#[ me quietly sobbing in the background ]

[ednaeflowers]

@crystallizedflowers : ❝  you're always taking care of my hair, edna. can i try braiding yours for once. lailah , alisha , and rose taught me something called french braids and i wanted to try it on you. ❞ he pauses , only realizing after uttering the words does mikleo realize how ridiculous it sounds coming from him.❝  or not i can't force you or anything. ❞ but those beautiful amethyst eyes are looking at edna with all the love and adoration in the world. his words might not always be the easiest but his heart? mikleo's heart had always lived on his fingertips when it came to her.

she doesn't know where to begin, so she starts with staring blankly at him for a moment. this is actually a lot to process: first off, when did he find the time to visit those three? second: why did he learn how to touch-up hair when he's always wearing the exact same ponytail? third: why did those three teach him that anyway? fourth: she thought he was away, exploring another new place surrounded by dingy old ruins? fifth: did he learn how to braid hair just for her—

edna immediately ceases the thought.

reaching up, she touches her hair absently, staring at his ponytail swaying behind him. his hair is much longer and wavier, so of course she gradually developed a habit of playing with it; it just never occurred to her that he would like to touch her hair in return. hers is much shorter in comparison, leaving not much to work with—though, that never meant she was opposed to getting her hair done at all. lailah and the other girls have touched her hair before, but she figured she could be lenient because she got along better with them, especially when they're at a hot spring and she'd need someone to help dry her hair. onii-chan often patted her head and spoiled her with hair ruffles, so he had always been the special exception to the touch rule. nevertheless, edna has never minded her hair being touched as long as she knows who is touching it.

meebo, though... she is at a loss: after all, he has never expressed interest in her hair, of all things, nor has he ever been this openly thoughtful to her either. back then, she got used to hearing not-answers from him whenever he replied or retorted back at her—but now: now, he is actually being clear with what he wants. now, she actually feels a skip in her chest whenever he looks at her like this. now, they are facing each other with different feelings, and it's remarkable how the old familiarity is still there within their relationship, but also changed: no matter how the world evolves, water and earth still exists all the same.

if sorey asked if he could touch her hair, she would've simply allowed it—but it's different with mikleo. very different. he and sorey grew up together, but her first impression of him was vastly different from her impression of sorey. unlike sorey, meebo retorts to everything, and can get surprisingly temperamental, and seems more sensitive, and while he tries to fit into the role, she thinks it's actually sorey who's more reasonable and rational. he was always by sorey's side, so it's strange to see him facing her now with such an earnest, harmless request, his attention solely given to her.

what she finds most ironic is that if he had asked her this question all those years ago, she would've easily let him, thinking that it would mean nothing in the long run; that it was just something akin to once-in-a-blue-moon type of morbid curiosity from his part. it's because she feels this way for him that it's also why edna is now struggling to show him her different sides, the sides of herself that she doesn't want to show anyone, not even to onii-chan. she doesn't want to show the real edna. no one should see her. she's what edna doesn't want to revert back to.

still.

still: she finds herself untying her ribbon, letting her hair fall down. it reaches somewhere near her shoulder blades, last she remembers. she enjoys having her hair up, only taking it down to sleep, but she hardly sleeps anymore, so it feels different already. he probably feels surprised too. after all, it's his first time seeing her hair naturally down. does she look weird?

❛  here.  ❜ she hands him the ribbon that she's treasured for so many centuries. it is offered on her open palm: a sign of easy, obvious trust. already seated on a boulder, she turns around and lets her back face him. she has her umbrella placed aside, she has nothing set up to ambush or attack him: she has none of that as she simply sits there, her back open and exposed to him. she hasn't trusted someone like this ever since onii-chan left home. perhaps there was lailah, one of her closest friends, but the trust with her was invoked by their longtime sisterhood. the trust for mikleo stems from something else: something a lot closer to the heart, something that is woven from many days of waiting, something that only exists within the lapse of the waves meeting the shore.

❛  i'm going to hit you if you mess up, tug too hard, or give me tangles,  ❜ she warns, but she's certain he knows it's an empty threat. after all, why would she show her back to him then, completely unarmed? he wouldn't hurt her. she is sure of it. not to mention, it has been a while since he's last stopped by. the time together would be nice, even if he's being a dork again. she has always been simple; when it comes down to spending time with someone, it doesn't matter what they do as long as they are together. living alone for so long, edna values that foremost.

( maybe in another universe, it would be easier to just admit that she missed him. )

her eyes soften, staring at the scenery as she waits patiently for him to start. ❛  if it turns out decent, then i'll let you be my hair stylist, meebo. it should be the highest honor you'll ever get, even more than manservant.  ❜ seraphim can't appear in mirrors, so she has to depend on him anyway. maybe he can be reliable sometimes. just sometimes. she also has no idea what a french braid looks like, so maybe she'll keep the umbrella on standby, though. she doesn't mind an image change, but she needs to know she won't end up looking like a bird's nest by the end of this. ❛  and if you were taught by three people, then i already have high expectations. no pressure.  ❜

[kenntoria]

it’s the way he watches you.

quietly, from where he’s half-sprawled on the couch, arms tucked behind his head, messy hair sticking up like he’s been dragging his hands through it. his blindfold is off, blue eyes shining in the dim light of the apartment. he’s been watching you for the past ten minutes.

you’re curled in a chair by the window, staring out, eyes not really seeing. your mouth is in a small, thoughtful frown and your hands are limp in your lap. you’re not crying. not talking. just… quiet.

too quiet.

gojo’s been thinking for a while now about what to do. if he should say something. if he should leave you be. it’s not like he’s good at this sort of thing. he’s the strongest, but feelings? emotions? gentle things? that’s a whole other kind of battlefield.

he gets up without saying a word. pads to the kitchen. opens and closes cabinets, a little clumsily, like he’s not used to moving around without swagger.

you don’t look.

so he makes hot chocolate.

with the fancy marshmallows you like. the ones shaped like stars. he burns his finger a little trying to fix it just right, and hisses under his breath, and mutters, “get it together, satoru,” like he’s on a mission from god.

he brings it over to you with both hands and kneels beside your chair.

you blink, surprised, when you notice him there.

“for the prettiest girl i know,” he says, trying for lightness, offering the mug like it’s a peace treaty. “warning: it may or may not be made with love and minor kitchen injuries.”

you take it. you don’t say anything at first. you hold the warm mug and look at it like you don’t know what to do with something kind.

and when you finally speak, your voice is too soft.

“…you noticed.”

“’course i noticed,” he says, and now he’s not joking. “you’ve got the world’s most expressive face. and also i love you. that helps.”

your breath catches.

and then, all at once, the tears come. hot, unexpected, falling down your cheeks faster than you can stop them.

gojo panics.

“hey—hey, no, baby, don’t cry—what’s wrong? is it too hot? did i do something? did i say something dumb again? is this about the marshmallows? i knew i should’ve used the heart ones—”

you shake your head, and now you’re really crying, tears slipping down your cheeks, nose scrunched, hands curled into the sleeves of his hoodie.

“satoru,” you croak out, half a laugh buried in a sob. “i’m crying because you love me.”

he stops. blinks at you. the world stills.

you sniffle. “you were being so stupid. and sweet. and you always know when something’s wrong and you try so hard to fix it, even if you don’t know how. and you just—i’m crying because you love me.”

his breath leaves him in a slow exhale, and something soft and stupid blooms behind his ribs.

“…of course i love you,” he says, voice gone quiet in the aftermath. “you’re my favorite person. of course i do.”you nod, like you already knew, like it still made you cry anyway.

he cups your cheeks gently, wipes at your tears with his thumbs, kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your nose. your eyelids. your chin. every bit of you he can reach, like he’s trying to kiss all the sad away.

“you don’t have to cry,” he whispers, grinning a little even as his eyes go glassy. “unless you want to. but if you do, i’m gonna keep kissing you every time. it’s the law.”

you laugh again—soft and wet and warm—and pull him down into your arms.

he buries his face in your neck, and you breathe in the smell of him, cotton and sugar and something stupidly comforting.

the tv keeps playing in the background. neither of you look at it.it’s a quiet kind of comfort. full of warmth and kisses and love you don’t have to earn.

he stays close, holding you like he never wants to let go.

and outside the window, the city moves on. but in this little corner of it, there is only warmth. you, and him, and the cocoa. and all the love in the world.

[millers-girl]

fallout

interconnected standalone/sequel-ish to bitter/sweet - a Dr. Jack Abbot (The Pitt) fanfic

pairing: Jack Abbot x f!reader

summary: you and your sister plan to spend the day at Pitt Fest but instead spend the night in the hospital, and Jack is left to pick up the pieces.

warnings/tags: mentions of an active shooter, gun violence, ptsd/trauma response, grief and loss, implied survivor's guilt, slow burn, hurt/comfort, grumpy x sunshine, food as a love language, age gap, mild language

word count: 5.1k

a/n: oops accidentally made this love story my entire personality

Jack rushed through the sliding doors of the ED, the familiar, sharp scent of antiseptic welcoming him back. His eyes were locked onto his phone screen, thumb twitching over the messages he’d already sent.

As soon as he’d heard it on the police scanner—“Active shooter at Pitt Fest. At least two confirmed dead. Unclear how many injured”—a sick, crawling fear had taken hold of him. It was an unfamiliar, uncomfortable feeling, and one he couldn’t wait to get rid of. 

He’d been trying to get a hold of you. Calling. Texting. Over and over.

Where are you?

Are you okay? 

Please answer.

I’m in the ED. Come straight here if you can.

He forced himself to pocket his phone when Robby started rattling off the hospital’s mass casualty protocol to the group, but he made sure to leave the ringer on – just in case.

When the first wave of patients came in, it was like muscle memory took over. Like he’d slipped back in time, to when he was stationed in Afghanistan, boots hitting blood-streaked dirt.

Assess injury. Slap a colored band on. Treat until stable. Repeat.

A girl, maybe sixteen, sobbed as he wrapped gauze around her bloodied thigh. Her hands were shaking.

A man in his forties was wheeled in, gray from blood loss, gasping.

He sutured a gaping wound left by a gunshot on another boy’s arm. 

He couldn’t stop.

Couldn’t let himself stop.

Somewhere, beneath the routine and urgency, he was antsy, just waiting for you to walk through those doors. 

And then – you did. 

When you were gurneyed through the entrance, the fluorescent lights that usually hummed quietly in the background now felt blinding. Each flicker seemed to stab into your corneas. Your ears rang, your hands trembled, and for a second, it was all white noise. You barely registered Dr. King’s voice asking you questions, her hands checking your vitals.

You weren’t looking at her. You were scanning the frenzied room. 

And then your gaze caught his.

Even amidst the chaos––screams, alarms, blood––his eyes found yours. Jack stopped mid-step near the nurse’s station, the world narrowing for him in an instant. The clinical buzz of the ED faded. He beelined toward you like gravity itself had shifted.

“Jesus Christ, you fucking scared me.” 

His voice was sharp, but familiar – comfort laced with adrenaline. He shouldered Dr. King aside and immediately began assessing you himself. You tried to push his hands away, your injury the last thing on your mind. His hands swatted yours back, frustration flaring into the way his brow furrowed. 

“Jack,” you whispered past trembling lips. He froze, and when his eyes met yours again, they softened. You reached for him without thinking, shaking arms curling around his neck, clinging.

And he didn’t hesitate. Didn’t care who was watching. He wrapped you up, hand cradling the back of your neck, and let out a deep sigh.

You weren’t sure what kind of fight-or-flight response you had that knew being held—feeling safe—would be exactly what you needed then, but you were glad for it. 

“Are you okay?” he murmured into your matted hair, voice tight with restrained panic.

You nodded against his skin, though the movement was hesitant, slow. 

“I’ve been trying to reach you. Why didn’t you answer?” 

“My phone got knocked out of my hand in all the chaos. I didn’t even realize…”

You leaned back, and found worry still clouding his features. You released him enough to let him do his job, finally letting him examine you.

His touch was careful, but you felt how tightly he was wound – how his hands lingered too long on your skin; how he exhaled when he saw the swelling in your ankle. 

Dr. King stepped back in, clearing her throat. “How are you feeling?” 

“Kinda nauseous… dizzy. I don’t know, the lights are making it hard to concentrate,” you mumbled.

The two doctors shared a look. 

“Mild concussion,” Jack said, gently wrapping his fingers around your ankle and rotating it. You winced. “Sprained. Scrapes and bruises on knees, elbows, forearms.”

He slapped a yellow band on your wrist. 

“Ow, Jack,” you muttered, tugging your hand back. 

Any other time, he would’ve rolled his eyes and teased you – made a quip about how dramatic you were.

But not today. 

Today, his fingers immediately rubbed over the spot soothingly, and his voice was soft as he apologized.

When he reached to slip a patient tag onto your wrist, he glanced up again. “Where’s your sister?”

“She’s fine,” you said. “Just had a scraped arm, bruised ribs maybe. She went to help Emery in the OR.”

He exhaled quietly, then moved efficiently – pillows under your ankle, ice pack secured, orders rattled off to Dr. King. “Acetaminophen and Zofran in an IV bag. Don’t get it mixed up with ibuprofen – she’s allergic.” 

Dr. King brought the requested bags and kindly offered to hook you up to them, wanting to help in some way. Jack ignored her, still locked in his quiet rhythm as he began treating your wounds. Stopping the bleeding. Cleaning the cuts. Dressing them carefully. 

You stayed silent during the whole thing.

And it unnerved him.

Normally, you’d be rambling about something––telling a story, cracking a joke, flirting with him––to distract yourself. But now, you just watched him, eyes distant.

He didn’t push.

As he was finishing up, someone called out for him. “Abbot! Need you in the red zone!” 

“Coming!” he shouted back, eyes never leaving you until the very last second. “Hey,” he said softly, “I know it’s crazy in here right now, but try to get some rest, okay? I’ll be back soon.”

“I’m fine,” you insisted. “Wasn’t even near the shooter. Just got trampled in the crowd… Others had it worse.” Your gaze flicked to the burgundy splatters on his surgical gown.

Jack cut you a look. “Don’t do that,” he said firmly. “You still got hurt. That matters. And I’m gonna fix it. Okay?” 

You nodded, just to keep him from worrying more.

“And keep that ankle elevated,” he ordered. As he turned to leave, you caught his hand in yours.

“Can I borrow your phone? I need to call Eleni.”

He hesitated, then pulled the phone from his pocket. When you reached for it, he tugged it back. “One call, then you rest,” he bargained.

You nodded again, the device cool in your hand as he disappeared down the hall.

Dr. King smiled kindly before saying, “Okay, you should be good for now. I’ll come check up on you in a bit, too. Let me know if you need anything in the meantime.”

“Thanks.”

When she left, you dialed Eleni’s number. It only rang for half a second before she was picking up and frantically asking, “Hello?” 

“Hey, it’s me.”

Relief hit the other end of the line like a wave. You could practically hear her collapsing into relief before relaying the good news to the rest of the team. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, fine. Just a little knocked up.” 

She paused for a second, then said, “Knocked up? Wow, that Dr. Tall, Dark, and Broody sure works fast.” 

