#and how in sync they are and you just get to see for yourself without having to be Told. its just good man. its so fun to watch

[underratedmurder]

Was it something I said? Remmick/Reader

Reader and Remmick dance together... and get acquainted.

female/femme presenting reader

*Remmick can enter people's minds without turning them* <- I love this idea, and I think it makes sense for him since he was so in touch with Mary's emotions in the movie.

*Smut warning* PIV intercourse, Fingering, Blood, Biting, Drool, Messy make outs

~~~

There's a strange new man in town, and hell if he aint a good dancer!

"What kinda dancin'?" You asked, polishing a tall glass by the kitchen sink.

"Oh, like nothing I've seen before, you gotta see him Lucky," the warm voice of the woman reminded you of childhood wonder and excitement, the kind you two shared together in youth.

She was your best friend, Nelly. 'Lucky' was just a nickname, given to you when you were just a child.

Lucky, you felt it every now and then, lucky to have friends and a home, but you weren't sure luck would give your life much meaning.

Now, after growing up, you struggled for joy and fulfillment.

Your friends were bubbling about the kitchen, exclaiming about some new feller who frequented the local club, electrifying a previously dim and dismal joint.

"He shuffles his feet so fast Luck, like bubbles pricklin' in a tea pot,"

"It's called Irish dancin', he's Irish," your other friend, Maggie, finally chimed in. Nelly looked at her, confused.

"How you know?" Nelly leaned toward her, and a string of curiosity was plucked in your mind.

"Cause he told me, we talked for a bit last night," Maggie looked particularly proud of herself, and you grew suspicious.

"So, you did," Nelly's face twisted in disappointment, something was telling you this man might be a little pretty...maybe.

"Don't be jealous Nel, I don't mind sharin'," Maggie smirked, playful and teasing.

"Oh, don't you start that, Maggie!" Nelly was swatting Maggie and hitting her arm.

Now you just had to see this guy, after all, there wasn't much anything else to do around town. You liked dancing, and you certainly liked the sound of a handsome Irishman who could hop to a beat. And you were secretly hoping the night would start you on a new and exciting adventure, the kind of opportunity you'd been desperate to find for a while now.

~~~

That night at the club was packed, more than you'd ever seen it. The summer heat seeped into the place, moisture was already collecting on your forehead, like you could feel the sweat and exhaustion from the folks who were dancing their heads off.

There was a rowdy dance circle on the large wooden dance floor, rumbling the building with heavy steps and in sync clapping.

The band was playing a bouncy folk tune, more upbeat than their usual jam.

You felt a buzz under your skin unlike anything you'd felt before, like the air was charged with so much energy the place could burst.

Sliding past people chatting and taking swigs from their drinks, you finally stood before the circle, and in the middle there he was.

He was glowing, and not like a light, like a vibration, sending waves of energy out into a sea of bodies. He looked softer than you expected, features defined but not sharp. He bobbed up and down, his dark brown hair barely moving as it stuck to his forehead, shuffling his feet and swinging his legs. His eyes were closed, his chin up. He was focused, but blissful, and all you wanted to do was join him.

You merged with the circle like a drop to a stream, feet stumbling for a moment before you caught the rhythm and bounced along. The music and the people carrying you round and round until you weren't sure which way was left or right. The man was still in the center; a wide smile now plastered on his drunken face. You caught glimpse of his crooked teeth, sharp on all sides, like a dog prancing in the sun, he radiated joy. It was intoxicating to watch, and without meaning to, you found yourself staring for a bit too long.

The only thing that pulled you out of your trance was the sudden sensation of his eyes locking with your own. Light blue and intense, they barely looked human, and that scared you. But before fear could push you away, he was pulling you in.

Strong hands grasped your wrist and forearm firmly, tugging you into the middle. You crashed into him for a moment, puzzled at the coolness of his frame against the heat of the air. But as he grinned at you, eyeing you up and down, you began to move your feet again.

Up close, he was shorter than you thought, but large and muscular, his forearms bare of his rolled-up sleeves and flexing as he reached to grab your hand. You took his, surprised at his cold touch, but gladly holding on as he wrapped an arm around your waist and began to spin you both around.

As he picked up the pace, your feet starting to synchronize in motion, you couldn't help but smile widely, feeling the woosh of air across your face as he spun you around in place. When he pulled you back you collided into his chest, noses barely brushing past each other.

He gazed at you, an almost crazed look in his eye, joy and frenzy and fun. His grip tightened on your hand, and you felt the urge to go a bit further, after all this was a dance, a show for the whole club to see. You couldn't let him out do you.

You leaned back and rolled your head in a circle, flaring out your chest and letting your neck flex. People wooed and continued their rhythmic clapping, as you popped back up to meet him.

But when you returned to his eyes something had changed, they no longer shone that sky blue like before. His pupils were blown, and there was something shiny and slick seeping out the corner of his mouth.

Suddenly he was darker, less soft, and hell if he didn't look even more delicious than before.

His breath was heavy against your face, still somehow cooler than the air, and your heart was undoubtably racing for reasons other than the dancing.

His hand snaked down your back, slowly and carefully, finding purchase at the bottom of your hip. Shamefully, your felt heat pool between your legs, as your face began to run hotter than before.

As if he could read your mind, he slid his leg between your own, propping himself between them like a puzzle piece, still rocking you round the circle at impossible speeds. The pressure between your legs was unbearable, and you couldn't believe you found yourself so wound up in the arms of a total stranger.

His head snuck closer to your neck, nose just centimeters away from the fast and hot beat of your pulse.

"You Lucky?" he hummed.

"How'd you-"

"Your lovely friend Maggie and I had an interesting conversation the other night," suddenly you felt a guilty pit of jealousy hit your stomach, accompanied by unwavering anxiety. What had they possibly talked about, and why did you feel like a fish on a hook.

You weren't sure if you were imagining it, but within moments, he drew a great long sniff from your neck, rolling his head back like he'd finally taken a breath after emerging from water. As he exhaled, his mouth hung open, his teeth were longer, sharper, unnatural fangs that protruded like knives. And when his eyes fluttered open, they were red like blood and piercing. You gazed upon a man, now a monster, his arm wrapped around your waist and his leg pressed against you, and you finally startled.

"What's wrong sweetheart? Scared I might bite?" his voice was so low and smooth, you felt sedated, like it would send you to sleep.

Every instinct in your mind should have told you to fight, to run. Your feet were slowing but still shuffling around the circle, afraid to break the spell of the dancers that surrounded you. They hardly took notice to the creature that grasped you, like blind pigeons flocking to a vulture.

He pulled you close, chest to chest, his mouth and fangs at the edge of your ear. The proximity was too much to bear, you could feel the tickle of his stubble on your cheek, sharp pricks which you realized were his nails coming to stroke your neck.

"I promise I'm much gentler than I appear," the hum of his voice made your skin prickle, like a paper about to burst into flame. You felt the heat in your body radiating, a call to supper he was ready to head.

You fought to shake away from him, eyes unable to tear away from his every feature. He let you go, though a pout appeared on his face, mocking you, and as you stumbled backwards that pout turned to a terrifying grin.

"Was it something I said?" He held up his hands in feigned ignorance, looking around at the many who slowed their stride, grinning along with him.

Through hurried blinks, the reflective red of dozens of eyes revealed themselves.

Skirting backwards out of the circle, your mind began to race, griping the spiders web in which you were trapped.

Nelly and Maggie were gone, and all eyes watched as you scrambled for a broom closet nearby. Scattered laughter filled the club as you tripped and nearly toppled over before slamming and locking the door.

Heart racing, you laid there on the floor, ears penetrated by hundreds of whispers of your name. Over and over, each voice sounded incredibly loud and impossibly close, like the lips were pressed right to your ear. Covering them, you hunched over, begging, waiting for the silence.

The voices began to crescendo, piling on top of your chest and weighing you down, until one triumphant voice called out. Smooth and clear, it was him.

A polite knock at the door, and your eyes darted up, wide and bloodshot and brimmed with tears.

"Knock knock little dove, there's a dance floor out there waitin' for you," he chimed, cheery and almost affectionate.

His voice seeped like honey through the cracks of the door frame, you fought the impeding thoughts of licking that honey straight from his mouth.

You shivered.

"I didn't mean to scare you darlin', honest," he sounded sincere.

"Whatever it was I did, I promise I can make up for it," you could hear the grin tugging at his lips. A flash of the image of his fangs peeking over his lips made your heart pound.

"Got plenty more moves I haven't shown you yet," the drawl of his voice was past the cracks of the door and reaching for you across the wood floor. So tangible you could try to kick it away, but you didn't.

You didn't scream for him to leave you alone, the words would be caught in your throat, feeble attempts to keep the monster at bay.

You closed your eyes, covering your ears again, but when his voice rang again it wasn't from behind the door, it was from within you.

I can make you feel better honey, I can take allllll that fear away. Just... open the door.

The tears were falling down your cheeks now, heart thumping like a rabbits'. You bit your lip and crumpled, the pressure of his presence in your mind was so warm and deep, slowly you accepted what you knew you wanted to do. What you needed to do. What was itching at you since he laid his eyes on you. Since he looked at you like you were his perfect meal.

Slowly you rose, shaking and dripping with adrenaline. Your hand crept to the lock, fingers moving in painstaking slow motion. You held your breath for fear that he'd suck it all out from the other side of the door.

One finger lightly taps the lock

You see his eyes again

Another positioned to turn it

His fangs baring like a dogs

Your palm presses against the mechanism

Sharp claws scraping your side

The lock flips and you finally breathe out, weight of your fear lifting for just a moment, but he fills the gaps.

The door slowly swings open, his body appears like an apparition, a ghost you summoned through subconscious fear and unbearable desire.

"See now that wasn't so bad," drool is pooling from his mouth, like a rabid dog he stares a hole into you, licking his lips.

Your legs are weak, giving out as soon as he takes a step forward, quickly closing the space between you in the small closet.

You were on your knees, hands clasped together, and eyes shut again.

This was sin, this was the Devil finally finding you, and you asked so desperately to be found.

You began to pray, mumbling words to a lord you didn't seek to find, but to be received by the creature before you. A declaration, a promise, an admittance, that you were under his spell, his to take.

"Oh, sweet baby. There's no God who can take you from me now," the hunger in his voice traveled down his neck through his arm all the way to the fingers that grasped your chin and forced you to look up.

You continued your prayer, but directly to him now, "Is there a Devil who can?" the tears left your eyes red and strained, looking up at him stung in the loveliest way possible.

He smiled, lips together, dark hair framing his beautiful face. You could die looking at him this way, you didn't even know his name...

"It's Remmick. There is no Devil here tonight,"

He pulled you up with one swift motion.

"And he couldn't take you either,"

His hand grasped the back of your neck, other hand lightly toying with your face, wiping tears from your cheeks and brushing hair from your sweaty temples.

"Look at you,"

Your lips parted, so close to his own, you yearned to press them together.

"So beautiful, little dove," his thumb grazed your lips.

His face came closer, aiming for your neck again, his hands' grasp tightening on your hair.

"If I could just... taste you,"

You breathed in, tense, anticipating his every move.

"Shh sh sh, it's okay. There aint' no need to be afraid. I'm gonna take real good care of you,"

Instinctually, words blurted out of your mouth once again.

"Lord please forgive me, I have given in to sin, I have fallen in the hands of evil," you sniffled and sobbed.

"Look at me," his voice was darker now.

Your eyes darted to his, widening in a trance.

"Will you give yourself to me?" his gaze was dark and possessive.

A thin drop of sweat ran down his temple, the sticky stuffiness of the closet made you want to rip yourself and him from your clothes.

You nodded, not daring to break contact with his crimson stare.

He grinned widely, revealing his monstrous teeth and making your stomach twirl. You needed to feel them grazing your skin.

"I'll need you to say it out loud sugar. S'only so much I can read from that little mind o' yours," he cooed. He was prying the words out, tugging you down to a level of humility only a creature that wished to eat you could push you towards.

"I- I'm yours," you blurted, almost pleading.

"Mmmm," he hummed loudly, the sound vibrating through his hand to your chin.

Suddenly he wrapped his hand around your jaw, nose taking a long sniff from your hot neck.

"S' so good, for me,"

He dragged his tongue all the way up your neck as an ungodly moan finally escaped your throat, your hands reached to grab his sides.

"M' you like that?" he said through up turned lips.

You began to nod, arms pulling him closer. You felt him hard against your hips, his length through his pants grinding so painfully good against you.

Another, looong lick up your neck which ended with his mouth around your ear, teeth teasingly nipping at the sensitive skin.

"How'd you like to dance forever, Lucky?"

He didn't even meet your eyes, only listened to the increased speed of your heart rate and made his own conclusion.

Before you knew it, a white-hot flash of pain was puncturing your neck and seizing your whole body. Teeth tore flesh and blood spilled into Remmick's wanting mouth. He began to shake fervently, groaning loudly and gripping you so hard you felt dizzy.

You barely had a few seconds of awareness before he was finished with you, full and drunk on your blood, needy for every last drop he could lap up.

You collapsed to the floor, and he followed you, propped up on his haunches, still grasping you.

The way he drank from you sent waves of mixed pain and pleasure through your body, a body quickly changing from mortal to monster, blood drained and soul transformed.

"You taste so fuckin' good," he panted.

He turned your head to face his own, both hands cradling your features, eyes taking in the rapidly changing color of your eyes.

"Said I'd take care of you, didn't I?"

His stubble was dripping with red, and you stared as his tongue slipped out to lick excess from his lips.

Rapidly, energy returned to your body, skin and bones tingling and brain ablaze with activity. Your vision was clearer now, like your senses had been turned up to 200%.

Without thinking, you leapt forward, pressing your lips to his, starving. You let your tongue explore his mouth, tasting your own blood and his every memory.

Images, emotions and hundreds of years of experiences were flooding your brain. Every moment, every want and need he'd ever had now became yours.

You ate everything, every bit you could take, lips smashing together ever more aggressively.

"Havin' your fill now, little dove?" he smiled, amused expression on his face.

Your eyes fell to the hard length under his pants, only for a moment. Without you even realizing it, a thick line of drool was streaming from the corner of your lips, almost trickling off your chin and onto his trousers.

You blinked up to look at him again, his eyes almost black and glazed with desire. His thumb came to quickly wipe the spit from your lips, before he stuffed the finger in his mouth and sucked.

"No, not yet you haven't," his lips collided with yours again, this time more like he was eating than giving a kiss.

You heard the clinking of his belt has his hands quickly but carefully undid the buckle, your sign to do the same.

His hands met you first though, fingers raking up your legs and pulling your underwear down past your stockings.

He placed them gently to the floor, slowing down as he raked his tongue over every inch of your mouth, letting out low and breathy moans.

You couldn’t take it anymore, the heat of your cunt felt so exposed against the cool air, you wanted him closer, to fill the void and relieve that ache that had been building ever since he grabbed hold of you on the dance floor.

You pulled the suspenders down from his shoulders and his pants down with them, reaching for his cock which strained against his underwear.

The fabric was smooth yet worn, and you could feel the heat of him as he twitched under your touch.

“M’ gonna fill you so nicely,” he whispered, mouth nipping at your ear.

He pulled you toward him with a firm hand at the bottom of your back, his cock pitching a tent. You felt him graze your stomach, chills ran up your body.

He felt you grow tense, and began lightly kissing your neck, top to bottom.

His fingers wasted no time in finding your slick folds and inserting them quickly, but not all the way. Just half his digits were in you as you gasped.

“Mmm,” he hummed as he listened to your quiet whimper, slowly dragging his two fingers in and out of you while his thumb circled your clit.

“That good? Mm?”

Your mouth lay agape as he kept his steady rhythm, building up the knot inside you. You nodded, eyes threatening to role back in their sockets.

He laughed quietly, grinning so widely like you’d just given him the best news of his life.

You reached out to grab him, shoving your hand in his underwear to grip his hard length and stroke him.

He let out a surprised guttural moan.

“You want something little dove?” His hips started to pump into your hand, clearly he wanted something too.

“Mhm,” you nodded more confidently this time, the knot in your cunt tightening with each stroke of his hand.

“Fuck,” he grunted as you quickened your pace around him, and so his fingers moved faster.

His grip at the bottom of your back tightened, eyes glowing red again as he locked his with your own. Faster, he moved his fingers, and you beckoned his cock closer to your core with each stroke of your hand.

You thought for a moment of the devilish kind of scene someone would see if they opened that closet door. Before you could feel too dirty though, his pressure on your clit increased and his fingers pumped far inside of you, that knot snapped like a twig, and sent you cumming on his hand.

You moaned loudly before his hand came to cover your mouth, his mouth dripping with drool again.

He held your face in place as he lifted his slick covered hand to his lips and stuffed the fingers in his mouth. You watched helplessly, moaning quietly beneath his palm.

“What do you want Lucky?” He released your mouth.

Your eyes darted to his hard cock and your cheeks flushed.

“I want you to fuck me so badly,” breathlessly the words escaped you.

“Careful what you wish for sugar,” the words were playful, but they came out dripping with intense hunger.

He shifted forward, hand gripping himself, slowly bringing his length to where you were most sensitive.

You gasped as his tip grazed you lightly, warmth inexplicable, his eyes glowing red and sweat rolling down his temples.

He lined himself up with you so that when he bucked his hips forward, he dragged his cock up and down your cunt. Slowly, tip pressing on your clit and length becoming slicker with each roll of his hips.

He continued on like that, watching you intently as you let out light gasps.

You couldn't take it any longer, you reached out and guided him inside you, letting out a low moan as he stretched you.

"Mhmfgh-" his eyes rolled back as he let himself sink into you.

"So good, God," he muttered, thick accent and low voice like music to your ears.

He began to pump faster, hands gripping your hip and side, his linen shirt stained with sweat.

You noticed the chain that hung from his neck, peeping out of his unbuttoned shirt. It swung, faster and faster as he pumped in and out of you.

Drool was seeping from his lips and tickling your own, somehow, he was still hungry, and he didn't waste a second kissing you again.

He was grinding up against that sweet spot inside you, never relenting in his rhythm. The two of you exchanged low moans, winding each other up, no more fun quips or clever words.

"F-fuck, mm. Remmick," it was the first time you'd said his name, and that seemed to be what pushed him over the edge.

He bucked his hips even faster, quiet desperate whimpers leaving his lips as he chased his release.

He came, hips still rolling and hands gripping you like you could slip away so easily. His tongue found the last bit of blood that seeped from your neck, building up his ecstasy in a mix of pleasure and taste.

He breathed hard into your neck, hands running down your body as he pulled out of you.

He quietly began to button himself up again, pulling his suspenders over his strong shoulders, and gently guiding your underwear back up your legs.

His eyes looked human again, round and blue, his fangs had retracted. His hair was a mess, but the way his locks stuck to his face made him look charming.

He lowered himself back on top of you, "You're perfect, little dove,".

You let the smallest of smiles flash upon your lips, a little bashful.

He grinned, "And cute,".

You felt the heat return to your cheeks again, he made you feel like a schoolgirl. Ridiculous, you thought.

His hand found your hair, fingers gently playing with it.

His eyes met yours.

