#yeah no don't touch his fragile boy

[xiaobaosnoona]

[marie098887]

hi marie!! ok i KNOW ur kinda new here but fr i just gotta say… ur fics?? SO GOOD. like for real i fell in love w ur writing right away 😭 i love how u write diff bluelock characters too i swear i LIIIIVE for ur fics 💕💕

sooo uh i got a lil req if u don’t mind hehe 😁 was thinkin maybe u could do a series w diff bluelock boys?? idea’s kinda like:

the boys & reader goin to the beach n when reader takes off her coverup n shows a 🔥 swimsuit he just… freezes. straight up BLUSHIN so hard bc it’s the first time he’s seen her like that 😭 reader just laughs n teases him while he keeps sneakin lil glances. then later under the umbrella she’s like “hey can u put sunscreen on my back?” n she unties her top n lays down n he’s SO flustered tryna rub it in carefully. ties her back up after n they go in the water but then he sees dudes checkin her out. he gets all jealous n pulls her close, hands on her waist, hips, even taps her butt lol holdin her tight like “she’s mine.” then he sees a guy STILL starin n he glares n mouths “imma kill u” while reader’s gigglin callin him clingy n he just hugs her tighter lmaoo

i know it’s kinda long 😭😭 but i wanted 2 make it clear hehe hope u like it 🤭 ANYWAY i love ur fics so bad girl u keep SLAYIN 💋 ur fics r like comfort food fr idk how u keep doin it but not surprised tbh ur brain??? UNSTOPPABLE. every fic’s a banger don’t stop bestie 💋💋 keep killin it 💕❤️

Got me cheeseing over here omg. You don't know how much these messages mean to me, like, actually. It's ironic as a writer that I do not have the words to say how much this means to me :,) So thank you. <3 (also I love this request)

Waves and Sunscreen

Requested.

It’s the first beach day of the summer and you and your boyfriend make time to go to the beach. You take off your coverup, and suddenly your boyfriend can't look away from you.

Part 1: Isagi, Chigiri, Rin, Bachira, Kunigami, Reo, Nagi

Requests: OPEN

💙 Isagi Yoichi

When you take off your cover-up: You’re standing near the cooler talking about which drink you want when you casually pull your cover-up over your head. Just a towel and a breath of wind, and suddenly you’re standing there in the kind of swimsuit that truly has him at a loss for words. Isagi looks up mid-sentence… and forgets what he was going to say all together. His mouth stays half open. A water bottle slips from his hand and thuds softly into the sand.

You turn around. “You okay?”

He blinks. Slowly. Then swallows hard. “Y-Yeah,” he says. But his voice cracks, and his face goes red. “I mean, yeah, I just—uh. You look really… really good.”

You stare for a moment before a laugh escapes your lips, already walking toward the umbrella like it’s nothing. He’s frozen in place, replaying the image in his head. You in a swimsuit? That swimsuit? He was not expecting.

Under the umbrella, when you ask him to put on sunscreen: You flop down on your towel and undo your bikini top like it’s no big deal. “Can you get my back?” you ask, chin in your arms.

“Wha—now?” You tilt your head. “Yeah, now. It’s the sunniest part of the day.”

He hesitates like he’s preparing for a high-stakes penalty kick. Then finally kneels next to you, unscrews the bottle, and gently squirts some into his hand. Way too much btw.

You don’t say anything. You’re just waiting.

He starts rubbing it in, and it’s barely a touch. His hands are soft, hesitant, staying high up on your shoulders and only daring to smooth along your back when you exhale a little laugh. “Relax,” you tease. "I'm not that fragile."

He mutters something under his breath. Quiet. Almost too soft to hear. “T-That’s not what I’m worried about…”

When he ties your top back up, his hands fumble with the knot. You can feel his fingers shaking.

In the water, when guys start staring: You’re waist-deep, hair wet, laughing as you splash him. He’s smiling, until his eyes shift over your shoulder. Two guys standing farther down the shore. Staring. His expression changes instantly. He moves closer. One arm around your waist. Then the other. Pulls you back into him, your back against his chest.

You blink. “Yoichi?”

He doesn’t answer. Just rests his chin on your shoulder like he’s relaxing, but he’s definitely watching. When one guy won’t stop looking, Isagi narrows his eyes and mouths something that makes the guy look away real quick.

You giggle. “You’re being clingy.”

He exhales slowly and hugs you tighter. “Sorry."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🌺 Chigiri Hyoma

When you take off your cover-up: He sees it happen out of the corner of his eye, just a quick movement as you pull the fabric off your shoulders. He turns his head without thinking, then stops. Doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t react right away. Just goes quiet. You glance over, and he’s standing there with a hand on his hip, blinking slowly, mouth pressed in a tight line. “…What?” you ask, smirking.

“Nothing,” he says. His voice is calm, but his ears are pink. “You look good.” He says bluntly.

He clears his throat, looks off toward the water, and pretends he’s totally unfazed. But when you walk past him to grab sunscreen, he definitely takes another look.

Under the umbrella, when you ask him to put on sunscreen: You stretch out on your towel and untie your top like it’s normal, and for you, it is. But for him? He hesitates for a second when you hand him the bottle.

“Seriously?” “Seriously.” You raise an eyebrow. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He doesn’t answer. Just kneels beside you, pours a little lotion into his hand, and starts rubbing it in. His hands are warm. Careful. But not shy. He keeps his touch steady as well as focused, and quiet.

You glance back and see the small crease between his brows. “Are you concentrating?”

He exhales. “Trying not to mess it up.”

When he finishes, he ties the top back without making a show of it. Doesn’t say anything extra. But you catch him stealing a look at your shoulder as you sit up, biting the inside of his cheek like he’s keeping something to himself.

In the water, when guys start staring: At first, he doesn’t notice. He’s busy watching the waves, wiping water from his eyes, squeezing water out of his hair. But when he does catch one guy looking a little too long, and then another...He doesn’t say anything, just swims closer. His hand settles lightly on your waist. Then he moves behind you, stays close, almost casual.

You raise an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”

He nods. “Yeah. Just staying close.”

Another guy looks again. Chigiri meets his eyes once, and doesn’t look away until the guy does. You smile, nudging his foot underwater. “You’re not subtle.”

He shrugs. “Wasn’t trying to be.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🐠 Rin Itoshi

When you take off your cover-up:

He glances up once. Then again. Slower the second time. You look over and catch the crease in his brow. The subtle sigh through his nose.

“That’s not the one you said you were bringing.”

You shrug. “Changed my mind.”

He looks away fast. Shakes his head.

“Tch. You could’ve said something.”

You walk past him, and he mutters something under his breath, too quiet to catch. But his ears are red, and he won’t look at you directly for a full minute.

Under the umbrella, when you ask him to put on sunscreen:

You lie down on your towel, reach behind your neck, and untie your top without warning.

“Can you do my back?”

He sits up fast.

“Y/N, what the hell are you doing? We’re in public.”

You just glance over your shoulder. “I’m laying on my stomach. No one can see anything.”

“That’s not the point.”

He looks around like someone’s already staring, then shifts to kneel beside you, blocking the view out of instinct. You hand him the sunscreen. He takes it, muttering under his breath.

“I swear to god…”

Still, he starts rubbing it in. Quiet. Focused. His touch is a little rushed at first, like he wants this over fast, but then slows down when you relax.

You peek back at him. “You’re doing a lot for someone who just complained.”

“Yeah, well,” he mutters. “Don’t untie your top in public next time.”

When he finishes, he ties it back tight. No lingering. No teasing. Just a quick knot and then he’s tossing your towel higher over your shoulders like he’s shielding you from the world. You roll your eyes, smiling into your arms. He sits beside you, arms crossed. Still annoyed. Still red.

In the water, when guys start staring:

You’re laughing, relaxed, floating near him and he’s too busy watching the shore. He sees it happen. One guy. Then another. Next thing you know, Rin’s behind you. Hands on your hips. Calm grip, firm enough to make a point.

You turn your head. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing.” He glances at the guy again. “You’re fine right here.”

Another look. A longer one. Rin mouths something, low, short, and not even a little friendly.

You laugh under your breath. “You’re not jealous, are you?”

“No,” he says flatly. Then squeezes your waist just a little tighter.

“I just don’t like people staring at you."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🐝 Bachira Meguru

When you take off your cover-up:

He’s mid-frisbee throw when he glances over, just in time to catch you slipping the cover-up off your shoulders. The disc falls straight to the sand. He stares for a second too long. Eyes wide. Mouth slightly open.

“Whoa.”

You turn around. “What?”

He grins, trying to play it cool, but the flush on his face says otherwise.

“You didn’t say it was that kind of swimsuit.”

You smirk. “Does it matter?”

“No, not at all~” he says, grabbing the frisbee without breaking eye contact, still smiling and eying you down.

Under the umbrella, when you ask him to put on sunscreen:

You lie down, untie your top, and hand him the bottle with a casual, “Get my back?”

He blinks. Tilts his head like he didn’t hear you right.

“…Who, me?”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Okay, okay,” he grins, taking the bottle.

He kneels beside you, rubs the sunscreen into his palms, and gets to work. His touch is steady but light, not awkward, just careful. You can tell he’s being respectful, even if he keeps sneaking little glances at your expression like he’s waiting for you to call him out.

Once he’s done, he ties your top back with a gentle tug and sits back with a little nod of approval.

“Nice teamwork,” he says, brushing sand off his legs. “Next time, I get the towel spot though.”

You just smile and nudge his foot. He bumps yours right back.

In the water, when guys start staring:

At first, he doesn’t notice. He’s too busy splashing you, making dumb faces. But then he sees one guy looking for a little too long. He swims behind you fast, hands on your hips, grinning against your ear. You laugh, trying to shake him off, but he just tightens his grip. Then he looks right past you, catches the guy’s eye, and gives him the kind of smile that doesn’t look very friendly. Still soft, but sharp enough to mean something.

You shake your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

He shrugs. “Yeah. But I’m yours.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🧡 Kunigami Rensuke

When you take off your cover-up:

He’s setting up your beach chairs when he hears the soft rustle behind him. Turns around, and stops. You’re standing there, casual as ever, now in just your swimsuit. He blinks. Then quickly looks away like he didn’t just stare.

You tilt your head. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.”

But his voice is tight, and he’s suddenly a little too focused on adjusting the umbrella. You walk past him toward the towel and he glances again, just once. His ears are pink. His hands go straight into his pockets. He clears his throat.

“You look… really good.”

You look over as a smile appears on your lips.

"Thank you baby."

Under the umbrella, when you ask him to put on sunscreen:

You stretch out and untie your top, tossing him the bottle like you’ve done this a hundred times.

“Can you do my back?”

He catches it awkwardly.

“Right now?”

You nod. He’s already kneeling beside you before you can say anything else, trying his best to act normal. He squirts the sunscreen into his hand and rubs it in gently, quiet, calm, and way more careful than usual. You can feel him holding his breath a little.

“You okay back there?”

“Yeah,” he says quickly. “Just… being careful.”

He finishes and ties your top back with a firm tug, not letting himself say anything else. His hands linger for a second longer than needed, then he sits back, wiping his palms off.

In the water, when guys start staring:

He notices fast. You’re laughing, arms out in the waves, and he’s standing nearby until he sees a guy across the water very clearly not watching the tide. He doesn’t say anything. Just moves next to you. An arm slips around your waist. Then both. Pulls you in gently.

You blink. “Something wrong?”

“Nope,” he says, staring straight ahead. “Just stay close.”

You look around and realize what’s happening.

“Are you jealous?”

“No.”

But his grip doesn’t loosen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

💜 Mikage Reo

When you take off your cover-up:

He’s fixing the speaker, already relaxing with his sunglasses on when you call his name and toss your cover-up aside. He turns. Pauses. Smiles, slow and obvious.

“Well damn,” he says, eyes flicking up and down. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

You roll your eyes and keep walking, but he’s still looking with a giant grin, hands on his hips now, head tilted slightly.

“You wore that on purpose, huh?”

You throw him a grin over your shoulder. He just laughs and shakes his head. “Unreal.”

Under the umbrella, when you ask him to put on sunscreen:

You stretch out, untie your top, and hand him the bottle.

“Help me out?”

He raises an eyebrow. “You sure you trust me with this?”

“You gonna mess it up?”

“No. I’m gonna take my time.”

He kneels beside you, warms the sunscreen in his hands, and smooths it over your back with practiced ease. His fingers glide slow, not inappropriate, just confident. Like he knows what he’s doing and knows you know it, too. When he finishes, he ties your top without rushing, then leans down to whisper near your ear:

“Let me know if you ever want more help"

He teased before standing up and dusting the sand off his knees, his sunglasses still on his face. You scoff and swat at him, and he just laughs, smug, satisfied.

In the water, when guys start staring:

He’s got one arm around your waist already, pulling you in after a wave when his gaze flicks toward the shore. He sees it. That guy. Now because he has his sunglasses on, the pervert staring at you had yet to notice that Reo was staring daggers into him. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just shifts his stance, hand firm on your hip now.

You glance up. “What’s wrong?”

He nods toward the guy. “He’s been staring for a looong time." He said it playfully, but his gaze was still on the man, his body more stiff.

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re mad?"

Reo leans in, his voice low, his sunglasses falling down on his nose just enough so that you could see his eyes.

“I’ll buy the whole beach if it means they stop looking.”

You laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Rich and ridiculous,” he says, tugging you closer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🤍 Nagi Seishiro

When you take off your cover-up:

He’s laying flat under the umbrella, half-asleep, arm over his eyes.

Then you say, “Hey, toss me that towel?”

He lifts his head, and sees you standing there in your swimsuit. He blinks once. Then again.

“…Huh?”

You laugh. “What?”

He doesn’t answer. Just stares for a second longer than normal, then groans and throws the towel without aiming. It lands half on your foot.

“You said it was that one pink swimsuit." He mumbles.

You shrug. “It is.”

He sits up slowly, one hand still shielding his eyes.

“It’s not. " He groans staring at you in your blue two-piece,

"You look… crazy good. Not fair.”

Under the umbrella, when you ask him to put on sunscreen:

You lie down on your towel, untie your top, and roll the bottle over to him.

“Can you get my back?”

He sits up straighter. “Ugh… you sure?”

“You’re already awake.”

“Barely.”

Still, he drags himself over, sits beside you, and squirts the sunscreen into his palms. His touch is lazy but gentle, slow and careful, like he’s focusing way harder than he wants to admit.

“You’re so warm,” you mumble.

He mutters back, “Yeah, ’cause you’re stressing me out.”

When he finishes, he ties your top back with a loose, almost sleepy knot. Then flops onto his own towel face-down like he just ran a marathon.

In the water, when guys start staring:

You’re waist-deep, smiling, and floating next to him when he glances toward the beach and sees someone watching. He doesn’t say anything. Just moves behind you and places both hands lightly on your hips.

You turn your head. “What are you doing?”

“Gettin’ comfortable,” he mutters. But his eyes flick back to the guy, and they don’t look tired anymore.

When the guy doesn’t stop, Nagi lets out a sigh. Tightens his grip.

“Tell me when I can punch someone.”

You laugh. “You’re not punching anyone.”

“Then let me stand here.”

He stays locked on you like an anchor the rest of the swim.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[mashtatosworld]

eyes on me (5)

summary: a break away from reality is healing - for all of you. but when you return to Seoul, the storm waiting for you is far from over.

You were tired of feeling hunted.

Every person who walked up to the counter at work, every too-long stare, every offhand comment - it left a coil of anxiety in your chest.

But when your coworker popped her head around the corner and sung with a smirk, “Lover boy’s here,” your body finally exhaled.

Daesung was standing by the door of the café, hands in the pockets of his jacket, smile soft. Even just his presence steadied you.

You took your break early.

Outside, under the cool air of the afternoon, he slid a small box across the table. AirPods.

“You said you were anxious on the phone the other day,” he said, shrugging like it was nothing. “And music always helps me.”

You stared at them, touched. “Dae...”

“I also made you a playlist,” he added, almost sheepish. “You might hate it. It’s a mix of stuff I like... there's one in there that made me think of you, actually.”

You laughed softly. “You’re too nice to me.”

“I’m not. You deserve nice.”

You hadn't told him about the case. Not yet.

Not about the file you’d been shown. How your safety was now a question mark, how the little life you’d been building was beginning to feel like a tower of cards in the wind.

But in this moment - with his leg resting against yours under the table, the rhythmic bounce of his foot keeping your spiralling thoughts tethered - was peace.

