#playing around with patterns!! it is now an addiction..

[tonycries]

Never Ever Seen This Before!

Synopsis. There’s a first time for everything - including trying out dirty little kínks with them.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, unprotected, cóckwarming, mating press, oral (female + male receiving), manhandling, marking, spitting, bóndage, spanking (Nanami’s), dynamics, degradation, cúmplay, squírting, some HEINOUS things, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.6k

A/N. *sigh* can’t believe I deleted this before. If you know, then YOU KNOW.

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Stay still, goddammit!

Was being stuffed full of your boyfriend’s thick cock at all times really too much to ask? You think not. 

Toji, however, really didn’t see the point.

“But, doll.” he groans, dragging his tip lazily in-between your swollen folds. And it was so sloppy - slick trailing down his length, smearing across the sheets. “Jus’ wanna fuck your pretty lil’ cunt.”

It’s not that Toji doesn’t like the feeling of your tight pussy wrapped around his cock. No, he loves it - is addicted even. And he loves it especially when you attack him in the morning like this - his pretty girl, all splayed out on her side, barely even blinking the sleep out of her eyes before you ache for his dick. 

But, really, what’s the use of staying still - he’d rather fuck you till you’re breathless and creaming around his cock.

“Toji, you promised we’d try. Jus’ want to be stuffed full of your cock.” you pout, batting your lashes behind at him. “Don’ make me go on a sex ban.”

Oh, you little minx. He knew all your dirty tricks - yet, fell for them each time anyway. “Fine. Then fucking-” he lifts your legs a little higher, hips pulling back ever-so-slightly. “Take it.”

You barely even hear the rest of his sentence because Toji’s immediately bullying his throbbing dick into your pussy. Pushing against the resistance as you struggle to take his thick cock, not stopping till he’s buried all the way in your wet cunt.

Smirking at the way you mewl and grind your hips back into his, he wraps two muscled arms around your waist, holding you still on his cock. Murmuring in your ear, low and gravelly, “Not s’pposed to move, doll. Remember?

God, he knows you feel the way he twitches inside your dripping cunt at the way you whisper out a shaky little, “Y-yeah. No moving.”

And stubbornly you grit your teeth, being able to do nothing more than clamp down so deliciously on Toji’s pulsing cock as you stay still, relishing in the burn of him stretching you impossibly.

And maybe it’s been minutes - or even hours, because God did it feel that way to Toji as he watched you being broken by the mere feeling of being split apart on his cock. Patience slowly waning, he snakes down a hand to your poor, forgotten clit. Index tracing lightly over the sensitive bud. 

“T-Toji what-” you immediately jolt, finally getting an ounce of the friction your cunt has been aching for this whole time. Mindlessly grinding into his erection - only to be stopped by a large hand on your hip. 

“No moving, doll. Remember?”

“But-”

“Didn’t say anything about playing with your pretty lil’ clit now, did you?” he hums, knowing you were playing right into his hands. “Now. Don’t move.”

Ah, you can do nothing but lay there and take it as Toji presses hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. Fingers starting to press, frantic, hard little circles on your swollen clit. Over and over- Like he was fucking you with his fingers the way he couldn’t with his dick. 

Ugh, damn him. Damn him and his fingers that knew you so well.

It was maddening.

“Toji- please.” you sob out, powerless against the bruising grip keeping you in place. You wanted to move. You wanted him so bad. 

“‘Please’ what?” he grunts. Clearly torn between focusing on drawing steady, agonizing patterns on your clit and fighting that feral part of himself that just wants to plunge into your pretty pussy over and over. Not stopping till you were cockdrunk and crying to cum.

“Please just fuck me- ah!”

Oh, you didn’t have to tell Toji twice. Because in one, fluid move, Toji’s pulling back, fucking you with harsh, jerky little movements of his hips. Twitching balls smacking you with each thrust. Not even caring to wait and let you adjust because fuck cockwarming, he’s wanted this so long and your needy lil’ pussy is milking him so good- “Shhh, it’s okay, doll. We have lotsa time to practice.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - So mean!

Nanami Kento was a gentleman. Always holding the door open, guiding you through crowds, gifting you bouquets even when there wasn’t a special occasion. 

The only problem was that Nanami was a gentleman even when you didn’t want him to be. Even when what you really wanted was for him to push you down and tease you till you were crying and begging for his cock. 

Like right now - kissing softly down your neck, large hands trailing across your skin as he lays you gently on your bed. Long fingers dipping into your soaked panties, drawing delicate patterns on your quivering thighs. But you’re not in the mood for delicate.

“K-Kento!” you whine, hips bucking into his featherlight touches. “Can we ah- do that thing we talked about?”

“I don’t want to hurt you, darling.” he murmurs against your skin. 

You let out a pouty whine, one that you knew would make him break. “But I want you to, Kento. Wan’ you to break me. Please.”

He lets out a resigned sigh, running a hand through his hair. A loaded second of silence passes. One. Two. And just as you’re about to admit defeat, surprisingly, it’s Nanami that breaks the silence. “Fine then. Face down, ass up if you want to act like such a lil’ slut.”

You scramble to do what he says, mind reeling from the fact that oh this was Nanami - the same Nanami who’d never raised his voice or ever called you anything other than terms of endearment.

“Hm, good.” he grits out.

And that’s all you hear before a deafening rip! rings through the heady room. Looking back in shock, you realize with a jolt that Nanami had your tattered panties in his hands, your dripping cunt on full display for him. 

As he positions himself behind you, resting his swollen cock the curve of your ass. Mindlessly, you push back against the feeling of Nanami’s achingly hard cock, hot and heavy on your skin, precum smearing everywhere. “Ken-”

Smack!

“Not Kento, darling.” he murmurs, palms smoothing over your ass. Lips kissing down your spine, in a way that would be so sweet if it wasn’t for the way he had you under his mercy. 

You let out a strangled moan at the sharp sting, his large handprint searing into your skin.  “S-sir?” you whisper, almost-experimentally. And oh was it the right answer - because he groans appreciatively, dick jumping so animalistically at the term leaving your swollen lips. 

“Oh? So my slutty girl does know how to be good, huh?” he murmurs, voice so uncharacteristically dangerous. Hands spreading your swollen folds to take in the sight of your wet pussy. “Shit. Since m’feeling so nice, count to five n’ I’ll fill that tight lil’ cunt with my cock.”

You barely have the time to wonder what he means before you feel a sharp slap against your ass. Forcing you to yelp out a strained little, “O-one, sir.”

Nanami hungry eyes greedily take in the fat tears clinging to your lashes, hips bucking into his for more. Your mouth dropping into such a delicious little oh! as you’re torn between pain and pleasure. 

You were so sweet falling apart underneath him that he can’t help but do it again. Smack! And again. Smack! 

“Two. Hah! N’ t-three.”

Good, now it was time to put his good girl to the test. 

With a low hiss of appreciation, he drags his throbbing cock across your wet folds, gathering your sweet juices on his tip. At the same time, Nanami’s hand connects with your ass again. Hard. Smack! 

“Ah! Oh-”

“Count.”

“Four! Ngh- four, sir.”

Nanami’s amusement spikes at the way you were so desperately rutting into his cock. And, well, what his pretty slut wants - she gets, right?

Several things happen at once,  he swiftly raises his hand for a final, hard smack. Hips reeling back ever-so-slightly to ram his cock into your snug cunt at the same time. Smack! 

“Ah! Kento- Kento hgnh- shit feel s’good inside me.” you mewl, drunk off both the sharp sting on your ass and Nanami bullying his thick cock into your tight pussy, filling you up so good. 

But not for long - because as soon as he was stuffing you full of his cock, Nanami’s pulling out just as fast. Your pussy clenching around nothing as you whirl behind to pout at him. Only for whatever whine to get stuck in your throat at two fingers shoving something flimsy and wet in your mouth. Forcing you to taste yourself.

Gagging around your soaked panties, a jolt runs down your spine at the positively feral glint in his eyes. Blinking away the tears in your eyes to take in the cruel little smile playing on his lips as he leans in closer to whisper, “My lil’ slut can’t even seem to remember what to call me, huh? I think she should be punished.”

Oh.

What have you done?

♡ GETO SUGURU - Drown me in it!

Geto Suguru has done it all - folded you in half, stuffed you full from all ends, had you begging and crying for more underneath him. He can confidently say that he hasn’t shied away from ticking off everything on the list.

That is until one random night in the shower, when he gets an epiphany - oh shit, Geto hasn’t made you squirt yet. Yes, it was the sudden image of you covering him in all your sweet juices. But more importantly - how dare he let his pretty girl go so long without cumming so hard you see the pearly gates of heaven? 

So - like any good boyfriend - Geto has you splayed out on his navy sheets, your legs in the air, his painfully hard cock buried in your dripping cunt. 

“Hngh- please. Shit shit shit m’cumming-” you whine, hips bucking wildly into his. Tears streaming down your face, clenching so hard around his dick that it makes it hard for Geto to thrust in and out at his steady, torturous rhythm. Fucking you through- which number orgasm was this again? 

Ah, it doesn’t matter - because you didn’t squirt. Again. 

“Awww…” you can barely hear his words over the blood roaring in your ears. “Didn’t squirt on that one either. C’mon now, my love, I know y’can do it f’me.”

Not wasting a second, Geto’s ramming his cock into your snug cunt once more. Heavy balls stinging your ass with each thrust - not even easing you into it any more because oh your little sobs were so pretty. Squirming and bucking into his touch despite your protests. “S-Sugu- I hah-, can’t-”

Now, as much as Geto loved your smart mouth - he loved it even more when you’re cockdrunk and babbling underneath him. Huffing out a laugh, he murmurs in your ear, “Yes, my love?” Veins grazing that one spot. Hard. “Can’t what?”

“Can’t cum anymore!”

Well - greedy gaze drinking in the way your swollen cunt swallowed him up so well, slick dripping down to his twitching balls - Geto begged to differ.

“Shut up. You will.” he mutters, shifting the angle to hit that one spot that has you gasping and bucking your hips for more. Your fists bunching up the soaked sheets below you, fucking yourself desperately into his throbbing cock. Curling deftly against that one spot. Over and over-

“Close, my love?” Geto sing-songs, “Think this could be the one?”

And oh does he find out. Because you’re cumming again - stars behind your eyes, walls clamping down so sinfully as he fucks you through your high. Your nails claw at his shoulders in an effort to get him to fucking slow down - but no, Geto is ruthless with his abuse. Hips faltering only once you show signs of your high bating. 

And before you can even react, your boyfriend’s starting his movements again. Milking himself on your heavenly pussy. 

You can’t even form coherent sentences at this point, only fucked-out whimpers leaving your swollen lips - it’s been like this for hours now. You’ve cum more times than you can probably count, yet here Geto was - not even once tonight. A slow, agonizing torture for the both of you. All because he wanted you to fucking squirt.

His thumb was ravaging your sensitive clit, pleasure nothing more than tingles now as Geto fucking ruins you. Hips bullying his thick cock into your heated pussy, thrusts no more than sloppy little movements. Your pussy dripping onto your bedroom floor.

Unforgiving. Geto Suguru was absolutely unforgiving. 

“C’mon, my love.” his words were so sweetly whispered in your ear - barely audible over your cries. Geto nips at your earlobe, purring lowly, “Squirt on this one, n’ I’ll fill your pretty lil’ pussy with my cum like you want s’bad.”

And then, it happens - something snaps.

Your orgasm crashes through you. So violent and hard that you see flashes of white behind your eyes. You cry out, trembling as your sloppy pussy squirts all over Geto. Covering him in all your sweet juices till his abs are glistening with your slick. Dripping down his body and absolutely soaking the sheets below.

And oh how he was entranced. Geto barely registers his own orgasm, hips faltering as he pumps thick, hot ropes of seed into your quivering cunt. Cumming at the mere sight of you creaming on his cock. His pretty girl was so gorgeous squirting all over him.

It was so so worth edging the both of you to the brink of insanity. He thinks his only regret was not having you squirt all over his face too.

Well…now he only had to see if he could do it twice.

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Lollipop!

Shit, you thought your best friend would have a huge dick - but this was ridiculous. 

So intimidatingly long and pretty, swollen tip flushed your favorite shade of pink, matching his blushing cheeks. Beads of precum leaking down, down, down the side so mouth-wateringly as you seat yourself in-between those sculpted thighs.

“Y-you sure about this, sweetheart?” Choso hisses, despite the way his cock throbs animalistically in your soft hands. 

You raise a brow, batting your lashes so deceivingly innocently. “Are you sure, Cho? S’your first, after all.”

He should say no. He should laugh it off as a joke. He shouldn’t ruin this friendship - but oh how badly he wanted to see your pretty lips wrapped around his dick. Have you choking and gagging around him. So, any rationality thrown out the window, Choso nods slowly. Entranced. 

Grinning wickedly, you whisper, hot breath making his angry cock twitch “Thought so.” 

“But are you su- hngh!” Whatever sentence at the tip of his tongue is cut off as you spit on his length. Once. Twice. Your palms smearing the saliva along his throbbing length. Enough of an answer. And then there’s no more talking. 

Choso’s mouth drops into a fucked-out little oh! of disbelief as your tongue darts out to collect the saliva and precum pooling at his head. 

Moaning at his slightly salty taste, you take in as much of him as you can - inch by fucking inch. Not stopping till your nose meets the small tufts of black hair at this toned pelvis. Because this was your devastatingly sexy best friend and he deserved the best. 

God, Choso already thinks he could pass out. 

Heavy balls squeezing so painfully, his veins graze against the roof of your mouth as you start bobbing your head at a quick, ruthless pace. Milking Choso’s pretty cock for all he’s worth. Not even easing him into his first, because fuck only one taste and you’re already addicted. 

So, really, it only makes sense that Choso was the same. “Oh- Oh fuck! Feels s’good hngh-” he babbles, hips bucking up involuntarily into your warm, plush mouth. “Shit shit shit oh-.” 

Was this what heaven felt like? He really was missing out.

“Oh, fuck. Yeah, feel s’good around me, sweetheart.” he groans, as you tongue at his sensitive slit. Fingers digging into the soft armrest while he tries to keep himself together.

You notice - of course you do - because soon enough you’re grabbing his arms to rest on your head, teary eyes blinking up at him so sinfully as you suck the soul out of him. 

In a split-second, Choso’s carding his fingers through your hair, holding you steady as he rams his cock down your throat. 

“Fuck- m’s-sorry, sweetheart. S’too ngh- fucking good.” his words slur together, drunk off the way you gag around him. Letting yourself be so used as he fucks your mouth so ferally. Not half the man he was just a moment ago.

By God were you a vision, he thinks deliriously - tears stinging your eyes, drool dripping down the corner of your mouth, lips stretching so lewdly around him as you take him in and out in and out in and- And if he angled your head just right he could see the bulge in your throat. Him - all him. “Sorry- ah! s’pretty hgnh- pretty when you’re full of my cock.”

“Gonna be m’first, huh?” he moans deliriously, “”Gonna let me fuck up into that pretty lil’ mouth whenever I want?” 

The only response he gets are your pathetic, wet gurgles, and the smacking of his heavy balls hitting your chin. This was heaven and you were an angel.

And that only makes Choso speed up his sloppy thrusts more. Each thrust deeper and harder than the last. Balls tightening, feeling his sanity crumbling away each time his throbbing erection hits the back of your throat. Over and over-

“Ah! Sweetheart- m’not gonna last long. M’close-” he lets out a guttural groan, tugging on your hair to pull you away.

But alas, you seemed every bit intent on ruining him. Because the only response he gets are your nails digging deeper into his milky hips, leaving angry, red marks in their wake. Ones for him to remember you by - not that he thinks he could ever forget this.

And that itself is enough to have Choso spilling into your mouth. Shooting thick, hot spurts of seed down your waiting throat. 

Messy. It was so fucking messy.

Heart in his throat, breaths ragged, Choso has to blink his vision back. And if he thought he was going to pass out before then he wasn’t ready for you to proudly stick out your tongue - showing absolutely no trace of his cum. Swallowing everything he gives.

“I-I think,” he starts, voice shot, “S’time for me to return the favor.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Drunk on you(r cunt)!

Why the hell would the King of Curses ever kneel down to anyone? 

Why would he ever wrestle your legs so shamefully open, dive nose-first into your pretty pussy, and tease you with his tongue for hours? Ignoring his angry, achingly hard cock for the sole purpose of making you cum and only making you cum?

But, well, that’s exactly what happened. 

“Oh- Kuna! Please-” you mewl, big fat tears dripping down your face at this point. Not knowing whether to move your hips away or buck up into his tongue for more more more-

“What now, brat?” he hums into your dripping cunt, vibrations making you squeal. “Complained that I don’t eat out your pretty lil’ cunt n’ now you’re acting so spoiled?”

Ah, there it was - that offhand little remark that got you into this mess. “B-but,” you whine, stars behind your eyes each time Sukuna laps at your sweet juices. “Didn’t think you’d be so mean-”

All you get is a dark chuckle as Sukuna sucks on your throbbing clit, so sensitive from his relentless abuse. Rolling his tongue over it so teasingly. 

Now, this might be his first time eating you out, but he knows exactly what you need - what you crave. And the way your body trembled under his touch told Sukuna everything about how you were brinking so dangerously close to the edge. Too close. 

“Please, Kuna! Wan’ cum s’bad.” you cry out, broken little moans of pleasure leaving your swollen lips. Ones which quickly turn into disappointed whines as he pulls away. Again.

“M’not being mean.” he murmurs in your ear, drinking in that adorable little pout on your face. 

In the haze of your lust-addled mind, you barely register the way he flips you two to lay on his back. Manhandling you further up the mattress you to be splayed out so sinfully above him - thighs straddling his devastatingly handsome face, hot breath hitting your dripping cunt.

“See?” Sukuna hums, tongue darting out to catch the obscene drip! drip! drip! of your slick. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as lets your sweet juices slide down his throat. “M’the best fucking boyfriend you’ll ever have.” And with that, he’s bullying his tongue through your swollen fold. Stretching you, thrusting in and out of your sloppy hole. Over and over-

“Ngh- feels s’good. Ah fillin’ me up s’good.” you squeal, bucking your hips desperately into his pretty face, broken little whimpers leaving you at each rough push of Sukuna’s tongue. 

Why was he so reluctant again? Something about stupid fucking pride? Fuck that, Sukuna would be on his knees every day if it meant he got to taste you like this. Jaw grinding deeper into you as he eats you out like his last meal.

God, you were pretty sure you’d be collapsing onto him if it wasn’t for the strong hand holding your hips. Grip almost bruising as he rocks you harder - more obscenely - on his tongue. The other snakes down to draw rough, frenzied little circles on your swollen clit - as if you weren’t losing your sanity enough

And maybe if you were in a better state of mind you’d have noticed that Sukuna was, too. Eyes half-lidded, slick glistening down his jaw, pussy-drunk and watching awe-struck at the sinful sight of you. Devouring the sight of you the way he was with your cunt. 

Fuck, why does this feel so good? He wasn’t even fucking getting off, but the more he made out with your sweet cunt, the more he could feel himself edging closer and closer to the edge. Rock-hard cock angry and leaking precum all over his abs. The great Ryomen Sukuna cumming in his pants from eating his pretty girl out? 

Shit, Sukuna thinks deliriously, he was gonna have to make you cum. Soon. 

“Kuna- m’close.” you whimper, voice so soft as if you were afraid of being teased again.

“Oh yeah, brat?” he mutters into your folds, “Want it s’badly, huh? Wan’ cum on my tongue?” 

The vibrations have your body jerking violently. “Yes yes yes! Can’t take it anymore, wan’ cum. Make me cum, please!” you keen. Fucked-out little whines of Sukuna’s name leaving your mouth as he speeds up his movements.

“Then cum.”

And you are, clenching so lewdly around his soft tongue as you ride out your high on his face. Your juices glossing his lips so prettily. And oh Sukuna’s so entranced by you creaming around his tongue that he almost misses the feel of thick, hot spurts of his cum now pooling on his abs. Fuck, he was going to have to do this very often.

♡ GOJO SATORU - Break him!

Gojo always fucked you like his own personal sextoy. And now, it was only time for you to pay back the favor. Which is why you had him handcuffed to the bed, shirtless and splayed out to absolutely fucking ruin. 

“Hah, don’t worry, baby. I’ll be gentle.” Gojo chuckles, tugging on the metal cuffs. Still so cocky despite the way his throbbing dick was leaking all over his sculpted abs, twitching at the mere sound of your voice. 

“How nice.” you hum, sliding your pussy across his swollen cock, drenching him in your juices. “Because I won’t be.” And before Gojo can retort, you’re sinking down on his achingly hard cock, squeezing him inside your tight cunt as much as you can. 

“Shit shit shit, yes. Your pretty lil’ pussy feel s’amazing wrapped around me. You sure you can handle it all, baby?” 

You waste no time. Slamming down on Gojo’s leaking cock in one, abrupt motion, walls burning at the stretch as your ass meets his heavy balls. They twitch against you as you start moving in steady little bounces, sliding his thick cock in and out of your dripping cunt. In out in and out in and-

“Shit, baby. Fuckin’ me s’good ah! Hngh-” Gojo’s sinful moans come in ragged bursts. Fucking up into your pussy in shallow, defiant little thrusts to bully himself deeper and deeper inside you. But not for long - because you’re pushing his hips down, nails digging into the milky skin of his hips.

“Nope.” you hum, grinning at his pout. “Not till you admit defeat, Toru.”

“What defeat? That all you got, baby?” Gojo scoffs.

Stubborn bastard.

“‘What defeat’, huh?” you taunt. Leaning down so your breath fans his pretty face, “Said I couldn’t- handle it-” Each word is punctuated by you slamming down hard onto his swollen cock. Snug cunt massaging his veins as you pull up all the way - till his leaking tip is just kissing your sloppy hole, rocking your hips down hard at a punishing pace. “Look at you now, huh?”

You risk a glance into his eyes and oh- he liked it.

The great Gojo Satoru - revered like a God since birth - liked being treated like a mere fucktoy at your hands. Loved it even - if the way he twitched inside you was anything to go by it. Oh how you enjoyed being the one to bring him down to his knees.

Immediately, your hand reaches to grab the blindfold hanging haphazardly on his neck. “C’mon, Toru.” you warn, breaths ragged at the way his fat tip kissed your cervix. Tugging - hard - Gojo breath hitches in his throat as you whisper, “Jus’ give up.”

His pretty lips part slightly as you speed up your movements. Harsh, purposeful movements just to fuck his soul out. 

“God, fuck- hah. Nah, more talk than walk, huh?”

Your hand tightens around the delicate blindfold, relishing in the wet little gurgles that leave him at the pressure around his throat. Balls squeezing painfully as you hypnotize him with your heavenly cunt. Alternating between agonizingly slow strokes and a sloppy, erratic bouncing - edging him closer and closer to the edge. Only to shatter his orgasm and his ego. Fuck.

“I know you want to cum, Toru.” your sweet voice snaps him out of his reverie, and Gojo stares up into your hazy, powerdrunk eyes. “Just admit defeat.”

“No.”

“Toru.” you start, sultry and dangerous. “Admit it.”

He shakes his head desperately, tears peeking out through those long lashes. “No.” he repeats, jaw clenched tight.

A hand wraps around his blindfold, pulling him impossibly closer, not even a hair’s breadth between your sticky bodies. “Admit defeat, Toru.” your lips ghosting his, nipping at his bottom lip. “Admit defeat, n’ I’ll make your cock cum hard enough to see stars.”

And finally, “I hah- a-admit defeat.”

“Louder.”

“I was wrong! Was wrong, m’girl. Lemme cum please lemme cum-”

Throwing his head back, Gojo’s hips buck wildly into yours as you let him bully his dick into you with reckless abandon. Over and over- Using you just as much as you were using him. Not even an ounce of the God he was raised to be.

And oh does Gojo see stars - and you do too. Because with a strangled gasp of your name, he’s painting your snug cunt white with thick, hot ropes of his cum. 

Fucking his seed deeper and deeper, he fucks you through your high. Dazed blue eyes widening at the way your tight pussy was so overfilled, sticky seed dribbling out of you.  The sight of you creaming around his cock has his balls twitching exhaustedly. Fuck it was all too much. Flimsy handcuffs shattering with one pull, Gojo mutters raggedly, words sending shivers down your spine, “My turn, baby.”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.

[aeristudios]

For A Good Time Call...

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You were just looking for a distraction from your toxic ex. Soonyoung was supposed to be a one-time thing. Then he showed up, showed out, and ruined you for anyone else. ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Soonyoung x reader (mentions of ex!boyfriend Seungcheol) ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: smut, fluff, angst if you squint, friends to lovers, ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: soft!dom Soonyoung, dirty talk, kissing, oral (m and f receiving), light choking, breast/nipple play, fingering, riding, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, unprotected sex, creampie, lots of cursing, spilled feelings, jealousy, mentions of being a sneaky link with Big Sexy (Seungcheol), lots of cursing, pet names, teasing ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 4.4K ᝰ.ᐟ𝐀𝐍: This is an extension (part 2) to Toxic, but you don't have to read that to understand this story (it just adds more context to things). Thank you to the sweetest woman ever @yoongihan for beta reading this and saving my ass from all of my lovely grammatical errors 💙

Seungcheol: “I’m at the bar. Can I come over?”

You: “No.”

Seungcheol: “Why not?”

Seungcheol: “???”

Seungcheol: “…are you still mad about last time?”

Irritated, you throw your phone onto the couch and turn up the volume on a TV show that you were barely paying attention to. Your phone buzzes incessantly against your leg, and you do your best to ignore it, pressing the buttons on the remote until the sound blares throughout your apartment. Does it work? No. Your phone continues to buzz, but now the vibrations change patterns, which means he is calling you.

“Fuck this.”

You snatch your phone and throw it on the bed, shutting the bedroom door loudly as if you were locking away the big bad wolf who will infiltrate your mind and heart if you let him. Seungcheol is infuriating, a pain in your ass, a thorn in your side and any other euphemism that could describe what he is to you. He pushes your buttons like no one can, and unfortunately, no one else has fucked you better. You hate it.

You wish you could get rid of him, get him out of your system, and be free. If there were an antidote, you would take it; if a spell were to be said, you would recite it more than once. He gets under your skin, molds himself on you, and you can’t break free from him. He’s intoxicating and addictive, and one look in his eyes and you melt like putty. God, you need to get it together.

You haven’t seen him since the house party at Seungkwan’s last month, where you lost your inhibition and let him have you outside against a tree. He said he would text you, but didn’t; it’s what he does. You aren’t a helpless victim in this either; you knew what you were getting into with him while he has a girlfriend. But like a bad habit, you just had to have your fix, damned whatever the consequences would be.

Well, consider yourself rehabbed, because you are not falling for him or his soft lips again.

That month of separation? Pure gold. It’s like the universe slapped you in the face with the truest post-nut clarity. You spent your time apart working and hanging with people who always want to be around you, no matter what. No fights or raw emotions. You realized you deserve better than what Seungcheol has been putting out. It was fun being the sneaky link and having him whenever you wanted, but after a year of back-and-forth, it’s getting tired. You’re sick of being the girl who is always number 2 when he’s bored. You need something new. Fresh. Exciting.

It’s time to cut the cord, and the best way to get over someone is to get underneath someone else, right?

Leaping off the couch, you rush back into your room and retrieve your phone, ignoring the missed notifications from Seungcheol and scrolling through your contacts until you find the person you’re looking for. With a quick tap, you press the dial on his name and put your phone on speaker. It rings for a few seconds until he answers, a backdrop of ambient noise hinting that he might be out and about.

“Hey,” you say casually, ignoring the flutter of nerves.

“What’s up?” he responds, sounding happy to hear from you.

“Remember, when you said you could treat me better than Cheol could, and to give you a chance?”

He pauses, clearing his throat. The music gets softer, as if he’s gone somewhere quiet.

“Yeah? Why are you bringing it up?”

“Because tonight I want to give you that chance. Come over.”

He pauses again, and loud music resumes, crackling through the speaker, making you wince. You hear shuffling, followed by a door shutting and the ignition starting shortly after.

“Are you sure?”

You bite your lip as you think it through, knowing that once you cross this line, there is no turning back. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

He chuckles in your ear, sending shivers throughout your body. “I’m on my way. I’ll be there in an hour.”

You anxiously pace your living room floor, the minutes stretching on as you wait for him to arrive. A part of you feels guilty because you know you are using him. He’s a chill, respectful guy who spilled his confession on you on a drunk night. You could have chosen to leave him alone, done the right thing, sorted out your feelings for Seungcheol, and moved on in a healthy way. But you didn’t, and now here you are.

Your phone vibrates in your hand, and you pick it up slowly. The notification flashes, revealing the message: “I’m outside.”

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, looking at yourself in the mirror and adjusting your simple tank top and shorts outfit. A small, wicked smile creeps onto your face, hinting at nothing but trouble. Anticipation builds as you open the door, revealing your man of the hour with kind eyes and a gorgeous smile.

“Hi, Soonyoung.”

“Hey.”

You step aside, the door creaking as you let him in. A chilly breeze sweeps through, carrying the scent of fresh spring air and the faint trace of cigarette smoke that clings to him. He slips off his shoes, the soft thud against the floor barely audible over the hum of your humidifier. As he strides into your living room, his gaze sweeps over the space, a grin spreading across his face. “You have a cool place.”

“Thanks,” you say, pointing to the couch. “You can sit there if you want.”

He obliges, taking a seat to the right, and you take your usual spot on the left, sitting cross-legged and facing him. A silence stretches between you, the air thick with an unspoken tension, as if it knows what’s coming next.

“I gotta ask,” Soonyoung cuts to the chase. “Why did you really ask me here?”

“You know why.” You give him a pointed look. “I told you I was giving you a chance tonight.”

“Yeah, only because you're mad about Cheol.”

You fold your arms, your mouth opening and closing as you struggle to find a response. You’re not used to this side of Soonyoung, challenging you and calling you out on your nonsense. He sits there smug, like you’ve been caught in a trap. Dare you say, you kind of like it?

“So what if I’m mad at him? What’s it to you?”

He shakes his head, his fingers tangling in his hair as he lets out a frustrated sigh. “Because I want to know what I am getting into… If this is a one-time thing.”

You watch him move closer to you, touching your knee as his eyes meet yours, steady and searching. “I’m not an idiot, okay? It’s no secret that I like you, and you know that. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have called me over here. Why do you keep entertaining him?”

How do you answer that? Is it love? Lust? A mixture of both?

“I… don’t know,” you answer honestly. “Old habits, I guess.”

You think about his confession to you six months ago at another party, where he said he always liked you and would give you the attention you deserved.

“I… don’t know Soonyoung,” you hesitated then. “I’m still figuring shit out with Cheol, you know?”

“Y-you don’t have to say anything now,” he stuttered, his nerves clearly getting to him. “Just know if you were my girl, you would always have a smile on your face.”

You were on another break with Seungcheol then, but weren’t in the headspace to think of anyone else. Soonyoung is nice and goofy, the boy next door type that always makes you laugh, but he wasn’t Seungcheol, and you weren’t interested then. Thinking back on it now, maybe that is a good thing. You would’ve broken his heart, and Seungkwan would’ve hated you for it.

“Uh huh,” Soonyoung nods, mulling over your words. “Okay, so you say.”

“Now, let me ask you something,” you charge back, changing your position to sit on your knees. “Why do you like me so much? I’ve always wanted to know.”

Soonyoung studies you momentarily, his facial expression softening as he prepares to lay his heart on the line.

“I’ve liked you since you first walked into Seungkwan’s house at that Lau party he hosted that one time. You are cool, smart as hell and can take a joke, and you are so god damn beautiful.” He pauses, his face full of resentment, before continuing. “I saw you first, and Seungcheol knew that. When we were sitting on the couch talking, I was just like, ‘I really like your vibe.’ I even told him that I wanted to ask you out then. But once I went to the bathroom and came back, you were talking to Seungcheol, and I knew right then and there, he already got you.”

Soonyoung leaves you at a loss for words for the second time tonight. You didn’t know he saw you first, and just thought he was drunk talking, and maybe he would get over it. You wouldn’t expect Seungcheol to mention this, but you can’t help but wonder what your future would’ve been like with Soonyoung instead. It could’ve saved you from a world of fights, frustration, and pain.

“Why didn’t you say anything then?” you ask him earnestly, your heart slightly pounding. “I had no idea.”

“What could I say?” Soonyoung responds. “‘Hey, I know you are with Cheol, but I liked you first, and he knew. I figured you weren’t interested.”

You exchange a long look, your thoughts running through your head. “Geez,” you exhale, a small pit forming in your stomach. “I could’ve been interested, had I known.” You move closer to him, searching his eyes for understanding. “I’m not mad at you, Soonie. I just wish I knew. It could’ve made things different for me, you know?”

“I know,” he confesses, taking your hand. “My offer still stands, okay? Give me a chance tonight to make you forget all about Seungcheol, and if it works, maybe we can see how this goes?”

You have always found Soonyoung attractive, but hearing how he speaks about you and how he has pined for you for over a year makes you want him even more.

“I called you over here just for sex, to get over him, and you still want to do this? With me?”

“Like I said, I’m not an idiot.” He chuckles. “But you are finally giving me a chance to prove my worth, and I’m going to take advantage.”

You mull over his words, your lips twisting into a playful grin. “Okay, let’s do it.”

Soonyoung pulls you over to him, carefully placing you on his lap like you were a delicate thing. You’ve never gotten a chance to appreciate his beauty up close, with his bare face, cute nose, and smooth skin. You lock eyes, a shared smile blooming between you, your fingers gently weaving through his hair. An electric tension prickles along your skin, a feeling that feels foreign but somehow exhilarating.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he says gently, his eyes peering into your soul.

“Don’t you get all soft on me, Kwon,” you tease, lightly pinching his shoulder.

“I’m only as soft as you let me be,” he quips, brushing his thumb against your bottom lip, igniting a flutter in your chest. “You know I am not going to go easy on you, right?”

You smile softly, your noses barely touching each other as you lean closer to him. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you whisper.

His lips crash against yours, hunger and earnestness consuming him, and you immediately melt into him. A fire burns inside you, sparked by Soonyoung kissing you, craving to be taken in the ways you truly deserve. You grind slowly against his crotch, a tiny gasp escaping your lips as he places his hands on your hips, catching your rhythm. His eyes never leave yours, watching your face contort into pleasure as the building friction between your shorts and his jeans sends jolts throughout your body, electrifying your senses.

You kiss him again, savoring his soft lips and the taste of peppermint on his tongue. Soft moans leave him as you deepen the kiss, embracing everything he is willing to offer. This is the excitement you've been craving—the thrill of someone new who won't play games or tell lies. Someone unselfish, who kisses you as if you truly matter, and doesn’t hold back.

“How am I doing so far?” he murmurs against your lips.

“You’re doing great, baby.” You plant another kiss on him.

“Baby? Are we on those terms already?”

“Shut up,” you tease him with a wicked smile, slowly taking off your tank top and revealing your breasts.

You’re very proud of your body, and you know you look good, and judging by the way Soonyoung’s biting his lip, he agrees. His hands gracefully grab your breasts, kissing your nipples before sucking on them, his tongue swirling around your hardened buds. He worships you in that moment, murmuring sweet praises of how perfect you are and how much he craves you. A warm sensation stirs in your chest, filling you with a deep sense of fulfillment—a craving that had long gone unfulfilled: to be wanted, deeply and unconditionally.

“Take off your shorts, I want to see you,” Soonyoung breathes, pulling back just enough to gaze into your eyes full of awe and adoration.

You nod, climbing off his lap and slowly lowering your shorts and panties in one go. He licks his lips as he drinks your body in, like an artist with his muse. He stands, removing his shirt and revealing his sculpted physique and abs that almost make your knees buckle. It feels strange, having these feelings of lust for someone you wouldn’t have thought about besides tonight, but you are glad you made the call.

He pulls you close, his hands grabbing your derriere as he dips for another kiss, this one being deeper, darker, and full of desire that is soul-crushing if you let it. Your hands cling onto him as he lays you back down on the couch, your chest rising and falling as you watch him pull down his jeans, fixated on what’s aching to break free in his boxers.

“Do you want me to do the honors?” You smirk as you reach for him.

“You can do whatever you want, baby,” he whispers.

Baby. Hearing that word come from his lips makes your heart race.

“I’m already doing that.”

Sitting up, you pull down the fabric obscuring him, and what meets your eyes is nothing short of jaw-dropping. This man was bigger than you expected, and your mouth practically floods at the mere thought of having him wrapped in your lips.

“I’ve never seen you this quiet,” he quips, his cock twitching at your touch.

“Whatever.”

