#until they meet again and feel so drawn to this person and they just don't understand why their heart bleeds at the sound of their voice

[krikeymate]

Here’s an AU I haven’t seen yet: Wednesday and Enid have met once before as infants, when their parents had a school reunion at Nevermore. They imprint on each other and then spend the next 15 years trying to fill a void inside of themselves... until the events of canon happen.

[ozzgin]

A nice character with a yandere split persona. The Yandere persona was born out of the abandonment of the character by a loved one, maybe mom. Did he kill her just so she could stay? Maybe. Only the Yandere persona knows, the character is oblivious, he just knows his mom left him. But he oddly feels ok about it as though the situation has been reconciled... which is weird to him.

Now he meets and falls in love with yn. She must not leave. It's f around and find out

Btw I love you ❤️❤️❤️ The Yokai series is my fave

Oooh, I’ve been thinking of a context for your idea and I somehow got stuck on a serial killer who is unaware of it most of the time. Since you mentioned abandonment and obsession, my mind wandered to some of the typical habits, such as collecting trophies. I’ve also been wanting to try my hand at writing a serial killer, so hopefully it turns out to your liking. (Sending back the love, always a pleasure to see your comments ❤)

Although let me include a little disclaimer, because I am aware many things in the sphere of true crime are problematic: this in no way glorifies or romanticizes serial killers. Just a reminder that this is a work of fiction and all behaviors displayed are for the sake of an interesting story, not to be admired in real life.

Yandere! Serial Killer x Reader

You're temporarily staying with a kind, quiet man renting out a room in the house he inherited. It's just the two of you, and a locked bedroom he claims to be vacant. Yet as night falls, you hear the whispered arguing of a voice you don't recognize. Is anyone else there?

Content/TW: female reader, mentions of murder, obsessive behavior, horror

You must break the pattern today, or the loop with repeat tomorrow

He stares at the locked drawer of the bureau. The clock ticking in the background fades into an irritating buzz, drumming against his ears at irregular intervals like a swarm of insects. Once again, he cannot remember where the key is. Yet he does not feel compelled to search for it. It cannot be anything of significance, he tells himself. Forgotten knick-knacks, perhaps. Despite the apparent lack of curiosity, he is drawn here every morning. He wakes up, carefully folds the sheets, and goes to sit in the office. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Until, at last, the noon hour strikes, and the hallways are flooded with ghastly chimes.

Lately, however, other sounds have taken over the usual silence that envelops the house. The main door rattles faintly before opening with a creak.

“They were out of our bread rolls. I got a baguette instead.”

It’s you.

He stands up, as if startled from deep slumber, and hurries downstairs to greet you. He takes the grocery bags from your hands, flashing a smile of gratitude. Somehow, the idea of another person living here is still foreign to him. He’s gotten so used to the solitude, the quietness of the house. Time stands still when there’s no one else to remind you of it.

You glance up at the tall man, noticing his slight frown.

“Another brain fog?” You ask, worried.

“Don’t mind me. It’s a morning routine at this point”, he jokes. “More importantly, what would you like for breakfast?”

He always cooks for both of you. Initially, you were rather hesitant to go for his offer. You’d been looking for temporary accommodation and stumbled upon his advertisement. A cozy, vintage house the man had inherited from his lamentably departed mother, with one too many spare rooms. He had no need for all the space, he said in his description. You paid him a visit and were taken aback by his appearance. A massive, muscular frame that did not fit the rest of his mannerisms and features. He was soft-spoken, polite, and terribly shy. His eyes reflected the kind of gloom to be expected from anyone in his situation.

A sweet, gentle soul looking for company. On top of that, if you are to be technical, he’s a housemate difficult to compete against. Well-kept, mannered, organized, and thoughtful. He keeps to himself. You’d learned, soon after moving in, that he suffers from the occasional brain fog and memory loss. He goes for walks at odd hours to clear his mind. Enjoys reading in his office, although you’ve caught him just staring into space many times. Terribly inconvenient for the poor lad, you imagine.

The house itself is also not a bad deal by any means. Old fashioned, littered with trinkets and paintings. “My mother liked to collect many things”, he’d told you. It certainly has personality, to put it mildly. Some belongings are more bizarre than others: portraits of faceless people, with features smudged or distorted, doll heads in pompous, feathered collars hanging in clusters across the musty walls. Peculiar, but manageable.

Only at night does it become unsettling.

“Going for a walk?”

You’re curled in one of the armchairs, flipping through a magazine you found. It’s been hours since your little breakfast together and now the sun is beginning to set. The man is buttoning up his coat, standing in the doorframe and gazing at you with a smile.

“Yeah. I’m starting to detach a little. Maybe some fresh air will help.”

It’s nice, he thinks, having you here. He didn’t expect much when he ventured to rent out a room. He just wanted to hear the murmur of life again. Ever since his mother has passed…when did it happen, again? Better yet, how did it happen? Christ, he can’t remember. The last memory he has of her is not something to cherish. She was angrily shoving him out of the way, visibly annoyed by his cries and pleading. “Please don’t leave me”, he kept croaking in a pathetic tone, dragging his knees like a beggar. Then it’s all black. Black, like the cover they kept over her body at the morgue, to hide the mutilated remains. Black, like the tie he struggled to knot before her funeral. At that time, the sheets of her bed were still scattered, as if she never left. He could almost see her there, reflected onto the mirror’s surface – rather dirty as a matter of fact, he should wipe it soon – sitting melancholically on the edge of the mattress.

To think he’d be hearing footsteps again. A soothing voice. Even if it’s temporary, your presence in the house has been a blessing. Even if you must leave eventually. His lips purse involuntarily.

You hear the door close, followed by the key twisting inside the lock. You’re alone now.

With haste, you get up and sprint upstairs. You pull out a hairpin from your pocket and discreetly insert it in the cylinder. Today you find out if the spare bedroom truly is as vacant as your housemate claims.

When you first viewed the house, he mentioned that only this room will remain locked. It was his mother’s and he’d rather not look at it, he said. Let it gather dust, for all he cares.

Only at night, you’ve been hearing someone else’s voice. It didn’t happen immediately. Weeks after you’d moved in, you woke up thirsty and tiptoed on your way to the kitchen for a glass of water. On your return, you were surprised to see dim light coming from underneath the door of the forbidden bedroom. Visitors of your housemate? You hurried back into your bed, not wanting to intrude. But the following night you jolted up from the same mumbled voice. Strange that he’d invite someone over this late - twice in a row! - without saying a word to you. Even more, they were arguing like this. Curiosity got the better of you, so you snuck out and placed your cupped ear against the wall.

“No, no, no, no. I’m telling you, it’s different. She’s different from the others.” A deep, ragged voice retorted angrily.

Suddenly, there was a loud thud, a fist smashing against something, then glass shattering over exasperated, shouted curses. You ran back to your room, baffled. Who on Earth was there? You could feel your heart throbbing inside your chest.

Morning couldn’t come quick enough. You marched over to your housemate, demanding to know who this stranger was. He stared at you, wide eyed and incredulous. “There’s no one else here, dear. Just you and me.” Nonsense. You knew what you heard. You’d been wide awake! He gently placed the back of his hand against your forehead. “Could it be that you’re sick? Weather has been dreadful lately.” You scanned his face with hitched breath. Was he mocking you? Yet his features betrayed no such intent. The man seemed genuinely worried; face twisted in a caring frown.

Then what? A ghost? An intruder that fancied having a chat in a dead woman’s bedroom?

You fiddle with the pin until you hear the click. Finally. Surely whoever has been frequenting the place must’ve left some clues behind. You carefully open the door and peek inside. A broken mirror and some furniture covered in webs. There’s a lingering rusty smell that tickles your nostrils, and soon enough you find the source. Next to the old bed lays a cloth splattered red. On top of it, a leather folder from which scalpels and other surgical tools fell out haphazardly. Blood? Your mouth curls in disgust. You crouch to the floor to inspect the odd items and notice a jar glistening from underneath the bed. You pull it towards you and give it a rattle. Nothing heavy. You lift the jar into the light for a better look and gasp.

Fingernails.

“Oh, I forgot to put those away.”

It’s the same deep voice you’ve been hearing at night. Your stomach drops and you turn, slowly, towards the entrance. Horror is swiftly replaced by confusion once you realize it’s none other than your housemate.

“Y-you’re back from your walk?” You blurt out.

“Walk?” He inquires. “Ah, that’s what he told you.” He steps towards you and lowers himself to your level with a grin.

“Have you come to say hello?” He points towards the tall, shattered mirror. “This is (Y/N), mother. See, I told you she’s stunning. You didn’t believe me.”

He ruffles your hair with a boldness completely unfamiliar.

Nausea overwhelms you and your ears ring in panic. Whatever is happening right now is beyond your understanding.

“I’d like to go to my room now.”

“I recognize that speech all too well. You want to run away.”

Within seconds, he grabs one of the scalpels and points it towards your throat, poking your skin with its cold tip.

“Now, don’t embarrass me in front of her like that. Do you know how hard it is to convince this bitch of anything? I told her you’re not like them, (Y/N). Don’t prove me wrong.”

“Them?” You whisper, lungs devoid of air.

“Come, let’s put this with the others first.” He pockets the scalpel and lifts you up by the hand, tenderly kissing your fingers in the process. “Then we can talk.”

You follow him into the office, and he unlocks one of the desk drawers. Against your better judgment, you stretch over his shoulder and glance inside. ID cards of various women, jewelry, lipsticks. Teeth. Fingernails.

You want to cry.

He nonchalantly dumps the contents of the jar into the drawer and slams it back shut, then throws himself in the chair and pats his thigh, eyeing you. With a sob, you clumsily climb onto his lap.

“Back to our matters. What were you planning on doing?”

“I just wanted to lay in bed.”

He takes out the scalpel and draws a line across your cheek. It stings.

“Don’t lie, (Y/N). You have nothing to gain from being naughty with me.” He coos, placing a kiss over the fresh wound.

“I wanted to run away.” You confess, petrified.

“Good. Do you now understand what happens if you try to run away?”

You briefly look at the drawer and nod.

“I knew you would. You’re so smart.” He strokes your hair fondly. “Not an easy decision to make, mind you. I love you more than anything in this world. Who’d enjoy killing their one and only?”

The man ponders his next words with a hum.

“Don’t count on getting away while he’s awake, either.” He taps his temple and chuckles. “He has no idea and won’t stop you, but I can easily find you again.”

The eggs sizzle in the pan as you stare at your plate, background sounds melting into shapeless static. After a couple more minutes, the man turns off the stove and places the food on the table with a cheerful whistle.

“Eat up!” He encourages you.

You hold onto your fork with faintly trembling hands.

“This might be the last breakfast I cook for you, after all. You’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t you?” His last sentence trails off and he smiles, dejected.

“Actually, I was wondering if I could…stay here instead.”

He gazes at you in disbelief.

“Truly? I-…That’d be fantastic.” He laughs awkwardly and scratches the back of his head, a deep red blush spreading over his cheeks. “Do excuse my rudeness. To be honest with you, I’ve grown quite fond of our arrangement. I really do like having you here.”

You return the smile without responding.

“Most exciting news. I’ll get the documents from the office after we eat, so we can draft a new lease.”

“That’d be lovely”, you answer curtly.

“Say, have you by any chance stumbled upon a small key around the house? I wanted to finally unlock the drawer upstairs, but I can’t remember where I could’ve left it.”

The knot in your stomach tightens.

“Not at all.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’m sure it’s nothing important, anyways. Old memorabilia, most likely.”

[romantichomicide95]

LEVI ACKERMAN ;

summary: injured reader, levi thinks back to her confessing her love. levi being levi. angst, might do a part II if people tell me to.

tagging: @i-literally-cant-with-this because you asked bbygirl.

“why can’t we have both?” your words play over and over in levi’s mind. he’s been pacing outside your door for what feels like hours but realistically has probably been only 20 minutes. how could you be so foolish? he thinks. you and your reckless behavior, always trying to barge into danger to save somebody else.

but than again, that was why he respected you so much. levi couldn’t deny it, he had always admired you for it. it was one of the things that had drawn him to you. you were reckless, yes. you were careless, and you were always risking your own life to save someone else. but it was also what made you so brave, so strong, so resilient and so god damn dedicated.

it was also the reason he couldn’t seem to get you out of his head. it was annoying really, like a tiny little bug ringing in his ear that no matter how much he tried he couldn’t seem to squash. it didn’t help that you were so god damn easy on the eyes, he’d even catch his gaze lingering on you for just a half a second more than needed. and that irritated him, it irritated him how much he let you crawl under his skin, and into his heart so guarded from all the loss he’d had in his lifetime.

but that didn’t matter. he had a mission and he wasn’t going to let some tiny little feeling get in the way. that’s why he’d rejected you, rejected the one thing he felt was a constant in this shitty war against the titans. and now as he paces outside your door he can’t help but let those words ring back through his head. “why can’t we have both?”

——

“what did you say?” levi says, looking up at you. you and levi were in his office doing paperwork, it had become a habit. at first it was just because you were faster than anyone else and he needed the help; but over time he came to look forward to seeing you sitting there across his desk. the silent rustling of papers, the warm glow of candlelight, the way your forehead crinkled when you were deep in focus, it was something he found himself looking forward to.

“i said, i love you," you repeat softly, your voice trembling slightly as you meet levi’s intense gaze. "we have something here, don't we?" your heartbeat picks up as you wait for his response, hammering against your chest.

levi takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. he looks down at the papers scattered across his desk before finally meeting your eyes once more.

your heart sinks, and before he can respond you speak again. "i mean, you care about me right? i can feel it…i don’t want to pretend anymore.” you murmur. it was like this unspoken thing between you, he never really let anyone in, never let anyone close enough. but with you, he had. he’d let you crack away at his walls until you were the one person he actually wanted to be around. the person he’d gone out of his way countless times to keep in his life.

“i tolerate you, yes. but it doesn’t matter how i feel.” levi says after an uncomfortably long silence. “i don’t have time for romance. i am devoted to protecting humanity, we’re at war.”

“i know that levi, but…” you pause, trying to find the right words. “why can’t we have both?” you meet his eyes, an almost pleading look in your own. “romance and our devotion to protecting humanity.”

there's something about the way you look at him, the way you say his name, that makes him question everything he thought he knew about himself. but he has to shut you down, he knows he is being harsh, but he needs to focus on the mission, focus on the greater good. he can’t let himself be selfish, he doesn’t have it in him.

"we can't have both, no matter how we feel," levi replies firmly, trying to sound more confident than he feels. "our lives are too dangerous, too unpredictable. we can't risk attachment, they only slow us down in the end. i’m sorry.”

