#we are struggling and thriving at the same time

[tinybearfeet]

Aziraphale didn’t want to go to heaven, not even to “make it a better place if I’m in charge”, not until he was told he could restore Crowley.

Because restoring Crowley to angelic status seems to him, is to him a perfect solution for the problems they seem to have, together: their opposing sides, status of natural enemies, their shared loneliness of being outsiders in their worlds. They can be friends, anything, if Crowley is an angel. He won’t have to push down his goodness in fear of hell (although honestly I think Crowley’s aversion to being “good” is much more than that), and angels won’t have to be cruel, since Aziraphale would be there, making decisions, with Crowley by his side to help him figure out what is truly better and kinder (like he does throughout the season).

To Crowley however being restored to an angel is missing the point entirely. It’s like being given forgiveness when you are owed an apology. If they give you “forgiveness” you are just brought back in until they decide you should be cast away again, when you become too inconvenient, when you demand to be heard, to be treated right. Of course he doesn’t want to go back to heaven — the whole system is his personal hell, more than actual hell ever was.

Just as when Crowley feels betrayed when Aziraphale offers him to go back, so does Azi when Crowley asks him to run off, to continue as things are. To Aziraphale (as of right now) there can be no peaceful happiness for them while they remain as they are. They will always be an angel and a demon, pretending, hiding, struggling to survive one disaster after the other. They can change all that, he feels, he offers Crowley peace, safety, and Crowley refuses it to (seemingly) keep things as they are.

That’s what his “nothing lasts forever is about”. He offers a reprieve and Crowley refuses it. While to Crowley he is throwing away “them” to drag him back to the broken system he knows from experience will only chew them up and destroy everything, in the end.

“I don’t think you understand what I’m offering you,” is the line that hits me the hardest, somehow. Because Crowley indeed doesn’t. He is right about understanding better than Aziraphale could about what it would truly be like. But he doesn’t understand the intent, the offer: be with me, without hiding, without fear, working for the betterment of everything as you used to, as we’ve been doing in secret last 6000 years.

“No nightingales”, oh how Aziraphale face changes at that. Because for them, finally, here, Crowley made subtext text. Yes, they are, were in love. Yes, they had their perfect pocket of a starry night, falling in love. But now the sun is up, and the nightingale isn’t there, maybe even wasn’t here ever. It was just a perfect dream, given up now. For Aziraphale — given up as he offered Crowley to make it a daylight reality, a partnership not on the spy benches, or in an old timeless bookshop, or in the private conversations. A reality where Crowley doesn’t have to hide his eyes all the time.

For Crowley — the dream is given up, because once again Aziraphale is choosing heaven over him. He doesn’t know he’s doing it for him.

So of course the kiss doesn’t save them. They both feel rejected, feel like the one is trying to drag another into a tortured existence. I still struggle to decipher the “I forgive you”. An obvious nod to s1, and to general Christian forgiveness. Does he forgive the fall, the rejection, no nightingales? The fight? As many people said, it’s generally Aziraphale’s “holier than thou” attitude, and there is a bit of it here, some spite as he collects himself. “I know what’s better for us and I forgive you for not realizing it. I forgive you for leaving me alone (in our shared loneliness) to make a better world for us.” Maybe it’s that.

I honestly don’t think one honest conversation could fix things right now for them. They need to change. Crowley needs to grow over his cynicism, to figure out a way to exist in the world so unfair he refuses to acknowledge he is constantly changing it for the better. He needs to stand his ground in a sustainable way.

While Aziraphale needs to realize the current system won’t cut it. It’s cruel and uncaring, it’s following the supposed word and whim of a god who’s left the building. He honestly believes it just needs right people on top, but well, it had Gabriel who cared just for a little bit, and threw him away instantly. Heaven won’t cut it, and this is gonna burn him badly next season. But he’s still not there.

Anyway, I love good conflict, god bless this tragic clown mess, thanks for the gorgeous drama. Nice gays, sorry about depression.

[sweetevoltrap]

Sylus reclaiming Little Bomb as a teasing nickname...

[akeaaan]

Until You Called Me Bipa Again 2

➤ part1

⤷ Jinu x fem reader: reincarnation, angst, fluff, flashbacks

‿◞ ྀི 2.5k words

𝟒𝟎𝟎 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐨, 𝐉𝐢𝐧𝐮 𝐦𝐞𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞—𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞. 〃✦ ┆You appeared like a ghost from a forgotten past—fierce, untouchable, and destined to fade. But fate has a twisted sense of humor. Now in the modern day, with neon lights replacing ancient lanterns and stages replacing palace halls, Jinu's memories aren’t as buried as he thought. Because you're back. And this time, the past isn’t staying buried.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You paced back and forth in your room, fingers tangled in your hair as you struggled to stay grounded. Each step felt frantic, your breath sharp and uneven, heart pounding so violently it felt like it might tear out of your chest.

Your mind screamed for peace, but Jinu's face refused to leave. No matter how hard you shook your head, no matter how tightly you clenched your fists— there he was again.

The softness in his eyes. The way his lips whispered your name like a vow. The unbearable urge to just—kiss him, lose yourself in him.

You stumbled, catching yourself against your desk. "What the hell is wrong with me?" you muttered, voice barely audible.

This was insanity.

For a demon.

An enemy.

Demons were monsters—your whole life had taught you that. Manipulators. Predators who thrived off the souls of the living. That was your mission: hunt them down, destroy them, protect the innocent.

Not... fall for one.

Your fingers trembled as they hovered over your heart, which still beat out of control beneath your ribcage.

"Steady yourself... Y/N," you whispered, trying to control your breathing. In... and out. Calm down. Focus.

But it didn't work.

His face—Jinu's—still lingered behind your eyelids.

And then, like a ripple through time, a memory returned. Not recent. Something ancient. Familiar.

That same face...

His hair pulled into a sangtu, his hanbok dusted with snow. It was winter. You remembered how cold it was—how his fingertips, even colder, gently held your face. You couldn't speak. Couldn't move.

Only stare.

Jinu smiled. A soft, gentle thing.

Then his eyes flicked from your lips, back to your eyes. "I'll always protect you," he had said.

And then he kissed you.

It was warm. It was real. It was terrifying.

KNOCK.

The sound jolted you like a slap. You turned sharply as the door opened. Mira, Zoe, and Rumi stepped in, their faces etched with worry.

"Y/N?" Rumi was the first to speak, gently stepping forward, her voice laced with concern. She rested a hand on your shoulder. "Hey... are you okay?"

You swallowed hard, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. "Y-Yeah... I'm fine."

It didn't sound convincing. Not even to yourself.

Zoe's brows furrowed, her voice gentle but firm. "We can postpone the performance, you know. Just a few days—just so you can breathe."

You nodded slowly. "Yeah... maybe just a short break. That's all."

But deep down, you knew that wasn't the reason.

It wasn't the pressure of the performance. It wasn't exhaustion from practice.

It was him. It was Jinu.

And you couldn't even tell your best friends the truth.

Not yet. Not when the truth might just tear your world apart.

For the past few weeks, the memories of Jinu haunted you like a ghost — persistent and unrelenting. Morning and night, even in broad daylight, you'd catch yourself drifting, zoning out. And each time, he was there. Not physically, but in the corners of your mind. A whisper, a flash, a phantom that refused to fade.

He had done something to you. You didn't know what exactly — a mark, a pull, a curse — but it left you feeling off. Different. And you'd give anything just to feel normal again.

Now, here you were.

Leaning against the cool stone railing at the base of a quiet temple, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the golden horizon where the sun dipped behind the mountains of Seoul. The distant city below was beginning to glow, streetlights flickering to life one by one as dusk embraced the skyline.

You had sent a message to Jinu's tiger — a request to meet. He agreed. And yet, surprise surprise, he was late.

You exhaled, long and sharp, pushing yourself off the stone railing. "Asshole..." you muttered under your breath, about to turn and leave—

"Gah—!" you yelped, instinctively jumping forward as a hand suddenly tapped your shoulder.

You spun around, heart racing, only to find Jinu crouched casually on the railing behind you, a familiar smug smile tugging at his lips.

"You're still just as easy to scare," he said, voice low and amused, like he was reliving an old memory only the two of you shared.

Your hand flew to your chest as you tried to calm your breathing. "You scared me!" you snapped, panting slightly.

Jinu only chuckled in that smooth, infuriating way of his before hopping down from the railing with a light thud, brushing dust from his palms. His eyes flicked up the stone steps toward the temple.

"A temple date?" he said with a teasing grin. "You sure know how to set the mood."

"It's not a date," you shot back quickly.

But then Jinu casually pulled out the postcard you'd handed to his tiger — the one that said Save the Date in your handwriting.

You froze. Mentally cursed yourself. Idiot.

Jinu gave you that familiar cocky smirk — the one that always seemed to hold more secrets than words ever could.

You clenched your jaw, refusing to rise to his bait this time. Instead, your expression hardened. You stepped closer, the air tightening between you.

Your voice dropped, quiet but sharp.

"What did you do to me, Jinu?"

The question lingered, thick in the air like incense smoke — slow, suffocating, inescapable.

Jinu's smirk vanished. His shoulders stiffened. "What are you talking about?" he asked, trying to sound casual — but his voice faltered.

You looked down at your hands, watching them tremble just slightly. "I keep seeing things," you whispered. "Memories... of you and me. But they're not real. They never happened."

You closed your eyes, struggling to keep your breathing steady. "They're not mine, Jinu."

When you finally looked up, Jinu froze. The sight of your eyes — cracked with emotion, uncertain and too familiar — hit him like a ghost returning home.

"You and me... under the moonlight. A lake," you said slowly, brows furrowing in confusion. "You held my hand. You smiled like—like you knew me. And I felt like I knew you too."

You shook your head. "It felt real."

Jinu's throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. His voice softened — no trace of his usual charm now, only something raw and buried. "What else do you remember?"

You closed your eyes again, digging into the haze, trying to pull the threads of something that shouldn't exist but lived somewhere deep inside you.

"You have to get out of here," you whispered urgently, heart pounding as you threw open the familiar window—the same one you used to sneak out on quiet nights. But this wasn't one of those nights. The sky outside bled with the colors of a dying sun, casting long shadows across your chamber floor.

Your eyes darted around in desperation. There has to be something... anything I can give him. Your fingers trembled as they grazed over a few keepsakes, but nothing seemed enough—not for this.

"Y/N..." Jinu finally spoke, voice low and filled with hesitation. But before he could say more, you turned, walking up to him quickly. You placed both hands gently on his cheeks, your thumbs brushing across his skin like a silent goodbye.

"You have to go," you said firmly, trying to steady your voice. "If my father finds out about the marks on your skin—Jinu, they'll kill you." Your eyes welled up. The thought of losing him clawed at your chest like a beast desperate to escape.

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment to memorize the feel of you. "I'm sorry," he murmured, voice cracking slightly. "I should've told you sooner."

You shook your head and cut him off gently, "It's okay. I understand." You tried to smile, though it faltered with the tears that blurred your vision. "But you need to go. I can't let them hurt you because of this."

A tear slipped down your cheek, warm and silent. "I don't care about the marks, Jinu. I care about you. Just... live. That's all I ask." Your hands moved to his shoulders as you pushed him slightly toward the open window.

But Jinu didn't budge. Instead, he caught your hands, holding them tightly in his. His grip was firm, but tender—a silent plea, a goodbye, a confession all in one.

"If I leave... I won't see you again, will I?" His voice broke at the end, eyes locked with yours—filled with sorrow, with love, with fear of what waited on either side of this choice.

Your lips trembled, and it took every ounce of strength not to fall apart in front of him. You reached up once more, cupping his face as gently as if he might vanish in your hands. You gave a small nod, barely visible, as another tear slid down your chin and hit the floor.

"I know," you whispered, voice trembling. "But this... this is better than losing the man I love forever."

Jinu's gaze didn't falter. He looked at you as if trying to memorize everything—the glisten of your tears, the way your chest rose and fell with each breath, the quiet ache in your eyes. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned in.

His kiss wasn't like before. It wasn't playful, or teasing, or rushed in secret corners of the palace. This one was different. It was desperate. Heavy with guilt, regret... sorrow.

And love.

Your arms wrapped around him as you kissed him back with just as much passion, tears streaming freely down your cheeks, eyes tightly shut as if that would freeze this moment—keep him here.

Then— BANG. The chamber doors burst open.

You flinched, pulling away as Jinu instinctively stepped in front of you. Your eyes shot to the doorway—guards, armed and ready, stormed in. At their center stood General Jae-won, his expression unreadable.

And then came your father. His eyes were sharp, filled with fury.

"Step away from the princess!" one of the guards shouted, sword drawn and pointed directly at Jinu. "Demon."

Your stomach dropped.

"Wait—!" you gasped, reaching out—but General Jae-won grabbed you first, yanking you behind him like a shield. Like he was protecting you.

From Jinu.

But Jinu didn't run. He didn't leap out the window or vanish into shadow like you knew he could. He stood his ground, arms at his sides, eyes distant and hollow.

"Jinu..." you whispered, voice cracking.

The guards descended. You cried out as they struck him—once, twice, then again. He didn't fight back. He just took it.

You tried to push past Jae-won, but he held you firm. "Stop! Stop! He's not hurting anyone!" you begged.

But they dragged him away, blood staining his lip, his wrists bound tight as they pulled him toward the hall.

"Jinu!" you screamed, heart breaking.

Then— SLAP.

Pain bloomed across your cheek, your head whipping to the side. The tears you'd tried so hard to hold in finally fell.

You turned your face slowly, stunned, and met your father's blazing eyes.

"You..." he seethed, voice low but searing. "You are a disgrace to this family."

Without another word, he turned and walked out, leaving nothing but silence in his wake.

You collapsed against General Jae-won's chest—his grip steady, though his body held tension like a drawn bowstring. You barely registered the tremble in your hands as you clung to him. Then the tears came—hot, bitter, and unstoppable. You wept for the boy they called a demon. For the love they all spat on. For the history they buried.

Through the veil of tears, your gaze flickered toward the mirror. It wasn't far. You caught your own reflection, distorted by grief—eyes swollen, lips trembling.

Then something shifted.

Reality unraveled like silk slipping from the loom. The air twisted, the warmth of the past fading like dying embers.

And just like that—you were back.

Present day.

Your breath came in ragged gasps as dizziness spun the room around you. Disoriented, you reached out blindly—anything to steady yourself. You felt arms wrap around you, steady and familiar. Jinu.

"Hey—easy. I've got you," Jinu murmured, grounding you with his touch.

But your eyes caught something—just beyond his shoulder.

You turned.

Slowly.

Almost afraid.

She stood. Staring. And she wasn't just some phantom of your imagination.

She was you.

But not now—you dressed in a delicate hanbok, sleeves stained with tears, hair adorned in a style centuries old. Her eyes—the same eyes—held a heartbreak so raw it pierced through time.

You reached for Jinu with trembling fingers. The moment your hand moved, the image shuddered—then cracked like glass.

Memories didn't return—they rushed back, like a dam breaking.

You remembered the night you heard him sing with his old bipa.

You remembered the night you passionately shared in pleasure in your chambers.

You remembered the chains clinking as they dragged Jinu through the palace courtyard.

You remembered screaming, held back by Jae-won's arms.

You remembered Jinu turning his head toward you one last time, bloodied and defiant.

His voice back then—softer. Almost human.

"If the world calls me a demon," he whispered, knuckles brushing your tear-streaked cheek, "then let me burn for you."

You stumbled back as if struck. His voice echoed across lifetimes.

Your knees buckled.

And you fell.

The ground met you gently—but the weight in your chest didn't relent.

Tears fell, unstoppable. One after another. Each one remembering.

Your voice trembled, raw and hoarse.

"The memories... they're mine..."

Your hand clutched at your chest, as though the pain might be buried somewhere beneath your skin.

"I was there. Four hundred years ago... I was her."

But no—you were her.

The cursed princess.

The one who fell for a poor musician plucked on the streets by the king.

The one who stood beside him—even when he sold his soul to Gwi Ma.

Even when the world erased them both.

He spoke, his voice low—controlled, but not cold.

"You remember now... don't you?"

You froze.

That voice.

That tone.

You lifted your gaze slowly.

He was here.

Jinu.

Present-day Jinu. Not the boy dragged in chains. Not the demon the world feared.

The same soul, standing in front of you—no longer hiding.

And he knew.

He placed a hand gently on your cheek, wiping the lone tear that slid down your skin. His touch was warm, grounding. His lips curled into a quiet smile as he chuckled, voice low and nostalgic.

“Four hundred years later… and I still need to catch you,” he whispered, the weight of centuries laced in his words. His hands moved to cup both sides of your face, holding you like you were something sacred—like you always had been.

Your lips quivered, heart pounding beneath your ribs. Everything in you wanted to speak, but only one word made it past your throat—one that lived deep in your memories.

“…Bipa.”

Jinu laughed softly, the sound more boyish than you remembered. He lowered his gaze for a second, then looked up at you again with eyes full of aching affection.

“Still the same as ever,” he murmured, brushing your tears away with his thumbs. His voice softened even more as he added, “My princess…”

Four hundred years ago, he was just a boy with a dream and a desperate heart. He gave his soul to Gwi Ma for his voice—a voice that lifted him from the shadows of poverty and carried him into your world.

It brought him fortune. It brought him pain.

And it took you away.

Now, he stood before you—no longer just a man, not entirely a demon either—and you, reborn as the very thing destined to destroy him.

But none of it mattered.

Not the bloodline you came from. Not the curse in his veins. Not the time that separated your souls.

Because he had you now.

The real you.

The girl who sneaks herself out beneath palace lanterns. The girl he sang for by a moonlit lake. The girl he never stopped searching for.

You.

He leaned in slowly, his forehead gently resting against yours as his breath tickled your lips. His voice was a whisper, barely audible, but it trembled with devotion.

“I lost you once,” he said, “I won’t lose you again.”

And before you could reply, his lips met yours—soft, sure, and filled with the kind of love that could survive lifetimes.

The past didn’t matter. The curse didn’t matter. Only this moment did. Only him. Only you. And the kiss that sealed what fate had tried to tear apart.

