#that is not more deep and complex. it's just lazy

[museofzia]

yes, you can

sadness and frustration over shifting never is acknowledged in my mind anymore because i'm at a state of such peace that i forget how absolutely unhealthy i was mentally over shifting just a bit ago. now that it's been 2 years since i began shifting im actually reconsidering so much of my journey and my mentality and how much patience and peace this whole journey has brought me.

shifting gets really frustrating whether or not you've shifted or minishifted, and it's obviously the very big temptation to quit or take long breaks or just completely blame yourself for everything. i don't like when people begin interpreting my mentality advice as "push it away and move on." i don't want people to neglect their feelings but i don't want them diving too deep into a losing game either. balancing the understanding that shifting is completely available to you alongside the understanding that there's inevitable stress to this journey begins to allow you to open your soul to consistency and emotion. emotion is natural and there's no such thing as being "unnaturally" stressed. don't set expectations for a mind so complex! the simplicity of shifting includes understanding the possibilities of your mind, awareness, and surroundings. villainizing all of these things will not help you expand your territory, it will only make you sad. there is no point in feeling shame, laziness, or any kind of lingering bother from the things you haven't yet achieved, because if you cannot achieve it at all, how is it so available for so many people to attempt? how is there so many resources and stories to go off of? if you truly were the one person in the world who is completely unable to reality shift, ask yourself what the science behind that is. because unlike that, reality shifting has evidence. reality shifting has proof of unlimited ability. you are not formed to be isolated. you were not made for a life you are unable to live. be content with your progress and the growing of it. stop dwelling on your present and begin looking through your future, it's only when you're working that you should prioritize the second circle of presence and awareness. realizing that you've evolved from your past into your present opens your pathway to your fortune. in the end of the day, every celebration is a celebration of a new day, and a new day is still a step forward from the past. each second that passes is anew, and time is just as easy to evolve as yourself.

but with shifting, there's no external property that will push you any more than how you're meant to push yourself! you don't have to find every extraordinary resource in order to feel content with your knowledge, because your body and mind are a gallery. there is no point in limiting your own identity and villainizing imagination! every fantasy is rooted from a possibility of life. dragons are still alive, fairies are still alive, and beasts are still alive. every quality of life still breathes, even if it isn't our air.

to think from a realistic standpoint is to assume this reality's way is the only way. there is so much more you can experience! you were put in this reality to explore, just as you discovered other realities to explore as well. the opposite of infinity is zero!! and to have some progress is closer to infinity than to zero.

[doodler16]

I was being serious last time about how masochistic yall are about loona, Val and stolas! Stolas isn't perfect but we all know he hasbeen trying! Stolas has been there for vi from the start of the first episode we see them in. Thy bond in the first episode we see too and we can sense their love. We see them at loo loo land hanging out while vias still mad at Stella for being a pos. The real reason why she was upset was not because of stolas bur because of Stella and we see that play put in the second ep. We see her frustration towards her mother. But deep down hides it for the most part and pretends to be mad at stolas. In the series we see them struggle because of Stella who created a broken home for via and ruined stolass life. We know that via is hurting and she eventually snaps at stolas even though he was the only good thing to come out of her life. He was there when she was a chick. He was there in her teen years and as an egg, he was there as an older teen nearing adulthood around the corner. We know via loves stolas but it's Stella's fault for blinding her into mistakenly hating her father stolas. I liked when loona gave via advice. Loona was never abusive? Exactly when and where? and how? Huh? What? Where is that proof you crirics seem to have? She struggles sure but she doesn't mean it or its just jokes oure and simple. I dont know why sooo many people say that it was a terrible god awful message about stolas trying. Is that not the truth? Loona is the voice of reason and the one who knows about stolas and vias life. 8 dont think she got sidelined personally i think Viv is just cooking up an arc behind the scenes in the series. But anyway she knows stolas, Based on the fact she knows WHO? BLITZ !!! Youd know this if you went back and watched the show. She knows stolas and everything about him through her dad. She is good to her dad and i liked to see her written the way she was because we see her feel for via and stolas. You should know this??? Loona is the brian griffin of the show I don't give af what anyone says and blitzo is the stewie of the show. Honestly go ahead and prove me wrong on that particular part of family guy. Bet you dont have much of an argument. It makes sense in their dynamic to be written like the griffins and strongly bonded relationship arcs. I like that Vivziepop wrote these arcs because of the fact she wanted to tell a complicated and complex story and we all love that about her. She is a creative genius who took inspiration from south park, family guy and bojack horsemen and all of this powerful artist writing and talent went into the show with its beautiful directing. She is my idol and had been from the start. It broke my heart to see that moment and heartwrenching scene where she let go and went straight to her abusers Andre and Stella. And she walks away while stolas breaks down and cries for her in the most meaningful way possible. You'd know all this information if you juat gave Vivziepop a chance and watched both seasons all over again. But I guess thats too much for you and that laziness ain't going to get you anywhere on life. Honestly you should watch it again. Skip hazbin hotel until I get to Val but man is that a Lot of information you just either forgot or just probably missed out on. Valentino is a pimp and he's meant to be a lovable adorable kind of pimp that's funny asf. His voice direction is fantastic. He knows how to deliver lines like a true villain of the darkness. He's masculine but more feminine like a gay man of the night. While he does hit Valentino ita angel who went to Val. Or Val found him. I can't say for certain you'd just have to watch the show God Damnit! We see in the addict video that he is sinister and should be taken seriously as a threat in hell as an overlord. He's supposed to be ruthless in who he is. But he gets cut slack because he can be sympathetic or nice to people around him. I mean look at his relationship with the vees. He gets along with them just fine and is one of the main vessels to the vees entire existence.

Rage-bait Anon, is that you? 😫 You actually made a response. Jokes aside, I’m glad you said more stuff because this I can work with. I’m going to divide your arguments into character sections to make things easier.

Stolas:

- Octavia wasn’t mad at Stella, she was mad at Stolas. In “Loo loo Land” Stolas is the one consistently getting called out by Octavia for ruining their home life. They had an entire conversation about it near the end of the episode.

- “I dont know why sooo many people say that it was a terrible god awful message about Stolas trying.” Because he doesn’t actually put in the effort to be there for Octavia or change. He practically forgets her. In “Seeing Stars” Stolas was more busy with his side adventure with Blitzø and flirting with him. It’s also funny because Stolas could’ve called Octavia or used said tracker on his phone to look for Octavia.

- If he was actually trying to be a better father figure, Stolas would actually acknowledge that he is the problem and make sweeping changes to avoid the same problem from happening.

- “Loo Loo Land” and “Seeing Stars” are practically the same episodes regarding Stolas/Octavia’s conflict with a different code of paint. How many times will Stolas learn not to repeat his mistakes and actually be there for his daughter? How many chances do we the audience and Octavia have to give Stolas for him to learn anything.

- Octavia was right for cutting him off. Actions have consequences and Stolas needs to realize that. Along with making sweeping changes regarding his behavior in general. Stella and Andrealphus in their own ways suck as guardians because of how neglectful they are. And, I hope she ditches them both and moves out.

Loona

- Loona was abusive in “Seeing Stars.” In 2:35, Loona throws knifes and daggers at Blitzø. Blitzø is consistently running away from Loona as she is chasing him with inanimate objects like the water cooler and successfully threw it at his face (which obviously hurts him as he tears up).

- In 2:44, Loona tackles Blitzø, hitting him repeatedly with a painting. He successfully escapes and hides behind the couch where Millie and Moxxie are sitting, this is abuse. At the end of the episode, she kicks Blitzø in the balls for no reason even after she makes a speech about how much dads are trying their best.

- Imagine if Blitzø was doing this to his own daughter. Would you still think this is a joke? “Loona is the voice of reason and the one who knows about stolas and vias life.” Loona doesn’t know the full story about Stolas and Octavia’s life otherwise she would’ve said more. Loona doesn’t know that Stolas was in an arranged marriage, she doesn’t know that Stella is physically abusive towards Stolas, etc.

- All Loona knows is that Stolas and his grimoire was their only source to the human world in season 1. In season 2, Loona literally referred to Stolas as a “meal ticket.” 🤣 You would think if Loona knew more about Stolas she wouldn’t refer to him as a “meal ticket.”

- “I think Viv is cooking up an arc behind the scenes.” I hope so, we are going to be on season 3 and we haven’t gotten much Loona content. Once season 3 and 4 of Helluva Boss is done I’ll gladly rewatch the show and take notes.

Valentino:

- If Valentino was a normal, average goofy run of the mill villain where the audience is not supposed to take seriously then I would get it. But the problem is that Valentino is a rapist personified. Him being charming and charismatic is one thing but being goofy and quirky is very tone deaf on Vivziepop and the writers’ side.

- Just because Angel Dust allegedly went to him doesn’t give Valentino the right to physically abuse or rape him. At the moment we don’t know how Valentino and Angel Dust even met in the first place, we only know that Angel Dust is a slave to Valentino. Either way, when their origin story comes out we can argue about that another day.

- I do get the appeal with Valentino’s voice. Joel Perez is a talented actor and singer, he does the best work he can with the goofy lines given to him. Luckily, I’m not picky so I immediately got used to his voice. I personally prefer Paranoid DJ as Valentino but at the end of the day it’s a personal preference/opinion.

- “But he gets cut slack because he can be sympathetic or nice to people around him.” 😭 There is so much wrong with this sentence. A rapist should never be portrayed as sympathetic or misunderstood. Also Valentino 99% of the time isn’t nice. He throws a tantrum mostly everywhere he goes including to Vox in episode 2.

Vivziepop:

“She is a creative genius who took inspiration from south park, family guy and bojack horsemen and all of this powerful artist writing and talent went into the show with its beautiful directing. She is my idol and had been from the start.” Vivziepop is absolutely a creative person. Oh, she’s your idol. Neat!

Bonus:

I assume this is you? I could be mistaken, if not I apologize in advance. Otherwise, here’s my response do whatever you want with it Anon.

[idiosyncraticrednebula]

Idk why Tumblr thinks that couples that have absolutely everything in common means that they have "more depth" and are "more well-rounded" than couples that are not.

[plaguedarts]

THE DOODLVERSE!

So this is basically just a collection of my personal designs/headcanons for the digital circus main cast :]

+ More headcanon info under Read More & a little life update at the end!

Okay headcanon info dump lets go!!!

Pomni: The circus's newest and squeakiest jester. She's incredibly good with numbers because her special interest is math. She's been diagnosed with Autism since she was young, but pursued an ADHD diagnosis as an adult. (Headcanon based on @bluepandadraws-log's comics). She's pansexual but doesn't really like to tell people about it unless they're close. Her tail seems to move of its own accord, and Pomni has very little control of it.

Ragatha: A dolly that's a lot tougher than she looks, with a complex for taking care of everybody except herself. Ragatha has many unaddressed "issues" that make her see herself as damaged and too far gone to be saved. She's never sought a diagnosis or therapy for any of it while she was still in the real world, so she isn't even aware that she shows symptoms of OCD. (Headcanon based on ‪@fridgevespidae comics). She's adapted to life at the circus but is by no means comfortable in it. Jax and Ragatha dated in the early days, but Ragatha wasn't all that attached to the relationship. She cared about Jax and still cares about him, but she just didn't LOVE him. She still isn't really sure if she likes guys, but liking girls is something she isn't ready to address yet.

Jax: A rabbitoid who entertains himself by any means possible (usually involving cartoonish violence). Despite how jerky he can be, deep down he cares about everyone else in the circus, especially Ragatha in particular. He's still not over his feelings for her even after all this time, and he's not sure how to cope with them. He's not sure how to cope with most things really. He definitely projects his own insecurities onto people, and he's got a fear of being alone with his thoughts. Can't be with people, can't be alone.

Kinger: The eldest of the group, a king piece who's largely lost his mind. He walks around with a hunch, yet his character model is still the tallest! He has a pet caterpillar toy named "Bug," and it's always crawling around somewhere on him. He may not always be of sound mind, but he only means well.

Gangle: A sweetheart with a mask as fragile as her feelings. Gangle remembers the anime shows she grew up watching more than her own life. She knew very early on that she was different from most people, and thought she had herself mostly figured out until she started questioning her gender identity and sexuality, not to mention being diagnosed with autism as an adult. She likes the label "pansexual," but still doesn't have a solid answer on her gender. For now, they call themselves a "demigirl." Zooble and Gangle are greatly able to relate to each other's struggles, making their bond even stronger. Gangle also has full control over her ribbon tail, often using it as a second appendage.

Zooble: Our local amalgamation of parts that really really doesn't want to be here! Zooble has tried to make the best out of their new body, but can't still can't find something that just feels like THEM. Though certain parts like the fox tail and cat leg seem to put them a bit more at ease. Without Gangle, they might have already gone insane. She's the only one that Zooble truly trusts. (Zooble is also in love with Gangle but in complete denial over it).

Okay now for the life update!

Soooooo I've been gone for quite a bit, and some of you might be curious as to why. I'm still alive as I can be, rest assured. I was just busy focusing on college since this was my final semester leading up to my graduation! It sucked and it burnt me out but I MADE IT!!!

I'm taking these next couple weeks to be lazy, but now I can focus a lot more on my art and stuff!

If you read this far give me a "🐛" because bugs are cool

[eclipixels]

Clichés

Sae Itoshi x Reader

Content: You and Sae are watching one of those cliché romance TV shows, and he can’t help but cringe.

[1,600 words]

      You should’ve known better than to let Sae sit through one of your guilty pleasure romance dramas.

      It started with him lounging on the couch, scrolling through his phone while you curled up beside him, eyes glued to the TV. He never really cared about these shows; he’d always brush them off as overly dramatic and predictable. But tonight, for some reason, he hadn’t moved. His fingers had stopped their lazy scrolling, his sharp gaze fixated on the screen, eyebrows furrowed.

      You tried to ignore it, but every once in a while, you’d hear him scoff or mutter something under his breath.

      “Why is she running away from him? Just talk like a normal person.”

      You rolled your eyes. “It’s called tension, Sae.”

      “It’s called unnecessary drama,” he shot back, his voice laced with disbelief.

      The episode played on, and his reactions only grew more dramatic than the show itself. You were deep into Love Island, the latest reality drama unfolding as the new couple tried to navigate their sizzling chemistry while another islander plotted to steal one of them away. When the male islander grabbed the female islander’s wrist, spinning her around for a forced confession, Sae let out a noise of pure disdain.

      “Ugh.” He ran a hand down his face, looking absolutely exhausted. “If I ever did that to you, you’d probably kill me.”

      “You’re right,” you deadpanned.

      He gave you a knowing look, clearly proud of himself for being so observant. But his horror didn’t end there. When the dramatic love triangle reached its peak, and the female islander started crying over her two potential lovers, Sae turned to you with a serious expression, clearly trying to make sense of the mess unfolding on the screen.

      “Are we supposed to feel bad for her?” he asked, like he was solving a complex puzzle.

      “Yes, Sae,” you groaned, nudging him with your elbow. “She’s torn between them.”

      “She’s also an idiot,” he said flatly. “Imagine having the perfect guy and still being confused.”

      You snorted, trying to suppress the laugh that bubbled up. “It’s not that simple. People have feelings, you know.”

      “I don’t know,” Sae muttered, eyes narrowed as he watched the drama unfold. “Seems like they’re just making bad decisions for the sake of ratings.”

      You rolled your eyes again, leaning back on the couch and crossing your arms. “You’re such a cynic.”

      He shot you a look that said, this is a disaster, but continued watching. As another islander tried to make a dramatic declaration of love while standing on a balcony, Sae groaned loudly, rubbing his temples.

      “Honestly, these people need to get a grip. Who says things like that?”

      “You sound kinda invested,” you teased, grinning up at him.

      His brows twitched, and he looked away, clearly caught off guard. “I’m not,” he muttered, his voice low as he attempted to hide his growing interest.

      You hummed in amusement, the playful glint in your eyes betraying your knowledge of the truth. You didn’t press the point further, though, knowing full well that Sae had gotten pulled into the drama. Instead, you turned your attention back to the screen, where the mess of emotions unfolding on Love Island continued to escalate.

      "That's just no way to treat a lady," Sae sighed, clearly fed up with the nonsense coming from the guys on the island.

      "Oh, really? What's your idea of proper?" You raised an eyebrow.

      "Well, for one, I believe the guy should pay for the first date if they decide to eat out. None of this fifty-fifty crap. Don't bring that European nonsense into this ethnic household. Guys today don't put in the effort anymore. They think they can stop doing all that once they've got the girl. And what's with these 'situationships'? They make no sense."

      "Sae, we were in a situationship," you said.

      "What? No, we weren't."

     "We had a talking stage for like four months and then you just started telling people I was your girlfriend."

      Sae’s face turned pink, matching his hair.

      "What?"

      "I thought we were together from the first date," he muttered, his voice almost a whisper.

      "Really?"

      "Yes!" Sae nearly shouted, covering his face with his hands in embarrassment.

      "That's adorable," you teased.

      "No, that's embarrassing."

      "We're together now," you reassured him, trying to ease his discomfort, but he stayed silent. After a long pause, he peeked up at the TV screen again, still red-faced.

      he male islander drenched in rain dramatically kissing the female islander as the storm raged around them, Sae looked like he had physically aged from the stress of witnessing it. His fingers tightened slightly around the armrest of the couch, his expression a mixture of disbelief and disdain.

      “Who actually does that?” he muttered, shaking his head in disgust. “That’s how you get sick.”

      You grinned, a spark of amusement lighting up your face. “It’s romantic.”

      “Romantic?” Sae echoed, his voice rising slightly as if the very idea offended him. “It’s stupid. Who’s actually gonna kiss someone in the middle of a torrential downpour like that? What happened to common sense?”

      You raised an eyebrow. “You’re just mad because you’ve never done it.”

      Sae scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not mad, I’m just realistic. You don’t kiss someone in the rain, you take them inside and offer them a towel, then maybe a hot drink after they’re done drying off.” He gave you a pointed look. “And if it was you, I’d have you wrapped in blankets, not standing out there in the freezing cold.”

      You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re no fun.”

      Sae’s frown deepened as he continued to watch the rain-soaked drama play out. He shifted on the couch, visibly uncomfortable with the way the scene unfolded. The intense music swelled in the background, making the kiss seem even more important than it probably was. You couldn’t help but enjoy the way Sae’s discomfort was so obvious, especially since he’d spent the last few weeks teasing you for watching these shows.

      "Are you sure this is supposed to be a romance?" he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because to me, it feels more like a horror show."

      You snickered at his reaction, but couldn't deny the accuracy of his point. The male islander’s actions were intense, almost suffocating at times, and his possessiveness was borderline unsettling. But to you, it was all part of the fun. The over-the-top emotions, the drama-filled relationships—it was an escape from the mundane.

      His face twisted some more as the plot thickened and the your favorite female character behaved in even stranger, more obsessive ways. Sae shifted again, running a hand through his hair in frustration, clearly disturbed by what he was witnessing. The tension between the two islanders, paired with the high-stakes drama, was something he clearly didn’t understand, and you could tell that he was struggling to make sense of it all.

      "Hey, it's scripted for a reason," you countered, a small laugh escaping you. You tried to brush off his concern, knowing full well that he’d never fully appreciate the kind of drama you enjoyed.

      Sae narrowed his eyes at the screen, then glanced back at you with a half-smile, clearly unconvinced. “You say that, but I swear, I actually know a guy like this in real life on Re Al.”

      You tilted your head in curiosity. “Really?”

      Sae nodded, leaning back into the couch, a slight shudder running through him as if just mentioning this person triggered a deep sense of discomfort. “Yeah. You should see him whenever our team goes out for drinks—he is beyond weird. No sense of boundaries, no idea how to read a room.”

      “Oh my god,” you gasped, your eyes widening as you pictured the awkwardness. "What did he do?"

      “The most bizarre things,” Sae continued, a bitter edge creeping into his voice as the memory clearly rattled him. “Like, one time, he tried to ‘confess his feelings’ in the middle of a bar with all of us watching. Didn’t even try to make it subtle, just straight-up told this girl he loved her after talking to her for, like, five minutes. I swear, he’d be perfect for one of these shows.”

      You stared at him in disbelief, equal parts horrified and intrigued by the story.

      "Thank god our relationship isn’t anything like that." He gestured towards the screen. “This whole thing is just… so far off from anything real. I can’t imagine this show yielding a happy relationship."

      You leaned back into the couch, propping your feet up next to him as the characters on-screen faced yet another heart-wrenching dilemma. The drama was escalating by the minute—misunderstandings, love triangles, betrayals. It was the perfect storm of emotions, and for once, Sae seemed to be paying attention.

      A beat passed, and you could feel his tension ease, though his frustration hadn’t completely faded. He let out a long sigh, sinking deeper into the cushions. His fingers, warm and absentminded, found the hem of your sleeve and began to idly toy with it, a quiet gesture of comfort in the middle of the chaotic drama.

      “I don’t think I could handle the constant stress these people go through,” You admitted softly, almost to yourself.

      “It’s exhausting watching them make such stupid decisions all the time.”

      “Yeah, I agree. I like our relationship better.” You smiled softly, poking his face with your index finger before leaning in for a proper kiss.

      Sae met your eyes, and his expression was calm. "Yeah," he said softly, with a small but genuine smile, returning your kiss.

[suhlogic]

cold sweat [kim mingyu x fem!oc]

warnings: fwb, sexual tension, size kink, creampie, manhandling, daddy kink, overstimulation, mingyu is really touchy, dom!mingyu, sub!reader, fingering, unprotected sex , porn with little plot , body worship, pussy-eating, car sex , a bit of a self-indulgent fic

you and mingyu have been friends since your senior year of high school. the two of you were as thick as thieves, it didn’t matter if there was the risk of being separated in college— you two would always find each other during holidays and summer breaks in your hometown. but there was just one problem: you were falling hard and fast for the one and only kim mingyu. your mingyu who’s six feet and two inches tall of pure happiness and sweet disposition, the one who’d drop everything for you whenever you’re down, the person who was always cheering you on, and not to mention how handsome he is with his tan skin and prominently defined arms with his toned back as wide as the pacific ocean and those toned abs— but god, his smile and his contagious laugh that you could just constantly put on repeat no matter what time of day it is has you secretly pining away for your best friend. 

being physically intimate with him was not an uncharted territory  for the two of you, it just sort of happened one time when he came home drunk to your place and stumbled on your bed falling into a deep slumber as he cuddled you close in his hazy state. but you two never really brought up that night ever again, it did not matter if you two were sober or not, one of you would always offer cuddles and maybe a few stolen kisses in between especially when the both of you were stressed over schoolwork. it didn’t take that long for you to notice that mingyu was initiating them more often but repressed the thought that he could actually like you because you were just silly old you— always the best friend, never the girlfriend. but, little did you know, he fell first for you. of course he’d never admit that for the sake of protecting the friendship.

[10:00PM]

it was already late at night and you couldn’t stop tossing and turning in your bed so you decided to get up and shower to get ready for the 24/7 gym just near your apartment complex. after getting your things prepared, you decided to ring up mingyu to join you on your workout—or as he calls it, “gymscapade” for when you both get so stressed you need to work out a sweat. he picks up after two rings, voice clearly woken up from a deep slumber. “hey, what’s up?” he replies, “would you wanna go workout with me right now?” you ask, hoping he’s not too lazy in the confines of his bed on the other line.  “yeah, just let me get ready in a bit. call you soon when i’m there.” he says with a yawn. “okay, just meet me at the gym near my place just so i can get a good warmup.” you say as the both of you exchange your goodbyes. 

you make it to the gym not long after and decided to unzip your jacket halfway through your warmup. you were actually the only one in the gym since it was already quite late. while working up a sweat on the lat pulldown machine, you saw mingyu from the corner of your eye entering wearing  grey sweatpants and a compression tank top. he starts to warm up for a bit as you went to where he was, “what are you going to do today?” he asked, stretching out his arms. “i’ll just do a few upper and lower body workouts, maybe squeeze in some lifting too,” you say, as you take a sip from your water bottle. it never really struck you how handsome mingyu was until as of late, it just wasn’t in the books for the two of you to actually get together or even fuck at the very least but knowing how tiny and short you were compared to his huge, tall frame made you run a bit hot and wet down there. 