——

“she’s still not awake” hange’s words snap levi out of his thoughts. “she’s still breathing, but she got pretty roughed up.”

“oh, it’s good she’s still breathing than.” levi says, his voice as flat as ever, not betraying his inner worry. but hange knows better than that, knows that little crinkle in his brow is an indication of his true inner thoughts.

“i have to go check on something with erwin, i’ll leave you to it.” hange places a hand on levi’s shoulder for a fraction of a second before she disappears down the hall.

he slowly opens the door, taking a deep breath as his eyes are drawn to your still form. his eyes scroll over the bruises marring your pretty face, and without even realizing it his heart clenches in his chest.

he takes in every little detail of your face. he can remember your eyes, so kind and beautiful; the way they lit up every time you laughed at his ridiculous sense of humor. he can remember the way you scrunch up your nose when you think he’s said something crude. and as he does so memories of your time together start to flood back. how kind and patient you are, how fiercely loyal and protective. how you never judge him for his demeanor, and how in that stupid little confession, you love him despite it.

as he sits next to your bed, he can't shake the memory of your words echoing in his mind - "why can't we have both?"

“you’re an idiot you know?” he says softly, unaware of the fact he’s speaking his thoughts aloud. “or maybe i’m the idiot.” he admits. “i’m not the greatest at all this emotional shit. but maybe i was wrong,” he finally admits and he reaches out tentatively, brushing a bloody lock of hair away from your face. his fingers linger for a moment longer than necessary before retracting them away.

“maybe we can have both.” he takes a deep breath “i can’t promise anything, but hell, we can try.” and for the first time in forever, levi feels something other than duty and responsibility weighing on his heart - and it scares him more than any titan ever could.

“you just have to wake up y/n…please.”

[diorcities]

⠀   ⠀ ── 𖥻 ๋ 𓈒 ⭐ ࣪ ࣭ ◍ ᜔ being a sleepy head !

nct dream fluff headcanon.

jaemin. at midnight, the sheets tangle on your limbs as his fingers run down your spine in a deliberate gesture. your tongue tangles in your palate and feels heavy as you talk about trivial things while he listens patiently. smiling sweetly when you can't follow the thread of your thoughts at the speed you desire, and your eyes look one last glimpse into his loving eyes before plunging you into a deep sleep. your body is covered by a blanket and you barely hear his voice saying “let's meet again in your dreams.” warming the place where your heart rests.

haechan. he is a night person. even with his schedules, he usually has more sleep resistance than you. you've both put on a series that you've been wanting to watch together, and since I this moments don't happen very often, you plan to spend the whole day curled up next to him. his body is so warm, and his grip comforting, that you soon decide to leave him to go to the ethereal world of dreams. and among the semi-unconsciousness, you think you feel his laugh poking you, “unbelievable, why you choose that boring movie if you were going to fall asleep?” just feeling your body being gently drawn to his “i'll tell you how the movie ends in the morning.”

jisung. the different time zones had your internal clock pretty damaged and crazy, to the point where you slept all afternoon and were more than awake at night. therefore, your night endurance is greater than jisung's. even on his day off, the poor boy does nothing but sleep. silence settles in the room when you know he's not listening to you anymore, hearing to the slight snoring of the boy with the cold nose on your neck, feeling him stir between dreams, “oh- fuck,” he murmurs, nuzzling his face, “did i fall asleep?” he asks. “pretty much, yeah.” you hear his muffled laugh, but deep down it makes you happy that he rests properly, especially when you know his workday. his only response is get closer to you. “keep talking, i swear i won't fall asleep this time.” quick spoiler: he did.

mark. it is a habit to put on a film and not pay attention to it while talking and using it as background noise. both of you have fairly tight schedules, and believe it is possible to do everything at the same time, such as ordering food delivery and chatting while watching a movie. but honestly, you are so exhausted, that the film takes a back seat while you both have your intimate moment full of kisses and caresses. it's impossible not to fall asleep for both of you. and even in the limbo of dreams, you're there with him, and he's talking to you while he sleeps, “i love you.”

renjun. he does not usually rest for long, and many times (only when you are aware that he is not by your side sleeping) you see him at his desk writing new entries in his diary, or painting with his watercolors. you are aware, too, that he does that when he is very overwhelmed or overloaded with things. and even when he goes back to bed the moment you notice his absence and wake up, or call his name, you worry that he's keeping him hidden from you; the way he uses art to release all the weight that keep him awake. “you scared me,” he pronounces shyly when you approach him and rest your head on his shoulder, “i woke you up? forgive me...” he stops his word when you shake your head, “should we go to bed, then?” he wonders, but again, you deny. “finish this first, love.” you smile tenderly, snuggling into him as he returns to his drawing: somewhat kind of similar to you.

chenle. having a tight schedule makes it difficult to see chenle often. you never seem to coincide because you leave first thing in the morning and when you arrive exhausted to sleep, chenle returns until late at night. he scolds you on occasion when you insist on staying up even when you both know that means you'll feel sleepy at work. in the end, he lets you do what you want, because deep down, he misses your long chats before going to bed. “so... one of my... coworkers said...” your eyelids close on their own, you swear by your life. and your tongue feels so heavy, but you must keep going, because seriously, seriously it's funny, “have you- seen my... sandwich?... and i said..., it's in...” chenle waits for the punchline while he strokes your hair, but it never comes, so with a amused smile dancing on his lips, he turns off the lamp. “your mouth?” he wonders at the ceiling, widening his eyes, “the toilets?”

jeno. the letters change places when you look at them for a long time. you blink, your eyelids heavy linger towards the empty coffee cup next to your notes; your attempt to do an all-nighter has been unsuccessful as you feel the sleep spell take control of your body. “come, darling,” seems to whisper sandman in your ear. as you are in the limbo between the two universes, your body seems to float and be welcomed by his warm embrace, followed by the gentle movement that lullies you back when jeno takes you to his room.

[onyourowndaisymae]

don't mind me... just thinking about the dateables slowly dropping the rest of their roster for you as they fall head over heels...

diavolo // barbatos // simeon // solomon (you are here) -- x gn!reader, NSFW below the cut, others coming soon

solomon, who will follow his whims damn near anywhere. today, they've led him to the devildom, for the demon prince's grand "exchange program"-- he's not much for commitments like these, but any excuse to get free room and board in the devildom is an excellent one in his eyes. he's always been curious about some of the more hidden oddities in the realm, and this is a perfect time to explore without suspicion. along the way he meets you. huh. a human living in the devildom with no magical abilities? doesn't exactly sound safe, but... well, that won't be his mess to clean up if things go awry. he's interested in seeing how long you last.

solomon, who certainly thinks you're special. in the time that you've been a part of the program, you've managed to wrap all seven of the demon brothers around your fingers. he's honestly a bit jealous! even lucifer, who he's been trying to form a pact with for decades, leans in close to hear your quiet words. he can't even tell who he's envious of in that moment-- you, in all your charm, or lucifer, who gets to be that close and personal with you? oh, you're special alright. and now that you're both visiting the devildom again, this time without the pretense of the exchange program, he's determined to get to know you better. there's just something about you... something so warm and human that he's drawn to like a moth to a streetlamp. he won't go as far as embarrassing himself to paw at you for attention like a child, but he's not going to be deterred by the complaints of the demon brothers this time, either.

solomon, who is still human, after all. humans have... urges. he's not a massive fan of where lust has led him in the past, but the nagging feeling of want makes it hard to focus on his work. he summons a quick portal and finds himself at the house of a familiar face... a dangerous vampire, sure, but one that he knows intimately. little words are exchanged before he has them pinned against the wall, desperately fucking into them, hips snapping at a relentless pace as they keen into the open air. their leg is tucked into the crook of his elbow to give him a better angle, the smack! of his hips against their thighs intertwining with groans and heavy breathing. carnal pleasure makes his brain go white as they spasm around him, their third orgasm of the night finally pushing him over the edge as he spills inside them. it's messy and hot and he doesn't feel quite satisfied, guiding their sweaty body to a nearby flat surface to continue the fun. when the evening draws to a close, he slips back to purgatory hall for a shower and some rest. he hadn't even realized he'd left his d.d.d. until he emerges from the steamy bathroom to a notification. huh. a text from you. his heart flutters a little as he reads your message. hmm... he decides not to dwell on that feeling further, having already had such a complicated evening to mull over already.

solomon, who has a lot to learn. being immortal, he figured he'd done enough learning to last him a few lifetimes, and yet here he is. here you are. he finds that he'll shirk other responsibilities to spend another night training his apprentice. on nights like these, he'll find any excuse to keep you longer-- say, how about he makes you dinner? you always convince him to go out with you instead, promising to let him cook another time (he hasn't had the chance to, but he's sure he'll get you one of these nights). you look so cute under the restaurant's mood lighting, laughing your way through a story about the unruly demon brothers. but all he can think about is how much he doesn't want the night to end. he takes a bite to hide the way his lips curl into a grimace. soon it'll be late and he'll be dropping you back off at the house of lamentation. soon he'll have to forfeit his already limited time with you and walk home alone. you seem to notice sooner than he'd expected. when you ask, he's honest-- he doesn't want to see you go home. does that make him sound bad? he laughs it off in an attempt to save his pride, but for some reason you're smiling at him when he meets your gaze again. when the proposal falls from your lips-- a sleepover?-- he's looking curiously at you to see if you're kidding. but you're not, are you? no, that earnest grin is all real, all for him. and he's so thankful nobody else gets to see you looking like this tonight. just him, a simple man, sitting across from you at a restaurant as he realizes he's far more in love with you than he ever imagined.

solomon, who has been looking forward to this all week. you're coming over to "study", which usually results in maybe an hour or two of learning before you both get distracted and turn on a movie. tonight is no different. tonight you're curled up against his side, his arm around your shoulders as the movie drones on. your fingers dance along his side under his shirt, warm and distracting, finally enough for him to chuckle and tell you what a little nuisance you're being. teasing turns to touching, which doesn't end there-- soon he's got you pinned to the couch. what would usually be a smug grin is a bit more vulnerable tonight, pressing his smile to yours as the heat of his body envelopes you. it's you who pushes things further tonight, who paws at his shirt and kisses down his neck to see his face flush. he takes his sweet time stripping you of your garments. it's time he might not have, seeing as you two are in the (thankfully empty) living room of purgatory, but he'll take the risk regardless. your smooth skin against his makes him feel feverish and a little dizzy. solomon double checks that you're okay with this-- you are sure, right? you grin and agree that yes, you absolutely are interested in finally fucking him right here, right now. when he finally sinks into your heat, hips pressing forward at a firm but careful pace, he bites his lip to contain the gasp that threatens to rip through him. you're so hot and tight that it makes his head spin. have you always been this alluring? he feel like he can't breathe for a moment when he finally bottoms out. oh. this... this is going to be a problem for him. he pulls his hips back and gently sinks into you again, the lube and spit mixed on his cock making a slick noise with each movement. you feel like heaven. is this what he's been missing? nobody told him that sex with someone you love would feel so much better than a hookup. his lips find yours between pants, sloppy kisses contrasting against the steady rhythm of his hips meeting yours. your moans against his mouth make him feel like he's going to cum already-- he'd hate to disappoint, but fuck, you feel so good that he has to pull his mind from the moment before it ends. his movements get rougher to bring you there with him. soon enough, your whining, warbling voice tells him you're close. when you finally clench your tight, needy hole around him and reach cloud nine, it doesn't take long for euphoria to flood his veins as he reaches a climax. he's shaking a little by the time he finally meets your gaze. when you open your mouth to speak, he kisses you again. solomon can't risk having to respond. if he does, who knows what will spill out of his mouth-- that he loves you, needs you, can't fathom ever fucking anyone else? he's been around for thousands of years, yet he can't imagine another day without you by his side. please, just... let him savor this moment of ecstasy for a little longer.

taglist for this series (taken from the last part-- let me know if you would like to be added/removed!): @the-demonus-aunt // @scienceisfornerds // @hostilemakeover // @snow-fall1 // @kachan890 // @rphantom1 // @respitable

[wondeurwall]

AUTHOR'S NOTE. here's the other preview for the rafayel fic that i said i would post. tysm for the notes on all my previous ones!! i appreciate it 🥺💕💕 no particular warnings for this, so it's fine to interact with. but, i still do want to make the reminder that the fic will eventually be nsfw 🔞

currently 15k with it... definitely a slow burn. i'm a little worried that it might not be all that interesting because of how long it's getting to be, which is totally fine too. i don't expect it to be for some. feel good experience for me then 😆 💕 i'll make another poll about posting other previews over the week!

WARNINGS. none for this part. unless... mutual feelings? kiss?

“Then, how about I call you… sweetheart?” Rafayel gently takes your face into his hands, rubs his thumbs over the apples of your cheeks. He leans in little by little, gives the anticipation something worthwhile for, and until his breath is long drawn-out above yours, you hold it in absently. You feel his warmth once, then again. Soft, tender kisses. “Is that better?” 

You breathe out, humming in approval. 

“Baby?”

He kisses the tip of your nose, and then brushes his own against yours. Back and forth, back and forth. He takes his time with it. Thoughtful and loving.

“Cutie?”

His lips find the bridge of your nose. A gentle peck between your brows. He’s moving over to your left eye, and you flutter both closed, smiling, waiting to feel his sign of affection. One kiss, then another on your right. The sensation tickles, makes you feel a bit intoxicated too. Giddy and light-headed, an out-of-body experience, it’s almost as if you’re on top of cotton candy clouds. The flavor is sweeter than honey. You wish you could somehow gather it, save it by pouring it inside a bottle and get drunk off of it every night. 

The happiness on your face and the laughing whispers, they make Rafayel’s heart swell.

“Beautiful?” 

Beautiful. Absolutely, unequivocally beautiful. How are you even possible?

As his thumb swipes your lower lip, your mouth parts in nervous excitement. He’s so close now; you can taste the air, how desire fills it completely, standing just an inch away. A single step forward, and it’ll be yours, yours, yours.

“Can I?”

Rafayel. Rafayel. Everything is Rafayel and you begin to shake. God only knows just how badly you need to close this distance. You want it gone. You want him.

You murmur, “Kiss me. Please.”

It feels risky, feels scary even to ask him. But, you’re all in, here and now, and when his lips finally meet yours, sweet and slow, the little thing in your chest beats once. 

It stops moving. 

Then, it restarts. 

Blood pumping in the opposite direction, you suddenly know what it feels like to be alive. You can’t explain it – you’ve reached a time and space no one else has brought you before. Except for him. You know this. It resembles home. It is home. It’s painful. It’s liberation. You’ve been wanting this for so long and it’s only now that you realize you’ve been deprived of it, of you and him like this. 

