#Lollipop Making Machine

[dhimangroup]

Beyond Sugar: 6 Healthy Lollipop Trends You Shouldn’t Ignore

When most people think of a lollipop, they picture a colorful, sugar-packed candy on a stick. But the candy industry is evolving — and so is the lollipop. With growing demand for better-for-you treats, today’s lollipops are being reimagined with health-conscious ingredients, cleaner labels, and smarter packaging.

Whether you're a confectionery brand or a contract manufacturer, here are the top healthy lollipop trends you need to know — and how advanced lollipop making machines from Dhiman Industries are helping brands keep up.

1. Sugar-Free and Low-Sugar Lollipops

Consumers are actively looking for low-sugar or sugar-free options, driven by rising awareness around diabetes, obesity, and dental health. Ingredients like xylitol, erythritol, and stevia are replacing traditional sugars — offering the same sweetness without the spike.

Modern sugar-free lollipop machines are built to handle these specialty formulations without compromising on shine, clarity, or shelf stability. At DhimanGroup, our machines are calibrated to work with both traditional and alternative sweeteners to ensure smooth flow and uniformity.

Trending Keywords: sugar-free candy, xylitol lollipops, stevia-based sweets

2. Organic and Natural Ingredients

Today’s consumers are reading labels — and they’re choosing lollipops made with organic fruit juices, natural colorants (like turmeric, spirulina, beetroot), and plant-based extracts over artificial flavors and synthetic dyes.

This shift has pushed manufacturers to upgrade their candy production equipment. Dhiman’s lollipop machines can be customized to preserve the integrity of delicate ingredients, helping you create clean-label products without sacrificing efficiency.

Trending Keywords: organic lollipops, natural color lollipop, clean label candy

3. Vitamin-Infused and Functional Lollipops

The idea of combining nutrition with confectionery has gone mainstream. Lollipops are now being infused with:

Vitamin C & D for immunity

Probiotics for gut health

CBD or melatonin for calm and sleep support

Fibre for digestive wellness

Precision matters. Our temperature-controlled cooking and depositing systems ensure sensitive nutrients remain intact — giving you full control over active ingredient delivery without compromising on flavor or mouthfeel.

Trending Keywords: functional candy, vitamin lollipops, supplement sweets

4. Allergen-Free and School-Safe Treats

Parents and schools are seeking safe, allergen-free options — free from nuts, dairy, gluten, and artificial additives. This isn’t just a dietary preference; it’s often a necessity.

At DhimanGroup, we understand that allergen control starts with equipment design. Our lollipop manufacturing lines include hygienic, easy-to-clean features, minimizing cross-contamination risks and supporting safer production.

Trending Keywords: allergen-free lollipops, nut-free candy, school-safe sweets

5. Plant-Based and Vegan Lollipops

With the rise of vegan and plant-based lifestyles, gelatin is being swapped for pectin or agar-agar. These alternatives support vegan claims while also enabling a softer bite and faster flavor release.

Dhiman’s lollipop machines can be fine-tuned for plant-based formulations, ensuring optimal setting, texture, and mold release across a variety of recipes.

Trending Keywords: vegan lollipops, pectin-based candy, gelatin-free sweets

6. Sustainable and Eco-Friendly Packaging

It’s not just what’s in the lollipop that counts — it’s how it’s wrapped. Consumers are increasingly drawn to biodegradable wrappers, recyclable containers, and paper sticks.

Many manufacturers are upgrading to automated lollipop wrapping machines that accommodate eco-friendly packaging formats without sacrificing speed or precision.

Trending Keywords: sustainable candy packaging, biodegradable lollipop wrapper, paper stick lollipop

Final Thoughts: Healthier Lollipops, Smarter Equipment

The lollipop of the future is no longer just about sweetness — it’s about wellness, transparency, and sustainability. From sugar-free to supplement-enhanced options, candy makers are leaning into innovation. And behind each of these new formulations is the technology to make it possible.

At Dhiman Industries, we’re proud to support forward-thinking confectioners with modular, precision-engineered lollipop machines that meet the demands of today’s cleaner, healthier candy market.

🔗 Explore our full line of lollipop machines at DhimanGroup.com

Source URL: Blogspot.com

[indiantradebirddigital]

Lollipop Making Machine Manufacturer and Suppliers in India

Indian Trade Bird has the greatest prices on lollipops making machines. The wide range of top-notch equipment on our platform is intended to make the process of creating lollipops easier for candy makers, food processing facilities, and confectioneries. Because of their maximum efficiency, practicality, and longevity, our lollipops-making machines are in high demand on the market. Advanced technology and premium components are used to build the manufactured machines. Because these machines offer total automation, superior performance, fast production rates, and the highest quality manufacturing, they are very advantageous.

For more details clicks here - https://www.indiantradebird.com

[squipa]

baby, i want some of your love

aka how you healed him

———

jason todd wears glasses now.

jason never really took care of himself after dying. his body was so hopelessly out of rhythm, everything slightly wrong and out of place. his bones creak underneath his skin, his muscles, which had nearly rotted and decayed, could never quite figure out how to relax. sometimes he’d forget to breathe, or blink, the actions no longer involuntary, and before you? he didn’t have it in himself to care. his health had fallen to the least of his worries.

but you were always so worried about him. you noticed things about himself he hadn’t even realized, how he winced when he chewed with the left side of his mouth, how he squinted at street signs whenever you went on walks, how his muscles were always tense until you massaged them into relaxation. you pointed them out, pouting whenever he’d shrug it off. to him, it was nothing, he was used to the pain, the inconvenience; he didn’t consider his own wellbeing important enough to pay any mind to.

to you, it was torture. watching the man you loved so dearly treat himself with so little care had you ruined. all you wanted for him was happiness and safety, for him to have what he had given you so freely, what he guarded himself from so intensely. he didn’t realize how much you cared until he noticed how much you finally pushed him to treat himself better.

“i scheduled you a dentist appointment.” you said, matter-of-factly setting down a few documents in front of him begging his patient history. he looked up to you, eyebrow raised, entirely confused. you answered his question before he could even think to ask it. “you wince when you chew.”

he wouldn’t say no to you. despite his disdain regarding the idea of a check up, he went. you came with him, fiercly speaking a language of medicine he didn’t understand. when he left the dentist, you gave him a lollipop. “i’m not five.” he ate it anyways, savoring the taste between strawberry-stained lips as you drove him home.

he stopped noticing when you made him appointments to get shots, or when you subtly slipped the card of a dermatologist behind the picture of you he kept in his wallet. he started actually caring about what he did to his body— gut health and all that. yes, he was jacked, his body had been built like a machine ever since it had patched itself back together in the lazarus pit, but he couldn’t remember the last time he ate a piece of fruit.

he didn’t realize how much better he felt until dick pointed it out for him. “you got glasses?” he asked, pointing to the thick black frames that sat on the bridge of his nose.

he nodded. he does wear glasses. he has silver caps on two of his teeth. he has a nice layer of body fat covering his muscles because he eats three well-balanced meals a day. he has a standing appointment with a chiropractor every other wednesday at two, and another with a therapist on mondays at one. he gets a checkup every six months and goes to the dentist every four, he’s been to the dermatologist three times in two years, he has all of his shots up to date, he takes vitamins in the morning and he sleeps at least five hours every night.

he cares about himself. he puts effort into making sure he stays healthy— and at first it was for you. only for you, to ease your constant worry about him. but now it’s second nature, your guiding hand has healed him, made him want to stay alive and healthy and whole, not for just you, but for himself.

the moment the realization washes over him of just how much you’ve given him, he rushes home and tells you in no less than a thousand ways just how grateful he is to have your love.

———

[snail-day]

Part one // Masterlist

Tattoo artist! Suguru, who has always prided himself on professionalism. Steady hands, clean lines, and a perfect track record, no one’s ever passed out in his chair. He’s cool, calm, collected. But when you walk in, all sweet eyes and pretty voice, asking, “Is there a position that’s easier for you?” as you settle into his chair, like you actually care about his comfort, well, he feels that professionalism teeter just a little.

He smiles, slow and easy, the kind that doesn’t betray the flutter in his chest. “I’ll sit however you need me to. Just want you comfy, sugar.” Means it, too. He’d twist his back and cramp his wrist if it meant you felt safe and cozy in his space. Anything for a pretty thing like yourself.

When he applies the stencil, his fingers brush your skin, just a whisper of a touch, and he feels you shiver. Your blush doesn’t go unnoticed either, and god, how can someone look that cute just from a little skin contact? He tells himself it’s fine, normal. People blush in tattoo chairs all the time. But that little smile you give him when you say, “You’re amazing at this,” has him biting the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning like a fool. Cool guys don’t blush. Cool guys definitely don’t pop boners over compliments from clients.

But you’re not just a client, are you?

You’re the first person he’s ever offered a lollipop to. Usually keeps them around for people who start to get a little woozy. He likes the way you look with it in your mouth. It’s innocent. Sorta. But when your lips wrap around the candy, tongue occasionally giving the pop a little kitten lick and your eyes keep flickering to his gloved fingers, well, someone’s having impure thoughts, and it's not just him.

Likes to keep his voice smooth, warm like honey as the machine buzzes to life. Decreass the anxiety for clients. Not because he wants to know eberything about you. Okay. Maybe he does. Suguru enjoys actually talking to you, just to hear more of that pretty voice, to keep you awake even though he’s secretly thrilled when your eyelids start to droop. You trust him enough to doze off in his chair? That has his heart doing cartwheels.

Still, he wants more. Wants to know everything. Your hobbies, your job, your favorite color, the name of your first pet. If you’re single. (You have to be, right? There’s no way someone as sweet as you would be with someone who let you walk into his shop alone. He’d never let that happen if he were yours. There's creeps out there y'know?)

His mind drifts when you go quiet again. Bottom lip trembling slightly from the ache of the needle, makes him wonder. Would you ever let him give you piercings too? Snake bites to make that pout even prettier? Nipple piercings just to watch you squirm? He presses the machine a little firmer to your skin, trying to chase those thoughts out of his head. God, Geto, pull it together.

He’s never thought like this about a client before. Never let his mind get so filthy. But he doesn’t feel bad, not even a little. Because he knows he’s going to make you his favorite client. Frequent visits. Little touches here and there. That lollipop might be gone by the time you leave today, but next time… he’s got something else in mind for that sweet mouth.

[therapyandprozac]

Title: Lollipop

Rating: Explicit

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: consent king, edging, ruined orgasams, oral f! and m!receiving, fingering, super soldier stamina, brief face fucking(he looses control), arm is vibrator hehe, honorifics, so much cum talk, cream pie, lil breeding kink

Description: Upon rereading and editing all I can say in my defense is ovulation got me down bad. Oh and I kept the TSwift references to a minimum but ya know not zero, whoops 😏

You toyed with his business card between your dexterous fingers, debating the morality of calling your tutor at 11:37pm. Reflecting on the one and only session you had with him, just a few hours ago his eyes laid on yours for the first time. Piercing blue eyes undressing you slowly in his head through the lesson, you did the same to be fair. Imagining pulling that long scarf down, revealing his neck. The sound his coat would make falling gently to the floor, as your hands would explore his crisp white button down…

Shaking your head back to reality, to the ten digits printed in silver lettering on the sturdy cardstock dancing within your hand. The day dream just solidified your conviction, holding the card firmly in your hand now. You call the number, expecting an answering machine given the time.

“Bit late don’t you think?” He answers the phone with a question.

“Y-yeah sorry,” You stutter out before introducing yourself being cut off halfway.

“You think I didn’t save your number in my phone?” Sassy is the only word you can think to associate his voice with.

“I made that good of an impression, huh?” with a smile you respond.

“Doll, you’re the sexiest person to ever step foot in my classroom, I’d be remiss if I didn’t remember you.” Your eyes widen as you blush, you’re so happy he’s not here to see that.

“So if I said that I called because I couldn’t get you out of my head,” A dark chuckle comes from the other line. “What would you say to that?” You finish your suggestively open question.

“1719 Alpine Street, come to me.”

“Oh gods yes sir.” He hangs up the phone and you race for your keys before seeing yourself in your doorway mirror. ‘Oh hell no.’ You think to yourself before running upstairs to change. Stripping your comfy clothes fully before getting to your closet. You pick a long sleeved black lace dress, sure you’re only wearing it for him to take it off of you, but as you look back into the mirror, it’s definitely worth it. A long drive filled with anticipation and shifting thighs, as you imagine his intoxicating eyes and all of the times his tongue swiped across his lips during your lesson. As you pull into his dark driveway you can’t wait to be wrapped up in his arms.

Sauntering up to his front door, you knock once before the door opens with a whoosh, his metal hand grasping the knob. A Henley dark blue almost black, sleeves rolled up just above his elbows, it hugs his incredibly well toned form. Dark grey sweatpants hang loosely, doing nothing to hide the fact he's been anticipating your arrival as well. He invites you in like he’s not bulging right before your eyes.

“So happy you called.” He whispers once the door is closed, grabbing your wrist and pulls you into this incredible kiss, chaste and simple but unforgettable. Having a look around as he steps to the nearby bar grabbing two glasses and a full bottle he leads you to a den type living room with a roaring fire in the fireplace.

“Your house is beautiful, professor.” You look at the fine detailing around the room you’re in.

“It’s Bucky,” he hands you the bottle of wine. “Check the seal.” You inspect the bottle, it's brand new.

“Thank you.” You whisper hesitantly at his wordless understanding of your fears.

“Always check.” He nods with you while he opens the bottle with a corkscrew. Filling both glasses nearly all the way full you chuckle.

“You trying to get me drunk sir?”

“Without question, yes.” He winks “But firsts,” pulling the drink away when you reach for it, placing them on the coffee table he turns back to you. “What do you want from tonight?” He isn’t touching you, though you can see in his eyes that he wants to cling to your flesh like his life depended on it.

“What do you mean?” You ask genuinely.

“You called me, I invited you over and kissed you, that’s all that’s happened so far. So I repeat, what do you want from tonight?” His face remains unreadable giving you full choice in this situation. He looks in his mid 40’s, very well put together and you are loving how consent driven he is. Stepping into his personal space not touching him but close enough that you feel the heat radiating off his body.

“When I met you I knew you were different, fuck am I glad I was right.” Your right hand grabs his large bicep. “I want you Bucky, your fingers,” Lacing your left hand in between his fingers. “your mouth,” your lips place gentle kisses up his neck. “your cock.” You whisper against the skin of his ear. A chuckle escapes him but his hands remain by his side, what more do you have to say to get him to touch you. “Fuck! Fuck me please!” You shouted.

“When I saw you I wanted to taste you, your sweet cunt taunting me under your skirt.” Licking his lips he hums a distant look in his eyes. He pushes you onto the couch before dropping to his knees, he places the glass in your hand.

Before kissing up your legs, once you’re about halfway done your glass he starts gently parting your legs. Peppering kisses up your thighs as he groans smelling you with a deep inhale he closes his eyes and savors the time between your legs, you see a smile on his lips before his tongue slips past them and up your dripping slit.

A hum from deep within his chest as he dives in, his nose stimulating your clit in an odd but very welcome way. Your hand reaches down and grips his thick fluffy hair, rolling your hips against his face. He gets the message and wraps his large hands around your hips and pulls you in tight. Gasping and groaning you grind against him, his licking and lapping make you pant and moan.

Your orgasam is barely held at bay when one of his hands leaves your hip and his fingertip traces your entrance teasing you. His eyes lock to yours, crows feet grow around his intense eyes as he smiles, he plunges two long fingers deep inside you.

“Gods yes, Bucky fuck!” You shout as you cum, your fingers twisting in his hair. His fingers do not stop as he stands up and licks his lips, you move to take off his pants needing him.

“No, no sweet thing, one more.” He smiles patiently though you're pawing at him.

“Want to touch you sir.” Gasps sweet gasps escape your lips desperate for air or release.

“Patience doll, all in good time. If tonight is all I get, I want to savor you.”

“Why do you think this is the only time?” You say between pants and gasps.

“I don’t, but just in case my kitten.” He purrs before adding another finger into your hungry cunt. Your back arches as he curls his fingers, there’s a slightly blank expression on his face. As if he is memorizing every movement of your body and sound that slips across your lips.

“Kiss me?” You pant sounding more desperate than you intended too.