“care to spot me while i do bench presses?” he says as he takes off the dumbbells from the racks. you could barely lift what he pressed, it’s almost all-consuming seeing mingyu lay on the bench while you looked down at him as he lifted and praising him every time he’d do it. this position was not good for your health, all you could ever think about was him eating you out whenever he would moan out of exertion. you still had a few sets on the lat pulldown machine to go and asked him to spot you, to help you with your form since he was going to the gym longer than you have been. 

mingyu couldn’t stop looking at you. your hair up in a messy ponytail, wearing a cute workout set with just a pastel pink sports bra with tight-fitting compression shorts of the same color. you were so oblivious yet fucking obvious about how bad you wanted your friend to fuck you and he saw right through it. the way your skin would suddenly feel warm under his touch or how you’d hide the hitches in your breath whenever he was too close to you while he observes your workouts. as you were doing your set, he was behind you closing the gap between you two as he made sure you were feeling the burn in all the targeted muscles. as he lowered down to your level on the seat, your back brushed against his crotch and felt something huge and hard. “good girl, just one more and you’re done.” he whispered lowly in your ear as you exhaled when you let go of the bar in an upwards motion. 

as the two of you were helping each other finish workouts, he couldn’t help but gaze into your eyes with a hidden intent and leaned in for a kiss which made you set your dumbbells down on the floor with a loud thud booming through the room. it took you aback and you pulled away from the kiss, mingyu was shocked at your action and stared at you with wide eyes. “i’m sorry i couldn’t help it ever since that night i never stopped thinking about you.” he says, as you pulled him in closer and kissed him harder as your tongues became entangled. “jump,” he whispers as he starts to carry you. fuck, it was really hot seeing him take the lead and it made you weaker for him than ever before. he puts you down before you could even leave hickeys on his neck, “y/n, i’m not going to fuck you here, let me be a gentleman and take you back to my place,” he says with a mischievous smile, lips red and swollen from the steamy makeup session. 

both of you grabbed your things and went inside his car, the tension was hot and heavy as his hand were rubbing your thigh further riling you up while he drove through the quiet streets of the city with you weak and submissive under his touch.    it was something that set your insides on fire— seeing mingyu’s hand veins pop out from gripping the steering wheel hard resisting himself from pulling over and fucking you in the nearest empty parking lot he could find. as soon as the stoplight turned red, he looked over at you with a menacing smirk. “god, you just look so pretty and desperate for me, huh?”

you couldn’t help but be more turned on as you felt your core get wetter just because of his words and before you knew it, he was taking off your seatbelt for you and leaning in for a desperate kiss with his tongue exploring your mouth as if he had been waiting for this moment. “go in the backseat, now” he said in between breaths while still cupping your face, his usual kind and bright eyes, now filled with lust and a dominating gaze desperately telling you how bad he wanted this. as you made your way into the back, he followed suit and did not waste time taking off your bra showing off your huge boobs, its buds already hardened from the cold air. he smirked as you whined at how he took your nipples between his fingers and played with them, mingyu then sat you on his lap and felt his manhood through his sweatpants as you were just only left in your tight shorts that were clearly thin. “princess, you look so pretty like this. all naked and wet for daddy, huh?” he whispered as you began to grind your clothed pussy on his hard dick, just more wanting more from him. craving mingyu like he was the kind of drug you needed, so intoxicating yet so worth the risk. 

with lust-filled eyes, mingyu looked up at you and pulled you in for a rough kiss, tongues tied with one another. as he pulled away once more, he started to leave love bites all over your neck and chest not giving a fuck who sees it— all he knows is that you're his by day's end. his rough hands began to roam your body and unclasped your bra skillfully letting your huge tits be free. his mouth immediately latched onto your tit while his fingers began to rub the nipple in between the other one.

"fuck, daddy please i wanna feel you inside," you moaned. he just smirked as he began to flip you onto the backseat so he'd be on top of you. "patience, angel, good girls get to cum." he whispers through gritted teeth, grinding his hard cock on your pussy, still clothed yet the thong you wore hardly doing anything to cover the wetness. as mingyu goes down on you to take off your underwear, he leaves kisses on your stomach and hips, "god, you look so gorgeous fucked out for me, why didn't we fuck sooner?" he moans in between kisses. he inserts two of his fingers inside your dripping pussy, "so fucking tight for me, yeah, can't wait for my dick to be inside hm?"  he says as you could  just lose all sense of rationality with how good he is with his fingers. he then lowers his head down in between your thighs and eats you out, licking your clit as if he's a starved man. 

"daddy, please i'm so fucking close," you whine, tears of pleasure filling your eyes. mingyu proceeds to insert three of his fingers and fucked you faster with it, his long and thick digits began to curl inside, "you like being a slut for me yeah? who fucking owns you?" he moans, "you daddy, please.. gyu.. .more," you say as he coaxes you into your first orgasm. he takes out his fingers, your cum coating his fingers as he proudly licks and sucks them off with pride with a devilish smirk. "you taste so sweet, angel... " he says as you begin to claw at the waistband of his  sweatpants, desperate to feel his dick inside you. he smirks at how helpless you look and removes his bottoms along with his boxers, his hard, long dick standing in its full glory slapping against his chiseled abs,  as its girth makes you wonder how it could fit inside of you.

"will it fit, gyu?" you ask in a small voice. "oh, we'll make it fit, princess, i've prepped you enough yeah?" he begins to jack off his dick preparing to put it inside. "fuck, you look so small for me, all for me..so pretty spread out like this," he moans as he teases the tip of his dick in between your folds and slowly thrusts it inside of you. "fuck...my god gyu so fucking good, please...move," you whine as he begins to slowly move inside of you taking his sweet time to be inside of you. god knows how fucking long he waited to have you like this, you just looked so angelic and slutty under him, it took everything in him to not fill you to the brim with his cum right there. his hands tightly gripped your waist as he pounded into you faster, feeling how big he is inside, hitting the tip of your cervix. you put your arms around the nape of his neck as you pull him in for a passionate kiss, hands roaming around his toned upper back leaving scratches on it as your nails dig into its broad surface. 

you feel his thrusts get faster and deeper as he began to rub your clit helping you to also reach your second orgasm, "i'm fucking close baby, " he moans as his thrusts get sloppier. "cum..inside..me..it's okay,'m on the pill daddy"you whine out as you two feel each other's release, his cum mixed with yours dripping down your thighs. mingyu pulled out as he reached into the glovebox compartment for a box of tissue helping you clean up. "fuck...what just happened?" he asks, giggling. "we fucked," you laugh as he pulls you closer to him in the tight space with the steam-filled windows from the sex earlier. "so...i like you..a fucking lot," he starts as he begins to intertwine his fingers with yours and kisses your forehead, "yeah, i do too gyu," you smile as you pull him in closer for another kiss, this time full of love and gentleness. "let's go home and finish what we started, yeah?" he says while you two begin to get dressed up and drive back to his place for the night. 

[winwintea]

my funny valentine

PAIRING ↬ best friend!lee donghyuck x fem!reader

TAGS ↬ thriller, horror, suspense, romance, crack, tooth fairy haechan, <- trust me that'll make sense, they play detectives, stalker au, valentines au, flirty jaemin, songwriter and poet mark lee, painter renjun, they all kinda down bad for y/n a little though

WARNINGS  ↬ teeth. and it's gross. also stalkers !!

SUMMARY ↬ for valentines day all you wanted to do was chill with your best friend. unfortunately for you, there's a little someone claiming to be your secret admirer bringing you cryptic valentine's day gifts. you brush it off until the gifts start getting more and more sinister. can you and haechan solve this mystery before it's too late? (and can he confess some of his own feelings to you while he's at it?)

WORD COUNT ↬ 4.8k words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ↬ while this may not be a FUNNY fic, it’s very heavily inspired by MISAMO’s “Funny Valentine” so please go check that song out and give it some love <33

PLAYLIST ↬ the wolf - siames; stalker’s tango - autoheart; bust your knee caps - pomplamoose; smoke and mirrors - jayn; tag, you’re it - melanie martinez; funny valentine - misamo

The air outside is crisp, a reminder that winter hasn’t fully let go, despite the pink and red decorations plastered across storefronts. Valentine’s Day is a week away, and yet, as you step out of your apartment, the holiday is the furthest thing from your mind.

Until you nearly trip over something at your doorstep.

A single red rose rests against the welcome mat, its petals velvety and deep, almost too perfect to be real. A small, cream-colored card, tied around with a black ribbon sits at the center.

You bend down, fingers brushing over the card as you flip it open.

“You don’t see me for who I am, but I see you.”

A strange shiver trails down your spine.

You glance around the hallway of your apartment complex. The usual dull lighting flickers slightly, and the air is still. No sounds of footsteps, no hushed whispers from neighbors. Just silence.

A prank? A weird marketing gimmick? Maybe even a mistaken delivery? You don’t have a secret admirer. Or at least, not one you know of.

Still, you tuck the note into your pocket and step back inside, leaving the rose on the counter as you grab your phone. Without thinking, you call the one person who would get a kick out of this.

The line barely rings before Haechan picks up.

"Yo, what’s up?" His voice is warm, laced with the lazy charm that makes it impossible to tell whether he's just woken up or has been up scheming since dawn.

“You’ll never guess what I just found at my door.”

“You finally got that Amazon package you forgot you ordered?”

“No, you idiot.” You roll your eyes, staring at the rose. “A gift. A creepy one.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, Haechan’s intrigued hum. “Creepy, huh? You have my attention. Spill.”

You quickly relay the details—the rose, the note, the unsettling feeling gnawing at your gut. You half-expect him to laugh it off, but instead, his voice drops into something quieter, more serious.

"And you're sure it wasn't left at the wrong door?"

"I’m not sure about that. My name wasn’t on it, but my neighbors are men. Who would do this to a guy?”

Another pause. Then, a small chuckle. "Well, well. Looks like you’ve got yourself a secret admirer."

"Not funny."

"Are you kidding? It’s hilarious." You can practically hear his grin through the phone. "You're living in a real-life romance movie. Or a horror movie. Either way, I’m invested."

You sigh, rubbing your temple. "So what do I do? Just… ignore it?"

"Absolutely not. We investigate. Duh."

Your brows furrow. "Investigate? It's probably just some dumb joke."

"Or," he counters, voice dripping with amusement, "it's the beginning of something way more interesting. C'mon, don't you wanna know who’s behind this? What if it’s some insanely hot dude or chick who’s just so in love with you but socially inept?”

You scoff. "Yeah, because nothing says romance like borderline stalking."

"Hey, some people are just dedicated," he teases. "Look at those BookTok people. And tell you what—meet me at the café in an hour. Bring the note. I wanna see it."

"You’re actually taking this seriously?"

"Of course! A mystery has landed right at your doorstep. And as your best friend, it is my duty to help you solve it."

You sigh. Haechan has always been dramatic.

"Fine," you relent. "But if it turns out to be a stupid prank, you owe me coffee."

"You got it, Valentine."

The café is buzzing with the usual mid-morning crowd: college students hunched over laptops, couples sharing pastries, baristas calling out names over the hum of conversation. The scent of coffee and warm vanilla lingers in the air, comforting and familiar.

You spot Haechan immediately. He’s lounged in the corner booth, one arm draped over the back of the seat, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips as he watches you approach.

“Took you long enough,” he teases as you slide into the seat across from him. “I was starting to think your mystery lover got to you first.”

You roll your eyes, fishing the note out of your pocket and dropping it onto the table in front of him. “Here. Do your thing, Sherlock.”

Haechan picks up the note with exaggerated care, holding it between his fingers like it’s a sacred artifact. He squints, tilts his head, even sniffs it dramatically before nodding. “Yep. Just as I suspected.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Which is?”

“This is definitely paper.”

You snatch the note back, smacking his arm with it. “Wow, incredible deduction dipshit.”

He laughs, dodging your hand before leaning in, his expression shifting into something more thoughtful. “No, but seriously. This is weird. The handwriting is neat, almost too neat. Like someone either really took their time or… copied it.”

You frown. “Copied it?”

“Yeah. Like, I dunno, tracing someone else's writing. See how the pressure is kinda uneven in some spots? It’s like they were trying too hard to be precise.”

You blink, staring at him. “Since when are you an expert in handwriting analysis?”

Haechan grins, tapping his temple. “I watch a lot of crime documentaries. Also, Renjun had a forgery phase in middle school, so I picked up a few things.”

“Of course he did,” you mutter, shaking your head. “Okay, so say you’re right—what does that mean?”

“It means whoever wrote this was really careful about not being recognized.” He leans back, drumming his fingers on the table. “Which makes me think this isn’t just some dumb prank. They don’t want you to know who they are.”

That unsettling feeling from earlier creeps back up your spine.

“What if it’s someone we know?” you ask, voice quieter now.

Haechan tilts his head, considering. “Could be. Or it could be some rando with a crush. Either way, we have a mission. I’ll show you just how good a duo we’ll be.”

You exhale. “And that mission is…?”

“To find out who’s been leaving you love letters, obviously.” He grins, reaching for his coffee. “And if they turn out to be hot, I take full credit for setting you up.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Unbelievable.”

“Hey, I take my best friend duties very seriously.”

You roll your eyes, but still can’t help but feel a bit uneasy by it all.

The uneasy feeling from the café lingers as you make your way home.

"They don’t want you to know who they are."

"What if it’s someone we know?"

You shake the thoughts away as you unlock your door, stepping inside. The first thing you notice is the rose, still resting on the counter where you left it. Something about it feels different now—less like a mystery and more like a warning.

You inhale deeply, trying to push the paranoia aside. Maybe this is all just a prank. Maybe Haechan’s just hyping it up because he loves drama. Maybe—

Your phone buzzes.

[Unknown Number]: Did you like my first gift?

A sharp jolt of fear twists in your stomach. Your fingers tighten around your phone as you stare at the message.

Not a prank.

Your mouth runs dry as you hesitate before typing back.

[You]: Who is this?

Three dots appear. Then disappear. Then appear again.

[Unknown Number]: You’ll see soon enough.

Your heart pounds.

And then… three quick knocks on your front door.

You jump, whipping around to stare at it. The knock surprisingly wasn’t loud nor aggressive. However it got the message across.

Slowly, you step forward, peeking through the peephole. The hallway is empty. With a shaky breath, you unlock the door and crack it open just enough to peek outside.

A small, velvet box sits on your welcome mat.

Another gift.

You glance both ways down the hall—still empty. Whoever left it is already gone. 

Heart hammering, you crouch down and carefully pick up the box, stepping back inside before locking the door behind you. Your fingers tremble slightly as you open it.

Inside is a delicate silver locket, its chain coiled neatly in the box. You hold it up to the light, examining the intricate engravings along the edges. It’s beautiful—almost vintage.

But when you pry it open, your breath catches in your throat.

Inside is a tiny photograph. One you recognize immediately.

It’s you.

You, standing outside your apartment building, smiling at the camera. But what makes your stomach turn is the person beside you.

Because there was someone beside you. But their face has been completely scratched out. And you have no idea who it is.

Your pulse roars in your ears as your grip tightens around the locket.

This isn’t a joke.

You fumble for your phone and dial Haechan’s number. He picks up almost immediately.

"Yo, miss me already?"

"Haechan." Your voice comes out unsteady, breathless. "It happened again."

A pause. Then, his tone shifts. It’s calm, but sharper now. "I’m coming over."

Fifteen minutes. That’s all it takes for Haechan to show up at your door, slightly out of breath, a bag of convenience store snacks in one hand and his phone in the other.

“Okay,” he says, pushing past you into the apartment, “give me the rundown. And before you ask, yes, I brought emergency snacks because I know you stress-eat.”

You let the door swing shut behind him, arms crossed. “Haechan, this is serious.”

“I am taking it seriously.” He tosses a bag of chips onto the counter before turning to you. “Now, tell me everything before I assume you’ve been cursed by a Victorian ghost.”

You exhale, pulling the velvet box from your pocket and flipping it open. “I found this at my door. Look inside.”

Haechan steps closer, peering down at the locket. He picks it up, flipping it open with careful fingers. His expression shifts immediately—the usual mischief in his eyes dims, replaced by something darker.

“The hell…?” He traces a thumb over the scratched-out face in the photo. “Okay. This? This is officially creepy.”

“No kidding,” you mutter, rubbing your arms as if that will rid you of the lingering unease. “It’s my photo, Haechan. And someone ruined it.”

He doesn’t say anything at first, just stares at the image. When he finally looks up, his gaze is sharp. “Where did they even get this picture?”

“I don’t know. That’s what freaks me out.” You sit on the edge of your couch, fingers gripping the fabric of your sweater. “Someone had to have taken it themselves. But I don’t remember anyone standing next to me like this.”

Haechan clicks his tongue, flipping the locket shut. “Alright. That settles it. We need a suspect list.”

You blink. “You say that like this is some kind of crime show.”

“Well, yeah,” he deadpans. “Except way more fun because it’s happening to you.”

You throw a pillow at his head. He dodges it effortlessly, grinning.

“Okay, okay,” he says, plopping down next to you. “Real talk. Do you know anyone who might be obsessed with you? Secret admirer type, or maybe even an ex with attachment issues?”

You think for a moment. And then—

“…Jaemin.”

Haechan’s brows shoot up. “Jaemin?”

You nod, stomach twisting. “He flirts with me constantly, even when I brush him off. Plus, I know I’ve caught him taking pictures of me before, but he always plays it off like it’s just a joke.”

Haechan leans back, considering. “Okay. Solid lead. What’s our game plan?”

You chew on your lip before standing. “We ask him directly.”

Haechan grins, standing up beside you. “Ooooh, an interrogation? Spicy.”

You roll your eyes, shoving your phone into your pocket. “Let’s just get this over with.”

And with that, the two of you head out—ready to confront the first suspect.

Jaemin’s usual hangout is the campus library, though calling it “studying” is generous. More often than not, he’s lounging in one of the oversized chairs, scrolling through his phone, pretending to be busy.

That’s exactly where you find him now, stretched out with his feet propped up on another chair, earbuds in, humming to himself.

Haechan nudges you. “Your not-so-secret admirer is in his natural habitat.”

You sigh, straightening your shoulders before striding over. Jaemin looks up just as you plant your hands on the table in front of him.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greets smoothly, pulling out an earbud. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Haechan plops down beside him. “We have some questions.”

Jaemin raises an eyebrow. “We?”

“Yeah,” you say, crossing your arms. “And you’re going to answer them.”

His lips twitch, amused. “Sounds serious.”

“It is serious,” you snap, pulling out the locket and placing it in front of him. “Know anything about this?”

Jaemin’s gaze flickers to the locket, and for the first time, his smirk falters. His fingers twitch like he wants to pick it up, but he hesitates.

“What is this?” he asks, voice quieter now.

“You tell me,” you say. “It showed up at my door today. Someone left it for me, along with a creepy note. And considering how often you love taking pictures with me, I thought I’d start with you.”

Jaemin’s jaw tightens. “You think I gave you this?”

Haechan tilts his head. “Well, you do flirt with Y/N like it’s your full-time job.”

Jaemin exhales through his nose, leaning forward. “Okay, yeah, I flirt. But this?” He taps the locket. “This isn’t me. I’d never scratch out my own damn face.”

Your stomach clenches. “So you recognize the picture?”

Jaemin hesitates for half a second too long. Then, he shakes his head. “No.”

You and Haechan exchange a look.

“You’re lying,” Haechan accuses. “Dude, you hesitated.”

Jaemin runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “I don’t know where this came from, but I’ve seen that photo before. Just… not like this.”

Your pulse quickens. “Where?”

Another pause. Then, reluctantly, Jaemin mutters, “Renjun’s phone.”

Both you and Haechan freeze.

“What?” Haechan blurts. “Why would Renjun have a picture of Y/N on his phone?”

Jaemin shrugs. “No clue. It was a while ago. I remember seeing it and asking why he had it, but he just brushed me off. Thought it was weird, but not, y’know—this weird.” He gestures to the locket.

You stare at him, heart pounding. Could it be Renjun?

Haechan crosses his arms. “Alright, Nana. We’ll put you on the ‘maybe’ list for now. But if we find out you’re lying…” He drags a finger across his throat dramatically.

Jaemin rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Can I go back to existing now?”

You nod slowly, mind already racing ahead.

If Renjun had that photo… What else did he have?

And what would the next gift be?

The walk back to your apartment is tense. Haechan is uncharacteristically quiet beside you, hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets, his brows furrowed in thought.

"You okay?" you ask.

He exhales through his nose. "Just thinking. If Jaemin’s telling the truth, why would Renjun have that picture?"

"That’s what we’re going to find out," you murmur.

When you finally reach your apartment door, a chill runs down your spine. Sitting on your welcome mat is another small box, this time heart-shaped and a deep shade of crimson.

"Of course," Haechan mutters. "Right on schedule."

You swallow hard, exchanging a wary glance with him before bending down to pick it up. Unlike the velvet box from before, this one is heavier. With trembling fingers, you lift the lid—

A soft, eerie melody drifts into the air.

A music box.

But something is… off. The tune warbles and distorts, as if the mechanism inside is struggling to play correctly. It’s haunting, a melody that should be sweet but instead sends a shiver down your spine.

Inside, nestled among the delicate gears, is a small folded note.

A song just for you.

You stare at the words, your pulse hammering in your ears.

Haechan leans in. "Okay, I really don’t like this one."

You shut the lid abruptly, cutting off the melody. "Me neither."

"Who the hell writes you a personalized creepy lullaby?" he mutters. Then, his eyes widen slightly, realization dawning. "Wait. Music. Writing. Oh, come on—"

"Mark." You say his name at the same time Haechan does.

Mark has always been the sentimental type. From writing poetry to composing random melodies in his free time. If anyone had the skills to create something like this, it was him.

You grip the box tighter. "We need to talk to him."

Haechan nods. "Now."

You and Haechan find Mark exactly where you expect him, tucked away in a corner of the campus music room, hunched over a notebook, a pencil pressed against his lips. His fingers tap absentmindedly against the desk, keeping rhythm to whatever melody is playing in his head.

Haechan nudges you. "Caught him in the act. Very suspicious."

You shoot him a look before stepping forward. "Mark."

Mark glances up, blinking in surprise. "Oh, hey. What’s up?"

You waste no time, setting the music box down on the desk in front of him. His eyes flicker to it, then back to you.

"Did you make this?" you ask.

His eyebrows pull together. "Uh… no?"

Haechan crosses his arms. "You sure? Because we know you write songs. And poems. And you definitely know everything about Y/N—"

"Okay, dude, chill," Mark interrupts, looking bewildered. "What’s going on?"

You exhale, rubbing your temple. "Someone’s been leaving me gifts. Creepy ones. This music box was the latest, and since you’re literally the most musically gifted person I know, I thought—" You hesitate. "I thought maybe it was you."

Mark stares at the box for a moment before shaking his head. "It’s not me."

"Not even a little?" Haechan presses.

Mark sighs. "Look, yeah, I write songs. And sure, I might notice things. Like when you change your coffee order or cut your hair. Maybe I think you’re really cute. But that doesn’t mean I’m stalking you."

Haechan raises a skeptical brow. "Then what about your latest poetry post? The one about ‘loving from afar’?"

Mark’s expression shifts. His ears turn red.

Oh.

You narrow your eyes. "Mark?"

He groans, rubbing the back of his neck. "That wasn’t about you, okay?"

Haechan gasps, dramatic as ever. "Then who?"

Mark hesitates, then mutters, "My ex."

You and Haechan exchange a look.

"Oh," you say.

"Oh," Haechan echoes, slightly disappointed. "So you’re the heartbroken one, not the creepy one."

Mark shoots him a glare. "Obviously."