You’re dying. You’re reviving. The desperation is heavy in your bones, heavy in your mind, and it doesn’t seem like it’s a coincidence everything about this moment fits together, as if it belonged here in the first place. 

Just as Rafayel pulls back, a reluctance washes over you. A staggering intensity like no other. Fire in your chest, it spreads aggressively. It burns, it burns, and you burn up – lungs are filling with smoke, and you need the air from him again. You need more. The thought drifts in your head, though your body is moving before you can say anything. Your hand reaches for his, guiding him back into your direction as you tip forward, chasing after his lips.

You plead, “Don’t–” 

You hear him gasp, then he’s breathing a bit harder, trembling inhales and exhales, at your desperation. There’s a brief wonder if he should give into his personal desires now. He thinks it wouldn’t hurt to; can’t find any reason that tells him otherwise, so it shouldn’t hurt. It shouldn’t hurt, he repeats, not when you’re looking at him as if he holds the secret of the universe somewhere in his eyes. 

“Don’t stop yet, please.” 

Not when you sound like that. 

He’s not forcing you, he has to remind himself. You want this. It’s so obvious. Painfully obvious. He’s in over his head by the turn of events and, truthfully, it brings a bit of fear in him, but he refuses to leave you feeling unwanted if he doesn’t make up his mind at this moment. How can he do that? Make you feel unwanted?

“Is that what you want?” he asks. The extra affirmation is a need. Will not go until you can crush that seed of doubt. 

“Yes, yes, yes, Raf–” you bite your lower lip, frustration clawing at your throat. The knot of emotions inside there spills out in waves, currents wild and twisting in a way that mimics a hurricane over the ocean. It’s too hard to speak, to catch your breath. “I want it. Please, don’t leave me like this, Rafayel.” 

You don’t know it – not yet, or perhaps, never – but you have unimaginable power over him. Anyone would be scared. Not Rafayel. He can never deny you because doing that would mean pushing you further away than you already are. Close, so close, yet so far. Command him because you want him and no one else. Take everything that he has because you won’t settle for anything less. You can have it all – please, please, just say it. 

He’s desperate to know that you need him just as much as he needs you. 

You beg, “Rafayel.”

“Shh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” he whispers. He will never leave you.

Rafayel kisses you again, deeply, with a love so fierce. The fire is urgent and all-consuming, will never get enough until smoke clouds the air and the world is bled dry, until you and him are left to give your hearts to each other without fear. And, even then, his love will remain boundless and insatiable. 

He has his hands buried into your hair, fists full so you can’t escape. He is all that you have. Mouth crushing down onto yours, he does this with the hope to sear himself into your memory permanently. Maybe, with this, you won’t forget him. His lips are hard-pressed, but they melt, turn a bit softer, then deeper, so much deeper. Breathe his soul and know that this kiss isn’t just a kiss. Taste his addiction, his devotion; his feelings that will never know what it’s like to abandon. His vow to you. 

Every year that’s gone by has been a year worth waiting. 

When you gasp into his mouth, your voice echoes into his ears; it makes Rafayel sensitive, an induced high that forces his body to ache and shudder. Face flushed, eyes hazy, he’s becoming feverish. He’s pulling away again, only barely, as the sensitivity peels his voice raw. What he tells you comes so faintly, slips by you fast and low by mistake: “You’re everything.” 

He leans in one more time, lets his lips stay a little longer.

© 2024 wondeurwall ☆ all rights reserved. please don't repost as your own, modify or translate on here and on other platforms. reblogs & likes are appreciated! ♡

[mochidoie]

all i see is you - lee haechan

listen to: you by dj regard and poison by nct dream genre: fluff, hopelessly pining badboy!haechan wc: 720 warning: none, written in lowercase only

a/n: i felt very inspired by poison's track video, i can't stop thinking about the lyrics too ive been waiting for dreamies to do a rnb song for so long!! read part two!

"you're so bad for me." you push playfully at haechan's chest and god, just how he melts at how cute your smile looks under the night sky.

haechan leans against the street lamp post and smirks devilishly at your comment, hooded eyes eating up how prettily your attire fits you tonight. "if you mean bad meaning good, then i agree."

there goes your sweet laugh again, "very funny." your sarcastic response is typical, he could read you like an open book. spine against a table, pages flipping by the edge of his thumb.

"i'm serious, y/n. when are you gonna give me a chance to take you out?" haechan butters you up just like how you like it. his finger twirls the end of your skirt flirtatiously, causing your heart to race in your chest.

you can't stop the shy smile that appears on your red painted lips. "in your dreams, hyuck. i'm in no place in my life right now to be dating anyone." scoffing, you cross your arms.

you're goal driven, hardworking, you weren't going to let some sleazy guy distract you from chasing your career. despite all his efforts, you genuinely had to consider how haechan would actually throw you off track. your lifestyles are too different to meet a compromise.

he drops to your feet, noticing your shoe had been untied for the past two blocks. without a word or shift in conversation, this man obediently wraps the string around his fingers and brings the knot to a complete bow. this kind gesture never fails to swoon you.

"so don't date me. let me take you out from time to time, treat you nice and right. when you want to sleep in someone's arms at night, give me a call. i'm here at your disposal." haechan stands and hovers over you, polite hands hovering over your lower waist as he closes the distance between the two of you.

the way you blink at him with wanting eyes has him spiraling, he wants you so bad. just one glance and he's swept away, wind picking up his feet and has him tumbling.

"that is unfair to you."

"it's sweet to know that you care about me." haechan meant it, but the playfulness in his tone seems unserious. he isn't sure how only you can make him this way. it becomes hard for him to really express how much he dreams about you.

"of course i care about you." your eyes drop to his lips momentarily and his chest feels tight. it's almost criminal how good you two would be together and how happy he could make you.

slowly, you're drawn into him even more until his breath is against your cheekbone and you can hear the beating of both of your hearts in the silence of the night.

"you want me to be honest?" his voice is feathery and raspy, like he's trapped in your trance due to the proximity of your warmth. "i've lost count of how many times i've wanted to kiss you."

you call his name, pulling away slightly. a tinge of sadness and guilt in your tone, but haechan isn't having it. he shakes his head, "i know. i shouldn't be so selfish.. but you don't know how many times i fall to my knees just thinking about you."

your eyes meet at the end of his sentence and the desire intensifies between the two of you. lightning bolts zapping in the gaze, you can feel the blood rushing to your face.

something about how desperately infatuation haechan looks sparks a burning flame in your abdomen. how all he sees is you, his reflection full of your figure. how his plump lips are itching to touch your own.

his usual confident, playfully flirtatious personality is nowhere to be seen. you've never seen this expression on him before and it shocks you how much he has been holding himself back.

"pick me up at 8 tomorrow. no exceptions." you say firmly and with that smile he can't get enough of. backing up from him, you walk toward your door.

his ears are perked up, noting your words very clearly and not wanting to let this chance slip away from him. he smirks coolly and shoves his hands into his jean pockets, "you know i won't let you down."

read part two!

[winxanity-ii]

𝐕𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

╚»★«╝ 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡-𝟒𝟐/𝟏𝟔𝟏𝟎!𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 x 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ╚»★«╝

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: fluff x 3

‌🇷‌🇦‌🇹‌🇮‌🇳‌🇬‌: non-explicit

🇵‌🇴‌🇻‌: 2nd person; You/Your

🇩‌🇪‌🇸‌🇨‌🇷‌🇮‌🇵‌🇹‌🇮‌🇴‌🇳‌: in which, you come across the cutest tiktok confession.

🇼‌🇴‌🇷‌🇩‌ 🇨‌🇴‌🇺‌🇳‌🇹‌: 5.6k

🇦‌/🇳‌‌: Once again, sorry for the lack of updates, college life is no joke...don't do it y'all, jkjk 👀 but fr, just had a cute lil thought i wanted to indulge in 🥹❤️

★·.·´🇲‌🇦‌🇷‌🇻‌🇪‌🇱‌/ 🇲‌🇦‌🇷‌🇻‌🇪‌🇱‌ 🇨‌🇮‌🇳‌🇪‌🇲‌🇦‌🇹‌🇮‌🇨‌ 🇺‌🇳‌🇮‌🇻‌🇪‌🇷‌🇸‌🇪‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

You're lounging in your dorm room, your phone in hand as you lazily scroll through TikTok. It's just another typical evening, filled with catchy tunes and viral dances, until you stumble upon a video that captures your attention.

It's a boy, seemingly around your age, his screen filled with the genuine warmth of someone who wears his heart on his sleeve. His profile name reads milesmorales, with the caption , "Falling without saying a word... 🥺💕," compelling enough to make you stop and watch.

The boy—Miles—in the video is undeniably cute; he's got a head of tight curls, skin a rich shade of brown, and hazel eyes that sparkle with a kind of bashful enthusiasm. But it's his smile, accompanied by the appearance of dimples, that really gets you.

He's awkwardly adorable, his words tumbling out with a mix of shyness and awe. "There's this person in my lecture hall..." he starts, his voice tinged with a nervous excitement. The apple of cheeks are a soft pink, and you find his bashfulness endearing. He talks about them as though they're the sun—bright, warm, and utterly captivating. "They're just... amazing, you know? There's something about them. I can't stop thinking about them," he stutters, looking down with a shy smile playing on his lips.

As the video progresses, Miles' cheeks turn a deeper shade of red as well as the tips of his ears. He's visibly struggling to express his feelings, yet he perseveres, driven by the strength of his emotions. "I think I might... I might be in love," he confesses, his voice barely more than a whisper. It's a bold statement, especially for someone who admits, with a flustered grin, that he hasn't even spoken to them yet. "I've just seen them from across the room," he says, laughing nervously, his hand coming up to shield his eyes as if to hide from his own confession.

The video ends with him looking down for a moment before meeting the camera again. "I don't even know if they know I exist, but I just had to share this."

As the video loops back to the beginning, you're struck by the sincerity and sweetness of his confession.

"Aww," You find yourself smiling at your phone, touched by his raw, unpolished honesty. He's not playing it cool or trying to be something he's not. He's just a guy, overwhelmed by his feelings for someone he's never even talked to.

You find yourself replaying the video, drawn to his earnestness. There's something about his demeanor that's incredibly relatable and real. It's like watching a scene from a movie, except there's no script here—just a boy, a phone, and a crush that's taken him completely by surprise.

You can't help but wonder about the person he's talking about—is they aware of the lovestruck boy who adores them from afar? The thought lingers in your mind as you continue scrolling, the Miles' shy smile imprinted in your memory.

Curiosity piqued, you notice a comment pointing to another video. It's a follow-up, just as viral as the first. You click, and there he is again—with earnest eyes, now a familiar presence on your screen. Miles voice, soft and almost reverent, draws you into his world once more.

He's trying to articulate his feelings better this time, speaking of the person he's never directly spoken to, yet feels so deeply for. As he talks, his eyes shimmer with an unspoken joy. "It's weird, right? How you can feel so much for someone you've never talked to? But every time I see them, it's like my day gets a little brighter."

Miles' voice takes on a softer tone, almost reverent, as he describes them. He recounts small details—how quiet they are and how they seem isolated at first but are actually incredibly kind, always ready to help others. You find yourself drawn into his narrative, seeing this person through his eyes.

"They have this quiet strength about them," he says softly, his eyes lighting up. "It's like, they don't need to be loud to be noticed. Their kindness... it just speaks volumes."

He shifts slightly, pausing as if gathering his thoughts. "And the way they have this way of being there for people, even when they keep to themselves. It's like they don't even realize how sweet they are. It's just... part of who they are. It's amazing to watch. I admire that, I really do."

The video concludes with a moment of vulnerability, his gaze shifting off-camera, a wistful tone in his voice. "I just wish I could tell them all this, ya know? Just walk up to them and say it. Maybe someday," he murmurs, more to himself than to his audience.

You find yourself scrolling through the comments, where viewers have poured out their hearts in response to his vulnerability:

starlightdreamer This is the cutest thing ever 😭 You HAVE to talk to them! funnyguy87: Dude, if you don't tell them, I'm stealing your lines for my crush 😂 hopelessfalleesr23: Manifesting a guy like this for myself 😍💕 mysterygirl123: If it doesn't work out with them, I'm right here! comediequeenie: Plot twist: This is marketing for a netflix rom-com. jkjk can't wait for the next update 😂 sinceritiesqueaks: This is so pure. It's rare to see someone so genuine. Don't lose that spark! They're lucky ❤️

"Saammmee," You can't help but giggle softly at the comments, finding the whole situation endearingly sweet.

Curiosity leads you to Miles' TikTok profile, to devour his other videos. There were only four more since the viral one—each one a treasure in its own right. The most recent one catches your attention immediately. In it, Miles addresses the growing curiosity about his crush's identity. "So, my account's blown up way more than I expected," he starts, a mix of surprise and caution in his tone. "And to answer the question everyone's asking: no, I won't be showing what they looks like. The reasons? I don't want someone sweeping in before I get my chance to express my feelings, and I definitely don't want them getting hate from people being delusional. That's it. I hope that clears things up. Now, please stop asking."

You can't help but vocalize your admiration, "We stan an intellectual king," admiring his consideration and respect for his crush's privacy.

The second video is a delicate blend of candor and restraint, hinting at what led to his latest update. Miles appears hesitant, weighing each word as if he's trying to maintain boundaries amidst his sudden online fame. "I get that you're all curious, and I appreciate the love, but please stop flooding my DMs for updates. It's not about what they look like, it's about who they are, the person I've come to admire from a distance. I'll share more about them, sure, but I'm going to keep it vague from now on. Some things... they need to stay just between us, even in this digital world."

Each word he speaks feels like a secret shared just with you, despite the thousands of other viewers. You're drawn deeper into the story of this boy and his unseen crush; his words painting a picture of an affection that's pure and profound, leaving you eagerly anticipating the next chapter in this digital love story.

In the third video, he responds to a comment about his appearance.

budsinlighter: Why are you so afraid to confess/talk when you're this good-looking?

As you watch, you find yourself nodding agreeing—Miles really is handsome. His face, a beautiful blend of African-Latino heritage, is marked by a rich brown skin tone that glows under the camera light. His hazel eyes, fringed with curly eyelashes, are deeply expressive, radiating a mix of vulnerability and warmth.

But it's his smile that captures your heart—a boyish, charming smile that brings out small dimples at the corners of his full, two-toned lips. There's a hesitant yet genuine quality to it, like he's still getting used to being seen and appreciated.

Miles' hair adds to his distinctive look—3B curls in a stylish brown undercut, the sides neatly trimmed, making the curls on top stand out even more. His skin appears smooth, almost poreless, adding to his youthful appearance. His high cheekbones are accentuated every time he smiles or laughs, adding to the boyish charm that makes him so endearing.