"So, you wanna come dance with me, or what?"

~~~

Author's note: Please please please! Let me know if you liked this and/or if you are interested in me writing for Remmick more. This was lots of fun, I love reading Remmick fics and hope my addition is worthy of being part of the collection.

Thanks for reading!

[dioslesbianwife]

Could I request the stardust crusaders (and la squadra if you could 🙏🏿) x reader with a sentient stand? Like their stand has their own thoughs and feeling but they are mostly similar to it's user. And they are best friends thanks to being similar, but not entirely the same.

How would they adapt to this in a romantic relationship? Would they talk to the stand? Would they flirt with it (melone probably would)

sure, hope you enjoy, ty for requesting <3

Jotaro Kujo

At first, he's freaked out. Not that your Stand is sentient- but that it talks a lot.

He gets quiet fast when he realizes you and your Stand bicker like siblings.

“Can you two stop arguing?”

Over time, he gets used to it. Actually... he kind of likes your Stand.

Will nod respectfully at it when it says something wise. Will ignore it completely when it teases him.

If your Stand flirts with him (as a joke), he’ll go stone-faced and go “Tch. Funny.” But he's blushing.

Joseph Joestar

“Holy shit, your Stand can talk?! Is it single?!”

Immediately jokingly flirts with your Stand. Your Stand flirts back.

He’s a little jealous at first because your Stand knows you so well. “C’mon, let me carry you for once!”

He gives your Stand nicknames and even tries to feed it snacks, forgetting it’s... not physical like that.

If your Stand is snarky? They’re besties. They trash talk together and tag-team teasing you.

But when it’s serious, he respects the hell out of it. “If you’re part of their soul, then I owe you just as much thanks.”

Kakyoin

Quietly fascinated. He treats your Stand almost like a second partner, not in a romantic way- but like a trusted member of your shared life.

“Do you and your Stand share memories? Emotions? Do you ever disagree?”

Will actually converse with it like it's a person. “What do you think? Is this a good idea for them?”

If your Stand has a dry wit, he’s smirking constantly. He loves that you're so in sync.

Will ask the Stand for help picking gifts or date ideas. “Would they prefer cherry tarts or coffee cake?”

Avdol

Completely unbothered by your Stand being sentient. To him, it’s a sign of great spiritual depth.

“A Stand with a will is not to be feared- it is to be honored.”

Greets your Stand like a person every time he sees you. “Good evening, my friend.”

He asks your Stand about your mood if you’re trying to hide how you feel.

He prays with your Stand once. That moment bonds them deeply.

Will scold your Stand if it tries to do reckless things to protect you. 

Polnareff

At first, he’s dramatic and suspicious. “Wait, wait, wait, you mean you’ve been hiding your sarcastic soul twin from me this whole time?!”

But after one heartfelt conversation with your Stand, he falls head over heels- for you and your dynamic.

“You two are amazing together. Like me and Silver Chariot! Except mine won’t sass me…”

He flirts with your Stand constantly. “So, if I win its heart, do I get your blessing?”

You: “Stop flirting with my Stand.”

Your Stand: “Don’t stop.”

He’s the kind of guy who will propose while looking at you and asking your Stand for permission.

Risotto Nero

Doesn’t say much. Observes the way you and your Stand interact before deciding what to do.

He’s surprisingly respectful toward your Stand- treats it like an extension of you.

Doesn’t flirt with it, but he’ll say things like “Tell them to rest” when you’re too stubborn to take care of yourself.

They lowkey develop a quiet pact: protect you at all costs.

When you’re in danger, he’s synced with your Stand without speaking. That’s how deep the bond gets.

Melone

Absolutely flirts with your Stand. Nonstop.

“Bellissima~ You’ve got looks, attitude, and taste- oh, and your user’s not bad either~”

You: “Melone.”

Your Stand: “He can keep going.”

He’s fascinated by the mechanics of it. “Do you two share dreams? Fantasies? Hormonal responses?”

He keeps trying to study your relationship like a case study. “I must understand! For science.”

Prosciutto

Doesn’t outwardly react, but his curiosity is high.

Once he confirms your Stand is loyal, he treats it like a fellow soldier.

“You’re the only one who sees what they see. You keep them grounded. I trust that.”

Not a flirt, but he gives it respect and subtle affection. A nod, a “thank you,” a soft look when it protects you.

Pesci

He’s scared of your Stand at first, especially if it talks back.

But your Stand ends up being super kind to him, and suddenly they’re besties.

“They like you, you know. Even if they don't say it much,” your Stand tells him once. He cries.

Will get caught mid-convo talking to your Stand alone like it’s his therapist.

He brings your Stand little trinkets and is like “I got this for you. And them too.”

Illuso

Thinks it's so cool. 

He and your Stand roast each other constantly like frenemies.

He absolutely flirts with it- hard. 

When he likes you more seriously, he gets quieter. If your Stand calls him out on his feelings, he rolls his eyes.

“Tell them yourself,” it says.

Formaggio

Chill about it. Thinks it’s hilarious. 

He bonds with your Stand over mutual chaos energy. You’re the calm one. They’re the gremlin duo.

“You two make a great pair. Mind if I crash it?”

He flirts casually with your Stand, but he flirts intentionally with you.

Will bribe your Stand for secrets: “C’mon, what’s their favorite snack? Their weakness? Their turn-ons?”

Your Stand: “Buy me coffee and I’ll tell you.”

[the-fiddlesticks-affair]

the summit-five affair completely rocked me what a fucking episode. heres my absolute favorite bit from the whole thing if i must absolutely be forced to choose

[dollyichi]

I JUST GOT A CRUSH! ᯓ★ katsuki bakugou x f ! reader. 1.02k words / fluff / not proofread

bakugou is bad at social media. not exactly terrible, yet not so great either.

he really doesn’t care too much for it nor does he use it that often but he’s not that unfamiliar with it. he finds himself being on tiktok from time to time though he never really bothered to make it known that he had an account in the first place, just enjoying whatever he comes across and liberally blocks accounts that come up on his fyp that pissed him off. he never posts anything either so it didn’t matter. it’s a typical account with a generated username and a blank profile, 57 following, 0 followers.

recently he found a video that he wanted to share (an edit made by a fan) and posts the link on twitter, alongside saying how ‘it’s real sick’ of them to make that for him. he didn’t even know videos like that were famous. the effort and skill it took made him think it were cool.

what he also didn’t know, was that his profile would be revealed when you press on the link.

he got so confused when his account suddenly gained so many followers in just two days since he ‘never mentioned it.’ that was until he sees the replies on his tweet that the linked he used to share got him exposed.

he checks it out for himself which proved that he did actually share his account without knowing, but it’s ‘whatever.’ even after everyone found out he just used it like normal. it’s only a pain when they kept asking him to post something.

he truly is without care, yet he underestimates the fans who immediately stalk his ‘almost’ empty profile. you see, he doesn’t know that his reposts are public because he doesn’t actually look at his own profile. it’s usually a like, like, repost, favorite, like, then close app routine that he does before he goes to bed.

there's a few funny videos here and there, cooking videos and recipes too, things he'd like to try out soon for himself, or techniques that were really helpful for him. some are also videos of fan edits that he recently discovered, where the same video he shared was at the top of the page.

yet, there was one reoccurring face that kept popping up. a pretty girl who likes to lip sync some songs or show off their trinket hauls. sometimes mini vlogs from their day to day or makeup vids. and the topic trends everywhere: DYNAMIGHT TIKTOK CRUSH

when you saw it you really couldn’t believe it yourself that the one anonymous commenter on your videos was a pro-hero, your favorite nonetheless. though, it makes you a little nervous since your face is plastered all over different social platforms because you’re only active on that app. you don’t know where to go from there except squeal into your pillows. definitely flattered when you recall the many times he called you pretty on your vlogs.

as the rest dive deeper into his little ‘crush’ they even saw him comment on a few of your videos with compliments that sounded extra flirty. they teased him so hard saying how he looks like a creep especially with that profile. he’s never gonna hear the end of it. soon a new topic blows up that reads: GO FOR IT DYNAMIGHT

in his defense, if he were to give anyone an explanation, he thinks you have a really nice smile and a really soothing voice. also that you’re real cute and charming, that’s why he could watch and even rewatch all your content in one sitting. he couldn’t get enough of you, absolutely smitten. even had to ask kirishima how to turn on notifications for an account in the guise of turning it on for his agency's tiktok.

you’re also the only account he’s following that’s not a cooking channel or a pro-hero. and yeah it’s basically all that, a crush. not that he expects you to actually give him a chance, he’s happy just seeing your content.

however, the poor (not really) bakugou is actually unaware of the whole situation of his ‘tiktok crush’ trending since he was finishing a mission. only finding out when he got a call from kirishima asking if he found a girlfriend already. “what the fuck are you on about?”

“your fans are talking about how you keep reposting videos of this one girl on tiktok. i mean, it’s kinda obvious if you’re dating.” and it hits him, quick. your username (the one he could only remember, really) flashes in his head, but he laughs it off. “nah nothin’ like that. think i could shoot my shot though?” he asks him and kirishima says, “haha! i think she already beat you to it.”

not knowing what he meant, he swiftly gets home, showers, and lays on his couch whipping his phone out of his pocket to search up your username. and there he was, staring at his phone, unable to stop the smile on his face when he sees the thumbnail of your new video. he opens it immediately and there you were, holding a dynamight figurine (a very limited one too!) close to your cheek that you’ve never shown before until now. you never thought to show it thinking he might see it and think of you as weirdo. it gave the opposite effect actually, even made him more confident because who would've thought your pretty collection had a 'random guy' in there (definitely not random for you at least).

bakugou immediately likes, reposts and adds it to his favorites. even screen recording the whole thing cause you never gave access to download your videos—it was a very special moment for him okay!

he then comments, ‘you can have the real thing too.’

a few minutes later it’s got your icon with a heart beside it. he chuckles, happy that you finally noticed him. beams when he gets a notification that you followed him back.

he’s definitely going to dm you after he calms down. just hopes this time you don't beat him to it again.

do not copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost my works

note : i love a katsuki with a crush i think it's so cute. but i love it even more that he's still confident about it!!! i like to think that reader probably has like 20k followers or something so pretty big but not as big as the others. the first time he met you he stumbles upon a video of you talking about the ice cream u just got and then he got hooked cause u were so cute when u were picking the flavor. PLEASE DO NOT SHARE THIS ON TIKTOK BTW >< also minors & ageless blogs please do not follow me!

[tedmustache]

Hi, may I request Jack Abbot x fem!reader with them almost getting caught going at it while at work by different coworkers and no one knows they're together, but the one that does catch them is Whitaker or Robby and Jack is like "I'm helping her find something." Pls and thank you! 🥰😁

a/n: I loved this idea! Hope you like it :)

Adrenaline

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader

Summary: In the nonstop chaos of The Pitt, two ER doctors find something dangerously steady in each other. Between late shifts, locked doors, and close calls, they navigate a secret that’s as thrilling as it is fragile—because in a place where nothing stays quiet for long, hiding how you feel might be the riskiest move of all.

Warnings: innuendos

Requests are open | Main Masterlist

[...]

It started in the quiet in-between moments, those fractured seconds where the world narrowed to the heat of a shared laugh in the break room, the electric brush of fingers over a patient’s chart, the way his thumb would linger on your wrist when passing a syringe.  

You told yourself it was nothing. 

But then came the late shifts, the ones that left your bones aching and your lungs raw with the scent of antiseptic. Nights when the ER’s fluorescent lights flickered like dying stars, and the only thing that didn’t feel heavy was him. 

Jack, with his stupid smirk and the way he could make you forget the blood on your scrubs with a single glance. That was the danger.  

You were ease in chaos. And chaos was all you had.  

No one suspected. Not even Perlah and Princess, who had a sixth sense for gossip.

But then again, you were both professionals.  

The first close call happened in radiology, wedged between filing cabinets and the ghostly glow of old MRIs. You were supposed to be pulling images for a pelvic fracture. Instead, you were pressed against cold metal, Jack’s mouth tracing your jawline, his hands mapping the bare skin beneath your scrub top like he was memorizing it.  

"Someone’s going to walk in," you breathed, half-laughing, half-terrified.  

"Then we’ll be quick," he murmured against your pulse. "Five minutes. Ten, tops."  

You shoved him back, but your fingers curled into his sleeves. "You’re the worst."  

"You love it."  

And you almost said something reckless—something true—when—  

Knock. Knock.  

"Anyone in there? I need Walker scans!"  

Dana

Jack moved like a soldier under fire. Smooth, practiced, already spinning a lie as he straightened your scrub with one hand. He cracked the door, all lazy charm and raised brows. "Just grabbing them. They were misfiled behind expired head CTs. Classic."  

Dana’s eyes narrowed. "Why’s the door locked?"  

"Security protocol."  

"That’s not a thing."  

"It is now, check your email"  

She scoffed but let it go. The moment the footsteps faded, you sagged against the cabinet, heart hammering.  

"Security protocol?" you whispered, biting back a laugh.  

Jack’s grin was pure mischief. "Looked convincing, didn't it?"  

[...]

The end of the charade came a week later, in the hushed glow of the imaging room. The ER had been a warzone all shift. Gunshot wounds, a code blue, a toddler with a bead lodged so far up her nose you’d almost laughed from sheer exhaustion. You and Jack moved in sync, though, a single organism with four hands, finishing each other’s orders without speaking.  

And then, between one breath and the next, he cornered you under the hum of the machines.  

"Missed you today," he murmured into your temple, voice rough with fatigue.  

"You handed me a scalpel an hour ago."  

"Yeah." His lips grazed your cheekbone. "Missed you while doing it."  

This time, you kissed him first—slow, deep, a silent confession in the dark.  

Cue the door swinging open.  

"Jack, do you—oh."  

Robby.  

The three of you froze. Jack shifted instinctively, blocking you with his body (pointless, but sweet). Robby blinked, processing, then slowly backed out.  

"I’m gonna pretend I didn’t see anything."  

Jack cleared his throat. "She was looking for something."  

A beat. Then, from the hallway:  

"Under your scrubs?"  

"Very thorough search," you called back, deadpan, before collapsing into silent laughter against Jack’s chest. He just pressed a kiss to your hair, like getting caught was nothing. Like you were everything.  

[...]

Later, in the ambulance bay, the city exhaled around you—streetlights bleeding into rain-slick pavement, the distant wail of sirens a reminder that the world kept turning. You sipped terrible coffee, shoulders touching.  

"So," you said. "Robby knows."  

Jack shrugged. "Yeah. Probably."  

"You’re okay with that?"  

He turned, eyes dark and sure. "I already have what I want." A thumb brushed your knuckles. "Let them talk. They don’t get to know what this is unless we say so."  

You nudged him. "And if someone else walks in on us?"  

Jack’s smirk was a promise. "Then I’ll say I’m helping you find something."  

"Yeah? What exactly am I looking for?"  

His voice dropped, stripped bare of jokes.  

"Me."  

And this time, in the quiet, no one interrupted. 

[specialgradefckr]

Beat Your Heart to Death

tw: explicit content, extremely toxic dynamics. gojo/geto, gojo/reader, geto/reader, and yes, stsg/reader. female!reader. mutual pining, requited unrequited feelings, the yearning, good god, the YEARNING. relatively unwilling voyeurism. EXTREMELY manipulative dynamics – boundary pushing, gaslighting, etc.

satoru and suguru are completely fucking deranged. their brains are operating on a level where human consciousness and emotion just hits different. they say INSANE shit at the end of this fic. you have been warned.

Sequel: Heartline Gone Flat

This must be what dying feels like.

You watch them, together. Leaning against one another, sleeping, vulnerable. Curled up in each other's embrace.

This must be what dying feels like. Seeing the man you love and the man you lust for, so painfully, peacefully, blissfully in love with each other.

If this is dying, you're surely going to hell for thinking something so awful about a feeling so beautiful.

It’s the sort of thing you think to yourself, bury deep – deep – inside the recesses of your mind. Dredging it out in the late hours of the night when you can’t sleep. Wallowing in your unrequited love, feeling sorry for yourself, while also comforting yourself with the thought that at least now you didn’t have to do anything.

You would never have to approach your longtime crush, Suguru Geto, and potentially ruin your friendship with him. It was something you’d struggled with for years, and after Gojo showed up – you didn’t have to struggle anymore. It was already lost.

And the insane twists your fantasies would play out for you, in those lonely nights in bed – you could be free of those, too. You could completely dismiss the insane idea of propositioning the man-whore menace of a human being who made your heart race, Satoru Gojo.

Satoru and Suguru loved each other, and it would be wrong to get in the way of that. At this point, even saying anything to either of them would be a trespass on your friendship, with both of them.

That was all there was to it. Nothing more to be done. You were mourning your feelings. Strangling your dreamy sighs at Suguru’s kind gestures, stomping the flutter in your chest when you caught Satoru smiling. Killing your heart and leaving it to rot, stepping around it like it’s not there.  

Unfortunately, you couldn’t escape the fact that all three of you lived together.

It doesn’t help that Satoru is just as prone to PDA with Suguru as he was with all his numerous hookups. More, even, because he doesn’t keep it to just his bedroom, doesn’t make the token efforts to stay quiet at night and shoo them out in the morning.

You do your best. Look away. Try to ignore how your heart jumps, twists, does all sorts of funny things at the sight of them kissing.

Satoru’s pretty white lashes flutter closed, Suguru’s warm gaze softens, cheeks flushed as Satoru’s hands jump up to cling to him. He cups Satoru’s face like it’s a treasure, tilting his head and leaning into the kiss like he can’t get enough of it –

You’re staring, fuck. You’re looking too closely. The scene burns itself into your eyes and you want to rip them out, never see it again. But you struggle to avert your gaze, greedy mind committing every detail to memory with a racing heart, dry mouth.

Thirsty, you’re so thirsty, in every sense of the word. They lean into each other, so in sync and so affectionate in a way that tugs on your every heart string. Fuck!

You start to just leave the room when it happens. You’d rather die than get caught staring, you’d rather go without water than thirst for droplets.

And you’d really, really, rather cut your fucking eyes out than face the feelings the sight awakens in you. Longing, yearning, how you want to tear them both off each other at once, how you want to see more, more, more, you want to touch, you want to taste –

God, fuck. You’re like one of those shitty girls who fetishizes male relationships. Aren’t you? You feel like this might be that. But you’re attracted to both of them individually, so it can’t be that, right? You’re not a creep, you’re just greedy. You leave the room when they kiss! You’re respecting their privacy!

They notice, though, is the thing. Not your staring (god you fucking hope they’ve never noticed the staring) but how you leave the room when they get affectionate with each other. It’s Suguru who pulls you aside to ask.

“…and listen, I know you’re not like that, I totally know, so does Satoru. It just… makes him feel a little weird, you know? He was raised by a traditional family, so they either think this is a phase, or call him disgusting to his face.”

Fuck your life. Actually fuck your ENTIRE life. “Of course not – I never – ”

“No no no, I know, I told you, he does too, it’s just – it’s a little disconcerting for him. But I can talk to him, make him understand. This is your house, too, you have the right not to see that sort of stuff.”

That just makes you feel a bit worse, actually. Satoru and Suguru shouldn’t have to hide away in their room whenever they want to kiss. It’s their own home.

“I’m sorry, Suguru, I – I don’t have any problem with you guys doing it around the house. I just…” You shift uncomfortably. “I’m not super comfortable with… PDA sort of stuff. It has nothing to do with you both being guys.”

Suguru nods, “No, I understand completely. Satoru will be disappointed, but you’re setting boundaries, and I respect that – ”

“It’s not that,” You say, “I – you can do whatever you like, really, I’ll just leave – ”

“No,” Suguru interrupts with a sigh, “That’s what’s bothering him. I think deep down he’s a little worried that you find it… disturbing.”

Your chest tightens with anxiety as you rush to reassure him, “Of course I don’t!”  

“No, I know, I know, we both do,” Suguru says in that warm, comforting voice of his, “It’s just how he feels – you know he can’t control that.”

And then your stupid mouth rushes ahead of you. Writes a check your heart can’t afford to cash.

“It’s fine! You don’t have to stop, I. Just… tell him I felt like I was intruding. I didn’t think he saw it as me being disgusted.”

And your heart will pay willingly, because Suguru gives you that smile. Warm and affectionate. The smile you’d fallen in love with.

“You’re not intruding at all. I’ll tell him you said so, it’ll be a great weight off his mind.”

So now the love of your life makes out with his boyfriend and you can’t even leave the room. Hahah. God. Maybe you should start thinking of a way to move out?

Problem: When Satoru moved in, he’d basically started paying all the bills. He didn’t have to worry about being cut off from the family money – even at his young age, he had his own financial success. Even if it started out with a few trust funds and an appointed position at one of his parent’s companies.

Every rent listing looked expensive when your current rate was “free”. And fuck, rent was expensive. You’d have to deal with other roommates, people you didn’t know (and love) as long as Suguru (and Satoru, at this point, you’d known him for years), and you’d be paying for the privilege.

You try, oh, do you ever try to get over it. Sexuality is fluid, after all, so it’s perfectly possible that Satoru and Suguru just ended up being gay. Being with either of them may never have been an option, except maybe as one of Satoru’s flings.

And wouldn’t that just suck? To have one night with Satoru only to watch him realize he’s gay and mutually in love with your longtime crush? Better to never sleep with him at all. You can’t miss something you’ve never had. And you wouldn’t want to be a fling anyways.

The thought stings more than it should, because deep down –

(You’d take it. You know you’d take it. That’s why you’re still here, really, under all the excuses. You’re fucking pathetic, pining for both of them. You’d take anything you could get.)

It doesn’t help that they get freer with their affections after your talk with Suguru. Looser. So unrestrained. You walk in on them fucking in the living room, having come back early from class, face burning up as you stand there stock still for a moment.

They don’t stop, or freak out, or cover themselves or anything. You see Suguru’s naked chest above the couch, Satoru’s hands pinned over the armrest of it, their bare legs and feet entwined and sticking over the other side of the couch. They’re both so fucking tall.

So beautiful. Satoru moans so pretty, and you hear Suguru purr, low and filthy, “Like that, you little whore?” and you feel yourself clenching all the way to your core.

You make a wild dash across the living room, staying on the other side of the couch so they can’t see you. Closing the door to your bedroom as quickly and quietly as you can, panting to yourself, feeling the heat rising on your face and the warm pulse between your legs.

(Pathetic, fucking pathetic. It’s like you’re actually some horny teenage boy with a crush on a pretty girl out of his league, rubbing one out every time you see her with her equally hot girlfriend.)

You’ve got to get ahold of yourself.

Your routine has changed, with the both of them being together, so openly. There were little things you’d shared, now gone, lost to the unfathomable whirlpool that was their relationship.

Used to be you’d buy sweets on grocery trips to share with Satoru. It was an old habit of yours, and when he’d first moved in, he’d caught you with them. Reaching for some with a grin before you smacked him away.

The look he gave you, a slow smirk before he went all wide-eyed and pleading, staggering to his knees like a proper starving drama queen – god, he had to know how he’d made your heart flutter. He probably pulled that on so many people.

Still, he would eat the candies right out of your hand, lips just teasing on your fingertips, eyes lingering on you while he licked his lips. It made you feel weird, at first, but you eventually realized that Satoru was just a weird guy.

He’d yawn and stretch and if he caught you or Suguru watching he’d flash his whole chest, like a girl flashing her tits. He slept naked and left the bathroom door open when he was using it, and he’d often knock when on your bathroom when you were in there, even if he had his own.

He had about ten different game consoles and games for them, plus a huge collection of movies, which he likes to watch with the room completely dark. He sleeps with a nightlight on, and his social media picture is an ugly picture of him from high school with these weird round sunglasses.

Not at all what you expected from a pretty boy like him. But Satoru’s eccentric charm, and the unstoppable allure of his perfect face and body, it rewired your brain somehow. You feel like you’ve wanted him for as long as you’ve known him.

You try to find other people. But the problem with living with Satoru and Suguru is that no one is up to your standards. You’ll never meet anyone as handsome or beautiful as either of them, so why bother?

In your defense, Suguru is hard to fall out of love with.

It’s not uncommon to wake up to the sound of your favorite breakfast being cooked while Suguru hums away in the kitchen, his pretty hair all tied back. If you sneak in quietly enough you can catch a tender smile on his face, the smell of freshly ground and brewed coffee he makes for Satoru in some expensive machine.

If you are unlucky, he’ll catch you, and that smile will grow as soon as his eyes are on you and you’ll fall in love all over again. If you’re lucky, you can sneak back away, but Suguru will eventually come and wake you up with a knock so gentle you suspect he already knows you’re up.

He shares his hair care routine, and it leaves your hair shiny and lovely. But your hair isn’t exactly like his, so he must have adjusted it.

He offers to help you brush or style it, himself, and asks you if you wouldn’t mind repaying the favor. Like you wouldn’t kill or die for the honor of running your hands through his silken locks.

Suguru is the type of guy who remembers when you get your period and asks if you need anything for it. You magically find your favorite fruits in the fridge, cut up, dipped in chocolate or caramel or yoghurt, however you like them best.

He does your laundry without being asked because he says it’s easier, and cleans dishes before you can get to them.

Every birthday he throws you a party, bakes a cake and he’ll spend hours to perfect a meal from scratch to go along with it. He’s perfect at finding a thoughtful present – Satoru just gives you cash, or some expensive luxury purchase you find fashionable but would never buy for yourself (Suguru definitely went shopping with him).

You get why Satoru likes him. Satoru’s sort of a slob, always leaving clothes on the floor – walking around shirtless like he knows exactly what it does to anyone watching “Just providing a public service, babe~” – and Suguru is so perfectly domestic.

Almost motherly. Whenever you misplace something, the fastest way to find it is invariably to ask Suguru, if he doesn’t approach you first with a concerned smile after watching you look.

After enough times catching Suguru sternly chide him for not putting away his clothes, leaving wrappers on the table, forgetting to put his shoes away; you’re relatively sure Satoru’s called him mom or mommy at some point. Possibly during sex.