You gently grasp it in your hands and give it a sweet kiss, his tip already dripping with precum and smearing all over your lips. Your tongue plays around the tiny veins on his shaft, teasing and exploring every edge. His breath hitches, bringing a smile to your face as you prepare to take him whole.

“Who would’ve known Soonyoung has a pretty dick?” You giggle as you give his tip one last kiss.

His hand rests very lightly on the back of your head as you slowly swallow him. Your mouth salivates as your head bobs back and forth, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you enjoy tasting him. Drool drips from the corners of your mouth, making a mess on your chest and spilling on your knees. Soonyoung curses, quickening his pace as his hips subtly thrust forward, seeking more of your warmth, your wetness, the sinful glide of your lips down his shaft.

“Shit,” he breathes, voice strained with restraint. “You feel so fucking good. Don’t stop.”

Soonyoung fingers tighten around your throat, grasping it lightly as he fucks your face. Your eyes water as he quickens his pace, his cock hitting the back of your throat effortlessly. Your fingers climb to the back of his legs, bracing yourself for when he eventually cums down your throat. You want it; you can practically imagine it going down your throat.

“Okay. Okay fuck,” he gasps, pulling you off, his cock glistening with your spit. His thumb wipes the slick from your lip before he lifts you effortlessly, laying you back against the cushions. “You keep doing that, I’m gonna cum in your mouth and I don’t wanna waste the first round.”

You giggle breathlessly, heart hammering in your chest as your legs fall open to welcome him. “Who said that’d be a waste?”

He groans, sliding two fingers along your soaked slit before pushing them inside you, curling just right. “God, you’re dripping,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “All this for me?”

“Maybe,” you whisper. “Why don’t you taste me and find out?”

“My pleasure.”

His mouth crashes into yours again, tongue greedy and messy with want. His fingers twist in you slowly, earning shaky moans from your lips as he works you under hooded eyes. His lips travel down your neck to your breasts again, sucking on each one ravenously like he owned them, like they are his and his alone. Your senses are heightened, and you are fully aware of the trail his lips are leaving, soft kisses on your stomach, and finally meeting your center. He increases the pace of his fingers, lifting your legs on his shoulders to see his work of art, your walls contracting around him as you gush on his hand.

“Does that feel good, baby?” His tone is dark, like a switch is off.

“Mmhmm,” you mutter, unable to form a coherent thought.

“You can’t even speak. How cute.”

“Shut up—”

You don’t get to finish your sentence, as his mouth sucks on your clit tenderly, sending you through a bottomless well of pleasure. Your hand digs into your couch, a guttural moan echoing off the walls as you ride his fingers, your essence spilling on his digits. He looks at you like he is proud, slowly taking out his fingers and sucking each one.

“You taste better than I imagined.” He licks his lips. “Do you think you can get on top?”

You give him a mischievous grin, patting the couch. “I’m going to change your life, Kwon.”

He eagerly sits down, and you hover over him, your breath shaky as you sink inch by inch. He stretches you in the right way, his hands grabbing your hips like he is anchoring himself, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as you take him all in.

“Fuck,” he groans, his head cocks back. “This is better than I imagined.”

You still for a second, overwhelmed and still ripe with sensitivity. Soonyoung’s cock presses deep in you, thick and perfect, and your body trembles as you adjust.

“Are you okay?”

You nod slowly. “I’m more than okay.”

You roll your hips, grinding slowly as you get used to his length. His hands slide down to your ass, guiding you carefully as he talks you through it, his eyes fixated on yours as you dissolve into pleasure. It feels cosmic, like you are on this incredible high from which you don’t want to come down. Soonyoung fucks you with every intention to make you his, and little by little, you are falling under his spell.

“Shit,” you pant, digging your nails into his shoulder. “You’ve been holding back, Soonie.”

You increase your pace, riding him harder, as he thrusts up to meet you halfway. Your couch shakes, banging against the wall, which will surely get some complaints from the neighbors later, but you don’t care. His hands caress your body as he holds you close, thrusting deeper and intensely as if he wants to implant in you, letting the whole world know you are his and his alone.

“Fuck, Soonyoung.”

“You look beautiful.” His eyes are locked where your bodies meet. “Keep riding me like it’s yours.”

‘Like it’s yours,’ those three small words have so much meaning. Soonyoung isn’t just good at this; he is perfect. You kiss him desperately, chasing your high as your impending orgasm breaks free, overflowing and sending you into paradise. You increase your pace, bouncing up and down as you squirt over him, screaming his name over and over.

“Good, baby,” he says with a shaky breath. “Keep cumming for me.”

Your body is on autopilot, unable to stop the pleasure that is erupting from your body as you keep slamming down on him, your bodies covered in sweat and lust. He whispers sweet praises in your ear, kissing you all over until he lets out a low, broken moan, signaling his release.

“Where do you want it?” his voice is desperate.

“Inside!” you cry out, reaching your last climax.

His neck is buried in your neck as he cums deep inside of you, trembling with the force of it. Breathing hard, he raises up and kisses your forehead, holding you close until he is completely spent.

“Wow.” You blow a raspberry. “That was…”

“I know,” he finishes your sentence, barely catching his breath.

He lifts you off of him slowly, his cock sliding out of you with a pop, your pussy dripping with his cum. He notices it comes down your leg and raises a brow, and you roll your eyes, slowly getting off the couch with shaky legs.

You see him in a new light. You would’ve never expected this kind of confidence and aggression from Soonyoung, and it makes you feel warm inside.

“I’m going to shower if you want to join me,” you announce, walking down the hallway.

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

You fetch towels for both of you and step into the shower, letting the warm water hit your skin. Soonyoung comes in shortly after, taking your sponge and washing you off with delicacy and care, as if you meant something to him. You kiss him without warning, but he embraces it, stirring a warm feeling in your chest that spreads like wildfire. His arms find their way around you, pulling you in, and everything else around you disappears. He showed up when you needed him, he knew how fucked up you were and wanted you anyway. Maybe this is where you need to be.

“I would like it if you stayed the night,” you said, gazing at him.

“I’d love that,” he says, kissing the top of your head.

After he makes sure you are clean, he helps you dry off, assisting you into an old t-shirt before drying himself off and climbing into bed with you naked. He kisses the back of your neck, wrapping himself around you like a warm blanket, and you fall into a deep sleep.

For the rest of the night, Seungcheol is not on your mind. You dream of Soonyoung instead.

The sunlight peeks through your blinds and across your face, the brightness waking you out of your deep slumber. You still feel Soonyoung’s arms around you, his morning wood pressing hard against your ass, which makes you giggle. Reaching for your phone, you realize it’s not on the dresser, and you sit up slowly, not to wake Soonyoung as you creep out of bed and stalk into your living room. You see your clothes and his scattered all over the floor, the memories of last night flooding your mind and making you smile. Last night was truly one of the best nights of your life, and it was all because of Soonyoung.

You find your phone under your tank top as you pick up the clothes. The battery is surprisingly halfway charged and full of missed calls and texts from Seungcheol.

“Hey, baby.”

You face Soonyoung, with the cutest bed hair and sleepy eyes you have ever seen. It’s not lost on you that he is still naked; the events of last night, of you riding him into oblivion, are still on your mind.

“Hey, there, tiger,” you greet him. “I was just looking for my phone.”

You hold up your phone, and 9:15 a.m. is displayed on your lock screen. He nods slowly, grabbing his boxers and putting them with the rest of his clothes. His eyes tell you he has something on his mind, and you sit on the couch, watching him get dressed.

“I had a great time last night,” you say cautiously.

“I know,” he says cheekily.

You chuckle, your face heating up in embarrassment. “So, um… I would like for this not to be a one-time thing, if you are still up for that.”

He stops in his tracks, looking at you with a tenderness that gives you butterflies. “You mean that?“

“Yes.” You nod, slowly getting off the couch. “I mean that.” You give him a reassuring smile and move to give him a hug. Soonyoung has other plans, pretending to go for a hug and kissing you instead.

“You’re funny,” you giggle, reluctantly stepping away from him.

“I plan to make you laugh more often.” He gives you another hug, a genuine hug, that soothes you and fills you inside. “I’m going to change my clothes and run some errands. I’ll call you later?”

“I’d love that.”

Opening the door, he almost bumps into Seungcheol, whose arm was raised as if he were going to knock on the door. His eyes dart between you and Soonyoung, and you know he quickly understands the situation: he’s been replaced.

“See you later, baby.”

Soonyoung pulls you close and kisses you like he means it, grasping your face with his fingers. It’s possessive, leaving you breathless and on a high, and you have half a mind to drag him back into the house. You know he did that to piss off Seungcheol, but you don’t mind it. Watching him walk to his car and drive off, you return your attention to Cheol, who has an annoyed look on his face.

“So that’s why you didn’t answer your phone,” he huffs.

“Well, yes,” you say nonchalantly. “What do you need?”

“So that’s it? You don’t want me anymore?”

For the first time in a while, you don’t feel anything—not anger, sadness, joy, nothing. It feels like you are finally on the road to moving on and getting him out of your system.

“No, I don’t,” you say, stepping behind your door. “Go back to your girlfriend.”

Shutting the door in his face, you feel relieved that you could get the big bad wolf out of your heart, once and for all. You vibrate with joy on a different frequency, and it’s all thanks to Soonyoung.

taglist: @asasilentreader @shadowkoo @lovetaroandtaemin @gyupremacy @superpietom @vampsol

[youthguk]

Vestiges: Finale | jjk (m)

Some scars are carved too deep to heal.

 jungkook x reader | exes to lovers 

warnings: angst, explicit content (minors dni), hurt/comfort, second chance romance, addiction (depicted respectfully), betrayal, manipulation, themes of grief, guilt, and healing,  mild physical violence, trauma-related dialogue

wc: 8k

part 1

"Grief doesn’t announce itself," you'd whispered once, fingers tracing patterns in the condensation of your bedroom window. "it erodes in silence."

The memory hits Jungkook like a physical blow as he sits across from you now, watching your trembling fingers trace the rim of your coffee cup. The café around you both feels simultaneously too loud and impossibly quiet, a discordant symphony of clinking cups and muffled conversations that can't quite drown out the thundering of his own heartbeat.

Your confession hangs in the air between you, each word a shard of glass suspended in time: "I was pregnant."

The world stops spinning. Three syllables. That's all it takes for everything Jungkook thought he knew to crumble like wet paper in his hands.

"When?" The question scratches its way out of his throat, barely audible over the ambient chatter of the café.

You don't meet his eyes. Your fingers twist the napkin in your lap into a tight spiral, then release it, then start again. "Six years ago."

"Six..." The word breaks in his mouth like glass. "Why didn't you—"

"Tell you?" Your laugh breaks apart before it even fully forms, crumbling into something closer to a sob. "When? Before or after you accused me of..."

Your voice cracks, and the sound splits him open.

The question he needs to ask sits like lead on his tongue. He can barely force it past his lips: "The baby...?"

Your eyes squeeze shut, and he watches a tear trace its way down your cheek. The sight of it makes his chest cave in.

"Gone," you whisper, and the word echoes in the space between you like a gunshot. "I lost... I lost our..."

You can't finish. Jungkook's chair scrapes against the floor as he stands abruptly, the sound making both of you flinch. His legs feel like they're made of water, but somehow they carry him toward the door.

"Jungkook!" Your voice follows him, pleading, broken.

He doesn't turn around. He can't. If he looks at you now, he'll shatter completely.

The winter air hits his face like a slap as he stumbles onto the street. His feet move without direction, carrying him through crowds of strangers who don't notice—or politely ignore—the way his shoulders shake with each ragged breath.

One block. Two. Three.

But no matter how far he walks, he can't outrun the truth that's carved itself into his bones: somewhere in the past, there was a heartbeat. A future. A child that was half him and half you.

And now there's just this: empty hands and six years' worth of grief he never knew he should have been carrying.

The winter air slices through his jacket like brittle glass as he stumbles forward. His feet catch on uneven pavement, each step a desperate attempt to escape the echo of your words.

"Not real," he mutters, his breath clouding in front of him. "Can't be real."

The city writhes around him in a blur of neon signs and taxi horns. A couple laughs somewhere nearby, the sound piercing through his fog like a needle. Their happiness feels obscene.

His vision swims as your voice plays on repeat: "I was pregnant... I was pregnant... I was—"

"Shut up!" he snarls into the night, earning startled glances from passing strangers. His knees give out and he slams against a brick wall, the rough surface scraping his palms raw. The physical pain is almost a relief.

His trembling fingers fumble through his pockets, muscle memory seeking comfort. They brush against familiar shapes: the dented cigarette pack, the small bottle that promises oblivion.Relics of battles he thought he was winning.

The pills rattle softly in their container as he grips them, leaving crescent-moon indents in his palm, but he doesn't take them — not yet.

Your face flashes behind his eyelids: the way your fingers had twisted in your lap, how your voice had cracked on the truth he should have known. The memory rips a sound from his throat that's half-laugh, half-sob.

"Six fucking years," he chokes out, pressing his forehead against the cold brick. "Six years of hating you, and all this time!" His fist connects with the wall before he can stop himself. Pain blooms across his knuckles. Six years carrying a version of the story that was never true.

A businessman in an expensive coat swerves around him, muttering "Watch it, buddy."

Jungkook barely hears him. His feet are moving again, carrying him deeper into the maze of streets that seem to pulse with the same rhythm as the grief in his chest. Every step feels like walking on broken glass, every breath tastes like ashes and regret.

The truth follows him like a shadow he can't outrun, whispering: There was a child. There was hope. And he destroyed it all because he couldn't trust you enough to ask why.

His feet carried him through the winding streets without conscious thought, muscle memory guiding him through the maze of sodium-lit sidewalks and shadowed alleyways. The city's nighttime symphony - distant sirens, tipsy laughter, the hollow echo of footsteps - blurred into white noise against the storm in his mind.

When his knuckles finally met the weathered blue paint of their door, the impact sent tremors through his already-shaking frame. He swayed slightly, vision swimming, as footsteps approached from inside.

The door creaked open, spilling warm light onto the welcome mat. Sora stood there, drowning in an oversized cream sweater that slipped off one shoulder, her dark hair escaping from a messy braid. Her eyes widened, taking in his disheveled state.

"Jesus Christ, Kook," she whispered, reaching for him instinctively before catching herself, hands hovering inches from his trembling shoulders. "What happened?"

He opened his mouth to respond, but his throat closed around the words. Behind Sora, Taehyung's familiar silhouette appeared, lean and rigid with tension.

"For fuck's sake, Kook," Taehyung sighed, running a hand through his hair, voice caught between frustration and concern. "It's the middle of the night."

Jungkook tried to laugh it off, to conjure up some semblance of his usual sharp-edged charm. "What, can't a guy visit his—" The facade cracked, splintered, shattered. His next breath came out as a strangled gasp.

The world tilted dangerously. His fingers found the doorframe, gripping it like a lifeline as his legs threatened to give out. Black spots danced at the edges of his vision.

"She was pregnant," he choked out, the words burning his throat like acid. "All this time, she was— I never knew— I didn't—"

His knees finally buckled. The impact with the floor barely registered through the numbness spreading through his limbs. A broken sound escaped him - not quite a sob, not quite a scream - as he curled in on himself, pressing his forehead against his knees.

"Shhh, hey, breathe with me," Sora murmured, kneeling beside him. Her hand found his back, rubbing gentle circles. "Just breathe."

Taehyung remained frozen in the doorway, his posture rigid with a tension that seemed to go beyond mere concern. His silence spoke volumes - years of watching his best friend spiral, of picking up the pieces, of carrying a weight that pressed heavier on his shoulders with each passing day.

But now...

Now there was only this: a man shattering on their doorstep at midnight, while guilt and grief tangled together in the shadows, and six years of carefully constructed walls began to crack, threatening to reveal truths that some had fought desperately to keep buried.

Dawn bleeds through gossamer curtains, painting Sora and Taehyung's living room in watercolor golds, but time feels suspended in amber – viscous and heavy. Each passing second drips like honey, too thick to measure, too stubborn to move forward.

Jungkook's body is a sculpture of defeat on their couch, one knee pulled to his chest like a shield. The untouched tea on the coffee table sends wisps of steam into the air, dancing with dust motes in the morning light. The TV drones on, a meaningless symphony of morning show chatter that might as well be static.

"Your tea's getting cold," Sora murmurs, her footsteps whisper-soft against the hardwood. Her fingers ghost over his shoulder, barely there, like she's afraid he might shatter at her touch.

Pain throbs behind his eyes, beneath his ribs, a living thing with teeth and claws. It's not the kind of ache that aspirin could touch – it's grief wearing his skin, making a home in the hollow spaces where hope used to live.

The plate Sora sets before him – golden toast, fruit arranged like jewels – might as well be cardboard for all he cares. Her smile is fragile as spun sugar when she says, "You got some rest. That's... that's something, right?"

His response is silence and a thousand-yard stare, eyes fixed on some point in space where maybe, in another universe, things turned out differently.

The scoff that cuts through the quiet is sharp enough to draw blood. Taehyung materializes in the kitchen doorway, all bed-head and barely contained fury in a wrinkled t-shirt.

"One fucking day," he spits, each word dripping venom. "She walks back into your life for one day and you're—"

"Tae." Sora's voice could freeze hell.

"What, we're just going to pretend this is okay? That he wasn't finally getting his shit together before she—"

"Now what?" Jungkook's voice is sandpaper rough, but steady as a knife's edge. His eyes lock with Taehyung's. "Now I'm remembering how to feel something besides numb?"

"You were destroying yourself last night."

A laugh escapes Jungkook's throat, brittle as dead leaves. "I've been destroying myself for six years, Tae. I just got better at hiding the debris."

Sora's fingers find his knee, an anchor in the storm. His next words fall like stones into still water: "She was carrying my child. She lost our baby. And where was I? Too busy burning bridges to notice she was drowning."

The muscle in Taehyung's jaw jumps. Silence stretches like a wire between them.

Jungkook turns to Sora, voice cracking like thin ice: "Thank god she had you. When the rest of us were blind, you... you saw her."

Sora's eyes shimmer with unshed tears, fingers tightening on his knee.

"She could be lying," Taehyung mutters, gaze fixed on the floor.

"She's not." Two words, flat as a blade.

"Just leave it buried, Kook. What good can come from—"

"Buried?" Jungkook rises like a thundercloud, bare feet silent on the rug. "Like how she buried her grief alone? Scared and pregnant and fucking abandoned because I couldn't—" His voice splinters. "Because I wouldn't—"

The silence that follows is deafening. "I don't deserve forgiveness," he whispers to the empty air. "Not for this."

Sora's voice is soft as rainfall: "You both deserve peace, Kook. Maybe that's where forgiveness starts."

Taehyung turns away, shoulders rigid, something dark and unreadable flickering across his face like shadow-play.

But Jungkook, lost in the labyrinth of his own regret, doesn't catch the way his best friend's hands clench and unclench at his sides, or the guilt that writes novels in the tense line of his spine.

Not yet.

-

The phone screen flickers to life, Sora's name burning through the darkness of your room. Your heart stutters - it's been days of deafening silence since your confession, days of wondering if you've shattered what little remained between you and Jungkook.

The message is simple, devastating in its brevity:

Sora: Can you meet him? He's not okay.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, trembling like autumn leaves. A dozen responses materialize and dissolve: "Where is he?" "What happened?" "Is he safe?" But what emerges instead is a hollow ache in your chest, an echo of six years' worth of unspoken words.

When you open your contacts, his name feels like a ghost - Jeon Jungkook. The empty space where his number should be mocks you, a reminder of all the walls you've built between then and now. The irony tastes bitter on your tongue.

Outside your window, Seoul shivers under winter's grip. Streetlights blur into watercolor smudges through the frost-kissed glass, while wind howls a mournful melody through narrow alleyways. You pull your coat closer, not against the cold, but against the weight of what's to come.

The café wraps around you like a worn sweater - all cinnamon-scented air and soft jazz playing somewhere distant. You sink into a corner booth, fingers wrapped around a rapidly cooling cup of whatever Sora ordered for you. The porcelain doesn't warm your hands anymore, but you hold on anyway, needing something solid to anchor you to this moment.

The door chimes and the world stops breathing.

You don't need to look up to know it's him - your body remembers. It's in the way your heart forgets its rhythm, the way your lungs seem to shrink, the way every cell in your being suddenly remembers its capacity for both healing and hurt.

When you finally raise your eyes, the man before you isn't the polished creature from the wedding. This Jungkook is raw around the edges, like something carefully constructed has been stripped away. His scarf sits askew, his coat hanging wrong, as if he's forgotten how clothes are supposed to fit. But it's his eyes that undo you - dark and deep and hollow, like someone has reached in and scooped out all the light, leaving behind nothing but shadows and sleepless nights.

He slides into the seat across from you with a grace that feels more like surrender than strength. His gaze catches yours and holds, searching for something - recognition, perhaps, or absolution.

Your mouth opens but produces no sound. The silence stretches between you like spun glass - beautiful and breakable.

"Hi," he breathes, and oh - his voice. His voice still sounds like home and heartbreak woven into a single syllable, like every dream you've tried to forget and every memory you couldn't bear to keep.

"Hi," you whisper back, the word hanging delicate and heavy between you, like a bridge neither of you is ready to cross.

The clink of porcelain against wood makes you flinch. Your coffee sits untouched, a mirror-dark pool reflecting fragments of fluorescent lights above. The ambient chatter of the café feels distant, muffled, as if you're underwater and everyone else is speaking through layers of glass.

He shifts in his seat, the leather creaking beneath him. You notice how his hands – those familiar artist's hands that once painted galaxies across your skin – tremble slightly as he stirs his coffee. The spoon scrapes against ceramic, a discordant note in the quiet symphony of your shared discomfort. Something in the careful way he holds himself makes your heart clench – there's a fragility there you've never seen before.

"You..." His voice catches, gentle and rough like worn velvet. Your eyes meet across the table – a collision of past and present – before his gaze skitters away like a startled animal. "You look..."

The unfinished sentence hangs between you, heavy with possibilities. You watch as his fingers curl around his mug, white-knuckled, anchoring himself to something solid. You see it all – how gently he speaks, the tremor in his hands, the way his eyes dart to yours and away. Something broken in him mirrors your own past self. "He's just now learning how grief tastes," you think. "But I've had six years to grow used to the bitterness."

"Different," he finally manages, the word falling soft as snow, tender in a way that makes your chest ache.

Your lips curve into what might be a smile, if smiles could bleed. "So do you."

And god, he does. The Jungkook you knew burned like a supernova – all wild dreams and endless possibilities. This man before you... his light has gone nova, collapsed in on itself, leaving behind something beautiful but infinitely more haunted.

"Work?" The question tumbles from your lips like a defense mechanism. Better to discuss spreadsheets and profit margins because 'how are you?' feels like a cruelty you’re not ready to inflict — not when the answer is sitting so plainly in the slump of his shoulders.

He laughs – a hollow sound that doesn't reach his eyes. "The company's thriving. Investors throwing money at us. Should be popping champagne, right?" His fingers drum against the table, a nervous staccato. "Everything I wanted."

"But?" The word is barely a whisper.

"But success tastes like ash when there's no one..." His voice cracks, splinters. "Sometimes the apartment gets too quiet," he says, voice rough. "I turn on the shower just to hear something. Then I sit on the floor and wait for the noise to fill the room."

Your heart breaks so quietly you wonder if he can hear it.

His hand reaches across the table, hesitant yet determined, and you let him take yours. His touch is impossibly gentle, as if he's afraid you might shatter. "Jungkook-ah..." you breathe.

His thumb traces constellations on your skin with infinite tenderness, mapping territories he used to know by heart.

The space between you vibrates with something electric and ancient, like disturbing the dust of a long-sealed tomb. His fingers against yours summon ghosts you thought you'd laid to rest, awakening muscle memory your body never quite forgot. The tenderness of his touch burns worse than any fury could - it tastes of might-have-beens and never-weres, of dreams that died too young to have proper graves.

You withdraw your hand with deliberate slowness, seeking refuge in the familiar curve of your coffee mug, though its warmth has long since bled into the winter air.

"Are you..." He swallows hard, adam's apple bobbing, his voice soft and careful. "Is there someone...?"

"His name is Minho." The words feel like betrayal on your tongue. “He’s good to me.”

Something flickers in Jungkook's eyes – a star dying in real time. "Good," he whispers, but his grip on your hand tightens infinitesimally. "That's... that's good."

You want to tell him how Minho's touch never burns quite right, how his kisses don't taste like coming home. But you don't. Some truths are better left buried.

"I'm sorry," you breathe instead.

His eyes find yours, dark and deep as midnight, filled with a tenderness that breaks your heart. "I never stopped thinking about us, about you," he confesses, each word precise as a blade, soft as a caress. "Not for a single day."

The truth of it splits you open, clean as lightning.

"Walk with me?" He's already standing, offering his hand like he used to – before the world went wrong. His touch remains gentle, inviting rather than insistent. "It's cold, but..."

You take it without hesitation, because some habits are written in bone. Because your body remembers the choreography of loving him, even if your mind knows better.

Outside, winter wraps around you both like a shroud, and you wonder if the cold might finally numb the ache of what could have been.

You see him again on a Thursday. Neither of you admits that Sora's cryptic text about the new gallery opening was just thinly-veiled matchmaking.

"Fancy meeting you here," he says, voice catching slightly on the lie. The winter light streaming through the café windows turns his skin to alabaster, makes the shadows under his eyes look like bruises.

The café wraps you both in its quiet symphony - the soft clink of ceramic, the whisper of pages turning, the gentle hiss of the espresso machine. Through frost-laced windows, bare branches paint stark calligraphy against a pearl-grey sky. Your hands tremble as you cradle your untouched latte, warmth seeping through your palms like a ghost of comfort.

"Tell me about your work," he says, leaning forward slightly. His coat - the same one from last time - hangs loose around his shoulders like borrowed armor. His hair falls in his eyes when he moves, and your fingers itch with the old instinct to brush it away.

"The winter exhibition..." You trace the rim of your cup, watching ripples form in the cooling coffee. "It's smaller than we planned. Sometimes I wonder if I'm just chasing shadows, you know? If maybe I should've chosen something... safer."

He watches you with that intense focus that always made you feel like the only person in the world. Like your words were precious things worth collecting.

"I sat through a board meeting yesterday," he confesses suddenly, voice barely above a whisper. "Stared at the wall for twenty minutes straight, wondering what would happen if I just... walked away. Left it all behind."

"What stopped you?" The question slips out before you can catch it.

His laugh is a broken thing, all sharp edges and hollow spaces. "What else do I have?" The words hang between you like icicles - beautiful, fragile, dangerous to touch.

The silence that follows feels like an old friend - comfortable in its discomfort, familiar in its pain. You both wear your pretenses of 'moving on' like ill-fitting clothes, too tight in some places, too loose in others.

When it's time to leave, your fingers brush against his as you reach for your coat. The contact is brief - barely a heartbeat - but electricity crackles through your veins, awakening muscle memories you've spent years trying to forget. Neither of you acknowledges it. Neither of you pulls away. Some touches speak louder than words ever could.

The pasta’s overcooked. You were distracted.

Across the table, Minho twirls his fork through the overcooked strands, his perpetual half-smile playing at his lips. "The venue downtown, the one near the park? They canceled my set," he says, filling the silence between bites.

"But hey, remember that artist I told you about? The one who does those incredible murals? She's looking for collaborators."

You make a soft sound of acknowledgment, wine glass already half-empty. Your mind drifts to calloused fingers hovering over wet paint, to dark eyes studying your canvas like it held secrets.

"That café owner finally paid me for the piece," Minho continues, his voice a gentle stream you're barely wading in. "In cigarettes, if you can believe it. Guess that's the bohemian life for you, right?"

"Mmm," you manage, taking another long sip of wine. The crimson liquid catches the light, and suddenly you're thinking of the way Jungkook's fingertips had trembled near your canvas, like he was afraid to touch something so raw.

Minho's eyes find yours across the table. "You've been somewhere else lately," he says softly, reaching for the wine bottle. The liquid gurgles as he tops off your glass. "Where do you go when you drift away like that?"

"Just tired," you murmur, watching condensation bead on your glass. "The studio, you know..."

"The wedding's still on your mind?" His voice is gentle, curious - free from accusation.

Your shoulders lift in a half-shrug. "It stirred things up."

He leans back, chair creaking slightly. "You've been in your studio more. The paintings..." His eyes search your face. "They're different now."

Something in your chest constricts. "You said you wanted me to paint more."

"I did." His fingers drum against the table. "But I didn't expect it to put that shadow in your eyes."

You trace patterns in the condensation on your wine glass. "I thought I was numb," you whisper. "I thought I couldn't feel anything anymore."

His hand slides across the table, palm up - an offering. You place your fingers in his, and his touch is everything it should be: steady, warm, safe. But your traitor skin remembers different fingers, remembers the electric current that had sparked through you when Jungkook's hand had brushed yours reaching for tea cups.

The memory burns: his presence in your studio, how the air had grown thick with unspoken words, the way his gaze had traced your throat as you stretched to reach the kettle. You'd felt more alive in that moment of almost-touching than you had in years of being held.

So you smile at Minho, soft and steady, while your heart screams in your chest. You let him hold your hand while your skin burns with the memory of another's touch. Because sometimes lies are kinder than truth, and right now, kindness is all you have left to give him.

-

Snowflakes dance through the city lights, transforming concrete into crystalline art. The streetlamps cast halos in the falling snow as you check your phone again. His message still glows there: "Meet me?"

"Why am I doing this?" you whisper to no one, watching your breath spiral into the night air. But you already know - it's the way he'd said your name on the phone, like a secret he'd been keeping.

The Han River stretches before you, a ribbon of black silk under starlight. Your boots crunch through fresh snow, leaving a trail of memories in your wake. The winter wind bites through your wool coat, grounding you in this moment that feels almost dreamlike.

And there he is - Jungkook, a silhouette against the railing, snowflakes catching in his dark hair like stars.

"Here." You start unwinding your scarf, but he catches your wrist.

"Don't," he murmurs, eyes fixed on the river below. "I just needed..." His voice trails off into the space between heartbeats.

The night wraps around you both like a familiar blanket as you walk. Somewhere above, a saxophone weaves melody through the snowfall, each note hanging in the air like frozen time.

"Remember when we used to walk here?" His voice carries the weight of unspoken stories. "After... everything. I'd stand right here, watching the fog roll in, wondering if I could just... fade away with it."

The words hit you like shards of ice. Your chest constricts, heart drumming against your ribs.

He turns to face you, streetlight painting gold across his features. You see worlds in his eyes - regret, longing, and something softer that makes your breath catch.

"I thought..." Your voice wavers. "I always thought you hated me."

"Hate was easier," he breathes, fingers finding yours in the dark. "Hate meant I didn't have to feel everything else."

His touch sends electricity through your veins - gentle, questioning, devastating. Snowflakes melt on your eyelashes as he steps closer, close enough to count the freckles scattered across his cheeks like constellations waiting to be mapped.

Time slows. His hand traces the curve of your jaw, fingers trembling against your skin. Each touch writes poetry you thought you'd forgotten how to read.

Your world narrows to the space between heartbeats. His breath ghosts across your lips, not quite a kiss - a question mark hanging in the winter air.

When his lips brush your jawline, your universe splinters. He maps the column of your throat with reverent touches, like a pilgrim finding his way home.

"Jungkook..." His name escapes like a prayer.

"Tell me to stop." His voice breaks on the words.

"I-" You try to speak, but truth tangles in your throat. "I can't."

His forehead rests against yours, sharing breath in this fragile moment. "Let me remember," he whispers. "Just for a moment."

Your fingers clutch his coat even as you shake your head. "There's someone else," you manage. "I shouldn't... we can't..."

The world freezes. Jungkook's eyes search yours, reading novels in your silence. Then slowly, carefully, like handling broken glass, he steps away.

Winter rushes back into the space between you, but your skin remembers his touch like a brand.

"Let me walk you home," he offers softly.

And because some things never change - because trust runs deeper than time - you nod.

-

Jungkook stares at his reflection in the chrome-and-glass building that houses TechVision, his company's logo glowing against Seoul's twilight sky. He has channeled his pain into building TechVision - now one of Seoul's fastest-growing startups - though the cost is written in the shadows under his eyes, in the way his shoulders carry an invisible weight. Success, it seems, is a poor substitute for peace.

Pushing through the revolving doors, he enters the building that has become more familiar than home. Success has given him something else: a razor-sharp attention to detail, a need to understand the mechanics of things that seem to make no sense. Perhaps that's why he can't let go of that night, of the inconsistencies that nag at his consciousness during late-night coding sessions.

Later that morning, during their daily briefing, Minseok studies his face. "When did you last sleep properly?"

The same drive that has helped him spot market patterns and predict technological trends now turns inward, dissecting memories with clinical precision. He's learned that in both business and life, nothing is ever quite what it seems at first glance.

Jungkook's laugh is hollow, echoing against the minimalist walls. "Sleep is for those who are not haunted by the inconsistencies in their past."

The soft clink of silverware against porcelain plates filled the air of the upscale restaurant. Not Jungkook's usual scene, but tonight demanded something different. Something sacred. He'd chosen this corner table deliberately - where shadows danced at the edges of candlelight, where whispers couldn't carry.

Through the frosted windowpane, your silhouette materialized like a watercolor painting coming to life. The winter light caught in your hair, turning each strand to silver. Your fingers traced the edge of the wine list, and something in that gesture made his heart stutter - the way you held yourself now, like porcelain that had been broken and mended with gold.

"I ordered the Cabernet," you said when he slid into his seat, your voice carrying the warmth of autumn leaves. "Still your favorite?"

The corner of his mouth lifted. "You remember."

"Some things stick." A pause, heavy with unspoken words. "Like paint under fingernails."

"Tell me about your art," he said softly, letting the words float between them like paper boats on still water. "I saw your name in the gallery listings."

Your eyes lit up, though your voice remained careful. "They want a whole collection. Something about 'raw emotion translated through abstract forms.'" A self-deprecating laugh. "I'm terrified of ruining it."

"You never could," he murmured, and the honesty in his voice made you look up sharply.

"The company's growing," he offered, when the silence threatened to swallow them whole. "Endless meetings, endless deadlines. Sometimes I catch myself talking to an empty apartment at 3 AM."

"Still working too hard?" Your eyes softened with understanding. "Some things never change."

"Some things do," he whispered, watching the candlelight dance across your features.

The waiter appeared and disappeared like a ghost, leaving plates that neither of you really saw. The old pain was still there, but it had transformed - no longer a knife between ribs, but more like a faded photograph, edges worn soft with time.

"I need to ask you something," Jungkook said finally, his voice barely disturbing the air between you. "About that night."

Your hand froze mid-reach for your wine glass. "Jungkook..."

"I believe you," he rushed to say, fingers twisting the napkin in his lap. "God, I believe you. I was just too blind with hurt to see it before."

"Please," you whispered, "I can't-"

"The video," he pressed gently. "The timing. It was too perfect, wasn't it?"

Your knuckles whitened around the stem of your glass. "I felt... violated. Not just by what happened, but by not knowing. By the gaps in my memory."

"You were drugged," he said, the words like ice between his teeth.

"We fought that morning," you said, your voice distant, lost in memory. "Over something stupid. Paint splattered on your suit, maybe? I thought... I thought we'd fix it tomorrow."

"And then Sungwon texted."

Your breath hitched. "He said you'd be there. At the club. Said Sora was coming too." A bitter laugh. "I should have known. You both hate clubs."

"I remember the lights," you continued, each word dragged from somewhere deep and dark. "The bass vibrating in my chest. Sungwon bringing me something pink and sweet. Then... static. Nothing. Until that video of me with... with..."

"Stop," Jungkook breathed, reaching across the table. His fingers found yours, warm and solid and real. "It wasn't your fault. "

"I'm going to find him," he said, voice like velvet over steel.

"Don't," you pleaded, fingers tightening around his. "What if... what if there's worse? What if he..."

"Then we face it," he said simply. "Together. No more carrying this alone."

You didn't speak, but your hand remained in his, warm and trembling and alive. The candle between you flickered, casting shadows that seemed less dark than before. And for now, in this moment of shared breath and understanding, it was enough.

-

Neon signs dripped their electric rainbows across rain-slick streets as Jungkook's footsteps echoed through Busan's nightlife district. His phone's blue glow illuminated his face, the address burning into his retinas after weeks of obsessive searching. The apartment building loomed before him like a forgotten monument to broken promises, its walls exhaling decades of cigarette smoke and whispered regrets.

Metal groaned as the door inched open. Sungwon's expression morphed from irritation to horror in the space of a heartbeat, like watching a man realize he's stepped off a cliff. His fingers scrabbled at the door, but Jungkook's palm slammed against it with enough force to rattle teeth.

"Ah, hyung," Jungkook's voice carried the softness of a lullaby twisted into nightmare. "Aren't you going to welcome me properly?"