You huffed out a weak laugh. It felt forced. Hollow.

Eleni meant well. That was her way of checking if you were really okay. So, for her sake, you tried.

“Can you do me a favor?” you asked, looking around the chaotic room.

“Anything.” 

“Get the team to make some food for the ED. For the survivors, their families. Staff. Anyone who needs it.” 

“Yeah, that’s a really good idea. How much do you need?” 

“Everything we’ve got.” 

A beat of silence. “Everything…? Is it that bad?” 

“Yeah,” you said quietly. 

She didn’t hesitate. “We’ll get started right now.” 

You thanked her, hung up, and slowly slid further down the gurney, resting Jack’s phone against your cheek like a comfort blanket. It was nice to have a piece of him with you. 

You didn’t mean to fall asleep. But somehow, your body finally gave out. And, when you woke again, it was to Dr. Mohan’s voice ringing out from a few feet away. “Need help with an airway!” 

Your bleary gaze tried to focus, mind swimming through fog as Jack and Robby rushed to help her. 

“GSW to the neck with expanding hematoma and distorted anatomy. Can’t intubate him – probably hit the carotid,” she explained.

You blinked heavily, watching Jack attend to the bleeding and shout out orders in that commanding voice of his.

But it was the needle taped to his arm, feeding a blood bag wrapped around his ankle, that really caught your attention. Without lifting your head, your sleepy eyes shifted to it. 

“Are you donating?” Dr. Mohan asked. 

“O-neg, yeah.” As if he could feel your eyes on him, he glanced your way, one of his eyes dropping in a wink. “Thought I’d be more useful as a two-for-one today.”

“Show off,” you muttered weakly, rolling your eyes. 

He grinned, eyes focused on the patient before him as he put a Foley in. As he was working, he called to Perlah, asking her to get you a juice box when she got a chance. 

“Can you make sure it’s not apple?” he asked after her. “She hates apple.”  

Despite everything, you felt a warmth blooming in your chest at that.

When Perlah brought you a juice box––fruit punch––you sipped it quietly, eyes on the trauma around you. The blood. The screams. The ones who were being saved – and the ones who weren’t.

Jack returned after stabilizing his GSW patient. He didn’t say anything at first, just placed a warm hand on your forehead, thumb brushing lightly at your hairline. 

“You want some more juice?” You shook your head. “But you’re good?” 

You force a nod. “Yeah. Just tired.” 

He didn’t believe you, but he didn’t force the truth out of you either. Just made sure to watch you more closely as he continued working around you.

Sometime later, Eleni arrived – along with half the staff from Francesca. They came bearing trays of food: warm bread, hearty pastas, fruit, rice dishes, sandwiches, coffee, cookies.

The smell alone grounded people. Nurses grabbed bites between patients. Survivors’ families cried when offered plates. Even doctors paused to say thank you.

You watched it all from your bed, barely speaking – your throat tightened. 

Santos, who stood beside Jack, asked, “Is that the black cod from Francesca?” she asked, oblivious. 

Jack’s eyes flicked to the food in the familiar light pink bags, then to you.

It wasn’t the fact that you’d gotten food for the entire floor that caught his attention – it was why you’d even thought to do it. Even banged up, bruised, barely functioning – you’d wanted to look after everyone else.

He looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time, with new eyes. Like maybe, despite your young age and optimism when it came to seeing the best in people, Jack could still learn a thing or two from you. And maybe that was what he admired most. 

When he managed to find a minute to be back at your bedside, he didn’t say anything. Just offered you the food on his plate, making sure he saved you that sandwich you raved about so much. 

He sat beside you, in quiet solidarity. And, for a moment, in the middle of one of the worst days either of you had lived through, something in the chaos finally felt still.

When Jack left again to attend to more patients, the chaos didn’t remain still. Instead, it slowed – in the worst way.

You finally stopped moving. Stopped reacting. And, just, took it all in.

The crying, the gurgled pain, the rushed footsteps, the overheard codes being called. You can see every little thing – the crimson on someone’s shirt, the way a nurse’s gloved hands shook, the metallic scent in the air. 

Someone shouting for gauze. Another for a crash cart. A kid screaming down the corridor, clutching his broken arm, blood smeared along his cheek. 

And it was all muffled, happening in slow motion. Dull in your senses, leaving only an ache. In your bones. In your ribs. Behind your eyes. 

And then you saw them.

Robby was towering over a gurney, hands pressed tightly to a teenage girl’s chest – desperate, shaking. Her bra was soaked through. A pool of maroon darkened the sheets she was lying on.

She was already still. Limp.

And a teenage boy was sobbing her name. Leah. 

You vaguely remembered his face – Jake, Robby’s sort-of adopted son.

He’s just a teenager… meaning Leah is too.

Was too.

You silently watched Jack touch Robby’s shoulder once, gently, but Robby shrugged it off. Muttered something over and over. Continued with chest compressions everyone knew wouldn’t help.

You could see it in the eyes of the practitioners around him. In the way they hesitated before trying to help. In how nobody called to see if an OR was open. Still, they didn’t want to pull him off her. Not yet.

And something about the quiet truth of that moment sliced deep through your gut.

Before you could process it, you were pulling the IVs from your arm and sliding off the gurney. Your knees buckled for half a second, and your sprained ankle throbbed, but you forced yourself upright. Moved down the hall. Didn’t realize where you were going until your hand was on the bathroom door, pushing it open and locking it behind you.

The silence inside felt oddly louder than the overwhelming med bay.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, not recognizing the reflection. Skin smudged with soot and scarlet blood, small cuts along your hairline, a big bruise where you’d fallen and hit your jaw.

You turned the tap on, splashing ice cold water on your face. It did nothing.

The tears came suddenly and in volume, blurring your vision, and causing you to sink. Down to the floor, knees against your chest, arms hugging.

You dropped your head, trying to focus on the sterile scent of disinfectant as it stung your nose. But all you could see was blood. The stillness. The way Robby cradled Leah’s lifeless body like she might wake up at any moment.

You didn’t know how long you sat there like that. Ten minutes, two hours – time had gone strangely elastic.

A knock sounded once. Then, a key card swipe.

You flinched as the door eased open and Jack stepped inside, gait soft-footed. His brows pulled together when he saw you there, folded into yourself. 

He didn’t say anything at first. Just closed the door gently behind him and sat down beside you, back resting against the wall. His outstretched knee brushed your good ankle. 

You could tell he was itching to say something, to get you out of this funk. But you didn’t speak until you were ready, and he respected that. 

A long time passed before you looked up at him, and your chest cracked wide open.

“How come nothing happened to me?” you asked quietly.

“What are you talking about?” 

“That kid – Robbie’s kid – his girlfriend, she…” you trailed off. Shook your head. “And I… I’m here, right? I’m breathing, and I’m good, and I’m gonna have some really badass scars and a hell of a story – ”

The corners of Jack’s mouth lifted comfortingly. “Did I leave any scars when I sutured up your thumb?” You shook your head. “Then, what makes you think I’m gonna leave any behind for you to remember this by?” he tried, lightheartedly, almost teasing – but your face didn’t soften.

You were somewhere else entirely. A million miles away, eyes glassy and unfocused.

“I don’t want you to remember this forever,” he admitted, correcting himself. 

“I think I will,” you whispered. “Even if I don’t have any physical scars to remind me.” 

Jack looked at you for a long time. Then, slowly, he pulled you into his lap, pressing you gently into his chest. You didn’t resist. Just leaned in. Let yourself fold into him like you had no bones left. 

He felt safe, even if the world didn’t anymore.

His chin rested lightly on top of your head, and his voice came low, almost gravelly. 

“Sometimes surviving feels heavier than dying,” he said. “But you’re here, and that counts for something. Even if you don’t know what yet.” 

You closed your eyes, let the silence swell between you, thick and full and terrible. His heart beat steadily against your cheek, and yours slowly synched to his. 

For the first time all day, you let yourself breathe without holding back the sob. 

When your breathing eventually evens out again, your sobs subside into hiccups, but Jack still doesn’t move. Not until your fingers unclenched from the fabric of his scrubs and you shifted slightly in his arms, blinking up at him through lashes sticky with salt.

“Let’s get you back, huh?” he murmured, thumb brushing gently against your cheek, wiping away a tear. “Before King starts paging me panicking because she lost you.” 

At that, a genuine single laugh escapes past your lips. 

You nodded, letting him help you stand, steadying you with one hand at your elbow while the other rested at your waist. 

You weren’t shaking anymore, but your body felt like it had been wrung out, nothing left but raw emotion and a dull, aching tiredness. 

Back in the med bay, the gurney felt too open, but you climbed back into it anyway. Jack hooked your IV back in, checked the monitor, adjusted the pillows under your ankle and tucked you in, grabbing extra blankets because he knew how cold you got here.

Every time he passed when moving from patient to patient, he paused. Asked you if you wanted something more to eat, another dose of pain meds, or the chance to change into a fresh set of clothes.

He led you to a new bathroom, helping you change out of your bloody top and jean shorts. As he pulled the hole of an extra t-shirt he kept in his locker over your head, he leaned down and gently pressed his lips to your forehead, without ever saying a word.

Back in the gurney bed, now in his t-shirt and sweatpants, you felt a little calmer. By now, all the food from Francesca was gone, but he offered you a half-eaten granola bar from his scrub jacket pocket when your stomach growled loudly.

And each time he left the absence of him left behind a cold draft against your skin.

The night dragged on. The chaos outside finally slowed, like a storm passing. Wounds were closed, departments and rooms assigned. The steady beeping of monitors became the background noise of recovery, not disaster.

It was sometime past midnight when Taylor led you into an assigned room not far from the nurse’s station. When you were settled into the room––overhead lights dimmed just how you liked it and a cup of cold water at your bedside––you caught sight of Jack outside your door. 

He talked quietly to another nurse for a few minutes, then handed over a clipboard he held before making his way into your room, checking your progress.

“Are you busy right now?” you quietly asked.

He glanced down the hallway, then decided, “I got a minute to spare.” 

Yout throat felt dry, the words nearly catching a little as you spoke – even after everything you two had been through in the past few day. “Can you come lie down with me?”

Your voice sounded so small, how could he ever say no?

He blinked once, then shut the door behind him.

The bed was barely wide enough for one person, but he made it work. Shrugged off his stethoscope and climbed up carefully. His body curled beside yours, both of you on your sides, facing each other in the dim glow. He tucked one arm under your head, the other hooking around your waist to pull you closer. 

You let out a deep exhale, murmuring against his skin, “Pretty sure there’s a HIPAA violation about doctor-patient contact somewhere here.” 

Your voice wasn’t light. You didn’t smile.

But the joke still landed.

“Oh, my God,” he groaned, eyes rolling before they settled back on you. The hand on your waist rose to cup your cheek. “I’m really glad you’re okay,” he whispered, before his lips pressed against yours in a soft kiss that reassured you you were going to be okay.

The silence that followed when you pulled away was full of the words neither of you had to say out loud. His hand found yours under the blanket, your fingers tangling naturally.

And, for a little while, the horrors of the day faded into something softer.

The first days back home after the shooting felt different. 

Your bedroom felt smaller, like the walls were closing in. But, it also felt comfortable, familiar. Nothing bad had ever happened here, and nothing bad ever would. 

Jack drove you home that first day. He didn’t say much, didn’t need to. He just kept a steady hand on the steering wheel and his gaze flicked over to you every few minutes. He ended up staying until his next shift, never leaving your side unless he had to.

You trailed him around the house like a shadow – when he brewed tea for you, made you breakfast, shifted through his backpack by the door. You weren’t even sure what you were so afraid of, only that when he was near, it all felt quieter. Bearable.

An hour into being back home, the two of you had settled into the couch with some show playing low in the background. You didn’t remember what it was, only the way Jack’s eyes started to flutter closed. He fought sleep longer than he should’ve.

You tugged gently at his hand, coaxing him into your room. He didn’t protest, just let you lead him, half-asleep. His body sunk into the bed, melting into sheets that smelled like you.

You couldn’t sleep – couldn’t really calm your mind when your ears were suddenly so sensitive to the noises around. Dogs barking. The garbage truck coming to pick up the recycling. A car backfiring.

Each one pulled your body taut with unease.

Instead, you watched Jack sleep. He looked so peaceful, long eyelashes brushing against soft skin. His forehead wasn’t crinkled in worry for once, even though you could tell he was running on empty this last shift. 

You reached out to gently run your fingers through his hair and it made him sleepily shift toward you on the bed, his head nuzzling into the crook of your neck. The warmth made your chest ache.

When his alarm went off, he began to stir but you tightened your hold on him. Not ready to let him leave or face a cold, desolate existence without him for the next 12 hours.

Eyes still shut, he gently teased, “Clingy much?” But the softness in his tone showed you he didn’t mind it one bit.

Not when your bare feet padded lightly right behind his as he walked into the kitchen to get a cup of coffee, nor when he got in the shower and you followed in after. 

Afterward, wrapped in a towel, you avoided looking in the mirror. You didn’t need to. You could already feel the bruises blooming, their soreness serving as quiet reminders. You stared down at your arms, your collarbone, at the places where the pain still lingered, where the memories came to life – gunshots, screaming, smoke in the air. 

You flinched when Jack shut the bathroom door, the sound too loud, too sudden. He didn’t notice… or maybe he did and just didn’t say anything.

When he was packing his camo backpack for work, his movements froze for a second, hesitating. Then, wordlessly, he pulled out your bloodied clothes from Pitt Fest, folded in a ziploc bag. Before you could even process what he was doing, he’d quickly stuffed them into the laundry machine and ran a cycle.

After he had pulled his jacket on, he approached you while you were slowly picking at the sandwich he’d made you for supper. His hands gently cupped your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks. 

“You gonna be okay tonight?” he asked softly. 

You nodded, though it felt like a lie. Still, he pulled you into a hug, pressing your head against his chest, and leaned down to kiss the top of your head. “Call me if you need anything. Or if you get bored and wanna get your ass kicked in chess.”

That coaxed a real laugh out of you, unexpected and bright. Before the shooting, you two had been engaged in a seriously competitive match over GamePigeon. Jack had accused you of cheating more than once. You missed that.

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, patting his chest when you leaned back. “Might let you win this time. Keep that fragile ego intact.”

He smirked, leaning down to meet your eyes. “Be good today, okay?” 

“Yes, Dad,” you groaned with exaggerated disdain. The wording made his brows raise and sent a shiver down his body. 

“That and the age gap… you’re gonna give me a complex,” he groaned, watching the corners of your lips tug upwards before you reached up on the tips of your toes and wrapped your arms around him. 

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll forget all about it when you’re elbows deep, rearranging someone’s guts,” you easily teased, pressing a kiss to his lips.

“Rather rearrange your guts,” he mumbled against your lips, cupping a hand behind your neck to deepen the kiss.

When you pulled back, you tilted your head. 

“What?” he asked. 

“I’m rubbing off on you.” 

He opened his mouth again, likely to make another suggestive remark about rubbing something else off on you, but you cupped a hand over it before he could. 