And god, you get it. Those gentle tones of “Is everything all right?”, and “I tweaked the recipe, how do you like it?” and “I’m just really happy you enjoyed it.”, it’s enough to make your heart ache.

How, exactly, are you supposed to fall out of love with Suguru Geto?

How are you supposed to leave, how are you supposed to want to, especially when you swear you hear him call himself Daddy, and you find your face getting hotter than it should be.

Whispering to Satoru how “I’ve got you, baby,” and “Let Daddy take care of you, mhhm?”

And god, the high-pitched whimpers Satoru makes in response. He’s a tall guy, mewling, melting beneath Suguru’s hands, his words, his cock – and you could so easily imagine yourself in his place –

How are you supposed to be platonic about this?

 How are you supposed to stop touching yourself when they’re practically putting on personalized porn shows for you?

It's after the third time that you start to think they're doing this on purpose.

Whatever’s between them is something you just couldn’t understand. You get that, you do.

The way they look into each other’s eyes – there’s no way Suguru has ever looked at you like that, no way Satoru would ever want you that badly.

It’s something magnetic that makes them slot together at all times, draws their gazes to one another, leaves no room for anyone else –

But you stumble on them… a lot.

Never mind making out on the couch. You turn into the laundry room to see Satoru backed against the washer machine, his cock so far Suguru’s throat you can see it bulge.

His face is flushed, eyes teary, one hand loosely in Suguru’s hair while he whimpers. Dark eyes gazing up at him, fierce, Adam’s apple bobbing and another noise escaping him.

Or Satoru’s sitting rather innocently in Suguru’s lap, at a certain angle, but the sounds he’s making are less than innocent. Vile, even. Suguru’s broad hand wrapped around Satoru’s cock, pumping up and down, Satoru’s body shifting as you can tell he’s grinding down against something below.

And sometimes it’s really just the noises. You’ve heard them so often now it feels like you can put expressions to every moan and grunt and whimper and whine. Satoru makes a certain sort of gasp and your imagination jumps to think of how deep Suguru must be inside him, how his pretty face must look, twisted in pleasure.

They come back sometimes, from parties, drunk together. Leaning on one another like they could never lean on you – you’re not tall, not built like either of them are. Cheeks flushed as they whisper words into one another’s ears, Satoru giggling, kissing his cheek, Suguru laughing and squeezing his waist as they stumble into their room.

Like they’re in their own little world that you could never intrude on. You just catch glimpses every now and then. They don’t even look at you, it’s like you’re not even there – their eyes are locked on one another.

But that isn’t the worst of it.

Satoru and Suguru start bringing other people in.

No - they start bringing other girls into it. Like it's a punishment for catching them, only, you're fairly certain they wanted to be caught.

Satoru’s never been shy when he had a girl over, about walking around shirtless – maybe it’s an exhibitionism thing. And you’re someone they know well, someone tolerant (pathetic) enough to not say anything.

Either that or they’re both just that good at pretending you aren’t there. But they talk to you, all the time. You eat meals together, have movie nights (if you ignore how Satoru will not-so-discreetly put his hand on the inside of Suguru’s thigh while you’re all sitting together), grocery shop together, smile and laugh and share things about your day.

It’s just that they’re also dating each other. And in love, so in love, it’s painfully obvious that there’s no room for anyone else between them. Which makes the girls they bring over turn your stomach even more.

Sure, they’re one night stands. But they don’t even try to keep it quiet. You hear unfamiliar, high-pitched moans and whimpers, a wet smacking sound that has to be Satoru overdramatically eating pussy.

You wonder what his face looks like. What his eyes look like. Is he staring up at her when she does it? Does she have a hand in the feather-down softness of his hair? Or maybe Suguru’s hand, shoving him forward, that sly smirk that creeps over his lips when you’ve seen his eyes grow dark with want.

Is she whimpering because she’s close? Do they tease her, edging her, enjoying the expressions on her face, the way her body trembles? When she begs, is it for them to stop, or keep going? Whose dick is it inside her? Satoru’s, Suguru’s? What does it feel like? Satoru’s stupid enough to do it without a condom but Suguru isn’t.

What are they doing when she cums? You hear Suguru groan (you know how his groans sound, you know how both of them sound), so he must be cumming too. What’s Satoru doing? He’s too needy to be left alone for long.

Is he watching while he jerks himself? Has Suguru forced him to sit back? Or maybe he’s down where the action is, right where Suguru’s cock is buried inside her, laving over her clit and his cock like the slut he is until they both cum all over his face.

Why can’t that be you? Why don’t they want you?

Your fists clench harder than they should.

One night you stumble onto them in the middle of the living room, all at it in plain view.

Satoru is in Suguru’s lap, tall enough to tower over him. Suguru’s hand wrapped around his throat, choking him, head tilted back in bliss as his lashes flutter. There’s a woman on her knees, between their spread legs, sucking Satoru off.

And you can tell, by the way Satoru shudders, how he’s loose like putty in Suguru’s arms, that Suguru’s dick is buried deep inside him.

Satoru and Suguru don’t even try to pretend it was an accident. Some fucking roommates they are.

Suguru will smile and blush when you ask him about it, apologizing in soothing, kind tones, offering to never bring another girl home again if it bothered you – you’ve been through the goddamn song and dance so many times already.

He has this way of just. Making you feel guilty for even asking in the first place. Like you were presumptuous to say anything at all, unless it was something he wanted to hear.

It’s turned you into this. So eager to please but desperate to keep them at arm’s length. Wanting, longing, and starving for it. Watching because you quite literally can’t do anything else, sights burned into your eyes. Unable to look away. Unable to keep watching.

You don't know what they want from you.

You don’t think you want to, anymore.

Satoru and Suguru are getting impatient.

No, Suguru is getting impatient. Satoru is getting desperate. It was his idea to start going out and finding girls to bring back and fuck.

It wasn’t particularly difficult between the two of them. And promising, at first – after all, what was more likely to get you to snap than watching – hearing – the two of them give some other girl everything you’ve ever wanted on a silver platter?

But you just keep going. Gritting your teeth and bearing with it. Suguru spent a whole week dislodging your vibrator slightly from its charging port, slowly squeezing your lube bottle empty, doing everything he could to drive you to the brink.

Satoru’s starting to remark how much it’s a waste of time. He gets snippy when he’s needy, and lately, Suguru’s cock just isn’t enough for him. He has to go through your laundry, plant a camera in your bedroom on one of those few nights they stay out late enough to give you some private time.

Satoru makes him wear your clothes when Suguru fucks him, lets Suguru gag him with your panties when it’s the other way around.

They play dress-up together and watch you touch yourself at awkward angles with muddied sound quality. It’s not enough, not nearly enough.

Privately, Suguru is a little worried. Satoru’s getting weird – not that he hasn’t always been. But weirder.

He goes right into the bathroom after every time you use it. He’s always quick to reach your drinks for a “taste test” after you’ve had a sip. And Suguru knows for a fact Satoru isn’t using his own toothbrush at night.

He keeps talking about you. Looking at you. Whispering dirty suggestions in his ears, asking impatiently if you look like you’re going to snap.

Satoru is needy like that, demanding, and you’d always balanced him out while helping Suguru relax.

But there’s a distance now that wasn’t there before. The tension builds and builds, needs unmet for so long that desperation is clawing at both of them.

And that’s to say nothing of his own desires. Satoru, for all his faults, still has self-control.

Suguru passes your door every night and stops for a moment. He serves you dinner with a smile, domestic as he is, and thinks how easy it would be to slip something in there. To make sure you’d sleep through the night.

Would it even matter if you didn’t? You let him get away with so much. You love him, you must love him, don’t you? There’s no other reason you would put up with all of this. If he did slip, you’d forgive him, wouldn’t you? You’d drink up all his honeyed words with the same smile you always gave him.

But if he gave you such a convenient excuse, then he would always doubt. Whether you really loved him or if he just made it convenient to love him.

More importantly, you’re looking at them different. It was good, at first; your pretty eyes darting in a different direction, the way you try to hide your face, keep your words especially cool.

 They want you to TAKE what you want. Want you yelling and screaming and scratching them up like the hellcat they know you are, deep down.

“How long,” He whines between groans as Geto works between his legs, fingering him as he sucks his cock, “Is she gonna make us wait – fuck!”

Suguru pulls away with a pop. Saliva and precum dripping from his lips. Satoru pulls him in for a kiss, by the hair.

“You know she’s liked me a while,” Suguru murmurs, swallowing a moan or two as he works another finger into his hole. “She’s scared of pushing me away. And now that you’re my boyfriend, she probably wouldn’t want to break us up.”

“Fuck, but imagine if she did.” Satoru bucks into him, “She wants us, I know she does.”

He’s always so needy, like a puppy. Suguru likes it, but he can admit that he wants you, too. Misses the energy you’d provide. You’re not demanding like Satoru is. Too prideful. Satoru’s shameless. But you want, oh, do you ever want, and they both do know it.

Once he’s stretched Satoru out enough, he wastes no time shoving him onto his belly, burying himself in his hole from behind – “Fuck! Suguru!”

“On it right now,” He purrs, close to Satoru’s back, reaching lazily for his cock.

Satoru doesn’t like to cum too soon anyways. He likes to cum from getting fucked, to be edged into oblivion – or he likes going hard and fast and overstimulated to no end. Not much in between, unless he was the one in charge.

“Imagine it,” He pants like a dog beneath him. He’s pretty, so pretty, and the only thing Suguru could imagine that would be better is to see your face looking up at him from underneath Satoru, “Suguru!”

He grunts, thrusting his hips harder, “Imagining. What am I imagining?” God, Satoru’s a slut and a nuisance, but it’s always been worth it to indulge him.

“Her,” Satoru breathes after a particularly hard thrust, “Trying to break us up.”

Suguru grabs his hips for better leverage. Satoru dirty talks best when he’s getting fucked hard, after all.

“Fuck, imagine if she got me drunk or something, hngh, finally followed through on those fuck-me eyes she’s always giving me, ghhgh, fuck yes like that, and. Just fucked me in our room, waiting for you to walk in on us together.”

And he can see it, picture it so well.

A drunk night with the most beautiful man alive, because that’s what Satoru is; pretty even now, beneath him, all sweat and lean body trembling as he gets utterly railed.

You’ve always had the attraction, and Satoru couldn’t handle his liquor, and all the sudden, you’d slept together.

“Would you – ah, ahHhh, would you get mad, Suguru?” His voice is teasing now, even through the groans and utterances, “Would you cry~?”

“Ha!” He half-chokes out the laugh, because Satoru clenches around him and it’s hard not to cum right away. He’s going to leave bruises from how hard he’s holding those narrow, lovely hips.

“No," Suguru grinds out, "But I’m sure you both would. She’s the type, and you’re so fucking – gah, so fucking needy. What would you want me to do? Forgive you?”

His pace slows down, and he reaches to squeeze his cock in return, just for a taste.

“Nah – fuck! Yes, keep doing that, fuck.” Satoru bucks into his touch, always, always chasing after him, “She’s too fucking nice all the time. If she did it, it would be – hnng – like. A revenge thing. She should be fucking mad already, pissed off. She should make me cum inside her, say she’s pregnant. Make me dump you and marry her, so if she can’t have you, nobody can.”

Suguru barks out a laugh at the concept, and then a moan, choked off as he feels the heat shooting through him at the idea.

You’re too nice, like Satoru says, it’s a laughable concept, you acting like this –

But what had he seen in your eyes that day after you caught them both with that girl?

“Fuck, I swear I feel you twitching inside me – ”

“What would you do, then?” Suguru purrs hotly into his ear, “You want to win her heart while you’re married?”

“Well, we’d fuck all the time,” Satoru wheezes out a giggle, trembling as Suguru’s hand slides along his cock, “Fuck you – haaaahhh. But I’d be making nice with her, being a good husband, and then you could come and have an affair – ”

Fuck, fuck, that’s too much, “Close,” He grunts, driving himself deep and hard, chasing the edge, “Fuck, I could tell her I love her, blackmail her, even – threaten to tell you.”

A groan as Satoru gets closer, and Suguru continues, “I could fuck her, leave her coming home to you full of my cum – ”

“I’d eat it out of her,” Satoru laughs, near deranged as he jerks between fucking back into Suguru and rutting into his hand, “Jerk me off already – ah, fuck, what if you got her pregnant – ”

White-hot, like the idea of your face beneath him, both of them, accepting them with an open heart full of rage and bitterness and lust, Suguru cums.

He’s just aware enough to fist Satoru’s cock, sliding harshly along it until he hears the lovely whore beneath him gasping, twitching, spilling in his hand.

“Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck,” Satoru whimpers. “Hnghh… god, just the idea of her coming home from the hospital with a black-haired baby.”

“Fuck you,” Suguru barks, because now he wants to cum inside you. He wants, so, so fucking bad to cum inside you.

But god, do you even want them?

You sit there, all day, looking away, running away. That’s not love, is it?

And he’s a romantic, at heart. Satoru is, too. They don’t want anything less than your whole heart. Your entire life, your mind, body, and soul, dedicated to them the way they are to each other. Mad with jealousy and rage and possession.

Satoru had left him with bruises, the day he found out Suguru was crushing on you. When Suguru told him, in no uncertain terms, that he’s been wanted you for over a decade now and he wasn’t leaving before he got you. Blue fury in his eyes, heart twisting in his chest.

He’d looked him in the eye, grin wild and wide. Staring down as he has him pinned. Suguru had raised his knee up between his legs to find his cock desperately hard and throbbing.

“I want to fuck her first,” had been his wicked demand. Pain and pleasure traded like currency in return for love, each of them furious at the other for wanting you. They reaped the cost of their love on each other, settled their scores deep in their souls.

Because even if Suguru had seen you first, could he really say he’d wanted you first? Did he really want to fuck you before Satoru moved in, before he saw you flustered from your attraction and playfully trading banter with Satoru?

Had he wanted Satoru because you wanted Satoru? Had Satoru wanted him because he could see that you did?

Lines cross and uncross between you and the two of them, too tangled to ever unravel.

Time to tighten the knot.

[saintmentor]

meanie

in which . . . chris prolongs your release when you whine, and then gives you four more.

warnings . . . orgasm prolonging, multiple orgasms, smut, stomach bulge, degradation, crying, comfort

the sex felt mindless. detached. it was frankly pissing chris off, his movements sloppy and lazy.

your body was trembling, every nerve frayed from how close you were — how unfairly close — when he pulled out without warning. just like that. gone. empty. aching.

you gasped, eyes snapping open, chest heaving as your thighs instinctively tried to close, to hold onto something that wasn’t there anymore. but all you got was the sting of abandonment and the unbearable throb of denied pleasure.

“what the fuck,” you breathed, voice shaking more from betrayal than from exhaustion. “are you serious right now?”

he just stared down at you, dark and unreadable, his chest rising and falling like he was the one on edge. like he was the one about to break.

“you think you get to come that easy after the shit you pulled?” he muttered, low and cutting. his voice was calm — terrifyingly so — and it made your heart race for all the wrong reasons.

your jaw dropped. “i didn’t even—”

“exactly.” he leaned in, nose brushing yours, that stupid, infuriating smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “you didn’t do anything. didn’t apologize. didn’t beg. didn’t even say my name the way i like.” he tilted his head. “why would i let you finish?”

your hands clenched the sheets. tears of frustration welled in your eyes — not from hurt, but from the sheer tension knotted in your stomach, throbbing between your legs like a cruel punishment. “you’re such an asshole.”

“mhmm.” he pressed a single kiss to your lips. “but you like that.”

“i hate you.”

“no, baby,” he cooed, thumbing your swollen bottom lip. “you hate that you need me to cum. and i’m not gonna give it to you.”

you stared at him, burning, furious, unbearably needy — and he was already backing away, wiping himself off like he hadn’t just wrecked you without mercy.

“chris,” you warned, voice breaking. “don’t you fucking walk away.”

he paused at the door. glanced back.

“then don’t give me a reason to,” he said simply, and disappeared into the hallway.

you screamed into the pillow. and shit, you hated how much you still wanted him.

you laid there for a long moment, body still trembling, thighs clenched so tight it hurt. the silence in the room was deafening — not peaceful, not calm, but taunting. it mocked you. echoed your pulse. pulsed in sync with the empty ache between your legs.

your hand twitched at your side. you considered finishing yourself — just out of spite. just to feel something other than the shameful burn of need.

but it wouldn’t be the same. it never was. not after chris. so you didn’t.

you wrapped the sheet around your chest and stumbled off the bed, legs wobbly and weak, more from rage than anything. padding into the hallway, you found him in the kitchen — shirtless, sipping water like he hadn’t just ruined you on purpose. like he hadn’t just played god with your orgasm and walked away whistling.

“you think that was funny?” your voice cracked. you hated that it cracked.

he didn’t even look at you at first. just set the glass down and turned, slow, deliberate, leaning back on the counter. “wasn’t meant to be funny,” he said. “meant to teach you a lesson.”

“about what?” you hissed. “about how to become a fucking lunatic? congrats, chris. i’m there.”

his eyes flicked over you — the sheet, the flushed cheeks, the unsteady posture. “lesson about how actions have consequences,” he said smoothly, walking toward you. “and that maybe next time, you’ll think twice before pretending you don’t care.”

you opened your mouth to retort, but he was already there, tilting your chin up with a single finger.

“you came in here looking to argue. as usual.” he said, voice low, “but all i see is someone who still wants to cum, huh?”

you slapped his hand away. “you don’t get to control me like this.”

“i’m not controlling you,” he murmured. “i’m making you honest.”

and before you could reply — before you could say another word — he grabbed your wrist, spun you around, and bent you over the counter.

“chris—” you gasped, the sheet slipping off your body, heat flooding every nerve.

“you think i don’t want you?” he growled into your ear. “you think it doesn’t kill me not to cum in this messy cunt?”

he pushed just the head in, slow, punishing, and you whimpered.

“this time,” he said through clenched teeth, “you’ll fucking scream for it.”

he didn’t move.

just the tip — barely nestled inside, stretched enough to ache but not enough to satisfy. your fingers gripped the edge of the counter so hard your knuckles turned white, breath coming in sharp little gasps as your thighs trembled.

“chris,” you whimpered, trying to push back against him, just enough to take more, to pull him deeper.

his hand came down hard across your ass. a sharp smack. you yelped.

“don’t,” he warned. “you don’t get to set the pace.”

he rocked his hips — shallow, infuriatingly slow — just enough for the head to slip in and out, dragging against that first ring of resistance. you choked on a moan, back arching, your body betraying you completely.

“this is what you wanted, right?” he murmured, voice low and cruel. “wanted to be put in your place. wanted to be reminded who you belong to.”

“you’re such a dick,” you gasped, eyes stinging from frustration, from pleasure that refused to peak.

he leaned down, chest against your back, one hand wrapping around your throat as he pushed in just a little deeper—then pulled out again.

“and,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear, “you’re dripping all over me.”

you could feel it — the mess between your thighs, the humiliating slickness he was smearing all over with nothing more than the head of his cock. every time he rocked forward, it dragged through you, hot and swollen and soaked.

“please,” you breathed, and hated how desperate it sounded. “chris, please.”

he stilled. stayed right at the edge. unmoving. cock twitching against you.

“you gonna be good?” he asked.

you nodded furiously.

“say it.”

“i’ll be good,” you whispered. “i’ll be so fucking good, i swear—”

but he didn’t move.

he just pulled out again, rubbing himself through your folds like he wasn’t wrecking you slowly, deliberately.

“you think you deserve it?” he asked, now lazily trailing the tip up toward your clit and back down again.

“yes—“

he pressed the head in again. just the head. you bit your lip so hard you tasted blood.

“you haven’t earned it yet,” he said simply, cruelly, and god—you might’ve cried.

he was merciless.

he didn’t push in. didn’t give you what you were aching for, what your body screamed for. no — all he gave you was the thick, swollen head of his cock, nudging just barely past your entrance, then pulling out again. slow. calculated. cruel.

“c’mon,” he murmured, thumb brushing the base of your spine as he kept you bent over the counter. “you’re the one who said you didn’t need me.”

you were shaking, chest pressed to the cold marble, cheek turned, lips parted as you panted. “chris,” you whimpered, the name leaving you like a sob. “please—i can’t—”

“you can.” his voice was low, cruelly gentle. “you will.”

he rocked forward again, just enough for the tip to slip in, warm and thick and teasing right against that oversensitive entrance. he held it there, hands gripping your hips so tight it left bruises.

and then he started to move.

not fully — just that inch, back and forth, shallow thrusts that barely scraped at your walls but somehow still had your legs buckling. the friction built fast. too fast. too much.

“fuck,” you moaned, high and broken, your voice echoing in the kitchen. “it’s not enough—”

“then why are you already close?” he growled.

his grip on your hips tightened, and he kept that brutal rhythm — shallow, deliberate, precise. the tip hit just right, again and again, your swollen, aching walls gripping for more that never came. but it didn’t matter. it was too much and not enough all at once.

he reached forward and slipped his fingers between your thighs, finding your clit with practiced ease. rubbed tight circles, slow and filthy, while his cock teased you open just barely.

“gonna come just like this,” he muttered. “just on the tip.”

“i c-can’t—” your whole body was shaking, voice trembling as tears pricked your lashes. “chris, please—”

“look at you,” he cooed, “crying over a cock that’s not even inside you.”

and that broke you.

your body seized, thighs quivering as the orgasm hit — sudden, sharp, and humiliatingly intense. you cried out, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open and trembling as your walls clamped down around nothing. around just the tip.

he held you through it, fingers working you through every last wave, until you were a gasping, twitching mess against the counter.

and still — he didn’t push in.

“that’s one,” he said softly, brushing your hair from your damp face. “now beg me for the next.”

your breath caught on a sob, your thighs trembling, your core still pulsing around the emptiness he left inside you — or worse, almost inside you. it felt cruel, unnatural, unbearable. you couldn’t stop shaking, body still wracked with aftershocks that hadn’t fully ebbed, and he hadn’t even given you more than the tip.

and now he was standing behind you again, lazily stroking himself, your slick still shining on his skin.

“you feel that?” he whispered, running the head along your overstimulated folds, dragging slow. “you’re still soaking. messier than before.”

“chris,” you whimpered, face turned against the cold marble. “don’t—don’t make me beg.”

“i’m not making you do anything,” he murmured, leaning in. his lips ghosted over your ear, slow and low. “but if you want to come again? you will beg. and if you want me to fuck you—really fuck you? you’ll forget your pride.”

you stayed quiet.

and he pulled back.

“wait—wait!” you gasped, twisting around, reaching for him, tears in your eyes now. frustration, yes. but more than that. shame. need. aching need. “please,” you whispered. “please, chris. i need more. i can’t take just the tip anymore, i swear—i’ll do anything.”

he tilted his head, eyes dark with something mean and satisfied.

“then show me,” he said simply.

you dropped to your knees.

your palms hit the kitchen floor. knees spread, forehead pressed to the tile. it was humiliating. it was desperate. it was exactly what he wanted.

“good girl,” he breathed, stepping behind you again. he dragged himself along your folds one more time, the swollen head catching your entrance. “stay just like that.”

and he did it again.

just the tip.

back in, slow and shallow. dragging, teasing. and now you were so sensitive, your whole body twitched with every motion.

you let out a noise — something between a moan and a cry — as he picked up the rhythm, still not fully inside you, but fast enough to drive you insane. his fingers dug into your hips. your knees started to slide. the sounds were obscene.

“you gonna come again?” he asked, and you hated how proud he sounded. “gonna fall apart with just this?”

you nodded, face still against the floor. “yes—yes, chris, i’m—”

your voice caught again.

this one was even worse than the first. you shattered with a scream, legs collapsing, body going limp as wave after wave tore through you. and still he didn’t push in. still he didn’t finish.

you were crying now. overwhelmed. destroyed.

he leaned over you, kissed the back of your neck.

“that’s two,” he whispered. “you still want the rest?”

you nodded, broken.

he smiled, slow and wicked.

“then get back on the counter.”

your legs barely worked. they shook beneath you, slick with sweat and tears and everything he’d pulled from you without even giving you what you needed. your body throbbed with overstimulation, your thighs sticking together as you tried to move. but you did. because you had to. because when chris told you to get back on the counter, there wasn’t another choice.

you reached up, pulling yourself onto the marble, chest heaving, arms trembling under your weight. your cheek pressed to the cold surface, and your legs dangled, spread open behind you as you barely managed to stay propped on your knees.

you heard him behind you. the quiet smack of skin against skin as he stroked himself, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world.

he came closer.

his hand smoothed up your spine. his other gripped your hip, guiding you into place. “look at you,” he murmured. “ruined. still begging.”

you didn’t speak.

you couldn’t.

and he didn’t wait.

this time, there was no warning. no teasing. no more mercy.

he slammed into you in one sharp thrust, burying himself to the hilt — and your scream was raw, high-pitched, completely involuntary. your back arched, body locking up as the stretch hit like lightning. finally. he was inside. thick, deep, pulsing.

“there she is,” he groaned into your ear, his hand fisting your hair. “this what you needed? is this what you begged for?”

you sobbed out something that might’ve been a yes, your hands scrambling for grip on the counter as he pulled back and rammed into you again. and again. and again.

his pace was brutal. merciless. all control was gone now — his, yours — and he fucked into you like he had something to prove.

your body, already sensitive, couldn’t handle it. everything was white-hot. your vision blurred. your skin flushed. and the noises — the slick, filthy slap of skin on skin, the way you couldn’t stop moaning his name, the way he kept whispering how tight you were, how good you felt around him — it all pushed you higher.

“chris, i—i’m—” you choked out, tears running down your cheeks. “again, i’m gonna—”

“good,” he growled. “you’re not done ‘til i say you’re done.”

and then he brought his hand to your throat again, pulling you up by it, your back pressed to his chest now as he fucked you from behind, fully in, deep and fast and relentless.

your orgasm hit like a fucking explosion.

your scream echoed through the kitchen, loud and desperate and cracked, as your body convulsed around him, squeezing him so tight he cursed under his breath.

he didn’t stop.

not even when you collapsed onto the counter.

not even when you begged.