Sungwon's back hit the wall with a dull thud, his attempted smile fracturing at the edges. His eyes darted between Jungkook and the hallway like a trapped animal searching for escape. "J-Jungkook-ah... I didn't... I mean, what brings you—"

"Let's talk about that night at the club," Jungkook purred, each word dipped in honey-coated venom. His steps were measured, deliberate - a wolf circling wounded prey. "Tell me why you chose her."

Sungwon's throat bobbed. "I don't... which night—"

"The night," Jungkook's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, "you took her to the club sor some reason. The night some stupid videos destroyed everything I loved."

"Please, I swear I never—I just recorded—" Sungwon's words tumbled out, desperate and raw.

"Why?" The single syllable carried the weight of years of pain.

Sungwon's shoulders slumped, defeat written in every line of his body. "The gambling debts... they were crushing me. When the offer came..."

Something dangerous flickered in Jungkook's eyes. He pulled out a thick envelope, letting it land on the grimy floor with a heavy thud. "Ten times whatever they paid you. But lie to me again," his fingers ghosted over Sungwon's jaw, "I’ll take your fucking jaw with me when I go."

The name fell from Sungwon's lips like a death knell: "Taehyung."

The world tilted on its axis. Jungkook's breath caught in his throat as memories of brotherhood and betrayal collided. His brother in all but blood. The betrayal tasted like copper on his tongue.

"He knew about the debts," Sungwon continued, words spilling like blood from a wound. "Said he'd make them disappear if I just... God, I'm sorry. I only filmed it, I swear. Made sure she got home safe. Nothing else."

"You're sorry?" Jungkook's laugh was hollow. "You drugged her. Set her up. And you're sorry?"

"It was just the drink, just one kiss on camera. I made sure—"

Jungkook's fist connected before conscious thought could intervene. The satisfying crunch of cartilage, the spray of crimson across dingy wallpaper - it wasn't enough. Could never be enough. His knuckles sang with each impact, a symphony of retribution until his lungs burned and his vision blurred.

In the aftermath, silence fell like ash after a wildfire.

"Pray I never see you again, hyung," Jungkook's voice was steady despite the tremor in his hands, " because if I do, there won't be enough pieces left to identify."

The door slammed behind him with the finality of a coffin lid. Blood dripped from his knuckles, marking his path down the corridor like breadcrumbs leading to the next chapter of his vendetta. One piece of the puzzle had fallen into place - now it was time to burn down the rest.

-

Streetlights bled into ribbons of neon as Jungkook's car sliced through Seoul's midnight arteries. His knuckles, a constellation of purple blooms and crimson crescents, whitened against the leather steering wheel. The taste of copper lingered on his tongue with each ragged breath, but his mind had never been clearer - like shattered glass finally arranged into a grotesque mosaic of truth.

His phone was already pressed to his ear before he could second-guess the impulse. “Sora?”

A pause. “Jungkook?”

“I need you to do something.”

Sora’s voice softened. “Are you okay?”

He closed his eyes. “Yeah. I just… I need you to go see Y/N. Like, now.”

She didn’t ask why. Just agreed. She always did

The Kim residence materialized from the darkness, its gates standing sentinel like ancient guardians. When Taehyung opened the door, his smile - that same smile that had witnessed countless shared secrets and brotherhood - now seemed to crack at the edges, a porcelain mask finally showing its flaws. The smile withered under Jungkook's thunderous gaze.

“Bro, you look like shit. What—”

“I saw Sungwon.”

"Ah," Taehyung's voice scraped against the silence, "Our little rat's been singing, has he?"

“Why did you do it?” Jungkook’s voice wasn’t loud, but it carried weight. It cracked something open in the silence. “What did she ever do to you?”

“You need to calm the fuck down—”

“No.” Jungkook took a step closer, jaw clenched. “You’re gonna talk. You’re gonna explain to me why you set up the girl I loved more than my own life. And maybe—” he swallowed the venom down like bile “—maybe I’ll try not to break your fucking face.”

Something dark flickered behind Taehyung's eyes before he spat, "Love?" His laugh crackled like breaking glass. "Do you know what it's like to love someone you can't have? To watch Sora slip further away while you lived in your golden tower?" His fingers trembled as he ran them through his hair. "Your parents made it so simple - break you two apart, and they'd give me everything. The wedding, the house, the life Sora deserved."

Understanding crashed over Jungkook like a wave of acid - his parents' thinly veiled contempt, their sudden peace after the breakup, their calculated blindness to his descent into darkness. 

Taehyung's voice turned honey-sweet with poison."You should have seen how eager they were. 'He loves her too much,' they said. 'Even infidelity might not be enough.' But we proved them wrong, didn't we?"

Blood roared in Jungkook's ears as he whispered, "Her tears, the baby we lost, our future - all worth it for your perfect little life?"

"Tae?" The broken syllable shattered the air like a gunshot. Sora stood frozen in the doorway, you beside her, both witnesses to this unraveling of trust. Her face crumpled like tissue paper in rain. "How could... what did you...?"

She turned to you, her voice threaded with anguish. "Oh god, what he did to you... because of me..."

Your hand found Sora's shoulder, but your eyes blazed into Taehyung with the intensity of a supernova. The fury in your gaze matched the inferno burning in Jungkook's chest.

"Sora," Jungkook's voice gentled, like speaking to a wounded bird, "he's nothing but a parasite who feeds on other people's money and trust. Please, both of you - go. What happens next... not for your eyes."

____________________________________________________________________________

"I need you to know something," you say, your fingers fidgeting with the loose thread on your sleeve. "I ended things with Minho."

His eyes snap to yours, a storm of emotions crossing his face. You press on before he can speak.

"Not for you. Not for anyone but myself." Your voice drops to barely above a whisper. "The weight of pretending... it was suffocating me."

Jungkook sits perfectly still, like a statue carved from marble. Then, ever so slowly, his expression transforms - like watching dawn break after the longest night. His eyes shine with unshed tears, holding yours with an intensity that steals your breath.

"You..." His voice cracks. He reaches for you with trembling hands, fingertips ghosting across your cheeks as if you might dissolve under his touch. "God, you're really here."

"Jungkook-" you start, but he cuts you off.

"Please," he whispers, his forehead nearly touching yours. "Let me try again. Let me be the person you deserved back then."

Words fail you. The ache in your chest - six years of unspoken longing - threatens to overwhelm you. You manage a small nod, and his answering smile is brighter than any sunrise.

"I was blind," he murmurs, thumb tracing your jawline. "So caught up in my own pain that I couldn't see what they were doing to you. Never again."

You lean forward first - or maybe he does - and then you're kissing like you're rediscovering a forgotten language. His hands tangle in your hair as yours find purchase on his shoulders, drawing him closer.

The kiss deepens slowly — almost shy, at first. Until it’s a language of its own, a conversation between mouths that never forgot how to say each other’s names in silence.

Jungkook’s hands are steady now, reverent, sliding under the hem of your shirt like he’s peeling back time. His eyes meet yours as he lifts the fabric over your head, and in them is something so achingly gentle it nearly breaks you.

“I’ve missed you like this,” he whispers, palms trailing down your arms, your waist, like he's trying to relearn the map of you. “I’ve missed everything.”

Your fingers work open the buttons of his shirt slowly, watching how his breath catches when your knuckles graze his skin. He leans into your touch like it’s holy. When the fabric falls away, he looks like memory and myth — familiar yet devastatingly new, sculpted in shadows and gold lamplight.

When he lowers you onto the bed, it’s with so much care you nearly cry.

He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t fumble. He kisses you slowly, thoroughly, like a man who still can’t believe you’re real. Your back arches when his lips find your collarbone, your sternum, the swell of your breast. He lingers there, tongue circling your nipple as his fingers knead the other with the kind of worship that says, I never stopped loving you.

You’re already wet for him. Of course you are.

Your body responds to him like it remembers — like no time has passed, like no pain ever existed, like it was made to be touched by him.

He murmurs things into your skin — soft, fractured things. “So beautiful,” he breathes, lips dragging down your stomach. “So perfect, always. You were always mine.”

You whisper his name like it’s the only word you know.

When his mouth finds you, you’re already trembling. His tongue moves slowly at first, teasing, tasting, savoring every gasp you give him. He doesn’t stop until your hips are twitching beneath his mouth, your thighs wrapped tightly around his head, your fingers tangled in his hair.

And when he comes up, eyes heavy, mouth slick with you, he kisses you again — lets you taste the way he worships you.

“I need to feel you,” he says against your lips. “All of you.”

You nod, pulling him down on top of you, legs parting easily, welcoming.

He presses in slowly — carefully — like he knows this is something sacred.

You both gasp at the stretch, the heat, the impossibility of finally being whole again.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, nails dragging down his back. “I forgot… how good this felt. How right you feel.”

He groans, forehead pressing against yours, holding still just long enough to let you adjust, his hand cradling your jaw like you’re something precious.

“I’ll go slow,” he says. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

“It’s not,” you whisper. “It’s never too much. Just... don’t stop.”

He begins to move, each thrust deep and deliberate, every roll of his hips drawing a moan from your throat. The sound of skin against skin fills the room, but it's the whispered I love yous, the yes, right there's, the I missed you so muchs that turn it from sex into something else.

Something you haven’t felt in years.

Your legs tighten around him, pulling him deeper, closer. His lips find your neck again, your shoulder, his hand slipping between you to rub soft circles on your clit — and you come fast, crying out into his mouth, clinging to him like he’s the last real thing in the world.

He follows moments later, hips stuttering, gasping your name like it’s salvation. He doesn’t pull out — not yet. Just collapses against you, chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat.

And neither of you says anything for a while. You just hold him. He presses kisses to your damp cheek, your jaw, your temple.

“Years,” he murmurs finally, lips brushing your forehead. “We lost so many years.”

“But not this,” you say softly, your fingers tracing the curve of his spine. “We didn’t lose us.”

.

,

well, this is it. the story is now fully yours 🖤thank you for waiting and for your patience.

taglist: @cendrineee @nooooooooonnneeeeeee @gyeomibearr @ermno97 @estyshitposts @meggomeeeggo @slut4jeon @jk97bam @joonwater @annpeachy @ericawantstoescape @jkemmi @navixfr @emixlyn @whatthefsposts @cherricherryy @mar-lo-pap @dna2723 @5sosfam-directioner-psycho @lachesismoonmist @ianeaniee @spreadmysushi @carriereadsbooks @tatzzz-25 @parkinglot-nights @hamsss @cherryminnie95 @floweryjeons @rachie-wong

[namism]

in the a.m. | hange zoë

➳ categories: college au, female reader

➳ warnings: nsfw (top hange, afab reader)

➳ word count: 1.8k

➳ summary: Hange wakes up next to a pretty girl in bed.

➳ notes: made in the A.M. was my favorite one direction album so why not use it as a fic title lolol

➳ cross-posted on ao3

Hange awakens to a dark room when a cool breeze glides over their skin. As they stare into nothingness, they reach over to their bedside table, feeling for their cellphone to check the time.

Their mobile lights up. Through blurry eyes, Hange tries to make out the words that flash on the screen.

'4:34 AM'.

They put the device back down. They pull themselves to a seated position on their bed, then reach out to the bedside table once more to turn on a lamp.

Their corner of the room illuminates a faint orange glow. Hange leans on the headboard, still half-awake, before noticing the presence that had been beside them all along.

You sleep soundly with your body turned to them, strands of hair partly covering your face. You're bare naked under the sheets just like them, the sight of your shape and the cleavage of your breasts serving as gentle reminders of last night's events. While the grogginess remains, Hange vividly remembers how the two of you got yourselves into this situation—from making out after a failed tutorial attempt to stumbling over to the bed, from undressing you swiftly to fucking you roughly, they remember it all too well.

It doesn't take long for you to stir awake, sensing the brightness of the lamp that disturbs your peace. When you open your eyes, the first thing you see is Hange's naked torso before averting your gaze to their face.

Hange pats your head, then plays with your hair.

"What time is it?"

"Around quarter to five," they say. You snuggle into Hange's pillow as they continue their gentle touches. "How's your body?"

"Probably sore." You shrug. "I won't know unless I move, but... you weren't the nicest, you know?"

Hange chuckles as an answer. They can't necessarily apologize since you enjoyed it so much and it was your incessant begging that drove them to that degree. It was a night that you two had always looked forward to, so all sores were deeply wanted.

"Get some sleep." You shake your head. "No? Class doesn't start until 10."

"But why are you up?" You pull yourself to a seated position, covering your chest with the blanket. Hange's hand falls from your head to your shoulder, their hand warm on your bare skin.

"Just woke up randomly, that's all," they say. It's the truth—their body clock has been shitty since midterms season, and as much as they want to keep it secret, the night with you has been the longest time they've slept in months.

You lean on the headboard, the blanket uncovering your feet and Hange's as you pull the sheet up to your face. When you move your body, you feel a sore on your thighs, arms, and back that triggers a gasp of pain. Memories flood your head, prompting a shyness from you that shouldn't even be there to begin with. Hange is no stranger, but damn it, why is it so nerve-wracking to be around them?

They notice your predicament. After all, that's what they always do; scientists have an eye for detail and Hange is not far off from that archetype. Their intelligence surpasses many others' and it so happens that they're bright in the romance department as well. They have it all—god, they have it all—which makes them so irresistible.

They can make you crumble in a matter of seconds, like now.

"Baby."

Their hand slides to your jaw, then your cheek, which they caress with a finger. Your stomach turns in excitement, but you suppress a reaction.

Baby, really? It's not your favorite nickname, but it's endearing when it comes from Hange. They're addicting, so addicting.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" They ask.

"Just a bit," you admit. Hange turns on their side to face you, placing a hand on your jaw before seductively tracing random patterns on your skin. Your core clenches. You feel it coming—Hange's in the mood for it, and you would be lying if you said you weren't, too. "Hange…"

"I can help you soothe that."

Leaning into their hand, you decide to roll over to their side, inevitably feeling the ache in your legs. Hange wraps an arm around you and hoists you on top of them, then instructs you to straddle their waist. Their mind goes numb upon watching the sheet fall off your body, your skin so beautiful and tits so tight.

Hange kisses you. You respond with a kiss back, moaning softly into their mouth to let them know you're in for more. When they come back for another kiss, you dodge their lips to attack their neck, a move that effectively surprises them that they tighten their grip on your waist, dragging your body closer to theirs.

A prideful smirk laces your kisses, a trail beginning from their jaw down to their clavicle, which Hange judges is enough free control as they peel your lips away before you could go down any further. They kiss you instead to put you back in your place, regaining their control before they fuck you—but you grind down on them in response, and an idea comes to mind.

"It would be bad to stuff you again since you're already sore enough," they pause in between a heated kiss and their eyes go down at your pussy, a sight that causes them to smirk, "but you can always sit on my face?"

Last night, Hange didn't bother eating you out once they had their mind settled on splitting you apart on their strap, but they're sure to taste you this time around. They tap your hips and motion for you to lift your legs, so that they could scoot down the bed and position themselves under your sore pussy and get to tasting you. Embarrassment settles on your cheeks as you look down at Hange, their hungry eyes peering up at you.

"Come on, sit on my face." Their arms wrap around your thighs and they tug your limbs so you could get closer to them, but you resist. "What's the matter?"

"I-I just—" Hange waits patiently, a reaction that relieves you. "How, um, how will you breathe?"

They smirk. You probably never had your pussy eaten out before or you simply never had ridden anyone else like this. Either way, it's a fair question, Hange thinks, since they most likely wouldn't be able to breathe that well anyway, and it would be a bad idea to freak you out mid-intercourse.

"It's part of the experience, my dear," they say. "Anyway, you don't have to worry. You got me, right?"

You nod. Hange promises to signal you if they ever want you off of them, and with no worries holding you back, you sink into their awaiting tongue.

A sigh passes your lips upon feeling their warmth. Hange takes it slow at first, giving a few licks to test the waters, before digging right in and pressing their face into your pussy harder. Their tongue digs into your entrance every so often in a rhythmic manner before gliding it across your dripping pussy to swill your juices. Hange repeats the action in a way that drives you crazy, the rhythm so good that you don't want it to stop.

You gently rock your hips into their face when their nose hits your clit, wanting to relieve the strained feeling and lack of touch in the area. Hange notices your eagerness and uses one hand to spread your legs wider. You obey out of pleasure. Their lips detach from your hole to suck on your clit, and you get lost in the feeling once again. Hange is soft at it before becoming rougher, hungrier, and more passionate, something reminiscent of last night's events when they fucked you ruthlessly into the bed.

Their two hands anchoring your thighs move closer to your cunt with light touches. Hange stretches the skin on your inner thighs as their tongue moves in between your clit and your opening. An urge to cum emerges in your gut, but you resist.

"Fuck, fuck me like that," you beg in a low tone, eyes shut tight as a response to their work on your cunt. You imagine the different other things that Hange could do to your pussy, which help your building orgasm. "Oh god, you're crazy."

With a sly grin, they tap on your thigh to catch your attention. You look down at Hange whose mouth and nose drip of slick. Maintaining eye contact, you watch them slightly withdraw their head from your cunt before spitting on your wet hole and spreading apart your lips with an experimental touch. Hange accepts your moaning as a sign to continue, so they waste no time mixing their spit into your cum to create something they could lap up again.

Your hands clutch free strands of Hange's hair as they begin yet another rhythm on your hole. You follow them with the rocking of your hips, riding what you can in a needy attempt to bring back the pleasure of release at the pit of your stomach.

Hange eats you so good—"so fucking good, Hange"—that you inevitably bounce on their tongue following the rhythm they created. You feel the heat at your stomach again, the urge to orgasm coming back quickly as you bounce hotly on them. With each bounce, your hands maneuver on their hair to tighten your grip on it while your mouth opens to a string of curses: "fuck, fuck— Hange, Hange—"

"Good— good girl," they say in between bounces. Hange stills you seconds later so they could focus on your pussy, their tongue working quickly to send you over the edge.

You crumble in a matter of seconds. Hange notes the gasp you let out as a sign of your orgasm. They feel your warm cum on their tongue and another wave of gentle rocking of your hips. They allow you to ride through your release, while they catch their breath.

You get off them once you've come down. Hange runs a hand through their hair and covers their eyes with the other.

Leaning toward them, you kiss them by surprise, uncaring of the mess on their lips. Hange groans when you swipe your tongue on their bottom lip to taste your juice. They pull you closer to them, only breaking the kiss once it's hard to breathe.

They wipe their mouth with the back of their hand, taking a mental note to shower before going back to bed. You rest your head on their chest.

"What's one thing you can't do, Hange Zoë?" They chuckle. They tidy your hair and pat their work.

"I hope you feel better," they respond. You can imagine the smirk dancing across their lips as they refer to last night's sores. You nod weakly. "I think I'm going to clean up. Are you coming?"

You come with them in the shower, after which you get back to bed quickly. Hange promises to wake you in a few hours and you drift off to sleep in their arms.

[reidsmanuscript]

Seven Seconds

Summary: when Katie Jacob's gets abducted in a Mall, setting the clock for the BAU, who needs a legal favor, and it's been a year since the A.D.A. has know anything about Spencer Reid. Pairing: Spencer Reid x lawyer!reader Genre: pinning, SLOW BURN, maybe right moment?, angst bc i love angst wc: 4.6k! (i know so small comparing to part 1 bear with me) TW: cm canon typical violence, set in 05x3 "Seven seconds" (obviously lol), sexual violence, implied reader's dark past, glimpses of female rage. A/N: my idea for the serie is be taylor jenkins reid and have you question if lawyer reader exists or not (delusional bitch), english is not my first language and let's pretend it's proofread part I - part II - part III - part IV - masterlist

　　　　 　　　 .˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅.　　　

Spencer sat on the park bench reading a book while playing chess with Ethan, brilliant kid for his age and good opponent, not good enough though because when he cheered “I see checkmate in 5, What do you see?” It took Spencer one glance to calculate all the movements necessary.

“I see it in 3” he answered looking at his book again, the kid turned around the board and moved the pieces

“We've missed you out here” he said, staring at the board amazed.

“Thanks. I, uh, I had to take a little break”

“How come?” His hands froze on the book for a second before closing it.

Spencer had been clean for over a year now, it was 14 months and 2 weeks ago that he had freaked out after noticing his stash of Dialud was gone along with his needle. Where could he find more? Who knew about his addiction? Where was his stash? Who the fuck is Dr. Fitzgerald? Did you report him?

His first instinct was confronting you, given that you were the only person who found out his drugs that he knew, the first days he was a complete paranoid, he jumped every time Hotch called his name, or that Gideon looked at him a little too long.

At the end of the week he was thinking where he could find more, and when that thought scared him, he called the number of the card you had left in the same pocket his drugs used to be.

“Hello this is Dr. Fitzgerald” said a calm voice, it was 10 p.m. so there was a higher chance of going to voicemail, but he got an answer and the tremor of his hands got a little worse. Was it the anxiety or the withdrawal?

“Umm hello.. this is.. Dr.. this is Spencer Reid and someon-""I've been waiting for your call Dr Reid” the other line interrupted, he froze for a second.

“I used to play with a co-worker friend of mine. He's probably the best mind I ever went up against. One day, he just decided that he didn't want to play anymore.”

Fast forward, she helped him get clean and stay clean after Gideon left, getting tested regularly, and gave him the contact of the help group of FBI addicts. He was better, he was alive.

“So you gave up, too?”

“Just the opposite. I attempted to play Through every permutation of moves on a chessboard.”

“That's an infinite number of games.”

“It's not infinite. It's just- it's exponentially large.”

“You couldn't have played through them all.”

“There's an average of 40 moves per chess game, And I'll tell you something– the more I played, The more I realized that every single match every single chess game, Is really just a simple variation on the exact same theme. You know? It's aggressive opening, Patient mid-game, inevitable checkmate, And I realized why my friend quit. He was tired of repeating the same patterns And expecting a different outcome.”

“That's because you haven't come up on Fridays or Mondays in a while” the way his eyebrows went up along his voice tone made him feel like he knew something that he didn't.

His eyebrows furrowed “What do you mean?”

“There's this great player who comes around those days, she even brings the best pastries, and her games is similar to yours, always two or three moves ahead, she always beats everyone here… i think her boyfriend called her Buzz or something like that, like the Toy Story character”

“Buzz?… i don't really remember anyone with that nickname”

“It’s probably not that one but you don't know her because she started coming like 8 months ago.. I'm sure you have a lifetime of chess strategy in your head that you're just sitting on, but when you meet her?” He made a dramatic pause “You'll have to play it.”

He glances at his watch to realize his 15 minute break is coming to an end. “I still use it. I just, uh... I apply it differently. I have to go. It's good seeing you.”

　　　　 　　　 .˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅.　　　　　　

That evening, the BAU was called in for a local case—a little girl, Katie, had been kidnapped from a busy mall. A week earlier, another girl had been taken from the same location and found dead hours later. Now, they were all racing against the clock.

Katie’s parents were desperate. As any parents would be in this situation, right? But when Hotch asked the father if either of them was having an affair—a routine question in abductions—the man took offense. Deep offense. So much so that he refused to let the FBI search their house.

Now, what kind of parent refuses to help the police find their missing child?

In a small surveillance room, Morgan and Reid sat with Garcia, who was visibly frustrated by the mall’s ancient security system. They were surrounded by screens displaying grainy footage from different angles—well, almost every angle. They had a single glimpse of Katie in one video, and then, seven seconds later, she was gone.

JJ and Prentiss were with the mother, aunt, and uncle, trying to get a read on the family dynamic. Meanwhile, Morgan and Reid had conducted a cognitive interview with Katie’s cousin. It had led nowhere.

“The family has refused permission to search the house,” Hotch announced as he stepped into the room.

“What do you mean they denied?” Morgan’s frustration was evident. “Your only child goes missing, and you refuse to collaborate?”

No one disagreed. They were all thinking the same thing.

“The cousin didn’t say much,” Reid added. “He was too distracted in the game room to notice anything.”

Hotch exhaled sharply. “I’ll speak to the detectives, see if we can get a warrant.” His tone was firm, but they all knew time wasn’t on their side.

Garcia adjusted her glasses. “Sir, I mean this in the best way possible, but it’s almost 8 p.m. I don’t think-”

“I’ll handle it,” Morgan interrupted.

All Reid and Garcia turned to him with identical looks. What do you mean you will handle it?

Hotch’s eyebrows furrowed, but after a moment, he gave a small nod and walked away. Morgan was already pulling out his phone.

“I have a contact,” he explained, dialing.

He put the phone on speaker. It rang once. Twice. On the third ring, a voice answered—sharp, direct, and all business.

“A.D.A. Woodvale.”

Reid went rigid.

　　　　 　　　 .˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅.　　　　　　

It was late in the office; most people had already gone home, including your assistant Molly. All but Austin, who was still there because he had a lead on one of your cases. You knew he was still hanging around because, over a year ago, when someone had snuck into your office to harm you, you’d become a little paranoid. You’d gotten better, but Austin insisted on keeping you company, especially since your car was in the mechanic’s.

You were reviewing a legal brief, pen in hand, skimming the margins to jot down notes when the desk phone rang. Without looking up, you hit the speaker button with the tip of the pen.

“A.D.A. Woodvale.”

There was a beat of silence before a familiar voice cut in—smooth, direct, urgent.

Morgan called your name “Hey. We need a warrant. Fast.” You blinked, setting the pen down.

Reid and Garcia exchanged glances as Morgan jumped in without hesitation.

“Katie Jacobs. Eight years old. Abducted from a mall earlier tonight,” Morgan started, all business. “Another girl was taken from the same place a week ago—she was found dead hours later. We’re working against the clock.”

You frowned, swirling the pen, going through the multiple scenarios. You had heard about last week’s case, and how slow the police had moved back then.

“We’ve got mall surveillance footage,” Morgan pressed. “At first, we thought she just vanished, but Garcia finally pulled something from one of the side corridors. Katie wasn’t taken by force—she was walking calmly with someone.”

Your fingers tightened slightly around her pen. “Someone she knows.”

“Exactly,” Morgan confirmed. “That narrows it down to family or close acquaintances.” They all shared a silent thought. Family.

We know they’re hiding something,” Morgan corrected. “We just don’t have the probable cause to kick the door down.”

Garcia watched as Morgan paced slightly, his tone firm but urgent.

“That’s thin, Morgan,” Your voice came through the speaker, steady and unyielding.

“We don’t have time for airtight,” Morgan countered.

Your jaw tightened. “You don’t have time for me to get laughed out of a judge’s office, either. Refusing a search isn’t a crime, and suspicion alone doesn’t cut it. I need more.” You understood where the suspicious came from, how are you supposed to help them if they had nothing?

There was a pause. A beat of silence. Then, another voice—one you hadn’t heard in over a year.

“99% of abducted children who are killed due within the first 24 hours” He cleared his throat, willing his voice to stay even. Spencer Reid. “75% within the first 3 hours, and what only law enforcement knows is Jessica Davis joined the 44% of children who are abducted and killed within the first hour. We’re already past the three-hour mark. If we don’t act now, statistically speaking—”

“The likelihood of recovery drops exponentially,” You sighed, already standing up, ignoring how his voice sounded. So different. So… clean.

Your gaze flicked to the clock. 8:06 p.m. Damn it.

You grabbed a blank warrant form from her drawer and reached for a pen. “Send me the address and everything else you have. Give me 20 minutes.”

Click. You didn’t have time for goodbyes.

Austin raised an eyebrow from his seat. “Guess you’re not going home anytime soon.”

You didn’t look up as you started writing. “I never was.”

　　　　 　　　 .˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅.　

The courthouse was mostly deserted at this hour. The fluorescent lights hummed quietly, and the stillness of the evening was only interrupted by the sharp click of your heels on the polished floors followed by Austin’s boots toward the judge’s chambers.

“You sure you don’t want me to take this one? Sweet-talk her maybe?” he teased.

You shot him a look. “You think Judge Holloway is the type to be charmed? Plus, you’re a private investigator, not a lawyer.”  

“She’s not gonna like you showing up this late.”  

You didn’t miss a beat. “If she’s still up, she’ll make time for this.”  

Taking a steadying breath as you stopped in front of the door, you quickly ran through your notes, making sure you had every detail in order. Then, without hesitation, you pushed through the heavy wooden doors of Judge Evelyn Holloway’s chambers.  

Inside, the judge barely glanced up from her paperwork. “You have two minutes, Woodvale.”

Stepping forward, you set the warrant request on the desk. “Your Honor, I apologize for the late hour, but we have a child abduction case we’re working against the clock. A young girl, Katie Jacobs, was taken from a mall over three hours ago. We’ve obtained surveillance footage showing her walking with an individual—someone she likely knows. We believe the family is withholding information, and they’ve refused to allow us to search the residence.”

The judge narrowed his eyes, folding her hands on the desk. “And what do you propose I do about it? What evidence do you have to warrant a search?”

You kept your voice steady. “We have footage of the girl with someone who wasn’t a stranger, Your Honor. The parents are refusing cooperation, and the father was evasive when asked about possible affairs, which raises red flags about his involvement.”

Holloway sighed, leaning back in her chair. “That’s thin.” You were ready for that.

“I have the full footage from the mall security, including a timestamp showing the precise time the girl went missing. She is last seen walking calmly with someone she knows, most likely family.”

There was a brief pause, and for a second, you thought you were about to lose her. So you pulled Reid’s words from memory, adjusting them just enough to make them your own.

“Time is working against us. Statistics show that 99% of abducted children who are murdered lose their lives within the first 24 hours 75% within just the first three. And only law enforcement-”

She cut you off with a raised hand, signaling you to stop.

The judge exhaled through her nose, it was late and you were rambling about statistics and you knew she wanted you out as soon as possible when you started citing numbers. So pushing himself out of her chair with a slight groan. “Fine. Get me the paperwork. I’ll sign it—but you better have your ducks in a row.”

You nodded, her demeanor unflinching. “Thank you, Your Honor.”

As you turned to leave, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of the hours ahead of you. But you were used to this—fighting against the clock.

“Let’s move,” motioning to Austin. He gave you a small nod. “You got it.”

　　　　 　　　 .˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅.

Exactly 15 minutes after the call, 5 minutes earlier than promised, Morgan’s phone rang. He answered it without even looking. 

"You got your warrant. I'll meet you there," Alex’s voice came through, crisp and businesslike, just as expected.

Morgan exhaled, his relief barely hidden. "Thank you, Woody."

He paused for a moment before adding, "I owe you one," then hung up, turning to Reid.

“Tell Hotch we’re heading to the Jacobs’ house,” he instructed, already moving toward the door.

Spencer had been timing her. It wasn’t the first time he'd gotten caught up in the tense waiting game of law and order, but the pressure of it had a different weight today. The memory of your voice, clear and resolute, echoed in his mind, sharper than before.

For Reid, part of getting clean wasn't just the physical withdrawal—it was the emotional weight of confronting his mistakes. The memory of how he'd lashed out at you a year ago still haunted him. How could he have been so cruel? The hurt in your eyes, the way he dismissed you, the way it all spiraled… it wasn’t just the drugs that had made him say those things. And the fury he saw when you looked at him, Dialuid in hand, how you looked like a timing bomb when he was trying to see if he could talk to you, the tension in your shoulders, the lock in your jaw, the grip on the file. He’d been battling so much more since then, in his mind, you saved his life by doing what he couldn't do.

He’d rather die than relive that moment again, than say those things. And yet, here he was, standing in the middle of another chaotic case, still carrying that guilt with him. He stayed behind Morgan for just a beat before pushing down his feelings and moving quickly. 

　　　　 　　　 .˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅.　　　　

The engine of Austin's bike rumbled to a stop as they pulled up in front of the house, where Morgan and Reid were standing in front of the black SUV. You slid off the back with practiced ease, taking off the helmet and letting your hair fall loose.

Austin followed your lead, taking his helmet off with a groan. “So, what exactly are we looking for?”

You shot him a quick, sidelong glance, handing him the helmet, keeping your expression flat knowing he’s about to be a drama queen. “You’re not coming inside. The warrant’s for FBI and police only. Not P.I.s included”

Austin paused, a mock pout crossing his face. “Excuse me? I just got you here, through all that traffic, risking myself to get a speeding ticket and now I don’t get to search? This is the second time in the night that you P.I. shaming me. Do you hate me?”

“If I hated you I wouldn’t have bailed your ass out of jail… twice” you remark the last part. He had a talent for sticking his foot where he shouldn’t be, maybe that’s what makes him good at his job.

“You act like you wouldn’t do it a third time” he was mocking, but he was right, something you would never admit to him. 

You start walking to the house “Mhm.” you hum rolling your eyes, heading towards where Morgan and Reid were. 

You didn't expect him to be there, or maybe you did, maybe you wanted to see him and know what had happened to him since the last time you saw him. They were looking at you, Morgan with a curious already-profiling-you stare, while Reid expression was more… cautious. He looked so different, his cheekbones were prominent in an attractive way and not sickly, he had put on some healthy weight and was not fidgety. You were not mad anymore, because of course at the moment the hurt had turned into rage like it always does for you, but it was more because of phantoms than anything else. 

“Got your golden ticket” you said, avoiding Reid’s gaze as you pulled the warrant from the inner pocket of your gray coat and swung it toward them.

Morgan nodded “You staying?” He gestured with his head to Austin who was leaving.

“I have to make sure you find something, otherwise the judge will have my head for this,” you said dryly, shrugging as though the threat didn’t bother you, but there was a flicker of seriousness behind your words. You were only talking to him, which felt rude because Reid’s stare was locked in your profile. 

Reid was thinking how pretty you looked, how the black vest suited you, and he couldn’t ignore the fact you had changed your brown bag to a black one that looked nothing like his. Your white shirt and gray coat gave you an older, wiser look, but as Reid analyzed your features, he realized he didn’t even know how old you were. You couldn’t be older than him. Serious, sharp, and young... How was it possible for someone that young to be the A.D.A.?

Reid’s mind couldn’t let go of the numbers. The average age of an Assistant District Attorney in the U.S. is 36. You couldn’t be older than 25, and yet you were already in that position.

You glanced at him for a moment before stepping inside the house, feeling the weight of his stare. The look made him snap out of his trance-like state, and of course, his eidetic memory hated him, because for that brief second, he remembered how you had looked at him a year ago.

Morgan nodded and thanked you again before he and Reid walked into the house. You left the warrant on the hall table with a deliberate touch, your fingers lingering for just a moment—as if to remind yourself that you weren’t entirely done with this.

“Somebody lit a fire last night,” you heard Reid say.

“Well, there are dirty dishes for three in the kitchen, so they eat together as a family.” Morgan’s voice carried from the other room as they moved through the house, taking in the details.

If Katie was in danger, the signs wouldn’t be in plain sight. You had to look where they hid—where children kept their secrets. Their bedrooms.

“Hey, my favorite movie from when I was a kid.” Reid held up a DVD, turning it in his hands before pulling it from the player just as you passed by him, tugging on latex gloves before heading upstairs, you did feel a little guilty for not even looking or talking to him, but it was something you did unconsciously. 

“So they watch movies together, too,” Morgan mused. They were starting to build a picture of the family’s dynamic.

“By a fireplace in a house that’s straight out of a catalog,” Reid added. “Norman Rockwell couldn’t have painted this any cozier.”

“That’s what worries me.” There was weight in Morgan’s voice. A tension that sat between them.

Upstairs, you searched through the rooms with careful precision.

When you first became a lawyer, you made a promise—never ignore a sign. Since then, you have gone further. You didn’t just refuse to ignore them; you searched for them. Hollow eyes. Unexplained bruises. Small bloodstains. You looked for them in teenagers, in young adults, in the elderly. But nothing—nothing—was more painful than a child who couldn’t speak up.

Because they were small. Because someone older, someone stronger, was hurting them. There's nothing more hurtful than not being able to speak out, to say something and stand up for yourself. Except when someone did—someone saw the bruises, the fear, the signs—and they looked away deliberately. Because a child’s pain was inconvenient. Because it came with a mountain of paperwork no one wanted to touch.

You had spent your whole life making sure you never looked away.

That’s why you were hunched over the small desk in Katie’s bedroom, flipping through her drawings when Morgan and Reid entered the room. They started searching, their movements efficient and methodical.

“Katie’s been wetting her bed,” Reid said as he lifted the duvet, inspecting the mattress beneath it.

“A lot of six-year-olds do. Could be bad dreams,” Morgan replied, crouching beside you as he sifted through a pile of toys.

You considered that possibility—it was perfectly logical. In a perfect world.

“Some kids won’t get up at night because they’re afraid of the dark,” Reid added, his tone careful. Almost knowing.

“Or it could be a lot more complex than that.”

Morgan had found a doll. Not a Barbie missing a shoe or one that had simply been played with too much. No—this doll was different.