Miles answers with a shy laugh, "I guess I don't really see myself like that. I mean, on campus, I try to dress nice sometimes, but mostly, it's just a big hoodie, sweats, and a beanie for me." He fiddles with the sleeve of his shirt, looking more like a boy trying to find comfort in his own skin than the confident image he's portrayed.

He continues, his voice dropping a bit as he shares something deeply personal. "Growing up, I was... different. I was lanky, had acne, pretty short. Got a lot of flak for it, from family and at school." He shrugs, his eyes drift away from the camera, as if revisiting those memories isn't easy. "So now, even when people call me attractive, it's hard to believe. I still feel like that kid sometimes, you know? It's weird getting compliments when you've spent so long seeing yourself in a completely different way."

As he speaks, there's an honesty that resonates with you. His struggles, his transformation, the dissonance between how the world sees him and how he sees himself – it all paints a picture of someone who's grown, yet still carries the scars of his past.

"Poor baby," You sigh, feeling yourself relate to him even more.

As you tap on the last video, you see that it's a six-minute Q&A of Miles answering the most liked questions from his viral video's comments. You lean in, intrigued.

The intimate setting of his dorm room, with posters adorning the walls and a soft light casting a cozy glow, makes it feel like a personal chat.

kirano-indemguts: How old are you?

Miles responds with an easy smile, "I'm 19, born in August. Makes me a Leo, if anyone's into astrology."

gimmiegimmeamaniepedi: Height?

He looks momentarily puzzled, as if the question hadn't crossed his mind before. "Oh, uh, I'm not sure how tall they are, but I don't really care, tall, short. But if you mean me, I think I'm around 6'2," he says, giving a small, almost shy laugh. He gestures to his frame, as if to offer a visual confirmation of his height.

kiranoeiw: Are u a top or bottom 😛

Miles' expression shifts to one of mild confusion and embarrassment. His voice drops to a near whisper, and he looks down, a blush coloring his cheeks. "I, um, I don't really know what that means..." He coughs slightly, regaining his composure. "Let's go to the next question."

hhhobies: your video make my whole day💗💖✴🌺 but can you make my hole weak?💞💞✌🏻

He reads it out loud, his voice tinged with amusement.

For a moment, Miles blinks, his expression one of confusion. Then, as the meaning of the words sinks in, his eyes widen slightly, a blush creeping up his cheeks. He stutters, momentarily lost for words. "You guys really just go for it, huh?" he finally manages to say, his laughter breaking through the initial shock.

Shaking his head in disbelief but still smiling, Miles quickly moves on to the next question, his laughter still echoing in the room.

samiyasosa: Have you ever been in a relationship before?

Miles hums thoughtfully, his fingers absentmindedly tousling the top of his hair. "No, I haven't," he admits with a hint of vulnerability. "I was kind of just... there, ya know? Watching everyone else navigate dating and relationships while I never really jumped in."

You find yourself nodding in agreement, his words mirroring your own experiences. Like Miles, you had always thought it smarter to wait until after high school to explore dating, a decision advised by adults around you. Now, in college, you find yourself inexperienced in the dating scene.

Your attention returns to the video as Miles falls into a moment of quiet reflection, his sigh soft and contemplative. He looks away, his gaze distant. "If they're not interested or I get rejected, it's okay," he speaks, his tone imbued with a sense of bittersweet acceptance. "I can't force anyone to like me. Everyone's their own person, right? Sure, it'll hurt, but... that's life."

You didn't need to see the question to know what was asked because his response was more then enough; his ability to accept and maturity to prepare for any potential outcomes of his crush situation earn your silent applause.

The video ends with him mustering a smile, shrugging off the sadness. "I'll keep you guys updated. Bye for now, and thanks for all the support."

As the screen goes dark, you let out a sigh, echoing his sentiment. "Same, Miles. Same," you mutter, feeling a connection to his candidness and honesty. Your thoughts briefly wander, pondering the complexities of unrequited feelings and the bravery it takes to express them.

The shrill sound of your alarm abruptly pulls you back to reality, signaling the end of your brief escape into Miles' world. With a groan and an exaggerated eye roll, you shut off the alarm and sit up, preparing to switch gears. "From crushing on a TikTok confession to deciphering ancient myths," you quip with a touch of sarcasm, reaching for your mythology textbook. "Because clearly, my academic life is as thrilling as my non-existent love life."

As you gather your study materials, a final glance at your phone screen shows Miles' TikTok account still open. Finding his entire situation and candidness on his account endearing, you can't help but press 'Follow', a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. There's something about him—his vulnerability, his honesty—that resonates with you. Eager to see how his story unfolds, you make a mental note to keep up with his updates.

With a newfound sense of connection, albeit to a stranger on the internet, you turn your attention to your homework, the mythological tales waiting to be unraveled. Yet, somewhere in the back of your mind, the thought of Miles and his unspoken love story lingers, a sweet distraction from the mundane routine of college life.

☆

☆

A weary groan escapes your lips as you trudge into your dorm room. Glancing to the left, you notice your roommate's side still empty, a stark reminder of her absence since Fall Break. Now, with Winter Break fast approaching and the weight of semester final exams bearing down, her continued absence feels more pronounced.

You shuffle to your side of the room, dropping your backpack with a thud onto the desk. Exhaustion overwhelms you as you collapse facedown onto your bed, letting out a muffled scream into your pillow. Your brain feels like it's been put through a blender after completing your final mythology exam.

Apsu, Hercules, Persphone, Gilgamesh,Antigone,Tiamat,Aphrodi—AHHH! So much to recall!

You're so grateful for your professor's open-notes policy. Though the only downside was that you were only allowed three-notecards to put said notes on. An award should be given for the way you managed to cram an entire semesters' of lessons onto those three cards.

Your hand lazily reached into your pocket to fetch the notecards and see if they reflected anything you recall from the exam, but it came up empty. Your face scrunched up into confusion only to relax as the memory of giving them away comes back. You can still picture the sea of stressed faces in the exam hall, the clock ticking down, TAs patrolling the room. Luckily, with your trusty cards, you managed to finish with 45-minutes to spare; you must have given it away in such a generous mood.

"Oh well, I did my good deed for the day," you muse with a resigned sigh, kicking off your shoes and burrowing into the comfort of your blankets. Your phone in hand, you prepare for a well-deserved TikTok binge session.

A few weeks have passed since you first discovered Miles' account. Today, your scrolling comes to a halt as his face appears in a new update. He's outdoors, away from the familiar confines of his dorm room, his cheeks tinted with excitement and a hint of nervousness.

As Miles begins to speak, the world around him fades into insignificance. He's sharing a story about his crush, each word pulling you deeper into the narrative. You lean in, captivated, as he recounts the events, oblivious to everything else but his story unfolding on your screen.

He describes the moment with a sense of wonder in his voice. "They were one of the first to finish the exam," he says, his eyes lighting up at the memory. "As they walked up the lecture hall, they made eye contact with me. Just for a second, they slowed down..."

You can almost see it happening—the quiet of the exam hall, the tension in the air, Miles sitting there, lost and overwhelmed. Then they appear in his story, a momentary savior with a simple question that changes everything.

Miles' voice softens, a smile creeping into his tone. "They mouthed, 'Do you need notes?' I just nodded, too stunned to speak. And then, they did the most amazing thing." He pauses, as if reliving the kindness in his mind. "They dropped the notecard near my foot, pretending to pick it up for me. Like it was mine all along."

You picture the scene: their quick thinking, the subtle exchange of the notecard, the careful glance to ensure they weren't caught. It's a scene straight out of a movie, and you're captivated by every detail.

"Their smile..." Miles continues, a dreamy quality in his voice. "It was so genuine, so kind. For a moment, my heart just... stopped. And when it started again, it was like a drum in my chest."

You can feel his confusion, his awe, the rush of emotions that must have coursed through him. The way he describes it, you're right there in that lecture hall, watching the scene unfold, feeling his heart skip and restart.

As he recounts the moment, an unexpected memory flashes through your mind. You see yourself back in the mythology exam room, finishing early. Your attention is drawn to a figure hunched over in the corner. A boy, unmistakably overwhelmed, with his hoodie drawn over his head and his leg tapping out a nervous rhythm against the floor. The scene is crystal clear in your mind—the palpable sense of his distress pulls at your heartstrings.

You recall every detail...his slouched posture, the way his hoodie shadowed his face, his leg nervously bouncing as he stared down at an exam paper, still on the first page. Your footsteps slowed as you approached, noticing his pencil tapping against the small foldable desk in a frantic tempo. When he sensed your presence, he looked up, his eyes meeting yours in a moment of silent communication.

In a hushed tone, barely above a whisper, you asked, "Do you need notes?" His nod was all the confirmation you needed. You quickly devised a plan, crouching beside him and pretending to pick up the notecard you had secretly folded in your hand. You were acutely aware of the TA's watchful eyes pausing their patrol, scrutinizing your interaction for any signs of cheating. You flashed an innocent smile to the TA, then turned back to the boy, saying softly, "Here, your notecard fell under your seat." Placing the cards gently in his hands, you offered him a reassuring smile before gathering your belongings to leave.

Snapped back to the present by Miles' voice on your phone, the pieces suddenly click together. As the realization dawns on you, the video becomes a distant drone in the background. That boy was Miles.

You were the one who helped him. He was the boy you helped.

Your heart races as everything clicks into place. The crush Miles has been talking about all this time... it's you.

In a daze, you drop your phone, the reality of the situation crashing over you like a wave. He likes you. Miles, the earnest, kind-hearted boy from TikTok, likes you.

"Hold up... HE LIKES ME!?!" The thought sends you rolling onto your stomach, screeching into your pillow in disbelief. "That hot piece of a man likes me!?"

After a moment of wild disbelief, you slowly sit up, a whirlwind of thoughts swirling in your head. What should you do? Should you reach out to him? The thought of initiating contact with Miles, knowing he has feelings for you, sends a thrill of excitement mixed with nervousness through you.

As you contemplate your next move, a sense of anticipation builds within you. This isn't just a story unfolding on your phone screen anymore; it's happening to you. And somehow, that makes it all the more exhilarating.

Gathering up courage that you didn't know you had, you decide to take a leap of faith. With a mix of nervousness and excitement, you type out a message to Miles on TikTok, your fingers hesitating slightly over the send button.

@butt-Y/N-nna Did the notecards help?

The question feels both monumental and incredibly simple.

You glance at your own TikTok profile—less than two followers, a single grainy video, a username that now seems embarrassingly childish, and an anime icon. The vulnerability of reaching out to someone like Miles, who seems so put together, suddenly hits you.

Almost an hour ticks by with no response, the silence stretching out uncomfortably. Each minute feels longer than the last, filling you with doubt.

Finally, Miles' reply comes through:

milesmorales Yeah, it did. Statistics is a tough course.

Confusion furrows your brow. You type back, trying to keep your tone light despite the mix-up:

@butt-Y/N-nna Stat? The only notes I gave out were for mythology. So, if you used it for that, sorry to say, but you failed, bud.

You hit send, and then there's nothing but silence. Miles' profile goes inactive. A heavy sigh escapes you as you berate yourself for possibly jumping to conclusions. It's a huge college, and you weren't the only one helping others during finals. Laughing at yourself for even entertaining the thought, you swipe off the app and impulsively delete it, your heart sinking just a bit.

But just before the app disappears, a new text notification from Miles appears, lost amidst your hasty decision. You don't see it, consumed by your self-doubt and the decision to move on, leaving the possibility of what might have been with Miles unanswered.

The following week, as you return to your mythology class to discuss a possible makeup exam with your professor, a hooded figure sitting near the door catches your attention. You take the empty seat next to them, unaware of their sudden tenseness and subtle shift in posture.

Lost in your own world, you mindlessly scroll through your phone, diving into the latest #fnafxreader stories. Your AirPods are in, blaring Keane's "Frog Prince." The lyrics resonate with you in the moment—"Your prince's crown...Cracks and falls down...Your castle hollow and cold."

Meanwhile, the figure next to you is engrossed in their own phone. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice a text popping up on your phone from the dorm floor group chat. It's about Miles going live. For a brief second, you consider redownloading TikTok to join in, but the gripping Michael Afton x reader fanfic you're reading—as well as lingering embarrassment—holds your attention too tightly. You make a mental note to ask your dorm-floor friends for a recap later—they're just as obsessed with this cute TikTok love story as you are, and you've spent many evenings in the lounge room discussing it. So, with a swipe, you dismiss the notification and dive back into your story, the intriguing plotline drawing you in once more.

Your heart pounds in your chest, each beat echoing the terror that courses through your veins. Blood trickles from the cuts scattered across your body, the result of your desperate attempts to escape. Gasping for breath, you glance at your watch: 5:25 AM. 'Just 35 minutes to go,' you tell yourself, your mind clinging to the hope of surviving until dawn. You push forward, your feet pounding against the cold, hard floor of the empty corridor. The eerie silence is punctuated only by your labored breathing and the distant, ominous hum of the pizzeria. You can almost feel the malevolent gaze of the animatronics lurking in the shadows. As you turn a corner, a chilling sound freezes you in your tracks – the unmistakable metallic thunks of someone, or something, pursuing you. Panic surges through you. 'Shit, shit, shit,' you curse under your breath, your eyes desperately searching for a haven. Spotting a room nearby, you lunge towards it, slamming the door shut behind you. From beyond the door, a hauntingly familiar voice sings out. "Y/N~" Michael's voice is taunting, playful yet sinister. "It's not nice to run away during a playdate~" Your eyes narrow, and your lips press into a thin line as his words seep into your ears, sending shivers down your spine. Memories flood back to the day you saw Michael's true nature – the day he and your brother cruelly played with little Evan, placing his head inside the mechanical Fazbear head. That moment should have been a warning sign of the madness lurking within Michael, but you never anticipated how his obsession would turn towards you. Now, trapped in your role as a security officer at the pizzeria, you find yourself not only evading the demonic animatronics but also Michael, whose fixation has morphed into a deadly game of cat and mouse. The room you've taken refuge in feels claustrophobic, the air thick with tension. You press your back against the door, listening intently to the sounds outside. Every creak and whisper heightens your fear, and you brace yourself for what might come next. This pizzeria, once a place of joy and laughter, has become a labyrinthine nightmare, and escaping unscathed feels more impossible with each passing second. BAM—the door...

The intensity of the fanfic is cut short by your notification bar going off incessantly. There are so many messages coming in from the group chat that you can hardly read a thing. With a huff, you click off the fanfic to see what all the fuss is about. "It better not be another fire drill because someone was smoking," you bitterly think, recalling the last time you all had to stand out in the cold at 3 in the morning because someone smoked in the dorms.