“With pleasure.” He speeds up his pace as he leans forward with a gentle smile on his face. After leaving a breathtaking kiss he takes off his Henley, you intake his bulky and perfectly toned form. A hum from deep within your chest as your eyes wander over his scars and rippling muscles. He continues stripping, moving to his slacks and boxer briefs. The “V” of flesh that leads your eyes down and between his thick thighs, saliva swells as you imagine how heavy and full he’d feel in your mouth. Sitting on the bed across from you, you speak up.

“Can I eat you please.” You stare eagerly at his throbbing erection.

“Gently.” He chuckles.

“Only want to lick and swallow you sir.” You can see in his eyes that it's been a while and you smirk. “I have a question, professor.” Crawling up the bed on your hands and knees, licking up his thighs. “If I suck two from you,�� Up on your knees resting against his chest by now, looking down at him with your fingers gripped in his hair. “Could you still fuck the absolute devil out of me?”

“Doll, I could fuck you through tomorrow.” His lip where it meets his nose twitches as he holds the dominance over the situation, despite this potentially submissive position you’ve put him in.

You smile and purr before wordlessly adjusting to be on your knees bent over his cock, fluttering your lips up his shaft licking occasionally. Teasing is the point, you wanted to make him wait, make him shake and beg for mercy. The image in your head drives you to lick a long wet stipe from his balls to the tip. Irregular breathing from above drives you to take his aching cock into your hot mouth. Taking your time sucking and toying with the tip, feeling him shift impatiently you reach one of your hands to hold his balls gently only playing with them when he would get antsy and want for more. You work his shaft slowly down your throat, soft pulses up and down just agonizingly slow he is a groaning mess.

“Please please kitten.” Hips jolting as the words fall whimpering past his lips, loving the way he squirms under you. “Don’t stop, fuck please, doll yes!” You suck him hard and deep throat him, how could you not he’s begging so beautifully. Humming and lapping around him, balls fondle between your fingers, as he wraps his hands into your hair finally taking control as he fucks into your throat. Choking around him as he cums, so far down your throat you don’t even taste him until he pulls out. “Fuck, are you okay? I got carried away.” You look up at him, nodding with glassy eyes, a wide smile and saliva running down your chin.

His thumb wipes your chin with a cocked smile, his hand traces up your thighs to your pussy. Two fingers run from the bottom of your hole up to your clit, using your slick as lube he violently shakes his metal hand.

“Ahh woah Bucky fuck.” His hand feels like a vibrator, you lift your head and bite his neck. His right hand finds your nipple, squeezing and rolling the swollen bud between his fingertips. “No why, just fuck me Buck please!” You beg as he ruins your orgasam, whining and being shut up by lips on yours.

“We,” He starts between violent kisses, getting on his knees to match your stance. “Like to edge each other, we should,” He grunts as he pushes you onto your back, feeling where your legs are bent together, up to your pussy. “do something with that one day.”

“Stop planning for the future and put your cock in me Buck please.” Wrapping your long legs around his waist.

“Like learning things about you.” he pants against your lips. “So demanding,” pushing himself inside you, your head falls back as your spine arches. “Didn’t know you before today,” Soft hip rolls he uses to punctuate his words. “But I’ve been waiting for this, for you.” He whispers against the shell of your ear, while his cock is deep inside you. You roll your hips desperately, foggy headed all you can think about is the feeling of him filling you in a way no one ever has and his lips glued to your neck.

“Professor Barnes, you fit perfectly li- like you were made for my cunt.” He huffs his head rolling, light headed as all the blood in his body rushes to his cock.

“You’re so tight and warm, shit,” He pants. “Don't know, think you were made for me.” You’re loving the way his well put together speech pattern is falling apart as he gets closer and closer.

“Just for you sir.” You gasp as he speeds up his thrusts. “Bucky,” your voice just a whisper. “Can I cum please?” A whimper slips his lip.

“You asked so nice, doll. Please cum around me, let me feel how tight you can grip me love.” He whispers into your ear, repositioning himself into a deeper angle just right. You shout as your orgasam rips through your body.

“Fuck Bucky, how are you so,” A moan rips “so deep? Can feel all of you Buck, your veins pulse against me, torcherously hot, I feel everything, I want more. Do you know what the matepress is, sir?” You whisper just barely audible, he hums and moves your body with great ease into position. “I could see it in your eyes, something deep and dark, let it loose please.” You look up into his icey eyes. “That need within you, fuck me like you’ll find it in me sir.” His hips follow your command.

“Don’t say shit like that, I’ll never let you go.”

“I hadn’t finished.” You blush between moans and gasps as he perfectly satisfies what you asked for. “Fill me, cum deep inside me please.” Tears sting at your eyes as a fantasy and a dream of a man collide in this moment.

“As you wish.” He says before biting a large chunk of your flesh definitely enough pressure to leave a bruise. You gasp and moan. “Cum for me princess, you’re so desperate for it, pull what you want from me baby.” He whispers and licks over his bite mark. Still thrusting into you with great strength, your legs start to shake as your last orgasam drags out of you, but pulls him deeper into you.

“Take what’s yours doll.” He bottoms out, breaking the crest of your cervix finally as he cums, holding himself in place deep inside you.

“It’s so warm, sir you fill me, fuck me, so good Bucky. Mine!” You shouted, glad he didn’t have neighbors who would’ve most definitely heard. Your brain stops working as you black out. When you come to you are clean and tucked in tightly next to your large tutor.

“Mine.” He echos your last coherent thought with his metal arm grasping around your throat in a way that should be threatening, but just makes you melt into his body.

“Yours sir, all yours if you’ll have me.”

“When we wake up do you want to go on our first date?” Placing soft kisses up your neck, you laugh and nod sleepily, excited for what life has in store with the one wrapped around you.

[coridallasmultipass]

I've been screaming about this for 11 years, thank you.

sorry i love homosexuals

[jungkookstatts]

Cherry Flavored

[Summary]: Your biker boyfriend takes you on a joyride.

[Theme]: Established realtionship!AU, Biker!JK

[Rating]: 18+, explicit content, oral (f receiving), spitting, dom!JK, riding, creampie, spanking

[Word Count]: 5,498

[A/N]: The biker verse has come to me in the new year. So has covid. But biker fantasies heal me. Enjoy! (P.s. thinking of doing a Tae fic soon??)

“Just, hold onto me,” Jungkook smiles. It’s a toothy grin, one that would usually send butterflies of affection straight to your tummy. His lip piercings shine like the metal around his fingers and ears, catching the midnight glow of the street lamps against them.

“There’s no seat belt,” you exhale.

“Of course,” he laughs a little. Brown hairs fall over his forehead with the soft force of his voice. You’re too nervous to move them out of the way like you usually would right now. “It’s a motorcycle, baby. I’m your seat belt.”

You laugh in disbelief.

“Kook, I’m not sure—” you begin, but he stops you. Cold hands cup your cheeks, his nose inches from yours. You can smell cherries on his breath, left over from the cherry flavored lollipop he bought from one of the gum ball machines at the entrance of the diner you just ate at.

“Baby,” he kisses your lips once. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, you know that.”

You exhale against his lips, knowing his words are true. But still, your mind can’t help but evaluate all the “what ifs”.

“I’ll go slow,” he smiles softly. “No games.”

“Promise?” You search his eyes. You know he isn’t lying. He’d never play with your safety like that. He loves you too much. Such an over protective boyfriend. A big teddy bear at heart despite the piercings, tattoos, and loud motorcycle he has to his name. He’d never do anything to harm you.

“I promise,” he kisses you again. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” you exhale. The boy smiles again. It shoves your nervous butterflies away and briefly replaces them with those affectionate butterflies you missed dearly.

“Good,” he kisses you deeper this time. You feel his pillowy lips against yours, sliding between your lips like they were made to be there. You almost grab his jaw to keep him against you. But he cuts the kiss short. The taste of cherries is left on your lips when he pulls away and grabs the spare helmet off the back of his bike.

“Put this on,” he hands it to you. It’s black and glossy and twice the size of your head. But you slide it on anyways, looking at your boyfriend through the tinted glasses of the helmet.

“How do I look?” You ask him.

Jungkook’s heart nearly flips. Who would have thought you’d be so cute with a helmet on? He did. You just confirmed it.

“Cold,” he settles with. Pulling of his biker jacket, he puts it over your shoulders. It’s night, and the air will only get colder once he starts riding. The jacket will provide extra protection if you fall, too. It’s thick exterior and interior act as a buffer against any surface. He doesn’t have a spare, but he’d risk himself for you on any occasion.

You slide the bulky sleeves up your arms, feeling slightly uncomfortable by the unfamiliar garment. It doesn’t really feel like a proper jacket, too stiff and thick to have on unless you were riding. 

“Now, the key is to just lean,” he puts his own helmet over his head, trying to refocus. You watch his tattooed fingers grasp the handle of the left side of his bike after he walks over to it. “And hold onto me. Tight.”

He swings a leg over his bike, situating himself. Cocking his head to the side, he signals to you to come over. You do as you’re told. 

With timid hands, you tightly hold onto his shoulder and hike yourself over his bike. It wobbles, and your heart skips a couple beats at the thought of falling. But Jungkook is calm, and you feel slightly reassured knowing he trusts the bike won’t do as you thought it would.

“H-How tight?” You ask, wrapping your arms around his waist. The softness of his t-shirt makes you feel better. Rather, the feeling of his body underneath your fingertips does. It’s soft and warm, but you feel the ridges of his abs as you test the tightness of your grip.

“Tighter,” he asks. You do.

He shakes his head. You see a wrinkle in his eye, knowing he’s smiling behind his helmet. With his rough hands, he grabs your own, tightening them himself around his waist.

“For dear life, Y/n,” he rubs your hands soothingly afterward. 

You nod, doing as he says. A raspy chuckle leaves his lips at the tightness of your grip. He pulls his biker gloves and his keys out of his pocket before putting them on. With a twist of his key, the bike comes to life with a loud roar, and you somehow grip him tighter. He wishes you could see the blush he has going on right now. It’s worthy of a few lines of humiliation you like to throw at him whenever he’s feeling flustered by you. 

“You ready?” He double checks.

You take a deep breath, telling him yes, which prompts him to lean the bike to the side and kick up the kickstand. He leans forward a little, and you move with him. With a flick of his wrist, you’re moving with him on his bike.

You feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins. The bike is moving! You’re gripping his t-shirt, probably some of his skin underneath, too, holding on for dear life like he instructed. 

“Kook!” You inhale, weary of the already fast approaching speed. Little do you know he’s barely made it to the local street speed limit.

“Trust me,” he tells you surely.

Looking at the sureness of his hands on the steering, the steadiness of his pace, you decide it’s time you really do. This is Jungkook. He wouldn’t let you backpack unless he knew he was sure enough to handle you as one, unless he knew you’d be safe with him as a rider. He’s been training for this moment. Never proposing the idea until recently, and you knew it was because he finally felt ready to be trusted with your safety.

You’re still a little nervous, but you’ve transferred most of that into your arms and hands. You hold onto him, wrapping your arms fully around his waist, leaning into his back as you let him guide you through the night. He’s guided you through many things in life. Your first tattoo, your first New Years kiss. Your first true love. You trust him with your soul. You love him with all of it, too.

Under his helmet, Jungkook smiles with content when you wrap your hands around him. You’re trusting him. He feels the weight of responsibility. But moreover, the excitement of showing you something he loves. Of showing someone he loves something he loves to do. Riding through the night with wind going against him. The motor of his bike propelling him forward as he rides under the stars. How he’s dreamed of taking you on one of his joyrides. Something in him knew you would like it. 

He goes faster, not daring to enter the highway on your first ride without your permission. But he goes through the local roads, hitting the exact speed of the speed limit given to him. Not going a unit over the number on the signs. You giggle when you realize, knowing the boy you hold onto usually does go a little over, even in the car. But the fact fills you with warmth that he wouldn’t dare play games with speed right now. Not with you on his back. 

After a certain point, you reach a red light, and he puts a foot on the ground to stabilize the bike at the stop.

“How do you like it?” He turns his head slightly to check in with you.

“I love it,” you smile. “I love you.”

His big heart skips, and he looks back at the time on the cross walk to see if he has enough time to kiss you silly from your confession. But you give him no time.

“You can go faster,” you scooch closer to him.

“You sure?” He looks back at you again. The red reflection of the light still beams on his helmet.

You nod. “Take me on the highway, Kook.”

Suddenly, the light turns green.

“Okay,” he shakes his head in disbelief. A small laugh erupts through his chest. When did you get so dauntless? “Better hold on, then.”

You squeal, doing as he says when he accelerates forward. He’s faster this time, still stable and not at all reckless. But the wind catches your clothes enough to know he’s going to do as promised.

The laughs that erupt from your body when he hits the highway is enough to solidify that he’s so totally going to kiss you so silly tonight. Maybe all night, if you’ll let him. 

He stays in the slow lane, going the minimum speed the highway gives, and yet you’re screaming joy and laughing relief out of your lungs as he guides you through the night. Just you and your biker boyfriend.

You trust him enough to take one hand away, letting your fingertips feel the wind of this summer night. But it’s interrupted after a while when Jungkook’s hand returns your own his waist. He pats the top of your palm a few times, telling you to behave, and you do. You hold him tighter, if that’s possible. Scooching closer to him as he finishes the ride off the highway.

The streets start to look familiar, the houses and street names ringing bells in your head. You’re sad to end the ride, honestly. Especially when he pulls up to his townhome, sliding into the parking spot right in front of it all a little too soon.

With steady hands, you sit up from your leaned position, still holding his waist, as he turns off the bike. Jungkook pulls off his helmet, brown messy hair falling around his ears from the release of the protective gear. There’s a bit of sweat forming at the base of his hairline, and you almost went to kiss it if it weren’t for your helmet. Before you can take it off, the man is already standing up, positioning himself in front of you to pull it off himself. You swing your leg around the bike, leaning your feet against the pavement as you stay seated. He stares down at you, tall and handsome as he awaits your approval.

“Well?” He tugs his lips upward. The piercings on his eyebrow dance as he raises it.

“I loved it,” you candor. “I kind of want to suck your cock right now.”

He laughs, crinkled nose and all. That nose nudges with yours when he kisses you. It’s slower than the pecks from before, when he was coaxing you into the joyride with him.

“That much?” He laughs. Those rough hands of his help you stand, the reminder of chest against yours only makes your heart flutter more. “Should have taken you sooner, then.”

“It was perfect, Kook,” you hold his jaw. “I really loved it.”

He looks at the stars in your eyes. The overwhelming presence of you in his biker jacket, holding his spare helmet in one hand and his jaw in the other. God, could you be any more perfect? He doesn’t know what to do with himself.

So he leans into you, holding the back of your neck as he sears his lips onto yours. He’s still cherry flavored, and you can taste it surely when he dips his tongue into your mouth. You envelope it warmly, kissing him with all the love you have. Except you wish you could feel more of him, have his skin against yours. You want the hand that holds his helmet to hold your waist. For your own hand that holds his spare to run through his hair. You want to be on his lap, to look at him from above, sweaty hair and brown eyes. 

He seems to read your mind, detaching your lips only slightly when he whispers against them, “Do you want to go in?”

You nod, watching him smile knowingly. It’s one of those smiles he gives when he’s shy, when he feels bashful and is receiving more attention than he’s used to. It’s one of his cutest smiles to-date. The desire to jump his bones is stronger than it’s been all night.

You follow him as he walks up to the door. He takes your helmet from his hand and balances it on his finger like he does with his own. The key turns, and the smell of his apartment fills your lungs. It smells like him. Like man, but better. A strange thing to think about, as you never associated “man” with smelling good. But he does, somehow. He smells like home. 

You follow in suit, taking your shoes off as he does the same when hooking your helmets on his biking rack next to his door. You lock it for him, and he smiles back at you in a quick thanks.

Quickly, you tread in front of him, becoming taller as you leave him in the shoe divot in front of the door.

“So does this mean you’ll let me take you on a few of my joyrides, then?” he asks you.

“You can take me on all of them if you want to,” you promise.

He comes up to you, destroying the height confidence you had from before when he steps up from the shoe divot.