Fragile peace you didn't dare taint.

“So,” he said, stirring his drink, “I’m going to Japan for a few days.”

Your heart dipped, just a little. “Oh.”

“You should come,” he said quickly. “With me.”

You paused. “What?”

“Yeah. You’ve been working nonstop. You need a break. We can eat everything, shop, walk around all day. I’ll take care of the planning.”

“I don't know if I can get the time off yet,” you said, hesitating. “And... would it be a group thing?”

You were familiar with them. You'd been on your fare share over the years, with the boys always travelling for shows. And you presumed this was no exception.

Daesung winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Kind of. But Jiyong’s not coming if that's what you're worried about,” he added quickly. “He’s staying here. Said he has to sort some stuff out.”

That gave you pause.

It shouldn’t have mattered, and yet it did.

You looked down at your lap, contemplating before you felt a small smile tug at your lips. It would be nice to have a break. With him. “I’ll ask my manager.”

He grinned in relief. “That’s all I ask.”

You checked the time and sighed. “My break ended ten minutes ago.”

“Well don’t work too hard,” Daesung said, standing up and leaning over you, delicately dropping his lips to your head. "I'll speak to you later, yeah?"

You smiled up at him, watching as his figure slowly walk off. He waited at the end of the street, waving to you, then soon disappearing around the corner.

You stayed put, letting the street noise fill in the silence.

For a moment, it was just the sound of car engines, the murmur of conversation, a child crying somewhere in the distance.

You stared out at the busy street.

Someone was standing across the road, looking down at their phone.

You couldn’t make out their face. They could’ve been anyone. They could’ve been no one.

And yet.

The chill in your spine returned.

The peace was gone again

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You were drying mugs when your colleague came up behind you, voice low but annoyed on your behalf.

“I still can’t believe she said no,” she muttered. “If she knew who BigBang were, she’d realise what a crime she’s committing.”

You laughed a little under your breath.

It helped - her dramatic outrage.

She’d fawned over Daesung every single time he’d dropped by the café to visit.

Of course, she didn’t know the truth.

She thought he was just a flirty friend you were blessed enough to stumble across. You hadn’t told her you had dated one of Daesung’s bandmates - one of the biggest names in K-pop.

And you never would.

It had been private. Carefully curated. With only your old media name tied to him.

Jiyong had of course posted photos of you together over the years - just glimpses, but it wasn't enough to draw connections. Besides, he was frequently linked to someone new, a model or some actress. It was easy to conceal your identity.

You’d always asked him to keep you out of the spotlight, and now you were grateful.

Your colleague moved away to serve someone whilst you stayed beside her, focusing on the porcelain in your hands.

Until the customer didn’t leave.

She hovered at the counter, staring.

You glanced up, uncomfortable. She was young. Pretty. Dressed like she’d stepped off a fashion blog.

And her eyes were locked on you.

“…Can I help you?” you asked cautiously.

Her voice was sharp. “You’re her, aren’t you?”

You blinked. “Who?”

“You’re the one who leaked the footage of GDragon. You’re that shitty ex.”

The words hit like a slap. You froze. Your colleague did a double take, glancing between you and the girl.

“What the hell?” she said, trying to intervene. “She’s Daesung’s girlfriend actually - ”

Even though you weren't.

The girl didn’t care. She was seething now, hand tightening around her plastic cup.

“I'd recognise you anywhere. I've seen that tattoo before."

Oh god. So she was an obsessed fan, one of the many trying to witch hunt you.

"You tried to ruin him,” she spat. “You fucking snake.”

You barely had time to move.

The iced coffee hit your chest, shattering against your apron, soaking through your shirt. You gasped at the cold. Ice cubes skittered across the floor. Your mouth opened, but nothing came out.

But you did respond.

Physically.

Your hand grabbed the nearest thing - a fistful of sugar sachets - and launched them at her face. Hard.

She yelped, stumbling back.

Your manager shot up from her seat near the window, abandoning her laptop. “Out. Now.”

You turned and walked to the back room, heart thundering, coffee dripping down your front. You didn’t cry. Not yet. You just wiped your face and tried to breathe.

The door opened.

Your manager stood there, arms crossed, lips pressed tight. "Now I know the customer started it. But - "

“I get it,” you said flatly. “I’m fired.”

She didn’t argue.

You ripped off your apron, tossed it aside, and left without another word.

Outside, you shoved in your AirPods. Music roared in your ears.

You were halfway down the block when you collided with someone. You stumbled back, muttering a distracted “sorry.”

They kept walking.

You didn’t even look up.

Back at your apartment, you slammed the door shut, threw your keys blindly toward the counter - and knocked over the vase of tulips you had bought days ago. Water spilled across the table and ran off the edge. The flowers drooped against the marble.

You didn’t bother to fix them.

You just moved to stare out the window.

The street below was empty.

But your mind continued to tell you that something was there, even if you couldn't seem anything.

Coffee was soaking into the rug beneath your shoes, and you didn’t even care.

Your fingers found your phone.

And you called him.

“Is your offer still available?” you asked, voice hollow.

Daesung sounded surprised. “Wait - I thought you didn’t get the time off?”

“My manager changed her mind.”

There was a pause. “Well,” he said brightly, trying to lift the mood, “good thing I didn’t cancel anything yet. You’re gonna love Japan - the neon lights, the markets, the food - ”

You barely listened.

You stood there, phone to your ear, as his voice babbled on.

And continued to stare down at the desolate street below. It felt like you were waiting for a shadow to appear. The same one that was casting a dark spell over your sanity.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The airport was brimming with life - even at the ungodly hour. Families reuniting, wheels clacking against the polished floor, announcements echoing overhead.

You and Daesung were moving through it all, heads down, casual but efficient.

He was practically glowing beside you, clutching your luggage with one hand and swinging his other arm as he walked. There was a bounce in his step.

“I booked a spa place for us - one with warm stone rooms,” Daesung beamed. “And there’s this tiny local spot that does handmade soba. I thought we could go there tomorrow night.”

You nodded, warmed by his thoughtfulness, until you both slowed at the sight of the chaos ahead. A wall of fans and cameras gathered by one of the VIP exits.

Security blocked the crowd, holding firm lines.

You nudged Daesung with your elbow. “I almost forgot about this part.”

He craned his neck. “Well... at least we're prepared.”

A sigh escaped you as you pulled your hood up and tugged your face mask into place. Daesung did the same, and together, you slipped around the edge of the chaos and into the quieter corridor leading to the VIP lounge.

But then you heard it. The shift in crowd noise. The camera shutters picking up speed.

You turned your head over your shoulder.

A trolley stacked with Rimowa suitcases was heading straight towards you.

And they were still covered in those ridiculous stickers. The ones you’d plastered all over them. Memories from each city you had visited together.

Jiyong was here.

He was striding forward with his security parting the crowd. A pair of black-framed glasses perched on his nose, cap low, but unmistakably him.

You grabbed Daesung’s arm, voice low. “I thought you said he wasn’t coming.”

Daesung blinked at you, surprised. “He said he wasn’t.”

You didn’t have time to process it. Jiyong spotted you through the glass of the lounge and made a beeline for the door.

He entered with a sigh, tugging his hat off, raking his fingers through his hair like he’d been running the whole way.

“You’re early,” he said with a soft smile, stopping a few feet away. “I thought you’d be.”

You glared at him, eyes narrowed to bitter resentment.

Daesung broke the silence, trying to keep things light. “What happened to taking care of things in Seoul?”

Jiyong didn’t take his eyes off you. “My responsibilities are here now.”

You rolled your eyes and Daesung felt it. He gave a half-laugh, feeling awkward. “Right. I’m, uh, gonna grab some food.” He glanced at you. “Coming?”

“Yeah,” you said quickly, stepping to follow.

“What are we eating?” Jiyong asked, stepping after you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You turned sharply, hand up. “No.” The word was firm. A single finger raised in warning. “No.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but you didn’t give him the chance. You pulled your carry-on from Daesung and shoved it into Jiyong’s chest, causing him to stumble slightly as he caught it.

“I need you to stay here and look after this for me.”

He blinked, expression flickering. “I want to come with you.”

“No,” you said again, turning on your heel. “You’ll be fine. Stay.”

You walked away with Daesung, not looking back. You almost felt bad speaking to him that way, until you remembered why you were mad at him.

Daesung kept pace beside you, frowning.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. "I swear, he said - "

You shook your head before he could say anymore. “It’s fine."

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” you exhaled. “I can’t avoid him forever. And maybe it’s good for him to see me. Like this. Moving on.”

Daesung hesitated. But he didn’t argue.

He simply placed a steady hand on your back and guided you toward one of the food stalls.

Far behind you now, Jiyong stood in the lounge, your carry-on in hand, staring after you with something unreadable in his eyes.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You had thought things would be awkward at first, since Hyo Rin and Youngbae sided with Jiyong during the fallout.

But they surprised you.

They apologised, and it was sincere.

They even shared their snacks with you on the flight like nothing had happened. And Seunghyun wasn't in attendance - he was off preparing for enlistment.

It was surprisingly easy to slip back into the rhythm of the group.

And when the private car finally pulled up to the hotel, you all went your separate ways.

Same floor, different rooms.

Your room was cozy, exactly what you needed after the long flight. You started unpacking, trying to shake off the tension still clinging to you, but when you went to grab your AirPods, you noticed one was missing.

You sighed.

You had a bad habit of losing things, but this one?

This one was especially annoying.

You plopped down on the bed and glanced around the room, half-expecting the missing AirPod to magically appear before you.

It didn’t.

Your mind drifted, as it often did, back to a memory with Jiyong.

It was your first anniversary, and you were standing in front of the mirror, fidgeting with the diamond earrings Jiyong had gotten you.

He was standing behind you, his arms casually slung around your waist, watching you with that soft, affectionate smile that only he could pull off.

“You almost ready?” he asked, his voice low and warm.

You nodded, glancing at the clock. “Just about. I’ll be done in a second.”

He didn’t respond, just stood there, swaying slightly, his hands brushing over your dress - not to help, but to distract. He tugged at the little zipper.

“Jiyong,” you laughed, “come on, I’m trying to get ready here. You know I like to be early.”

"You look so beautiful.”

His hands traced the line of your dress, pushing the strap off your shoulder just enough so he could kiss the exposed skin.

“You’re making this hard,” you muttered, but it was difficult to stay serious when he was being like this.

His lips brushed your neck, then your earlobe, before he playfully bit down. "You're making me hard,"

“Oh my god,” You breathed out, a laugh escaping as he pulled you backwards, towards the bed.

You never made it to the dinner.

But that hadn't been what the evening was supposed to be about anyway.

It was about you and him.

A day remembering the beginning of your relationship, which had bloomed from something so unexpected.

And as long as you were with him, you didn't care how you celebrated it.

Although, breathlessly tangled in bedsheets with Jiyong was a rather faultless way of honouring your love.

Your eyes felt heavy as you lay there, lying against his bare chest and staring at the TV on the wall - playing a show neither of you were really watching.

Meanwhile, Jiyong was tugging at your earlobe absentmindedly, his hair slightly damp and askew after you had spent hours tugging on it.

“You know, I think you lost one of your earrings,” he said, his voice thick with amusement.

You tensed, your hand flying up to check your ear. “What?” You felt around the bed, panic rising as you realised it was true. “No, no, I can’t find it!”

“Don’t worry,” he teased, his voice low, amused. “It’s probably just fallen somewhere. I can't believe you’ve lost it already, Jagi.”

You scrambled to search the floor, uncaring for your naked state, desperately looking for the missing earring. “What do you mean I’ve lost it?!”

He chuckled, stretching across the bed as you yanked the covers from his bare body, tossing them across the room to double-check the mattress. Jiyong lay there, smiling, thumb pulling at his lip as he watched you.

“I’ll buy you another pair,” he said, sounding too relaxed about it. “Maybe a few more, so I can keep biting your ears and make sure you keep losing them.”

You glared at him, even though it had no malice behind it. “You're right. This is your fault.”

He laughed, his hand reaching out to tug you closer until you were standing against the edge of the bed.

He stared up at you, eyes warm and full of admiration. “I won’t stop,” he promised, his hands brushing against the curve of your backside. “When it comes to you, I have no control.”

You couldn’t help but laugh too, even as you rolled your eyes. “You’re ridiculous,” you said, though you loved him for it.

And when he went to bite the curve of your thigh, you shrieked with laughter, the sound filling the room, the moment a perfect bubble of happiness.

He tugged you hard, your body collapsing onto his - onto the bed, the world outside slipping away.

The knock at your hotel door pulled you sharply back to the present. Your heart raced as you stared at the door for a moment, your hand still clutching the missing AirPod.

The memory of Jiyong, of how things used to be, clung to you like a scent that couldn't be washed away.

You let out a shaky breath and wiped your hands on your pants. The knock came again, louder this time.

With one last glance at the missing AirPod, you forced yourself to stand. You walked toward the door and reached for the handle.

Daesung was standing there, grinning with that familiar warmth.

“You ready for an adventure?” he asked, his eyes sparkling.

Before you could even respond, he grabbed your hand, pulling you out of the room and into the elevator.

Next thing you knew, you were being whisked away to the Mario Kart go-kart experience in the streets of Tokyo.

It was absolutely ridiculous, and that was what made it so perfect.

You both suited up in bright, oversized outfits, giggling at each other from your respective go-karts, racing through the bustling streets of the city.

The rush of speed, the adrenaline coursing through you as you zipped past buildings and tourists, was invigorating.

You found yourself laughing uncontrollably as Daesung swerved a pothole and nearly crashed into a traffic cone. He stayed just slightly behind you, letting you take the glory, and preventing the people from behind from overtaking you.

It was liberating. To forget.

You didn’t even think about the mess you’d left behind.

The whispers. The stalker. Your job. Jiyong.

But eventually, the karts came to a stop, and you were back in the quiet of the Tokyo streets, the air cool against your skin.

You both strolled around, taking in the sights together. He was leading you towards a restaurant, talking animatedly about the noodles you just had try.

You hadn't even noticed you were holding hands until he tugged you back from stepping onto the crossing as a cyclist whizzed past. You smiled at him in gratitude.

Your adrenaline was still pumping from the racing. Your head rushed. It was addicting.

And then, of course, Daesung had to ruin it by bringing up Jiyong.

“So… I’ve been meaning to ask,” Daesung began, his voice casual but tinged with something softer. “How are you really doing with everything? With him.”

You sighed, removing your linked hands to rake it through your hair.

Of course, it had to come up. It always did.

It felt like no matter where you went, or what you tried to do to move forward, the past kept following you like an inevitable shadow.

“I don’t know, Dae,” you admitted, “I just… I don’t want to keep thinking about it. I don’t want to keep going back to that. I just want to move forward, you know? We’re in Tokyo. I want to enjoy the trip. I want to enjoy this.”

Daesung didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at you, his expression serious. After a beat, he sighed.

“You can’t move forward until you make peace with the past, though,” he said quietly, his words hitting harder than you expected.

You stopped walking, the weight of his words sinking in.

“I’m not clueless, Y/n,” he continued, his tone a little more pointed. “I know why Jiyong’s here. He’s here because you’re here. And he’s probably wondering where you are right now. Why you’re with me.”

You felt your chest tighten. His words landed like a punch, but there was no anger in them, only truth.

You looked away, avoiding his gaze as the words he spoke lingered in the air.

“I don’t want to talk about him,” you muttered, but your voice sounded small, even to you.

Daesung’s voice softened. “Sorry, I just feel...”

You nodded slowly, your fingers brushing the cool surface of a nearby shop window as you gathered your thoughts. You knew what he was going to say.

Guilty.

You hadn't felt that way at first. Maybe only a fleeting pinch. But leaving things unresolved with Jiyong meant your time with Daesung felt... borrowed.

Like you weren't allowed to progress until you had closed that chapter for good.

“I know,” you whispered. “I’ve been avoiding him. But I can't stomach the thought of a conversation with him. He really hurt me."

Your words didn't even begin to cover the damage Jiyong had inflicted. Even if it had been from misplaced anger and judgement.

Daesung nodded, his hand falling gently on your shoulder, a reassuring weight. “I understand. I'd never push you into something you're not ready for."

You looked up at him, meeting his eyes, and he smiled, a soft, understanding smile.

It almost felt like his words had another meaning to them - like you weren't just ready for a conversation with Jiyong, but ready to move on.