“Don’t you have lives to save?” you asked, gently shoving him out the door.

You knew the house wouldn’t be empty for long—Jack and your sister had alternated shifts so someone could always be with you—but you still missed him.

Only thirty minutes passed between Jack leaving and your sister coming home. But in those thirty minutes, the washer went off and you thought you could manage the simple task of transferring your clothes to the dryer. 

After all, they were just clothes. Just pieces of cotton and thread, no longer cakes in soot and blood. They were fresh as new. 

So why couldn’t you touch them? Why did you leave the washer door open and just stare into the tub where they sat, soaked? 

By the time your sister walked in, the clothes were long gone – dumped in the trash bin outside. It was the only thing you could bring yourself to do. 

You were curled up on the sofa when she found you, TV flickering across your face like nothing had happened. She didn’t ask. She just sat beside you, and that was enough.

That’s how the days passed. Evenings with your sister – watching TV, talking about what happened, processing. Mornings and afternoons with Jack, who brought over puzzles, crossword books, a physical chess set… even a spare toothbrush which now sat happily beside yours in the bathroom. It made your heart ache every time you saw it.

You slept a lot, but even when you were awake, you were tired. Even inside the comfort of your home, you were still hyper-aware of all the noises outside, and any large crowds that passed by, voices raised. 

Yet, somehow, those hazel eyes you’d grown to find comfort in had convinced you to step outside, start going on walks. Take in fresh air again.

It wasn’t easy – you barely made it around the block, nails digging into the back of Jack’s hand from how tightly you held it – but it was progress. 

In a week’s time, you even returned to the restaurant. You were ready to face the hustle and bustle of Francesca, ready to put your mind to work and focus on something positive for a change.

What you weren’t ready for was running into Jake by the entrance. 

“Hey,” he said softly, remembering you from Robby’s stories and also vaguely recalling seeing your face on that unspeakable day. 

“Hey,” you echoed, voice just as strained. “What are you doing here?” 

“Mom asked me to pick up dinner.” 

You nodded silently, sunsure what to say next. “How are you?” 

He shrugged. “You know…” 

You did know.

“My mom’s got me talking to a trauma specialist,” he said, not sure why he was telling you. “At the hospital.” 

“Yeah… Jack – Dr. Abbot – he’s been trying to convince me to go, too.” You hesitated. “Is it… helping?” 

Another shrug. “A little, I guess. But.. I don’t know – she wasn’t there. She doesn’t really get it.” 

You reached for a napkin on an unoccupied table, finding yourself scribbling your number down before offering it to him.

“You can call me… if you want. I get it.” 

He held the napkin between his fingers, staring at the numbers. Then, he tucked it into his pocket with a slow nod. “Thanks.” 

You couldn’t let him leave without saying the next words at the tip of your tongue. “Hey… I’m sorry about your girlfriend. She seemed… pretty. I’m sure she was – I’m sure she was really great.” You found a lump forming in your throat.

He paused a minute, then said quietly, “She was.” After a beat, he added, “You know, I told her about you once.” 

You were shocked to hear that. “What?” 

“I was telling her one of Robby’s stories, about the first time he ever came to visit this place, and he got to brag to the people at the next table about how he knew the head chef. And when they asked you how you came to be there, you said by – ” 

“ – by being brave,” you finished for him, feeling tears lining your vision. 

Jake nodded. Then, as if he knew you needed to hear it, he said, “Leah would want you to be brave now… about all of it.”

That stayed with you until the restaurant closed, and you drove home, and laid in your bed for the night, getting the first restful sleep – no nightmares – for the first time in a long time.

And when you woke, it was to Jack crawling into bed beside you, rays of sun filtering through the blinds and lighting up his face. 

His hand found yours under the covers, like it always did, comforting and warm – and you sighed in contentment.

“I wanna stay like this forever,” you mumbled against his skin. “Can we?” 

“Yeah, baby… as long as you want.”

.

.

.

read part 3 here !!

[flaminhotlem0n]

𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚 𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠

genre: fluff

wc: ~ 700

pairing: fiance!seungmin x f!reader

cw: established relationship, soft drama, comfort, pure love for seungmin

not proofread

꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷

You were in the kitchen, humming quietly as you stirred the pot. The smell of the sauce filled the room, and the soft background playlist made the whole place feel warm and safe. It was a peaceful sunday, the kind of day you used to dream of sharing with seungmin

with your hands sticky from the seasoning, you walked to the sink to wash up. and that’s when it happened.

a little slip.

a cold sensation on your ring finger.

and then — clink.

the sound of the ring falling and vanishing down the drain was sharp, brutal.

you froze.

“what…” you whispered, staring at the sink in horror. your engagement ring. the one seungmin had proposed with just under two months ago. the one he designed himself, down to the lilac gemstone in the center — “because it reminds me of your eyes in the sunlight.”

your heart started racing.

“no… no, no, no, no”

you leaned over the sink, trying to see if the ring had gotten caught, but it was gone.

swallowed by the drain.

panic set in.

you grabbed a flashlight, tried to unscrew the pipe underneath, poked around with a coat hanger, a wooden spoon, anything. you even found a piece of wire in the storage closet. nothing worked.

and the clock kept ticking.

seungmin would be home from the studio in less than an hour.

you ended up sitting on the floor, back against the cabinet, hands covered in grime, eyes glassy with tears.

“he’s going to be so mad at me…” you said, your tears already falling in your cheeks

you could still hear his voice from that night, trembling as he slid the ring onto your finger, whispering, “will you be mine forever?” and now… now you’d lost it. because of some stupid careless moment.

that’s when you heard keys unlocking the door and the twist of the doorknob

when seungmin walked through the front door, it only took him three seconds to notice something was wrong.

“babe?” he called out, setting his keys down. “you okay?”

you didn’t even look up, afraid to face him, you were still on the floor, hands shaking in your lap, barely breathing through the sobs.

seungmin rushed over immediately, crouching in front of you.

“hey, hey, baby, what’s wrong? what happened? are you hurt?”

you shook your head, voice barely a whisper: “the ring… seungmin, it fell in the sink. it went down the drain. I tried to get it back, I swear I did, I tried everything. I’m so sorry, please don’t be mad at me…”

your tears were falling freely now, and you couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. but he pulled you into his arms without hesitation, holding you tight like he was shielding you from the world.

“hey,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to yours. “look at me.”

you took a shaky breath and met his gaze.

“it’s just a ring, baby.”

“but it was our ring…” you sniffled, guilt pouring out of every word. “the one you designed. I was so careless.”

seungmin gently wiped the tears from your cheeks.

“you didn’t lose anything, okay? that ring was just a symbol of what I feel for you. and that? that’s still right here,” he said, placing your hand over his heart. “and here,” he added, tapping your chest with his fingertip.

your lips trembled as you tried to hold back another wave of emotion.

“but…”

“shhh,” he hushed, kissing your forehead softly. “if it matters to you, I’ll get another one. even prettier. more expensive, whatever you want. but don’t cry over this, okay? don’t be sad about something material. you’re worth more than any ring.”

you cried again, but this time, for the right reasons.

he hugged you even tighter, whispering: “promise me something? dont ever think I’d be upset over something like this. I love you. that’s what matters.”

the next day, he showed up with a little blue box.

“you didn’t have to—” you began, but he smiled.

“open it.”

you did. inside was a new ring — still with a lilac center stone, but now with two tiny diamonds on either side. on the inside of the band, there was a small engraving:

“even if we lose the ring, we’ll never lose us.”

you cried again. seungmin smiled and kissed you.

and that night, he did the dishes.

[soppingwethog]

Warm Bulb by Clue Perfumery

I’m sorry. I really am. I hate to take up so much space on this wonderful webpage, but I feel that it is my duty to provide an honest, transparent review and doing so requires that I give a little background information regarding the first time I came across this singular, potent juice.

When I was younger, I collected hundreds of oak galls over a period of several years. If you’re not familiar with these arborous anomalies, they are spherical growths that can occasionally be found on oak trees. I won’t go into all of the slimy details about their formation, but I will say that wasps and chemicals are involved.

As a youngster, I found these galls alluring unlike any other naturally occurring orb. They captured my imagination and, in return, I captured them and kept my specimens in a disused dumpster which I found behind a burned out restaurant which was down the street from where I used to live. I never did get an exact count of all of my galls, but I can assure you that it was well over three hundred at one point.

I was quite proud of my collection and would often try to impress my schoolmates by showing them my hidden bounty. Unfortunately, I was often met with ridicule and scorn and more than once did I find myself being tossed into my dumpster full of galls by a particularly ornery classmate who had found my incessant gall-based boasts to be distasteful. I shan't blame them for their actions. After all, we were only children and I am deeply irritating most of the time.

Sometimes, after having been bludgeoned about and thrown into the gall dumpster, I would sit quietly inside and wait for the one who had tossed me to tire themselves out by laughing at my expense and then leave so that I could escape without any further thrashings. If it was an exceptionally warm day, the interior of the dumpster would take on a very unique, comforting odor. It never smelled like rubbish or garbage inside. I had spent three whole weeks carefully scrubbing and sanitizing the interior of that steel receptacle before I dared placing my first gall within its hungry jaws.

The smell was indescribable, but I will do my best to describe it to you now. It smelled like a very warm metal container filled with oak galls, both old and new. If you do not know what that smells like, then I highly recommend purchasing yourself a dumpster, filling it with galls during the warmer months, climbing inside, and taking a big, hearty whiff. It’s really something.

I was recently in my hometown and I attempted to visit the crumbling remains of the restaurant where I had spent so much time as a child only to find that it had been completely razed. This saddened me to no end, but miraculously, I was able to find the storied dumpster of my youth which had been nearly overgrown with brambles and tall grasses. I had an intense urge to get inside and see if any of my precious galls remained.

Unfortunately, I was unable to do so because as I was tearing the thorny vines from the exterior of this sacred tomb, an armed security officer clubbed the top of my head with what I assume was an improvised sort of nightstick. I collapsed and let out a mournful wail. The security guard told me to remain motionless and I did not disobey his command. Through my tears and over my sobs, I was able to make out that he was radioing for backup. I asked him why he had hit me but he did not reply. I attempted to stand, but I found that I was unable to support myself.

Upon seeing me try to get up from the tangled mass of brambles into which I had collapsed, the guard again brought his club down onto my brain box, splitting it open and leaving me in a state of horrible darkness and silence.

I was finally roused from my cudgel-induced sleep when a full bucket of filthy mop water was dumped onto my head and into my mouth. Choking, gasping, disoriented, and in extreme anguish, I begged for my assailant to stop drowning me. After a few minutes, I was able to right myself and I saw that I was still on the ground in the decrepit lot of the demolished restaurant. There was nobody near me. My hands were bound behind my back with a great mass of looped brambles which I was able to loosen only after a great deal of effort.

It was evening as I stumbled toward my hotel. Upon entering the lobby, I heard a woman gasp and then shriek. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I looked quite dreadful and I don’t blame the woman for reacting as she did when accosted with my wretched visage. I turned to her and apologized, but she just screamed and screamed. I took a step toward her as I hoped I might be able to explain how I came to look as I did, but she quickly turned and ran out of the building, dropping her purse in the process. I picked up her purse and attempted to chase after her so that I might return it to her, but my throbbing head and trembling legs prevented me from doing so.

As I reentered the hotel, I too dropped the long gone woman’s purse and, unfortunately, I heard something shatter. I picked up the purse and peered in to find a broken bottle of Warm Bulb by Clue Perfumery. Knowing what sort of luck I often have, I did not want to keep the purse in my possession lest some constable accuse me of assaulting and robbing the poor woman to whom it belonged so I quickly turned it over to the front desk staff at the hotel.

As I did so, I somehow managed to get some of this intensely odorous elixir into the many bleeding gashes on my hand. I rushed to my room and washed the burning fluid from my sores. As of now, I am not able to provide an exhaustive account of how it smelled, but I can assure you that it is extremely painful to get Warm Bulb by Clue Perfumery into any sort of gaping wound.

[ducksido]

What if yuu back at their world was a slave, therefore didn’t really have any rights- so in twisted wonderland with crowley telling them around they think its normal? That all he does IS kind- cause their last master didn’t do that back home (maybe even hit them- wounds all over their body? Is ok if not), and everyone is worried for yuu cause they dont ask for help, they dont fight anyone- they just let others tell them to do things- they don’t question crowley’s actions- maybe even think its allowed in twisted wonderland since no one had done anything about it either.

Concept + Scenerio

Background Back in their original world, Yuu was a slave—owned, used, discarded. Stripped of agency, affection, and freedom. The smallest kindness—like a master who didn't beat them that day—was something to cherish. Yuu learned to obey without question, never speak out, and always assume they were in the wrong. They never had choices. They never had the right to need.

So when they’re dropped into Twisted Wonderland, and the Headmage Crowley tells them to clean dorms or survive without a dorm, they don’t even blink.

They obey.

Scene: The First Real Concern

“Yuu, that’s messed up,” Ace mutters, standing at the doorway to Ramshackle Dorm, arms crossed. “You seriously haven’t eaten today? You were at Heartslabyul cleaning toilets for five hours!”

Yuu blinks. “He told me to.”

“Crowley?”

Yuu nods.

“But... he just left. Didn’t even say thanks.”

Yuu shrugs, smiling gently. “It’s okay. I wasn’t punished.”

Deuce stiffens. “Punished?”

Yuu pulls down their sleeve instinctively, realizing they’d let a scar show. “He doesn’t hit me. That’s really nice of him.”

Silence.

Ace and Deuce stare.

Reactions From Others

Riddle notices how Yuu flinches at sudden loud voices—not because they’re scared of detention, but because they expect to be hit. He becomes uncharacteristically gentle around them.

Trey quietly begins leaving snacks at Ramshackle’s doorstep. He doesn’t bring it up, but watches carefully when Yuu eats them—like they’re afraid someone will take it away.

Leona, initially indifferent, is furious when he catches wind of Crowley’s "commands" and Yuu’s disturbing loyalty. “You seriously think he owns you?” he snaps—and when Yuu doesn't answer, just lowers their gaze and says "He feeds me sometimes," something inside him breaks.

Azul, the businessman, sees the signs too clearly. That kind of obedience can’t be bargained—it’s beaten in. He starts offering deals not for advantage, but to give Yuu choices. Even if they say no.

Idia avoids people, but he watches Yuu through Ortho’s reports. The first time he sees Yuu thank someone for yelling at them (genuinely thinking they deserved it), he asks Ortho to monitor them for signs of depression.

Vil begins guiding them with a firm hand, yes—but now with conscious intent: to teach them to say "No," to ask for what they need, to look in the mirror and see a person, not property.

The Breaking Point

Crowley once tells Yuu to clean the school’s chandelier—without magic. While balancing on a broken ladder. Yuu doesn’t question it. Of course they don’t. They're halfway up when their knees give out from exhaustion, and they fall.

The crash echoes through the halls.

Yuu wakes in the infirmary with everyone around them. Grim is sobbing. Professor Crewel is livid. Crowley is nowhere in sight.

“What were you thinking?!” Crewel snaps.