“I love you,” he cups your jaw with both of his hands this time. Puffy lips connect with yours, they’re hot and slightly damp, firmly kissing you. Passion presses your back against the wall, his frame engulfing your body in love and lust as he kisses you. You can only return the favor, sliding your hands up his clothed chest. He breaks his grasp on your jaw when your hands slide around his neck, prompting him to replace his hands underneath your thighs instead. With no effort at all, as if you weigh a feather in his strong arms, he lifts you around his waist.

The new angle allows you to kiss him deeper, your hand securing around his neck and shoulder. Big hands hold your waist and back. He walks with you, messing around through his apartment, taking you to his bedroom by pure muscle memory as he’s too distracted by the smell your clothes against his skin to focus on anything else. 

For a second, his hand leaves your back to push open his door. The lamp on his bedside table is still on, something he forgot to turn off when he left to meet you at the diner with your friend and her date earlier.

Gently, almost as if you were made of glass, he lays you on his sheets. You still have his biker jacket on, and he swears it’s never looked better on anyone else.

“Biker looks good on you,” he says, admiring you from above.

“Want me to leave it on?” You suggest, an eyebrow raise up at him.

You visibly see his cheeks turn red, and you have your answer before he can even say it. 

“You don’t have to,” he denies. But you’re already sliding it off, taking your shirt and bra underneath before bringing the jacket over your shoulder again and zipping it up halfway.

He looks at you, bewildered and so terribly infatuated before he hides his face in his palm and groans. He’s so unbelievably flustered and he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“You’re going to kill me, Y/n,” he muffles in his hand. 

You almost say something, but he’s already trapping your frame underneath his, searing his lips onto the skin of your neck. He bites and sucks at your skin, marking you in his purple and blue love bites. You can’t get enough, tilting your head for more, which he gladly gives you.

You pant lustfully in response when he hits your sweet spot. His lips are delicate at first when he comes across the territory he’s memorized so well. But you know better than to think that he’d stay that way. Not when he knows how it causes you to slide your hands in his hair and pull at his scalp in the way he likes best. Not when he knows you’ll react with the breathy moans he loves so much that flow from your lips at the slightest kiss. So he does just that, feeling your back arch into his chest and your fingers tangle in his hair when he plays with your pleasure. 

“Jungkook,” you flutter. His lips feel so good, like they were made to make you feel like this. 

He kisses down your neck, coming to the base of the zipper you left done halfway up the jacket. Slowly, he unzips it, watching the fabric part ways as gravity takes it to the sides of the bed. The jacket doesn’t completely reveal your breasts though, so he takes matters into his own hands and cups them from underneath.

His stare makes you feel shy, and you inhale sharply when his thumbs brush over your nipples slightly. The reaction makes you even more shy, and you cover your mouth with the back of your hand to hide the small moans that leave your mouth.

“So pretty,” he looks up at you. 

You tug at the rim of his t-shirt, begging him to take it off as you lay open chested below him. He only chuckles at the realization, seeing that he’s still fully clothed, way too preoccupied with you to take care of himself.

He does as you ask and more, tugging off his t-shirt and his jeans, leaving him in only his boxers. You feel a wave of slick come through your panties at the sight. Tattoos and muscles stare back at you. You try to ignore the halfy he’s sporting in his boxers, a pure reminder of the activities you wanted to give to him as a thank you for taking you for a ride on his bike.

But he’s quick to turn you down when you sit up to do just that, hiking his fingers under your pants and sliding them down along with your underwear. He throws them somewhere on his floor, falling to his knees to admire you.

“Oh honey,” he marvels at the sight, sliding a slender finger gently up your folds. “You’re soaked.”

You whimper against the back of your hand.

“I-I wanted to suck you off,” you protest, placing a hand on his wrist. Not because you necessarily want him to stop, but because you were scared about how good his touch feels already. “As a thank you.”

“What for, baby?” He stops playing with you, his spare hand cups your thigh. Soothingly, his thumb rubs against your skin, waiting for your answer. 

“For letting me ride with you,” you respond.

“You don’t need me to thank me for that, sweetheart,” he smiles gently. “I’d allow you to ride with me any time you want. I need to thank you for trusting me enough to want to,” he takes your hand in his. Those big doe eyes capture yours, asking for permission with stars in his eyes. “Will you let me?”

Fuck, will this man be the end of you. Of course you will, you’re basically leaking infront of his face.

You nod, and he shyly smiles again. The hand that had previously slipped up your folds springs to life again. This time, it circles your entrance gently, causing you to whimper into your skin. Hot lips envelope your clit, his tongue playing with you softly.

“K-Kook,” you gasp at the feeling. He only hums, his eyes closing when he applies more pressure into your leaking heat. The vibrations from his moans against your clit cause you to arch your back, your head falling back against the sheets when his fingers play in tandem with his tongue. They tempt over your cunt, circling your hole and gathering your juices just enough to make you go crazy.

He detaches his mouth for a brief moment, his lips covered in your heat, red with lust, as he watches you squirm when he replaces his thumb with his tongue over your clit. His mouth always does wonders, but something about his thumb against that ball of nerves makes you clutch onto your orgasm for dear life. It’s firm against you, not too harsh, but just enough to make you feel all of it when he circles it slowly underneath his thumb. Jungkook pulls your hips closer to the edge of the bed, completely in control as you let him thank you. He watches you carefully as he inserts a finger into your aching pussy, seeing how you gasp and grab onto his wrist. But he’s stronger than you, and you’re fully aware of that. You also don’t want him to stop—your grasping onto him a mere reaction for support.

“Does that feel good, baby?” He asks you. He’s so gentle, always so cautious at first. You know at one point he’ll become a sex demon and ram you into the sheets. But he’s being a sweetheart right now, wanting to coax an orgasm or two out of you first. He does it right.

“Mhm,” you solidify. Your answer is weak, too taken over by the sliding of his finger against your walls. 

“Do you want my mouth?” He asks. You know he’s asking permission, well too aware that the combo is a recipe for an orgasm.

“Y-yes, please,” you give it to him.

He chuckles at your polite response, although it takes over his desire in ways that he’s struggling to control. You’re just so sweet to him, always so perfect in every way. He couldn’t ask for anything more. You’re perfect. And you’re his. 

He replaces his thumb with his mouth again, this time moving faster than before. His pace quickens, and he adds another finger to your dripping cunt. The feeling makes you dig your fingers into his hair, pressing him against your pussy. It gets him high, moaning against your cunt shyly as he curls his fingers against your g-spot.

“Jungkook, m’ gonna cum,” you whine into air. Both your hands secure his head on your mound, as if he’d leave before you finish.

He feels you clench around his fingers, so damn tight his cock twitches in his boxers embarrassingly. But he ignores it, taking his mouth off your cunt to give you his thumb again. The change makes you arch your back, the coil in your tummy slowly unraveling beneath him.

“There you go,” he coaxes you. “Good girl.” 

You gush at the nickname. White heat flows around his fingers, and he replaces them with his tongue as you finish against his lips. The sensation is almost too much, your over sensitivity making you whimper and close your thighs around his head to stop him.

“K-Koo,” you whine. “Sensitive.”

He finishes up at your request, swallowing your release sweetly. He leaves you gently to stand up, tossing his boxers somewhere on the floor. You’re left to catch your breath, an arm over your eyes as you gasp into the air of his bedroom. Only when you feel his familiar frame tower over you again do you look up. You’re met with a sweaty man with wet lips and a lovestuck smile plastered on his features.

“You okay?” He kisses your forehead.

“Mm,” is all you have the strength to say.

You feel his thumb pry your mouth open.

“Open for me,” he asks you anyways. You mewl when you see him gathering spit in his mouth. He transfers it to you rudely, and you feel you might just cum again from the sheer force of it. He’s so hot, you feel overwhelmed.

You feel it enough to gain the strength to flip him over when he’s off guard, straddling his hips with his biker jacket on your shoulders.

“What’s this?” He grabs your waist. God, you look so good in his clothes.

“Let me give you a ride this time, Kookie,” you suggest.

He swears he’s never heard anything hotter in his life. It makes his dick leak with precum, your suggestion paired with his favorite girl in his favorite jacket ontop of him.

Your soft hands lay on his chest for support as you lift up your hips. He helps you, grabbing your waist with his big hands. You grab his cock, so big and just for you, lining it up with your wet cunt. You slide it in with a small gasp of your lips, and you swear you see his eyes roll back slightly at the feeling.

“Oh,” you softly gasp as he fills you up. The stretch is so good from this angle, filling every inch of your walls up to the brim. You feel all of him, and he can feel all of you, too. You know it with the way he grips your hips, telling you to give him a minute when you reach the base.

You give him just that, before you test the waters again and start a pace. 

“Fuck,” he tilts his head back. You riding him is an entirely different sensation, his thighs slack and your ass bouncing on his cock as you use him for pleasure. You feel so good, you always feel so good. So perfect for him. 

“Koo,” you mewl as your hands plant for support just below his rib cage. Your hips move perfectly, bouncing on his cock like it’s your day job. It’s exhausting, but it feels too good to stop. You won’t until it’s too much, until you can’t do it anymore.

You see why Jungkook likes to be on top most the time. The view from this angle is sickening. You see the sweat coming down from his scalp and neck. It begs to make entry into his forehead, and you hope at one point it does. Brown hair flops and lays over his skin and the sheets blow him. His Adams apple bobs every time he moans and swallows. You see every scar, mole, and blush this man presents to you. You feel entirely privileged that he is all yours.

He catches you staring, his big hands that you love so much cup your thighs on either side of his hips.

You feel sweaty in his jacket, already knowing it probably smells like sex and sweat already. You feel flush from the heat, and he seems to take note, coming up to hug around your waist with one arm and push off the jacket with the other. His legs dangle over the edge of the bed, supporting you on his lap as the jacket falls to the floor.

“So pretty,” he hums against your lips. His cock throbs inside of you, and you beg for friction, pushing your knees against the mattress and sliding up and down ontop of him again. “You like this, huh? You like fucking my cock?”

“Yes,” you whine against his neck. You feel like a horny teenager, unable to get enough of the man beneath you.

“So needy, baby,” he helps your pace with his hands on your hips. It’s quicker, making you dig your fingers into his scalp as you moan against his neck. “You like riding me? Tell me which one you like to ride more, my bike or my cock. Hm?”

“Y-You,” you respond almost immediately. But he doesn’t seem to like your answer, his hand landing a harsh slap against your ass that causes you to dig your nails into his shoulder.

“I can’t hear you, baby,” he kisses your neck.

You somehow muster the strength to face him again, your hips changing direction slightly to rock back and forth against him. It makes your cheeks feel numb and your fingers tingly, his dick pressing against your g-spot so delicately.

You nudge your nose against his, his cherry flavored lips ever so slightly touching yours.

“You,” you repeat. “I like to ride you more than anything.”

That seems to do it for him, your short ride of dominance ended as his lips take you over. He kisses you until he’s got you in your back again, his body obsessed with your own.

“So perfect for me,” he kisses you. “Let me fuck you good, yeah? My perfect baby.”

You can only nod, ready to come back to your throne as pillow princess. Your boyfriend takes your thighs, hiking them up around his back before he rams into you.

He fucks you like he’s in heat, needy and overwhelmed. His tip hits you in all the right places, causing you to arch your back into his chest. You scratch at his tattoos, chanting his name against his neck as he makes you feel good over and over again.

“J-Jungkook,” you gasp. You try to say your words, but you’re hit with euphoria with every thrust he delivers into your body. “Koo, I-“

“I know, baby,” he shushes you, a kiss to your cheek. “Just cum for me, hm?” He suggests.

“C-Close,” you tell him. The man seems to know your body more than you know it yourself, his lips reattaching to your sweet spot so delicately, it doesn’t match up at all with the way his hips piston into you. “Jungkook,” you gasp when he sucks there. The familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach returns, and you feel warm throughout your entire body.

With his hair in your face, lips on your neck, and hands caging your body beneath his, you tighten around his cock, unraveling for the second time underneath the man above you.

You feel him twitch, knowing he’s not that far behind you. He moans so sweetly against your neck when you tighten around him, his hips losing rhythm as you cum on his dick.

“Sso tight,” he groans against your neck. “I-Is inside okay?”

“Y-Yes,” you sigh against his ear. You’re so fucked out, so obsessed with him. You really don’t know if there’s a request out of his cherry lips you can deny.

“Oh, ah—“ he grips the sheets, balling them up in his fists. “M’ gonna cum.”

You simply run your hand through his hair, gripping it strongly as he thrusts harshly inside you. It overstimulates you, and you pant his name against his scalp as his seed spills out of you in hot, thick ropes. His moans are like music to your ears. So breathy and sweet. You swear you’ve never heard anything more lovely in your life.

The two of you calm down, your sweaty bodies absolutely filthy with summer night air, the smell of motorcycle exhaust, sex, sweat, and cum. It starts to make you cringe after a while. Ever the attentive one, your boyfriend notices and comes up from his place by your neck.

He gives you a soft smile before pecking your lips gently.

“I’ll start the shower,” he offers, pecking your lips again.

You let him leave you for a few seconds. Feeling cold and bare, you get up and search for your clothes. But you’re unable to find them, probably kicked somewhere underneath the bed. You only see Jungkook’s t-shirt and his jacket from before. So you slide the t-shirt over your head, feeling giddy again with the smell of him engulfing your senses.

With sore legs and an aching core, you walk over to the bathroom, hugging your man from behind like you did on his bike just an hour ago.

“This is my favorite part,” you start, holding him tighter.

“Hugging me?” He asks.

“Mhm,” you confirm.

You feel him laugh a bit in your arms, turning around in them only to poke at your frown.

“I like to hold you close. Especially when you go fast suddenly and I get a little scared,” you look up at him.

The shower mist fills up the mirror, and the heat lulls you into the feeling of sleepiness his aftercare always gives you.

“I never want to scare you,” he kisses your forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you lean into his palm, his hand holding your face close as he kisses your swollen lips softly.

“Now, let’s get you cleaned up,” he cups your hips.

You open your eyes, watching him eye the shirt you’re wearing.

“Seriously, baby, you gotta stop wearing my clothes,” he slides his t-shirt over your head. “It’s doing things to me.”

“Maybe tomorrow I’ll wear your biker suit then,” you wiggle your eyebrows.

“Now that would murder me.”

***

[End. Do not copy. Original work of @jungkookstatts , 2024]

[amorre1989]

lovely love letters

pairing: Spencer Reid; reader

word count: 3,4k

content: after a shared night with your sweet boyfriend Spencer, you wake up alone at his apartment and allow yourself to snoop around his apartment

mornings in your boyfriend's apartment were different. The feeling of the soft and a little sweated bedsheets combined with the smell of his skin was the closest you've been to heaven.

You had just woken up at Spencer's apartment removing the Spencer's part.

He left early in the morning, two hours before you, leaving a sweet hot kiss on your lips while you were sleeping (something you've assured him you didn't mind at all when he confessed to you that you looked adorable when you were sleeping, and that he always had to control himself from kissing you on the lips).

Leaving the bed was easy, you finally, after a long time, woke up with energy. Sleeping with Spencer has always given you an amazing dose of oxytocin, a hormone of happiness that is released while having physical contact and is related to the relationships (explained by who else than the amazing Dr Reid).

You walked your way to the kitchen, where on the coffee machine a sticky note was in the front of it, with instructions of how to use it, you left it to the side making the wrong assumption that you knew how to use a coffee machine, to seconds later hold it between your fingers and read it with a smile on your lips.

When you finally made your coffee you took a selfie holding the sticky note along with a text saying "thank you baby, i underestimated your gesture", you drank your coffee while sitting on the floor next to the opened window you allowed yourself to touch. It felt embarrassing, almost wrong to be at someone's place and touching everything you needed for the day, but Spence had made sure of letting you know you were free to do as you pleased while he was absent.

"I'm glad it did. how's your morning going?" Spencer's voice sounded in your head while reading the 40 minute late message, it's alright, you thought.

"very good baby, I'm sitting on the floor while drinking coffee" you said, not even thinking it was forbidden or anything.

"on the floor? I have plenty of comfy chairs, you know? and a sofa, and a bed" he texted back almost immediately. "why are you on the floor? does your back hurt again? I'll give you a message with oils when I get back, yeah? :)" he says, you can only pay attention to your smile being attacked by your teeth and the tickle you felt lower from your tummy. All those things he would do would always make you feel grateful for being his, and the fact that you, a well educated girl, was having breakfast in a house where the host was missing, was something you had to share with someone; you needed to tell someone you felt grateful for it, and who else better than your best friend?.