Sometimes you wondered that if you sealed things off from Jiyong, then maybe your path with Daesung would suddenly appear.

Right now, it felt blurred and unsure.

It also felt exciting and hopeful.

You sighed deeply, feeling the weight of his words.

“Fine I promise that I'll be better,” you said softly, “I'll... try to keep the peace. But - he has to respect my boundaries too. I'm tired of people pushing me to my limits."

"I'll speak to him." He assured you with a nod. Then Daesung smiled again, his face lighting up. “I want you to have a good time. And we’ll be here, together. No more worries.”

You both stood there for a moment, the city moving around you, the night air cool against your skin. You stared up at him and then reached on your tip-toes, holding his broad shoulders for support as you pressed a delicate kiss to his cheek.

Daesung squeezed your waist as your feet flattened again, then he took your hand - fingers interlocked, continuing your journey through the city together.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The spa was meant to be a reprieve. A calming pause before the boy's performance later that night.

You and Daesung were wrapped in white robes, wandering through the corridors of still water and soft music. It was almost easy to pretend everything was simple again.

Almost.

Your eyes burned into the ink scrawled across his back.

Jiyong walked a few paces ahead, shuffling towards the indoor pool.

He had invited himself along, and Daesung had only offered an apologetic shrug when you looked at him with thinly veiled irritation.

You hadn’t said anything. There was no point.

You paused your steps, letting Jiyong go his own way. You just needed to keep your distance, stay in control.

But control slipped a little the moment Daesung loosened the tie on his robe.

He shrugged it off with the ease of someone used to being shirtless around others, and your gaze, unprepared, was caught.

The cut of his muscles. The curve of his biceps. The way his shorts hung low on his hips.

His body was all hard lines and effortless strength, and you knew he worked out, but you hadn’t seen it like this. Not so close. Not so bare.

You blinked and turned your head quickly, heart fluttering in your chest. The thought of sitting beside him in the sauna - watching sweat trace down the thick column of his neck, pooling in the crevice of his chest - was suddenly too much.

“I think I’ll go for the steam room,” you said lightly, masking the heat rising in your cheeks.

He looked over at you and smiled, towel in hand. “Alright. Let’s do that instead.”

The steam curled thick around you both as you stepped into the room. It was quiet, private, the hiss of heat enveloping your skin in seconds.

You sat side by side on the tiled bench, your knees almost brushing.

The air was hot and wet, making the silence between words stretch longer than it should have - but Daesung, ever gentle, filled it with low laughter and small stories. Something about the last time they were in Japan. A fan encounter. A near-disastrous ramen challenge.

You laughed softly, grateful for the lightness.

But after a while, he leaned back against the wall, blinking slowly.

"I might have to step out for a bit,” he murmured. “I'm getting a little lightheaded in here.”

You shifted upright. “I’ll come with - ”

“No, no. Stay,” he said quickly, hand brushing yours to stop you. “Enjoy yourself. I’ll come back for you.”

You hesitated, then nodded. “Okay.”

The door hissed shut behind him, leaving you alone in the thick fog. You exhaled and let your head fall back, trying to melt into the heat.

That’s when the door opened again.

You didn’t look. “That was quick - ”

“Y/n.”

You sat up fast.

Jiyong stood there, steam already beginning to curl around his body, his dark hair damp from the humidity. He wore nothing but tight black trunks, clinging to his thighs.

You stiffend, instantly on guard.

“No,” you snapped. “Get out.”

He stepped in anyway, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

“No,” he said evenly. “I’m going to stay here and talk to you. Even if I have to beg.”

You stared at him, unmoving.

He took a step forward. “Is that what you want? For me to beg?”

You stayed silent.

Tension hung between you, thick as the steam in the air. Old feelings clawing their way back to the surface. You hated how he could still pull them from you so easily.

He looked at you for a beat, eyes unwavering. “Well?” he prompted. “Do you?”

You crossed your arms, leaning back against the wall. “Go on then. Beg.”

You didn’t expect him to actually do it.

But then - he dropped. Right onto the steaming tile floor, knees hitting hard, ignoring the sharp heat searing against his skin. His hands came together in front of him, eyes locked on yours.

“Please,” he said, words low and sincere. “Please forgive me. I’m so sorry. I was stupid. I hurt you. I’ve spent every day since trying to be better. Trying to prove it. And I’ll keep doing it, Y/n. I’ll keep proving it. Just… please.”

The steam blurred the edges of him, but the emotion in his voice cut through like glass.

“One more chance,” he said, voice thick now. Raw.

He didn’t look away. And despite everything, it was hard to keep your heart guarded when he looked at you like that.

You exhaled slowly, heart tight in your chest.

“I'm tired, Jiyong,” you said finally. “I don’t want to fight anymore. It’s not fair to the others. I want this trip to be good. For all of us.”

His head dropped for a moment, as if something in him had finally unclenched.

You let out a breath. “You can get up now. Before someone thinks we’re doing something else in here.”

That familiar smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he slowly rose. “Wouldn’t be the first time we did, huh?”

You rolled your eyes.

He sat beside you, trunks sitting low on his waist, traces of his thigh tattoos peaking out. You stared ahead, trying not to glance at him, at the water glistening on his chest, the way his hair curled slightly with the heat.

The air was thick now, not just with steam but something unspoken.

History. Hunger. Longing.

Even just his presence beside you made your skin feel too tight. He wasn’t touching you, but you could feel him, the weight of what you used to be, of what you almost still were.

“Are you coming to the show later?” he asked, voice softer now.

You nodded, eyes still fixed ahead.

He smiled, small and genuine. “Good.”

And in that small pocket of heat and silence, the ache between you stirred again - unresolved, undeniable.

But for now, you leaned back, closed your eyes, and tried to let the steam carry it all away.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You and Hyorin had screamed yourselves hoarse from the barricade, limbs tangled in the wild energy of the fans.

It was impossible not to get swept up in it. Even if you hadn’t planned to cheer. Even if you told yourself you’d stay cool. Composed.

That hadn't been possible when Youngbae had stripped his shirt off and thrown it at the crowd - Hyorin fighting with a screaming girl to claim it. Or when Daesung poured his bottled water over his body, flicking the rest in your direction with a wink.

And especially not when Jiyong had collapsed to his knees in the middle of his performance of 'If You'. His eyes never leaving yours.

Unrelenting. Pleading.

Now, long after the final encore, the energy hadn’t quite faded.

You were all crammed into a hole-in-the-wall takeout spot, the kind of place that smelled like grease and burning. Noodles and soju littered the table, laughter spilling from every corner.

Youngbae had long since surrendered holding his head up, resting it flat on the tabletop, dead to the world.

Hyorin giggled uncontrollably as she slowly, dramatically piled noodles on top of his bleached hair, strand by strand.

“You’re going to give him a noodle crown,��� you wheezed, covering your mouth with your hand.

She shushed you with mock seriousness. “Don’t wake him up!”

Even Jiyong had his head tipped back in laughter, cheeks pink from soju and residual adrenaline.

It felt like before. Before the fights. Before the silence. Before everything cracked.

Eventually, the energy began to fade, and someone mumbled something about sleep. Everyone agreed in a chorus of groans.

You stood, wincing immediately as the ache in your feet made itself known.

“God, I shouldn't have worn these shoes,” you muttered.

“Come on,” Daesung said, crouching down before you. “Hop on.”

“What? No, you just danced for like three hours, you must be - ”

He turned his head and gave you a look. “I said, hop on.”

You hesitated, then gave in with a laugh, throwing your arms around his shoulders and jumping onto his back. He hoisted you easily, gripping your thighs with a tight squeeze.

“Dae!” you squealed when he immediately took off into a sprint, making your stomach lurch with each bounce.

“You said your feet hurt!” he called back, breathless and grinning.

Behind you, you could hear Hyorin’s laughter, and Jiyong’s complaining as they were left to drag Youngbae’s half-sleeping form toward the hotel.

By the time you got back to the room, your whole body ached with exhaustion. You fell onto the bed face first with a groan.

“Dead,” you mumbled into the pillow.

Daesung leaned down, gently slipping your shoes off. “Still very beautiful though,”

“Mm,” you grunted, eyes fluttering closed as you rolled onto your side.

He tucked the blanket around you carefully, and you felt the dip of the mattress as he leaned in. Your breath caught. For a second, you thought - maybe -

But his lips just brushed the corner of your mouth. A near-kiss. Warm and fleeting.

“Goodnight,” he whispered.

And then he was gone.

You were drifting when your phone vibrated on the nightstand. You groaned and reached for it blindly.

“What,” you muttered, not even checking the screen.

“Hi.”

You frowned. That voice. Low and hesitant.

Jiyong.

“What do you want now?” you asked, more tired than annoyed.

“Did you get back okay?” His voice was quiet. Softer than usual.

“Yeah,” you mumbled. “Daesung walked me to my room.”

You didn’t tell him about the blanket. Or the almost kiss.

“Good,” Jiyong said. “I feel better knowing you’re safe.”

You said nothing, eyes closing again.

“You two have gotten close.”

“Mhm.”

There was a pause. “I’m glad Daesung was there when I wasn’t. He’s a good friend. For looking after you… for me.”

You didn’t respond.

He sighed, but continued despite your silence. “I’m glad I can talk to you again,” he said. “We used to call after my shows, remember? When you couldn’t come, I’d call you the second I got offstage. Couldn’t sleep without hearing your voice.”

You nodded, but your mind was too foggy with sleep to respond.

“I haven’t really slept since we ended,” he added. “Not properly.”

You breathed out, slow and heavy. Already gone from the moment.

“I love you.”

But you didn’t hear him.

The phone slipped from your hand as you fell into sleep, the line still open.

When your alarm blared early the next morning, you jolted upright, groggy and sore. You reached for your phone to silence it - and that’s when you saw it.

The call was still ongoing.

You hesitantly brought the phone to your ear and waited. You could hear soft breathing. The gentle rhythm of Jiyong’s sleep, steady and low.

He hadn’t hung up.

You stared at the call log.

He’d stayed on the phone all night.

Your finger hovered above the red button. Just for a second.

Then you sighed and ended the call.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Even though the trip had ended on a high, normality was calling you to return.

But that didn't mean Japan hadn't left its mark.

You'd have to find a new job once you returned. And the break from Seoul had sown a seed of hope.

Maybe you could return to your passion of producing again. Maybe it was time to move forward, instead of letting the world moving around you.

You stepped into your apartment, the door clicking shut softly behind you. The familiar scent of your linen spray still lingered faintly in the air, a gentle, deceptive kind of welcome.

Home.

But something felt off.

And then you saw them.

The tulips.

They sat back in their vase on the counter. The very same vase you’d left knocked over. The flowers had begun to wilt, petals sagging from their stems. You had left them lying on the marble.

You knew you had.

The bag in your hands fell to the floor, your grip weak.

A wave of dread slammed into you. It was too much. After everything - your job, your breakup, the long, slow crawl of putting yourself back together - this, this, was the thing that made the cracks split open.

You cried.

Loud, ugly sobs that ripped through your chest.

Someone had been here.

Someone had invaded your only safe space.

The police came quickly. Professional, composed, too calm for the way your voice shook as you explained everything.

They swept the apartment, asked questions, took photos.

They didn’t find anyone.

But they did find what you feared most.

Your bedroom window - shattered from the outside.

Glass on the floor.

And clear signs that someone had entered.

One of the officers pulled his notebook out and gave you a grave look. “It’s clear someone broke in through the window. We’re escalating the case from a report of harassment to a formal investigation for unlawful entry. You did the right thing calling it in.”

You were shaking.

Your fingers trembled, clenched around the sleeves of your hoodie like you were trying to ground yourself. Willing your body to stay standing. And you wouldn't have been able to -

Had it not been for Jiyong’s arm wrapped firmly around your shoulders. Pressing you against his familiar embrace.

The officer glanced between the two of you. “Do you have somewhere safe you can stay?”

Jiyong didn’t hesitate. “With me.” he held you closer. "She's coming home with me."

You didn’t fight him. You couldn’t. You leaned into him, letting the warmth of his body soak into your bones.

Home wasn’t a place anymore.

But maybe it could be a person.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

dae: i'll speak to him about boundaries

cut to jiyong the next day on his knees, in a steam room, begging you for attention

this damn drama queen

a/n: my big bang girls gave me keywords for this fic: sauna, begging, pathetic man, and dog collar - i hope i lived up to most of them

sorry if this wasn't my best work - i'm still grinding at uni butttt only 2 assignments left 🥳🥳🥳🥳 yipeeee

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure , @breakmeoff , @emmiesoverthemoon , @rafesbunniebby , @ricecake9999 , @fleabagspurplewife , @sylviavf , @ldydeath , @wonyluvi , @deliciousmagazinequeen , @heartubeatusalon , @imminsugasgf , @steponupbabe

[gyllenhaalstuff]

here to feed you a sub!donnie idea: donnie with severe mommy issues confiding in the reader after a hard night with frank, so she takes care of him in every way he's ever needed and makes all of his fantasies come true. with lots of begging. and lots of needy and desperate donnie. poor baby just needs some love!!! :(

Stop I love this. I need to hold him and suck him off.

Give and take

- Donnie Darko ᡣ𐭩

This picture makes me want to cry, cum and rip my hair out.

Summary: Donnie has a bad dream and ends up needing some love.

Warnings: Begging, humiliation, mommy kink, handjob, blowjob, facefucking, light cumplay.

Word count: 1301 (short.. soz)

Notes: I’m not well versed in mommy kinks but I tried my best. I honestly don’t hate the outcome. And thank you all for being patient with my inconsistent updates, xx.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

You woke up in the middle of the night. The digital clock showed 02:34 am, its red light was the only thing visible in the pitch-black room. Whimpering beside you was Donnie. Tossing and whimpering in his restless sleep. Mumbling about the apocalypse and rabbits.

“Hey, Donnie, are you okay?” You lightly shook his shivering frame. He continued with his incoherent rambling. You sighed and turned the bedside light on, making him wake up, wide-eyed and full of adrenaline. He looked confused for a second before recalling that yes, this was his own room, and beside him was his loving girlfriend. He was not in danger; the world was not ending.

Your heart folded over itself; you couldn’t help but want to take care of him, seeing his tired, sad expression. “Everything is alright, baby,” you tried to reassure him. Poor thing looked like he was about to cry. He turned to you and buried himself between your arms, nuzzling his face into your chest. He began to calm down, his breathing evened, and his skin rid itself of goosebumps. You stroked his back and spoke, “Bad dream?” He nodded and whispered a “yeah.”

This wasn’t a rare occurrence. However, him getting hard in this situation was. You couldn’t help but hum a small chuckle. Not to embarrass him, of course; it was just unexpected, that’s all. Donnie, on the other hand, was a bit too fragile to handle that. “God, I’m sorry.” He whined in shame, “I’m so fucking gross.” Looking back at it, you’d feel that way too, getting turned on by being cradled after a nightmare.

“Don’t say that, Don.” You grabbed his damp face, angling it up towards you. “Don't be too hard on yourself.” But he found it difficult not to, but equally difficult to not rut against your thigh, which only spurred on his shame and frustration. He needed you, needed to feel safe and to be loved. “Want me to touch you?” You asked, putting it out there. And hell, of course he did. It was all he wanted. “Please,” he whined, almost sniffling again.

You sneaked a hand between your two bodies, placing your palm over his boxers. His erection was fully fledged and needy. “Keep begging,” you prompted; this had to be fun for you too, right? And what could be more entertaining and satisfying than your boy begging to have your hands on him? “Please, just don’t stop. I’ll get you anything in return, please,” he mumbled, face pressed against you once again, "Don't leave me like this." You closed your fingers around his clothed cock as a reward.

“Feels good being taken care of, yeah? Feels good having someone lick your wounds?” You rhetorically asked before comforting him, “I’ll take care of you; there’s nothing to worry about.” He bucked his hips against your palm as he whined at your words. If you bottled the sound and listened to it without knowing the backstory, you wouldn’t know whether it was a man or a woman whimpering. His high-pitched cries, quieted down to not wake the household up, got stuck in his throat, shredding them into small hiccups.

You sat up, leaving Donnie curled up beneath you; in your defense, it was for a good cause. You settled in front of him and played with the hem of his underwear. “I can’t make you feel better with these on,” you explained so he would raise his hips off the mattress, allowing you to slide his boxers off. It was ironic how he looked so small and fragile all while his veiny dick brushed up against his belly button.