he just leaned over you, lips at your ear, and said—

“that’s three. now take one more for good measure.”

his hand slid from your throat, down your chest, over your stomach — hot and firm, fingers splayed as he pressed, slow and deliberate, right over that soft, swollen bulge.

“feel that?” he murmured darkly against your ear. “that’s me. that’s how deep i am.”

your eyes rolled back, a guttural moan escaping your lips as the pressure made everything worse — or better — you couldn’t tell anymore. your stomach twitched under his touch, your body already so wrecked you didn’t know where the pain ended and the pleasure began.

he pushed a little harder, palm digging in, and you felt it — the way his cock nudged something deep inside you, the faintest resistance, the unbearable fullness. it was obscene. intimate. wrong, maybe — but your body responded with a helpless clench around him anyway.

“look how far you’re letting me in,” he whispered, lips brushing your neck, his hips still snapping into yours, slower now, but deeper. filthier. “you’re taking all of me. like you were made for it.”

you sobbed something — a yes, maybe. a plea. a prayer.

his thumb circled the spot on your stomach, watching how your body tensed every time he pressed down and moved his hips in sync. like he owned your insides. like you were his to rearrange.

and god, he was so fucking deep.

“i can feel myself inside you,” he groaned, pressing just a little harder. “right here. stretching you out from the inside.”

you were gone. eyes unfocused. jaw slack. nothing in you had the strength to pretend anymore — not to fight, not to protest, not even to beg.

and he knew it.

he slid his other hand between your legs again, two fingers working your clit as he pushed up into you with a devastating roll of his hips, thumb still holding that soft bulge in your belly like he could mark you from the inside.

“one more,” he murmured. “you can give me one more. i want you to come while you feel how deep i am.”

and with his cock buried to the hilt, his hand pressing against your belly, and his fingers rubbing perfect circles over your clit — you did.

your body shattered around him, trembling and clenching and sobbing as the orgasm hit you harder than any before, your thighs twitching, stomach jumping beneath his palm. and even as you screamed, even as your body went limp — chris was still fucking you through it.

your body gave out before your voice did.

you were sobbing — not dramatic or performative, just real, guttural, raw. it tore from your chest before you could stop it, hiccuping around your breath as your limbs trembled against the counter, your face wet with tears, your body wrecked in every way imaginable.

“chris,” you choked out, broken and small. “i can’t—i can’t anymore.”

and instantly, everything changed.

his rhythm stilled. the grip on your waist loosened. and then, so gently it made the tears come harder, he slipped out of you and caught you before you could fully collapse.

“shhh,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around you as he lowered both of you to the floor, letting your back rest against his chest. his hand cradled your head. his lips pressed to your temple, over and over. “i’ve got you. i’ve got you, baby.”

you sobbed into his shoulder, hands clinging to his arms like you were afraid he’d disappear. your body still trembled, overwhelmed and spent, but now the ache was emotional — too much, too fast, too deep.

he rocked you slowly, whispering soft apologies, his voice a stark contrast to the one that had ruined you minutes ago. “i’m sorry. i pushed too far. i’m so sorry.”

you shook your head against him. “no… i just… i don’t know why i’m crying.”

“it’s okay,” he murmured. “you don’t have to know. you don’t have to explain anything.”

he pulled a blanket from the couch and wrapped it around both of you, tucking you into his lap like something fragile. his hand smoothed over your thigh, your back, your ribs — grounding you with touch.

“you’re okay,” he said softly. “you’re safe. i’ve got you now. you did so good.”

you hiccuped. “i felt everything. it was too much—”

“i know,” he whispered. “i know, baby. you held it in for so long.”

you curled into him tighter, his arms wrapping around you like a shield, like a balm. and for a long, long while, he just held you. no teasing. no games. just warmth and steady breath, chest to chest, skin to skin.

and when your tears finally started to slow, when the trembling dulled into something quieter, he kissed your damp cheek and whispered again—

“i love you,” he said, barely audible. “even when i have to be mean. even when you cry.”

and somehow, that made you cry a little more. but it didn’t hurt this time.

not with him holding you like that.

you didn’t answer at first.

you couldn’t.

you just let yourself melt into him, boneless and quiet, his warmth pressed against every trembling part of you. your breath hitched now and then, like your body hadn’t fully caught up to the calm. your eyes were sore, your cheeks flushed, and your thighs still ached from how hard they’d clenched. but none of it mattered now. not with the way he was holding you — like you were glass and he hated himself for even nudging a crack.

“say something,” he whispered, voice hoarse, nose buried in your hair.

you swallowed hard.

“you love me?” you asked, voice barely above a breath.

his arms tightened instantly. he shifted just enough to pull you fully into his lap, both of your bodies tucked into the oversized blanket now. he looked down at you with eyes that weren’t cocky or taunting — just stripped. open. bare.

“yeah,” he said, no hesitation. “i do. even when you drive me crazy. even when i get in my own head and pull shit like that.”

your lip wobbled. “you… you were so mean.”

he closed his eyes. exhaled sharp through his nose. “i know. i was trying to prove something. trying to get you to feel how much i need you, even when i don’t know how to say it.”

you pressed your cheek to his chest. “there are softer ways to say it.”

his throat worked as he swallowed hard. “i’ll learn ‘em. if you let me. i just—i get scared sometimes. scared you’ll stop needing me back.”

you looked up at him, eyes still glossy. “chris. i don’t think you realize what you do to me.”

“i didn’t cry because you hurt me. i cried because i couldn’t handle how much i felt. because you don’t just fuck me, you undo me.”

something in his expression broke — softened. he reached up and cradled your jaw, brushing his thumb along your cheek like he needed to memorize every part of you.

“i don’t ever want to make you cry unless it’s from feeling too much love,” he whispered.

you let out a soft, tired laugh. “then you succeeded. idiot.”

he kissed you then. slow. grounding. nothing like earlier — no dominance, no teasing. just lips against lips, like an apology and a promise rolled into one.

you sighed into it, and when he pulled back, you stayed close.

“you want a bath?” he murmured. “or to lie down?”

“just you,” you whispered. “for a little while. just this.”

he nodded, resting his forehead against yours, arms wrapped tightly around your body. “then you’ve got me. all night.”

and this time, when your eyes welled again, it wasn’t from pain or frustration or overload.

it was relief.

[rainrot4me]

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Masky and Hoodie couldn’t help themselves. You couldn’t decide who you wanted in which hole, so they made the decision for you. It hurts, they know it does, but it just feels too good to care.

Jeff and Ben are horrible at sharing. They don’t like taking turns, so when Ben refuses to pull out, Jeff forces him to make room anyway. They’re too caught up in their egos to realize they’re fucking you stupid.

Jeff, Jack, and Toby can’t resist how helpless you look lost in the woods. They promise to help you find your way home, but they guide you deeper into the forest, into an abandoned factory building. It’s not their fault you gave up so easily and let them have their way with you.

Kate and Masky just want you to know how fun it can be to become a proxy. They love their new little plaything The Operator dropped off for them.

Jeff and Nina don’t always get along, but they do have you to bond over. He’s all the intensity and she’s all the sweet kisses, but you’ve never cum so much in your life.

Jeff, Masky, Hoodie, Ben, and Toby find you knocking at the mansion’s doorstep during thunderstorm to seek shelter. You’re intimidated by all the strong, scary men—but they make sure to make you feel right at home as soon as you’re inside.

Toby and Ben are easily entertained. You walking around in a ditsy school uniform? They grab you before you can even blink. They might mess the poor outfit up, but don’t worry, they’ll buy you plenty more.

Jeff and Toby can’t believe their luck when they’re sent on a mission to take out a potential threat, only to find you laid out on your bed fingering yourself. They’ll take you out alright, you’ll be passed out on their cocks before you know it.

Masky and Hoodie have been working together for so long they can practically read each other’s minds. It’s almost no effort for the two to fuck you so good you’re seeing stars, working together effortlessly and in sync to make you cum over and over again.

Jack, Jeff, and Ben like to go fast, hard, and without complaint. So when they find you, a size lover who just can’t seem to get enough, they work their frustrations out on you over and over again until you’re begging them to stop.

Masky, Toby, and Hoodie are gifted a special plaything from The Operator. You are to abide to their every wish, fulfill their every command. The first thing they can think of? Forcing you to your knees so you can take all of their cocks at once.

You’re all big talk. All confident that you could out-last anyone and everyone during sex. Jack, Toby, Jeff, Ben, and Masky beg to differ. Whoever comes first loses, and you’re not looking so hot. Maybe you could take just one more before you have to tap out. But the guys are just getting started with you.

๑ back to my masterlists

── .✦ rainrot4me2025, all rights reserved. ꩜ .ᐟ

[chleem]

One shot/drabble: bf drew x gf yn

Summary: moving in w/drew...except you both don't realize it

Genre: established relationship, pure fluff

⋆.˚ don't copy or translate my work pls

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

It wasn’t a big conversation, nothing dramatic. It was just… happening.

At first, it was simple.

Once a week, you’d sleepover for a day or two. 

In the mornings, you’d wake up next to him, tangled in the blankets, with the soft glow of sunlight streaming in through the windows.

“Hey baby,” he would lazily call out, his blue eyes still half-lidded with sleep, his voice all rough and warm from the night. You’d turn to him, your head resting on his chest, and smile.

He would rummage through different cabinets, finding a spare toothbrush for you to use. You would use his 3 in 1 shampoo, the one that smelled like him. 

When you forgot to bring an extra shirt or pair of jeans, you’d just grab something of his. His oversized tees, the flannel shirts, a jacket that hung too loose on your shoulders but still felt cozy. You’d piece together an outfit with his hats, belts, anything you could find, and it never felt awkward—it just worked.

A few weeks in, you found your favorite mug on his kitchen counter. It wasn’t planned. He hadn’t asked. But there it was—sitting next to his own, like it had always belonged there.

And then came the little details. Your hair tie on the bathroom sink, a pair of your socks tucked under the couch, the book you’d left out on the coffee table now having a permanent spot on his shelf. 

He’d buy you a matching toothbrush, no longer using the cheap spare one. He’d find out your favorite shampoo, buying one and secretly using it, despite having his own. 

The ‘breakthrough’ was your own clothes’ drawer. 

You had a few shirts left behind, a couple of sweaters, nothing too much. But one night, he pulled open the drawer and just offered it to you, as if it had always been meant for you.

“I don’t mind,” he said, his voice still soft with sleep. 

And just like that, a corner of his space was no longer just his. It was yours too. A quiet, unspoken thing.

You’d wake up, and sometimes, he wasn’t there in the sheets. But the smell of pancakes and coffee would linger in the air, along with the soft shimmering of sunlight peeking through the blinds. 

When you’d finally slip out of bed and walk into the kitchen, you’d see him there, dressed and ready for the day, that little smitten smile on his face when he saw you.

“Morning,” his eyes would brighten just for a second, like the day hadn’t really started until you were there with him.

He’d know how you liked your coffee, of course. And he’d smile like he didn’t have anywhere to be, just so he could steal a few more minutes of conversation, talking about everything and nothing.

But what really established that you ‘moved in’?

When he gave you a spare key. 

It wasn’t done in a grand gesture way, but more when he casually handed it to you one morning, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. You hadn’t asked for it. You hadn’t even mentioned needing it.

“Don’t ring the wrong door,” he said, that familiar grin tugging at his lips, eyes twinkling with that lazy humor he always had.

With more time spent together, you’ve slowly gotten accustomed to each others’ habits and routines. 

The little things started to sync up without thinking—even your schedules. You’d catch yourself adding things to his calendar—dinner dates, weekend plans, or just time to relax together.

Soon, it wasn’t just his calendar, but yours too. You both had been marking your days together, like it had always been this natural.

A rare occasion was when you’d get up earlier than him, quietly slipping out of bed to prepare breakfast. 

And then, just when you thought you had a moment to yourself, he’d slip into the kitchen behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist, his breath warm on the back of your neck.

“Need help?” he’d murmur, his voice thick with sleep, but always with that soft smile you’d grown to love.

And then there was his work as an actor: his constant need to rehearse lines out loud, pacing the apartment like he was on stage, his voice bouncing off the walls in a way that had become comforting rather than distracting.

Sometimes, you’d even chime in and practice along with him. 

It wasn’t just the drawer anymore either. You’d started to have a space in the closet, a shelf in the bathroom. Little by little, more of you was making itself at home there—without needing to talk about it.

And then, one day, he realized you had moved in—without ever speaking a word about it. 

He’d catch himself, a smile tugging at his lips as he saw your things around the apartment, and how you’re always there. 

“You wanna... get a pet?” he’d ask suddenly, his eyes gleaming with that same mischievous spark they always had, but now mixed with something softer, more permanent.

You’d pause, surprised by the question but somehow knowing it made sense.

 A pet? Yeah, that felt like the next step. Just another way of making this space—your space—feel like home.

-------------------------------

word count: 0.8k

࣪𖤐 a/n: st random i thought of, of how it feels to be his

elevator | other

[celli-ohs]

and then i'll leave without a trace

pairing: choi soobin x reader

genre: collegeau!, parenthoodau!, angst, nsfw, fluff

synopsis: your relationship with choi soobin is not a normal one. one might see you two out in public and assume you are lovers. his mother thinks you two are soulmates. your friends keep telling you to just date the guy already. but how can you bring yourself to date a total stranger? well maybe you should have thought about that before you decided to have a baby with him.

word count: 14.9k

warnings: mentions of drinking alcohol, intoxication, foul language, stds and other sexual diseases, depression, postpartum depression, parenting struggles, toxic familial relationships, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, sex while inebriated, sex while pregnant, oral sex (m&f receiving), fingering, and breeding kink

playlist: and then i'll leave without a trace

taglist: @beomgyusluver @94vsmonbebe @soobaglesblog @dawngyu @justandloyal2961 @yezznn @lesbiansforseonghwa @soobinieswife @chwesuh-imnida

note: i literally just finished this and like the psycho i am, I'm uploading it right away! i really hope you guys like it, this is my first time ever writing angst, as well as touching on the subject of pregnancy. this is part 1! i plan to do a part 2 in Soobin's pov bc I just like to make things harder for myself! also I had so many different entries I used all 30 photos for my dividers sorry for how plain it looks TT pls lmk how you like it! i want to be able to improve as i continue writing! much love <333

He’s surprisingly timid despite his appearance. That was your first impression of Choi Soobin. 

You two were at a party. It was homecoming season, the summer heat still resonating through the air even after the sun had set. You were cramped inside an apartment while the entire place was flooded with college students drunk off of cheap liquor. 

Your friends are busy gossiping about Jimin’s Psych professor cheating on his wife with his new T.A. You’re next to them silent, teetering between buzzed and tipsy. Your eyes drift off into the crowd, and maybe it’s because you’re currently sitting on the kitchen counter, but you feel as if you can see everything and anything.

Everyone’s heads are turned away from you but one.

A tall, awkward-looking man with tousled dark hair stares at you from his position across the room. He’s alone, back against the wall, two hands nursing his solo cup.

Your eyes connect for just two seconds before he looks away, he distracts himself by taking a sip of his drink.

You continue to watch him. This seems to make him skittish, he doesn’t know what to do. So he just downs his drink and excuses himself from his spot, struggling to push through the crowd to find refuge down the hall.

He’s weird, you think.

“Who’s that?” You tap Minjeong’s shoulder, roughly pointing out the man just as he ducks behind the corner. 

“Huh? Oh, I think that’s Soobin, one of Heeseung’s friends maybe.” She makes a face as she is unsure. You sit back up and look around again. Soobin is gone.

You don’t think about him for the rest of the night.

He’s handsome, this stranger.

The room is dark and you can barely see, but you know he is. He’s got soft skin, a tall round nose, and pouty lips that kiss the skin of your neck just right.

You don’t have to speak a word for him to know how to handle you, his hands do all the talking as they pull off your clothes, dancing against your bare body. You get chills every time you feel his breath tickle your ear.

And when his cock slips inside your heat with ease, you exhale with a smile. You lean into his touch, he’s more gentle than you could ever imagine. 

Your moans fill the room just like he fills you. You two are dancing in sync to the musical rhythm of what was pure raw intoxicated sex.

With every thrust you can feel your high climb up and up, you’re clawing for a release, and you’ll get it no matter what. A hand on your breast, another on your clit, anything to stimulate you more.

Sex has never felt so good. Maybe it was because you were drunk, or maybe it was because you were super horny, who knows? What you do know is that this was a high you never wanted to come down from.

He flips you around like a doll, and hungrily kisses you like you’re his dying meal. You can’t help but clench. Your hips move on their own, grinding up against the stranger. You consume him as he consumes you.

You beg God for the moment to never end.

Soobin is pulling up his pants as you sit on the edge of your bed, still wrapped in your sheets. You’re a bit ashamed that you can’t seem to remember what happened last night. 

“I-I’m sorry.” Soobin suddenly apologizes, he can’t look you in the eyes. You have no idea what prompted him to say such a thing.

“Why?” You ask, adjusting the blanket to cover your chest a bit more. “For what happened. It’s a little weird, don’t you think?” 

You turn away in thought. Sleeping with a stranger was nothing too new to you. You’ve had a few one night stands, they were enjoyable enough for you to not be bothered. Purely physical.

But maybe that wasn’t normal to him.

“Is this your way of telling me you gave me something?” You joke. Soobin freaks out, eyes bugged out of his face. “No! Oh God, no!” He shakes his head defensively. 

You let out a chuckle, looking up at him tiredly. “I’m joking.” He sighs, calming down and proceeding to finish getting changed. 

“Don’t take what happened last night too seriously,” You hum. “It’s not like we’re dating or anything.”

You see Soobin falter for just half a second, it’s so fast you almost think you imagined it.

He just nods and walks out the room, letting himself out.

That was not the last time you saw Soobin. Because you soon find yourself pushed up against him in a bed time and time again. You don’t even know why you keep going back to him, you have to ask yourself this question as you lay next to him late at night. 

The sex was good, obviously. But was that really just it?

You turn your head, beside you Soobin sleeps peacefully, mouth hung wide open. His arms are strewn over both you and his bed, legs hanging over his mattress.

Could you see yourself being more than sexual partners with this man? Could you see yourself dating him? See him as a lover?

You had no real feelings of want or need to be in a relationship at the moment. There’s too much emotion involved, too much pressure and thinking. Too much vulnerability. 

You shift away from Soobin, your back facing him now. It’s colder at the edge of the bed so you have to pull the blanket up higher.

He feels you leave him, as he subconsciously scoots closer, wrapping his long arms around your torso like ropes. This time you don’t move.

You fall back asleep as you tell yourself over and over again that all of this was purely physical. Don’t get attached.

It was supposed to be a funny little game, it was supposed to be a joke. You agreed to this, how would you have known that this would be the outcome?

You were always so careful, maybe this is some form of karma, for all your thoughts and bad decisions.

Eventually it had to catch up to you.

You sit nervously at the table, foot kicking up and down as you try to distract yourself with your cup of water. Waiting felt like forever. 

Finally you hear the ding of the front door bell, and you look up to see him. 

Soobin smiles at you. It’s stiff and awkward, but you try and smile back. He sits across from you like he’s in a business meeting. 

“Hi,” He almost whispers. “Did you want to order anything?” You ignore his greeting, gesturing to the register to your left. He looks over then returns his attention back to you. “No, I'm okay.”

You nod and observe him. Maybe it’s because when you two usually meet, you’re both naked, but Soobin seems a bit dressed up. He’s wearing a plain t-shirt and knit cardigan, paired with a nice pair of jeans. He’s wearing glasses, you didn’t know he needed them.

“Something wrong?” He suddenly asks, and you’re made aware you’ve been staring for too long. “Huh? Sorry, I- I was just thinking,” You lie.

Soobin nods and clears his throat. “So, you wanted to talk?” He reminds you. “Yeah, yeah.” You mumble. 

Yesterday you had randomly messaged him in the middle of the day, asking to meet at a little coffee shop nearby your place. It wasn’t often you asked to hang outside the bedroom. 

“About what?” Soobin’s question was one that you were dreading for the past week and a half. But hearing them in person were different than imagining them. 

Your chest tightens and your head feels dizzy. Your stomach turns uncomfortably as you struggle to speak. The words collect at your throat, stuck there as your mind grows fuzzy. 

You’d rehearsed this so many times, why was it so hard when it was the real deal?

You finally look up at Soobin, his dark eyes are surprisingly bright and warm. His expression is confused, his brows furrowed together as he tries to read you. You suddenly remember why you’re even doing this. You owe it to him.

“I’m pregnant.”

You have to look away. You’re scared to see his reaction.

“A-And I think I’m going to go through with the pregnancy.” You cough out. “Once the baby is born, I’m going to give them up for adoption.”

This was your decision. You’d thought about this over and over again, and you felt this was what you wanted to do. 

You considered not telling Soobin at all, because well, you were admittedly scared of how he’d react. This stranger you slept with, would he care if you had his baby?

In your head, you believed you could keep quiet about this, cut him off, run back home and never have to worry about seeing him ever again. But something kept tugging at your heart to tell him.

You take some courage and peek at the man across from you. You weren’t sure what you were expecting from Soobin, but the pure look of shock on his face was different than you were thinking of.

You make eye contact, and Soobin finally blinks. He looks around the coffee shop, trying to find something else to focus on. “Uh, when-when did you find this out?” He asks.

“Almost two weeks ago.” You answer. You decide to not tell him you and your friends decided to do that stupid Tik Tok challenge where everyone takes a pregnancy test.

Yours was the only one that came out positive.

Soobin only nods his head, rubbing his hands as he struggles to form a sentence. You can understand what he’s going through. That same night you found out, you locked yourself in Jimin’s bathroom and took three more tests to confirm those two little lines.

“You don’t have to be involved.” You speak up. “I just wanted to tell you.”

His head shoots up at you in a mixture of confusion and surprise. “No, no I want to be involved, yeah.” He says this with zero confidence, it does nothing to convince you.

You look outside the window. It’s no longer summer, the leaves are now brown, the sky gray and cold. The transition to autumn felt abrupt and rushed to you. 

“Okay.”

Your interactions with Soobin after that become limited. You wonder if he’s avoiding you. Or if you’re avoiding him.

Deep down you feel as though you know the answer to that question. So you were surprised when he called to ask you to move in with him out of the blue.

“Like right now?” You ask, pressing your phone against your ear as you fold your laundry on your bed. 

“Not exactly,” Soobin sounds unsure of himself on the other side of the line. “But that way I can be of more help.” 

You set down your clothes to properly hold your phone. You’re sure what he’s saying is true. It would be nice to have someone around at home most days. Your roommate Gaeul hasn’t been too fond of your morning sickness. 

But the only thing stopping you was the fact that you would be living with a stranger.

A stranger who’d knocked you up with his baby before you even had a real proper conversation.

“Y/n? Are you still there?” Soobin asks. You hum, going back to folding your clothes. “Just think about it. It doesn’t have to be right away, we can wait a bit if you want. But maybe it’ll be better that way.”

You hum again and the two of you bid goodbye before you hang up the call.

Living with Soobin. You wonder how that would be.

Right now everything was changing: your body, your diet, your entire life. You’re sick all day, you feel like a zombie as you force yourself to go through your routine. 

You still go to class every day, though you almost always never know what’s going on with how horrible you feel. You work through your shifts gripping onto any shelf, counter or ledge in your vicinity. 

You always need to pee, your boobs are starting to hurt as they grow, forcing you to go out and buy new bras. You can barely hold a meal down without puking it all back up, you’re constantly fatigued, but no matter how much sleep you get you’re uncomfortable and restless. 

Plus, there was an upside to living with Soobin, he lived alone and his apartment was nice and spacious. You don’t know how he scored a single unit apartment the size of his by himself, but he also had a decent paying job and was the youngest of three, apparently his parents had money.

Would having Soobin around help ease any of that? You guess you’ll just have to see and find out.

Moving day doesn’t go as planned, because of course you need to vomit your guts out in the middle of organizing your boxes.

You’re leaning onto Soobin’s toilet for dear life as you hurl your insides down the bowl. Each breath you take seems to upset your stomach more than the one before.

“Are you okay?” Soobin asks nervously as he stands by the door, head peeking out. Instead of answering him with words, you puke up your earlier lunch. 

You don’t know if he stands there the entire time, or if he’s gone off to run away, but eventually you feel your insides calm down. You take the time to rest your head against your arm, closing your eyes as you barely have the energy to do anything but breath.

Your mouth feels gross, your throat is dry and it hurts to swallow even your saliva. With whatever energy you have left, you flush the toilet and stand yourself up to rinse your mouth in the sink. As you do, you look at your reflection in the mirror. 

You look haggard. There’s no trace of the woman you were just two months ago. You suddenly feel as if you are losing yourself. You couldn’t recognize your reflection.

Tears well up in your eyes and your vision is blurred as you cry to yourself quietly. This was all wrong. This wasn’t what you wanted. You wished you’d never chosen this. You wished you’d never slept with him, that you never met him. 

You wished you were a better person.

You feel a hand tap your shoulder, and you quickly whip around and swat it away. 

And it’s like you wake up. Soobin stares at you, taken aback as he holds a water bottle. His hands are up as if to show you he has no bad intentions. He looks as innocent as a young boy.

“I brought you water.” He hiccups.

You can’t figure out why in the moment, but this act of kindness frustrates you. You wipe your tears quickly and push past him, escaping out the front door to sit in your car.

The guilt sinks in later.

Makeup sex was for couples. And apparently for you and Soobin.