As you open the group chat, you're bombarded with messages, all talking about Miles' current live session. The excitement in the chat is palpable, but you can't help feeling a bit detached, still nursing the sting of your recent embarrassment. Just as the flurry of texts seems to slow down, you finally have a moment to catch up on a few messages before another wave hits.

Toni No because Miles is freaking out on live because he sees his crush and doesn't know what to do!!

Kiko Didn't he post earlier that he think he might have gotten in contact with them recently???

The chat erupts again before you can process this.

Kyi The live is BOOOMING! AHHHH! WAIT HE SAID HE'S LOGGING OFF AND FINNA SPEAK AJUSHGSBSBHSA

Your curiosity piques, but before you can delve deeper, a deluge of new messages floods the chat, making it nearly impossible to keep up.

You start to type a message, asking for more details, but you're interrupted by a throat-clearing sound. You look up, wide-eyed, half-expecting to see your professor giving you a disapproving look. It wouldn't be the first time you've been caught off-guard while reading. Instead, the source of the interruption isn't your professor at all. It's the figure seated to your left.

Turning your head, your lips are pulled into a slight pout, a mixture of frustration from the incessant chatter in the chat and the unexpected disturbance. As your gaze settles on the person next to you, your brain takes a moment to register who it is.

It's Miles.

The realization hits you like a ton of bricks. There, in the flesh, is Miles, the same guy you've been reading about, discussing with friends, and watching from afar on TikTok. He's right beside you, the subject of the flurry of messages on your phone. Your heart skips a beat, and for a moment, you're speechless, the line between the virtual world and reality blurring strikingly.

Miles' eyes roam over your face, as if he can't quite believe you're real. He clears his throat again, looking away briefly as his ears and the apples of his cheeks flush a light pink. "I-..." He pauses, collecting his thoughts, then meets your eyes again, his expression morphing into a half-cute, boyish smile. "Thanks for the notecards. I still don't get why our professor thought it was realistic to remember the birthplace of Odysseus's fake alias, Quintus Metellus, from 'The Odyssey.' I mean, who actually remembers he claimed to be from Crete?" he jokes.

You return his smile, feeling a sense of ease. "Heh, I try. As you could see from those cards, I really didn't want to fail."

Miles chuckles, sitting up straighter, a newfound confidence in his voice. "Hey, I don't blame you. Honestly, if it wasn't for you, I would've had to repeat this class, no joke."

Rolling your eyes playfully, you wave off his compliment. "Please," you giggle, "I've heard about you from my doormmates; you're practically a genius in chemistry. Acing exams, breezing through lectures, even correcting the professor once or twice."

At your words, Miles looks bashfully at you, his lips curling into a sweet smile, his head tilting slightly as he gazes at you, almost as if he's seeing you for the first time. His eyes wander over your features—from your eyes to your nose, then your lips—as if trying to memorize every detail. In his look, there's a sense of yearning and awe, reminiscent of how Hippolytus might have gazed upon the goddess Artemis in his final moments, a look filled with admiration for something pure and unattainable, his expression tinged with the bittersweet understanding of beauty admired under the shadow of an unjust fate. This gaze, filled with a mix of reverence and a hint of sadness, seems to say you are his Artemis, a figure of innocent wonderment amidst the complexities of his world.

"What?" you ask teasingly, raising an eyebrow to mask your growing fluster.

"It's just… you're really cool," His voice carries a soft tone, mixed with endermeant.

You smile and shrug lightly, a playful tone in your voice. "What can I say? I'm awesome."

A soft smile spreads across Miles' face, his eyes softening in a way that leaves you momentarily breathless. The usual intensity that lingers in his gaze transforms into something tender, a warmth that seems to reach out and touch you. "Yeah... you are," he says, his voice low and filled with a gentle observation that seems to see not just you, but into you.

The way he says it, with such earnestness and a hint of awe, makes your heart flutter in a way you hadn't anticipated. It's as if his words carry more than just a simple affirmation; they are laced with an unspoken admiration.

It's your turn to clear your throat and look away to try and compose yourself. Your thoughts are interrupted as the professor's office door swings open, and out walks a blonde-haired girl.

"Now Gwen, I want this to be the last year you retake my course—" Professor Osborn starts, but Gwen cuts him off with an exasperated sigh.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she says dismissively. "But be real, Mr. Osborn. I wouldn't have to retake your course for the third time if the other subjects in your department were competent to teach their subjects."

"Yes, but focusing solely on mythological romances isn't going to get you very far, Gwen. You need to balance it out with another course," the professor retorts.

Gwen sighs and waves a hand dismissively as she walks away. "Yeah, got it," she mumbles, her gaze briefly landing on you and Miles. There's a momentary linger in her eyes, especially on Miles, before she continues on her way.

Professor Osborn clears his throat, calling up Miles and apologizing for the delay. "No problem, sir," Miles reassures him, getting up to follow. He slows his steps as he reaches you, leaning in slightly. "I'll wait for you after your appointment, yeah?"

You can only muster a nod, still finding everything surreal. As Miles walks into the professor's office, you're left alone with your thoughts, the weight of the moment settling around you. You realize that this isn't just a fleeting encounter; it feels like the beginning of something new, something real.

As you wait for your turn with the professor, your mind races with possibilities. The unexpected twist of fate that brought you and Miles together in this academic setting, away from the screens and chats, feels like something out of a story. Yet, here you are, living it.

When your appointment with the professor ends, you step out, finding Miles waiting as promised. His smile is warm, inviting, and for the first time, you feel a sense of excitement about what lies ahead. "Wanna grab lunch in the U-Center?" he asks, and you can't help but smile back, nodding in agreement.

As you walk alongside Miles, chatting about mythology, classes, and everything in between, you realize that sometimes, life has a way of bringing stories off the screen and into reality. And perhaps, just maybe, this is the start of your own real-life story.

ahahaahah. not me indulging in college romance. y'all im just out here being delusional and need and outlet 💀💀

[graymanshoots]

Try

FWB!Ghost x GN Reader x pastHookup!Konig

Tags: Hookup,semi public sex, regret, angst, yelling, ginger konig, konig doesn't wear his mask constantly like ghost (Only on the field), vulnerability , crying, arguments,no beta we die like men

Part: 1 - 2

A/n: I finally finished this on two days of no sleep and a missing beta reader. Hope guys enjoy the tad bit of spice at the beginning and as needed 18+.

Seeing the head of ginger hair standing out not only cause of its color but because it belonged to the tallest person in the room, filled your stomach with stones.

The memory of the familiar face shot through your mind like a bolt of lighting igniting your nerves as you tensed next to your teammates.

You were all shipped up and sent to a warehouse a couple of weeks after finding out you’d be working with kortac.

Having arrived days before they had you were granted time to stop for a drink with johnny and kyle. Price didnt join claiming he wanted to be prepared and if price isn't coming neither did ghost much to your benefit.

Maybe if he had come you would be piss drunk with the team probably getting dragged back to the warehouse by the man himself, instead you were barely tipsy with your cheek pressed into the leather seating of a stranger's car.

His broad chest rubbing against your back with each harsh thrust, the car surely visibly shaking on the outside.

You dont even have to guess how fucked you would be if he remembered you and decided to ope his mouth.

You cross your arms over your chest and lean against one of the metal support beams that the building had an abundance of.

Despite your wishful thinking the red headed man's eyes fell on you and you knew he knew.

You were quick to notice the slight quirk in his lip before going stoned face once more.

He introduced himself as “konig” before introducing the rest of his team, his eyes occasionally flicking over to you.

“Fuck sake, this guys huge.” Kyle whispered to you coming around to your side.

Kyle had no idea how true his words were, the phantom feeling of being filled by Konig's thick cock.

You nod in acknowledgement to what Kyle says letting out a sigh, “Laswell described him as a battering ram, yeah” you say.

You don't fail to notice the way Konig eyes you up every chance he gets like he had done in the bar nights prior. When you saw him in the bar he was far more blatant with his staring, his interest apparent as he shifted his stance debating on whether to approach you or not.

Rubbing the sweat built from nervousness off his palms and onto the tight cargo pants he wore he finally came over when the boys were getting another round of drinks to approach you.

The conversation between you two was short as you both seemed to have the same goal in mind: get laid.

After Simon you hadn't slept with anyone else but it was a welcomed gift to feel wanted again.

Konig was definitely someone you found attractive, you wouldn't have had breathy moans pulled from your throat in the back of his car if he wasn't.

But he wasn't simon.

A small piece of you felt guilty while the rest was saying fuck it, ghost ditched you not the other way around.

You mentally return to the conversation when you hear your name being said, you realize price is introducing the team and you give a small acknowledgement, your fingers twitching at your hip.

“Oh, I’m familiar.” König responds to your introduction with quick ease causing your teammates eyes to fall on you. Johnny gave you a knowing look of mischief, his bright blues having seen you with the man before you disappeared from the group.

“Just a brief meeting in a bar, unfortunately I did not stay long enough to meet the rest of you.” He clarifies noticing your subtle glare.

The encounter was anything but brief, you thought to yourself as the conversation was then drawn off of you.

It’s wasn’t until later that you bumped into the behemoth of a man.

“You were so vocal a few nights ago now you walk around quiet as a mouse.” He comments a smirk playing on his uncovered lips.

“You pester all your random hookups?” You retort your lips stretching into a thin line as you looked up at him.

“Just the ones I have to work with, mein Freundin.“ he chuckles ignoring your unamused expression.

“Well if that’s all I’ll be going.” You sigh not wanting to get involved any further.

But as you pass his hand grips your wrist and suddenly your back in front of him with his other hand at your chin.

He forces your head to the side and a smirk comes to his lips as he looks at the newly exposed skin .

“So schön, sie sind wie eine Blume .” And then he’s gone and already halfway down the hallway by the time you gather yourself.

Ghost walking down the opposite side of the hallway having seen the interaction from a distance. His eyes arrow on you and then the retreating redhead.

You let out a huff of frustration when you see him and reluctantly start walking in his direction.

“You two seem close, got anything you want to share?” He questioned you his tone accusatory. After weeks of barely speaking to you he breaks the silence to ask about a personal situation.

“It doesn’t concern you lieutenant.” Your quick to respond but he doesn’t want to take that answer.

“It’s concerns me when it’s involves an enemy and You.” He grumbled crossing his arms over his chest.

“Why do I concern you Ghost? I’m just someone you used to use so fuck off cause I already know what your thinking.” The words come out harsher and more bitter than what you intended. Your frustration and resentment to the man you wish you didn’t love coming out almost full force.

Ghost stiffened at your words, his jaw and fists clenching as you brushed past him.

Once he could no longer hear your steps his entire body deflated his shoulders feeling heavy with shame.

He was being unfair to you and he hated himself for it but he felt so selfishly it was hard to stop.

Ghost adjusted his mask and shook off the guilty feeling that loomed over him before continuing down his path.

You could feel your skin buzzing with irritation, your palms stinging from being squeezed into tight fists. Why did he have to make everything in your life harder every time?

No matter how many steps you take away, ghost manages to still be right on your tail. You found yourself spacing for the rest of the day until your sat across from the same person you didn't want to see again that day.

Ghost sat across from you staring you down as you ate the unappetizing food served in mess.

His gaze was unrelenting; he looked as if he was aching to say something but stopped himself instead opting to tap his finger on the edge of his empty plate idley.

“Y’think Lt’s mad at ye?” Johnny questions quietly from his place beside you. You narrow your eyes at the sergeant, “Why would he be?”

Johnny had this look on his face like he did something he wasn't supposed to as he clicked his teeth and shifted awkwardly in his seat.

“He asked aboot whit we were up to at the pub, an i think i might ‘ave talked ye into some trouble.” he confessed glancing over at simon who was still boring holes into the side of your head.

You didn't have time to retaliate against your teammate for his loose lips before simon was standing from his seat arms crossed. “We need to talk, now.” His tone was sharp, his words spoken in that usual gruff manchester accent.

You sucked your teeth and agreed not wanting to make a scene in the mess hall, mentally you vowed to eventually get johnny back for damning you.

After leaving mess ghost lead you to an unoccupied meeting room shutting the door behind the both of you.

“Looks like you got a type.” Ghost started leaning against the door with his arms crossed.

“Don’t fucking start with me ghost, what i do outside of work is none of your damn business.” you hiss plopping down on one of the many chairs in the room.

“Don't tell me it's not my business when you have a drawer of shit at my apartment.” he retorted, his eyes narrowing on you. His body was tense and his shoulders squared like he needed to move but wouldn't allow himself to.

You could feel your eyes burn as your frustration grew, your fists clenching and unclenching.

“You can throw all the shit away, i don't even know why you still even have it.” you mutter looking down at ghost’s shoes avoiding his glare.

“I kept them because i ca-” you cut ghost off before he could say anymore, “Dont you dare fucking do that to me simon!” you snap meeting his glare with glazed eyes.

Standing from the seat you approached Simon's further tensing figure. “You're a jackass, Simon, y’know why? Because i told you how i fucking felt and you fucking left. Now im living my adult life and you want to act like im your fucking girlfriend or something, let me move on!” you were borderline shouting the frustration bleeding out of your eyes and into your voice.

Simon couldnt hold your gaze anymore he couldn't stand that look in your eyes or the dampness of your cheeks. He could feel the words crawling into the back of his throat but none of them were the right thing.

What could he say to fix this, what could he do when your fury spoke so loudly that he wanted to shrink away.

“I…” he took a breath “Im sorry” his arms hung loosely by his side, fingers tapping rapidly at his palm.

“Sorry doesnt change the fact that you left, then treated me like nothing, and ar now trying to grill me about my sex life when you removed yourself from all of my personal life.”

You wiped your face as your tone came down, the short burst of aggression dying down with it.

“I'm tired simon, I devoted so much to you for so long for it all to end because you cant figure yourself out.” You bring your eye’s down to the ground again before back up at simon.

“You’ve had years of us playing this cat and mouse game, if your still confused, if your still unsure, if you don't want…” Your eyebrows pinch together as you clench your jaw.

“If you don't want me, then why are you here? Why are we even having this conversation if your actions speak your truth, because that's all I have to go off of?” Your question struck Simon and his breath caught in his throat.

He rubbed his face over the mask, the feeling of the fabric suddenly becoming so suffocating.

The rough material rubbed uncomfortably on his skin as he pulled it off his chapped lips parting for a heavy breath.

He disheveled with his messy blonde hair and eye bags that seemed deeper than usual.

“You’ve ruined everything for me…” he starts your eyebrows furrowing at his words.