You wrapped your hand around him once more, but without anything separating you two this time. You spit on his tip before spreading it over his cock, twisting your fist around it. A breathy moan left Donnie’s mouth; it hung open as his eyelids fluttered. “God, thank you,” he sighed relieved, finally skin to skin with you. “God has nothing to do with this,” you countered. This made him ramble apologies again, “Sorry, only you. I didn’t mean that. Sorry, Mommy.” You tightened your grip around him in surprise. You liked this woozy, tired Donnie. “Mommy now, is it?” You picked on him, making his face turn maroon in the dim light. “I don’t know; I just said something,” he stammered, trying to waft away the lingering sound waves of his slip-up. “Need mommy’s love, huh?” You teased him, torturing this poor, already suffering boy. Not that he actually minded it.

Donnie was losing his mind. You couldn’t help but offer your mouth to your sweet boy, starting by running your tongue up his shaft. Following the veins upward. Donnie shuddered at the sudden warm wetness that seconds later reached his tip, swirling around it like ice cream in a cone. His fists grabbed onto his sheets, but no matter how hard his fists clenched it, his thighs still spasmed. With a grip around his base, you lowered your mouth onto him, slowly but surely. Broken “Ah’s” filled the room, bouncing against the walls and inside your brain like a pinball.

His cock hit the back of your throat, watering your eyes and threatening tears to spill. Donnie tried his best not to buck his hips into your mouth, failing at it. A careful thrust challenged your gag reflex, but you weren’t about to fight him for this. He needed your help; he needed to be cared for and to forget about Frank and the universe collapsing. You stopped bobbing your head, removed your hand from his base, and looked up at him. As if to say, “Go ahead. Whatever makes you feel better.”

You were lucky that Donnie was so sweet even when he had permission to ruin you. His hands tangled in your hair without pushing it down as he carefully began grinding his hips against your face. You would’ve done it just to feel his cock twitch against your tongue and to hear the noises spilling from his lips, but the view was definitely a plus. Donnie with his head leaned back, exposing his jawline and neck. The rising and falling of his chest fastening as he went on. His open mouth and closed eyes.

Involuntarily and unaware, he began pushing your head down with each thrust upward. His mind was blank, except for your name and your new pet name he had accidentally spoken out loud. To say he was grateful for your love was an understatement, and you’d come to be rewarded for your love by having his face trapped beneath your legs the following day.

As his pace quickened, his moans grew louder; he must’ve forgotten that you weren’t alone in the house. Bitchy, whiny whimpers praised your mouth as he neared his orgasm. His brain was too mushy to warn you before holding you still, with your nose brushing against his dark hair and cumming down your throat. Thank you’s rolled off his tongue repeatedly, like a mantra.

With Donnie’s cum coating your tongue, you crawled up his tired body. Leaning over his face, you stuck your tongue out, showing it to him before sharing it with him. His parted lips welcomed you into his mouth, tasting himself on you. He hummed against your lips and swallowed his share. When you pulled away, you swallowed what was left to you and smiled at your perfect boyfriend.

“You’re unreal,” he mumbled; now you were the one blushing. “I just want you to feel taken care of, loved, you know?” You laid down beside him and opened your arms to let him snuggle up against you. “Just don’t get hard on me again cause I can’t say no to you.” Donnie let out a nervous laugh. “Shut up.”

[thesilmarillionblog]

IN BAD DREAMS

Summary: After having a bad dream, Soldier Boy finds peace in your arms.

Pairing: Soldier Boy / Reader

Warnings: fluff, comfort, soft Soldier Boy, established relationship, sweetness

Word Count: 1260

A/N: English is not my first language.

This one-shot story is inspired by the song 'In Bad Dreams' by Crippled Black Phoenix

⪩ Thank you for 300 followers! This one is for you. I hope you like it. 𓆩♡𓆪

Lost in thought, you sipped the water from your glass, got up from the chair, and headed to Ben's room. Everyone had gone to sleep by midnight, with the exception of you.

Ben and you had not spoken much since this morning, after he found out he had a son who was Homelander. Ben warned you about it and didn't want to discuss it with the rest of the crew. He had been acting more aggressively than usual, so you didn't want to press him to speak. You also didn't want to do anything that might damage your recently formed friendship because you were aware of how fragile his trust issues were.

Cautiously, you sneaked into his room, trying not to make any sort of noise. Although he was sleeping noisily, he didn't appear peaceful at all; instead, he appeared uneasy, as if he were having a nightmare. 

You just mumbled, “Ben?” because he had told you not to touch him while he was sleeping so that he wouldn't grab your arm violently and accidentally hurt you. 

He opened his eyes instantly and looked around, confused. Then your eyes met his emerald ones. He breathed deeply, as though he were relieved, and then extended his wide arms and rubbed his face. 

“What time is it?” he said in a hoarse voice, trying to figure out if it was morning or evening by peering out the window. 

“It's almost morning,” you remarked as you sat on the bed and ran your fingertips over his rough hands. 

His eyebrows furrowed as he inquired, “Why aren't you asleep yet?” 

You held his hand firmly and muttered, “I don't know; I just couldn't sleep. You looked quite uneasy when you were asleep. I’m worried about you, Ben.”

At least try to get him to talk about his dreams because you didn't bring up the Homelander issue and get him to push you away. It was incredibly difficult for him to open up to you. Being a man with PTSD, you knew you had to be patient with him, but you also wanted him to trust you as much as you trusted him. 

He hesitated and said, “Yeah,” as if speaking was difficult. “Just a bad dream.”

With a sympathetic tone, you said, “Again?” and cautiously settled upon the bed. He swiftly proceeded to around you with his powerful arms and planted

solid kiss on your lips before kissing you firmly on your forehead. “What was it about?”

“You.”

“Why do you always see me in bad dreams?” You whispered to him, running your hand over his full beard, and leaned in to feel the warmth of his chest.

With a smile, he said, “I'm not sure. It has become somewhat of a habit these days.”

Assuming he would talk about it this time, you inquired, “What are they about, though?”

His hands came down to rest on your stomach, and his fingers lightly caressed your skin. You also felt he wouldn't want to talk about it, so you kept silent as you measured his expression.

Finally, he stated, “I would never let anything happen to you,” as though he didn't know how to fully open up to you and you understood.

You told him, “I know you won't,” hoping he would realize how much you trusted him and that you also wanted him to have faith in you. “No matter what, nothing that happens will ever be your fault, and I will never hold you responsible for anything. Ben, I need you to fully understand this.”

“Nothing will happen,” Ben said with a rough voice, ignoring what you've just

You nodded to him and sighed. Not sure how to start the conversation, you asked him politely, “How are you feeling about today? About him?” 

You weren't sure if Ben's emotions or ideas about Homelander had changed in light of today's news, even if he was a horrible person—the worst person alive; in fact, he was still Ben's son. In the end, Homelander turned out to be Ben's son. There was no need to be in denial. 

He cut it short, obviously not interested in talking. “I don't know,” he said. “But that changes nothing. That's just not how I pictured myself several decades ago. There were a ton of various possibilities.”

With a heavy heart, you asked, “With Countess?” Even though he killed her, you knew he loved her. Back then, he must have envisioned a life with her and a family. You hated her since she was the cause of his current trust issues.

“You know I don't like talking about such stuff, especially her, right?” He was dissatisfied with your question. Even though he didn't mean to, it still made you upset. 

You said, “Fine,” losing interest and wanting to stop asking questions. 

You made an attempt to break free and gain some distance, but he simply stopped you with an irritated sigh, trapping your body between his strong arms. "Stop moving," he said playfully. “Why did you get sensitive now?” he inquired. 

“I didn't.”

“You sure didn't,” he said, teasing you more and making you laugh with quick tickles to the stomach.

Upon witnessing your afterwards silence, he took a deep breath, uncertain about where to begin. He never felt completely at ease opening up to you, even though you were the easiest person with whom to have a real, sincere talk.

“It's true that decades ago, I had dreams of starting a family with her, but as you have seen, I ended up killing her because she was a cunning, dishonest bitch. I'm not even sure if I really liked her.” At last, he said, “Maybe I just wanted to do what was required of me. Now that it's all over, you can stop feeling jealous.” 

With a clearly deceptive smile, you said, “I'm not jealous.” Your pulse was racing, so you knew he could understand. But his words brought you relief. That was the first time he had told you honestly about how he felt about her. 

You wanted him to want for the same visions with you and to trust you with his life because you knew you would never betray him, but you were unsure of how to show him how much you loved him. If you told him, you were worried he would push you away. That's the reason you haven't brought up the Countess issue until now. It would be best if he just moved on from the past and forgot about it. Whatever had broken inside of him—Countess, his father, Vought, and Payback—you wanted to fix.

You proceeded to brush his bare chest with your hands, whispering, “I just need you to know you can trust me just like I trust you with my life. You are very dear to me. You also need to quit seeing me only in your bad dreams. I have no doubt that a mighty supe like you could even control his dreams.”

Although you are unable to express your affection for him, you can reassure him of your trustworthiness.

He nodded and gave you a small chuckle before playfully remarking, “You talk too much tonight, sweetheart,” without adding anything. “I’m sure that cute mouth of yours can do other things to that mighty supe.”

“Like what?” you said in amusement.

“Like kissing me.”

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A/N: I hope you liked this one. You can check my MASTERLIST for more. ♡˚.

[yena-enha]

𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟗, 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐲 - 𝐋𝐇𝐒

A sequel to ‘2019, Maybe’ (Touch this text to read 2019,Maybe)

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Warning - Angst, emotional baggage, breakup aftermath, grief, slow reconciliation, emotional vulnerability, implied mental health struggles, eventual healing and romance

Note - SFW ANGST & FLUFF CONTENT

Genre - Second-chance romance, angst, slice of life, soft drama

Pairing - Lee Heeseung x Fem!Reader

Song Inspiration - Dream BY LISA

Word Count - 2,300 words

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“Whenever I close my eyes, it’s taking me back in time,

Drowning in dreams lately, like it’s 2019, baby.

I look at your picture and I smile,

It makes me rewind my mind,

‘Cause in the end, you saved me.

Now it’s 2029, baby.”

----

Heeseung doesn't come home at 2:37 a.m. anymore.

Because it's been almost five years since he had a home to come back to.

Since he dropped his keys on your counter, peeled off his hoodie like the weight of the world sat in its seams, and moved through your apartment like a stranger with memorized steps.

Since you laid in bed, blinking through the dark while his breath filled the silence you used to share.

Since you told him, "I don't think I can keep doing this," and he answered, "I know."

Since he left.

And you let him.

You thought that was the end of your story.

Until today.

---

It's late April 2029, and the rain falls the same way it used to. Soft taps on the cafe windows, mist clinging to the glass like unspoken things.

You hadn't planned to come. You haven't been here in years. Not since you buried that version of yourself—the girl who used to wait across this table for a boy with stars in his eyes and music in his bones.

But you're early for your 4:00 p.m. client. And something pulls you here like muscle memory. Like grief still has a pulse.

The bell above the door rings as you enter. The place hasn't changed. Same scratched-up tables. Same amber glow of lamps. Same faint scent of cinnamon and espresso.

You sit at the same table. Without thinking.

You used to sit here on Sundays when Heeseung was still a trainee, all nerves and neon dreams. He'd scribble lyrics on napkins and hold your hand under the table like it grounded him.

Back then, he kissed you like he had nothing but time.

You're stirring your drink when he walks in.

You don't see him at first. Just the familiar chime of the bell. The hush of rain. And then—the silence that stretches taut when your eyes meet.

Heeseung.

Older now. But unmistakably him. Hair darker. Hoodie oversized. The same way he used to wear it when he wanted to disappear into a crowd.

He freezes. Then walks over.

You both speak at the same time.

"This was our table."

A pause. A breath. A ghost of a smile.

"Mind if I sit?"

You shake your head. "Go ahead."

You don't talk. Not at first. Not for days.

You both keep coming back. You sit across from each other. Order the same drinks.

Heeseung still hums under his breath. You still take your coffee too sweet.

He opens his book but never reads it. You bring your case notes but never write.

You just exist—two people haunting the same past.

Until one day, he speaks.

"I teach now," he says quietly, staring at the foam in his latte. "Vocal coach. I work with trainees. Sometimes idols too."

You nod. "Therapist. Clinic on 6th. Specialize in burnout. And grief."

He looks at you then. Really looks.

"Grief, huh?"

You nod. "It sticks around."

He nods too. "Yeah. It does."

---

Over the next few weeks, the silence turns to soft chatter.

Heeseung tells you about the boy he mentors who reminds him of himself. You tell him about the client who writes poetry instead of speaking.

You both laugh again.

Not like you used to.

Softer. Fragile. Like muscle memory stretching after disuse.

You learn he never dated anyone seriously after you. He learns you stopped believing in forever.

You fall back in love like waves against a worn shore.

In glances. In shared silence. In remembering how his fingers used to play with the sleeves of your cardigan when he was nervous.

One evening, as the cafe empties, he touches your hand.

Just a brush.

You don't pull away.

---

October 18th comes. The date you never say out loud.

You arrive at the cafe. He's already there.

A tiny bouquet of forget-me-nots sits on the table.

Heeseung looks up, eyes glassy.

"I know this day probably means nothing now. But it used to. To me. To us."

You sit down slowly. Words caught behind your ribs.

He breathes in like he’s steadying a tremble.

"I think about that morning a lot. The last one. You offered me breakfast. I said I didn’t have time."

You remember it too. The way his arms felt more like routine than comfort. The way he said, "I love you," like it was an afterthought.

"I knew I was losing you," he whispers. "And I didn’t fight. I chose silence. I chose my dream."

Your throat tightens.

"I used to believe in that dream like it was mine too," you say softly.

Heeseung looks down.

"You were never just a chapter, you know? You were the story. And I... I threw it away."

You don’t say anything for a long time.

Then:

"I’m still trying to forgive you."

His head lifts. He looks at you like he's breathing for the first time in years.

"Then I’ll wait. As long as it takes."

And that’s how it begins again.

Not in declarations. But in promises born from truth.

---

Forehead kisses come first. Tentative. Grateful.

Then laughter. Your first real one since that night in 2024.

Then the way he pulls your chair out. How he walks on the outside of the sidewalk. How he still plays with your fingers like they're notes he's learning again.

One night, in the soft glow of your apartment, he kisses you.

Really kisses you.

Not like a boy chasing dreams.

But like a man who found his way home.

---

He proposes on a quiet Sunday. Same table. Same coffee.

No speech. Just a velvet box. A scribbled note:

"Maybe I outgrew the dream. But I never outgrew you."

You say yes through tears.

---

The aisle is short. But the moment feels infinite.

Heeseung cries before you even reach him.

Your hand trembles in his.

When it's time for vows, he breaks.

"I left you when you needed me most. I chose ambition over presence. And yet you still let me in again. You loved me through the ruin."

His voice cracks.

"This time, I vow to stay. To listen. To hold you when you're tired. To fight when it's hard. To never let silence be louder than love."

Tears stream down your face. You nod.

When the officiant says kiss, he doesn’t hesitate.

Your lips meet.

And this time, there's no distance. No silence.

Just you and Heeseung.

And the home you built between heartbreak and healing.

His forehead presses to yours.

You close your eyes.

You were his dream outgrown.

He was your heart, still.

Now, you are each other's again.

In 2029, Probably

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You guys asked for a sequel, so here it is (with a happy ending ofc)

«Masterlist || Introduction»

Taglist» (open) @strxwbloody

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[authorddreamz]

More Than Words Left Between Us... Part 2! Coming Soon 🤞🏾💨🧚🏾

Listen....I'm on a very strict journey to discipline myself as a writer. So, I'm going to drop this on Friday June 20th, 2025 8 PM CST

The grand opening of Club Juke proves to be too much for Annie. Seeing Smoke interact with other women so soon after reuniting with her sets off emotions she's far too fragile to process.

Smoke, riding a high from his reunion with his love, misses all the signals that their paradise is slowly going from a peninsula to a sinking island.

Preview:

Annie forced a smile to her face as Pearline, a locally known singer, pranced in her direction.

"Can you believe it!" Pearline crooned, cat eyes pulled tight as she grabbed Annie's hand. "I've heard so much buzz about this place opening and it's finally happening."

Annie's eyes shifted from Pearline to Smoke as he stood not too far off, in a close conversation with Stack. "Yeah, umm. It's great. I-haven't heard a thing about it though." Annie allowed the vulnerability to slip into her tone.