Though you weren’t sure if this was exactly that.

“S-Soobin-!” You gasp as he sucks the skin of your neck, his thrusts are much more gentle than you’re used to, yet this turns you on more.

“Hmm?” He hums, looking at you with lust-drunken eyes. As you lay on your back, arms thrown over his shoulders and legs splayed wide open for his access, you look up at the man. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is a mess. His lips are puffy from how hard he’d kissed you earlier.

“What’s wrong? You okay?” His hand instinctively goes over your tummy. This embarrasses you for some reason, turning to look away. “I’m fine.” You lie. Soobin pauses for a moment, before leaning down to kiss the side of your face, coaxing you to face him again so he can kiss you some more.

“Let’s keep going then. Let me make you feel better,” He murmurs, his voice so deep it tickles your ear just right.

You don’t argue with him.

“You’re due in August of next year, the 5th.” Your doctor informs you as she rubs the transducer against the gel on your skin. On the screen in front of you, you can see the black and white photo of what looks like a little blob.

“Your baby is about the size of a grape. Not a lot of facial features have been formed yet at this point.” She points at the little white thing on the screen, and begins to show you exactly what is the head and where the bottom is. 

You end up turning away, you can’t handle looking for too long.

You don’t want to get attached. You told yourself this from the beginning. You are not a mother, you’re simply carrying the baby to term.

Soobin on the other hand looks both fascinated and mortified. His eyes are glued to the monitor, he keeps nodding when the doctor speaks. It almost disgusts you how eager he seems.  

After the ultrasound you’re required to do a physical exam, then some bloodwork. You wince as the nurse inserts the needle into your arm, you can feel your blood flow through your arm and up the tube to the multiple vials beside you.

“You don’t like needles?” Soobin asks. You open your eyes and find he’s moved from his seat to stand next to you. “No, who likes needles?” You ask rhetorically. He scoffs at your question.

You ignore him, maybe it was your hormones, but everything seemed to be irritating you lately. You suddenly feel lightheaded, resting your head against the hospital bed. 

A hand reaches your free arm. You look down, it’s Soobin. He’s slowly inching towards your fingers, before he clasps you in his grip, giving you a reassuring squeeze. 

You start to regret your earlier feelings, realizing you should be grateful he wanted to go with you to this appointment. You had never considered how hard it would’ve been going alone.

You give him a squeeze back, and out of embarrassment, close your eyes and turn your head. You feel Soobin pet your hair, it’s comforting.

“Just one more vial, then you’re done, okay?” He whispers to you. You nod and subconsciously lean towards him. 

You never expected your parents to react the way they did. Your mother in tears and your father in disbelief. And in the end it wasn’t a happy moment.

You’re sitting in the passenger seat as Soobin drives you both home, the weather seems to mimic your emotion: it’s pouring rain.

You’ve been crying even before you got into the car. Your hometown was about 3 ½ hours away from your university, and you hadn’t seen your parents in months, so imagine their surprise when you arrived home with not only a boy, but his baby.

In fact, you weren’t even dating him, you were living with him and having his kid, but you weren’t dating.

You arrived at 12:30 pm just to leave an hour later. You’d planned to spend the night.

You never expected your parents to be happy. They always preached for you to get your degree and marry before settling down. You obviously ignored all of that.

But a small sliver of you thought they’d forgive you. You were their daughter after all. A parent’s love should be able to overcome such things, right?

You’ve never had the best relationship with your parents, but they've always had your back. This time they didn’t. You can still hear your mother’s sobs, they’re louder than the rainfall hitting the windshield as Soobin zooms down the freeway. 

The car suddenly slows down, and the harsh rain falls to a gentle splash. You wipe your eyes and look outside. Soobin parks at a rest stop. He turns off the ignition and unbuckles his seat.

“W-Why’re we here? Where are you going?” You hiccup, confused and anxious. “I’m grabbing us lunch, do you want to come with me? You can stay in the car if you’d like.” Soobin opens his door but doesn’t step out yet. 

You look back outside. There’s a bunch of stalls lined up, all of them have steam coming out from the piping hot food. You suddenly remember you haven’t eaten much since this morning. When you told your mom you were visiting, she excitedly informed you she would have a feast upon your arrival. You obviously didn’t eat a single bite.

You turn back to Soobin with a nod, and unbuckle your seatbelt. You open your door and step out, allowing the rain to hit your face. It’s almost refreshing. You two rush underneath the canopies, not wanting to get too wet. 

“What’re you craving? I think I'm gonna get sotteok sotteok.” He leads you to a stall. “Me too,” You decide, something spicy sounded nice. “And gukbap. And cider.” You add. Soobin laughs and nods his head, calmly ordering for the both of you. 

As you wait in line for your food, you can’t help but stare at Soobin.

This man was the father of your child, your baby daddy if you must. How does he feel about that?

You’re reminded of your mother’s screams from just earlier.

“Let’s go find somewhere to sit.” Soobin miraculously carries the tray of food in his hands, and the two of you sit down at the nearest clear table.

You two dig in, though you’re a lot slower and less vigorous than usual. You stir your soup absentmindedly, taking a sip every few seconds. You take nibbles of your sotteok skewer, and don’t even open your cider.

“Are you okay?” You usually hated hearing that question come from his mouth, but right now it felt different.

“I’m sorry.” You apologize. He looks at you with a full mouth. “If you don’t finish your food that’s fine, I can eat it.” He assumes you’re talking about your sudden lack of appetite.

“No, I mean I’m sorry about my parents.” You correct. “They said some pretty mean stuff back there to you.” You mumble.

Soobin goes quiet. He swallows his food and wipes his mouth with a napkin before speaking.

“And they said some really mean stuff to you too.” You take a big bite of your skewer to avoid talking. 

You both continue to eat in silence, that was enough of that conversation for the rest of the day.

“Feel good?” Soobin asks, though you can’t say anything because you were currently leaning against your seat in the car while Soobin’s fingers slid in and out of you.

You’re breathy, panting as you reach up and behind to grip the seat head for stability. You feel a bit exposed as you were still parked in the parking lot of the rest stop. Soobin had moved you guys to a far off corner away from the rest of the cars. 

The windows are foggy, the radio plays softly, though they’re drowned out by your moans. You’re too aroused to care if people can see you.

Soobin leans over the console box, enrapturing you in a tongue twisting kiss. Your hand finds its way to his hair, running though his locks as he speeds up his pace. 

His long veiny hands, his fingers are thicker and rougher than your own, it’s like they reach all the right spots. He’s curling, digging inside your gummy walls, trying to reach deeper and deeper.

Your breath hitches as you feel your orgasm approaching, your head is spinning from your high. Soobin pulls away from you, your lips are strung together by a single line of saliva. 

You look at him dazed, a look of lust.

Soobin continues to stare at you, his thumb coming to rest against your clit as he shoves his index and middle finger in your sopping pussy.

Maybe it was the direct and intense eye contact, or the adrenaline of being caught, but you come with so much passion you have to grip onto the door in order to ground yourself.

Your walls clench and convulse around Soobin’s thick fingers as he slowly pulls out, your cum leaves them glazed. As you try to catch your breath, you watch him stick his fingers inside his mouth, he sucks them decadently. 

Finally, he wipes your mouth with his thumb, licking it clean. This man knew how to push your buttons in all the right ways.

“Let’s go home,” He announces, starting the car again and putting the car in drive.

When your second trimester rolls around, it’s as if your morning sickness magically disappears. You can stomach just about anything now, in fact your appetite has grown.

Your bump is slowly coming in, it’s still small enough where you can see your toes. But you no longer fit any of your jeans, and have opted to wear sweatpants 24/7 as it’s the only thing that fits you. 

“These are kinda cute,” Minjeong holds up a pair of maternity chinos. “Jesus Minjeong, she’s trying to look like Rihanna, not a fucking politician.” Ningning swipes the chinos and hangs them back on the rack. Your friend sulks and takes solace by your side.

“Did you think they were cute?” She asks you. You pout and shake your head. “Sorry. I didn’t even like the color.” Minjeong’s frown deepens. “Hey!” Aeri shouts, waving you down. “Look at these jeans! They’re cute and baggy,” She shows you a pair of medium wash jeans. 

The legs are nice and wide, and not too long where you’d be tripping over them. “I can try them on,” You agree. She happily puts them into the cart. 

“I found this cute maxi skirt, do you like it?” Jimin saunters over and presents the flowy white skirt. “Oh this is totally giving Rihanna in the Bahamas vibe, you have to get it.” Ningning answers for you. You laugh and nod for her to add it to the cart. “I’ll try it on.” 

You guys pile on a few more articles of clothing before heading to the fitting room where you proceed to have a tiny fashion show for all your friends. 

“I kind of like that one!” Jimin nods as you try on a cardigan. “No, she looks frumpy, don’t get it.” Ningning is brutally honest.

“I think you should definitely get the skirt, the jeans, the overalls, the two tops we liked, and at least get the dress, it was totally a skims dupe!” Aeri says as you head back into the fitting room to change into your clothes.

“I like the sweater,” Minjeong reminds them. “Oh that one was cute, yeah, especially now that it’s starting to get cold outside.” Jimin agrees.

You step back out, grabbing the clothes you liked in one arm and the ones you didn’t in the other. “Let me help you,” Jimin grabs the no pile and hands it to the employee up front. 

“I liked them all, “ You admit. You haven’t gone shopping in a while, you were much too busy and anxious during your first trimester. 

Because of that you also didn’t spend a lot of time with your friends. You found it hard to be around them and not feel sick or uncomfortable.

But now you were getting back into your groove, and they seemed to notice it too, it reminded you of old times. 

“The total is going to be $223.47.” The cashier announces, and suddenly it’s like your morning sickness has manifested itself.

“Maternity clothes are that expensive?! We’re literally at Target!” Minjeong squeaks not so subtly to you and the others. 

“We could all pay together, maybe-” “No it’s fine,” You cut off Jimin. “I’ll just get the jeans and the one top please.” You tell the cashier, and he removes the other items.

“Y/n, what the hell?!” Ningning glares at you. “I can get more next time,” You tell her. “I just need something right now, I’ll get bigger anyways, I don’t want to get one size just to outgrow it again in a few weeks.” You argue. Your friends sigh and try not to say anything as you pay. 

But as you all walk back to Aeri’s car, you feel a bit ashamed.

No wonder your parents were so angry, you’re too young, too financially unstable to be with a child. You could barely afford a pair of jeans and a shirt, that you’ll probably discard once all of this is over.

You look down at your growing belly, you still find it hard to believe there’s a baby growing in there, despite you being actual living breathing proof.

At least you won’t have to constantly buy diapers and formula, you think to yourself as you get in the car.

“What do you mean you’re cutting my hours?” You ask your boss, staring him straight in the eyes. He sighs, grimacing at you from his seat. 

“You’ve been constantly calling out or you will leave early from all your shifts. You are not here when we need coverage, I can’t keep scheduling you if you’re not going to be here.” He decides.

You actually scoff at him in disbelief. “I wasn’t here because I’m pregnant. I’ve been physically vomiting any food that enters my body. I was losing bodily fluids more than I can intake, I was sore all over, I had little energy. I couldn’t help that I wasn’t here.” You argue, your anger fueling your adrenaline.

“I get that, I do Y/n- but I can’t keep giving you-” “But I’m here now, I’m better now!” You cut him off. “My morning sickness is gone, I don’t have a lot of nausea. I can still do my job.” 

Your boss sighs again, leans back into his chair as his lips go thin. “I have employees who are hard workers and need the hours. I’m required by store policy to give them hours as they are eligible.”

You sit in your chair, and it starts to seep in that no matter what you do, no one is listening. 

Then your boss says something to you that almost breaks you.

“Y/n, I’m doing this to protect you. Don’t you want to be able to rest more and stay at home?”

“Should we get orange juice or apple juice?” Soobin asks you as you two stand in the refrigerated section of the grocery store.

“Apple. We don’t like orange juice, it’s too tangy.” You grimace and grab the gallon from the shelf. 

When you place the juice into the shopping cart, you realize Soobin has been staring at you like you’ve grown horns out of your head. “What?”

“We?” He repeats, pointing to himself. You suddenly realize what he’s asking, and laugh. “No, we.” You gesture to your growing stomach, you meant the baby.

“Oh,” He seems embarrassed as it finally clicks to him on what you meant. “I was gonna say, I prefer orange juice.”

“We can get that next time,” You let him push the cart as you guys slowly pick up more groceries for the week.

Some meat (no pork, not after you’d gotten sick from throwing up breakfast sausage three weeks ago), vegetables, fruits (you liked to freeze some of them to make an icy snack), and of course ice cream.

“Same as usual?” Soobin asks and you eagerly nod, allowing him to open the freezer door and fish for your favorite flavor at the back of the top shelf, perks of having a tall baby daddy you think.

“Two Half-Baked ice creams from Ben & Jerry’s, pint sized.” He sets the tubs of ice cream into the filled cart in a grandiose manner, you applaud him.

“You’re a Godsend.” You sigh happily. A skip in your step as you guys finally make your way back to the cash registers to check out.

But half way there, something catches your eye. You pause, no longer following Soobin down the main aisle. 

You make a detour at the baby section.

Your attention has been swiped by an adorable little onesie, decorated with a drawing of a smiling sun and a couple of blue birds. Three birds to be precise, a mom, a dad and a baby bird.

You grab the foot of the onesie, it’s smaller than your palm. How can something be so little-

“Y/n?” You whip around. Soobin stands in front of you. He watched you.

“I was just looking.” You explain, dropping your hand from the onesie entirely. He nods, though his gaze is trained on where your fingers once were. 

“Okay,” He clears his throat and looks away. “I think they’re having a sale on the pastries, mind if I grab some?” You quickly shake your head, and Soobin runs off to the bakery section.

Once he’s out of sight, you return your attention back to the onesie. It’s fallen off the hanger, it’s laying on the floor.

Quietly, you pick it up and place it back on its hanger, putting it on its rack. You read the tag, the size was for newborns. 

You walk back to the cart and begin to walk slowly to the line for the registers. “The croissants were half off.” Soobin shows you as he meets you again. You smile and nod. 

Were babies really that tiny when they’re born? A small part of you wants to know.

You wake up to the smell of something sweet. That’s unusual.

You sit up, scratching your belly as you walk out the bedroom and into the kitchen, where you find Soobin preparing what you hope is breakfast.

“What’re you doing?” You ask, eyeing him. Usually you were the cook in the household, Soobin was a mess in the kitchen, most of his meals came out inedible.

He jumps at your voice, not noticing you were peeking over his shoulder. “You scared me!” He yelps and you smile. He must have been really focused.

You look at the pile of pancakes he has stacked on a plate, they look messy, but good. “I made you breakfast. The doctor said you have to watch what you eat, remember?”

He was right, just yesterday you two went in for a visit. Your doctor made it very clear that you needed to be eating healthy if you wanted the baby to be born healthy and to have an easy delivery. You needed to watch your sugar intake in case you developed gestational diabetes, common in pregnancy.

“You made all of this for me?” You question, still in disbelief that Soobin, a man who favored sleep over most, would wake up early to make breakfast.

“Well,” Soobin shrugs, smiling sheepishly. “For you, and for him.” He points and you look down at your bulging belly.

Yesterday you found out the gender of your baby. You were having a boy. A baby boy.

You unconsciously run a hand over your stomach, it’s warm, the skin smooth. You were going to have a son. 

Your heart skips a beat, and you have to physically pinch yourself back to reality.

“Thank you,” You try not to seem too happy. “Yeah,” Soobin seems to follow suit. “Here, I made you a plate already, I also got sugar-free syrup.” He drizzles some over your stack before placing the plate in front of you. 

You carefully take your fork and chop yourself a bite, surprised at the burst of flavor and how not burnt it tasted.

“Are there blueberries in here?” You ask inquisitively. Soobin seems delighted you realized. “Yes!” He grins. “I thought plain wheat pancakes would be boring, so I added some blueberries. They’re good right?”

“They’re delicious,” You hum, taking another bite. You must have been enjoying the pancakes too much, because you suddenly feel a fluttering feeling in your stomach, almost as if-

You suddenly drop your fork, it clatters onto the floor and Soobin spins around. “What? Does it taste bad now?” He’s so confused as you look up at him for your seat with wide, shocked eyes. 

“I-I think- I think he moved.” You point to your tummy, and you look down as if to confirm what you felt.

“What?” Soobin also is surprised he suddenly is on his knees, crouched down to match the level of your stomach, placing a gentle hand on top.

You two wait in silence, waiting patiently only for nothing to happen. Were you wrong?

“Maybe he’s shy, we’re putting him on the spot,” Soobin jokes, though you notice the sad look in his eyes. You suddenly get an idea.

“Hold on,” You say, and direct Soobin to lean in and press his head against your belly, allowing him to hear and feel intensely. “Keep your hand here,” You instruct. He listens obediently.

You go back to your plate of pancakes, using your finger you rip off a piece and begin to eat again. You chew, swallow, and wait one more time. It’s so quiet in the apartment, you could hear a pin drop.

Then it happens. That fluttery feeling again. It’s like a tickle on the inside. But the second it happens you and Soobin gasp, looking at each other with pure joy.

“He moved, oh my God he moved!” Soobin laughs with joy. “He moved!” You repeat. “He moved, he moved. God, he moved.” Soobin rubs his hand over your stomach excitedly as you giggle.

You two stay like this for a moment, before you make eye contact once more, and it serves as a reminder of the reality of the situation. Your chuckles die down, and Soobin stands back up, going back to the kitchen counter to finish and clean up the mess he’d made. You turn back to your food at the table.

“It almost felt like we were dating there for a second.” You try to make a joke.

Soobin is quiet for a moment, you can hear him flipping a few new pancakes on the stove.

“But we’re not, right?” He says flatly.

You decide to not answer that as if it wasn’t already obvious. 

“Oh!” The sonographer gasps, she wears a bright smile as she turns to you excitedly. “You can see his hand, it’s like he’s saying hi!” 

She moves the transducer around and points to the screen. And just like she says, right there is a tiny hand, all five fingers spread out as if waving out to you. Each finger is thin and long, the palm round and sturdy looking. 

Soobin leans forward and presses his index finger where the little hand lays on the screen. The entire pad of his finger is bigger than the hand alone.

Your heart clenches. How odd, you almost can feel your baby’s little hand wrap around Soobin’s finger, a fragile yet tight grip.

“How precious,” The sonographer grins, and Soobin pulls away. You notice his attention has shifted from the screen to his index finger.

“Dad, looks like he’s got your nose.” The sonographer suddenly says, and you both jolt, heads whipping around to the screen once more. You can see the side profile of the infant.

“And mom, I think the baby's got your lips, he’s going to be so handsome!” You’ve never been called mom before. No one has called you a mother, or regarded you as one, not your friends, coworkers, hell not even Soobin.

It’s strange to hear, it makes your heart rate speed up.

You never really considered that your baby would, well, look like you. Sure you knew that the baby growing inside you was yours, but you never took the time to imagine how he would look like, what he’d sound like, what his name-

You have to stop yourself from overthinking.

You weren’t a mom. You weren’t supposed to name him. You shouldn’t care about how he looks or how he’s sound. 

You shouldn’t care about any of this, all of this was temporary anyways, right?

It’s 3 am in the morning and you’re trudging yourself to the bathroom because your bladder is crying to be released.

You rub your eyes, the bright light of the bathroom blinds you. You sit on the toilet and yawn. As you finish, you wash your hands with your eyes still closed. 

You were exhausted, no matter how much you slept, you were never comfortable enough to fully get a good rest.

You’re about to turn off the lights and leave, when you catch your reflection. You’re wearing nothing but a camisole (which has ridden up over your growing belly) and your panties. 

Despite it being November, you run warm now that you’re growing a baby. Wearing too many layers has you sweating like a pig at night.

Funny enough, Soobin is always cold, he naturally drifts towards you in his sleep, his icy hands resting against your hot skin. 

You turn to the side, and you’re surprised how big you’ve gotten. You’re almost proud.

You shake your head. You need to stop acting like this. You have nothing to be proud of, nothing to think about. You just need to go to sleep and mind your business-

Your thoughts are suddenly interrupted by a kick from your stomach. You look down, perplexed. Do babies read minds? 

You doubt that, but that seemed like too much of a coincidence for you to let it pass. You rub your hands over your bare belly, almost as if you’re apologizing.

Why do you feel guilty?

You swallow thickly and turn off the lights, leaving the bathroom to go back to bed. You enter the bedroom and see Soobin has taken your spot in bed, probably trying to find warmth in whatever was left from your body heat moments ago.

Nudging him, you slip back under the covers, letting him cuddle into your side, seeking your heat.

You naturally reach up to run a hand through his hair, it’s soft and fluffy and smells like fresh santal. 

Sometimes you envy Soobin.

For many things: like not having to deal with abnormal changes to his body, he doesn’t gag or feel sick by certain scents or foods, hang with friends without the stares, have a job that pays and schedules him fairly, loved by his parents no matter what he does.

You feel as if you suffer so much, just for him to continue a life of pleasure.

But as you lay together in bed, you’re reminded that you’re not the only one whose life has changed drastically this past year.

Soobin has had a stranger move into his home, puke her guts everyday inside his toilet for months, pays the rent for both of them, helps her stay caught up with schoolwork, goes with her to every doctor’s appointment, buys her all her weird cravings, cooks her food despite his challenges in the kitchen.

He runs her a bath when she’s too tired to shower, brushes her hair while she eats ice cream on the couch, pleases her sexual needs before his, he comforts her whenever she cries, even if it’s over the littlest thing like her struggling to put on her socks.

You cradle Soobin’s face in your hands. You hope your son looks like him. An innocent newborn shouldn’t look like someone as guilty as you.

You push Soobin away, turning the other direction. How could a horrible person like yourself be with a person who is giving and humble like Soobin?

“Merry Christmas!” Soobin’s mom is overjoyed to see you two at her front door. She immediately pulls you both into a bear hug. 

“Hi mom,” Soobin smiles. His mother pulls him down for a kiss on the cheek. “Have you been eating well? Sleeping well?” She asks him. He nods obediently. His mom turns her attention to you. 

“Y/n! I’m so happy to see you again.” She grins and without warning pulls you into another hug, petting your hair. 

“Me too,” You giggle nervously. You liked Soobin’s mom, you two previously met months prior when Soobin revealed to his parents you two were expecting a child. She was an incredibly sweet woman.

“How are you? Healthy? How is my grandbaby?” She leans down to cup your stomach, already baby talking to your unborn son. You try to relax and act normal, but your eyes flit over to Soobin, who tries to hide his grim expression.

Soobin has yet to inform his parents on your decision of adoption.

“Oh, come in come in! You two are probably cold! It’s freezing out there, snowing down a storm.” His mom ushers you both inside, allowing you two to remove your coats and shoes before entering. 

“Everyone’s here already, your sister-” “UNCLE SOOBIN!” A voice interrupts and you hear the sound of tiny feet running quickly. You look up and find a little boy running full speed towards you two. 

“Dokyung!” Soobin bends down, arms wide open as he catches the boy in a strong hug. The boy laughs loudly as Soobin tickles him.

Soobin stands back up, carrying the toddler in his arms as he faces you. “Dokyung, this is Y/n,” He introduces you. You give the boy a soft smile and wave your hand. “Hi Dokyung, nice to meet you,” 

He stares at you expressionless and you stare back. He looks so much like Soobin, like twins. You feel like you’re seeing double.

Not only that, but Soobin holds him so naturally, as if he were made to carry him, to raise a child. Dokyung looks comfortable as he lays in Soobin’s arms. It does something to your brain.

“Why is your tummy so big?” Dokyung suddenly asks, leaning down from Soobin’s grasp to pat you. You’re taken aback by his brash question, but what can you expect from an innocent child?

You find his curiosity endearing, and end up laughing. “There’s a baby inside, I’m pregnant.” You explain, rubbing a hand over your stomach as if to show.

Dokyung blinks at you. “Why?”

You blink back. How were you supposed to answer that?

“It’s almost time for dinner, are you hungry Dokyung? Grandma said she made lots of food for us,” Soobin jumps in and changes the subject. 

“No I want a cookie, mommy said I can eat a cookie because it’s Christmas!” Dokyung squirms out of Soobin’s arms, and drags him further into the house.

“He’s cute, isn't he? Dokyung is Soobin’s older sister’s son,” You almost forget Soobin’s mother has been here the entire time.

“Yeah, he’s funny,” You smile as you follow her to the living area. “We’re all so excited to have you join us this year for Christmas. And with an even newer member joining next year! Dokyung will be overjoyed to play with his new cousin!” She chuckles and you falter in your step.

You almost resent her for even mentioning that to you, but you can’t find it in your heart to do so.

“Happy New Year,” Soobin mumbles as you return from a midnight bathroom run. “Hmm?” You hum, unsure you heard him right.

“Happy New Year,” He repeats, his voice gruff as he sits up, leaning against the headboard. He looks good.

You crawl into the bed, but instead of going back to sleep, you decide to sit up in front of Soobin. 

He stares at you, eyes tired, while you’re practically wide awake.

You brush his hair out of his eyes, gently dragging your hands down to cup his cheeks. You lean in and give him a soft kiss . Your tongue licks his lips, asking for permission to enter. He grants it.

His own hands travel up your sides and to your neck, almost directing you how to kiss him.

You moan into his mouth, unable to control your reactions around him. You lean against his chest, you can feel his heart beating fast, it excites you.

Suddenly you pull away and Soobin looks at you dazed and confused. You pull him to the edge of the bed, already tugging at the band of his sweats. He complies, you two don’t have to speak to know what the other wants. 

Soobin is already halfway hard, but you can feel him thicken up as you drag your tongue across his length.

He holds your hair back and away from your face as you suck him off, you’re gentle and teasing tonight. In that dark room you look up at him with sincerity, you want to show him how grateful you are.

Your tongue swivels around the head of his cock, your cheeks hollowed out as Soobin throws his head back as he cums, you drink up every last drop until he’s begging you to stop.

He falls back onto the mattress, you crawl up next to him into his arms. You press a kiss to his cheek and whisper:

“Happy New Year,”

‘sorry not feeling good gonna stay in tonight :(‘