“Everything in my life is so fucking mixed with yours and i can let it go. I thought avoiding you would help make you leave every piece of my being but it just made it worse. You know what happened to my family, and i dont want to use that as an excuse but im fucking terrified of seeing you in my nightmares.” Simon's lips are drawn into a thin line and his body slumps into the wall, his shoulders dropping.

“I know im an arse and big fucking mess and selfish as all hell, but i feel different for you and i dont know what to do with it.” his shaky hands clasped together in front of him.

“You have no idea how many times we’ve been together and i just wanted to have all of you, how many futures that have lingered in my mind over our years together. I want you for the rest of my life but I don't know how long that life will even be.” simon looks to you with a tired sigh.

You feel frozen in your spot the bitterness and frustration in your chest deflating into an equal exhaustion.

“Where do we go from here simon? I love you and I've loved you for over a decade but I can't keep going if you’re going to take years to tell me what you want.” You say stuffing your hands into your pockets unsure what to do with them.

“I like who i am around you, and i dont want to loose one of the only good things left in my life cause im being fucking daft. Am I too late?” his tone was soft almost a whisper. It felt so uncharacteristic for a man like simon ‘ghost’ riley to say something like this, to speak so softly and seem so nervous. You almost felt unsure about how genuine his words were but his glazed eyes had crushed your doubt.

Bringing your hands from your pockets you hesitantly grabbed simons hands before pulling them around you. He immediately melted into the hug, his hands gripping at you as if you'd disappear if he didn't hold you so tightly.

You could feel his relief as you held onto him his shaky breath evening out and his muscles going almost lax.

“We can try again.”

[Good ending] :)

[lixzey]

Letters.

tw: mentions of self harm and self hate

The Ninth Letter. 

It was a long shot, but Timothée knew he had to. He had to find her. It surprised him, just how much he cared for this girl. He didn't know her, but he was desperate to find her—to understand her. Timothée felt a sense of loyalty to her, vowing to finish her letters one by one—and not skipping to the end. Sure, he could save a lot of time if he'd just go on and skip to the last letter. But that felt like betraying Y/N—as if it was skipping to know the person who'd poured her heart out in the last eight letters. 

Timothée sighed, before closing his laptop and putting it away. He was in a meeting with the private investigator he had just hired two days ago. The trail was undoubtedly cold—because the only clue they had was the stamps on Y/N's letters. Still, the young actor wasn't going to give up that easily. He picked up the next letter and ripped it open. It was dated July 27th, 2023. 

Dear Timothée, 

Don't kill the butterfly,

That's what I heard the girl whispering beside me while I waited outside of my therapist's office. It was a year ago, when I started with Julie. I'd been staring at her, not realizing she was muttering something onto her shaking hands. A whisper, so quiet that I would've missed it if I hadn't been looking at her like an animal at a zoo. She was repeating it again and again, “Don't kill the butterfly.” like some sort of mantra. 

At first, it seemed strange. Because she had a butterfly drawn in black ink on the back of her hand—it wasn't a tattoo—it was smudged, clearly drawn on with a pen. It wasn't until I asked her and realized what the butterfly was. 

It's called The Butterfly Effect, and it's to help people who self harm—people like me. The idea is that every time a person wants to cut, they would draw a butterfly on their wrist and name it after a loved one. You have to let the butterfly fade, and if you cut, the butterfly dies. 

I felt terrible. I've been killing the butterfly, over and over again. 

The next session I had, I asked Julie about the girl—her name was Jane—and when I realized what had happened to her…..Let's just say, I haven't seen anyone so brave. 

I feel like a mistake. A waste of space. If I was brave enough, I'd already done it, but I hadn't. Who knows? Maybe someday, I can and I'll be free from all the bullshit of my life. Or, I'm just taking my time. 

Why am I even still writing to you? I feel like an idiot, wasting my money to get stamps, to send these fucking letters you won't ever read. But what if you are? Maybe you're reading my letters, reading how my life is hell. 

Anyways, I stapled a photo of myself at the end of this letter. I know, I know, I'm an ugly piece of shit. Not like the girls in Hollywood—not like fucking Kylie Jenner. How do I even compete with her? Next to her, I look like a potato with eyes. 

Maybe, just maybe…..

But I don't want to get my hopes up. 

I don't know what to believe in, honestly.

All my love, 

Y/N. 

Timothée stared at the photo, a beautiful girl was staring back at him—she had mesmerizing (y/e/c) eyes and long beautiful (y/h/c) hair. She was smiling. As if she wasn't the girl who wrote the letters he had read. He quickly snapped the photo and sent it to the private investigator. 

Timothée didn't know why she called herself ugly. Does she even look at herself in the mirror? She was beautiful, the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

“Stay with me, Y/N. I'm going to find you, even if it's the last thing I do.”

@lovemelikecrazyiloveyoucrazy @helens3amstuff @gatoenlaciudad

[callsignmarz]

‼️MDNI‼️ - Ghost x Y/N | Fem :“A Night With A Player.”

Being single certainly had its days.

There were countless nights you spent, swiping on dating apps, in search for someone relatively close to Prince Charming. However, over time, each new face seemed to blend in with the next, leaving you in disillusionment.

Whenever you got a match, it seemed there was lack of any genuine connection.

The small talks fizzled into abrupt silence.

Every conversation started to sound the same.

Slowly becoming immune to the repetitive compliments.

What a fucking bore...

You want something different yet, so familiar. Something that could easily light up just a little bit of excitement in your dull and very sexless life.

As you were brushing your teeth, the soft glow of your phone illuminates from your bathroom counter accompanied by the sharp ping of a text, suddenly seizing your attention. Your eyes peek at the aesthetically appealing home screen, taking a glance at the time instead.

10:46 pm

1 new text message

Any text this late at night was always presumed unimportant. So, shrugging it off and go about your nighttime routine.

Moments later another text chimes through the air.

"Who the fuck is texting me?" You say in an exasperated huff, fluttering your eyelids with exhaustive annoyance.

Why was it so hard for someone to simply find the patience to wait?

Snatching up your phone, you expect someone reasonable so you so don't act on one of your very many creative ideas. Suspicion arouses in your chest when you see the text messages that came in were from an unknown number. For a minute or so, you re-read the cryptic words on the screen.

Miss me, Love?

Hope you're not ignorin' me, y/n...

Raising a brow, your thumbs taps your screen, typing up your response, feeling intrigued as you piece together who this person is. All the serious ex-boyfriends are currently blocked—unless one of them got a new phone number. Then again, could it be that one fine ass doctor who flaked out when you were supposed to meet up for coffee, what was his name? Leon? Leroy?

The thought of playing 20 questions felt childish, and yet, you couldn't resist a good game of cat and mouse.

Do I have a reason to?

It was a simple question.

Nothing more and nothing less.

Satisfied with your response, you confidently press the send button and swiftly make your way to the bedroom, ready to crawl into the comfort of your safe haven. As you were settling down, it wasn't long before you got another text. Your lips fought back the devious smirk that toyed at the corners. Then the habitual urge to wait a few minutes before you responded, kicked into play. Counting the minutes down to a T, you went through the motions until you allowed yourself to eagerly grab ahold of your phone.

I'm goin' to take that as you don't remember me then...Shame, really.

You pause, staring at the mysterious text with your thumbs hovering over your keyboard in hesitation.

Despite the warning bells ringing through your head, you were drawn in, almost obligated to keep it the conversation flirtatious and flowing, your stomach whirls in temptation and your veins pumped with adrenaline. "Y/N... you're literally just asking for it at this point." You depressingly tell yourself, while you await the unknown.

Shame? So, why don't you remind me then?

In a matter of seconds and with amped up urgency ricocheting in the air, your phone chimes 3 times.

You never cease to amaze me, y/n.

It's Simon.

I'm only in town for a few days.

Ahh..That explains a lot...

Tipping your head back and like a film to a movie, the past emotions you had suppressed a long time ago begins to resurface. You knew all too well that Simon was the kind of person who just wanted to get his dick wet, and yet, here you are...

And I should care why..?

A wry smirk tugged on Simon's cheeks, you were the same y/n as he remembered.

In his eyes, you reminded him of a coconut.

A fruitful woman who sought out love with a tough, hardened exterior, protecting the delicate and delicious center. Given just the right amount of pressure, the shell would crack, exposing the soft interior.

And Simon knew exactly how to break through.

Don't act like you don't have flashbacks of how I made your legs shake with just two of my fingers.

A bit cocky today, aren't you?

Willin' to find out?

Rekindling anything with Simon would be a waste of time and energy. It was going to lead you down a path that held nothing but short-lived highs and hallow, empty promises.

Even with the nostalgic scenes from the past manifesting, the mere act of conversing with Simon reignites an extinguished flame that quickly spreads throughout your body.

You could also use the good fucking.

Maybe.

And there it was.

It was a crumb, but to Simon, it was an entry ticket. He was quite impressed with himself that he didn't even have to do much convincing this time around.

Absolutely fuckin' beautiful...

Still live on Downer?

How cute, you remembered.

Of course, I remembered. Why wouldn't I?

There were plenty of fucking reasons.

Not only did Simon lead you on, believing there was a chance to a sustainable future with him, you had also caught him in several lies.

Like the one time you went through his phone and saw 3 different women, actively pursuing a relationship and none of them aware about one other. At least you had the heart to send them the screenshots, right? But once again, the impulsive nature to be a total bitch trended on the horizon.

Honestly? I thought you would've forgotten.

It's been a while.

Simon hums with satisfaction stroking his ego.

He had you right where he wanted you.

Just a little bit more...

How can I forgot about the one that got away?

Out of all the shit we went through, I still admire you. I crave a woman that is independent and strong willed. Besides, we had a lot of fun together.

Like a siren's song, you found yourself unable to resist him.

All the blood in your body rushed to your most sensitive areas, shivering with agonizing need. Taking the edge off, your left hand glides down the gap of your tits, passing your navel and resting between the heat of your thighs, massaging your throbbing clit through your shorts, greedily rocking your hips into your fingers.

So, when did you want to come over?

Fuck, what am I doing..?

This was a bad idea, but the longing feel for connection overshadowed the rational voice in your head.

The intoxicating chemistry between you and Simon was undeniable, your fingers swirl circles, your breathing shallowing with more dirty thoughts from the past come flooding back. The soft glow from your phone captures your attention, stunting you from reaching your climax.

Reading the last of his words, your heart flutters and you do as Simon says.

Quit touching yourself.

I'll be over in 15.

[rauzagel]

I want to rant a bit about how the sexual aspect of Act 3 Raphael is handled, so be warned, you know what this is about. Just me whining for a bit.

First of all, it was very clear to me that the game would give us some sexy Raph scenes the moment they let us engage with Mizora because it had been pretty equal up until that point. If the game lets you do the lady devil, they'll undoubtedly let us have some fun with the handsome male one, right? They even gave us some Squid boy action after all. So the moment I got that Mizora scene my main motivation in the game shifted to finish Raphaels quest line as soon as possible to get to that point.

Then we get to the House of Hope and it's just... some random shapeshifting fiend and he's just grinding on my gals stomach, riding air. So from an anatomical standpoint the animation itself only works for male player models to begin with and uh... it was just really awkward, not enjoyable at all and the actual Raphael is just reduced to a joke and then that's it.

To me, a Raphael simp, this was the equivalent of dating Astarion/Shadowheart for three Acts and just when you're about to finalize the romance with some sexy scenes, Dribbles the (shapeshifter) Clown swoops in and takes that romantic interests place instead.

What's the purpose of replacing the actual Raphael with a guy whos sole alure lies within the fact that he copies the voice and looks of Raphael? It's literally him but without any of the charme. It would've been fine if that's all it was, but why ruin the characters sexual appeal on top of it? There were so many other things in the house of hope that could've been used to make fun of him, why not at least leave us the fantasy? I don't accept the "Oh, he's a villain and all villains are secretly pathetic" angle because as others have already mentioned, that is not how Mizora is handled, who is Raphaels female equivalent for those who're attracted to women. I'm not the only one who feels this way considering how many fans interpret the available information so that we can still get something out of it. Which I mean works just fine, but in the end it's all speculation. It's also the only way he'll still keep his appeal for many, myself included.

With the way he conducted himself, controlling and dominant, I don't find it unreasonable to expect any romantic scenes involving him to play out a certain way, it's very much the implication of writing him this way and it's exactly those qualities that people would be drawn to for the first 2 and a half acts in the first place. Raphael had such an intimate and prominent role by directly interacting with the player throughout the game, especially if you sign the contract and was, with his flirting, pretty much perfectly set up for some romance content. Even the locations we meet him at, such as the brothel are teasing the player and pointing towards it. The writers are aware that it was anticipated by many too, you can literally tell Haarlep sleeping with Raphael is what you wanted all along, but then that line is just treated as a joke once again. Raph is the only alternative to the emperor, in the end it's literally him or squid and even the squid gets a scene for those who are into him. Raphaels appeal isn't just the visual, but his charme and personality, the entire package, so to say. A shapeshifter that copies his visuals is just that, a hollow copy with none of those qualities, none of the charme and in the end none of the appeal. I'm still pretty disappointed by it. As it stands I would have preferred no intimate scenes involving him or his clones and keep the fantasy over what we got.

Needed to scream this into the void.

[pomplalamoose]

Intervention

Sith!Luke Skywalker x fem!reader

summary: your Lord, Luke Skywalker, decides to adjust your appearance to his liking

warnings: slight nsfw and degradation, power imbalance, possessive behavior, unhealthy relationship, manhandling

A/N: look at me writing a mini fic about Sith!Luke again, I really can't leave that man alone

Facing you is a shimmering, clean surface, one you like to frequently use as a mirror.

As you carefully rake a brush through your hair to detangle them, you painstakingly try to ignore the dark, looming presence comfortably seated not far behind you.

It isn't easy; the unwavering gaze trained on you makes your skin prickle and your muscles tense.

Your hand catches in a little knot of your hair and your head jerks sideways.

You wince but remain silent, not wanting to draw even more attention to your person.

Not when he's already watching, not letting a single movement of yours go undetected.

You are strung like a bow, sure there is something he wants.

Staring straight ahead, you avoid meeting his eyes in the reflection.

It's childish, you know, but it gifts you a sense of safety; if you don't acknowledge him, you are nearly capable to imagine being far, far away from here.

If this is not real, if he is not real, he won't be able to hurt you.

A memory resurfaces.

You are three years old and playing hide and seek with your grandfather, not understanding how he's able to spot you so quickly every time.

He's laughing.

"Just because you can't see me, doesn't mean I can't see you, you know?"

You weren't as disappointed then as you are now; facing reality, letting go of the illusions of childhood is easily done when a beloved person leads the way.