Forever.

a/n: I was listening to free the whole time writing this lol but yeah here part 2 y'all hope you like it. ill also be making part 2 of the other jinu oneshot I wrote <#

Taglist: @uniquecutie-puffs @mel3484 @aise-30 @crescent-z @jeewhat

[rotagnus]

your future darling | 🩷o .｡.:*☆

some information about your future spouse!! gender-neutral although i may mention masculine/feminine energies. my first future spouse reading guyss i'm excited. i usually never did these but here we are!! i'll be as blunt and honest as possible because i can't guarantee all of us a fairy-tale ending, but i truly believe that all of us get what we deserve.

this may deal with some heavy topics, so as always, use your discernment. i may not be the tarot reader for you!!!

p1.

they really lovee thriving in environments where everything is changing. they like blending in and not being noticed but like, being the noticer. the observer. so when you first raise a brow and look at them it makes them feel a lot of things. they'll definitely be a bit scared, because there's this INTENSITY about you. this grace that you carry, this genuineness, and it'll be like a shock to their system because you're truly a very unique spirit, a very unique energy that they haven't encountered. to you, this person will literally mimic the same exact thing. meeting the person will be the start of truly living for a lot of you, and things will get so chaotic from their, but not in a bad way, y'know what i mean? they let you act like you truly are, without being guarded. many of you suffer with blocking your actual nature out from others because you don't want to break. you hate being out of control, and so you meticulously portray yourself as someone else, but when you have a moment of losing control? they're not going to judge you for laughing a certain way, or saying something. and you'll be like '...no way'. and slowly but surely, you'll start opening up, and they'll think you're the most beautiful thing they've ever seen.

for a lot of you they'll have hair darker than their skin color to a noticeable degree (ex. light skin and dark hair) or hair much brighter than their skin color (ex. dark skin and light hair). they're definitely more guarded as well, as a result of suffering heavy losses in the past due to similar things that you have experienced. this'll be a bonding moment for you, but this conversation/realization will take place months after you know each other. a slipup, because deep down, both of you don't want the image you've been showing to each other to break and show that broken inner child you both nurse, only in the darkness. but once you doooo? goddamnn you guys are gonna have a BOND. because you both know that you value each other as deeply as the other does, while your whole life, you had imbalanced energy with other people. always givers. never takers.

they are extremely talented. they know how to do things even when they're not given all of the supplies, all of the materials, and their determination is so high it can make them a bit manic at times. they do enjoy life, and they have a good sense of the material world; they may like fashion, art, anything to do with humanity and what it creates. food too! they know that life is a one-time thing, at least this specific one, and they don't shy away from experiencing all those things. neither do you, but you're still much more reserved about it, and may be more reasonable surrounding things like that. you'll love seeing them coo and fawn over a cute puppy or a cute piece of clothing, and they'll love looking at you and seeing that you're looking at them with such a soft, lovesick expression on your face. you'll have them stammering and stuttering when normally they're very sharp and put-together.

with them you'll truly be able to settle into your feminine energy. a lot of you struggle with letting loose and not always taking care of things and settling into masculine energy (which has been a safety net for you, a lot of the time) but with them life will get so much better and you're going to be able to relax, truly. after meeting this person, oddly enough, days actually do get better; not just because of THEM, perse, but it'll be because you entered a new phase of your life after learning a lesson. i think a lot of you have THREE chapters in your life, and you'll meet them very early on in the second one. they'll baby you and take such good care of you and really show you a side of people that you never knew existed. they'll hold you and they'll notice you're tense, and still massage you and kiss your temple and make sure that you're fine. a very gentle person, in general, but ESPECIALLY with you.

they're probably an extroverted introvert for most of you. they love their friends and are genuinely a kind person, but they're SOOOO sweet to their friends, so endearing. they're easily likeable so for you, to have YOU be their favorite person, will be an absolute honor. you know how to melt them. i think that something about them is in fact very attractive and a lot of people may have tiny crushes on them, but they're LOYAL to the one who bagged them (you). they'll make sure that you have a deep trust in them and they wouldn't ever break it. a lot of you will get this person because you're very grateful, and deeply glad that you have an opportunity to LIVE and grow. this is your harvest, the one that was watered with rain and trauma prior to it blossoming.

p2.

this person has a STRONGG energy. extroverted and bright. they come off as...a lot, and to some people, too much, but for you, you'll be like OMG someone who can handle me!! and what's funny is they'll see you and think the same exact thing. they're very sure of themselves and because they hate being perceived as soft and weak, they're definitely going to seem brash and insensitive at times. you, however, are very good at reading people, and you'll understand where they're coming from. they may try very fervently to push you away, but you'll be like 'i ain't leaving'. it's giving beast boy and raven omgggg. this person will try to change their physical looks to be 'accepted' more, and fit the standards that the world gave them. deep inside, they're very insecure, so whenever you give them a compliment? they might deflect it. but deep down, DEEP DOWN, they have a heart of gold. they care immensely about the fact that you looked so WITHIN them to notice things. you'll get their coffee just right, or something, and they're gonna be STARSTRUCK.

as for how they treat you, they will take great care to notice you just as much. they never allow themselves to be tender with people unless it's individual-to-individual because once again, they don't really like being perceived as someone who cares, but they'll definitely be veryyy affectionate when it's just you guys. this can throw you guys off a little bit because you'll think they don't really like you. THEY DO. they just show it in a very...odd manner. this of course doesn't mean that you deserve this, so you guys will have a LOTTT of things to talk about, but at the end of the day, i think you both will fight hard for this relationship to work. a simple argument won't scare you guys, and you both will do your best to make it not sound like a confrontation. be careful with their temper, though.

something else i'd note is that they probably know struggle. they've gone through SOMETHING, in their life; poverty, depression, prejudice, etc. they're not one to judge very easily, although, compared to the other piles, their sense of humor may be a bit more crude (this generation's men 🙄🙄) but not to an outlandish level. if it was, i know that most of you would leave them immediately, so don't really worry about it being too cruel. they're very good with kids, is what i'm hearing. very tender and that'll probably be one of the moments that makes you realize that they're not as tough as they like to say they are. i think that they'll be particularly attracted to you because you don't hold their moments of softness against them. you, in fact, love it, when they feel comfortable enough to portray a different side to you than you are used to.

night is definitely going to be significant for you guys. idk why but you two are definitely opposites; yin and yang, the sun and the moon, day and...night. many of the times you see each other, will be in dark spaces, at first. there may be separation at times, and you both will yearn for each other but both have atrociously stubborn senses of pride, but i think, once again, you guys are both deeeeeeeply in love with each other. but it'll take a while for you guys to settle down. it won't be something that happens quickly, but it will still be dense of moments and times that'll make you feel as if it's truly special. you have had your fair share of heartbreaks before, so at first, you'll look at this person and be like '...they're not different than the rest of them lmaoo but at least i can value them for less than what i did with the others' and then you truly do realize that damn, this person IS different.

they can mess it up at times by not being gentle with you, but they'll learn early on that you're a veryy prompt person and you value security instead of stupid little flicks of insecurity on their side. they'll quickly learn that with you, it's way easier to talk things out rather than act passive aggressive. they also know that you would never settle for someone less than what you deserve, so they're going to try their DAMNDEST to be it. half of you guys will end up giving 'rich auntie' vibes with this person which is so CUTEEE. dogs are important, small white ones is what i'm hearing? not sure if that can be significant for anyone. this whole fs will be a new phase, a new beginning, a 'new kind of love' (that song started to play!!)

p3.

they will definitely balance you out. i think that for a lot of you they may look tired physically, or worn out in one way or another. it is possible that they work night shifts or have a longer workday than others, or that they're busy; the gym, late at night, for example. they're good at what they do, deeply passionate. those who are in research fields pour themselves into everything they do until they have no identity outside of their passion. many are former gifted kids and oldest siblings that had to be more mature early on, which can be a double-edged sword; they have this safe warmth about them that initially attracts you to them, but when you find out why they're so empathetic, you wonder if it was really worth it. some of you will see a certain person in your future spouse; this can be good or bad, depending on who it is.

for a lot of you, at the first moment you see them, they'll be emotionally unavailable, but then, the second time you meet them, they'll be a completely different person than the first. warmer, kinder. they are most definitely seen as a hero/protector. there's something magical about them, the way they look; most will have a darker complexion/features, and will prefer to dress in monochromatic colors. everything about this person will be extremely neat, and they can be a perfectionist at times. despite this, when you truly get them to open up, they're the brightest person you know.

they don't like rough humor. this person also has a deep resentment of anyone who's mean, and they wield their heroicness as a weapon. they may be a bit odd around women specifically (if you're not one, this doesn't apply to you) due to a lack of feminine energy growing up. they have difficulties opening up, and when they see a figure that THEY can find safety in, they cling to them very tightly. they have attachment issues and hate any instability that can happen, so when plans change? expect that person to be a bit panicky, although they might try to hide this side due to understanding that it can be overwhelming for another person, as well as a defect in their usually shiny and perfect self.

they seem quiet at first, which is why a lot of you probably won't anticipate THEM being the one, out of all people. they're rather reserved, so i think that for a lot of you, there'll be a push by the universe for you to meet. a group project, an accidental conversation. you'll both be drawn to one another and feel a deep...weird connection of sorts, and ultimately, you'll have late night calls that turn into late night sleepovers that turn into living with each other. it probably won't go fast, and for a lot of you, this'll reset your nervous system as you're always rushing. it'll definitely test your patience, but in the long scheme of things, it'll ease your anxiety. this person will be your rock, your pillar.

they're going to be on the smarter side of people, so expect you becoming a listener, but this will feel deeply special, as they're the listener for most people and it'll mean the world to them, to have someone who cares about what they're rambling on and on about. you might recognize that you're something special to them because of the way they look at you; puppy-dog eyed, fidgeting with their hands, and body language nervous, but their eyes will always be on YOU.

[ghostlycamil4]

hiiihihi ur blog is so yummy

playfighting with katsuki pls,,,,,, cus something tells me he’d be so big on roughhousing hehe

thanku !!!!!

𝐵𝑎𝑘𝑢𝑔𝑜: 𝐻𝑒’𝑙𝑙 𝐸𝑥𝑝𝑙𝑜𝑑𝑒 𝐼𝑓 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑇𝑜𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝐻𝑖𝑚 (𝑊ℎ𝑖𝑐ℎ 𝑀𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝐵𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑃𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑡)

this was such a cute request omg thank you sm for sending it in, you were so right btw… he’d be so into roughhousing it’s ridiculous 😭 i had a lot of fun with this one.

and for the rest of u: requests are still open btw! i’m thriving off your brainrots

The lights were dim, the blankets already thrown over the couch, and the TV screen glowing with the movie menu in front of you. Kirishima and Denki had volunteered to grab drinks and snacks, leaving you alone with Bakugo in the living room, facing the most ridiculous dilemma in the world: picking a damn movie.

"Come on, just one comedy," you said, sitting on your legs with the remote in hand. "Something light, I don’t wanna watch people die in a space war."

Bakugo scoffed, half sprawled on the couch, legs wide open, one arm hanging over the backrest.

"Comedies are a waste of time," he grunted. "If I’m gonna sit for two hours, there better be explosions."

"God, you’re such a nerd. Obsessed with Star Wars."

His red eyes glared at you for a second, but the corner of his mouth twitched—barely noticeable. He watched you with that usual intensity, like every word you said just gave him more reasons to argue. To push your buttons.

"Give me the remote," he said lowly.

"Not a chance."

When he leaned forward to grab it, you pulled back, holding it up out of reach. It was dumb. But effective. Bakugo growled, rolled his eyes, and lunged at you without warning.

It wasn’t violent. It was quick, clumsy, physical. His hands grabbed your waist easily and shoved you toward the back of the couch while you struggled, laughing breathlessly. You yelled his name in protest and he just growled in return.

"Bakugo, get off!"

"Then give me the damn remote!"

"You wanna fight?" he growled near your ear, his voice low and rough. It sounded like a challenge—but there was something else in it… like he wanted you to say yes.

"You trying to provoke me?"

"I’m winning."

"Oh, really?"

His words cut off when, in your attempt to twist away from his hold, you pushed off with more strength than you meant to. He wasn’t ready for it. The move was messy, fast, almost accidental—you lost balance and toppled right over him, rolling just enough to end up half sprawled on top of him.

Your torso pressed against his, the side of your face barely brushing his collarbone. One of your legs—your left—hooked instinctively over his right one, making the contact a little too close for comfort.

The remote slid across the floor and disappeared somewhere near the couch, but neither of you noticed. Not right then.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. Just looked at you.

First in the eyes. Then, his gaze dropped to your lips, with a fierce intensity that knocked the air from your lungs. Just for a second. But it felt endless. Then his eyes found yours again, holding them like he was searching for a reason to get closer… or maybe not to.

Until suddenly—

"Ahem…"

You both turned at the same time. There they were, standing at the entrance: Kirishima, grinning with a six-pack in one hand, and Denki, wearing a look that screamed “you better spill everything later.”

"Are we interrupting something…?" Denki asked, clearly loving every second of it.

Kirishima faked a cough again.

You jumped off Bakugo like he was on fire. Sat up quickly, fixing your hair with burning cheeks. He just straightened up with a grunt, adjusting his wrinkled shirt and shooting Denki a murderous glare.

"You guys took forever, dumbasses."

“Yeah, sure, we’re the problem,” Denki smirked.

2 hours and 22 minutes later...

The movie had ended a while ago. Kirishima and Bakugo walked ahead down the hall, tossing around comments about the action scenes, the explosions, and the gut-wrenching ending. Their voices faded as they moved away.

You walked behind them with Denki. The hallway lights flickered slightly above, and the soft sound of your footsteps blended with the quiet he’d clearly been holding back for minutes.

"So?" he asked bluntly, raising an eyebrow. “What the hell was that?”

"What was what?"

"Oh, please." He leaned in a little, like you were some fascinating experiment. “You think it’s normal to end up on top of him over a remote?”

"It was an accident."

“Sure. And I’m the Symbol of Peace.”

He sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes, though there was no judgment in his tone. More like amusement.

“Look, you can say whatever you want, but that dumbass is so gone for you, it’s pathetic.”

You glanced at him sideways, half confused, half nervous. Denki raised both hands like he was surrendering.

“Swear to god, I’m not the only one who sees it. Everyone knows. Except apparently the two of you. Y’all are out there tripping each other like it’s some kind of pregame ritual.”

"He’s like that with everyone," you muttered, still not meeting his eyes.

"No. He’s not."

Now his voice dropped a bit. Not out of seriousness, more like he was letting you in on some secret. He straightened up, walking right beside you again.

"Bakugo can be an asshole, yeah. But with you…" He shook his head with a lazy smile. “With you it’s different. He always finds an excuse to touch you.”

He glanced over at you, tilting his head.

“Have you noticed how often he shoves you? Pulls you? Picks fights over dumb shit?”

You closed your eyes for a second, thinking.

• That time you told him his shirt was ugly and he tackled you into the couch with a half-laugh.

• When you handed him a chip and he grabbed your whole damn wrist instead, grumbling, "don’t give me leftovers."

• How he always trips you when you walk side by side, or chucks a pillow just to start a war. Just to keep it going.

Playfighting.

“He’s like a lovesick grade-schooler,” Denki went on, leaning against the counter now. “If he could put gum on your seat or yank your pigtails, he would. But since he’s not eight anymore, he settles for throwing you into cushions every time you breathe weird.”

You couldn’t help laughing, though you rolled your eyes.

"Shut up, it’s not that deep…"

"Sometimes I think the only thing scarier to him than falling for you—" Denki muttered, not looking at you now, “—is you actually finding out.”

But then he grinned, winked, and gave you a light pat on the back just as you reached your bedroom door.

“Sleep tight, lover girl.”

Content @ghostlycamil4 2025. Do not copy or modify.

[harunayuuka2060]

*Vil was still upset about the ordeal he had experienced, replaying in his mind how the MC had looked at him with such kindness—and their final words: "Save them." Rook studied his dorm leader’s expression, curious about the events that had unfolded beyond the portal. Yet he knew it wasn’t his place to ask.*

*Meanwhile, Grim sat in front of the chained portal, staring at it intently. Malleus noticed him and approached.*

Malleus: Grim, you must be growing impatient.

Grim: *continues to stare at the portal*

Malleus: ...

Leona: Azul, Ace, Epel, and robo-child.

Ortho: My name is Ortho.

Leona: Yeah, whatever. You're dealing with the next.

Azul: Honestly, I don’t think I’m ready for this.

Leona: You think you've got any choice?

Azul: ...

Azul: I dislike how you’re the one in control here.

Ace: I hope this MC will take easy on us.

Epel: Don't jinx us.

Ortho: Hmm... *his eyes widened* Is this the sound of waves I hear?

Ace: Eh?! But Leona-senpai! Ortho is not waterproof!

Leona: I know.

Idia: If you know, then why are you choosing him?!

Leona: These portals don't always follow natural logic. I chose the Octo-punk to lead this time because he's a merfolk.

Leona: And I'm sure Ortho would be fine regardless.

Idia: No! Just send Jack again—

Ortho: No, brother. If Leona chose me, then my expertise must be needed.

Leona: There we have it. Now run along and get that shard.

Azul: Don’t worry, Idia. I’ll get us out of there at the first sign of danger.

Idia: ...

Idia: Okay.

Azul: ...

*The four stared up at MC’s towering form. A giant-sized mermaid, they sat motionless in the middle of the ocean, their pale skin and tail almost luminous under the light. Even submerged, their scales appeared brittle, as if drying out. Their distant gaze remained fixed on the blue sky—unaware of the group watching from the shore.*

Ace: Wh-What's going on, Azul-senpai?

Azul: ...

Ortho: By all observable metrics, their condition defies natural laws.

Epel: They're sick?

Ortho: Or worse.

Ace: OI!!! PREFECT!!!

MC: ...

Ace: LOOK AT US! WE'RE HERE!

MC: ...

Ace: Azul-senpai!

Azul: ...

Azul: Wait here—I'm going to take a closer look.

*Azul dove into the water, shifting into his mer-form as he approached—then recoiled, instinctively covering his nose at the pungent scent of decay.*

Azul: (This is...)

Ace: What's wrong with them?

Azul: ...

Azul: A merfolk thrives in the embrace of the ocean—yet here, the Prefect withers, as if the very sea poisons them.