You press send and within seconds you see bubbles pop up, your friends giving you their best wishes, hoping you will recover soon so you can join them next time.

But you’re actually fine. But you don’t want them to know that.

You toss your phone onto the counter, and practically skip to the couch, giggling like a giddy child. 

“I can’t believe you’ve never watched The Princess Bride, it’s a classic!” You squeal as you lay on the couch, Soobin sits on the other side, letting you rest your feet on his thighs.

“Is it? I’ve never even heard of it,” He shrugs. You gasp and gawk at him, making him crack up. “Is that bad? Stop looking at me like that!” He points at you accusingly.

“I don’t want to hear a word from you until we’ve finished the entire thing, okay?” You prompt. He jokingly nods, and pretends to zip up his mouth and lock it with a ‘key’. You playfully take the ‘key’ and tuck it into your pocket. “Okay press play!”

As you predicted, Soobin is entranced by the movie as soon as it begins. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye every half hour or so, and his eyes are glued to the screen. 

You find it silly how easy he is to read, his expressions give him away so easily. The way his mouth is gaping wide open in shock, how loud he laughs when he finds something funny. You especially like the way his lips pout when he’s paying extra attention to the movie.

Eventually, Soobin has wiggled his way to your side, you both sharing the throw blanket. 

For some reason you can’t keep your eyes off Soobin. Even if your head is turned to the TV, your gaze falls to the man beside you.

Soobin abruptly turns to you, giving you a quizzing look. “What’s up?” He whispers, eyes flickering back to the TV then back to you. You shake your head and yawn. 

“Nothing.” You lie, and lean against his shoulder, deciding to close your eyes for just a moment. 

You feel Soobin gently resting his cheek against your head, and you fall asleep to dream land.

You feel as if you can’t breathe. Not because Soobin’s mom tied your hanbok a little too tight, but because you were currently sitting beside her son, posing for their annual family photo.

Soobin’s sister is holding Dokyung in her lap, her husband to her left. Soobin’s older brother is with his girlfriend, in matching hanbok. 

“Okay, everyone hold still! Honey, go press the button,” Soobin’s mom ushers her husband, and the older man steps out form his place to run and press the camera button on the propped up phone. He hurries back to stand beside his wife.

You put on your best smile, a hand resting atop your belly and the other in Soobin’s. Your h hand is sweaty and damp. You hear the phone click, and there's a bright flash. You blink as your smile falls, feeling dazed. 

“Hold on! No one move yet! Let me check to see if it’s good!” Soobin’s father calls out, and everyone remains in their spots. 

“Oh Dokyung!” The old man laughs. “No silly faces yet, just smile!” He chuckles. Dokyung’s mother giggles and fixes his hair as the toddler seems to find the situation silly. “One more time, smile everyone.” 

He runs back to his wife’s side and you all smile in silence once again. The camera clicks, there’s a flash, and you feel even more tired than before. 

“Perfect!” Soobin’s dad cheers, and Dokyung takes it as a sign to run off. As his parents chase after him, you let out a sigh you had no idea you were holding. 

“What’s wrong? Are you feeling alright?” Soobin helps you stand, and you fake a smile, fanning yourself. “Just need some air, I’m going to step out for a bit, I’m stuffy,” You tell him, letting go of his hand to head towards the front door.

You quietly make your leave, slipping on your outside shoes as you step out onto the small porch. You sit down on the steps, the air is brisk and cold, it feels like you’ve swallowed something minty with every breath.

It’s dark outside, the clouds cover most of the sky and it looks like it might snow again. Behind you, the bright and warm light of the house is contrasting. It’s full of life and love. You can hear Soobin’s family all happily conversing and every once in a while Dokyung's laughter.

As you sit and listen, admiring the peaceful outside, you hear the door open. You bet it’s Soobin here to check on you. 

But you’re surprised when the person grunts as they sit down beside you, looking up at the dark sky.

“If you stay out here for too long, you’ll get sick.” Soobin’s older sister lectures you with a soft tone. You turn to her, confused why she of all people is talking to you.

When you two first met during Christmas, she kept everything cordial and short, you two barely held a conversation alone, almost always someone else was involved. Not to mention half the time you were playing with her son.

“I was about to head back inside,” You lie. She takes a deep breath and nods, still not looking at you. You decide to turn your attention back to the scenery in front of you. You two sit there in awkward silence for a couple more minutes before she finds the courage to speak up again.

“Soobin told me what you plan to do after this.” You pause. She’s talking about after birth. “Yeah,” You cough out.

She finally looks at you, and you look at her. You originally thought the two siblings look nothing alike, but facing her now you can see the resemblance. No wonder Dokyung looked so much like Soobin. 

“Why are you doing all of this? Are you trying to hurt him more?” Her tongue is sharp and unrelenting, it throws you off guard.

“What?” You squeak out, flabbergasted by how upfront she was. Soobin’s sister drops the facade, the way she clenches her jaw you can tell she’s stressed.

“Why go through with the pregnancy? Why involve my brother? Why are you even here at our Seollal celebration? Why are you lying to my parents? Why are you doing any of this?” Each question feels like a knife piercing your heart. You feel as if you can’t breathe.

Out of fear you whip your head around, eyes focused on the cold concrete ground. Soobin’s sister waits for you to answer, she sits patiently.

Why were you doing this? You’ve never asked yourself this question, whether it be because you don’t know the answer, or because you do know and are scared to admit you do. Either way you have no way of explaining yourself.

“If you’re just going to give up on this child, there’s no reason to get my family involved.” She argues. “All you’re doing is making everyone around you suffer. My brother doesn’t deserve to have someone as selfish as you control him like a puppet. He’s his own person, let him make his own decisions.”

“I don’t know what you did to entrance him, but my brother is naive and genuine. He’s known nothing but love from the people around him. How could you force him into this when he’s obviously not ready? You’re not ready, that’s why you’re giving the baby up, right?” She taunts you. 

“I hate how you have my parents believing in this faux relationship you two have. Do you know how happy my mom was when Soobin told her about you? Her children are her treasures, imagine how she’ll feel when she finds out her youngest son was taken advantage of by an immature, irresponsible girl like yourself. You should be ashamed.”

Her words cut deeper and deeper into your already low ego, and you don’t realize you’ve been crying until you let out a sniffle.

“I-I’m sorry,” You choke out. Soobin’s sister stays quiet this time as you break down in front of her.

“I don’t know, I don’t know what I’m doing! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You repeat over and over again. Deep down you know that no matter what you say, she won’t believe a word you say. You’ve already broken her trust even before meeting her, how do you expect to gain it back?

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sor-” 

“Sis, what the hell?!” You jump at the sound of Soobin’s voice, he sounds furious. 

“Don’t you yell at me! Someone needed to talk some sense into her-” “And why do you think you’re the right person to do so?! You have no right to do any of this!” Soobin steps in front of you as his sister takes her stand. 

“Soobin, I’m doing this for you, for us-” He cuts her off with a scoff. “Sis, I’m not a child anymore. I can take care of myself. This is my business, not yours.”

You’re wiping your tears as you watch the two siblings fight. Soobin’s sister may be older, but he towers over her. She glares up at him, then at you.

“Look what she’s done to you. You’ve never acted like this before. You’re letting her lead your life.” She jabs a finger in your direction.

“No she’s not. Leave her out of this. If you have something to say, you say it to me and only me.” Soobin is stern. Why was he doing all of this?

His sister looks bewildered how her younger brother could ever utter such a thing to her face. She opens her mouth to speak again when the front door opens once more. 

“What’s all this noise? Dinner's almost ready, it’s time to come inside,” It’s Soobin’s mother. Her eyes first land on her two children, taking in their angry expressions. Then her gaze falls to you, hiding behind Soobin with tears in your eyes.

“Dear, why are you crying?” She asks, stretching out hand for you to take. You don’t move, not that you could anyways, because Soobin’s sister begins to yell again.

“Mom, no!” She hisses. “Do you even know who she really is?! She’s using Soobin!” The man mentioned sneers at his sister. “Will you shut up?”

That little insult lights a fire within his sister. She tears away from her brother, and instead confronts their mother. 

“Mother, you need to listen to me. Soobin and Y/n aren’t dating. They aren’t keeping the baby. That woman is going to give the baby up for adoption because she’s a selfish brat who wants to go back to partying and being lazy.” She’s almost begging, grabbing the older woman’s hands and holding them between her own. 

Soobin’s mom is rightfully shocked by this information, her face says it all. She looks at her son, who stands defeated. She turns to you again, and you wish you had turned away because there’s betrayal written in her eyes. 

“Y/n, is this true? Soobin?” She switches between you both, searching for answers. You look to Soobin, waiting for a sign, something, anything.

“See? Mom, you believe me right?” Soobin’s sister almost sounds proud of this. You then realize that Soobin can’t tell his mom, and you suddenly realize his sister was right all along.

You let out a huff and stand up. All eyes are on you.

“Yes ma’am, it’s true. I’m considering giving up the baby for adoption.” You feel as if you’re trying to swallow a lump in your throat as you speak. “Soobin and I have already discussed this. We think this is the best option. I’m really sorry for deceiving you.”

And then it’s like the world goes silent. Like you’ve been drowning and you’re falling deeper and deeper underwater. You’ve fallen so deep, the sound of the world disappears.

What happens next is a blur. You don’t remember much other than Soobin taking your hand, grabbing your belongings and dragging you to his car for a long, tense drive home.

You feel relieved.

For some reason you sound distorted, but it doesn’t seem to bother your son. 

You’re singing him to sleep, he’s swaddled in a blanket, but you can’t seem to make out his face. 

You walk around the kitchen, patting his back, gently moving back and forth in hopes of soothing him. The second you stop he begins to cry a loud scream of terror. You’re panicking, you don’t know what to do.

Where the hell was Soobin? He should be here, this was his baby too.

You’re searching the apartment, trying to be a good mother while searching for the man in question, but he’s nowhere to be found.

You try to call out for him, but you have no voice. There’s no sound. None at all. It’s so quiet something feels wrong. 

You realize you’re empty handed. Your son is gone, missing. The panic begins to settle in quickly. 

You’re spinning around, you’re no longer in the apartment, but your local grocery store. It’s crowded, everyone seems to be getting in your way as you try to move. 

You try to stop someone, anyone. You need help, your baby is gone, your son, someone took him, you’re sure of it.

Someone kidnapped your baby boy.

Why was no one worried, why was no one helping you?! It was like you were all alone in this. 

As you begin to hyperventilate, you spot a familiar figure.

Soobin. You run towards him but it’s like you’re moving through water, slow and frustrating. You try to shout at him, but you forget you can’t make any noise.

So you run and run, but Soobin is getting farther and farther. And even worse, you’ve realized it’s him with your son.

His large back taunts you as he cradles the infant, walking a mile with each step he takes. 

You eventually fall and give up. You’re all alone out there, and not a single soul seems to care.

You wake up with tears rolling down your cheeks, and Soobin shaking you awake. 

“Y/n, wake up,” He sounds worried. You blink your eyes open and quickly wipe your eyes with the back of your hands. 

“Are you okay? You were crying in your sleep,” Soobin asks. You ignore him and stand up, speeding to the bathroom. 

“Y/n,” He’s following you, but somehow you evade him, running inside the bathroom and locking it. 

“Y/n? Y/n. Y/n open the door please,” Soobin knocks. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.” 

How can he say something like that to you? You hate hearing him say such nice things. You wish he’d never said yes to you. You wish he never asked you to move in, you wished he never treated you well.

You sit on top of the toilet, trying your best to cry quietly, because you know you’d be worrying him more if he can hear you.

Soobin is still talking to you through the door.

You’re wiping your eyes with toilet paper when you feel your stomach flip flop and you stop breathing.

Your hands ghost over your belly, as if it would disappear if you touched it. You’re actually a bit relieved. 

Your son was right here with you.

In April, you’re shopping for yourself when you are stopped by someone you wish you hadn’t run into.

You were looking at shoes. Now that you were getting closer and closer to birth, your body was changing more rapidly. Your old sneakers and boots no longer fit your feet without your ankles being strangled.

With what little money your job gave you, you planned on getting the most comfortable pair of slip-on shoes.

“Excuse me, do you have these in a size-” “Y/n?” Your conversation with the employee is interrupted by a familiar voice that has shivers running down your spine.

You pause, not wanting to turn your head. Maybe you could pretend you didn’t hear, that you were not Y/n, and they would leave you alone.

But this person is relentless. You can hear them approach you as you try to talk to the employee again. 

“It is you. Y/n, it’s me, Yeji.”

Hwang Yeji, your ex best friend from high school. You guys never really had a falling out, you just went to different universities. You later found out two years ago that she was talking shit about you to make herself look better to her new uni friends after you reunited at a party.

You turn around and put on your bravest smile. “Oh, Yeji, hey,” Maybe it’s because you’re nervous that you begin to hug your stomach.

You see Yeji’s eyes wander down, then back up at you. Shelooks stunned. You don’t blame her.

“Oh my god. Congratulations!” She puts on a fake smile and goes in for a hug, you put up a hand to stop her. “Thanks. You look good.”

“You look good too!” Yeji laughs, though you know she’s probably rolling around with excitement on the inside.

“How have you been? I haven’t seen you in so long!” She squeals, grabbing your hands as if to hold you down. “I’m fine, I actually-“

“We need to get lunch and catch up, are you busy right now? Do you have time? I know a really good kalguksu place nearby here, the owners love me! My boyfriend and I are their favorite customers. You remember my boyfriend Jeno, right?”

Of course you remember Jeno, was she dumb? He was the boy you grew up with, your childhood crush since you were 10. Yeji knew you liked Jeno back when you were younger, yet she still went to date him. You hear they’re pretty on and off now.

“Yeah, I do-“ “Great! I'm actually shopping with him right now, I’m sure he’ll be excited to see you too! You can invite your boyfriend too,” She assumes. “Unless you’re alone?” She flashes you a malevolent smile, and you’re reminded of the hell she put you through just years before.

It’s then that you’re grateful Soobin insisted on joining you, because he arrives just on time to save you.

“Y/n! These shoes look nice and comfortable-” He stops abruptly when he notices Yeji. He approaches you slowly, and is even more taken aback when you yank your hands from her and practically hug him.

“Uh, Hello,” He awkwardly bows, looking between you and Yeji as if unsure what to do. You turn back to Yeji. “Sorry, I am busy actually. My boyfriend and I still have some shopping to do for our baby.” You smile sheepishly. 

“I just love being a mom, you know? I can’t wait to give birth and have more of his kids, because we’re so so in love with each other, isn’t that right babe? Anyways see you Yeji, tell Jeno I said hi!” You say before dragging Soobin away.

You two barge out of the store, leaving the woman in shock. “Who was that?” He asks in a hushed tone, he keeps turning back to get a glimpse of your ex best friend. 

You have to grab his arm and pull him down the street, trying your best to not seem embarrassed or angry as you storm off. 

“No one important,” You huff. You can tell Soobin is staring at you again as you finally let go of him to walk ahead. 

You end up slowing down, running out of breath faster than you can imagine. Soobin stops as you rest against a wall.

“So I’m your boyfriend when it’s convenient for you? Is that all I am to you?” Despite his harsh words, he sounds more confused than anything.

You look up at him, trying to find the right words, because you didn’t want to admit that you wished everything you said to Yeji was true.

“It was just a lie. She was getting on my nerves.” You spit out. Soobin sighs, running a hand through his hair, leaving it a mess. He looks irritated, all because of you.

“I’m sorry,” You apologize, trying to show your sincerity through your eyes. Soobin does nothing but look at you, his silence louder than any words he could have said.

You weren’t dating, but you two fucked like you were. That was 100% true.

You’re laying on your back as Soobin laps at your puffy cunt like he’s a starved man.

With every flick of his tongue you let out a whimper, Soobin temporarily stops grabbing you by the jaw. He turns you towards him, allowing him to have access to your pretty lips. He kisses you like his life depends on it, biting and licking your lips.

You’re out of breath, feeling winded and tired, yet you can’t help but move your hips closer and closer to him. This connection between you two was carnivorous, and you wished to be devoured.

“You’re such a fucking slut,” Soobin growls at you, as if he hadn’t just sucked the life out of you while he pumped his fingers in and out of your dripping hole. You only moan, craving him to move and give you that sweet, sweet release. 

Every part of him, his face, his chest, his arms, his fingers, his thighs, his cock, you love it all. You love how he spreads you open in all the right ways, how he's both rough and gentle with you. How he knows what gets you off, the amount of control you trust him to have over you and your body.

“You want more baby?” He asks, his tone switching to something softer as you grind yourself against his hand. You nod, desperate. He does as he’s told, and goes back, holding your legs wide open as he slurps you up. 

Your hands find their way to his head, groping his hair as you push him further into you. You can feel your stomach coil up, your breath hitching. You try to find some stability, gripping the bed sheets, Soobin’s hair, anything to keep your sanity. 

Your orgasm crashes into you, wiping you out completely. As you come down from your high, your body relaxes, losing all energy. Soobin drags himself up, wiping his face with the back of his hand. He looks down at you like the prey you are. You’re unaware of what’s to come next, your eyes are closed. 

You feel the bed dip and hear it creek as Soobin joins you. Your eyes shoot open as you feel him rub his tip against your entrance. You’re met with a lustful man, his eyes droopy as he cages you beneath him. 

“Wanna give me one more, please?” He’s so polite, you answer with a simple nod. Soobin smiles, and with a single swift movement, enters your already throbbing pussy.

You hear him whine, something about how tight you felt, but you can’t concentrate. You feel as if you’re seeing stars from just trying to adjust to his size.

Soobin takes no time to start moving, his thrusts are deep and consistent, a rhythm you’ve come to recognize. You pout at him from your position, craving more of his touch. You lift your arms up, asking him to hold you. 

He does more than just hold you, Soobin consumes you. His body wraps itself around you, he becomes all you can see, hear, and smell. Your senses are flooded with him.

He’s like a drug you think, the way he stimulates you, heightens all of your reactions. You get a taste and you’re hooked. 

You lock lips, arms snaking around his neck, pulling him to you as your lips and tongue move in sync with him. Soobin’s hands roam your naked body, from teasing your perky nipples to rubbing your round belly affectionately. 

His hips begin to move rapidly, falling out inconsistently. He’s whining into your mouth, chasing after that high you will so gracefully give him.

“Fuck- Cum in me,” You gasp. It’s not a plea, it’s an order.

And Soobin listens, standing up to hold your legs together. His thrusts become crazed and rampant, his voice creeping out as he can’t control himself anymore.

Soobin collapses as he cums inside you, shaking as you milk him dry. After you lay beside him, his cum dripping out your cunt and onto the sheets, you can’t help but admire the man. 

He lays there, glistening in sweat and breathing heavily. His eyes are shut, a hand is thrown over his face as if to shield him, to you he looks like an angel who just descended from heaven.

You observe him for a moment longer before pulling yourself to sit up. You turn to look back at Soobin, his cheeks are flushed a bright red. You reach over to caress his face, drawing him to finally open his eyes and look at you.

“Let’s take a bath, hm?” You ask quietly. You swear his cheeks get brighter. “Yeah,” Soobin answers, letting you help him up as you two make your way to the bathroom to clean up.

The summer heat is settling in, you’re sweating, thirsty, and uncomfortable, but you have the biggest smile.

Despite your objections, your friends insisted on throwing you a small baby shower. So here you are, standing under a canopy in a public park, surrounded by the most supportive people you know.

You’re wearing a custom crocheted dress your old friend Sakura made just for this occasion, how she got your measurements without your knowledge, you have no idea. But it’s beautiful, you feel beautiful.

Aeri and Minjeong dolled you up, doing your hair and makeup for today, while Jimin and Ningning helped set up the party decorations.

There’s a little table with desserts, another larger one with catering, and folding chairs for everyone to sit on. Jimin even ordered a backdrop for everyone to be able to take photos together. 

You’re sneaking a bite of a cupcake when a hand sneaks around your waist, causing you to spin around. “You’re not supposed to be eating that,” Soobin teases, and you playfully roll your eyes.

“It’s just one bite! Here, finish it for me then,” You lift the cupcake to his mouth, feeding him the blue iced dessert.

Soobin takes a small bite, grabbing the cupcake and placing it back on the table behind you, wiping his mouth with his thumb.

His gaze lingers on you for a little too long, you feel goosebumps grow on your arms. Usually you’d tell him to stop, to leave you alone. But today you were allowing yourself to indulge in your desires.

“I didn’t know Minjeong invited your friends too,” You say, looking over to the small crowd of people in front of you. Soobin doesn’t turn to look, his attention focused on you.

“Yeah, I guess she knows Beomgyu through Heeseung.” He murmurs. You can see Soobin’s best friend conversing happily with a group of guys. Your friends were mingling well. 

You had all these friends gathered here today, yet not a single family member was in the midst. Yours were nonexistent for reasons you and Soobin knew long ago. But after Seollal you found out he’d temporarily cut contact with his sister. You don’t like knowing that he did that for you.

His mother was having a hard time coming to terms with your decision. She still calls and checks up on you two, but she always sounds sad and disheartened. 

You shake your head and try to not think about that stuff, you were supposed to be happy right now.

As you’re trying to find something to lift your spirits, Soobin speaks up. “Did I tell you you look pretty today?” Your head whips around, a little shocked he could say something so blatant to you in public.

“I mean you’re always pretty,” He doubles down a bit nervously. “But you’re especially beautiful today.” His honest words have your cheeks turning red, you’re lucky you’re wearing foundation to cover them. 

“Thank you,” You mumble, looking away from his deep intense eyes. They follow you and your every move. 

Feeling bold, you reach over and grab his hand, and you can visibly see Soobin’s mood perk up from this single physical gesture.

“Come on, I think Jimin said she’s got a game prepared, I need you to win me that body lotion set.” You pull him towards your friends. 

You hear him laugh, and his grip tighten around your hand. Maybe you can be selfish for a bit longer.

It’s the middle of June, and you’ve never been more thankful for Soobin’s apartment having an A/C unit than ever before.

In your old apartment, you always had to fight the heat by doing whatever you could to stay cool. The building was older and despite it being listed as having air conditioning, it really meant a plug in house fan.

You’re currently sitting on the couch, watching a show you’ve been binging all morning. Earlier in the season, a side character revealed she was pregnant, and now in this episode, she was arguing with her husband over baby names. Neither of them could come to a conclusive name they both liked.

You look down at your stomach, you’ve grown so much. You were due in a month in a half, so you were almost bursting at the seams.

Naming your baby was a topic you never really pondered on. Mainly because you felt like you didn’t need to with your decision. But a part of you is curious. You stare at your stomach for a while, internally fighting your conscience on what to do in this situation.

To name really anything you are giving ownership and possession of it. To name a person, you are giving them meaning, personality and a life.

As if urging you to make a decision, your son kicks, his leg pressing against the walls of your womb. You can see the left of your stomach jut out a bit more and usual.

If you do it alone, with no one to witness and persecute you, there is no harm done, right? You ask yourself this question over and over again until your baby moves again, almost as if telling you to hurry up.

You bite your lip, sucking in a tight breath.

“What about… Dongmin?” You say out loud, and it’s like the air grows thick with anticipation. You’re not sure who you’re asking, but you’re waiting for something, anything to give you an answer.

“Or Hyunsoo.” You wait. No one responds. Your anxiety slowly turns into hunger, you want an answer.

“Jisung, Leejoon, Seonwoo, Eunsung!” You begin to list off any name you can think of, eager to get a reaction out of anything. “Hajin, Juyoung, Eunjae-”

Your entire stomach flips. Your son is kicking, punching your side like his little life depends on it.

“That one?” You ask, bewildered that he would react so excitedly. He seems to calm down for a second, maybe it was a bluff.

You bite the inside of your gum, unsure how to read the situation. “Do you like that name?” You ask again, and there’s no response. You hold your breath, testing the waters once more.

Eunjae. Choi Eunjae.” You state loudly. Almost immediately you get a reaction, your son moves about in your belly like he’s doing somersaults.

You begin to laugh, you never thought a single name could elicit something so grand from within your womb.

“Is that right? Your name is Eunjae, Choi Eunjae.” You say again, and you feel your insides tickle. 

As you’re enjoying yourself, the silent apartment begins to consume you, reminding you that you shouldn’t be smiling at all. You shouldn’t even be naming your baby, you shouldn't be doing any of this.

The guilt starts to seep in, and your laughter soon transforms into cries of agony.

At 3 in the morning you wake up and realize Soobin is not in bed. Why are you awake as well? You have to use the bathroom, but you have a feeling that’s not the same reason as why Soobin is missing.

After using the restroom, you creep out of the bedroom, yawning as you pad down the hall. What was he doing up so late?

Walking into the kitchen, you see the sliding door to the balcony is open. 

And Soobin is outside, leaning against the railing as he’s talking to someone on the phone. His voice is muffled and quiet.

You tiptoe closer, you know you shouldn’t spy, but your curiosity got the better of you.

“I’m listening.” Soobin sighs, pressing his phone against his ear as he yawns, struggling to stay awake.

“No yeah, I know.” You watch him hum, leaning against the wall for support. 

Whoever he’s talking to must have asked a question that irritates him, because he clicks his tongue in annoyance. “Don’t say that.”

He lets out a long and tired sigh, you see him rub his face. “Y/n and I- We- stop acting as if we’re dating mom, you know we aren’t.”

It’s hypocritical, you think. You say it all the time, you and Soobin aren’t dating. You guys are not in a relationship, and you practically preach that you two will never ever get together.

But when you hear him say it out loud, those words you never imagined him speaking, you feel like every spark of hope left in your body has gone off and died.

And the fact that he was telling this to his mom.

You don’t want to listen to what else he has to say, you march back to the bedroom and throw the covers over your head.