“They told me to,” Yuu whispers. “I had to listen.”

“You didn’t.”

Yuu looks confused. “But... he feeds me. He gave me this place. I owe him everything.”

“You don’t owe him pain.”

Healing Slowly

The realization doesn’t come overnight. Healing doesn’t come in one heart-to-heart. But:

Grim starts sleeping beside Yuu every night, growling at anyone who tries to order them around.

Rook begins teaching them gentle affirmations—“You are not property. You are prey worth protecting.”

Silver teaches them boundaries. Lilia teaches them freedom.

[sugarcoatedstarkey]

Do you love me?

Pairings - Rafe x reader

Summary - you catch Rafe watching porn. Based on this ask

Warnings - masturbation, porn, reader being sad, language, unprotected sex. (18+)

A/n- always have the conversation with your partner about porn, some people don’t care but others do so please don’t leave any rude comments.

When you had gone looking for your boyfriend around 11pm you had expected to find him asleep on the couch, credits to the movie the two of you had tried watching running in the background. White noise helped him sleep. What you hadn’t expected to find was your boyfriend watching porn, on the big screen. His cock between his hand as he tugged himself, soft moans and grunts spewing from his lips as he watched the scene in front of him.

A perfect curved blonde bounced on a thick cock, her pussy was immaculate. No hair or razor burn to be seen, just complete bareness. She was everything you weren’t, even the noises she made was better.

You had been so naive to think he didn’t watch porn, to believe you were enough to satisfy his needs. Of course you weren’t, you didn’t look like the girl on the screen. Your curves weren’t perfect, your hair didn’t look like that and you definitely didn’t sound or act the way she did which apparently had Rafe beating his cock harder.

Stepping away from the door you creeped back to the bedroom, the tears fell before you even made it under the blanket. Your body shaking against the mattress in sadness, this shouldn’t have such an affect on you. Everyone watches porn, you’ve watched porn but that was before Rafe. Before you had his perfect body at your disposal.

Pressing the palms of your hands into your face to ease the tears, taking deep breaths to stop the noises. The sound of the living room door closing has you burrowing under the blanket, hiding your face so he can’t see you.

It feels like hours go by before he steps into the room, moving around quietly as he strips his clothes off. He always slept naked, a sight you’d never get over. You feel his side of the bed dip and the ruffle of the blanket, you don’t expect his arm to pull you against his chest. “You're awake” he whispers, the thump of your heart giving you away. His hand pressed firmly just above your breast, you stay quiet though. Hoping he just lets you go to sleep but of course he doesn’t, he’s spinning your body like a rag doll. “Why’s your heart beating so fast?”.

The room is pitch black, he’s unable to see your bloodshot eyes. His fingers dance up and down your spine waiting for your answer. “Not sure” your voice is raspy, a tell tale sign something’s wrong. His hand is hitting the bedside lamp within seconds, towering over your small frame. Fingers cupping your cheek softly, his eyes search your face and a deep frown settle between his eyebrows. “Why have you been crying?”.

You push at his chest, turning until your back is to him. Embarrassment settles in your chest, a sudden wave of nausea rushes through you. “Babe, don’t do that. Tell me why you’ve been crying?”

With all the confidence you can muster you turn slightly, looking him directly in the eyes. “Do you still love me?”

The deep chuckle vibrates his chest and he pulls himself to sit, your cheeks tinted red in anger and embarrassment you press your face into the pillow. “Oh hey hey babe no. Of course I love you. Why would you ask me that?”

His grabby hands prod you in the side, pulling at your waist so he can see your face. You slap his hands away when they reach for your face again, moving yourself until you say against the headboard. Knees pressed firmly to your chest, arms wrapped tight around you. “Are you attracted to me?” Tears start falling before you can catch them, bottom lip wobbling as you stare at him. The sobs come hard and fast, he’s holding your face firmly.

This time he stares at you, it's intense and you feel shy under his gaze. “Of course I am… your fucking perfect”

Your eyes rolled hard, no you weren’t. The tears keep coming but the attitude fights it way through. “Don’t roll your eyes” he grasps your wrists, yanking you until you straddle his lap. “No I'm not.. I don’t look like those girls”

Confusion evident on his face as he waits for you to explain, so unsure on what has made you feel this way. “Those girls” you whispered, too shy to explain you had caught him masterbsting to porn earlier. “Your going to need to explain baby”

“The girls in porn” you blurt, the corner of his lips turning up. A lightbulb going off above his head, he realises you must have seen him earlier. “I went to find you… I thought you’d fallen asleep, I didn’t mean to see you- you’know”.

Gripping your chin with his forefinger and thumb he angles your face up at him, placing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You think I don’t love you because of the girls in porn?”

You nod your head in embarrassment, you know you shouldn’t be feeling these things. “I was right here.. why didn’t you ask me to help?”

“Oh baby… your fucking perfect, those girls aren’t what I want. You are what I want… I watch porn when I don’t want to annoy you”

“Your not annoying me”

“Your pussy is fantastic, the best fucking pussy I’ve ever had. I can’t get enough of it, I can’t get enough of fucking you… I love fucking you”

“Sweet girl, my sex drive is insane. I’m constantly horny, I can’t expect you to be willing and waiting for me every second of the day”

“Yes you can Rafe… if I’m around then use me, I understand if I’m not around. Of course porn would be your go to but I’m right here, I want you just as much as you want me and if it’s not sex you want, I’ll get on my knees for you”

He grins Cheshire Cat like, pupils blown to the max. His lips attack yours in one swift swoop, tongue slipping between your lips. It’s messy and full of heat, his grabby hands caress the skin of your exposed thighs.

Grinding you down onto his crotch, you can feel him hardening under you. You had forgotten he was naked for a brief moment, reaching down to grasp his cock. With just a few small tugs he was completely hard, throbbing in your palm. “Fuck baby… I hope you mean what your saying, I’m going to fuck this pussy until it’s a weeping mess every day… multiple times of the day” he states, kissing down the length of your neck.

He’s pulling your shorts to the side, pressing the head of his cock to your opening. Without warning you push down on him, his cock stretching you wide. “Shit… baby girl, I just about came. You feel so fucking good” he growls, he scoops your breasts out of the loose tank top. Sucking your nipples into his mouth harshly, your hips roll and bounce above him. “Not so fast, I want to show you how much I love fucking you” he breaths, wrapping his arm around your back he places you onto the bed.

Your legs wrap around his waist as he thrusts into you, it's deep and slow. Your walls spasm around him each time he nudges your clit, his lips suck deep purple bruises into your neck. “Oh yes Rafe… I can’t- I need you to go faster” you breath, your orgasm was fluttering.

Pressing the heels of your feet into his lower back, he shook his head moving his lips across your jaw onto your lips. His pace quickened only by a fraction, not enough to bring you over the edge. “Going slow baby.. want you to understand how much I love you and how much I love this body, you are the only person I want”

You nod your head, understanding his words. You had over reacted to what you had seen, completely understanding why he used porn at certain times. “Yes baby.. I understand. Please”

He loved hearing you beg, he knew you were close by the way your cunt sucked him deeper. He reached between you, pressing his fingers to your aching clit. “Yes yes yes”

This was enough to have you crying out under him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him in close. Fingernails racking up the length of his back as your orgasm washed over you, he was quick to follow, still sensitive from his previous abuse on his cock.

“I love you baby… not porn okay”

“I know, but I was serious… use me okay. I’m here whenever you want me”

“Your going to regret that”

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[tsunaso]

"WHAT A PRIVILEGE IT IS TO SERVE"

pairing. Slave!Suguru Geto x Top!Curse user!male reader

synopsis. m/n is involved in human trafficking, and suguru falls into his hands. — 2.1k

warnings. mdni, nsfw, amab reader, dead dove, dubcon, human trafficking, slavery, physical restraint, manipulation, exploitation, dark themes, power imbalance.

The auction floor reeked of desperation and fear. Beneath the glamour and riches of bidders, soft sobs and whispered prayers filled the air, a background noise no one paid attention to. 

Suguru Geto sat in silence, his long black hair hanging in tangled strands over his face. His hands were cuffed in front of him, his thin wrists rubbed raw by cold steel.

He was no stranger to this process. The handlers would parade him around, push his face toward the crowd, and croon about his “unique” talents.

They’d remind the buyers of how rare he was—"One of the few sorcerers in captivity,” they’d say. “A handsome one, too. Imagine the possibilities!”

He bit the inside of his cheek as he stood, forcing himself to stay still as rough hands grabbed his chin, tilting his face toward the light. 

He caught glimpses of the bidders—men and women seated in shadows, their faces obscured by masks or veils. He’d learned long ago not to meet their gazes. It only made things worse.

“Fifty million,” someone called from the crowd.

“Sixty,” another countered.

The numbers climbed higher. Suguru’s stomach churned, but his expression remained blank. The money didn’t matter to him. It never had. No amount of wealth could change the fact that his life was no longer his own.

Then a voice cut through the din, smooth and commanding, “One hundred million.”

The room fell silent. Suguru’s head lifted ever so slightly, his dark eyes narrowing as he tried to find the source. A figure stood near the back of the room, dressed in sleek black. 

You didn’t bother hiding your face like the others. Why would you? The confidence in your posture, the weight of your gaze, made it clear you had no reason to fear anyone here.

The auctioneer hesitated for a moment, then slammed the gavel down with finality. “Sold!”

Suguru’s shoulders stiffened. His fate had been sealed once again.

　　　　　　　　　୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

You didn’t speak to him until you were alone.

The holding cell where he’d been delivered was cleaner than most—if only marginally. A single cot, a sink, and a mirror bolted to the wall were all it offered. Suguru sat on the cot, his hands still bound, as he listened to your measured footsteps approach.

The door creaked open, and you stepped inside, shutting it firmly behind you. You took a moment to survey him, your sharp gaze sweeping over his thin frame and dirt-streaked face.

“You’re skinnier than I expected,” you said at last, your tone almost conversational.

Suguru didn’t respond. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor.

“You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?” you continued, crouching in front of him. Your voice softened, but there was an edge to it—a predator’s patience. “But you’re not broken. Not yet.”

His jaw tightened.

You reached out, and for a moment, he thought you were going to strike him. Instead, your fingers brushed his chin, tilting his face upward until his eyes met yours.

“Do you know why I bought you?” you asked.

When he didn’t answer, your grip tightened, your thumb pressing against his jaw. “Answer me.”

“…Because you can,” he said quietly, his voice hoarse.

You smiled faintly, though there was no kindness in it. “That’s part of it. But the real reason is your potential. You’re not like the others. You’re… special.”

Something in your tone made his stomach twist.

“I’ve seen what you can do,” you continued, releasing him and standing to your full height. “Swallowing curses? That’s quite the party trick. Dangerous, too, if you don’t know what you’re doing. But don’t worry—I’ll teach you. I’ll show you how to control it.”

He frowned, his brows furrowing. “Why? What do you want from me?”

You chuckled, the sound low and rich. “You’ll see soon enough. But for now…” You reached into your pocket, pulling out a key. “Let’s get those cuffs off.”

The sudden gesture of “kindness” threw him off guard. He flinched slightly as you stepped closer, but you only unlocked the cuffs, letting them fall to the floor with a heavy clink.

“There,” you said, stepping back. “Better, isn’t it?”

Suguru rubbed his wrists, his gaze wary. He didn’t trust you—he couldn’t. But for the first time in years, he felt the faintest flicker of… something. Not hope, exactly. More like curiosity.

　　　　　　　　　୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

Over the next few months, Suguru learned to navigate the strange, suffocating dynamic the two of them shared created. You were cruel but patient, demanding but generous. You pushed him hard, forcing him to confront the creatures that haunted him, but you also gave him food, clothing, and a bed that didn’t smell like rot.

At first, he fought you—quietly, subtly, but it was resistance all the same. He avoided your gaze, answered your commands with silence, and clung to the scraps of defiance he had left. But you were patient. You didn’t need to break him quickly.

One night, after a gruelling session, you found him sitting in the training room, his back against the wall, his head tilted back as he stared at the ceiling. His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, his dark hair sticking to his sweat-damp skin.

“You’re improving,” you said, stepping into the room.

He didn’t look at you, but you saw the tension in his shoulders.

“You’ve come a long way,” you continued, crouching in front of him. “But you’re still holding back.”

“I’m not—”

“You are,” you interrupted, your voice firm. “You’re afraid of your own power. Afraid of what it means.”

You reached out, your hand settling on his shoulder. He stiffened beneath your touch, but he didn’t pull away.

“But that’s why you have me,” you said softly, your thumb brushing against his collarbone. “To guide you. To take care of you.”

His breath hitched, and you didn’t miss the way his body leaned ever so slightly toward yours, like a moth drawn to a flame.

“You don’t have to be afraid, Suguru,” you murmured, your voice low and steady. “Not with me.”

For a moment, he let himself believe you.

　　　　　　　　　୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

The tension between you came to a head one evening as you sat together in your private quarters. The room was warm, the fire casting flickering shadows on the walls. Suguru sat cross-legged on the floor, his hands resting on his knees, his posture stiff but his gaze distant.

You watched him for a long moment before speaking. “Do you know why I haven’t sold you yet?”

He blinked, startled by the question.

You leaned forward, your elbows resting on your knees. “Because I see something in you. Something no one else ever has.”

His brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his face.

“You think you’re weak,” you continued, your voice softening. “But you’re not. You’re strong, Suguru. Stronger than you realize.”

He looked away, his jaw tightening.

You stood and crossed the room, kneeling in front of him. Your fingers tilted his chin upward, forcing him to meet your gaze. “You’ve given me everything except one thing,” you said, your tone laced with quiet command. “Your trust.”

“I…” His voice faltered, his throat dry.

“Do you trust me, Suguru?” you asked, your thumb brushing against his jaw.

His heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing. He wanted to say no, to push you away, but the words wouldn’t come.

You smiled faintly, your hand sliding down to rest against his chest. “Good boy,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his.

His breath hitched, his body betraying him as he leaned into your touch, his resolve crumbling under the weight of your presence.

And when your lips met his, he didn’t pull away.

For a moment, he lets himself sink into the sensation of your lips pressed up against his. But that feeling is fragile and fleeting, cracked the moment your hand slid lower, resting just above his waist. Suguru’s breathing faltered, his dark eyes snapping to yours, wide and uncertain.

“What are you—”

“You’ve come so far, Suguru,” you murmured, cutting him off as your thumb brushed the sensitive curve of his hipbone. “But there’s still more I need to take from you.”

His chest tightened, his pulse pounding in his ears. “You—”

“Shh,” you whispered, your voice soft but commanding, your other hand pressing firmly against his shoulder to hold him in place. “Don’t think. Just feel.”

Suguru’s fingers twitched against the floor, his body stiff beneath your touch. He wanted to resist, to push you away, but his limbs felt heavy, sluggish. 

You’d spent months unravelling his defences, picking apart the walls he’d built to protect himself, and now, in this moment, he realized he had nothing left to fight with.