Epel: Are you suggesting the water is toxic?

Ortho: Should we get them out of the water?

Azul: I doubt that'll help.

Ace: ...

Ace: *jumps into the water and swims towards MC*

Epel: Ace! You idiot— *does the same thing*

Azul and Ortho: ...

Ace: *struggles to climb over their lap* Yo— You're slippery!

Epel: *curses when he slides back down*

Riddle: I hope Ace doesn't do anything idiotic.

Jamil: You're asking too much.

Ruggie: Have some faith in Ace. Shishishi!

Malleus: ...

Grim: ...

Grim: *his ears twitched*

Malleus: Grim, is there something amiss?

*Grim charged the portal, throwing his full weight against it—again and again—until the others exchanged uneasy looks.*

Silver: Grim! Stop! You're hurting yourself!

Grim: Grrr!!!

Sebek: GRIM! HURTING YOURSELF WON'T OPEN THAT PORTAL!

Grim: ...

Grim: Grr...

Leona and the others: ...

Leona: We're doing our best here. Learn to wait.

Grim: ...

Malleus: ...

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

big question. i'm cis (afab) and my gf is trans (amab) and i'm sorta having a hard time reconciling something. i've been a hard line feminist since i was about 8, by 12 i was a practical library on everything and anything womens lib. i'm spending a lot more time around trans people especially my gf now and i'm sorta struggling to reconcile the trans experience with my feminism. like- i'll see trans women being like "i hate my body :(" "my voice is awful" "i need [x thing to try to pass] ugh" and like my first thought is always "NO! THATS HOW THEY FUCKING GET YOU!!! THE PATRIARCHY WANTS YOU TO HATE YOURSELF SO YOU ENSLAVE YOURSELF TO CAPITALISM AND LIVE IN A CONSTANT STATE OF NEED FOR NEW PRODUCTS TO WARD OFF THE EVER PRESENT SELF HATRED BROUGHT ON YOU BY SOCIETY" and they go "well then how do i pass/transition?" and i honestly don't know and i also don't know how far it goes before its no longer dysphoria but instead the intentional subjugation of women by patriarchy for profit. i wanna help my fellow ladies but i honestly don't know how to like- apply the feminism i was taught as a child to trans women and i want to learn as soon as possible so that i can start doing it like yesterday

hi there,

I'll be honest: if it feels hard to apply the feminism you learned as a kid to your trans friends, that's probably because the feminism you were taught didn't have trans woman in mind.

luckily, the answer to this is something that I consider to be feminism 101: what a woman does with her body is, ultimately, her fucking business.

listen: I agree with you that the beauty industry(TM) is evil. it's misogynistic, it's exploitative, it thrives by making women feel bad enough about themselves to make them spend money on shit they don't need, etc. we all know this.

now, having said that: women who like makeup or wear heels or get laser hair removal or whatever other asinine thing are not my oppressor, nor are they my enemy. dare I say, we have bigger problems.

we also need to consider that many trans women are coming to these choices from a VERY different place than many cis women are. while I think my fellow cis women really benefit from reminders that they're allowed to stop shaving or wearing eyeliner or dieting or whatever, that's because most of us have had those actions forced on us from very young ages and may genuinely need a hand to feel secure breaking out of those behaviors.

the majority of trans women are not coming from a background where they were encouraged to partake in the same personal grooming habits and modes of presentation as cis women; many of them have, in fact, been ostracized, bullied, threatened, and otherwise hurt because of forays into forms of presentation that are considered feminine. no matter how good your intentions may be, approaching your advice indelicately can, unfortunately, make you come across as no different than any transphobe on the street trying to enforce cisnormative societal expectations. it also must be said that, for many trans women, the ability to "pass" is a matter of security - for having their status as women recognized at all, and to avoid harassment and abuse in public spaces. if you live in America, like I do, politicians in power currently have an extremely explicit anti-trans agenda that can make it harrowing to be visible as a trans person, and trans women in particular are frequently targeted for violence.

there are absolutely critiques to be made the way the many trans women are expected to perform hyperfemininity. the notion that someone is duty bound to drastically change their appearance in order to transition at all is itself extremely rooted in cisnormativity, and "passing" is often contingent on being young, thin, able-bodied, reasonably wealthy, and hewing as closely to Eurocentric standards of beauty as possible. that's not awesome! but that's also not the fault of any individual; no trans person asked to be born into a world where gender norms are so narrow and failing to pass can come with a very real risk of physical danger.

also, if I can circle back to this: again, women who participate in aspects of the beauty industry are not our enemies. there are always going to be some number of women who enjoy doing their makeup or like spending time fussing over their little outfits or want breast implants or whatever. some of those women are going to be trans. my official feminist stance on this is that I don't give a shit, because I believe in bodily autonomy even when it involves things I would not do personally and the choices that individual women make about how they want to style their little meat body don't even crack the top 100 things that I'm worried about right now. it's actually kind of vitally important, politically, that trans people be able to safely pursue their preferred gender expression; while it's not particularly revolutionary for a cis woman to go outside all dolled up, whether a trans woman can do that safely is a pretty basic litmus test for how safe a given space is for queer people. it's a ridiculously low bar, and many places will still fail to clear it.

so, yeah, I don't know, dude. be there to talk to your trans girlies if they want to start unpacking some of the pressure they feel to conform to a very rigid idea of womanhood, but whether or not they can walk down the street in your neighborhood safely is a WAY bigger issue than whether they decide to do voice training or not.

if you really want to cut to the root of the insecurity and vulnerability that the beauty industry thrives on exploiting, your time is much better spent working to ensure the trans women in your life feel safe and supported and have a community where they can find support regardless of how they look.

necessary disclaimer I'm a cis girl, any transfemme folks please share your voice here and feel free to clap my ass if I've said something out of line.

[awhhayden]

CONTAINS : age gap 20+, dilf!hayden, fluff, anxiety/panic attack, short story

SUMMARY : Hayden wakes up from a nightmare, his anxieties weighing down on your relationship.

Hayden stirs beside you, the peaceful rhythm of sleep abruptly shattered as he shoots upright, fear flickering across his features. A cold sweat glistens on his chest and neck, his breath coming in frantic gasps as another nightmare haunts his consciousness.

For the past week, the same chilling dream has plagued him, each one a manifestation of the simmering anxieties about your relationship. With you just stepping into your 23rd year and him carrying the weight of 43, the whispers of the world loom large, as if the media’s scrutiny could unravel the delicate threads of what you both share.

Each day, he finds himself on high alert, bracing for the latest wave of cruel commentary about your love—the love that defies conventional norms but thrives in its authenticity. Hayden positions himself as a shield between you and the relentless barrage of judgment, yet deep down, he knows the sting of those words reaches you, drawing a painful line back to him.

Guilt tugs at his heart, knowing that these dark reflections are a consequence of his existence in your life, and he longs for a way to silence the storm that rages endlessly in his mind.

He turns and gazes at you, a soft contrast to the panic in his chest. Your hair spills like silk across the pillow, catching the soft glow of the moonlight that dances through the window. Each rise and fall of your chest is a tender symphony, a rhythm that lulls him into a deeper calm.

With a gentle smile, he lays back on his side and wraps his strong arm around your waist, pulling you closer into his warmth. The sweet scent of your strawberry shampoo envelops him, a fragrant reminder that you are all he needs.

You stir slightly, your voice a soft murmur in the quiet of the room. "Mmm, you okay?" Your eyes flutter open just enough to glimpse the worry etched on his face, and he smiles, leaning into the fragrant softness of your hair. "Now I am," he whispers, his words a soft caress that fills the space between you with a warm intimacy, as if the world outside has faded away, leaving only the two of you as his anxieties melt away into oblivion.

He feels the heat radiating from your body and leans in closer, letting the moment deepen. The room is filled with a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the soft sound of your breathing. With each breath, he finds himself more anchored in the present, savoring this shared moment of peace that feels both timeless and sacred.

"Do you remember the first time we slept like this?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. He recalls that night, when the stars overhead seemed to twinkle just for you two, a new chapter just unfolding.

You chuckle softly, eyes still heavy with sleep. "I think you were the one who ended up stealing all the blankets," you tease, a playful smile dancing on your lips.

He smirks, nudging you playfully. "Guilty as charged." A moment of laughter passes between you, a thread of shared memories that wraps around you in warmth. Beneath that playful exchange, a deeper truth lingers in the air—an unspoken understanding of each other, grounded in genuine affection.

You shift slightly, nestling into his embrace, and he tightens his hold instinctively, as if afraid to let go. The soft rhythm of your breaths intertwining sets a peaceful cadence. “What are you thinking about?” you ask, curiosity sparking your gaze as you finally meet his eyes.

He hesitates for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. “Yeah, it’s just…” He takes a deep breath, struggling to find the right words. “Sometimes I worry about the age gap between us. I mean, I know it’s not the worst difference, but still…” You frown slightly, propping yourself up on one elbow, giving him your full attention. “What do you mean?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair, his gaze drifting toward the moonlight spilling through the window. “With me being in the public eye, everyone seems to have an opinion about everything. I can imagine the headlines, the gossip… it worries me. I don’t want to be that guy who’s dating someone significantly younger. I don’t want it to look like I’m… I don’t know, taking advantage of that.”

Your heart sinks a little at his unease, seeing the vulnerability etched in his features. “You’re not taking advantage of anything. We’re not like that. We have something real here.”

“I know that,” he replies, looking back into your eyes with sincerity. “But the media spins things. I've seen it happen to friends, people in the industry facing scrutiny just for their choices in relationships. I don’t want to subject you to that kind of negativity. You don’t deserve it.”

“You can’t control how others see us,” you say gently, brushing your fingers across his cheek. “What matters is how we see each other. You mean the world to me, and I don’t care about the age gap or what people think.”

He listens, but the concern doesn’t entirely vanish from his eyes. “You say that now, but what if it becomes a burden in the future? What if the attention—both good and bad—pulls us apart instead of bringing us closer?”

“If it’s meant to be, we’ll find a way to make it work,” you reply, your voice steady and unwavering. “And if we do hit bumps along the way, we’ll face them together. Love isn’t about age or public perception; it’s about trust, respect, and the connection we’ve built.”

He smiles softly at your words, grateful yet still clouded by his worries. “You make it sound so simple. I just don’t want to risk losing what we have because of outside noise.”

You take a moment, gathering your thoughts, before responding. “I’m not naive. I know the world can be harsh. But I also believe that if we’re strong in our bond, we can withstand anything. Our relationship doesn’t have to be defined by the age gap—or by the spotlight you’re in.”

He studies you intently, his brows slightly relaxed as he absorbs your words. “You really believe that?” He probes, searching your face for reassurance.

“I do,” you affirm, leaning closer, grounding him with your presence. “Each day with you just feels right. It’s not about the years; it’s about how well we fit together and how we support each other”

A soft chuckle escapes him, his tension easing slightly. “In all my life, I’ve never met someone quite like you,” he admits. “You’re a breath of fresh air, you keep me young” he jokes.

You smile at that, feeling a wave of warmth wash over you. “I’m glad I can be someone who brings you comfort. Just remember, I want this, I want you” you say softly. He reaches for your hand, intertwining your fingers as he gives a light squeeze. “Thank you for being you. For standing by me. I just want to protect what we have.”

“Then let’s protect it together,” you say, resolute. “I love you” you whisper, he smiles

As you settle back into his embrace, the weight of his worries lingers in the air but feels lighter now, softened by the understanding between you. Together, you drift into a shared silence, sleep finally weighing down on Hayden’s eyes, you fall back asleep together, a newfound understanding and the sound of the wind in the air.

a little story while I work on a chapter two of my james kelly fic! also still adding to my taglist so lmk if you want to be added! <3

taglist : @bimbo-baggins17 @malinadbbdh @speaknow-sw @haydensheartt @inlovewithdob @fredswrite

[bloomzone]

2025 : #4 BELIEVE IN YOURSELF

「 Listen to me. YOU are in full control of your destiny. No one else. Not your parents, not your friends, not your circumstances. YOU . The moment you take full responsibility for your life is the moment everything changes. 」

✒️..Too many people say, “I can’t do it because my family didn’t support me,” or “I wasn’t given the same opportunities as others.” Let me tell you something: success doesn’t care about your excuses. It doesn’t care about your setbacks. Success is about what you do with what you have.You can’t change where you started, but you can change where you’re going. Life isn’t about waiting for things to happen; it’s about making them happen. And that starts with one simple belief: YOU HAVE WHAT IT TAKE

1 Why You Need to Believe in Yourself

Think about it—every single person who has achieved something great didn’t start out with all the answers. They didn’t wake up one day and suddenly OMG BRO I'M RICH OR OMG BRO I'M A CEO . No, they struggled. They failed. They doubted themselves. But the difference? They didn’t quit.They believed in their ability to learn, to grow, and to figure it out along the way. And so can you !!! you’re going to face challenges. THAT'S LIFE . There will be days when you feel like giving up, when the pain seems too much, and the road ahead feels impossible. But those are the moments that define you. Those are the moments where you choose—do you give in to doubt, or do you rise above it?

2 Take Full Responsibility

Stop blaming your situation. Stop waiting for someone to save you. Nobody’s coming to rescue you. This is your life, and you have to own it. Look in the mirror and ask yourself, “Am I giving my all? Am I showing up for my dreams?” If the answer is no, then it’s time to make a change.You owe it to yourself to show up every day. Not for anyone else IT'S YOUR LIFE. Not for approval but because you believe in your potential. Because you know deep down that you’re capable of more.

3 One Step at a Time

I’m not asking you to figure it all out today. Success isn’t about giant leaps it’s about consistent steps. Focus on the next 24 hours. What can you do today to get closer to your goals? Forget about next month, next year—handle today.SET DAILY GOALS - WEEKLY GOALS - MONTHLY GOALS .. When you start taking it one day at a time, everything becomes manageable. You’ll realize that the mountain you’re climbing isn’t as impossible as it seems. But you have to start. You have to put one foot in front of the other.

4 Struggle Is Part of the Process

Don’t shy away from struggle. Embrace it. Without struggle, there’s no progress THERE IS NO FUCKING PERSON THAT DON'T MAKE MISTAKES WE ARE HUMAN AFTER ALL Without setbacks, there’s no growth. Every obstacle you face is an opportunity to become stronger, to become better, to become the person you’re meant to be.And when it gets hard—and trust me, it will—remember this: the future you is counting on you. The version of you that’s thriving, that’s living the life you dream about? They’re waiting for you to make the tough choices now.

5 Stay Focused

What do you want YOU ! Not what someone else wants for you. What do you want YOU NOT THE SOCIETY NOT UR FRIENDS NOT UR TEACHERS ! Once you know the answer, block out everything else. Block out the negativity. Block out the doubts. Block out the people who say you can’t. Stay locked in. Keep your eyes on the prize. if it were easy, everyone would do it. But it’s not easy. It’s hard. It’s painful. It requires sacrifice. But it’s worth it. Every single tear, every single late night, every single failure—it’s all worth it when you finally achieve what you set out to do.

So, believe in yourself. Not just today, but every single day. Even when it feels impossible. Even when the world seems to be against you. Because the only thing standing between you and the life you want is your belief in your ability to create it.This is your time. This is your moment. The question is: will you step up and take it?Stop making excuses. Start making progress. Believe in yourself, and watch how your life transforms. I'm proud of u !

@bloomzone 📇

[heartsfromia]

critical inquiry — l. jihoon

pairing: non-idol! jihoon x reader

word count: 6,018

genre: fluff, workplace romance, reader isnt tech-savvy, jihoon kinda gives loser (endearing) energy

warnings: valorant (jk), profanities, proofreader? i hardly know her

author's notes: get me an IT guy like jihoon y'all, also idk i struggle when writing in mainly the guy's pov bro i cannot think like a man, can they be pathetic, yearning beings? idk bro

Lee Jihoon loved one thing about his job—working from home. With enough people in his team to cover tasks both from the office and at home, they're given the option to work either and Jihoon always picks home, time after time.

Until today, when Jihoon had received a message that his Work-From-Office buddy would be taking time off work for the next week because his grandfather fell ill, and he was asked to go back home for the time being.

“Only a week, Jihoon, and I swear you can go back to your PC set and slippers,” Wonwoo had reassured him, but it still wasn’t enough, “I’ll even help you rank up to Ascendant 3.”

So, that was how Jihoon found himself waking up at seven and taking public transportation to the office because his car was at his parent’s, and honestly, he wasn’t close with anyone to the point where he’d ask for a lift.

During the entire trip on his first day back to the office, he cursed the corporate slave routine. To think that before social distancing, that we would wake up at the crack of dawn to beat traffic or the commuter rush, go to a job that we’re not even sure we enjoy (spoiler: we don’t), and then have to go through that same rush and traffic when going home, only to sleep and reset the routine for the next day. As an IT support member, being in the office was the most useless and time-consuming thing. The Wi-Fi at his office is crap, the computers are old and laggy because the company doesn’t want to invest in better quality technology, and the team leaders are always breathing down your neck—but, hey, at least they compensate those that choose to come to the office.

One thing that Jihoon was grateful from the pandemic was the normalization of working from home. Having the option to attend the 10AM meeting, waking up at exactly 9:50 AM—clocking in—then joining the Zoom meeting without having to shower, change out of your pajamas, or even get out of the bed was something that was too good to be true. Alas, it happened, and he had been thriving and taking advantage of his Work From Anywhere policy in his company. Granted, he is only able to continuously work from home as long as there were two team members working from office, and luckily enough, that condition was met for the past six months

“This is new,” Hansol quipped when he spotted Jihoon signing at the entrance of the office. “Ah, Wonwoo is taking time off, right?”

“Yeah,” Jihoon muttered, most of his face hidden under a mask and cap, with his eyes peeking through the lenses of his glasses. “Do you think there’s coffee in the kitchen?”

“Obviously,” Hansol chuckles, finding the question obsurd. Can you blame Jihoon? The ceiling in the entrance of the building is almost falling apart from mold forming because of rain, and their computer to clock in was an old ASUS model from 2014 that can only function on a LAN cable—which is why its only purpose in this marketing agency was for signing in.

Sometimes Jihoon even wonders how the company can last for the past decade with its cheap ways.