Pearline stood straighter, frowning. "You ain't know your man and his twin were opening a club?"

Once again, Annie felt like an outsider in Smoke's world. "Nope." Her lips popped as she returned her eyes to Pearline. "No biggie though."

Pearline's shoulders bounced. "Well, you're here and I saw you two walk in arm and arm. Don't let these hoes shake you. That man loves you down." Before Annie could say more, Pearline walked away.

A task. One presenting itself to be impossible. Each time a woman approached him, seductive eyes and intimate gestures, Annie's pulse quickened. Jealously danced in her gut, unapologetic twist and turns as she struggled to keep the rage from her expression. These emotions although new, were perpetual, undeniably draconian.

How does he do this so effortlessly?

Smoke's ability to unravel her both emotionally and physically deserves a prolific dissertation. Someone...anyone would sit through it, take notes and somehow use it to heal the world or set it on fire. She'd die peacefully as a sacrifice, not wanting anything else.

Rudely, her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of yet another woman approaching Smoke. Annie's eyes took in the deep plunge in her dress, coupled with a slit that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Manicured fingers curled around his wrist before she leaned in to place a kiss on his cheek. She wasn't the first woman to kiss him tonight and Annie knew she wouldn't be the last.

She couldn't stomach it.

"Fuck this." She grabbed her purse from the table, snapping it close before she started towards the door. The moment she began to move, she knew he was following her, yet she didn't stop in her stride to the exit.

Smoke cut in front of her, gently grabbing her arm before turning her to him. Intense eyes hit her as smoke from his cigar lingered between them like words unspoken. His gaze was centered on her as she shifted her weight in her stance. He stepped closer to her, invading her personal space like it was his to do with as he pleased. His hands moved from her arm to her waist, a gesture of intimacy that didn't hit her the way it usually did.

"Another hour or so before we can go." Smoke stepped closer to her, pulling her into a quick kiss as Annie struggled with returning his passion. Smoke instantly frowned. "Talk to me."

"I was gonnna call a Lyft. I'm a little tired."

He nodded. "Aight. Let me grab my shit and we can go."

"No." Annie grabbed him before he could move. "You should stay with Stack, you know he functions better with you in close proximity."

Smoke's brows touched. "You wanna leave alone?"

"It's a short ride..."

"You going to check on ol' boy?" His brow lifted, eyes hard and focused. Such a contradiction to the loud and loose club goers surrounding them. Loose tension moved between them, silently brewing as their eyes had a standoff.

"No." Annie answered finally. "I'm going home."

"To him?" Smoke refused to allow her to leave without real answers.

"No." Annie groaned. "I'm actually just sick of seeing bitches in your face. I need a break."

Smoke's jaw clenched. "I just had my face between you legs for eight hours, Annie. I plan to put your pussy right back in my face when we leave here." Smoke looked around, confused by her words. "I've been licking my lips so much they're chapped because I can still taste you on my tongue. Your juices still linger in my beard and I ain't doing shit to get rid of them because that's where they belong." He stepped into her, forcing her against the wall. "What bitches are you referring to, my love?"

.....

Friday, I swear! On momma grave! - Stack Moore 🥰

[glearyyyne]

we can't be friends (wait for your love)

Part 2

Synopsis: Here you are at the Brighter Days Inc., hoping it would help you remove Satoru's memory in your fragile heart.

Word Count: 2,787 words

Warning: Heavy angst

Note: This was based on the mv of ariana's latest song, I felt like I need to make that version of the one and only it boy Gojo Satoru! This is best to read while listening to we can't be friends (wait for your love)

_____________________________________________________________

Pen clicking

You stared dully at the paper in front of you that was waiting to be sign. Your mind was all over the place the moment you walked inside with the stuff you used to cherish. With full determination, you decided to end things for your own good.

You have given extensive thought behind your decision and give "Brighter Days Inc." the exclusive permission to remove this person completely from your memory.

            ___ Yes            ___ No       

You sigh, dropping the pen as you try collecting your thoughts by staring at the box beside you that has all of the stuff you had with Gojo.

Satoru...

Oh how that name sounds so sweet yet painful.

Tears swell in your eyes reminiscing those elegant sapphire eyes that used to look at you with so much love that you missed.

Your eyes stumbled upon the white teddy bear, it was his first anniversary gift.

**

"Babe, look here" Satoru spoke with so much happiness.

You two were at the arcades, trying to have some fun after you two finished eating lunch together. "I bet you can't get that" You suddenly told him with a smirk. Satoru looked at you with his competitive look, "I bet you I can indeed get that" he said before putting a token inside the machine to start the claw machine.

The game was super easy, just try and claw a stuffed toy and bring it to where it was supposed to fall but this machine in front of you was known to scam people. That's what you taught, but Satoru proved you wrong.

With determination and focus he had when getting that teddy bear that only cost around a dollar to some store, he managed to safely get the teddy bear after so many tries.

Satoru's eyes widened when the claw didn't let go of the teddy bear when it was brought above as it safely held the teddy bear before dropping to where he could receive it. He screamed in joy not caring about the people around him.

"Darling! Look! I got it!" Satoru told you with a joyful tone as you giggled at his actions before he gave it to you. "Me? But you worked so hard just to get it" You said as you held the teddy bear with love.

"Yeah, but it shows how much I'll do anything to give you what you want" He said with those soft and loving eyes as if nothing else matters in this world just you and him.

**

When you heard your name being called, you stopped thinking about him as you touched your cheek when you felt a tear-stained. The nurse asked if you were ready to go. "A-ah just a second" you hurriedly said and hastily grabbed the pen to sign the paper.

You have given extensive thought behind your decision and give "Brighter Days Inc." the exclusive permission to remove this person completely from your memory.

          ✓ Yes            ___ No      

You stood up and gave the nurse the signed paper before grabbing the box and head inside the room. The doctor greeted you enthusiastically as he told you to give the nurse the box you were holding.

As soon as you gave her the box, you sat down on the treatment chair with anxiety creeping your body. Feeling your heart start to beat loudly as if fighting you to stop this nonsense.

"Is it your first time? I can see how your eyes move around" The doctor asked with his lightening laugh just to ease you up.

"Yeah, sorry I just really don't know how to calm myself" You said, fiddling your fingers to atleast help calm you down. "Don't worry actually what happens to most of our patients who came here for their first time" The doctor said while preparing the machine.

You looked at the table to see the box again, you felt as if your heart was screaming at you to stop this. 

“So who are you forgetting? We need to know so that we can ask you after this procedure is done” The doctor asked.

“Someone named Satoru Gojo” You were hesitant at first but you answered anyway.

"Don't worry, we'll give you those final moments with your memories before they disappear" The doctor assured you.

"Are you ready?" The doctor asked and with a final sigh, you nodded.

You closed your eyes as soon as you felt the doctor put something on your head. That's where the process begins.

DELETION PROCESS

     1%

**

"Satoru?" You softly spoke when you noticed those white hair that stood among the crowds as he turned around and smiled before waving at you.

He rushed up towards you with a grin, patting your hair leaving you groaning since you just finished brushing your hair. "Stop it! I just brushed my hair!" You whined, slapping Satoru's hand away with a glare.

He only giggled, "You just looked too cute" Satoru then took your bag. "I'll carry this, is there any place you want to see?" He asked.

"Should we go get some coffee?" You suggested.

"Sure, make sure mine is caramel macchiato with extra caramel" He said with a smile. "You and your sweet tooth" You said with a laugh.

"Well I can't really live without sugar and of course you my honey bunch" He said, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you close to him. You smiled while hugging him back.

**

Tears stained your eyes as you started to see your final moments with your memories.

  DELETION PROCESS

     24%

**

"Happy Birthday!" You flinched when Satoru suddenly surprised you in your shared apartment. The feeling of tiredness and burnt out suddenly left, a smile crept up on your face.

"You didn't have to" You said, dropping your bag to the ground before heading to Satoru. "I have to, because it's your birthday baby," Satoru said, holding the cake near you with the candles being lit already.

"Make a wish" He said

When you first observe how the cake was made, you can see how messy the font was made. It already says that it was Satoru who made the cake. You gently close your eyes and begin making a wish.

Let us stay together, tomorrow as well

You blew the candle with ease, but this is satoru we're talking of course chaos is on his vocabulary. He dumped the cake into your face after he made sure to put out the candle to not hurt you. You stood there in shock before grabbing a handful of cake as you threw it into his face leaving you two a giggling mess. You were curious as to what the cake tasted like. 

“I didn’t even get to taste the cake” You said with a pout after Satoru came back with a tissue to clean your face. “Don’t worry, I made two cakes, that cake earlier is just for fun” He said while wiping your cheeks. “And look! I got you a gift!” He said placing the box that was wrapped well into your lap. 

You stared at the box suspiciously before you slowly unwrapped the present. Sooner, you found what was inside the box that left you gasping in surprise. It’s the stethoscope you’ve been wanting to get after beginning your doctor journey. You stared at him flabbergasted.

He only smiled more and spoke, “Happy Birthday baby”. Tears swell in your eyes before you throw yourself to Satoru, hugging him while thanking him endlessly. He hugged you back, placing small kisses to your head.

**

DELETION PROCESS

48%

**

“I told you to leave me alone!” You shouted, crying hysterically while continuing to run in the rain without any shoes because all you wanted was to run away from Satoru.

But the moment Satoru was able to catch you by grabbing your arm and pulling you into a hug, you cried heavily into his chest. He made sure to take his jacket off to wrap it around you to stop you from shaking in the cold. 

You two stood there by the rain, Satoru was there hushing and comforting you to calm down.

“Shhh, baby, I know how much it hurts but it’s time to move on” Satoru spoke to you, “Toru, I can’t fucking move on knowing my mom died” you said as you stared at him with your red eyes.

“I know, I know but would your mom be happy knowing how her daughter cried in the middle of the rain that will definitely be the cause of your sickness the next day?” Satoru asked that you quickly shake your head.

“See, besides I promised your mom that I will take care of you and I hate it so much when you cry like this” Satoru admitted, his hand gently caressing your cheek. 

“I love you so much that it hurts me too when I see you like this” Satoru spoke in his broken voice.

From that moment, you saw how the usual chaotic, noisy Satoru is gone and it was replaced by this brokenness and pain evident from his face.

“Please, let’s head inside, I don’t want you to get sick” Satoru begged, you slowly stopped crying as you nodded.

Satoru sighs in relief, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead before holding you close as you two walk back to your shared apartment that night.

**

DELETION PROCESS

65%

**

“I told you to stay still!” You told Satoru as you giggled trying to stop him from wriggling much as you wanted to put the night cream on his face. 

“But my skin is already clean! I don't know why you wanted to add that to my gorgeous skin” Satoru said, lying down on his back as you tried to put skincare products on his face.

“Just do it for me please?” You begged with those puppy eyes that Satoru can't resist.

“Fine, but I better have my kisses after this!” Satoru demanded.

You smiled before leaning and placing a quick kiss on his lips, “that's all you're getting now” You said with a mischievous smirk.

Satoru only pouted while you continued painting his face with the skincare you were using.

After some time, you finished the night cream and grabbed one of your lip masks. Placing the mask on his lips, Satoru immediately took this chance and swallowed the lip mask only for him to choke.

“You got karma real quick” You said while laughing at him.

“That hurts my pride,” Satoru said while coughing.

“That's why I told you to stay still” You told him, grabbing another lip mask and placing it on his lips again. He stared at you, “Stay quiet for now” You told him with a smile as you took a book to read.

Satoru didn't do much so he closed his eyes to take a nap.

When you take a break from reading, you stare at Satoru with those loving eyes.

How lucky I am to get to be with you

 **

DELETION PROCESS 

78%

**

“What's your problem man?” Satoru spoke before punching the guy in the bar. 

You quickly jump into the scene as you try to stop Satoru, “Stop it! Satoru, we might get kicked out!” You frantically told him.

“I can't stop if he won't shut up about wanting to touch you!” Satoru shouted at you. You sigh as you apologize to the guy but it was too late, the both of you got kicked out of the bar.

“You need to learn how to control your temper, sometimes satoru” You annoyingly said.

“I just can't help it-” whatever satoru you always say that!” You snap at him.

Satoru only stood there, sighing as if he was tired.

“I’m tired, let's just go home” Satoru said but you weren't backing down.

“Oh no, no I’m most definitely tired Satoru! I have to deal with your ass whenever you get drunk!” You shouted in frustration as he was silent.

“I can't face you right now, you either stay with your family or friends for the night” You said as you quickly walked away, Satoru tried to stop you but you still left.

That's where the memory you wanted to rewind your actions as you didn't know this event will cause drastically to your relationship.

**

DELETION PROCESS

91%

The process moves slowly to all of the sweet times you had with gojo before it arrived, to how you two ended your relationship that you always had nightmares about it.

**

You stared completely shocked at what Satoru showed you.

a pregnancy test

Your eyes quickly moved to Satoru wanting him to explain everything.

Satoru only stared down, “I’m sorry, I got someone pregnant” he revealed that left you shaking.

W-what?

“Since when?” I asked, tears are already spilling from your eyes as your body went numb after consuming this information.

“The night we got into an argument after we got kicked out of the bar, I headed to another bar that time and-” Before Satoru could finish, you stopped him.

“You got some random girl pregnant?” You quickly cut him off. Your eyes looked at him to see if he at least felt guilty about what he did but…

There was none

“She’s not some random girl,” Satoru quickly defended.

“Oh, is that so?” You glared at him.

“Are you going to tell me that you fell out of love with me the moment she came into the picture? Is that it?” You angrily asked him.

Satoru only stared at you before nodding.

You sigh as you cover your face, it came too quickly.

“I’m sorry I couldn't keep my promise, I was just getting tired of the constant fighting we had and I think it's best for us to split,” Satoru spoke.

He didn't even show a slight guilt or sadness on his face.

Satoru only tried to hug you but you kept on punching his arm, once he did hug you your punch somehow got lessened only for you to cry loudly in his chest.

“I did love you, I didn't lie when I told you I loved you most of the time. I know I was a jerk for suddenly falling in love with someone but I can't help it” Satoru explained.

But no matter how many times he explained, he will never come back to you.

That day, Satoru left with all of his belongings leaving you alone in that shared apartment that was supposed to be your happy place.

You sat at the couch, staring at the wall trying to process everything, you looked at the picture frame that was from your graduation, and you can see how his eyes used to lighten up with you but now that eyes only looked at you with nothing.

You head to the bedroom and saw how clean it was, it felt so different to the one you’re used to.

You opened the closet to find your clothes only, but Satoru’s red scarf was there. Hands quickly grabbed them as you tried covering around your neck and just cried there.

Months later the news that Satoru and his girl got married, it was decided that you will remove him from your memories as soon as you see an advertisement that helps remove a certain person from your memory.

**

DELETION PROCESS

100%

The moment it hit one hundred, every memory with Satoru was soon replaced. 

The first anniversary gift he got was soon replaced by you hanging out with your friends as you got lucky to win a teddy bear in the claw machine.

Every time he always fetches you after your university was replaced with you walking alone.

Those sweet birthdays you had were replaced with your family celebrating it with you.

The night that you heard your mom died was replaced by your cousin comforting you instead of Satoru.

The bar memory you had was replaced with you fighting your friend for making you two kicked out of the bar.

The day when Satoru told you he got someone else pregnant? Was replaced with your best friend telling you she got pregnant.

Your eyes quickly opened as you looked around and touched your cheek wondering why you were crying. The doctor and nurse quickly went to your side and asked you if you were okay and were asking tons of questions about this person you don't even know.

You got out of the office feeling fresh and left the Brighter Days Inc not knowing the box you had was burned leaving nothing else, not even the scarf you used to comfort yourself after you and Satoru split.

You entirely forgot the person who you used to call your soulmate.

[darthwhorecrux]

i'm sick YEAH THIS IS SELF-INDULGENT

475 words fluffy Shinji boy

You sneezed.

Once.

Then twice.

Then thrice.

Your boyfriend didn't give you the typical 'bless you," instead,

"Looks like someone's gotta bug," Shinji observed, brows furrowed together in concentration as he put two and two together, the constant sniffles and the congestion in your tone in addition to this, all adding up at once. How he hadn't noticed earlier, he didn't know.

"Nah." You waved a hand dismissively, smiling mischievously. "Just a cute guy somewhere talkin' about me."

"Spoiler alert." He grinned, winking. "I'm the cute guy talkin' bout ya."