Your lips brushed against the corner of his mouth, a teasing, fleeting touch that made him shiver. “You’re mine, Suguru,” you said, your breath warm against his skin. “Every inch of you belongs to me. Say it.”

He shook his head weakly, his jaw clenching in defiance. But when your hand slipped beneath his shirt, your fingers splaying across the hard planes of his stomach and the softness of his plush chest, he couldn’t suppress the quiet gasp that escaped him.

“Say it,” you repeated, your tone sharper now, your grip firm as you pulled him closer.

“I’m…” His voice cracked, his throat dry as shame and reluctant desire churned in his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to meet your gaze as the words slipped from his lips in a broken whisper. “I’m yours.”

The smirk that curved your lips was triumphant, your hand trailing higher to press against his racing heart. “Good boy,” you murmured, the praise dripping with satisfaction. “You’re finally starting to understand.”

He let out a shuddering breath, his head tilting back against the wall as you leaned over him, your weight pressing him into the hard floor. His body was tense, his fingers curling into fists at his sides, but he didn’t pull away as your lips found his neck.

You kissed him softly at first, your mouth warm and insistent as it moved along his skin. But when your teeth grazed the sensitive spot just below his ear, he couldn’t stop the quiet sound that escaped him—a low, shaky moan that made your grin widen.

“That’s it,” you murmured, your hands sliding lower to hook into the waistband of his pants. “No more fighting. No more pretending. Just let me have you.”

His breath hitched as you tugged the fabric down, the cool air brushing against his flushed cock. He bit his lip, his face burning with shame as you pressed closer, your hands mapping every inch of his trembling body.

“You’re beautiful like this,” you said softly, your tone laced with both affection and possession. “Completely mine. Doesn’t it feel good to give in?”

Suguru didn’t answer, his breath hitching as your hand wrapped around his embarrassingly hard cock, your touch firm and deliberate. His body betrayed him completely now, his hips jerking into your hand as his resolve crumbled.

“Look at me,” you commanded, your voice sharp enough to cut through the haze clouding his mind.

He hesitated, his eyes flickering with defiance even as his body obeyed, tilting his head to meet your gaze.

“There you are,” you murmured, your smirk softening into something almost gentle. “Good boy.”

Your praise sent a shiver down his spine, his body trembling beneath your touch as you stroked him with practiced ease. His breaths came in short, uneven bursts, his head falling back against the floor as heat coiled low in his stomach.

“You’re perfect like this,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his in a teasing, fleeting kiss. “So sweet. So obedient. And all mine.”

He wanted to hate you. He wanted to hate himself. But as your hand moved faster, pulling him closer to the edge, he couldn’t think about anything else—couldn’t feel anything but the urge to cum into your warm sticky hand, the weight of your gaze pressing down on him until he couldn’t breathe.

When he finally broke, his release spilling over your hand in hot, shuddering waves, you caught his gasp with your mouth, swallowing the sound as you kissed him deeply. His body sagged beneath you, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths as the tension bled from his limbs.

You pulled back slightly, your lips curved in a satisfied smile as you brushed a strand of hair from his sweat-damp face. “What a privilege it is to serve, isn’t it?”

Suguru’s eyes fluttered shut, his body trembling as he let your words wash over him, too exhausted—too defeated—to respond.

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Epic Buddie Fic Rec | March 10th-24th 2025

Work has just been.... a lot. Feels like the only thing getting me through the week is 9-1-1 Thursdays. Anyway. It's a long one cause you're getting two weeks. Bon appetit.

Complete

it has no name (no guarantee) by withmeornotatall/ @chronicowboy (S8E11: Holy Mother of God Coda, Pre-Buddie | 1,1K | General):

"H-hey, E-eddie." Buck isn't sure why he stumbles over Eddie's name. He's had enough practice over the past few days. Said it enough times in his life that it should be able to slip out seamlessly every damn time. "Hey, Buck." And there's Eddie sounding sure and confident and a little tired and warm and soft and so much like his best friend. Buck aches. "Just finished unpacking. Told myself I couldn't call until I was done. Incentive, y'know?" (or: eddie calls, buck blurts some things out, they're totally normal best friends)

all my life, there you go Chapter 29. Sleeping in by trysetmeonfire (Post-S8E9: Sob Stories, Eddie Back From Texas | 1,2K | Mature):

Buck shuffles a little and Eddie thinks for a moment maybe- but he just snorts a little and keeps dreaming. Eddie tries to tamp down on the kind of sleepover giddiness bubbling up in his chest — wake up wake up wake up — and takes the opportunity to watch his best friend. His- whatever. Whatever they are now that Eddie knows what kissing him is like, quickly and quietly in his parent’s backyard, now that Eddie has stumbled his way through a question — “Why are you- why did you- all of this- do you- do you-“ — and Buck had frowned a little, not in an unhappy way but in his serious way, and had heard the real thing Eddie had wanted to know, and said “Eddie- of course I love you.” 

is it enough now by foxwatson/ @eddiediazes (S8E11: Holy Mother of God Coda, Pre-Buddie | 1,4K | Teen):

“I’m not in love with you,” Buck blurts out as soon as the ringing stops on the other end of the phone. There’s dead air on the other end of the line, but the kind that’s filled with background noise - a distant hum, some breathing sounds, just enough for Buck to know that Eddie heard him. buck finally calls eddie. he's still working through some stuff. he's kind of a disaster, honestly.

city lights, without you (they don’t even shine like they used to) by farfromthstars/ @doeeyeseddie (S8E11: Holy Mother of God Coda | 1,5K | Teen):

“It wouldn’t be so crazy,” Maddie said, and she didn’t even sound surprised. Is this something she’s thought about before? Do his sister and his ex really think he’s secretly in love with Eddie? And if Maddie thinks so, does Chimney do, too? Fuck, does everyone think he’s pining after Eddie? ~ buck is not in love with eddie. definitely not.

I’ve pined for you my whole life (morning, noon, and night) by paleredheadinascifi (S8E11: Holy Mother of God Coda | 1,7K | Teen):

“Where did you do it?” Eddie asks in one quick breath. “Hmm?” Buck hums. “Sorry I - - I. Nevermind. Sorry. It’s none of my business,” Eddie croaks, and whatever that is in his voice is what finally clues Buck in. “Oh. Oh,” he gasps. “Where did I - - where did we sleep together?” Or, Buck calls Eddie after 8x11.

sanctioned departures by littleghost/ @ghostlandtoo (S8E10: Voices Coda | 1,9K | General):

Buck gets his sister back and loses his best friend in the same week.

a fool for you by staticsilencee (S8E11: Holy Mother of God Coda, Getting Together | 2K | Mature):

“You did what?” Eddie asked, his voice sounding faint over the phone. Buck groaned, dropping his face into his hands. “I moaned your name! I don’t know why man, I just– Tommy said a bunch of stuff after– after. And I can’t work any of it out, and I know this is probably weird but I really need my best friend right now.” -or- Buck accidentally moans Eddie's name after he bring Tommy back to his place- oops!

keep me by you by euadnes/ @kananjarus (S8E11: Holy Mother of God Coda | 2,5K | Teen):

"It's funny you say that," he says. His voice has gone so soft Buck thumbs the volume up, his heart in his throat. "My date tonight ended early because I too would not shut up about the amazing guy I apparently couldn't get over. And he didn't enjoy being used a rebound. Or at least that's how he put it." Buck didn't hear that right, right? He realizes his mouth has fallen open, a few seconds too late. He scarcely dares to breathe. "He -? Wait, you were on a date with a - a guy?" Eddie cocks his head, quirks his mouth. "That's the part of the conversation you're focusing on?"

Buddie Versus The Kiss Cam by explorerofworlds (Basketball Date, S8 | 3K | General):

Buck and Eddie take Tommy’s tickets and go to a basketball game together. While there, they end up on the kiss cam! Or the kiss cam fic.

I just want it to be you by Lihhelsing/ @lihhelsing (S8E11: Holy Mother of God Coda | 4K | Mature):

Five times someone calls Eddie Diaz to talk about Buck and one time Eddie calls Buck instead.

realizations by staticsilencee (S8E11: Holy Mother of God Coda, Getting Together | 4K | Teen):

“Are you okay?” On the ground, his phone screen was still lit, a call with Eddie displayed on the screen. Through the haze of panic, Buck was at least relieved that he hadn’t managed to start a video call. I think I’m in love with you. Oh God, I think I’m in love with you. “Yeah, I– everything’s good, I think I just– butt dialed you, or something.”

loose-tongued, in love by wenttoafortuneteller (Getting Together | 4K | Teen):

“Get home safe,” Buck says. Then, as always, he thinks: I love you. Eddie goes very, very still. His breathing stutters to a stop. There’s a strange expression on his face, his mouth twisting in that way it does when he doesn’t know what to say. Buck squints blearily at him. “What?” A muscle in his jaw twitches once. Twice. The muted light illuminates the quiet movement of his throat as he swallows. “What’d you just say?” “Get home safe,” Buck repeats, a yawn overtaking the last word. “Why…?” Or: the one where Buck, drowsy and delirious on pain medication, confesses his love to Eddie without realizing it.

24 Hours by xylodemon/ @xylodemon (Post-S8E10: Voices, Getting Together | 4K | Not Rated):

Chimney asks, "Who are you texting?" "Eddie." "Really? He's only been gone… what—? Two hours?" "Two hours and thirty-one minutes." "Not that anyone's counting." (Or, Buck and Eddie in the the first 24 hours after Eddie leaves.)

Coming for you by diazsdimples (Eddie Moves to Texas, PWP, Phone Sex | 4K | Explicit):

The idea of Buck on his bed, in his house, wearing his shirt, while he touches himself really does something for Eddie. It makes the small, possessive beast that’s curled up inside his chest purr with contentment. The beast that shouldn’t really exist, because Buck isn’t really his. His phone pings again with another text from Buck. OR Eddie moves to Texas, Buck moves into his house, and neither of them really know how to handle it. Good thing phone sex solves all problems!

How to supreme an orange by paleredheadinascifi (Post-Chris coming home, Getting together | 5K | Teen):

"I don’t like oranges.” “Since when?” Eddie frowns. “You used to love oranges.” Christopher shrugs. “I don’t like them anymore.” And that’s fine, really. Tastes change. Christopher doesn’t have to like oranges. It’s just that he does. Christopher loves oranges. Christopher has loved oranges since the first time he tasted one, Eddie watching on over a shaky video call from the desert. Or, Eddie knows his kid, and his kid loves oranges. Buck knows both of them better than Eddie realized. He shows it in various citrus-based ways.

stay in the line, stay in the line by Elgney (S4E5: Buck Begins | 5K | General):

"The other firefighters were very kind. We got to hear a lot of stories about you. They seem to like you a great deal." Or: two missing conversations from Buck Begins.

Don’t Think About It Too Much, Too Much, Too Much, Too Much by fruitsdoesnotknow/ @fruitsdontknow (Post-S8E11: Holy Mother of God, Chris Coming Home, Getting Together | 6K | Mature):

“My friend, my…. Eddie’s like that. He’s a single parent, too. Big worrier. He nests. Uh,” Buck dips his head down. “Loves his kid more than anything. That’s where he’s coming from, now. Picking up his son, Christopher.” “Your Diaz boys,” she clarifies, a warm look in her eyes, and Buck feels his cheeks heat up. “Yeah.” *** Eddie and Chris finally come back to Los Angeles. Buck has some realizations, and confessions, to make. Good thing Eddie's got some of his own to share, too.

softer, harder, in-between by mostardent/ @laracrofted (S8E9: Sob Stories, Jealous Eddie, PWP | 6K | Explicit):

“He was hitting on you!” “So? Who cares?” “I care. We’re married!” Buck blinks. And blinks and blinks and blinks. “Okay. Hold on. What?” One of Eddie's potential renters flirts with Buck, and Eddie is super normal about it and doesn't at all lose his mind over the idea of Buck dating the man who moves into his house.

I'll take your chaos and your crooked in a heartbeat by heartbeatdiaz/ @lonelychicago (Post-S8E10: Voices, Eddie Goes to Texas, Getting Together | 6K | Teen):

He shakes his head, trying to clear the thought before it can settle. Eddie isn’t dead. He’s in Texas, doing what’s best for Christopher. And Buck—Buck has to get over whatever this is. Swallowing hard, he moves to grab one of his own boxes, dragging it toward the hallway. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees it. A single, forgotten cardboard box in the far corner of the living room. In big, black letters, written with marker, it reads: EDDIE — KEEP. It’s not one of his. He is sure of that. or: Eddie leaves a very important box behind and Buck spirals.

the things i wanna hear by stevesconverse (Post-S8E6: Confessions, Chim's Bachelor Party | 6K | Teen):

— or the one where Buck finds a video of him and Eddie making out at Chimney's bachelor party.

we get back to my house (your hands, my mouth) by weewooforever (Post-S8E11: Holy Mother of God, PWP | 7K | Explicit):

Eddie finds out that Buck fucked Tommy in his house. His reaction to finding this out is perfectly normal.

I missed your skin when you were east by Lihhelsing/ @lihhelsing (Post-S8A, Getting Together | 7K | Explicit):

Maybe Buck had gotten used to people leaving. So much so that it didn’t affect him anymore. His life would keep going even if his best friend wasn’t there anymore. Eventually, he accepted that nothing would feel different. He signed the moving truck away and sat on the porch stairs, one almost warm beer in hand as he waited for Eddie to get home. When Eddie did, Buck almost felt like something was different about him, but then figured it was just his imagination. Buck left his half-drank beer on the porch of Eddie’s former house shortly after Eddie had left him the same way. Half-drunk. Unchanged. OR; Eddie leaves, and Buck's life stays the same. It's when he comes back that everything changes.