He made his way to the second floor where the pantry, and overall kitchen was placed, making himself a cup of coffee before climbing the next step of stairs to the IT room—the main base for programmers and the support team. Another thing he hated about working from the office was the fact that the AC in his office just never seems to function. It’s the middle of summer, the city is going through a massive heatwave, and here, in his company placed in the smack middle of the city, they have a policy to not let the AC go anywhere under 23°C.

At least, when he is in the comforts of his own home, he can have the AC go as low as it can get, all while still in his pajamas, and could even multitask with Valorant opened in another tab.

“Oh, Jihoon, you’re switching with Wonwoo, right?” Jeonghan asked, turning in his chair and pushing his glasses up above his head.

“Yeah, I am, where does he usually sit?” Jeonghan taps the desk on his left, and watched as Jihoon got settled, a glint in his eyes that the younger one spotted. “What?”

“Did Wonwoo tell you anything?”

“Other than keeping my Google chat opened, nothing really,” he responded.

“You’ll be handling his division, too, right?” Jihoon nodded. “The Marketing team.” Rather than a question, Jeonghan confirmed the division, and once again, Jihoon nodded. A crease formed between his eyebrows, unsure of what his senior was referring to, and the latter noticed, chuckling at his puzzled expression. “You’ll see.”

It’s too early to understand what he means. Usually, he’d still be asleep right now if he were at home, especially since there aren’t any meetings he needs to attend today, he could’ve slept until three minutes before he required to clock in. He wasn’t use to having to be on work-mode even with ten minutes before his shift officially starts.

God, I miss working from home.

The first few hours into the shift was tedious. Since the company is a small PR agency, as a member of the in-house IT team, he’s required to wear multiple hats and take on various tasks. Unfortunately, since he is replacing Wonwoo for the time being, he’ll be taking on the task of Website management and ensuring that the Marketing team didn’t have any issues, as well as any technical issues the team might face, which is inevitable as their equipment is, as mentioned, crap quality. Every day Jihoon wonders why he claims to resign from the place but never does.

“Let’s grab lunch across the street,” Jeonghan invited Jihoon once the clock had struck twelve, signaling lunch time for all employees. Jihoon was about to agree and turn his computer to sleep mode when a ding! notified a message had come in. He rose a hand, indicating for his senior to wait a moment as he checked the message. He hadn’t received any complaints during the first half of the day from the team he was in charge of so this was a bit unusually for him.

It was a message from you.

Y/N: Afternoon, Jihoon. This is Y/N, and I’m new from Saerom’s team. Y/N: I was told by Wonwoo that he’s currently on PTA, and to message you instead. I have an issue with my Google Analytics account, I’m currently logged out and usually Wonwoo helps me with that because I haven’t been given my password (it’s been two weeks I’ve started 😅). Y/N: Can you help me with this?

“Who’s that?” Jeonghan ducked down, looking over Jihoon’s shoulder as he read the message, then a chuckle left his lips. “Ah… it’s Y/N, she’s a new, and struggles with a lot of the tech things—you’ll be meeting with her a lot.”

“She’s bad with tech and chose to be a social media specialist?”

“Ironic, huh?” Jeonghan laughs. “But she means well, even though she sucks with tech, she has good ideas and already has a viral TikTok video for one of our clients.”

“And she says she hasn’t been given her passwords? Aren’t we supposed to give it to them when they start?”

“Yeah, but usually they don’t ever log out, only she has that case,” he explains, the corner of his mouth lifting before he pats his junior’s shoulder reassuringly. “Just head on over there and help her, it doesn’t take more than ten minutes.”

Jihoon heaved a sigh, reluctant to help because of how tedious and unnecessary and easily avoidable this problem would’ve been if she’d had her hands on her account passwords.

Jihoon: Lee Saerom’s team? Y/N: Yes Jihoon: Alright, wait a minute Jihoon: On my way

“Are you dining in or taking away?” Jihoon asked Jeonghan, while he wrote down the password for your account on a sticky note.

“Dining in.”

“I’ll meet you there then.” With that, Jihoon tossed his cap off and trudged down to the second floor where Saerom’s team should be located. Since it was lunch time, most of the office space was empty, with only the office boy who was busy sweeping the floors from the aftermath of earlier today. He found the main room for the Marketing team fairly quickly, and didn’t have to look far for you as you were the only one in the room, seated in front of your computer, shoulders stiff and hands placed on your lap as if you were starting your first day.

Immediately upon hearing the creaking of the door, your eyes met above the desks and monitors, and for a brief second, Jihoon paused—almost shell-shocked as to finding someone like you working in a rundown company such as this.

“Y/N?” Jihoon called out, just making sure despite the obvious newbie aura that wafted around you.

“Yes… Are you Jihoon? The one covering for Wonwoo?” He nodded, and you were almost sure he’d say something to follow up to prevent an air of awkward silence from appearing between the two of you. He did not. Instead, he barely uttered anything as he approached your desk. You didn’t hesitate to push away with your chair to let him take the reigns and input your account. How you were able to stay logged out of the account and not have said anything earlier was unbeknown to him. You had been finishing up last week’s reports, but had only moved on to Google Analytics just twenty minutes ago. You’d usually have your account still logged in, always clicking the Remember me, however, to your surprise, you were logged out.

“This is your password.” Jihoon handed you the sticky note. “If you need any more help, you can just message me—Wonwoo is on leave for the next week.”

“A-alright.” Maybe it was the way he carried himself that intimidated you. Or the fact that he never made any attempt at small talk, thus, a tense and awkward air floated in the space between you two. Maybe it was his tone, lacking the usually bounce you’d usually hear from Wonwoo as he explained the mechanics of Hootsuite.

It is definitely his aura, it’s ice cold, you couldn’t help but think and maybe when he wasn’t looking, you’d shiver. “Thank you,” you uttered, and with a stiff smile, he nodded and left the room without anything further, leaving you to finish the last half of your report alone.

If you need any more help, you can just message me.

And that’s how it started, a back and forth of at least twice a day since that first exchange between you and Jihoon. At first, you had to introduce yourself again, despite the fact you were using Google Chats and your name was clearly displayed. After a brief introduction, you explained the problem at hand, then after a minute or two came Jihoon’s go-to reply.

Alright, wait a minute.

On my way.

The first couple of times, you almost thought it was an automated response he had somehow coded every time someone messaged him. Maybe he had set it so that after a couple of messages from the sender, it would trigger the short response from his end, however, you learnt that it was just purely him when your own messages grew shorter and shorter.

So, short to the point that this was your most recent exchange:

Y/N: Jihoon :( Jihoon: On my way

Thus, it became almost a routine for the two of you. Jihoon didn’t have any complaints, despite Jeonghan’s claims that the junior would usually complain from having to go back and forth, ascending and descending the same set of stairs more times than he should be. “Aren’t you tired?” Jeonghan had asked on Thursday after Jihoon had returned from helping you with the extension cord for the presentation you had scheduled the afternoon.

Jihoon merely shrugged. “I barely get to exercise with coming in.” Of course, as Jeonghan has been working with Jihoon since he started, he could tell the guy was bluffing, hiding whatever his true intention was behind his nonchalant facade, but he never said anything. Sooner or later the truth will come to light.

Jeonghan wasn’t the only that could tell that was a different air hanging around the avid-WFH-over-WFO tech employee, and whatever gossip that surrounded him managed to reach the ears of the guy he was covering for as the two got into a game of Valorant Thursday evening. As the two waited for a match to be found, Wonwoo informed him that his grandfather was feeling better and could be released from the hospital by Saturday morning.

“Oh, that’s good to hear, glad he’s doing alright,” Jihoon offered, although a bit half-hearted as he was eating his dinner by his desk at the same time.

“Yeah, and by Monday you can return to your world of working from anywhere,” Wonwoo said, a deep chuckle echoing on his end. “And by anywhere, I mean, literally just your room.”

“Nah, it’s fine, I can come in to the office next week,” Jihoon replied without thinking twice, then realized what he said and added, “you can make sure your granddad’s fine.” He internally sighed, believing he made a good save. However, a dead silence hung in the Discord call, even after the loud ‘Match found’ reverberated, breaking the silence for a second.

“What did you say?”

“What?” Jihoon tried to play dumb, then added, “I’m playing Gekko,” to change the subject.

“Did you just say you’re willing to leave the comforts of your own home to work from office?” Wonwoo asked again, clearly twisting Jihoon’s words causing him to roll his eyes. His colleague then added, in a faux tone of panic, “The end of the world is nearing, isn’t it?”

“Shut up and pick your damn agent.”

“Are you even Jihoon right now?”

Jihoon defended himself, “I can want to work from office from time-to-time, you know?” Wonwoo was exaggerating, wanting to work from office is tiring, but nothing is more boring than working alone with only a dumb FPS game there to entertain you every time you’re free. Admittedly, he found working while being surrounded with other people was enjoyable—he wasn’t a social butterfly, didn’t make an effort to start a conversation by the coffee machine either, but it was… nice being around others every now and then. Humans are meant to be social creatures, after all.

“You have been working from home ever since probation had ended, which was literally two years ago, Jihoon,” Wonwoo reiterated, “you have been working from home since.”

“That’s not true.” He frowned, the comment caught him off guard and he almost started the round with buying any abilities. “I worked three days last October.”

“Which was, what? Nine month ago?” He couldn’t rebuttal that. It’s common knowledge among his peers that he despises working from office—Jihoon knows that, too. It’s just that this week has changed his mind. People can change their mind. “I have to bribe you with Valorant just so you come to company dinners, and now you want to willingly cover me for another week? For free?”

An irritated groan shook his chest as his character died on screen. “Damn it—” He pushed to talk, “90 on Reyna.” He fell back into his chair with a sigh, annoyed that Wonwoo was ruining his focus on the game—it was supposed to be his rank up to Ascendant 3. “Okay, and what’s your point?”

Jihoon swears he could hear the guy smirk. “I know.”

“You’re being annoying, you’re distracting me.”

Wonwoo paid no mind to his complaints, hitting clean headshots on the enemy but the spike detonated causing them to lose the round. Despite that, Wonwoo kept his cool as he continued to taunt his colleague. “Vernon told me about your round trips to and from the Marketing team.” He was definitely grinning now. "The problem is, I know Saerom’s team don’t usually need any help from IT support—at least, not to the point to where you need to go there twice a day.”

Jihoon cursed under his breath as he, once again, misses his utility and gets killed barely ten seconds into the round. This time he doesn’t even bother to communicate with his team, in fear of his voice shaking in anticipation of Wonwoo’s suspicions. “Except for one person,” his peer begins, letting the silence drag between the two as he focused on the game, getting three kills in a row, winning the round for them. Then Wonwoo asks, Jihoon picturing a shit-eating grin on his damned face. “Y/N’s cute, isn’t she?”

“I’m forfeiting.” Jihoon presses slash then F, to which it was denied, their teammates sending in question marks in response. Wonwoo’s burst out laughing at Jihoon’s ‘missclicked sorry’ reply. “Focus on the game—if I derank, it’s on you.”

Wonwoo’s laughter only grew louder, letting himself have the last word. “Jihoon enjoying working from office wasn’t on my 2024 bingo.”

Neither was it on Jihoon’s because he never enjoys working from office. Whatever friendly and social air that was present the previous week wasn’t present now as he finds himself at the wrath of the Operation’s team manager.

“I was on a call with Miyoung and she told me she couldn’t access their website, Jihoon,” Eunkwang scolded, his greying brows forming deep crevices disguised as wrinkles between his eyebrows and across the length of his forehead. “You’re supposed to be on top of this—she couldn’t access it the whole weekend, Jihoon, what happened? We’ve never faced this problem before.” Yes they have, Jihoon recalled, it happens when you run an agency that barely gathers clients and doesn’t really care enough to provide quality platform options, either, but of course Eunkwang says the same argument. Talk about selective amnesia.

“I don’t care how long it takes for you to fix it—” Might take half an hour, could’ve dealt with it within the time you’re yelling at me but I’ll shut up, Jihoon bitterly thought but kept his lips pressed in a tight line. “I want it done until Miyoung calls to confirm.”

Once he was sure the old man was done projecting his anger, Jihoon bowed his head, uttering, “Understood.” He turned his body to climb up the stairs to the third floor, grumbling to himself how this wouldn’t have happened if he worked at home because he wouldn’t be tired from commuting and socializing during the weekends and could monitor the websites every now and then. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case because he was tired, and he is still tired, he hates working in the office, he doesn’t even know why he agree to go for another week, he could’ve been at home and in a Valorant Swiftplay by now—

“Jihoon?” He turned to find you, standing by the door of your team’s room, a timid look on your face. Something had happened, he could see it written all over your soft features as you eyed him wordlessly. Without saying anything, he followed you towards your desk, where you idly by your computer with pursed lips and furrowed brows.

The dreaded blue screen. It had only reached 15% and didn’t seem to budge even after three minutes of watching it.

“For God’s sake,” Jihoon cursed under his breath, however, it was loud enough for you to hear it and the unusual sharpness in his tone caused you to jump slightly, your heart beginning to race in your chest as his face contorted into frustration. “How did you manage to get stuck like this?”

“I-I don’t know.” God, you hated it when you started stuttering. It always made you look stupid and helpless. You inhaled a quick breath, hoping it would help calm the nerves that seemed to climb the more you avoided his intense gaze. “I was coming back from my break and turned it on, and it did this… I didn’t do anything, I swear…” If your lack of technological capabilities looked pitiful to Jihoon, your inability of forming a coherent and sensible answer was the cherry on top. “I’m really sorry.”

Upon seeing her stricken face, Jihoon inhaled a deep breath, letting his tensed shoulders fall. “No, Y/N, I should be sorry. I’m taking my anger out on you, you just needed help.” He glances back at your monitor, heaving another sigh. “Just leave it, it should be able to restart on its own, but if it doesn’t, just tell me.”

“Alright…” Would it be even more pathetic to say you were fighting away tears? You had to turn your head a bit, angling away from Jihoon so your hair fell to cover your face enough for him to not notice your obvious internal battle with letting your emotions take over. “I’m really sorry I keep bothering you with not being tech-savvy.”

An ache thumped in his chest hearing your apology, sounding defeated. “It’s fine, Y/N,” he tried to reassure you, but he knew damn well the damaged was done and whatever unspoken agreement to two of you had, had gone. Jihoon knew he was terrible with people, but he really messed up with ruining it with you—the one person that made coming into work, commuting back and forth, and facing nagging higher-ups, the least bit bearable.

It didn’t seem to register in him how bad the damage was until he got through the day without any messages from you. Even Jeonghan was surprised as the day was coming to a close. “Y/N didn’t come in?”

“She did,” Jihoon mumbled.

“And she didn’t need any help?” He only shrugged, trying to hide his own bewilderment. Did his words strike you that much? He decided to message you, just in case you were reluctant to ask him for help.

Jihoon: Y/N Jihoon: Everything alright?

He waited on the edge of his seat, his heart skipping a beat when you began typing back.

Y/N: Yes, everything’s fine ^__^

Everything was, in fact, not fine.

Not only did your computer take almost an hour to restart after the dreaded blue screen, whatever the computer had gone through during said hour had your accounts logged out, and you, being clumsy, misplaced the sticky note that Jihoon gave you, forcing you to borrow someone else’s computer to pull up the Instagram analytics. Fortunately, most of your inputted data was still available from before your break, it was still a hassle to transfer the data from your colleague’s computer to your own, and because, once again, you are tech-savvy, you didn’t know any shortcut. You had to turn to Google, open up YouTube tutorials on Excel shortcuts, consuming almost an hour of your day trying to learn everything from scratch.

But you promised yourself you wouldn’t bother him with any measly problems if Google already had a solution.

Even it meant running into the risk of never seeing him again.

Two days had passed. It was Wednesday and Jihoon was ready to pack up and head back to his old life of working from the comforts of his bedroom. Two days without his favourite snacks. Two days without his functioning PC that he paid hundreds, probably thousands of dollars to build. Two days without his fast Wi-Fi that was optimal for a quick ranked game.

And two days without the usual ping of his Google Chat, the room with you now collecting dust as the last message exchanged was his check-in on Monday.

Now Wednesday’s work day comes to an end without your plea for technological aid. You’re genuinely the only thing in this bleak, rundown, cheap company that makes the work worthwhile, Jihoon couldn’t help but think to himself on the train back home.

Was it pathetic of him to think of you as a reason to wake up in the morning, fight the morning rush and sit through eight hours of blank staring at a computer screen if it means he can get a glimpse of you every now and then when he goes down to get another fix of shitty coffee? The two of you only officially met last week after all, and yet, he has grown drawn to you, attached even, finding the brief sight of you as you sat by your desk, an ever-so-present clueless look to your face as you try to remember how to VLOOKUP the third time. He finds endearing, so endearing that his heart aches and his days grow grey when he hasn’t seen you yet.

Has he always been one to fall so quick for someone?

Would it be even more pathetic for him to fear that feeling? Mind you, he has never left the house unless bribed to, social interactions were scarce aside from the call outs to teammates in his ranked games, and even then, he never bothered to make small talk with the people he’d temporarily need to rank up. Was he a bit too deprived of social interactions that meeting you overwhelmed him to the point of creating a false sense of falling in l—

“Wonwoo, when are you coming back?” This time the two weren’t in a game of Valorant. Thank God, Wonwoo had thought when Jihoon asked to get on a Discord call. The latter had dinner prepared and was watching Big Bang Theory while on the call, but his head wasn’t focused on neither the ramen nor the TV show. “Can we switch back soon?”

“What happened to your willingness to go to the office?” Again, that damned smirk was noticeable in the way he spoke, but Jihoon needed to keep his cool.

“Changed my mind.”

“How come?”

“Sick and tired of being in the direct line of shot for Eunkwang’s spit when he yells at me,” he half-lied. He had to wash his face after that meeting, to the point he used the strawberry-scented hand soap to make sure he couldn’t feel the droplets on his skin.

“Oh yeah, Jeonghan told me.” A pause. “Sorry that happened to you, but it’s just Eunkwang, his ammunition is making you work overtime every now and then.”

“I just don’t want to deal with him every now and then, much rather read him yell in the group chats than in real life.”

There was a longer pause now, Jihoon’s eyes glanced at his second monitor just to make sure his friend didn’t disconnect. Then, Wonwoo spoke up, tone matter-of-factly and the shit-eating grin heard clearly. “Vernon tells me you haven’t been to the Marketing room in a bit.”

