Your breath got stuck in your throat when you remembered his red eyes looking at you from between your legs. Your body trembled when you remembered him looking down at you as you crawled underneath him, your mouth covered in your own blood.

These dreams were getting so realistic that you could feel the effects of them all day. Your gaze met with the tossed nightgown in the corner. You wondered if you were getting possessed by some kind of demon or you were just going insane in the countryside. The second option seemed more reasonable.

You walked downstairs to be only greeted by your mom smoking in the kitchen, sitting by herself with the most sorrowful expression you have ever seen.

“Where’s dad?” You asked as you made yourself a bowl of cereal for breakfast. You heard her scoff as you sat down in front of her. Her under eyes were purple and hallow, her cheeks sucked in and her face pale like she was sick.

“God knows where that bastard is.” She said, her voice stern and angry. She finished her cigarette and lit another one right after. You looked at her with a confused expression as you ate your cereal.

“Did he not come back this morning?” Your mother nodded as she looked out of the window. Why this was a big deal this time? He would always leave and not come back for some days, drink himself to death on the streets and get into some sort of trouble.

“I’m sure he will be back by afternoon.” You said to reassure your mother. But she did not look like she was convinced. She just kept looking out of the window as her cigarette burned.

And in fact your father did not come back. At first you did not pay much attention to it. It was actually nice without him in the house. There was silence and no arguments which was something you craved for. But your mother grew restless every passing hour. She wanted to call everyone possibly could know where he was yet the phone wasn’t working. You were not surprised that there was no signal out here. Even though your mother was losing her mind over this for some reason, you did not mind, truly.

Until sun was setting and the countryside got swallowed by dark again, days after your father’s disappearance. Those few days you could truly sleep with no nightmares unlike your mother who did not even eat something healthy. That evening your mother took a sleeping pill and locked herself into her room. You were down in the living room, reading your book. You could not get yourself to sleep, your mind now occupied by your father and his strange absence that took too long this time.

It was quiet in the house. Yet it did not make you feel comfortable or peaceful as it usually did. There was not a single sound even outside of the house. No birds singing, no foxes screaming, not even crickets. It was just pure darkness covering your house. You could not look out of the window as you just kept reading your book. Your head down and facing away from the entrance.

Someone knocked on the door.

The sudden noise made you jump on the couch, your book falling into your lap. Your head turned to the closed door immediately. After the knock there was a silence as if both sides were trying to hear something from behind. You slowly got up and walked to the door. Your hand was reaching for the handle before the person at the other side knocked again. This time it was louder and harsher. You saw the door wiggle in its frame with the amount of force. You gasped and took a step away with shaky knees. A familiar voice from the other side called out your name.

“It’s me, dad.” Your father said with a cracked voice that sent shivers down your spine.

“Dad?” You asked as you got close to the door again. You heard his raggedy breaths.

“Yeah, yeah. Come on, open the door and let me in.” He said, the words coming out of his mouth rushed and breathless. He sounded like he was in pain and the thought made your heart ache. Your hand went to the handle again, and your fingers grabbed the cold metal tight.

“Do not open the door!” You heard Jimmy shout from outside suddenly. Your hand on the handle froze as you heard screams and grunts on the other side. Your father was swearing, Jimmy was swearing back. You rushed to the window that was facing the front porch. Your father was on top of Jimmy, his face close to his neck. Jimmy was holding your dad away from himself by trying to push him trough his shoulders. You saw them rolling over the porch, fighting like animals. You could not speak or move.

Jimmy threw your father away from himself and rushed back to his small van. Your father distracted by the fall, his gaze found you watching them trough the window. He run towards you, his hands pressing against the glass, alongside his face right in front of yours. You felt like your world shatter, when you were greeted by a pair of red eyes looking back at you. Red just like the ones that gave you sleepless nights and brought endless amount of shame to you. Your breath got stuck in your throat as your father looked like some starving feral animal with drool flowing down his chin, his teeth sharp abnormally, and his eyes mirroring a demon.

“You used to listen to me when you were my little girl.” He said, his voice now sounding foreign to your ears. You shook your head as tears started to fall down your cheeks.

“Be my good little girl again and let your father in before this fucker-“ his words got cut with a sound of gunshot. You felt like your heart stopped beating. Your father’s eyes were locked with yours before more gunshots were heard. Last one was straight to his head, shattering his brain and making it explode right in front of your face. Blood and brain pieces hit the glass that separated you and your father. His lifeless body sunk into the ground. You could not look away as his blood was forming a pool beneath him.

Jimmy walked to him, the shotgun on his left hand, and a piece of sharp wood in his right. He didn’t look at you as he kneeled by your father’s body and stabbed him trough his heart with the wood. Your father’s body trembled, shaking as Jimmy sinked the wood deeper into his chest. When he was satisfied with his work, he looked at you for the first time since you heard him. There were drops of sweat flowing down his temples, his eyes looking tired and his face covered in blood. You didn’t know if it was his own blood or your father’s. He stood up and looked at you from the exact spot your father did moments ago.

Your tears were making your vision blurry. Your jaw was shaking and you did not know how long your legs could keep you standing. This was all a nightmare for sure. A very realistic one that you would always have since you came to this place. Jimmy gave you a look, as if he was pitying you.

“Do not open the door to anyone until sunrise.” He said before he walked to his van. You silently watched him walk away from your dead father’s body and you. Your chest was aching and your tears were keep flowing down your face without your control.

You couldn’t look at your father for last time before you started to walk upstairs. Your steps were silent, like a ghost as you walked passed your mother’s room and entered your own. Window was open. The chilling wind of the night was filling your room. The bed sheets were cold and your pillow was too hard to sleep on. It felt like laying on spikes. Your body was hurting, your soul was hurting. Yet there was no thought on your mind. Your piece of shit of a father was dead.

You woke to an eery silence of the house. You rose from your bed, catching a glimpse of your swollen eyes and purple under eyes in the mirror before you left your room. The long corridor of the second floor was empty, as it always was. You walked to your mother’s room and knocked on her door. Yet she didn’t answer. She was probably still asleep or didn't want to be disturbed, you thought to yourself. Then made your way to downstairs.

It was just like how you left last night. Your book was on the couch, next to your mother’s favourite blanket and your father’s favourite mug that you used to drink tea last night. You walked to the kitchen to open the window. The weather was cloudy and rainy. You wished to see a glimpse of sunlight yet walked away disappointed. You checked the fridge to make some breakfast for you and your mother yet the fridge was empty.

You sighed with annoyance before you walked upstairs again, to alert your mother of lack of food in the house and ask to go to shopping to town. You knocked on her door. There was no response. The pit in your stomach was there again. It was eating away your insides with worry and fear. You slowly opened the door and stepped into her room. She wasn’t here. Her bed was tidy, as if she never slept on it last night. The windows were shut, the air was suffocating with the lack of oxygen. You saw her glass of water, untouched on the nightstand next to her bed.

Your steps were slow and steady as you walked to the small bathroom in her room. The door was shut yet you could hear a sound of water dripping. You frowned in confusion as you reached for the handle. The first thing you saw was blood. The blood mixed into water that was flowing down the bathtub reached at your feet in seconds. Then the smell. The metallic, heavy smell of blood hit your nose. The sight of it came last. Your mother, your own mother was laying in the overflowing bathtub, in her own blood, her eyes wide open just like her mouth, facing the ceiling and looking into nothingness. You saw her slit wrists on either side of her, blood still dripping down in a thick form. You wanted to throw up yet nothing came out from your mouth. No words, no scrams, no cry. You silently looked and looked at her.

There was a strange silence in the house. Silence was something you had always craved. Yet in this moment you wished nothing more than the chaos that was always present in your household since you knew yourself. You wished to hear your parent’s argument again. Wished to carry your drunk father to his bed with your mother’s help. You wished to separate your mother and the neighbours fight. You wished to scream back at them when they decided to mess with you after getting bored of messing with one another. You craved for what you always knew. Was it possible to ask for the pain you knew because the comfort was a too much of a stranger?

You walked back to your room, your body was about to collapse. You sat on your bed. Maybe minutes, maybe for hours. You just sat there. Your eyes were on the nightgown that was tossed in the corner. You sat there until sun was setting, until darkness of the evil came rushing back to the countryside. You sat there until someone knocked on your door. The sound from downstairs echoed in your house. Your heart beats fastened again, your lips going dry.

“It’s me Jimmy. I came to take you to town. I spoke with my father. We’re concerned for ya.” He said as you walked downstairs silently. You stood right in front of the door, your heart at your throat, your palms sweating and drops of sweat flowing down your back.

“You said never open the door to anyone after sunset.” You spoke for the first time since yesterday, your throat hurting as the words left your mouth. You heard him grunt and swear under his breath. You looked around your living room to see if there was something you could use to defend yourself.

“Not me, I won’t hurt you. Would you not like me to take you somewhere safe? He might come any moment.” He said with clear worry and fear in his voice. You wondered what he was so scared of after he killed your father right in front of your eyes. What if it was also him who killed your mother? Why would he want to destroy your family, your life like this?

‘How to say… there are things in this town.’

His words echoed in your head. Maybe the things were him from the very start? You felt like throwing up when he knocked the door loudly. He was trying to open it. The tears formed in your eyes when you felt the hairs on your neck stand up.

“Open the damn door and let me help you. You will die out here.” He screamed as he tried to break the door by kicking it. Your feet carried you to the kitchen, to the backyard door that you kept shut since you moved here. You tried to open it yet it was locked. Jimmy threw another kick to the door and the lock broke down immediately, letting him in. You turned around and saw him standing at the entrance, his shotgun in his hand, looking at you who was struggling to open the back door. As he was about to step into the house, you screamed in terror and forced the door more. But he didn't come in. You dint hear any footsteps approaching you or his voice calling your name.

You slowly looked back at the front door over your shoulder. He wasn't there. There was in fact no one looking at you or stepping into the house. It was just darkness and cool wind blowing in. You walked to the door after grabbing a knife from the kitchen. You would kill him if you had to, if he didn't shoot you first. The porch was empty. His van was parked in front of your house, engine on yet no one at the driver seat. The small light at your porch was flashing fast but weakly.

You walked away from the porch, made your way to the right side of your house that was facing the main road to the town. You kept your back on the wall and moved silently, checking your back and corners every second to see if he was coming back or hiding somewhere. Was he trying to lure you outside so it would be easier to kill you? You shook with fear and cold weather. You weren’t feeling pain or hunger anymore. You wondered if you were going to survive this night and see the run rise one more time.

There were no cars passing. Was it possible to walk to town all that way and find someone to help you? Your eyes found someone in the darkness. There was someone standing next to the tree that you sat by just a day ago. He was shorter than Jimmy and had broader shoulders. Yet it could be just you trying to convince yourself. You wanted to walk to him and beg him to help you to get away from that psycho.

“There you are.” You heard Jimmy’s voice right next to you as you were still looking at the strange figure. You screamed in terror and started to run away before he could catch you. The man next to the tree turned to look at you with the shouts and screams. It was this Remmick guy. You felt relief settle into you as you run towards him. He smiled when he saw you, his eyes not even looking at what was behind you. He opened his arms as you got close. You were crying your lungs out when you found yourself in his arms.

“No! Get away from him!” Jimmy raged when he saw Remmick holding you against him. Remmick’s grip was tight and cold. His body against yours cooled you down, your breathing going back to normal and your heart beats getting slow. You felt Remmick move your body slightly.

“No, no, no preacher’s boy. We wouldn’t want to have you hurt this precious girl.” He said as his hands went up and down on your back. You took a deep breath of calmness when your face found a comfortable place in the crook of his neck. Just like you remembered, he smelled strange yet this time this smell brought you the feeling of safety and security. You didn’t question why you remembered how he smelled like. He giggled when you snuggled against him more. You were going to survive.

“You made me work hard for you, little dove.” He said, his voice calm yet playful. The peace lasted short when you heard the last words he said. You wanted to pull away yet he didn't let you. You were not thinking of Jimmy anymore. Only thing you could think of was Remmick. As if he was conquering your mind, your senses and making you unable to think of anything else.

“It is such a precious, magnificent thing to be loved.” He whispered to your ear. His warm, flaming lips moving down to your neck. You felt him leave a small, soft kiss on the skin of your neck. His kiss, his touch didn't feel unfamiliar. Your body knew his touch, your body knew his words.

“W-what?” You managed to bubble a word out of your mouth. He laughed at your state, his chest falling and rising against you.

“The preacher’s son Jimmy wanted to be your hero. But I cannot let him, unfortunately.” He said, his mouth right on your pulse. You felt your heart sink when you felt his sharp teeth on your skin. These were the teeth you had already felt on you for nights. They were not dreams. It was him.

“I met a preacher’s son long time ago. They’re always, how to say… interesting. Maybe he is still out there somewhere.” He said, his voice curious, still playful, scratching your brain. His arms got tighter around you, until you could’t breath anymore. You held his arms, tried to break away from him yet you couldn't do anything against his inhuman strength. You wished that Jimmy would shoot both of you in this moment.

Your vision went black when you felt sharp, stinging, burning pain on your neck. It was so unbearable that you couldn't even scream when his teeth sinked deep into you. You could feel blood flowing out of you, filling his mouth and rest spilling down his chin. The coldness of his fangs burned the fresh wound on your neck. The air that was hitting the wetness of your blood made you dizzy. He sucked on your neck like he was starving as his hands roamed all over your body.

That wasn't a demon or it wasn't you getting possessed by some kind of entity. It wasn't your brain making up things either. It was Remmick from the very beginning. You realised it was him Jimmy was warning you about. It was his voice that was making your heart skip a beat in the dead of the night. It was his hands touching your body and making you tremble under him.

“You taste better than any mortal I have ever tasted, little dove.” His voice echoed in your mind. You didn’t know if he was actually talking or you were going insane at this point. Your legs gave up but his arms held you up in the air. You were floating in his arms as he started to kiss the wound on your neck. The pain was too much that your heart beats slowed down alongside your breathing. Your ears were ringing, your mouth going dry.

“I’ll love you forever.” He whispered as your consciousness slipped out of your body. Everything went black. No sound, no light. It was pure nothingness. Your senses were dull and you couldn’t feel your body. Everything was too light around you. There were no feelings. You were not scared anymore. Nor you were calm.

When you opened your eyes again, the darkness of the night seemed brighter than any other time. Your eyes scanned the field, seeing small animals hidden amongst haystacks. Your ears filled with the sounds of small crickets, birds breathing on the tree branches, people laughing in the distance, your mother’s blood dripping down in the bathtub. You felt the dryness of your throat first. It hurt so much that you wanted to scream out. Remmick rocked you gently in his arms. He was saying something yet you could not focus on his words.

The delicious smell of him hit your nose so suddenly, with the wind carrying his scent to you. You pushed and manage to get Remmick away from you. There he was. The preacher’s son. The poor boy Jimmy who only wanted to help you and risked his life for you. He was standing not so far away from you, frozen and shaking in fear. You wondered if your eyes were shining with the soul of devil within you. Remmick was in you from now on, from the moment he sinked his teeth into. From the first moment he laid his eyes on you. From the first moment he tasted your skin.

You took a step towards Jimmy only for him to raise the shotgun to you. You did not care if you were going to die. The urge to feed yourself was so strong, almost blinding. You took another step, and he pulled the trigger. The bullet hit your shoulder. It felt like a bee sting that was spreading over your flesh. Then the bullet slowly fell off the wound, dropping to ground. You heard Jimmy gasp, start to whisper prayers under his breath as you walked to him. Your hands found his shoulders, forced him to get closer.

“Jimmy…” You almost pleaded as your teeth cut trough his skin. He screamed and tried to push you away in terror, yet everything was happening too fast. Before you could even stop yourself from harming him, his tasty blood touched your tongue. And you felt a wave of energy travel trough your body. Life was breathed back into you with his sweet liquid of life. You felt it burn trough your throat and mix into your system in seconds. Every drop of his blood was burning your insides in the most pleasurable way possible. You drank it like madwoman. It was dripping from your mouth, escaping from the corner of your mouth. You tried to catch it as if your life was depended on it, licking everything possible. You were so hungry, the feeling in your stomach hurting you, making your headache and your fangs sizzle with soreness.

“That’s enough little dove. You drained the poor boy.” Remmick said as he laughed. He wrapped his one arm around your waist and picked you up easily. The lifeless body of Jimmy dropped to ground as he slipped away from your grasp. You saw him fall, his face pale, his lips colourless, his once cheerful, shy eyes looking dead more than ever. You jaw dropped, tears filled your eyes as Remmick carried you away as if you were piece of feather. You tried to push him away, get away from his touch but he looked unbothered by your attempts.

“We can go back to your house and spend the day there until sunset. What do you say little dove?” He asked, his face close to yours, his eyes twitching with mischief. He disgusted you beyond imagination with the smirk on his face.

“Get away from me!” You said, your voice coming out like an animal growl. His eyebrows raised in curiosity when you tried to scratch his face. He put you down suddenly when two of you were on the porch, holding your arms tight enough to break your now very strong bones. Every sensation was still too new. You could still smell Jimmy’s blood, still hear the noises coming from afar, still feel Remmick’s bite burn and ache.

“I have waited for you for so long.” Remmick whispered with a gentle voice you didn't expect to hear from him. His fingers found your face, caressing your cheek that was wet because of your tears. His fingertips that once felt ice cold now felt like they were belong on your skin.

“Wondered around for centuries to find someone like myself only to find no one. Until you.” He said as his eyes never left your face. He was looking deep into your eyes, seeing your deprived soul behind them. You wanted to get away yet your body was frozen as if he put some spell on you. What was this nightmare? Had God abandoned you in this countryside? Had he left you into the arms of this devil?

“I am no devil.” Remmick said, mirroring your words. “I only have love to give you, little dove.”

“You have taken my humanity from me.” You said, your voice shaking with sorrow and rage. The soft look on his face disappeared in seconds. His hand on your face grabbed your cheek tight, bringing your face closer to his own.

“What a humanity that was?! That humanity killed my people, destroyed cities, burned children, enslaved men. There’s nothing glories about that humanity that you grieve.” His words were full of poison as he spat them out. His eyes were scanning your face, looking at every detail possible. Under his gaze, you felt your skin burn. The bite he left on your neck sizzled again, making you hiss.

“I will show you great things. Things you could never imagine in your human life.” He said as his body was pressed right against yours. You felt your skin tingle against him, making you shift uncomfortably under his touch.