That’s what you do (when you love somebody) by scarmaddiewrites (Eddie Moves to Texas, Getting Together | 7K | Teen):

Buck can’t go home. He physically can’t, so he avoids it at all costs, until he doesn’t. Or The five times Buck avoids his house and the one time he never wants to leave

can you see what we are? (it’s all there written down) by kabnd/ @polkadotk804 (Canon, S2 onwards | 8K | General):

April 25, 2019 - Buck, genuinely distressed in the middle of the night in the bunkroom, presumably to Eddie (overheard by me, Chim): “Do you think that cat from the ‘hang in there’ poster is dead? Like how long do you think that little dude really hung in there?” Eddie, who I think was still mostly asleep: “At least he left a legacy.” OR: Maddie starts a shared note to document Buck and Eddie-isms…it gets just as unhinged at you’d imagine and tells their story from the perspective of the 118 & Co…and then Chris comes home!

smiling through it all by stevesconverse (Canon Divergent, S2E1: Under Pressure | 8K | Teen):

“So what’s your real name, then?” Eddie asks, sipping on his own drink—a whiskey he’s swirling around in the glass constantly. “Evan,” Buck says coyly, quickly adding, “But nobody really calls me that.” “Evan,” Eddie echoes, the sound dripping off his tongue like thick honey. “I like it.” It almost makes Buck regret to ever abandon it in the first place, driving a shiver down his spine. Almost. “And what’s Eddie short for? Eduardo?” he quickly shifts the conversation, stirring his drink and popping another peanut into his mouth. Eddie shakes his head and chuckles. “Edmundo,” he corrects him, then winks at Buck with a low, “But nobody really calls me that.” or the one where Buck and Eddie have a one-night-stand two days before Eddie starts at the 118.

think i know where you belong by stevesconverse (Eddie&Chris Go Back To LA, Roommates, Accidental Kiss | 8K | Teen):

“Bye,” Eddie mumbles distantly, and when Buck finally manages to open his eyes again, Eddie is halfway out the door already. Puzzled, he just stands there, listens to the slam of the door and the starting of the truck outside, his mind spinning and his lips still tingling. Eddie has just kissed him. Actually kissed him, like it was the most normal, casual thing in the world, like this was what they always do, a routine they follow, a dance they’ve learned. Except it’s none of that. 

meet me in the afterglow by literalmetaphor (Established Buddie, Hurt/Comfort | 9K | Explicit):

“We need a safe word,” Buck says. “You know, to make things as clear as possible.” “I feel like no works just fine,” Eddie says. Buck lets out a breath, because, sure, it probably will, but he needs assurance here. He needs something straightforward, simple, maybe something easier than Eddie telling him no. Maybe something easier than Eddie saying it’s too much. He’s never been great at that. “Just, humor me, okay? Communication is key with stuff like this.” Eddie’s laugh is soft, kind of incredulous, but he meets Buck’s eyes, and there’s a relenting fondness in them. “You think, what, you’re gonna be so good it’s gonna scramble my brain out of knowing how to say no?” An answering laugh tumbles out of Buck, peppered with the exasperation at the back of his throat. “I think this is new for you, and I think you should have options.” OR Eddie has to use the safe word.

love of my life, can't you see? by wenttoafortuneteller (S8E11 Spec, Crack | 10K | Teen):

“I asked Josh out,” Buck admits. It’s cartoonish how quickly Eddie’s jaw drops; how his eyes bulge out of his head. Buck rubs the back of his neck, sheepish, waiting for him to say something. There’s still silence. Buck frowns at his screen. “Eddie? Hello? I think you froze.” “I’m here,” Eddie says slowly, eyes still comically wide. “I just think I might have misheard you.” “Oh,” Buck says, and repeats himself. “I asked Josh out.” “Okay. So I didn’t mishear you.” Eddie scrubs a hand over his face. “Can I ask why?”  Or: Maddie nudges Buck towards Eddie, Buck misunderstands horribly, and Eddie suffers over FaceTime.

I can roll with all the punches (if you hold a couple back) by Elgney (Canon, S1-S2 | 13K | General):

“I need someone like you—someone who can keep up with him, and have his back, and maybe eventually even rein him in, should that be a thing that is humanly possible to do,” said Bobby, smiling warmly over the remaining half of his sandwich. “Oh, I see,” said Eddie. And he did now. That’s what Bobby’s whole hard sell was about—it wasn’t personal, it was about Eddie being the top of this class. “I know the type. You see guys a lot like that in the military.” “Oh, no,” said Bobby, “I didn’t mean to—well, what I mean is, I don’t think you have seen a lot of guys like Buck, to be honest. I don’t think there are a lot of people like him.” ----- Hen & Chim discussing the new probie; Buck's forgotten shield ceremony; Eddie's first shift with the 118. Or: three early impressions of Buck, through the eyes of his future found family.

hopeless, breathless, burning slow by mostardent/ @laracrofted (Post-S6E11: In Another Life | 14K | Mature):

He knows Eddie worries about him. Everyone does, but with Eddie, it’s not the same. He doesn’t look at Buck like he still has one foot in the grave. Eddie looks at him like he prayed for a miracle and God gave him Buck. In the pale blue-green light, Buck lifts his gaze mid-sentence and finds Eddie already looking at him. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders down. He looks at ease, relaxed and peaceful, a fond smile on his face, coaxed from the corner of his mouth. One of his Christopher smiles, except Eddie’s gaze rests steadily on Buck, so maybe it’s a different kind of smile, one just for him. His dark eyes are warm and bright as afternoon sunshine, brimming with happiness, and it’s the most real Buck has felt in weeks. After the coma, Buck struggles to feel real and unofficially moves in with Eddie. (Or, Eddie hovers and Buck burns.)

listen for heaven by marviless/ @marviless (S8, Eddie Moves to Texas | Getting Together | 15K | Teen):

There’s a long pause before Buck answers. “Yeah, I do,” he says. “I felt alone for the first twenty something years of my life.” “What about now?” Eddie asks, and he’s not even quite sure what he means. What about now, right in this moment? or what about now, now that I’m gone? Buck chooses to answer the former. “I’m never lonely when I’m with you,” he says simply, softly. Eddie, Buck, and six phone calls.

Finding You by Sabs/ @memequeme (Soulmates AU, Eddie Goes to Texas, Getting Together | 16K | Teen):

Eddie leaves for Texas on a Tuesday and Buck feels it in his heart before he even exits the airport. He starts to feel it in his body on a Thursday. Or: Soulbonds are rare, spontaneous bonds are practically unheard, but Buck and Eddie have always been anything but conventional.

🔥been lost for a while by trysetmeonfire/ @try-set-me-on-fire (Canon Divergent, Nurse Eddie, S2 | 17K | Mature):

Eddie's wife has been dead for two weeks. There's a firefighter in bed five. These are not necessarily related facts, but Eddie will have a hard time separating them out, later. — A story, in many ways, about holding hands

you're more than a heart can take by Elgney (Eddie Coming Out, First Date | 19K | Mature):

“Come on, you’re telling me you wouldn’t consider sneaking into a storage closet with me?” “Obviously, I would!” Eddie was whisper-yelling now, and Buck wasn’t sure exactly what point he was trying to make, but he was enjoying every second of this. “But one of us is going to have to have restraint and it has to be the—the one with the most experience.” Buck felt his mouth drop open in delight. “Eddie,” he admonished. “Are you calling me a whore?” “No!” said Eddie, looking increasingly flustered. “I just mean—clearly you have the power to do—” he gestured at Buck, “that, so you have the—the responsibility to, like, use it. Responsibly.” “Did you just quote Spiderman?” Eddie propped his elbows on the table and dropped his head into his hands, groaning dramatically. “I’m going to die. The first date, and I’m going to die.” “Been there, wouldn’t recommend it.” --- Buck and Eddie and the first date.

under pressure by brewrosemilk/ @gayhoediaz (Established Buddie, First Time, PWP | 22K | Explicit):

“It’s not funny,” Eddie sighs, knocking the back of his head against the kitchen cabinet as he brings a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “Oh, come on—it’s a—it’s a little funny,” Buck argues, amusement thick in his voice as Eddie feels his hand curl around his own wrist. Eddie takes a breath, and drops his wrist to rest over his own knee as he turns to meet Buck’s eyes, arching his own eyebrow in question. Or: Buck and Eddie have grand plans for their first time, it's just unfortunate that their bodies don't seem to be getting the message.

🔥 boy, we ain't got nothin' to lose by Elgney (Amnesia, Post-S7E5: You Don't Know Me | 26K | Teen):

“They just follow it around, copying it and helping it and bothering it so much that it's like, worn down into loving the duckling back and looking out for it.” “So,” said Eddie, furrowing his brow. “In this scenario, you are—” “A baby duckling, newly hatched into the world with no idea what’s going on.” “And I am—” “The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes.” ---- Eddie has no idea how to cope when a temporary case of amnesia causes the return of Buck 1.0. Buck has no clue why his future self hasn't made the moves on his hot best friend. It all goes pretty well, considering.

🔥 Your Fake Name is Good Enough For Me by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, Changeling AU, Post-S8A | 37K | Mature):

When a younger man claiming to be Evan Buckley is apprehended by Pennsylvania police, Buck's past and present are thrown into question. Buck must work with Bobby and Athena to discover who he really is, and what that means for his family.

🔥paving hell with energy by Elgney (S8E9 Spec, Kidnapping, Getting Together | 52K | Not Rated):

Oh, fuck him, did he almost sleep with a serial killer? Distantly, he thought, Hen and Chim are never going to let me live this down. And then he thought, I might not live at all. ----- Buck is having a hard time dealing with Eddie's impending move to El Paso and resorts to some Buck 1.0-style coping mechanisms. Unfortunately for everybody, this backfires in spectacular fashion. Especially for Eddie, who waited until now to realize he was in love with his best friend. OR: Buck and Maddie get kidnapped. Eddie spirals.

Part 1 of not how the damage gets done

You tried to run (I tried to tie your shoes) by Elgney (Established Buddie, Fluff | 6K | General):

“Do I want to know what’s going on here?” Bobby asked. “Normal stuff,” Buck shouted from where he was, back on the couch. Eddie snorted down at his form, feeling fond and avoiding eye contact with Bobby, who must have stared down Chimney instead, because a second later he was fessing up. “We’re making them fill out their HR relationship forms separately, and then we’re going to compare them, Newlywed Game-style.” ---- Buck and Eddie fill out the LAFD's Consensual Relationship Agreement paperwork, Chim and Hen are over them already, and Bobby is just trying to make lunch and commit as few HR violations as possible.

Part 2 of not how the damage gets done

WIP

🔥 Doe & a Drop of Golden Sun by ohstars/ @oh-stars (Canon Divergent, Dad Buck | 14? | 60K | Teen):

Buck doesn't mean to keep secrets from everyone, but he also can't talk about the pain he experiences on a day to day basis. With his nine-year-old living across the country and his custody limited to one monthly visit, Buck doesn't know how to share this part of himself. How does he tell his team of six years that he's had a kid this whole time? How does he tell his sister? How does he tell his Edd-- best friend? It's fine. The universe isn't going to give him a choice in the matter when the worst thing imaginable becomes his reality.

🔥 for all the haunts and homes of menby euadnes/ @kananjarus (Canon Divergent, Post-Apocalyptic, Station Eleven Crossover | WIP | 17/18 | 169K | Mature | Warning: Violence):

The year by the old calendar is 2025. Home is gone. Home is a failed rescue mission and an echo of a memory. Home is a lost boy living in a wooden house by the sea. But first, there was a promise. Christopher, when it's safe, I'll take you back to your father. Buck had all but given up on keeping it after the world had died and everyone in it. But just as some oaths refuse to be forgotten, so the same can be said about the endurance of love.

Podfic

🔥[podfic] a cold world for such a long life by nuuma // fic by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Post-S7 | 1-1.5h | Teen):

Eddie befriends Bobby's estranged older brother in a virtual support group for queer adults struggling to come out. The only problem? He has no idea that's who Charlie is.

🔥[Podfic] Even in Winter There is Eranthis by Favourite_alias for letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Hades/Persephone AU | 45K | Explicit):

Buck is supposedly a god. Supposedly. But he's got no idea what his domain is or what role he plays in Olympus. When he meets Christopher, a young boy lost and trying to find his father, he helps Chris get home - and ends up accidentally binding himself to the Underworld. Now bound to Eddie, the god of the dead, Buck must spend half the year with him in the Underworld while winter reigns above. But even as something grows between them, there are still trials to endure. Just because the gods are not mortal... does not mean they cannot die.

🔥 [Podfic] Further Than Blood (Or Than Bones) by Favourite_alias for letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Vampires AU | 5-6h | Explicit):

Once, Eddie chose to save a newly turned against his better judgment. Five hundred years ago, Buck was saved by a rescuer he thought was a hallucination. Now they're together again and about to find out just how far either of them will go to try and deny what they are to each other.

[maevedoodle]

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹જ⁀➴ 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬

Bob has his own room, he just hates being alone in it and feeling like he’s gonna get swallowed whole from every thought. So, he starts sleeping on the couch falling asleep to the thunderbolts voices. They take notice.

𝐚/𝐧: I decided to base this on a hc I posted on tiktok!! Worked on this at school so any mistake or if it seemed rushed this is why💔.

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

Bob has his own room.

A large king sized bed, dripped in silky beige sheets and an olive green duvet draped over the fluffed up bed.

Yelena even insisted on getting him a gray reading chair for when his bed gets too much, or feels to swallowing.

Ava and John even worked together to get Bob a rug that classed horribly with the curtains, But it made him smile anyway.

He should feel safe, He should want to dip underneath the duvet after his long burning hot showers, He should just want to lay there sometimes when things get home.

It should feel like his space.

But it doesn’t.

He promises himself he’d never talk about it, not directly atleast. But the team doesn’t play coy, they’re aware. The signs are easily spotted.

They noticed weeks ago.

After he’d tell them he’s tired, he’d wander back downstairs with his patterned quilt and crawl into the couch pretending to listen and engage in the conversation.

He never interrupted, The way Yelena and Bucky traded their tragic stories, Or Alexei and John arguing over stupid uno and Ava pretending to be over it, knowing damn well she loves this team.

Bob liked it, Existing in their space. This was safe to him, not his room, his room filled with abandonment and darkness.

Every few nights, like clockwork, Bob would show up just before they all started winding down. He’d sit quietly, always with that same blanket, always pretending to be part of the conversation even if he didn’t say a word.

It didn’t take long for them to figure it out. After all he’s like family.

Alexei was the first to say something. Not to Bob, Never directly, but one night, after watching him doze off mid conversation for the third time that week, he leaned back in his chair and suggested a life changer, well for Bob.

“We should make this a thing. Couch Night. Every Sunday.”

No one questioned it, it just became their thing.

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

It was currently Sunday, Bob’s favorite day of the week, Couch night.

Bucky was in the kitchen stirring up hot chocolate and adding extra marshmallows in each mug, John beside him baking chocolate chip cookies and secretly eating the leftover dough.

Ava and Alexei were busy with the blanket situation, Silk pillows propped up on the large couch and many fuzzy, and soft blanket options to choose from.

All of this, it’s exactly what Bob needs.

Bob tiptoes downstairs, he had a habit of walking softly, one he picked up from his childhood.

Yelena was sat on the couch, Her legs tucked under her as a blanket wrapped around her figure, she was attempting to find a movie.

“Oh, hey Bob.” When she speaks his name, it’s gentle, like it’s sacred. He gives her an awkward grin before scurrying near her on the couch.

“Hi.” He whispers as he gets weirdly comfortable on the couch. She tosses him the remote, “I can’t find anything good, and you know they’ll kill me if I mess up a movie night, choice this sunday is yours.”

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

Everyone’s settled in, Bob sips his hot chocolate slowly as he savours the flavor, he had a few cookies in a bowl also. The soft sound of the movie, ‘Paddington’ plays in the background.

Ava is already back in the kitchen reaching for more cookies, Alexei sobbing over the movie, “poor bear, why none of them takes him as a family?”

John keeps dozing off, but eventually wakes up after Bucky slaps his knee and tells him, “this is our valued time, wake the hell up.”

Yelena sips her hot chocolate quite quickly, before having Alexei fetch her some more.

Bob admires the sight in front of him, his own thing that feels close like family.

Halfway through Paddington, Bob’s head starts to lean.

Yelena notices first. She glances down just as the weight of him settles gently onto her shoulder. He’s already out, slow, steady breathing, blanket clutched in his hands like a grounding method.