"I'll accept the massage with pleasure, baby...thank you for letting me stay at your place without you here...maybe it's dumb, but I feel grateful for it" you press the button "send" followed by taking a final sip from the mug you had chosen as yours.

Twenty minutes had passed since you last texted your absent boyfriend, you were now focused on tidying the bed you shared last night and doing an examination of Spence's belongings.

You were about to leave the bedroom when you realized his light table had a little red something peeking out the cabinet, you opened it and your tensed eyebrows relaxed by realizing it was a lollipop wrapper you made him try from your natal country, followed by little pieces of paper and napkins where you had written things to him before and doodled dumb things like his name or spirals, even a not too successful attempt of making a cute Snoopy followed by a "I suck at drawing" from you.

You sat on the floor for god knows how long, examining everything that was in that sweet little drawer. From candy wrappers to used napkins with your brown lip liner that had stained his cheek uncountable times as well. With little pictures you've printed for him of you both, flowers you had given him that were now dry and pressed for a book (a tip you've taught him) and then paper sheets from a notebook you didn't recognize of him talking about...you!.

Your first meeting, your first date, your first dinner, your first "she's staying at my place tonight!", his first "I'm staying at her's tonight!" and more things you've marked as relevant as well.

When you finished looking through his drawer you couldn't help but feel bad about invading his privacy, but you were curious, and he knew it!.

You went to the kitchen and noticed he had texted you back with a "you know you're more than welcomed at my place princess, I'm glad you feel comfortable with staying with me at night and in the morning too, I'm happy to share my days with you" your heart started to feel bigger and your heartbeat feeling more present as well, why does he have to be so charming?.

When he got back home after a few hours that became days, you were already at your place, and your presence in his apartment a few days ago was easy to notice when he opened the door and saw it was tidy, along with your perfume that you probably (did) sprayed at his place. He left his bag and made himself comfortable before calling you to meet up to have a movie night, that was your thing, classical movies everyone should watch, and if not, were pointed as dumb.

When you got there minutes later, you greeted him with a smiling kiss while holding something in your hands.

"hello beautiful...what's that?" he says scrunching his eyebrows.

"it's my Spence box, I thought you had to see it" you say, smiling, and with peek of something else he couldn't describe instantly.

"Spence box?" he asks. You nod and sit on the floor next to the coffee table, next you start to show and explain to him all the little things you have saved from 'firsts'.

After a while, when both were already distracted with a movie and holding each other relaxed he says.

"did you peeked in my drawer?" while realizing pretty late that in fact, you did. His face addressed yours, with squinted eyebrows and eyes.

"no..." you mumbled silently while looking away from his face which was instantly replaced with the view of him above you, smiling demonically while attacking you with his slender fingers in your tummy, along with both of your laughs filing the air of his apartment which was already titled as your home.

[hw4-l1z]

OMG I JUST REMEMBERED YOU DO ATEEZ TOO

CAN YOU DO OT8 BP! HEADCANONS LIKE YOU DID WITH SKZ

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

BOYPUSSY SUPREMACY 🛐 made myself horny writing the last part 🥲

Sub!bp!Ateez x Dom!gn!Reader

Cw: gender neutral but reader has a dick//boypussy// pussy eating// fingering// use of toys// lingerie// unprotected sex// squirting// overstimulation// bondage// face sitting// thigh riding// public sex// slight dollification// bit of power!bottom!seonghwa

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Hongjoong

Cutest most sensitive pussy ever

He'll always trap your hand between his legs whenever you play with him

You know how sensitive he is so you'd always rub his clit in gentle circles which gets him SO wet

Anytime you do something he finds hot or even if you're teasing him then he'd clamp his thighs together as he feels his panties starting to soak through

And my god he get WET

If he was sitting on your thigh whilst you tried to tease him he'd end up leaving a wet patch behind on your thigh

Sometimes it's so bad he has to actually change his clothing before anyone else but you notices it

It's why he begs you not to do anything when he's in outfits given to him by the staff since it's not his

He has quite a big clit with a hood which you'd surprised at the amount of other guys he's been with STILL couldn't find it...

But you'd always be right on point with it

I would imagine he had quite a bit of hair on top

Not like a bush but still quite a fair amount

He can squirt but it takes alot of time and effort to make him do it so you never do it unless you REALLY want to see him squirt

Salty in taste but you'd absolutely devour him cause you love how he tastes

Seonghwa

OHHHH MOTHERRRRRRRR

He'd wear such BEAUTIFUL panties

Only for them to get completely soaked through...but HEY that's what washing machines are for

Let's just start of to say...he does squirt but like hongjoong it takes him some times to get there

So more of a creamer but god he looks beautiful when he cums

Lip sucked between his teeth, eyes dazed and glossy, back arched as his hips jerk a little

Will moan so pretty for you as you eat him out.

One hand circling his bud whilst the other grips his thighs harshly

You'd eat him like he was your last meal on earth

His clit is small but sensitive asf

He's usually clean shaven but will sometimes let some hair grow out

He likes to shave it into certain styles though if he's keeping the hair

I'd see him more on the brownish side

Like a light brownish colour

He tastes sweet though and you LOVE it

Sometimes you like to make it taste even sweet by rubbing a lollipop between his folds and eating him out after

He can definitely still be on the more dominant side

That pussy can drive you crazy 😵‍💫

He's so tight

And he clenches around you even more when your cock is inside of him

He sends you into another world when he's riding you

He's sooooo fucking good at riding you cock

He'll force about 4 loads out of you before he's even cum once

He likes it raw

Sorry actually

He LOVES it raw

Wants you to fill him to the brim everytime

You'll always need towels under you when fucking cause it gets messy

Your cum mixed with his own release oozing out of him at once

If he's riding you, you'd feel it dripping down your cock and balls

The pussy is FIREEEEE

Yunho

Bald, slender pussy 😋

And oh he is just MADE for your cock

His walls wrap so perfectly around you

Squeezing so tight as you take him apart

Pillow princess part 1.

Let's you do all the work since he gets too weak and sensitive the minute you start touching his pussy

Shakes when he cums

He doesn't get superrrr wet but still enough for your finger to glide between his slit

Tastes like PUSSY

You swear the scent and taste of it is like some kind of drug

Your eyes rolling back as you turn into a fucking animal

Growling and snarling as you vigorously eat him out

The way he reacts to his clit being touched or rubbed is SO adorable

You love to make him cum multiple times with a vibrator held firmly to against his bud

Creamerrrrr

He releases so much cream when he cums

He's not a squirter unfortunately, you've tried many times

Yeosang

Ohhhh make him wear so many cute lingerie sets

He's so embarrassed when wearing them but he knows how much you love it

You'd always ravage him when he's in pretty clothes for you

And especially seeing that little wet patch on the panties

Drives you CRAZY

His smell is quite strong but AMAZING

Makes you feel like your going into rut once you catch a scent of his arousal once his panties are off

Sweet in taste

Too much will make you feel full

SO tight

You've tried stretching him more to get him to loosen up a bit more

But it doesn't work

Always needs a few minutes once you're inside him to adjust

You love how much he tightens even more when he cums

Loves to ride your thigh

Will make a wet mess on thigh

PINK

Cutest pussy ever

Small clit that's very sensitive

Can squirt but it doesn't happen often

Probably waxes, I don't see him being hairy down there at all

San

Where do I even start...

Veryyy sensitive and produces so much slick

His panties are ruined because of how wet he gets all the time

Waxes but sometimes has a small triangle patch of hair when he can't be bothered waxing fully

It's definitely pink

Squirts only when you eat him out or finger him

He's SO good at riding your cock

It's like pure ecstasy

He's got some strength to his legs so he can bounce on it for quite a while until he gets tired

So so so squirmy when you play with him

Holding his hips down against the bed as you fuck him with your fingers

He looks so cute struggling to move :(

Tie him up and tease the fuck out of his pussy

Using vibrators and dildos on him as he just sits there and cries unable to do anything

Would love to ride your face and cum all over it

Rocking his hips back and forth on your tongue as he moans so loud at the feeling

Mingi

Pillow princess part 2.

Will just lay there and let you do whatever you want to him

Usually has no hair but when he does he decides to experiment with it to make it looks pretty

He's dyed it pink before and you thought it was actually quite cute

Although he tried to bleach it blonde once and...yeah bad idea. It hurt alot for him

Shy but a huge cockslut

He's always horny for you and wants you to fuck him almost everywhere you guys are

But he's always do shy about asking

He's almost like a doll when fucking

He's so limp like he's just your doll to fuck whenever you please

You can do anything you want and he won't complain about it

He just lays there whimpering and moaning

You realized why he's so limp all the time one day though

It's because of how sensitive he is inside his pussy

Your cock hits all those prefect spots and makes him weak

You found this out when you fucked him in one of those mini bathroom stalls and he had to stand up for it

He was bent over the little sink as you pounded his hole from behind

His legs kept on giving out and you were basically holding him up the entire time or else he would've ended up on the floor

You found it adorable how weak he got

Pretty pink and sickly sweet

Wooyoung

Pillow princess part 3.

Only does nothing cause he's a brat and wants you to put the work in

So when you're punishing him you lay back and make him do all the work

He can't refuse it either since he's incredibly horny and has nothing else to help him but you

Gets tired so quickly

He's just not used to having to do all the work

He'll end up begging you to fuck him eventually

He's bitter-sweet in taste but you'd never miss a chance to get your mouth on him

Don't see him as a squirter tbh

Big nose big clit 😼

Turns into putty in your hands as soon as your cock is in him

Acts like a brat yet is a little whiny bitch when you fuck him into the mattress

Basically tried to make you suffocate when you eat his pussy

He doesn't mean to but it just feels too good he can't help but push your face into his core and squeezes your head between your thighs

Jongho

Chubby pussy 🙏

He's so cute and sensitive

Super shy super shy

He wants to moan so loud when you eat him out but he's too shy

He just bites his lip and grips your hair tighter

You LOVEA when he sits on your face but he's so scared incase he suffocates you or something

But that's what you want

So once he's finally straddled over your face you slowly pull his hips down until his pussy is flush against your tongue

You get so carried away and pull him down further whilst keeping his thighs locked in place with your arms

Rides your thigh almost all the time

It's his favourite thing to do

It just feels SO good on his little clit. He'll cum everytime

He's so incredible sensitive and cries everytime you fuck that he actually prefers anything but penentraition

Doesn't mean you never get it or it's necessarily a rare thing but he just gets so overwhelmed and he feels pathetic

Doesn't help that the lack of being inside him drives you a little crazy so when you do fuck, you're rough

It doesn't hurt, it's just too much for him to handle

You can rip about 3 orgasms out before you've even came once

Arms wrapped around him tightly as his heads buried into your shoulder

Fucking him so hard and deep whilst he just sobs

FUCK I'M MAKING MYSELF HORNY BYE-

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

[dhimangroup]

Ensuring Quality and Hygiene through Lollipop Making Machine

Lollipops are a timeless treat enjoyed by people of all ages. Whether it’s their vibrant colors or irresistible sweetness, every lick brings a moment of delight. But have you ever wondered how these candies are made? Over the years, lollipop production has undergone a major transformation—thanks to technological advancements that enable large-scale manufacturing without compromising quality or hygiene.

At the forefront of this transformation are modern lollipop making machines by DhimanGroup. These machines not only boost production capacity but also ensure that each lollipop meets the highest standards of food safety and product consistency. In this article, we explore how these machines function, maintain hygiene, and help manufacturers deliver top-tier confectionery products.

Key Features of Lollipop Making Machines

1. Hygienic Material Construction

A clean production environment begins with the right materials. Most high-quality lollipop making machines are constructed using stainless steel, which is corrosion-resistant, durable, and easy to sanitize. Stainless steel prevents contamination, resists flavor carryover, and withstands the sticky nature of syrup-based mixtures. Its non-porous surface ensures no harmful residues remain between batches—critical for maintaining hygiene.

2. Automation and Precision

DhimanGroup’s lollipop machines are equipped with automated systems that limit human contact and reduce the risk of contamination. These systems precisely control key parameters such as mixing speed, ingredient ratios, and forming temperatures, helping manufacturers maintain consistent product quality with minimal manual oversight.

3. Advanced Temperature Control

Candy syrup must be heated to specific temperatures—usually between 110°C and 145°C—to achieve the desired texture and flavor. Accurate temperature control is not only essential for the quality of the final product but also crucial for eliminating harmful pathogens. DhimanGroup machines include state-of-the-art temperature sensors and heating elements to ensure reliable cooking and safe processing.

Built-in Quality Control Mechanisms

1. Real-Time Monitoring

Modern machines come with integrated sensors and smart control panels that continuously monitor production variables like temperature, viscosity, and mixing consistency. Any deviation triggers automatic corrections, ensuring each lollipop is uniform in shape, taste, and texture.

2. Compliance with Food Safety Standards

DhimanGroup machines are engineered to meet global food safety standards, including those outlined by the FDA and ISO 9001. From material selection to process automation, every feature supports hygiene compliance—giving manufacturers and consumers peace of mind.

Hygiene Practices and Self-Cleaning Features

1. Self-Cleansing Mechanisms

One of the most valuable features in newer lollipop machines is their self-cleaning function. Built-in cleaning systems flush out residual syrup and remove debris between batches, reducing downtime and the need for manual scrubbing. This not only keeps the production line cleaner but also prevents cross-contamination between flavors or colors.

2. Antimicrobial Components

Some machines are enhanced with antimicrobial parts in critical contact areas. These materials actively resist bacterial growth, offering an added layer of protection for food safety and hygiene assurance.

Maintenance for Quality and Longevity

1. Routine Cleaning and Upkeep

Scheduled cleaning is essential for machine longevity and consistent product output. It prevents syrup buildup, avoids corrosion, and keeps the equipment operating at peak performance.

2. Lubrication of Moving Parts

Lollipop machines include multiple moving components, from rotating formers to conveyors. Regular lubrication ensures smooth motion, minimizes wear and tear, and reduces the risk of breakdowns—ultimately leading to fewer production delays and higher efficiency.

Conclusion

The evolution of lollipop manufacturing is a testament to how modern technology can uphold both efficiency and hygiene. Today’s lollipop making machines from DhimanGroup make it possible to produce large volumes of candy with consistent quality, minimal contamination risk, and full compliance with food safety regulations.

For manufacturers seeking to scale operations while maintaining impeccable standards, investing in the right machine is crucial. DhimanGroup, India’s leading confectionery machinery provider, offers tailored solutions that meet your production goals without compromising safety or quality.

Contact DhimanGroup today to find the ideal lollipop making machine for your business—and take your production to the next level.

Source URL: Blogspot.com

[akixxsstuff]

Dating L would be like...

Death Note L Lawliet x gender neutral reader

(I'm aware that the picture says girlfriend but the gender of the reader is not specified in the fic. The pictures were also edited by me).

Fluff // One shot

Summary: L was more like a machine than a human, he was cold, calculated and a "no fun and games" type of person aside from the occasional sarcastic or dry humored comment. L never lost his composure and would repress any emotion he had as a intimidation tactic. He was blunt and wouldn't allow anything or anyone to dethrone him.

However around you, L wasn't quite that...

The task force had suspected you and L were a couple, but whenever anyone asked about it, L would quickly shut down the conversation and went back to his work, saying that it wasn't any of their business. You and L were a couple but he just wanted to keep things secretive and professional since doing otherwise made him feel vulnerable.

He couldn't let his suspect Light know how much you meant to him just in case he used it against him, plus it was just in L's nature to be serective.

However as soon the doors were closed and the task force was gone, he would be nuzzling into your shoulder, whining for attention. He would never stop clinging onto you until he got he's way because in his own words, "I'm also childish and don't like to lose".

Like today for instance:

"Not now Lolly, I've got an appointment to book", you said sighing while L continued kissing your neck and nibbling your ear from behind. "I love you but I do not appreciate your lack of cooperation" L then grumbled.

Lolly was your main pet name for L since it sounded like it was short for lollipop, (and we all know how much L loves those) and sounded similar to his real name, Lawliet. Panda was also another common one since he reminded you of one with his dark eyes and pale skin.