"Fine by me," you mused, laying back in your shared bed.

"Seriously though." He crept forward, laying next to you and poking your face. "Yer sick, baby? Why didn't ya tell me?"

"I dunno." You shrugged. "I feel mostly fine. Just a little stuffed up, sore throat. It's not too bad. I'm surviving."

"Poor girl." He brushed stray hairs from your face, coddling you anyways. "I still wanna take care of ya. My baby's all sick. C'mere."

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into him, peppering kisses all along your face and head. He even kissed your runny nose with no concern for the consequences.

"You're just gonna get sick, Shinji," you chastised.

"Don't care." He pressed numerous kisses into the same spot against your temple, nuzzling his face against yours. "Just need ya ta get better. Ya have no idea how sad it makes me feel when my little doll isn't feeling well."

He snuggled you intentionally, and you thought then that you didn't really mind being a little sick, not if it meant you were going to get babied and coddled by your usually snarky boyfriend. Now that you knew his weakness, perhaps you'd milk this opportunity.

"M'so sleepy," you whined. "Won't you please play with my hair till I fall asleep?"

He began running his fingers through your locks before he even spoke. "Of course. Ya need any medicine before bed?"

"No," you shook your head against his chest, pressing a kiss there. "Just need you. Thanks for being so sweet to me." You smiled to yourself. Of course you knew he was sweet, but it meant extra to you, how soft he could be when you were a little more fragile than usual.

"Feel better, lovebug," he cooed, cradling your head in his hand.

His gentle brushing through your hair had done more than you anticipated, your eyes fluttering shut already, your lips struggling to form a response. His touch was magic, the antidote to the sickness you carried. Though it was hard to breathe as your nose dripped, you began to drift off with ease.

"Shinji?"

"Hm?"

"You're too good to me. I love you."

"Ya have no idea how I love you more..." were the last words that made it through before you began snoring against him.

[suunani]

pieces of myself ( hwang intak )

intak reminds you that you’re enough as you are.

❛ content 1600 words, male reader, added member!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, boyfriend!intak, reader is having a breakdown, intak is the biggest sweetheart.

the dressing room was colder than usual.

the harsh overhead lights flickered softly, casting long, silent shadows across the space.

it felt like time was moving in slow motion. your breath coming out in shallow, uneven gasps as you sat at the vanity, staring at your reflection in the mirror.

you had just finished another successful concert with the boys, another night of applause, screams, and flashing cameras. but all you could hear now, in the quiet aftermath, was the pounding in your chest.

the image staring back at you wasn't really you anymore.

the stage lights had dimmed, but the hollow feeling in your chest hadn't. you had spent hours perfecting that flawless image — perfect hair, perfect makeup, perfect posture. the boy the fans adored, the boy the company demanded you be.

but who was the real you?

who were you when the lights were off?

you had been suffocating for so long. the constant pressure, the weight of expectations from the fans, the industry, and — perhaps most of all — the pressure you put on yourself to meet them.

there were days when the smile you wore in front of the cameras felt like it was carved into your face, like a mask you couldn't remove. and every day, the weight of the mask felt heavier.

but today? today, it felt unbearable.

the knock on the door broke the silence, but you didn't move.

you didn't want to face anyone, least of all the one person who always made you feel like you were more than just the idol everyone expected you to be.

"y/n? are you in there?" it was intak, his voice low but filled with concern.

you swallowed, trying to steady your breath, trying to put on a face for him.

"yeah, i'm fine," you said quickly, the lie tasting bitter in your mouth.

you hadn't been fine for a while now, but saying it out loud made it feel real.

the door creaked open, and in he walked.

his eyes instantly fell on you. you hadn't even turned your face toward him, but the way he stood there, so still, so patient, told you everything you needed to know.

he had known something was wrong the moment you'd entered the building, and he hadn't stopped looking for you since. he'd noticed the way you'd withdrawn into yourself during the performance, the way your usual spark seemed dulled.

but intak wasn't the type to push when you weren't ready, so he waited. but now, seeing the emptiness in your eyes, he couldn't stand the silence anymore.

"y/n..." his voice was so soft, so full of empathy. "what's going on?"

you hated the way your throat closed at his words, how they made everything inside you feel more fragile, more exposed.

you had tried so hard to keep everything locked inside, but in front of him, it felt like it was all coming apart.

"i'm fine," you repeated, your voice hoarse, barely above a whisper.

"no, you're not," intak stepped closer, his voice gentle but firm. "you don't have to keep pretending with me, y/n. please, talk to me. what's going on?"

you could feel your chest tightening, the familiar sensation of a breakdown creeping up.

but you held it back, like you always did.

you couldn't let him see you like this. you couldn't show him the weakness, the cracks in the perfect image you were supposed to embody.

"i just need a minute," you said, your voice strained, desperate to push him away so you wouldn't have to face the pain.

but intak wasn't backing off.

he knelt beside you, his expression softening as he reached out to touch your arm.

"it's okay. you don't have to do this alone. you're not weak, y/n. you're allowed to break sometimes. but you don't have to carry all of this on your own."

the words were like a bomb going off inside of you. the dam you had spent so long building finally cracked.

you didn't want to cry. you didn't want to fall apart in front of him, but the moment intak touched you, his warmth, his concern, the tears flooded out.

you couldn't stop them.

"i... i don't know what's wrong with me, intak," you whispered, voice breaking with the weight of all the fear you'd been holding in. "i'm supposed to be perfect. i'm supposed to be this idol that everyone looks up to, but i can't keep doing it anymore. i'm so tired. i'm just so... tired."

your body shook with the force of your sobs, the overwhelming exhaustion finally spilling over. you felt like you were suffocating under the pressure.

the company, the fans, the endless expectations. it all felt so far removed from who you were as a person. you had always done your best to keep up the image. smiling, laughing, always giving more than you thought you had.

but now? now you didn't even know who you were.

intak didn't say anything for a moment. he just sat there, quietly watching you, as if giving you the space to let it all out. his hand remained on your shoulder, his touch reassuring but gentle.

"you don't have to be perfect, y/n."

he finally whispered, his voice filled with such tenderness that it almost felt like he was trying to heal the broken pieces of you.

"you don't have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. it's okay to be tired. it's okay to need a break. you're allowed to be human."

"i'm not perfect," you gasped through your sobs, shaking your head as though the words themselves physically hurt. "i'm so scared that one day i'm going to wake up and everything will come crashing down. what if they hate me? what if they don't love me for who i really am?"

intak's hand tightened on your shoulder, and you could feel the ache in his chest, too, as if hearing the depth of your pain hurt him just as much as it hurt you.

it was breaking him, but he wasn't going anywhere. he couldn't leave you like this.

"y/n, listen to me," he said softly, lifting your chin so that you had to look at him.

his eyes were filled with so much emotion that it made your heart ache.

"i don't care if you're perfect. i don't care about the image the company created for you or what anyone expects. you're enough. just as you are."

you shook your head, unable to accept his words. you didn't believe them.

not when you felt so far removed from the person everyone thought you were. the real you. the person that had been buried under layers of expectation. the person who didn't even know if they could go on pretending anymore.

"i'm not enough," you whispered, broken. "i'm not good enough for you. i'm not good enough for anyone."

you could feel your chest constricting again, the weight of your self-doubt pressing down on you like a vice.

intak's eyes filled with anguish, his face scrunching up with the emotion he couldn't hide. it physically hurt him to see you like this, to see the person he loved so much torn apart by invisible forces.

"y/n," he said, his voice shaking now. "you are more than enough. don't you get it? i'm not with you because of your image. i'm not with you because of the fans. i'm with you because i love you. the real you. the person who cares so much for others, the person who makes me laugh when i'm down, the person who gets frustrated with the smallest mistakes and pushes himself to do better. you're perfect in the way that matters. you're perfect to me."

his words, raw and sincere, were like a balm to the wound in your heart. but even as he spoke them, you couldn't fully believe them.

the weight of everything you were carrying felt too heavy. the fear that you weren't worthy of his love, the fear that one day everything would come crashing down, clouded your mind.

the pressure was suffocating.

"i don't know how to be that person anymore," you admitted, your voice barely audible. "i don't know who i am without all of this. without the image, the expectations. i don't even recognize myself anymore. i just feel so... lost."

intak's heart broke even further, and before you could say anything else, he pulled you into his arms.

it was a tight, protective hug, the kind that wrapped around you like a shield, like he would never let go. he buried his face in your hair, holding you as if he could absorb all of your pain and exhaustion into himself.

"i'm so sorry, y/n," he whispered, his voice breaking. "i never wanted you to feel like this. i just want you to be happy. i just want you to be okay."

and in that moment, all the walls you'd built around yourself, all the lies you'd told, started to crumble.

you felt his love, steady and unwavering, surrounding you. his warmth was the only thing that made the fear and exhaustion bearable.

"i'll help you," he said softly, pulling back just enough to kiss your forehead. "we'll figure this out together. you don't have to carry this weight alone. i'm here. i'm always here."

for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself lean into him completely.

the overwhelming flood of emotions left you raw and vulnerable, but with intak beside you, it didn't feel like the end. it felt like the beginning of something new.

maybe it wouldn't be easy. maybe you'd still have moments where the weight of everything felt unbearable. but for now, you didn't have to pretend anymore.

you weren't alone. and that was enough.

[gh0stxp]

can you do sfw and nsfw eyeless jack hc's? :3

Eyeless Jack SFW and NSFW headcanons

🧸ྀི English is not my first language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes !! 🤍

! Warning ! -> It has NSFW, which means it has 18+ in writing ‹𝟹

─────────────୨ৎ──────────────

༉‧₊˚. SFW:

🫘‧₊˚彡 He felt insecure at the beginning of your relationship, he didn't like to take off the mask, but gradually you gained his trust and made him trust you enough to walk freely around the house without the mask ♡‧₊˚

🫘‧₊˚彡 Even though he's a monster he's a super calm and kind (at least with you) ♡‧₊˚

🫘‧₊˚彡 He can accidentally hurt you because of his size and not knowing how to control his strength, because to him you are just a fragile little human that he loves and wants to protect ♡‧₊˚

🫘‧₊˚彡 Loves playing with your hair and also likes it when you touch his hair ♡‧₊˚

🫘‧₊˚彡 He becomes very happy when you tell him he is handsome, he starts smiling so much and a little blush will appears on his cheeks ♡‧₊˚

Y/N: "You're so beautiful... so different and perfect.. I'm lucky to have you"

Jack: ":)"

🫘‧₊˚彡 Before meeting you, he didn't believe he would find someone who would like a monster that eats organs like him, but now that he has you, he is more than grateful that there is someone like you who loves him for who he is ♡‧₊˚

🫘‧₊˚彡 If you get hurt, he will help you, he will examine the wound and help you heal it carefully because he doesn't want to put you in more pain ♡‧₊˚

🫘‧₊˚彡 If you're crying, he will probably ask why you're crying, and if it's because of a person, he will "have a conversation" with them ♡‧₊˚

🫘‧₊˚彡 Cuddles, well he'll put his arms around your waist and his chin on top of your head ♡‧₊˚

🫘‧₊˚彡 He love your kisses, he would spend the whole day receiving them without complaining ♡‧₊˚

༉‧₊˚. NSFW:

🫘‧₊˚彡 He will give you head, and trust me, he knows how to use his tongues (because he has three) very well ♡‧₊˚

🫘‧₊˚彡 Well, when I say he is big, it's because he is. It can be painful at first when he's trying to get inside you, but then it's just pleasure ♡‧₊˚

🫘‧₊˚彡 He can be rough and fast or gentle and slow, it depends on what you want or if he is horny ♡‧₊˚

🫘‧₊˚彡 He will moan but he prefers to hear you moan and whimper (this will probably make him even hornier) ♡‧₊˚

🫘‧₊˚彡 When you cry with pleasure, he becomes worried and becomes gentler because he thinks he is hurting you ♡‧₊˚

🫘‧₊˚彡 When you are giving him head, that's a different story, he'll be whimpering with pleasure, and gently pulling your head even further, making you go deeper on his d*ck ♡‧₊˚

🫘‧₊˚彡 He gets even more turned on when he thinks about getting you pregnant (even if you can't or if you can) he likes to fill you with his c#m ♡‧₊˚

Jack: "Mhm~..I want to s-see you f-full.. yeah, completely full with my c#m i-inside of y-you~..g-good girl/boy.."

🫘‧₊˚彡 You can masturbate him but get ready to hear him whimper with pleasure, it will be loud ♡‧₊˚

🫘‧₊˚彡 He knows human anatomy and knows very well the weak points of pleasure ♡‧₊˚

🫘‧₊˚彡 After everything, he will try his best to clean you up (with his tongue ig) and then change both your and his clothes, he will lay you on top of him and he will gently stroke your back ♡‧₊˚

─────────────୨ৎ──────────────

(I'm sleepy, don't blame me (ó﹏ò｡)♡)

Byee!! ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱

[fourmoony]

This may be weirdly specific so feel free to ignore if so but

Jamie with a reader who’s never felt like she was someone’s first choice and is having a hard time grasping that she *is* his

thanks for requesting angel! 1.5k f!reader modern!au

he's my sweet boy i need him in a way i cannot describe

masterlist

James' shrill ring tone fills the room, but neither of you make an effort to move for it where it's buzzing against the coffee table. You probably should be the one to do it, considering you're sprawled across the top of James, making it rather difficult for him to move. But, he doesn't ask you to, so you don't. Even when it rings a second time. You think James might actually be asleep, unaware to the incessant ringing. He's slept through worse, in all fairness.

But he groans petulantly when the ringing stops, turns to ping after ping, the texts flashing across his locked screen and illuminating the dark calm of his living room. His hand leaves it's place on your hip, reaching half heartedly for the device and when he fails, you sigh and reach for it yourself. It'd been a peaceful two hours of relaxing, just existing together in the same space, not really talking, not really doing anything except revelling in the feeling of each other's presence on James' couch after a busy week of barely seeing each other. Between your work, James' rugby practices, and trying to maintain social lives, it'd been hard to have quality time.

You're okay with that. More than okay with that. James has his life and you have yours. This thing you have, it's new and it's fragile, and you won't dent it or risk losing it by being clingy, by telling James that you miss him, that you want to spend more time with him, friends and coworkers, practices and life be damned. You refuse. So you slide the top half of your body off the couch, one hand holding yourself up on the floor, and the other outstretched for James' phone.

His left hand cups the back of your thigh, fingers slipping between the left and right. It's an innocent touch, but heat floods your body all the same as your fingers wrap around his rubber phone case and you heave your body back on top of his. He grumbles when the phone starts to ring again, rubs an apologetic hand up and down the back of your thigh which has you forcing your face into the crease of his neck and shoulder to hide the bright red of your cheeks.

He rests his head atop yours as he answers the phone.

Sirius' voice booms through the speaker, though it's too muffled to make out what he's saying. James answers whatever it is with a tired sounding "Not tonight, mate."

There's more muffled talking, a couple of voices added into the mix and you assume that Sirius is in the local pub. Your heart sinks a little when you realise he's likely inviting James out, and you don't have the heart to tell him you'd rather stay inside the cozy confines of his flat, half asleep in the dim evening light. You don't want to seem controlling or toxic, so you lie still, control your breathing, don't react to whatever is coming down the line from Sirius' end.

James chuckles lightly, his free hand rubbing soothing circles into the small of your back, hand warm against your skin where it's worked it's way under your - his - rugby jumper. "Yeah, yeah, she's here." James' hand squeezes the pudge of your hip at the mention of you.

You tilt your head up in interest and James smiles down at you, warmly, presses his lips to the crown of your head as Sirius screeches down the phone.

"No. No, Sirius, she doesn't want to spend her only day off in the pub listening to you lot." James speaks with humour in his voice, but you can see the hint of frustration that's in his eyes.

You frown, wonder if he's frustrated because he feels he has to pick between you and his friends. You love his friends, you get on well with them, but he's right, you can't think of anything worse on your only day off than going to the pub. "You should go." You whisper, urging James by attempting to climb off of him.

His arm wraps tight around your waist, brows furrowed as he looks down at you and shakes his head, "No." He mouths.

Then, "No. Sirius. No. Mate, you're smashed, have Moony take you home."

James laughs at whatever Sirius says in retort, and then the two are saying their goodbyes. James tosses his phone onto the coffee table after he switches it to silent mode.

"You should go. This is your only day off, as well. Go see your friends. We can do a quick dinner or something tomorrow." You try to urge him again.