“Vernon you piece of shit snitch,” Jihoon cursed under his breath, but obviously his microphone caught it, Wonwoo throwing his head back in laughter.

“I’m guessing the Tech-Illiterate hasn’t been asking for your help?”

“Y/N,” Jihoon corrected, not liking the term used—even if it did fit you.

“Hey, there are a lot of tech-illiterate people in our company,” Wonwoo pointed out, then added, “so I guess you admit it then, you’re thinking of her.”

His eyes roll far back, he gets a mild ache in his temples. “Fine yeah,” he admits with a defeated sigh, “she doesn’t need any more help from me so why should I even bother to go to the office?”

“For work, Jihoon,” he says casually. “I mean, you get compensation to come to work. Extra money.”

“I’m already rich enough,” he responds, clearly dodging.

“Then why work?”

“I’m bored.”

“You piss me off.” Wonwoo’s comment successfully makes Jihoon chuckle. “I hope Y/N becomes so tech-savvy that she doesn’t need your help anymore, and you will never see her again.”

“Asshole,” he hisses and disconnects from the call immediately, Wonwoo’s words pushed to the back of his head as he finished his ramen and closed the TV show, opening Valorant for a quick game to relieve the stress built up for the day.

Unfortunately, once he laid on his bed, eyes stuck on the ceiling, his peers’ words returned tenfold, echoing a sickening mantra in his head. What if you do end up learning how to do your job with little to no help, technology-wise? It’s hard for the guy to admit (and a tad bit dramatic), but he truly did feel like his entire being has lighten since meeting you.

Maybe he is deprived of social interaction, and you were the fix he needed, but didn’t want it to be temporary. He wanted to know everything about you, the reason why you struggle with technology and remembering passwords and working different Google suites. He wanted to know why you chose this line of work, why this shitty company, and why hadn’t he met you before.

He wanted to know more about you, and he doesn’t want to ruin the chances of being able to do so.

Although it might be pathetic of him to feel so strongly over someone he only met the previous week, he knew this would be a missed opportunity to not get to know you better, that it would become his biggest regret and he didn’t want his leaving the comforts of his WFA routine be for nothing.

So, he had a plan. A bit of a cheesy, cliché of a plan, but a plan and he lost sleep wondering if it’ll work or not.

As he entered the office, his mind kept replaying what he needed to do. It was simple, he just needed to wait for you to reach out to him, ask for help with an issue and it should be smooth-sailing from there, all depends on your answer, of course, but that was something he could worry about later.

Phase one starts with you and your uncooperative computer.

Jihoon waited, eyes glancing between tabs where his Google Chat was opened, looking at the bottom right corner of his computer at the time, watching the time tick by and still no ping from you. But that was okay, it was only two hours into this gloomy Thursday, there was still a whole seven hours before he could truly panic.

So he waited more.

And more.

And more.

He waited until he couldn’t wait, and time was running out. Eyes shifted towards the clock: 16.39.

Less than thirty minutes until the work day, and tomorrow is Friday, and he needed to get this done today because if he didn’t then, it’ll mess up his plan for tomorrow (which depends on your answer, too, if you say ‘yes’ then there’s another plan for that, but if you say ‘no’ then Wonwoo was already back in the city so he could cover for Jihoon while the latter wallows).

“Fuck it,” Jihoon mutters as he pushes himself up out of his chair, causing everyone else in the room jumps and turns to his desk, only to see him already out the door and rushing down the stairs.

“Go get her, man,” Jeonghan utters, loud enough for everyone to chime along with him.

With long strides and quick steps down to your floor, everyone Jihoon seemed to past knew he was a man on a mission—a man on a mission for you. He tries to ignore the mild chills that rose up his spine at that thought. He might be pathetic sometimes, but he likes to believe he can be quite the cheesy romantic, despite what his friends might say.

As expected, since it had been a slow day, a lot of staff had clocked out early, their jobs for the day done and all ready to end the work week. However, you were still by your desk, focused on the task at hand, only two of your coworkers in the room with you, but even they were mindlessly playing with their Excel sheets, waiting for the clock to strike five.

When he stood close enough to you, he saw that you weren’t focused on a task, instead on a game of Minesweepers. He watched you win a game, pursing his lips and nodding, visibly impressed. Sensing a present, you turned around and jumped slightly. “Jihoon… Hi.”

“Hey, Y/N,” he greets back with a stiff smile. “Is everything alright?”

A brief look of confusion passed your face, glancing between him and your computer, before nodding, “Yeah, everything’s fine.” And it was. You got through your day just fine, nothing needed to be troubleshooted, or restarted. You didn’t panic, other than when you forget to send a file to Saerom, but everything—technology-wise—was fine.

“Really? I got a notification on my computer that there was something wrong with yours,” Jihoon lied through his teeth. He didn’t, but he needed you away from your computer so he has ample time to put his plan in motion. His statement caused your brows to furrow together, genuinely confused because you didn’t receive any notification from your own computer, shouldn’t that be the case? Unless you did, and you didn’t noticed because you were too focused on your Minesweeper game.

“Oh…”

“Yeah…” Jihoon rubbed a nonexistent itch at the back of his neck. “Are you done with your work? It might take a bit for me to check it.”

“Oh yeah, I’m done for the day,” you said, then to the clock above the door. “I didn’t realize it was almost five.”

If you could hear anything right now, it would be the pounding beat of his heart against his chest as he tries to formulate an excuse to get you off the computer. “It won’t take more than ten minutes, though, Y/N.”

“Alright, I’m just going to fill my water bottle and clean up while you deal with it.” With a stern nod, Jihoon watched as you stood and walked out the room. Once outside, he took his spot and started his plan.

Recalling the steps he saw on Google, opening Notepad as he pulled out the sticky note where he wrote the code beforehand, typing it in and inserting the necessary message. Once he had saved it, he tested it once, and almost yelled out in triumph when it worked, displaying a fake error message.

“What’s the problem, Jihoon?” You approached him, bottle filled to the top with water. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, you just…” He stood from his chair, gesturing for you to sit. He leaned down, keeping one hand on the back of your chair as the other guided you. “You just need to click that, it’s to install a… an update… Yeah, an update.”

“This one? The ‘Critical Inquiry’ one?” Jihoon hummed in response and watched with sweaty hands and a racing heart as you clicked it, an error message popping up on your screen.

Is this how IT guys flirt? The blood in your face travelled the distance to your cheeks, a bright pink beneath the glow of your skin as you tried suppressing your smile, Jihoon’s way of asking you out so unconventional, so out of the blue, so unique, that you couldn’t help but mentally applaud him, this was a new way you’d been asked out.

“What’s your option?” Jihoon asked, his voice so clearly on edge as he anticipated your answer, for a second even worried you’d decline then he’d be forced to return to his hermit habits and hide his embarrassment.

All that tension, no matter how hard he tried to hide it behind a nonchalant façade, was visible to you and gosh, he is so cute.

You sent him a smile, turning back to your computer wordlessly, letting your choice speak. Your cursor hovered towards the options, for a second too long it hovered over ‘No’, Jihoon’s breath hitching in his throat before his heart skipped a beat as the cursor moved and you clicked your mouse right on ‘Yes’.

The two of you stared at each other, a warmth in your eyes, and brightness in his, sharing a knowing smile before he uttered with the confidence he mustered between the panic.

“I’ll pick up at eight then, Y/N.”

[bradleysass]

Visit - @rosekillermicrofic - wc: 852

Barty’s phone rang just as he was in the middle of an important task—throwing grapes at Evan from across the kitchen counter to see how many he could land in his coffee mug. The moment he saw Pandora’s name flashing on the screen, he smirked and answered, leaning back against his chair.

"Pandora! To what do I owe the pleasure—"

"Barty, I need you to be on your best behavior when I visit later today."

No greeting. No explanation. Just a demand.

Barty blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Best. Behavior." Her tone was firm, leaving no room for negotiation.

Evan snorted, sipping his now grape-infused coffee. "Sounds serious. What’d you do this time?"

"Nothing!" Barty shot back before returning to the phone. "What exactly do you mean by 'best behavior'? Because that’s pretty subjective, and I need some parameters."

"Just… be nice. No swearing. No threats. No crime."

"Well, now you’re just asking for a miracle."

Pandora sighed. "Barty."

"Fine, fine, I’ll be good. But only because I’m curious."

Pandora hung up without another word, and Barty frowned. "What the hell was that about?"

Evan, already resigned to whatever chaos awaited them, merely shrugged. "Guess we’ll find out."

—

A few hours later, there was a knock at the door.

Barty, ever dramatic, swung it open with a flourish. "Pandora, my dearest—oh. Oh."

Standing next to Pandora was a tiny blonde girl, staring up at him with wide, dreamy eyes. Little Luna, clutching a well-loved stuffed rabbit, beamed at him.

"Uncle Barty!"

Barty, the same man who had once gleefully threatened a man over taking the last good parking spot, melted on the spot. "Lulu!"

Evan watched in horror as Barty crouched down, holding his arms open. Luna ran to him, and he scooped her up, spinning her in a circle while she giggled. The sight was nothing short of jarring.

Pandora gave Evan a knowing smirk. "And now you understand."

Barty was speaking in a tone Evan had never heard from him before—soft, gentle, doting. "You’ve gotten taller, kiddo. What’s the verdict? Am I still your favorite?"

Luna nodded solemnly. "Yes, but only if you have cookies."

"I would never disappoint you like that," Barty swore, carrying her inside as if she were royalty. "Evan, fetch the cookies for our esteemed guest."

Evan arched an eyebrow. "Fetch?"

"Evan," Barty whispered harshly, "she’s a baby. I am a man on a mission. Don’t ruin this for me."

Evan sighed but complied, watching as Barty set Luna down and immediately began playing whatever ridiculous game she had in mind. Within minutes, Barty—who normally thrived on chaos and destruction—was helping Luna arrange her stuffed animals in a meticulous tea party setup, pouring imaginary tea and complimenting Mr. Bun-Bun on his exceptional taste in scarves.

Pandora leaned in to Evan. "It’s like watching a wolf raise a lamb, isn’t it?"

Evan shook his head in disbelief. "I’m honestly a little scared."

Luna, perched on Barty’s lap, offered him a tiny plastic teacup. "Uncle Barty, do you take sugar in your tea?"

Barty gasped. "Lulu, you know me so well. Two lumps, please."

Evan was struggling to process the sight of his terrifying, unpredictable boyfriend pretending to sip tea from a plastic cup, nodding seriously as Luna explained the importance of proper tea etiquette. It was, in a word, ridiculous.

But also… kind of adorable.

Barty caught Evan staring. "What?"

Evan smirked. "You’re a menace to society, but put a kid in front of you, and suddenly you’re a girl dad."

Barty huffed. "It’s called range, Evan. Look it up."

Pandora grinned. "I knew you’d behave."

Barty shot her a look before returning his full attention to Luna. "So, Lulu, what’s the plan for today? More tea parties? Perhaps we start a revolution? Overthrow the oppressive toy monarchy?"

Luna clapped her hands. "A revolution!"

Barty gasped. "That’s my girl!"

Evan groaned. "Oh no."

"Oh yes!" Barty grinned, already pulling a blanket from the couch to fashion into a makeshift royal cape. "Every revolution needs a fearless leader. Luna, you shall be Queen Luna the First, Ruler of Stuffed Animals and Guardian of the Cookie Jar."

Luna giggled, clearly delighted. "And Uncle Barty is my knight!"

Barty nodded solemnly. "At your service, my queen."

Pandora sighed with a fond shake of her head. "I should have known it would escalate."

By the time the so-called revolution was in full swing, the living room had been transformed into a war room. Stuffed animals lined the couch like an army, and Barty, donning a pot as a makeshift helmet, was dramatically recounting the injustices of the evil toy king—a particularly lumpy teddy bear named Sir Fluffington.

"Sir Fluffington has ruled with an iron paw for too long!" Barty declared. "It is time for change!"

Luna, perched atop the couch like a throne, raised her tiny fist. "Down with Sir Fluffington!"

"DOWN WITH SIR FLUFFINGTON!" Barty echoed, fist in the air.

Evan, watching all of this unfold, turned to Pandora. "I can’t believe this is my life."

Pandora just laughed. "At least he’s on his best behavior."

[mostlymarvelgirl]

Sam Winchester' Type

Let's talk about it.

This man. He's got phases. Especially when it comes relationships.

And these phases? They're basically based upon his age and experiences in life.

So if you're someone who's meeting him for the first time, good luck trying to figure out who he truly is like.

Of course he's not evil or anything, but he's got layers. And trust me, those layers are thick and deep.

Basic layers would include his absence of a maternal figure and a proper paternal figure. (I know Dean was like almost a dad but I'm talking about an actual father and let's be honest, John sucked)

Then you'll reach tough ones, the fights, the bullying, fitting into society, not feeling normal, being the weird one, etc.

Yes, he has had experiences with struggling to accept himself as a person. (You'd know that if you watched S1 to S5. He's not exactly someone who had smooth life in a normal society)

After that, demon blood phase (addiction and coping), his brother dying, his loved ones passing away, and then being alone.

These are just a few layers. He looks simple from outside though, right?

Now, let's bring in his horoscope.

Sam's sun is a Taurus. He's planner. Likes stability. He prefers a routine. He likes order. He likes control. His moon? His moon? It's Virgo. He's meticulous. He likes to be neat. Keeps things organized. He likes to go into deep analysis. If you meet him, he's forming an opinion on you. He's analyzing you. He may not show it, but he is. He will welcome you and be friendly. But for him? First impressions mean a lot. Yes he forgives. But he doesn't forget. His Ascendant is a Capricorn. He's driven. Passionate. Loves discipline. That's why he does Law, duh.

Now this man, he may not look threatening. In fact, he seems like an adorable harmless puppy. That is, as long as you are on his good side and you probably know him briefly. You spend time with him close. You get to know him, you'll see, he's not that puppy inside at all. He's got a burning fire in him. You'd never see it, but if you do, you have to learn to accept it. If you don't, you're already sidelined.

So, say you like him. Let's say he's the type of guy where slow burn is actually slow burn. It's always going to begin as friends. Not the kind for enemies to lovers. He doesn't do that. He doesn't do irrational and erratic. If he does, it's never to last long or something he cares about. He's all about going slow and paced. You force him? Yeah, consider getting yourself therapy cause that will hurt your feelings.

He's very clear on boundaries. He keeps them. If you have them, he will respect them. Unless said otherwise. He's very forgiving. But not the type who'll forget. If you betray him and have a valid reason or whatever, he will forgive. But he'll lose trust in you. He'll never look at you the same. So don't try anything stupid.

He's very loyal. Cheating is not in his bones. And he would expect that from you. It's bare minimum after all. He'll love his partner. If they're clingy, He'll give them the required attention and praise. He likes control. But at the same time, he won't be controlling. There's a difference.

He's a practical guy. He will seek for someone who craves and bonds on emotional depth. You have to be someone who is more observant than him. And he lives for that. He loves when someone understands him without him having to explain. It's his type.

He's someone who appreciates someone who gives him an emotional depth. He craves for intimacy deep down. He wants to understood and he will give you the same. It will take long. Very long for the trust to build. So be patient, and you will cherish and thrive from this relationship.

Now, getting to the real interesting part we all have been waiting for. Sex. Is he a freak? Who'd initiate first? How would it happen? How far along into the relationship?

Now, he's a guy who builds relationship on trust and loyalty. Honesty and mutual understanding. These are important things he sees and wants in a relationship. And he's a respectful guy. He waits for consent. Never forces. So, sex will only happen when you want it. He will never tell you. Or ask you. Or force you. It's all based on your decision. You will have to bring it up.

And when you do, he will be sweet, loving, careful and understanding. The first time it happens it's purely on trust and love. He won't rush it. He focuses on pleasuring you. He makes sure you feel comfortable. If you're insecure, he will comfort you. To him, physical appearance is the last thing on his mind. He cares about what you are from inside. What you are truly. What your real self is. The first time is when things also get more intimate and deep.

The relationship begins to evolve. You both speak more openly. Talk about your needs and preferences. He won't mind if you're a little crazy or freaky. He'll match you. He will love it the more you open to him. He feels special. He's proud that you tell him your desires. He's a careful man. He keeps a list in his head to remind himself on what you like and what you don't. In the relationship, you will always be the one who decides. You are his pillar. He wants you to be treated like a queen. He will be your pillar as well. He supports your decisions. He understands. What more could anyone want?

And that, is Sam Winchester's type.

Read Dean Winchester's Type Here

[yes-no-maybe-soo]

[x]

Go get their greedy a$$es, CN girlies 👑💯 From my understanding the CN boycott is beginning to move beyond just kittens, slowly spreading out to the rest of the fanbase. Which is great! The more people join, the bigger chance of success.

The fact that the hairstyles and outfits are pulled separately for this banner is asinine. If you look up money hungry in the dictionary, you'll find a group photo of Paperfold's higher-ups.

I am fully onboard with the CN girlies demand for more rewards during grinding. The droprates are extremely low rn and it's unjustifiable.

I think it's fitting to also include this post here showing the struggle players face in endgame

[x]

Like I mentioned in a post of my own, grinding for Dias in endgame is infuriatingly difficult even for whales or dolphins (ie the people that can afford to invest in all 5 LIs). In the long run this will be unsustainable. A change by Paperfold is necessary atp. Remember, they are a multimillion corporation. They can absolutely afford to be more generous. So why aren't they? Answer: they're greedy and, as long as players let them, they will push this behavior as far as they can. To the detriment of their game. They are showing a blatant lack of regard or respect for their playerbase with this stingy behavior.

I personally feel like the upcoming banner — and the separate hair + outfits — is a cash grab by Paperfold. LADS flopped hard in January and now the company are scrambling to recover. So I feel like the course they'll ultimately take in the future hinges a lot on the success — or lack thereof — of this new banner. If it succeeds, well, then they know that all they need to do is throw sexy banners at us and they're off the hook. No need to implement changes. If it tanks however, then they'll have to face the music and listen to their consumers. Rein in their greed. Make things right. Communicate. Treat the LIs equally (this is my hope anyway as a Sylus girly b/c let me tell you it's rough out here). At least this is my assumption. It'd be idiotic of them if they still refuse to heed their customers and ignore the boycott. Especially considering how much their Scrooge McDuck a$$es obviously love money.