He then kneeled in between your legs with his head resting on your thigh, looking up at you in annoyance in an attempt to guilt trip you, (however he couldn't mask he's pleading eyes). "Lolly I already told you I'm busy, just 10 more minutes okay my love?" you cooed while stroking his cheek. But L didn't care, he picked you up bridal style from your chair and tossed you onto the bed. "Lawliet, you should know of all people how important it is to not have any distractions from your work" you said rasing an eyebrow. "You make a fair point" L says with his thumb on his lip, "But I'm not feeling very empathetic tonight" then he proceeded to smother you with kisses.

Your dates were either cafe hopping, picnics in the park, or L trying to teach you tennis. You would always try to get him to wear shoes but he would refuse, saying "I don't like how they feel". "I know but I don't want you to step on a piece of glass and hurt yourself" you would say while kissing his forehead. "I will live" L would reply while blushing from your kiss. You would then sigh and take off your shoes, "Fine, if that's how you want to play" and you both would walk around barefoot.

Another thing L wouldn't budge on is removing all the cameras and wiring taps from your room, if someone broke in and tired to hurt you he needed to know immediately who was responsible so he could toss them in jail forever. He valued your life way more than his, afterall, he did challenge Kira to kill him live on broadcast.

L absolutely loved when you taunted his number one suspect Light, in fact it was his love language.

"I'm not Kira!" Light would yell.

"You're not a very convincing actor Light, but hey! Maybe they'll give you an academy award in prison just for trying. Light Yagami! Mass murderer tries playing innocent victim!".

As a detective, L would always be analysising people's behaviour and you were no expectation.

"How was your day darling?" L cooed.

"Fine. I'm going to my room".

You say that you're fine Y/N yet you're tone and lack of physical affection would indicate otherwise. Could you be trying to deprive me of your attention as an indirect punishment? What could have I done?

However, you did mention how your work load has increased because of the lack of empyoees, were you stressed from that and simply avoided me to avoid talking about it? I should confront you instead of making any assumptions, it could make matters worse because you might believe that I am deliberately ignoring you.

"Love, I believe I have done something to upset you, please tell me what it is was so I can correct my behaviour. Will you accept this piece of cake as a initial peace offering? If I'm not to blame then please tell me who's bothering you so I can potentially sue them".

[sundrop-writes]

How would Spencer react to the f!reader eating a sucker in a very provocative way during a meeting?

I decided to change this up a bit. Rather than it being during a meeting, it's just randomly around the office because eating a sucker/lollipop during a meeting would be annoying af.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

How would Spencer Reid react to you teasing him with a lollipop?

Warnings: reader can definitely be interpreted as gender neutral because there isn't much description of them beyond their mouth (sorry if that isn't what you wanted lmao); this is very sensual/smutty toned (but there is no sex scenes); Spencer is thinking about sex acts/is having sexual fantasies about the reader; heavy sexual innuendo; definitely leans more toward Sub!Spencer; I was thinking of S4/S5 Spencer when I wrote this but you can imagine any Spencer; background Morcia; implications of Spencer masturbating in the bathroom at work. Reader loves teasing Spencer - idk what else. Not really proofread.

"Oooh, what's this?" You asked, walking up to see a large bowl of candy sitting in the middle of Morgan's desk.

"Leftovers from Halloween." Prentiss explained, not looking up from the file that she was reading. "Of course, Garcia put them on Morgan's desk. What was it that she said?"

"A little something sweet for my something sweet." JJ recited the words from her place at the coffee machine with a laugh.

"Oh, he is gonna love that when he comes in." You chuckled.

You knew that he wasn't going to eat all of it himself, and Garcia likely intended it as a pick-n-go for the office anyway - so you took a careful glance into the bowl and then picket an appealing round lollipop. A blow-pop, you quickly realized. Very nice. You knew the gum in the middle was crappy, but you would have fun seeing how long it would take to get to it, and it was cherry flavoured - one of your favourite candy flavours.

You grabbed it up and a few others to slip into your desk drawers, along with taking a few packets of M&Ms for your favourite desk neighbour. When you walked over to your desk that was in front of his, you tossed the candy so that it hit the front of his chest, and Spencer jumped violently, having been scared right out of his concentration from whatever he was reading. A thick academic paper, from the looks of it.

You heard Emily's nasel chuckle in from behind you at how hard he had jumped.

"Good morning." You greeted him with a wide smile as he glared at you, but took the candy and began opening it anyway.

"Yeah." He scoffed.

"You're welcome." You also said, nodding toward the candy in his hand.

"Did you know that M&Ms shortly after their creation, M&Ms were exclusively distributed to the US military during World War II as a part of soldier's rations?" Spencer stated, giving another one of his 'fun facts'.

"Due to the candy coating making them far less perishable, and far easier to transport due to the fact that they were less likely to melt. At the time, they were packaged in cardboard tubes and featured a violet colour among the candies. And that's how they became famously known as 'the candy that melts in your mouth, not in your hand'." Spencer explained, the last words becoming muffled as he stuffed some of the candy into his mouth.

"And now they have gone from feeding soldiers to being the breakfast of a skinny little genius like you." You joked, unwrapping your lollipop and raising it to your lips.

You were one of the people who joked about it, but you secretly loved the fact that he was skinny. You would never tell, but you imagined pinning him down and him not being able to get away because of his lack of muscle.

Spencer would have made some clever reply, but instead, his eyes became locked on your lips.

Watching your lips gently wrap around the roundness of the lollipop immediately sparked something in him. From that moment, his eyes focused on nothing but your mouth, and he absolutely lost all train of thought - including the fact that he had been reading something before you even sat down.

It wasn't even intentional at first. At first, you were just enjoying a random sweet treat at seven o'clock in the morning, going about small things like taking off your jacket and getting the files organized on your desk, and when you looked up to ask Reid if he had a spare red pen that you could use to mark off some things - that was when you noticed it.

That far off, glassy look in his eye that you had never seen before.

He was staring at your lips, hard, clearly not even realizing that he was doing it - at this point, the candy had just barely stained the inner part of your mouth red, and he was being driven insane, imagining himself running his thumb or even the head of his leaking cock along that spot, feeling the pure softness of your lips, having your sweet tongue reach out to meet the throbbing head of his-

"Reid?"

The sudden sound of your voice seemed to shake him from this daydream.

You pulled the lollipop from your mouth with a wet smack, and he swallowed a whimper - it was a sound so subtle that you wouldn't have been able to hear it if you hadn't been carefully listening. You clenched your jaw, suppressing a smirk. You didn't want him to know that he had been caught. Not yet.

"Um - ah - yeah?" He stuttered out, quickly looking back down at the papers in the middle of his desk, trying not to make it seem like he had been staring at you so blatantly.

"Can I borrow a red pen?" You asked, trying to give him your best look of feigned innocence as you placed the cherry red bulb back to your lips while waiting for his answer, gently tracing your tongue around it.

You loved the way his eyes clung to this action like a magnet, his own lips dropping open slightly as he let out a hot breath in awe, his pupils blown wide.

His pants were suddenly very tight.

Spencer had to purposefully tear his eyes away from your mouth when you began oh-so-slowly teasing the lollipop in and out of your lips, forcing him to perfectly picture the round head of his cock fucking between those perfect cherry lips.

He frantically looked around his desk, and grabbed the first pen with a red cap that he could find.

"Here you go." He mumbled, tossing it onto your desk, not even bothering to hand it to you.

He then grabbed his messenger bag from underneath his desk and so subtly placed it at his front while he scrambled off toward the bathroom. You simply let out a laugh and then shoved the candy into your mouth fully, looking back down at your files and getting to work.

Spencer could only pray that you would be done with the lollipop by the time he got back.

A/N: Okay this definitely turned more into the style of a blurb, but what I love about writing requests right in my inbox is that I don't need to do a super defined style, I can just write whatever comes off the top of my head and I don't have to worry about over-editing stuff. It's great for creativity and it's almost like a writing exercise? Anyway, I had a lot of fun with this.

Criminal Minds Masterlist

[alpali]

R&b flows throughout the cafe, dishes clanking, the sharp shrieks of the espresso machine brewing.

You’re stood at the register, straightening up once you see customers coming in.

Your eyes widening a bit once you see how attractive one of the guys within the group was. Just by the realization you’re already avoiding his entire existence, a blush resting on your cheeks.

Each of them have a menu, talking about what they want, but his eyes are focused in on you, making you glance everywhere but him. Once the rest of them perk up you know they’re ready.

“What can I get started for you guys?”

You smile, feeling his lazy eyes burning holes into your eyes from his place in the back.

“Yea I’ll just get a vanilla latte, thanks.”

And the rest order after and here he comes to the front, a monotone expression on his face.

“And for you?” You meet his eyes, doing everything in your power to remain calm.

“Whaddaya recommend.”

Even his voice was hot, ok shut up shut up—

“Uh—do you like sweet? Bitter?” His eyes rake over you.

“Somethin’ sweet.”

You glance down, writing on the cup, your hand quivering.

“Is a caramel latte fine?”

“Yea that’s perfect.” He smiles and you blink at him.

“It’ll be right out.” You mutter and they all sit out front.

As you make their drinks your eyes flutter outside, only to find him already staring at you. Your eyes shoot back to the drinks in front you, your heart beating a little too fast for your liking.

When you’re done with the drinks, to your dismay, your coworker goes to run them. However you’re met with an opportunity when you get to run their food. When you come outside , it’s almost as if he perks up, scooting his chair so you could pass by.

“Could I get anything else for you guys?” You look at all of them, he cocks his head, giving you a heartfelt smile.

“Salt and pepper please?” He stares up at you and you nod, not daring to embarrass yourself.

You run back in quickly, walking back outside with the salt and pepper in hand.

“Here ya go.” You place it down, but his hand brushes against yours, making you both laugh awkwardly.

You cower back inside. You don’t know how long he’s out there for but you don’t miss the opportunity to look at him. How his eyes crinkled when he laughed. One of his friends comes in to ask for to go boxes which you gladly give.

And right before he’s about to leave, you guys lock eyes once again, causing you to shoot away. So you’re unaware when he makes his way back inside. You turn at the bell and tense up at the sight of him.

“These free?” He points to the lollipops.

“Uh yea.” You laugh. He pops one in his mouth, looking at the menu once again.

“What’s yer name?”

You jump.

“Hm?”

He laughs.

“Yer name.”

“Oh!” You reply with your name in a bashful tone.

“I’m Osamu. Ya think ya could make me another one?” You nod, already starting it.

He watches you with smile on his face.

“Enjoy.” You smile and he returns it.

“See ya later.” He returns the receipt. You’re about to question it but he’s gone. You blink at his fading figure and at the receipt. Your eyes widen once you’ve read it.

‘xxx-xxx-xxxx text me :)’

[halfmoonaria]

when you weren’t here

pairing: tara carpenter & female reader

summary: tara sought escape in all the wrong places, never expecting reality to catch up with her

warnings: graphic violence/injury; stabbing, blood, coma-related discussions

author’s note: someone asked for more angst and i’ll deliver. actually love this one.

Tara had gotten used to hospitals.

The way the air always smelled faintly of antiseptic and something sterile, like it had been scrubbed too clean. The way the lights buzzed quietly overhead, flickering just enough to make her wonder if they were about to go out.

The way voices echoed in the halls—doctors speaking in calm, measured tones, nurses hurrying past with carts that rattled against the floor. She knew the sounds, the smells, the feeling of hospital sheets stiff against her skin, the weight of bandages pressing into wounds that had barely started to heal.

She had been here before. Too many times.

The first time was when she was six. She still remembered the sharp snap of pain in her wrist when she fell off the monkey bars at school, how she hit the ground so hard that for a second, she thought she had cracked the earth beneath her.

Sam was the one who carried her to the car, her voice tight with panic as she told her to hold still, just hold still. Tara had cried the whole drive there, cradling her arm against her chest, the pain radiating all the way up to her shoulder.

She had stopped crying when the nurse handed her a lollipop, but the ache lingered for weeks after, even beneath the heavy cast wrapped around her arm.

The second time was worse.

Woodsboro.

She had spent weeks in a hospital bed, stitches holding her together while the bruises darkened and then faded, while her body fought to get stronger, to recover from the way a knife had torn through her, over and over.

She had learned how to sleep in hospital beds, how to breathe through the pain, how to smile and pretend she wasn't terrified every time a nurse walked in, half-expecting the glint of a knife instead of the dull shine of a clipboard.

And then, she had come back. Not as a patient, but as a visitor.

Chad had been in the hospital for weeks after the attack. He had survived, but just barely, and Tara had spent so many afternoons at his bedside, watching him try to act like everything was fine even as he winced with every breath. Mindy, too. Tara didn't know how many times she had walked into one of their rooms with a stupid joke on her lips, trying to make them laugh, trying to make the place feel less suffocating than it was. But she hated it. The smell, the sounds, the memories pressing in on all sides.

Then came New York. A fresh start. A way to move past everything that had happened.

But the past had followed her.

Hospitals had followed her.

And now, she was back.

It shouldn't have affected her so much.  She had gotten used to hospitals after all.

But this one was different.

This time, it wasn't her in the bed.

She had gotten used to the steady beeping of the monitors beside her. Steady, rhythmic. A constant in the background, something that had faded into white noise over time. It was the same sound she had heard for months.

The same sound she had heard that first day. Or that day

She remembered the day too clearly.

She had been told what to expect before she stepped inside—that you wouldn't look the same, that there would be wires and tubes, that there was no way of knowing when or if you would wake up. The words had been clinical, rehearsed, meant to prepare her. But nothing could have.

Because when she stepped into that room, everything in her just... stopped.

The world outside the door felt like a different place. A different life. One where you were still you, where your voice filled the spaces between words, where your laughter tangled with hers in the air like it belonged there.

But in here, in this room, there was only the hum of machines and the too-sterile scent of antiseptic. There was only you, still and quiet in a bed that wasn't yours, wrapped in too much white, your face almost lost beneath the harsh fluorescent light.

She hadn't moved at first. Couldn't.

She just stood there, staring, because none of it made sense. You didn't look like yourself. Too pale, too still, too much like something fragile, something breakable. She hated it. Hated the way the sheets swallowed you up, hated the way your hand looked so small against the stiff hospital blanket. Hated that you weren't looking at her.

Somewhere, deep down, she half expected you to wake up right then. To blink up at her with that same sleepy smile you always gave when she woke you up too early. Because that was supposed to happen. That was how it was supposed to go. She would walk in, and you would see her, and everything would be okay.

But you didn't.

You didn't move at all.

And for the first time since it happened, she felt the full weight of it settle into her chest.

You weren't just sleeping.

You weren't going to wake up. Not now. Maybe not ever.

And she didn't know how to breathe through that.

You hadn't just been sleeping.

You hadn't been going to wake up. Not then. Maybe not ever.

And she hadn't known how to breathe through that.

For a second—just a split, desperate second—she had caught herself thinking that it had to be some kind of joke. That any moment now, you'd sit up, laughing until your stomach hurt, teasing her about the look on her face. You'd tell her it had been a prank, a huge, sick joke, and she'd have been pissed, but she wouldn't have cared, not really, because at least you'd have been you. At least you'd have been here.

But you hadn't woken up.

You hadn't moved.

You had just laid there.

Tara had only stared. She had seen you a million times before—had seen you grinning with flushed cheeks, had seen you rolling your eyes at something dumb she'd said, had seen you looking at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.

But that? That hadn't been you.

Your face had been too pale, too still. Your lips had been cracked. The glow you had always had, the warmth, the life—it had been gone. The person in front of her had looked like a shell, like someone wearing your skin but missing everything that had made you you.

And Tara hadn't been able to accept it. She wouldn't have accepted it.

Not that. Not you.

Her hands had trembled as she had forced herself to move. She had taken a step forward, then another, but every movement had felt wrong, like she had been walking into something she hadn't been meant to see. Like if she had gotten too close, if she had looked too long, she'd have had to admit this had been real.

She had sat down in the chair beside your bed, but not without hesitating. She had hesitated with every move she had made.

Her fingers had clenched against her jeans. She had gulped hard.

And then—slowly, silently—the tears had started falling.

She hadn't even realized she had been crying.

It hadn’t been you.