He brought his face closer, until there was few inches between your lips. His fingertips were pressing into your flesh, leaving possible marks on you. The thought of carrying the marks he left on you made you thighs clench. As if he was reading your mind, he held you tighter, his nails cutting trough your skin like it did nights ago.

“Let me show you my most precious thing. My love…” He said as his lips gently touched the corner of your mouth. His short moustache tickled your sensitive skin, sending shivers down your spine. You wanted his lips on you but he wasn't kissing you. His mouth was slightly open as his lips went right and left at the corner of your mouth. His warm breath was licking your face, making you forget everything that you had on your mind just seconds ago.

His lips captured your bottom lip first. He gently kissed your mouth as if you were a piece of glass. Then his tongue slowly made its way into your mouth. With this new body, the taste of his tongue was exquisite now. He tasted like wave of destruction, the plague, the angel of death, your sweet blood that he drank minutes ago. He tasted like the end and foreverness. You kissed him back like an animal, hungry, wild and in need for killing. His arms wrapped tight around your waist, pressing your body against him so hard that you thought your bones were crushing into one another.

He first got rid of his own clothes. His pale, smooth skin was shining under the cold moonlight. You felt your mouth water as his hands ripped your clothes away. The stretch of the ripping clothes on your skin made the wetness between your legs grow bigger. Before you knew what was happening, his hand was in your hair, gently tugging the strands to expose your neck. He leaned closer and breathed your scent in. Then his wet lips left a shaky, small kiss that made you moan out loud in frustration. His touch was so gentle that it made you feel like you were walking on a thin sword. You wanted to get cut by that sword more than anything in this moment.

“I watched you, listened to you, touched you. I waited to make you mine so patiently.” He whispered as if he was talking to himself. His hand on your hair pulled harsher this time, making you fall onto your knees. He followed you down soon after, laying you onto the ground. You didn't care about the hard, uncomfortable surface of the porch. Only thing you cared was him between your legs, looking down at you like you were a part of his whole being.

“I won't be gentle.“ he said, as he left a kiss to your temple and caressed your hair. You did nothing but nodding as he waited for your reaction. His eyes didn't leave your face as he grabbed his dick and aligned himself with your awaiting, clenching wet entrance. The first stretch took your breath away. Everything was too foreign to your body. His tip went in and stretched your walls that sent a wave of shock trough your whole body. He kept looking at you and you could not take your eyes off of him. It was like your were one with him in this moment. Your very existence was full of him. Your insides were full of him.

His dick made a room for itself as he mercilessly stretched you out. When he was all the way in, his tip close to your cervix, a cry came out of your throat. Your chest was hurting and your eyes were burning. You felt sick. Pleasure of the pain was making your vision cloudy. You could not think anything other then him being inside you, against you, on top of you. He rolled his hips once and you couldn't control the noises that came out of you. It sounded like an animal crying out in pain, a shriek of sorrow, a moan that was full of pleasure and sin.

“Let it go.” He whispered and captured your lips once more. You moaned into his mouth as he started to roll his hips again and again. His skin was slapping against your skin, the sounds that came from both of you echoed in the field. There in the darkness, two wild monsters, seeds of the devil were making love.

His pubic bone was pressed against your clit, going up and down and providing the friction you were craving. He buried his face in the crook of your neck and bit you again on the same spot. This time the pain of his teeth made you shake in ecstasy. You were scratching his back, drawing blood and sinking your nails deep enough to make him hiss. You could feel your blood once again fill his mouth. You felt your tongue go dry, your fangs get sore in need of biting something. You could feel your thirst get worse as his hips slapped against yours, your walls clenching around him tight and wet.

“Go on, bite me.” He whispered between his bites. Your eyes widened with his words and the pit in your stomach made you tremble.

Without even thinking you took a long lick of the skin of his neck and bit him. He hissed and you felt him twitch inside you, going deeper in you as if it was possible. His ancient blood touched your tongue and you felt euphoric. It was much different than Jimmy’s blood. Remmick’s blood was full of wisdom and evilness. It was bitter and addicting. You felt it get into your veins, mix into you in seconds and fill you up with darkness.

“Harder!” You moaned as you licked the bite on his neck like a lunatic. His thrusts became harsher, leaving your skin burning and bruised. He was digging into you, making you squeal and cry his name out.

“Fucking hell woman!” He grunted as he held your thighs and pushed them against your bare breasts. He pressed his body against yours, trapping you between him and ground. With the new position, you could feel him deeper in you. Your walls were clenching and getting wetter and wetter with every thrust. Your mixed liquids were flowing down his balls to the ground, pooling under your hips.

His name was like a prayer on your lips. In this moment he was all you knew, with your new body and mind, with your new nature. He was your creator, as he eliminated the first one that trapped you into a miserable life. You hugged his shoulders and kissed him again. The kiss was mixing with your tears that were flowing down your cheeks. He moaned when he tastes the salty liquid. He was liking everything better when it pained you. How sick and twisted someone could be?

“You tasted way better than your father.” He whispered, making sure you heard it clearly. Your hips that were thrusting up and meeting him halfway stopped. Your tears dried on your cheeks and your arms fell to your sides from his back. He buried his face into your neck as his thrusts started to get sloppy and carelessly deep. Your face was blankly looking at the black sky that was full of stars. He was going in and out, his hands holding your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh and his lips sucking on the sweet spot on your collarbone.

He was terrorising you from the moment you had came to this place. He was haunting your dreams, making you doubt what was real and what was not. He had taken your father first, turning him into a monster like himself, like you. Then he had taken your mother, on an early cold morning. He wasn’t satisfied with any of this until he had taken your humanity, your innocence and mercy from you. He had made you kill an innocent person who only wanted to help you. And now he was never going to let you go. You felt your chest tighten with the thought of spending one more day with him.

His moans got louder, eventually turning into screams of pleasure. With one last hard roll of his hips, he spent himself in you, painting your clenching walls white with his dead seed. You wanted to throw up as he was still caressing your skin and kissing your neck. He was smiling against you, his dick still inside you, keeping you full. Your eyes turned to the side and you saw horizon line lighten slightly by the rising sun. Your breathing stop. It was going to be bright soon.

“I want to be on top.” You said as you ran your fingers trough his dirty blonde locks. His dick started to harden inside you with your words. Then he immersed flipped you over, laying himself on the ground that was warmed by your body. He was already hard when you aligned his tip at your entrance. The stretch was better than first time, going easier with the slick of your folds. You went down until he was all the way inside you. The new feeling took the breath out of your lungs. Your loins were fitting together like pieces of puzzle. He looked at you under his eyelashes, a sweet smile on his face as his hands grabbed your breasts. You started to roll your hips without letting your body adjust to him first.

“I love you.” He whispered breathlessly, the smile on his face never fading away and his eyes dropping in the bliss of your body. You held onto his chest as your movements got faster. Your whole body was burning with the knowledge of sun slowly rising in the horizon. He was lost in you, unaware of the new day coming.

With the force of your knees you started to bounce up and down, taking Remmick’s breath away. His legs were shaking just like your knees that were about to give up. Your body was tired but your mind was wide awake. You were not going to spend the rest of your life with him. You were not going to let him go either. He had to pay for what he did to you and even if it meant to die with him, you were willing to do so.

“I love you.” He said again. His eyes were closed, hands on your legs, his chest rising slowly with the deep breaths he was taking in.

“Come here.” You said when the friction on your clit made you tremble on top of him. You were going to come. He opened his eyes and rose up to hold you on his lap. Your arms were wrapped around one another, body tangled and hips meeting in order to get satisfaction out of one another. He pressed his forehead against yours, your breaths mixing and making your eyes tear.

“I love you… I love you…” he kept repeating as your legs started to shake and your eyes rolled back into your skull. You saw flashing lights and stars in your vision as your clenching walls made him grunt like an animal. The knot in your belly exploded and pleasure burst into your veins. You cried out, tears flowing down your cheeks and he licked every each one.

“I love you.” He said as you kept rolling your hips. You could not say that you loved him back. Though of uttering those words disgusted you. You guided his mouth back to the wound on your neck which he gladly accepted once again tonight. You sinked your own teeth onto his shoulder. Your bodies exchanged blood and pleasure at the same time. With that he was sent over the edge and his orgasm hit him for the last time.

Two of you slowly laid back, you on top of him, him still deep inside you. You could feel his seed leaking out of you. The feeling made your legs shake and your clit throb. You feasted on him from the last time. You were going to die with his taste on your tongue and his seed in you. No matter how hard you tried to get your self away from him, you were his.

The sun lights came first. Then the warmth. It was sweet sensation first. As you drank from one another, it warmed your skin. You didn’t look up to sunlight but the feeling was bringing you peace maybe for the last time in your life. The thought made you want to cry. Remmick slowly raised his head up from your neck but you didn’t let him.

“Please drink more.” You said as you pushed his back to your skin. Your loins were burning. You smelled burning flesh. Then felt the pain on your skin. Remmick’s skin was starting to turn red, looking raw and painful. You were feeling his pain on top of your own. Tears kept running down your cheeks as he kept drinking your blood. He was consuming you as if he was drunk on your essence. He was keep repeating the same few words even when the sun was getting higher in the sky;

‘I love you.’

The sun was brighter today. It was warmer, more blinding. The sun was rising for you today. Today, sun was rising to clean the world from evil. And you had accepted without fighting against. You pressed your head against Remmick’s shoulder and started to hum a song that was from a distant memory. A song that was sang by a mother, to her baby. A lullaby it was. This wasn't your memory, no. Your family was full of too much hate and contempt towards one another. You had never truly loved your parents and even though they had little love for you in their heart, they had never liked you as a person. All of your memories were full of arguments and screams.

The lullaby was from Jimmy’s memories. The same one that his mother sang to him nights before she had died. The same lullaby he sang by himself to remember her. And it was the same one that he had imagined to sing to his kids one day.

Sun lights were coming directly now. You could feel them getting under your skin and make their way into you in order to destroy your existence. Remmick shifted beneath you, as if his consciousness was coming back. He tried to push you away yet you didn't let him. With your last strength you held him tight and close to you.

“What are you-“

“You said you loved me more than anyone ever did. I want you to die with your love.” You said as you looked into his eyes. There it was again, his mischief smile that made your blood boil with rage.

He tried to get away from you but you were not letting him go. Sunlights were frying his skin now. The smoke that came from your bodied filled the air with the smell of burning flesh. The flames were coming from your insides. It was burning from your belly to your throat to your bones. You wondered if every death was this painful.

The flames got bigger and higher. Only thing you could see were orange-red flames and his eyes that never left your face. He was looking at you as if he was trying to understand if he was actually dying. Being on this earth for centuries, seeing empires rise and fall, being the most powerful being on the planet and take thousands of lives wasn’t something someone could leave behind easily.

“After everything I did for you?” He said, but you could not tell if he was actually talking or you were hearing things as you died.

“I never wanted any of this. ” You said, tears flowing down your cheeks and your heart aching.

“Why?” His voice is now full of sadness and his eyebrows raised up in hope. The possibility of you never loving him was now crossing his mind for the first time. You didn’t love Remmick. Yet the problem was, you couldn’t hate him either. You knew you were supposed to. And the guilt of not hating him was eating you away.

“Only someone who knows how to love could hate.” Remmick’s grip on you disappeared when the words left your mouth. “Anything other than hate and love is nothing at all.” He shook his head as if your words getting carved into his head. He pulled away from you, facing the creeping sunlights from the horizon line. You looked at him, and gasped with his beauty. His body was like a statue against the shimmering lights. You wondered what was the last time he properly seen the sun.

He looked at the horizon line, didn’t speak for some time until you touched his cheek. His side profile was perfect with his red eyes shining and reflecting the upcoming light. His mouth was covered in your blood and his body was covered in bites and scratches all over. The corner of your mouth curled up with proudness of your work. You were truly going insane.

“I don’t remember the last time someone loved me.” He whispered. Yet the weights of his words were so loud that it was heard in the whole field.

“I searched for something that could make me feel close to what I had before I was this.” He said as his hands pointed at himself.

“But I have been on this earth too long. Nothing, no one of my time survived yet I am here.” He said as he finally turned to you. You realised in that moment how similar you were. Since you spent your life trying to fit into a world that never tried to make you feel included. Your parents were dead, you had no home to go back. Your hands were covered in the blood of an innocent.

“Maybe we weren’t meant t survive this long.” You said. He smiled and nodded.

You did not know if he said something after that. It felt burning, then cold. Then nothing at all. Your existence turned into a bunch of ash and wind took it away.

As the sun rose in the sky, there were ashes on the ground of the porch. There were torn clothes, and blood. Not so far away from the house, there was a dead man, laying on the haystacks, a shotgun by his side.

A naked man who was covered in burns disappeared into the house, seen by the cars passing by. Yet they only found the bodies of the woman out of the family that moved into the house and the preacher’s poor son. There were no traces of the father and the daughter. Not a single trace of any body else other than them.

A/N: hope you liked it. Feel free to share your thoughts on it.

[short-circuit-the-great]

Bro.

Ko-fi

[izuchant]

🔥🌊

1st Picture

Back in 2020, I was reading this Fanfic that it was updating back then. I loved it too much that after I finished, I downloaded it on my Kindle to read from time to time again. So heartwarming 🫂

Anyway, back then, I didn't have the skill to draw something good enough, so I'm drawing this 4/3 years late, hahaha

I added the link on ao3. This is a very good fic. ⬇️

Fic Author: @muffinlance

2nd Picture

This one isn't part of the Fic. Just my own headcanon about this AU hahaha

Like, they don't know if it's a good idea to let him go with Iroh. They don't trust him, Iroh don't trust them. So, custody could be an issue.

I was also reading Towards the Sun ( same author), but I can't pass the first part bc it breaks my heart so much, haha (so well written! I recommend it too!)

I'd like to do something like this about that Fic, but I think I'm not strong enough. 🥲

(I'm so shy, so I'm dying right now. I can't believe I was brave enough to post this, haha)

[asyatarot]

PAC: appearance of your future spouse

________________________________

remember! it's a general reading. take what you want and leave other...

masterlist.

pricelist.

rules.

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1. magnetism, strong, dreamy, sunshine..

so overall I think half of you may have a future spouse with dark futures, and the other half can have a FS with very light futures. there also can be some people that will get a FS very balanced, they will be like the sun and the moon in one person.

first group: appearance that exudes allure and magnetism. this person might have an intense, seductive quality to them, with a certain "dangerous" charm or mystery that draws people in. they might have captivating eyes, a slightly enigmatic expression, or an aura that is both alluring and intriguing. their look could evoke a sense of mystery, making others feel drawn to them, wondering what lies beneath the surface. they may also have a more subtle, delicate appearance, with an almost otherworldly charm. they could have sharp features, an intense gaze, or a striking presence that makes them stand out. their look might have a certain sensuality, or they might dress in a way that emphasizes their confidence and captivating energy, drawing people toward them effortlessly. this person may be very strong, tall figure, may work out or go to the gym a lot.

second group: a sense of sweetness and nostalgia to their appearance. they may have youthful, soft features or a gentle, comforting presence that reminds people of innocence or happiness. they could have a warm smile, bright eyes, or an overall youthful glow that makes them seem approachable, friendly, and emotionally warm. their appearance might also evoke familiarity, making others feel at ease and nostalgic for simpler times. this person likely has a glowing, cheerful, and positive appearance. they are the real sunshine whenever they go.

third group: the sun + the moon..their looks would be captivating, balanced by both light and dark elements: they can appear both approachable and comforting yet hold a deeper, more enigmatic side that keeps others intrigued.

2. confident, dynamic, transformative, and charismatic.

someone with a strong, charismatic, and commanding presence. their appearance may be bold, confident, and full of vitality. they might have striking, intense features, with an air of leadership or authority. they could have a confident stance or posture, exuding self-assurance and determination. they are likely to have a physical presence that draws attention, making them stand out in a crowd. their style might be fashionable, with a fiery, confident energy radiating from them.

a person with a refined, sleek appearance—possibly someone who carries themselves with grace and calmness. they may have a more subtle, introspective beauty, with features that suggest wisdom or maturity. there’s a sense of smoothness and fluidity to their presence, and their overall appearance might convey a sense of journey or having overcome challenges. they could have an enigmatic or serene expression, indicating a person who has undergone growth or change. someone who is dynamic and can adapt to any situation, with a style or look that is ever-evolving or practical but powerful. someone who ho possesses a timeless, ageless quality.

also they may have dyed their hair, a tall figure that still changes their looks.

3. grounded and nurturing, with an intriguing balance of subtlety, elegance, and mystery.

someone who may have a more mature, thoughtful, and grounded appearance. they could have a calm, steady presence, with features that convey patience and depth. their style may be practical, with an emphasis on natural beauty or subtle elegance. they might carry themselves in a way that shows they've put time and care into their personal presentation. there’s likely a sense of introspection or reflection in their gaze or expression, as if they are always thinking about the bigger picture or long-term goals.

someone who takes care of themselves and values comfort, stability, and practicality. there may also be an air of abundance or wealth to them, as their look could suggest they have a solid, secure lifestyle.

they could have expressive, inviting eyes or a soft, gentle smile that makes others feel at ease. overall some of you will marry a foreigner or very wealthy person.

4. balanced, harmonious, and deeply intuitive appearance

this person may have an appearance that feels calm and composed. they might have an elegant, graceful presence, with features that are soothing and balanced. they likely have a serene aura, exuding a sense of inner peace. their physical appearance could be natural and well-maintained, reflecting someone who takes care of themselves and embodies harmony. they have a magnetism that draws people in. there could be a softness to their features, such as gentle eyes or a warm smile, that conveys openness and emotional connection. their physical appearance might suggest someone who is emotionally in tune with others and radiates affection, making them feel like someone you can trust and connect with on a deep level.

this person might have an ethereal, almost dreamlike quality to their appearance. some likely will also marry a foreigner.

[cozycottagetarot]

The First Time They See You

🎥 Reading Contents:

First Impressions

Their Immediate Thoughts

What They Think About You

🎞️ Extended Reading Contents:

How You Make Them Feel

What They Tell Others About You

Impact on the Future Relationship

This reading is for entertainment purposes only! Take only what resonates be it all, some or none! ✨

LINKS: Reading Masterlist | Dividers | Ko-Fi | Patreon | Patreon Masterlist | Paid Readings | Paid Readings - $10 and Under - Open 🥂

Pile 1

First Impressions

Cards: Eight of Pentacles, Queen of Pentacles, Page of Wands, The Forgotten, The Founder

For some reason, the first thing that popped into my mind was We Built This City on Rock and Roll. I’m not sure if that resonates with someone here, but it feels relevant—maybe you give off a bit of a rebel vibe, or it’s reflected in the way you dress or carry yourself. Something along those lines.