You don’t want to cry, you can’t cry, you don’t deserve to cry. You brought this on yourself, you know this. So why were you so heartbroken?

You’re biting your tongue, clenching your fist in hopes of subduing your tears, when you hear Soobin walk back into the room. He stops and stands by the doorway.

He’s there for a moment, and you have to hold your breath.

“No, she’s still asleep,” You hear him say into the phone as he walks off back to the balcony. He shuts the door hastily behind him.

“What’re you doing?” Soobin asks, sounding threatened. You look up from your spot on the floor, caught.

“I’m packing.” You say simply, as if it weren’t already obvious. “Where are you going?” He questions further, stepping into the bedroom and staying by the door as if to block you from leaving.

You look up at him and scoff. “I’m not going anywhere.” You shake your head. You see him relax a bit. “Not yet at least.” 

“I mean, once I have the baby in a couple of days, there’s no reason for us to be living together anymore, right?” You remind him. “I’m just packing now so that I don’t have to worry about it afterwards, to make things easier for us.” 

Soobin stays silent as you turn back around and go back to folding and placing your clothes back into your suitcase.

“But you ended your lease, where will you stay?” He shuffles deeper into the room. “I’m gonna stay with Minjeong until I find a new place.” You try to ignore him to the best of your ability. 

“Why don’t you just stay here until you do? Why move out just to move in with your friend?” He argues, and you get the feeling this has nothing to do with inconveniencing your best friend. 

You huff, and roughly throw in your folded jeans into the suitcase, you can’t find it in you to turn to him, already hurt. “You know why Soobin,” You can see him sit down on the bed out of the corner of your eye.

“There’s no reason for me to stay, it’s not like we’re dating or-” “Then why aren’t we?!”

Soobin’s voice causes the room to shake, and your head snaps at him, eyes wide that he could utter those words at you.

He stares at you intensely, his fist are clenched in anger, his brows furrowed as he is desperately searching your face for an answer.

“We act like a couple, talk like one, sleep together like one- why can’t we?” His voice is so quiet, so meek that you’re reminded of the Soobin you first met that fateful night at that stupid party.

You immediately look away, you can’t even focus on your clothes anymore. He’s asked you a forbidden question.

“Tell me Y/n. I don’t get it.” Soobin pushes. “I’m your boyfriend when you need someone to provide, when an old friend annoys you, when you need to fuck. But suddenly you throw me out the window the second I get too close. I don’t know why but I want to understand you.”

Your gaze is fixed on the floor, your hands resting on your knees as you try your best to not break down in front of him. You couldn’t let him see you cry, you knew he hated it. 

“I-I love you, you know?” Those words open the flood gates.

“I’d do anything for you. I already do. I let you use me, twist me around, break me down. Just because I want you to just like me back. I feel like I’m doing everything I can in my favor, but you-” Soobin stops and sighs, getting off from bed to kneel beside you. He grabs your hands and has you face him. You shut your eyes and keep your head down. 

“I hate seeing you cry,” He mumbles, lifting your head to wipe your tears with his thumb. You try to pull away, but he’s got a firm grip on you. 

“Y/n,” His voice is soft. “I don’t know what’s stopping you, I know you love me too, I know you do.”

You finally open your eyes, and a part of you is relieved your tears have blurred your vision, because you can’t bear to see Soobin’s face once you disappoint him.

“No I don’t,” You lie, shaking your head. Soobin’s hands fall from yours, and you turn your back to him, hiding your sobs as best you can as you immediately regret your words.

You need to apologize, but you’re wiping your tears away when you hear Soobin get up in a rush. He’s out the front door before you can realize. You struggle to get up, hobbling out the front door.

You reach the hallway window just in time to see Soobin speed off, his car furiously disappearing down the street. 

“Fuck.” You cuss yourself out. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-” 

You suck in a breath as you’re leaning against the hall wall when you feel warm liquid run down your legs. Were you seriously so upset that you peed yourself-

A sudden spike of pain shoots up your uterus and you feel as if you can’t breathe. You almost fall to your knees, forcing yourself to stand until the pain dissipates. That’s when it hits you.

Holy shit your water broke.

You waddle back inside the apartment, insearch of your phone. You try to relax your breathing as you find it laying on the bed. You need to call Soobin. You don’t care that you two just had a fight, you needed to-

Your mind goes blank when you hear a familiar ringtone play loudly from the kitchen. You walk over and find Soobin’s phone ringing on the counter. On his screen is a photo of you from the babyshower. It’s a photo you hadn’t realized he’d taken. 

You were laughing at your friends, cradling a plastic baby doll in your arms. You looked so happy, that day he called you beautiful.

You feel your eyes well up again, but your sniffles are interrupted by another sharp pain. This must be contractions or something, because you felt like you were dying as well as needing to take a giant shit. 

But without Soobin here, you don’t know what to do. You never planned that today would be the day, your doctor promised you had at least another week. 

You stand there by the kitchen counter, agonizing in pain. You know you should call an ambulance, that you should call your family, your friends. But the only person you can think about is Soobin.

The man you’d hopelessly fallen in love with was long gone, leaving without a trace.

i’ll wait here tomorrow

[yourauthorjen]

| YOURS | — joaquin torres

(requests open)

masterlist

| synopsis: | a family was something you never thought could be a possible, but after joaquin torres you seemed to think differently.

| includes: | husband!joaquin x reader, a bunch of fluff, children, and chaos

| word count: | 1.6k

| a/n: | this was from this lovely request! thank you so much for your idea! the main headcanons i focused on were morning chaos and supportive husband and dad. also i feel like joaquin would be such a girl dad.

THE IDEA OF having a family always made you shiver.

Whether it was because of the stress from the children or the bone chilling possibility of not being good enough, you never wanted to consider that idea.

That was until Joaquin walked into your life, bright eyed and charming, stubborn but absolutely heart aching in a way that you could never forget. And ever since you two had been together, every night was spent with him mapping out the possibilities of the future. He'd lace his fingers with yours and he'd ramble on about all the different lives you could have together.

He'd tell you about the a house with a picket fence or maybe an apartment filled with toys and two small children with your eyes and his crooked grin.

The first time he had brought it up you listened to him in silence, heart thundering, and slightly terrified. You didn't know if you deserved all that but he made sure he believed enough for both of you. Joaquin never pressured you, he just smiled and held your hand tighter every time you wavered.

It took another three, four years before you agreed, and somewhere along the way — between sleepy kisses in the kitchen and long car rides where he sang off-key just to make you laugh — you stopped being afraid.

When you first felt your oldest stirring inside of you, you were consumed with cold terror and sleepless nights. It was always a string of "what-ifs" and "am I making the wrong choice?"

But Joaquin was always there, to kiss your knuckles when you couldn't sleep, or doing your share of chores when you were too exhausted to keep yourself awake.

Sam was there to help you as well, dropping by ever so often with Sarah who had made frozen dishes or to take you out shopping while Sam just teased you, joking about how you better hope that the baby didn't snore like Joaquin did.

Obviously, Joaquin's family came over too. The crowd of aunts and uncles as well as his mom all came over to gush about your new child while also bringing in enough diapers and baby food to last an entire apocalypse. They offered home cooked meals, clothing and obviously a long string of baby names, which was a whole other story.

It was bittersweet seeing his family squished into your apartment when your own deadbeat father couldn't even bother shooting you a text, but still, it was heartwarming having such a loving family in a way you always longed for.

And now, your life was different.

Shoes and toys littered the house, lying in every unoccupied corner of the house. Drawings full of crayoned scribbled were plastered across the fridge, taped to the wall and piled atop the coffee counters, all with stick figured drawings of the four of you, standing beside a house with a triangle for the roof.

This morning was no different than other mornings, you woke up to the soft scent of soap and cinnamon as soft kisses brushed your cheek then up to your forehead, before a chorus of sleepy giggles and hushed whispers barged into your room scrambling onto your bed as Joaquin groaned into your hair, his arm tightening lazily around your waist like he thought he could shield you from the onslaught.

But your oldest was determined, climbing right up onto the bed and tugging insistently at the blanket. Your youngest followed, less coordinated but no less enthusiastic, tripping over her own feet and landing in a heap at the foot of the bed, giggling uncontrollably.

"Get up," they both sang in sync as they bounced on the mattress eagerly.

Without loosening his grip on you, Joaquin turned slightly, catching your mouth in a slow, unhurried kiss. You could feel him smiling against your lips, his thumb brushing lazy circles against your hip, completely unbothered by the chaos swirling around you.

"Your breath stinks," you snickered pulling away from him as the kids continued dancing around the bed— one trying to climb onto Joaquin’s back, the other flopping dramatically onto the pillows, narrowly missing your head.

He let out a chuckle as he rubbed his eyes, "I haven't brushed my teeth yet."

You rolled your eyes, "Really, Sherlock?"

"Who's Sherlock?" your youngest asked wriggling between the two of you, eyes wide and dark hair a mess. She was like a copy and paste of Joaquin, unrelentless energy and big innocent eyes with a headful of curls. Meanwhile your oldest had your eyes, but less energetic than your second, still she piled on top of her younger sister trying to squish between the three of you, determined to snuggle into your arms.

"Sherlock," Joaquin said, "Is my only chance for a few more minutes of sleep." He shifted slightly, trying to nestle back against you, but the kids were having none of it.

"Noooo!" your oldest protested, her hands pushing against his chest as she wriggled closer. "We want pancakes!"

"Pancakes!" echoed your youngest, her little face lighting up at the mention of food, her hands tugging at the hem of your shirt, demanding your attention.

Joaquin looked at you for help, but you just shrugged as if to say this is on you.

"You three have no mercy," Joaquin muttered. You could practically see the gears turning in his head, trying to figure out how to wrangle them back into some semblance of order.

You laughed, head tipping backwards as you hoisted yourself out of bed. "Okay then, I guess we're making pancakes today."

Joaquin groaned as you gently pulled yourself out of his grasp, his lips forming a pout as you picked up your youngest, placing her on your hip. "Traitor," he muttered under his breath, though the sparkle in his eyes gave him away.

You grinned, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead as you shifted your daughter higher on your hip. "Suck it up, soldier. You're on kitchen duty."

Joaquin groaned even louder as your oldest tried to pull him up. "C'mon dad, we can do them together."

"That's the spirit," you cheered making your way into the kitchen. The morning light had spilled onto the wooden tile of the floor casting a soft glow as you set your daughter down onto one of the stools, Joaquin and your oldest trailing behind you. Both looked as sleepy as the other but a wide smile was still stretched across their faces.

"Okay team," Joaquin yawned, "You're gonna get the pancake mix—" he pointed to your youngest then to your oldest, "You go get the eggs and you—" he paused staring at you his eyes entranced as you leaned against the counter, sunlight kissing your face as you tossed your hair into a bun.

"What do I do?" you teased, cinching your apron tighter around your waist as his jaw went slack.

He cleared his throat, "You," he said, pointing the spatula at you like a sword, "are on official supervision duty. And looking way too good while doing it."

You snorted, reaching over to flick a little bit of flour from the counter at him, laughing when he pretended to stagger back in pain.

Your youngest clapped her hands in glee, while your oldest rolled her eyes like she was already ten years older than she really was. "Dad's being weird again," she whispered loudly to her sister, who giggled into her hands.

"Hey, weird is a Torres family tradition," Joaquin defended, setting a bowl down on the counter with a clatter. "You're just lucky you inherited it, too."

Weird was correct, because not even ten minutes later the kitchen was already a mess. Your youngest insisted on stirring the batter, which mostly resulted in flour puffing up into a cloud around her and your oldest took her self-assigned job of "egg cracker" very seriously— which meant you fished out a few too many shells from the mixing bowl.

"Okay," you said briskly, "Now that that's done, Dad’s in charge of flipping, but he’s banned from stepping a foot away from the stove."

"It was one time," he whined, "I didn't mean it."

"Joaquin, you burned an entire batch of pancakes," you deadpanned, "In front of your own mother."

"It was an accident," he sputtered.

You snapped your fingers in front of his face, "Hey, eyes on the stove soldier, we are not setting the fire alarm off again."

He laughed while your youngest sang a made-up pancake song under her breath, swinging her legs from the stool, while your oldest stood proudly at Joaquin’s side, offering enthusiastic and very loud coaching advice on when to flip the pancake.

You didn't even realize you were smiling until Joaquin caught your eye across the stove, flipping a perfect pancake with a flourish just to make you laugh. His smile— soft but full of so much love it ached was aimed right at you, like it always had been.

This was the future Joaquin had spent his nights rambling on about, and somehow, against all odds, it was yours too. You wrapped your arms around Joaquin's waist, hugging him tightly as he hummed under his breath, then leaned down to press a kiss to your hair.

"See," he murmured, voice warm and low just for you. "Told you you'd make something good."

You closed your eyes for a second, breathing him in— sweet and clean and that unmistakable feeling of home you never thought you'd have. His arms tightened around you briefly before he pulled away just enough to resume flipping pancakes, your oldest still enthusiastically coaching him from the sidelines.

Your youngest started singing her song even louder, and off-key, leading Joaquin to joining in with a off-tune harmony that made both kids dissolve into giggles.

You leaned back against the counter, watching the the three people you cherished so much bubbling around the kitchen. You had made something good. It was painstakingly beautiful, and you loved it. It was something that you would do everything to protect, and it was something you wouldn't trade for the world.

[sweetlikemonie]

𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐔𝐏

lil drabble for my man based on this video 🤭

content warnings: light degradation (he calls you a nasty bitch), praise, use of a toy, fingering, you’re also being recorded

author’s note: a lil sum sum while y’all wait on that geto and pearline fic don’t curse me 🥲 i’ve been so busy i’m sorry.

“Don’t look away.”

Onyankopon’s voice poured over you like heat, rich and dark and steady. You sat on the edge of the vanity chair, legs spread, heels digging into the counter, bare skin slick with anticipation. The soft hum of the rose toy vibrated against your clit…lightly teasing and already your thighs were twitching, your breathing uneven.

He stood behind you, one hand around your throat, not choking, just holding—reminding you who was in control. Onyankopon’s other hand rest against your at your breast, tweaking and teasing at your nipples, occasionally dropping down to take one into his mouth.

His eyes flicked up to the camera, recording everything. The mirror reflected the whole scene: your glassy eyes, parted lips, the toy nestled between your thighs, and Onyankopon towering behind you.

“You wanna come already?” he murmured, kissing the side of your neck, watching you squirm under the suction. “You can’t even sit still, baby.”

You tried to hold on, tried to keep your eyes trained on the mirror like he told you. But your hips rolled forward, chasing the sensation, mouth falling open.

“Eyes up,” he snapped softly, the grip on your throat tightening just enough to make your breath hitch. “This ain’t just for you, it’s for me. For them. Let ’em see how pretty you get when I turn you out.”

The rose pulsed harder, perfectly in sync with your heartbeat, and your body arched as a cry slipped from your lips—raw, high-pitched, desperate. Your reflection stared back at you, ruined and beautiful, every inch of you trembling.

“Don’t come yet,” he warned.

But it was already too late.

“You couldn’t even hold it, could you?”

Onyankopon’s voice slid over your skin like silk, low and amused, but heavy with authority. The rose toy buzzed weakly on the counter, soaked from the mess you made on it, your legs still twitching from the orgasm you weren’t supposed to have. You tried to pull yourself together, but your body wouldn’t stop trembling, your mind already gone.

He pressed in close behind you, one large hand cradling your jaw as he tilted your head toward the mirror. “Look at you,” he murmured. “Didn’t even ask. Just made a mess like a nasty little bitch.”

The way he said it…soft, damn near affectionate sent another rush between your legs. You whimpered, shame curling in your gut, but he smiled at you in the mirror. Like he adored how wrecked you were.

“Mmm,” he hummed, dragging two fingers down between your thighs, slow and teasing. “This what happens when I’m too nice to you?”

He gathered your cum on his fingers, then brought them to your lips.

“Go ‘head. Taste what disobedience gets you.”

You opened without hesitation, moaning as you sucked his fingers clean, tongue curling around him like you couldn’t get enough. He watched you with heavy eyes, thumb stroking your cheek once you were done.

“Good girl,” he said, almost like a reward. “Even when you’re outta line, you’re still my good girl, ain’t you?”

Before you could answer, his fingers were back inside you—deep, fast, merciless. Your body arched, your thighs tried to close, but he gripped your leg and forced them wider.

“You’re gonna take all of it. Every stroke, every pump,” he growled, voice still thick with affection, but dripping in filth. “I don’t care if you’re sensitive. You wanted to come without permission? Now you’ll come until you can’t anymore.”

His thumb found your clit, rubbing tight circles in time with the thrust of his fingers. Your moans were loud now, desperate, echoing off the walls. But all he did was smile at your reflection watching you fall apart for him, again.

“That’s it, baby. Just like that,” he whispered, mouth brushing your temple. “You look so fucking beautiful when you lose it for me.”

And when you came again…loud, breathless, and soaked—he kissed your cheek, slow and sweet.

“Next time, you’ll wait,” he said, still stroking you through it. “Or I’ll keep you like this all night.”

[sylussyenjoyer]

sylus is big.

like big big. like so big that when he’s inside of you you can’t focus on anything else. you need to keep moving your hips on him. you can’t stop, the top half of his body is so firm and it feels so good to nuzzle your head into his chest while he fucks himself deeper and deeper into you. and he loves turning you into this, loves seeing his perfect little dove fall apart right in his lap. when he whispers those sweet curses into your ear in that deep tone of his, he can feel your pussy get wetter and wetter and he just can’t help but fuck into you faster and faster. the lewd noises between you two make you feel it even more, you want his seed in you so badly, you can’t go another second without it, that feeling of his cock twitching inside you and your pussy making such a sloppy mess.

when he releases into you, it’s euphoric. your heads tilt back in ecstasy, your bodies almost in sync as that precious white floods your insides.

and you don’t spill a drop, you take it all and feel yourself clench around nothing as he pulls out.

just a little drabble where we’re riding sylus <333 thought id start posting on here n see how it goes.

shots by me. i LOVE glint photobooth

[thatonegrimm]

The Manager’s Guide to Demon Boybands: A Witch’s Oath

Sweat, Spells, and Setlists

Chapter1/Chapter 2/Chapter3

The studio smelled like sweat, spell-dampened glamour, and expensive hair product. The air hummed with the intensity of their rehearsal, a friction of energy as the Saja Boys moved in sync, yet just slightly off-kilter, enough to make her feel the tension between the boys and the world that no longer remembered them.

She leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, clipboard balanced on one hip. Her gaze was sharp, catching every movement, every flicker of hesitation in their choreography. She was not impressed.

“Again,” she said, her voice calm but carrying an unspoken weight.

The beat dropped.

The Saja Boys danced with the kind of energy that only demons could summon sharp, powerful, but imperfect. It wasn’t that they were bad dancers. No, they were extraordinary. But the cracks were there, the tiny moments where their power slipped through the glamour that veiled them. Your trained eyes caught it all the hesitation in Jinu’s left foot, Abby’s overpowering rhythm that was too big for the space, the brief flicker of gold behind Mystery’s shadow as he spun too fast, the way Romance flirted with the beat but never quite became part of it.

And then there was Baby—his footwork impeccable, aggressive, like he had something to prove.

They were beautiful. And terrifying. But they were also lost.

Jinu was the easiest to read. He moved with the precision of a soldier, every motion deliberate and controlled, but there was a tension in him. He wasn’t just dancing for the sake of performance. It was like he was fighting for something fighting for survival. There was something about the way he counted the beats in his head, as if trying to stay one step ahead, as if trying to hold everything together without anyone noticing the weight of it all.

You liked him. He reminded you of yourself—always watching, always calculating, always holding things together in silence.

Abby, on the other hand, danced with a kind of grace that shouldn’t belong to someone as large as he was. His chest rose and fell with the rhythm, his gaze connecting with each of the boys in turn, always making sure they were still a team, still in sync, even when the world outside their rehearsals threatened to tear them apart. Abby wasn’t just strong physically; his emotional intelligence was off the charts. He saw everything every crack, every sigh, every unspoken word.

But the truth was, Abby didn’t realize how strong his power was. She had seen it before. She had felt the crackle under his skin when he was angry, when his strength flared out of control. She had seen him almost destroy a room with nothing more than the sheer force of his presence.

Mystery, meanwhile, moved like water fluid, unpredictable, untamed. His body bent the choreography to his will, twisting it into something primal. She thought she caught him glancing at the mirror more than the others—not out of vanity, but confusion. He didn’t seem to recognize himself in the reflection. He didn’t see the demon lurking beneath the surface.

And when the glamour slipped, when his true form shimmered through for just a moment she noticed the flash of the spiral-shaped mark under his collarbone. A demon’s brand. The same kind of mark the boys had been born with, but one that no human was supposed to see.

Romance, as usual, flirted with the mirror, with the choreography, with the beat itself. His every move was a performance—charisma wrapped in flesh, smooth and effortless. He was too good at pretending to be human.

It made you trust him the least.

He noticed everything. His eyes had already clocked her, the way she was watching them more than their footwork. He smiled, a knowing, teasing grin, and she could almost feel him pulling at her, trying to get a reaction. But she held her ground. There was more at play here than the surface, and she wasn’t going to let him distract her from the real danger.

Baby didn’t smile.

His footwork was flawless fast, aggressive, and precise, like a machine. Every move had purpose, every motion calculated for maximum impact. There was no wasted effort, no hesitation. But more than that, there was a stillness about him. The others joked around, laughed between takes, but not Baby. He was all business, his eyes always darting around the room, taking in the smallest details. He was young, yes, but that didn’t mean he was naive.

And that was why you marked him as the most dangerous. Not because of his recklessness, but because of his deliberate control. He was the one who could destroy everything without even trying.

You let them run the dance three more times, making mental notes, tracking their movements, but also watching them closely—watching how their power leaked out when they forgot to hold back, when they let their guard down. You wondered if they knew it was happening. Did they feel it?

Probably not.

That was the problem with glamour. It slipped at the edges.

The boys filed out of the studio sometime after seven, laughing and shoving each other, their hair damp and their clothes wrinkled from hours of rehearsal. They were loud, vibrant, trying to act like normal humans. They joked and teased each other, putting on their best “idol” faces, trying to blend into the world that no longer remembered them.

You handed them their revised schedule and didn’t linger.

“Group photoshoot on Monday,” you said, voice crisp and direct. “Don’t be late.”

Jinu nodded, his gaze lingering on the paper. Abby grinned, stretching his arms above his head. Romance winked at you, the flirtation still lingering in his eyes.

Mystery stared at the fluorescent light like it had insulted him.

Baby didn’t say anything. But he caught your eye for a beat longer than usual, as if something unspoken passed between them.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your apartment was small, neat, and filled with protective wards. Silver threads crisscrossed the windows, keeping the world outside from prying too closely. The balcony, barely visible from the street, held dried herbs strung like bunting, a scent of magic and nature filling the air. The tea shelf doubled as a potion rack, every bottle and jar carefully labeled, as though the apartment were a place of secrets rather than just a home.

You dropped your keys in the bowl by the door, unbuttoned your blazer, and crossed to the window out of habit.

Then you paused.

Across the narrow street, in the window of a sleek new apartment building, a light flickered on. Then another.

A shadow passed by—a tall, broad figure, familiar yet distant.

Then another.

Then five.

Your fingers tightened around the mug.

So.

They lived across from you. Not exactly opposite, but close enough that you could see their windows if one leaned out a little, just enough to glimpse movement, silhouettes, outlines against the curtains.

They didn’t know.

Couldn’t see you through the protective charms woven into the glass.

But you could see them.

And for now, that was enough.

You though, had known.

Had known from the moment you saw them that they weren’t just any K-pop group. They weren’t just talented boys with too much charisma. You saw them for what they truly were: survivors. And knew what would happen if the wrong people discovered them.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

At first, the boys had laughed off the idea of needing a manager.

Abby, as always, was the first to speak up: “We’ve got charisma. We don’t need anyone holding our hands.”

But he didn’t see it. He didn’t see the weight of the world on their shoulders, the constant pressure to fit in when they had been erased from human memory. He didn’t see the darkened eyes watching them from the distance, the people who would see them not as idols, but as demons.

Jinu had been the first to get it. He saw the exhaustion in their eyes, the way they floundered in a world that couldn’t remember their past. He saw that they needed something someone to help keep them grounded in a reality that had forgotten them. And he saw that she was more than just a manager. She was their lifeline.

Mystery hadn’t said much about it. But every time she was in the room, his eyes would flick to her, as though searching for answers in the quiet strength she carried. He didn’t understand her completely, but he recognized that she was the one who kept them from unraveling.

Romance, for all his flirtations and playful demeanor, had moments when he looked at her with something softer in his eyes. He never asked for her help, but he always sought her out when the world around them felt too loud, too overwhelming. She was the one who held their group together, the one who kept the chaos at bay, even if she didn’t fully reveal her own secrets.