Its hair had been hacked off, jagged strands sticking out unevenly. Red marker smeared across its face like smeared blood. Its clothes were yanked askew, twisted, and wrong.

“Most girls covet their dolls like an extension of themselves.” He took the doll in his hands like it was made of fine glass. 

“Reid, I know these signs-— acting out on her toys, wetting the bed. She's obviously covering up something about that necklace.”

“And her cousin might be holding something back.”

“Well, this looks more like a man than a boy to me,” you said, holding up a drawing of a tall, shadowy figure towering over a small, crying child.

Morgan took it from your hands, his expression hardening as he analyzed the image.

“Psychology says drawing is a child’s way of channeling their inner world. Look at the strokes—how harsh they are,” you pointed to the dark, jagged lines forming the tall figure, then traced your finger over the smaller one. “And this looks like Katie to me. She forgot to draw the hands, which means she feels powerless… helpless.” 

Morgan took his phone out, dialing up “Hotch, we think Katie’s being molested,” Morgan said, his voice clipped. “And we both know the odds.”

A brief silence. Then Hotch’s response, firm and certain. “Most likely by someone under the same roof.”

He hung up, and both men started toward the door, their movements brisk with purpose. But you stayed behind for a moment, rooted in place, taking in the scene. Trying to quiet the distant sirens that echoed in your mind, the same ones always shouting when you were face to face with these situations. A loud pause—maybe out of respect for Katie and her pain, for everything she had been forced to endure.

From the doorway, Spencer glanced back. The dim light from the hallway cast your figure in stark contrast, outlining you in shadow—your form dark against the soft glow of the room. He couldn’t see your expression, couldn’t read your face. He focused on the way your hands curled into fists at your sides, the tight set of your shoulders.

And he wished—just for a second—that he could see more.

　　　　 　　　 .˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅.　　　

You stood outside, leaning against the wall, arms crossed tightly over your chest. By your side were Morgan, Jeremy, Katie’s cousin, and Reid.

Turns out, Katie’s uncle, Richard, was her abuser. A disgusting son of a bitch who deserved to rot in hell. And you were going to make sure he did. He had destroyed Katie’s childhood, probably more than just hers, shattering an entire family in the process. His own son, standing right next to you, was collateral damage he clearly hadn’t spared a thought for. And then there was his wife. The woman who had chosen to look away. Who had taken Katie and nearly gotten her killed, all for the pathetic, desperate hope that it would somehow stop her husband from creeping into little bedrooms at night. She deserved the same hell he did.

A stretcher rolled past, Katie’s small frame barely visible beneath the blankets as the paramedics guided her into the ambulance. Her mother clutched her tiny hand, whispering something—words meant to soothe, to promise safety.

A young voice cut through the air. “I heard her call my mom’s name. That’s what I remembered before.”

You closed your eyes, your mind already racing ahead. Your attorney brain was piecing it together, sketching out the battle that was coming. If the kid had heard it, that made him a witness to the abduction. His own mother had committed the crime against her niece. And God only knew what else he had seen—what else had been happening in that house—without fully understanding it.

“We get it, kid. That’s your mom,” Morgan said, his voice steady. But you knew the truth: if Jeremy could barely say those words to them, getting him to the stand in front of a jury would be another fight entirely.

The boy shifted on his feet, staring at the ambulance. “What’s gonna happen to me now?”

If God existed, He had already been too cruel. He had let all of this happen. And you knew how these things worked—knew there was a very real chance that Katie’s parents, burdened with their own grief, would resent Jeremy by association. That they wouldn’t take him in. That he would be swallowed by the foster system.

You wouldn’t let that happen.

The sirens blared outside the mall, cutting through the air with urgency, but it was the ones inside your mind that were louder—screaming in the same rhythm, as if they were one and the same. Distant and deafening, they filled every corner of your head, drowning out everything but the grim reality unfolding before you.

“I don’t know, Jeremy,” Reid answered, his voice gentle. “But we’re gonna make sure you’re alright, okay?”

Jeremy didn’t look at him. His eyes stayed fixed on the ambulance. “Is Katie gonna be all right?”

You wished—desperately, violently—that you could tell him yes. That you could say it with certainty and make it true. But how could you give him something you didn’t have?

“She will, eventually,” Morgan said, his voice firm.

You exhaled sharply. The words made your skin crawl.

“Is she?” The question slipped from your lips before you could stop it—low, bitter, nearly spat out under your breath. Just quiet enough that the kid wouldn’t hear. Just loud enough that Morgan did.

Before he could respond, you were already moving.

Your feet carried you toward the police car, toward the sick, selfish bastard they were shoving into the backseat. Your hand shot out, slamming the door closed—harder than necessary, just enough that it cracked against Richard’s face.

Morgan watched. So did Spencer.

And for the first time, he realized just how much of a puzzle you really were.

Partially because, throughout all of this, you hadn’t looked at him once. Not when he entered the room, not when he spoke, not even now, standing just a few feet away.

Partially because your eyes, when he finally caught a glimpse of them, were full of something he rarely saw outside of a case like this. Pure, undiluted rage.

Not just anger. Not just frustration. Something deeper. Something personal.

　　　　 　　　 .˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅.　

part III　 Feedback feeds motivation! Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated <3

[bombuni]

a super whiny reader with seonghwa that lovessssss someone who whiny. i think he could have like voice kink? if thats makes sense

lose your breath

summary: seonghwa knows every square inch of your body and understands the detailed map of your mind. he just thinks it’s fun to toy with you, his perfect doll. genre/pairing: bf!seonghwa x fem!sub!reader, soft smut. warnings: smut 18+ mdni, mommy!seonghwa, bratty reader, sort of humiliation kink & dacryphilia, hwa is a munch bom note: im sorry this took so long :( but i hope this exceeds your expectations! also fuck drugs u ever been addicted to mommy!hwa that shit will kill u 💔

It’s been 2 days without a single touch.

There’s a look in Seonghwa’s eyes, a telltale twitch in the upper corner of his lips every time he moves towards your lips, leaning over you so gently but so oppressively it’s as if he’s trying to melt into you. As soon as you move an inch towards him, he backs away again, smirking and pretending as if there’s not a tent in his pants with the way your eyes well up and your breaths shake.

He loves this. Hearing how you’re broken down to your senses with just the thought of getting to kiss him. He especially loves hearing your complaints, your shaky and meek voice calling his name timidly. You quietly beg for something, anything, but it takes you another bit to realize the game he’s playing.

It’s a slow morning. Seonghwa has the day off, and you’ve both decided to use it to watch the Star Wars prequels (per his request.) The marathon is just about to start as you both prepare snacks in the kitchen, moving around each other like you’ve been programmed to move in a certain pattern.

“Hmm, do we have popcorn, Hwa?”

He unwittingly smiles at the way you say his name, “There should be a bag in the cabinet above you, pretty.”

You reach for the cabinet, but find that it’s impossible to even touch the handle, “Hwa, I need your help…”

“Ah, you do? Whatever for?” The teasing lilt in his voice tells you he knows exactly what you’re asking for, but he just wants to hear you ask. Maybe even make you beg a little.

You pout at him which only makes him smirk and cross his arms. You’re stuck in a stand off now, with both of you refusing to give in to the others wants. Seonghwa knows that eventually you’ll give in. He likes waiting until you can’t take it anymore. Until it’s bubbled up to the boiling point inside you and there’s nothing left to do but let it spill out.

“Agh, you’re so annoying, Hwa! You won’t even kiss me unless I beg and now you’re making me-“

Ah, there it is. He just enjoys torturing you. A glare of your eyes grants you a chuckle from him.

He raises a brow, smiling devilishly as he cocks his head to the side, “You’re cute when you’re being a whiny baby, ya know?”

“I’m not being whiny, you’re just mean…”

“Cute, cute, cute,” he mumbles mostly to himself. Seonghwa’s hands land on your cheeks as he moves closer to you, squishing them together until you feel like you’re gonna pop.

You grumble, but finally feeling his hands on you (in the most innocent of places) sends you into overdrive. Your knees buckle, catching yourself against Seonghwa’s strong chest. The feeling of him against you, hearts beating and pressed together, his bulge standing at attention, and his sparkling eyes watching you like you’re the only one he needs is…overwhelming.

After he’s staved you off of him for days, he’s so full of ecstasy and a certain buzz only you can give him when you finally, finally beg in the adorably pitiful way he loves so much.

There’s already tears in your eyes, “Mommy…”

Your voice sends chills down his spine, “Sweet, sweet thing, tell me what you need exactly. Use your words.”

“Need to-“ you pause to emphasize your words with a drag of your hips against his, “feel you,”

He chuckles at you to disguise the moan that threatens to slip out, “Really? Already? Couldn’t go any longer without Mommy inside you?”

You blush at his harsh words, “Hwa-“

Seonghwa gives you a certain look, one that tells you you’re in a world of trouble if you continue your bratty, combative attitude. It’s enough to remind you to be good for him.

“Sorry, mommy…”

Your meek voice and the way you shrink into him makes him swoon. A drive to destroy that sweetness and leave you a broken, moaning mess takes over him.

“Hmm. I think you’ve waited long enough. Do you want your reward?”

The prospect of getting anything from him fills you with an overwhelming need to obey his every command. He is your owner, and he’s made that very clear so far with the feelings he manages to evoke in you.

“Please, mommy, just need anything-“

Seonghwa thinks it’s cute how your chest rises and your breath quickens as he pushes you onto the counter. His arms squeeze you as they lift you, burning where your skin meets his, sending that trail of warmth down to your core. He throws you around like a doll and undresses you like it’s nothing to either of you. He gets so careless when he’s like this, only fueled by your pathetic nature and reaping the rewards he’s been waiting for this entire time.

Just his bratty, needy, doll ready to take what he decides to give.

He runs his cold hands down your sides, watching you shiver at his touch. His slender fingers reach under the waistband of your panties, teasingly snapping the elastic against your skin and watching as you twitch at the feeling. You whine impatiently as he teases you like this, massaging your tits while he gently kisses down your jawline as if he had all the time in the world. His soft lips reach down to your collarbone as he pulls the collar of your shirt to ensure every part of your skin feels his lips. He chuckles when he feels the vibrations of your moans against his mouth.

“Ok, enough teasing then,” you exhale as if finally relieved of a great weight on your shoulders before spotting that same perverted smirk, “…But can you beg for mommy again? Just one more time?”

He encourages you with a wet kiss on your pulse point, nuzzling your skin to fog your brain with him, “Hah-it’s- embarrassing, mommy,”

You feel his smile against your neck, “But you know I love it, right, pretty? You just sound so cute when you do,”

Seonghwa finally drags his lips down to where you want him the most. His hot breath fans against your core, taking in the hypnotizing sound of your eager and aching whines, as he finally drags your panties down to be greeted with the sight of your pretty pussy.

He can’t resist himself, pressing a kiss to your clit and chuckling as your body jolts just like he knew it would, “My pretty doll. So behaved for me, so perfect. You always listen to Mommy, don’t you?”

He punctuates his sentence by licking a long stripe along your slit, “Hah-Yes! Yes, Mommy, I’m always good for you-“

Seonghwa talks to you in between licks of your slick, enjoying the taste of you and the sound of your unashamed submission. Finally getting you like this, with you so sex-crazed and clouded by his touch that you don’t even realize how pathetic you sound, is his favorite thing in the world.

His mouth explores the parts inside you he knows overwhelm your senses. His lips swallow you whole, tongue darting all over and inside you to drag out those sounds he loves. His left hand comes up to rub your clit, following what he knows your body likes. It’s like a ritual to him. The blatant way he follows your body’s signals and your whines is just another testament of his love to you.

He feels your body tighten, your hands coming down to his hair to pull and urge him to let you off that cliff. His eyes roll at the harsh tugs you give, your raw desperation to reach that high rubbing off onto him.

Your trembling, breathless voice sounds out, “Mommy, c-can I cum?”

“Yes, baby. Come on, you wanna be good, don’t you? My pretty doll, so behaved, don’t disappoint me now…”

Seonghwa’s words reach towards your insides, pulling at the strings of your soul and releasing that knot he’s built. Your body shakes against his mouth, which still eagerly clings onto you and cleaning up the mess he caused. He caresses you through your aftershocks, adoring the little twitches your body gives as you come down to Earth.

Your watery eyes meet his fervent ones as he wipes his mouth clean, looking all too joyful to stew in your embarrassment at this sight.

Seonghwa decides that just a little more teasing won’t hurt, “You got through the The Phantom Menace. Think you can make it through Attack of the Clones?”

[jungkoode]

ALTARS IN SHALLOW WATERS | 04

➔ PAIRING: Taehyung x Y/N (ballerina x stalker AU)

➔ MOODBOARD

➔ RATING: Mature, 18+, explicit themes and content.

➔ DATE POSTED: May 24, 2025.

➔ SUMMARY: Altars crumble faster in shallow water. But he still knelt like it was sacred. No one ever warned you that worship could look like love. Or that love could look like drowning.

➔ TAGS: second person perspective, female reader, ballerina!Y/N, stalker!taehyung, obsessive devotion, psychological tension, fixation, worship dynamics, Paris setting, religious imagery, voyeurism, sacred/profane dichotomy, slow burn, touch starvation, ritualistic behavior, gradual corruption, power dynamics, mirror imagery, water symbolism, sensory details, clean/unclean fixation, contamination OCD, professional dancer, self-destructive patterns, compulsive behavior, unhealthy coping mechanisms, possessive tendencies, praise addiction, spiritual yearning, toxic attraction, dangerous adoration, self-loathing, body discipline, mental health issues, self-harm, mental deterioration, unresolved sexual tension (for now).

➔ CONTENT in this chapter: female rivalry/competition, eating disorders(eating cotton pads), ballet classes, self-demands, perfectionism, ribbon discarding (or not), convenience store reencounters and small discoveries.

➔ AUTHOR’S INTRO AND TRIGGER WARNINGS

➔ MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQ | WORDCOUNT: 3,2k

➔ A/N: Okay. Okay. Everyone breathe. Especially me. (I’m the one hyperventilating into a protein bar wrapper at 3AM because I cannot believe this chapter EXISTS.) Welcome back to Altars in Shallow Waters, where we do not chase plot—we let it simmer on low heat while the characters emotionally spiral into the void like aesthetically pleasing depressive ballerinas and bleach-stained ghosts of men!!! ✨🩰🧼 So, this chapter. Let’s talk about her. The real action here is perceptual rupture. The moment you realize someone is watching you, but not in the “flirty eye contact in an indie café” way. No. In the “someone found your discarded legwarmer ribbon and folded it like scripture into their jacket pocket” way. Delicious. Horrifying. Both. Psychologically, this chapter is playing with reciprocal hyperfixation. How the act of being seen can unravel just as much as seeing. She doesn't name it, but she feels it—the way she catalogs his reactions, the way her interest grows when he avoids her eyes, like a cat with a wounded bird. She's measuring his discomfort like a dancer mapping mirror angles. Efficient. But curious. And curiosity? Is the gateway drug to ruin. Also let's talk about that ribbon. Because symbolically, she discards it—functionally useless, easy to forget. But he keeps it. Stores it like evidence of contact. That's how obsession works. You think it’s nothing. You think it’s gone. But it's in someone’s pocket. It's their proof that you touched the world they live in. On a more serious note: mental health themes remain central. He is not quirky. He is unwell. She is not "coolly aloof." She is also unwell. And the way those fractures collide? That’s what this fic is. Not fluff. Not romance. A slow collision of two very broken people who think they’re control freaks, but are actually being dragged by subconscious forces stronger than either of them.

And no, I will not give you relief. Not yet. We’re still descending.

➔ SERIES : PREVIOUS | NEXT

KIKI NATION’S DISCUSSION THREAD FOR THIS CHAPTER

PLAYLIST

Cotton dissolves like sin on your tongue.

You've perfected this ritual. The pad breaks down slowly against the roof of your mouth, becoming pulp, becoming nothing. The texture no longer bothers you. 

Nothing bothers you before 5 AM.

Your reflection watches with clinical interest. 

Dark circles beneath your eyes. Acceptable. Not ideal, but within parameters. You've calculated the exact amount of concealer needed to erase them—three dots, blended outward in concentric circles. 

Precision matters, even in camouflage.

The cotton expands slightly as you work it around your mouth. Your stomach will feel full for approximately forty-seven minutes. Long enough to get through morning barre without distraction. Long enough to maintain focus when others are already thinking about breakfast.

This is discipline. This is necessary.

Your tongue presses the dissolving fibers against your teeth. No calories. No guilt. 

Just the illusion of consumption that tricks your body into compliance.

The bathroom is eerily silent—except for the sound of your breathing. 

Four counts in, four counts out. The same rhythm you maintain during adagio. The same rhythm your heart should follow during rest periods.

You reach for your hairbrush. The bristles scrape against your scalp, just shy of painful. 

Good. 

Pain means progress. Pain means you're paying attention.

Camille took your hairpins. All of them. The evidence was clear: her side of the room littered with them this morning, carelessly scattered like she couldn't be bothered to hide her sabotage. 

How desperate. How transparent.

You pull your hair back until it hurts. The ponytail is tight enough to create tension at your temples. 

Not your preference—a bun offers cleaner lines, better balance—but you adapt. 

Adaptation is part of excellence.

The last of the cotton dissolves. You rinse your mouth, watching the water swirl down the drain. 

Clean. Empty. Ready.

Your leotard fits precisely as it should. Dark blue, high-necked, modest in cut but not in purpose. The fabric compresses your ribcage just enough to remind you of your boundaries. Your physical limits. The container you must perfect.

White tights. No runs, no snags. 

Navy leg warmers, positioned exactly three inches above the ankle bone. The little ribbons on the front—blue to match—catch your eye. Tacky. Childish. But the color coordinates perfectly with the leotard, and aesthetic cohesion supersedes your opinion on childishness. 

Function over feeling. Always.

The cropped sweater—also white—settles just below your sternum. The ensemble is well thought out. Coordinated. It communicates seriousness, dedication, attention to detail.

These are not clothes. They are statements of intent.

Your reflection assesses you with the same merciless scrutiny you apply to everything. 

Arms: acceptable. Neck: could be longer. Posture: correct. Weight: maintained within 0.4 kilograms of target.

You turn slightly. Check your profile. The curve of your spine, the placement of your shoulders. 

No room for error. No allowance for imperfection.

The cotton has left a slight residue in your mouth—texture that reminds you of your choice. 

Your control. Your discipline.

You think, briefly, of the convenience store. Of the cotton pads in their perfect packaging. Of the man who wouldn't look at you.

Kim.

The name surfaces without permission. An unexpected ripple in the still pond of your morning routine.

You dismiss it. Irrelevant. A random encounter that means nothing.

(But you remember the tremor in his gloved hands. The way he backed away. The way he watched when he thought you wouldn't notice.)

Your dance bag waits by the door, packed according to your usual system. Pointe shoes in their separate compartment. Towel folded precisely in thirds. Water bottle filled exactly to the line you've marked with clear nail polish. Kinesiology tape. Scissors. Antiseptic wipes. Bandages. Everything you need. Nothing you don't.

The dormitory is silent as you move through it. Your footsteps make no sound. You've learned to walk like a ghost. To exist without disturbing the air around you.

The kitchen light is on. Unexpected. Unwelcome.

Elodie stands at the counter, spreading something on toast. Butter, probably. Or worse—jam. Sugar and fat combined in a useless, indulgent paste. 

You grimace. Her lack of will is evident in every bite she takes. 

Every gram of unnecessary calories. 

Every moment wasted on pleasure rather than preparation.

She'll be replaced soon. They all will. The company has no room for weakness.

"Morning," she says, her voice still rough with sleep. "You're up early."

The observation is pointless. You're always up early. 

She knows this. Everyone knows this.

"Yes," you say, because a response is expected, not because the conversation has value.

Her eyes flick to your ponytail. Notice the deviation from your usual style. Her mouth opens slightly—about to comment, to ask, to pry.

You don't give her the chance. "Excuse me."

Two words. Polite but final. 

You move past her, not waiting for a response.

The dormitory door closes behind you as the hallway stretches ahead, empty and dim. 

Perfect. This is how mornings should be. Quiet. Solitary. Undistracted.

You begin the walk to the studio at your usual pace. 

The route never changes. Left from the dormitory. Right at the café that won't open for another two hours. Straight past the bakery where the smell of fresh bread will soon fill the air.

Your stomach tightens. The cotton is doing its job, but barely. 

You focus on your breathing instead. Four counts in. Four counts out.

The streets are empty except for delivery trucks and the occasional cleaner hosing down the sidewalk. 

Paris pretends to sleep, but it never truly does. It just shifts its rhythms, like a dancer moving from allegro to adagio.

Your mind drifts, just slightly, to the convenience store again. To the fluorescent lights that made everything look sickly and unreal. To the man with the gloves who wouldn't meet your eyes.

Kim.

What a curious specimen. 

Most men stare. They always have. 

They look with hunger or appreciation or professional assessment. 

They look because looking is taking, and you are something to be taken.

But he refused to look at all. Refused even to be seen himself.

It was... interesting.

The memory of his downturned face surfaces again. The curtain of washed-out hair. The blue latex gloves worn thin at the fingertips.

You wonder what his hands look like beneath those gloves. If they're as elegant as their shape suggests. If they're damaged somehow. 

Scarred. Diseased.

You wonder why he was afraid.

(You wonder if he's still afraid.)

The thought brings an unexpected sensation. 

A slight warmth in your chest.

A tightening that isn't hunger or discipline or determination.

Then, the studio appears ahead, windows still dark. 

You'll be the first to arrive, as always. The first to warm up. The first to claim your spot at the barre.

You reach for your key card, already positioned in the outer pocket of your bag for efficiency. 

The cotton in your stomach has begun to expand, creating the illusion of fullness. Of satisfaction.

This is discipline. This is necessary.

This is what separates you from Elodie with her toast and jam. 

From Camille with her petty sabotage. 

From all of them with their weaknesses and wants and human frailties.

You are not weak. You are not wanting. You are not frail.

You are becoming perfect.

The studio door beeps as your card registers. For a moment, you think you see movement in your peripheral vision—a shadow shifting, a presence retreating.

You turn your head, just slightly. Just enough to check.

Nothing. Just the empty street. The dim morning light. The faint drizzle that has begun to fall.

You step inside, leaving the outside world behind. 

Here, in the studio, everything makes sense. Everything has purpose. Everything can be controlled, measured, perfected.

The lights flicker on automatically. The empty room waits for you, patient and demanding all at once.

You set down your bag. Remove your sweater. Take your position at the barre.

As you begin your first plié, you notice one of the blue ribbons on your leg warmers has come loose. It dangles precariously, threatening to fall. 

Distracting. Imperfect.

You untie it completely. The ribbon comes away in your hand, a small strip of navy satin. You place it deliberately by the door, next to your things. You'll dispose of it properly later. 

For now, it's been removed. The imperfection excised.

Your gaze returns to the mirrors, reflection multiplying—four versions of yourself executing the same movement precisely. 

Arms: acceptable. Turnout: could be deeper. Neck: elongate further.

You move through your warm-up.

Pliés. Tendus. Dégagés. 

Each movement builds upon the last, preparing your body for what you'll demand of it today. Preparing your mind for the scrutiny that will come.

The door opens at 6:15 and Madame Villon enters first, as always. Her eyes sweep the studio, landing on you without surprise. 

She expects your presence. Your dedication is not remarkable to her. 

It is baseline.

"Good morning," she says, her voice crisp in the quiet room.

You incline your head slightly. "Madame."

She moves to the piano, arranging her notes for the day's class. Her movements are economical. You recognize the discipline in her posture, the control in her hands. 

She was exceptional once. Now she creates exceptionalism in others.

The other dancers begin to arrive. First Mathilde, then Sophie, then Clara. They move to their usual spots, begin their own warm-ups. Their reflections join yours in the mirrors, creating a forest of limbs and torsos and necks all striving toward the same impossible standard.

Camille arrives at 6:27. Three minutes before class officially begins. 

Her hair is already in a perfect bun—the style you couldn't achieve today. 

Her eyes meet yours in the mirror. She smiles. The expression doesn't reach her eyes.

"Morning," she says, her voice pitched to carry. To be heard by others. To create the illusion of friendship.

You nod once. Acknowledge the performance without participating in it.

Her gaze drops to your ponytail. Registers the deviation from routine. Her smile widens slightly—satisfaction poorly disguised as concern.

"No bun today?" she asks, knowing exactly why.

"No," you say, final.

She moves to the barre, taking her position behind Mathilde. 

Her spot in the hierarchy is clear—not quite at the back with the weakest dancers, not quite at the front with you and Elodie. 

Middle tier. Hungry for advancement.

Madame Villon claps once. "Places."

The pianist begins. Your body responds automatically. 

First position. Demi-plié. Rise. Second position. The sequence is as familiar as breathing. 

More familiar, perhaps, since you've never had to think about how to breathe.

Class progresses with its usual intensity. Madame moves among the dancers, making corrections. Her hand on Sophie's waist, adjusting alignment. Her voice sharp as she instructs Léa to extend further, reach higher.

She passes you without comment. Not approval. Not yet. 

Just the absence of correction, which is its own kind of evaluation.

Center work begins. The barre no longer there to support you, to steady you. Just your body in space, responsible for its own balance, its own lines.

You execute each combination flawlessly. 

Not perfect—perfect doesn't exist yet—but flawless in the sense that no one else in the room could identify your mistakes. Only you know the millisecond delay in your spotting during the final pirouette. Only you feel the slight tremor in your supporting leg during the adagio.

These are errors you will correct. 

Weaknesses you will eliminate. 

Imperfections you will excise, like the ribbon from your leg warmer.

Madame calls your name. "Demonstrate the grand allegro, please."

It's not a request. It's not even really a command. 

It's an expectation.

You take your place in the center. Feel the weight of every gaze in the room. The cotton in your stomach has long since dissolved.

The music begins. Your body launches into motion. Jump, turn, land, extend. The combination is complex—designed to test not just technique but musicality, stamina, presence.

You move through it flawlessly again. Each beat accounted for. Each position achieved exactly as choreographed. 

Your breathing remains controlled. 

Your face betrays no effort.

When you finish, landing in fifth position with arms curved perfectly in low fifth, there is a moment of silence. 

Then Madame nods once. Not praise. Acknowledgment.

"Again," she says to the class. "Four at a time."

By the time Madame signals the end of class, your leotard is damp with sweat. Your muscles vibrate with exertion. Your ponytail has loosened slightly—another imperfection to address.

"Thank you, ladies," Madame says. "Rehearsals begin at ten. Do not be late."

The dancers disperse, moving toward their bags, toward the changing rooms. 

Conversations bloom in their wake—discussions of the day's schedule, complaints about sore muscles, plans for the brief break before rehearsal.

You remain at the barre, extending your cool-down. 

There is no benefit to rushing. No advantage to socializing. 

Your body requires proper care if it's to serve your ambition.

Camille passes behind you, her reflection catching yours in the mirror. 

“Lunch later?" she asks, loud enough for others to hear. 

A performance that continues.

"Perhaps," you say, noncommittal. 

You both know you won't join her. 

You both know she doesn't want you to.

The studio empties gradually. Dancers leave in twos and threes, their voices fading as they move down the hallway. 

Soon it's just you and your reflection, multiplied across the mirrored walls.

You finish your cool-down. Move to collect your things. 

The sweater goes back on—your body temperature will drop quickly now that you're no longer working. The water bottle is half-empty. The towel damp with sweat.

You look for the navy ribbon, left by the door where you placed it.

It's gone.

You scan the floor. 

Perhaps it fell. Perhaps it was kicked aside accidentally. 

But there's nothing. The ribbon has vanished.

Your eyes narrow slightly. 

Camille. It must be Camille. 

First the hairpins, now this. 

But why would she take a discarded ribbon? What possible advantage could it give her?

Perhaps it's simply spite. Perhaps it's just another way to demonstrate that your space, your belongings, your boundaries are not truly your own. That nothing here belongs exclusively to you—not even your trash.

Or perhaps it's something else. Something you haven't calculated yet. Some new form of sabotage you'll need to anticipate and counter.

You straighten your ponytail. Adjust your sweater. Shoulder your bag.

The ribbon doesn't matter. It was defective. Discarded. Its loss is irrelevant.

But you remember exactly where you left it. 

Remember that it was there, and now it's not. 

Remember that someone took something of yours, even something you no longer wanted.

You don't know why you're here. 

This purgatory with its flickering lights and linoleum floors that never quite look clean no matter how recently they've been mopped. 

L'heure bleue. 

The convenience store that exists in that strange space between your world and... 

Perhaps it's curiosity. 

Perhaps it's boredom. 

Perhaps it's the man with the ashy blonde hair who seems to vibrate with anxiety whenever you enter his orbit.

Kim.

The protein bars are arranged in descending order of caloric content. You scan the nutritional information with practiced efficiency. This one: 15g protein, 160 calories, 2g sugar. 

Acceptable. Not ideal, but functional. 

Your body requires fuel. Not pleasure, not indulgence—just the bare minimum to maintain performance.

The store is empty except for you and him. The pink-haired girl is absent tonight. No buffer between you and his strange, trembling avoidance.

You approach the counter, place the protein bar down slowly, almost teasing. 

The sound it makes against the surface is soft but there is no mistaking it. 

A statement of presence.

No response.

You wait. Ten seconds. Twenty. Your time is valuable. Each wasted moment is a micro-failure.

You tap one long manicured nail against the counter. Sharp. Demanding. A single finger communicating what your voice shouldn't have to.

Still nothing.

Finally, you clear your throat. 

There's a sudden scattering noise from the back room—something falling, something being knocked over in haste. Then footsteps, quick and uneven.

He emerges from somewhere behind rows of shelves, eyes are fixed on the floor, that curtain of hair hiding his features just as it did before. His shoulders curve inward, making his tall frame seem smaller, less substantial.

He doesn't look at you. 

Doesn't acknowledge your presence beyond the most basic recognition that someone is standing at his counter. His focus fixes on the protein bar as if it's the customer, not you.

"Is the pink-haired girl not working tonight?" Your voice is cool. A simple question requiring a simple answer.

He doesn't respond. His fingers—still encased in those blue latex gloves—hover over the protein bar without touching it. His breathing has quickened, just slightly. Just enough for you to notice.

"Do you work here every night?" Another question. Direct. Uncomplicated.

Nothing. Just that same frozen posture. That same careful avoidance.

How curious. 

How peculiar, this man who seems physically incapable of meeting your gaze. 

As if eye contact might burn him. As if your attention is a weight he cannot bear.

Is he afraid of you? 

The thought brings that same strange warmth to your chest. That same unquantifiable feeling you haven't yet categorized.

"You paid for my cotton pads last time," you say. Not a question this time. A statement of fact. "Why?"

His fingers finally move, picking up the protein bar with such care you might think it was made of glass. He scans it, the beep unnaturally loud in the silent store. 

When he speaks, his voice is so soft you almost miss it.

"Three euros forty."

Just that. Just the price. Nothing more.

You extend your hand with exact change, coins arranged in your palm for maximum efficiency of transfer. 

He doesn't take them from your hand. 

Instead, he places a small plastic tray on the counter, sliding it toward you without making contact.

For coins. So he doesn't have to touch you.

The realization makes something in your chest tighten, and it’s not offense. Not exactly. Something more... interesting.

You place the coins in the tray. He takes it, careful not to brush against your fingers. Counts the money methodically. Places your change in the same tray, slides it back to you.

All without once lifting his eyes to your face.

"Thank you," you say, though you're not sure why. 

The transaction doesn't require gratitude. It's a simple exchange of currency for goods. Nothing more.

He nods once, that same sharp downward jerk of his chin you noticed last time. His hands retreat to his sides, then behind his back, as if he doesn't trust them to behave appropriately in your presence.

You collect your change. Take the protein bar. Turn to leave.

That's when you see it.

A flash of navy blue, peeking from his pocket. Small. Satin. Unmistakable.

The ribbon from your leg warmer. The one you left by the studio door. The one that disappeared.

Not Camille. 

Him.

But how? How did he get it? How did it travel from the dance studio to this convenience store? To his pocket?

You pause, your back to him, processing this new information.

He must have been there. At the studio. 

Must have seen you. Must have taken what you discarded.

The realization should disturb you. 

Should trigger alarm, concern, perhaps even fear.

It doesn't.

Instead, that same strange warmth spreads through your chest—that same unnamed feeling that isn't hunger or discipline or determination.

goal: 250 notes

taglist: @cannotalwaysbenight @taevescence @itstoastsworld @somehowukook @stutixmaru @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @annyeongbitch7 @mar-lo-pap @mikrokookiex @minniejim @curse-of-art @mellyyyyyyx @rpwprpwprpwprw @billy-jeans23 @calmyourtitts7 @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @dltyum

© jungkoode 2025 | banner and dividers by dailynnt

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[pbaz7]

AGAINST THE TIDE: PART TEN

paige x azzi

warning: sexual content

word count: 7.7k

A/N: Sorry this one is a little late in the day I was bob the builder today putting a dresser together 😭. I think y’all will like this chapter, it’s just really cute honestly, couldn’t do any angst after yesterday just needed pure serotonin. Hope everyone had a great day 🫶🏼

—————————————————————————

After their first date, Paige and Azzi found themselves spending more time together again. Their connection felt natural, as if no time had passed, but now it was layered with a new intimacy they didn’t have before. They still followed the established boundaries, but unlike before, the boundaries were more exciting than restrictive–filled with unspoken promises and a sense of anticipation.

When they watched movies, they cuddled, Azzi often curling into Paige’s side. Without thinking, Azzi’s fingers would trace patterns on Paige’s palm. A new habit, different from how she used to play with her fingers, a habit Paige quickly became addicted to. Despite the growing closeness, they still hadn’t kissed and they didn’t spend the night in one another’s rooms, much to Paige’s dismay who claimed she just wanted to cuddle. Still, she was always respectful, hugging Azzi and giving her a kiss on the cheek as she left or insisting to walk Azzi ‘home’ even if it was just a couple of stairs down.

Their busy schedule made it hard to plan another date. November was always chaotic with practices, games, and travel taking up most of their time. But when they did finally find a free evening, Azzi suggested they go bowling.

Azzi had been teasing Paige all night about how she was finally better than her at something, but of course, Paige disagreed. “I’ve had more strikes than you,” Paige pointed out, throwing a glance over at the scoreboard. “You’ve just been lucky.

Azzi shrugged nonchalantly, a playful smile pulling at her lips. “Sure, keep telling yourself that. You were the one lucky at the beginning.” She rolled the ball down the lane, watching it spin toward the pins with confidence.

Paige laughed, but the competition was lighthearted. The evening had been filled with the kind of easy back-and-forth that only happens when two people are completely comfortable with one another.

When it was Paige’s turn to bowl again, Azzi was walking back towards the chairs and Paige’s hand swatted her ass hard as she said “I’ll catch up,” with a grin, not waiting for a response before walking towards the lane with her ball in hand.

Azzi rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything, the brief flash of amusement on her face giving away just how much she was enjoying the attention.

As the game went on, their touchiness grew more frequent, more natural. At one point, Azzi was standing directly behind Paige while she was preparing for her next turn. Sheleaned in, resting her chin on Paige’s shoulder as her arms wrapped loosely around Paige’s waist. Paige, for her part, didn’t flinch, the contact familiar and comforting in a way despite Azzi’s intentions. She just focused on the game, letting Azzi’s presence sink in.

Azzi’s breath tickled the back of Paige’s neck, sending a rush of warmth through her. “You seem so focused, P,” Azzi whispered, her voice light but teasing.

Paige gave a half-laugh as she released the ball, knocking down most of the pins. “I was,” she replied, her voice amused. She looked at Azzi, catching her eyes for a moment, feeling the subtle tension of their proximity.

They started to take breaks in between each turn, both of them wanting the night to last longer. When they sat down to rest, Azzi casually threw her legs over Paige’s lap, not giving it a second thought. She leaned her head back against the seat, her eyes closed, as Paige absentmindedly ran her fingers along Azzi’s leg, a silent acknowledgment of how close they had become.

Paige loved every second of the date even though it was so simple. She loved how carefree Azzi seemed to be. How she wasn’t tensing slightly at the beginning of every touch while they were in public. How she initiated most of it. It was simple but Paige definitely noticed all the little things about Azzi’s behavior tonight. The younger girl just seemed a lot more comfortable than she used to.

As time passed, their interactions grew more intimate as they got lost in one another's presence. Azzi, doing whatever felt natural, slid her hands under Paige’s hoodie as they talked, her fingers brushing against her hips. Paige’s breath hitched slightly, a quick jolt of surprise running through her. She sent Azzi a look, her voice low but clear when she said, “Azzi please.”

Azzi immediately pulled her hands back, putting her hands up in surrender, but the playful twinkle in her eyes remained. “What? You didn’t like it?” she teased.