You sigh, dragging a hand down your face. "Okay. Sorry for accusing you. This whole thing is just messing with my head."

Mark softens. "Yeah, I get it. But seriously, if someone’s messing with you, you should be careful."

You nod, but your mind is already racing ahead.

The moment you step into your apartment, you feel it.

Something is waiting for you again.

Your breath catches as your eyes land on the small, folded piece of paper slipped under your door. The edges are slightly frayed, as if it had been torn from a notebook in a rush.

Haechan picks it up before you can. His fingers brush over the paper before carefully unfolding it. His eyes scan the words, his expression darkening.

You take the page from him and read:

"I see you even when you don’t see me.I wonder if you know how much you mean to me.If I could just tell you—”

The words stop abruptly, the last sentence unfinished.

And at the bottom, only a single initial is signed:

“R.”

You stare at it, heart hammering. "R."

Haechan exhales. "Renjun."

It makes sense. Jaemin had mentioned Renjun having your picture. And now this, a love confession, hesitant and unfinished.

You swallow hard. "We need to talk to him."

Haechan nods. "Before another one of these shows up."

Renjun is easy to find.

The art studio on campus is practically his second home, and sure enough, when you and Haechan arrive, he’s hunched over a sketchbook, completely lost in his work. His pencil moves in steady strokes, the faintest furrow between his brows as he concentrates.

Haechan leans in. “Bet he’s sketching you right now.”

You elbow him before clearing your throat. “Renjun.”

Renjun jumps, startled, before snapping his sketchbook shut. “Oh—hey. What are you guys doing here?”

Haechan plucks the journal page from your grasp and drops it onto his desk. “Care to explain this?”

Renjun’s gaze flickers to the torn-out page. He lets out a sharp inhale, as his shoulders start tensing.

“So it is yours.”

Renjun stays silent for a beat too long before he exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “Where did you get this?”

“It was slipped under my door,” you say carefully. “You signed it with ‘R.’”

Haechan crosses his arms. “Looks real bad, dude.”

Renjun lets out a quiet laugh, but it’s more of a nervous laugh than a humorous one. “Yeah… I can see that.”

Your pulse quickens. “So you did write it?”

Another pause. Then, finally, he nods. “Yeah. But not for you.”

You blink. “What?”

Renjun sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I did write that confession. But it’s old…I wrote it last year, for someone else.” He taps the page, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I threw this out months ago. I have no idea how you ended up with it.”

Haechan whistles low. “Okay, that’s actually kinda messed up.”

Renjun shakes his head. “ If someone dug this up just to mess with you… That’s not romantic. That’s obsessive.”

You grip the edge of the desk. “Then what about those photos you took of me? 

Renjun looks at you, his expression not wavering, “I take photos of everyone. It’s practice for more naturalistic portrayals of human figures.”

A chill runs down your spine.

If Renjun didn’t leave the page for you… then the real admirer wasn’t just watching you. If they had gotten their hands on Renjun’s photos then…

They were watching everyone.

That night, you barely sleep.

Renjun’s words keep replaying in your mind. ‘That’s not romantic. That’s obsessive.’

The pieces aren’t fitting together. The gifts, the messages, the calculated way they’re being delivered. This isn’t just someone with a crush. This is someone who has been planning this.

You’re still lost in thought when you hear it.

A soft thud outside your door.

Slowly, you sit up, heart pounding in your ears. Haechan, asleep on your couch, stirs slightly but doesn’t wake. You swallow hard and push yourself to your feet. Step by step, you inch toward the door, pulse hammering with every movement.

You already know what’s waiting for you.

Another gift.

With trembling hands, you open the door.

Sitting on the welcome mat is a small, heart-shaped box, identical in size to the one that held the music box. But this time, the deep red velvet is stained. Dark splotches sinking into the fabric, like something wet had been resting there before drying.

Your stomach turns.

Slowly, you pick it up. It’s heavier than you expect.

You hesitate. Then, you lift the lid.

Inside, cushioned in soft silk, isn’t chocolate.

It’s a tooth.

A human tooth.

Your throat felt dry as you wanted to retch in disgust, while the box nearly slips from your hands. Your vision blurs as you stare at it, uncomprehending, unwilling to believe what you’re seeing.

Beneath the tooth, there’s a note.

"Now you’re mine."

Your fingers shake as you unfold the small slip of paper.

And that’s when you see it.

The handwriting.

It’s Haechan’s.

Your body goes cold.

Behind you, the couch creaks as he shifts in his sleep.

And you realize—

You’re trapped inside your apartment.

With him.

Your fingers tighten around the note as your heartbeat thunders in your ears.

Every nerve in your body screams at you to move. But you’re frozen. The weight of the realization crashes over you in suffocating waves.

It was him.

It was always him.

A slow creak fills the silence. The sound of someone shifting.

���Hm… you’re up?”

Your breath stutters as you whip around. Haechan is sitting up on the couch, rubbing his eyes sleepily. His voice is laced with drowsiness, but his gaze—when it lands on you—is sharp.

Too sharp.

His eyes drop to the box in your hands. He sees the note. The tooth. And then… he smiles.

A lazy, knowing smile.

Your stomach twists. “Haechan…”

He tilts his head, still watching you. “You don’t look happy to see your gift. But don’t worry I’ve improved on it.”

Your grip tightens on the box. “Why?”

Haechan exhales through his nose, shaking his head like you’ve just asked something ridiculous. “Come on, Y/N. You’re smart. You’ve been smart this whole time. Figuring out clues, questioning the right people.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Except you never questioned me.”

You take a step back. “You helped me.”

“I guided you.” He corrects, his voice smooth. “I made sure you followed the right trail. I led you to suspects just to watch your reactions. Watch you look at them instead of me.” His smile widens, his dimples deep but unsettling. “And you fell for it. Every time.”

Your skin crawls. “The rose. The music box. The torn-out page?”

“All me,” he confirms easily. “Jaemin? Mark? Renjun? They were never real threats. Just distractions. I needed to make sure your eyes weren’t on me until the right moment.”

“And the tooth?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

Haechan’s smile fades slightly, his expression unreadable. “That one’s special.” His fingers brush over his lower lip, and something dark flickers behind his gaze. “A part of me. It’s yours now.”

No way.

"Now we match."

A sick realization slithers through you.

Haechan… pulled out his own tooth.

For you. 

A cold sweat prickles down your spine. “You’re insane.”

Haechan only grins. “I’m in love.”

You feel the blood drain from your face.

He sighs, standing up slowly. “I knew you wouldn’t understand right away. That’s why I took my time. I sent gifts and gave you a story to follow.” His voice softens, almost affectionate. “I wanted to watch you figure it out. I wanted to see the exact moment you realized it’s always been me.”

He takes a step forward.

And you take a step back.

His eyes flicker with amusement. “Still running from me?”

Your fingers curl into fists.

You need to get out.

Now.

Haechan watches you like a predator sizing up its prey. His smile is still there, but now, you can see it for what it truly is. A mask. A carefully crafted performance. And you were his favorite audience.

Then, he moves.

Slow, deliberate. Like he has all the time in the world. From his pocket, he pulls out a small velvet box. A jewelry box. He rolls it between his fingers, eyes never leaving yours, before sliding it across the coffee table toward you. “I saved the best for last,” he murmurs.

You don’t want to look.

But you do.

Your hands tremble as you reach for the box, flipping it open. Inside, nestled in dark velvet, are a pair of earrings.

The charms dangle from delicate gold hooks, polished smooth. But even in the dim light of your apartment, you can see them for what they are.

Teeth.

Human teeth.

Your stomach twists violently.

Haechan hums, tilting his head. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they? I worked so hard on these.” His voice drops into something softer, almost coaxing. “You’ll wear them, won’t you?”

Your breath comes in shallow gasps.

You need to get out.

Haechan sees it before you even move. His lips curl into a knowing smirk, and then—

The lights flicker.

A click.

Your front door.

Locked.

Your heart slams against your ribs. “Haechan—”

He only smiles, stepping closer.

“Shh,” he soothes. “It’s Valentine’s Day, baby.”

A flickering TV screen bathes the darkened room in cold, artificial light. The newsroom anchor, a solemn-looking woman, speaks in a measured, professional tone.

"Breaking news tonight—local authorities have launched an investigation into the disappearance of Y/N L/N, last seen on February 14th. Friends report that they were searching for a secret admirer who had been leaving a series of mysterious gifts. However, they never returned home. If you have any information regarding their whereabouts, please contact—"

The report continues, but the sound is drowned out by the hum of a familiar tune.

A figure strolls past the display window of an electronics store, hands tucked casually into his pockets. His hoodie shields most of his face, but the dim glow of the screens flickers against his features.

Haechan.

A soft, lilting hum escapes his lips.

"My funny valentine…"

He walks on, disappearing into the city’s shadows.

The TV screen flickers.

The missing person poster flashes across the screen.

“The case remains open.”

“For now.”

me when i basically lied in the summary but not really 🫶🤗 love u guys too !!

TAGLIST ↬ @lyvhie @aquaphoenixz @galacticnct @yizhrt @polarisjisung @multifandomania @spacejip @peterm4rker @viasdreams @mango-bear

[ki-yomii]

down on you | jjk

➥ pairing | jeon jungkook x f!reader ➥ word count | 4.5k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; dirty talk, pet names, mild praise kink, squirting, hair pulling, standing missionary, rough sex, porn w/ plot, mafia!jk, detective!reader, established relationship, mild angst, mild violence ➥ summary | It’s true, he owns you: blood, bones, and all. ➥ notes | the mafia!jk au no one asked for aka an excuse to write smut w/ feeling lol.

💚 masterlist | inbox | AO3 💚

On his knees staring down the barrel of a loaded gun with a mouthful of blood, he knows this is the end of the line. He’s going to die like a rat in the gutter - no mercy to be found, loopholes to exploit or bribes to be made.

This is the real deal, and there’s no coming back.

Judgement Day comes in the form of a man with dark eyes and a dangerous smirk: Golden, the deadliest guard dog of the underground.

Credited with dozens of hits, you won’t know he’s there until it’s too late. Trying to keep him pinned is like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands, or a whisper on the wind.

And you won’t know he’s coming until you feel the breath on the back of your neck, hear the crack of a bullet ringing in your ears.

Belonging to one of the most powerful men in the world: Kim Namjoon, he’s more war machine than man.

“Go ahead, do it!” He spits at Golden’s feet, a mess of blood and drool staining the crisp leather of his combat boots. “Killing me won’t change a goddamn thing.”

A coy smile tugs at Golden’s mouth, his grin all sharp teeth and violence. He stays where he stands, his silhouette haloed by distant streetlights.

Water laps at the docks, the tang of salt heavy in the mid-summer Seoul air. There’s no rush; they both know he’ll be dead and dumped just like all the rest of the garbage in this rotting city.

“Come on, you prick! Pull the fucking trigger already.”

Golden cocks his head, and hums in the back of his throat. 

“Tch! I hope you’ve got a lot of bullets - we’re gonna knock the crown off Kim’s head one way or another.”

Golden thumbs at the safety of his gun, the barrel glinting through the shadows. “Ahh, is that what you think?” He shrugs, a lazy ripple of muscle. “Well, I have to say: I’d love to see you try.”

The night is shattered by the resounding crack of a gunshot and an echoing splash of something heavy dropping into the water below.

You climb out of the nondescript government-issue car. The faintest tremble of your fingers nearly gives you away but you’re able to reign in the impulse to smooth your hands over your clothes at the last second.

Showing weakness is the last thing you need to be doing right now.

Especially here.

Right in front of where you’ve parked - shoved between two looming apartment complexes - sits a quaint, vintage building. The rough brick face is at odds with the sleek surroundings, but tinted windows keep prying eyes at bay while the classy signing hanging above the door reads The Red Bullet written in caps.

If you didn’t know better, it would be hard to believe this otherwise mundane storefront is a cover for one of the most dangerous international organizations based out of South Korea.

Not only do they hold the keys to the kingdom, but their success is largely in part because they spearhead operations from government espionage all the way to simple blackmail.

Even though it’s been several months since you darkened its doorstep, the familiar sight is enough to steal the breath from your lungs. Send your heart galloping into a tailspin as your stomach swoops.

While time away helped clear your head of stolen kisses and promises whispered in dark rooms, it also drove the longing bone deep.

In those quiet moments to yourself, when you have nothing else to distract from how lonely you are, you miss this place like one misses a limb.

You didn’t realize how attached you were to these four walls until it was too late: the hazy air filled with whorls of smoke, the overhead lights that bathe everything in red, the plush chairs you spent many nights sprawled across, the glossy black stages.

You don’t know how, you don’t know when but at some point it (he) started feeling like home. A luxury you can’t afford. Not again. After all, if you give in, any progress you made outside of his gravitational pull will be for naught.

Which puts you in a dangerous position as you find yourself back where it began; feelings at war with duty, mind vs heart. Because even if it leads you to a place you could go a million years without ever seeing again, you have to follow the trail of bodies.

A bouncer grants you access, the heavy door slamming shut behind you like a death knell as he herds you towards the back of the club.

It’s outside of official operating hours but it’s no less busy inside, men and women alike in scattered conversation as you pass through.

“It’s nice to see you again,” the bouncer murmurs, chancing a quick glance at your profile. “Been a while.”

You swallow, gaze darting down to your shoes. “Ah - yeah… Got busy with work. It’s - it’s nice to see you too.”

The small talk fizzles out, a snuffed candle as you arrive at a cordoned off room, “Here we are. Mr Kim is already expecting you.”

Any further pleasantries grow stale on your tongue as you enter the private booth, fighting against the lump in your throat to manage a hoarse ‘thank you’.

And then you find yourself left alone with the man himself, Kim Namjoon. He’s as intimidating as you remember, lounging back into the leather booth with his ankles crossed.

A lukewarm smile stretches across his lips, the slightest hint of a dimple peeking out from the valley of his cheek. Standing at attention on either side of his reposing form are two massive bodyguards. Their hands rest on the butts of their guns, daring any who enter to try and make a move.

“It’s good to see you again. But I gotta ask - what’s the occasion, Detective?” Namjoon hums. “I thought we were past all this.” He waves a nebulous hand between your bodies. “After all, you’re practically family.”

You ignore the hidden barb with a wince. “Mr Kim, you know why I’m here.”

“I used to know why a long time ago.” A well-groomed brow raises, his gaze glacial as it spears you in place. “But now I’m not so sure.”

“Please, Mr Kim. I don’t want to make this more difficult than it is. I just need to know about the man they fished out of the harbor, and then I’ll be on my way. So… who was he?”

Namjoon scoffs. “What makes you think I know more than the police?”

There’s a flash of a smirk, barely noticed, before his face returns to its neutral expression. As calm and cool as a placid river. “A john’s a john. What I do want to know is why you care so much?”

The underlying question is clear; why are you really here?

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss such matters with civillians.”

“Oh? So I’m a civilian now.” His expression is not unlike the cat that caught the canary: vicious and delighting in the discomfort his evasions are causing. “Gotta say that’s a new one for me.”

Sighing in defeat, you say, “Alright, enough. I get it. I’m wasting my time with you. Let me ask this instead: where is he?” 

“He doesn’t know any more about this than I do,” he says, waving a blase hand towards a door off to the left, “But if you insist, you can find him in the office. Oh, and Detective?”

“...Yes?”

“Take your time, I’ll be out on business all afternoon.”

With a curt nod, you flee the room amid low-throated chuckles and enter the office. Standing near the desk, his broad back turned towards the door, you find the man you simultaneously want to see the most and run from the fastest.

He turns around, the muscles of his back rippling with the movement. Your breath stutters in your chest, and you nearly swallow your tongue as your eyes trace over the cut of his body.

The moment your eyes meet, those many months spent cultivating time and distance turn to ash. You forgot how even the mere sight of him affects you, any resistance to his many charms virtually nonexistent as the world falls away.

Rich, coffee dark; his gaze sucks you in until it’s all you can do not to reach out, to brush your fingers over his edges and feel them soften beneath your palms.

Rocking back on your heels, you clear your throat and glance to the side as you remain standing in the entryway, more than a little off-kilter.

Coming back after so long apart, only to find him the same as the day you left… How do you reconcile everything that’s changed with everything that was?

“Well, hello there.” Jungkook croons, leaning his hip against the corner of the desk with a roll of his shoulders. His arms cross over the trunk of his chest, accentuating the bulk of his chest, the flex of inked bicep. “Long time no see.”

Shifting, you gulp. “Ah - yeah…”

The burn of his gaze - a palpable sensation prickling across your skin - tracks a path from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes as he gives you a thorough once-over.

“You’re looking good,” Jungkook hums in approval, “real good. I’ve missed those pretty eyes of yours.”

“You - you too.”

Your attention doesn’t know where to settle: drifting from the curve of his shoulders to the jut of his bloody knuckles, the tuck of his trim hips to the thick-soled combat boots.

Tiny hairs at the back of your neck stand on end, and your palms slick with sweat.

“I mean, you look… y’know, uh, good too.”

A flash of a crooked smirk, the raising of a pierced brow gets your blood pumping, your heart tattooing a rhythm against your ribs. Emboldens you to reach back with shaky fingers to turn the lock. The sound grates down your spine, bolts of anticipation slicing through you.

It was dumb to think coming here, seeing him again, would end any other way than his taste on your tongue and his cock in your cunt. Hope makes fools of us all.

Should’ve known better but you’d been hopeful those days were long behind you. Now you realize it was inevitable.

After all, Jungkook is magnetic.

The black hole at the center of your universe, consuming everything in its path until he’s what remains in your head, your heart. You’re helpless, ceaselessly drawn to him like a moth to flame.

And try as you might, you can’t say no to a face like that.

Never could, in fact.

Failure to extract yourself from his orbit during your not-relationship is nothing new. That doesn’t mean you can’t make it difficult.

After all, you still have some dignity intact.

So try, try, try again.

“Ahem.” You try to banish the heat from your cheeks, guiding the conversation into the correct territory. “I’m not here on a-a social call, Jeon. I need to know: were you the one that killed and dumped the john in the harbor?”

Stalking closer, a lazy jungle cat on the prowl, Jungkook crosses the distance between you. He only stops once your bodies brush with every labored inhale. Heat radiates from him, and you’re achingly aware of every point of contact.

The light scent of his cologne teases your nose, and his eyes - god, his eyes. They’re shaded and hungry, devouring your expression with single-minded possessiveness. 

“What makes you think I know anything about that?”

“Jeon -- Jungkook.”

He hums.

Your heart thrums, pulse rushing hard through your head until you feel faint, blood surging the longer you stay in close contact. The shameful clench of your cunt makes your cheeks burn all the brighter.

The last time you were looking up at him like this, his hand was on your jaw while his cock thrust balls deep.

“C’mon, you know that isn’t going to work. This is me you’re talking to, not some rookie.”

“Mm,” he purrs, “it is you I’m talking to, isn’t it?”

You manage to bite back the groan but can’t stop your eyes from rolling even if there’s the slightest hint of a stutter when you reply, “Please, I just need to know if you killed him.”

Jungkook looms tall and proud, crowding closer. “And if I did, baby?” he asks.

Instinctively you back up, only to be followed step by step. A game of cat and mouse that finds you pinned against the wall before long. With nowhere to run, you watch, heart in your throat, as Jungkook dips his dark head.

His nose runs along the length of your neck, breath puffing across your sensitive skin as he inhales the pleasant scent of your perfume.

“I - I…”

“Would you see me in handcuffs?” His lips caress the underside of your jaw, a soft groan escaping him. “… C’mon, answer me. Would you?”

“I would - if I had to.”

As much as you wish that was true, you know in your heart of heart's you would do everything in your power to make sure that never happens.

No matter how much you like to think you’d do the right thing when push comes to shove, you’d choose him a thousand times over.

His eyes dance playfully. “Careful, I might like it.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” you say with a snort.

Jungkook chuckles low and warm, using the arm around your waist to tug you into the safety of his body. The softness of your breasts presses into the hard planes of his chest, your nipples pebbling through the thin cotton shirt you wear.

With a deep-throated groan, his hands encircle the curves of your hips as a thickly muscled thigh slots between yours.

An answering quiet sigh gets his blood pumping and his cock twitching.

“Mm, something tells me you’d enjoy it just as much, Detective.”

The use of your title is a rude awakening.

“Jungkook,” You warn, moving to push him away. Only once you start touching him, you can’t stop. His muscles flex beneath your curious fingertips. “We really shouldn’t.”

You’re sure if he could, Jungkook would spend days worshipping between your thighs, velvet heat wrapped around his tongue and hands in his hair as he brings you to peak again and again until you’re a sobbing, sopping, boneless mess beneath him.

“Come on, I know you want me - that you’ve missed me. I can see it in your eyes.”

He kisses the corner of your mouth, tongue flickering out for a brief taste before a rough thumb skates across your bottom lip, tugging down to expose your teeth, the glitter of your tongue as it darts out to flick over the pad of his finger..

“I’ve certainly missed you, baby. Want me to show you?”

Even though you refuse to admit anything out loud, you can’t help but angle your throat back and grind into his hips pressed against yours.

Jungkook tsks, “That’s alright. I’ll get that pretty mouth open one way or another.”

Before you can retort, a mouth swoops down to fuse with yours in a fierce, all-consuming kiss. A low, broken moan punches from your chest.

Reaching up, your fingers sink into the mane of dark hair that brushes the cut of Jungkook’s jaw. Soft, thick, and wavy in your grip; you tug at the roots.

Jungkook hisses. 

Teeth nip at your lip, kittenish licks soothing away the string as blood bursts across your tongues. The thigh shoved between yours grinds up with every wet, sloppy pass of your lips.

Thick muscle spreads your pussy open through the thin slacks of your work uniform. Sparks of pleasure dance down your spine with every rock against your swollen clit.

“S-Shit!” Your shoulders curl in, a shudder jerking through you. “K-Kook, I… !”

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me.” Jungkook growls, rutting his cock against the jut of your hip. The wet patch you’re making on his jeans grows larger with every filthy grind. “You’ve been gone too fucking long. Never again, you hear me?”

You claw at his shoulders, stuttering out, “there’s noth-ing you can do t’stop me.”

“If you don’t come back to me,” his eyes are dark and stormy, voice whiskey rough, “I’ll find you.”

It’s not a threat - it’s a promise.

“Then make sure I never want to leave,” you challenge breathlessly, staring into his blown out pupils, “Make me want to stay.”

Above all else, you think.

The words are barely past your lips when Jungkook accepts your challenge with gusto (just like you knew he would). Without delay, he thumbs open the button on your pants.

Refusing to let you look away, Jungkook yanks them to your feet and swings you up into his arms one-handed. They hang from your ankle like a chain.

Your surprised squeak is quickly swallowed up by a moan when he settles you over the bulge in his pants, your cunt hovering over his erection.

The heat of his skin sinks through the thin cotton of your panties, so, so close to where you need him. Slick soaks into the fabric, and clings to your inner thighs.

Every shift is a smooth, sticky glide of folds that stirs, and stokes the ember of desire smoldering behind your navel.

“Kook,” you breathe. “Please.”

Your head rolls back, and you sag into his chest. Your hips twitch in pathetic little attempts, trying to get pressure where you need it. Having him hot and hard and all for you; any distance between you is suddenly unbearable.

He needs to spread you wide and stuff you full with every inch of his thick cock until he’s so deep you won’t be able to walk for days.

“Shh baby, I’ll give you what you want,” he says, gaze heavy and possessive. “I’m gonna ruin you so good, you’ll have no choice but to come back. You’re mine.”

“Says who?”

“Hmm. You don’t think you are?”

Nibbling on your ear, Jungkook slips a finger under the hem of your panties. He smirks when you keen, rubbing his knuckle up and down your sloppy folds with teasing pressure.

“How about I show you what your body already knows?”

Wasting no time, he lifts you off his cock, the scrap of cloth fluttering to the ground. His free hand dives between your bodies. Then comes the clink of a belt, the sound of a zipper pulling down.