When it comes to first impressions, the one you leave on your person might not necessarily stick—and that’s not a bad thing. It could simply be that while you remember meeting them, they might not, or the other way around.

I get the sense that your person sees you as someone who’s done well for themselves. They likely think of you as someone who works hard to get where you are. You might give off an air of enjoying life’s luxuries, though not necessarily in a flashy way. It could be more about appreciating the little luxuries, the small joys that bring comfort or happiness.

They might also see you as someone who’s open to adventure. A scene keeps playing in my mind: you’re chatting with someone, maybe in a store, and your person is off to the side, casually observing. It’s like the way you’d notice someone having a conversation—not really focused on them, but still aware of their presence.

Their Immediate Thoughts

Cards: Nine of Cups, The Sun, The Hanged Man

Your person will really like you. I think they’ll see you as someone who radiates joy or has the ability to bring happiness into people’s lives effortlessly. You might have this knack for lifting their spirits or brightening their mood. There’s something about you that will subtly shift their perspective as well—like a little spark of insight or inspiration. Part of me feels like this could have something to do with the way you’re dressed.

I also sense that this encounter will happen in passing—a brief, fleeting moment. Even so, they might think something along the lines of, Wow, this person is... Perhaps you have a super eccentric style, or maybe it’s just something about your personality that makes you stand out in an unmistakable way.

It feels like this will catch their attention. Their immediate thoughts might be something like, Huh, this person is different, or even, Oh, I really like them. Those are the kinds of impressions I’m picking up here.

What They Think About You

Cards: The Acolyte, The Sentinel Rev, The Catalyst, Amanita - Conduit, Pau D’Arco - Metamorphosis

Your person may think of you as someone with feminine qualities—exuding a nurturing, gentle energy. They might also see you as a bit whimsical, especially in terms of your appearance. That said, I feel like they could struggle to fully interpret or "read" you. There’s a certain complexity to you that they might find intriguing or even a little puzzling. For example, you might come across as someone who is wise and mature, yet youthful in appearance. You could also give off the impression of being a student—someone who is curious about others, always learning, and dedicated to personal growth.

There’s definitely a sense of playfulness they might pick up on, too. The imagery that comes to mind is something like a mystical or enchanted vibe—mushrooms, fairies, gnomes, that sort of whimsical, otherworldly energy.

They might also notice that you seem to be someone who’s always changing. For instance, maybe your hair is dyed one color, but your roots are showing in a different shade, signaling transformation and evolution. It could also be something they pick up on just by overhearing you talk about yourself—how you actively seek change and growth rather than waiting for life to happen to you.

Your person might think you’re someone unafraid of the unknown. They could see you as someone who thrives on challenges, always seeking the next thing to conquer or explore. There’s also a sense that they might perceive you as confident and self-assured. Depending on the context, this could even come across as arrogance or self-centeredness, but it seems more tied to how much power or presence you have—and your awareness of it.

They might also view you as someone artistic or deeply connected to nature. Mystical energy keeps coming through strongly, and I think that’s a key part of how they’ll perceive you the first time they see you.

If you made it this far, thank you for taking the time to read this post! 💚

✨Curious about how you make them feel? ✨ What whispers might they share about you with others? 🤫💕 How will that first glance shape your future connection? 👀💞 Dive deeper with the extended access tier on Patreon for the full, in-depth reading 🔮✨—or read "How You Make Them Feel" as a free member! 💌🌟

Pile 2

First Impressions

Cards: Eight of Wands, The Stars, The Devil, The Painter, The Gambler

This is so amusing. I feel like your person’s first impression when they see you is, are you the thing that will save them or the thing that will ruin them completely?

I think you come in very quickly, leaving your person all wide awake and alert. You’re this beacon of light and hope for them, but at the same time, there’s something so mysterious and forbidden about you. Pursuing you, or even the idea of having you, feels thrilling, but it also carries an edge of danger. That’s the vibe I’m getting here from the cards.

It’s like you have the power to show them a whole new world, and that world could be incredible, or it could be devastating. Either way, they seem willing to take the risk and dive in. Honestly, I don’t sense any hesitation from them—none at all. They’re completely enthralled by you, and that’s their first impression.

It’s like… wow.

I think they find you incredibly beautiful. In fact, I’d say they’re very physically attracted to you, and that plays a significant part in it. For some reason, I’m also getting that you might come from different cultures, which could add to the intrigue.

But more than anything, there’s just this overwhelming thrill. You’re so addictive and so enticing—it’s like, oh my gosh. That’s all I can say: oh my gosh. Pile 2, what the heck? Your person is going to be all in for you from the start. That’s their first impression.

Their Immediate Thoughts

Cards: Ace of Cups, Six of Wands, The World

I think doing this pile is definitely going to be a highlight of my day. I’m getting that your person’s immediate thoughts are something like, they just want to eat you up. That’s the phrase I keep hearing, and it feels like your person has such a bold and playful personality—it really comes through in this reading. They see you as someone who probably has a ton of romantic attention. It’s like you’re this irresistible catch, and people are all over you. That’s what keeps coming through: you’ve got so many people chasing after you, and honestly, I can’t see it any other way.

So yeah, their immediate thought is that you’re an absolute catch. You’ve got so much going for you—you’re stunning, beautiful, and it’s something I keep circling back to throughout this reading.

Your person also seems to think you’d be an amazing lover, and they want to be your lover.

What They Think About You

Cards: The merchant, The Pilgrim, The Alchemist, Rue - Protection, Ginkgo - Breakthrough

You seem to have a very magnetic aura, and because of that, you don’t let people in very easily. You’re discerning about who you allow into your energy field. Your energy feels heavily protected, and that’s something people notice about you right away. They might sense—or assume—that you’ve got a deeper layer to you, and I think that’s part of what they initially find so alluring. There’s something about you that feels guarded but also captivating.

I think they see you as someone who’s very confident and aware of your worth. You’re not the type to settle for less than you deserve, and that confidence is magnetic in itself.

At the same time, they might think you’re a bit lost or lacking direction in where you’re headed. There’s this sense that they could see you as someone who might be a little self-destructive at times—or at least that’s a perception they could have. It’s almost like they imagine you as someone who builds yourself up but then occasionally tears it all down.

That dynamic—of being both powerful and a little risky—is part of what they find so intriguing. They sense there’s some level of risk in being with you or around you, and that’s a big part of the pull they feel toward you.

If you made it this far, thank you for taking the time to read this post! 💚

✨Curious about how you make them feel? ✨ What whispers might they share about you with others? 🤫💕 How will that first glance shape your future connection? 👀💞 Dive deeper with the extended access tier on Patreon for the full, in-depth reading 🔮✨—or read "How You Make Them Feel" as a free member! 💌🌟

PILE 3

First Impressions

Cards: Knight of Wands, The Star, Ace of Pentacles, The Witch, The Diviner

Your person sees you as someone who is very energetic, optimistic, and motivated, with a go-getter attitude toward the things you set your mind to. Their first impression might be that you’re someone who comes up with a lot of great ideas and has the potential for successful outcomes—though what “success” means might vary. Rather than defining it specifically, let’s just say they see you as someone likely to achieve positive results.

They also view you as someone very hopeful, someone who tries to see the best in situations without ignoring potential risks. You seem to strike a balance, focusing on the positives while still acknowledging the negatives. Depending on the context, you might come across as slightly impulsive, but overall, they perceive you as charismatic and confident.

There’s a mystical quality about you, too. They might feel like you have all the answers or that you’ve got the path ahead of you figured out, which leaves them a little mystified. At the same time, you might seem like you’re in your own world, unconcerned with what others are doing and entirely focused on your own goals—what you need to do to get from point A to point B.

They might also pick up on an earthy, natural vibe from you. There’s a sense that you could have an interest in nature, architecture, or even herbalism. These impressions might come across subtly, but they add to the idea that you’re someone who knows a lot about those kinds of things, or at least gives off that impression.

Their Immediate Thoughts

Cards: Ten of Swords, Six of Swords, Page of Swords

This won't resonate with everyone, but I’m picking up on an image of someone wearing a shawl and a lot of bangles or bracelets on their wrists—depending on how they express themselves. Glasses might also come to mind, along with imagery of a greenhouse or a guest speaker at an event. Of course, this could be very specific and apply to just one person.

Your person might perceive you as someone currently in a "solo era." It feels like you’re focused on healing, recovery, or just regaining balance after a draining experience. This could suggest you’re not actively seeking social connections right now.

Alternatively, if you’re working on a project or an idea with long-term potential, they may see you as someone who prefers to handle things independently. This could lead them to think you’re not particularly looking to collaborate at the moment. They might also believe you’re already in a relationship, which would tie into their perception that you’re either unavailable for social connections or preoccupied with your personal work.

Another thing they could sense about you is that you’re someone who has "breakthrough ideas," particularly in environments like school, work, or professional settings. They might see you as a person who consistently comes up with fresh, innovative concepts.

Overall, they view you as someone transitioning—leaving something behind and moving toward something healthier. It feels like "recovery mode" is a recurring theme. Whatever you’re moving on from, they think you’re navigating it with purpose.

What They Think About You

Cards: The Warrior, The Botanist, The Mascareri, Horsetail - Patience, Cacao - Initiation

Their thoughts align with an image of someone deeply connected to nature. They might imagine you working with plants, exploring nature, or pursuing hobbies like painting, pottery, or other creative, hands-on activities—perhaps even as a profession.

They might see you as someone who strives for perfection, but they could also feel that you hide your authentic self behind a mask of this perfectionism. At the same time, they view you as nurturing, patient, and willing to put in the necessary effort to see something bloom, even if it requires isolation.

Wherever they encounter you, it seems like they see you in your element—whether it’s creating, strategizing, or working on something meaningful. There’s a serene and calm energy about you, almost like a "green witch" archetype, embodying a sense of harmony and trust in the process of life.

They might feel that you have a strong connection to the Divine, as many of the cards reflect this theme. There’s a sense of familiarity they might feel with your soul, as if they intuitively recognize something deep about you.

It’s possible they see you as a teacher or mentor in some way—someone they watch and learn from, whether intentionally or by circumstance. This observant nature suggests a level of intrigue on their part. They might think: “I know this person’s soul,” and this thought could leave them feeling both curious and captivated by your essence.

If you made it this far, thank you for taking the time to read this post! 💚

✨Curious about how you make them feel? ✨ What whispers might they share about you with others? 🤫💕 How will that first glance shape your future connection? 👀💞 Dive deeper with the extended access tier on Patreon for the full, in-depth reading 🔮✨—or read "How You Make Them Feel" as a free member! 💌🌟

[jellyfishsthings]

Hold Your Breath My Darling

WARNINGS: angst, like super angst, lovesick and whipped Spencer, earlier seasons Spencer, Hotch trained reader, Ex spy, fem reader, dying (or coming close to it), panic attacks, HOTCHNISS IS A THING bcuz i said so, typical criminal minds violence... there will be a part two soon, please let my know if I am missing anything else

requests are open

The ending was based on this fic by @nereidprinc3ss

part 1, navigation

It had been one month since the Incident—a term that spoke volumes without revealing too much. The Incident was the moment everything changed, the day the world they've fought to protect threatened to swallow them whole. One harrowing act of violence had almost stolen her from the living, leaving scars deeper than flesh, echoing through the halls of the BAU and private lives of those who cared.

For Aaron Hotchner, the air was thick with the weight of his own guilt. He wandered through days shrouded in shadows, each movement a reminder of his instinct to protect, to lead, to ensure the safety of his team. And how had he failed? He coped with drowning himself in whiskey after a long day's work—a futile attempt to numb the regret clawing at his insides. In the back of his mind, the echoes of her screams lingered. They came back to him every time he closed his eyes.

His office was dimly lit, the curtains drawn tight against the afternoon sun. He stared at a framed picture of the team at some holiday gathering, her flashing one of her radiant smiles, arms flung around Morgan and Reid. It should have been the happiest memory, but now it felt like a ghost lurking in the corner, reminding him of what could have been lost forever. Where there should have been laughter, the room was filled with an uneasy silence, punctuated only by the sound of ice rattling in his glass.

Then there was Emily, who wore her pain like a second skin. Each night, she gave in to silent tears that left her breathless. Hotch held her, wrapped her in his arms, wanting to lend strength but unsure of how to piece together the fragments of their shattering experience. It was during these quiet moments, swaddled in darkness, that they both recognized the fragility of their connection. What they had once built was now tempered by guilt and fear—fear of losing a woman, a kid practically, they had helped qrow and turn into the amazingAgent she was.

Meanwhile, in a sterile white room, Spencer Reid kept vigil at her bedside. He had transformed into a specter of the man he had always been. Days blended into nights, and he often felt unmoored. The memory of her laughter used to be a melody he longed to hear; now it haunted him. In the clinical light of the hospital room, he counted the rhythmic beeping of the machines, which stood stark contrast to the chaos within him. Every time he heard her heart, steady and strong, he found a flicker of hope. But hope was an elusive thing, dampened by the anxiety that had seeped into his bones.

Reid often found himself lost in thought, reflecting on the moments that brought them all together, the little things that made them a unit—a family of sorts. He remembered their case that had turned deadly, the precision of her instincts leading them into a dangerous trap. But he also remembered the resolve in her eyes as they fought, a fierce determination that now seemed barely a whisper in the sanctuary of her hospital room.

For a while, recovery felt like an unattainable vision—like a mirage shimmering just beyond their reach. It was a miracle she was still alive even in a sedated state. When she was admitted in the hospital the doctors wore horrified looks as they finally located her file, asking for goverment permission to unseal it and rightfully so. When Spencer himself read it he felt nauseous to his core and ready to lose his hold on reality.

Bones broken more than one time.

Broken back that function only with a chip insisted in the spine.

Various signs of abuse, which could be traced back to her childhood at eight years old.

Signs of sexual assault and rape to a terrifying degree.

She was covered in old scars.

Yet he knew that the worst damage must live inside her head. What a scary life she had lived. And she was only a few months younger than him. The memories that must haunt her ... he only felt sick at the thought, he could imagine how it would be like to live with them.

Still it made sense. How good she was at fighting, that she was an excellent shot, how quickly she adapted into this new lifestyle. He was filled with questions, how, why, are you well, I still love you you do not have to hide I promise. But he didn't have a choice and so he waited for what seemed an eternity.

Days passed, and with them came the wait. But her eyes still remained closed, and so did the door to their shared perception of certainty. A week turned into a month, and the seasons shifted outside like a clock wound down to a dim hum.

Then, one evening, under the flickering fluorescent lights of the hospital, a breakthrough came. Her eyelids fluttered, her breathing quickened, and suddenly—her eyes opened, revealing the storm brewing inside them. Spencer was at her side, gripping her hand gently, his heart hammering in his chest. Ready to fall down on his knees and thank every diety for bringing her back.

“Snoopy?,” he breathed out, the air catching in his throat. Using after what seemed the longest time the nickname he had for her, the one he only used because he was the only one who knew her crazy obsession with the cartoon.

Her gaze was unfocused at first, wandering into the corners of the room as if piecing together where she was. But recognition slowly dawned on her, and the corners of her lips managed a faint curve.

“Reid?” she croaked, her voice raspy yet threaded with life.

Spencer felt a swell of emotions. Relief surged through him, casting away the shadows that had clung tightly for weeks. “You’re back. You’re really back.”

She blinked, and as realization dawned fully, the weight of her condition pressed down on her. “What happened?”

The moment reverberated with unspoken understanding; the memories were shrouded yet defined by the pain they collectively held. But what mattered now was her presence, the warmth of her being returning to where it belonged.

Yet nothing would ever be the same again.

Her transition to get back to work was tedious and long, but she faced with extreme determination and stubbornness. But one bright Monday morning at the Behavioral Analysis Unit (BAU), and the scent of hope lingered in the air like freshly brewed coffee. The team was abuzz with excitement—she was finally back after her traumatic injury. The office was a cacophony of cheers, “Welcome back!” and “It’s about time!” amid the clatter of keyboards and the rustle of paperwork.

She smiled brightly, radiating enthusiasm as she exchanged warm hugs and playful jabs. Despite feeling a little stiff, she was ready to jump back into the chaos that was the BAU. Her final physical test had gone splendidly, and she had passed with flying colors, much to the delight of her colleagues.

“Just don't overdo it, shortcake,” Derek Morgan chuckled, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You wouldn’t want to break a sweat before lunch.”

“I think my stitches would disagree with you,” she replied, tossing her hair back and puffing out her chest, “but who needs stitches when you have determination?”

She winked, but even she could feel the tight twinge near her abdomen as she waved dismissively.

A few hours later, as the excitement faded into the hum of agents at work, she started to feel a slight tugging pain. Her physical test had been strenuous, and perhaps she had overexerted herself a tad too much. Dismissing it as minor, she continued her duties until, unceremoniously, during a particularly animated discussion with Spencer Reid, she felt something give way. Looking down in horror, she saw her bandage had opened—one stitch had given it all up.

“Oh, come on,” she muttered under her breath. “Not now.”

The bathroom was not far, but the urgency and pain propelled her into a sprint that was definitely not recommended for someone still healing. She burst through the bathroom door, clutching her midriff, and locked the door behind her.

Meanwhile, after Snoopy had vanished for a suspiciously long time, Spencer felt a tickle of worry. She had burst into action rather enthusiastically, but it had turned into hours of radio silence. Ever the nerdy detective, his mind began churning. What if she had passed out? What if the bathroom monster had gotten her?

Spencer stood up, adjusted his glasses, and awkwardly edged toward the restrooms, bursting into the first one. Empty. Next, he slammed the door of the supply closet, scanned the room, found it empty, and moved on. He was a bull in a china shop—he knocked on a few more doors before finally giving in and charging towards the ladies’ restroom.

“Snoopy?” he called out hesitantly. “Are you in here? Did you win a new Olympic event—like bathroom hiding?”

Inside, she was struggling for a fresh bandage, maneuvering between the threading of her clothes, still trying to maintain a semblance of dignity despite her predicament. “I’m fine!” she half-shouted. “Just dealing with some wardrobe malfunctions. You know how it is!”