Paige couldn’t help but chuckle. “You’re pushing it,” she said, though there was a smile tugging at her lips.

Azzi only shrugged, unconcerned. “Alrighty,” she said with a grin, clearly content to let the teasing continue.

It was clear that they were only getting more comfortable with one another. Paige, for all her playful competitiveness, couldn’t deny how much she enjoyed these little moments with Azzi.

The game continued on for far longer than either of them had intended. With every turn, every laugh, and every playful jab, the competition was forgotten, lost in the easy rhythm of each other's company. The tension between them picked up and Paige swore Azzi was doing it on purpose, so it became less about the game and more about Paige trying to control herself.

Azzi eventually won, but it wasn’t really a surprise. Paige didn’t protest, though. She might’ve let Azzi take the lead intentionally the last two times she bowled, but she played it off like she was disappointed.

“Bullshit!” Paige groaned, pretending to sulk. “I let you win!”

Azzi smirked, leaning back in her seat as she wiped her hands. “Sure you did,” she teased. “Let’s go with that.”

Paige rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t suppress the small grin tugging at her lips. It was one of those rare, easy moments, the kind that felt like nothing could ruin it.

They eventually left the bowling alley, stepping out into the cool night air. The sounds of the city were alive around them, but they felt distant, as if the world had shrunk to just the two of them. The hum of their playful banter lingered as they leaned against Paige's car, the faint glow of a nearby streetlamp casting soft light over them.

Azzi slipped into the small space between Paige and the car, her arms instinctively wrapping around Paige’s neck. Paige looked at her, her gaze flickering between Azzi’s eyes and the way they darted, almost unconsciously, to her lips.

"You know you can kiss me, right?" Paige asked, her voice soft but teasing, her smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Azzi smiled slightly, her cheeks warming. "I’m not supposed to," she murmured, her words quiet for only the two of them.

Paige tilted her head, inching closer as her eyes sparkled with amusement. "Mmm, why not?"

Azzi hesitated, her lips parting as if to respond, but no words came. Finally, she said, "I have a timeline I’m supposed to follow."

Paige chuckled, as she leaned even closer, her breath brushing against Azzi's skin. "We were never really good at sticking to plans, were we?" Her voice dropped but her tone stayed playful.

Azzi’s resolve wavered, her heart rate picking up as Paige’s lips hovered so close, teasing her with their proximity. Her fingers tightened slightly around Paige’s neck, her voice finally breaking through the tension, "Kiss me then."

Paige didn’t hesitate, instantly leaning down, her lips meeting Azzi’s in a soft kiss. The initial touch was slow, tentative, but it only took a moment for the kiss to deepen, the rhythm between them syncing as if they’d been doing this for years.

Paige’s hand found its way to Azzi’s back, holding her closer as the kiss stretched on, each second feeling longer than the last. When they finally broke apart, Paige’s voice was low, a little breathless as she mumbled against Azzi’s lips, “I thought we were supposed to be moving slow.”

Azzi’s smile was slow and knowing as she pulled Paige back in for another kiss, her arms tightening around Paige’s neck. She didn’t answer right away, instead kissing Paige again, missing the way her lips felt way too much. When she did pull back, just slightly, her voice was soft, but certain. “This is slow.”

Paige didn’t say anything else. She simply melted back into the kiss, her hands tracing the familiar lines of Azzi’s back as time seemed to slow around them. Everything about the night, about their connection, felt like it was falling into place—slowly, but surely.

After what felt like hours—though it was probably only a couple of minutes—Azzi finally pulled away from the kiss, her lips swollen, her breath shaky. She let out a light laugh, trying to catch her breath. “Alright,” she said softly, still holding Paige close, “we need to stop.”

Paige, still a little dazed, just looked at her, eyes full of admiration. She didn’t argue. There was no hesitation in her response. “Okay,” she nodded, her voice soft but firm, clearly completely comfortable with whatever pace Azzi wanted to set for them.

Azzi gave her one more quick kiss, a brief moment that made Paige’s heart race again before Azzi’s hands gently pressed against her chest, pushing her back softly. Paige couldn’t help but smile, the corners of her lips curling up in a way that Azzi couldn’t possibly miss.

Paige opened the passenger door, stepping back and letting Azzi slide into the seat. The moment felt easy, natural—like they had both found their way to something they hadn’t even known they were looking for.

Paige rounded the front of the car and got in the driver’s seat. She didn’t rush, not really. They both knew it was late, but there was no urgency in how they moved. As she started the engine and pulled away from the parking lot, the drive back to campus felt peaceful, even with the soft hum of the tires on the road. It wasn’t filled with heavy conversation; it didn’t need to be. There was something perfect about just being there, together, in the quiet moments.

December 2022

The suite was alive with the sound of laughter, music, and the occasional shout from one of the drinking games happening in every corner as the team celebrated their holiday party they decided to throw with just them. It was a whirlwind of holiday cheer, albeit the slightly messy, drunken kind. Twinkling fairy lights were strung haphazardly across the ceiling, their warm glow clashing with the flashing colors of a mini disco ball someone had set up in the corner, and the room had a faint scene of spiked eggnog lingering in the air.

Paige, leaning against the counter with a cup in hand, was watching Azzi from across the room. The chaos of the holiday party swirled around her—laughter, music, and the occasional crash of something hitting the floor—but her focus stayed locked on Azzi.

Azzi was deep in a game of flip cup, her competitiveness on full display as she high-fived Aubrey after every successful flip. The room erupted in cheers as her team scored another win, and she flashed a huge grin. Mid-celebration, she glanced over and caught Paige staring. Her eyebrow quirked, and a playful smirk spread across her lips. Paige rolled her eyes, feigning disinterest, and took a sip of her drink, hoping to appear unaffected.

Nika slid up beside her, laughing as she nudged Paige’s shoulder. “You’re so down bad, twin.”

Paige shot her a glare. “No, I’m not.”

Nika snorted, crossing her arms. “Right, because casually ogling your ‘not girlfriend yet’ all night is totally normal behavior. You act like you can’t go talk to her.”

Paige shrugged, attempting to play it cool. “Just keeping my distance.”

Nika raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

Paige sighed, mumbling as she glanced at her drink. “She still has this no-sex rule, and I’m a little drunk. Just trying to make my life easier, you know?”

Before Nika could respond, as if on cue, Azzi made her way over. Without a word, she reached out and took Paige’s cup from her hand, taking a long sip. Azzi’s casual dominance sent a ripple of heat through Paige, who could only stare as Azzi set the cup back down on the counter with a smile.

“Thanks for that,” Azzi said, her voice light but her eyes were hazy, a clear indication of her being a little more than tipsy.

“You could’ve asked,” Paige said, crossing her arms and attempting to sound unimpressed.

Azzi leaned in slightly, her voice dropping just enough to mess with Paige. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Nika let out an exaggerated groan. “Ya’ll are ridiculous. Just fuck already!”

Paige rolled her eyes, muttering, “Mind your business.” But the small smile tugging at her lips gave her away.

Nika rolled her eyes, muttering something about how she couldn’t deal with them and she was fixing this before the end of the night, before walking away to join the chaos on the other side of the room. The second she was gone, Azzi turned her full attention back to Paige.

Azzi stepped closer and she wrapped her arms around Paige’s neck, her fingers tangling in the soft hair at the nape of her neck. The gentle pressure of her touch made Paige clench her jaw, and before she could say anything, Azzi leaned in, brushing her lips against Paige’s in a slow, deliberate kiss.

Paige exhaled softly into the kiss, her hands instinctively finding Azzi’s waist before sliding lower. Her fingers grazed Azzi’s hip, before she squeezed her ass pulling her closer. With a playful smirk, Paige muttered against Azzi’s lips, “I think we should take Nika’s advice.”

Azzi smiled into the kiss, her voice low. “Should we?”

Paige didn’t hesitate, her lips brushing against Azzi’s again as she murmured a breathy, “Mhmm,” before deepening the kiss. The room around them seemed to fade away, the party’s noise becoming a distant hum as they got lost in each other.

But just as Paige was settling into the moment, Azzi abruptly pulled back, her hands slipping away from Paige’s neck. Her eyes sparkled as she took a deliberate step back.

“I’m sure you would like that,” Azzi said, her tone light and teasing as she grabbed Paige’s drink and turned on her heel.

“Wait, what?” Paige blinked, momentarily stunned as Azzi began walking away, her hips swaying in the process.

Azzi glanced back over her shoulder, smirking. “You’ll survive.”

Paige groaned, leaning back against the counter as she watched Azzi immerse herself back in the game. Her hand ran through her hair in frustration, a smile tugging at her lips despite herself.

…

Later that night the suite had somehow descended into even more chaos. At Nika’s insistence—“To spice things up!” she had declared—they decided to start doing body shots. No one could quite remember how the idea came about, but with the amount of alcohol flowing, no one was questioning it too much either.

It began with Lou and Dorka, the two veterans claiming none of them could drink like foreigners, laughing uncontrollably as Lou struggled to stay still while Dorka leaned over her, slurping the drink out of her belly button with dramatic flair. The room erupted into cheers and whistles, fueling the competitive energy. Jana and Ayanna, eager to join the fun, followed suit. The two freshmen stumbled through the motions, Jana’s laugh infectious as they fumbled with the lime and nearly spilled the salt everywhere.

Then it was Paige and Nika’s turn. Paige smirked as she stepped up, her confidence on full display as Nika flopped onto the counter dramatically, taking off her shirt completely in the name of competition. The crowd around them hooted and hollered as Paige leaned down expertly, sucking the drink from Nika’s belly button, licked the salt from her skin, and grabbed the lime with her teeth, making sure to avoid Nika’s lips in the process.

“Okay, I see you!” Nika teased, sitting up and swatting Paige playfully on the shoulder as the group burst into cheers. Paige laughed, grabbing a towel to wipe her face, when she noticed the next pair stepping up.

It was Aaliyah and Azzi.

The energy in the room shifted slightly for Paige as Azzi took her spot on the counter, her movements slow. Aaliyah leaned down to start, but the moment she did, Azzi’s eyes found Paige across the room. The heat in her gaze was unmistakable—a playful challenge mixed with something deeper.

Paige froze, her breath catching as she tried—and failed—to focus on Aaliyah going through the motions. Her jaw clenched tightly, the tension building with each passing second. She shouldn’t be jealous; it was Aaliyah for christ sake, her teammate and friend. But watching Aaliyah run her tongue up Azzi’s stomach, tracing a path that Paige desperately wanted to follow herself, was more upsetting than she wanted to admit.

Azzi knew exactly what she was doing. That much was clear in the way her gaze stayed locked on Paige the entire time, her smirk widening as Aaliyah reached for the lime. When Azzi tilted her head slightly, her expression was daring, almost taunting.

Paige’s jaw clinched as Aaliyah leaned in, and she swore she saw Azzi adjust ever so slightly, ensuring the lime was far enough in her mouth that Aaliyah’s lips brushed hers when she grabbed it. The brief contact drew a soft laugh from Aaliyah, but Azzi didn’t react—her focus remained on Paige, her smirk now carrying a touch of satisfaction.

Nika nudged Paige, grinning knowingly. “Damn she’s good. You gonna let her one-up you like that?”

Paige shook her head, her jaw tightening as she forced herself to look away, her mind racing as heat spread through her.

The body shots continued, with different combinations of teammates stepping up and cheers erupting after each turn. Laughter filled the room, and the alcohol buzzed through everyone’s veins, amplifying the chaos. Just when Paige thought they’d finally moved past the game, Nika, deciding to be an instigator tonight, raised her voice.

“Wait, I don’t think Azzi’s done a body shot yet!” she declared, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

Paige immediately shot Nika a warning look. “Don’t even—”

Before she could finish, Nika grinned and gave Paige a firm push forward. “Azzi, go ahead!”

Paige groaned, stumbling slightly but catching herself. “Nope. Not happening,” she said firmly, backing away. There was no way she was letting Azzi have that kind of control over her in front of everyone. She knew exactly how Azzi operated when she had Paige like that and she wasn’t about to play into it.

Unfortunately, the rest of the team quickly caught on to Nika’s scheme.

“Paige! Paige! Paige!” they started chanting, their voices growing louder with each passing second.

Paige rolled her eyes, exhaling sharply as the chants filled the room. She glanced at Azzi, who stood off to the side, arms crossed, her amusement barely concealed. The glint in her eye said it all: she was thoroughly enjoying this and the ball was in Paige’s court.

“Fine!” Paige yelled, throwing her hands up in surrender. The room erupted in cheers as she climbed onto the counter, muttering under her breath about how she was going to kill Nika later.

She lifted her shirt over her sports bra, exposing her toned stomach. Ice, of course, took over the role of bartender, grinning as she poured way too much liquor into Paige’s belly button. Faking a “oops,” as the liquid pooled messily out of the sides. Ice added a long salt line up Paige’s torso for good measure.

Azzi stepped forward, her expression calm, but her eyes said otherwise. She grabbed a lime from the counter and walked over to Paige. Holding the lime between her fingers, she leaned in just close enough for Paige to catch the faint scent of her perfume.

“Here,” Azzi said softly, her voice low and a little teasing as she handed the lime to Paige.

Paige huffed, reluctantly taking the lime and placing it between her lips. The weight of everyone’s attention was pressing down on her, but it was nothing compared to the way Azzi was looking at her.

The room fell silent, each teammate watching. Most of them had been waiting for Paige and Azzi to officially get together, and this felt like a nudge in the right direction. Still, there were a few stifled snickers and whispered comments about how this was likely to be both hilarious and a little disgusting to watch.

Azzi stepped closer, her calm composure somehow making everything feel ten times more heated. Her eyes raked over Paige’s body, studying her with an infuriating mix of amusement and intrigue. It was as if Paige was a puzzle Azzi had all the time in the world to figure out. Then, she leaned down, her breath warm against Paige’s skin as she took her time, drawing out every second.

Paige’s jaw tightened as Azzi’s lips brushed against her stomach, soft and extremely slow. Azzi didn’t just drink the liquor pooling in Paige’s belly button; she made a deliberate effort to catch every drop that had spilled from Ice’s purposeful overpour. The slight pressure of her lips and the way her tongue darted over Paige’s skin sent jolts of heat coursing through Paige’s body.

The room was still, but Paige barely noticed. She was hyper-aware of every movement Azzi made. As Azzi worked her way up, trailing along the line of salt, she slowed even further, letting her tongue drag against Paige’s skin in agonizingly unhurried strokes. Occasionally, she’d pause to suck lightly, never enough to make it obvious to everyone else, but enough form Paige to feel it.

By the time Azzi reached the lime, Paige was unbearably warm, her entire body tight with tension. Azzi stopped, their faces now just inches apart. Her smile returned as her eyes locked onto Paige’s. The room seemed to hold its breath as Azzi leaned in, closing the small gap.

When she finally took the lime, her tongue deliberately brushed against Paige’s lips, the contact sending a sharp jolt through Paige. Azzi pulled the lime away effortlessly, stepping back with a gleam in her eyes.

The room exploded into cheers and laughter, but Paige remained frozen, still reeling from what just happened. Azzi, seemingly composed, chewed the lime and shot Paige a quick wink before walking away, leaving Paige sitting there, flushed and completely on edge.

…

Paige had gone painfully quiet, her usual banter replaced by soft sips from her drink. She kept her focus on anything but Azzi, trying to blend into the chaos of the room while her mind raced.

Eventually, Azzi wandered over and took a seat next to her, sliding in close like she always did. The casual intimacy of it only made Paige’s restraint feel more fragile. Azzi leaned in, her shoulder brushing Paige’s, her presence impossible to ignore.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Azzi teased, her voice low and warm, but Paige still didn’t look at her.

Paige exhaled sharply through her nose and muttered, “Az, you need to chill.”

Azzi tilted her head, a small, amused smile playing at her lips. “Why?” she asked, her voice laced with curiosity.

Paige finally turned her head, her blue eyes meeting Azzi’s. She looked almost exasperated, her jaw tight as she said, “Because I’m trying to be respectful.”

The simple statement made Azzi pause, a flush of warmth spreading through her. She hummed softly, the sound tinged with something deeper, something more tender.

It wasn’t the first time Paige had stopped herself, holding back for Azzi’s sake, but it never failed to do things to her. The way Paige clenched her jaw, her whole body tense as she fought to respect Azzi’s boundaries, only made it harder for Azzi to keep her own.

Azzi’s resolve was strongest when Paige was being playful or teasing, when she was being cocky, but it crumbled every time Paige was gentle. Every time Paige immediately pulled back when Azzi said “stop,” or when Azzi could see the physical effort it took for Paige to keep her hands from wandering, it made Azzi’s heart race.

And yet, despite how much it turned her on, it also made her feel safe—like Paige wasn’t just after the thrill but genuinely cared about her comfort. Azzi didn’t say anything for a moment, letting the warmth settle over her.

“You’re making it very hard to be chill, you know,” Azzi finally said, leaning in just enough for her voice to brush against Paige’s ear.

Paige’s grip tightened on her drink as she glanced at Azzi. “Yeah, well, you’re not exactly making it easy, either.”

Azzi leaned back slightly, her lips curving into a smile as she studied Paige’s face. Then, without breaking eye contact, she said, “Let’s go, then.”

Paige blinked, caught off guard. “Wait, what—”

But before she could finish, Azzi was already grabbing her hand, pulling her up from the couch. Paige barely had time to process what was happening as Azzi wove them through the chaotic room, her grip firm.

“Az, hold on—” Paige tried, but her voice faltered when Azzi looked back at her, .

As they neared the door, Nika spotted them leaving and smirked, her voice cutting through the noise of the room. “Use protection!” she called out, loud enough for everyone to hear.

The room erupted in laughter, with a few drunken cheers and whistles echoing after them. Paige groaned, her cheeks flushing as she glanced back at the team, who were thoroughly entertained. “Nika, shut up!” she shouted over her shoulder, but her words only fueled more laughter.

Azzi, however, didn’t miss a beat. She simply smirked, holding the door open for Paige as if they weren’t leaving the party under a spotlight.. “Ignore her,” she said smoothly, tugging Paige out into the quiet hallway.

…

As Azzi entered the room, she immediately moved toward the small speaker on her nightstand, connecting her phone to play some music. If any of her suitemates decided to come back, at least the music could cover up some of the sounds that might slip through.

Paige slipped into the bathroom, the soft sound of water splashing in the background as she dabbed a bit on her face. Azzi, now settled on the bed, let out a quiet laugh as she heard this taking place. The blonde was always so intentional about controlling herself, but tonight she was visibly trying to calm the fire that had been building.

Paige emerged from the bathroom, wiping her face with a towel, her expression soft as she took in the sight of Azzi. Without thinking, Azzi pulled off her shirt, tossing it aside before laying back on the bed, her body relaxed, her eyes never leaving Paige. She tilted her head slightly as she looked up, studying Paige with that familiar, intense gaze that made Paige's heart race.

Paige stood at the foot of the bed for a moment, just watching. Her chest rose and fell with deep, measured breaths, her lips still slightly parted as she tried to compose herself. Azzi could see it all—how Paige was struggling to maintain control, how the tension between them had grown unbearable for her.

Azzi’s lips curled into a sly smile as she sat up slightly, reaching out and taking Paige’s hand. Her touch was gentle but firm, pulling Paige toward her.

Now Paige was hovering above Azzi, her hands planted on either side of Azzi’s head. The air between them felt electric, charged with all the things they weren’t saying. Azzi’s dark eyes locked onto Paige’s, searching for something unspoken, while her free hand lightly grazed the back of Paige’s neck.

Neither of them moved to break the silence. As they just looked at each other, savoring the moment.

“You’re thinking too much,” Azzi said softly, her voice a gentle murmur that broke through the tension.

Paige let out a shaky breath, her gaze flickering down to Azzi’s lips. “Yeah, well, I have a lot to think about. Trying to control myself” she muttered, her tone almost defensive.

Azzi let out a soft laugh, the sound warm and inviting. “You don’t need to.” Her hand on Paige’s neck slid upward, her fingers threading into Paige’s hair. “So stop thinking.”

Paige’s resolve wavered as her body instinctively leaned closer, her breath mingling with Azzi’s. Their faces were so close now that Paige could feel the warmth radiating from Azzi’s skin, the subtle scent of her perfume making her head spin.

“Az...” Paige started, but her voice faltered as Azzi’s thumb gently traced a line along her jaw.

“I want you Paige” Azzi whispered, her tone teasing yet tender.

Paige didn’t respond—not with words, anyway. Instead, she dipped her head, her lips finally brushing against Azzi’s in a slow, deliberate kiss that made time feel like it had stopped altogether.

The kiss was soft at first, almost tentative, but it quickly deepened as Paige’s desire took over. Azzi’s fingers trailed up to the back of Paige’s neck, tangling in her hair as their rhythm fell into sync. Paige lowered herself a little more onto Azzi, the need to be closer to her growing with every second.

They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity—kissing, breathing each other in, and forgetting the world outside Azzi’s room. Paige wasn’t in any rush; she was silently waiting, letting Azzi take the lead as she had ever since they started seeing each other. It was an unspoken understanding between them, and Paige respected it deeply.

Their kisses broke intermittently, a few times when they were taking clothes off, tossing them aside with ease, and again when they paused, foreheads pressed together, just looking at one another. The space between them felt different, charged with the weight of everything they hadn’t yet said but felt so deeply.

Eventually, Paige leaned down, her lips trailing down Azzi’s jaw to her neck. Her movements slowed and purposeful, as she left soft, visible marks. Azzi’s breath hitched each time, her hands gripping Paige’s head as she pulled her closer.

“Paige,” Azzi murmured, her voice breathy and laced with warmth.

Paige hummed against Azzi’s skin, the vibration making Azzi shiver. “Hmm?” she responded, her mouth never leaving Azzi’s neck, where she continued her soft assault, her lips and teeth working together.

Azzi arched slightly into Paige, her voice quieter now, like the words were slipping out without her realizing. “God, I missed you,” she breathed.

Paige stilled for just a moment, letting Azzi’s words wash over her before continuing, her kisses growing more intense. “I missed you too,” she finally whispered against Azzi’s skin, her voice low and sincere.

She trailed her lips over Azzi’s neck and down to her chest savoring every moment. As Paige moved, she slid her knee carefully between Azzi’s legs, applying the lightest pressure. Still, she made sure to pause, never moving further without Azzi’s explicit permission.

Azzi’s reactions were everything as Paige continued—her breaths hitching, her body shifting beneath Paige’s as her voice filled the room. She wasn’t quiet about how Paige made her feel, her soft murmurs of “so good” and the way she whispered Paige’s name fueling Paige’s every move.

Eventually, Azzi’s tone shifted, her voice taking on a pleading edge as she breathed out, “Paige…” It wasn’t just a name—it was a request, a need, a call that Paige couldn’t ignore.

Paige kissed her way back up Azzi’s neck, her lips brushing over every sensitive spot she knew by heart before finally meeting Azzi’s mouth again in a brief, passionate kiss. When she pulled back, Paige didn’t say anything at first, just stared down at Azzi, taking her in.

Azzi’s eyes were half-lidded, her pupils blown, her gaze soft and hazy as she looked up at Paige. The sight made something inside Paige swell with affection, and she couldn’t help but smile.

Azzi took a deep inhale at the sight of Paige’s warm smile, and her hands slid up to cup Paige’s face. “Why are you looking at me like that?” she murmured, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

Paige just shook her head slightly, leaning into Azzi’s touch. “Because you’re so perfect,” she whispered, her voice thick, before leaning down to kiss her again.

Azzi’s voice was soft but laced with need as she muttered out a breathy, “I need to feel you.”

Paige’s heart skipped at the words, and she nodded, her lips curving into a tender smile. Without breaking eye contact, she let her hand trail down, her movements deliberate and filled with care. The moment her fingers landed exactly where Azzi needed her, Azzi’s head tipped back slightly, her lips parting as a soft sigh escaped her, her eyes rolling back briefly before fluttering closed.

When Azzi gathered herself enough to open her eyes again, she pulled Paige closer, her arms wrapping tightly around Paige’s neck as her lips brushed against Paige’s ear. Her voice was a mix of raw emotion and pleasure as she whispered, “Fuck, I love you so much.”

The intensity of her words wasn’t lost on Paige. The “fuck” was an honest reaction to the sensation coursing through her, but the “I love you” carried the weight of something far deeper—a love that had grown and solidified between them over time. Paige stilled for just a moment, her chest tightening with an overwhelming mix of emotions, before she leaned down to kiss Azzi softly, murmuring against her lips, “I love you too. Always.”

As Paige whispered her love for Azzi, her soft touch never faltered, her movements gentle as she moved in and out curling her fingers with intention as she did so. Their lips met again in a slow, lingering kiss, their gazes locking whenever they pulled back for air. The intensity between them was palpable, yet it was laced with tenderness, a quiet understanding of the depth they shared.

Azzi, completely lost in the moment, clung to Paige as soft gasps and whispered praises fell from her lips. “God, baby…you feel so good,” she murmured, her voice trembling. “I missed you so much.”

Paige smiled against Azzi’s lips, her own heart racing at Azzi’s words. She kissed her again, trailing her lips down to Azzi’s neck and back, each touch meant to remind Azzi of how deeply she was cherished.

Amidst the overwhelming way she was feeling, Azzi’s gaze found Paige’s once more, and she froze for a moment. The way Paige looked down at her—so full of admiration, care, and unshakable love—made her chest feeling like it was about to explode. Her breathing hitched, and she struggled trying to make words escape her lips.

“Be my…” Azzi whispered, her voice breaking as her body reacted to Paige’s touch. “Fuck..fuck, Paige…be my girlfriend please.”

Paige stilled, her own breath catching at the words. She leaned in, resting her forehead against Azzi’s, their lips just a breath apart as she whispered back, her voice soft but full of certainty, “I thought this already meant I was.”

Azzi let out a soft laugh, the sound filled with relief and joy. “You are,” she murmured, pulling Paige into another kiss, her hands tangling in her hair as they melted further into one another, the moment now carrying the weight of something undeniably permanent.

As Paige shifted her focus, her movements became quicker, and Azzi’s soft sighs turned into something louder, something more unrestrained. The music played in the background, but it did little to mask the words spilling from Azzi’s lips—fragments of need and pleasure slipping through her control.

“I forgot how good you feel,” Azzi murmured breathily, her voice trembling with emotion and sensation. “You fuck me so good Paige…yes…right there, baby.”

Paige’s lips curved into a smile as she focused her attention, her eyes never leaving Azzi’s face, wanting to watch every reaction. Azzi’s body arched into her touch, her words becoming incoherent until all that remained were gasps, broken and heavy, echoing in the small room.

Paige leaned down, brushing her lips over Azzi’s ear and whispering, “You’re so beautiful like this.” The soft praise drew a shiver from Azzi, who clung to Paige with everything she had, completely lost in the way Paige was making her feel.

Knowing how much her words always affected Azzi, Paige didn’t stop. She kept her voice low, soothing yet making it clear she was in control, knowing exactly how to unravel the girl under her. “You’re doing so good for me Az,” Paige murmured, kissing the edge of Azzi’s jaw. “Taking it so well, baby. You sound so pretty… feel even better.”

Azzi’s breaths grew uneven, her body trembling beneath Paige’s as the words sank into her. Every whispered praise seemed to fuel the fire coursing through her, her chest heaving as her nails dug into Paige’s back.

“Paige baby…” Azzi gasped, her voice breaking as she arched into her. Paige smirked softly against Azzi’s skin, loving the way Azzi felt underneath her, feeling her body shake from the way she was making her feel.

When Paige shifted her pace just slightly, a cry tore from Azzi’s throat, her hands clutching Paige tighter. “Oh my God—fuck Paige!” she all but screamed, her voice echoing over the music in the background.

The sound of her name, so desperate and raw, only spurred Paige on, her lips finding Azzi’s again to swallow her gasps as she spilled onto Paige’s hand. Azzi’s nails raked down Paige’s back, leaving trails of heat in their wake, her entire body trembling as she clung to the blonde, utterly consumed by the moment.

…

A couple of hours later, they were still tangled in each other, their bodies glistening, hair a mess, and faint marks scattered over their skin. Azzi was straddling Paige as she rolled her hips against the strap between them, her hands threading through blonde hair as their lips moved in sync, the room filled with the quiet sounds.

The moment was interrupted by a loud banging on Azzi’s door. Without missing a beat, both of them yelled simultaneously, “Go away!”

From the other side, Ines’s muffled voice broke through. “Azzi, I’m sleepy!”

Paige groaned internally but didn’t pause, immediately realizing they sent Ines on purpose, knowing Azzi had a soft spot for her and would struggle to ignore her. Paige didn’t say anything, though, pushing her hips deeper into Azzi, making the brunette gasp softly. “Ignore her,” Paige murmured against Azzi’s lips, her voice low and persuasive as she moved again, drawing a quiet, shaky breath from Azzi.

For a moment, it worked. Azzi threw her head back, her chest rising and falling as she bit her lip, trying to stifle the sounds Paige was coaxing from her. But then Inez groaned loudly, knocking again with more urgency. “Azzziii!”

Azzi let out a reluctant laugh, her voice breathless as she called out, “Okay, Nes, I’m sorry!”

The faint sound of Inez’s footsteps retreating down the hall signaled she was finally gone.

Paige’s movements never stopped, only slowed to quiet the sounds, her hands on Azzi’s ass lifting her before bringing her back down as Azzi quieted herself. Azzi leaned forward, capturing Paige’s lips in a soft kiss, her hips moving more deliberately now, drawing them back into their rhythm.

Breaking the kiss, Azzi whispered breathlessly, “Help me finish, so we can be done, baby.”

Paige nodded, her lips brushing against Azzi’s as she murmured, “I got you.” Her hand moved in between them, her thumb circling softly, encouraging Azzi to keep moving. Paige met every roll of Azzi’s hips with her own, their rhythm building as the tension between them grew again.

Azzi clenched her jaw, trying to stay quiet, her breaths coming in sharp, shallow bursts. But as the feeling overwhelmed her, she bit down gently on Paige’s shoulder, her fingers scraping along Paige’s back as her body trembled with release. A soft whimper escaped her lips as she slumped forward against Paige, now completely spent.

Paige held her gently, kissing the top of Azzi’s head as she whispered, “You’re so amazing.” She slowly eased out of Azzi as she laid her on the bed, her movements tender, careful not to jostle her too much. Standing, Paige grabbed a towel, her gaze lingering on Azzi, whose body was still glowing in the aftermath.

Azzi’s eyes fluttered open just enough to find Paige. She offered a small, satisfied smile, her voice barely above a whisper. “You spoil me.”

Paige grinned softly, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. “Of course.”

Once Paige cleaned up, she returned to the bed, slipping under the covers immediately pulling Azzi into her arms. Azzi shifted closer, tangling their legs together as her fingers found their way to Paige’s hair, gently detangling it in slow, soothing strokes.

They talked quietly in the dim light, their voices soft. Azzi let out a small laugh, wincing slightly. “I’m already sore,” she murmured, her tone playful despite the complaint.

Paige chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to Azzi’s temple. “M’sorry, baby,” she whispered, her voice warm.

Azzi laughed again, shaking her head as she replied, “No, you’re not.”

A grin spread across Paige’s face as she kissed Azzi’s forehead, her hold on her tightening. They continued their quiet conversation, voices dropping lower with each passing moment as sleep began to tug at them.

Tangled in one another, Paige’s voice softened to a murmur. “I love you, Az,” she said, her words carrying the weight of her heart.

Azzi’s fingers paused in Paige’s hair as she whispered back, “I love you more, pretty.” Her voice was thick with sincerity, both of their words lingering in the air as they drifted off, their breaths falling in sync.

…

When Azzi stirred awake the next morning, she let out a low groan, stretching her arms over her head as her body protested from the night before. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she frowned, her hand brushing the empty side of the bed. Paige never got up early—it wasn’t her thing.

She sat up, glancing around and noticing her door slightly ajar. Confused but curious, she pulled on a shirt and a pair of sweats, padding out into the living room. Where she saw Paige, half-asleep and slouched on the couch with her laptop balanced precariously on her legs. Azzi chuckled softly at the sight.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice still thick with sleep.

Paige blinked up at her, a small, sheepish smile tugging at her lips. “I told Geno I’d send him film notes for the next team we’re playing,” she mumbled, stifling a yawn.

Azzi’s gaze softened, her heart swelling at Paige’s dedication. She walked over, shaking her head with an amused smile. “It’s too early for this,” she said, gently closing the laptop on Paige’s lap and setting it on the table. “You look exhausted.”

Paige opened her mouth to protest, but Azzi didn’t give her the chance. She sat down on the couch, tugging Paige toward her. Paige allowed herself to be guided, sighing as Azzi pulled her close, positioning them so they were lying back slightly, with Paige resting her head on Azzi’s chest as Azzi rested her head on the back of the couch.

“You need sleep more than Geno needs those notes right now. You can do them later,” Azzi teased, her fingers automatically threading through Paige’s hair.

“Mmm, probably,” Paige murmured, her voice muffled against Azzi’s chest as her body relaxed entirely in Azzi’s embrace.

The two of them laid there in a peaceful silence, Azzi’s fingers gently threading through Paige’s hair as Paige let her eyes fall shut. Slowly, the steady rhythm of Azzi’s heartbeat lulled her back to sleep, her body fully relaxed.

Azzi glanced down after a while, realizing Paige had drifted off. Her lips curved into a soft smile as she leaned down to press a tender kiss to the top of Paige’s head. Watching her sleep like this, so vulnerable and utterly at ease, tugged at Azzi’s heartstrings.

It reminded her of something Paige had said a while ago, before they had things figured out—they were sprawled out in Azzi’s room, homework abandoned on the desk because Azzi had insisted on cuddling instead. Paige had eventually relented but only on one condition: she got to lay on Azzi’s chest.

Azzi had teased her about it at the time, but she remembered how Paige started to ramble, her voice soft as her thoughts spilled out randomly.

“Laying on somebody’s chest is probably one of the most intimate things,” Paige had mused, her cheek resting against Azzi’s chest.

“Oh really?” Azzi had replied, laughing lightly, not expecting the seriousness in Paige’s response.

“Yeah,” Paige had hummed, her voice tinged with thoughtfulness. “You’re just lying there, probably with somebody you like a lot, and the way their heartbeat sounds calms you down, relaxes you completely in a way that’s probably not usual. It feels so... exposed, I guess. You're so close you can hear the one thing keeping the person you love alive. I don’t know, it just seems kinda crazy.”

Azzi’s heart had stuttered in her chest then, and Paige had immediately noticed, her lips curving into a teasing smile as she pointed it out. Azzi had turned red, hastily shoving Paige off her chest with a grumbled “You’re so annoying,” though her cheeks burned for the rest of the day.

Now, as Azzi looked down at this version of Paige—the one she loved so deeply, who was no longer just her best friend but her girlfriend—a grin spread across her face. This was the same girl who had turned her world upside down with her rambles, her teasing, her tender way of seeing the world.

Gently, Azzi tightened her arms around Paige, holding her closer, her grin softening. She pressed another kiss to Paige’s temple, letting herself savor this quiet moment, this piece of intimacy Paige had described so perfectly. It really was crazy, Azzi thought. But it was also perfect.

[mickyschumacher]

[RED STRING!]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: spending valentine's day alone, franco thinks he fallen in love at first sight. the only problem? the connection between you too is tied with an invisible string.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: fluff, poor humour, coffee shop trope!, kind of a you belong with me vibe with the whole writing thing, lot's and lot's of yapping, very subtle red string/invisible string vibes – more fate vibes ig , technically not strangers to lovers but it is what it is, franco and reader are just the most adorable and talkative people ever, and last but not least, google translated spanish cus why not

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: franco colapinto x fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2.6k

𝐀/𝐍: the second fic of my series! not going to lie, this didn't turn out the way i wanted it to turn out. esp since it's technically my first franco fic but i had to pull through. maybe i'll edit this someday (or make a pt 2). 🤷🏽‍♀️ // as usual, poorly proofreaddddd

𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Franco looked around him at his local coffee shop, suppressing the urge to look disgusted. It was Valentine’s Day and his favourite spot was littered with people in relationships. The ‘public display’ in PDA was truly well and alive.  

Franco, of course, as every year before this one, was spending Valentine’s alone. He wasn’t sure what it was. But none of his relationships lasted till then nor did they start around the holiday. It must’ve been some sort of curse. Because everyone else around him was happily all mushy and in love.  

Still, coffee was much needed. Especially on a day like this.   

Franco took a step forward, ordering his usual. While he preferred to have a cup of mate with someone he cherished, all the people close to him were out today. Leaving him all alone with his caffeine addiction.  