Baby, however, was the one who noticed her first. Baby, despite his youthful appearance, could sense things the others couldn’t. He noticed how you never looked at him like a child. Didn’t underestimate him the way others did. You saw him, and in doing so, gave him something the others never could: the feeling of being understood.

The prophecy that foretold five flames—five demon lords walking the Earth—had been true. But what it didn’t tell them was that their existence would disrupt everything. They were demons, but they were alive, walking, and hiding in a world that had no place for them. And even though she had kept them safe for now, the prophecy also spoke of her being part of their future, part of their salvation.

She wasn’t just their manager. She was the key to their survival.

Their connection to her went beyond mere circumstance. It was fate. And even though the boys didn’t realize it, they had been marked by destiny. She had been drawn to them, and they to her.

They needed her more than they knew.

Because without her, they were nothing more than lost demons, forgotten by the world they had tried so hard to fit into. And they would soon realize that the world wasn’t going to let them stay hidden for much longer.

Taglist: @poem-bee @gremlinartstudio @wantstoliveinfantasy

[madsxyins]

Not Subtle

pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

word count: 1.1k

warnings: none

synopsis: Paige caught being around u a little too much by fans from Dijonai’s live

anon req

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

“Okay, I’m going Live. Y’all are being funny and I feel like sharing the chaos.”

Nai props her phone up against a water bottle and hits the button, adjusting the angle until it catches a wide view of her kitchen and living room. There’s a half-eaten pizza on the counter, music playing low, and half the team either sitting on the couch or floating around the kitchen grabbing snacks.

“You know it’s a real off-day when nobody has real pants on,” Nai says, lifting her camera to scan the room.

“Speak for yourself,” Maddy says from the couch, raising a bag of pretzels like a toast. “These are my fancy sweats.”

“Okay, Target Couture,” Arike fires back, not looking up from her phone.

Nai zooms in on Arike’s face, then swings the camera around as Lou walks into the frame, sipping from a Solo cup.

“Lou, the people want to know — how many times has Arike beat you in Uno today?”

“Zero,” Lou says confidently. “She hasn’t touched a card since last time I reversed her into a draw four.”

“Don’t make me get the deck,” Arike warns, grinning.

Meanwhile, the comments are rolling in — lots of heart emojis, fans asking for room tours, people begging Nai to prank someone. But a new wave of comments starts trickling in.

@courtvisionbuckets: ummm not paige following HER around in the back 😭

@softbueckerszn: y’all see that?? she hasn’t moved more than 2 ft from that girl

@wingsarewinning: she’s literally trailing her like a shadow

@paigeandwhoshe: the grip she has is insane 💀

@sneakybutnotreally: i swear every time Nai turns the camera paige is just… right there

Nai’s mid-convo with Maddy when she pauses and looks down at the flood of comments.

“What are y’all talking ab—”

She flips her camera, looks toward the kitchen, and catches it for herself: Paige, casually leaning on the counter beside you, your shoulder brushing hers every few seconds as you both look at something on your phone.

A moment later, you move to throw away a napkin.

Paige follows.

You open the fridge. Paige grabs a water behind you like she’s helping.

You laugh at something she says. She grins down at you like it’s the only thing she needed to hear all night.

Nai blinks. “Hold on—wait a minute.”

She zooms slightly.

“Was Paige just—wait—has she been doing that this whole time?”

“Doing what?” Lou asks from the couch, craning her neck to see what Nai’s talking about.

Nai glances over. “She’s been tracking Y/n like a homing device.”

Arike looks up. “Oh yeah, she’s deep in it. Been doing that since y’all walked in.”

“Really?” you say from the kitchen, clueless but now mildly suspicious.

Paige just shrugs, sipping her water like nothing’s up. “I’m literally just existing.”

Maddy snorts. “Nah, you’re existing at a 1-inch radius.”

“You mad?” Paige fires back, smirking.

“Not mad,” Maddy says, “just impressed. I didn’t know you could orbit someone indoors.”

The Live comments are losing it.

@lightwork4her: this is PEAK golden retriever behavior

@okaywife: why is paige standing like she’s ready to defend her in a team huddle

@softsoftsoft: every time y/n moves, paige adjusts like she’s GPS synced

@naiwiththeassist: nai plsss go sit with them

Nai turns the camera to herself. “They want me to go sit with y’all and stir the pot.”

Arike, without looking up: “Do it.”

Maddy: “Absolutely do it.”

Lou :“Ask if they want matching bracelets.”

“I hate y’all,” Paige mumbles under her breath, cheeks a little red now.

You shake your head, amused. “You’re not exactly being subtle.”

“I’m not trying to be,” she says easily, like it’s a fact.

You freeze for a half second, surprised at how casually she says it — but your small smile gives you away. And Nai definitely catches that.

“Ohhh,” Nai says like she’s narrating a documentary. “‘I’m not trying to be.’ Okay, player.”

Then she grabs her phone and marches toward the two of you.

“We’re going live from the scene .”

Paige groans, still leaning against the counter.

“Say hi to the internet,” Nai tells you both, flipping the camera to frame you and Paige perfectly — her shoulder near yours, your bodies angled just close enough that anyone watching can feel the tension.

You give a small wave. Paige doesn’t move at first.

“Too cool to say hi?” Nai teases.

Paige finally looks into the camera, her expression relaxed. “Hey.”

That’s it.

But it’s enough.

@noliejustvibes: she said that like it was private

@notmecrying: THIS ISN’T EVEN A HARD LAUNCH THIS IS A WHOLE COMMERCIAL

@pbgonnamarryher: my whole chest hurts from that one word

@thebackgroundtellsall: y/n didn’t even flinch. like this is normal???

“You know what,” Nai says, pulling a barstool closer to sit next to you both, “I feel like y’all just soft-launched a relationship on my Live and now I’m complicit.”

You laugh. Paige shakes her head but doesn’t deny it.

Lou calls from the couch: “Get them matching hoodies next.”

“I’m begging y’all to stop,” Paige mutters, but she doesn’t move away from you. In fact, her hand grazes the back of your chair like she forgot it was being watched.

She didn’t.

Arike’s voice cuts through the room: “I give it three weeks before y’all get caught courtside at a Mavs game sharing popcorn.”

Nai leans into the camera. “Y’all heard it here first.”

The chat explodes.

And Paige?

She just bumps your shoulder and says under her breath, “Might be worth the popcorn.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶

author’s note: my bad for the late post anon😔 i forgot to post it lmao lowk shitty but i hope u guys enjoyed it! thanks for reading!!

[xyzcan]

yandere (s) x reader

- incest, yandere shit (stalking), dunno I forgot, raw and unfiltered shit cause I'm pissed off, so called 'different' reader cause it's y/n, cheating mentioned, angst ig, non-con, there's mention of say gex, heh I ruined their personalities to make it more fucked up :fire:

- I was honestly thinking of writing one for Scaramouche for @tnsophiaayaonly, but my phone started lagging, like WDYM Tumblr?! This is too long for you?! Ugh. I have to put it in a different part, and I also planned one for Albedo and Zhongli, but yeah, for now u get ts...:fire:

- you go give me what other character u wnat bru

Your brother’s fucking perfect. The kind of perfect that gets worshipped, adored, and obsessed over like he’s some kind of goddamn pop idol. Aether’s the golden boy—beautiful, glittering, with that annoying as hell smile that makes men fall head over heels and do the stupidest shit just to touch him. He’s delicate, lithe, graceful—a fucking twink—and somehow, that’s enough to make the world bend over for him. And you? You’re just the unlucky bastard stuck watching it all unfold, every damn day.

He’s the school’s wet dream and the neighborhood’s guilty pleasure, and while the girls fucking despise him—’cause he keeps stealing their boyfriends without even trying—you can’t bring yourself to care. You’re not jealous. Not even a little. You’ve never had a boyfriend for him to ruin, for one. No one looks at you the way they look at him. And maybe that used to sting, when you were younger. But now? Now it’s just... exhausting.

What really pisses you off though—what makes your blood boil—is having to see it all. Not just the attention or the simpering smiles. No, the real horror is walking into the kitchen and hearing the unmistakable sound of him getting fucked against the fridge by some lovesick bastard who probably thinks he’s in heaven. Or worse, trying to tiptoe through the hallway at night, only to hear moaning echoing through the thin-ass walls like some twisted porn soundtrack to your insomnia.

Your home—your fucking home—is supposed to be a sanctuary. A safe space. A goddamn Atlantis to drown out the world in silence and sleep. But instead? It's a brothel with walls made of paper, and you’re forced to knock on his bedroom door while he’s getting his ass wrecked again.

“Shut the fuck up! I need my sleep!” you shout through clenched teeth, knowing it won’t change a goddamn thing.

And sure, sometimes it’s funny. At least, it was the first few times, when you could pretend this was just a phase. But it’s not funny anymore. Not when it’s every day. Not when you’re lugging your blankets down the hallway in the middle of the night like a goddamn ghost, knocking on your sister’s soundproofed door with dead eyes and a broken sleep schedule.

- The worst part of all this isn’t even the moaning, or the fact that every day feels like you’re living in a never-ending porno where the plot never improves. No. What really pisses you off—what gets under your skin like a splinter you can’t dig out—is how Aether’s “charm” fucked up the only real bond he had: his relationship with Lumine.

They used to be inseparable. Twin language, twin touch, twin timing. Always in sync, always orbiting each other like stars that never strayed. And then he happened. That boyfriend. The one Lumine brought home with stars in her eyes and trust in her voice. And it should’ve been safe. Should’ve been sacred. But instead? That guy ended up balls deep in your brother.

And the worst part? Aether didn’t even want it. He never really gets a choice in that kind of thing. People see him, want him, take him. They don’t ask. They don’t slow down. They don’t care if he wants it. It's always been like that. He flinches like it's normal. And yeah, he feels guilty—he’s not heartless. He hated hurting Lumine. But what the hell was he supposed to do when the guy just... fucked him? When he’s never really been allowed to say “no” and have it matter?

Lumine gets it. At least, she tries to. She’s smart, and she’s gentle, and she loves Aether in a way that makes forgiveness inevitable. But it still hurts her. You see it in the way she stiffens when she hears that guy’s voice echoing from Aether’s room. In the way her hands shake just before she says “It’s fine, really, I understand.” You see it in her eyes—how they glass over and dim a little more every time she hears her ex still fucking her brother, like her pain was never enough to make it stop.

And you? You just watch it all fall apart and rebuild and fall apart again from the sidelines like some goddamn invisible extra. Because guess what? You don’t even *look* like them. Aether’s got that ethereal thing going on. Lumine's radiant, soft, like she stepped out of a goddamn fairytale. And then there’s you—the one no one ever suspects is related. The leftover kid. The ghost. You don’t shine, you don’t sparkle, you don’t walk into a room and change the temperature. You're just... there. Breathing in the secondhand smoke of their drama.

Sometimes you think it would’ve been easier if you weren’t part of this family. If you didn’t have to watch your brother get passed around like some kind of pretty little toy, or see your sister bite her tongue until it bleeds. If you weren’t the one stuck holding the pieces of two broken twins who can’t quite hate each other enough to stay apart or love each other enough to heal right.

And the fucked up part? You still love them. God, you do. Even when you slam your fists on Aether’s door and scream at him to shut the fuck up, even when you sit in silence next to Lumine while she pretends not to cry. You love them both, but really, you're tired.

That night, for once, you’d actually managed to sleep.

Not just doze off—actually sleep. The kind where your muscles stop clenching, where the world fades out and your brain doesn’t scream at you about the creaking bed frame down the hall or muffled gasps echoing through the vents. A rare fucking miracle. You were floating in that rare warmth, buried beneath your sister’s blankets, her soundproofed room finally giving you the illusion of peace. A quiet so deep it almost felt fake.

Until you heard the door creak.

You stirred, reluctant to surface, heavy with sleep. You wanted to pretend you didn’t hear it. Just another dream. Let it be a dream.

But the soft thud of feet on the carpet made your body tense.

You opened your eyes slowly. The room was bathed in soft moonlight, pouring through the half-closed curtains. Pale silver spilled across the floor, catching the curve of a shadow.

There was someone by the bed.

You froze. Your heart slammed against your ribs like it wanted out.

They took a step closer, and the light finally caught their face.

Aether.

You blinked at him, confused, the fog of sleep still clinging to your skull. He looked... strange. Not like the usual, smug, glossy version of himself. Not the adored, fucked-out fantasy boy everyone wanted. No makeup. No fake smile. Just Aether—tired, quiet, raw.

“What the hell are you doing?” you mumbled, voice rough and cracked from sleep.

He didn’t answer right away. Just stood there, staring at you like you weren’t real. Like maybe he wasn’t real. Like maybe the only thing anchoring him to this world was the sound of your voice.

“I couldn’t stay there,” he whispered. His voice was too soft, too fragile. Like a thread unraveling.

You sat up, the blanket falling from your shoulders. You could barely see his expression, but there was something off. Not just tired. Haunted.

You should’ve told him to get out. Told him to go crawl back into his mess and leave you the fuck alone. But you didn’t.

Because for once, he looked like he was the one barely hanging on.

“…He was still there?” you asked.

Aether nodded. “He wouldn’t stop.”

And fuck, you knew exactly what that meant. He didn’t say the words—he never does—but they hung in the air anyway. Heavy. Ugly. Familiar.

You sighed, shifting to make space on the bed without saying anything. He hesitated, then climbed in like he was ten years old again and the thunder outside had scared him. Like he just needed someone to keep the nightmares out.

You felt the mattress dip under his weight, his body trembling as he curled up beside you. Barely touching. Barely breathing.

You stared at the ceiling. The room was quiet except for the clock ticking and the occasional shaky breath from him.

“I hate this,” you muttered, more to the air than to him. “I fucking hate watching you get eaten alive like this.”

Aether didn’t respond right away. Then: “I hate it too.”

There was something broken in his voice. Something too real. No performance. No manipulation. Just a boy who’d forgotten how to be safe.

You closed your eyes again. “Try to sleep,” you said, almost bitterly. “Before he comes knocking again.”

Aether didn’t answer. But his breath slowly evened out. For the first time in forever, the silence didn’t feel heavy. Not as heavy as that feeling deep inside you.

Your eyes snap open like a goddamn alarm—sharp, wild, desperate for some kind of escape that isn’t coming.

There you are, pinned beneath him, utterly exposed. Your lower clothing scattered like forgotten scraps, a mess of fabric and shame.

He pushes your clothes aside without hesitation, slick fingers sliding against your skin like he owns every inch of you.

Then—he enters you.

A low moan escapes him, almost involuntary, like even he didn’t expect how much this would fucking hurt or mean.

“I’m sorry...” he murmurs, voice thick with something close to regret, but it’s tangled with something darker.

And then, as he thrusts his hips deeper, harder, filling you up in a way that leaves you breathless and trembling, he chokes out, “I’m really, really sorry...”

His breath is shallow, ragged—his movements uneven, frantic, sliding in and out like he’s trying to erase every line of control between you two.

You don’t hold back.

You yell.

You retort with everything you’ve got—sharp words, biting insults, curses that claw at the silence.

But before you can say more, his hand shoots up, fingers shoved deep and merciless into your mouth, silencing you instantly.

You bite. Hard. Teeth sinking into flesh you know too well.

He winces—a soft, gut-wrenching sound that cracks the brittle mask he’s been wearing.

Then comes the whimper.

The kind of sound that shatters something inside you, even as your body twists with pain and shame.

And then—he comes inside you.

Warm, undeniable, filling you in a way that makes your vision swim.

Your eyes water, tears spilling down your cheeks, mixing with the sweat and humiliation.

But he doesn’t stop.

He leans in and kisses those sobs away—soft lips against your skin, like a lie dressed as comfort.

“I’m so sorry... Really, I am,” he breathes, voice breaking, words repeating like a prayer to something neither of you believe.

He pushes deeper still, prolonging the torment, stretching out the moment before your release like it’s some twisted gift.

And then—he leans closer, warm breath ghosting over your lips, fingers finally sliding from your mouth.

Instinctively, you bite him—his tongue—sharp and unforgiving.

Instead of pulling away, he moans into the kiss, cheeks flushing a dark, fierce red.

You want to scream. To tell someone. To hit him, to fight, to rip this nightmare apart with your bare hands.

But you know it’s fucking useless.

Because you’re the only one who sees the truth.

To everyone else—the golden boy. The nice, submissive little gay twink who’s always been your brother.

He wouldn’t hurt you.

Hell, he wouldn’t ever fuck you.

So when you’re left with bruises no one sees, and scars no one hears, you keep it buried deep—locked behind a smile that feels more like a scream.

Because sometimes, surviving means pretending the knife doesn’t cut this deep.

- Xiao. The name alone twisted something ugly in your gut every single time you heard it. The ex-boyfriend of Lumine — the one who tore her apart and somehow managed to fuck Aether balls deep right after. No words can truly capture the blistering hate you feel for that guy. Even when he’s cold as ice, pushing everyone away with that stony, distant expression of his, you can feel the venom dripping from every glance he shoots around. Except, of course, when it comes to Aether — then he softens, lets his guard down in ways nobody else gets to see. And that’s what makes you hate him even more.

Because he’s a fucking cheater. A goddamn liar. And he’s one of the people who regularly uses your brother like a goddamn plaything, all the while shattering Lumine’s heart into a million pieces that you’re left picking up.

It’s a sick, twisted nightmare. And one day, you snapped.

You confronted him. Really confronted him. With fire in your chest and venom on your tongue, you cornered him in a hallway, your fists clenched tight, your voice trembling but sharp as a blade.

“How the fuck can you even look at yourself, huh? Cheating on Lumine, then using Aether like he’s some kind of fucktoy? You’re disgusting,” you spat, eyes burning with rage and raw hurt.

He didn’t say a word at first. Just stared at you, those cold eyes darkening, and suddenly the distance in his expression cracked. Before you could even brace yourself, he moved — fast and silent — and the next thing you know, you’re pinned to the damn floor, his weight pressing down on you.

His body was rigid but trembling. You could feel the undeniable heat of his arousal pressed hard against your thigh, and the sickest part was—he was embarrassed. He tried to hide it, his usual cold mask slipping just for a second, replaced by something raw, confused.

He can’t believe it. He can’t fucking believe he’s attracted to you.

Hell, the truth is, he’s been watching you. Long before Lumine and he were a thing, he noticed the way you shone. Not like the perfect blond twins who dazzled with their light and laughter. No. You shine differently—darker, quieter, with something that pulled him in like a goddamn moth to flame.

Maybe, just maybe, he even stalked you in his own twisted way.

And yeah, he tried to replace his fucked-up thoughts of you by going after your siblings. But that didn’t work. Not really. Not when the ghost of you lingered in the back of his mind, haunting every touch, every whispered word.

Now here he is, pinned against you, gritting his teeth, grumbling out a rough apology that sounds more like a growl.

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I... I’m sorry,” he mutters, voice low and ragged, like he’s trying to convince himself more than you.

You stare up at him, furious and confused all at once. What the fuck do you want from him? For him to admit he’s fucked up beyond repair? To hate him enough to burn the memory out of your mind? And what can you do about him?

What the fuck can you even do?

You're on the goddamn floor—cold, tile biting into your spine—right there in the middle of an empty hallway that smells like dust and silence and something rotten that no one ever bothers to clean.

And he's inside you.

Not just metaphorically. Not in some poetic, twisted way.

No—shoved deep inside you, your wrists pinned so tightly it burns, your fingers twitching with the urge to fight back, to scratch, to claw, to do something—but you can’t.

His weight cages you. His hips slam against yours like he’s chasing something only he understands, and you feel it. Every. Damn. Inch. Of him, like he’s trying to erase your insides and make you new, make you his.

And that fucking thought makes you sick.

Because this cock—this thing—that used to belong to your brother in the most disgusting way imaginable... it’s now inside you.

Stretching you open.

Filling you up until you're choking on the wrongness of it.

And still—you’re crying.

God, you're fucking crying.

Not from pain. Not entirely. Not even from fear, though it’s coiled in your gut like barbed wire.

You cry because nothing makes sense anymore. Because this shouldn’t be happening. Because somewhere between the heat and the horror, your body reacts like it’s alive for the first time, andthat betrayal makes your heart want to shatter.

You retort—something sharp, something bitter, maybe even something cruel—but your voice cracks halfway through, and all that comes out is a sob.

Pathetic. Raw. Real.

And he freezes.

Just for a second.

His forehead falls against yours. His breath hitches.

He whispers, “Fuck… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Again.

As if saying it more will undo the damage.

As if those soft, broken apologies can stitch together what he’s tearing apart with every thrust.

He kisses your cheek like that makes it better. Like he’s not desecrating what little innocence you had left.

“Shh... I didn't mean to—fuck—I just... I didn’t know what else to do,” he breathes, almost desperate, as if he’s the one being ruined.

And maybe that's the worst part.

That you can feel the guilt in him, buried under the hunger. You can feel how sorry he is.

But he doesn’t stop.

He’s still inside you.

Still fucking into you.

Still muttering, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” like a prayer or a curse, every word landing on your skin like acid.

You hate him.

You hate yourself.

And through it all—your trembling, your tears, the slick obscene sound of your bodies colliding—you wonder if this is what love is supposed to feel like when it’s drowned in rot.

You want to scream.

But you’re too full.

Of him. Of guilt. Of shame.

And he just keeps going.

Softly. Steadily. Like this is all he knows.

Like you were meant for this.

And you know, when it’s over, when he finally pulls out and leaves you there shaking on the floor, cold and empty and ruined,

he’ll say it one more time.

“I’m sorry.”

And you’ll want to believe it.

God help you—you will.

- You were never supposed to get involved.

Childe was Aether's problem. His boyfriend. The pretty boy plaything wrapped around that smug ginger’s finger like a ribbon soaked in heartbreak. You watched it unfold—slowly at first, like watching a glass teeter on the edge of a table, then suddenly all at once, the moment Aether stopped being his and became everyone’s.

It happened on one fucked-up day. One goddamn party. Aether, drunk, pretty, golden-eyed and too trusting for his own good, was passed around like some sick, twisted favor. People at school started whispering after that—no, not whispering. Laughing. Cruel snickers behind lockers. "Aether the school toy." Like his name was synonymous with being used. And Childe? The asshole let it happen.

He called it an “open relationship” afterward, like that label was supposed to dull the ache in Aether’s eyes. Like that word was enough to justify the silent crying at night when he thought no one could hear. But you heard. You were the one who held him after he curled up on the bathroom floor, trembling, breath ragged, smelling like liquor and regret.

And Childe? That ginger fuck would come over the next day, acting like nothing ever happened. Sometimes you'd come home and find him balls deep in Aether, rutting into him like a dog in heat, and every single time, something inside you just snapped. The rage was red and raw and choking. You wanted to punch him square in that smug fucking face. Kick him in the dick so hard he’d never dare get hard again. You wanted to choke the life out of him and scream, "Was it worth it? Was breaking him worth it, you sick bastard?"

Because Childe wasn’t just ruining Aether.

He was tearing everything down. Your home, your peace, your bond with your siblings—he was a wrecking ball dressed in designer clothes, all flirty grins and faux tenderness. You hated him. You despised him. That kind of loathing that seeps into your marrow and poisons you slowly.

And one day, it finally happened.

You snapped.

He had just finished "visiting" Aether—his shirt still open, skin flushed, a fucking bite mark on his neck like he was proud of it. And the way he smiled at you? Like this was all some casual arrangement, like Aether wasn’t lying on your bed crying three nights ago?

So you punched him.

Hard.

Knuckles cracked against bone. His head snapped to the side. Blood sprayed from his nose, and for a glorious second, you felt alive. Vindicated. His hand touched the mess on his face—and he laughed.

He fucking laughed.

Like you’d gifted him something precious. His tongue darted out, tasting the blood. And then he moaned. Moaned, like this was foreplay.

“What the fuck,” you spat, backing away.

“Damn,” he said through the blood, grinning like a perverse lunatic. “Didn’t know you had that in you. You wanna go again? Maybe step on me next time?”

Your stomach turned. Disgust rolled over your skin like oil. You had broken his nose, and he looked like you’d given him an orgasm.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you hissed, heart hammering. Your fists still shook.

He tilted his head, dazed and delighted. “You really hate me that much, huh?”

Yes. God, yes. You hated him so fucking much it made you sick. But what was worse—he liked it. He liked your hate. He thrived on it.

And that scared you more than anything.

Because now—now you realize you're nothing more than a joke to him. A beautiful, pathetic joke. No strength. No power. Just something to twist, to take, to play with until he’s satisfied.

And what hurts the most?

It's not just the fucked up way he holds you, how he pinned you so easily, your own damn shirt tying your wrists like you're some willing toy in his game.

It's not just the way his shirt is wrapped around your mouth, muffling every sound you make—your pleas, your broken breaths, your shameful moans.

No, what kills you is the way he looks at you while he does it.

The way his body moves against yours, deep and relentless, pushing into places that make your soul want to crawl out of your skin. Every thrust feels like punishment and reward, all at once.

And through it all, that fucking smirk on his lips—arrogant, cruel. Like he knows exactly what he's doing to you.

But then he kisses you.

Soft. Tender. Like he means it. Like this is love. Like you're something precious.

And that—God, that breaks you more than anything else.

Because if someone walked in on this—someone with no clue of the twisted backstory—they'd think it was romantic. They’d see the way his fingers trail down your cheek, the way he hushes your cries with cooing whispers, and they’d think, wow, what a loving couple.

But they don’t see you.

They don’t see the fucking tears slipping past your eyes, falling silently down your cheeks, pooling into the creases of his shirt.

They don’t hear the way your breath trembles beneath the cloth, the way your body flinches not from pain, but from the ache of knowing—he doesn’t really care. Not in the way you wanted. Not in the way you needed.

And he sees the tears. Of course he sees them.

He brushes them away with the pad of his thumb, gentle like a lie, and murmurs against your skin like it’s the most natural thing in the world:

“Shh… It’s okay, baby. Just a little longer, alright? I’ll cum soon.”

Like that’s supposed to make it better.

You want to scream. You want to fight. But your body betrays you. Your mind is a fog of pleasure and grief and this sickening warmth that blooms every time he touches you like you matter.

But you don’t.

You never did.

Is that fucked up?

Yeah.

But this whole thing is.

Does he care? No not really, I mean, c'mon, he's been playing this game since you guys were kids, you just had... To have more of a backbone than your siblings, which irritated him to no end that he ended up liking you more than he should. So now... Yeah.