James' immediate response is to hold you tighter to him, as though you may actually be trying to escape him. "I'd rather spend my time here. With you." He shrugs, like it's nothing.

Your heart does a little stutter at his words, but your brain catches up and you sigh, "Jamie, it's okay. If you want to go, you should."

His brows hook upward at the middle when he furrows them, his eyes searching yours, "Why is it so hard for you to believe I'd rather be here with you?"

You try not to flinch at his words, try not to think about all the boys before who've put a myriad of things above you. It's fine, really. You've grown accustomed to settling for the dregs, the stolen moments. James is worth the heavy feeling it leaves in your chest to be second best. Simply because when you're with him, the world melts away.

Feigning indifference, you shrug against him, "Because all we're doing is laying here in the dark, half asleep. Wouldn't you rather be out with your friends having a laugh?"

"Would you?" James counters, and it seems like he genuinely wants to know your answer, like he thinks, foolishly, so foolishly, you'd rather be anywhere else. That you wish you were doing more.

Doing nothing with James forever sounds like the best thing you've ever heard. "No. Not at all. I love this. But I know you. You're a social butterfly." You speak softly, cautious of the conversation turning into a row.

You have too many experiences with conversations like the one you're having now being turned into a row.

James nods, "I love this, too. And you're right, I like to be social, but sometimes that drains me. I've spent all week being social, spent all week missing you, and I'm drained. All I wanted to do all week was see you, spend time with you. I couldn't think of anything worse than going to the pub, right now."

His hands are as assuring as his words, trailing a path of warmth and comfort across the planes of your back, your thighs, your hips. It's surreal, the assertiveness he speaks with, the way he makes sure you know he means every word. Your stomach flutters with the idea of him missing you as much as you missed him. It's weird, to feel validated, to feel content and sure.

"I just don't want your friends to think you're picking me over them, or something." You mumble, head dropping back into the space between his shoulder and neck.

James hums, "I am though. Not in a bad way. I just," He pauses, like he's searching for the words, "I'm sure about this, you know? Sure about you, about us. You mean a lot to me, and I'm all in. You come above everything else because, for me, that's the only way it'll work."

You feel rather silly for the tears that spring their way to your eyes, and begin to leak without your consent against James' neck. He must feel them, because he tuts, using his hands to pry your face away from the skin, thumbs swiping softly at the fallen tears. He looks at you so gently you might start sobbing. Relief washes over you in waves, and you realise you hadn't even been aware how worried you were that you felt more for James than he did for you.

"Why are you crying, sweet girl?" He whispers, pressing a kiss to each of your tear stained cheeks.

You loose a breath, "I've never been someones first choice before."

That visibly upsets James, who takes it upon himself to right this wrong, stave off your tears by pressing kisses all over your face between murmured promises.

"I'd pick you in this life," a kiss to your nose, "the next," a kiss to your forehead, "the one after that," a kiss to your chin, "and in every universe."

He finishes with a kiss to your lips, soft and deep, his hands steady on the line of your jaw. You whine a little, pushing further into him until he's chuckling into your mouth.

"I'd pick you, too," You say into his mouth.

James smiles, bright as anything you've ever seen, "Thank God for that, lovie."

And yeah. Thank god for that.

[al-1-na]

I want to make a humble request to my Queen. I don't find much good fics with a black soft feminine girl as the female lead with a white boy. I don't mind much about the troupe, I just would love to see a interracial couple. So, please! And thank u in advance!! 💗🎀🦢

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Rafe Cameron x black!soft!Reader

𝐂𝐖: Contains explicit sexual content, emotionally intense dynamics, mild references to violence

You’re not the type of girl Rafe Cameron usually messes with.

You’re soft. Not fake-soft—real soft. You smell like shea butter and brown sugar, wrap your hair at night, speak low and thoughtful like you know your words carry weight. Your voice doesn’t rise when you’re angry. You just get quiet, and that silence holds more power than any scream.

People mistake you for fragile. But you know exactly what you are.

And you’ve never given Rafe the time of day.

Not because you hate him—but because you see too much in his eyes that reminds you of things you’ve worked hard to leave behind.

You don’t expect to find him on your porch.

It’s late. The sky is purple with salt-heavy clouds. You’re in a robe, hair twisted up, cocoa butter on your skin. You hear the knock, gentle but persistent.

And when you open the door, there he is—Rafe Cameron.

Leaning against the railing, one eye swelling purple, knuckles scraped raw.

Your lips part, but no sound comes out.

He doesn’t look like himself.

He doesn’t look like anyone.

“Didn’t know where else to go,” he mutters, voice low. “Can I sit?”

You hesitate. Not because you’re afraid. But because you know what your softness does to people who’ve never known care without strings.

“Yeah,” you say finally. “Sit.”

He lowers himself onto the wicker bench. His hands tremble a little. You close the door gently behind you and go get your little box of healing things: arnica gel, cotton pads, witch hazel, honey balm your auntie swears by.

When you come back, he’s still staring out into the night.

You kneel in front of him, placing the kit beside you.

“Let me see,” you say softly, brushing a curl from your face.

He flinches when you touch him. Not like he’s afraid of you—like he’s afraid you’ll be kind.

You dab the witch hazel on the bruise gently. He sucks in a breath.

“You don’t have to fix me,” he says.

You tilt your head. “I’m not trying to. Just don’t like seeing people bleed when I can help it.”

He doesn’t answer.

Your hands are careful, your touch light. You smooth balm over his cheekbone, fingers gliding over pale, flushed skin.

“You ever gonna tell me who did it?” you ask.

“No,” he says. Not coldly. Just… final.

You nod once. “Okay.”

That’s when something shifts. Something quiet.

You feel it in the way his shoulders drop. The way his eyes flicker over your face like he’s seeing you all at once.

“You’re always like this?” he asks suddenly.

“Like what?”

“Soft. Calm. Like you… float through shit.”

You smile a little. “Soft doesn’t mean untouched, Rafe. It just means I don’t let the world harden me.”

He blinks. Like that thought never occurred to him.

“I don’t know how to be that,” he whispers.

“I know.”

You don’t know how it happens.

One moment you’re tending to his wounds.

The next, you’re still kneeling, but now his hand is in your hair. His thumb traces your jaw, his eyes searching, asking for something without words.

You could say no. You could stop it.

But you don’t.

Because something in him is open for the first time. Something raw and human and real.

So you lean in and kiss him.

It’s not a messy kiss. It’s not fast or desperate.

It’s quiet.

Your lips brush his, slow and soft, like a whisper. His fingers tighten in your hair, but he doesn’t push. He waits.

You climb into his lap on the porch bench, robe falling open slightly. Your thighs straddle his, and your hands press to his chest—warm and solid beneath your touch.

“You’ve never touched me before,” you murmur against his mouth.

“I know,” he breathes. “Didn’t think you’d ever let me.”

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes.

“I didn’t think you’d ever ask.”

You take him inside.

He moves like he doesn’t trust the walls not to close in. Like this house is too soft, too sacred for him. You guide him to your room, dim with candlelight and jasmine incense curling in the air.

“You good?” you ask gently.

He nods.

“Then breathe.”

You let your robe slip from your shoulders. His mouth parts, eyes wide. He doesn’t reach for you.

You reach for him.

Pull off his shirt. Kiss each bruise. Let him feel your hands over his ribs, his back, his arms. Let him be seen—not stared at, not judged. Seen.

When he finally touches you, it’s with care you didn’t know he had.

He cups your face. Presses his lips to your throat, your shoulder, your sternum. And when you slide down onto the bed and guide him between your legs, he whispers, “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Because for once, he’s not taking.

He’s receiving.

He moves like he’s learning your body, not conquering it.

You moan softly when he enters you, and he stills like he’s overwhelmed. You pull him closer, legs wrapped around his waist, arms around his neck.

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “You don’t have to hide here.”

And he breaks.

Not in tears. But in tension.

He rocks into you slow and deep, his breath stuttering against your neck, your skin slick and warm against his. Your fingers curl into his back, your lips at his ear.

“I got you,” you whisper.

And you mean it.

Not forever.

Just for tonight.

Just enough.

You feel him shudder when he comes—soft, gasping, buried in you with reverence. You kiss his jaw as you follow, breath trembling, body arching into his.

And when it’s done, he doesn’t let go.

Not for a long time.

Later, your fingers brush through his hair as he lies with his head on your chest.

“You still think soft is weak?” you ask.

He presses a kiss to your collarbone.

“No. I think it might be the strongest thing I’ve ever touched.”

𝐚𝐧: tysm for this request i hope you’ll like it:3 also sorry that i took so long but i’m pretty stressed bc of school and my private life. but i’m gonna write all the requests on the weekend ig:)

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @daryldixon83 @favzcarpentr @soft-starr @k4yr14 @43hughes @cokewithcameron @psychocitylights

[nan-not-found]

"In the Quiet"

OK! So I see you guys, I see you Shinsho fans, I hear you all loud and clear. Our tired little boy deserves some love, too. So I present to you all this short fanfic. I hope you guys like it!

Pairing: Shinso x Reader Inspired by: "Cherry Wine" - Hozier

Word Count: 923

The first time he let you touch his face, there were bruises under his eyes.

Not fresh—just shadows of old fights. You never asked how they got there. He never offered. And that silence, odd as it sounded to others, was your comfort zone. Shinso didn’t like being asked things he didn’t want to answer, and you had no interest in peeling him open like some locked journal. He came to you when he wanted to be read.

Tonight, he did.

The lights in your apartment were dim, just the low gold of the kitchen bulb bleeding into the living room. He’d dropped by late. Hoodie on, hands in his pockets, voice tired.

Now, he sat on the edge of your couch, bent forward, elbows on knees, staring at the floor.

You crossed the space slowly, barefoot, cautious like he was a deer that might bolt. Not because you were afraid of him—but because he never asked for softness, and when he let himself have it, he didn’t always know what to do with it.

"Rough day?" you asked.

He hummed in response. It wasn't a yes or a no.

You slid onto the couch beside him and waited. Shinso never talked fast. His thoughts came like waves—rolling in, pulling back, and sometimes drowning him if you weren’t watching closely enough.

After a moment, he spoke. "I froze up. During training. Just… blanked."

You looked at him. He didn’t return it. "Aizawa said anything?"

"Yeah. Said it happens. Just… didn’t expect it to happen to me. Not after all this time."

You nodded. Your fingers itched to reach out, to touch the side of his face where that faint yellow bruise still lingered, but you didn’t.

He noticed.

"You can," he said, voice quiet. "If you want."

You reached up gently, fingers ghosting over his cheekbone. He closed his eyes. His skin was warm, a little rough, like he hadn’t shaved in a day or two. You felt him exhale beneath your touch.

“I hate that it still rattles me,” he murmured. “That part of me still thinks I’m the problem. Like I’ve gotta prove I’m not dangerous. Like I don’t belong.”

Your hand stayed on his cheek. Not holding. Just being.

"You don't have to prove anything to me," you said. "Not tonight."

He opened his eyes, slow, heavy-lidded with exhaustion. There was something fragile in the way he looked at you. Like he didn’t believe you, not really—but wanted to.

“I know,” he said, eventually. “That’s why I came here.”

It wasn’t always like this. When you’d first met Shinso, he didn’t even look you in the eye. Not out of rudeness, but because he was always reading the room, trying to gauge people before they could judge him. Before they could fear him. His walls were high, and he’d built them with good reason.

You’d taken your time. Asked questions only when it made sense. Never pushed. Never talked over his silences.

It took months for him to start texting you first. Longer to let you into his space.

Now, here he was. In your living room. Letting you hold his face like it wouldn’t hurt him.

Progress wasn’t always loud. Sometimes it looked like this.

Later, when you’d both curled onto the couch, his head resting on your lap, his breathing slowed.

You combed your fingers through his messy purple hair, brushing out small tangles. He didn’t say a word, but his body softened under your touch. You knew he liked this. The quiet attention. The wordless reassurance.

"You're not dangerous, Shinso."

He blinked up at you, eyes half-lidded. "I know. But sometimes I feel like I’m walking around with a loaded gun in my mouth. One word, and…"

"You're not a weapon."

His brow furrowed. "Then why do I only get taken seriously when I use my Quirk?"

You paused, fingers pausing mid-stroke. That question hung between you, heavy and honest.

“Because people don’t understand quiet power,” you said finally. “They expect flash. They miss the real strength. But I see it. I always have.”

He let out a low laugh. "You make me sound noble."

"You are," you said. "Even if you don’t want to be."

He looked away, embarrassed by praise. He always was. But he didn’t deny it.

The night stretched on. Rain started tapping softly against the window, a quiet rhythm that matched his breathing.

Shinso wasn’t easy. He wasn’t warm in obvious ways. He didn’t flood you with affection. But he showed up. He stayed. He let you in even when it scared him.

And when you tucked the blanket up over his shoulders, he turned his head into your stomach like a cat seeking shelter.

"I don't say it much," he mumbled.

"I know," you whispered. "Say it when you're ready."

Silence again. Then, after a long pause:

"I feel safe with you."

You smiled, hand resting over his heart. "I know."

You woke up hours later, still on the couch, your neck stiff and your legs numb under his weight. Shinso had barely moved. His breathing was deep, slow, steady. One arm had slipped around your waist in his sleep.

You didn’t move.

He needed the rest. The closeness. The kind of quiet love that asked for nothing but presence.

You kissed the top of his head, gentle. Then leaned back and closed your eyes again.

You didn’t need fireworks. This was enough.

The slow drip of love like cherry wine—sweet, dark, and a little painful sometimes.

But worth every drop.

End.

Masterlist

[reveryfics]

hello. I'm here to request if you don't mind. So, I rewatched Ghostrider yesterday, which makes me think that if this ghostrider(male reader) meets the thunderbolts*. I wanted to request Bob Reynolds x male reader. So it's quite like this, a fight happened in some area or perhaps building, and after the ghostrider! reader finished dealing with the opponent, and he wanted to leave before he heard a movement behind a counter just to see terrified Bob behind the counter. Perhaps he got lost when Thunderbolt* went to do a mission. Reader turned back to his default setting, and Bob looked at him in either getting lovestruck or still in shock and terrified. He only responds when the reader asks his name, where he lives, and can he get up, Bob doesn't answer the last one due to still in shock. In thunderbolts* place, or HQ? The door suddenly flies across the room when someone kicks it. All of them got into alert mode when a sight of man with carrying a chains and Bob in other hand. I think Bucky will tell the reader to let Bob go. The problem is he can't because Bob keeps clinging on him. No one believes it until he removes the hand that holds Bob, Bob just clings on him. They have talked in Bob's room about something(it's your part to choose the topic), and Bob feeling uncomfortable with this skeleton-shapeshift-into-human man. He looks at the reader like a sad puppy. The reader was told to stay for a while, and Bob again seemed to follow him around, near him every time and look at him with the exact same look as yesterday. The other surely watching them, gossiping about what just happened, who this man and why Bob seem to like him. I think Yelena will tolerate the reader because Bob seems comfortable around him.

Chance Encounter

Robert Reynolds x Male Reader

Summary: An unexpected and chance encounter after taking down a target, left you more vulnerable then you'd been in years.

A/N: First request since I took a small break and um...yeah I had a huge brain fart while writing it and uh made this slop. I apologize and uh feel free to flame me over this in the comments.

TW: Angst - Yearning - Happy ending - Ghost Rider reader

The notion of striking a bargain with the devil had never once, not even in the darkest corners of your mind, truly taken root. There had been no gnawing emptiness, no desperate void that necessitated the selling of your very soul, the bartering of your essence for some fleeting gain. Or so you remembered, a phantom echo of a life that felt impossibly distant now. You remembered the warmth of a life bathed in sun-drenched innocence, the soft murmur of your mother's voice, the way her eyes, deep pools of limitless affection, would crinkle at the corners when she smiled at you. In her gaze, you were more than just a child; you were her entire cosmos, the singular architect of the stars that dusted the velvet canvas of the night sky.

You had chosen, deliberately, to forget the swift, brutal descent of her health. Refused to recall how quickly the vibrant bloom of her spirit withered, how a relentless illness, swift and cruel as a winter storm, ravaged her in the span of a single year. You buried the memory of her lost, vacant stare, those once-knowing eyes now devoid of recognition, as if you were a stranger, not the boy she had cradled, not the very center of her world. You pushed down the gnawing ache of the night nurses, their grim faces etched with a weary sympathy, as they wrestled with her, a frail bird trapped in a cage of delirium. She didn't know you, screamed at your touch, recoiled in terror from the face that had once been her comfort. A piece of your soul, raw and bleeding, tore away that night. And for the first time, a dark, insidious whisper snaked through your despair: the devil would take your soul if you offered it.