“Are you sure? You sound a little… flustered.” Spencer pushed through the door—pride was overrated, and so was personal space when it came to friends in need.

There she stood, half-naked, staring wide-eyed at Spencer. She was trying to maneuver a roll of bandages across her back, struggling with the awkward angles as she attempted to wrap around her injuries. The moment was a whirlwind of awkwardness and genuine surprise that left Spencer rooted to the floor.

“Oh, uh…!” Spencer stammered, his eyes widening. “I—Sorry! I didn’t mean to—!”

She blushed, realizing the comedic irony of a boy who often got caught in his brain's overdrive now turning into a flustered mess. “Spencer, a little warning next time? I’m just trying to change my bandages!”

“Oh! Right! Of course! Bandages!” He shuffled awkwardly, racking his brain for something—anything—that resembled confidence. “Do you need help?”

“Help?” she echoed, raising an eyebrow. “With what? Watching me struggle or ensuring a full-fledged theatrical performance?”

Reid swallowed hard and stepped forward, grabbing the roll of bandages. “I have a PhD in cognitive neuroscience, but bandaging wounds shouldn't be too complicated, right?”

She laughed, a melodic sound that diffused the tension as he gingerly held the fabric ready to assist her. “You say that, but let’s just put your academic prowess to the test.”

As he meticulously began to wrap her wounds, their banter threw open a door to easy flirting. “You know, if you hadn’t decided to writhe around like a fish out of water, I wouldn’t have had to barge in here like a raging bull,” he teased, focusing on the bandages but stealing glances at her.

She snorted softly. “And if you hadn’t decided to play the role of ‘Spencer the Bull’ and barged in like that, I might have had a more dignified experience here.”

“Next time, I’ll knock,” he agreed. “But first, if I let you get hurt again, I’ll have to rat you out to HR.”

She feigned shock. “Spencer Reid! How could you? Aren’t we a team?”

He didn’t dare reply immediately, wrapping the bandages with precision while his own cheeks flushed. “They also say you can’t handle a little risk in the name of love—because that’s totally what HR deals with.”

She grinned. “Oh please, they’d love the gossip. ‘Reid and Snoopy engage in dangerous bandaging maneuvers!’”

“Right?” He chuckled. “They’d probably get the wrong idea, and we’d spend our afternoons dodging accusations.”

“Accusations? Of what? Excessive flirting under the guise of medical assistance?”

Their eyes met, and the emphasis was palpable—a line they’d somehow danced across during the cheerful mockery. As the gentle laughter enveloped them, both realizing they had easily slipped into a territory where playful banter morphed into flirty undertones, Spencer’s heart thumped against his chest as he finished the bandage and fought the impulse to lean in a little closer.

“So,” she started, cutting through the air of comfort, “do we have a pact then? No more HR rumbles if you keep barging in on me uninvited?”

“I think that sounds reasonable,” Spencer replied, a charming smile emerging on his lips.

As they shared another laugh, an understanding settled between them—one wrapped in bandages, hints of crushes, and adventure, leaving behind awkwardness and opening the door to a world wrapped in flirtation and camaraderie, all set against the delightful backdrop of the BAU.

Tags: @sturnioloenthousiast

[inkedtae]

the underground ⇾ bgc. [M] | PART I

⎡ In a city fuelled by greed and ambition, secrets are a currency. Yet here you are, gambling yours away on a captivating smile.⎤

PART II ➡︎

⌁ pairing; boxer!chan x curvy!reader (f.)

⌁ genre; boxing au, s2l, angst, smut, 18+

⌁ word count; 14.4k

⌁ summary; You’re just a runner. So why the hell are you straddling the lap of an undefeated boxer, massaging his chest and whispering secrets you have no right knowing? Oh, yeah— ‘cause he’s hot.

⌁ warnings; dark themes: mentions and depictions of graphic gang activity, abduction, possession and distribution of drugs, addictions, use of deadly weapons, violence, blood, gore, and death threats, explicit sex: dom!chan, sub!reader, daddy kink, size kink, multiple orgasms, ruined orgasm, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, rough sex, voyeurism, exhibitionism, overstimulation, degradation, dirty talk, handjob, thigh riding, spanking, face slapping (m. receiving), rimming, fingering, edging, manhandling, gun play, anal play, cum play, spit play

⌁ 🎧 now playing... ✩

❥ prefer ao3? keep reading here

❥ i want to give special thanks to jen ( @anobodyslove ) for being so patient with me and reading this monster of a fic over! 💕 and @awrkives for the most amazing banner! 💗

❥ and happy birthday to my channie! here's to another year of unhinged love letters. 🐺🖤

❥ okay so i'm moving this fully to tumblr as well as it being available on ao3 HOWEVER the entire fic is over the character limit for tumblr post so this one-shot has been divided into two parts. both parts are uploaded.

!! the following story contains mature themes, including mentions and graphic depictions of racketeering, gang activity, weapons, drugs, violence, blood, gore, and death threats. please do not read nor interact if these themes cause you discomfort !!

Dusk is a medley of tangerine and indigo. Peachy rays of the sun shine between drifting clouds. A quartered shadow of the moon makes a premature appearance. You breathe in the early October air, eyes fluttering shut with the exhale. Clutching onto the balcony’s rickety railing, the rusted metal so cold on your bare hands, you fill your lungs again, taking deep, slow breaths.

The world stops spinning. The muffled music, once pounding against your temples, fades away. Body steady, you sip on the fresh air and swallow away your nausea.

I can do this, you tell yourself. Just one last drop off. I hand it over and leave.

They probably won’t even recognise you. You let your hair grow past your shoulders and dyed it strawberry blonde. You changed your style, trading your baby pink and blue matching sets for muted mixtures of red and black. Fishnets, little gym shorts, a graphic KISS babydoll tee and an oversized, knock-off fur coat you nicked from a local bodega weeks ago, you transformed yourself into someone new.

You turn back to the glass doors now. Catching your reflection, you cringe at the smudged eyeliner and runny nose. You wipe your hands under your eyes and above your lip, sniffling your worries away. You fix your jacket, reapply your dark red lipstick, and frame your hair around your face.

“I can do this,” you mutter as you slide open the door and step back into the party.

You spot Vince by the DJ, Danni and Andrea lingering nearby. Your heart drops to your stomach. They once told you they hated Day-1 parties, yet here they are, taking shots of gin and robbing the entertainment of their equipment. They once told you they loved you too, that they would never leave you behind. All at once, the three of them turned their backs on you, forever haunting your every waking moment.

You push between bodies. Tonight is not about ghosts. You have a debt to settle.

“Name?”

“Don’t be an asshole, Vik.”

Viktor crosses his arms over his chest. “Think this a joke?”

You fight off a smirk. “Nah, that’s not what I think a joke looks like.”

He grits his teeth, tossing you a vulgar gesture before moving aside. “Bitch,” he hisses in your ear as you walk into the master bedroom.

Red lights, smoke, needles. Two topless women dance to the muffled music, bottles in hand. Three Day-1s watch, one with his hand on his crotch. The bed shakes by them, two junkies bouncing on it like children as another Day-1 makes out with their friend.

By the window, two more members stare out to the street.

Exit compromised.

Gagging erupts from the en-suite, coaxing your curiosity. Another topless woman hunches over the toilet. Horny Day-1 members crowd around the entrance, trousers around their ankles as they watch.

You redirect your attention to the table on the far right. Reggie, point-man of tonight’s drop off, sits facing the door. He flashes a toothy grin, racking his gaze over your curves.

Hands remaining by your side, you fight against the instinct to wrap your coat tighter around yourself.

Reggie calls you over with the curl of two fingers, puffing his cigarette smoke out through his nostrils. 

“Name?”

“Vinny sent me.”

The three men sitting around him exchange glances.

Taking a drag of his cigarette, Reggie, dressed in a blood speckled undershirt and baggy cargos, sits up in his seat. “Is that what I asked?” He looks around his fellow members, drily chuckling with them before repeating, “Name!”

The rules for runners are very simple; there’s only one— Never state your name. It creates a trail and binds you to an affliction. Rival gangs won’t work with a spy, and your name will be the first they spill if caught. You’re simply a messenger, no different than the guy that delivers the same-day Amazon order, distributing grams of coke and meth instead of a Roomba.

Honour gangs, like Day-1, are tricky, however. They have a second rule:

“Never lie,” Vinny warned.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do then?”

“Figure it out.”

You shift your weight. His insistence on your name, knowing you will risk your safety, is simply a test of will and grit. You purse your lips, flirting your eyes over his all too arrogant, lanky frame, and reply, “Bitch.”

Reggie raises a brow. He stands, reaching a hand behind him.

“That’s what everyone calls me,” you quickly add, then you shoot him a wink. “Fat bitch, if you’re nasty.”

The room stiffens. Even the gags from the bathroom cease. You keep your attention tunnelled on Reggie. You watch as he fixes his shirt over his gun, holding your breath when he rounds the table.

Nearly an arms length away, a smile finally settles on his old face. “Where the hell did Vinny find you?”

You force yourself to return that same easy grin and peel back the lining of your coat. “Be sure to ask him that the next time you see him. I’m on a tight schedule.”

Reggie gestures for his members. You pull out the wrapped bags of crystal and pass them out, ignoring the way his eyes devour your frame.

“Are you handling the cash too, princess?”

You try not to cringe at the pet name. Licking your lips, you keep your features soft and peer at him from your lashes. “Not tonight. Vinny said you know where the drop point is.”

He hums. 

You pull your coat back around your body, resisting the urge to recoil under his glutinous gaze. He looks no younger than forty-five, the wrinkles around his mouth and eyes not doing him any favours. Vinny warned you Reggie might get handsy. Under any other circumstance, you would have kicked him in the balls and spat on his face by now. But you’re in Day-1 territory and don’t have a gang of your own for support.

Reggie reaches his hand out. You take a step back.

Before the thrill of your resistance can poison his stare, you flash him a coy smile and playfully whine, “I’m working tonight.”

He nods towards the door, laughing to himself. “Go on then, princess.”

You turn your back to him, unable to force down a gag. Though you’re eager to escape, you keep your steps steady and even. You stride towards the door, knock thrice and shift your weight to make a show of your boredom while waiting for Viktor to respond.

A relieved breath topples out of you once the door shuts. You lean on your knees, shakily trying to catch your breath.

Viktor carefully scans your hunched frame. “You good?” He whispers, voice is strained, carefully void of emotion.

You nod, standing back to your full height.

Hazel eyes lock on you from the bottom of the stairs. Vince furrows his brows. Danni follows his gaze, Andrea already staring, lips moving.

Shit.

They can’t know it’s you, right? From the way Vince merely narrows his eyes, he must simply suspect something.

You turn to face Viktor.

He tosses you a cautious look, muttering, “I can’t help you.”

You know this, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “Just tell me if they’re still looking.”

“Yes.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Viktor keeps his features neutral, posture stiff with his hands clasped before him. “They still got a hit on you, yeah?”

You nod.

“You packing?”

“You know I’m not,” you snap.

Non-members are not permitted entrance if carrying a firearm. You left yours with Vinny before running. Shoving your hands in your pockets, all you feel is your phone, lipstick, and switchblade.

“On the move,” he warns.

“Give me your gun.”

Viktor casts you a sidelong glare. “I can’t.”

You sneak a peek over your shoulder to find Vince halfway up the stairs. You see Danni reaching into her pocket, catching the glare of the lights against a blade. They’re in no rush, but if they make it to the landing before you can secure a proper weapon, you’ll be out of options.

“Do you have a knife?” you ask, taking a step back.

Viktor stiffens.

Shit, are they close?

“Last room down the hall,” Viktor mumbles.

You know you shouldn’t have, but fear triggers adrenaline and soon overwhelms your nerves. Panic binds to your bones, snapping tense muscles into action. You bolt— alone, alarmed. Pushing between drunks, jumping over junkies, you hurry to the farthest room and slam the door. It doesn’t have a lock so you tuck a chair under the handle. Rummaging through drawers, digging through the closet, lifting the mattress, you look for a knife, a gun, anything other than a three-inch switchblade to defend yourself.

The door trembles from the pounding of their fists.

“Come on out!” Vince shouts.

“It must be her! She’s always fucking hiding!” Andrea adds. “Get the fuck out here! Have the balls to face what you did, bitch!”

You find yourself warped in a memory—

“No one wants your boyfriend, Danni,” you shouted. “He came onto me.”

Her open palm landed on your cheek.

Tears gathered in your eyes, face stinging. You stumbled back.

“You’re a lying bitch,” she spat. “At least have the decency to face what you did.”

You blink out of your thoughts, dropping the mattress.

Dresser, closet , bed— Where else could a weapon be? You scan the room, heart hammering with every forceful knock of the door.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Reggie asks, voice muffled.

Your attention settles on the window in front of you. You hurry towards it to find the fire escape.

“Viktor, you sneaky fuck,” you whisper through a relieved chuckle. He wasn’t directing you to a weapon but rather an exit.

You quickly push it up, catching rumblings of orders to blow the door open. Up and out, you jump, sparing a second to shut the window behind you. It might be counter-productive to waste precious time on a window but you know that concealing your exits always gives you a head start.

Rushing down the stairs, you don’t look back upon hearing the loud blast of metal on wood. You just catch their commotion over the heavy bass of the music.

Jumping the final steps, you run.

The Underground sits on the corner of Bank and Third Avenue, tucked under a row of red-bricked townhouses. You lean against the wall, stowing yourself away in the alley to catch your breath. Sirens whirl down the street, casting red and blue lights over your sweaty face. A man of very little wealth stumbles by, clothes torn and stained, waving a sign that reads, JESUS LOVES YOU.

You roll your eyes, wondering where the fuck Jesus was when your parents failed you, when the bank repossessed all you had and when the system passed you from house to house.

The thick stench of sewage and rotten trash suddenly sets in, blighting your next inhale. Leaning over, you succumb to a gagging fit. Thankfully, only bile and saliva gather. You cough and spit it out, then wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. An annoyed sigh escapes you at the realisation that you fucked up your lipstick yet again.

“Just some drunken slut.”

You carefully redirect your attention to the far end of the alley. Two men stand a couple of inches apart. One of them wears a grey tracksuit, glaring at you under the light of the backdoor. He has a towel resting around his neck, just over a thin gold chain. Perhaps in his mid-twenties, his relatively handsome twists with contempt. The other one wears an oversized jersey and low-riding jeans. Though dressed like a boxing fan, you can tell by his rigid posture he’s anything but. No one who gambles their mortgage away on Underground matches stands that straight.

And then you catch it, in the glimpse of the light, the flash of his badge nearly slipping out of his pocket. You wish you were surprised, but you know all too well that it’s dirty cops like this legitimising gang activity.

He pulls his pants up, and continues to pace. “Is he gonna throw it or not?”

“He won’t,” Tracksuit replies, looking over his shoulder.

The dirty cop curses.

“You know how Bahng is,” Tracksuit explains. “He’s too prideful. He won’t ruin an undefeated streak for a few thousand.”

“It’s five hundred thousand, Mickey. Did you tell him that? Does he know?”

Mickey nods, readjusting the towel behind his neck. “And I’m telling you he doesn’t think it’s worth it.”

A shiver dances along your spine at the way the cop’s face hardens. Sinister desperation gleams in his gaze and he pulls out a long knife. In a single motion, he shoves Mickey against the wall and presses the blade against his throat.

Mickey chokes back a scream, throwing his hands up in surrender. “W-whoa, Andy! C-Come on, man.”

Andy bears his teeth, quietly laughing to himself. “Do you think this is a fucking joke? Do you know how fucked I am if he wins this match? Day-1s, Ravens, Siphons— they’re all after me, Mick. I have a family— a fucking career.”

“That’s not my pr—”

“Problem?” Andy finishes, his laughter becoming more manic. “You think it’s not your problem? What do you think I told them when I promised that Bahng would lose?”

Mickey’s face drains of colour.

“I told’em Mick with the little dick can fix it for us.”

Tears gather in Mickey’s eyes. He swallows thickly before shakily asking, “Wh-Why would you s-s-say th-at?”

“Come on, everyone knows you have a small—”

“You know what I mean!” He shouts.

Andy applies pressure with his knife. You catch a trail of blood running down Mickey’s throat.

“L-Look,” Mickey starts, screwing his eyes shut, lips quivering. “He’s hard-headed. The only way he’s not w-winning this ma-tch is if s-someone gets to h-him bef-ore he makes it to the r-ring.”

Andy smiles.

“He takes the long way ‘round. He likes the attention, c-can’t resist it, you know?” Mickey continues. “He goes thr-ough the back h-hall to circle the a-arena and enters the c-crowd from the fr-ont.” He takes a second to swallow before continuing, “It-It would be a real sh-shame if someone g-g-got to him before he can m-make it.”

You watch Andy nod.

“What did you do?”

You jump, hand already grappling for your switchblade as you turn to face your assailant.

Vinny glares back at you.

Giving him a shove, you clench your jaw and hiss, “Don’t do that!”

He corrects his stance, hands in his pockets, then spares a look over his shoulder. “Day-1s are blowing my phone up about some blonde bitch. Did you lock yourself in Tatiana’s room?”

You look back to the other end of the alley. Only flies circle under the backdoor’s light.

“Hey!” Vinny hisses, forcing your attention back to him. “Are you listening?”

“It wasn’t me,” you lie.

He deadpans. “You’re the only bitch I know who has a score to settle with Vince.”

You avert your gaze.

“What happened?” He repeats. This time his voice is less accusatory.

You’ve known Alvin “Vinny” Tucker since you were sixteen. He lived in the apartment above yours and later became your foster brother. You dropped out of high school together a couple months later to sell bootleg Marvel movies on Sixth Street. He really wanted to see Madonna in concert and promised you a front row seat with him if you helped. He was recruited by the Sixers around the time your foster mom came to collect you off the street and force you back to school. He told her where you were, you later found out, to spare you the violence the Sixers had in store for you. He never said it was a debt, though you did feel like you owed him something.

Things changed when Vince set a hit on you. Your description and name were on the radar of every gang, the reward being the acquisition of new territory. The left port is the most sought after piece of land, currently managed by Vince’s father, Vincent Jones Senior. Anyone able to deliver you back to your ex-friends alive suddenly has access to the docks and a monopoly on shipments.

With nowhere else to go, you turned to Vinny. He called Viktor, cashing in a favour, and got to work. The dyed hair, new wardrobe, change of address, it was all done in a matter of hours. And all you had to do was run, hand over the rocks and not attract attention— the goal was simple.