It couldn’t have been.

But it had been.

Her breath had hitched as she had reached out, stopping just before her fingers had touched yours. She hadn't wanted to feel it. Hadn't wanted to know what your skin had felt like now, what it had meant for you to be this cold.

But she had done it anyway.

Her hand had covered yours, careful, almost fearful.

You hadn't moved.

Your fingers hadn't curled around hers, hadn't squeezed back, hadn't reacted in any way at all.

And you had been cold.

Tara had sucked in a sharp breath, blinking fast, trying to keep herself together.

She had told herself it had just been the hospital, that rooms like that had always been freezing, that it hadn't been you, not really.

But the truth had sat heavy in her chest.

You had been cold because your body hadn't been living the way it should have been.

Because your heart had been beating, but you hadn't been there.

She had swallowed past the lump in her throat and had whispered, barely above a breath—I'm here.

And then she had just sat there, her hand over yours, watching, waiting, hoping.

Convincing herself that it hadn’t been forever.

That you would wake up.

That she'd see your eyes again.

Bright with laughter, maybe even squinting as you smiled, the way they always did when you were really, really happy.

Because the last time she had seen them. Really seen them. Was in the moment she found you, bleeding out on the floor.

They had been wide with shock, glazed over with pain, staring up at her as blood pooled beneath you.

They had searched for her—pleaded with her—before fluttering shut, before your body went still, before everything collapsed around her.

That wasn't how she wanted to remember them. She didn't want that to be the last image burned into her mind—the dull, fading look in your eyes, the way they lost focus as your body went limp.

She tried to push it away, to replace it with something else, something better.

But no matter how hard she tried, that was the version of you that haunted her.

She wanted to remember your eyes the way they used to be—warm, bright, alive.

She wanted to remember the way they squinted when you smiled, the way they gleamed with mischief whenever you teased her, the way they softened when you looked at her like she was the only person in the world.

She wanted to remember how they flickered with something unreadable when she kissed you—how your lashes fluttered for half a second before you melted into her like you had been waiting for it.

But when she closed her own eyes, when she let herself slip for even a second, that wasn't what she saw.

She saw them wide with fear.

Glassy. Unfocused. Darting between her and Sam as she held onto your wrist, fingers trembling because she knew what she was asking you to do. Go. She had said it again and again, her voice sharp with urgency, her grip tightening like that alone would be enough to make you listen. But you hadn't—not at first. You had shaken your head, refused to leave her, your voice cracking as you told her you weren't going anywhere.

And god, she had wanted to hold onto you, to tell you she wouldn't leave either. That you'd get through this together.

But she couldn't.

Not when she had no idea what was coming next. Not when she was standing there, her pulse hammering, her body braced for something—the inevitable moment Ethan and Quinn would make their move, the moment they'd step out from the shadows and turn this entire fucking night into something even worse than it already was.

She had forced you to say it. To repeat it back to her—those three words that still echoed in her head.

I'll walk away.

She could still hear the way your voice had cracked on the last word, how quiet it had been. She could still see the way your fingers had twitched by your sides, the way your throat had bobbed like you were trying to swallow down the fear pressing up into your chest. You had looked at her like you wanted her to stop you. Like you wanted her to change her mind.

And she had almost—almost—reached for you again.

But she didn't.

Her fingers had curled into fists at her sides as she forced herself to nod, to meet your eyes one last time and tell you it was okay. That she would come back to you, that she'd find you the second Ethan was dead, that she'd be right behind you before you even had the chance to start panicking.

That you'd be safe.

That everything would be fine.

She had believed it. She had believed every single word she said to you.

But she had said it all too loudly.

And Quinn and Ethan had been listening.

She hadn't known it then. She hadn't even thought about it.

She had just stood there, her hands shaking as she tried to steady her breathing, her mind racing with a dozen different thoughts at once—how long they would have to wait, how Ethan would show himself, how Quinn of all people could be Ghostface, how quickly she and Sam could get this over with so she could go back to you. She had been so fucking sure that was how this would go. That Ethan and Quinn would attack, that she and Sam would fight back, that they would win.

She hadn't known that while she was standing there, preparing for a fight that hadn't even begun yet, they had already found you.

She hadn't known.

She hadn't known that while she stood there, gripping the handle of a knife so tightly her knuckles burned, you had already collapsed to the floor. That while she braced herself for Quinn and Ethan to make their move, you had already felt the first sharp, brutal tear of a blade slipping between your ribs.

She hadn't known that while she sucked in a slow, steadying breath, yours had been knocked out of you. That your fingers had clawed at the wound in your stomach, hot blood spilling between them, painting your hands in red that you barely registered because—fuck—it hurt, it hurt so bad.

She hadn't known that while she took a step closer to Sam, her body tensing in anticipation, your legs had given out beneath you. That the floor had rushed up to meet you in a way that felt almost unreal, your head spinning so violently it was hard to tell which way was up, which way was down, which way was—

Her.

Where was she?

Your lips had parted, the effort of forming her name too much when your throat was already thick with blood, choking you, drowning you.

But she hadn't heard.

Because she hadn't known.

She had stood there, heart pounding in her chest, waiting, waiting, waiting for something to happen—unaware that it already had.

She had lifted her knife, a sharp inhale burning its way down her throat, seconds away from lunging at Ethan—while you lay just meters away, blood pooling beneath you, slipping through the cracks in the floorboards.

She had ducked when Quinn swung for her, twisting her body at the last second—while your fingers barely twitched at your sides, weak and useless, unable to do anything but slip in the mess of red beneath you.

She had slammed her knee into Ethan's stomach, her breath sharp, body thrumming with adrenaline—while your chest barely moved, every breath shallower than the last, drowning under the weight of it all.

She had shoved a fucking knife into his mouth.

And she had laughed.

A short, breathless thing—sharp with relief, with victory, with the overwhelming certainty that it was over.

That you were okay.

That the only thing left to do was find you.

She had turned, her fingers still curled around the handle of the knife, ready to run back to you, ready to wrap her arms around you and hold you, ready to breathe again because she could, because you could, because you were—

Her body had frozen.

Because you weren't there.

Because the spot where she had left you, the place where she had told you to go, was empty.

And then she saw it.

A hand.

Limp. Pale. Blood-slicked fingers barely curled.

She followed it.

Followed the trail of blood smeared across the floor, the crimson soaked into your sleeves, the mess of it seeping into your hair.

And then—

She saw your eyes.

And she wished she hadn't.

Because they weren't the same ones she had been so desperate to see again. They weren't shining with laughter, weren't squinting slightly at the corners as they always did when you smiled at her. They weren't warm, weren't alive.

They were glassy. Unfocused. Half-lidded, as if keeping them open was already too much for you.

And fuck—

There was so much blood.

It coated your skin in streaks, in smears, in pools. It had soaked through your clothes, clung to you like a second skin, painted your lips a deep, terrifying red. There was some on your chin too, like you had coughed it up, like your body had already started failing you.

Your lips trembled.

You were trying to say something.

She knew what it was.

Her name.

But it didn't come out.

Because you couldn't force it past your lips, couldn't get enough breath into your lungs. Because you could barely even move—the only sign of life being the weak, desperate twitch of your fingers, the way your hand, the one that wasn't splayed limply against the floor, pressed against your stomach, trying—failing—to stop the bleeding.

You had tried.

You had tried to help yourself, tried to push down against the wounds, tried to fight.

But there were too many.

There was too much blood.

And she wasn't thinking anymore.

She dropped to her knees so fast she barely registered the pain of the impact, her hands pressing over yours, her fingers curling over your own like she could somehow give you her strength.

Your body flinched under the pressure.

A sharp, agonized wince twisted your features, and Tara felt her own face crumble, a shaky breath pushing past her lips because—fuck, she didn't want to hurt you, but she had to.

Your body was shaking. Your breath came out in short, quick pants, your chest barely rising.

She could see you slipping away.

She could see it happening, right in front of her.

And her lips parted.

A scream tore out of her throat, raw, desperate.

She screamed for Sam.

Screamed louder than she ever had in her life.

And within seconds, Sam was there.

Sam, who had still been gripping her knife, ready to fight. Sam, who had barely even taken a breath of relief after Ethan before Tara's scream had ripped it away. Sam, who froze the second her eyes landed on you.

Because she had thought it was over.

Because Tara had thought it was over.

Because you were supposed to be safe.

And yet—

There you were.

Bleeding. Dying.

Tara didn't know which one of them had moved first, but the next thing she knew, Sam was beside her, already pressing down, already shaking, already pleading with you to stay awake.

And Tara—

Tara couldn't breathe.

She felt like she was drowning.

Her hands were soaked with blood—your blood—and it was warm and thick, seeping between her fingers as she pressed down harder, tighter, trying to keep it inside you where it belonged. Her breaths were sharp, ragged, her chest rising and falling too fast, too fast, her vision blurring as she blinked furiously, trying to keep her focus on you.

Sam—

Sam, call 911.

Her own voice barely sounded like herself. It was strangled, hoarse, somewhere between a plea and a demand, but she didn't even know if Sam heard her because she was already moving—already pulling her phone out with shaking hands, already fumbling with the buttons.

And Tara—

Tara was left with you.

With your barely-there breathing.

With your trembling lips, stained red.

With your fingers, twitching so weakly against hers that she wanted to scream.

Stay awake. Stay awake. Stay awake.

Her voice shook as she said your name.

She begged.

Told you it was okay.

Told you she had you.

Told you she wasn't going to let you die.

And maybe it was a lie.

Maybe she knew it was a lie.

But she had to say it anyway.

Because your eyes were slipping shut, and she couldn't let them.

Her hand moved from yours to your cheek, fingers smearing warmth against your skin as she cradled your face, her thumb brushing against your jaw. She tried to smile, even though her lips were trembling, even though her lungs felt too tight.

"Hey, baby."

It came out too soft, too small. Like her voice had caved under the weight of her panic, like it was shattering inside her chest.

She sniffled, blinking back the hot sting in her eyes, forcing her lips to curl up a little more, forcing herself to keep it together.

"It's okay. You're okay."

You blinked. Barely.

Your eyes were losing focus again, shifting away from her, but she wouldn't let you go.

Her grip tightened against your cheek, forcing your gaze back to hers, forcing you to look at her.

"That's it. Just keep looking at me, okay?"

Her throat was tight, aching, her pulse hammering so hard she could hear it in her ears.

Sam was talking to the operator.

There was a rush of static, a frantic voice on the other end.

But Tara didn't hear it.

Didn't listen.

Because you were staring at her.

Like you wanted to say something.

Like you needed to.

She leaned in, pressing her forehead against yours, whispering so softly that only you could hear—I love you, I love you, I love you.

And then—

Your lips parted.

Barely.

A single breath.

A single, broken word.

Love you.

And then—

Nothing.

Your breath stopped.

Your lips stilled.

Your eyes—

Your eyes slipped shut.

And Tara—

Tara lost it.

She didn't mean to scream.

Didn't mean for it to tear out of her like an animal caught in a trap, raw and broken and filled with something so deep and unbearable that it didn't even feel human.

But she did.

And then she was grabbing you, shaking your shoulders, trying to wake you up, trying to pull you back, trying to make you breathe again.

But you didn't move.

Didn't react.

Didn't do anything.

Her whole body shook as she let out another choked sound, barely even words, just something painful clawing its way out of her throat. She pressed her forehead against yours again, like it would do something, like it would keep you here with her, but your skin was so cold now, your breath completely gone, and she—

She knew.

But she couldn’t accept it.

Not yet.

Not when the ambulance hadn't even gotten here.

Not when she could still hold you.

So she refused.

Refused to let go.

Refused to move.

Refused to stop begging.

She kept calling your name over and over, her voice cracking with every syllable, her hands shaking as she tried to press down harder, tighter, anything to stop the blood from slipping through her fingers like sand, anything to keep you here.

Sam was still there—somewhere in the background, talking frantically to the dispatcher, telling them to hurry, hurry, hurry, but it had already been too long.

Tara felt like she was outside of herself.

Like she was floating, completely weightless, completely detached, like none of this was real, like any second now she'd blink and it would all be over.

She wanted to shake you harder.

Wanted to snap you out of this.

Wanted to undo it all.

Because this wasn't the plan.

You were supposed to walk away.

She was supposed to come back to you.

You were supposed to be safe.

She was supposed to keep you safe.

And now—

Now she was holding you as you died.

Something inside her snapped.

She barely even registered the sound of sirens.

Barely noticed when the paramedics rushed in.

Barely heard anything at all, except for her own sobbing as someone—several someones—pried you away from her.

She fought them.

Of course she did.

Her hands were clawing at the arms that grabbed her, her voice raw as she screamed at them, screamed at everyone, trying to keep you with her, trying to go with you.

But they wouldn't let her.

She struggled against Sam's grip, sobbing, thrashing, desperate to follow, desperate to get to you as the paramedics swarmed around your body, pressing oxygen to your lips, pushing down on your chest, yelling to each other.

But Tara couldn't hear them.

She could only see you.

Could only see them lift your body onto the stretcher, see the way your arms limply bounced at your sides, see the way the blood had soaked through every inch of your clothes, see the way your head lolled to the side, exposing the cut along your throat—not deep enough to kill you instantly, but deep enough to steal your breath, to steal your voice, to steal every last chance you had of surviving if they didn't move fast enough.

And they—

They weren't moving fast enough.

Tara felt it—felt the exact second she knew you were already gone, felt it tear through her like a physical thing, knocking the air from her lungs as she screamed again, her body sagging against Sam's as she watched you get carried away.

And she knew.

She knew that would be the last time she ever saw you alive.

She knew she wouldn't make it to the hospital.

She knew you'd be pronounced dead before she ever got the chance to say goodbye properly.

She knew she wouldn't see you again until—

Until your funeral.

Until you were in a coffin.

Cold and gone.

And when the ambulance doors slammed shut, locking you inside, separating you from her completely—

Tara broke.

Tara didn't remember getting to the hospital.

Didn't remember the car ride.

Didn't remember the moment she and Sam rushed through the doors, demanding answers, begging for updates, shaking as they pressed their hands over wounds that weren't even theirs.

She only remembered sitting in a waiting room that smelled like antiseptic and old coffee, staring down at her bloodstained hands, feeling the way the dried, sticky patches of it clung to the creases of her palms, the way it coated her fingernails, the way it was still under her skin even after Sam had tried to scrub it away in the hospital bathroom.

Hours had passed.

At least, Tara thought they had.

Time felt warped, stretched too thin, like the entire world had stopped the second the ambulance doors slammed shut and left her behind.

She hadn't moved since then.

Hadn't spoken.

Hadn't done anything but sit in the same plastic chair, hunched over, her fingers clasped together so tightly they ached, like holding onto herself was the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely.

Sam sat next to her, just as stiff, just as quiet.

She had tried—at first—to say something, to get Tara to drink some water, to get her to breathe, but Tara couldn't.

She couldn't do anything.

She could only wait.

Wait and hope and pray that at any second, some random, exhausted doctor would walk through those double doors, look her in the eyes, and tell her you were alive.

And eventually—

After what felt like an entire lifetime—

Someone did.

Tara's head snapped up the second she heard your name, her chest tight as she stared at the doctor in front of her, unable to breathe, move, think.

She wanted good news.

Needed it.

But she knew better.

Even before he spoke, even before she saw the look in his eyes, she knew there was no happy ending.

"The patient stabilized in surgery."

A pause.

A hesitation.

"But she is in a coma."

The words slammed into her.

Coma.

Coma.

She heard Sam exhale sharply beside her, heard the way her sister's body tensed, but Tara—

Tara felt nothing.

Or maybe she felt everything at once.

Because she should be relieved, shouldn't she?

You weren't dead.

You weren't six feet under.

You weren't a name carved into a headstone.

Your heart was still beating.

Your body was still here.

There was still a chance.

She should be grateful.

She should be grateful.

But all she could do was stare.

Stare at the doctor.

Stare at the fluorescent lights buzzing above her.

Stare at her own hands, still covered in your blood.

Because how the fuck was she supposed to accept this?

How the fuck was she supposed to accept that you weren't here, not really, not anymore?

How the fuck was she supposed to live with the fact that you might never wake up?

The first time Tara walked into your hospital room, she thought she was going to be sick.

Because it was you—

It was you.