Let's hope for the best and, if you can and want to, please do join in on the boycott. The most effective way of doing so is not to spend money during the banner and to refrain from pulling even using red dias or tickets for the first 3 days of the banner period. And also to limit your time on the app during the same timeframe (that is, 3 days). Spread the word. Send a message with your wallet. Don't encourage blatant greed and mistreatment. We as consumers hold more sway than we think. Remember, we are boycotting out of love for this game and a desire to see it thrive for years to come as well as to prevent it from becoming entirely P2P. Because if Paperfold gets away with their current behavior, then more and more players will eventually get turned off by a game that essentially forces you to spend considerable chunks of your hard earned money for the bare minimum. Again, and I'm not saying this lightly, it'll be unsustainable.

[azrielbrainrot]

The Offering

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Kinktober 2024: Knife Play

Description: Two spymasters of different courts get sent on the same mission. What could go wrong?

Warnings: Smut, knife play, a bit of blood, enemies to lovers, dirty talk

Word Count: ~3k

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

People were filtering out of the banquet hall bit by bit, you almost wanted to sigh in relief, this had felt like the longest night. The corset was eating at your skin - it really shouldn't have been something you did by yourself, you tightened it far too much, - and the wine would have started getting to you if this night carried on much longer, something that you couldn't have let happen, especially with him here.

The Night Court's Spymaster had scarcely looked at you this whole time, pretty much ignoring your presence as your disguise called for, but even a quick glance was enough to make your skin burn. Maybe it wasn't such a good thing the banquet was ending, it meant you had to face him sooner. The thought makes you down the rest of your wine, drunken cheers erupting from the people around you.

Cozying up to rich and presumptuous nobles was unfortunately one of your strengths, you could talk almost anyone out of their secrets on nights like this, which is why Eris sent you here last minute, not wanting to lose ground on the Night Court.

You have been Eris' unofficial spy since before he had become High Lord, you considered him one of your closest friends really, and that's exactly why he had appointed you as his Spymaster when he took the throne. Over the years his and the Night Court's alliance had grown and shifted, never quite losing their initial animosity but working towards common goals. This meant you've had the displeasure of working with Azriel on multiple occasions.

Just as the last few attendants stand up, you mix in with the crowd, walking behind them for most of the way before turning a corner and disappearing from their sight, carefully making your way back to the banquet hall where the shadowsinger is waiting with his back turned to the door, powerful wings now on full display after being hidden behind a glamor.

As soon as you close the door, letting your exhausted body fall against it, he turns to you, hazel eyes dragging over your body untamed. You take this moment to study him as well. It will always take you by surprise how unbelievably beautiful this male was.

The two remaining candlesticks barely illuminated the room but Azriel always thrived in the dark. The dark blue suit he wore looked more expensive than anything you had ever seen him in, and Gods did it look downright sinful on him. He had to send his shadows away during dinner, but now they had returned, swirling around his form, making him look even more imposing. If you didn't know better you would have thought he was the High Lord of darkness himself.

Your eyes meet at last after studying each other's bodies and choices of attire, the tension in the room making you swallow as you struggle to fall back into your role as spymaster, your role as his reluctant ally from a court he had made quite obvious he despised with passion.

“I'm not sure how this alliance is supposed to prosper when you keep hiding things from us, shadowsinger,” you start, walking closer to the table in between you.

“I'm here on private Night Court business.” He tracks your movements, hazel eyes studying the way you hold onto the back of a chair as he continues, “It doesn't concern you.”

“Really? From what I gathered this affects the Autumn Court too.”

“It won't affect anyone if we stop them in time,” he dismissed you easily.

“They want to summon a God, Azriel,” you remind him, your glare sharpening.

“After I share all my findings with Rhysand I'm sure he will call a High Lord meeting and inform everyone accordingly.”

The more your mood soured, the more his shadows stretched out towards you, braving the lights on the table in favor of reaching your body. They were powerful weapons, powerful beings, but you've learned they can give away their singer's emotions and intentions if unchecked.

“You know what I think?”

“I'm sure you'll tell me anyway.”

“I think this need you have to always be the one to figure everything out on your own and making yourself useful comes from being that insecure little kid who couldn't even fly.” The vile words fall from your mouth far too easily, it's almost like you're always trying to prove the rumors about you right. “Scared they'll throw you away? Find someone better than you?”

You thought his shadows would crawl up your body at the verbal attack, maybe even try to hide his if you truly crossed a line, but much to your surprise they scatter around the room instead. Azriel's head tilts to the side, a smirk falling onto his handsome face as he starts walking around the table, slowly making his way to you. It takes far too much self control for you not to back away, years of training and experience rendered null in his presence.

Azriel wouldn't hurt you, that would compromise the alliance between your courts, and, as cruel as your words had been, they were also true, - he would be too scared of the repercussions of failing his brother far too much, - but that wasn't what made your heart race so. You were scared of what else he could do to you, of what you would let him do.

His hand reaches to cup your face, and you struggle to keep up the glare as you take in the hunger in his eyes. Azriel hums when you make no move to pull away, eyes dropping to your chest for a moment before meeting yours once again, letting you know he could hear the way your heart was trying to escape through your ribcage.

“You really don't know how to do anything else but bite when you get backed into a corner, do you?”

His voice sounded deeper as he whispered so close to you, his breath hitting your face as you looked up at him.

“What else am I supposed to do?”

Azriel lets out a cruel chuckle, leaning in until his lips brush against yours. “I thought you already knew you can drop the act when it's just me,” he murmurs, “guess I'll need to show you again.”

His lips fall over yours as soon as the words leave his mouth, your hand coming up to hold the back of his neck, pulling him in even closer. It had been far too long since you had last tasted him and you needed more, needed to drown yourself in him.

His own hands start trailing down your body, pulling up the skirt of your dress until it gathers at your waist, lifting you up onto the table and standing between your legs before you have the chance to react, always getting so lost in him.

“What are you doing?” You ask, pulling away as you try to remember yourself, remember your role and where you are. Anyone could walk in this room and find you like this. You don't know what would be worse: everyone figuring out you were spies working to uncover their whole operation, or someone seeing the spymasters of two opposing courts tangled up like this.

“As long as we are in this house we need to keep up our cover,” Azriel explains against your neck, unwilling to let you hold on to your sanity, “Can't you hear them upstairs? We're the odd ones out.”

You had been so caught up in him you hadn't even noticed the mingling scents and wanton moans traveling all the way from up the stairs. It almost sounded like the universe was working against you. Tightening your grip on his silky hair as he moves lower, kissing your skin all the way down to the neckline of your dress.

He stands up suddenly, eyeing your covered body one more time, before pulling out his trusted dagger, Truth Teller, and running its tip down your throat lightly, the cold blade barely touching the skin. Your eyes widen a bit, but the way his track the blade's movements makes you relax against it. It looks like you're in for an unforgettable night.

“This is a beautiful dress. It was incredibly hard to keep my eyes off you the whole night,” he says, eyes meeting yours for a split second, “but it's getting in the way now.”

“It's an expensive dress, Azriel.” Your voice was far too breathy for this to sound like a heartfelt complaint. He humors you all the same.

“I'll buy you a new one,” he promises just as the sharp blade starts cutting at the corset holding your dress tight against your skin, destroying the fabric far too easily. Gods, he could cut your skin so easily if he wanted to.

He throws the offending corset aside, making you finally breathe properly for the first time tonight. As you take a deep breath, his scent assaults your senses, making the wetness gathering in your underwear grow even more. You bring his lips back to yours but he only allows you a short kiss before he's pulling away again.

Just as you go to protest, he gets back to work with his knife, running the cold blade over your heated skin, sending shivers down your spine, gasps escaping you when he actually cuts through fabric after caressing your skin with the deadly weapon for so long.

By the time your dress was in shreds at his feet, and you were finally naked to his eyes, you were unbelievably turned on, so wet you think he could slip right in with no resistance.

“Lay down for me.”

It takes you a moment to fully think through what he wanted you to do, studying the shadowsinger intently for any sign of deceit. He lets you, simply staring back into your eyes, as open as you've ever seen him. The knife in his hand didn't feel threatening, not after he ran the blade all over your skin without so much as a scratch, and you fear you would never actually feel threatened by it as long as he was the one holding it.

You obey him, falling back against the table you had just been eating at, surrounded by a dangerous cult who was still lingering inside this very house, and could very well catch you both in this vulnerable state. He was right though, you couldn't help but at least show your teeth.

“Are you interrogating me now?”

Azriel hums, a dark, excited look falling over his eyes, one that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand, whether because of fear or anticipation you can't be too sure.

“We can do that,” he starts, running Truth Teller's hilt down your sternum, “It's not often I get the Spymaster of the Autumn Court under my knife after all.”

“And what do I get in return for answering your questions?”

The smile on his face grows, laying the knife down your torso, the blade fitting perfectly between your breasts, and spreading your legs apart further, helping you plant your feet on the table too, keeping you nice and open for his greedy eyes. “I think you know.”

“Did Eris send you here to spy on me or on them?” Azriel asks as he leans over you so he can meet your eyes properly.

The problem with this position is that you can't really keep your eyes on him, only seeing his shadowy figure through your peripheral vision unless he leans over you or you strain your neck. You felt completely at his mercy.

As if hearing your thoughts, - something you were sure only his High Lord and Lady could do, - his shadows gather under you, bringing in a rolled up table cloth so you could hold your head up, and meet his eyes. Being confronted by his hazel eyes again makes you clench around nothing, momentarily forgetting everything else.

“Both,” you answer honestly. It's not like you both didn't already know the truth. “You keep hiding things from us so what other choice do we have?”

“Your High Lord isn't entitled to know about everything that happens in Prythian,” he scoffs, his disdain for Eris so obvious it almost makes you flinch when he touches you again, his thumb running down your stomach, from the tip of his knife to where you needed him most.

“Neither is yours.”

Now it was his turn to glare up at you, leaning over your body and looking down with sharp eyes. You almost think this would turn into another argument before he keeps running his thumb down your folds, collecting your wetness and spreading it around, not quite giving you what you needed.

“Tell me,” he starts, picking up the dagger once again, “have you told your High Lord you keep letting a bastard like me fuck you?”

It's only when blood starts dripping down his wrist that you notice he had grabbed the dagger by the blade. Just as you go to get up and stop him, not wanting to see him hurt, he runs the hilt of his favored dagger over your folds just like he had done with his fingers, getting it coated in your wetness, and making you stop in your tracks as a gasp escapes you.

“Would you tell him how easily you fall apart on my cock?” His intentions were becoming clear in your mind, and for some sick reason it was only making you wetter instead of scared. “Need an answer, little spy.”

“No,” you confess, eyes staring back into his, silently begging him to do something.

“Embarrassed?”

“Not of you.”

The problem wasn't him. You were embarrassed of how easily you forget yourself when he so much as looks your way, even though he's more enemy than ally and makes his hate for your court and High Lord well known every time you meet. You're embarrassed at how you still let him touch you like this and be a constant presence in your thoughts knowing he would kill the person that saved and gave you the opportunity to be someone of importance in a heartbeat.

A shadow passes by his eyes, you're not sure what it meant, but luckily he doesn't linger in unwanted thoughts either, spreading your folds apart with his thumb as he starts feeding your cunt the hilt of his dagger. You tighten involuntarily around the unfamiliar material, even though you were so wet you were dripping down onto the table under you.

Azriel lets out a sigh at the sinful sight, circling his thumb around your clit. “Relax for me,” he murmurs, “I promise I'll make you feel good.”

And as usual your body listens to him immediately, allowing him to slowly insert the hilt of the dagger completely inside you. The scent of his blood mixed in with your arousal was making your head spin, and you can't help but call out his name, ready to beg if that was what it took. It seems his patience was wearing thin too as he starts pumping Truth Teller inside you, slowly fucking you with his dagger.

“Fuck, you look perfect.”

You should definitely feel a bit ashamed at the noises erupting from your lips, but if you did it was only adding to the pleasure, a high building inside you far too rapidly. You stand no chance as he leans down and sucks your clit into his mouth, circling his tongue around and speeding up his thrusts, your hands falling to his hair, tightening around his curls painfully, keeping him right there.

Your orgasm almost takes you by surprise as you let out an untamed moan of his name, the Spymaster's name echoing around the room like it couldn't get you both killed. Your legs dangle over the table again, trembling slightly as your body works you through the intense pleasure.

Azriel's mouth only abandons you when you start pushing at his head, too sensitive as you come down. His dagger follows, the sound of it being placed on the table next to you making you open your eyes and look at it, heat spreading to your face and ears as you do, still soaked with your cum on its hilt and his blood on the blade.

You look his way to find him studying it as well, his bloodied hand holding onto your hip, staining your skin as well. He was so focused that the shadowsinger didn't even notice you sitting up until you grab the back of his neck and pull him into a passionate kiss, feeling even needier now than when you first started even though you just came so hard you had seen every star in the sky.

Azriel returns the kiss with the same intensity, both of you getting lost in each other's taste and touch. Time seemed to stop around you. His hand travels up your body, painting his blood over your skin, making your scents mix completely into one, until you were anyone that walked into this room wouldn't be able to tell them both apart.

You feel him tense up against you suddenly, lips freezing against yours, prompting you to pull away, scared something had happened. Your eyes fall on the door immediately, thinking one of the cult members had wandered in, hand reaching for his dagger, but when you find the door still closed and no one even close to this room your eyes fall on his questioningly.

What you find in his wide hazel eyes scares you more than anything else could, ice running through your veins, snuffing out your fire as you see an inescapable fate come alive, shackling you together. His dagger drops onto the table once more, slipping through your fingers.

Azriel was your mate.

[bring-forth-his-sac]

maybe some fluff and smut w negan where reader has scars/self harm scars and reader is like looking at them thinking about the past and negan cheers her up😋 also he’s like aggresive in bed but is sweet outside all that. also maybe some aftercare included too

thank you so so much for requesting (and for your patience!) I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Post Whisperer War Negan x f!reader

Tags: mentions of self harm, mentions of suicidal thoughts, cunnilingus, rough sex, pet names, swearing, dirty talk, aftercare

Word Count: 3.5k

The voices around you blend into a monotonous rhythm. At this point in the community meeting, they shouldn’t be surprised people are beginning to zone out as they rehash the same talking points over and over again. 

You try to force yourself to focus but it’s a losing battle. The gist of it, as Negan so eloquently said to you the other day is “At this rate, the only thing that’ll be on the menu is regret, served with a big glass of desperation… but hey, if we gotta start cannibalising each other, I have no problem eating you out”. 

That last part earned him a scoff and quick slap to the arm.

Gathering in the heart of what was once the thriving community of Alexandria, the aftermath of the Whisperer's rampage is visible everywhere. Ruined homes, scattered debris of what was once vibrant greenhouses and the scarcity of resources cast a shadow of uncertainty over everyone.

“Gabriel is already working on the vegetable patches,” Rosita takes over “but we need food. Now. So I say we raid the old military base not too far from here. We can round some people up and scavenge through there in a few days time. Daryl’s out there now, seeing if it’s worth it”.

You sit quietly on the porch steps to one of the only houses left habitable, staring down at the scars that map your hands and lead up one of your forearms.

It’s been a while since you’ve truly stopped and studied each one, every line acting as a reminder of a time when pain felt like the only answer. 

You trace the lines with your fingertips, the blurry memories of these desperate moments slowly coming back to you. Back then, it was a release and the only way to stop the chaos swirling inside your mind. You remember the fleeting relief that followed, how it dulled the aching inside, if only for a moment. 

In a twisted way, it’s quite funny. You’ve fought so hard to stay alive since the dead began to rise and yet you would still do this, still hurt yourself.

How ironic.

You let out a small sigh, shifting your gaze up to watch Rosita again and pretend like you’re listening. 

It’s been a long time since you’ve self harmed or even had those thoughts. It feels dangerous to think about though, as if thinking back to those memories is like walking a tightrope of temptation. 

“If you’re interested in going to the military base, talk to me or Carol about it,” Rosita begins to finally wrap up the meeting “if not, then go speak to Gabriel or Aaron about helping with the rebuild. We gotta all work on this, no slacking. That’s the only way Alexandria can survive”. You nod vaguely to her words and thankfully, the meeting ends. 

As everyone disperses, you stay seated on the porch steps. Your mind feels foggy as it struggles to fully return to the present moment.

Thoughts of the past continue to tug at your consciousness, lingering like a bad smell. A sigh escapes your lips as you run a hand down your face, your eyes immediately going back to the scars that litter your arm. 

“You buffering or something?” The question completely catches you off guard, the deep voice coming from behind you. 

You already know who it is, of course you do, especially since you’re one of the only people he ever approaches— mainly because he knows you won’t tell him to fuck off… without good reason.

“I can’t just sit and enjoy the view?” you bat back, your prior feelings instantly getting masked with a facade of sass. 

Negan leaves the safety of the doorway now that it’s just the two of you. He grunts softly as he sits beside you, looking out at the remains of Alexandria.

 “... what view?” he asks dryly.

You roll your eyes. “Jackass” you curse him playfully.

He watches you out of the corner of his eye for a few moments, silently debating how to go about this. “You catch everything that was said in the meeting?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

Negan doesn’t exactly understand why but he always finds himself drifting over to you, his gaze flickering between you and whatever he’s supposed to be paying attention to. And the past few minutes of the meeting has been a very obvious case of depressive daydreaming, something he’s seen you slip into every once in a while.

“Hm? Yeah,” you shrug casually, glancing over at him.

He waits, wondering if you’ll crack and open up on your own. When you don’t, he tries again.

“You got notes written out on the lines on your arm?” Negan gestures to your scars, being as blunt as possible about it. 

Automatically covering your arm with your other hand, you shoot him a glare. Negan has always somehow toed the line, knowing how direct he can be without upsetting you too much. 

He doesn't push; he simply tests the waters before backing down and letting you take the lead. Negan quickly put his hands up in surrender. He knew there was no easy way of mentioning your scars but the sooner he addresses it, the sooner you’ll talk. 

He’s expecting a slap or to be cussed out for mentioning it but instead, you stand and march into the house.