“So how the fuck did you manage to screw that up too?”

“I told you that it wasn’t me!”

“Say that again and I will lose my shit.”

“They can’t prove it was me, okay? Tell Day-1 Vince is paranoid. Run them my old description. Tell them he’s desperate. Let him clean that mess up himself,” you reply, rubbing your temples. “It’s not that fucking hard, Vin.”

You could use a hot bath right now. All you want to do is scrub off the stench of the alley and chaos of the night. For someone who swears he doesn’t want you, Vince took one look in your eyes and knew it was you. He always acted strange but you just thought he was being friendly. It wasn’t until he was rubbing your thigh between shots and rounds of cards that you realised he wanted more than friendship.

You cringe at the memory, pulling your coat tighter around your body, and push past Vinny.

He grabs your arm, yanking you back to face him. “Not that hard? Jesus, you’d think there isn’t a bounty on your head,” he hisses. “You need to be more careful, alright? This is my life too!”

Guilt gathers bile at the base of your throat. You let out a shaky breath, redirecting your gaze to the floor. “I-I know,” you mumble. “I’m sorry, okay? I just—”

Vinny grasps onto your biceps, lowering himself to meet your remorseful gaze. “You can’t panic like that,” he reminds, cutting you off. “The guilty don’t run. You know this.”

“I’m sorry.”

You hate the shakiness of your voice, the admittance of guilt. It’s fucking Vince and Danni and Andrea, the same fucking people that swore they were there for you. It’s their fault everything is falling apart. You’ve known Danni for five years, Andrea for three and both of them just believed Vince when he told them that you were hitting on him, even going as far as kissing him. Had they always suspected you to be a conniving whore, the type of malicious bitch that would risk five years of friendship, of real connection over some guy?

And you were too nice to him— a mistake that now could cost your life.

Vinny releases you with a defeated sigh, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Let me walk you home,” he offers, shoving his hands back into his pockets.

You nod and hug your coat tighter against your body.

He nods towards the entrance of The Underground. “After the match,” he promises. “Sixers have a bet to place.”

Bracing yourself, you follow him down the steps. “Against Bahng?”

“Boxing fan?” he half-jokingly asks, tossing you a confused look over his shoulder.

You shrug your reply.

The main hall smells of sweat and beer. One side holds five queues for refreshments and ticketing, while the other fosters chaos. Men clutching cash and shouting names crowd around the betting stands. Security struggles to keep them in line. Loud rap music plays over the looped announcement of tonight’s opponents — AIDEN MATTHEWS VERSUS CHRISTOPHER BAHNG. You watch their names flash over the screens, pictures of both boxers on either side of the doors. While Aiden is actively fit, muscles and abs on display, Christopher is the embodiment of perfect physique. Muscles defined, shoulders broad, chest puffed out, abs tight and chiselled, he stands with the grace of Adonis himself. Tall, confident, he leers over spectators through the screen with a cold-cutting glare.

Your knees almost buckle.

“It is the clash of titans! Reigning champion, Aiden Matthews, against the undefeated, the unstoppable, the undeniable, Christopher Bahng,” the announcer enthuses over the intercom before urging the audience to lock in their bets.

The only titan you see is Christopher, trailing your gaze up and down his televised body.

“You’re drooling,” Vinny teases.

You turn to cast him a sidelong glare to find he’s no longer by your side. His red beanie bobs in the crowd, through the doors and further into the arena.

“Vinny!” you call, trying to push your way through.

The crowd pushes back, almost throwing you against the wall. You curse under your breath, realising you might have to wait until the match starts to navigate through the arena.

Isn’t there a back hall that circles around, though? You recall Mickey’s words, scanning the crowd for that red beanie again. It still sits atop Vinny’s head by the ring on the other side of the arena. You look for a nearby door or access-point, finding a guarded door to his far left. If you can find the entrance on your end, you can skip through the large crowd and get to him easily.

You survey your surroundings. Another security guard stands before a door to your right. Pushing through the gamblers again and again, you force your way towards him.

“Authorised personnel only,” he gruffly informs.

“I-um—”

“You need to move, miss.” he cuts you off with a pointed look.

“I’m here to see Bahng,” you lie, letting your jacket drop off one of your shoulders.

He raises a brow. “Who commissioned you?”

“Mickey,” you reply before you can stop yourself.

There is much honour among gangs, this Vinny always makes sure you know. He always warns you against dishonesty, especially to certain gang members, since you have no affiliation of your own. But it’s just so easy when you have the right information and you like the way lies just happen to roll off your tongue, effortless and oh-so convincing.

The guard nods, much to your concealed surprise. “Just his type,” you swear you hear him grumble as he opens the door for you.

Hiding a smile, you make your way in without another word.

The back hall is dimly lit. The click of the door echos. Medleys of muffled bass and roaring fans only just seep through and bounce off the brick walls. You adjust your jacket on your shoulders and follow the turns of the hall.

DING!

You jolt, cinching a yelp at the base of your throat. Hastily, you dig into your pocket for your phone.

Vinny: where r u?

You: be there soon

“Lost?”

You look up at the sound of an Australian accent. To your left is an open door of a dressing room, casting a bright spotlight on you amidst the dark hallway. You put your phone away and take quick note of the bodies around the room. Mickey stands by some weights in the corner, eyes narrowing. A handful of medical professionals assess their equipment, rummaging through their kits and looking over clipboards just across from him. By the punching bag, right in front of a wall of mirrors, a couple of men, one with long, icy blonde hair and the other a short midnight black, evaluate your presence.

And there, in the centre of it all, stands Christopher Bahng. Jawline sharp, nose large and lips plush, those big brown eyes soften. You recall the way they were once glaring at his opponent on the screen, wondering what the hell it is about you that makes him opt for a gentler approach. Wrapping boxing tape around his hand, he approaches you.

“Can I help you find something, darling?”

The pet name sounds so casual, so natural, you wouldn’t have guessed that you just met. Your posture relaxes, coat falling off your frame, held up only by your arms. There is a softness in his deep voice that nurtures something forgotten deep within your soul. You feel it- whatever it is- sprout roots in your gut.

Searching his eyes, the cursed word escapes within a breath— “You.”

He smirks.

Does this happen often? Does everyone simply fawn over him?

He smells of leather and vanilla, towering over you. His minty breath fans your face. He rubs his thumb under your lip, cleaning up the smudged lipstick from your chin.

You lean into his touch.

“You’re early!” Mickey shouts from his place in the back. “Sister Maria knows you’re needed after the match.”

Sister Maria can fuck herself, you think. She has tried and failed to recruit you one too many times. Though, if you had known that her clientele was anything like Bahng, you might have reconsidered.

Looking at him now, you can confirm that those screens barely did him any justice. He’s big. It’s no wonder he’s undefeated, the sheer size of him dominating enough. He barely even has a scratch on him, just a couple of cuts on his perfect cheekbones and a bruise that is well on its way to being fully healed, along his jaw. You resist the urge to trace the length of his shoulders, or the ridges of his abs all while leaning in to kiss his wounds away.

Instead, you swallow thickly and nod, “Yes, I-I just got confused.”

Bahng curls a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s okay, darling,” he smiles.

You bite back a moan. God, when did you get this pathetic? So what if he’s hot, and sweet, and beautiful, and huge, and—

“You can wait in here for me,” he nods back into his dressing room. “I won’t be too long.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks. He flashes a cocky grin, knowingly gazing down at you. He really is prideful, a bit arrogant too, but you’re not quite sure it’s misplaced. Undefeated in the ring, the only chance anyone has at beating him is by planning an ambush before a match .

Shit.

Your eyes flicker to Mickey. He’s going to kill him. In a matter of minutes, Bahng and his team will circle the arena to enter the ring and get intercepted. And for what? A fucking paycheque?

You shift your weight.

“No!” you shout, starling the room.

All eyes snap to you.

What? You mentally scold. I can’t just shout ‘No’ and expect the entire fucking shit-show to be called off.

Bahng raises his brows. A smile plays on his lips and he lets a chuckle slip. “That needy?” he teases.

Fuck, he’s insufferable… You need to ride him.

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you force yourself to concede, “Mhm.” You grasp the waistband of his crimson silk shorts and tug him closer. He lets you, pressing himself against your stomach.

A trembling breath slips.

He holds back a chuckle.

Say something, your mind shouts.

“Fuck me.”

Not that!

He cups your face. The way you instantly melt into his hands is truly pitiful, your chest raging with humiliation. But then his lips meet yours and those roots that grew deep in your gut begin to blossom up through your rib cage and around your lungs. Absolute serenity blinds whatever contempt took purchase in your chest. You try to grapple onto that anger, that disdain, finding this sudden light feeling much too foreign.

But just as his lips cradle yours, this incomparable feeling of pure contentment soothes your panicked instincts. And it’s as though those roots, those branches that sprouted around your lungs, bloom petals of… Acceptance? Approval?

The feeling of his hands trailing down your spine ground you back to him. You wrap your arms around his neck. Cheek by cheek, he cups your rear and squeezes, pushing your hips up into his.

You moan, the muffled sound so frail. His tongue slips through and, for a boxer, he doesn’t put up much of a fight. He lets you take the lead, following your tongue round and round until you release another fraught groan.

And then he’s torn away.

Mickey stands between the two of you. He shoots you a nasty look before pushing Bahng back into the room. You can tell Bahng allows the meek force of his coach to overtake him, lazily stepping back.

The ease of his movements is not what arrests your thoughts, however. It’s the mess of red lipstick around his mouth, of which he makes no effort to remove.

“… and I’ll say it again!” Mickey shouts, his voice finally registering. “No sex before a match!”

You blink your attention off Bahng as Mickey moves to shut the door in your face.

“Let her in,” Bahng orders.

Mickey turns to give him a look. “She’s a distraction.”

You catch Bahng walking towards the weights along the back brick-exposed wall, effectively ignoring Mickey’s protests. “Don’t make me come over there, Mick,” he playfully warns, taking a seat on an inclined workout bench, “Let my girl in.”

You’re in the midst of wondering whether he’s merely his coach, a friend, or both when his final words set in. You hold onto the door frame to keep from falling over. His girl? You’d turn yourself in, confronting Vince, just to hear those words in that Australian accent again.

“You commissioned her for me, didn’t you?”

Right, you think to yourself as you will strength back to your legs. You’re his sex worker. This is nothing personal.

You roll your shoulders back and adjust your stance, channelling bored seduction, as Mickey begrudgingly opens the door.

Bahng calls you over with a nod. He has heavy weights in each hand, curling slow reps.

You lick your lips and force one foot before the other. But his biceps are flushed, flexing with every lift. You can’t help gawking, bouncing your attention from arm to arm, and almost run into one of his men.

“Jacket,” Midnight-hair says, positioning himself between you and Bahng with an outstretched hand.

While there isn’t anything of value left in your jacket, you know that if they find the lining is removable, your cover will be blown. You cannot deny them it either, especially if you want to get close enough to warn Bahng.

So you slowly peel the jacket off, sticking out your chest in hopes of distracting Midnight-hair. He keeps his eyes trained on you, gaze hardening as if he is struggling to commit to his choice. From the corner of your eye, you see Icy-hair push himself off the wall to carefully watch. If they refuse to get lost in your show, you’ll have to switch gears. In one swift motion, you whip the jacket off and roll it to a ball.

Midnight-hair glares. He unfolds the jacket as soon as he takes it– a detail you should have anticipated. Rummaging through your pockets, he announces, “Switchblade, lipstick, phon—”

You freeze.

Though it is quick, occurring in a blink of an eye, you know he sees it, cutting himself off at the realisation.

The lining flaps open.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shi—

“Hang it by the door, Seungmin,” Bahng orders.

You meet his gaze. That easy playfulness that once danced within it, now dims into calculated intrigue. You spare a quick glance at Mickey. A relieved breath escapes at the sight of him muttering into his phone, alone in the corner.

Looking back at Bahng, you finally see it. There, sprayed on the back wall in black and silver paint, is a three pointed crown. In the middle, drawn with jagged, lazy lines, are three letters— SKZ.

Of all the fucking gangs.

Stray Kids, speculated to have immigrated from Australia or Korea, have slashed their way to the top of the city’s food chain. The chambering of a round— chk chk boom — shoot first and ask questions later. It’s how they’re known. Notorious for money laundering, drug trafficking, vandalism, extortion, arson, street racing, they’ve swept the city up from the coast to the police department. You’ve witnessed gangs fall silent at their mention, caught the way they would take hold of their weapon.

While there have been whispers about the members, the leader remains faceless. Vinny once informed you that no organisation can become this connected without someone calling the shots. At the time, you wondered if that was the most terrifying thing about them— how unknown they really are.

Staring at Bahng now, white canines on display behind a wicked grin, you realise that his leader’s anonymity is futile compared to the intimidation of their members. It’s their silent power, the ease in which they can rattle bones with a single look, perhaps even crack them with a single blow. You are not sure who Christopher Bahng is to Stray Kids— the muscle, the brains, some money pawn as they infiltrate the underground boxing scene, but you know he is dangerous.

Arousal dampens your shorts.

“Take a seat, darling,” he purrs.

He’s lethal, and your lies are unravelling. If you are going to make it out of here alive, you must reassess your information. You inhale deeply, filling your lungs with wavering courage, and move towards Bahng.

Step.

Mickey is a rat.

Step.

This is Stray Kids territory.

Step.

Bahng knows you are not a sex worker.

Step.

Exits are compromised, Icy-hair now standing at the door.

Step.

Your life is now in the hands of an unrivalled boxer.

Bahng nods down to his lap. You carefully straddle it when it dawns on you— His life is in your hands too.

Half-hard, his cock pokes at the clothed apex of your thighs. Your lips quiver as you try to fight back a pathetic whine.

“My pecs tend to ache after working out,” Bahng sighs, continuing his reps. “Won’t you be a doll and massage them for me?”

You don’t need to be told twice, shifting yourself closer.

His jaw sets at the gesture.

Pecs of pure muscle, big and tight, you take a moment to gawk. They extend beyond the span of your palms, pale skin flushed under your touch. He’s sweaty but cold, nipples hard. You hold his gaze and kneed the heel of your hands into his chest. Again and again, you apply gentle pressure, watching as his brows furrow, large nose scrunches and full lips curl into a pleased sneer.

He hisses between breathless gasps. You resist the urge to catch another kiss at the sound.

“How does that feel?” you ask in a whisper.

Bahng sets his weights down. You notice Seungmin straightening his stance in the corner of your eye. Though your hands start to tremble, you continue massaging, knowing sudden movements might trigger a bullet.

Hands on your waist, he pulls you closer into him. “Have you done this before?”

You shake your head.

“Don’t do much massaging in your… line of work?”

You mentally curse. He knows you’re a runner.

“This is not the body part most people want massaged.” You try but cannot keep your lip from slightly curving, the thought of servicing him on your knees all too captivating.

He presses his fingers into your skin and parts his lips. You can tell from the force of his grip and shape of his mouth what he’s about to ask.

Sparing a quick glance at Mickey, you find he is still tied to his phone, muttering quietly into the receiver.

But then he catches your eye.

“Who—”

You throw your body over Bahng’s, exaggerating the force with a whip of your hair and a loud, erotic yelp to cut him off. You wrap your arms around his neck, press your lips to his ears and whisper, “Mickey is a traitor.”

While he originally hugged your waist to keep you from falling, Bahng now stiffens.

“Alright, whore,” Mickey shouts. “Get the fuck out!”

You spot him stomping towards you through the mirror. The collided image of your body intertwined with Bahng’s then overwhelms your attention. You have never felt small a single moment in your life, yet in his arms, you are minuscule. Your body relaxes into his, despite the chaos that ensues around you.

“…a fucking distraction, Chris,” Mickey argues. “You can fuck her after the fight.”

Chris. You like the sound of that, can see yourself moaning it as you bounce on his cock. You clench at the thought.

“Go back to your little corner, Mick,” Chris nods. “Don’t interrupt us again.”

“You want to win, don’t you?”

You can’t hold back your scoff. You can see the room stiffen at the sound through the mirrors. Peeling yourself from Chris’s strong frame, you fake a string staggered cough. The physicians ignore you, Mickey dismisses you, but Chris and his other friends remain observing, analysing.

“I’ve fucked plenty o’bitches before a match,” Chris confesses, flashing a smile so dazzling you almost abandon the jealousy that plagues your chest. “I always win.”

Mickey looks between your tangled bodies. His jaw sets, throat bobs. He wipes his face with the towel around his neck and forces a smile. It doesn’t meet his eyes, but it’s the thin scab on his neck that leaves you queasy.

Chris’s legs bounce beneath you, beckoning your attention. You grip onto his shoulder to maintain your balance as you meet his gaze. Wetness pools at the sight of his mischievous eyes. He peers at you under his brows, quirking one at your enamoured silence.

“Did I tell you to stop?”

What if you just kissed him again? How would he let it go? Knowing you lied and now leveraging information, would he be outraged if you closed the distance between you and played with his tongue? You know he enjoyed himself from the grip he had on your ass alone, not to mention the bulge pressing against your stomach.

You lean forward, leaving one of your hands rested on his shoulder, and brush your nose against his. He remains still, letting his gaze fall to watch your lips. While oh-so tempting, you don’t press them to his. Instead, you knead into his pectoral muscles deeper with your other hand, pushing into his skin with the heel of your palm. You’ve made sure to angle your head towards the mirror to gauge the distance of the other bodies in the room— particularly Mickey’s. Back in his “little corner,” he resumes his phone call.

Chris’s soft groan redirects your gaze to his features, contorted in relieved pleasure. Is he really tense or is it simply your touch?

Seungmin clears his throat from his place in front of the mirrors.

Chris shoots him a warning stare before offering you a softer version of one too. “Tell me what you know, runner,” he orders, voice quiet but full of command.

“I know he came to you with an offer to fix the fight,” you reply, keeping an eye on Mickey’s pacing frame. “I know you declined.”

His hands find a comfortable place on your thighs, and begin to glide up and down, soft and slow. Calloused, bandaged in boxer’s tape, they somehow provide tender care. You relax into him once again, resting your forehead against his.

“I know Mickey sold you out. I know he cut a deal to save himself and they’re coming for you.”

“Who?”

You nudge his nose with a shake of your head.

A ghost of a smile hovers over his plump lips at the gesture. He breathes half a chuckle and presses his fingers into the fat of your thighs, between the diamonds of your fishnets.