Your heartbeat thunders in your ears, your body coiled with anticipation as your stomach swoops at the brush of his fingers along the underside of your thigh.

“Look so pretty like this, baby.” Jungkook twists his wrist, hips arching back. “And it’s all for me. Fuck, I can’t wait to get inside this pretty pussy.”

Any response dies on your tongue, brain short-circuiting as the slick, fat cockhead rubs along your slit. Pressing against your entrance the slightest bit before slipping up to nudge at your clit - coating himself up in your sticky juices.

The ultimate tease - something Jungkook’s always been overly fond of doing until you’re out of your mind with desperation.

“Please, please, please,” you chant, cheeks on fire and eyes half-lidded as you circle your hips. “Stop playing around. I want it - want you, Kook.”

“Oh, baby,” he smiles, ducking down to kiss your forehead. “You’ll take whatever I give you.”

You can’t stifle the broken sob, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. Liquid fire surges through your veins, a thousand bolts of lightening crackling beneath the surface of your skin. Your pussy is tender, swollen. Walls fluttering in time with your heartbeat. 

“Ha, you’re so needy for me.”

Jungkook’s lips brush away the moisture around your eyes, his thumb drawing soothing circles into the base of your spine. All the while, his torturous grinding never ceases.

“Aren’t you?”

You croak, “I can’t – Kook, please. Anything, I’ll do anything you want just fuck me.”

The flash of his eyes is your only warning before he’s right there, your walls embracing the girth of his erection inch by inch. Every ridge, every jerk as he seats himself as deep inside your silken heat as he can is absolute heaven.

The stretch as you take him to the hilt sends you careening towards the edge, eyes rolling back and toes curling in your shoes.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit!” you whimper.

“Shit!” Jungkook grits his teeth, squeezing the base of his cock as you tighten  around him. With every deep inhale, his pelvis brushes your swollen, needy clit. “Forgot how good you feel wrapped around my dick, baby.”

“Me too,” You gasp, tightening your legs around Jungkook’s hips.”Me too, Kook.”

Dropping his forehead to yours, he says gruffly, “‘m not gonna last long.”

Making a noise of acknowledgement, you wiggle your hips. Sinking your teeth into the side of Jungkook’s jaw, you bite and suck at his skin, wanting to leave a mark to remember you by. His reaction is instantaneous, releasing the grip on his shaft to grab a fist full of hair.

He yanks back.

The long, elegant line of your throat is exposed to his butterfly kisses and scolding love bites.

“Now you’ve really asked for it,” Jungkook huffs out with a dirty chuckle.

“Then give it to me.” You lick your puffy lips, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. “Show me who I belong to.”  

The brewing hurricane in his eyes is unleashed. Wide palms and strong fingers grip your hips so tight you feel bones grind together. His stance widens, his unwavering gaze locking onto your face, brow pinched, and mouth slack.

His lip piercing glints in the light, his tongue sliding out to wet his bottom lip. Dark curls tussle about his head, a wild halo that sweeps down into the burning umber of his eyes.

Helpless, you succumb - enchanted by the darkness peering at you from behind those dangerous eyes. He’s ethereal; a siren song that threatens to drown you, swallow you whole.

You’d happily let him, you realize with a shiver.

It’s true, he owns you: blood, bones, and all.

“Hold on tight,” Jungkook says, hooking his hands under your bottom. 

And then, he’s jackhammering into your cunt so hard and fast all you can do is hold on for the ride. Punch drunk and moaning as he manhandles you how he likes, spreads you wide and stuffs you full until you’re panting for breath and clinging to sanity by your fingernails.

“Fuck yes, that’s it. Look how well your pretty pussy always takes my fat cock.”

His low voice whispering filthy praises in your ear makes you whimper, whine, and writhe as the band of pleasure coiling tight in your belly comes close to snapping. It’s the fastest he’s ever fucked an orgasm out of you, and it feels so good you don’t even care.

The pace is brutal, slamming into you so hard you’re sure you’ll have bruises on your hips come morning. But it’ll be so fucking worth it. You’re going to cum hard and long, you just know it.

About to melt as Jungkook fucks the slick out of you, groaning as you drip down the base of his cock, his balls - his very own pretty little mess.

“Yeah, you gonna cum, baby?” he laughs, pressing a sweaty kiss to the side of your face. “Can feel how - haaah shit - how tight you’re squeezing me.”

“Uh-huh,” you cry, holding onto the tops of his wide shoulders. Every thrust has his cockhead dragging over the spongy patch of your g-spot, sending fissions of pleasure rocketing through your nervous system. “So - so close, baby. Just a little more, I--”

Balancing yourself, you lift up only to slam back down, meeting Jungkook’s thrust with all the force of gravity. “Oh fuck, oh fuck!”

Crashing over you like a tsunami, your orgasm shoots through your limbs and zips down your spine. A warm rush of cum soaks Jungkook’s shaft, the wet and messy sound of your squirt splashing against the floor secondary to the cry that claws its way out of your throat.

“K-Kook!”

Jungkook grunts, his fingers digging into the fat of your hips as he helps you keep bouncing up and down on his erection. “Yeah, that’s it - keep going, baby. Wanna feel you keep cumming all over this cock.”

Aftershocks slice through you like lightning, tiny jolts of electricity. As you come down from your high, your gummy walls pulse, milking at Jungkook’s thick shaft.

He groans softly whenever your muscles tense, release; your body a worn-out rubber band as your breath stutters from you.

Then a hand pets down your flank, your skin shivering with hypersensitivity at the tender touch. “S’okay. Just breathe, baby.”

Peeling open your heavy eyes, you look up at his face. Take in the crinkle of his brow and the ravenous expression. Even floating on a sea of bliss, white noise fills your ears, you want more.

You slur, determined, “Kook, baby, please. Cum in me, want you s’bad.”

“Fuck! Can’t just say shit like that to me or I…” Jungkook bites down onto the tender crook of your neck, muffling his grunts in your flesh. “Shit - ’m so --”

You cry out, nails digging into the meat of his shoulders, “A-haah, K-Kook!”

Snapping his hips forward one last time, Jungkook grinds as deep as he can get and lets go. The fat head of his cock kisses your cervix, his length throbbing in time with his heartbeat as a rush of cum floods your insides.

“Yeah, just like that,” he grunts, rutting once - twice into the cradle of your body, “take it like a good girl.”

He croons when you whine at the press of his pelvis against your oversensitive clit. Thready sparks of pain shoot down your legs that hang limply over his forearms. Every breath stutters from your lungs, slow and deep.

“No more, can’t - can’t…” Shifting, you arch your spine and burrow your head into his chest, nearly catatonic in his arms. “S’too much.”

“Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” Fingers brush over your closed eyelids, smoothing over the arch of your brow. With every kiss dropped to the top of your head, he mumbles in dulcet tones, “I really have missed you, you know.”

You mewl in response as strong fingers knead the backs of your thighs.

“You’re not allowed to go anywhere.”

“Oh,” you can’t muster up enough energy to say anything more, body tender and trembling with little aftershocks, “s’that right?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” He chuckles. “You’re staying here - right where I want you.”

In lieu of a response, you pick your head up off the pillow of his chest and seek out his gaze. Liquid soft; he’s looking at you like you hung the world on a string.

“I’ve missed you too, Kook,” you say with a gentle smile.

You’ll allow yourself this moment of weakness when there’s no space between your bodies or hearts. Titles don’t matter much when he’s cradling you to his chest like a piece of precious china.

Between the two of us, you’re the one who hung the moon and stars, you think while combing back his sweaty bangs.

And I think I love you, you whisper voiceless against his lips.

[thewulf]

Easy Skies || Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Summary: Request - Feeling cuddly so you end up cuddling Jake for the first time in the early stages of your relationships. How this would lead to them napping together? Nothing but praises and love affirmations between them. Soft kisses. Readers first kiss with Jake.

A/N: Ahhh sorry I've been gone! Been enjoying summer :)

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.7k +

T/W : None just fluff

It’s been several weeks since you and Jake officially started seeing each other. You met at a community event honoring local heroes where Jake shared stories of his missions and the places his career had taken him. Your own interest in aerial photography sparked a quick and deep conversation between the two of you leading to an instant connection.

It was going really well. The two of you taking your time with everything. He shared stories of how we was reckless in the past and you were already very cautionary with types like his. So, you tested him a bit. Only kisses on the cheek, nothing more. And he did passed with flying colors. He never pressured you, never pushed for more. But now you were ready for something more. You're spending a lazy Sunday at Jake’s apartment for the first time. His place reflects his life as a pilot. It was decorated with navigational charts. With different models of aircraft he’s flown and photographs from around the world. The walls hold framed maps marked with the various places he's visited, each one holding a story he's eager to share with you.

As the afternoon fades into evening, you both settle into the comfortable couch in his living room. The soft music playing in the background mixes with the mellow golden light streaming through the windows creating a serene atmosphere. It's a rare and quiet moment for Jake who is usually caught up in the demanding schedule of a Navy pilot. You cherish the peaceful intimacy that has formed between you. Today’s simplicity is a precious contrast to the complexities of your usual routines.

As you both relax into the couch Jake recounts a comical error from his last training exercise. He'd accidentally swapped his day’s checklist with another pilot’s which led to some light-hearted confusion and teasing from his crew.

“You seriously went through half the pre-flight with the wrong list?” you laugh while shaking your head in amusement.

“Yep,” Jake admits with a grin. “It was only when I called out the wrong coordinates that someone caught on. We all had a good laugh about it later.” The conversation winds down as you both sink into the rhythm of each other’s presence, comfortable and at ease. There’s a genuine simplicity in the way you interact, no need for constant chatter. Jake’s job as a pilot often surrounds him with high stakes and rigor making these peaceful moments particularly valuable.

“It’s nice, isn’t it? Just being able to sit and talk without rushing anywhere,” Jake comments. His tone relaxed.

“It really is,” you agree as you smiled over at him. “Especially with good company.”

He returns your smile with a warm, appreciative one of his own. As the room fills with the soft hum of a new song the day closes around you both, cozy and familiar. Like a well-loved jacket that’s been washed a hundred times. It’s easy, it’s comfortable. And right now, it’s exactly what you both need.

As the afternoon shadows stretch across the room a yawn escapes you, shifting the comfortable silence. Jake catches it and chuckles, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Tired?” he teases before nudging you gently with his elbow.

“Maybe a little,” you admit while stretching your arms above your head. “It’s been a long week.”

Jake nods understandingly. His gaze softening. “How about we take a little nap then? Recharge a bit?”

You playfully raise an eyebrow. A smile tugging at your lips. “Only if you’re joining. I hear you’re the best pillow around here.”

Jake’s laughter fills the room, warm and infectious. “Is that so? Well, I can’t let you down then.” He shifts himself making room on the couch and pats the spot next to him "Come here," he says softly. His voice blending with the low melody. With a contented smile you slide closer until you're nestled against him. Your head resting comfortably on his broad chest. You can feel the steady beat of his heart through the soft fabric of his shirt. A reassuring rhythm that echoes quietly in your ear. Jake's arm wraps securely around you with his hand resting gently on your back. The warmth of his touch and the rise and fall of his chest with each breath he takes bring an overwhelming sense of peace and safety.

For a few moments you simply listen, taking in the sound of his heartbeat and the soft, steady breaths he draws. It's a new level of intimacy of sharing this quiet closeness without the need for words. Jake's hand moves in slow, soothing strokes across your back further relaxing you. With each passing second the world beyond the walls of Jake’s apartment seems to drift further away. You're drawn into this serene bubble where the only things that matter are the soft fabric of the couch, the gentle caress of Jake's hand, and the comforting rhythm of his heart.

Jake breaks the silence with a whisper that's barely audible over the music. "This is nice," he murmurs. His breath tickling your ear. You hum in agreement as you were too content and relaxed to form words. The trust and affection in this simple act of cuddling deepen, marking a beautiful, quiet milestone in your growing relationship.

As the soft jazz continues to play creating a soothing backdrop, the room grows quieter still. The comfort of Jake’s embrace coupled with the warm, gentle atmosphere lulls you deeper into relaxation. His breathing becomes slower, more rhythmic, signaling his own descent into sleep. You feel his grip tighten just a bit. A subconscious affirmation of his presence and protection. Gradually, the space between wakefulness and sleep blurs. Your thoughts drift away, anchored only by the steady heartbeat beneath your ear. In the safety of Jake’s arms sleep seems like the most natural progression. Without planning it you both drift off. The world narrowing down to the couch where you lie together.

The nap isn't long but it’s restorative. Exactly what you needed. As you both sleep there’s an unspoken exchange of trust and comfort. It’s one thing to share conversations and activities but another to share such vulnerability as sleep in each other’s presence. This mutual comfort speaks volumes about the trust and closeness developing between you.

Time slips by quietly and when you eventually stir it’s to the feeling of Jake’s fingers lightly brushing through your hair. His movements are soft and careful, designed not to wake you but to reassure himself you’re still there. You open your eyes slowly meeting his gaze which is filled with a quiet joy.

“Hey,” he whispers. As if speaking too loudly might break the spell of the peaceful moment you've shared.

“Hey,” you respond with your voice just as soft. The simple exchange feels like a gentle reconnection to the world affirming the comfort and affection that wrapped around you both as you slept. The nap together was simple yet intimate. It deepens the connection between you. Each quiet breath shared adding another layer to your growing relationship.

The afternoon light has softened into a cozy twilight by the time you both stir from your nap. You’re still wrapped in Jake’s arms and as your eyes meet there’s a playful spark between you that feels both exciting and comforting. “Welcome back,” Jake murmurs. His voice low and slightly husky from sleep. He leans forward pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. Then one on the tip of your nose, which makes you giggle.

“Is that how you wake up all your guests?” you tease. Your voice light and tinged with laughter.

“Only the special ones,” he replies with a grin with his eyes crinkling at the corners. He doesn’t stop there though. His kisses wander from your cheek to your jawline, each peck light and teasing, drawing more giggles from you. The laughter that fills the room is warm, echoing the affectionate mood.

Jake’s playful kisses continue by tracing a path down the side of your neck, sending a shiver of delight through you. You can’t help but catch him by the collar before pulling him back up to meet your eyes. “You’re going to make it impossible to leave this couch,” you laugh while still holding onto his shirt.

“That’s the plan,” he whispers back. His voice playful yet sincere. Then in a swift, fluid motion he captures your lips with his in a kiss that’s deeper and more intentional than the playful ones before. This kiss feels like a culmination of all the gentle pecks, each one adding a layer to the profound connection you’re building together.

As you break away there’s a shared smile. A mutual understanding of the affection and joy weaving through each interaction, each touch, each kiss. The playfulness adds a lightness to your relationship. He made moments like these not just romantic but genuinely fun, enriching the bond you share with laughter and love. After the laughter subsides and the atmosphere settles into a comfortable quiet, Jake looks at you with a contented smile. His eyes reflecting a gentle appreciation. "These moments with you. They're the highlight of my week," he says quietly. His voice carrying a note of sincerity.

Feeling a warm glow from his words you nod and smile softly. Your response understated but genuine. "It always feels different when I'm with you. It's easy, you know?" Your words are simple, echoing the straightforwardness of your time together.

Jake's response is a nod, his smile lingering. "Let's keep it that way," he replies. His agreement simple yet full of promise. The conversation feels natural, reflecting the comfort and understated affection that characterizes your relationship. As twilight transitions into the deep blue of night neither of you feels ready to break the comfortable cocoon you've formed on the couch. Jake glances at the clock, then back at you with a playful challenge in his eyes.

"How about we order some dinner?" he suggests. His tone casual but hopeful. "I'm not quite ready for this day to end. But I don’t think I can get up quite yet."

You laugh while agreeing instantly. "Sounds perfect. What are you in the mood for?"

"Pizza okay with you?" Jake asks already reaching for his phone to place the order.

"Always a good choice," you reply settling back against his chest while feeling utterly at ease.

The wait for the food is filled with more soft conversations. Each shared thought strengthening the bond between you. As the evening unfolds it becomes clear that days like these are just the beginning of what you both hope will be many more shared experiences.

When the food arrives, you set up a makeshift dining area on the coffee table, continuing the easy flow of the day into the evening. Each slice of pizza comes with stories you share. Each laugh making the room warmer. As the evening winds down, you find yourselves eagerly talking about other things you could do together, from movie nights to hiking trips. The night ends not just with satisfied appetites but with the excitement of planning future outings. It's clear that your relationship is blossoming. Full of promise for more beautiful days and nights shared in each other’s company.

Jake Seresin/Top Gun: Permanent Taglist (If you'd like to be added to any or all works please fill out the form here: Taglist Sign Up) @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @mamachasesmayhem @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @illisea @jessicab1991 @guacam011y @dempy @mrsevans90 @il0vebeingdelulu @hiireadstuff @missxmav @kajjaka

[writingbuckets]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞: 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐯𝐢𝐢

paige bueckers x podcaster!reader

wc: 3.7k

synopsis: Y/N and Paige’s relationship evolves from a slow burn to a deep, committed love as they navigate the complexities of their careers and dreams.

warnings: emotional tension, angst, jealousy, explicit sexual content, fluff, relationship growth

a/n: and we're backkk! there's only a few parts left to this fic, so i've started to write out the beginnings of new fics, specifically some one shots, so anticipate those. requests are open as i'm searching for some new one shot ideas <3

The late afternoon sunlight poured through the wide windows of Paige’s apartment, bathing the living room in a warm, golden hue that softened everything it touched. The air smelled faintly of something savory—garlic and herbs, maybe—and the sound of soft music playing from a speaker on the counter added a lazy, tranquil ambiance to the space. The place felt like her—equal parts cozy and effortlessly inviting.

You were curled up on her oversized couch, legs tucked beneath you, scrolling idly through your phone, though you weren’t really paying attention to the screen. Most of your focus was on Paige, who moved around the kitchen with an ease that only came from familiarity. She’d kicked off her sneakers hours ago, padding barefoot across the tile floor, opening and closing drawers like she already knew where everything was.

“Are you sure you don’t want help?” you called, tilting your head to get a better look at her.

Paige glanced back over her shoulder, strands of her blonde hair escaping from the now loose bun she’d tied the day before. She was wearing one of her UCONN hoodies, the fabric fitted to her frame, the hem brushing her hips. Beneath it, her pajama pants, relaxed and slouching slightly, added to the casual, cozy vibe she exuded, making it clear that she was at ease in the moment, her usual confident exterior softened by the comfort of her home. The look was casual and unintentional, but she somehow managed to make it distractingly appealing.

“Nope,” she replied, her lips quirking into a smug smirk that made her dimples appear. She lifted a knife and pointed it in your direction playfully before turning back to the cutting board. “I’ve got this. Just relax, superstar.”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname, though you couldn’t stop the grin that spread across your face. It was a teasing moniker she’d given you after you’d shared the news about landing a sponsorship for your podcast, and she’d been insufferable about it ever since. “I don’t know if watching you struggle to chop vegetables counts as relaxing,” you quipped, leaning your head against the back of the couch to watch her work.

Paige gasped in mock offense, clutching a hand dramatically to her chest. “Wow. The disrespect. In my own home, no less!”

You laughed, setting your phone down on the coffee table. “Okay, Chef Bueckers. Go ahead and impress me.”

Paige gave you a mock salute, her grin widening. “Don’t worry. By the end of this meal, you’re gonna feel so bad for doubting my skills that you’ll be begging me to cook for you every night.”

“Big words for someone who just fumbled a clove of garlic two minutes ago,” you teased, crossing your arms as you leaned into the corner of the couch.

She muttered something under her breath, turning back to the counter with a shake of her head. “Don’t worry about what happened with the garlic. That’s in the past now.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bouncing off the walls and mixing with the quiet music. The ease between you two was palpable, and it filled the space with a sense of lightness you’d grown increasingly fond of. It was amazing how natural it all felt—how seamlessly you’d slipped into this routine of spending time at her place, teasing her from the couch while she experimented with new recipes.

Occasionally, she glanced over at you, her smirk softening into something more affectionate. You caught her looking once, and she quickly turned back to the cutting board, pretending to be overly focused on dicing an onion.

“You know,” you said, a grin tugging at your lips, “if you keep staring at me, we might not get to eat until midnight.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Paige shot back, though the faint blush creeping up her neck betrayed her.

“Sure,” you replied, stretching out on the couch with an exaggerated yawn. “Take your time, Chef. I’ll just starve quietly over here.”

Paige laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Keep talking, and I might just burn your food on purpose,” she said, tossing a sliced pepper onto the cutting board with a flourish.

“Wow, threatening your guest? That’s bold.”

“You’re not a guest,” she countered, her voice softening in a way that made your chest tighten. “You’re... you know.”

The way she trailed off, the weight of the unspoken words hanging between you, caught you off guard for a moment. But then she glanced over her shoulder again, her smile small but genuine, and the tension in the air shifted into something that felt more intimate than playful.

“You’re impossible,” you said quietly, though your tone held no real annoyance.

“And yet, here you are,” Paige replied, her smirk returning as she turned back to her work.

The scent of whatever she was cooking began to fill the apartment in earnest, rich and inviting. The golden hour light streaming in through the windows caught the edges of her hair, turning it almost honey-like in color, and for a moment, you forgot about the meal entirely, too caught up in watching her.

Paige, as usual, noticed. “Now you’re staring,” she said without turning around, her voice full of teasing smugness.

“Am not,” you shot back, though the warmth in your cheeks said otherwise.

“Caught in 4K,” she retorted, glancing at you over her shoulder with a grin that made your stomach flip.

You shook your head, laughing softly as you leaned back against the couch, letting the easy rhythm of the moment wash over you. If this was what life with Paige looked like, you couldn’t wait to see where it went next.

The past few months had been everything you didn’t know you needed. What began as slow steps into something new had quickly blossomed into a rhythm that felt effortless, as if this was where you were meant to be all along. The awkward tension of your first date, with its nervous laughter and overthinking, had melted away after that night, replaced by an ease that sometimes made you question if it was too good to be true. And yet, every time Paige looked at you with that lopsided grin or sent a teasing quip your way, you realized this wasn’t a dream—it was your reality.

You and Paige had settled into a flow that worked, balancing your busy schedules with the demands of her games and your growing podcast. It wasn’t always easy, but it was worth it. Early mornings were spent sharing hurried cups of coffee, and late nights often found you curled up on her couch or yours, laughing at something silly on TV or talking about nothing and everything. Somewhere in the middle of all that, you’d discovered how much you loved these quieter moments, the ones that felt suspended in time, like lazy afternoons when the rest of the world seemed to fade away.

Being with Paige had surprised you in ways you hadn’t anticipated. On paper, she was a phenomenon: the Paige Bueckers, basketball prodigy, fan favorite, and media darling. She was a star in every sense of the word, with a presence so magnetic it felt like it could pull the tide. But with you, she was just Paige. Goofy, thoughtful, endlessly witty, and endearingly competitive about everything from who could open a jar faster to who had the better taste in music.

She was the kind of person who would call you at midnight just to tell you she’d heard a song on the radio that reminded her of you. She was also the kind of person who would take ten minutes to pick out the right snack from a convenience store and then tease you for your “unrefined” candy preferences. With her, everything felt easy—like finding the right piece to a puzzle you hadn’t realized was missing.

“You’re quiet,” Paige’s voice broke through your thoughts, casual but laced with curiosity as she worked at the counter.

You blinked, her words pulling you back to the present. She hadn’t turned around, too focused on her task, but somehow, she always knew when your mind wandered. “Just thinking,” you replied, trying to play it cool.

Paige glanced over her shoulder, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Thinking about what? Or should I say… who?”

“Wow, conceited much?” you shot back, trying to ignore the slight flush that crept up your neck.

Her grin widened as she turned fully, holding up a cutting board with half of a neatly sliced pepper. “Just admit it,” she said, her tone smug.

“I wasn’t thinking about you,” you lied, though your cheeks betrayed you.