It's hard, unbearable even, when you are on your own.

Your grip around the brush's handle falters and it clatters to the floor, the moment seemingly drawn out into eternity, as you whip around your head in fear of Lord Skywalker's reaction like a well trained but poorly treated dog.

"Oh you stupid girl.", he chastises gently but not unkind.

He sits up, his golden eyes tightening slightly as he leans forward to inspect you more closely.

Ah. This was what he was waiting for.

An opening. But to do what?

"Lift up your hair for me, will you? Yes, like that. I want to see your neck."

Although confused you do as you are told, turning this direction and that to grant him the view he wishes for.

"Mmh.", he considers you for a moment before derisively clicking his tongue.

"They are fading... No, that won't do."

Your arms are starting to ache from holding them up in this uncomfortable position but you do not dare to move even a single muscle.

"My Lord?"

Shuffling around on your knees to properly face him, you raise your eyes to look at him questioningly.

He doesn't respond, instead motioning for you to come forward and, haltingly, you comply.

As soon as you are close enough for him to reach for you, you are snatched up faster than you are able to process.

He laughs at your startled squeak and settles you in his lap, your back close to his warm chest, one arm tightly slung across your waist to keep you in place.

"The marks I left, little one.", he explains graciously, as he starts to gather most of your hair into a rough pony tail to get it out of the way.

"I enjoyed looking at them and now they are barely visible anymore."

You finally understand then, what he's talking about.

About a little more than a week ago he had spent the good duration of an hour sucking and biting your skin, leaving lots of angry red and purple bruises in his wake.

He hadn't mentioned it after and so you assumed he had lost interest, thought he didn't plan on doing it again.

Apparently you were wrong.

"Oh.", you say softly; and what else is there to say?

The arm around your middle disappears and you shudder slightly when you feel him pulling at the collar of your soft top until your entire neck and shoulders are laid bare before him.

Just as quickly his grip is back and he takes a moment to adjust you again, pulling you impossibly closer.

"Yes, oh.", he breathes sensually and leaves a chaste kiss behind your ear.

"Now I will make sure to reapply them. Be a good girl and hold still for me."

"Yes, my Lord.", you say, swallowing heavily.

A satisfied sigh leaves him before his hot mouth is on you.

You will yourself to be calm, to focus on your breathing.

The first time he did this wasn't so bad, you tell yourself. It will be just fine.

[newsourceofnonsense]

The Quite Girl's Heart

A love story of overcoming insecurities and an unexpected romance of a shy girl (Y/N) and a confident boy (Chris sturniolo)

A/N-new to writing, so sorry if it doesn't make sense. Just a sweet little fic to get my writing started. may dive deeper as time goes on.

Music mentioned= Lovers Rock, TV girl

T.W= none (just bad spelling and grammar)

Chris speaking is orange

y/n speaking is pink

This is y/n, when asked to describe herself she is quick to note down how she is pictured as a shy and introverted girl. She is not one to seek attention or crave the spotlight. Instead, she finds solace in her drawings and music, where she can get lost in her own little world. where people wish they can be like her.

Y/N have always been like this, ever since she was a child. Her parents used to worry about her, thinking that she would never open up to anyone. How she will slowly blend into the background. But she may be shy, but she have a big heart and is always willing to lend a listening ear to those who need it.

But despite her kind heart, no one really notices her. She is the shadow in the bustling hallways of the high school. Watching those around her and dreaming of being them. Y/N have a small group of friends, but even they sometimes forget that she is there.

That is until one day, its was last period Maths class, Y/N was not amazing at Maths but good enough to get a good grade. She usually spent maths lessons with her headphones in and doodling in her note book, with her work being finished early on. But today was different, Lovers Rock by Tv Girl had started to play, when she was suddenly interrupted by a figure sitting in the abandoned seat next to her. Y/N took no notice and began to complete her earlier doodle from lunch when the figure beside her tapped her arm.

With a shaky hand she paused the music and looked at the figure. Y/Ns eyes were met with Chris Sturniolo's. She didn't know many people at this school but she knew him. how couldn't you, he is a triplet for god sake. Chris had a slim build and light freckles scattered across his face. His brown hair had grown to a comfortable medium length, and was currently un kept giving Chris a carefree and approachable appearance. Chris's eyes are striking, with a ocean blue iris and a constant smile that lights up his face. Chris is known to have a very confident personality making him popular with the people he meets.

The lingering silence was broken by his confident yet hesitant voice "Sorry for bothering you Y/N, I'm Chris, Miss Koury said that you could help me out with my Maths" every part of Y/N wishes for her to say no, to excuse herself and go back to her own little world. But she could see the desperation form on his face. "Look Y/N, I could really use your help, I cant even begin to tell you how painful these lessons are" he looks down at her desk "and you always seem to get your work done instantly, so you must be really good at it." as he finishes his sentence she focus on that fact that he notices her, it was small and something many people may overlook but when you get overlooked by everyone else you take notice of these things. Y/N begin to reply "me? oh, no. I just like to stay on top of things" continuing on "and it means that the teachers don't bother me and leave me to listen to music" As Y/N spoke she can see that Chris has turned his full attention to her. He listened intently to every word she said, his eyes never leaving her face. She can feel the nerves filling her body.

He began to speak again and sensing the hesitance and uncertainty in her voice he tried his best to get rid of her fear. "Good at maths and organised, looks like I asked the right person to help me out" he leans in closer on a wait for a reply. Chris takes a closer look at Y/Ns face and he finds his gaze linger on her features. Y/Ns green eyes are striking, and Chris cant help but be drawn in by their intensity. He noticed the freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks, adding to her unique beauty. Chris couldn't help but found the shy girls smile enduring, Y/Ns most noticeable feature is her crooked nose. While many may see this as a flaw, Y/N included, in Chris's eyes it made her more attractive. Y/Ns cracked circle glasses sit slightly wonky on her face, but it only added to her character. Chris cant help but admire the black hair that falls in waves around the shy girls face, with streaks of white running through it like a silvery thread. he feels his smile growing as he sees her begin to speak again.

"oh, thank you." a warm sensation filled Y/Ns face, she just know that her cheeks were pink. "so... what exactly do you need my help with?" as soon as she finished her words Chris began "Maths. I really need help with Maths" Y/Ns lips curl upward into a shy smile, and her eyes crinkle at the corners as she giggles making her follow it up with her pushing her glasses up. Chris feels a sense of joy wash over him as he sees her reaction, seeing her become more comfortable around him. "I understand that" she reassures him "but what precisely about maths do you need help with?" Chris follows closely with this answer wanting to her voice again. "well basically everything." Chris said nervously "I see how well you do on test and I was hoping you could teach me your ways, so Miss Koury can finally leave me alone" he scanned her face waiting to see mockery swarm over it, but he was quickly reassured that this quiet girl is far form mockery. "you don't have to be so sweet" Y/Ns cheeks getting even more pink "Of course I will help" Y/N then begins to take out her note book revealing a neatly organized set of notes and practice problems. Chris couldn't help but be impressed by her preparation and dedication to the subject. Chris's confidence was infectious and Y/N could feel herself becoming ill with confidence. A lively but relaxed conversation bounced between them as Y/N explained and empathised points to Chris.

*time skip to the end of the lesson (so basically the end of the day)*

As the clocked ticked closer to the end of the day fellow classmates eagerly prepare there things to go home, whereas Chris and Y/N are still left in there comfortable conversation. Chris can see how passionate Y/N is about helping him, and Y/N couldn't believe that Chris noticed her and right now was laughing and smiling at all her crapy Maths jokes. Y/N could feel her heart flutter every time. Hearing the ruckus happening around him Chris debated on if he should ask Y/N for her number or at least a social media account, But just before he could muster up the courage the bell rang out. "Thank you for giving up your music time to help me Y/N" Chris spoke out as they calmly place their belonging into their bags "cant believe I am going to say this but..." curiosity filled Y/N face and a wave of nerves washed over her in anticipation on what he was going to follow with, then he began to speak. "I really enjoyed this Maths lesson" Then Y/N was hit with a sharp punch of disappointment, she was hoping he would say something different but she wasn't sure what. she plastered on a crooked nerves smile and began to speak "yeah. It was lovely taking to you" now finished zipping her bag she gently brushes pass Chris who is still gathering notes and shoving them into his bag.

Y/N exits the classroom, puts her earphones in and begins walking with the crowds of people to her locker. In her own world placing books neatly on her locker shelf and taking out her jacket a lone hand places itself on her shoulder and she begins to turn. Y/N is now met face to face with Chris again with Nick and Matt standing behind. Chris is struggling to close his bag showing clearly that he rushed to catch her, he catches his breath as Y/N yet again pauses her music for him. "sorry for making you pause your music again" Chris speaks out finally zipping up his bag and making himself look more presentable. "Don't worry it fine" Y/N say to make sure Chris knows he is not burden to her "err..was there something you needed?". Chris subtly looks behind him seeing the figures of his brother wating behind. He debts whether or not to ask for her number than finally begins to speak. "Well I was just wondering" Chris feels his confidence in battle with is nerves "well.... its just that"

The battle was lost Chris's nerves had won. He found himself fill with disappointment when his words coward to safety. "Do you mind helping me next Maths lesson". Y/N heart sinks, she is unsure why but she wishes for more. But with her heavy heart Y/N agrees to help once more "Ur...yeah I will be happy to help" Y/N didn't not want to miss a chance to be with Chris. Y/N has never felt this way before, she realised that when she spoke to him she didn't feel shy. Chris made her feel confident and comfortable in her own skin.

Before Chris could leave Y/N was struck but a pulse of confident and informed Chris "You can find me in the library" she had a sweet smile resting on her face and her eyes had a bright glow. Y/Ns tone softened and she spoke "just in case you need to talk" Y/N shocked by her own words and how forward she was being, stumbling on her next, trying to look less eager to talk to Chris again hoping she hadn't messed up "about the Maths problem" she stumbled out "I don't mind going over any of them" she anticipated to be declined for her offer but was soon was put at ease by Chris's words "Library". Repeating the location almost as to make a mental note, "OK" Chris said more for himself, showing that he retained the information. "well I am sure I will see you soon" he looks as his brothers beginning to walk to the exit sensing the end of the conversation sooner then Chris wanted. With Chris's brothers now out of ear shot he spoke "I'm sure I will have no problem mustering up some Maths questions to have an excuse to disturber your music once again". A pink hue was now painted over his face, with his feelings flustered be quickly turned to catch up with his brothers leaving Y/N with these final words "I have loved speaking to you". Y/N was left to reflect as she put on her jacket, shut her locker and began to walk home. He may had meant nothing by it she thought, it may have been a simple compliment. But still she found herself playing those words back in her mind, replacing the music that plays. Y/N found herself thinking about her interaction with Chris. How she felt nothing but happiness, she felt comfortable around him, her shyness becoming a distant figure in her past. And while she thought this was just a passing moment, that once he got a good grade it will go back to normal, she couldn't help but hope for more, hope that he asks for help with more classes, asks for help with anything. Just so she can she can see his beautiful soul again. Just so she can feel happy again.

*time skip to the next day- lunch time*

last night when finally arriving home Chris instantly began going over his note. Not for revision, NO! but so he can go see Y/N, to talk to her again.

Its now lunch and Chris has branched off from his brothers and his friends to make his way to the library. With a sticky note in hand with random maths questions he needs help with.

Making his way through the library, his confident and outgoing demeanour contrasted with the quite, studious atmosphere. Chris scanned the rows of shelves, searching for Y/N. He cant see her, he start to debate if he should keep looking or spend his lunch with his friends.

yet another battle was waging in his mind and he was scared of who will come out on top.....

*A/N- i hope you liked this. I didn't want it to be too long so if you will like a part 2 just say*

*A/N- any advice or recommendations are more then welcome*

[bg-brainrot]

WHaBFHtLA - Astarion x GN!Reader - Chapter 3: What it Means to Love

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Elf!Tav)

Genre: Reincarnation, Angst, Mystery, Slow burn

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Canon-Typical Violence

WC: 2.9k words, 3/?? chapters

Summary: Now 29, you're still trying to piece together parts of your past. In particular, what exactly was your relationship with Astarion?

A/N: Spoilers for the Pale-Elf quest end, also an fyi that I didn’t want to just retell the quest, so it focuses a lot more on present-tav looking-in.

Ao3 | [Ch2][Ch4] | WHaBFHtLA Masterlist

Despite your best judgments, you’ve begun acting against your parent’s advice. They’ve told you on more than one occasion, learning too much of your previous lives can lead to heartbreak, to suffering. It can affect the course of your current life in ways that you won’t understand until it’s far too late.

You’d listened for a few good years, of course. But every time you enter a trance into one particular past life, you find yourself inexplicably drawn to it. The previous life in question is, of course, the one where you met Astarion, the silver-haired vampire. So you caved and did what you find easiest in this life: cracked open a book.

General information was surprisingly easy to come by, as you were apparently incredibly famous– saved-the-realm famous.

After finding this out, you’ve taken to calling this life the Hero’s life. You had, allegedly, saved the city of Baldur’s Gate almost two and a half centuries ago, alongside the companions that appear in your memories. Even Astarion, with his snark and sass, seemed to be part of the credited heroes.

As for the vampire in question, that man wouldn’t leave your waking or trancing thoughts, no matter how hard you tried. You’re not sure if you find his persistent appearances annoying or endearing at this point. 

You’ve learned a lot about him over the years. Useless facts, like his favorite poetry, his love of embroidery, his preferred wine. One night you spend all four hours of your reverie quietly sitting next to him, tending to your weapons. Every once in a while you’ll think, Surely, there can’t be any more memories with this man? But somehow he will always appear to you again a few nights later.

What bothers you is that so many of them are aimless and mundane, joking, traveling, sitting together. They aren’t helpful, which frustrates you endlessly. The point of your reveries is to help you live your new life, and you’re simply not seeing how these fit in. They certainly feel out of place given the other things you’ve learned of that particular life– the dangers that seemed to lurk behind every corner, the constant feeling of a life on the edge of death. 

You also find that, no matter how many times you meet him, spend time with him, you are never certain: were you in love?

It’s a question you aren’t really equipped to answer. You don't suppose you've ever been in love before, and at 29 years of age, it seems a bit too early in your long-lived life to bother. What you do know is that second memory in the woods, it was not love. 

It all feels so ludicrously fake until a few moments begin to change your mind. Once, he cries your name, charging into combat to save you. Another night, he quietly holds your hand, surrounded by a world shrouded in shadow. A separate encounter, you expect things to escalate to another desperate attempt to get lost in each other, but instead you lay down together, entering your reveries side-by-side. After these moments, the memories feel like they take a turn: all lingering looks, soft touches and, above all else, real, genuine conversations.