It’s your natural reaction to flee the second someone mentions your scars, something you’ve done even when others simply looked in the direction of your arm.

He groans out your name, instantly standing to follow. “Don’t just walk off,” he follows you inside, silently thankful that the house is empty, everyone else out working for the day “you know I didn’t mean it like that… well, you know I didn’t mean to offend ya”.

You pause, debating with yourself on what to do. You opt to look down at the floor, unsure how to feel about the sudden confrontation.

"Listen, I get it. I saw ya eyeballin’ your arm for half the meeting and not to get all mushy and shit, but those scars don’t define you” Negan's expression shifts, giving way to something more sincere. He steps closer, his tone dropping to a softer register.

“They’re not a mark of weakness or worthlessness or whatever bullshit you tell yourself. They show you survived. You’ve got grit and I admire that more than anything.” He reaches out, gently grasping your chin to tilt your face toward his.

Despite every inch of you wanting to run again, you look up. The warmth in his eyes is undeniable and as much as you want to sink further into your defences, you can feel them slowly melt away.

You've always been a fortress in life, sturdy and unyielding. Every brick laid was a lesson learned, or another wound healed. 

You've perfected the art of keeping people at arm's length, never letting them see the cracks that run beneath the surface. In today’s world, vulnerability feels like a foreign language and one you've continuously avoided speaking.

“And if you ever need to remind yourself just how strong you are,” Negan continues, dropping his hand back down to his side “I’m right here, darlin’” 

You smile at his valiant offer and before you can stop it, you slowly open up “I just… sometimes, even when I don’t want to do those things again, I still think back to it. It’s like I’m reminiscing… and it can be hard to decipher whether my brain is thinking back because I want to be back there again or because I’m relieved I’m not…”. 

You brace for the impact, scanning for the possible retreat in Negan’s eyes but instead, you see nothing but understanding.

“You don’t think I feel like that now that I’m a supposed free man?” He asks softly “Even now, there’s still days —usually when I get the hundredth dose of stink eye thrown towards me— that I wonder if I’d be better off disappearing back into that cage. Even though I fuckin’ hated being in there!”. 

A strange sensation almost overwhelms you. The tension in your shoulders strangely ease and for the first time in ages, you're both not just survivors forced to endure; you're simply you and Negan is simply Negan.

Both of you flawed, real, and human. In his presence, vulnerability seems like less of a burden and more of a shared strength.

The air crackles with unspoken words and electric energy. You can almost taste the bittersweet mix of apprehension and desire. It's suffocating and you know you need an escape… but not by running away. 

As you look into his eyes, something shifts within you. The world outside fades and all that matters is in this room. Right now, you want to cast aside any doubts and just embrace the thrill. 

In a quick move, you step closer to him, invading his personal space. The sombre glint in Negan’s eyes transforms into something deeper.

Without thinking, you reach for him, fingers brushing against his arm and igniting a spark that sends a shiver through you both. Surprise flickers past his face before that signature grin breaks through, wide and knowing. 

You lean in closer, your voice barely above a whisper. “This has all been… a lot…” you begin, unsure how exactly you’re about to say this “and I think… I think I might just need—“

Negan doesn’t give you time to finish that sentence, your urge towards him telling him all he needs to know.

In one swift motion, he pulls you flush against him, his lips finding yours in a kiss that ignites a wildfire of emotion. It’s a blend of urgency and tenderness, a collision of passion that leaves you breathless. 

It’s dizzying, the way he makes you feel seen, even if it’s just for this heartbeat in time. You let yourself be swept away, surrendering to the connection that pulls you both together.

“Oh I know exactly what you need“ Negan mutters against your lips.

You pull him into another bruising kiss before egging him on further “Then show me”.

That’s all Negan needs, your request allowing him to let loose. Capturing your lips in another kiss, he slowly begins moving forward, forcing you back until you hit against a table. He grabs your waist and lifts you up onto it, his hands immediately going for the zip of your pants.

He kisses down your neck, nipping and sucking as he goes. “You just sit back,” he instructs, pleased as you lift your hips and let him tug down your jeans, not stopping until they’re on the floor beside him “let me take care of everything, baby”.

In an instant, Negan is kneeling between your thighs, pressing soft kisses along both legs. You can feel the warmth gather at your core, immediately wanting to welcome every inch of him.

“Ready to turn off your brain for a bit? Hmm?” Looking up at you through his eyelashes, Negan places a gentle kiss on your clothed pussy. 

He tries not to smirk as he feels your pussy pulsing desperately for him. Letting out a whimper, you nod.

“Ah ah ah,” Negan tuts, his tone as soft as it can be despite his scolding words “you made me wait a long fuckin’ time to show you a good time, you damn well know I’m not going to dig in until I hear you say it”. 

“Fuck– Negan, yes,” you say breathlessly, glancing at the door as you do “please, I want you”. Even with how exposed you are, your mind is too hazy to care about the possibility of someone walking in. All your attention is on Negan’s breath that’s only a mere few centimetres away from your soaked pussy.

Kissing you through your panties again, Negan hooks a finger around the fabric and slowly pulls it to the side, carefully revealing his gift.

Without a second thought, he buries his face between your thighs, his hands gripping your hips firmly to keep you from squirming away. 

You gasp loudly, not expecting so much contact so quickly. You bite your lip to quieten your moans but it’s no use.

He looks up at you with his mouth full of your pussy, his eyes gleaming with desire. He sucks harder, his tongue flicking rapidly against your clit. 

He releases his hands from your hips to rub your ass, pulling you against his face. Mumbling against your most sensitive area, a shiver runs up your spine as he compliments “Mmm, best fuckin’ meal I’ve had in years.”

Your legs quiver as you get closer to the edge, your core helplessly clenching around nothing as he eats you out. He’s determined, you’ll give him that. And the one thing Negan wants now more than anything is to taste your release on his tongue.  

“Come for me, doll” he growls encouraging, his stubble scratching your inner thighs. 

With a series of whines and moans for more, you let go.

He keeps his face between your thighs, lapping up your essence as you come undone. Negan waits until you've stopped convulsing before he lifts his head up, wiping your gleaming juices away from his mouth with the back of his hand.

He grins up at you, happy with his work. “Well, you wanted me…” he trails off purposefully, taking a moment to plant a kiss on your leg before giving a slight tug at your panties that are still pushed out of the way “so now you’re gonna get me”.

Negan hurriedly unbuckles his pants as he stands, freeing his hard cock and giving himself a few strokes, precum already dripping from the tip. Working in tandem, you yank down your panties and drop them next to your jeans. 

Before your panties have time to hit the floor, Negan’s kissing you again, allowing you to taste yourself on his lips. You immediately wrap your legs around his waist, both of you as impatient at the other.

“This what you wanted, huh?” Negan continues to talk, rubbing the head of his cock against your slick entrance, “this the distraction you were looking for?”.

You speak only in moans, going wild at the sensation of his cock being so close to your centre and yet still so far away from actually being inside of you. 

He cups your chin, making you maintain eye contact as he presses you for an answer “I can’t hear you, sweetness”.

“Please, just do it” you pant, still not over your initial high.

He grins wider at your compliance and slowly pushes into you, his eyes locked onto yours. Your body tenses as he stretches you out in a way that borders on painful. “Negan,” his name leaves your mouth as a haggard breath.

“Don’t you worry, sweetheart, you know you’re ready for it, you can take it” he coos, pushing all the way in before he stops to give you time to adjust.

He groans as he fully sheaths himself inside you, his hips flush against yours. Attempting to be a gentleman, Negan starts slow.

His eyes leave yours, watching as he gradually pulls out. He grunts satisfactorily, filling you to the hilt again. 

“Please,” you whimper “don’t tease”.

Negan chuckles, though his restraint is weakening “Patience is a virtue, darlin’”.

You tilt your head back, the slow force of Negan inside of you making your brain melt. All you want is already inside of you but it’s not enough. This isn’t a time for sweet love making. 

You want to be fucked, plain and simple.

“Yeah and you’re a vice so fuck me already,” you nudge the heel your foot against his ass, trying to make him speed up. Negan smirks again, his ego adoring your words.

The table creaks under you when he picks up the pace, the wet sounds of flesh slapping against flesh echoing through the room. 

"You can take it, can’t you? Fuck yeah, I know you can" He captures your mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing your moans as he continues to pound into you. 

You nod desperately, wanting to prove to him that you can take all he’s got to give. He hooks his arms under your knees, spreading you wider and increasing his depth.

His movements become harder and faster, making sure you can feel every inch of him. You yearn it, trying desperately to shimmy your hips on the table to meet each thrust.

Negan pistons into you like a man on a mission, burying his face in by your neck as his hands frantically begin to explore your body. Negan knows he won’t last much longer, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t take this opportunity to finally see your tits. 

His hands push up your shirt, hiking it up in a hurry as your bra comes into view. “Wanna introduce me to the girls?” He suggests, his breath coming out in hot pants against your neck.

At this moment, you want everything just as much as he does. Reaching down, you lift up your bra just enough for your breasts to come free.

Even though there’s no rush, it feels as though you don’t have the time to take off your bra properly, feeling that coil tighten in your lower stomach.

His eyes drop to your chest, and he licks his lips hungrily. “Goddamn, just when I thought you couldn’t get any better” Negan cups your breasts roughly, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh as he continues to fuck into you. He leans down and takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking hard.

“Oh my fucking—” you groan out, interupting yourself with another moan. You grip the edge of the table enough to turn your knuckles white, your whole body feeling overwhelmed.

He releases your nipple with a wet pop and straightens up, his thumb trailing down to your swollen clit.

“C’mon darlin’, I need to feel ya clench around me,” Negan slams into you, his rhythm erratic as he nears his own release “one more time, baby, come for me”. 

Your body convulses as it hits you. Gasps morph into a wave of quick, sharp pants as you clutch Negan any way you can. Feeling your pussy clamp down on his shaft, Negan’s hips sputter to a stop as the contractions send him over the edge with you.

It takes all of Negan’s willpower not to stay exactly how he is; with his dick buried deep inside of you. 

But he knows better and quickly pulls out, releasing his load onto your inner thigh instead. He has to nuzzle his face in by your neck, silencing himself the best he can. The last thing either of you need is Negan to get loud and attract people from outside.

The sound of your mixed breaths fill the room as you both come back to your senses. You look down at the mess on your thigh, wondering how much longer you both have until someone comes looking for one of you. 

“You know what?” Negan breaks the silence, a sheen of sweat across his forehead as he moves to look at you “I think I like it when you open up”. He nudges your legs, a deep chuckling escaping him.

“Shut up,” you roll your eyes “and get me a towel or something”. He licks his lips, his mind already wondering what your next session will be like, subtly noting how much he likes hearing you order him around. 

He nods “Yes ma’am”.

Leaning down, Negan searches the back pockets of his pants before pulling out a small handkerchief.

“Now,” he announces as he gently wipes his cum off of your thigh “my cum rag can become ours”.

“Negan!” You exclaim, your hands busy yanking your bra and shirt back down to push the rag away from you “Don’t use your dirty cum rag on me!!”. 

Negan chuckles, his smile alone keeping your annoyance at bay. “I’m just fucking with ya, it ain’t a cum rag,” he wipes the last drop of himself off your leg “but now that we’ve christened it as a cum rag, I guess that means we'll have to use it again”. 

Negan winks as if you don’t get the obvious insinuation and before you can object, he kisses you. You’re quick to reciprocate, knowing that there’s no way you’d turn down an opportunity like this again.

A faint smirk graces his face as Negan pulls back, pleased with the fact that you returned his kiss.

Taking a moment to compose himself, Negan clears his throat “But seriously, next time you need to talk to somebody, or open up them legs, I’m your man”. 

You smile at the sincerity of his words, knowing he’s completely and utterly serious about both offers. 

Thinking for a moment, you agree “I will”. 

He holds up his pinky “Promise? And then I’ll help you into your jeans?”. 

You scoff as if he’s inconveniencing you by making you a pinky promise but you both know you appreciate the gesture. Lifting your pinky up to his, they hook together.

“Promise”.

And with that, Negan steals one more kiss before helping you back into your jeans.

[biwitchenergyz]

Fit to Eat

(Fit to Eat - BiWitchEnergy - Sinners (2025) [Archive of Our Own])

Super long one-shot because I have no self-control! Enjoy <3

The scent of mortality rose from the dancing crowd, lingering at their stomping feet and rising in the air above as they raised their hands to the heavens. Bodies move together in their unique ways, yet follow the same rhythm.

You swayed amongst them, blending into their humanity with a long-practiced ease, dancing against a man with carob eyes whose hands grab your waist uncomfortably tight, desperate enough to amuse you. Hundreds of heartbeats bleeding together made your ears ring, heightened senses overwhelming you. The singer, Preacher Boy as he is called, plays the guitar with precision you have never seen before. 

You remember the music of your home nearly 1,400 years ago and the music your father brought from his own home in a distant land, but sometimes you find it in these places. Changed but still the same, just like your people, whose resilience has endured suffering unimaginable.

Your father would be proud, you think, to see such a thriving party and such joy from people who have had to struggle for any pleasure they get. Your mother, with her Irish heritage and wild nature, would also approve of this rendezvous; you can almost see them now, dancing together beyond the veil where not even the conquerors can separate them.

A sudden commotion from outside reaches your sensitive ears, the mortals don't stir. They dance on without a care, even as you pull away from the grasping man behind you and head for the door. The silly little guard, Cornbread, had examined you and gladly welcomed you in. Taking in your pretty skin, curls, and the wealth of your outfit. Now he stands with the owners and a few others at the front, guarding the door for this newcomer who waits outside, asking for permission to join the party. 

“What’s going on out there, Miss Annie?” You asked the gentle woman, with her calming demeanor reminding you of a sister long lost to time. She smiled, shaking her pretty head and telling you not to worry. A familiar scent catches your nose as she speaks, your eyes locked on a strong pair of legs standing right outside the door, the rest of the body blocked by the handsome twins who own the Joint.  

Tobacco and sandalwood wafting in the air made your head swim, and your mind traveled to times of laughter and whispered conversation. Safety flooded your veins like a shot filled with ecstasy. You try to shake off the warmth you feel, but it's not a good idea to let yourself relax in such a way. After all, you are a predator of the finest degree, like a lioness on the prow. 

“Maybe for just one night we can all be family.” Like smooth whisky, that voice washes over you, and in an instant, you rush forward until you stand just behind the taller men who block your path. You could move them, shove them so hard they'd fly out the door and hit the dirt with a resounding thud, but there is no need. You have learned when to be violent and when to be human. 

“Remmick,” you say his name like a prayer. For you, it is. How long had it been? A millennium had felt like eons, yet your thoughts of him were just as frequent as the last day you shared with him. You left him for a reason, yet he clawed his way back, like you were the oasis for this dying man. His eyes reveal the truth: He wasn't expecting to find you here. They are stunned, entirely black, and dilated. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down like he's choking on your presence.

“Ay, pretty girl! Ya’ know this white boy?” Stack asks as he lets you in front of him, giving Remmick a full view of you. You bite your lower lip to stop the smirk that grows on you as you watch the way Remmick's hands shake as if he were an addict being presented a drug just out of reach. His fists clenched at his side, the look in his eyes a blend of desperation, anger, and something else. Something more substantial and more dangerous than the others.

“Ya’, I know him. We go way back. Get on inside, y'all.” You motion for the others to return to the party. If Remmick is looking for a feast, he won't find one here, not with you around. These people weren’t for drinking from; they were your friends, and if you played your cards right, they could be family.

“Ain’t gonna leave you out here with 'em’,” Smoke warns, staying frozen and unmoving like a wall. You shake your head, curls bouncing along your shoulders. Remmick traces every strand of hair with his eyes, hypnotized by the light that catches along your locks. 

“Go on in. Imma just be a minute, besides, he ain't no Klan.” Remmick's face twists into a deep-set frown as if to express disgust at being viewed as a Klan member. Smoke obeys as you step down the stairs, going from above Remmick like a divinity to right below him as he stood a few inches over you. Still, you didn't feel fear; you walked right past him and like an obedient dog, he followed you to the edge of the forest, out of view of the others. 

Suddenly, his demeanor darkens, the redness in his eyes glowing like a demon crawling from hellfire. He didn't put his hands on you, didn't even dare to touch your gentle skin, fearing he'd be turned away in an instant.

“Been lookin’ for you, darlin’.” He growled, baring fangs that matched your own hidden behind your soft lips. “D’fhág tú mé.” You left me. Instinctively, you take his face between your hands, a habit you've found works well with human men. He buried his face within them without hesitation, digging his nose against your fingers and taking in the familiar scent of your skin; he had never let you touch him before, and he certainly never sought it out.

Your head shakes, slowly moving side to side as you force him to look down at you. “D'impigh tú orm.” You begged me. He bit his lip, knowing he couldn’t argue the truth. “You needed me gone, suga’.” Reminding him doesn’t make you feel any better, but it eases the guilt that his wet eyes bring you. Over 400 years were spent together. As humans, He was beyond subtle if he’d ever yearned for you as you did him.

“I’ve looked for you ever since,” his voice cracks. “Can't go on without you. Just can’t. We were friends once, weren't we?” The pain of your absence has taken a toll on him. He looks like a man coming home from war, battered and yearning. His skin is pale as ivory, his blue eyes darker than navy, and filled with loneliness. Raven hair clings to his forehead, the humid Mississippi air makes everything sticky, even your hands feel clammy against his skin. 

“Gotta place out here, just beyond the trees.” His ears perk up, waiting for you to continue. “Let me get my shawl, needa’ tell my friend bye.” His lips twist downward, his eyes flash with something akin to fear. Remmick’s hands find yours as they cling to his face, and he holds you in place. The touch is strange, unfamiliar, but so craved that you don't pull away. 

“I’ll be back, Suga.” With the promise of returning, he lets you peel away from him, but you feel the pinpricks of his red eyes as they follow you into the Juke Joint. Cornbread watches you emerge from the darkness, relieved to see you safe from your little conversation with the stranger. The guard nods as he holds the door open and tells you to go right in. When you are safely inside, the feel of Remmick's eyes is gone, and you yearn for them again.