“You don’t know?” he practically coos. “Did you happen to catch a name, little one?”

Your attempts at pressing your legs together are pathetic. Instead of subtly easing your clenching desire, you squeeze his sides with your knees. Blood rushes to your face, heating your cheeks.

Chris lets that smug smile settle on his lips, tonguing his cheek. “Yeah,” he chuckles, “You like it when I call you that?”

“I like it when you talk to me like that,” you stupidly confess. You switch sides before he can reply, turning away from the mirrors to face Mickey’s corner, and kneed his other pec with just as much pressure, perhaps adding a bit more to combat your embarrassment.

He allows you, leaning back and watching.

He’s so patient, you fondly think, avoiding his gaze. Won’t he let you suck him before his fight? Even allowing you a little taste would suffice. Swallowing, you cannot stop thinking how empty your throat is, how wonderfully agonising it would be to try to accommodate him.

You spare a sidelong glance at Mickey, snapping yourself out your lustful yearning long enough to ensure you aren’t being overheard. When you find he is tapping away on his phone, you press your lips to Chris’s ear and whisper, “Andy.”

Chris continues rubbing your legs, asking, “What do you know about him?”

“I think he’s a cop.”

“You think?”

“He never said it.”

“So how do you know?”

You force your hips to remain still even as goosebumps rise in the wake of his risky touch, inching closer and closer to the apex of your thighs.

“His posture, he said something about his career being on the line, and I think I saw a badge. I just–” you pause to swallow the excess saliva gathering in your mouth. He’s barely even touched you and you’re already drooling. “I just connected the dots.”

Chris hums.

You lean back to get a better look at his face. His features are compressed in thought, brows knitted and eyes uncertain. Your hand has a mind of its own, abandoning its task on his chest to comb your fingers through his dark hair. Leisurely, he meets your gaze, even leans into your touch. You graze his scalp with your long nails, soft and slow.

You have had sexual partners. You have allowed your lust to cloud your judgement, tossed back drinks and spread your legs quite a few times between parties and side-jobs. But you have never been able to hold someone down, however. You have never been able to consistently see the same person over and over or even call them yours.

Here is Christopher Bahng— undefeated boxing champion, the best The Underground has seen. Sitting beneath you, erection pushing against your clothed crotch, he contently sighs. His hands move up to your hips, rubbing, soothing, adoring the shape of your curves and rolls. And his gaze gleams with admiration, bouncing around your features as if looking for a flaw.

You allow yourself to forget the world, the distant chants of fans and gamblers alike eager for the show to start. You forget the bounty on your head, your ex-friends, Vinny, Viktor, Seungmin lingering around the door with Icy-hair, Mickey texting in his sad little corner. You forget who’s territory this is and the title of the man sitting under you. You allow yourself to isolate this tender moment and pretend that Christopher Bahng is yours.

Your man, your protector, your love. He’d crush skulls between his fist and snap spines over his knee. He’d make sure you’d never have to run again. He’d make sure you’d never have to fear for your life. He’d hold you when you’re tired, and carry you to bed when you’re too lazy to make the trip yourself.

You wonder what that’s like— Love. You remember your mother once said something about it when you asked about your father.

“Love is a lie men created to seduce women,” she said while heating the bottom of her spoon. “Any man telling you otherwise is just desperate to fuck you.”

You mentally roll your eyes. You also remember instantly regretting your mention of it. You were about eight years old when she shared that nugget of knowledge. She then wrapped the conversation up by telling you the heroin she was preparing was her “special medicine” and you shouldn’t, under any circumstance, touch it when she passes out.

If that’s not motherly instincts, you’re not sure what is.

“How can I trust you?” Chris asks, lulling you out of your thoughts.

You make sure Mickey is still preoccupied with his phone before joking, “The word of a whore isn’t worth much anymore, is it?”

He cracks half a smile before leaning his head away from your touch. You take the hint, retracting your hand from his hair.

“You’re not a whore,” he states, voice gruff but quiet.

You swallow thickly. “I could be.”

“Yeah?” He quirks a brow. “Tell me what you’d do right now if you could.”

You wonder how honest you should be. Vinny always said that lying would get you killed, but you have an audience. Looking over your shoulder, you find Seungmin alone by the door. Icy-hair must have left when you let your delusions engulf you earlier. The physicians are desperately trying to look busy, sneaking glances at your proximity with their client. Everyone, save for Mickey who seems the most peeved by your presence, is already uncomfortable by your position on his lap.

How dangerous could the truth really be?

Meeting Chris’s playful stare again, you rest your hands on his tight abs and let a shy smile tug on your lips. “I would ride your thigh,” you confess. When he raises his brows, a surprised smirk gracing his lips, you explain, “They’re just so big and strong. I’m just curious to know what it would feel like on my clit.”

The transparent vulgarity of your confession dries your throat. Your chest heats, humiliation trembling your fingers. You part your lips, wishing you can take it back. But your voice fails you, as if standing firm with your statements.

“Interesting,” he muses. “Do it.”

You clear your throat, furrowing your brows. “What?”

“You want me to trust your word?” he asks.

He lets his hands fall to his sides. Your legs suddenly feel so cold.

“In—” you cut yourself off, taking another quick look around the room. “In front of everyone?”

He shrugs. “You told me you would do it.”

You projected two outcomes the moment they discovered you’re a runner and you decided to exchange information for your life.

One — You get laughed at and kicked out of the establishment.

Two — Chk chk boom.

You might have hoped that Chris considered fucking you before discarding you to the streets, wishful for a good orgasm or two. But you did not expect him to order you to grind on his leg in front of his team.

“Match starts in five,” Mickey announces.

While you turn to acknowledge the warning, Chris keeps his attention on you.

“It starts when I say so,” he replies.

Mickey grumbles profanities under his breath before turning back to his phone. You start to wonder what the fuck has held his focus all night when Chris cups your chin, forcing your gaze back on him.

“I’m beginning to lose my patience, darling,” he warns. “You’re either telling the truth or you’re not.”

You lick your lips. Of all the things you thought your life would depend on, you did not think it would be an orgasm.

Inhaling deeply, you adjust your stance and straddle his thigh. Your lips tremble at the sheer strength of his leg, so tense and taut under your wet shorts. You couldn’t have been more thankful for laundry day and the lack of clean panties available. With nothing but your tiny gym shorts between your crotch and his leg, you can feel every mighty muscle.

You notice movement in the mirror from the corner of your eye. One glance and you find Seungmin has turned to face the door. How often has Chris played with a whore in front of his friends? You clench your jaw as envy pesters your heart. What the fuck did those other girls have that you don’t? Why did he pick them? Why—

“Look at me.”

You obey, meeting his pacifying gaze. He curls your hair behind your ears, the gesture gentle and genuine.

You suck in your bottom lip, eyes wide as jealousy transforms into wonder. He may have picked others before you, but he chose to let you in now. He had a chance to turn you away and he fought to have you in this specific position, all to himself. And maybe he wants others to know that. Or maybe he really does have a fucked up way of verifying his sources. What matters is this time, it is you. And you’ll be damned if you don’t take advantage of that.

Hands on his stomach, fingers sliding between the ridges of his abs, you thrust. The first jut of friction is tentative. Hiccups of pleasure spark from your bundle of nerves and you wobble over his leg. Chris grabs your waist simply to steady you, and retracts once you regain your balance.

You continue, jaw dropping at the constant surge of satisfaction. Wetness gathers and stains your shorts, making the glide of your hips all the more effortless. One look in his eyes, and you know Chris feels it too. However, that wicked smile of his does not overwhelm his features until you moan.

Strained, frail, the sound cuts over the ruckus of the physicians. The room falls silent as you ground yourself hard against his thigh and release another fraught moan of pure enjoyment. Your hands travel higher on his chest, and you lean forward into him, keen to gain more leverage to arch your back.

Chris catches onto your intentions, his attention all too consumed by the curves of your rear. He grabs your waistband and pulls on it, tightening the fabric to sharpen the friction of the thrusts.

“Fuck!” Your voice breaks from bliss, orgasm already festering in the base of your gut.

It’s all too hot. Face, arms, legs, your skin burns, blood racing, nerves jittering. You need everything off. You need his skin on yours, his body engulfing you with more pleasure, more attention.

Lips quivering, breaths shaky, you sit back. You continue to chase your high while grabbing the hem of your shirt and pulling it off. Your hips don’t miss a beat as you reach back to unclasp your lace bra in a few simple manoeuvres and toss it aside as well.

Chris lowly groans. His eyes flicker between each bouncing breast, hands finally finding their rightful place on your backside. He digs his fingers into the fat of your cheeks and helps you with your final few thrusts.

“Can you go a little faster for me?”

You enthusiastically oblige.

A powerful smack, landing on your left cheek, triggers your most erotic moan, voice laden with submission. He issues another on your right and you whine this time, squeaky and breathless.

Chris leans forward so your breasts bounce against his face. He doesn’t bury his face between them however, eager to watch your face eventually contort in ecstasy.

“Good girl,” he praises. “That’s right, keep looking at me.”

Twisting and turning, your arousal gathers.

“You’re doing so well, riding my thigh just like you promised, yeah?”

His voice is condescending, almost making a mockery of your whimpering. He even momentarily mirrors your rounded eyes and slightly pouty lips, looking up at you tauntingly. So why does it fuel your desire, motivate your hips?

You nod, despite your humiliation, voice whiny as you confess, “I’d do it again too.”

A growl of approval resonates from his chest and into yours. He kneads your cheeks, letting a deep groan of his own escape and collide with yours.

“That’s my good girl,” he affirms. “Don’t stop, darling. You’re almost there.”

Your toes curl, tight in your platform boots. Your eyes roll back, twitching when you throw your head back. Your jaw drops, a loud, shattered moan escaping. You cum between sporadically clenching, pathetically gyrating on his firm thigh.

Chris holds you still, mumbling quiet affirmations between your breasts. He presses wet kisses on each one, pulling you back into him. Draping your arms around his shoulders, you fall limp against him. He moans from his smothered place in the valley of your breasts and rubs soothing circles around your backside.

Head foggy, chest heaving, you let your eyes flutter shut. You know you won’t be staying here for long, either meeting the barrel of his gun or the side of the street. There’s no harm in soaking in this moment then, is there? You pretend he is your boyfriend, issuing tender aftercare as you attempt to collect your sanity. You don’t have to try so hard to keep up the delusion with the way he delicately wraps you in a warm hug and comforts your hammering heart with his lips. He peppers kisses up your collarbone, neck, then jaw before meeting the shell of your ear.

“You know you’re really pretty when you’re cumming,” he teases. “Does your right eye always twitch like that? Or was that just for me?”

You open your eyes, squinting against the brightness of the room. Nuzzling the bridge of your nose under his jawline, you whisper, “Do you really need more convincing, Chris?”

You like the way his name rolls off your tongue.

The widening grin on his face tells you he likes it too. “I might,” he replies.

You tell yourself that it just slips, but you’re only lying again. You just want him to know. You want him to imagine you when he jerks off later, when he pounds that traitor to a bloody pulp, when he’s standing in the ring and winning his fight. You want him to be thankful for your presence tonight. You want him to repeat it over and over, to tell his friends about you.

So, shifting back enough to whisper in his ear, you offer your name.

Chris moves back to meet your gaze. He scans your features, his own a blanket of neutrality.

The weight of your action does not settle upon your shoulders until his eyes meet yours again, and you realise you cannot decipher them. Swallowing thickly, you blink back tears. How could you say that? Vinny just warned you against being this reckless. Your new image is tied to him too. You’ve been running around town, disturbing drugs on his behalf or Viktor’s. And you just offer your name, for what? A second of appreciation from a pretty face?

It’s my life too, Vinny’s voice quietly returns. He reminded you of that not even half an hour ago. Why the fuck would you tell some Stray Kids member your darkest secret? Why would you gamble the lives of your only remaining friends?

“I’m—”

Chris cuts you off with a shake of his head. So, you swallow your words.

He reaches for your shirt and helps you put it on. You don’t have the courage to tell him he forgot your bra. He then gestures for you to stand, and fixes your ruined shorts so they’re not riding up anymore. You watch as he studies the damp spot and clenches his jaw to force back a smile.

“Seungmin,” he calls, standing up and towering over you again.

You wonder how tall he is but know better than to ask now.

Seungmin reports to Chris’s side. Chris nods to your fur coat, “Grab it and escort her to the stands.”

“You’r—”

“Now,” he reaffirms, cutting you off again.

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you accept your coat and follow Seungmin out. You shouldn’t have, but you sneak a glance at the mirror eager to catch his reflection one last time.

Chris’s features harden as he faces Mickey. His fists clench.

Mickey stiffens, all previous irritation dissolving into fear.

The door shuts.

Waves of painted faces and torsos, endless banners, and flashing lights— the arena succumbs to insanity. Roars of chants echo upon the ring announcer’s behest. The thick stench of sweat and spilled beer is what overwhelms you, however. Scrunching your nose in disgust, you try to swallow your nausea.

You wonder how anyone here can stand it, turning back to take a final look at Seungmin. He stands at the doorway, arms crossed, gaze lingering around your rear. His ears flame a hot pink at the realisation he’d been caught.

A lazy smirk plays on your lips. He didn’t get a good enough look before?

Seungmin mutters something to the security guard stationed at the door then hurries back into the hall. You wonder if the guard is a Stray Kids member too. Is the ring announcer? What about the employees behind the stands? Or do they simply work for the gang?

“Runner!” Vinny’s voice cuts through the crowd. You turn at the call of your position, finding him standing on his seat and waving you over.

A relieved smile spreads across your lips. He meets you halfway as you push between rowdy spectators. He takes your hand firmly in his and leads you back to your seats.

“Where the hell were you?” He asks over the commotion.

“It’s complicated.”

Vinny’s face darkens with scepticism. “What the fuck did—”

“Who did you bet on?”

He clenches his jaw. “Matthews,” he practically screams.

So the Sixers are in on it too. You wonder if the gangs are onto Chris, knowing he might be affiliated with Stray Kids, and are working together to bring them down.

“Change it.”

“The bell rings in less than a minute,” Vinny shouts before looking over his shoulder to the front doors. He meets your gaze, uncertainty flooding those cerulean eyes, and mouths, It’s fixed.

You shake your head.

Vinny rolls his eyes shut, teeth grinding. He swallows his anger, knowing he cannot hurl insults right now with such an audience. Unlike you, he knows better than to call attention to himself. Exhaling sharply, he harshly holds your gaze and parts his lips.

Profanities? Threats? You expect both, bracing yourself with a clench of your fists.

But Vinny merely shakes his head in disappointment. He pulls out his phone and begins dialling. While waiting for someone to pick up, he yells, “If I die, I’m going to kill you!”

You suppress a smile and stifle the urge to respond with a joke. You fear you might have reached his limit. You’ve dragged him into your dark vortex of despair, endangering his life again and again. You should reach out to him now, pull him into a tight hug and offer endless apologies. You should have taken the chance he gave you when he called your foster mom, and stayed off the streets. You should have finished high school, applied for colleges outside of the wretched city of Crimson Heights, and never looked back. Instead, you continue to test his patience. 

Side-jobs were simply more lucrative. You have a talent for blending in too, a permanent look of indifference plastered on your face. No one ever suspects some girl, twirling a joint between her fingers, to be running or organising hits on corner stores and local diners.

The first time you held a gun, power ignited through your veins. You carried the weight of life within a bullet, finger teasing the trigger. The first time you pointed it at some store clerk, black ski mask over your face and tongue swirling around a pink lollipop, you felt that stone cold power of metal and powder snake along your spine and caress the nape of your neck.

You rolled your shoulders back, angled your head and smirked.

The clerk soiled himself, hands up in surrender.

You pressed the barrel to his head anyway, boring your wild eyes into his fearful ones.

“Well, this is awkward for you, isn’t it?” you giggled before cocking your gun.

The memory lures a smile. While you didn’t shoot him, provided he was very cooperative, it was fun toying with him.

The lights begin to whirl around the arena, snapping you out of your thoughts. Vinny hangs up the phone, and though the crowd is deafening, you can still hear his heavy, nervous breaths beside you.

All lights converge in the centre of the boxing ring. The cheers increase, crowd buzzing with anticipation. A tall, slender man dressed in a clean, glittering suit enters and takes his place in the middle of the ring. He holds a hand up and waves, encouraging excitement.

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to The Underground!” He shouts into the microphone. Cameras capture his perfect white smile, projecting the image on the large screens hanging over the ring.

“My name is Jackson Wylder and I will be your ring master this evening. Now, I have an important question for you tonight.” He scans the audience, displays a look of curiosity and asks, “Are you ready to rumble?”

The cheers surge.

“I said,” he starts before darting around the ring, “ARE YOU READY TO RUMBLE?”

You clap your hands over your ears at the thundering roars of the fans. A group of manic men jump behind you, almost pushing you off your seat and onto the spectators in front of you.

Vinny links his arm with yours and pulls you into his side. You turn to give him a thankful look, but he avoids your gaze.

“Tonight, we have a clash of titans!” Jackson continues, turning to point to his left. “In this corner, weighing in at 210 pounds and hailing from our very own, Crimson Heights, give it up for the man who’s always up for a fight— the skilled and tenacious, Aiden Matthews!”

Aiden emerges from a dark hall closest to his corner. He wears a blue silk robe and white gloves, bouncing on his toes as he makes his way through the unruly crowd. They holler at him, either tossing praises or insults, and bump their hands against his fists. He waves his arms up to encourage their hectic energy then finally enters the ring. His coach unfolds a chair and then helps him out of his robe.

Jackson shakes Aiden’s hand. He mutters a few words before returning to the centre of the ring.

“And in the opposite corner, we have a fighter who needs no introduction—” Jackson starts again. A childish smile plays on his lips, like he’s a fan, himself. “A crowd favourite, a sensation, and the undefeated champion who makes every match feel like a blockbuster!” He’s giddy, practically giggling his words. “Standing tall at a staggering 6 feet 9 inches and weighing in at an impressive 215 pounds, please put your hands together for the man who’s taken the boxing world by storm, Christopher ‘The Phantom’ Bahng!”

The roars bellow deep from the crowd as they cheer and chant, “Bahng! Bahng! Bahng!”

Everyone, even Jackson, turns to the front door, waiting for Chris to emerge.

You swallow thickly.

The lights then shift to the other end of the arena.