A server of the coffee shop cleared his throat, capturing Franco’s attention. “Señor, esa señora de ahí olvidó sus llaves y su café. ¿Le importaría dárselo mientras espera? Estamos un poco cortos de personal en este momento.” Sir, that lady over there forgot her keys and her coffee. Do you mind giving it to her while you wait? We are a little short-staffed right now. 

Franco nodded and smiled. “Sure. No problem.”  

He turned around with the cup of coffee and keys, trying to spot you and boy, did he. Franco almost stumbled into the person next to him. The world was slowing down for him as you played with a small child at a table.  

Franco watched quietly and carefully. He watched your hair fall around your face softly while you pulled faces with the kid, making him laugh. He could tell the kid was technically third-wheeling his parents. The child was probably feeling bored as hell.  

And then there you were. Playing with the kid, pretending to do some God-awful magic, and cracking jokes that would only ever make a child laugh.  

Franco could’ve sworn you were the most beautiful pattern of beauty he had ever seen. Your eyes sparkled as though they held the entire world in them. Your smile... a social service healing those around you, he was sure of it. Your laugh he only needed to hear once and it would play forever in head.  

He watched you bid the child goodbye, waving to the very last second. Franco couldn’t help but smile to himself as you took a seat and waited presumably for your coffee.  

He blinked, free hand searching his pockets. No marker. He turned to the cash register, spotting an idle marker pen. Smoothly, he picked up the marker and began writing on the outside of your cup as he held the lid of the marker in his mouth.  

Finishing his artwork, Franco stared at the cup and then you. If there was a God out there, now was the time to prove it to him.  

Franco took in a deep breath, pocketing the marker, and began walking over to your table. Gently, he placed down your cup of coffee and keys. “Sorry to startle you. But you forgot your keys over there with your coffee,” he murmured.  

You flickered your eyes up to him and this time Franco was a hundred percent sure – it was love at first sight.  

“Thank you,” you smiled softly, “Sorry for the hassle.” 

Franco shook his head. “Really, it’s no problem.” 

He could only pray that you had some sort of interest in him as he walked away to receive his own coffee.  

Please look at the cup, please look at the cup, please look at the cup– 

You peered at your cup, spotting all the extra ink written over it. A small smile formed as you read the writing.  

“If this coffee was as good as your smile, it’d be the best cup in town. Want to go out on a date sometime?” 

You looked up, meeting Franco’s blue eyes as he smiled, holding up his coffee as a kind gesture. Laughing softly, you mouthed, “When?” 

Franco furrowed his brows. “When what?” He mouthed back, raising his hands with a small shrug.  

You turned your cup to face him, finger tapping the word date. You raised your brows, jutting your chin to your coffee.  

Franco suppressed his wide smile, trying to maintain his composure. He opened his mouth and this time sound fell out. “How about now?” 

The corners of your mouth teetered up, begging to break into a smile. “Now?” You asked and he nodded, chest rising with hope.  

You stood up from your table, shoving your house keys in your pocket. Raising your hand, you beckoned for him to follow you as you walked out of the coffee shop. The loudness of Valentine’s moved from the store and into the streets. Balloons wavered off the streets, red and pink glittered every window of every retail outlet, and lovers were found per every inch of pavement.  

Franco walked alongside you, stretching out his hand. “Officially... I’m Franco.” 

You looked at his hand and then back at him. Grinning, you went to shake his hand only to pull back at the static shock flowing through your hands. You widened your eyes. “Sparks and all, huh Franco?” You teased, shaking his hand fully the time as you introduced yourself.  

“Beautiful name for a beautiful girl,” he commented, making your cheeks flush. 

“Please, I bet you say that to all the girls you give coffee cups to,” you retorted, taking a sip of your drink.  

Franco took in a deep breath. “Well to be honest, I’ve never asked anyone out like that before.” 

You mulled over his words. “Hmm... well, if I’m also being honest, I’ve never accepted anyone’s date like that before either. Or anyone’s for that matter.” 

Franco paused in the street, making you widen your eyes. He blinked at you blankly, seriousness clouding his eyes as he processed the new information. “No one’s asked you out on a date before?” 

You shook your head meekly, tilting your head in confusion as his mouth fell open. “I am witnessing a crime... I am witnessing a crime,” he muttered to himself. 

This was ludicrous. How had no one ever asked you out before? Franco wasn’t sure about an Almighty but he was sure that if one did exist, God carved you specifically and sent you down here on Earth to put everyone to shame.  

“I honestly can’t tell if I should be happy or sad hearing this,” Franco stated, walking back to you with a small frown. “Didn’t you have any crushes growing up?” 

Your walk down the street resumed. “A few. But I never asked them out. And neither did they.” 

Franco was beginning to wonder if he should just rip his ears. “But why not? Anyone would be lucky to be even in the same room as you let alone ask you out.” 

You smiled at Franco’s seriousness. “Thank you,” you laughed, “I guess I was scared of rejection? I don’t know... I always thought it was just a silly crush, so... and besides, I’m not really good at talking to people.” 

Franco furrowed his brows as you both turned a corner. What on earth were you talking about? “But you’re talking to me just fine. And that kid in the coffee shop? He seemed pretty happy to talk to you.” 

You hummed, taking another sip of your coffee. “Kids are easy to placate. Not easy to talk too. And as for you... I don’t know. Something about you makes it easy to do so.” 

Franco reminded himself to breathe. He knew what you meant. It felt like he had known you for a while. “Where did you grow up?” 

“Here in Pilar,” you commented. “And then I moved when I turned seven.” 

Franco’s mouth fell open while his eyes widened. “Me too! Well, not the moving part. But I was born here in Pilar too!” 

A quiet laugh escaped your mouth. “Small world, huh?” 

He nodded as a strange tingle crawled up his back. “Yeah... something like that,” he smiled, supressing his confusion. He couldn’t really explain it. But it felt like there was something beyond you being born in the place as him. As though it wasn’t just a coincidence but something fateful.  

Franco shook his head, breaking his trance upon seeing the familiar sight of his local reserve. “Oh hey, you brought us to my favourite walk!” He cheered, immediately beaming at the sight.  

You blinked at the sight of his smile.  

So pretty...  

It was strange. What was this warm feeling in your chest? So familiar and yet so new. 

“Your favourite walk?” You asked after clearing your throat. “This is my favourite walk.” 

Franco raised his brows, surprised. “Is that so?” 

“Yep,” you stated, “I used to walk it all the time before I moved. I’m happy it didn’t change much when I came back. Especially that small bridge over the river. I love that one. I used to feed the ducks over there.” 

It was just before you had moved. You came to this walk almost every day with your mother as a six-year-old, with a bag of peas, seeds, and lettuce in your small hands. With all the excitement in the world, you would rush over to the bridge, finding a small group of ducks waiting for you. And then you’d spend the next thirty minutes tirelessly waving your hands with the food you had brought for them.  

Although... now that you were going down memory lane, you were pretty sure you had a friend you did it with. You couldn’t really remember who it was though.  

“You want to go to the bridge then?” Franco queried, breaking your trance.  

You smiled and nodded. “Sure.” 

By the time you arrived to the bridge, you had finished your coffees, putting them in a nearby bin. In that time, you had both enjoyed reminiscing small parts of the walk such as the seasonal flowers, the lopsided fencepost that never seemed to get fixed even as a child, and the bird fountain that ever seemed to get quite the attention from birds as it did kids. 

It was astonishing how many things you both remembered, although you supposed Franco had been here far longer than you have.  

“Here we are!” Franco cheered, waving his hands to welcome you the bridge.  

You laughed softly at the kids nearby who seemed to be slightly startled by Franco’s loudness.  

Franco watched you smile widely, taking in the bridge once again while you walked around. It was like you were trying to commit it to memory. Or as though you were trying to place a memory over it. Whatever it was... you looked beautiful. You weren’t just placed on this earth but the earth was made for you.  

“Does it look the same?” Franco queried, walking next to you as you both leaned over the bridge, watching river water trickle down a multitude of rocks.  

“Basically,” you affirmed, eyeing the tall grass surrounding the river’s edges. “It’s grown. But so have I.” 

Franco nodded slowly. He understood what you meant. In a sense nothing had changed. The river grew with the time, changing its landscape. For you, coming back to Pilar after so long, you had also grown. Coming back here was both jarring yet nostalgic.  

Franco let out a small exhale. “Did you come here every day when you were younger?” 

You grinned. “I practically lived here. I’d come with some food and there was this kid–” 

A yelp fell from your lips as the children nearby rushed past you, yelling “Ducklings!” 

The world began to tilt with your balance, leaving you attempting to grapple the air. Out of your peripheral, you could see Franco’s eyes widen, hands instantly reaching out to grab you.  

And just like that, the world was still. 

Your chest heaved with shock as you met Franco’s blue eyes, speechless. You think he asked you if you were okay but all you could think about was his hands on your waist. All you managed to do was nod.  

Franco slowly reeled you back up, eyes fixated on the familiar pendant hanging from your neck that had escaped from your small fall.  

“What’s wrong...” You trailed off, throat closing as Franco’s finger trailed the chain of your necklace, landing on the pendant.  

Wordlessly, his hand went to his neck, taking out another necklace. But not just any ordinary necklace. The same replica as your own.  

You furrowed your brows as realisation hit you. “We know each other.” 

Franco blinked in disbelief. “You’re... You’re the girl who used to live three houses down from me!” 

“And you’re the boy who fed ducks with me!” You retorted, mouth agape. 

Talk about a small world... 

You and Franco stayed silent for couple of seconds, trying process what you were just learning. What were the odds of you and Franco had known each other before he wrote on your coffee cup this morning? Probably higher than zero but it was weird that it had happened. 

You looked back at Franco when you heard him laugh. Raising a brow, you questioned why he was so joyful all of a sudden.  

“I knew things were beginning to get a bit too familiar,” he admitted, shaking his head with a small smile. 

You tilted your head, confusion pouring onto your face. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean,” Franco let out a small exhale, “Well I didn’t think about it too much when you said you moved. It was just strange. But then you brought us here. And then there were the ducks. And the way you looked at the place... and then the necklace.” 

A chuckle made its way past your lips. You remembered. “The one we begged our moms to buy on your birthday.” 

You smiled softly as a comfortable silence settled between the both of you. Looking at Franco briefly, you couldn’t help but think that meeting today at that coffee shop and forgetting your keys was fate. Who could’ve thought it would lead to series of coincidences such as your natural urge to bring him to this place.  

In some other strange way, your mind knew. You just had yet to piece together the puzzle.  

“You know what’s so funny though?” Franco queried, turning to face you.  

“What?” You asked. 

Franco grinned. “It’s so weird that we met today. On Valentine’s Day... because I asked you out on a date. I just remember having the biggest crush on you as kids. And now...” 

Your cheeks burned at his words. You remembered young Franco quite well. He was always so talkative, just as he was now. But around you, he seemed to forget how to speak. He’d just listen as you talked on and on.  

Right now, it seemed as those roles were reversed.  

“And now?” You queried, fingers tightening on the bridge’s railing.  

Franco stared at you for what felt like the longest second and took out the marker in his pocket. With his hand as his blank canvas, the marker began gliding on his skin. 

You waited for him, unsure of what to expect. You didn’t even really know what you wanted Franco to say. All you wanted to hear was that he wanted the same thing as you. Something more.  

Franco cleared his throat capturing his attention. A nervous smile washed over his face, clearly reaching his eyes. Slowly he turned his hand towards you, ink splotched all over it.  

“And now I wonder whether I can ask for a second date?”  

An almost relieved sigh fell from your lips, turning into a small quiet laugh. Reaching over, you grabbed the marker from him and began writing on your own hand.  

You smiled, showing your hand to him.  

“Of course! :)" 

Franco couldn’t help but grin. It was stupid but he loved it.  

It was just another thing he could now remember you by.  

Another thing that tied him to you. 

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑 

[starshipsofstarlord]

like rabbits | young!daryl dixon

summary. merle is humanised by his strict and overwhelming tentativeness of protecting his younger brother daryl and his girlfriend in the outbreak. but they are less helpful around the camp as they have other priorities with what to spend their time on… and others accidentally notice that too (5.3k)

warnings. smut 18+ mdni, daryl and reader are 18/18+ in this fic, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, pull out method, fingering, handjob, a pattern of people walking in on them, oral (male receiving), mentions of death and abuse and drugs, alcohol consumption, arguing, swearing, young!daryl au

MINORS DNI (18+), I DO NOT CONTROL YOUR CONSUMPTION ON THIS BLOG 👻

divider credits. @cafekitsune

Merle barked a laugh as he socialised around the singeing yet controlled campfire that Shane had set up, one of his last beers in his hand as he was met with gruntled expressions. “We migh’ as well shack up, ay blondie, it’s the end of the fuckin’ world.” Andrea was not impressed as she wrapped her arm around her younger sister Amy, wanting the drunkard to stop his crudity. The light of the hungry flames licked his face; it was the only positive attention that was being deposited to him. The likeness Shane and Dale had of the old dealer was thinning, the only reason they had allowed him into their survivalist ranks was not for him; it was for the kids that were currently holed up in their aligned tent.

“You’re a pig Merle.” Andrea bit back, only humouring the intoxicated redneck further. Everyone was tired of this same old bullshit that spewed from Merle’s lips, he was rude and foul mouthed, he even slurred curses that most of them had never heard spoken aloud. But as foolish as his addicted actions were, he could be useful in some ways, even as defiantly slim as that list was. He was useful as additional muscle to a team out for a run, he had no problems or qualms when it came to killing the walkers, he would pierce their mindless brains until they fell down and became motionlessly dead, being nothing more than carcasses of the already deceased.

They had the pariah to judge him, they all thought they were better than him due to the fact that none of them chose to voice the indignant truth; the world was prepared to crash and burn, and they would all die in the bitter aftermath. None of them were even slightly special, the playing field was now balanced and there was no social ladder in which they were above him. But he didn’t act tough and protective for himself, no, it was for his little brother Daryl and the girl that had his brother wrapped around her finger. Prior to the turmoil outbreak, they had each been in a terrible situation, and it was all down to the people that had brought them into the world that had already been difficult even in those days.

Mr Dixon and Mr Y/L/N had been old friends, their past throwing back to their high school days, before either of them dropped out of course. Neither one had any adoration for the offspring that they enforced to struggle through their livelihoods, they were selfish and addicted to inflicting harm to the younger generations of their tainted bloodlines. Merle had escaped the physical wrath, leaving Daryl abandoned with the villainous figure of their father, occasionally he would drop by the Y/L/N household to earn himself some quick influx of cash, knowing that the man residing within could never justify rejecting something that made him trigger happy.

But as soon as the unexpected broadcast flooded the television and radio channels of a dwelt illness that reanimated the dead and passed onto those living, Merle returned to the dreaded place where he had grown up. He had been dealt his fair share of misery long before Daryl was birthed into the world, he had scars too, the difference was however was that he was not ashamed of them. He did not care for the quality that his body was in, hence why he had induced himself with the precipitation of illegal drugs, skyrocketing through a high that helped him in forgetting the terrible things that he had bared witness to in his youth.

“Whatever prude," Merle's bite back, fighting off his own shallow insecurities that he swallowed down to hoard in the pit of his drug digesting stomach, knowledgeable that he would be going to rest alone without the sweet touch of a woman to daunt his mind with calmness. He hurled out a glob of saliva from his mouth, the pool of spit and alcohol landing with spite on the ground as he stalked away from the other survivors, relieved to finally be departing from them. They were a bunch of asses anyways, Merle thought, shaking his head at them on their high horses, looking down their noses at him. There were only two souls in the camp that he actually liked, and none of them were bestowed with that rare gift.

Giggles fell from your lips as you relished in the feeling of Daryl’s lips pressing with frantic need against your neck, making your head lull backwards with the rush of pleasure as his hand roamed around beneath the confines of your jeans and underwear. It was nighttime, the others that habited the makeshift camp would either be asleep in their own tents or huddled around the fire that they often set up close to the RV. It had given the two of you a chance to spend some time together alone, and with intimacy. The both of you often hunted together, leaving the rows of salvaged tents to journey into the thick of the woods, mostly catching small prey like squirrels and rabbits if you were lucky.

As much as you would have liked to, there was no chance of you fucking out in the open wild; Daryl would not allow it, knowing that there was a large risk of the undead stumbling upon you fornicating. The last thing he wanted was to allow your life to be at risk, and whilst he didn’t shelter you, he did all he could to protect you, even in spite of your ability to aim his crossbow and shoot a shotgun. It was logical of course, dwindling the chance of getting caught off guard by the leering undead, but the thought still turned you on.

“Ya like tha’?” Daryl preened you for reassurance as he slipped a finger into your slick and welcoming walls, your answer being a gasp that uncontrollably left your mouth. He was so fucking good with his fingers, and he didn’t even know it. After all the times he had made you cum, you would have expected him to be aware, but not only did he require confirmation, he wanted you to admit that he was pleasuring you. It did something to his brain, circuiting it into an arousal pledged satisfaction, simply from hearing his name or a defining ‘yes’ fall benevolently from your lips. And so your mouth murmured his name, stifling the volume that it wished to be spoken at, for the sake of not drawing in the curiosity of walkers or your fellow survivors.

He began to suckle deeper on your flesh, bringing the blood beneath to the surface, ensuring that there would be bruises left after his lips had dislodged. Your head rolled back, eyes closing from the addictive satisfaction that he gifted your body, hips lifting without shame towards the press of his fingers, forcing them bury deeper within your tight walls. If there was no threat to your lives by doing so, you would constantly remain in this tent, with your bodies colliding in a desperate passion that brought an amorously filled ecstasy to both of you. He shushed you, withdrawing his lips and moving them onto your mouth, teasingly biting your lip as he watched you unfold into bliss because of him.

“Fuck me. Ya two practicin’ fer a kid or somethin’? ‘Cause if you are, that ain’t how ya do it.” Daryl and you shot apart, faces warm from embarrassment as Merle stood in the opening of the tent that neither one of you had heard be unzipped, and your boyfriend retracted his hand from beneath your jeans and panties, subtly bringing it to lay down beside him and away from his brother’s gaze. Your breath was laboured, and you knew that it was obvious to anyone that could see you that you had endured the highs of an orgasm. After the shock wore from Daryl he scowled and rolled his blue eyes at Merle, visibly pissed off for the uncalled for interruption.

“Don’ ya know how ta knock?” Daryl barked with evident irritation in his tone, glaring at his only sibling. Whilst he was grateful for all Merle had done to ensure that he and you survived thus far into the outbreak, it was all forgotten in the present, for he had ultimately not been thinking with his mind and instead a far different part of his body. He’d just been getting started in his eyes, Daryl had anticipated to make you cum and cum again until you finally drifted off into a noiseless sleep that did not consist of the nightmares that the walkers had sprung into your mind. It was not only a distraction, but a show of his strong affection, and that opportunity had now been diminished thanks to the unwelcome intrusion.

“One problem there little brother is there ain’t any doors.” Smart ass Merle, you thought, although you could not meet his eyes as he chuckled at the antics of the pair of you. Merle would not admit it, but his decision to find you both had been out of concern, he wanted to check on you and make sure you were within the safest vicinity that you could be for now; the camp. He was relieved that you both were, but he could never miss an opportunity at teasing Daryl, it was far too enjoyable for him to rile up his brother. “Though ya been knockin’ the wind outta that girl, yer fuckin’ like yer gonna die tomorrow. Ya okay there Y/N/N?”

The attention that Merle had drawn towards you made you shuffle nervously atop of the sleeping bag, and from your embarrassment Daryl’s anger only increased. His nostrils flared in rage, his eyebrows lowering in a firm frown that was aimed at none other than Merle. He too felt embarrassed, having evaded his brother walking in for so long, and finally it had happened all on its own. The two of you had presumed that Merle would spend a longer amount of time by the fire where it was warm, whilst you and Daryl shared each other’s body heat, and that afterwards Merle would return to his own tent beside yours. How wrong you had been. “Get the fuck out Merle.”

Daryl was practically seething, causing his brother to laugh harder, clutching his stomach as though his amusement brought him pain. His face was red as he chortled, and he waved his hand towards you both, as though his the blame for his laughter was on you, and it was without intention. “Okay, okay.” Merle steadied himself, reaching for the zipper of the tent as he stepped back onto the grass. “You crazy kids have fun, don’t do nothin’ I wouldn’t.” He sent his brother a wink that made you shiver, and he finally closed the partition to the outdoors, leaving Daryl and you in one another’s presence once more.

“He definitely killed the mood, didn’ he?” You didn’t even need to answer him, it was transparent that the mood was beyond dead, and you shuffled around on the sleeping bag that was somehow large enough for the pair of you to share, slipping into it and reaching for the travel lamp as Daryl slipped in behind you, his hands holding your body as he sighed from the frustration that boiled within him. He closed his eyes, wishing to erase the event from the timeline, but it was impossible. If only his damning brother had not interrupted, then neither of you would be going to bed with a hunger that had been off out by the careless intrusion.

Glenn was not that much older than you and Daryl, a couple of years you supposed, and you liked the young man that had previously attained the job of a pizza boy and got along with him well. He was kind unlike many others seemed in the camp, and he was startled as Shane grabbed his arm, pulling him to the side, looking at him expectedly. He hadn’t long returned from a run, so he supposed the reason for being leered at had something to do with that, though his expectations were befallen when Shane spoke. “You seen Y/N? She’s not with the other women?”

Ah yes, the misogynistic duty that was reserved for the ladies of the camp, washing the dirtied clothes in the nearby lake. If things were not in order the older man did not like it, he had to ensure that things within the band of survivors ran swiftly since he had taken on the role of leader that had entailed no vote to sanction him in such a position. Glenn shook his head, pursing his lips, though he had witnessed you scatter silently across the camp without a word exchanged. You had simply nodded at him in a passing greeting, for some reason excitement affecting your speed. The last thing your friendly acquaintance wanted was to piss him off, and the glare he received for his denial was invoking.

It made him think that if something happened to you amidst escorting yourself into the woods, then the fault would be on him. He didn’t want anything to happen to you and keeping the truth to himself could potentially bring you the consequences of harm or death. You seemed as though you could take care of yourself, but no one truly knew what extent to. The knowledge that you had endured the hardship of living amongst the difficult town alongside Daryl and Merle was common, and you would go out hunting with the two of them, but Glenn had never seen you handle yourself against walkers. No one except the brothers had, and that was what concerned him most, especially considering both of the Dixons refused your company on runs, claiming that it was for your safety.

From Shane’s endless glowering, Glenn gulped, inadvertently gulping and readying his breath to speak. “She went out there.” Glenn’s hand pointed beyond the trees, the lush green leaves motionless for there was no breeze that whisked through the air, and Shane’s eyes followed direction of his index finger, an instantaneous frown contorting his features as he looked back at his fellow survivor with almost disbelief.

“By herself?!” The volume of Shane’s voice was loud, contorted into a mixture of absolute worry and prominent anger. Glenn should have told someone, him, he thought to himself. If you were to die his leadership would no doubt be questioned, and he quite enjoyed holding some kind of power over people, he always had. The world in its current state was dangerous, and he checked his hip to ensure that his weapon was still plastered at his side, and he began walking with a pace towards the bordering woods that you had disappeared into. “Come on Rhee, you’re coming with me to find her.” Fucking Dixons and their plus one, they were more trouble than they were worth. He thought you were lucky to be a young woman, otherwise he wouldn’t have put his life on the line to go out and rescue you.

With no resilience to the orders, Glenn followed after him, guilt ebbing at his chest, dreading the outcome in which a walker had stumbled upon you and pursued you as prey. He should have held more concern when you had meandered off, but he had been tired and distracted from the run into the city. You never went into the woodland in solitary, Daryl was usually with you, and if he had been, he hadn’t seen the youngest Dixon. If something had the unfortunate occurrence of happening to you, then the fault would be on no one else other than him. And he knew that to be the truth.

Finally, you were alone. With Daryl. You had chased after him some minutes later when he had stated that he was going to search for ‘some squirrels or somethin’’, the evening prior was when Merle had stumbled upon a scene that he would forever tease you about, and you knew that Daryl was dwelling in his own frustrations. He dared not speak of it, feeling ridiculed and like a child that his brother had witnessed something he would never live done, opting instead to shoot something than regard you with his overflowing lust. If anyone were to walk in you again, he was certain that he would grab his crossbow and aim in their direction, truly pissed off for yet another interruption to expelling both his attraction and love towards you.

Daryl had never wanted to fuck in the woods, it was too dangerous, but you had mentally plucked at a compromise that satisfied both of you. The twigs and dried leaves were hard and irritating beneath your knees as you pulled at both his pants and boxers, leaving his cock exposed to your desperate gaze. You could never get enough of Daryl, even as he tried to maintain his stature, his back flush against the ascending bark of a tree, crossbow loaded and in one hand in case a walker were to attempt to kill and then feast on you both. It was the compromise, and Daryl released a staggered breath as you wrapped your palm around his length, leading his cock into your awaiting mouth.

He stifled a strewn gasp, forcing his eyes to remain open so he could spy the undead heading towards you if they did, his other hand softly coiling in your hair, playing with the strands around your face and gently pushing them out of your peripheral. “Fuck darlin’, you know how ta drive me crazy.” And that you did, such was proven as you took him deeper into your mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat, and his whole body shuddered, becoming frail from pleasure. The sounds of nature danced around you, the birds rustling in the branches above being the only noise other than Daryl’s cock wetly slipping in and out of your mouth as you bobbed your head.

It was utter ecstasy to be some place that Daryl ironically felt safe, and to have you with him, intimately suckling on his most sensitive nerves. Your hands grasped his hips, allowing you to buck your head forwards slightly faster, drool sputtering around your chin as you began to gag on his endowed length. With one last look up at the crumbling man above you, whose eyes scoured the landscape skittishly, you closed your own, lashes fluttering upon your cheeks as you poured all your focus into making him feel good. He deserved a break, and you were more than happy to comply and give that to him,

There was no rush, it was the two of you in a space that it felt like no other soul could interrupt. You gorged yourself on the taste of his flesh, wanting to feel his seed warmly spill down your throat, and make his brain feel elated throughout the turmoil of instinctual survival that it processed on repeat. He stroked over your hair again, playing with the strands as the muscles in his legs tensed from the sensations that were rocketing into his mind. His fist clenched firmer on the grip of his crossbow, knuckles turning white as he bit his lip and slowly moved his hips in accordance to the motion of your head.

A rustle upon the ground caught him off guard, and his defences raised as he pushed you with care away, quickly tucking himself back into his jeans although the fly and button were still open. You stood beside him, sheathing the machete from the ground with urgent administrations, not composing your fucked out appearance that had come from using your mouth on him, expecting a walker to appear in view. Though there were no walkers, only two men that made Daryl outwardly groan and roll his oceanic irises around in the whites of his eyes. Another interruption. Why could no one just leave the two of you alone? Shane and Glenn looked between the both of you, minds piecing together the implications that they had disturbed. “Seriously?! The fuck!”

Daryl exclaimed, wedging his boots into the earth below as he tried to numb the heat that was battling to the surface of his face, glaring indignantly towards the two. You hastily wiped your chin, thinning your lips as you silently tilted your head in question in Glenn’s direction, uncertain as to why their presence had broke through the moment that you and Daryl had been craving. Thinking that the woods would be a private place was a good idea initially, however it proved that you couldn’t get peace anywhere. “I’m thinking the same thing.” Shane’s authority brewed the air with tension, as he narrowed his eyes at you, scoffing lightly. Yes, he had been young once, but the world was not as safe as it used to be, and logically that should have rendered in your thoughts. “The two of you shouldn’t be out here - doing that.”

Glenn didn’t back him up verbally, unsure of what to say, and knowing that if he did open his mouth it could possibly make things worse. Daryl however was not going to take Shane’s shit, he always saw himself as above others, as though he still wore a badge and it meant something on the tarnished lands. “It don’t stop you and Lori from sneakin’ off ta fuck ou’ here.” Shane’s face became swamped with realisation that him and his late friend’s wife hadn’t been as cautious as they had initially perceived. “Ya don’ think I hear ya two scamperin’ off when I get back from huntin’. B’cause I do, and I ain’t the only one.” The pizza boy stepped backwards as to not get involved with the puncturing of Shane’s ego, watching as Shane huffed beneath his breath.

“Keep your mouth shut Dixon, you don’t know anything. And head back to camp - the both of you.” You wanted to punch him; no one spoke to Daryl like that, especially not in front of you, and as you went to step forward Daryl grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers so that you could walk past the prick together without the risk of causing a fight. Your boyfriend spat on the forest floor as he by Shane, glaring daggers at the man that had to ruin everything. Shane just didn’t want to hear the truth, his pride was far too large to be brought into reality by ‘a no good redneck’, but that was what had happened. You knew that Glenn would apologise later, and as you stalked through the woods, you heard no verbal interaction between the two men that walked some ways behind the pair of you.

Daryl was a mess. Merle was missing, having removed his own hand to escape the latches of the handcuffs that Lori’s apparently alive husband has clamped him in on that rooftop. He had wanted to start a fight, more so when they came up empty handed when going to retrieve his brother, but you had stopped him. It would only cause more trouble than what was already prevailing, and you did not want Daryl to get in the thick of it. He had already cursed him out, threatened to propel ammunition from his crossbow into Rick, and none of it had brought Merle’s return. In the comfort of your shared tent he had cried, his tears streaming down his face as you coddled him with comfort, trying with all your might to usher the tears away.

And finally they had come to an end, his tear ducts unable to produce any more moisture, though Daryl’s anger had not dispersed. You ran a hand along his shoulder blade, placing a peck on the sleeveless area as you laid atop of the sleeping bag together. There were no words that would decrease his sadness; you wanted Merle back too, he had always looked out for you when it came to your father, and now both of them were gone. One was dead and you dreaded where Merle was, he had to be somewhere, he’d never given in easily in the old life he had, so you knew that he wouldn’t now, no matter the hurdles he had to cross to survive. “I dunno whatta do.” Daryl mumbled as he pulled you closer, and you stroked his hair with affection, smiling tightly as he looked at your face.

“I dunno either.” You admitted, brushing your nose against his, wanting to be lost in the quiet of the night. The lantern was back on and it illuminated his face, and you could see that he was tired, drained of most of the little hope that he had initially held. “But he’ll come back for us. He always has.” You reminded him, knowing that the first place that Merle had gone when the radio began to divulge the distractions of the outbreak was to the two of you. If it hadn’t been for him, neither of you may have remained alive. It was unexpected in the moment but Daryl kissed you, cupping your face with his rough hands, starting off slow yet with no motives to keep the physical connection short. His mouth glided softly against your lips, and you opened them, allowing him easy entrance.

He breathed through his nose as he pressed his mouth harder against your own, slinking his tongue behind your teeth, rolling atop of you, placing each of his hands above your shoulders. “I love you Y/N Y/L/N.” He states earnestly, pulling away from your face to trail tentative kisses along your fragile throat. He needed this. You needed this. It was exactly what you required to feel something other than the tormenting anguish that chortled within every breath. His hands groped at your sides, slipping beneath your shirt and onto the flesh of your waist, seeking the warmth that pulsed in your veins.

“I love you Daryl Dixon.” It was something he often required to hear, and you never faulted him for the reassurance of your emotions; he had been through so much at such a youthful age, and you understood the stability that the heartfelt confessions of love that it brought within his mind. He engulfed your lips once more, the desperation tightening its grip between you as it became a frenzy of removing one another’s clothes that were kicked to the other side of the tent, leaving your bare bodies rubbing against each other. Daryl wasted minimal time to enter you, brandishing himself and you with the pleasure that you had sought, motioning slow thrusts into your walls as though he was trying to memorise just how you felt.

Hot air left his lips and fanned in a tantalising manner against your jugular, as you inhaled deeply, lulling in the erotic sensations that bespoke through your body. Your hands gripped his shoulders with tight vigour, descending and running gently down his back and upon the scarring that contorted his flesh with prominently visible lashes that you could feel beneath your caring fingertips. It broke you that a man could exert such hatred onto their own child, and whilst your father had been no saint himself, he had never struck you in such a way. But no matter the state in which Daryl’s body was in, you found him to be a beautiful diamond within a hoard of boring rocks, capturing your attention with anything that he proceeded to do.

It was more than love that you felt for him, it was a transcendent connection that you had never witnessed anyone else hold their partner with. His hips rotated, grinding against your own, clashing the bones in their derelict midst of chasing an orgasm of which you had both failed to achieve in recent times. There were always interruptions, and you loathed each and every one of them. To be together again, with the same goal rolled waves of endorsed gratefulness into your bloodstream, as you clung wantonly onto your boyfriend, needing him more than oxygen in the moment. “Daryl.” His name made his head raise, the whisper that had fallen from your lips making his pupils swivel around his irises, the black pebbles enlarging with his own portion of lust.

“Yeah?” He huffed through his staggered breaths, continuing to move, cradling the back of your head with his triceps so that they would cushion the behind of your skull. His tone was tentative whilst simultaneously being strained from the proving pleasure of having his cock stuffed into your cunt, and he looked into your eyes with such focus that it made your heart skip multiple beats. As you held onto him, you opened your mouth after licking your lips, prepared to douse him in verbal love, but before the words could spew from your form, the crunching of footsteps outside of the tent and the clearing of the throat interrupted.

“Daryl, you in there?” Fucking Rick Grimes. Daryl paused his movements, although he did not remove himself from your slick encasement of his length, and you could see his patience begin to boil over. Your lover grunted out as an uninterested stern reply, and you felt relieved that the man held some jurisdiction and did not simply enter the tent, forgetting that privacy still remained in existence. You knew that Rick intended to extend an olive branch, wanting to apologise to Daryl, believing that his outrage had not only be compelled by Merle’s figure being absent, but also because of his age that was far younger than the law enforcer’s. “I just wanted to-“

“Piss off Grimes.” Daryl huffed, not wanting to hear the excuses that the man could disperse with pity upon him. He’d heard enough whispers regarding the situation around the camp, and he was tired of it. “‘M tryna fuck mah girlfrien’ here, so if y’all so fuckin’ kindly excuse us…” His honest confession startled you that he would outright admit what the two of you were doing, but it seemed to do the trick, with Rick muttering an ‘okay’ and shuffling off, presumably back to his family and Shane. Daryl heaved a sigh of relief, pressing his forehead onto your chest, and the flush of his heat warmed your body. His cock twitched inside of you, reminding you more than his admission to the cop had on where you were and what you had been doing. “Sick of these fuckin’ cockblockers.” He muttered, causing you to laugh in wordless agreement.

As you began to chortle out words that supported his opinion, a gasp was pulled from your throat as he began to move again, his thrusts deeper than previously, hitting the benevolent spot inside of you that made you see stars and distorted all thoughts from your brain. He leaned into you, pushing his weight onto your own as he made you feel every inch of him, knowing not to adjust his position as he could feel you tightening around his shaft, the feeling making his eyes roll back in his head. He removed one of his arms from beneath your head, trailing it down your chest and stomach to your clit, toying with the bundle of nerves that brought you over the edge, cumming around him.

He fucked you faster, now focusing on his own high, and before he could get carried away he pulled out of your warmth as your hand reaches to coil around his length, sliding your hand up and down it, bringing him to his orgasm that spilt over your stomach in a pool of white. “Fuck.” He heartily laughed, breathlessly leaning down to trail kisses in various places of your skin before pecking your lips. Daryl knew that soon he would have to stalk out of the tent to listen to Rick and see what he wanted, but for now he drowned in your presence, kissing you over and over, relieved that his frustrations had gotten the better of him and sent those that dared interrupt elsewhere. You pulled him down into your side, watching as he reached for the shirt he had previously been wearing, wiping the mess that he had made from you with tentative strokes.

[itsnesss]

𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬 | max verstappen × fem!reader

summary | you try to leave max, to break the toxic cycle. but every time, he pulls you back

warnings | toxic relationship dynamics (emotional push-and-pull, codependency), emotional manipulation, emotional conflict, suggestive themes, on-and-off relationship patterns

word count | 1.0 k

🖇 sctw album 🖇 more mv1

Another fight. Another door slamming shut.

Once again, you're on the couch, hands trembling as you wonder when things stopped making sense and started falling apart.

Max doesn't take long to come out of the room. He’s wearing that look you know so well the one that always comes before the hurtful words.

But this time, he doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you, eyes full of exhaustion, pride, and unresolved desire.

"Are you going to keep that look on your face all night?" his voice is low, almost indifferent.

You stare at him, unblinking.

"And are you going to keep acting like nothing matters to you?"

Silence. But the air is already heavy.

Too full of everything left unsaid.

He steps closer. One step. Another. Until the distance is so small, you can smell his skin that mix of gasoline, sweat, and something inexplicably addictive.

"I hate you," you whisper.

He smiles. One of those arrogant smiles you hate... and crave.

"Not more than I hate you."