“Oh, really?” Paige placed the cutting board down and leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. The playful glint in her eyes made it clear she wasn’t letting this go. “So, what was it? World domination? Your podcast’s next big scoop? Which player’s sneakers squeaked the loudest during the last game?”

You laughed despite yourself, shaking your head. “None of the above. I was thinking about…” You trailed off for dramatic effect.

“About?” she pressed, leaning in slightly as if your answer were life or death.

You smirked, deciding to turn the tables. “About how you always insist on using the tiniest cutting board in existence for way too many vegetables. Seriously, do you not own a bigger one?”

Paige gasped, clutching a hand to her chest in mock offense. “This cutting board and I have history! Don’t disrespect it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was insulting a family heirloom,” you teased, folding your arms across your chest.

“It practically is,” she shot back with a grin. “We’ve been through a lot together. College dorm meals, team dinner cooking fails… it’s seen things, Y/N.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “And yet it’s still too small.”

Paige laughed, pushing off the counter and returning to her task, her shoulders shaking with amusement. “One day, I’ll upgrade. But until then, this little guy gets the job done.”

“Barely,” you quipped, earning another laugh from her.

She reached for a pan, humming softly to the tune playing throughout the apartment. Watching her like this—barefoot in her hoodie, completely at home in her own space—made your chest ache in the best way. 

“Careful,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant. “You might actually impress me with your cooking skills.”

She glanced over her shoulder, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Oh, I will. And when I do, I expect a full public apology for all the trash-talking you’ve done about my culinary expertise.”

You snorted. “Culinary expertise? Paige, I’ve seen you eat cereal straight from the box because you didn’t want to wash a bowl.”

“That’s called efficiency,” she shot back, turning her attention back to the stove. “You wouldn’t understand.”

The playful banter filled the space, bouncing off the walls with an energy that contrasted beautifully with the softer, quieter moments you shared. It was hard not to feel light in moments like this, when everything about her felt so natural and unguarded. Paige had a way of making the world feel a little less heavy, a little more vibrant, just by being herself.

“Paige,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the comfortable silence.

She glanced over her shoulder, her expression shifting from playful to attentive in an instant. “Yeah?”

“I was just thinking…” You hesitated, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

Paige turned off the burner and set the spoon down, giving you her full attention. She leaned against the counter, her arms crossing loosely over her chest. “That sounds serious,” she teased gently, though her tone was laced with genuine curiosity.

You smiled, trying to push past the nervous energy bubbling up. “It’s not, really. Just… us. How this feels.”

Her eyes softened, the teasing completely gone now. She pushed away from the counter and walked over to the couch, dropping down beside you. “What about it?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

You fiddled with the hem of your shirt, searching for the right words. “I guess I didn’t expect it to be this easy. Being with you.”

Paige tilted her head, watching you closely. “Easy in a good way, I hope?”

You nodded quickly, laughing softly. “Yeah, in a really good way. I mean, I knew you’d be funny and smart and all that. But I didn’t think…” You trailed off, suddenly shy under her gaze.

“That I’d be this irresistible?” she offered, a smirk tugging at her lips, though her eyes betrayed her vulnerability.

“Obviously,” you shot back, rolling your eyes. Then you sobered, reaching out to take her hand. “I didn’t think I’d feel this comfortable. Like we’ve been doing this forever.”

Paige’s fingers curled around yours, her grip warm and steady. “Same,” she admitted. “I was worried at first, you know? That I’d mess things up or… that maybe it’d be too much.”

Your brows furrowed. “Too much?”

She shrugged, her thumb brushing absently over your knuckles. “With basketball, the attention… my life isn’t exactly low-key. I didn’t want that to make things harder for you. But you’ve just… you’ve handled everything so well.”

You squeezed her hand, your chest tightening at her honesty. “Paige, I knew what I was signing up for. And yeah, maybe it’s not the most ‘normal’ relationship, but it’s ours. And I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

Her smile was small but radiant, the kind that made your stomach flip. “You’re something else, you know that?”

You leaned in, resting your forehead against hers. “Right back at you.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything, the silence filled only by the soft hum of the kitchen appliances. Then Paige shifted slightly, her free hand brushing against your cheek.

“I’m glad we’re doing this,” she murmured, her voice almost a whisper.

You pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. “Me too.” 

Her eyes softened, and before you could say another word, she leaned in, closing the small distance between you. Her lips brushed yours gently at first, a soft, lingering kiss that seemed to hold everything unspoken between you. The warmth of her lips sent a shiver through you, and as she deepened the kiss, everything around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in that quiet moment. It was slow, tender, the kind of kiss that told you more than words ever could, words you desperately wanted to say. When you finally pulled away, your breath was shallow, and the world outside felt a little less important.

Paige smiled, her thumb gently tracing your bottom lip. “I meant that,” she whispered, her voice low and full of meaning.

“I know,” you replied softly, your hand instinctively finding her waist, pulling her just a little bit closer.

The look in her eyes was so tender, so full of affection, that you felt like you might melt under its weight. And you couldn't help but think that for all the unexpected twists and turns life had thrown at you, this—being here, with her—was exactly where you were meant to be.

Eventually, she slid a plate in front of you with a dramatic flourish. “Voilà,” she said, her voice dripping with mock sophistication. “A masterpiece, handcrafted by yours truly.”

You raised an eyebrow, eyeing the dish. “Looks edible,” you said, hiding your smile.

She gasped, feigning offense. “Excuse me? That’s not the enthusiasm I was hoping for. Where’s the applause? The standing ovation?”

You picked up your fork, taking a small bite to appease her. To your surprise, the food wasn’t just good—it was amazing. The flavors were rich and perfectly balanced, the kind of dish you’d expect at a nice restaurant, not from Paige’s kitchen.

Your eyes widened, and Paige immediately noticed. “I knew it,” she said triumphantly. “You love it. Go ahead, admit it.”

You tried to keep a straight face, but it was impossible. “Okay, fine. It’s good. Like, really good. How did you pull this off?”

Paige leaned against the counter, her smirk turning smug. “Told you I’m full of surprises, superstar.”

As you laughed, the late afternoon sun began to dip lower, casting the room in softer, golden hues. The conversation flowed effortlessly as you ate, touching on everything from her upcoming games to your plans for the next podcast episode. She listened intently as you spoke, her gaze warm and unwavering, and you found yourself marveling again at how easy it was to just… be with her.

When dinner was done, Paige stood and started clearing the plates, but you stopped her.

“Hey, you cooked. Let me handle this.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Deal. But if you break one of my glasses, you’re banned from entering my kitchen forever.”

“Noted,” you said with a laugh, collecting the dishes.

By the time you’d finished tidying up the kitchen, the faint hum of the TV and the soft glow of the living room lights welcomed you back into the cozy space. Paige was sprawled out on the couch, one leg draped lazily over the armrest, she’d taken down her bun and her golden hair was tousled from running her fingers through it. She held the remote in one hand, scrolling through Netflix with a look of mild concentration.

Hearing your footsteps, she glanced up, her face breaking into a soft smile. “There you are,” she said, patting the empty space beside her. “Come here.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Crossing the room, you sank into the cushions beside her, instantly enveloped by her warmth as she draped an arm over your shoulders and pulled you close. Your legs tangled together naturally, the scent of her familiar—clean and comforting.

“Miss me already?” you teased, resting your head against her shoulder.

“Always,” she shot back smoothly, her lips quirking into a grin as she pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head.

“What are we watching?” you asked, glancing at the TV, where the endless carousel of titles continued to scroll.

“Not sure yet,” she admitted, her thumb hovering over the remote. “But I’m vetoing any true crime. I don’t feel like sleeping with the lights on tonight.”

You laughed, snuggling further into her side. “Fair point. Let’s go with something cheesy, then. Rom-com or bust.”

“Rom-com it is,” Paige agreed, scrolling until she found a movie with a predictably charming cover: a couple laughing together in a picturesque park. She clicked play without much thought, settling back into the cushions with a contented sigh.

The movie began, its upbeat opening credits accompanied by a lighthearted soundtrack, but your attention drifted almost immediately. Instead of focusing on the predictable meet-cute unfolding on the screen, you found yourself drawn to the small, absentminded gestures Paige made—the way her fingers gently traced slow, lazy patterns along your arm, the way her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm that matched the quiet calm of the moment.

You tilted your head to look up at her, catching the soft lines of her profile as she watched the screen. Her expression was relaxed, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips every time something particularly cheesy happened.

“What?” she asked, not looking away from the screen but clearly sensing your gaze.

“Nothing,” you replied, though the warmth spreading through your chest begged to differ.

Minutes passed like that, the comfort of her presence and the warmth of the room lulling you into a blissful haze. Then Paige’s voice broke the silence, softer now, almost hesitant.

“Hey,” she murmured after a while, her voice breaking the comfortable silence.

“Hmm?”

She shifted slightly, enough that you could feel her looking down at you. When you tilted your head up, her blue eyes met yours, and for a moment, she didn’t say anything. There was something searching in her gaze, like she was trying to find the right words.

“Can I tell you something?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

You nodded, your heart picking up slightly at the unexpected vulnerability in her tone. “Of course.”

Her fingers stilled against your arm, but her hand didn’t pull away. She took a breath, her chest rising and falling beneath your touch, before speaking. “I didn’t think… I didn’t think I could feel this way about someone.”

The weight of her words settled over you, heavy and full of meaning.

She continued, her gaze unwavering, as if grounding herself in your presence. “It’s like… no matter how crazy everything gets—basketball, the media, everything—you’re this constant. And I’ve never had that before. Not like this.”

Your throat tightened, emotion swelling in your chest. Paige wasn’t someone who opened up easily. She carried so much of the world on her shoulders, and yet here she was, baring a piece of herself that felt achingly real.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you reached up, your fingers lightly brushing against her cheek. “Me neither,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion.

She leaned into your touch, her eyes closing for a moment like she was savoring the weight of your hand against her skin. When she opened them again, the vulnerability in her expression was replaced by something softer—an undeniable warmth that made your chest ache in the best way.

“I mean it,” she said, her voice steady but still tender. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

The words hit you with a force you hadn’t expected, and for a moment, you couldn’t find your voice. All you could do was shift closer, wrapping your arms around her as you buried your face against her shoulder.

Paige held you tightly, her hand finding its place at the small of your back. Her lips brushed against your temple, lingering there as if to ground herself in the moment.

“I don’t think I could do this without you,” she murmured.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her. “You could,” you said firmly, though your voice trembled with the weight of your own emotions. “But I’m glad you don’t have to.”

A slow, grateful smile spread across her face, and she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against yours. The space between you felt almost sacred, the air charged with unspoken promises.

The movie played on in the background, forgotten as you stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms. The world outside could wait. For now, all that mattered was this moment, and the quiet, unshakable love that filled the space between you.

[vibeswithdivs]

three hours! - OP81

You didn’t plan on introducing Oscar to Bollywood that night.

Really, you didn’t.

It started innocently: a grey sky, the hum of lazy rain, and the sheer novelty of both of you being home at the same time during a break in the season. The two of you had declared it a “no-F1” day — no telemetry data, no sim practice, no McLaren group chats, and definitely no talk of brake balance. Just snacks, cuddles, and “whatever movie you want, love.”

You should’ve known what that meant.

You were already halfway through prepping your popcorn when Oscar leaned into the kitchen with a mischievous smile.

“So,” he said, arms crossed, one brow raised. “Do I finally get to see what all the dramatic musical fuss is about?”

You paused, spice tin in one hand, your eyes narrowing. “You mean Bollywood?”

He nodded. “Yeah. But like… a real one. Not just clips you send me at 2 a.m. of that Shah guy running through the rain yelling someone’s name.”

“Shah guy?!” you gasped, spinning to face him. “Oscar James Piastri! That’s Shah Rukh Khan. The king. The legend. The—”

He took a slow step back, grinning. “And I’ve summoned the demon.”

You made him sit through a full trailer lineup before you even picked the film. Each one was followed by his increasingly dramatic reactions:

“Wait, is this a mafia film or a romance?”

“Is he actually crying because she made tea for someone else?”

“Was that a dream sequence in a hospital corridor?”

After several deeply emotional decisions — and a coin toss — you finally settled on Kal Ho Naa Ho. You knew it was the one. Love triangle. Soul-wrenching twist. SRK at his absolute, dimpled peak.

Oscar flopped on the couch with a bowl of popcorn in his lap and a suspicious look on his face. “Three hours?”

You kissed the top of his head. “Worth every minute.”

The movie began. And slowly, it began to happen.

At first, Oscar looked skeptical. You’d warned him about the singing, but that didn’t stop him from blinking at the first burst of a full-on street number like it was an ambush.

“Wait—why is everyone dancing in sync? Do they all know this choreo? Are they possessed?”

You giggled. “It’s called Bollywood logic, babe. Just go with it.”

He shot you a look. “I thought Formula 1 had complex rules.”

But you caught the smirk he tried to hide when SRK entered in slow motion, wind in his hair, sunglasses glinting like destiny had just walked into a café.

“You’re smiling,” you said, nudging his shoulder.

“I’m not,” he replied, eyes fixed on the screen. “I’m… just appreciating cinematography.”

By the first hour mark, Oscar was in deep.

He leaned forward during every café scene, popcorn long forgotten. He asked an unreasonable number of questions:

“So she hates him, but she’ll obviously fall for him, right?”

“The guy with the guitar—he’s too nice. That’s a red flag.”

“Why is the grandma always yelling? I like her.”

He read every subtitle with religious focus, mouthing some of the Hindi words under his breath with comical pronunciation.

“Tum theek ho?” he whispered seriously at one point.

You raised an eyebrow. “You just asked if I’m okay.”

He nodded proudly. “Character immersion.”

You snorted into your chai.

The emotional turning point hit him like DRS through Eau Rouge.

The moment Aman starts coughing more frequently, a frown appeared between Oscar’s brows. When Aman hides his medical file, Oscar sat up straighter. And when the real twist unfurled — the truth of Aman’s terminal illness — Oscar dropped the popcorn bowl in slow motion.

It clattered on the carpet, kernels flying everywhere. He didn’t even flinch.

“Wait… WHAT?!” His voice cracked. “He’s DYING?”

You placed a hand on his thigh, both in comfort and to stop yourself from laughing. “Yes.”

“And he’s been matchmaking them this whole time?” he asked, voice raising with each word. “HE’S SACRIFICING HIMSELF FOR HER HAPPINESS?”

You gave him a pitying nod. “Shah Rukh doesn’t do half-measures.”

Oscar turned back to the screen like it had personally betrayed him. His hand clutched your arm now. “This is a violation. I didn’t sign up to feel this much today.”

“Oh no,” you whispered. “He’s bonded.”

By the end, Oscar was gone.

Silent. Wide-eyed. Face slightly crumpled.

As Aman made his final monologue — that devastating mix of warmth, love, and goodbye — Oscar looked as though he’d just been told he’d DNFed in the last lap of Monaco.

He made a strange little noise when the final funeral shot faded to white.

You turned to him slowly, trying not to giggle. “You okay there?”

He turned to you, tear tracks on his cheeks, voice hoarse. “I feel like I aged ten years.”

You handed him a tissue. “Congratulations. You’re now a certified Bollywood fan.”

He blinked, dazed. “How do people watch this more than once? How do you survive this?”

You curled into his side, smug and cozy. “You build emotional resilience. And chai. Lots of chai.”

He glanced down at you, a bit of awe in his expression. “You’ve really been watching these your whole life?”

You nodded. “I grew up with them. They’re part of my soul.”

He wiped at his face, still sniffling. “I’m starting to think your soul is made of heartbreak and really good music.”

You beamed. “Exactly.”

Later that night, Oscar came up behind you while you were brushing your teeth, arms slipping around your waist.

“We need to talk,” he said, voice serious.

You raised an eyebrow at him in the mirror. “Okay…?”

“That song.” He pointed a finger like he was accusing the toothpaste. “The one in the wedding scene.”

You blinked. “Maahi Ve?”

“Yeah. That’s been stuck in my head for two hours,” he said. “It’s haunting me. Why do I like it so much?!”

You giggled. “Welcome to your villain origin story.”

He squinted at you. “Do people… dance to it?”

You blinked back at him. “Yes?”

“Like at weddings?”

You nodded slowly. “Yes?”

His lips twitched. “Teach me.”

You stared at him. “Now?”

He folded his arms, competitive fire in his eyes. “I learned Monaco’s sector three layout in twenty minutes. I can learn a Bollywood hook step.”

You threw your head back laughing. “Oscar Piastri, are you seriously asking for a Bollywood dance lesson at midnight?”

He grinned. “If I’m going down this rabbit hole, I’m going all in.”

And you did. Right there in your pajamas, in the middle of the living room, you taught a Formula 1 driver the basics of a Bollywood wedding dance. He was stiff, missed most of the beats, and almost knocked over a lamp with his elbow.

But when he got it right and you high-fived him with pure joy, he smiled so wide it rivaled the actual Maahi Ve sequence.

As the clock ticked past 2 a.m., you were both collapsed on the sofa again, tangled in blankets, hearts full.

Oscar turned to you, head on your shoulder. “You know…”

“Mmm?”

“I didn’t think I’d like it. I thought it would be cheesy and over-the-top.”

You waited.

He looked up at you, quiet and honest. “But it was… real. Like, so real. The kind of story that actually stays with you.”

You kissed his forehead gently. “That’s Bollywood. It sneaks up on you.”

He nodded. “Okay. One condition.”

“What?”

“You pick the next one,” he said, already opening the Bollywood playlist on your TV. “But I want dancing. More dancing.”

You laughed, heart full. “Deal. For you, maybe even Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge next.”

He raised a hand solemnly. “As long as I don’t have to wear tight white pants.”

“No promises,” you smirked.

[honeyslibrary]

Game Tape ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Quinn Hughes

Pairing; Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); None I believe. Established relationship, fluff + a teeny tiny bit of angst?

Summary; A lil domestic moment, chatting on the sofa late night. Quinn is stressed. (Terrible summary I apologize)

Word Count; 1.8k

Author's note; This is kind of boring? I don't know. I wanted to write something gave a glimpse into the sort of stress that being a professional athlete can have on the player, as well as their partner? Fem!Reader's relationship with Quinn is complex, and she's his anchor, in the way that if he's flying to close to the sun, she'll be there. I don't know. Would love to know your thoughts if you have any! I hope you like it. -Honey

It’s a cold early December evening, one of Quinn’s rare days off. Snow has finally began to blanket the sidewalks, and the sharp bite of the wind carries the unmistakable promise of Christmastime. The two of you have spent the entire day tucked indoors, savoring the kind of lazy comfort only winter seems to invite. Breakfast was a cozy affair in bed, dinner a warm, aromatic soup you cooked together. Now, you’ve settled onto the sofa together in the living room. Quinn is slouched against you, his arm draped lazily over your shoulder as his eyes flicker across the glowing screen, his brows furrowed as he processes his latest game tape, another tough loss for his Canucks. You're comfortably absorbed in your book, your legs casually draped across his lap as you flip through the pages.

"How many times are you planning to watch that play?" You ask, your tone teasing but gentle, eyes never leaving Wuthering Heights.

Quinn lets out an exasperated huff, pausing the tape mid-play. The room falls silent except for the soft hum of the furnace. He rolls his eyes, his expression caught somewhere between frustration and chagrin. "The more I watch, the more stuff I catch," he says, moving slightly to let his head fall back against the couch, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as his fingers drum absently at your thigh. "I don’t know... something just feels off."

"Something's off with the team?"

Quinn’s eye twitches—a subtle sign of annoyance at the fact that you weren't really listening to him. He lets out a dry, humorless laugh, shaking his head slightly before responding. "I meant me," he says, his voice edged with frustration, though not directed at you. "Something is off with my game. I'm not playing as well as I normally do, and everyone is noticing."

"Well, you’re playing, what, over thirty minutes a night? You’ve got a heavy workload. That’s bound to lead to a mistake or two," you say, your tone matter-of-fact as you casually flip to the next page of your book.

He rolls his eyes. He knows you're right, but refuses to admit it. A muscle in his jaw tightens as his gaze returns to the paused frame on the TV screen. He exhales a deep, weary breath, his shoulders slumping slightly under the weight of his own expectations, and he's leaned back into your side where he was before, his head resting on your shoulder again. "That’s not it," he mutters, more to himself than to you. "I know it’s not. It’s... mental. Like, I’m overthinking everything out there. I see the play happening, but I'm a second behind. Just can’t figure out what the hell’s wrong with me."

"Well, I'm sure torturing yourself by watching the same play over and over again will fix it."

He lets out another laugh, a genuine one this time. "It may not be helping, I'll give you that. But I don't exactly have another solution right now, and you're too absorbed in your book to even care."

A soft laugh escapes your lips as you let your book fall closed in your lap. Shifting slightly, you turn to properly face him just as he lifts his head from your shoulder. The movement lets you take him in fully—the dark circles under his eyes seem even more pronounced now, a testament to weeks of exhaustion, and the faint red mark on his forehead, left behind by hours of wearing his helmet, looks irritated despite his insistence that it doesn’t bother him. Still, even with the wear and tear etched into his features, he’s as handsome as ever to you—perhaps even more so. Your hand reaches up almost instinctively, your fingers weaving gently through the overgrown waves of his brunette hair, the strands soft and free from sweat. "I do care, dummy."

Quinn sighs, leaning into your touch just a little, as if your hand in his hair is the only thing grounding him. "I know, I know," he murmurs, his voice low. "I’m just... frustrated, is all."

Your lips twist into a frown. "I'm sorry."

He shakes his head, letting out a huff. "Don't apologize, idiot. It's not your fault I'm stressed out."

You hum softly, a sound that seems to settle the air around you. Leaning your head against his shoulder, you reach for one of his hands, cradling it in yours. Your thumbs move gently over the skin of his palm, slow and deliberate, tracing circles that feel almost meditative.

Quinn exhales, this time a genuine sigh of contentment, the kind that feels like a weight lifting off his chest. A rare sense of peace begins to creep in, softening the tension he’s been carrying. For once, he allows himself to let go, his mind surrendering to the comfort of the moment.

His breathing slows, each inhale deeper than the last as his eyes flutter shut. The usual storm of thoughts in his head grows quiet, replaced by the grounding simplicity of your presence. He focuses on the warmth of your touch, the way your fingers intertwine so naturally with his, as though they were meant to fit together. The subtle notes of your perfume—sweet strawberry and vanilla—linger in the air, soothing him further.

For the first time that evening, the relentless noise from hockey fades into the background. In its place is you: your closeness, your touch, your quiet companionship. And in that fleeting moment, Quinn lets himself just be—no plays to analyze, no mistakes to overthink, just the steady comfort of being next to you.

A few quiet minutes pass before you break the silence. "Can we be done with this?" you ask, gesturing toward the paused game tape on the TV. Your tone is soft but insistent. "Let’s call it a night early and go cuddle in bed."

Quinn’s lips twitch into a smile as he glances down at you, a mischievous glint in his tired eyes. He raises a brow, his voice taking on a teasing lilt. "Cuddling? That’s it?"

You meet his gaze with an amused expression, tilting your head slightly. "As opposed to what, mister?"

He chuckles, the sound low and warm, and shakes his head, his grin widening. There’s a lightness to him now, a stark contrast to the earlier frustration. "Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, dummy," he says, his voice mock-accusatory.

His laughter lingers in the air, and you roll your eyes in response, though a smile creeps onto your face despite your best efforts.

"Just wanted to get a laugh outta you."

Quinn’s smile widens, the corners of his lips quirking up in that effortless way that makes your heart flutter. Shaking his head, he leans back against the couch and, without a word, wraps his hands around your waist. In one fluid motion, he pulls you into his lap, his movements casual but firm.

His arms encircle you securely, drawing you closer until there’s no space left between you. He rests his head on your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. The scent of him—clean and familiar, with a faint trace of cologne—fills your senses. He takes a deep breath, letting out a contented hum that vibrates softly against your collarbone.

Your fingers instinctively find their way to his hair again, threading gently through the dark strands. The repetitive motion seems to soothe him, and you feel the tension in his shoulders start to melt away.