Your face, your hair, your body—

But at the same time, it wasn’t.

Your skin was too pale. Your lips were too dry. Your body looked too small under the weight of the hospital blankets, like there was less of you now, like the attack had taken something she could never get back.

And worst of all—

Worst of all—

Your eyes were closed.

Not like when you were asleep, not like when she could nudge your arm and whisper your name and hear you grumble in response.

This was different.

This was wrong.

And Tara couldn't fucking stand it.

So she did what she always did when she didn't know how to cope—

She stayed.

She stayed through the first night, sitting at your bedside, refusing to let anyone move her.

She stayed through the second, through the third, through the fourth, through every single hour, every single shift change, every single moment that passed where you didn't wake up.

She was always there.

Always.

No matter how much Sam begged her to go home, to get some actual sleep, to take care of herself for once.

No matter how many times the nurses told her she needed a break, that she couldn't sit there forever, that you weren't going anywhere.

She didn't care.

She couldn't care.

Because what if you woke up and she wasn't there?

What if you opened your eyes and she wasn't the first thing you saw?

She couldn't let that happen.

She wouldn't let that happen.

So she stayed.

And she talked to you.

She talked to you about everything.

She read her texts out loud—Mindy's updates, Chad's stupid jokes, Sam's endless concerns.

She told you what was going on outside, what she saw from the hospital windows, how the city looked the same even though everything had changed.

She braided your hair, just to have something to do with her hands, just to feel like she was taking care of you in some way, even if you didn't know it.

She curled up next to you in bed, not caring if she was uncomfortable, not caring if her body ached from lying still too long, not caring about anything but being close to you.

And some days—

Some days she was angry.

Not at the doctors.

Not at the Ghostfaces who had done this.

Not at herself.

But at you.

Because how the fuck could you do this to her?

How the fuck could you just lay there while she was falling apart?

How the fuck could you not wake up

She would sit at your bedside, gripping your hand so tightly it left marks, whispering please, please, please through clenched teeth.

Some days she would beg.

Some days she would yell.

Some days she would just cry.

But every day—

Every single fucking day—

She would stay.

But then.

It happened on a Wednesday.

Or maybe it was a Thursday.

Tara wasn't sure anymore. Time had stopped making sense a long time ago.

All she knew was that Sam had been relentless—pressuring, bribing, threatening, begging her to go home.

And at first, Tara refused.

Because how the fuck was she supposed to just leave? How was she supposed to walk away while you were still lying there, unconscious, unaware, not even able to notice she was gone?

She had told Sam no.

Over and over and over again. OVER AGAIN

But somehow, some way, Sam had gotten to her.

Maybe it was the exhaustion.

Maybe it was the way her own clothes had started to feel stiff with dried blood and days-old sweat.

Maybe it was the way the nurses kept looking at her, like they were worried, like they were waiting for her to break.

Or maybe it was the fact that, deep down, she knew Sam was right.

So she left.

Just for a little while.

Just to shower.

Just to change.

Just to pack some extra clothes—yours too, just in case. Because when you woke up, you wouldn't want to stay in a hospital gown. You'd want real clothes, something comfortable, something normal.

She even let herself picture it for a second—

The way you'd sigh when you saw what she brought, the way you'd tease her for picking something too baggy or too tight or not what you would have chosen.

The way you'd sit up, bleary-eyed, still weak but there, and she'd help you get dressed like she had a million times before.

That's all it was supposed to be.

A quick trip.

A moment of preparation for the future she was sure was coming.

But then—

Then she laid down in her bed.

And she couldn't move.

She told herself it was just for a second, just to rest her eyes, just to feel something that wasn’t a stiff hospital chair.

But that second stretched into a minute.

Then an hour.

Then a whole fucking night.

And when she woke up—

When she woke up, she was supposed to go back.

She was supposed to be at the hospital right now.

But she couldn't.

She couldn’t.

Because the image of you lying there—pale, still, lifeless—was burned into her fucking brain.

And she wasn't sure she could see it again.

Because it didn't even feel real anymore.

It felt like they were lying to her, like the doctors and the nurses and the beeping machines were all just some elaborate trick to stop her from completely falling apart.

Like you were already dead and they just didn't want her to know.

And she didn't think she could handle looking at you, knowing you were technically alive but still feeling like she had already lost you.

So she stayed home.

And she told herself it was just for a little longer.

Just one more hour.

Just until the afternoon.

Just until the evening.

Just until tomorrow.

And then tomorrow came.

And she told herself the same fucking thing.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Tara knew that.

She wasn't supposed to be here. She was supposed to be there, in that tiny, sterile room with the too-bright lights and the never-ending beeping of your heart monitor.

But she hadn't been there in—

Fuck.

How long had it been?

A week?

Maybe longer?

She didn't know anymore.

The first few days had been the worst. Every morning, Sam would ask her—Do you want me to come with you?—and every morning, Tara would say the same thing.

I'll go later.

Later.

Always later.

But later never came.

Because there was always an excuse.

She wasn't feeling great. She had too much homework. She needed to sleep.

She had plans with Chad.

Or Mindy.

And Sam never called her out on it.

She never said I know you're lying, never forced Tara to get up and go, never made her face what she was trying so fucking hard to avoid.

She just nodded, lips pressing together, like she was holding back a lot of things she wanted to say.

And then there were the hospital calls.

They didn't come every day. But when they did, Tara never picked up.

She could imagine what they were saying.

How it must have been strange to them—

How she had spent days refusing to leave your side, only to suddenly disappear, like she had given up.

And maybe—

Maybe that's exactly what she had done.

Because in the beginning, she thought being there meant something.

She thought that if she talked to you, if she held your hand, if she begged you to wake up, maybe—just maybe—you actually would.

But you didn't.

You didn’t.

So what was the point?

What was the point in going back?

It wouldn't make a difference.

You wouldn't wake up just because she was there.

You wouldn't even know.

And she—

She wasn't sure she could handle looking at you, knowing that.

So sometimes, Tara tried to pretend you were just away.

On a trip somewhere, maybe.

She'd picture you on a beach, stretched out in the sun, laughing at some dumb joke a stranger had told you. Or maybe in a different city, wandering through streets you'd never seen before, texting her updates every few hours.

She'd tell herself that you were fine, that you were just busy, that you'd be back soon.

But it never worked.

Because the second she turned on her phone, there was another reminder waiting for her.

A missed call from the hospital.

A thinking of you text from Anika.

A question from Chad—When's the last time you went to see her?

And Tara hated it.

Because every time someone asked, they assumed the answer was yesterday.

They assumed she was still going.

And she hated that, too.

Because it made her feel like she should be going.

Like she should still be sitting at your bedside, still talking to you, still believing that maybe, maybe, you would actually wake up.

But she wasn't.

And she didn't.

And she was tired.

Tired of people looking at her with that soft, sad expression, like they were waiting for her to break.

Tired of Sam and Mindy and Chad and everyone else acting like they knew you'd be okay.

Tired of the fucking hospital calls, the fucking questions, the fucking hope.

And sometimes—

Sometimes, she was tired of you.

For not waking up.

For making her feel like an idiot for believing, even for a second, that you ever would.

And she hated that she felt that way.

Because it wasn't your fault.

But she still wanted to blame you.

She wanted to be mad at you, wanted to yell at you, wanted to shake you and demand to know why.

Why you had to get hurt.

Why you had to leave her here like this.

Why you weren't waking up.

Why you never would.

It had been weeks now.

Weeks since Tara had last walked through that hospital corridor.

Since she'd last sat by your bed, waiting for something to change.

Since she'd last let herself HOPE.

She told herself that it was fine. That it was normal.

That you wouldn't want her to spend every second of every day sitting in that damn chair, waiting for a ghost of a movement that would never come.

That you'd want her to go out, to be around friends, to breathe for once instead of drowning in the same thoughts over and over again.

And Chad—Chad made that easy.

He distracted her.

Dragged her to parties, pulled her into conversations, gave her something to focus on that wasn't the memory of you lying still and silent in that fucking hospital bed.

And she let him.

Because it was easier to be here, laughing at one of his stupid jokes, than it was to be there, watching you not wake up.

And every time that guilt crept in—every time she thought about how you were still there while she was out here—she reminded herself that this was what you'd want.

That you'd want her to be happy.

That you'd want her to be okay.

And if she just kept telling herself that—

Maybe one day, she'd actually believe it.

___

It took a lot for her to get here. More than anyone knew.

Because nights like these—loud music, too many people, voices blending together until they didn't even sound like words—used to be something she loved. Before. Before the hospital. Before you.

But now, everything felt different. Too loud. Too fast. Too much.

Because it wasn't just a party—it was leaving. It was stepping out of her room, out of her head, out of the cycle she'd been trapped in for weeks. It was choosing to be somewhere else, somewhere that wasn't a hospital waiting room or the inside of her own thoughts. And that choice felt heavier than it should have.

She had almost backed out a hundred times. When she stood in front of her closet, staring at the clothes she hadn't worn in weeks. When she slipped on her shoes and felt how unfamiliar they were, like she had forgotten what it was like to go anywhere but home. When she grabbed her jacket and stopped in the doorway, telling herself that if she left now—if she really left—then it would mean something.

Tara had almost turned around the second she stepped inside. Had almost let the pulsing beat and the heat of the room push her right back out the door. But then someone had handed her a drink, and someone else had pulled her toward the couch, and she'd let it happen—because that was easier than thinking. Easier than remembering the other nights she'd spent alone, staring at her phone, knowing exactly where she should be and refusing to go anyway.

Someone shoved a drink into her hand, someone else pulled her toward the couch, and she let it happen. She let herself be here, because that was easier than thinking. Easier than wondering if she should be anywhere else.

So she sat. She stayed. She let the noise settle around her, let the weight in her chest dull just enough to breathe.

And maybe that was why, when someone sank onto the couch beside her, when their knee brushed hers, when their voice—steady, familiar—cut through the noise, she didn't immediately pull away.

She didn't have to look to know who it was.

"Hey, T."

Chad's voice was easy, familiar—like nothing about this was strange, like it was just another night. Tara turned her head slightly, enough to see the lazy grin tugging at his lips, the way he slouched back against the couch like he belonged there.

"Didn't think I'd see you here."

Tara turned her head slightly, enough to catch Chad watching her, a lazy grin playing at his lips. He had a drink in one hand, the other slung casually over the back of the couch like he had been here for a while.

"When'd you get here?" she asked instead of answering.

"Like an hour ago," Chad said, tipping his drink toward her in some half-formed gesture. He leaned back against the couch, exhaling like he'd been here for a while, like this was just another night. "Mindy's already yelling at people over their taste in horror movies. She's been going off about Hereditary for the last ten minutes."

Tara huffed a quiet breath. "I'm surprised she hasn't gotten banned from parties by now."

"Give it time."

Chad smirked, nudging her knee with his, and for a moment—just a moment—this almost felt like how things used to be.

But then the silence crept in. Not real silence—music was still thudding through the walls, voices still blending into the background—but the kind that settled between words. The kind that gave room for thoughts she didn't want to have.

And she could feel it.

Because this was the part where you would've jumped in. The part where you would've teased Mindy's dramatics, the part where you would've slung an arm around Tara's shoulders, warmth and confidence and energy spilling over into everyone around you. You loved parties. Maybe even more than she did. You were always the one pulling her onto the dance floor, the one convincing her to stay just a little longer, the one filling every night with something bigger than just music and drinks and meaningless conversations.

If you were here, this night wouldn't feel so empty.

If you were here, Tara wouldn't be sitting stiffly on a couch, holding onto a drink like it was the only thing grounding her. You'd be tugging her toward the dance floor, laughing against her ear, telling her to loosen up, babe, it's a party. You'd be pressing up against her, hands on her hips, turning a casual sway into something that meant something. And eventually—eventually—you'd be pulling her away from the crowd, finding some empty bedroom, letting her press you against the door with her lips against yours.

That's how tonight was supposed to go.

But you weren't here.

And Chad—he was thinking about that, too.

She could tell by the way he shifted beside her, by the way his grip tightened slightly around his cup, by the breath he let out, like he was bracing himself to say something he wasn't sure he should say.

Tara already knew what it was. She knew before he even opened his mouth.

He was going to ask about you.

And she couldn't do this.

She didn't want to hear his voice shape your name, didn't want to see that soft, careful look in his eyes, didn't want to be reminded that everyone knew—that they all knew exactly where you were, what had happened to you, what had become of you.

So before he could say it—before he could ruin this moment, this fragile distraction—Tara lifted her drink and knocked back the rest of it in one long pull. Let the alcohol burn its way down her throat, fast and sharp and necessary.

She needed to get out of her own head. Needed the edges to blur, just a little.

And when she set her empty cup down, her hand was already reaching for another. Some half-finished drink left on the table in front of them, someone else's, untouched long enough that it didn't really belong to anyone anymore.

She didn't care.

She just wanted to forget.

Just for tonight.

And she did.

A few hours passed in a haze of too-loud music and too-smooth drinks, slipping through her like water.

She had loosened up. Had let herself sink into it, let herself laugh at things that weren't funny, let herself tilt her head back and feel the bass thrum through her bones like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

She had spoken to people, barely remembering faces, barely remembering names. But none of them had mentioned you.

Maybe they had forgotten.

Or maybe it was just easier to pretend. Because it wasn't like you were gone. You were still here—in whispers, in thoughts, in the space that people hesitated to step into. But you weren't really a person anymore, not in the way you used to be. You were a memory, a tragedy, a thing that people danced around, careful not to get too close.

And so Tara danced, too.

Without you.

It felt wrong. It felt like breaking something sacred. But it was easy to ignore that when her limbs were light, when the alcohol softened the edges, when no one was looking at her like they were waiting for her to fall apart.

And eventually—eventually—she found herself back on the couch, back where the night had started, back where Chad was still sitting.

Her body felt light, her head a little heavier, but not in a way that mattered. Not in a way she cared to notice. The music wasn't as loud anymore, or maybe she just wasn't listening. Voices blurred together, but none of them sounded like yours, and that was enough. That was all she needed.

Chad glanced over when she sat down, tipping his drink slightly in her direction like some kind of wordless toast. His eyes flicked over her outfit, and he smirked, leaning in just a little.

"You look good in black.”

Tara huffed out something that could've been a laugh, stretching her legs out in front of her.

"Yeah, well, I always wear black."

"Still," Chad shrugged. "It suits you."

She rolled her eyes but didn't argue. Didn't say anything, really. Because her skin was warm, her limbs felt light, and the weight in her chest—the weight that had been pressing down for weeks—wasn't as heavy anymore.

She let her head tip back against the couch, let herself breathe. Let herself exist in this moment, in this space, without thinking about where she should be, or who should be here with her.

It was easier that way.

He smiled. And maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the warmth of the room, maybe it was just that she was tired—but something about the way he was looking at her felt different. Not bad. Just... different.

For a moment, she just looked at him. At the way he was watching her—not expectantly, not like he was waiting for something. Just LOOKING.

She didn't know why she noticed it now, why it felt DIFFERENT now, but it did. Maybe because it had been a long time since someone looked at her like that. Like she was more than just tired eyes and half-finished sentences.

Like she was here.

Not in a hospital room. Not sitting in the quiet, waiting. Not halfway stuck in something she couldn't change.

And maybe it was stupid, maybe it was just the alcohol, maybe it didn't mean anything—

But she didn't move when he shifted closer.

Didn't pull away when his gaze dropped to her lips.

Didn't say anything when his fingers brushed her jaw, so barely there it almost didn't feel real.

She knew what was coming.

And she should stop it. She should turn her head, she should say something.

But then his lips were on hers, and—

For a second, her breath hitched.

For a second, something cold curled in her chest, something sharp that made her almost pull away.

Maybe she should have. Maybe some part of her wanted to.

But Tara was tired.

She was tired of the weight pressing down on her chest, of the way everything felt wrong all the time. Tired of the dull ache in the back of her head that never really went away.

And tonight was the first time in weeks that it hadn't been there.

So when Chad's fingers brushed against her jaw, when he leaned in—slow, careful, like he was giving her a chance to pull away—she just... didn't.

And when his lips met hers, she let him.

She didn't think. Didn't analyze it, didn't pick apart what it meant, didn't try to figure out if it should mean anything.

She just let it happen.