She doesn’t move. Just adjusts a little to make it easier for him.

Across the room, the others notice too. One by one, the screen fades from focus as their eyes drift toward Bob asleep on the couch.

Ava is the first to smile. It’s faint, barely there, but it softens her whole face.

John lets out a quiet breath, something like a laugh. “Guy sleeps like a cat,” he whispers.

Bucky doesn’t say anything, just watches with that faraway look he sometimes gets when the room is full and warm.

Alexei, hands folded over his stomach, nods once like this is good.

No one dares speak too loud. It feels like sacred ground, Bob, asleep and safe, trusting all of them not to let the silence turn cold.

For a long moment, no one says a word. They just sit there with him.

Together.

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

𝐚/𝐧: I love this little found family.

[brookghaib-blog]

Almost Loved - III

Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’ Reynolds x reader

Summary: Four months of dates, gave Y/N hope that she found the one after hopeless years, Bob looks in love, treats beautiful. There's one step that looks like it's coming. Until Bob breaks it off with her. Encountering each other a year and an half later. What happened ?

Word count: 4,9k

--

Tampa, Florida - 18 months ago

The message came while she sat alone at the café.

The same café he’d taken her to on their second date — a cozy little spot tucked between a record store and a flower shop. The rain outside had begun to mist against the windows, soft and quiet, and her fingers curled tighter around the mug of untouched coffee.

She stared at her phone screen. The message glowed like a wound.

“I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore. Please don’t try to contact me.”

Just one sentence.

That was it.

No explanation. No lead-up. No punctuation.

It felt like someone had cut the cord between her heart and lungs, and she couldn’t breathe properly after reading it.

At first, she thought it was a joke — some horribly mistimed prank. Her fingers had fumbled across the keyboard as she typed back, “What? Bob, what’s going on?” But when she hit send, the message didn't deliver. Her stomach turned.

Then she tried to call him. Straight to voicemail.

Again. And again.

She refreshed their conversation. Nothing. She tried Instagram. Blocked. Facebook. Twitter. Even TikTok. Gone.

He had vanished like a ghost, severing every possible string between them with the coldest precision.

Three days ago, he had kissed her forehead while she laughed on his couch, wrapped in one of his oversized hoodies. Three days ago, they had watched old movies and shared Chinese takeout and talked about maybe going away for a weekend soon. He had brushed her hair out of her eyes and murmured that she made everything feel lighter. That she made him feel lighter.

What changed in three days?

She didn’t remember getting home. She must have walked through the rain. Or maybe Serena drove her. She couldn’t recall.

All she remembered was collapsing onto the couch, phone still clutched in her hand like a lifeline she didn’t realize had snapped.

The tears came in waves — violent, choking sobs that ripped out of her chest without mercy. The kind of crying that made your bones ache. The kind that felt like dying without dying.

She didn’t eat. Didn’t move.

She just laid there, hours ticking by, her face pressed into a throw pillow that smelled faintly like lavender and something burnt — a candle she’d left too long one night after falling asleep next to him.

Every time her phone buzzed, her heart jumped.

But it was never him.

Eventually, she opened the Photos app. It was a compulsion, really — one she didn’t even think about before doing. His face filled her screen in a thousand variations: blurry concert selfies, videos of him trying to dance, sleepy morning snaps where his hair stuck up in every direction.

She watched a video of them in bed. He was teasing her — holding the phone while she hid under the covers, half-asleep and protesting.

“Stop filming me, Bob,” her voice murmured in the clip, laughing.

“But you’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispered back.

She cried harder.

Every memory felt poisoned now. Every smile was a lie retroactively written into her timeline. Had he known then? Had he been planning his escape even as he tucked her under his arm and called her his favorite part of the day?

She started to spiral — picking apart everything.

Was it her laugh?

Was it the way she always second-guessed herself?

Did she talk too much?

Not enough?

Had she annoyed him that last morning when she asked if he wanted her to stay a little longer?

She counted the flaws in herself like tally marks on a prison wall. Every insecurity that had ever lived quietly in the background suddenly screamed for attention. The scars, the softness of her stomach, the anxious ticks, the way she sometimes cried during sad commercials — all of it. She dissected their relationship until it was a corpse beneath a microscope.

But she found nothing. No answer.

No closure.

Just silence.

At some point, Serena found her there — curled up in a blanket cocoon, phone still glowing dimly beside her, tears drying sticky on her cheeks.

She didn’t ask questions. Just crawled onto the couch with her, arms wrapping tight around her body like scaffolding trying to hold up a crumbling house.

Still, Y/N didn’t sleep.

Not really.

She stared at the ceiling for hours, the ghost of his hand still felt on her skin. She remembered the way he used to run his fingers through her hair when she couldn't sleep. The way he made tea without asking when she was anxious. The way he once told her he’d never had anything in his life that made him want to stay until her.

She wanted to scream.

Instead, she whispered into the dark, barely breathing, “Why, Bob? Why would you leave like that?”

Y/N stopped going to the café.

She couldn’t bring herself to walk past it without thinking of that message. The same wooden bench outside still stood where she had sat waiting for him, so sure that the future was just beginning — not ending. The wind blew through the streets the same way, as if the world hadn’t even noticed her heart had shattered.

But she noticed. Every second of every day.

The mornings were the worst.

Waking up felt like punishment. That small, stupid moment between sleep and consciousness — the one where her body forgot to be heartbroken — was always cruelly short. She’d blink awake and roll toward the space beside her, expecting warmth. Memory. Him.

But there was only a cold pillow and her own hollow chest.

Sometimes she reached out for her phone first thing, hope still clinging to her like a disease. Maybe there’d be a message. Maybe he’d changed his mind.

But no.

There was never anything from Bob. Not a word. Not even a missed call or a blank message by accident. Nothing.

And that silence — that intentional silence — burned worse than anything he could’ve said.

Some days she didn’t get out of bed.

Others, she wandered around her apartment aimlessly, dressed in the same hoodie she’d stolen from him months ago, sleeves covering her hands like a child playing dress-up in someone else’s life. She didn’t shower. She barely ate. Every little sound in the hallway made her jump, wondering if maybe — maybe — he was outside, realizing he’d made a mistake.

But he never came.

Serena came.

Every damn day.

Even when Y/N didn’t answer the door. Even when she texted her to go away, to leave her alone, to stop acting like everything could be fixed with smoothies and TV marathons.

Serena came anyway.

Sometimes with groceries. Sometimes with takeout. Sometimes with nothing but her own heavy heart, and eyes that looked like they ached for Y/N just as much.

“Open the door,” she’d say gently through it. “I’m not leaving.”

Y/N didn’t talk much. When she did, it wasn’t about Bob.

Not directly, at least.

She’d say things like “I just feel gross today,” or “I think I’m too sensitive for my own good,” or “I don’t get what I did wrong.” Her voice always cracked on that last one. As if she were still searching for the missing puzzle piece that would make it all make sense.

But there was nothing to find.

Only silence. Absence. An ache that grew heavier with time.

There were nights when she cried so hard she couldn’t breathe. Where the tears weren’t elegant or cinematic, but wild and ugly and loud — curled up on the bathroom floor, clutching her phone like it might suddenly, miraculously ring. Her knuckles white from gripping it. Her throat hoarse from whispering his name.

Other nights, the grief was quieter. Still, but no less brutal. She’d stare at the wall for hours. No music. No TV. Just silence — the same kind Bob had left her in.

Her mind replayed everything they had — their jokes, the mornings tangled in each other, the dumb nicknames, the whispered confessions. She picked apart his last weekend with her again and again. He kissed her. He held her. He looked at her like she was his. How could it have all been a lie?

She’d swing between sorrow and fury.

Sometimes she hated him. Really hated him. For the way he left. For not being man enough to face her. For blocking her without giving her a single damn answer.

“What kind of coward does that?” she once snapped, eyes red and voice raw.

Serena didn’t answer. Just rubbed her back and stayed close. She never pushed. Never said, “Maybe it’s time to move on.” Because she knew that would break Y/N more than anything.

Instead, she listened. Held her when she crumbled. Sat in silence when Y/N couldn’t bear words.

One day, Y/N found the video again. The one of Bob doing a mini vlog on a beach day.

She watched it ten times.

Then threw her phone across the room.

The screen cracked.

So did something inside her.

But still, the pain stayed.

The world moved forward in tiny increments. Days blending into weeks. People started asking where she’d been. She avoided them. She couldn’t stand the idea of pretending to be okay — of lying to their faces while her soul was still bleeding.

Only Serena saw the worst of it.

The way she’d sometimes sit in the shower for an hour, water gone cold, just to feel something. Serena siting on the floor holding her hand. The way she tried to go on a date but canceled last minute because even the idea of holding someone else’s hand made her feel sick.

“It’s not fair,” she whispered once, voice shaking. “He made me feel like I was the one.”

And she meant it. Because she was. He looked at her like she was the only thing tethering him to the world. He kissed her like every breath depended on her lips.

But then he let her go like she was nothing.

And somehow, she had to live with that.

--

New York - Present day

It was an unusually cold morning in the city — the kind where the wind clawed through even the thickest jackets, and the sky hung heavy with clouds that threatened rain. Serena tugged her coat tighter around her as she emerged from the coffe shop with a carboard with two coffes. One for her. One for Y/N, who’d finally agreed to go on a walk with her later, though she looked more ghost than girl these days, all she didn't need was Toby to turn out to be an asshole after seeing Bob.

She was halfway down the block when she saw them.

Bob.

And some blonde woman walking beside him.

Serena froze mid-step. For a second, her brain didn’t fully register it — like her body needed a moment to buffer the image. But there he was. Tall. Familiar. That same tired, haunted face she’d only seen in Y/N’s photo gallery, in the images Y/N had refused to delete even when her heart was breaking.

He hadn’t changed much.

Still walked like he carried the weight of something massive. Still had that slumped posture, like the world had knocked the fight out of him. But he looked clean now. Sober. Shaved. Dressed in clothes that actually fit. He looked like someone trying.

But Serena didn’t care.

All she saw was the man who had destroyed her best friend.

And the blonde woman beside him — sharp-eyed, confident, her presence powerful enough to command a room — was laughing at something he’d said. Laughing. At him. Bob was smiling, in that awkward, gentle way that made it feel private. Familiar.

Serena’s stomach turned.

Of course. Of course he’d moved on. Of course he had some new girl on his arm, someone probably more exciting, more adventurous. Someone who didn’t cry herself to sleep for a month straight. Someone who didn’t need fixing.

She didn’t even realize she was storming toward them until Bob turned and spotted her.

His face shifted immediately.

“Serena?” His voice cracked, uncertain.

Yelena stopped walking, looking between the two with mild curiosity and a hint of protective alertness — she didn’t know this woman, but Bob’s expression said plenty.

Serena looked at him, lips tightening. “Wow. What a small world.”

Bob took a tentative step forward. “I didn’t think I’d see you. I—do you mind if we talk for a second?”

“Oh, you want to talk?” Serena let out a dry, humorless laugh. “That’s rich. That’s new.”

Yelena’s eyes narrowed. “Is there a problem?”

Serena looked her over, eyes scanning her from boots to blonde hair. She could’ve been a model. Either way, Serena felt that old, sharp burst of rage she hadn’t let out in weeks. Her voice dropped. Bitter. Cold.

“So… this is the reason, huh? All that heartbreak and disappearing — and it was for her.” She shook her head, chuckling bitterly. “Wow. Y/N really was too good for you.”

Bob blinked, startled. “No, it’s not—wait. You think—? She’s not—Yelena’s a friend. She’s—”

“I don’t give a shit who she is, Bob,” Serena cut him off, voice sharp. “You could be with a goddamn saint and it wouldn’t change what you did. You ghosted her. Blocked her on everything. After saying you loved her. After making her believe she was your whole damn world.”

“I did love her,” he whispered, pained.

Serena’s nostrils flared. “Then you should’ve fought harder. You should’ve told her the truth. You don’t get to say you loved her when you left her sobbing on the floor, not knowing if you were dead or just bored.”

Bob’s mouth opened, but no words came. His throat bobbed, and his hands trembled slightly at his sides. The air between them tightened, thick with everything unsaid.

Yelena, sensing this was personal, shifted uncomfortably. “I’ll give you a minute,” she muttered to Bob, stepping away just out of earshot but still watching from a distance.

Bob swallowed hard. “I know you hate me. You have every right to. But I was—I was sick, Serena. I wasn’t sober when I left. I was trying to protect her—”

“Bullshit,” Serena snapped. “Don’t do that. Don’t give me that noble, self-sacrificing crap. You left without a word. You left her with nothing. You didn’t protect her. You abandoned her.”

Bob looked down, jaw clenched, eyes glassy.

“I was scared,” he admitted, voice low. “I was so deep into it—into everything. And I was ashamed. She didn’t know I was using. She thought I was just a little messed up, but it was more than that. Dealers were after me. I OD’d that week and didn’t tell anyone. I thought... maybe if I disappeared, she’d be better off.”

Serena stared at him. The anger didn’t leave. But now, layered underneath it, was something more dangerous: the temptation to feel sorry for him.

“I don't give a fuck. She wasn’t better off,” she said, quieter now. “You crushed her. She stopped going out. She barely ate. She cried herself to sleep for weeks, Bob. Do you even know what that’s like? Watching someone you love break apart because someone else decided they weren’t worthy of the truth? Good for you, not only you lied you put her in danger but using whatever shit you were doing, and whoever you were with.”

Bob’s hands were in fists now. He looked wrecked.

“I know I ruined it. I know I don’t deserve her.”

Serena exhaled slowly, bitter. “At least you’re right about one thing.”

He winced.

“She loved you so hard, Bob. Like... really loved you. The kind of love that could’ve saved someone, if you’d let her. And now? She’s trying so hard to survive the idea that maybe she was never enough.”

His lip trembled, and for a moment, Serena saw it — the haunted, broken man underneath the calm. His silence wasn’t apathy. It was shame.

“I think about her every day,” he whispered. “Every day, Serena. There hasn’t been a second I haven’t regretted what I did.”

Serena shook her head, the anger softening just barely.

“That doesn’t fix anything. You can’t just show up and say sorry and expect it all to be okay.”

“I know,” he said again, tears finally slipping. “I just—I needed you to know she wasn’t the problem. I was. I am.”

They stood there in silence for a moment. The wind howled between buildings. The sky darkened more.

Serena looked at him, then at the coffee in her hands — one for her, one for Y/N.

“She’s different now,” Serena said softly, stepping back. “She’s not the same girl you left. And even if she was… you’ve got a long road ahead if you think you can walk back into her life.”

Bob nodded slowly, not expecting anything more.

Serena didn’t say goodbye. She just turned, heels clicking on the pavement, coffee tray held tightly, heart aching all over again — this time not just for Y/N, but maybe, just a little... for the man who still loved her, too late.

--

The apartment was quiet, save for the muffled sounds of the city outside. Y/N sat curled in a blanket on the couch, nursing the same cup of lukewarm tea she’d reheated twice but hadn’t touched. Her eyes were fixed on the TV, but she wasn’t watching — just letting it run in the background. Serena walked in, kicked off her boots, and tossed her bag onto the counter.