“Gonna need my shawl now, Annie.” You tell the younger woman as she dances in and out of the kitchen. Her eyebrow raises in one graceful motion.

“You leavin’ with that man?” You nod in confirmation. “I don’ know. Ain’t nothin good ever come from goin’ off with no white man.” She draws a laugh right out of you; it shakes your shoulders. Annie hands you the shawl, and you lean in across the table. You can smell the copper scent of her blood as it pulses through her veins, but your hunger has been sated for the night after draining two Klan members in an old house on the way over.

“Tween’ you and me, that’s my white man.”

——————————————————————-

An agonizing silence fills the walk to your estate. It’s aged, a short-lived summer home for some old white bastard. It was practically rotting when you found it, and the man inside was rotting with it. He wailed when you killed him, his eyes twitching even as you left his body outside, prepped for the vultures.

You’d made the manor into a home despite the moss that clung to the white walls and the overgrown grass filled with snakes, waiting for their next meal. 

The inside is clean, decorated with pristine treasures from travels long ago. In the thousand years since Remmick last saw you, traveling was your primary goal, and now it felt as though you'd seen everything twice over. Antiques from Peru, a grandfather clock bought in Belgium, and Zulu masks that decorate the walls.

It looks brand new yet older than anything else out in the Delta. Not older then the two occupants though, damn near nothing was anymore except perhaps the ruins of civilizations that once believed they would last.

“Never did leave the 1780’s  did ya?” He asked as he took in the decor, a mix of every century you lived through, yet heavily decorated with gilded furniture and antiques that you took from your Chateau in France. A time when you lived as the ‘bastard daughter’ of whatever duke whose home you stumbled upon before turning him, many years after you and Remmick separated.  If you were going to be damned for eternity then you were going to do it in wealth and style. 

Though gorgeously decorated, the home still had a southern feel. Mississippi grew from the floorboards and leaked into its very aesthetic. Your legs folded under you as you dropped onto the velvet couch you had acquired from a man in Leeds about a century ago.

Remmick’s fingertips gently ran across your old whatnot, delicately tracing the antiques resting upon it. A jar, filled with a strange mixture of liquids and herbs, covered in red candle wax, caught his eye. He didn’t touch it; the ornate bottle seemed holy to him. “Looked for ya’ in New Orleans. Heard talk of you there. Nearly tore the damn place apart lookin’.” 

You watched him, his eyes glued to the spell jar; he knew where you got it, from the voodoo queen herself. You hoped he didn’t see right through it, you hoped he didn’t think it was for him. How silly you were to put a protection spell on a man long dead, but you had been inconsolable that night, screaming for a man you thought hated you, yet still desperate to see him again one day.

Remmick doesn’t realize it, he turns to you with a proud tilt to his lips, “was gonna kill 'em all tonight. Thought that singer boy could bring you back to me. Thought if you was dead, then maybe he could show me your pretty face again.”

A cruel scoff rose from the depths of your soul, “ You could have seen my face every morning and every night. I would have been with you now if you had let me, you accursed white devil. I was your friend, I knew you better than anyone!” The southern drawl is gone from your tongue, leaving your authentic accent, something old and new all the same.

“I hated you.” In a second, he voices what you have feared for a millennium. “I blamed you, and it wasn’t even your fault, Darlin’. I was miserable and young, but I’d never do it now. I’m old enough to tell you the truth of it all.”

His lips quiver, “I need you, Darlin’. Always have needed ya. You're all I want.” Remmick sinks to his knees at your feet, digging into the oriental rug you brought from Luoyang. If his head bowed any lower, he would look as if he were prostrating himself before his god. Thick hands, claws and all, find your hips, and he clings to them. 

“You will never forgive me, Remi. I was your creator, I made you a monster. I-,” you pause as a knot rises in your throat, “I killed you.”

Remmick's hair sways as he shakes his head, gripping you harder. “I begged ya’. You was hurting, and I used you. I wanted revenge just as you did. They killed my family, thought they killed ya’. I would have done it all over again. I should never have blamed you.” Tears well in your eyes for the first time in a hundred years, foolish though it is, they don’t dare fall. He sees it and whines, taking both of you by surprise. The sound like a wounded animal snaps you out of a trance. 

“Please, baby.” He was rocking back and forth, his knees shifting against the rug. “Chased you all these years, hoping to get ya’ back. I lied to you, told ya’ I hated you, but spent my days dreaming of you. I had over four hundred years to tell you I loved you, but I was a coward.” The shuffling of his body as he was practically grinding himself against your leg was distracting. 

“I’ve been in love with you since we swam in the Lough Neagh.”  You can’t breathe, your shoulders slack, and you throw your head into your hands. The two of you were human then; your family had just moved to the area after spending eighteen years in the deep forests.

A man like your father and a daughter like you stood out against the pale Irish, especially on your mother's side. You couldn’t have been older than nineteen. It was at least 1,400 years ago.

“I hate you. I loathe you. I’d dance on your grave,” you hissed as the tears poured over your eyes and onto your warm cheeks. “I thought you loved me. Before I turned you. Then you spent all those years, resenting me some days and being a friend the next.” He holds your wrists within his hands, trying to pry them from your face to see the tears that you hid. 

“I love you, Mo Shíorghrá.” My eternal love. Your wrists fell, allowing him to cup your cheeks within his hands, roughened from years of playing any instrument he could master. Slowly, almost like a fleeting touch, his rose colored tongue lapped at the tears that flowed from your eyes.

He continued this in between words, “before death found us, I was gonna marry you. Built the house and everything. We would’ve been parents, we’d have been buried together. I was just waitin’ to confess and ask for your hand.”

“You hated me. We fought every day. I tried to drown you in the Lough Neagh.” Your voice is strained.

“You looked so beautiful holding me underwater.” 

“I would have married you. We could have died together, saved from this eternal torment.” You whisper, a confession of your own that you'd waited a thousand years to say.

“Marry me now, then.”

Remmick’s blackened eyes search your face when you look up at him. Nodding your head to confirm to yourself that he is real and this is not a dream. You splay your hand across his chest, not timidly but calculatedly, pushing him back until he’s off his knees and lying against the ornate rug, surrounding him with vibrant shades of red and purple.

You slide off the couch and straddle him, sitting atop his lap. Remmick’s eyes are wide like a barn owl's, but redness blooms on his cheeks, mirroring the fire you feel spreading across your skin. His claws dig into your dress, ripping the red silk, and you chide him for it.

“Now, sweetheart, I loved this dress. Ya’ gonna be rough with your blushin’ bride?” He groans, thrusting his hips upward, effortlessly pushing your body higher.

Your southern accent leaves his chest heaving; you grin like a Cheshire Cat, realizing you've got him entrapped. Whispers leave him, strained and desperate, begging and cursing the years you spent fighting when you could have been doing this.

“So needy, pretty boy. How many girls ya’ been with? How many ya’ wish was me?” You purr, your clawed hands slowly trace up to his throat as he whimpers your name. When the two of you were humans, he had been engaged but narrowly dodged it, something you used to taunt him about. As far as you knew, he was innocent then.

You taste the salt of your sweat as it drips onto the top of your lip, you lick it away while making direct eye contact with the disheveled man who rolls his hips against you in the most pathetic display you've ever seen. The Irishman groans at the sight of your tongue darting along your plump lips.

“Too many, only when they looked like ya’. Ain’t never loved em’. Called ya’ name multiple times like a damn dog.” He gasps, your hands tighten on his neck, and he bucks his hips again, bouncing you on his lap.

Each buck has you falling back onto him, dragging your heat against his pelvis in a tantalizing way. You bite back a moan as he continues to ignite a deep ache within you. You're trembling above him, rutting against him with strangled cries.

“N’you? Can only imagine everyone who got to bed ya’. Always was stunning, all the people wanted a night with ya’ in their bed.” Hissing like a jealous viper, he grips your hips to grind you down against him. The rough rub of his jeans against your cotton under clothes is enough to make your eyes roll back, but you close them, raking your nails against his chest and shredding through his white shirt. His bulge presses into your clit, stimulating it just enough to make your limbs shake.

“Too many,” You sigh, using his words against him. It isn’t good enough for Remmick. He thrusts the tent of his pants against your core, and his nails sink into your hips.

He caresses the spots where his nails have left red indents on your hips, and his gentle demeanor surprises you until he's pulling you forward to nip at your neck. His fangs brush against you, considering breaking your skin. He’s challenging you, even after all this time, he still enjoys your battles. 

“Was a man out in,” you struggle to stop the sounds that rip from your throat as he continues grinding against you, “Out in Oregon. Coulda been your brother with the way he looked. I rode him till the sun came up.” Remmick growls, in a steady motion that takes you by surprise, he rises to his feet with your legs instinctively wrapping around his hips. You feel the outline of him pressed into you, begging for entrance.

“Bedrooms upstairs, suga’. To the right.” Nails tracing his neck, you whisper against his ear as he nearly flies up the stairs. You lean towards him, licking a stripe from his necklace to his jaw. He tastes of salt, copper, and something so sweet you can’t name it.

“Wanna know something else, love? I called ya’ name all night.” For your taunting, you're thrown onto the bed you carefully made before you left for the Juke Joint. The plush bead spread, dark as mulberry wine, cradles your back as you land against it. You're left with your thighs clenched together, desperate for stimulation as Remmick stands over you.

“Gonna do that for me tonight? I’m gonna make your pretty throat raw.” He’s clawing at the dip of your dress, right below your neck.  In one swift motion, he rips the dress straight down the middle.  He raises your leg, taking your ankle into his hand as he tenderly kisses the sensitive skin. Your leg quakes in his hand before he drops it. 

With one sharpened claw, he splits your two-piece undergarments until he can see every inch of you. Gently, he takes the cut clothing and peels it away from your body, tossing the rags to the floor. His shredded shirt follows.

  For the first time, you are completely naked before him. Not to say that he hadn't seen you in all the years you were together, lustful glimpses as the two of you bathed in the rivers and days spent sharing a bedroom waiting for the sun to set had given him prior knowledge of your nude form in rare flashes.

 Nothing could compare to this, with you lying below him, his eyes traced every stretch mark and every freckle in sight. He licked those too, bending over the bed and tracing your details with the tip of his tongue. From the marks along your thighs, he slowly moved lower, closer to where your body called for him. You grasp his hair, pulling his face away from your aching center.

“No! Need you right now, Remi!” Your voice, a strained whine as you pleaded for him to quit all the foreplay and just fuck you. His gleaming red eyes regard you with such softness that you throw your head back to hide your face from his loving gaze, scared he would see the desire in your eyes.

“Bout’ a thousand years I've waited for this.” Remmick's nose nudges your swollen clit, he buries his face into you, inhaling your heady scent. Lifting to watch your face, he continues, “damn near 500,000 days I've spent aching for ya’. Imma’ take my time tonight, darlin’.” He resumes his slow-paced lapping at your dripping cunt. With gentle fingers, he parts your flesh, giving him more access to you—his tongue, initially flat against your entrance, darts inside of you like a bullet. 

Useless words and lustful moans fall from your bloody lips, raw from attempting to bite back whimpers. Remmick has starved, yearned, and thirsted for this since he first laid eyes on you. It was worth every agonizing second.

 “Fuckin’ ambrosia.” He whimpers, “fruit of the gods.” Remmick’s tongue delves in and out of you as though he can’t get enough of your flavor. His fingers, thick yet long, trace your entrance as he pulls his tongue away to focus on your most pleasurable spot, engorged from the teasing. Your wrist finds your mouth when he pushes two fingers inside. Blood seeps from your lips, having bitten through your skin.

 Remmick whines like a bitch in heat. His hips rutting against the comforter as he continues savoring you on his tongue while opening you with his fingers as preparation. You hold your wrist out and he lifts his head, watching curiously as the blood drops down to your swollen cunt. His big red eyes widen at your offering.

“That’s my beloved, feeding me right from her veins,” He groans through swollen lips. Remmick rolls his hips against your bare calf, chasing the bliss that he feels with every move. His tongue swirls around your clit and his lips wrap around it as he sucks gently. His fingers fly in and out of you, deliberately curling into a spot deep inside you that has your back arching off the bed. 

You're clenching around him as you match his pace. Angelic moans fly from your lips, pleasure building in your stomach until the coil snaps and your legs spasm around Remmick's head. Your panting is soft, pleasurable tremors rake through your body.

The Irish man does not let up, he continues sucking and lapping up everything your body gives him, his clawed hands trail up your body until he's grasping at your breasts and rolling your nipples between his fingers. It’s borderline painful, you clench around nothing as he sucks at your clit. 

The continued ministrations leave you spasming, your fingers twitch and clench into Remmick's hair. Your hips grind against his nose, stars in your eyes, and then your body drops like a puppet cut from its string. Drool rolls down your swollen lips, and for a moment, you worry you have hit your head because the world is slipping in slow motion.

“Pretty girl, my pretty bride.” Remmick stroked your cheeks, wiping the drool from the corner of your lips and licking it off his fingers. The flavor of your spit and spend mix together on his tongue, and he whines, loud and needy. 

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard, suga’. You gonna let me?” He raises until your chest is pressed flat against his, and your thighs instinctively wrap around his toned waist. Your hands lazily trace the line of his abdomen down to the thin patch of hair that leads to his arousal. Your palm cups that spot you feel yearning against you, but Remmick grabs your cheeks, pushing your lips together as he pulls your face to meet his.

“Fucked ya’ dumb already? Asked you a question, darlin’.” He says as you struggle to speak or meet his gaze. You are still drooling, mind empty of everything but him. You bobbed your head up and down, hoping to answer his question while your mind reeled from the pleasure in your veins. Tenderly, Remmick’s lips meet yours.

 It was not your first kiss; that was the day you turned him, but it's just as significant. You wrap your arms around his head, pulling him back to you when you part. This time, your lips move together, slowly pushing against each other.

Your tongue runs along his lips, he opens his mouth eagerly, and you wrap your tongue around his. You pull back when your lungs burn, Remmick rests his forehead against yours, and you stare into each other's eyes for a few loving minutes. “ I s liomsa thú agus is leatsa mise.” You are mine, and I am yours.

With trembling hands, Remmick takes hold of his weeping cock and positions it at your ready entrance. Gently, he inches himself into you until he can’t go any further. You swallow him within your warmth; he pulses with blood from his latest victim, and you can feel him twitch within you. Your legs, still wrapped around him, push him into you, begging for him to move, but he remains still. His eyes, rubies of light, watch you as if he's a man obsessed, taking in the curve of your nose and the bow of your lips.

 “I loved ya’ in Ireland.” He starts, ignoring your confused look. “I’ve followed traces of ya’ from the deserts to freezing shores. And in every place, every damned second, I’ve been entirely in love with ya’.” He pulls back slowly, letting you feel every inch of him that leaves you before he snaps back in, refilling the emptiness and drawing out a breathy moan from you.

“When the sun goes down, we gonna go back to that joint and kill every last one of 'em.” Your lips on his neck make him moan against your breast as you whisper those words in his ears. 

“We gonna have the family ya’ve always wanted.” You nip at his earlobe, pale as the moon. He rocks in and out of you with whimpers and whines that make you throb around him, feeling every movement and hearing every sigh. 

“Maybe if ya’ fuck me hard enough, you’ll fill me with your babe,” the words sound like a prayer when purred against his lips. Remmick stops moving. He looks down at you for a minute; you worry that you've said the wrong thing until animalistic lust sets into his eyes. Then he's fucking into you, reckless and frantic with desire. The old bed creaks with each thrust. He ravishes you, like a man on his wedding night, desperate and hungry. 

The bed frame groans as it bangs against the withered walls. Your nails scratch along his back, leaving marks that will heal in a day. He grunts, deep and long, as your nails draw blood from him. Your arms shake around his neck, chasing every thrust and craving it. You whisper words of encouragement, urging him to go faster and harder. Your sucking at the flesh of his neck, panting against him as he continuously hits the spot inside of you that leaves you whining against his skin.

Remmick grips your waist hard enough to bruise as he raises you from beneath him, slipping out of you for a minute before lying onto his back and placing you on top of him.

“Show me how you rode my look-alike.” He purred, as he took hold of his cock making it easier for you to sink onto him. You do so, biting your lower lip as he fills you even further than before. You felt drunk, entirely at his mercy, but you reminded yourself that letting him win would be a shame, so you gathered your wits even as you rocked your hips back and forth, rising up and down like you were riding a wild horse.

“He ain’t like you. He made me howl like a bitch,” you cooed as your man growls in response. Below you, Remmick looks completely unwraveled. His hips jolt up, quicker and rougher, as if he's challenging your smug statement. The golden chain on his neck catches your attention as your head lands against him. He whimpers when you pull him closer to you with a yank of the necklace. 

Your rolling hips speed up, arching your back as that special spot inside of you is continuously probed. Remmick holds your waist, helping you rise and fall onto him, his eyes are filled with tears, and his lips spout slurred praises. “This the chain I gave ya’? One I bought you before you begged me tuh’ leave?” He nodded frantically.

“Never take it off.” He groans as you halt your movement. 

“Not even when ya’ fucking them other girls?”

“Nah. Gets me hard, thinkin’ bout’ you.” Remmick’s hand grasps your neck, borderline choking you, but it does not stop your deep inhales. His words send goosebumps across your skin, before you know it, you are shouting praises as your hips grind against him.

Your legs crumble, your climax hitting you for the third time that day. Searing ecstasy washes over you, forcing you to scream Remmick's name as you tighten around him. You slump, your forehead hidden in his shoulder. With a sudden burst of energy, Remmick snaps his hips into you for three more thrusts before his body spasms. You feel heat like never before as he releases inside of you. You lie against him, your thighs weak around his hip bones as you both relax into the bed. He doesn't pull out of you, and secretly, you hope to stay like this until the night returns. 

“Wanna’ do it all again.” You whisper in his ear, fangs dangerously close to piercing it.

“Gimme’ a minute, imma take you on the table next.” Remmick groaned, already plotting every place he would have you shaking for him.

“Nah, I meant the traveling. Been bored with it all for a while. Now, I wanna do it all again with ya’ near me not waitin’ in the shadows.” You tell him as he plays with the curls of your hair, tugging at them gently.

“Fuck it. I’m all yours, Mo Shíorghrá.” Remmick nuzzled into your hair, feeling at peace for the first time in a millennium.