Then he kisses you.

It’s not sweet. Not gentle. It’s wild. It’s hunger. It’s rage disguised as desire.

Your hands tangle in his shirt. He lifts you off the couch effortlessly, and in a second, you're against the wall, legs wrapped around his waist.

Like always.

Like never.

Because even if it hurts, even if it burns, even if you both know this is falling apart… you can't stop.

You don't want to stop.

And in the back of your mind, part of you screams that this is wrong. That you should run. That the alarms are blaring.

But another part…

The part that loves him even when you hate him, the part that drowns in the adrenaline of these stormy reunions…

That part wants to stay.

"Just for tonight," you whisper against his lips.

Max nods, but he doesn’t make any promises. He never does.

And you don’t ask for one. Because you both know this can’t be fixed.

But God, it feels good to burn together.

You wake up before him.

Light filters through the hotel window, illuminating his bare back and that peaceful expression that only appears when he's asleep. It’s so ironic it hurts.

Because calm Max is a lie.

A trap.

A siren that sings just long enough for you to return… before dragging you down again.

You sit at the edge of the bed. The air smells like him, like sex, like guilt. Like always.

Your clothes are scattered across the floor like evidence of another shared crime.

You dress in silence.

"You're leaving without saying anything again?" his rough voice breaks the moment.

You don’t turn around. You know if you do, you'll stay. Again.

"You shouldn't have called me last night."

"And you shouldn't have answered."

Checkmate.

It's always like this. You two play with fire like burns don't exist.

But you're burning alive, and he knows it too.

"This isn’t healthy, Max."

"And since when has that stopped us?"

You laugh, without humor. You turn and look at him. He’s leaning against the pillows, hair messy, eyes locked on you. That look that hurts. Because it used to be love. Now it’s an addiction.

"Why can’t we let go?"

He shrugs.

"Because we like how it burns."

And there it is. The rawest truth.

You like the fire. You like how alive you feel in the middle of the disaster.

You like the drama, the sex, the make-ups that feel like happy endings… until it starts all over again.

You leave the room without saying another word.

But you don’t go far.

Because you know, deep down, you know he’ll message you in a few days.

An excuse. A complaint. A “come over.”

And you’ll go.

Even if everything around you screams to run.

You forced yourself to cut everything.

Changed your number. Deleted his messages. Stopped following his races, his interviews, even his social media.

Because if there was one thing you were sure of, it was that this time, you wouldn’t go back.

Two weeks passed.

Fourteen days without him.

But every night, the memory of his voice, his scent, his mocking laugh, sneaks through the cracks.

No notification sounds… and still, every noise makes you check your phone.

Until you see it.

A photo. Leaked. Max with someone else.

And you’re supposed to feel relief. It should help you hate him.

But it just hurts. Way more than you’d admit.

That same night, a message from an unknown number pops up:

"You don’t even answer when I miss you?"

Blocked.

Five minutes later, there’s a knock on your door.

Literally.

And when you open it, there he is.

Soaked from the rain, eyes red, chest heaving with the fury of being ignored for the first time.

"How did you know I was here?" you ask, shocked.

"You think I don’t know you? You always come back to the same place when you want to disappear."

Silence.

"And what are you doing here, Max?"

"I want to see you."

"Why now? After you’re out with someone else?"

"I’m not seeing anyone," he cuts in, serious. "I was just... trying to forget you."

You laugh. Not because it’s funny, but because it hurts too much.

You cross your arms, shaking—you don’t know if it’s from the cold or the fury.

"Then we’re both fucked."

His eyes lock with yours. And for a second, it’s like the world stops.

Like the disaster is already happening inside you both.

"Just tell me you didn’t miss me," he says, stepping closer.

You don’t answer.

"Say it, and I’ll leave. For good."

And there’s your damnation: you can’t.

You can’t tell him you didn’t miss him. Because every night, you thought of him. Because every fight, every kiss, every hug in the middle of chaos became a vice your body doesn’t know how to quit.

So, you say nothing. You take a step toward him.

And Max understands.

He kisses you.

And once again, as always, you fall together.

Because running was never your strength.

And because between the sirens and the flames, there’s only one thing you both know how to do:

Stay until everything burns.

[sillylilsquid]

𝔰𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔰𝔞𝔣𝔢

♥︎summary: Thanos and you have always been each other’s safe place. You helped him through his darkest moments, but now you’re the one spiraling—reckless nights, self-destructive choices, and a past she won’t face. Thanos refuses to let you slip away, stepping in when things go too far. A getaway forces buried truths to surface, blurring the lines of their relationship as old wounds and unspoken feelings collide. But healing isn’t easy, and neither is love. He makes you feel something. Something like safe.

♥︎trigger warnings: au, no squid game. sexual themes, brief descriptions addiction, mentions of sa(nothing in depth, just implied), suggestive photos, blackmailing reader w/ said suggestive photos, oc thanos. minors dni!! 18+

♥︎a/n: 12.4k words. plz enjoy!! i have been writing so much lately, so be on the look out for much more hehe 🖤

The first time you ever saw Thanos cry was in the alley behind a convenience store, vape in one hand, bruised knuckles on the other. He didn’t say much, just mumbled something about how he was “so fucking tired,” voice thick and strained, like he had been holding it in for too long. You sat beside him on the curb, handed him the bottle of cheap soju you had bought on impulse, and let him talk when he was ready. That night, he told you about the weight of expectations, the suffocating grip of addiction, and the fear that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t strong enough to pull himself out of it.

The first time he saw you cry was in your car outside your ex’s apartment. You hadn’t meant to call him, but your fingers moved faster than your brain, and before you knew it, he was there–leaning against the passenger door, arms crossed, waiting. You were embarrassed at first, wiping at your cheeks furiously, trying to play it off, but Thanos didn’t buy it. Instead, he sighed, climbed into the car, and cranked up the heat. “Alright, babe,” he had said, voice softer than usual. “You wanna cry about it first, or you wanna tell me what happened?”

The first time you saw him high, it scared the hell out of you. He wasn’t himself, not really. His eyes were distant, movements sluggish, laughter hollow. You had heard the rumors, but seeing it with your own eyes was different. That night, you dragged him out of some shitty house party, ignoring the protests, the slurred reassurances that he was “fine.” You had sat him down on your couch, forced him to drink water, made sure he didn’t choke in his sleep. And in the morning, when the weight of his choices settled in, you didn’t scold him. You just made him coffee and told him, “I’m not going anywhere, you know that, right?”

And now…now things were different. Now, it was you spiraling. Now, it was you disappearing for days, shutting people out, then swinging to the opposite extreme–going out, drinking too much, spending money like it was nothing. You told yourself you were fine, but Thanos wasn’t buying it.

Thanos noticed it in the little things first. The way your texts became inconsistent–sometimes flooding his phone with nonsense at three in the morning, other times leaving his messages on read for days. The way you bounced between isolation and excess, spending entire weekends locked away in your apartment only to turn around and blow money on drinks for strangers at clubs you didn’t even like.

At first, he let it slide. Everyone went through phases. But then it started feeling less like a phase and more like a pattern. 

The night he really knew something was wrong, he wasn’t even supposed to see you. You’d blown him off earlier in the day with some half assed excuse, so he was surprised when he spotted you across the club, drink in hand, laughing too loudly at something some random guy said.

You looked good–too good. The kind of good that wasn’t for yourself but for someone else. A mask. He watched as you threw your head back in laughter, eyes a little too glossy, smile a little too wide. He watched as the guy leaned in closer, fingers ghosting over your wrist, and something in Thanos’ chest tightened. 

Then he saw it; the exact moment you tipped past tipsy into reckless. The way your hands wavered when you reached for another drink. The way your smile faltered for half a second when the guy leaned in too close.

The slight flick of the guy’s wrist, the quick glance around before he tilted a small packet over your drink. Subtle. Almost too quick to notice. But Thanos saw everything.

That was it. That was too far. Thanos was already moving before he could think twice, his jaw set, his steps purposeful as he cut through the crowd toward you.

Within seconds, he was at your side, snatching the glass from your hand before you could take another sip. “What the–?” You blinked up at him, startled, your expression shifting from confusion to irritation in an instant.

Thanos didn’t even spare you a glance. His eyes were locked on the guy, his entire body radiating something dangerous, something dark. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” His voice was low. Deadly.

The guy hesitated, feigning innocence. “Man, chill. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Wrong answer.

Thanos didn’t need to explain. He reached forward, grabbing the guy by the collar, yanking him close enough that their noses almost touched. “You think I didn’t see that shit?” His voice dropped to a whisper, sharp as a blade. “You wanna try that again, see what happens?”

The guy’s face paled instantly, his bravado crumbling. “A-alright, man, I didn’t mean anything by it. Just–just having fun.”

Thanos let out a humorless laugh, his grip tightening for a fraction of a second before he shoved the guy backward, making him stumble. “Get the fuck out of here. Before I really lose my temper.”

The guy didn’t need to be told twice. He practically ran the second Thanos released his death grip on his shirt.

You, on the other hand, weren’t running. You were staring at Thanos, arms crossed, lips pursed in frustration. “What the hell was that?” 

Thanos exhaled sharply, shoving a hand through his hair. “That guy put something in your drink.”

You frowned. “No, he didn’t.” Thanos clenched his jaw. “I saw him, babe.”

For a second, something faltered in your expression. Something uncertain. But then, just as quickly, it was gone–replaced by irritation, defiance. “Okay, well, thanks for the concern, but I can take care of myself.”

Thanos scoffed, his patience thinning. “Yeah? ‘Cause from where I’m standing, it sure as hell doesn’t look like it.” You glared at him. “I didn’t ask you to come save me.” “No, you didn’t,” he shot back. “But that’s never stopped me before.”

There was a beat of tense silence. Then, Thanos sighed, his voice softening. “Come on, babe. Let’s get out of here.”

Your jaw tensed, and your hands curled into loose fists at your sides. You wanted to argue, wanted to fight him on this, but deep down, you knew–he wasn’t giving you a choice. And even in your drunken stupor, a part of you didn’t want one.

You let out a frustrated sigh, crossing your arms as Thanos gently grabbed your wrist, guiding you through the crowd. You could’ve pulled away, but something about the way his fingers curled around yours, firm but not forceful, made you stay.

The cold night air slapped against your skin the second you stepped outside. It should have sobered you up, but instead, it just made the world tilt a little more. You stumbled slightly, and before you could catch yourself, Thanos’ arm was around your waist, steadying you.

“Easy, babe.” He murmured.

You huffed, pushing at his chest. “I told you–I don’t need you to save me.”

Thanos arched a brow. “Yeah? ‘Cause if I wasn’t here, you’d be drinking something laced with God-knows-what right now.”

Your stomach twisted, a sliver of doubt creeping in. You wanted to believe he was wrong, that he was overreacting–but deep down, you knew he wasn’t. It only made you angrier.

“Why do you even care so much?” you snapped. “You’re acting like you are my fucking dad or something.” Thanos let out a sharp breath, running a hand down his face. He was trying to be patient. You could tell.

“Because, babe,” he said, his voice softer this time, “I’ve seen where this leads.” His eyes locked onto yours, unyielding. “And I’m not gonna stand by and watch you burn yourself out.”

Your throat tightened, your eyes stinging. You swallowed it down, shaking your head, trying to hold on to the anger. It was easier that way.

“You don’t get it,” you muttered. “I just…I just needed a break, okay?” Thanos frowned. “A break from what?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but nothing came out. Because how the hell were you supposed to explain it? The exhaustion that never went away, the feeling of drowning even when everything was fine, the way your own mind felt like a prison half the time?

Instead, you just scoffed, shoving at his chest again. “Whatever. I’ll just call a cab.” Thanos’ jaw ticked. “No. You’re coming with me.” Your eyes narrowed. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

Thanos held your gaze as if completely unfazed. “You throwing a tantrum right now, babe?” Your nostrils flared. “I’m not–”

“Cause it kinda seems like you are.” He smirked, tilting his head. “You wanna kick your feet, too? Maybe scream a little?” 

Your face burned with frustration. “I hate you.” Thanos snorted. “Sure you do. Now get in the damn car.”

Before you could protest, he was steering you toward his car, opening the door for you like it was already decided. You hesitated. Considered fighting him on this. For some reason though, you let him push you into the passenger seat. And when he shut the door behind you, you stared out the window, biting the inside of your cheek, trying to ignore the fact that for the first time in weeks you didn’t feel completely alone.

The drive was quiet. Not the comfortable kind, where words weren’t needed. This was tense–thick with everything left unsaid.

You sat with your arms crossed, staring out the window like the streetlights were the most interesting thing in the world. Thanos, for once, wasn’t pushing you to talk. He just kept one hand on the wheel, the other drumming lightly against his thigh, his eyes flicking toward you every so often.

You could feel it. His worry. His frustration. They way he was biting his tongue. It made your chest feel tight.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on with you?” Thanos finally asked, voice steady but careful, like he was trying not to spook you.

You exhaled sharply, pressing your forehead against the cool glass. “I already told you,” you snapped. “I just needed a break.”

He hummed, clearly unimpressed with that answer. “A break from what, babe?” The nickname making you groan. You shut your eyes, willing away the lump forming in your throat. “Everything.”

Thanos sighed. “That’s not an answer.” “Well, it’s the only one I’ve got,” you muttered, nails digging into your palms.

A beat of silence. Then– “You know this isn’t you, right?” It made your chest feel tight. “You don’t know who I am.”

He let out a dry chuckle. “Bullshit. You’re not the type to black out every weekend. You don’t throw money around like it means nothing. And you sure as hell don’t let random assholes buy you drinks without knowing what’s in ‘em.”

You flinched. “I wasn’t–” “Yeah, you were.” His voice wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t soft either. Just honest. “And that’s not you, babe. So, what the hell is going on?”

No words left your mouth. You just continued to stare down at your lap. What was going on?

You wanted to explain it, but how did you explain something you didn’t even fully understand yourself? How did you put into words the exhaustion, the weight in your chest that never really went away, the way everything felt too much and not enough at the same time?

Instead, all you could do was whisper, “I don’t know.”

Thanos glanced at you, something unreadable flickering across his face. “That’s not good enough.” 

Your head snapped up, irritation flaring again. “Well, sorry if my personal crisis isn’t meeting your fucking standards.”

Thanos didn’t flinch. “You wanna yell at me, babe? Fine. Go ahead. But I’m not going anywhere.”

Your breath hitched. That was the problem, wasn’t it. That he was still here, even when you were doing everything to push him away. You turned back toward the window, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. “Just take me home, Thanos.”

A long pause. Then, instead of agreeing, he said, “Nah.” Your head whipped around, glaring. “What?”

Thanos’ grip tightened on the wheel as he made a sharp turn, heading the complete opposite direction of your apartment. “You think I’m dropping you off so you can sit in the dark and wallow? Yeah, no. Not happening.”

“Thanos–” “Relax, babe. I’m not kidnapping you.” His lips twitched, but his voice was firm. “You need air. You need to get out of your head for a bit. So, humor me.”

The fight was slipping out of you, leaving only exhaustion in its place. So, instead of yelling, instead of insisting that you just wanted to be alone, you sighed, slumping back into your seat. “Fine.”

Thanos smirked, reaching over to poke your cheek. “There’s my girl.” You huffed, smacking his hand away, but for the first time that your lips twitched just slightly. Just a little.

You didn’t realize where he was taking you until the neon lights of the 24-hour convenience store came into view. You blinked. “Seriously?” 

He pulled into the nearly empty parking lot, throwing the car into park. “What? You thought I was about to hit you with some deep, inspirational shit?” He unbuckled his seatbelt. “Nah, babe. You need a snack.”

You frowned, your body still tense from everything. “A snack?” “A snack,” he repeated, already opening his door. “Now get your ass inside.”

For a second, you debated being difficult just for the sake of it. But then your stomach grumbled–loudly–betraying you as Thanos shot you a knowing look. “Uh-huh,” he smirked. “That’s what I thought.” You rolled your eyes but pushed open the door anyway, stepping out into the cool night air.

The store was quiet, save for the hum of the refrigerators and the scratchy pop song playing over the speaker. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as you trailed behind Thanos, watching as he made a beeline for the snack aisle like he had a mission.

“Arlight,” he said, clasping his hands together. “What’s it gonna be, babe?” Sweet, salty, or ‘I have zero impulse control’?” Shaking your head you mumbled, “I’m not even hungry.”

Thanos ignored you completely, already reaching for a bag of chips. “That’s crazy, ‘cause I don’t remember asking.” You glared, but there wasn’t any real heat behind it. “You’re annoying.” “And you’re cranky when you’re hungry, " he shot back, crouching to grab something off the bottom shelf. “So, I’m doing us both a favor.”

A sigh fell from your lips, and you ran a hand through your tangled hair. The weight of the night is still pressing on you like a too-heavy coat. A tiny part of you, the stubborn part, thinks you should have insisted that you just wanted to go home. But instead, you found yourself feeling a little better than earlier just standing beside him, staring at the shelves.

A pack of strawberry Pocky caught your eye. Thanos followed your gaze, then grabbed it without hesitation. You frowned. “I didn’t say I wanted that.” “You didn’t have to.” Something about the way he said it–so casual, so certain–made your throat tighten.

You swallowed hard, looking away. “Anything else?” he asked, like he hadn’t just sent your brain into overdrive. You reached for a small carton of chocolate milk and looked up at him. “Happy?” Thanos grinned. “Proud of you, babe.” You rolled your eyes, but the fight in you felt smaller. Softer. The tension in your chest hadn’t disappeared, but it wasn’t unbearable. 

After checking out, the two of you climbed into the backseat of his car, the world outside dim and quiet. Thanos sprawled out in the corner, legs stretched across the seat, while you tucked yourself into the opposite side, knees drawn up to your chest. The only light came from the streetlamps outside, casting a faint glow over the dashboard. 

He ripped open a bag of chips, tossing one into his mouth before looking over at you. “Alright, so are we gonna talk about it, or do I just keep stuffing you with snacks until you’re too full to be sad?” 

Staring down at the carton in your hands you hesitated before opening it, taking a small sip but keeping your eyes casted away from him. “There’s nothing to really talk about.” Thanos made a face. “Wrong. Try again.”

Your jaw clenched, willing yourself not to snap at him. He was trying to care for you, you couldn’t hurt his feelings. “I just–” you let out a slow breath. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Thanos stretched out, his legs spread wide with his knee resting against yours, and his arm along the back of the seat. “Ain’t nothing wrong with you, babe.” You let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah? Feels like there is.”

He was quiet for a moment, watching you. Then he spoke, “You ever see a dog freak out ‘cause they got the zoomies?” Your brows pulled together. “What?”

Thanos smirked. “You know, like when they start running around in circles like a damn maniac, then five minutes later, they pass out like they fought a war?” You stared at him then, unamused. “Are you comparing me to a dog?” “More like a chihuahua,” he teased, stealing one of your Pocky.

“Thanos.” He snorted but shifted closer, nudging you with his knee. “I’m saying maybe your brain’s got the zoomies. You go, go, go–party, spend, drink, whatever–and then you crash. Hard.” 

Your fingers tightened around the carton. “Yeah, well…what am I supposed to do about it?” Thanos tilted his head, studying you for a second. Then he reached over, poking the side of your face until you turned to look at him. “For starters? Let me help.”

It wasn’t that you didn’t want help. But letting someone in–really in–was terrifying. He knew a lot about you, but this one thing…it was something you never wanted to let out of the depths of your brain.

Thanos must’ve seen it written all over your face because he nudged you again, his voice softer when he said, “You don’t gotta do it alone, babe.” Your throat felt tight again, and this time you didn’t fight. Instead, you just nodded.

Thanos’ apartment was quiet, dimly lit by the lamp in his room. You sat on the edge of his bed, your hair damp from a shower sticking to the oversize hoodies he’d given you–his favorite, one that smelled like him. The sleeves were too long, the fabric soft against your skin, and yet you still felt cold. He’d offered you a pair of sweatpants, but you turned them down opting to stay in your underwear.

He sat next to you, one leg bent up on the bed, his arm draped casually over the back of the headboard. He’d given you space since the talk in the car, not pushing, not pressing, just…waiting.

It was familiar the way the two of you could just exist in the same space with no pressures or expectations. But your body was tense, your mind racing with everything you still hadn’t said.

Thanos watched you, his gaze heavy, like he was trying to figure out what was running through your head. Then, after a moment, he leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. 

“You feeling a little better?” he murmured. You let out a slow breath. “Yeah.” He huffed, skepticals, but didn’t call you on it. Instead, his fingers found the edge of your sleeve, tugging it lightly.

“You’re cute when you steal my shit,” he said, teasingly. You rolled your eyes. “You gave it to me.” “Same thing.” He smirked, but it was softer now, like he was trying to ease you into something without making you realize it.

Your chest felt tight. He was always like this–always knew when you needed space, when you needed patience. When you needed him. Maybe that’s why, when he leaned in, when he brushed against yours, you let yourself melt into it. 

It wasn’t new. You’d done this before, had kissed him more times than you could count–on impulse, on drunken nights, whenever the two of you were bored, or nights like this when you just needed to feel something.

But the moment his fingers brushed the back of your neck something inside of you snapped. Your body went rigid. A cold, nauseating panic clawed up your throat, and before you even realized what you were doing, you pushed him away.

“Wait–” your voice came out uneven, breathless, like you’d just been caught underwater. Thanos immediately pulled back, hands up, brows furrowed. “Hey. You good?”

Your pulse was hammering, your vision blurring at the edges. No, you weren’t good. You curled your arms around yourself, shrinking into the hoodie like it might shield you from the weight of what you’d been carrying.

Thanos sat still, his expression unreadable. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t annoyed. He was just waiting. Waiting for you to say something.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight. “It’s not you,” you whispered. Thanos�� gaze softened. “I know.” He tilted his head slightly, studying. “Talk to me, babe.”

Fingers curled into the fabric of your sleeves. You hadn’t told anyone. Not a single person. Saying it out loud made it real, made it something you couldn’t shove into the back of your mind and pretend it didn’t exist.

But Thanos was still there. Still waiting. Still looking at you like you weren’t broken, like you weren’t ruined. Your breath shuddered, you knew you had to tell him. 

“It was a hookup,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I-I thought I was okay with it, but…I wasn’t.”

Thanos didn’t move. Didn’t say a word. But his whole body had gone still, like a wire pulled too tight. You couldn’t look at him. If you did, you’d fall apart. So you just kept talking, your voice shaking, your fingers gripping your sleeves so tightly it hurt.

“I was drunk,” you admitted, the words burning as they left your mouth. “Not blacked out, but enough that things were hazy. I remember saying no at first, telling him to slow down, but he just kept–” your breath hitched, and you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to force the memory away. “I don’t know. Maybe I should’ve pushed harder, or maybe I just froze, but then suddenly it was happening, and I couldn’t–I just–”

“Babe.” You froze. Thanos reached out, slowly, carefully, giving you the chance to pull away. When you didn’t, his fingers brushed over your knuckles, warm and grounding. 

His voice was low and steady. “You didn’t misunderstand anything.” A lump formed in your throat. “I don’t–” “It wasn’t your fault,” he said, firm, leaving no room for argument. 

Your eyes burned. Shaking your head you looked down at your lap. “I just…” a shuddering breath escaped your lips. “I feel like I’m losing it.” 

Thanos hummed, like he was trying to reel himself in. Then he moved, shifting so he could wrap an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in–not tight, not suffocating, just enough for you to know he was there. “You’re not losing it,” he murmured against your hair. “And you’re not alone.” You squeezed your eyes shut, starting to believe him.

Honestly, you didn’t know if it was the way he was holding you–strong but careful, like he could keep you from falling apart–or if it was the way he looked at you, like nothing about you had changed, like you weren’t ruined.

But before you could stop yourself, you moved. Your hands found his face, fingers threading through his purple strands of hair as you pulled him in. Pressing your lips to his with a desperation that nearly frightened you.

Thanos didn’t hesitate to kiss you back, his lips firm and warm against yours. It wasn’t enough. You needed more.

You deepend it, shifting onto your knees, pressing your body against his. The weight of his hands landed on your waist, steadying you, his grip tightening when you tried to push closer. 

“Please,” you whispered against his lips, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Make me forget.” His breathing halted, and for a moment you thought he might give in. But then…

“No.” The word was firm, final. His hands gripped your waist tighter, but instead of pulling you in, he pushed you back, just enough to put space between you.

Your stomach twisted. “Thanos–” He exhaled sharply, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath uneven. “You think I don’t want to?” His voice was rough, strained, like he was fighting against himself. “You think I don’t wanna touch you, hold you…help you forget?” His fingers flexed on your hips, and his jaw clenched. “But not like this,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Not when you’re hurting. Not when you’re trying to use me to erase something that’s not your fault.”

Your throat tightened, tears burning at the back of your eyes. “I just–” “I know.” His hands trailed up, brushing across your arms, warm and grounding. “But I won’t let you do this to yourself. And I won’t let anyone take anything from you again.”

His lips brushed against your forehead, lingering there for a moment before he pulled back, his thumbs stroking your sides. “You need sleep,” he murmured. “And tomorrow, we’re getting the hell out of here. Just you and me.” Your brows furrowed. “Where?” It made his lips quirk up in that cocky, familiar smirk. “You’ll see.”

The next day, true to his word, Thanos had all but dragged you out of bed, throwing your jeans at you and one of his shirts before hauling you into his car.

“You’re gonna love this,” he said, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel as he pulled onto the highway. “I don’t even know where we’re going,” you muttered, but there was no real bite to it.

“Exactly,” he shot back, grinning. “That’s the best part.”

And maybe he was right, because when he finally pulled up to the spot you felt something shift inside you. A secluded little arcade tucked between two buildings, neon lights buzzing faintly in the air. It was small, almost unnoticeable. 

Thanos hopped out of the car, coming around to your side before you could open the door. He held his hand out. “Come on, babe. Time to let loose.” Slowly, you slipped your fingers into his. 

The arcade was dimly lit, filled with the sound of old-school games and muffled laughter. Thanos wasted no time dragging you toward a claw machine, eyes lighting up with challenge. 

“Watch and learn, sweetheart,” he said, cracking his knuckles. “You’re gonna lose,” you teased, arms crossed. He shot you a look. “I never lose.” You snorted. “Please. I’ve seen you get your ass handed to you in Street Fighter more times than I can count.”

“Okay, first of all,” he turned to face you, stepping closer, the playful glint in his eye shifting into something heavier. Something deeper. “You keep talking like that, babe, and I might have to shut you up.” The air between you shifted. Your breath caught in your throat. And just like that, the playfulness turned into something else entirely. Something you wanted.

Thanos must have seen the shift in your expression because his smirk widened. He stepped even closer, crowing you against the claw machine, his hands bracing on either side of you.

“You wanna keep talking, or you want me to put this mouth to better use?” Your pulse skyrocketed. Maybe it was the lingering adrenaline, or maybe it was the fact that you felt like yourself for the first time in weeks. You grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him down, crashing your lips against his.

Thanos was having the time of his life messing with you. It started at the claw machine, where he somehow managed to win a stuffed bear on the first try. He shoved it into your arms with a smug grin. “For you,” he said, leaning in just enough for his breath to graze your ear. “To remember me when I’m not around.” “You’re so full of yourself,” you muttered, hugging the bear to your chest anyway. 

Then came the air hockey table. Every time he scored a point, he’d make a big show of it–throwing his arms up, biting his lip like he just hit the game winning shot at the NBA finals.

“You see that?” he taunted. “I’m unstoppable.” “You’re insufferable,” you shot back, scowling as he scored another goal. 

But the final straw was when he stood behind you at the basketball game, his arms caging yours, pretending to “help” you shoot. 

“See, you gotta bend your knees a little,” he said, his chest pressed against your back, his voice a low purr in your ear. 

You swallowed hard, trying, and failing, to ignore the way his hands ghosted over your waist. “Thanos–” “Shh, I’m coaching.” “You’re distracting me.” “Am I?” his smirk was pure sin.

You elbowed him in the stomach, and he let out a dramatic groan, stumbling back. “Damn, babe, you trying to kill me?” “You’ll like,” you muttered, trying to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks.

After an hour of arcade games, where he absolutely did not let you win, Thanos finally led you outside, the cool air wrapping around you. 

“Arlight,” he said, stretching. “Next stop.” You shot him a skeptical look. “Another surprise?” He just winked. “You’ll like this one.”

A short drive later, you realized exactly where he was taking you. The spot. It was nothing fancy–just a quiet overlook on the edge of town, tucked away where no one ever really went. It had a perfect view of the city lights in the distance, the skyline stretching wide and endless. 

This was your place. Where you’d gone to clear your heads, to escape, to talk for hours about nothing and everything. Some nights, you’d just sit in silence, sharing a cigarette or a blunt, watching the world move with you. It was a place that belonged to just the two of you. 

The day had been so much fun you forgot you were even upset. Until now, in this peaceful, quiet spot that had so many memories. It made you feel bad for putting Thanos through everything last night. 

Thanos parked, cutting the engine. The silence settled easily between you two. You both got out, climbing onto the hood of his car like you had a hundred times before. He pulled a joint from his jacket pocket, lighting it with practiced ease, taking a slow drag before offering it to you.

You hesitated before taking it, inhaling deep, letting the warmth settle in your chest. For a long moment, neither of you spoke 

“Feeling better?” You glanced over at him, the city lights reflecting in his eyes. Yeah. You were. Instead of answering, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him down for a kiss. It was slow, lingering, a silent thank you. 

When you pulled away, he arched his brow. “What was that for?” You smirked, shrugging. “A thank you.” He squinted his eyes as if he was waiting for more of an explanation. But he didn’t say anything cocky as he took another hit, offered it to you, then leaned back against the windshield. For once he was the one speechless. 

The night grew colder and harsh against your skin. Now you both sat in the backseat of his car, heater blasting. You sat curled up in Thanos’ lap, your head resting against his shoulder, his arms wrapped securely around you. He had taken off his jacket to drape it over your frame. For a long while, neither of you spoke.

Then, quietly, you murmured, “I’m sorry.” Thanos’ hand, which had been tracing lazy circles against your thigh, stilled. “For what?”

It took you a second to answer him, not trusting yourself to not cry. “For pushing you away. For acting like I didn’t need you when–” your voice cracked, and you shut your eyes. “When I did.”

Thanos exhaled, pressing his lips to your temple. Your name fell from his lips, a word he rarely said since he always opted to call you babe. “I knew what you were doing. I just wasn’t going to let you.”

A shaky breath left you, half a laugh, half a sob. “You’re annoying like that.” “Damn right,” he said, his arms tightening around you.

Silence settled again, the weight of unspoken things lingering in the space between heartbeats. Finally you whispered, “I never told you what exactly happened.” 

Thanos’ fingers curled slightly against your waist, but he didn’t push. “You don’t have to.” You shook your head. “I want to.” So you told him. Not every detail. Not every ugly piece. How you met the man.

It was just enough for him to understand why you hadn’t been yourself. Why you’d been spiraling. Why even the warmth of his hands on your skin had made you flinch at times. He listened. Didn’t interrupt. Didn’t demand more. 

And when you finally fell silent, he pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head. “You know what the worst part was?” you whispered. “I thought…for a second, I thought I deserved it. Like maybe I brought it on myself.”

Thanos stiffened beneath you. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet. “Don’t say that.” You squeezed your eyes shut. “I know it’s not true. But I felt it. And I hated myself for it.”

Thanos cupped your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “Look at me.” You did. His expression was sad, but his eyes–god his eyes–were burning. “You are not to blame for what happened to you. Not in any way. Not for one damn second. You hear me?”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you nodded. He exhaled, brushing his thumb along your cheek. “You saved me, babe. You know that?” Your brows furrowed. “What?” 

“When I was at my worst,” he whispered. “When I was using, when I was pushing people away,” he shook his head. “You were still there. Always.” Your throat tightened. “Thanos…” “You never let me give up on myself. Even when I wanted to.” his lips pressed against your forehead. “I’ve been clean from hard shit for almost a year because of you.”

A shard breath left you, your hands fisted his shirt. You knew he drank and smoked a lot, but you never realized he was using other substances. Let alone that he had been clean for so long. “I didn’t know.” He chuckled lightly. “Never told you. Didn’t want you getting all proud and annoying about it.” You laughed, an actual, real laugh. Thanos smiled, his arms pulling you even closer.

Stepping into your studio apartment, Thanos barely took two steps before pausing, his gaze sweeping over the palace. Clothes scattered on the floor, takeout containers on the coffee table, an empty wine bottle tipped over on the counter.

You saw it too, the mess, the disarray. And the embarrassment hit fast. “I–” you moved quickly, grabbing the nearest pile of clothes and shoving them into a laundry basket. “It’s usually not this bad, I just–” “Babe.” You froze, gripping a pair of sweatpants in your hands. 

Thanos was watching you, arms crossed, leaning against the kitchen counter. His expression wasn’t judgemental, just knowing. Your fingers curled tighter around the fabric. “I didn't mean to let it get this bad.” Thanos exhaled, stepping forward. “You been taking care of yourself at all?” You forced a smile. “I’m fine.” He didn’t look convinced. 

Still, he didn’t push. Just reached out, brushing a hand along your waist as he passed. “C’mon,” he said. “Shower, get comfortable. I’ll wait.” Your stomach twisted. The thought of being alone–even for just a few minutes–made your chest feel tight.

“Come with me?” you asked, avoiding his gaze. Thanos didn’t hesitate. “Yeah, babe. Of course.”

So, while you showered, he sat on the closed toilet lit, scrolling through his phone like it was just any other night. He cracked a few jokes, made fun of the random soap brands in your shower, anything to make you feel normal. And strangely, it worked. 

By the time you stepped out, fresh-faced and wrapped in a towel, some of the tension in your chest had eased. Thanos had left to grab your pajamas and returned with a cute matching set for you. You slipped them on, and brushed your hair before following him back to the couch. 

He sprawled out, one arm draped over the back as you climbed onto his lap, legs straddling his thighs. His hands instinctively found your hips, fingers pressing into them slightly. 

“Baby,” he murmured, sighing quietly. That was a new one. He never called you anything other than babe, and it sent shivers down your spine.

You leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Let me take care of you.” Thanos went still. You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers tracing down his neck then his chest. His grip on you tightened slightly. “You sure?” he asked, voice low. There was no cockiness to his tone. In response you only smiled, saying “Positive.”

Thanos took a deep breath, fingers flexing on your hips. “Baby,” there was hesitation in his voice now, like he was at war with himself. You leaned in, lips grazing the corner of his mouth. “What?”

He tilted his head back against the couch, eyes scanning your face. “I don’t know if this is a good time.” Your hands traced up his chest, nails lightly scratching over the fabric of his shirt. “I do.” His jaw clenched. “You’ve been through a lot.” You nodded. “I know.” 

Thanos let out a long breath through his nose, his grip tightening as if trying to keep himself from pulling you closer. Again he whispered, “Baby…”

You kissed him before he could say anything else. A slow, lingering press of your lips against his. He barely hesitated before melting into it, groaning softly as he kissed you back, his hands sliding up your thighs, pressing you more firmly against him. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was just deep. Like you were breathing life into each other.

When you finally pulled away, your forehead resting against his, his breathing was heavier. His fingers dug into your plush skin, like you were his anchor. “You have no idea how hard it’s been,” he muttered, voice rough.

“What?” you blinked up at him with wide eyes. His fingers traced your bare thighs, tough featherlight. “Resisting you. Not pulling you into my lap every damn time you looked at me like that.” His eyes flickered to your lips before meeting your gaze again. “Watching you with other guys was the worst.”

“You think I didn’t notice?” He huffed a dry laugh. “You’d flirt with someone right in front of me, and I’d have to act like it didn’t make me want to knock their teeth in.” Your heart pounded. “Thanos–” he cut you off. “You drive me insane, baby.” he sounded desperate. “And if any part of you doesn’t want this, you better say it now. Because the second I let go, I’m not stopping.”

A slow smirk tugged at your lips as you slid off his lap, dropping gracefully to your knees between his legs. “I told you,” you murmured, hands trailing up his thighs. “I’m positive.” 

Thanos’ eyes widened at your movements, not expecting to see you looking up at him with such a desperate look on your face. When your fingers fumbled with the button on his jeans, he shot up from the couch and was quick to tug them down. He messily kicked them off, plopping back down on the couch as he tugged his boxers down his thighs. 

You giggled, the sight of him acting so quickly drove you wild. The thought of knowing that he was excited for this made your thighs clench. Your small hand reached out, gently grasping his length. You pumped it a few times, eyes glued to Thanos who was a mess beneath your touch. His head hung back and his eyes were screwed shut. His lips parted ever so slightly as he panted. 