Your heart already falters at his height. He’s still almost a foot taller than you in your thick platforms. You stand to see him, legs almost giving out when you spot his large figure appear through the back door. But it’s the mess of red lipstick still smeared on his lips, the blood speckled like freckles on his cheeks, and the dark patch on the leg of his shorts that wrings your soul. He didn’t even give you a chance to be grateful that he trusted you, slaughtering your sanity with such a dishevelled look.

Decorated in you, he enters the ring and shakes the hand of a bashful Jackson. No one seems fazed by his appearance. Jealousy pangs your chest at the thought of him being drenched in his past whores, the admittance of his pre-match rituals returning to you.

One look from Vinny might indicate otherwise. He glares at your smudged lipstick.

You roll your eyes and lean into him, too breathless and trembling to fight off his wrath.

“Tonight,” Jackson smiles, raising his hand to redirect the crowd’s attention. “Tonight, we’re in for a spectacular display of skill, heart, and,” he shoots the fans a little wink, “perhaps a bit of humour—because let’s face it, if you can’t have fun while throwing punches, what’s the point?!”

He takes a moment to laugh at his own joke.

You keep your eyes on Chris. Mickey does not unfold his chair and take his robe. Instead a shorter, just as muscled, man does. He gives Chris a weary look, of which Chris ignores, and squirts some water in his mouth.

You force yourself not to focus on the droplets that drip from his pouted, stained lips.

“This is not just a fight, folks,” Jackson informs with a raise of his brows. “No, no! This is a showdown!”

He lets the crowd go crazy before continuing, “Aiden Matthews is ready to prove that he’s a force to be reckoned with, but Christopher Bahng,” he turns to his favourite star and grins, “has captured the hearts of fans everywhere. Can Aiden dethrone the giant, or will Bahng continue his reign of dominance?”

You suck in a shaky breath and blow it out. You fill your lungs of tainted sweat-slick air, fighting the urge to gag, and release it once more. Looking around the arena, you swallow the growing lump in your throat. All these fans have come to watch Chris win, and have no idea that he almost died.

“So, buckle up, ladies and gents! Keep your drinks close, your snacks handy, and your eyes glued to the ring! It’s time to witness boxing history unfold right before our eyes!” Jackson’s eyes twinkle with astonishment and wonder. He holds his arms out and turns in a slow circle. “Are you ready for this showdown?” He asks as if truly probing for a personal answer.

“Let’s get ready to rumble!”

Mouth guards in, both fighters stand.

Aiden, while built and tall in his own right, looks like an ant compared to Chris. He pounds his fists together and grunts to assert his dominance. He bounces on his toes and shoots Chris his most menacing glare.

Chris flashes a lazy smile. He rolls his shoulders back and holds his fists up. He peers over his gloves at Aiden like a predator stalking its prey.

The bell rings.

“And here we go, folks! Round 1 is officially underway! Aiden Matthews is looking to prove himself against the undefeated giant, Christopher Bahng!” Jackson comments ringside.

Aiden cautiously circles the ring with Chris. He maintains a safe distance, the heat of his gaze wavering under Chris’s relaxed stance. Testing the waters, he tries his luck with a quick jab.

Chris has the height advantage, however, effortlessly leaning back to dodge. The punch barely grazes the air before him.

Aiden narrows his eyes.

“Ooo,” Jackson hisses. “So close!”

The crowd laughs, almost as one, before splitting between chants for each boxer.

Aiden, eager to recover, steps in quickly, unleashing a flurry of body shots aimed at Chris’s midsection.

You hold your breath and tighten your grip on Vinny’s arm.

But, Chris doesn't flinch. His arms, long and strong, keep Aiden at bay with precise blocks. The controlled ease of Chris’s movements highlight Aiden’s childish, tantrum-like fighting style. You can’t help wondering how the fuck Aiden made it this far. Perhaps other boxers can’t track the chaotic jabs as well as Chris does. Maybe they didn’t even try.

“Matthews is coming in hot, throwing quick combos, but Bahng is as cool as ice—deflecting every shot with ease!”

Chris, ever patient, waits for an opening. He keeps his elbows tucked in, movements minimal, letting Aiden expend energy. He evades each punch with swift swerves of his head, taking small steps back. Even hunched, crouched inwards, his frame still looms large over Aiden.

The majority of the crowd now chants Chris’s name, flooding the arena with jittery admiration.

Like a trigger, fast and smooth, Chris snaps forward with a sharp jab. The blow lands against Aiden’s guard, but the sheer strength of it forces him back.

“Bahng with the first real strike of the night!” Jackson shouts.

Aiden’s eyes widen. He finally feels the power, you realise, and his gaze floods with fear.

Jackson tosses the crowd a giddy look and gushes,“That jab was like a freight train!”

The crowd clamours with laughter in agreement.

You catch a ghost of a smile hovering over Chris’s lips. Is it insane that you find him even more attractive when he’s menacingly playful? An image of his face inches from yours, that same impression of a smile unable to settle on his lips, surfaces. Those feline eyes, teasing, daring, coaxing you to ride him.

You bite your lip and refocus your attention on the match.

Aiden resets and presses on. He bobs and weaves to avoid Chris’s long reach. Ducking low, he slips inside Chris’s defence to unleash a rapid combination of punches to the torso and a hook aimed at the chin.

Chris blocks the body blows then, all too calmly for someone being beat up, rolls with the hook, avoiding the brunt of it. That sinister smirk settles, oh so cunningly, curving the corners of his lips. Without delay, Chris counters with an uppercut from the right, the snap of his arms swift and steady.

Aiden only just manages to block it in time, but the impact leaves him rattled. He stumbles back with a loud grunt. Wheezing and regaining his footing, his eyes betray him, glowing with newfound respect for his towering opponent.

In awe, Jackson remarks, “Bahng is a mountain of patience—waiting for just the right moment to strike! Matthews is going to have to dig deep if he’s going to find a way in!”

You glance at the final seconds of the first round, glowing red above the ring. Less than thirty seconds remain.

Aiden, perhaps knowing he has to make a statement, launches a last-ditch effort. He levels a heavy left hook aimed at Chris’s side, almost mirroring the speed Chris recently displayed.

But Chris, as if seeing it in slow motion, smoothly side steps.

You gasp with the crowd.

He counters with a punishing fist aimed at Aiden’s temple. The punch connects cleanly, the crowd choking on their cheers. The thick sound echoes between the staggered shouts, twisting your stomach with unease.

Aiden stumbles towards the ropes, using their stability to keep himself standing.

The bell rings before Chris can issue another attack.

Jackson steps back into the ring. He eyes Aiden with wide eyes before sharing a look with the audience. “What a way to end the first round!” He laughs. “Bahng’s precision is something to behold, and Aiden Matthews has already felt the sting of that power! Can I get…”

The rest of his words fade as you fixate your attention on the boxers. Aiden returns to his corner with a shuffle of his feet. He’s drenched in sweat, face red and eyes tired. His coach wipes his face then squeezes some water into his mouth.

Chris leisurely walks to his seat. He wipes nose with his arm as he sits. Composed, unbothered, he stares his opponent down.

Aiden shifts in place.

You can’t help but do the same.

You’ve been wanting to leave since the fourth round.

You thought it was over when Chris landed an uppercut so sharp, you swear you heard Aiden’s jaw shatter. You watched as his eyes rolled back and he met the floor with a loud, echoing thump. Aiden’s team flinched, leering over the ropes only to be scolded by the referee.

Chris’s eyes gleamed with something ominous, standing over Aiden’s limp body. He tilted his head and tongued his cheek, lips heavy with the impression of a smirk. He doesn’t merely look proud, but gratified. You wondered at the time if he loves the splitting sound of a bone breaking just as much as you love the chambering click of a loaded gun.

But the crowd remained in the arena. Vinny gave you a reassuring look as if silently telling you it won’t be much longer, and the fifth round commenced.

Jackson returns ringside now, two more rounds later, announcing after the signal of the bell, “Round seven, folks, and this has been an all-out war! Aiden Matthews has been relentless, but Christopher Bahng’s defence is like a fortress!”

The crowd roars as Aiden and Chris step toward the centre of the ring again. Aiden, slick with sweat, jabs at the air, his face tense and determined. Chris, towering over him with his eyes ever so calm and calculating, bounces lightly on his feet.

As the audience resumes their chants for Chris, Aiden charges forward. He jabs with considerable speed and aggression. His punches are fast but painstakingly desperate. It’s almost embarrassing to witness, and you’re not even a fighter.

One glance at Chris and you catch his mask of cool flicker with hushed notions of pity, as if feeling sorry for his opponent. You scan his fighting stance, devouring his toned body with your eyes. His skin gleams with sweat and blotches of forming bruises. His left cheek holds a patch of purple; right brow split.

You swallow thickly, watching his muscles twist as he effortlessly weaves. He slips left, right, then ducks under an all too wide hook.

“Stay still, you fucker!” Aiden orders through gritted teeth, the microphones hovering over the ring catching every spit-splattered syllable.

Chris faintly smiles, eyes locking on Aiden's. He moves just enough to miss another jab by mere inches, dancing around the ring like he has all the time in the world. He then jumps high, resembling a kangaroo, once, twice, only to circle the ring again.

The buzzing energy of the crowd grows, their cheers building as if Chris’s little gesture is any indication of a shift in the round.

The screens cut to Jackson. He swallows thickly as his eyes track Chris’s movements then comments,“Matthews is giving it everything he’s got, but Bahng…” he takes a moment to let out a whistle, “Bahng is like a ghost out there! Just out of reach!”

Aiden presses harder, frustration creeping in as he tries to close the distance. He throws heavy hooks and uppercuts.

You almost scoff, wondering why he hasn’t learned yet. His efforts are useless against someone as skilled as Chris. Truly a phantom in the ring, Chris’s footwork is flawless, always just a step ahead, and he barely reacts.

He then ever so slightly adjusts his stance, leaving an opening wide for Aiden to pounce.

You furrow your brows.

Jackson voices his concern too, narrowing his eyes. “Is Bahng showing weakness?” He asks as if he cannot believe it himself. Then his eyes widen. “Matthews sees it—he’s going for it!”

Aiden lunges forward, hurling all his power into a swift right hook toward the exposed side.

However, as steady as his opponent commits to the punch, Chris sidesteps with speed that rivals lightning, and counters with a sharp left jab that snaps Aiden’s head back.

You stand again with Vinny, both gasping with the crowd. A hand flies to your mouth as you watch Aiden stagger back.

“OH!” Jackson beams, “Bahng saw that coming from a mile away!”

Chris is relentless. He moves in smoothly, landing a quick, precise combination—jab, cross, uppercut—that sends Aiden stumbling backward.

Aiden’s guard falters.

Chris steps forward. He drives a thunderous right hook straight into Aiden’s gut.

Aiden gasps for air, the force buckling.

Chris, collected and focused, steps back, allowing Aiden a moment to gather himself.

Your eyes widen at the pacifying gesture, wondering what he has to gain by giving his opponent a chance to strike again.

All thoughts cease within seconds as Chris feints an attack. It draws Aiden’s guard up high only for Chris to slip low and deliver a devastating body blow, placed perfectly under the ribs.

Aiden groans, dropping to a knee. The air is completely knocked out of him.

The referee stands over his kneeling frame, counting, “One!”

The crowd erupts with excitement, some jumping as they cheer for Chris, while others remain shackled in disbelief as Aiden tries to regain his strength.

“Two.”

Jackson is rocking in place, jittery with joy as he enthuses,“Bahng is not just beating Matthews—he’s outthinking him! Every move is a step ahead, like he’s reading Aiden’s mind!”

“Three.”

Aiden is wobbly, but pulls himself back to his feet. He shakes his head, attempting to refocus. You suppose that Jackson’s comment must have struck a cord because Aiden looks as though he is done thinking. He lunges again, impulsive and messy.

Chris is undeterred by the chaos Aiden becomes, this time feinting a right cross.

Aiden’s guard flies to the right. Then, Chris pivots and delivers a clean left hook to his temple.

“What a move!”Jackson praises. “Bahng’s precision is surgical!”

Aiden collapses against the ropes.

Chris steps back, watching, waiting.

The stillness of Aiden’s muscular frame worries the referee. He steps in, leaning by Aiden’s side to get a better look.

The camera pans over his swollen, bloody face. You cringe.

The referee stands back to his full height to wave his arms, calling, “It’s over! It’s over!”

The crowd explodes into catastrophic cheers upon the referee’s decree.

Chris raises his gloves in triumph and pride. While he is well within his right to gloat, and perhaps has done so before based on the fact that you know he likes to show off, he remains composed. The only emotion hinting towards elation is in the lightness of his gaze as he looks around the arena at his fans. He nods to them, lips finally curving into a smile.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was shy.

Jackson returns to the centre of the ring. He gestures his hands towards Chris, encouraging the howls of the crowd. “Christopher Bahng has done it again!” He says, smiling fondly at Chris. “Not just with power, not just with speed, but with pure brilliance in this ring. He’s shown everyone why he’s the undefeated champion!”

You don’t get a chance to revel at the sight of Chris stiffening as Jackson holds his arms out wide for a hug. Vinny tugs on your arm instead, nodding his head towards the exit. You keep your arms linked and stay close as he pushes between the manic crowd for you.

“Explain yourself,” Vinny orders the moment you’re back on the street.

You look over your shoulder at the entrance of the arena, then whisper, “Not here.”

Vinny rolls his eyes but starts walking towards your apartment. After three blocks of silence, he says, “Talk.”

“I was looking for yo—”

“Don’t bullshit me,” he seethes, cutting you off. “How the fuck did you know Matthews would lose? It’s been fixed for the last week.”

“Just listen to me,” you plead, raising your voice. “When I was waiting for you in the alley, I heard some things.”

Vinny shoots you a nervous look.

You continue, “One of those things was that there were back halls that go around the entire arena. I really was looking for you in there, Vinny. You left me to fend for myself and those people were hard to squeeze through. So, I found one of the doors. And— listen, I know you’re gonna be mad at me, but I really thought it would be easier this way.”

His face falls into disappointment. “You lied.”

“I lied,” you confess, avoiding his gaze as you continue down the street. “I told the guy at the door that Chris—”

“You call him Chris?” Vinny interrupts, voice heavy with astonishment.

“Well—”

Vinny cuts you off with your name and a shake of his head. “No, no, you don’t understand,” he humorlessly chuckles. “No one but his inner circle calls him Chris. What the fuck did you do?”

“I told the guy at the door that I was his prostitute. It was only supposed to get me in so I could find you.”

“You didn’t,” Vinny says. Upon the guilty look in your eyes, he closes his own and sighs, “You fucked him?”

“Not exactly,” you hesitantly correct. “He’s really hot, okay? And he was really nice to me, and I don’t know if you know this,” you sarcastically start. “But not many people have been lately.”

Vinny offers you a vulgar gesture.

You roll your eyes. “I just told him what I heard and he needed convincing.”

“You fucked him,” Vinny concludes.

“Do you think I would be able to walk right now if I did?”

You try not to laugh as Vinny’s features coil in disgust. Parting your lips, you’re about to tell him that it doesn’t matter now. Chris is fine, the Sixers didn’t lose a dime and you can finally get that bath you have been craving earlier this evening.

However, the shriek of tires pierce through the silent night instead.

Vinny reaches for his gun, pushing you behind him. You go to grab your own only to remember you don’t have one. The switchblade will have to do if running is not an option.

A black van speeds down the street, darting past you to swerve onto the sidewalk and block your path. Seungmin jumps out of the passenger seat. Icy-hair and another tall, dark haired man, whose features remarkably resemble that of a fox, emerge from the back.

Vinny cocks his gun.

“Wait,” you shout, stepping between them. You hold your hands up, giving Vinny your most reassuring look. “I know them,” you explain.

Looking amongst the intruders, Vinny furrows his brows and asks, “How?”

“They’re Chris’s friends,” you reply, quietly adding, “I think.”

Vinny glares. “You think?”

“Walk away,” a deep voice orders.

Icy-hair steps forward with a gun of his own. However, he is not aiming it at Vinny.

You deadpan. “Did he tell you to do this? God, is he always this dramatic?”

“Tell me about it,” Seungmin mutters, then nods towards the van. “Get in.”

Turning to Vinny, you offer him a small, assuring smile. “I’m fine, Vin. Just go.”

Vinny scoffs, narrowing his eyes in disbelief at you. “He has a gun to your head.”

“Chris is an egoistic, attention-seeker,” you dismiss. “If they wanted to shoot me, they would have done so already.”

“How can you be sure?” Vinny shouts.

Chk chk boom, you think. Your brains would have already been splattered on the sidewalk.

Nodding behind him, you repeat, “Go. I’ll call you later.”

Vinny shakes his head, clenching his jaw and directing his frustrated gaze to the ground. As if wrestling his intuition, he resentfully lowers and uncocks his gun. He takes another look around at the men, swallowing thickly.

You wonder if they know he’s trying to memorise their faces. You wonder if they care.

“If you die,” Vinny says, voice wavering. “I will kill you.”

You suppress a laugh, tightening your lips. “Good.”

He breaths a baffled chuckle, gives you one final look, then forces himself to walk away

You turn to face the others, or at least you’re in the process of turning.

A black bag slips over your head. Arms pulled back, hands bound, you attempt to struggle against their grip. Too slow, your squirming does not distract them. Someone hooks their arms under your shoulders, another scoops up your legs. Heart pounding, you release a searing scream, attempting to wrangle your way out of their grasp. You kick and try to flail your arms, grunting as you fight against their hold. The three men look strong, but they are nothing compared to Chris. You doubt only two of them can maintain their grip this well when you feel another set of hands, then another.

Vinny shouts your name.

Your body is tossed into the back. You land with a loud groan, cursing at the impact of the pain.

He shouts your name again, the hard stomp of his feet echoing in the street.

A bullet sounds.

No, no, no—

“No!” You desperately scream. “Vinny!”

Tears gather in your eyes. This is all your fault. It goes beyond sticking your nose in business you had no right knowing. Since that day he found you back on the streets, hustling scammers out of their well-stolen money, you have dragged Vinny into your hole of reckless misfortune. You asked him to bail you out of one too many fuck-ups, forcing him to further implicate himself in your thoughtless schemes, often against the advice and support of his gang. He has risked his reputation, relationships, money, his good fucking sense, all in the name of childhood friendship.

And how do you repay him?

With a bullet.

Lip quivering, you ask between sobs, “Did you shoot him?”