"I’m serious," you murmur, your voice softer now. "I don’t want you making yourself crazy over hockey."

"I’m not making myself crazy," he murmurs, his voice low and resolute. "I just want to win."

You exhale deeply, the sound heavy with both concern and understanding. You pause, choosing your words carefully, not wanting to push too hard but unable to stay silent. "I want you to win, too," you say gently, your fingers still gently combing through his hair. "But not at the expense of your mental health."

Quinn lets out another hum, the sound more thoughtful than dismissive. He knows you’re right—of course, you’re right—but that doesn’t make it any easier to accept. Winning isn’t just a goal for him; it’s a necessity, a part of who he is. He’s never been the kind of person to give anything less than everything he has, even when it takes a toll. He leans back slightly, his gaze distant as if he’s searching for answers somewhere in the room. The drive to be the best gnaws at him relentlessly, and the belief that he can be, that he should be, is a constant weight on his shoulders.

"I’m not letting it affect my mental health, alright?" he says, glancing at you with a small, reassuring smile that reaches his eyes, giving you peace of mind in the moment. "I’m fine. Just... need to get my head straight, that’s all."

You study him, your eyes searching his face with a intensity that only deepens the slight furrow of your brow. His words linger in the air, and as you take them in, you know without a doubt he’s being honest. You’ve always been able to tell when Quinn is trying to bluff his way through something, and this isn’t one of those times.

His hazel eyes hold yours, unwavering and filled with a quiet vulnerability that he rarely lets show. Slowly, he raises a hand, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a touch so tender it sends warmth radiating through you. "Promise me something?" He asks.

You nod, leaning ever so slightly into his palm. "Yeah, angel," you reply, the nickname slipping out naturally. "What is it?"

He lets out a small, almost exasperated huff at the sound of that nickname—a stupid nickname, he’d call it if you asked—but the corners of his lips twitch upward, betraying how much he secretly adores it. As much as he hates to admit it, the way you say angel makes his heart skip every damn time. "Kick my ass every once in a while for overworking myself?"

You let out a snort, shaking your head as a laugh bubbles up from your chest. "So, what, I should kick your ass right now?" you tease, your eyes gleaming with amusement.

Quinn lets out a scoff, followed by an exaggerated eye roll, his expression caught somewhere between amused and exasperated. "I meant in the future, smartass," He quips.

Another laugh escapes you, this one louder, brighter, filling the space between you. "Alright, deal," you say, your grin mirroring his.

He leans in closer, the warmth of his presence pulling you in, and presses a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. The gesture is tender, almost childlike in its sweetness, but the grin that follows is anything but. "Good." He murmurs, "Now, can we go upstairs like you were saying? Think I have a better idea than cuddling."

[devdozes]

♣ What ever happened to the hayloft? (pt.2)

gigles.. hope yall enjoy it!! uh tension, maybe confusing a bit, politics and eveything

part 1

The alarm blared at exactly 6:00 AM, an obnoxious, repetitive ringing that yanked you out of a restless sleep. You groaned, blindly reaching out to slam your hand against the nightstand, feeling around until your fingers found the phone. With a lazy flick, you silenced the noise and lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling as the events of last night came crashing back into you like a slow-moving storm.

Eurypon was dead.

The corruption within the Investigation Unit had been gutted from the inside out.

And in less than an hour, you were supposed to walk back into the very place that had cast you aside.

Your stomach curled at the thought. Not from fear, but from something far more complex—uncertainty. You had been given power, a position where no one could control you this time. But the hand that had given you this power belonged to Mydei. And Mydei never did anything without reason.

You rubbed your hands down your face before forcing yourself up. There was no time to overthink. If you were going to do this, you’d do it on your terms.

Moving on autopilot,, still half asleep and dazed you got dressed—opting for something simple but sharp. Something that made it clear you weren’t here to be anyone’s subordinate. As you laced up your boots, your eyes flickered to your phone. No new messages. No further instructions from Mydei.

Just a lingering silence.

It was almost infuriating how casually he had thrown you back into this world, as if he knew you wouldn’t refuse. As if he knew you would show up.

You grabbed your keys and stepped outside, the crisp morning air biting at your skin as you swung your leg over your bike. The roads were quiet, the city barely waking, but your mind was anything but still.

As you sped towards the Investigation Unit’s headquarters, your grip on the handlebars tightened.

This was it.

This was your return.

But the real question was—was it really yours? Or was it still just another part of Mydei’s game? . . . . .

The towering glass building of the Investigation Unit loomed ahead, cold and imposing. You had once walked these halls as an equal—an agent with skill and purpose. And then, just as easily, you had been discarded. A problem to be rid of. A liability.

But now, as you strode through the entrance, the heavy doors sliding open with a quiet hiss, something was different. The air itself felt sharper, as if the building itself recognized that the power dynamic had shifted.

The moment you stepped inside, all eyes were on you.

Some faces were unfamiliar. Others, you recognized instantly—former colleagues who had once whispered behind your back, who had sneered when Eurypon had thrown you out. Now, those same people stiffened as you walked past. Some looked away. Others merely stared, unreadable expressions on their faces.

But no one said a word.

No one dared to.

You almost smirked.

The elevator ride to the upper floors was silent. The atmosphere was thick, the kind of tension that came with a drastic shift in authority. When the doors slid open, you were met with the sight of the main operations floor—sleek, modern, and buzzing with activity.

And at the center of it all stood him.

Mydei.

His ash-blonde hair, streaked with deep red at the tips, caught the artificial light as he stood with his back to you, scanning a digital report on one of the large monitors. Even without seeing his face, you could feel that signature presence of his—composed, calculating, utterly unshaken.

But then, as if sensing your arrival, he turned.

Sharp golden eyes met yours.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, in that same cool, level voice, he said, “You’re late.”

You scoffed, stepping further into the room, arms loosely crossed. “I wasn’t aware I was on a leash.”

Something flickered across his face—something almost amused—before it disappeared as quickly as it came. “You’re in charge of this operation,” he continued, ignoring your jab. “You have full authority. No one will interfere.” A pause. Then, in a quieter tone, he added, “Not even me.” mydei down bad

You studied him for a long moment. Mydei was always unreadable, always five steps ahead. But there was something genuine about this. He wasn’t just throwing you into another mission—he was giving you something. Control. Independence.

Power.

Your fingers curled slightly at your sides. The weight of the moment settled deep in your chest.

You had spent so long hating the Investigation Unit. Hating what it had done to you.

But now, as you stood here, facing Mydei, one thing became clear.

This was no longer their Investigation Unit.

It was yours.

And no one—not a single person—was going to take it from you again.

For the first time in a long time, a slow smile curled on your lips.

“Fine,” you murmured, tilting your head. “Let’s get to work.”

The meeting was held in the most secure room within the Investigation Unit—deep underground, beneath layers of reinforced security measures that not even the highest-ranking officials had access to. It was a room that had only been used for the most classified operations, and today was no exception.

Only five people were present.

You. Mydei. Aglaea. Phainon. Castorice.

No one else knew. No one else could know.

The air was thick with tension as the holo-projector in the center of the table flickered to life, displaying a detailed map of the Epos-Kremnos border. The jagged red lines dividing the two nations looked almost like open wounds, fresh and raw, a reminder of the centuries-old conflict between them.

But this mission wasn’t about war.

It was about erasure.

You leaned forward, eyes locked onto the map as Mydei’s voice cut through the silence.

“Epos has remained a thorn in Kremnos’ side for too long,” he began, his tone as smooth as ever, yet razor-sharp beneath the surface. “And their terrorist cells have only grown more emboldened over the past few years. The last few attempts to dismantle them have failed—spectacularly.”

You knew that well. Every time Kremnos’ forces got close to eliminating the main terrorist leader of Epos, the enemy somehow evaded them. It was as if they knew every move beforehand, slipping through Kremnos’ grasp like smoke. It was humiliating. Infuriating.

This time, it would be different.

This time, secrecy was their greatest weapon.

“No official records will exist of this operation,” Mydei continued, golden eyes sweeping across the four of you. “No files. No digital traces. The government isn’t sanctioning this—at least, not publicly. If we succeed, Kremnos will claim victory. If we fail…” His gaze darkened, and you knew exactly what he meant.

If you failed, you didn’t exist.

Aglaea, who had been listening in composed silence, finally spoke. Her blue-green eyes flickered to the map, analyzing every detail with a critical sharpness.

“The terrorist leader, Acastus, is too well-guarded,” she stated. “Every attempt to take him down has resulted in losses. Every piece of intelligence we’ve gathered has led to dead ends. Someone within our own ranks must have been leaking information to Epos.”

You exhaled sharply. No wonder every mission had been compromised.

Phainon leaned back in his seat, his usually cocky and cheery demeanor unreadable. “That’s why we’re keeping this in the dark,” he murmured, fingers tapping rhythmically against the table. “Only the five of us know. No informants, no reports. Just us.”

Silence followed his words, the weight of the mission settling over everyone.

Then, Castorice finally spoke.

Her voice was soft—almost too soft for the deadly aura she carried—but every syllable was laced with quiet menace. “Acastus has humiliated Kremnos long enough,” she said, her violet eyes glinting under the dim light. “It’s time we return the favor.”

You smirked at her words.

The plan was simple in theory, but execution would be brutal.

You had one objective: eliminate Acastus.

The moment the holo-projector flickered off, the room plunged into an unsettling silence. The map of Epos and Kremnos disappeared, but its presence lingered like an unshakable weight in the air.

No one moved at first.

The gravity of the mission settled over each of you—five individuals carrying a burden meant for an entire nation.

You leaned back in your chair, fingers drumming idly against the armrest. Your thoughts were sharp, calculating, but beneath it all, there was something else. A sliver of uncertainty.

Not about the mission.

Not about the enemy.

But about Mydei.

You weren’t sure whether to trust him yet. He had cleared the path for you, removed the corrupt officers who had ruined your career, and placed you at the helm of this mission without hesitation. He had given you control.

But why?

What was he really after?

Across the table, Mydei stood up, the sharp lines of his uniform accentuated by the dim lighting. His golden eyes flickered toward you, assessing, waiting. Then, with a slight tilt of his head, he said, “You’ll receive the details of your deployment within the next twelve hours. Be ready.”

With that, he turned on his heel and strode toward the exit, the sound of his boots echoing through the quiet room.

Aglaea sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “This is going to be hell,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else.

Phainon, ever the perfectionist, leaned forward, scanning his personal data pad. “I’ll start running through potential infiltration routes. Acastus won’t go down easily.”

Castorice didn’t speak. She simply stood, fixing the collar of her coat before giving you a glance.

“You’re the highest authority in this mission,” she reminded you, her voice quiet but unwavering. “No one controls you now. Keep that in mind.”

You met her gaze, feeling the weight of her words settle into your bones.

She was right.

This wasn’t like before—where corrupt superiors dictated your every move, throwing you aside when it was convenient.

This time, you called the shots.

You exhaled, forcing away the last remnants of doubt. "We move in silence," you reminded them, standing as well. "No one outside this room can know."

Aglaea, Phainon, and Castorice exchanged silent nods before following Mydei’s path out of the room. Castorice looks back behind you, giving you a faint smile and a faint red on her cheek. A smile that says a message. We are glad to have you back

That left just you.

Alone in the dimly lit space, you remained still for a moment, letting the reality of it all sink in. . . . .

The dimly lit hallway stretched out before you as you stepped out of the briefing room. The soft hum of the ventilation system was the only sound accompanying your footsteps.

The weight of the mission still lingered on your shoulders, but something about stepping outside that suffocating room made it easier to breathe. You rolled your shoulders, shaking off the tension.

Then—

BZZZT.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket.

Glancing at the screen, you saw the name flashing across it.

Aglaea.

You hesitated.

Your thumb hovered over the answer button, but before you could press it—

“So you did save my number.”

The voice was soft, yet firm, carrying a weight that made you still.

You looked up, and there she was.

Aglaea stood just a few steps away, arms crossed, posture composed as always. But her expression was… different.

For someone who had mastered the art of shutting off her emotions, someone who always spoke with an almost clinical detachment—she was smiling.

Faint. Gentle.

Surprisingly Pure.

It was barely there, just the slightest curve of her lips, but it was real.

Something flickered in your chest.

You didn’t know what to say at first. You had expected her to keep her distance, to act as if nothing had changed between you. But here she was, standing in front of you, acknowledging the fact that despite everything—

You had saved her number.

You exhaled, a small, amused breath slipping out. "Guess I did."

Aglaea’s eyes softened—only slightly, but enough for you to notice.

She didn’t say anything else. She didn’t need to.

The two of you simply stood there for a moment, the air between you filled with unspoken words, with a history too complicated to unravel in a single conversation.

Then, as if remembering herself, Aglaea straightened, her composed mask settling back into place. "Walk with me," she said, turning on her heel.

You stared for a second before shaking your head with a smirk. "Didn’t even wait for me to say yes, huh?"

"Would you have said no?"

"Tch. Fair point."

And so, you followed. . . . . . The hallway stretched on in comfortable silence as you walked beside Aglaea, the soft tapping of your boots against the polished floor the only sound between you. Despite the rigid walls and cold artificial lighting, there was something strangely nostalgic about this—walking next to her. Like old times.

Once upon a time, this would have been normal. The two of you had been inseparable in the investigation unit, your synergy was unmatched, your trust in each other unwavering. But that was before—before everything fell apart, before Eurypon framed you, Before all your superiors disregarded you before Aglaea let it happen without a fight.

And now, here you were, walking side by side again.

Neither of you spoke at first. There was no rush, no need to fill the silence with meaningless words. But the tension between you was palpable, a weight that pressed against the space between your shoulders.

Finally, it was Aglaea who broke the silence. "You still walk like you own the place."

You snorted, shoving your hands into your pockets. "And you still walk like you're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders."

Aglaea didn’t react immediately. But then—just barely—you caught the faintest twitch of her lips. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, but you noticed. You always noticed.

"You're not wrong," she admitted. "It’s been… tiring."

You hummed, studying her carefully. She was composed, as always, but you could see it now—the slight stiffness in her posture, the way her fingers twitched at her sides as if resisting the urge to clench into fists. She wasn’t as unaffected as she wanted people to believe.

"Well, that’s what happens when you stick around in this hellhole," you said, voice light, but there was an underlying edge to your words. "Some of us were smart enough to leave."

Aglaea slowed her steps, just slightly.

"Was it really your choice to leave?"

Your jaw tensed. You stopped walking.

She did too.

You turned to face her, your expression unreadable. "No," you said. "But you let it happen, didn’t you?"

Aglaea inhaled sharply, but her face remained unreadable.

She didn’t deny it.

She didn’t try to justify it.

She just looked at you, eyes unreadable, yet heavy with something unspoken.

You scoffed, shaking your head. "You could’ve said something. You could’ve done something. But you just stood there and watched as they dragged me through the mud. As Eurypon made sure I’d never step foot in this unit again. You let me burn for something I didn’t do."

Aglaea’s lips parted slightly, but the words never came.

And you hated that.

You hated that she wasn’t denying it, that she wasn’t throwing out excuses, that she wasn’t even trying to defend herself. Because if she had—if she had argued, if she had insisted that she had no choice—then maybe, just maybe, it would’ve been easier to be angry.

But she didn’t.

She just stood there, watching you, eyes searching yours like she was trying to find the right words.

But there weren’t any.

"I know," she said, finally. "I know I failed you."

Your breath hitched.

You weren’t expecting that.

And for a moment, just a moment, the anger simmering beneath your skin faltered.

"You should’ve fought for me," you muttered, quieter this time. "You should’ve said something. Even if it wouldn’t have changed anything."

Aglaea’s gaze didn’t waver. "I know."

Silence.

Long. Heavy.

And then—

"What would you have done if I tried?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You hesitated.

What would you have done?

Would you have stayed? Would you have fought harder? Would you have trusted her to have your back?

Would it have even changed anything at all?

"I don’t know," you admitted. "But at least I wouldn’t have felt like I was completely alone."

Aglaea inhaled, something flickering across her face—something rare, something fragile.

And for a split second, you saw it—regret.

You looked away.

You weren’t ready to deal with that. Not now.

"Why are you still here?" you asked instead, crossing your arms. "Why stay in a place like this? You’re not stupid. You see how fucked everything is. Why didn’t you leave?"

Aglaea let out a slow breath. "Because if I left, no one else would fix it."

You frowned. "You really think you can fix it?"

She tilted her head slightly, expression unreadable. "No. But at least I can try."

You stared at her for a long moment.

You could still remember when Aglaea was someone who believed in the system, who believed in justice, who believed in the mission of the investigation unit. But now, as you stood there looking at her, you realized something—

She didn’t believe in those things anymore.

She wasn’t trying to fix the system because she thought it was good.

She was trying because she knew it was broken.

And maybe—just maybe—she felt like she owed it to someone.

To you.

Your chest ached at the thought.

But you didn’t say anything.

Instead, you let out a slow, tired sigh. "Tch. You always were a stubborn one."

Aglaea gave the faintest of smirks. "Takes one to know one."

You let out a breathy chuckle, shaking your head. Despite everything—despite the tension, despite the unresolved history, despite the betrayal—this moment felt… familiar.

Like a ghost of what once was.

The air between you and Aglaea remained thick with unspoken words, but neither of you made a move to break the fragile truce that had formed between your unresolved past and the inevitable present. When she finally sighed, stepping back, you could feel the weight of the conversation pressing against your ribs, suffocating, heavy, inescapable.

"I won’t ask for forgiveness," she said, voice steady, though her blue-green eyes flickered with something uncertain. "I don’t deserve it. But… I hope, one day, you’ll understand."

You held her gaze for a moment longer, reading between the lines, searching for a hint of deception—of calculated dishonesty. But there was none. And maybe that’s what unsettled you the most.

Without another word, Aglaea turned on her heel and walked away, her silhouette soon swallowed by the sterile glow of the hallway lights. You should’ve felt relieved to be alone again, yet somehow, the absence of her presence left you feeling unsteady.

You exhaled sharply. Enough.

Shoving your hands into your pockets, you turned down the hall, your mind already shifting back to the mission. The weight of Kremnos' survival rested on your shoulders once again, and this time, failure was not an option.

But before you could reach the end of the corridor, a voice stopped you in your tracks.

"You're avoiding me."

Your breath hitched.

Your fingers twitched at your sides.

You knew that voice.

Slowly, you turned.

And there he was.

Mydei.

His presence filled the hallway like a storm waiting to break, cloaked in an air of quiet control, but you weren’t fooled. His expression was composed, his violet eyes unreadable, but beneath that carefully constructed facade, there was something else—something darker, something more desperate.

But desperation wasn’t something you associated with Mydei.

And that’s what made it dangerous.

You forced yourself to keep your posture loose, indifferent, as you crossed your arms. "I’ve been busy."

His eyes narrowed just slightly, like he knew you were lying. Like he could see past every wall you’d carefully built, past every layer of ice you’d wrapped around yourself.

"Tch." He scoffed, taking a step closer. "You’re always busy, aren't you?"

You didn't move. Didn't flinch. Didn't give him the satisfaction of seeing any reaction from you.

"And?" you said, arching a brow. "What does that have to do with you?"

There it was again.

That flicker in his expression.

That tension in his stance.

Like he was holding something back.

"Everything," he muttered, barely above a whisper.

Your stomach twisted.

What the fuck did that mean?

His gaze bore into yours, sharp and unwavering, as if searching for something—something he desperately wanted but couldn’t have. And the way he was looking at you, like he needed an answer, like he needed something from you—it was suffocating.

You hated it.

Because you didn’t trust it.

You didn’t trust him.

"You act like we're on the same side," you finally said, voice calm but laced with ice. "But I don’t remember ever giving you a reason to trust me."

A ghost of a smile flickered across his lips, humorless, sharp, tired.

"You didn't."

Your breath caught.

He took another step closer.

And suddenly, he was too close.

Close enough that you could see the faint shadows beneath his eyes, the way his jaw was set too tightly, the way his shoulders were too tense.

Like he wasn’t sleeping.

Like something was eating away at him.

"You don’t trust me," he murmured, tilting his head slightly, watching you carefully. "That’s fine. But don’t pretend you don’t notice."

You swallowed, forcing yourself to remain still. "Notice what?"

"My persistence."

Your chest tightened.

The air crackled between you, thick with something unreadable, something dangerous, something you refused to name.

"You’re acting like this means something," you said, voice quieter now, unsure whether you were trying to provoke him or trying to push him away.

Mydei’s expression didn’t change.

His voice remained steady.

"It does."

You hated the certainty in his tone.

You hated how calm he sounded, how unshaken he was by the weight of what he just admitted.

Because you?

You were anything but calm.

And that’s what made this so much worse.

You exhaled sharply, stepping back—forcing distance between you.

"I don’t have time for this," you muttered, turning away. "I have a mission to focus on."

"And I have a mission too," Mydei said, his voice unwavering. "And right now? You’re at the center of it."

Your breath stilled.

You didn’t look at him.

You didn’t dare look at him.

Instead, you walked away, each step feeling heavier than the last.

But even as you left him standing in the hallway, even as you put distance between you, you knew.

He wasn’t going to stop.

And that?

That terrified you more than anything else.

The cool night air brushed against your skin as you stepped outside, the weight of Mydei’s words still lingering like an aftertaste you couldn’t rid yourself of. The city lights shimmered in the distance, but they did nothing to ease the unease curling in your chest. You ignored the tension in your shoulders, forcing yourself to focus on the steady hum of your bike as you approached it.

Throwing a leg over, you gripped the handlebars tightly and twisted the ignition. The deep purr of the engine reverberated beneath you, familiar, grounding. You took a deep breath, pushing everything else aside—Mydei, Aglaea, the mission, the countless threads of doubt tightening around your throat. None of it mattered right now.

The road stretched out ahead, bathed in cold artificial lights. With a swift motion, you accelerated, cutting through the city like a phantom. The wind whipped against your face, its chill biting against your skin, but you welcomed it. The streets blurred past, the neon glow of signs and buildings flashing in streaks of blue and red. For a moment, the noise in your head dulled, lost to the speed, the adrenaline, the familiar rush of control.

By the time you reached home, the world had quieted.

You parked your bike near the entrance, swinging off it in one fluid motion. The moment your boots touched the pavement, however, your gaze caught something small at your doorstep.

A goldfish plushie.

You stilled.

For a second, you simply stared at it, your breath shallow. It was a tiny thing—round, soft, and painfully familiar. The kind of plush one would win from an arcade claw machine or find at a street vendor.

You didn’t like it.

Didn’t like the implications.

Didn’t like the fact that someone had left it here.

Your hand twitched at your side, instinct urging you to leave it behind, to pretend you hadn’t seen it. But that same instinct also whispered caution, control, precision. You couldn’t afford to ignore anything.

So you bent down, grabbed the plushie, and walked inside.

Your apartment was dimly lit, a soft blue hue washing over the walls from the LED lights you’d set up long ago. The silence was comforting, the familiar scent of gunpowder and ink still lingering in the air. You tossed the plushie onto your desk without a second glance, peeling off your jacket as you made your way toward your workstation.

You had more important things to deal with.

The case.

Settling into your chair, you cracked your knuckles, then pulled up your terminal. Pytha. The name alone had been nagging at the back of your mind for weeks.

Chief Minister of Handak.

A man who, on the surface, was nothing more than a devoted politician—a man of the people. Yet Handak continued to suffer. The small city sat near the border of Epos, its citizens bearing the brunt of every attack, every skirmish, every bloody loss against the enemy state.

And every time, Pytha would speak in condolences. In apologies. In promises of justice.

Yet nothing changed.

Handak remained vulnerable.

And every time they made a move against Epos, Epos already knew.

Your fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up data, encrypted files, old military records. If Pytha was a traitor—if he was feeding Epos information—then he was the reason why your missions kept failing.

You needed to find proof.

Your eyes scanned through reports, financial records, trade deals. There had to be something. Some connection, some inconsistency—something that didn’t add up.