Because thinking was exhausting. Thinking meant remembering, and remembering meant you.

And tonight, she just wanted to exist outside of that.

So she kissed him back.

And she didn't feel guilty.

Not at first.

And maybe that was the strangest part.

Because she should have. Should have felt that sharp sting of regret, that pull in her chest telling her she had done something wrong. But it never came.

Instead, she just felt...lighter. Like something inside her had finally shifted, like something had clicked into place in a way she hadn't expected.

And it didn't stop there.

She let Chad pull her closer, let his arm rest against the back of the couch, fingers grazing her shoulder. She let him lift her legs, shifting them into his lap, his hands lingering at her ankles, his thumbs brushing against the exposed skin there. She let him say nice things, flirty things, let herself listen without the immediate instinct to brush it off.

Because stopping felt weird.

Because she couldn't stop anything else in life, could she?

She couldn't stop what happened to you.

Couldn't stop the way things changed the second you weren't there. Couldn't stop the way the world kept moving forward without you in it.

So why should she stop this?

Why should she pull away when everything else had already been taken from her?

And an hour later, when she and Chad were standing side by side at the beer pong table, when the last ball landed in the final cup, when he threw his arms up in victory—

She didn't stop herself then, either.

Didn't stop her hands from reaching up, from grabbing his face, from pulling him down into a kiss.

It wasn't a conscious choice. It just... happened.

They won, right?

That was all it was. Just a moment. Just a win.

And when he kissed her back, when his hands settled against her waist—

She let that happen, too.

She let him guide her upstairs.

Through the hallway, past half-open doors and muffled voices, past the sound of the party still pulsing downstairs.

She let him press her against the bedroom door the second it shut behind them, let his hands grip her waist, his mouth on hers, warm and eager and wanting.

She let him push her onto the bed, his body over hers, his weight pressing her into the mattress.

She let him kiss down her neck, over her collarbone, let him pull her shirt over her head.

She let herself moan.

She let his hands roam, let his lips trail lower, let herself arch into the touch, let herself forget everything else except this.

She let him push himself in.

Let him thrust.

Let herself take it.

She let it happen.

Because stopping felt impossible. Because stopping meant thinking. And thinking meant remembering.

And she didn't want to remember.

Not tonight.

Tara knew what she should have felt after that.

What she should have done.

She should have pushed him off of her the second it was over, scrambled for her clothes, left the party without looking back. She should have gone straight to the hospital, straight to you, should have cried by your bedside and apologized over and over and over—even if you couldn't hear her, even if you never woke up to hear it.

She should have thrown up from the guilt, should have felt it twisting deep in her stomach, making her sick, making her sorry.

But she didn't.

She laid there instead. Stretched out on the bed, chest rising and falling, skin warm, heartbeat slowing. Chad lay beside her, one arm lazily draped over his stomach, breath steady, like this was just—normal. Like it was nothing at all.

And that's what she told herself too.

That it was nothing.

It didn't mean anything.

It was just a party. Just alcohol. Just loneliness.

And that excuse—at first—was enough.

But somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice whispered: It stopped being nothing the second you let him take off your bra.

She ignored it.

She didn't leave. Didn't pull away when Chad rolled onto his side, looking at her with that same easy, familiar smile.

And when he said something—low, teasing—she answered.

She talked to him.

Laid there, stayed there, and let the minutes slip past.

It shouldn't have happened again.

Tara knew that.

She knew it the second she left the bedroom, clothes rumpled, skin still warm, the air of the party pressing in around her like a reminder—like a weight. She knew it when she went home that night, when she stepped into the quiet of her bedroom, when she curled beneath the covers and stared at the ceiling, waiting for the guilt to settle.

But it didn't.

Not really.

And that was the problem.

Because it should have crushed her. It should have eaten her alive, kept her awake, filled her with a twisting, ugly sickness that left her gasping. It should have sent her to the hospital the next morning, should have put her at your bedside with tears in her eyes, whispering apologies to the silence, to the beeping machines, to the part of you that might still be able to hear her.

But she didn't go.

She didn't cry.

She didn't feel enough of anything to stop herself when it happened again.

And again.

It was supposed to be nothing. But nothing wouldn't have made her text him the next day, wouldn't have made her go looking for him at another party, wouldn't have made her say yes when he asked if she wanted to go somewhere quieter.

She told herself it didn't matter.

Because what was she supposed to do? Tell you?

She couldn't tell you.

You wouldn't hear her.

You wouldn't look at her, wouldn't cry, wouldn't scream or push her away or force her to see what she was doing. You wouldn't do anything.

She couldn't allow you to do anything.

You weren't supposed to be able to hit her, to yell at her, to leave her.

And maybe that was why it was okay.

Maybe that was why this was okay.

Because Chad was safe.

Because Chad wasn't you.

Because when she was with him, there was no weight, no pressure, no fear that she might destroy something fragile and real.

So she saw him again.

Let herself fall into the easy rhythm of his company, let herself forget.

It was different now.

She wasn't just seeing him at parties, wasn't just stumbling into his space, wasn't just kissing him because she was drunk and the music was loud and she wanted something to drown everything else out.

Now, she knew she would see him.

Now, she didn't drink as much. She didn't need to.

Because when she found him, when she sat next to him, when his arm stretched along the back of the couch or his knee pressed against hers, she could pretend that this was what she chose.

Not what she fell into.

Not what happened because she didn't know how to stop it.

She wasn't supposed to want this.

She wasn't supposed to want him.

But when he texted, she answered.

When he called, she picked up.

And when he kissed her, she kissed him back.

Like now.

A week after the party.

Another week without you waking up.

Another week where nothing changed—where she walked into that hospital room, sat by your bed, held your hand, and whispered words that never reached you.

Another week where she left, where she didn't go straight home, where she let her feet take her somewhere else.

Somewhere she could breathe.

Somewhere she could forget.

And now—now, she was doing just that.

She was in his bed, her body moving with his, their breaths tangled in the stillness of the room, the only sound the quiet creak of the mattress beneath them. His hands were on her skin, sliding over her waist, up her ribs, gripping her hips as he thrust into her.

And she let him.

Let her head fall back against the pillows. Let her fingers grip his shoulders. Let herself feel everything but think about nothing.

Because it was easier.

Easier to sink into this.

Easier to chase pleasure, to gasp against his mouth, to moan when his lips dragged over her throat.

Easier than facing the weight of another empty day, another silent visit, another reminder that nothing was getting better.

That you weren't getting better.

So she moved with him.

Let him pull her closer.

Let herself let go.

Her release tore through her, a sharp, shuddering thing that left her gasping, her body tensing before melting back into the bed. A loud moan escaped her lips, her head tipping back against the pillows, her limbs weak and shaking.

Chad followed soon after, groaning as he buried his face against her shoulder, his grip on her hips tightening for a moment before finally slackening.

And then it was over.

He rolled off her, collapsing onto his back, both of them a mess of sweat and heavy breaths. Tara stared up at the ceiling, her skin still tingling, her body still pulsing from the aftershocks.

She'd lost count of how many times it had happened tonight. Twice, maybe three times. It didn't really matter.

What mattered was that she still didn't feel better.

Chad turned his head, looking at her with a lazy, satisfied grin. She didn't look at him. She kept her gaze fixed on the ceiling, blinking up at the shadows cast by the dim light in the room.

"Getting better, aren't I?" he said, his voice low, teasing.

Tara let out a short, fake chuckle.

It wasn't funny.

He wasn't getting better.

You weren't getting better.

She wasn't getting better.

Nothing was getting better.

But then.

The sound of her phone buzzing cut through the quiet, sharp and insistent.

Tara barely thought before reaching for it, her hand fumbling along the bedside table until her fingers wrapped around the device. The screen lit up in the dim room, notifications flooding her vision—

A text from Sam, the words

ANSWER ME!!!

standing out in harsh, capitalized letters, punctuated with exclamation marks.

Her brows pulled together as she swiped down, revealing more—three missed calls from Sam. And below that, another string of missed calls, this time from a number she recognized instantly.

The hospital.

Four times. No—five.

Her stomach twisted.

She had their number memorized by now, burned into her brain after calling it over and over in the past, desperate for updates.

Still, her first thought wasn't that. It wasn't you.

It was that the hospital had been calling to check in again. Maybe to ask when she was coming back. It had been a while since she last went, and she knew how the nurses had gotten when she stayed away too long.

Beside her, Chad shifted, voice thick with exhaustion as he mumbled something—"What's wrong?”

Tara didn't answer.

Her fingers moved on instinct, tapping Sam's name, pressing the phone to her ear.

It rang once.

Twice.

Then—Sam picked up.

The line barely had time to connect before Sam's voice hit her, urgent and breathless—"Have you heard?"

Tara froze.

She couldn't tell what emotion was laced in Sam's voice. It was everything at once—shaken, unsteady. So she assumed the worst.

Her chest tightened.

The hospital. The missed calls. Sam's voice like that—fuck.

Her mind spiraled, flashing through every possibility, every horror.

You were dead.

That's what she thought.

That the shell you had become had finally broken. That your body had given up, collapsed in on itself, unable to keep going without you inside of it.

She could already feel her throat closing up, her vision growing blurry. Her lips parted—

"No," she said, barely a whisper. "What?"

Sam hesitated.

The world felt like it had stopped turning, the air thick and unmoving.

Then—Sam's voice, breaking through the static.

"She's awake."

Silence.

Tara's heart dropped.

The next words came softer, lighter, like a breath of relief—

"Y/N woke up."

[redvexillum]

Snapshots of Sunshine and Vox as they both navigate how to love and be with each other even in the depths of Hell. This series is posted on AO3 so click HERE if you want to read them there! 🥰

⋆˙⟡ — I. Mandatory Overtime

Rating 18+ || MDNI Your boss is a class-A hole, and you had envisioned tormenting him for all the overtime he was forcing you to work. Truly, he was ensuring that your time in Hell was...Hell. Perhaps it was you burning out, but you had a very vivid, steamy dream of your boss....At least, you were pretty sure it was a dream.

⋆˙⟡ — II. S♡X TOYS

Rating 18+ || MDNI Vox started to treat sex as part of his "to-do list." Unimpressed, you boo-ed him mid-fuck.

⋆˙⟡ — III. F♡CK MACHINE

Rating 18+ || MDNI Vox decides to introduce a new toy for you to use for his viewing pleasures.

⋆˙⟡ — IV. One Moment

Rating 18+ || MDNI You and Vox shared a tangled, messy relationship—one where Valentino always seemed to cast his shadow over you both. You understood why he had to be part of the picture, but that didn’t stop you from yearning for the impossible. You wanted Vox to choose you.

⋆˙⟡ — V. Cooling Period

Rating 18+ || MDNI You didn’t mind that Vox spent the last two Christmases with Valentino—it’s not like you were upset or anything. But this year, you’ve discovered something sweeter than holiday cheer: lollipops. And judging by the way Vox can’t take his eyes off you, they’re even better when used to stir up a little mischief.

⋆˙⟡ — VI. Shallow

Caught in a toxic power play on New Year’s Eve, Vox sacrifices his heart for the sake of image and control, sharing a public kiss with Valentino while the one person he truly longs for walks away.

⋆˙⟡ — VII. Choose Me

Rating 18+ || MDNI You never imagined Vox would choose you, so when he surprised you by saying he’d spend both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with you, it left you speechless. Determined to make this a day to remember, you set aside any lingering doubts and focused on what truly mattered—the chance to share special moments with him. This Christmas would be different, a fresh start filled with joy, laughter, and unforgettable memories.

⋆˙⟡ — VIII. Status Gap

Rating 18+ || MDNI You and Vox had just started to explore a serious relationship, or so you believed—until one explosive fight left you both locked in a silent war, fuelled by stubborn pride. Days stretched by as neither of you made a move to reconcile, leaving you heartbroken yet determined to finally let go and move forward. But just as you began to find your footing without him, Vox made it clear he wasn’t about to let you slip away that easily.

⋆˙⟡ — IX. Anniversary

Rating 18+ || MDNI As desire and vulnerability intertwine, you realize your connection is far more than fleeting lust. With confessions of love, you embrace a deeper bond, choosing Vox again and again.

[aglionbyacademia]

(some of) the trojans doing the hear me out cake challenge and who/what I think they’d put on there

Jeremy: Jack Frost (Rise of the Guardians), Santa (Rise of the Guardians), the Easter bunny (Rise of the Guardians)(Jeremy just really likes this movie okay), the moon, cherry flavor vape, djungelskog, Mothman, Diego (Ice Age), Lightning McQueen (Cars), Bill Cipher (Gravity Falls), a crisp canned Diet Pepsi, Scar (the Lion King), salted butter popcorn, Appa (Avatar: The Last Airbender), Abracadabra by Lady Gaga, a yo-yo, Kevin Day

Cat: Sally (A Nightmare before Christmas), some high quality Espresso machine, Royal Enfield Classic 350, barkbark (she only puts him on to mess with Jeremy), Sudoku, McFlurry, Satisfyer Pro+ G-Spot (enthusiastic nodding from all the girls present), sour patch kids (Jeremy says “jeez those are children, cat”), Aloe Vera plant, Kevin Day (yes she’s a lesbian yes she would make an exception for him)

Laila: boba, the Billy bookshelf from IKEA, Philomena Cunk, a yankee candle, the tooth fairy (Rise of the Guardians), Sally (Cars), the dragon (Shrek), fuzzy socks, sour apple flavored lollipops, human skeleton prop, a clear quartz crystal, Wanda (Fairly Oddparents), Pink Pony Club by Chappell Roan, the moon, Kevin Day (same as Cat, they’d do him together)

Cody: the dude on the pringles can, Gerard Way, Timmy Turner’s dad (Fairly Oddparents), a $100 bill, blåhaj, Pennywise, Bigfoot, any Banshee or ghoul, the number 3 (Jean gives him a side eye), Helena Bonham Carter as Red Queen specifically, Trixie Mattel, Vanessa Doofenschmirtz (Phineas & Ferb), Azula (Avatar: The Last Airbender), any Curry dish, 1973 Chevrolet Camaro, this:

and Kevin Day

Ananya: Mr Crocker (Fairly Oddparents), Cosmo (Fairly Oddparents), Scar (The Lion King), Espresso Martini, Pumpkin Spice scented candles, Fenty Gloss Bomb in the shade Fenty Glow, Monstera plant, Cody Winter (Pat high-fives her, Cody blushes), Tendō Satori (Haikyuu), Phineas and Ferb’s mom, Coach Wymack, Katya Zamolodchikova, the stardust period tracker app, Ghostface, succulents, Kevin Day

Patrick: Matty Healy, Sevika (Arcane)(yelling ensues because she’s just hot and doesn’t qualify as a hear me out), Heimerdinger (Arcane), Cody Winter (now Cody asks why he qualifies as a hear me out, Pat and Anyana just giggle), Matt Boyd, Spirit the horse, Gill (Finding Nemo), an Octopus, tea with milk,Thea Muldani, Colonel Sanders, sunscreen, coffee flavored chocolate, strawberry milk, Ghostface, Kevin Day

Xavier: one of those frog hats, Instax mini polaroid camera, iced hazelnut latte with oat milk from Dunkin’ Donuts, a fidget spinner, birch trees, Spirit the horse, Jafar (Aladdin), Ursula (The little Mermaid), Allison Reynolds, the first fall of snow, Berry B. Benson (Bee Movie), Squidward, Lin Manuel Miranda as Alexander Hamilton, Nicholas Cage, Kevin Day

Jean: a salted caramel flavored Protein Bar, Jeremy Knox, a Stanley cup, the sun, Neil Josten, Cappuccino, heart shaped sunglasses, Bambi by Clairo (I just feel like Jean would love Clairo ok), pastel colors, ivy plants, oat milk, watermelons, brownies made out of sweet potato, the smell of freshly mowed grass, Renee Walker, the feeling of direct sunlight on his skin, oversized sweaters, this emoji 🙂‍↕️, Kayleigh Day, a green smoothie, Kevin Day

(I want to add that I think the Trojans would have had to explain this game to Jean multiple times and that Jean was struggling big time to find things, especially things he’d share with the group. I feel like he doesn’t know many pop culture references or childhood shows and movies that the others mentioned so he went a more abstract way. He had lots of help from Cat while compiling his list)