You never deserved kindness. You never deserved freedom. You never even deserved compassion.

You are a tornado of vile anguish, a chaotic force of impulse and betrayal. You are a waste of space, your very existence is a curse set upon your parents. You should have known as much when the universe tore them away. You are not worthy of connections— all your friends withering in the wake of your misfortune.

What compelled you to believe that Chris would be any different? He might have been devastatingly beautiful and the look in his eyes might have continuously hinted at something tragically scarred. His kisses might have breathed new life into your soul, hands might have cradled every nightmare to rest. But he is still a victim of your calamity. You should have known a good feeling never lasts.

The back door slides shut. The engine revs, jolting the van into motion.

“Did you fucking shoot him?” You cry, voice breaking as a sob overwhelms you. “Vinny!”

Please forgive me, you want to scream.

“Shut up!” Someone shouts over you. You move to kick the speaker only for someone to grab hold of your ankles and bind them together too.

“He shot at us.” The same speaker clarifies. “And he has terrible aim for a self-appointed hero.”

Relief washes over you, ice-cold upon your trembling bones. You lean back, embracing the pain of the awkward position of your hands under you.

“He told us to knock her out,” Seungmin says, voice slightly distant. He must have returned to his place in the front seat.

“He did?” Icy-hair’s deep voice replies.

“I don’t think so,” someone else adds.

You lay limp amongst the shuffling of movements, ignoring their argument, too lost in thought to care. Though Vinny is alive, it does not alter the epiphany that has just dawned upon you— You inevitably ruin anyone foolish enough to come too close.

The edge of the bag lifts and a damp cloth presses against your mouth.

You embrace the darkness.

PART II ➡︎

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other reader. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work.

[brockendrems]

@short-circuit-the-great hex

can i crack open your ribcage and nestle inside it btw. as friensds

[harmoonix]

🖤𝕊 𝕒 𝕟 𝕕🖤

(Astrology Observations)

"I saw the end when we began"

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🖤 - Saturn aspecting Moon natives have a hard time to deal with their feelings,is like things happen too fast in their lives and they don't have time to react to those things

🖤 - Venus aspecting Lilith (h12) the native has a hard time to cope with their feelings about love, most times they can ask themselves "Is this love or a lie"

🖤 - Lilith aspecting Saturn natives have a rebellious personality, especially when it comes to rules, they want to do everything in their own ways

🖤 - Lilith aspecting Mars natives they have a inner anger and can easily get annoyed or angry, they don't like to show this side of them though

🖤 - If you have Pluto aspecting Saturn, these are really powerful planets to have aspecting, the energy of the aspects gives the native a remarkable and dark aura, they're like Hades

🖤 - Venus or Mercury aspecting Pluto makes the native to have an special magnetism to them, but it can turn obsessive and toxic if they don't pay attention

───────────────────────────────────────

I tried to bargain with the stars

For more than half your heart

───────────────────────────────────────

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🖤 - Pluto aspecting Moon natives have a hard time to let people go out of their lives, it can get sad when they let toxic people in their lives and quite sad

🖤 - Lilith aspecting Pluto gives an "ultimate" destroyer vibes, they're very magnetic, charismatic, very powerful

🖤 - Neptune conjuncting the ascendant natives,a very dreamy and artistic placement, the native can often be with their head in the clouds dreaming with the eyes open

🖤 - Pluto trine/sextile/conjunct the ascendant is a very powerful placement when it comes to evolving/transforming, the native is a like Phoenix trying to get the best version of themselves

🖤 - Mercury aspecting Neptune, these natives can have a very catchy voice, they're very intelligent and can think fast, there is always a possibility/solution with these people around you

🖤 - Jupiter aspecting Pluto, this placement is expanding the natives magnetic nature and personality, they're easily liked by other people

🖤 - Saturn/Chiron square the ascendant can make the native to seem like they're not worth it, to not appreciate their true value, remind yourself how powerful you are!!

🖤 - Moon in the 8th house natives can close themselves when they're pain, these natives are the type of people who will stop communicate when they're in pain

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I saw the end when we began

You couldn't love the way I can

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🖤 - Moon in the 12th house natives have an empathic energy, they're so sensbile but not always show it, their soul lies on a cloud watching the stars

🖤 - Neptune/Mars in the 12th house can have lots of weird dreams, that often tend to be a cover for their actual dreams, there is always a sign in your dreams

🖤 - If we are at the dreams topic, Chiron in the 12th house natives can dream that they're in pain/danger a lot of times, they can feel anxious or scared. It really depends on their energy

🖤 - Chiron in the 3rd house natives are so so sweet in their talking, yet they can be shy/ashamed to talk for themselves, your voice is your power!

🖤 - Chiron in the 1st/6th houses natives can easily absorb others energies and bad thoughts, and the end of the day they can be drained or exhausted because of this, always protect your energy

🖤 - Chiron in the 9th house, these natives can be extremely spiritual and often use spirituality as a healing key

🖤 - Neptune in the 8th house can make the native to have scenarios about people dying, I'm not sure if everyone relates with this, I know quite a lot of people who have scenarios in their head (not in a bad way)

🖤 - Pluto or Lilith aspecting the Sun can also enter in the "rebellious" sphere, these natives will actually fight for their rights and for the truth

🖤 - I don't know if is only me on my experience or other people but when you have Pluto or Neptune in the 10th house, you can tend to get "exposed" or called out for the wrong things just because people simply need to find a little thing to call you out

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🖤 - Jupiter in the 9th/10th/11th houses, if you are good at manifesting and you have those Jupiter placements, The universe works in your favor

🖤 - Retrograde Saturn 🪐 in your birth chart can indicate you need a routine for lots of things in your life, like plan a routine for your everyday

🖤 - Mercury in Sagittarius/Pisces/Virgo or Gemini can have a thing for learning new languages, like mastering 1/2/3 languages

🖤 - Mars in Scorpio/Sagittarius/Aries/Capricorn, I love these placements for Mars is giving dark energy, magnetic body/aura

🖤 - Mars in Virgo or at Virgo Degrees 6°, 18°, their waist stands out, these natives have a really attractive body especially around the belly/stomach area

🖤 - Sun or Rising at 5°, 17°, 29° degrees can make you to be recognized from a young age/to be in the center of attention from childhood

🖤 - Sun or Rising at 11°, 23° degrees can make the native to be social since a young age/childhood, the type of person who is always in search for a friendship

🖤 - Sun or Rising at 2°, 14°, 26° degrees can make the native to be well liked/easily get attached with since a young age/childhood, they radiate kindness

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But you have more pieces of me than the desert has sand

And I have less pieces of you than I can hold in my hand

───────────────────────────────────────

🖤 - Capricorn Venus/Capricorn Moons will always look after of a traditional relationship, and I don't mean that type of "Hubby goes to work,honey stays at home and takes care of her 10 children"...I mean romantically/aesthetically, something that doesn't include hookup culture

🖤 - Mercury in the 11th house natives have a really good humour, they love to make other people laugh

🖤 - Pluto/Saturn/Lilith in the 11th house, you need to take care of the friends/people you have around you so you don't end up stabbed in the back my love

🖤 - With Aries Saturn you need to hold your ground and your principalities, when you set a focus on something, make sure to finish it

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🖤 - Capricorn Sun/Moon/Rising, with those natives having Saturn as their chart ruler their early life can be messed up but it gets better when the native becomes an adult

🖤 - Cancer Sun and Moon specifically, I know a lot of these natives who may posses creative talents since young age esp at drawing or arts

🖤 - Personally i know a lot of people with Sagittarius/Aquarius with Moon/Venus/Mars who want a lot of space and freedom in their relationships

🖤 - Uranus in the 4th house is a really funny placement to have basically your home is chaotic and lovely in the same time, on the other hand it can indicate family members being different than other relatives

🖤 - 2nd house ruler being aspected with Jupiter can indicate being hungry a lot/craving food, same for Jupiter in the 2nd house

───────────────────────────────────────

──────────────────────

But you have more pieces of me than the desert has sand

And I have less pieces of you than I can hold in my hand.....

──────────────────────

🖤•🖤•🖤•🖤•🖤•🖤•🖤•🖤•🖤•🖤•🖤•🖤•🖤

"You will find poetry nowhere unless you bring some of it with you."

Hope you guys enjoy this post as much i did because it's very different from my standard posts!!🖤 And shout out to Dove Cameron for making such a good song, it had me on my knees.

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[nyrrwrites]

✮⋆˙ 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫, 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐤𝐲 ( n. sully )

✮⋆˙ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : neteyam ✘ omaticayan!reader ✮⋆˙ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 1.3k+ ✮⋆˙ 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 : fluff!! heavy descriptions of affection & intimacy (not explicitly!) , themes of war/burden ( from neteyam ), mild angst & vulnerability, deep yearning, we're just lovesick and missing neteyam over here <3 ✮⋆˙ 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐲 : @cafekitsune !!!

Him.

Neteyam.

His name is not just an appellation —it is a celestial phenomenon, something too vast, too consuming to be contained in mere syllables. It is an eclipse, a supernova, a ruffle between the flickering stars. It is the slow-burning fire that never dies, the heartbeat beneath the steady pulse of the universe. It is the way he exists, not softly, nor fleetingly but fiercely, with the entirety of eternity carved into the sinew of his being.

And tonight, he exists around you.

The skies stretch in its vastness, velvet blacks, deep violets, and fractured indigos, speckled with silver lights that watch but never speak. The fires burn low in the distance, scattered embers smoldering beneath the bones of the Omaticayastronghold, dusting the treetops with the faintest glimmers of bioluminescent longing.

But none of it, none of it, scorches the way he does.

Neteyam is warmth for he harbors the heat of distant suns across foreign galaxies. He is gravity for he tethers you to the ground beneath your joined figures. He is the sculptured ember of a dying fire and the soaring inferno of a newborn star. He is the steady thrum of a heartbeat in the hush of the night. 

His flesh, deep and rich azures, streaked with bold, winding stripes, transforms into glaciered sapphires beneath nature's light, a constellation of the cosmos itself splattered across his canvas.

And you are here, tangled within him.

Pressed against his chest, where the rhythmic cadence of his heart beats beneath your flitting ear — strong, fervent, a palpitation so deep, so ancient, it feels like the pulse of Eywa's child. The sound deeply lulls you, swaddling itself around your tired limbs, slipping beneath your skin until it becomes one with you.

His arms are a fortress, a place where no harm can ever reach you. They cage you in: strong, certain, protecting. 

Devoted fingers drift in tender spirals along the dip of your waist, delicate and leisured, not finding the necessity to hold tighter in order to be known —he is already there, perceived, already part of you. He maps the familiar terrains of your body; contours, planes, curves, no line left untraced.

“Yawne…”

A murmur. Aerated, deep, husked. Voice a tide of burning honey flooding your senses, dribbling down the curve of your throat and sinking into your very essence, not just heard but consumed.

The moment hangs in fragile suspension — almost as if the very air between you could shatter with one wrong exhale. There is something tender lodged beneath your ribs, your heart aching and bare, pressing subtle to compacting against bone and breath. It makes you feel full and hollow all at once, and it swells to the point of breaking and spewing wide open, ready to become.

Because this, him, Neteyam is everything. 

He is fragranced of rain-soaked forests, whirled with sun-warmed leaves, wafted in dusks and dove-hued rivers.

Your own digits wander over him, taking in the shift of pure muscle beneath the flawless blue flesh. He shivers beneath your touch — just the tiniest of tremor one perhaps would not be able to decipher. But you.

He is beautiful. Fuck, he's breathtaking.

"My beautiful boy," you always used to croon to him. Back before scarlets and conflicts tainted your young souls' childhood. He would always attempt to fight against it, the nickname, though his body's reaction to your voice uttering it rendered his actions pointless.

The burnished glow of his stare rests upon you, half-lidded and ineffable when you speak those three words. His eyes — twin suns, flaring golds, liquefied brilliance poured down on you, smolders and captures breaths in its silent intensity.

And oh, how you burn beneath that gaze.

Neteyam.

The quiet protector. The firstborn son with the weight of the whole world sunk between his scorching shoulder blades. You can feel it beneath your hands — the knots in his muscles, the tension clawed in the hollow of his spine. He carries everything, only to realize, here, in this moment, that he does not have to carry it alone.

You sink into him without questioning. Without pondering. His arms tighten — his breath cutting for a split second — before he lets you have him.

No one has ever simply let you have them before.

There is reverence in his touch, palm finding a niche on the nape of your neck, large and gentle. Fingers weave through the stray curls and cascades of braids. His thumb's pad strokes sweetly along your jaw and over your neck, coaxing the tension from your figure until you're a little more over the statement of just pudding in his hands.

He soothed you without even trying, without even the raw knowledge of how much you have longed to be touched like this — to be loved without needing to plead for it.

He is not a gentle man — no, not always. The world has not allowed him to be, for hands were built to fight, to protect, to bleed for those who cannot bleed for themselves.

But when those same hands find you, when they follow along the bent of your waist beneath the moonlight, when they knot into your hair,

They are not the hands of a warrior then. They are the hands of a man who would kneel at your feet if only to press his mouth to your blemishes, to taste every sorrow and wound the world has seared into your being and make it his own.

Your chest flutters — soft and overbearing, such a peculiar join— because you are not used to being tended to. 

“Sleep, ma y/n,” he insists one more with a sweet voice that is so soft, afraid he’ll break you if he speaks any louder.

But how can you sleep when he is the one keeping you awake?

How can you sleep when he is fire wrapped in flesh — the churn of some faraway galaxy buried beneath skin and sinew and breath?

Solace and yearning collide — warmth and ache, safety and hunger all in one being. He gives without asking. He holds without keeping. He touches without taking.

Your fingers find the stripes etched across his ribs, tracing them with your own overpowering worship. Blue melting into darker blue —linking with the faint bioluminescence of Eywa’s kiss. His skin is burning threads of silk beneath your touch, every inch of him carved by the hands of the Great Mother herself.

You feel him shiver again with the added physical contact, and you beam at how his heart vividly stutters beneath your ear. 

His exhale kisses your forehead as you nose his cheek, knotting your fingers between his. "Sleep with me, my love."

His breath stirs against your temple, as if the whole world could fall away and he would still hold you like this. But what gnaws at his bare mind is, will he always be granted to do such a beautiful thing?

You know his dreams are plagued with war.

You feel it in his breathing patterns alone — the weight of everything he carries, even now, even in sleep.

But he has never neglected your words, your queries, your pleas, your commands. The universe could burn down right before you and you’d still be safe here. In one another's embrace, heat.

He does not let go, and he attempts to sleep for you as you shift in his arms. And this time you cradle his head to your neck. Let his face find solace in the crevice there, breathing you in, letting the heat increase tenfold.

Not two halves of one whole, not tethered by tsaheylu alone. You are one soul — created from the same breath, and from the exact heartbeat as he felt yours synchronizing with his own beneath his cheek.

if fate were cruel, if time were unkind, if the world dared to pull him from your grasp he would find his way back.

Because love like this does not end. It does not break or bend, nor does it fade with the tides or crumble with the years. It remained.

Neteyam firmly, fervently believes he would spend eternity past his life chasing this, you across every star, every ocean, every sky, every brewing cosmos.

You know — you are more than aware — that he would still find a way to hold, to reach, find you.

Because that is who Neteyam is. And because you are his.

[revelboo]

You works are awesome, but i also wanna remind you not to overwork yourself! :) Have a nice day/night! ;3

Honestly, considering this blog is only 24 days old, it’s you guys I’m a bit worried about. Y’all good? Cause holy crow…

The Weakends Pt 5

TFP Ratchet x Reader- argument

• Putting a tool away, Ratchet glances over at the empty counter, the medbay quiet around him. Who’d have thought he’d miss your questions and companionable chatter? Need it to work. That silence drives home the fact that you’re avoiding him. Have been for days now and it’s worming under his plating, a disquiet that sparks through him, because you belong here. Your loss making him snap at everyone, because it’d be one thing if you were just skulking about the base, but no. Since you got upset with him, you’ve kept far away. Sulking like a sparkling.

• Setting the little trowel aside, you drag one of the mums you’d bought closer and wiggle it free of its little plastic pot. It’s warmer today, sweat slicking your skin as you work. Really, you’re just keeping busy. Trying to distract yourself, because you’re so frustrated you want to scream. Mostly at a certain white and red moron. And yourself. You know you’re both too proud to bend now. Neither one of you willing to back down no matter how silly the argument actually was. Even if staying away feels like you’re punishing yourself more than him.

• The sound of gravel popping under tires lifts your head and you squint in the sun. Bumblebee and the kids back again to pester you into coming in? Lips pressing into a thin line when you spot the ambulance, you yank off your gloves. Surely, he isn’t going to actually apologize? Blowing out a breath, you stand and stretch the kinks out of your back. Your little house is far enough from town and the main road that Ratchet can transform without worrying about being spotted and he does, walking the rest of the way over with a scowl like he tastes something foul. Cocking a hip, you cross your arms and wait for the apology. “Well, you’re not dead or dying,” he growls, optics narrowing at you.

• “Yeah, doing great,” you say, tone tight with anger as your fingers dig into your upper arms. “So, I don’t need a medic.” The ‘I don’t need you’ coming across loud and clear. That open hostility in your stare ramping up his own irritation that you’re so petty you’d made him drive all the way out to retrieve you. And you turn your back to him, bending to roughly seize a potted plant. Ignoring him. After he came to get you? His servos close around your middle, hearing your startled gasp as he lifts you. And then you whip around, chucking that plant at his head. It bounces off, scattering dirt all over him as you glare at each other. “Put me down. Right now.”

• Your heart’s racing, the adrenaline souring inside you as you realize you just hit him with a mum. And he’s not just going to let that slide. His optics shutter, jaw clenching as he vents angrily and you tense for the yelling. The fury. Instead, one of his servos slides over your torso as he adjusts his grip. That servo settling against your breast where your frantic heart is pounding away. Grabbing that servo, you mean to shove at it, but just hold on. Slowly his venting evens out.

• He can feel your heart thumping against his servo, frantic with fear. Of him. He can’t move, snared by that rhythm, knowing he’s causing it. As he remains still, that too quick beat slows. Calming. Your little hands shift on his servo. “There’s work to do. I need my assistant,” he says. Can’t make himself apologize, but isn’t leaving without you either, even if he has to just take you. You’re coming home. And you whisper okay so low he almost misses it, that tension winding through him just unraveling.

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