And then you saw it.

A shipment.

Pytha had recently signed off on a massive import of resources—medical supplies, metals, military-grade parts. But the destination wasn’t Handak.

It wasn’t anywhere in Kremnos.

It was a non-existent sector near the border.

Your stomach twisted.

He was hiding something.

And now?

You were going to find out what. . . . . .

The room was silent, save for the occasional scratch of a marker against paper and the quiet clicks of your terminal as you pulled up file after file. A cool blue glow bathed the space, shadows flickering against the walls as you worked. Papers littered your desk, the faint scent of ink and coffee lingering in the air.

This wasn’t making sense.

Your hands moved automatically, grabbing a sticky note and scrawling down key details.

Shipment approved: three weeks ago. Supplies: Medical, metal alloys, military-grade components. Recipient: “Sector 17” (Doesn’t exist).

You tore the sticky note off and slapped it onto the growing board in front of you, stepping back to take it all in.

At the center, you had Pytha. His official portrait stared back at you, smug and polished, the kind of expression that had long since been trained into him. Around him, a web of connections—government branches, past financial dealings, transport records.

And now?

This shipment.

Everything pointed toward something hidden. Something deliberately kept vague. The shipment logs confirmed that the cargo remained inside Kremnos, but they didn’t specify where.

That was the problem.

It was impossible.

Every shipment in Kremnos had to go through a registered port, warehouse, or checkpoint. Every import and export had a destination, a tracking number, a log. And yet, this one had none.

Your brows furrowed as you scribbled another note:

If it’s in Kremnos… where?

You tapped the marker against your palm, gaze flickering between the sticky notes, the scattered papers, the digital maps pulled up on your screen. There were only so many places something of this scale could be hidden.

Military bases? No. Too monitored.

Government facilities? Unlikely. It would be easier to track.

Private contractors? Possible.

But the shipment wasn’t under any contractor’s name. It was under Pytha’s direct authorization.

That meant either he was hiding it somewhere personal, or someone else was moving it for him.

Your fingers danced over the keyboard, pulling up any transport logs tied to Pytha. A list of vehicles and airships appeared, detailing movements over the last few months. You scanned through them, eyes narrowing.

There.

One specific cargo carrier—a heavy transport vessel registered under an old Kremnosian branch that had supposedly gone defunct years ago.

And yet, it was still operational.

Your heartbeat quickened.

If you could trace where it had been last…

You worked fast, tracking its route. The logs showed it entering Kremnos, passing through two cities… and then disappearing. No exit logs. No further records.

It had vanished within Kremnos.

Your stomach twisted.

There was only one explanation.

A ghost location.

Somewhere in Kremnos, there was a site—a facility, a warehouse, an entire hidden sector—where shipments like this one were going. A place that didn’t officially exist, much like “Sector 17” on the shipment papers.

You exhaled slowly, stepping back.

Your eyes trailed across the board, the puzzle pieces starting to form a clearer picture.

If you could find where this hidden sector was, if you could prove Pytha’s involvement, if you could uncover what exactly he was doing with these shipments—

Then maybe, just maybe, you could finally stop Epos from tearing Kremnos apart.

You picked up another sticky note.

And you wrote one last thing:

Find the ghost location.

The early morning air was crisp, the city of Kremnos still waking as you walked through the quiet corridors of the investigation office. The weight of the files in your arms felt heavier than it should, though maybe that was just exhaustion pressing into your bones. You hadn’t slept—not after last night, not after uncovering this.

Your boots echoed against the marble floor as you approached the designated room, a restricted space only accessible to a handful of people.

Aglaea, Phainon, Castorice, and Mydei.

They were already inside.

As you pushed open the door, all eyes turned to you. Phainon sat at the long table, flipping a pen between his fingers, his usual lighthearted demeanor dimmed by the tension in the room. Castorice stood near the window, arms crossed, her cold purple gaze watching you with unreadable intensity. Mydei was seated at the head of the table, his face composed, but there was something sharp in the way his fingers rested against the table.

And Aglaea? She stood near the projector, silent, assessing.

You walked forward, dropping the files onto the table with a dull thud. The sound cut through the silence.

“This,” you said, voice steady, “is why we keep failing.”

No one spoke as you pulled out the key documents, flipping them open to the maps, the shipment records, the anomaly in Pytha’s transport logs. You took a marker and circled the key points, pushing them toward the group.

“Pytha isn’t just suspicious—he’s involved. The missing shipments? They aren’t leaving Kremnos. They’re staying here, going somewhere off the grid.” You tapped a finger against the document. “A hidden sector, one that doesn’t officially exist.”

Phainon leaned forward, his blue eyes scanning the information with sharp focus. “A ghost location,” he murmured.

“Exactly.” You stepped back, arms crossed. “We’ve been losing every time we get close to the Epos terrorists because we’ve been looking outward. Searching beyond the border, assuming our enemies are moving from the outside.” Your fingers gripped the edge of the table. “But the truth is? They’re already inside.”

A beat of silence.

Mydei exhaled, slow and deliberate. “You’re saying Pytha has been enabling them?”

“I’m saying,” you corrected, “that he’s hiding something big. Maybe it’s weapons, maybe it’s intel—whatever it is, it’s being funneled through Kremnos under his direct orders. And this ghost location? It’s where the last shipment vanished.”

Aglaea finally spoke, her voice even. “And you believe if we find this location, we’ll find the missing link to bring Epos down?”

You met her gaze. “I don’t just believe it. I know it.”

Another silence.

Castorice tilted her head slightly, her silver-purple hair shifting as she spoke. “We need confirmation. If we’re wrong, this could compromise everything.”

“We won’t be wrong,” you said firmly.

Phainon let out a low whistle. “So, what’s the plan? We can’t exactly storm in without tipping someone off.”

You exhaled, pressing your fingers against your temple. You already knew this wouldn’t be easy. No one was supposed to know about this mission. If word got out that they were investigating a high-ranking official like Pytha, the consequences would be… catastrophic.

“We move quietly,” you said. “No unnecessary risks. No outside interference. We keep this between us.” Your gaze swept across the room. “No one else can know.”

A pause.

Then, Mydei stood, placing his hands on the table as he studied you. “Then we’d better make sure we don’t fail this time.”

There was something unreadable in his expression—something almost desperate.

You ignored it.

Mydei straightened, his gaze unwavering as he addressed the room. "Then we’ll take the next step."

Everyone focused on him. The air felt heavier, the weight of responsibility pressing into the walls of the room. His tone was unreadable, but his decision was absolute.

"I’m sending three of you to Pytha directly—" He turned his gaze toward you, then to Aglaea and Phainon. "You’ll meet with him under the guise of an official inquiry. Nothing too aggressive, nothing that would set off alarms." His fingers tapped once against the table. "But you will observe. You will gather anything that confirms our suspicions."

Your stomach twisted, though you kept your expression neutral. Meeting with Pytha directly? That meant walking into the lion’s den without any proper plan.

Phainon, ever composed, leaned back in his chair. "That’s quite the risk. If Pytha really is connected to Epos, he’s not going to slip up just because we ask politely." His tone was light, but his eyes were sharp.

"He won’t have to slip up," Mydei said. "You’ll be watching everything—his movements, his expressions, his inconsistencies. If he has something to hide, he won’t be able to cover it all. Aglaea, I want you leading this."

Aglaea nodded, but her expression was unreadable, her blue-green eyes scanning the files once more. "Understood."

You shifted slightly, exhaling through your nose. "And what happens if we do find something?"

"Then we act," Mydei said simply. His gaze locked onto yours, firm yet unreadable. "But for now, you observe. That’s an order."

Something about the way he said it made something twist in your chest. It wasn’t just about the mission. It was about you.

You glanced at Aglaea. Her expression remained neutral, yet there was an air of tension around her, as if she too understood the weight of what they were about to do. Phainon was the only one who still carried that easygoing smile, though you could tell even he was aware of the stakes.

Castorice, who had been silent for the past few minutes, finally spoke. "When do they leave?"

"Tonight," Mydei answered.

No hesitation. No second-guessing.

But then Phainon interrupted—

Phainon leaned forward, tapping his fingers against the table in thought. "If there really are no connections, then how do we even see it? And even if Pytha is connected to Epos and doing this, what’s in it for him? What benefit is he gaining?"

The room fell silent. Everyone was waiting for an answer.

Your mind raced. There had to be something. No one—especially not a chief minister—would involve themselves with a terrorist organization unless there was something to gain.

And then it hit you.

Your eyes widened as the pieces finally clicked together in your mind. Without another word, you shot up from your chair, striding toward the stationery desk. You grabbed the three-pack of pens, turned back, and slammed them onto the table.

Everyone looked at you in confusion.

You took a breath and looked directly at them. "Suppose this is a barter system."

Phainon raised an eyebrow, but he said nothing, letting you continue.

You held up one pen. "This represents Pytha."

You held up the second pen. "This represents the Epos terrorist organization."

Then, you held up the third. "And this... this represents what’s being exchanged."

The tension in the room thickened as you began explaining.

"Pytha is trading something to the Epos terrorist organization. He’s giving them classified Kremnos information—military secrets, security weaknesses, locations of high-profile individuals, maybe even our strategies." You placed the ‘Pytha’ pen next to the ‘Epos’ pen. "And in return, Epos gives Pytha what he really wants. Power? Resources? Weapons? Money?" You let that linger.

"But here’s the catch—Epos is also demanding something else." You narrowed your eyes, your voice dropping. "And that is for Pytha to allow Epos terrorists to attack his own people."

A beat of silence.

Phainon frowned, shaking his head. "But that’s a loss, isn’t it? If Pytha is letting his own city be attacked, wouldn’t that weaken his power?"

You scoffed. "No, it isn’t. Look at the pattern—every time we got close to catching the terrorists, something messed up the mission. The intelligence would suddenly be incorrect, our equipment would fail at the worst time, or someone would mysteriously tip them off before we arrived."

Phainon’s expression hardened. He knew you were right.

You continued, voice growing sharper. "And then there’s the money. Pytha’s salary is higher than anyone in the unit—suspiciously high. Higher than Mydei’s. Higher than Castorice’s. Higher than it should be." Your fingers tapped against the table. "And Eurypon—his closest associate—mysteriously receives extra funds, too. But the real question is..." You leaned forward, locking eyes with everyone. "Where the hell is that money coming from?"

A sudden gasp.

Castorice’s eyes widened in realization. Her index finger dug into the wood of the table as she spoke, voice sharp and almost breathless.

"The official Epos government was paying Eurypon and Pytha—funding them—so that they could allow the terrorists to keep attacking. They were letting Epos slowly destroy Handak."

Silence. Heavy. Unsettling.

Then, you smirked. "Bingo."

It all made sense now.

It wasn’t just a corrupt official taking bribes—it was a systematic betrayal.

Pytha was feeding both the terrorists and the Epos government, ensuring that Handak remained in perpetual destruction while still benefiting. And in return, Epos gave him power, protection, and funding.

A mutual benefit.

For Pytha.

And for Epos.

The room remained heavy with silence, the weight of the realization settling into everyone’s bones. No one spoke, but the tension was thick—thicker than before.

Then, Phainon exhaled sharply, running a hand through his white hair. “There’s just one problem,” he muttered. His doe-blue eyes flickered with unease as he leaned forward. “Eurypon is dead.”

Your smirk faltered in realization. You had forgotten that Eurypon had died.

ugh fuck

Phainon continued, voice steady yet serious. “If Epos was paying Eurypon to funnel money to Pytha, then with Eurypon gone—”

“—No one is funding Pytha anymore.” Castorice finished, her voice quiet but sharp as a knife.

Your heartbeat picked up.

Pytha needed that money. Needed the constant flow of resources, protection, and bribes to keep his power stable. And if that supply was now suddenly cut off…

Then that meant—

“Pytha will betray Kremnos entirely,” you said, voice low but firm.

Everyone looked at you, but you weren’t finished.

“This was never just about bribes. Pytha wasn’t just taking money—he was preparing for something.” Your mind raced, piecing the puzzle together. “He needed Epos. He was playing both sides, feeding them information while keeping himself safe under Kremnos’s name.” You narrowed your eyes. “But now that Eurypon is dead, there’s nothing keeping him here anymore.”

Phainon’s hands balled into fists. “Then… what’s stopping him from just leaving Kremnos and fully joining Epos?”

“Nothing,” Castorice answered grimly.

That was the horrifying truth.

Pytha wasn’t just a corrupt official.

He was a traitor on the verge of defection.

And if he switched sides completely—if he abandoned Kremnos and gave himself to Epos—then everything he knew, every secret military strategy, every intelligence detail would be handed over to the enemy.

You clenched your jaw. "We need to move fast."

"Faster than we planned," Mydei added, his tone unreadable. His deep golden eyes burned with something unreadable as he stared at you. "If we don’t stop him now, we might as well be handing Kremnos over to Epos ourselves."

As the gravity of the situation settled over the room, silence stretched between you all. There was nothing left to say—the conclusion was clear. Pytha was a ticking time bomb. The only question was how long you had before he made his final move.

Mydei was the first to break the silence. “We’ll discuss operational strategy later,” he announced, his voice steady and authoritative. “For now, the meeting is adjourned.”

One by one, everyone rose from their seats. Castorice was the first to leave, her sharp purple eyes flickering with thought as she walked out without a word. Phainon followed suit, running a hand through his white hair, his usual easy-going nature dimmed by the weight of what they'd just uncovered. Aglaea gave you a brief glance—calculating, reserved—before she too turned on her heel and strode out.

You were about to leave when your phone vibrated in your pocket. Without thinking, you pulled it out and glanced at the screen.

[Incoming Call: Mydei]

Your brows furrowed. You turned back toward the long conference table, where Mydei still sat, elbows resting against the polished wood, his gaze fixed entirely on you. Why was he calling you when you were right here?

Then, before you could even answer, his voice cut through the room.

“Come to my office. Now.”

The intensity in his tone sent an involuntary chill down your spine. He didn’t ask. He commanded.

Everyone else was already gone. It was just you and him.

He stood up, adjusting the black gloves on his hands before walking past you without another word. His presence was suffocating, powerful, something that demanded attention whether you wanted to give it or not. As he passed, you could feel the heat of his body, the sharpness of his scent—dark, cold, like rain against steel.

You clenched your jaw. You didn’t trust him. You didn’t trust anyone.

But this wasn’t about trust. This was about orders.

So, without hesitation, you followed. . . . . .

The air in Mydei’s office was thick, suffocating in its silence. It was neat, organized to an obsessive degree—no paper out of place, no misplaced items. His desk was sleek and black, a single glass of water placed at its edge. The windows were shut, the blinds drawn, keeping the world outside completely cut off from whatever conversation was about to take place.

He didn’t offer you a seat.

Instead, he walked to the other side of his desk, removed his gloves, and placed them down with a deliberation that felt almost too careful. Then, slowly, he raised his gaze to yours.

And for a long moment, neither of you spoke.

His golden eyes burned into you like fire against ice. He didn’t move, didn’t blink—just watched.

You crossed your arms. “If this is another lecture about my attitude, save it.”

His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smirk but wasn’t not one either. “Your attitude is the least of my concerns.”

Your muscles tensed. “Then what the hell do you want?”

Mydei leaned forward, resting his hands against the desk. The shadows from the dim lighting carved sharp lines across his face, making him look more dangerous than usual.

“Do you understand what you’re walking into?”

You narrowed your eyes. “What?”

“This mission,” he said, voice slow, deliberate. “Do you fully comprehend what it means?”

Your fingers curled into fists. Of course you did. You’d spent years doing this. You weren’t naïve, you weren’t weak, and you sure as hell weren’t stupid.

Before you could snap back, he continued.

“This isn’t just about taking down Pytha.” His voice was lower now, something dangerous curling in his tone. “If we do this—if we go after him like this—then we are fully committing to a covert war. If Kremnos finds out we moved without authorization, we will be labeled as traitors.”

Your breath hitched.

He tilted his head, watching for your reaction. “And if Epos realizes we’re coming for them, they will not hesitate to wipe us out before we get the chance.”

His words settled in your chest like a lead weight.

You already knew all of this. You had already accepted it.

But the way he said it, the way his voice dipped lower, almost warningly, made something inside you twist.

“What exactly are you trying to say?” you asked, voice quieter now.

“I’m saying,” Mydei murmured, “that if you don’t want to do this—**if you’re not ready to die for this—**then walk away. Right now.”

Silence.

Your heartbeat drummed in your ears.

The weight of his words, the finality in them, pressed down on you like a storm ready to break.

And yet—

You didn’t move.

Didn’t blink. Didn’t hesitate.

Because you had made up your mind long before this moment.

Mydei exhaled slowly, watching you. Then, for the first time in this entire conversation, his expression softened—just barely.

He reached into his pocket and pulled something out, then placed it on the desk between you.

You glanced down.

A small goldfish plushie.

Your stomach twisted.

“You dropped this,” he murmured.

Your breath caught in your throat. No, I didn’t.

You had found that plushie on your doorstep. It had been left there.

Your fingers curled around the desk, grip tightening. “Where did you get this?”

Mydei didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned in just slightly, his golden eyes locking onto yours with something unreadable, something dangerous.

And when he finally spoke, his voice was softer than before.

“You really don’t trust me at all, do you?” "Why the fuck would I, Mydeimos?"

But then- A knock comes on the door, you pick up the goldfish plushie and hold it tightly while storming out of the room, slamming the door with full force. The sound echoed down the hallway, sharp and final.

Only then did you let out a breath, shoulders rising and falling with the force of your exhale. Your pulse was still too fast, too erratic, and your fingers still tingled from the force you had used to pin him down.

Damn him.

Damn him for looking at you like that.

Damn him for making you feel like this.

You clenched your jaw, shaking the thoughts away. You had more important things to worry about.

The mission. Pytha. Not him.

You had barely taken a few steps down the hallway when a familiar voice rang out—cheerful, airy, and completely oblivious to the storm still raging in your mind.

“There you are!”

You looked up just in time to see Phainon striding toward you, his usual easygoing smile firmly in place. His white hair was slightly tousled, his crisp uniform neat despite the obvious exhaustion that lined his features.

And yet, despite everything, he smiled.

Always so effortlessly, always so damn bright.

A stark contrast to the suffocating weight that still clung to you from the encounter with Mydei.

Phainon came to a stop in front of you, tilting his head slightly as he studied your expression.

“I’m guessing that conversation didn’t go well,” he mused, tone light but laced with something sharp—something perceptive.

You scoffed, rolling your shoulders back. “When do my conversations with Mydei ever go well?”

Phainon chuckled, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Fair point.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The hallway felt too quiet, too empty, the echoes of your footsteps fading into nothing. The weight of what you had just uncovered—of what you were about to face—hung heavily between you both.

And yet, Phainon’s presence had always been something of a strange comfort.

Unlike Mydei, who kept his emotions locked away behind unreadable golden eyes, Phainon had always been open, always warm. Even in the darkest of situations, even when things felt hopeless, he found a way to lighten the weight.

“Hey.” His voice softened, pulling you from your thoughts. “Don’t let him get in your head.”

You blinked at him, surprised by the sudden shift in his tone.

Phainon’s smile remained, but there was something knowing in his gaze—something that told you he understood more than he let on.

Your lips parted, words hovering at the tip of your tongue—words you couldn’t say, wouldn’t say.

So instead, you just exhaled, shaking your head.

“He’s not in my head,” you muttered.

Phainon raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh.”

You shot him a glare, but he only grinned.

Damn him, too.

Shoving your hands into your pockets, you let out a breath and forced a smirk onto your lips. “Come on. We have a traitor to deal with.”

Phainon chuckled. “Lead the way, partner.”

And with that, the two of you walked forward—leaving behind the suffocating weight of Mydei’s office, and stepping into the unknown chaos waiting ahead. . . . . . The cold, suffocating weight of Mydei’s office slowly faded with every step you took beside Phainon. His presence was so different—lighter, easier to breathe in, as if he absorbed the heaviness from the air and replaced it with something warmer.

Neither of you spoke immediately. The hallway stretched before you, quiet except for the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the sound of your boots against the tiled floor.

Then, Phainon bumped his shoulder lightly against yours.

It was a small gesture, but it caught you off guard.

Your gaze flickered to him, brows furrowing slightly. He wasn’t even looking at you—his hands were tucked into his pockets, his gaze fixed lazily ahead, his usual gentle smile still tugging at the corners of his lips.

Casual. Effortless. Familiar.

But also... deliberate.

You stared at him for a beat longer, searching for something—some indication that he was doing this on purpose. That he had noticed how tense you were, how the encounter with Mydei had coiled around your ribs like barbed wire.

And, of course, he had.

Because he always noticed.

You exhaled, shaking your head. “That obvious, huh?”

Phainon hummed, tilting his head slightly. “Obvious enough.”

You scoffed, running a hand through your hair. “Great.”

Another beat of silence. Then—

"You know..." His voice was quieter now, softer. "You don’t have to carry everything alone."

Your steps faltered for half a second.

Your fingers twitched at your sides, curling slightly.

You turned your head to look at him again, but he still wasn’t meeting your gaze. His eyes were trained ahead, but there was something different about them—something careful, like he was choosing his words before saying them.

And that alone was enough to make your throat tighten.

Because it wasn’t that simple. It was never that simple.

You didn’t just choose to trust someone again. Not after everything. Not after—

You swallowed, forcing down the thought before it could surface.

Phainon must have noticed your silence because his usual teasing expression softened into something more... understanding.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “I get it.”

Do you? you wanted to ask.

Do you really understand what it’s like to feel like every person you’ve ever trusted has either betrayed you, lied to you, or left you in the dark? Do you know what it’s like to second-guess everyone—to feel like you’re walking through a minefield, waiting for the inevitable explosion?

But you didn’t ask.

Instead, you sighed. "You always say stuff like that."

"Because it’s true," Phainon replied simply.

You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you didn’t. You just kept walking, the words lingering between you like something unspoken, something waiting to be addressed.

Another silence settled, but this one was different. Not uncomfortable. Not tense.

Just... there.

It wasn’t until you reached the end of the hallway, near the elevator, that Phainon finally broke it.

“Hey.”

You turned your head slightly, arching an eyebrow.

He grinned. “Wanna get some food before we both drive ourselves insane over this case?”

You blinked. Food?

Of all things, food?

You should have expected this. It was so Phainon. Always looking for ways to ease the weight on your shoulders, always trying to distract you in the most annoyingly simple ways.

And yet...

You hesitated.

Not because you didn’t want to—but because a part of you felt like accepting something that easy, that light, that normal was something you didn’t deserve.

Like trusting someone again—even in the smallest, most trivial way—was something that would cost you.

Phainon must have seen the hesitation flicker across your face, because his expression softened again.

“It’s just food,” he said, voice warm, teasing but gentle. “Not a lifelong commitment, partner.”

You snorted. “Could’ve fooled me with how dramatic you sound.”

He placed a hand over his chest mockingly. “I take my meals very seriously.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your lips twitched upward despite yourself.

For a moment, you debated it.

For a moment, the weight of everything—the case, Mydei, the mission, the suffocating lack of trust that always sat in your chest—felt like it was just a little lighter.

So you sighed, finally relenting.

"Fine," you muttered. "But if this turns into some cheesy heart-to-heart, I’m throwing my drink at you."

Phainon beamed. "Noted."

Phainon’s “place” turned out to be a quiet, dimly lit restaurant tucked between a few other buildings, small enough that it didn’t feel overcrowded but just lively enough that it didn’t feel eerie.

A few officers from other departments sat at different tables, chatting about mundane things—things that had nothing to do with government conspiracies or betrayals.

For a moment, you almost felt normal.

The two of you took a booth near the back, and Phainon, being the annoyingly observant person he was, ordered for you before you could even scan the menu.

"Trust me," he said, holding up a hand when you shot him a look.

"You say that, but I feel like this is a setup."

Phainon grinned. "Would I ever do that?"

"Yes."