There were maybe one or two times before that you had seen Thanos naked. Once at a party where he insisted on skinny dipping with all his friends, and another when you found him passed out in his bed with no clothes on. You never looked, never starred because the two of you were friends and it felt wrong. But this? This felt so right.

The moment you wrapped your lips around him he fell apart. He became a stuttering mess. Your name falling off his lips along with random swear words. It made you feel good knowing you were making him feel so good. 

Your movements were slow at first as you tried to get used to the size of him in your mouth. Out of instinct Thanos snapped his hips up, his cock tickling the back of your throat which elicited a gag out of you. “Fuck,” he groaned, eyes opening to look down at you. “Sorry–f-fuck, sorry.” 

You used one hand to pat his thigh as if signaling it was okay. Thanos kept his eyes glued to your. The way your eyes were so wide and tears brimmed at them, the way drool and precum trickled down your chin. It was pornographic, and an image he would never forget.

His hand tangled firmly in your hair, not pushing your head but as if he needed something to grasp onto. It made a moan slip from past your lips, sending vibrations through him. That drove him wild. 

Faster now, you moved your head. With your hands sprawled against his tattooed thighs you let the fist in your hair be your guide. Thanos pushed your head all the way down, that familiar gagging sensation hinted in you but you held it back. Your nose rested against his stomach, and as you swallowed around him that’s all it took. Thanos was groaning, practically screaming, your name as he came in your mouth. Most of it went straight down your throat but as he let up his grip on you, you made sure to swallow every last bit before pulling away.

Thanos rested back against the couch, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. His fingers dragged through his hair as he exhaled, a deep, satisfied sound rumbling from his throat. Then, before you could even think to move, you heard the soft click of his phone camera. Your head snapped up, eyes wide.

“Thanos.” He grinned down at you, tapping his screen before angling the phone toward you. “Nah, you gotta see this, babe.” You hesitated before glancing at the screen. Oh. Your face was flushed, lips swollen, eyes glassy. A thin strand of drool clung to your chin, your hands still resting on his thighs. You looked utterly wrecked. 

You smacked his knee. “Delete that!” He just chuckled, tossing his phone onto the couch before pulling up his boxers, then gripping your chin, tilting your face up. His thumb swiped at the corner of your lips, gathering the mess before bringing it to his own mouth, licking it off with a satisfied hum.

“Can’t believe you’re so good at that,” he murmured, eyes dark. “You suck cock that well for other guys?” Your stomach flipped. His grin widened. “Nah, actually…I can believe it. Perfect little mouth, always running–figures it’d be good for something.”

Your cheeks burned, and he laughed, hauling you up into his lap, arms wrapping securely around your waist. “C’mere, baby. Let me hold you for a second.” And just like that, the teasing melted into warmth. Into comfort. His fingers traced up and down your spine, his lips pressing lazy kisses against your temple.

“Did so good,” he murmured, voice quieter now. “Knew you would.” You buried your face in his neck, letting yourself melt into him, letting the afterglow and his warmth settle deep into your bones. Yeah. You were exactly where you needed to be.

The night before had been good. Too good. You fell asleep in Thanos’ arms, wrapped up in warmth and a feeling so foreign it almost scared you–something safe, something steady. But by morning, the weight of it all pressed down on your chest like an anchor.

You woke up feeling…wrong. Like you’d taken one step too far into something you couldn’t undo. Like on matter how much Thanos tried, how much wanted to fix you, you’d always end up right back where you started.

He was still asleep beside you, his face slack, mouth parted slightly. One arm was draped over his stomach, the other curled loosely around you, his fingers brushing your hip through the fabric of your shorts. You stared at him, at the way his brows twitched slightly, like even in his sleep he was thinking too much. He’d done so much for you. And you? You were still ruining yourself, just in different ways. You swallowed hard and slipped out of bed, moving quietly into the bathroom before he could stir.

Thanos noticed. Of course he noticed. You were quiet all morning, responding to his teasing with soft smiles instead of the usual bite. You moved through your apartment like you were lost, like you weren’t really there. He didn’t say anything at first, just watched, his eyes following you like he was waiting for the moment you finally cracked.

Then, after a while, he exhaled through his nose and muttered, “C’mon, babe. Get dressed.” You blinked. “What?” He stretched, rolling his shoulders. “I wanna go somewhere. You need to get out of this place for a bit.”

You hesitated, but the way he looked at you, the quiet determination in his face, made it clear this wasn’t up for debate. And you didn’t have the energy to argue.

The drive was peaceful. Thanos had one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the console between you. His playlist hummed through the speakers, low enough that the rumble of the car nearly drowned it out. 

The road stretched ahead, empty except for the occasional flicker of headlights in the distance. It almost felt normal. Almost. 

You sighed, shifting in your seat. Your phone buzzed in your lap, lighting up with a name you didn’t want him to see. You hesitated. You shouldn’t answer. You really shouldn’t. But your fingers twitched anyway, hovering over the screen. Before you could react, Thanos reached over, plucking your phone from your hands.

“Hey–!” He barely glanced at you, his eyes locked on the screen. His jaw ticked. Then he scoffed, shaking his head as he tossed the phone onto the dashboard. 

“Seriously?” You swallowed, suddenly very aware of how tense the care felt. “It’s not–” “Is that him? You’re still talking to him?” You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. “It’s not like that.” 

Thanos let out a humorless laugh, running a hand over his face. “Not like that?” He shot you a look, something between disbelief and frustration. “Babe, c’mon. What the hell are you doing?” 

Your stomach twisted with guilt. “I don’t know.” You stretched in your seat, reaching for your phone and once you had it you tucked it securely in your lap.

Thanos pressed his lips into a thin line, fingers flexing on the wheel. He wasn’t jealous, he wasn’t. But it pissed him off in a way he couldn’t quite explain. Because after everything–after the  way he held you, the way he tried to pull you out of this–you were still keeping one foot in the door of something that was dragging you down. And he didn’t get it. He didn’t get why. 

Thanos sighed, shaking his head. “You really gonna sit there and tell me it’s nothing?” Your throat felt tight. You didn’t have an answer for him. And the worst part? He knew that.

You remained silent after that, yet the silence felt suffocating. You stared out the window, watching the blur of passing streetlights, the dark silhouettes of trees lining the road. 

Thanos didn’t say anything else for awhile. He just kept driving, his grip on the wheel tight, his jaw locked. He wasn’t mad at you, but it felt like he was. It was so unlike him. No teasing remark, no smartass comment to cut through the tension. Just silence. It made you feel worse than if he had just yelled at you.

Finally, you swallowed the lump in your throat and whispered, “I don’t know why I’m still talking to him.” 

Thanos sighed, resting his elbow against the door, fingers tapping against his temple. His body seemed tense, uncomfortable. “Yeah, babe. I got that part.” His voice wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t soft either. It was tired. Like he was trying to understand something he really didn’t want to understand. 

You fiddled with the edge of his hoodie he let you wear, pulling at loose thread. “It’s just…I don’t know. Maybe I like pretending nothing happened. That I can just go back to normal.” Thanos made a sharp sound in the back of his throat. “And talking to him helps with that?”

“No,” you groaned. “I don’t know! Maybe it makes me feel like I still have control over something. Like I get to decide how it ends.” Thanos was quiet for a beat. Then, with a slow shake of his head, he muttered, “That’s not how it works, babe.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, staring down at your now shaky hands. “I just…I hate feeling like this.” His fingers drummed against the steering wheel, an anxious tic he used to calm himself. “Like what?” he asked.

“Like I’m broken,” you admitted. Thanos’ jaw clenched. His knuckles whitened on the wheel. Then, suddenly, he swerved to the side of the road and slammed the car into park. You jolted forward slightly, eyes wide. “Thanos, what the hell–” 

“Get in the back.” “What?” Thanos unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to face you, eyes dark, voice low and sharp. “Not arguing, babe. Get in the back.”

Thanos could be scary when he wanted to. He could be demanding and strong headed, you knew this about him. His deep voice and tall, muscular frame turned to you and you knew then it wasn’t a choice. He wasn’t challenging you. He was telling you, and you obeyed.

You slipped out of your seat and into the back, settling in just as Thanos followed. He slammed the door shut which made you flinch ever so slightly.

The air was thick, charged, as he sat next to you, stretching out his legs and crossing his arms across his chest. Then, without a word, he reached over and snatched your phone from your lap. Your heart leapt into your throat.

“Thanos, don’t–” “Unlock your phone,” he demanded. Slowly, you shook your head no. Thanos clenched his jaw. “I’m not asking, I’m telling you. Unlock the damn phone.” And you did. You reached over and typed in your passcode which earned a hum from him.

He ignored your protests, thumb swiping across the screen. You tried to grab it back when he opened your messages, but he easily dodged you. “Damn, babe. You weren’t kidding. You really are still talking to this piece of shit.” Your stomach twisted as he scrolled through the messages.

wyd tonight? lets meet up

idk. maybe.

u look good in that dress

thanks 

u miss me or nah?

u were so into me that night, dont act different now

stop 

damn u actin like a whole new bitch. u know i could pull up rn

just drop it

Thanos’ breathing was ragged as he read them. “Maybe?” he read aloud, shaking his head. “Babe, really?” You look away, ashamed. “It’s not–” But before you could finish, he scrolled. You tried to snatch your phone again, but he grabbed your arm holding it down.

And there they were. Pictures. Some from him. A shirtless mirror selfie, a couple of low lit bedroom shots. Nothing outright explicit, but the intent was there. Then he saw your pictures you had sent to this guy. A mirror selfie in a fitted dress. A close up of your lips. And then his whole body stiffened. Because the picture that was staring back at the two of you was something he wasn’t expecting to see. A picture of you. Taken by you. Wearing Thanos’ hoodie. Sitting on your bed, the hem barely covering your thighs, biting your lip at the camera. Your stomach dropped.

Thanos scoffed, his grip so tight on the phone you feared he’d snap it. “You really sent this to him? In my hoodie?” he let out a sharp laugh, but it wasn’t amused. “Fuck, babe.” Your face burned. “It wasn’t–”

But then he scrolled further. And that’s when everything changed. Because there were more pictures. But these weren't yours. They were taken by that guy. Pictures of you. Your blood ran cold. You knew he’d sent them to you, but you didn’t remember him ever taking them.

Your body, sprawled out on the bed. Your face flushed, half turned away. The strap of your dress slipping down your shoulder. The bottom hem pushed up just enough to reveal your lacey underwear. Another one of you naked, your breasts covered just by the man’s hands. Another one with his fist in your hair, makeup smudge across your face as you looked straight into the camera. Eyes hazy from your drunken state. And the worst part? The messages that followed.

dont act like u didnt want it

u looked so good like that

we both kno u liked it

u better stop ignoring me

u know i could ruin u, right?

Of course he had planned to use them as blackmail. That was when you had stopped responding to him, in hopes he’d leave you alone. That’s when you really started to spiral. Your hands had started to shake, and you dared to sneak a peek at Thanos. He hadn’t said a single word, and his silence was lethal. His jaw clenched so tightly you thought he might crack a tooth.

Slowly, deliberately, he reached into his own pocket and pulled out his own phone. You watched in confusion, still frozen, as he tapped his screen a few times, then turned to you.

Your heart stopped. Because there on his phone were so many pictures of you. Some candid, some not so candid. Some from nights when you’d crashed at this place, tangled in his sheets, makeup smudged. Some from parties where you’d clung to his arm, leaning close to whisper in his ear.

Some of the two of you together. His arm slung around your waist. His fingers curled around your throat. His lips at your ear, mouth curved into something between a smirk and a promise. And the picture from last night. You with swollen lips, bloodshot eyes, and a mixture of drool and his cum dripping down your chin.

Your breath hitched. “Thanos…” He turned to look at you, grinning. “You forgot who you belong to, baby.” He’d always been possessive over you, but never like this. He leaned in, voice dropping lower. “Maybe I should send one of these to your little friend. Let him know who the fuck he’s messing with.”

Your lips parted, shock flashing through you. “Thanos, no–” but then, your phone buzzed. Your breath caught. A call. From him. Thanos stared at the screen for half a second before answering.

“Hello?” Your whole body went rigid. There was a pause, then a low, irritated voice. “Uh…who the hell is this?” Thanos smirked, staring straight into your eyes. “Her boyfriend.” Your mouth fell open.

“What?” the guy scoffed. “Dude, put her on the phone.” “Nah, I don’t think I will.” Thanos leaned back, completely unbothered. “Matter of fact, I think you should delete all those pictures and lose this number.” The guy scoffed again. “Man, she was just texting me–” “Yeah, well she won’t be anymore.”

You sat there frozen, heart hammering against your ribs. You should’ve stopped him. But you didn’t. You prayed this would end all of the harassment you’d been through. You watched as Thanos brought the phone back to his ear and, in a tone dripping with amusement, said, “Lose this number, or I’ll make you lose it.” Then he hung up. 

 The silence afterward was deafening. Thanos tossed your phone back into your lap, his expression still flat, unreadable. But then in a tone that was soft, but no less firm, he murmured, “C’mere, baby.” you didn’t move at first. You just sat there, phone in your lap, the weight of everything pressing down on you.

Thanos’ voice was softer this time. “Babe.” The second you were within reach, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his lap, into the solid warmth of his body. His grip was firm but not crushing, a quiet promise of protection.

“I–” “Shh,” he murmured, one hand slipping to the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. “I got you.” You let yourself sink into him, let your face press against his neck, his hoodie soft against your cheek. His scent wrapped around you–clean, familiar, safe.

Neither of you spoke for a while. You weren’t sure how much time passed before Thanos finally said, “How long has he been pulling this shit?” You hesitated. Too long. “...A while.”

His jaw twitched beneath your head. “And you didn’t tell me?” You pulled back slightly, looking at him. “I–” you shook your head. “I just wanted to forget about it.”

“You really think I wouldn’t notice?” You blinked up at him. “You think I don’t know you?” His fingers tightened in your hair, just a little. Your throat burned. You hated this. Hated feeling seen. Hated how easily he could read you. 

Thaons let out a slow breath, dropping his forehead to yours. His voice was quiet, but steady. “Babe, you don’t have to do this alone.” Tears began to burn behind your eyes, thick and hot, threatening to spill over. “Is there more? Because if there’s more to this I need to know so I can end it all.”

You shook your head, a few stray tears slipping down your cheeks. He pulled you in tighter, and this time you didn’t fit any of it. His grasp, the tears, your feelings. You allowed yourself to cry into his chest, body racking with sobs. Thaons held you, never letting his grip falter. 

After you collected yourself and Thanos made sure you were okay, the two of you continued your drive. “Where are we even going?” you asked, turning toward him. Thanos smirked, eyes still on the road. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” You narrowed your eyes. “I would like to know. That’s why I asked.” He reached over, resting his large hand on your knee. “Relax, babe. You’ll like it.” You rolled your eyes but didn’t press further. 

Eventually the roads narrowed, leading to a secluded stretch of land. The house came into view first–tucked away from the main road, sitting against a backdrop of trees and open sky. Your brows lifted. “You rented this?”

Thanos cut the engine, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Just for the weekend.” he shot you a wink, “Figured you deserved a little getaway.”

Warmth bloomed in your chest. You bit your lip to keep from smiling. He noticed, of course he did.

“Come on,” he said, opening his door. You followed him inside, taking in the open floor plan and floor to ceiling windows. Everything smelled faintly like cedarwood, the air crisp from the countryside.

You plopped onto the couch with a sigh, stretching out. “This is kinda nice.” Thanos dropped beside you, picking up your legs and resting them on his lap when he sat down. “Told you.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small laugh that slipped out. It felt…normal. There was a few minutes of comfortable silence before Thanos spoke up.

“Give me your phone.” You blinked. “Huh?” Thanos held out his hand, expectantly. “I’m deleting those pictures.” you didn’t speak, frozen. “You don’t need that shit sitting on your phone.”

Slowly, you placed it in his palm. Thanos scrolled through the messages, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t say anything. He just started deleting. One by one, he deleted anything and everything that was attached to that guy.

You exhaled, a strange mix of relief and unease washing over you. Once he was done, Thanos smirked. “Y’know, we should replace ‘em.” You frowned. “What?” He held up your phone. “Take new ones. Good ones. Of us.” Your cheeks warmed. “You’re ridiculous.” He shrugged. “I’m right.”

Before you could argue, he pulled you to his side, angling the camera. “Smile, baby.” You couldn’t help it–you laughed as he snapped the photo. Then another. And another. Before long, you were both tangled together, making stupid faces, teasing, playing.

The playful pictures quickly turned into something else. Thanos, always one to push boundaries, tugged you closer, tilting his head as he snapped another picture. This time, his lips were right at your ear, his breath warm against your skin.

“Gotta get some better ones than those shitty ones he took, right?” he murmured. You felt your heart picking up speed. “T-thanos–” He flipped the camera, his grip steady on your phone, his free hand finding your jaw as he turned your face toward his. “Look at me.” You did.

The click of the camera felt deafening. Another picture. Then another. His fingers brushed your thigh, pushing your legs apart just enough to make your breath hitch.

He smirked. “You nervous, baby?” You huffed, trying to make your reaction. “Shut up.” He chuckled, tapping through the photos. “Damn. These are real nice.” You reached for your phone, but he held it away, laughing. “Uh-uh. I think we need a few more.” 

Before you could protest, he shifted, pulling you fully into his lap. His hand found your waist, gripping firmly as he leaned in, pressing his lips just below your ear. Click. You shivered. Click. His fingers trailed lower. Click. 

The playful photo session took a more daring turn as Thanos pulled you up from the couch, his hands skimming over your sides. “Let’s get some real shots, babe,” he said with a glint in his eye, his voice low and teasing.

You looked at him, biting your lip, but a challenge gleamed in your eyes. “What do you mean?”

He grinned, pulling you toward the bedroom, then towards the floor length mirror in the corner. He snapped a picture of the two of you, your bodies close but not touching. His gaze flicked between the phone screen and your reflection. 

“You look stunning,” he murmured, his breath tickling your neck as he adjusted you. “Let’s make it a little more…fun.” 

You raised a brow but didn't pull away when he guided your hands up to tug your shirt over your head. The fabric slid off, he snapped a quick picture, the camera capturing your bare shoulders and his hand resting lightly on your waist. He was quick to peel his own shirt off. 

The heat between you two was undeniable as his other hand found its way down to your butt, fingers lightly squeezing. The picture came out blurry at first–too much movement– but when he steadied his grip on you, the next shot was perfect.

It was only a minute before Thanos had you both out of your pants. You left in your bra and underwear, him in his boxers. His chest was pressed against your back as he took a few more pictures, his free hand placed in suggestive places on your body. Around your neck, groping one of your breasts, fisting the side of your underwear.

“You know,” Thanos whispered into your ear, his lips brushing against your skin. “If you weren’t so damn irresistible, I might actually be able to stop myself.” You fought the heat rising in your cheeks.

The next shot was from the bed, the two of you lying side by side, bodies tangled together. The camera caught your smiles, your hands tracing his tattoos, as you shifted, getting more comfortable. You couldn’t deny the electric tension between you–playful, teasing, and full of unspoken promise. Thanos snapped one picture of you on your knees on the floor, staring up at him with wide eyes. That was his favorite one. The last picture was of you two sharing a kiss. He looked at it with a satisfied smirk, leaning back on the pillows.

“I think we’ve got some damn good memories to replace the others,” he said. Then tension in the room wasn’t heavy, but it was hot. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you found yourself squeezing your thighs together trying to relieve some tension you felt.

A mischievous grin curled his lips as he looked over at you. “You know,” he began, “I should probably have these pictures saved for myself–you never know when a little reminder of this will come in handy.” 

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t deny the heat flushing your skin and the tingles you felt throughout your body. “Oh, please. You really gonna hold them over my head?”  “Not like that,” he said, shrugging. “Just think I might need some personal motivation later on.”

You shot him a teasing look. “You want them for when you’re lonely, huh?” He laughed, his cocky grin widening. “If I’m ever feeling bored, sure. But I think it’d be hard to get bored with these.” He sent himself the pictures from your phone before handing it back to you.

The playful tension in the air felt thick, the heat between you two palpable, and Thanos let out a low sigh, stretching his arms above his head. “Anyway,” he said, suddenly standing up from the bed. “I’m gonna grab a shower–feel like I need to cool down for a bit.”

You raised an eyebrow, watching his move across the room, his movements slow but purposeful. “Yeah? You sure you’re not running from me?” He looked over his shoulder, smirking as he entered the bathroom. “Nah, just trying to be respectful of your boundaries, baby.”

You were left in the dim room, the air still heavy with the scent of him and the lingering heat of the photos you’d taken. You sat there, your thoughts racing. It was clear he was affected–hell, so were you–but the playful tension shifted, leaving something more raw, more intense in its wake. After a moment of hesitation, you stood up, almost without thinking. You couldn’t just let him get away with that teasing, could you?

The bathroom door was cracked open, and you caught a glimpse of him, standing under the spray of the shower, steam curling up from the floor. You saw his hand fisting his cock, and heard the quiet panting sounds he made. You knew exactly what you were doing as you stepped inside without knocking.

Thanos froze when he saw you. His trailing up and down your now naked frame. His hand stopped its movements, and he leaned back against the shower wall. “Babe, what are you doing?” he asked, though his voice was laced with something else.

You stepped closer, eyes never leaving his. “I think you’re the one who started this.” You reached out, brushing your fingers against his chest, the warm water cascading over him. 

He didn’t respond at first, just watching you with a heavy gaze, as if considering whether or not to step back–or to pull you closer. 

But he didn’t move away. He let you inch closer until your lips were inches from his. “You really wanna test me right now?”

“Maybe,” you whispered, hand resting on top of his. “Maybe I just like to see if you can resist me.”

He grinned then. “I can, baby,’ he said quietly, but it didn’t sound very convincing. “But you’re about to make me break that.” That’s when a sense of urgency took over your body. Your lips crashed to his and you removed his hand from his cock to take it in your own.

Neither of your movements were slow or cautious. As you pumped his cock in your fist, his fingers snuck between your legs. They worked quickly against your clit before he pushed two inside you. You let out a breathy gasp at the feeling.

It didn’t take very long for you two to become whiny messes under each other's touches. Each other's names falling from the others lips like a prayer. Whines and moans vibrated off the shower walls. Before you knew it your head was spinning. The two of you came at the same time, and something about that made the whole thing seem even more intimate. 

The rest of the weekend was spent teasing, joking, and laughing. Thanos made sure you didn’t think about anything except the two of you. That you were enjoying yourself fully, and hopefully healing. He blocked the guy’s number from your phone and you thanked him for it, not sure if you would’ve been able to do it yourself. Before you knew it the two of you were driving back into the city. You weren’t saddened because you felt the shift of the air between the two of you. Things would be different from now on.

The music thumped through the walls of Nam Gyu’s place, a stark contrast to the quieter, more intimate atmosphere you and Thanos had shared just hours before. You could still feel the heat of your bodies together on your skin.

Thanos had insisted on coming to the party. “You need to loosen up a little, babe,” he;d said, pulling you out of the car and toward the front door. “We’re all done moping around. We’re having fun, okay?”

Against your better judgment, you’d agreed, but you weren’t really sure if you were ready for the noise, the chaos, the crowds of people who had no idea what was going on behind your walls. Yet, as soon as you stepped inside Nam Gyu’s apartment, you felt like you were stepping into a different world.

Nam Gyu was in the middle of a conversation with a couple of his friends when he spotted you and Thanos. He smirked and immediately made his way over to you, clapping Thanos on the back as he winked at you. 

“Damn, Thanos,” Nam Gyu said, his tone light but teasing. “You look like you’re about to eat her alive.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the blush creeping up your neck, but it was hard when Thanos didn’t exactly make it easy. His arm was draped around your waist, a possessive but gentle hold that made everyone around you notice.

“She’s been a handful lately,” he said teasingly. “But I’m making sure she’s having fun.” Thanos licked his lips, staring at you and you felt your body burn under his gaze.

You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol you had begun sipping on or the way Thanos’ words made your heart flutter,mm but you leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. 

Nam Gyu raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of you. “I’m not one to judge, but…damn, you two are practically joined at the hip tonight. You’re looking like more than just friends now.”

You froze at his words, a small pang of uncertainty tightening in your chest. Was that how it looked? You couldn’t even really think about it because everything still felt so complicated, but there was something undeniable between you and Thanos. Something unspoken. 

Thanos noticed your discomfort, his fingers gently grazing your back, soothing you. “Shut up, Nam Gyum” he said, his voice lighter but still protective. “You’re just jealous because you don’t have anyone who looks at you the way she looks at me.”

The comment made you smile, the small flirtation doing exactly what it was meant to do–ease the tension you hadn’t even realized had built up.

Nam Gyu held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll let you two have your moment. But if you get too cozy, I’ll have to kick you out.”

You laughed, the sound feeling good, almost reigned to you after everything. Thanos leaned down, kissing your forehead softly. “You okay, babe?” You nodded, feeling a warmth in your chest you hadn’t felt in a long while. You were okay. Maybe not perfect, but you were here, and that meant something.

The night went on, and you allowed yourself to get caught up in the energy around you. You danced. You laughed. You allowed yourself a little escape from the weight that had been on your shoulders. And Thanos never let you go too far, always keeping you close, watching over you like a silent guardian.

As the night went on and the party started to wind down with people slowly trickling out, you found yourself standing by the door with Thanos, his hand still on your back, guiding you. “You sure you’re ready to go?” he asked, his voice soft yet serious. You looked up at him. “Yeah. I think I’m ready.”

He smiled and led out the door, but before you left, he turned to you. “Just so you know, no matter what happens, I’ve got you babe. Always.”

You swallowed, emotions swirling in your chest. This was more than you’d ever expected from anyone, and you weren’t sure how you got so lucky, but for the first time in a long time, you felt a little lighter.

The rest of the night was quiet. You two drove back to his apartment, the weight of everything that had happened slowly lifting as you realized how much you meant to each other. In that moment, it didn’t matter if it was complicated. It didn’t matter if you didn’t have all the answers. You had each other. And that was enough.

[mercuriians]

connect (with you)

synopsis ☆ kuroo’s walls come down after the game with karasuno.

content info — some hurt/comfort with our beloved nekoma captain because he deserves all the love in the world 🙏 SPOILERS for the dumpster battle movie so beware. reader is mentioned to be kenma’s sister a few times.

author’s note — just wanna say hi to the haikyuu fandom :) hope u enjoy this short drabble i wrote, i’ll probably make it look pretty later. lmk if you wanna see more kuroo x kozume!reader in the future.

your lips are on kuroo’s before the locker room door even has a chance to close. his skin is soft and familiar, his kiss eager yet vulnerable. something compels you to reach up, circling your arms around his neck as you pull him closer, tighter, until you’re sure that his warmth has become your own. the sound of his breathing is the only thing keeping you tethered to the ground as your mouths meet again and again. no words need to be spoken.

after years of being together, and even more years of being friends, you know tetsurou like the back of your hand. as if he’s perpetually been woven into your spirit, etched into your heart since the day he moved into the house next to you and your brother’s.

you know that the cheery grin he shot his teammates, the reverent bow he gave to the crowd, and the meaningful hug he shared with daichi at the end of the match were all borne out of three things—his sworn responsibilities as the captain, his earnest respect for karasuno, and the addictive rush of adrenaline.

the moment he left behind the arena’s blinding lights, though, the high seemed to wear off.

yet an aching feeling stayed with him.

when you pour your heart out on the court and play until your muscles feel like they’re on fire, when you devote hours of your precious time towards practicing—towards smoothening out every crack within your blocks, every blemish within your serves, every falter within your receives—and when you imagine the game countless numbers of times in your head until it feels like a memory, there’s a certain type of pain you feel when it’s all over. it’s a sadness that’s inevitable, and yet one that stings so profoundly and uniquely that it becomes a bittersweet moment you’re bound to remember for the rest of your life.

just one more second, one more chance— you think to yourself in a flurry of desperation. because as foolishly selfish as it sounds, nobody ever truly wants the game to end.

that feeling of wanting to remain frozen in the experience is something you yourself are all too familiar with. volleyball, after all, was what gave birth to the connection you now so deeply share with tetsurou.

you suppose that’s why you’re able to pinpoint the exact moment his shoulders start to shake.

pulling away from the kiss, you feel your heart plummet into your stomach before you can even see the tears trickling down his face. something you’ve come to learn about tetsurou is that he rarely ever cries, so when he does, it only makes the sight that much more impactful. wordlessly, you pull him into you once more.

the way your arms firmly, comfortingly wrap around his tall figure conveys a simple but invaluable message that resonates throughout the empty room— “i’m not letting you go.”

quietly, he sobs. you let him.

you barely notice your nekoma jacket becoming damp with his tears. when his crying slowly starts to recede, you break the silence, voice soft and tender. “you were amazing out there, tetsurou,” you whisper. “and there’s three things i want to thank you for.”

withdrawing by the tiniest sliver, just enough so he can meet your patient gaze, your boyfriend tilts his head slightly in the way he always does. his fingers subconsciously trace patterns across the small of your back. “what are they, baby?” his voice is quiet and a little hoarse. really, it’s a miracle that you manage to block out your own shadows of sadness.

“one,” you whisper, fingers reaching out to gently wipe away his tears, “thank you for being the best captain this team could ever ask for.”

“two,” you continue, leaning in to kiss away the tears that remain, before a small smile pulls at the corners of your lips, “thank you for helping my brother fall in love with volleyball.”

“and three,” you breathe out, your vulnerable gaze meeting his own, lips inching towards his once more, “thank you for being as strong as you’ve been, and for carrying the world’s burden on your shoulders when none of us could.”

when you finish your heartfelt confession, tetsurou’s hazel eyes glaze over with a fresh wave of tears—this time, however, it’s for an entirely different reason.

and this time, he’s the one that kisses you first.

[sunsbaby]

when dean falls for the oldest trick in the book, a sirens song...

or you begin to feel things for your prey, things you do not yet understand which come crashing down unexpectedly

﹏﹏﹏

dean winchester x siren .ᐟ reader now playing...

! mentions of death. stalking. blood. kissing.

𓂁

dean found himself by the shore, baby parked by the sandy beach and a beer in his hand. he needed an escape from whatever hunt they were on. he couldn't remember what it was they were hunting. his feelings were eating him up from the inside out and sam was no help. he watched the moonlit waters crash against each other. losing himself in the bottle.

you swam beneath the blue waters–now almost black in the night. stalking your prey was usual, especially if they were as skilled as a hunter was. though, this one was not alert, instead he stood completely vulnerable. his hands clenching a bottle and with a troubled look decorating his handsome features.

you found yourself perched on top of a rock, after endless days of watching, it was time to act.

songs spewing from your lips in irresistible melodies. his eyes spiraled into a dazed look, his form immediately walking towards yours. a sinister smile formed on your face.

you had him right where you wanted him.

once dean had stood in front of you, his eyes glazed over and the beer was long gone from his grasp.

your hand gently came to his face, caressing the skin with surprising gentleness. long nails tracing patterns into the skin, you felt almost something human in his presence. it was both irritating and addicting; however, in all honesty you found him quite pathetic.

a hunter as known as him falling for your songs, which had been in stories told all over the world was unheard of. you wondered what his dear brother would think if he saw him in this position.

yet, you didn't dwell on the thought. using your strength to pull him into your cavern, which was filled with shells and bones–which could only be named as your previous victims.

tying him up with precise motions, keeping it tight and secure. riding his pockets and boots of any sharp objects, marveling at the shininess of them.

you normally kept whatever you found on the men you captured as a little present, a good job to yourself. afterall self love was key in success. 

wandering around your cave to keep busy, until he woke up of course, then you would have your fun.

dean stirred, eyes blurry as he blinked away the sleep. his heart immediately jumped, his first thought was to escape. tugging on his restraints harshly, though it did no good in helping–only in hurting himself.

your ears picked up on the noises, walking back towards him quickly. “dean! you're awake.” you chirped cheerfully, hands clasping in front of you.

he practically stared into your soul, a look that could kill. and he wanted to kill you. “who are you–better yet, what are you?” his voice was strained and raspy, filling your body with a warmth you weren't used to.

you pushed those feelings back, fingers slowly trailing down his cheek. cutting him up slightly, licking your lips at the sight and smell of the crimson liquid.

by now he should've been dead, you usually weren't one to waste time when it came to meals. but there was something about him, something that lit a fire inside of you that wouldn't let itself be put out.

“oh, dean..” your words came out almost breathless, face coming close to his, foreheads touching. the skin-to-skin contact set that fire ablaze. “you fell for the oldest trick, my songs.” you hinted at what you were, being one for trivias and all.

"a fuckin’ siren, perfect, just what i need.” dean spat out, tone laced full of venom that stung.

your eyes widened as his words pierced through you, forcing themselves straight into your heart. somehow tears welled up in your waterline, awaiting to be set free. to flow down your cheeks, evidence of your sadness.

but you were stronger than that, opting on letting him free. you couldn't take it, his words, and harsh gaze that burned holes into your form. stronger than the fire that went ablaze anytime you smelt him, or even looked at him. how could a human man – a hunter – have this effect on you. 

dean let the ropes fall from his body, greens eyes lingering on your form, seemingly stalking your every movement–just like how you'd stalked him. his face softened from it's hardened look, calloused hands coming to gingerly grasp onto your waist.

“hey, it's alright. next time, don't drug and kidnap the guys you find attractive, yea?” he teased, trying to lighten the mood and lift your spirits. he couldn't believe he was doing this, for a monster no less. but he felt his soul tug towards you, his face stung from the cut, yet it never deterred him from you.

the tears flowed graciously down your cheeks, turning your head to catch a glimpse of him. as soon as you did, his lips captured yours in a calming kiss. the taste of alcohol lingered on his. while the salt from the sea was all he tasted on yours and to him, it was the best thing he's ever had the privilege of tasting.

sunny's note! HII everyone, this is my first little fic that I'm posting. I know it's probably short but I wanted to continue with another part like their life together after!! please lmk if you'd be interested in reading that! <3

𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ® 𓂃 do not repost or copy my works without permission!!

[generallemarc]

Microsoft has just announced a price increase in "some of our new, first-party games" to $79.99 starting this holiday season

I don't know whether or not to blame Nintendo, because it honestly seems as if all of the big three were just waiting for an excuse to do this, and Nintendo just so happened to be the one to do it first. I'm seeing multiple gaming news videos predicting another video game crash, and honestly? I hope that's what happens. I hope these absolute buffoons get exactly what they have coming to them and lose tens of millions of dollars when they should've been making bank because they forgot that they're in an industry that's entirely based around leisure. Nobody needs anything related to video games unless they're a content creator based around them, which means that for 99.999% of us we can spend literally nothing on this sector and keep on living just fine. So when companies think they can just do universal price-hikes and not see a drop in sales, well, they're fucking morons.

Maybe 10 years ago this might've worked, but we now live in the age of Helldivers 2 and Palworld, of Balatro and Vampire Survivors, of Space Marine 2 and Clair Obscur Expedition 33. You want great gameplay, great story, an addictive game-breaking grindfest? The indie and double-a scene has you covered and then some. Helldivers 2 costs $40 to play and can be enjoyed without engaging with the monetization at all. Expedition 33 costs $50 and has sucked up dozens of hours of my free time on a single playthrough, which I still have not finished as I have at least 4 more superbosses to beat, each of which will require a decent amount of pattern-learning because at a certain point it really is like a Souls game where you either learn the patterns and how to dodge/parry them or you get hit by two attacks in a row and die on the spot. So yeah, the games industry is about to set itself on fire and I hope they do, because the actual valuable parts won't even get singed.

[sunbleachedfl13s]

more bum stinky ahh loser remmick headcanons (part whatever)

smells like sulfur (along with the added aromas of sweat and b.o. from his hygiene aversion) (but get it sulfur because hes a demon)

is one of those people whose accent/vernacular unintentionally mirrors the speech patterns of those around him (this is like a real thing people do irl but i think his phony ass kinda picked it up and now its muscle memory) (i dont even think he'd have a natural accent anymore)

his vampire burning in the sun thing is actually not that different from just being white so that lifestyle change was probably an easy adjustment for him

can run on walls/the ceiling (dont catch him doing an irish jig up there)

had a phase where he would just spit everywhere like a cowboy but thankfully that's in the past now (he does have a lot of spit though so idk man)

he doesn't know how to shoot a gun, can't ride a horse, and probably can't drive a car (unless he bites someone who can)(but he himself wouldnt know)

so he probably only knows how to sing, maybe play one instrument (like a fiddle or some shit) and bust out those sick moves, which is why he tries to turn people with musical knowledge (bert, sammie, etc) because on his own he doesn't really know much

his handwriting either looks like fyodor dostoevsky's or meth addict chicken scratch, but either way it's indecipherable

he doesnt wash the blood off his face so he can save it as a snack for later

shockingly good memory

would have voted for obama for a third term if he could