And take it he did. Not just your soul, but everything. Your innocence, a fragile butterfly, was crushed beneath his heel. Your defiance, once a burning ember, was extinguished. Every defiant spark within you, every shred of who you were, was meticulously peeled away, leaving only a hollow shell. "A small price to pay for a moment of recognition," he had purred, his voice a silken caress against your raw wounds, eyes like twin shards of obsidian, sharp and ancient, boring into the cavernous emptiness he had carved within you.

But this wasn't the bargain you had envisioned, the one whispered in the fevered delirium of your darkest hour. Your mother was supposed to get better. She was supposed to open her eyes and see you, truly see you, her baby boy, before she took her final, rattling breaths in that sterile hospital bed. This was not the recognition you had craved. This was a cruel, twisted parody, a mockery of your desperate plea.

Hellfire had never burned with such savage intensity as it did the night you became the Ghost Rider. The sheer, unadulterated anguish that ripped through your being, a primal scream trapped within your bones, burned hotter than the fiercest sun, hotter than any mundane flame could ever hope to achieve. Each nerve ending sang with a torment that dwarfed all earthly pain, forging you in an inferno of despair and rage.

But that was then, in the nascent days of your transformation, when every fiber of your being screamed in revulsion at what you had become, at the monstrous acts you were compelled to commit. This was now. Now, you had embraced the inferno, the chilling emptiness, the insatiable hunger for justice. You had found a twisted kind of solace in the flames, a brutal purpose in the damnation.

A low, guttural growl rumbled from deep within your chest, reverberating through the exposed ribs that gleamed like polished bone beneath your tattered, worn leather jacket. The fire that consumed your skull, a breathtakingly dangerous blue, pulsed with an otherworldly light. Your eye sockets, twin abysses of spectral flame, narrowed, focusing on the man cowering before you, bruised and bloody, his eyes wide with animalistic terror. One bone-white finger, tipped with flickering azure, pointed at him, a silent, deadly accusation. "Your soul is tainted," you hissed, the words a low, unforgiving rasp that scraped against the very air.

The man trembled violently, his knees threatening to buckle. "You're a fucking freak!" he shrieked, his voice cracking, as his trembling hand lifted a shaky gun, aiming it wildly at your skeletal form. The gun spat fire, but the bullet, a pitiful fleck of lead, turned to ash the instant it touched the infernal flames that danced around your body, a futile offering to an unholy power.

A low chuckle, devoid of warmth or humor, rattled from your throat. Your hand, claw-like and wreathed in blue fire, gripped the heavy chain wrapped around your torso, the metal sizzling and burning under your touch. "Naughty," you hummed, the word a cruel whisper.

With a swift, brutal flick of your wrist, you snapped the chain outward, sending it coiling through the air like a deadly serpent. It wrapped itself around the man's ankle with a sickening thud, searing his flesh. The raw, guttural scream that tore from his lungs sent a cold, mocking laugh bubbling up from the deepest recesses of your being. You dragged him closer, his body flailing uselessly. With surprising speed, you seized his head in your fiery hands, forcing his gaze to meet the searing void of your eye sockets. "Look into my eyes," you growled, your voice a symphony of damnation. "Feel the pain you've caused others. Suffer as they have."

The man shrieked, a high, thin sound of pure agony, clawing desperately at the scorched leather of your jacket. His eyes, once wide with fear, turned obsidian black, mirroring the void within your own. His mouth hung open in a silent scream as his body went limp, a puppet with severed strings, in your grasp. You tossed him aside, a discarded rag doll, and the infernal flames that enveloped you dimmed to a soft, pulsating amber.

A sudden, unexpected noise pierced the heavy silence, drawing your attention. Your head snapped in the direction of the sound, bones rattling with a dry, hollow click as you stalked closer. You shoved aside a rotting wooden crate, revealing a pair of wide, terrified eyes staring up at you.

You saw nothing. No vibrant hues of sin or virtue, no intricate tapestry of a life lived. Only a blurry, indistinct soul, fragmented into countless pieces that you couldn't quite decipher, couldn't touch, couldn't judge. A sigh, heavy with an unfamiliar weariness, escaped your lips. The flames that consumed you flickered, then extinguished, giving way to the familiar, if scarred, landscape of muscle and flesh. Weary eyes, too ancient for your young face, met the man's. "Who are you?" you whispered, your voice hoarse, unaccustomed to such gentle sounds.

He barely looked up, his body trembling, eyes painfully wide, reflecting the flickering building lights. "Bob… it's Bob," he whispered, his voice a barely audible tremor.

You couldn't quite pinpoint the expression in his eyes. Was it fear, a lingering shock, or perhaps, something akin to awe, even admiration? You weren't sure, but something about him, something so painfully, achingly innocent, pricked at a long-dormant part of you. "Where do you live? I can take you home."

Bob mumbled something incoherent under his breath, words lost in the rush of the night air. Eventually, he managed to stammer out an address, a faint, breathless whisper.

"Can you move?" you questioned, your gaze softening, a flicker of concern in your now human eyes.

Bob didn't answer, he simply gazed up at you, like some love-struck fool mesmerized by a god reincarnated, his eyes wide and unblinking.

A surprised gasp tore from Bob's throat as you gripped his hand, hauling him effortlessly to his feet as if he weighed nothing. The second Bob's hand touched yours, he saw it. He saw everything you had chosen to bury deep within the forgotten archives of your memory, every ache, every searing pain. He saw the gentle curve of your mother's smile, the boundless love in her eyes as she looked at you. He saw the hot, cleansing tears streaming down your face in the reflective sheen of the bathroom mirror the night she had forgotten you, the fiery red mark her hand had left on your cheek, a brutal testament to her fear. Bob saw it all, every excruciating detail. He even saw the single, crimson drop of your blood hitting the ancient parchment of the contract you had made with the devil, the moment your soul was irrevocably forfeit.

Bob hadn't even realized you were both outside until the deep, throaty roar of a motorcycle engine pierced the night. You looked at him, your hand patting the spot behind you on the seat, a silent invitation, as if he were a loyal dog you had just taught a special command.

He climbed onto the motorcycle behind you, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist, his face buried against your back. The intoxicating scent of worn leather, sweet jasmine, and the lingering aroma of a campfire filled his lungs, a potent, earthy combination he could easily get used to.

Your back straightened imperceptibly. No one had ever held onto you like this, so close, so trusting. You had never allowed anyone to get so near, to breach the carefully constructed fortress around your heart. But gods, the way he had looked at you just moments before, the way his arms now held you, just right, a comforting weight. You wanted to hate it, to push him away, to embrace the familiar coldness, but you couldn't.

"Hold on," you whispered, glancing back at him over your shoulder, your voice a low rumble against the throbbing engine.

With a guttural roar, the motorcycle surged forward, a phantom beast unleashed upon the urban landscape. The blurred lights of the building you’d just left melted into the streaking tapestry of New York City, a symphony of neon and noise. Bob clung to you, a desperate anchor, his face still pressed against your back, the rushing wind a wild hand ruffling his hair. The cacophony of busy streets – the insistent blare of horns, the distant wail of sirens, the ceaseless hum of a city that never slept – was a muffled thrum against his ears, a strange lullaby in his terrified world.

You only eased the throttle when the familiar brick facade of his building loomed into view, a stark silhouette against the bruised purple of the city sky. Your eyes, now human and weary, looked over your shoulder. "Go," you commanded, your voice low and rough, demanding obedience. But he wouldn't. Not without you. Bob remained a limpet, his grip unyielding as you guided him into the building, the familiar scent of old carpet and stale air filling your nostrils. He clung to you the entire journey to the floor he’d mumbled earlier, even when the elevator doors hissed open to reveal the stark, undeniable glint of a gun barrel pointed directly at your face.

You raised your hands, a gesture of mock surrender, the ghost of a smirk playing on your lips. They couldn’t harm you. Couldn’t kill what was already dead, already owned, irrevocably claimed by the devil himself. "Let him go," a gruff voice commanded, the words echoing in the confined space.

Bucky Barnes. The name materialized in your mind, unbidden, as your eyes met his. You saw the sin in his soul, a dark, churning vortex of past mistakes and present burdens. You felt the insidious way it gnawed at him, eating him alive. Your fist clenched, the familiar burn of the Penance Stare marching up your spine, a hungry beast stirring within your core. But you held back, actively defying the very thing that consumed you, the primal urge for vengeance a silent battle within your spirit.

Bob, still a shadow at your back, tightened his grip, one hand snaking around the cold metal of your chains, the other fisted in the worn leather of your jacket. "Wait," he whispered, his voice surprisingly firm, his eyes locking onto a blonde woman standing slightly behind Barnes. "I trust him."

It was as if his words were a messianic decree, a truth spoken by an oracle that demanded immediate acceptance. The gun in Bucky’s hand dropped to his side, a muted clatter against his leg. His eyes flickered between you and Bob, a silent question passing between them. Then, with a gruff nod, he escorted you inside.

"What are you?" Bucky whispered, his voice rough, laced with a mixture of suspicion and grudging curiosity.

What are you? The question hung in the air, heavy and unanswerable. You were no longer someone’s son, no longer fully human, no longer truly you. The old self had burned away, leaving only ash and the chilling echo of a pact made in desperation. "I’m the Ghost Rider," you murmured, the words a raw confession, because in truth, that was all you knew, all you considered yourself anymore.

Bob had convinced you to stay. Perhaps it was that look in his eyes, a mirroring of the way your mother used to gaze upon you – as if you alone had hung the stars in the night sky, as if you were the single best thing that had ever graced her world. Gods, it hurt. The small, withered part of you that remained, the last vestiges of the boy you once were, ached with a profound, almost unbearable intensity to see that same yearning, that same unconditional adoration reflected in Bob's gaze, the very thing you had yearned for since the moment you'd sold your soul.

Bob sat on the edge of his bed, his eyes, wide and unwavering, were trained on you, as if he feared you would vanish into thin air if he dared to look away. "I saw everything," he whispered, his voice soft, almost fragile. "Those deepest memories you tucked away." He spoke as if to an injured child, and perhaps, in that moment, you were.

You leaned against his desk, arms crossed over your chest, the familiar leather creaking softly. "You weren't meant to see those things," you sighed, the words carrying a weariness that went beyond mortal fatigue.

Bob offered a small, knowing smile, his hands clasped in his lap. He didn't need to speak. His eyes, full of a quiet understanding, said it all. They conveyed a silent message: I've been in that headspace before, where I let it eat me alive. But you can get help.

You felt the familiar, searing creep of flame engulf your body, a primal response to the unsettling intimacy of his gaze. Your eye sockets narrowed, twin pits of infernal blue light fixed on Bob. "Stop looking at me like that," you growled, the words a low, guttural warning.

Bob didn't flinch. He didn't avert his gaze. He simply saw you, truly saw you, beneath the scarred flesh, the burning skull, and the years of torment. "I can't help myself," he whispered, his voice unwavering.

The words caught in your throat, a tangled knot of unfamiliar emotion. And just as quickly as the flames had consumed your body, they vanished, leaving you human once more, vulnerable and exposed. "Fuck you," you whispered, the words laced with a raw, unexpected pain.

In the hallway outside, Bucky Barnes and Yelena Belova had been listening to every whispered word, every charged silence. Yelena looked at Bucky, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. "Give him a chance," she hummed, her voice light, yet firm.

After that night, you became a constant, an undeniable, if unconventional, part of a family as messed up and fractured as you were. And Bob, Bob had somehow, inexplicably, dulled that vengeful flame that had consumed you for all these years. It was in those quiet looks he gave you, those gazes that spoke of a burgeoning affection, like he loved you. And perhaps, just perhaps, he did.

[gyll-yee-haw]

maria, don’t get me wrong, I love soft & sweet donnie… but like… dare I ask…. mean…and…rough donnie? 👀

also huge props to you for pushing out so many fics!! so glad to have you back ml 💗

Hmmm yeah? He sure can do that too!

(Thank you so much, honey!! I'm so happy to be back ❤)

Warnings: very mean!dom!Donnie, teasing in public, slapping, pussy slapping, degradation, unprotected sex, creampie

Like 1k words.

---

Donnie is mean. He's mean to his parents, to his sister, to his dick-head friends, to his teachers... he has quite a sharp tongue when replying to something he judges to be stupid, which isn't rare.

Oh but when it comes to you, he's a totally different person. He's sweet, caring, always speaks calmly and looks at you like you were the prettiest, most shinny and fragil crystal in the world. At least until you learnt how to push the right buttons. I mean... you loved your sweet boyfriend, but your body craves something more sometimes...

And when it did, all you had to do was tease him. Unzipping his pants under the school desk is a classic. Your hand sliding inside his pants slowly, only to get him hard, but never to get him off... he went all red everytime. Or maybe you would be extra nice to another boy in front of him. Or just act bratty, giving him an attitude in front of everyone. Any of these will work.

Any of these will get his fingers wrapped tightly around your arm as he pushed you inside his room, fuming.

"Ouch, Donnie..." you would complain. But it was too late now.

"Sit down and shut the fuck up."

As soon as you sat on the bed, he would lift your skirt up and brutally tear your underwear off. You never wore panties you liked too much on days you woke up willing to piss him off, a lesson you learnt the hard way.

"You're such a whore." He pretended to be disappointed, running two fingers through your folds. "Look how fucking wet you get only by disrespecting me. And you want me to believe you fucking love me."

"But I love you, Donnie..." You moaned as his fingers entered you at once.

"Thought I told you to shut the fuck up." He removed his fingers as quickly as he shoved them in. Next thing you heard was a loud slap. It was unexpected... he had never slapped your pussy before. It made you close your legs immediately. He didn't seem to like that very much.

He forced your legs open and gave you another slap. You bit your lip to stop a scream for coming out. He slapped again and your eyes rolled back.

"Whore." He repeated, bitting back a smirk. "On all fours, now."

You didn't think twice before obeying.

"You want my cock?" He grabbed your ass cheeks, squeezing them hard.

"Yes, Donnie, please..." You begged nicely, afraid he would punish you again.

"It doesn't seem like you do." He chuckled, unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down along with his underwear. "The way you've been acting... you don't fucking deserve it."

"Just..." You tried explaining yourself as you heard him start stroking his cock behind you. "Just like it when you're mean. It's why I do it."

"Like it when I'm mean?" He gave your ass a loud slap. "You know what would be mean? If I didn't fuck you at all. If I didn't even touch you."

"No! Please, Donnie..." You felt your pussy clench around nothing, absolutely desperate.

"Yeah, it's a shame I want you too bad to be able to do that." He admitted. You felt him teasing the tip of his cock at your entrance.

The relief as you felt him entering you slowly, inch by inch, made you arch your back and moan like a porn star. You already got him mean and horny, now it was all about being good, so he would let you cum.

The thing is that he used 100% of his patience already, so he wasn't going to be gentle now. His thrusts started deep and fast and it hurt quite a bit. At least until he found that sweet spot, that turned the pain into shivers down your spine.

"You wanted me to be mean, now you take it." His hands grabbed your hips, forcing your body against his as if he just couldn't fuck you hard enough.

At that point, it was all you could do: take it. Just lie there offering your hole for him to use. Moaning against the mattress, more afraid of annoying him than of what the neighbors would hear. At that moment there weren't neighbors, there was only Donnie, his grunts and his huge cock making you stupid.

"Donnie..." you cried out. "I'm gonna..."

"I don't care." He interrupted you, he's movements losing rythm. "But you better hurry up if you want to cum, because once I'm finished, I don't want to hear you whining anymore."

You gripped the sheets as tightly as your pussy squeezed his cock. He cursed under his breath, trying to hold his own orgasm back. He really fucking cared. He wanted you to cum so badly. And you did. Fuck, you did. So hard. Squeezing him so good. He had no choice but to spill his seed deep inside of you.

Mean Donnie will give you mindblowing sex every single time. But as soon as his balls are empty, he's back to the sweet boyfriend he is. Keeping that character with you is more exhausting than pounding you.

He would beg you not to do it again... beg you to be good for him, as he cuddled you afterwards. Give you kisses and take care of your shaking body. But unfortunately, he fucked you too good, now there will have to be a next time. :(