He feigned a gasp, clutching his chest dramatically. "I am deeply offended."

"You’ll live," you deadpanned.

But despite your words, the back-and-forth felt… nice. It was familiar. Like the tension from before had settled just a little, like Phainon was peeling back some of that wariness you always kept wrapped around yourself.

You didn’t want to admit it, but… it felt good.

And when the food arrived, you actually enjoyed yourself.

Phainon kept up his usual antics—complaining about how the fries weren’t perfectly symmetrical, dramatically mourning a piece of food that fell off his fork, making completely unnecessary but oddly specific observations about the way people ate around the restaurant.

You couldn’t help it. You laughed.

It was small, almost reluctant, but it was genuine.

And Phainon noticed.

For a split second, his usual teasing expression softened—just slightly—but he didn’t say anything about it. He just smirked and leaned back, satisfied.

"You should laugh more," he mused, twirling a fork between his fingers.

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched upward again. "I’ll consider it." . . . . .

It wasn’t until the evening stretched on that you started to notice it.

The goldfish.

At first, it was subtle—just a small keychain hanging from the restaurant’s counter. Then another, dangling from a customer’s bag as they walked past.

Then—on the glass of water in front of Phainon. A tiny, golden fish logo etched near the rim.

You felt something twist in your stomach.

It wasn’t paranoia. It wasn’t just overthinking.

It was instinct.

You’ve spent years training your mind to pick up on patterns, to notice details most would overlook.

And this? This was deliberate.

Your fingers curled slightly against the table.

Phainon, completely unaware of the shift in your demeanor, was still talking—something about how the food here was better than the overpriced garbage at headquarters.

But you weren’t listening anymore.

Your gaze flickered around, scanning the restaurant, watching, waiting—searching.

Why goldfish? Why now?

You swallowed, keeping your expression neutral as you turned back to Phainon, watching him carefully.

You never really doubted Phainon before. Out of everyone, he was the one who had remained consistent. The one person who never seemed to have ulterior motives, who never gave you a reason to keep your guard up—

So why did you feel so unsettled?

Your fingers tightened slightly around your glass.

Phainon must have noticed your change in expression because he tilted his head, blinking at you.

"You good?"

For a split second, you considered brushing it off. Playing it safe. Pretending like nothing felt wrong.

But then you met his eyes—those calm, doe unwavering blue eyes.

And suddenly, you weren’t so sure.

The alcohol burned pleasantly down your throat, warmth pooling in your stomach as you leaned back in your chair, staring at the rim of your glass. The restaurant was empty now. You hadn’t even realized when everyone left. The once lively chatter had slowly faded into nothingness, leaving only the dim lighting, the soft hum of the overhead lamp, and the presence of Phainon sitting across from you.

You frowned slightly.

When had it gotten so quiet?

Something felt… wrong.

The realization hit slowly, like a dull blade pressing into your skin before cutting deep. The world hadn’t just emptied—it had been wiped clean.

Your gaze flickered up to Phainon—and then—

You froze.

There, surrounding him—goldfish.

Translucent, shimmering, floating goldfish drifted around his body, twisting through the air like they were swimming in some invisible current. Their scales glowed faintly under the dim lights, emitting a pink-red hue that pulsated like a heartbeat.

Your grip on your glass tightened.

Your stomach churned, bile creeping up your throat as you slowly, cautiously, looked at his face.

Phainon was smiling.

But not in the way he usually did.

It was wrong.

His head tilted slightly, his fluorescent pink eyes glowing unnaturally under the light. And then—

A giggle.

High-pitched, saccharine, wrong.

Not Phainon’s voice.

Your breath hitched.

Phainon’s voice was always lighthearted, playful, filled with a lazy kind of amusement. But this? This was mocking—like a child playing with their favorite toy, twisting it in their hands, watching it squirm.

And then—

A single blink.

Phainon was gone.

The air around him shimmered like ripples on the surface of a pond, and in his place, she sat.

Sparkle.

Your blood ran cold.

She lounged in the chair like she had all the time in the world, one leg crossed over the other, fingers lazily twirling a delicate red rope around her wrist. Her fluorescent pink eyes practically glowed, the butterfly-like detail in them shimmering faintly as she tilted her head at you.

She was petite, yet something about her presence felt larger than life, like she could swallow you whole if she pleased. The white kitsune mask resting at an angle atop her head almost seemed to grin at you, its pink flower gem catching the dim light. The soft chime of the tiny bells in her hair rang faintly as she moved, and the red kimono draped around her exposed skin like something out of a dream.

A nightmare.

You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe.

And then—

"Well, darling," she purred, propping her chin up with a gloved hand, her voice dripping with amusement, "Sampo wasn't wrong about you after all. You are quite the smart one..."

She grinned, sharp and dangerous.

"And also quite alluring... I must say."

Your heart stopped.

Sampo. What the fuck?!.

Your pulse thundered in your ears. Your breathing turned shallow, chest tightening with an overwhelming sense of dread. This wasn't just a trap. This wasn't just a mistake.

This was something you should have seen coming.

And yet—

You didn’t.

You let your guard down. You trusted.

And now?

You were sitting face to face with a member of the Masked Fools.

A shapeshifter.

A trickster who had been toying with you this entire time.

Your hands clenched into fists, nails digging into your palm so hard you could feel the sting. The alcohol in your veins did nothing to ease the way your body felt like it was spiraling, every nerve in your system screaming at you to move—to run.

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t afford to.

Because if you so much as flinched, you knew—she would pounce.

Think.

Your mind raced, every second stretching into an eternity.

Had she been following you this whole time? Watching from the shadows? How long had you been speaking to an illusion instead of Phainon? Had she replaced him earlier in the restaurant, or had she been wearing his skin even before then?

Your stomach twisted violently.

How many things had you told her, thinking she was him?

Your breathing hitched again. God.

You swallowed hard, forcing your expression into something neutral, something unreadable, something that wouldn’t let her see just how much she was wrecking you.

"You look like you've seen a ghost, sweetheart," Sparkle mused, her lips curling into something almost too pleased. "Surely you’re not upset? I worked very hard to keep you entertained."

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t.

Your voice felt lodged in your throat, choked by the suffocating weight of regret.

She had played you.

You had let this happen. It was your fault. Everything is.

And now you had no idea where the real Phainon was.

If he was even alive.

hi gang !! ill work on this later yipeee, if u liekd it pls comment 💔

PART 3->

[byeashhh]

Hello ✨ I am curious to know if you have some NSFW headcanons for Copia as well?

Have a good day/night ^^

i feel like for copia he’s such a complex blend of like awkward charm, repressed desire, surprising confidence, and deep craving for connection sooo NSFW under cut <3 ═════ ≪ °❈° ≫ ═════ as always, requests are open <3 ═════ ≪ °❈° ≫ ═════ ⚠︎ MDNI. 18+. ADULT CONTENT. NSFW BELOW. ⚠︎

➤ copia has a very dirty mind and a vivid imagination—especially once he feels safe with you ➤ he’s hesitant at first, almost overly respectful, but once the floodgates open… jesus christ, he's filthy with his mouth . . . “such a good ragazza/ragazzo for me,” he groans, voice low and breathless. “taking me so well—so greedy, eh?” ➤ will whisper absolutely obscene things in your ear if you praise or encourage him. The filthier he gets, the more his confidence spikes. ➤ giving, receiving—copia lives to use his mouth. he’s eager, sloppy, and completely obsessed with watching you fall apart under his tongue ➤ going down on you is one of his favorite things. he’ll spend ages between your thighs, groaning when you tug his hair or grind against his face ➤ expect lots of muttering into your skin: “santo dio… taste so sweet. can’t get enough of you.” ➤ gets so smug when you cum—like “mission accomplished” smug. may tease you after with kisses just above where you’re sensitive ➤ copia is starved for validation—he thrives on praise and positive reinforcement in bed ➤ tell him how good he’s doing, how much you need him, how handsome he looks—he’ll melt into putty for you ➤ he blushes when you praise him but it also makes him absolutely feral. “say it again, tesoro. please. tell me i’m good for you.” ➤ the more you affirm him, the more dominant or daring he gets—it turns into a feedback loop of filthy praise and desperate pleasure ➤ copia is kinky—he’s read a lot, and fantasizes often—but he’s very consent-focused and needs emotional safety before trying anything intense ➤ light bondage? yes, please. being tied up or tying you up? even better. he finds control fascinating ➤ temperature play, roleplay, mutual masturbation, and sex toys are on his radar too—but he needs time to open up about those desires ➤ safe words? oh yes, he insists. even if things are soft and sweet, he always checks in afterward ➤ copia adores physical affection—the sex is great, but he’s especially addicted to the cuddling, forehead kisses, holding you post-orgasm kind of intimacy ➤ he loves to tangle limbs, to fall asleep with his head on your chest, to wake up to skin on skin ➤ lazy morning sex? his favorite. slow, unhurried, full of kisses and half-whispers. he’s soft and sleepy but very eager to please ➤ if you run your hands down his back while he’s inside you, whispering how close you feel, he’ll cum embarrassingly fast ➤ copia can play submissive or dominant depending on the vibe and your relationship. he likes to please ➤ submissive copia? moans, begs, and clings. loves being praised, edged, or denied (only if he’s been really bad) ➤ dominant copia? surprisingly firm, but never cruel. he loves giving orders, guiding you, restraining you gently, making you feel owned ➤ sex with copia in sacred spaces (or just semi-public ones) is a dangerous fantasy. he knows he shouldn’t… and that makes it hotter ➤ pulling you into a darkened alcove, hand under your skirt or pants, whispering “shhh… you have to be quiet for me” as he fingers you—he lives for the thrill ➤ he’ll blush like a mad man afterwards, but he absolutely jerks off thinking about it again that night

[mcdonaldsnumberone]

CHOCOLATE!

❤︎‬ touching! (+ prompt list) ❤︎‬ bachira meguru, sendou shuto, noel noa, michael kaiser x gn! reader ‪ ❤︎‬ wc: 2k/~500 words per character

BACHIRA MEGURU!

dancing with each other!

Bachira has learned to embrace his spontaneous nature. He’s aware that others don’t see life the way he does, and while it makes him stand out for better or worse, he’s learned to accept that part of himself and to roll with it. He finds joy in the mundane, color in the monochrome, sparkles in the dull. When he’s learning to love you, he draws you into that wondrous world of his, and you find yourself indulging in his shared sweetness and letting go of your inhibitions. 

Love, seen through your eyes and his, is Bachira sneaking up behind you on a lazy weekend while you’re fighting with some pancake dough. It’s him tickling your sides briefly, and then you letting out an indignant screech out of surprise before melting away into a fit of laughter. It’s you swatting at him with your mixing spoon before he’s drawing you into a little impromptu dance around the kitchen. You’ve seen Bachira dance before; it’s one of the things he picked up more formally after seeing how nicely it’s worked out for him during his training at FC Barcha, but the dances he likes to pull you into are less formal and more fun.

The pancake dough is quickly abandoned as you slip your hands in his. Maybe you stumble over your own feet just a tad, but Bachira’s always there to smile encouragingly at you and help you find your rhythm. There’s no music save for your shared giggles and the mechanical hum of the fridge, but it’s all you need. His hands are warm and tender, squeezing at your own palms. Bachira loves you in a way that’s so tender and heartfelt, almost innocent in the way that he’s so boyishly devoted to you, but it runs so deep in his soul that it’s impossible not to feel as if he’s enveloping you whole in it and letting you freefall within the depths of his psyche.

His stomach growls while you try to memorize whatever complex dance step he’s improvising on the tiled floor. You raise an eyebrow at him before bursting into another fit of loud chuckles.

“Sounds like someone’s hungry,” you teasingly remark. “You know, if you let me go, I can go back to fixing us something to eat.”

Bachira pretends to think for a second before he pouts slightly. His eyes shimmer and shine like that of a cat’s nonetheless, and he doesn’t seem keen on letting you go anytime soon. “But what if I want to keep dancing? I’m having so much fun with you right now.”

“Who says we can’t dance after we’re done eating? We have all the time in the world to ourselves,” you laugh breathlessly when Bachira draws close to you. He has a way of making all the troubles fade away into the distance, like only the two of you exist in your happy little world. He presses a gentle kiss to your cheek before he bites the soft flesh gently, gnawing at it affectionately.

“Choices, choices… Helping you make food or dancing in the kitchen together… I wish we could have clones of ourselves so we can do it all simultaneously,” he sighs happily against the shell of your ear. His hands squeeze lovingly at your sides. “Alright! Back to pancakes! Let me give you a hand, so we can get back to our little dance session faster!”

SENDOU SHUTO!

putting a hand over the other’s mouth to shut them up!

Sendou gets really giggly whenever he’s next to you. For someone who’s determined to come across as this super cool, totally untouchable ace of the Japanese U-20 team, he can’t seem to hold it together when he’s next to you. Even though he’s maturing the best he can as a professional soccer player and has the salary to match, you’re so stunning and such a good partner to him that he always feels as if you’re way out of his league no matter what he does. It doesn’t make him insecure per se, as much as it makes him all chatty and sheepish, like he’s a shy schoolboy approaching his crush for the first time.

And you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t flattering. After all, you’re incredibly lucky to have someone as dedicated and as successful as him as your boyfriend, but to have someone like him wrapped around your little finger? It’s the perfect cherry-on-top. It’s fun to have him compliment your ear off about how cute you look even though you’re dressed in nothing but your raggedy pajamas, and it makes your heart skip a beat when you catch him going on and on about how much he likes you to his poor, fed-up teammates.

But right now, it’s putting you in a bit of a difficult place. The players’ locker rooms are strictly off-limits for anyone that isn’t a part of his team, but you just wanted to see him so badly that Sendou agreed to sneak you in! No one should be around the locker room at this time of day, so it should be a piece of a cake, but leave it to your luck to be shuffling around the locker room trying to hide while Sendou unsuccessfully attempts to gulp down all of his boyish giggles.

“Sendou? You there?” Aiku’s voice rings across the locker room, and you duck behind a set of lockers and hold your breath. Sendou’s turning as red as his hair from holding his laughter back, and he looks like he’s about to burst. 

You hold your finger up in front of your lips. “Shhh…!” “...I’m trying! Swear I am!” He whisper-laughs, hearts practically forming in his eyes. Leave it to him to be lovestruck while doing something as silly as sneaking a visit when you shouldn’t be. His shoulders start shaking, and he doubles over. You can feel a mix of both endearment and panic shoot through your body when you can hear Aiku’s footsteps approaching, and as a last ditch effort, you slide your hand over Sendou’s mouth. You can feel hot puffs of his breath against your palm as he chokes down another wave of laughter, but thanks to your quick thinking, it remains quiet in your corner.

Aiku’s footsteps quickly disappear, and the coast is clear. You finally exhale deeply and let go of your hand, and Sendou basically collapses in your arms, turning into a pile of boneless putty as he giggles out your praise in between short breathless chortles.

“You’re- ha! You’re the best- Haha, did you know that?” He purrs, gazing up at you as if you had strung up all the stars in the night sky. Words can’t seem to express just how much he tugs at your heartstrings, and instead of a verbal answer, you reward him for his efforts with a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

How could you not love someone like him? It was simply impossible.

NOEL NOA!

stroking their leg!

“You… are quite the pervert, did you know that?” Noa’s voice is deep and stern, as it always is, and despite what might be implied as disapproval in his words, he doesn’t make any effort to actually discourage your actions. And, honestly speaking, you don’t think you’re doing anything that odd either: you’re simply sprawled out next to him on the couch while one of his match tapes blare on in the background, and while he’s occupied with watching the tape to prepare for an upcoming game, you’ve made yourself busy by running your fingers up and down his bare legs. 

If anything, you would say it would be more egregious for you to not be obsessed with his legs. He’s the world’s best striker and a professional soccer player, and you think it’s your duty as his devoted lover to shower his buff, muscular legs with as much attention as you can muster. And if that makes you a pervert in Noel’s eyes… Well, so be it. You can take the blow to your dignity if it means you can continue squeezing and stroking and smothering yourself in his legs.

Noel tilts his head curiously towards your direction, as if he can’t fathom why you’d be so obsessed with him. “You aren’t going to defend yourself?” “What is there to defend?” You beam cheekily up at him. As if to emphasize your point, you reach over to his calf and give it a tight squeeze. Your heart skips a beat when you can feel the sinew and tendons of his muscle tense up in response. You could spend all day drooling over just how strong he is.

Noel sighs deeply and shakes his head, but he pulls you closer and lets you continue your little actions. He’s gotten used to your ways a long time ago, and his quips are really just his own way of giving you permission and telling you he likes the attention, even if it makes him a bit shy. 

“You’re a strange one,” he hums. He moves his head to press a kiss to the crown of your head, light and loving. “But I don’t dislike it at all.”

MICHAEL KAISER!

tracing the lines on the other’s hand!

Sometimes, as you absentmindedly fiddle with Kaiser’s hand, you think about the countless lifetimes he must have led before he got himself where he is today. There’s his childhood: cold, crushing, and battering. Then there’s the period of time where he was training to be a regular at Bastard Munchen: chaotic, desperate, and lonesome. And then there’s Blue Lock: crushing, revolutionary, and purposeful.

You follow the direction of his veins and draw small circles into his rough fingertips. His palms are rough with callouses and hardened flesh. To think he’s only nineteen. Whenever you think about how far he’s come, your heart squeezes painfully inside of your chest. You wish you could take even a fraction of his pain, anything if it meant he would hurt less.

You sigh and drop his hand, and it falls silently. Kaiser, from his spot by your side, immediately turns his head and frowns deeply. “What did you do that for?” “What did I do what for?” You blink innocently. His frown only deepens slightly, and he raises his hand back to your chest level. 

“You stopped holding my hand.” He says it so plainly and so obviously, as if you letting go of him is the equivalent of you breaking a law in broad daylight. In his mind, it might as well be. You’re his lover, which means you’ve spoiled him by feeding his endless appetite for love day and night. Evidently, he misses your touch, even if it’s something as simple as you messing around with his hands.

He shakes the hand in front of you, as if he’s a treat and you’re the dog that’s supposed to take it. “C’mon. Hold my hand again.”

You bite back a smile. Deep down, he really is just a small little boy chasing after your love, and you’re prepared to give it unconditionally to him. As much as he wants. As often as he wants. However he wants. 

You grab at his hand, and you lose yourself in aimless thought once more. Your fingertips ghost over the pale skin on the back of his hand, and you run your fingers over the outline of his knuckles. Only after every inch of his hand has been lavished with enough attention do you finally intertwine one of your hands with his, fingers interlaced tightly like an unbroken promise holding you firmly to him.

“Happy now?” You remark towards him. Kaiser pretends to think, tapping his chin with his other hand and his gaze swirling somewhere upwards. He taps his foot like a petulant child, but after a few beats, his characteristic smug grin returns to his face.

“Oh yes. Muuuuuuch better. You’re so cute when you’re being obedient,” he answers you. He gives your hand an adoring squeeze, only to then lift both your entwined hands to press his lips to them. A single kiss, lingering and loving.

That, that simple kiss, is his way of returning the favor.

x

[fictoweirdoesten]

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝Devotion༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝

c/w: gn! reader. angst and fluff! outcasted reader is going through it but lemurian! rafayel makes them feel better ♡ colored text for (rafayel's) dialouge

a/n: hi rafayel's cuties heeeeey! this is my first time really writing a full x reader with rafayel so i'm sorry if I mischaracterize him in any way! idk how y'all feel about angst either but I hope I don't disappoint! The new myth got me feeling some kinda way and I just wanted to show my appreciation for it through writing :)

also ive only been on the beach like once when I was really young so, sorry if the description is a bit off. was too lazy to research tonight v.v

You look up at the night's sky, tears rolling down your cheeks as the sound of waves fill your ears. You let out a heavy sigh, your feet being submerged into the wet sand, the ocean embracing your ankles. You wondered why you wasted your tears on others. Why you can never love. Why no one can love you like you love them. Your love, it was utter devotion, yet everyone around you only knows of casual love. It kept you up at night, wondering if you'll ever meet anyone who understands your needs, that won't hesitate to risk their life for you, just like you'll do the same for them. Someone who won't mind taking in all of your pain, your sorrow, your trauma, like a beautiful painting that other people view as simple angst, he views as so much more, sees the complexity and hidden meanings deep within it's strokes...a painting only he understands. A painting only he loves...

And yet, you're the tortured artist that draws these paintings, but no one cares to view your tortured mind in depth. They seek simplicity, straightforward answers, but never complexity.

You let out a broken sob, crouching down onto the sand below and burying your face in your arms as they rest on your knees. You're exhausted, tired of feeling like you have no place in the world you were born in.

"Why is it that you cry, human?"

A gentle yet firm voice interrupts your self-pity. You slowly glance up, your eyes widening as you take in the sight, or rather, the man in front of you. His glossy scales are a beautiful arrangement of blues and purples. The markings all over his toned body. The jewelry that clings to his skin.

His hair, which reaches all the way down to his tail, reminds you of the beautiful mix of pinks and purples as the sun rises at dawn whenever you'd spend your nights here at the beach.

He tilts his head to the side, as if studying you. His tail lightly splashes in the water. Then, a smile appears on his face, not one out of pity, but rather, out of understanding.

"I see," he mutters, but before you could question him, his tail suddenly glows, transforming into a pair of legs in seconds. He struggles to stand, but he manages, albeit stumbling as he walks over to you.

"May I sit," he asks, his eyes, which remind you of the sea, glances down at the spot next to you. You nod, watching as he slowly makes his way over to you before sitting down beside you. It becomes silent for a moment as he stares out at the ocean in front of him. Then, his melodic voice breaks the silence, and you find his eyes back on you.

"Love is a foolish thing, is it not? The way we stress over it, yet it's supposed to be the greatest feeling we ever experience...it makes no sense." His eyes warm up as they gaze at you, and that smile reappears on his face once more as he takes in your hesitant expression. "Perhaps...to love, is to hurt. But what happens when no one is willing to endure the pain for you? What then?"

"Am I...a coward for giving up so soon?" Your voice trembles as you speak, his words causing you to become emotional once more as you desperately try to fight back your tears. They fall anyway, running down your cheeks. His eyes follow them, and quickly after, he reaches out a hand to slowly gently wipe them away with his thumb.

"No, of course not. If anything, you have sense. Why go through something that causes these tears to stain your cheeks every day? It is not worth it."

His thumb caresses your cheek, his eyes staring deep into yours, as if he can read every single emotion you're going through within the depths of your eyes.

"Love finds you when you least expect it. And what then? Will you turn away, or will you...give it another chance?" His words come out slowly, as if every word he says has a purpose behind them. A hidden meaning. You didn't realize how close he had gotten, how your lips are only inches apart, or how his hand had moved from your cheek to the back of your neck.

He scoffs as he watches you part your lips for him. His other hand moves to your lips, his thumb gently moving across your bottom lip. "Silly human. Denying what you want so badly. Don't you know how self-destructive that is?" He taps his thumb a few times on your bottom lip as he lets out a 'tsk' before moving his hand away. He rests his forehead against yours and inhales, closing his eyes and taking in your scent. Memorizing it, engraving it into his mind so he'll never forget.

"From now on, do not cry when you come to visit these shores. Us Lemurians are very sensitive to emotions y'know. I could hear you from all the way down the seabed." You giggle at that, shaking your head in disbelief over his words. He moves you closer against him, his hand on your shoulder as he holds you tight. The two of you longingly stare out at the vast seas, as if searching for something that's already there, but neither of you are confident enough to admit it.

"...Rafayel. Call that name whenever you feel down."

"Just when I'm down? What if I'm happy? Can I also call that name?"

His eyes never move from the sea as you respond, but his expression relaxes. Suddenly, he found what he was looking for.

"Only if you come with a pair of crab cakes, sure-"

You playfully shove him down onto the sand for that comment, and you watch as his eyes widen before his lips curl up into a rather bashful smile, his hand reaching out to yank you down with him.

You suddenly found what you were looking for, too.