After a while, you’d learned of his time as a vampire spawn under a cruel master. You’d learned of his scars, his family, and his hopes and desires. Seeing the man behind the smile felt like a sucker punch to the gut, to both you and your past-self.

For your past-self’s part, you see them open up around him– certainly more than they have in any other memories. As a result, you learn more about them than ever. They tell him their worries: about facing an incredible evil, about not making it out of the whole ordeal alive. They’re a relatively young elf, they still have so much life ahead of them, and apparently this is all being ruined by a worm in their brain.

As if they didn’t have enough to worry about with that looming over them, each of their companions seems to have their own troubles that seemed to need your attention. You only live their life a few hours every week, and you can’t imagine bearing the burdens that they do– it’s clear that you possessed a strength you can only dream of now. They seem willing to make any number of sacrifices for these people and it makes you feel strikingly inadequate, easily overshadowed by their spirit. If I’d lived through their hardships, you think. Would I be this strong?

After a time, your trances surrounding Astarion turn to more concerning subjects– of devils and profane rituals, of the truth behind the machinations of Astarion’s master, Cazador. Gods, you hate Cazador. Everything you’d learned of that man made you want to meet him and give him his comeuppance. You hope at the very least that your past-self ensured he died without mercy, that the man’s wicked life finally caught up to him.

Tonight, you get your wish.

When your eyes open in your former self’s body, the first thing you notice is Astarion. The pale elf is ahead of you, his back turned, hands clenched in fists at his sides.

The second thing you notice is the amount of worry you feel. Your past-self seems frozen in place with it, and you can feel your body barely resisting the call to jump into action. Not sure what you’re witnessing, you wonder if you’ve stumbled into a lover’s quarrel.

Then you hear his voice. “Do not slouch before me, boy! Have you no respect for yourself?”

You’re certain that the instinctual rage you feel at that voice is something that defies lifetimes. Your past-self is brimming with it, their blood pumping in their ears as they watch the scene unfold before them.

Distantly you register him goading Astarion, Astarion responding with a fury matching your own. Despite the anger burning in both of your bodies, through your very soul, you can’t help but look at the man and balk. Wait, is that him? you think. That’s Cazador? He looks pathetic.

He looks like nothing more than a sniveling aristocrat, a dime a dozen in large cities like Neverwinter. You wish you could take control of your memories and tell him as such. Perhaps you’d spoil his outfit and sneer at him or ruin his standing among the rest of the nobility. More permanently, you’d like you just rain sunlight on him and watch him burn. Unfortunately, you’re only along for the journey, so you watch as your past-self and Astarion confront the man.

“A pity you amounted to so little, despite my efforts,” the man says, his words harsh, his tone belittling. It reminds you of one of your old Evocation teachers. He’d act mighty, tell you all that he’d done for you, then leave you to the wolves come examinations. That man ended up blown to bits in a miscast spell, and you hope you’re about to see a similar fate befall this vampire.

You’re in the midst of your musings when the pale elf recaptures your attention. Astarion’s response is passionate, holding the unfettered hatred of two centuries of torment, “NO. No. Fuck you. And fuck everything you’ve ever done to me!”

The words snap you out of your own thoughts, forcing you to focus on the scene before you. This isn’t for your enjoyment, and the villain isn't here to give you failing marks. Cazador is far crueler than any man you’ve met in your entire waking existence and this is a life or death situation. You suddenly feel so small in the middle of this, woefully out of your depth.

Your past-self is more than prepared for the situation though. They say that you’ll make the man pay, and their voice is colored with a righteous fury that you can only feel second-hand. Your own anger seems petty in comparison.

“I will not speak to cattle. This is between me and the boy.” Cazador sneers as he dismisses your words.

“You son of a bitch!”

Then Astarion is charging at him, your arm is outstretched as if to stop him, but he’s long gone and your fingers grasp at nothing. Dread fills you as you see Cazador stop him in his tracks, a glowing red magic emanates from his staff.

Cazador spits more venomous words at Astarion, all the while bathed in the red glow of the ancient ritual. You can feel your body straining against every impulse to rush forward and attack the vampire lord where he stands. But they hold back, and you can sense that it comes out of concern for Astarion– an odd reasoning in your mind. Surely Astarion would want you to focus on killing Cazador. 

Before your past-self decides on a course of action, Astarion is being flung, tossed like a ragdoll across the cavernous room that Cazador calls his lair. You watch, helpless, as magic envelopes him, stripping him down to be a mere component for the ritual.

“No! Stop him! Get me out of this!” you hear Astarion shout.

He’s about as far away from you as the ritual circle will allow, trapped by a flick of a madman’s wrist. So you’re surprised to feel a calmness come over you as your past-self assesses the situation. You’re not privy to their thoughts or considerations, but, having seen so much of their past now, you’re reassured that they will get out of this alive and well. Hopefully with Astarion in tow.

Cazador either doesn’t care about your calm confidence or is simply too self-absorbed to notice. He raises his arms in triumph before beginning the profane ritual, “Witness the birth of the Vampire Ascendent! Ecce dominus!”

All hells break loose as the pact magic of Mephistopheles binds each of Cazador’s sacrifices to sigils on the floor. Several creatures of the night come forth, ready to do the vampire lord’s bidding. Werewolves bear their teeth at you, bats fly up onto the platform, and ghouls flank Cazador on either side. It’s a frightening sight to you, and unlike anything else you’ve witnessed in your memories or life. For once, you’re glad you’re not in control, because you’re not certain your legs would be willing to move.

Defying all logic, the first thing your past-self does is run for Astarion. Past each and every one of these creatures, past Cazador himself– they sprint like there’s no one else in the entire world. Perhaps to them there isn’t. Because you feel it now. You feel adrenaline, panic, fear, but, smothering all the rest with its strength, is pure love.

You hadn’t known what it might feel like, but now that it hits you like a wild Bulette, you can recognize it clearly. It had been there in those small moments, an underlying feeling that never quite reached the surface. Looking back, it’s almost as if your past-self had been trying to stifle it, an unruly bud of emotion that couldn’t be trusted in their fight for survival. Here, faced with the possibility of losing Astarion, there was no use in trying to hold back the flood. And there is no possibility of them leaving this place without him.

“Astarion!” they call out once they reach him. He’s bound by those same red bindings that Cazador used earlier, floating above you.

“Help me!” he cries, and the desperation in his voice is piercing. Your eyes look back and forth, inspecting his restraints in seconds, before you simply grab him and pull. 

It’s not the most elegant solution, but it certainly is effective. Astarion falls atop you, and you distantly hear Cazador’s angry shouts. It hardly matters to you now. “Are you alright?” you hear yourself ask him, relief and concern fighting for precedence.

“I’m fine, thanks to you,” he says, lifting himself off the ground. He looks at you, red eyes filled with determination, and your relief wins out. “Let’s go stab that bastard.”

The rest of your reverie is spent in grueling combat. You feel your past-self fight to their limits, fueled by equal parts anger and love. You’ve learned plenty from them in terms of how to fight and what a real fight feels like. But this? This was revenge. It was messy, it was brutal, and it filled you with an odd sense of awe.

After Astarion deals Cazador a near-lethal blow, you think to yourself, thank the gods, it’s over. You reverie didn’t end though, because it was anything but over. Cazador hid into his damnable coffin, Astarion followed, and you watched.

Watched as Astarion tore Cazador out of hiding, threatened him with his own blade, taunted him with his own ritual. Watched as your past-self pleaded with him, tried to assure him that he didn’t need to sacrifice anything to be worthy. Watched as Astarion tried to convince you that this was necessary to be truly free of Cazador.

You could feel your past-self’s emotions, tumultuous as they are, settle on understanding. You don’t understand– how could you, ill-equipped as you are– but you’re glad that they do. They reason with him, try to persuade him to give up on the ritual as only they know how. 

Both of you breathe a sigh of relief as he says, “You… you’re right. I can be better than him. But I'm not above enjoying this.”

Then a torrent of emotions you hadn’t realized were being held back finally burst through the dam. As Astarion stabbed Cazador, delivering blow after blow, you felt sorrow, comfort, joy, sympathy… pain. The pale elf cries, knelt before his former master, your former-self weeps with him.

You wake up in tears. You’d been looking forward to Cazador’s demise, but something about it leaves you feeling hollow. You’re exhausted by how utterly out of your depth you had been. It was every bit of your energy to hold on to the memory and bear it witness, all you could do to try to comprehend the hurt that Astarion felt.

Despite being out of your reverie, a deep pain in your chest remains. You’re not sure you’ve ever felt this before, but you’re nearly certain that this is what heartbreak feels like. It’s almost as if his pain was your pain. Seeing him break down like that was akin to you breaking down, and even now, the tears keep spilling.

You don’t like to admit when you’re wrong, and you’d like to believe that that happens rarely enough that it doesn’t matter. However when it comes to this man, you might need to admit that you didn’t always have enough context to make judgements.

Now that you do, you understand your past-self more than you expect. They were willing to sacrifice anything for him, put their life on the line for him. Something about Astarion makes your heart race, your mind spin, and your very soul weep. What it is about him hardly matters, what matters is that your past-self is trying to push you toward him and for the first time, you think you’d like to listen.

You’d like to begin even more extensive research. This time not about who you were, but about what happened after the events at Baldur’s Gate– More importantly, what became of Astarion after this. You’re too far from Baldur’s Gate to properly investigate or understand what’s mere myth or actual history, however you do know that, as a vampire, he wouldn’t die of natural causes. You’ve yet to dream of his death, so he could very well still be alive.

I should at the very least find out what happened to him, you think. Another, more sensible side of you thinks, Wait. You don’t even know how this life ended. Things could have ended poorly between you, he may even have killed you himself.

Even if you did find him, even if he did love your past-self, you also know that it’s not you who he knows or would care to see. Despite all of that logic, a dangerous, near-taboo thought comes to you, Should I just go find him?

You’re still young though and you understand that this is likely a foolhardy idea– that the exact thing that your parents have warned you against is happening right now. So you decide to consult with them before you make any decisions.

They indulge you a bit, willing to help you with some research, encouraging you to maybe even write a letter if you find the right words. However, they come with a clear warning: no good will come of it if you meet with anyone from a former life. You’re not the same person. It’s been decades, maybe centuries since they’ve last seen you, and they may not be the same person they once were. Don’t ruin your current life by chasing a previous one. Don’t go to Baldur’s Gate.

You nod, figuring that they’re correct. They have centuries of experience, seen countless elves go through what you’re going through. This is only sound, mature advice. That advice carries you for quite a while, staying your hand when you go to practice a divination spell or when you think to seek a teleportation circle to Baldur’s Gate.

However, after decades and decades of dreaming of this man, you find your will wavering, crumbling into dust. One reverie in your 99th year of life finally breaks through the last of your resistance.

[forgottenfourr]

i saw you in a dream - university smau

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chapter twenty two - and you are?

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a/n: ITS HERE!!!! you guys really didn't think i was going to hold it off any more, did you? HEHEHEHEHE

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yn’s pov:

you're running late to meet with chan, as usual, so here you are finding yourself sprinting to the studio at 12:59pm. at this point, you know chan is wholly used to your late arrivals. but you still feel awful about it nonetheless. you tried your best to look presentable today, at least more presentable than you have looked the past week or so. but you're pretty sure by the time you get there, all previous efforts to look nice will be completely out the window.

you didn't need to look nice for chan, but at least put together. he doesn't need to see how awful you've been doing since you ran out on him at the cafe. you are hoping that the nice outfit would distract him from the cavernous dark circles that have formed under your eyes.

you breathe a sigh of relief when you get to the building and don't see a sign of anyone around, giving you time to readjust your hair and smooth out your outfit.

the studio you and chan usually work in's door is wide open which is normally a sign that chan is in there waiting for you.

you stop for a moment a bit away from the room and take a deep breath. you haven't seen chan since you guys talked at the cafe and you've kept texting to a minimum. you're sure he's going to have questions and honestly, you weren't sure how you were going to answer them without making another person think you're insane. and this time it isn't even one of your best friends.

sure you and chan have become friends, but nothing of the sorts where you can just tell him about your recent burdens and what has been making you lose your mind more and more every day for the past 7 months until you finally snapped.

but maybe he won't ask because of that reason. you guys are just friends for convenience. that's it. and maybe he knows where the line lies and that asking anything thing more than "are you okay?" is crossing a boundary that no one has actually previously set.

it's fine. even if he does ask you'll just explain that you were... what would you say? shit. fucking shit.

"it's whatever! it's nothing!" you say to yourself and you continue to walk towards the studio.

you're silently hitting yourself in the face as you walk into the room. gaze drawn down to your hands as you step in the threshold.

"hey chan sorry i'm late," you begin speaking before moving your eyes from your hands. too embarrassed at the fact that he definitely just heard you talking to yourself.

you look up for only a second to realize that it was not in fact chan sitting in the room but someone else.

you're quick to throw your head back down and spin around before even processing anything that you have seen. sputtering out apologies.

"omg! i'm so sorry! normally my friend and i meet in this room and we were supposed to meet here today an-" you can't seem to shut the hell up.

before you can embarrass yourself any further you quickly begin walking running out the door.

you make it just past the studio next to the one you were just in before you feel a hand wrap around your wrist, pulling you to a stop.

by instinct, you whip around, mostly expecting to meet chan's face.

but instead of chan you were met with an all too familiar set of star-filled eyes and heartwarming smile. along with the white blonde hair you grew ever so fond of.

before you can say anything, the man seems to realize what he has done and quickly let go of your wrist and take a couple steps back.

you never thought you were going to see him again.

"do you-" the boy clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck.

in this moment, you can't help but let a few tears well in your eyes as you stand there staring at him with the biggest smile on your face. it was him. really him. and from the looks of it, he knows who you are too.

he looks more amazing in person than he did in your dreams, which you thought was practically impossible.

"you have them too?" you ask, hoping that asking the question would relieve some of the nerves he seems to be choking down.

you didn't think his eyes could shine any brighter, but at your words, they did.

"oh my god. it's you." he says breathlessly, almost as if he seems to think you're just an apparition that formed itself in front of him.

sudden realization seems to hit him as he is taking everything in.

"wait, are you yn?" he asks

you feel your cheeks warm as he asks that. unsure of how he knows your name and slightly terrified of what he knows about you.

you clear your throat, "would it be bad if i said yes?"

he practically jolts at your question. "oh my god no no no no no! it's fine, perfect even!"

you laugh at his state of panic. mentally taking note of how cute he looks when flustered.

"and you are?" you ask, not knowing that his response is about to probably, most definitely be one you would've never expected.

"yang jeongin"

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