“You been out of that spot today?” she asked casually, eyeing her from across the room.

Y/N didn’t answer. She just pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders and gave a half-hearted shrug.

Serena sighed, but didn’t push. She walked into the kitchen and put down the cardboard, grabbed a soda from the fridge, cracked it open, then leaned against the doorway. Her eyes were hesitant.

“I ran into someone today,” she said, too carefully.

Y/N looked over, brows lifting. “Yeah?”

Serena scratched the back of her neck. “It was... Bob.”

Y/N’s face fell.

“Oh.”

A silence settled between them. Y/N’s grip on her mug tightened, but she said nothing.

“He was with a blonde chick,” Serena added quickly. “Not like that. At least he told she was just a friend but... yeah we never know.”

Y/N gave a humorless huff of air. “Figures.”

Serena took a beat. She walked over and sat at the edge of the couch, her tone gentler now.

“He looked like hell, Y/N. Not in a bad way—like, he’s clean. He just... looks like he’s carrying a lot.”

Y/N stared ahead again. “Okay.”

Serena hesitated. “He told me something. Something I think you didn’t know.”

Y/N didn’t move, but the tension in her shoulders rose.

“He said he was using back when you were together.”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

Serena nodded slowly. “He had a drug problem. Pretty bad, from what I could tell. He hid it from you. Said he was trying to stop while you were dating, but he was still deep in it.”

Y/N was quiet for a long time. Her throat tightened.

“No... he... he never told me that,” she whispered. “I didn’t know.”

“I know. That’s why I’m telling you now.”

"Was that...why?"

Y/N’s thoughts ran wild — fragments of memories she hadn’t questioned at the time. Nights he’d disappear for a little too long. Moods that shifted without warning. The way he’d go quiet, distant, for no reason she could figure out. Her gut had tugged at her back then — but he always smiled, always kissed her forehead, always said he was just tired.

“I thought I was going crazy,” she murmured. “When he left, I thought maybe I’d done something wrong. Like I loved him too much, or needed too much.”

Serena’s voice softened. “You didn’t. He just wasn’t ready to let someone love him like that.”

Y/N looked down at her lap. “I was waiting for him that day, you know? At the café. I waited for an hour. I thought he was just late. Then the text came, and it was so... cold. No warning. Just ‘I’m sorry. Take care of yourself.’”

Serena frowned. “He said he didn’t know how else to do it. He said if he saw you, he’d stay. And he didn’t want to drag you into that.”

“That’s not his decision to make.”

“No, it’s not,” Serena agreed. “But people who are spiraling... they don’t think straight. They don’t think in ‘what’s fair.’ They think in survival. I don't know, I was not so nice to him about it either.”

Y/N’s eyes welled, but she blinked the tears back. “He blocked me everywhere, Rena. Every account. Like I was nothing.”

“I know.”

“God, I was so angry with myself. Picking apart every moment. Every time I raised my voice, every time I didn’t text back fast enough. I thought... I thought if I’d just been a little more—”

“Y/N,” Serena interrupted gently. “This wasn’t about you. None of it was.”

Y/N let her head fall back against the couch, closing her eyes. She exhaled slowly, trying not to fall apart again. Not over this. Not again.

“I don’t know what hurts more,” she said quietly. “That he was suffering and I didn’t know... or that he still didn’t trust me with the truth.”

Serena leaned over, rubbing her back lightly.

“He was ashamed,” she said. “And maybe he still is. But you? You were never the problem. You were just the one thing he thought he didn’t deserve.”

Y/N sat with that for a long time. The words settled heavy in her chest, warm and cold all at once.

“He could’ve told me,” she whispered.

“I know.”

Y/N sat cross-legged on the couch, knees pulled to her chest. Her fingers traced aimless patterns over the blanket draped over her legs, eyes unfocused and glassy. Serena sat on the floor in front of the coffee table, her back leaning against the couch, watching her in silence.

“Do you think I should call him?” Y/N whispered. The words slipped out like they’d been waiting in her throat for hours.

Serena tilted her head back against the cushion, looking up at her friend. “Honestly?”

Y/N nodded slowly, bracing herself.

Serena sighed. “No. I don’t think you should.”

Y/N didn’t react right away. Her jaw tensed, but she kept her eyes forward. “Because you hate him.”

“No,” Serena said, voice gentle but unwavering. “Because I love you.”

Silence stretched between them. Y/N’s throat was tight. She hated how those words could hurt more than comfort sometimes.

“I just…” Y/N swallowed. “What if I never understand why he left unless I ask? What if this is my only chance?”

Serena shifted to sit beside her on the couch, turning to face her fully. “Babe, he had his reasons. As shitty as they were. But does knowing them change what he did?”

“It might,” Y/N said quietly. “If he was in pain… if he was sick… then maybe it wasn’t about me at all.”

“That doesn’t mean he didn’t still break your heart.”

Y/N ran a hand down her face, frustrated and exhausted. “God, I know. But what if… what if the reason he left is exactly why we could work now? He’s clean, he’s sober. And he’s not hiding anymore.”

She looked at Serena, desperate for clarity that wouldn’t come.

“I keep thinking,” she said, voice cracking, “maybe it wasn’t that he didn’t love me. Maybe it was that he loved me too much and didn’t want me to see him like that.”

“Y/N…”

“No, listen,” she rushed on, her voice thin and trembling. “Maybe it scared him. Maybe he thought he was protecting me. And now he’s better and I’m still here and he’s still in my head and I feel so—so unfinished, Rena. Like there’s still this open wound that never closed because I never got to say anything. He just disappeared. He made me feel like I wasn’t enough, like I was disposable, and I was never okay after that.”

Serena took her hand gently. “You don’t need him to fix that, you know.”

“I don’t know anything anymore,” Y/N said, the tears coming now. “I don’t know if I want closure or if I want him. I don’t know if I miss him or if I just miss the version of me that was happy. He made me laugh, Rena. He’d say stupid shit just to make me smile. He used to kiss my forehead like it was the most sacred thing. Like I was some kind of... light in the middle of all his dark.”

Her voice broke on that last sentence. She covered her face with her hands, and Serena slid closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“I know, baby,” Serena murmured. “I remember.”

Y/N cried for a while — not loud sobs, just quiet, breathy whimpers like a sound too old to still hurt this much. When she finally looked up, her face was puffy and red, mascara smudged under her eyes.

“What if he’s already moved on?” she asked, barely audible. “What if I call and he says he’s happy now? What if that girl you saw really is someone? What if she’s healthy and stable and... everything I’m not?”

“Then you cry,” Serena said. “And I bring ice cream. And we scream at the TV and bad-mouth his stupid golden retriever smile.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh, even through her tears. “He really does have a stupid golden retriever smile.”

“You loved him. That’s not a crime.”

“I still do, Rena. That’s the worst part.”

Serena looked at her with sad, understanding eyes. “That doesn’t mean you have to go back.”

“But what if I don’t and I regret it for the rest of my life?”

“Then you’ll survive. You’ve already survived the worst part — him leaving.”

Y/N nodded, but the weight on her chest didn’t lift. She looked down at her lap, her thumb absently rubbing a spot on her wrist like a nervous tick. Her thoughts were loud and messy, like too many radio stations all fighting for attention in her head.

Was she being delusional? Was she romanticizing someone who shattered her? Or was this just the voice of healing — the one that wanted answers, peace, maybe even a second chance?

“I wish I had a sign,” she whispered. “Something to tell me if I should let it go... or fight for him.”

Serena stood and bent down to kiss the top of her head. “Maybe the sign is that you’re still not sure. And maybe... that’s okay.”

Y/N didn’t respond. She just sat in the stillness of it all — torn between past and present, between hope and self-preservation.

That night, when she lay in bed, she stared at her phone far too long. Bob’s contact wasn’t there anymore. But her fingers hovered over the search bar like they might summon something anyway.

A message she’d never send.

What if she texted him? What if he never replied? What if it opened a door she wasn’t ready to walk through—or worse, slammed it shut for good?

The silence pressed heavy against her chest, making it hard to breathe. The room felt too small, too empty, and yet it was filled with the ghosts of what they once were. She could almost hear the echo of his laugh, the way his blue eyes caught the light, that shy smile he gave when he wasn’t sure if he dared to hope.

Her heart twisted painfully. How could the same man who made her feel so alive have vanished like smoke?

Her fingers curled tight into the blanket, nails digging into the fabric, desperate for something real to hold onto.

She whispered into the darkness, voice fragile and raw:

“God, if you’re listening... if you ever listen to me at all... please... give me a sign. Please tell me if I should let go. If I should forget him and move on. Because I don’t know how to live with this waiting anymore.”

The silence answered back, cold and still.

“But if there’s even a chance,” she added, tears wetting her cheeks now, “if there’s any way that he’s still out there—if he’s not gone for good—then please, just tell me. Give me something. A sign that it’s not over.”

Her breath hitched as the panic rolled in waves, swelling in her chest and threatening to drown her. Her mind spun out — all the ‘what ifs’ and ‘maybes’ twisting like barbed wire.

What if he’s hurting too? What if he’s scared? What if I’m the only one holding onto a ghost? What if I’m deluding myself into thinking we ever had a chance?

The room suddenly felt unbearably lonely.

“I don’t know if I can do this without him,” she whispered. “I don’t know if I want to be whole if it means he’s not part of it. But maybe... maybe he doesn’t want me. Maybe he already chose to forget me.”

Her hands trembled as she pressed them against her face, willing the tears to stop, but they came anyway — slow and steady, a river that refused to dry up.

“I’m so tired of pretending I’m okay,” she admitted. “I smile, I laugh with Serena, but inside I’m just a mess. I’m scared I’ll wake up one day and realize I’ve wasted my time waiting for someone who never wanted to stay.”

Her voice cracked with the weight of the truth she couldn’t say out loud.

“But I don’t know how to stop.”

The night deepened around her like a shroud. Y/N closed her eyes, heart pounding like a storm.

“Please,” she breathed one last time, a prayer thrown out to a universe that had always felt indifferent. “Please don’t let this be the end.”

[angelicchris]

at your worst | chris sturniolo

part 1 | part 2

in which ₊˚ the happiest triplet is the one who’s quietly struggling.

˖⋆࿐໋ for all my lovelies who find themselves having to play a happy role for others, while they’re actually at their lowest (me too ᡣ𐭩)

honourable mention ⊹ ‧₊˚ for all my glass children

word count ₊˚ 883

══════════ ୨୧ ══════════

chris found himself laying awake at night, staring at his ceiling, with some random background music playing on his tv. he had initially tried to listen to his favourite artists—skies, travis, mac— to try to find it in himself to be happy, but he just couldn’t. normally music was his go-to for feeling better, or a hug from one of his brothers, but chris felt as if he would be burdening them if they found out what was really, truly happening inside his head.

his entire life, chris was the triplet who was the happiest. he was the one always smiling, always cracking jokes to try and bring others up if they were feeling low. this fact was something even his fans picked up on, noting how chris was the triplet who had changed the least throughout their growing fame, and was usually the one always joking around with his brothers in their videos. unbeknownst to chris, this role he established—both within his family and fans—had taken a toll on him, and lead to a lack of expressing his feelings, unless they were positive.

still staring at the ceiling and the intricate cracks of white paint that ran along it, chris felt a tear roll down the side of his right eye, landing on his pillow. he reached up and wiped his eye, wishing, hoping that he could fix whatever was wrong with him and his mind. he considered talking to one of his brothers about his sadness, but they both have their own lives and their own problems. chris hated to say it, but matt was the one who openly struggled with mental health the most in their family, and chris knew that he would feel guilty taking any attention away from matt and his struggles. he thought, deep down, that if he told matt, maybe he’d understand what he’s feeling, but, does chris even know what he’s feeling?

having enough of this, chris sits up, turning off his tv, and leaves the comfort of his room, finding himself walking up the stairs to their kitchen table. chris looks around—he notices an empty can of pepsi he left on the counter from earlier, nick’s headphones lying on the table, a half-completed lego poinsettia set that matt had been working on—and, he’s unsure why, but seeing this causes more tears to well in his eyes. his brothers, who were a constant variable in his life, yet who he felt as if he was letting down. “i can’t do this,” chris said, rubbing the palms of his hands over his eyes, hard. “i can’t, i can’t,” he continued to cry. having to act like there was nothing burdening his mind—in front of both his brothers and his fans—was finally catching up to him. chris wasn’t even sure what was causing this sadness within him. he had everything he could have ever wished for—a loving family, loving friends, a roof over his head—so, for the love of God, why was he feeling like this?

chris’ continuous sobs from the kitchen were enough to draw the attention of his older brother, matt. rubbing his eyes, confused, having been awoken from his unconscious state, matt checks the time on his phone. 4:36 a.m. he knew him and his brothers had a fucked up sleep schedule, but this was different. removing himself from the comfort of his blanket, his stuffed pug falling precariously onto the floor, matt makes his way into the hallway. as he nears the kitchen, he hears the sobs becoming louder and louder—the sobs of his younger brother, chris.

“chris?” matt says cautiously. chris looks abruptly over his shoulder at the voice, caught off guard. “oh,” he says, wiping his eyes and cheeks as quickly as he can. “hey matt,” chris sniffles a little, but tries to act as if nothing had just happened. “why are you up?” chris asks his brother. “i was about to ask you the same thing..” says matt, confused. “couldn’t sleep,” replies chris, staring straight ahead at a wall. “were you.. crying?” unsure of how to reply, chris pauses for a moment, then musters up a fake, boneless laugh. “i don’t cry,” states chris, jokingly or not, matt couldn’t tell. “chris, what’s wrong?” “God matt, nothing’s wrong, can’t you just knock it off?” chris, who was always the one asking him if he was okay, the one always making him smile, offering him a hug, was now sitting alone at their table, using his own arms as a shield, a tight embrace around his own fragile state. matt pauses for a moment, unsure of how to respond to his brother’s newfound behaviour, before deciding on the truth. “i heard you crying while i was sleeping.” what matt hadn’t expected, however, was for this revelation to trigger something within chris. “i said i’m fine, why can’t you just learn to mind your own business for once in your goddamn life, matt? geez.” chris abruptly pushes up from his spot at the table, making his way over to the stairs leading to his room, matt quickly following his brother’s strides. “chris, please..” matt pleads, not exactly sure what for. before he could receive a response, he’s greeted with a door slamming in his face, the rusty turn of a lock following suit.

it hurts to see you hurt the only ones who love you at your worst

══════════ ୨୧ ══════════

part 2 (final) out now x

notes ⋆. 𐙚 ₊˚

my oh my, my first fanfic ᡣ𐭩.

i honestly thought about the plot of this in my sleep, and i woke up and just kinda wrote about it.

i’m not too sure how i like this, i kinda cringed at my own writing, esp when chris & matt were talking w one another. ik i’m gonna cringe at this when i look back in a few years and see how much my writing has (hopefully) progressed, and, honestly, i can’t wait ᡣ𐭩

i’m interested to know if any of you are actually interested in writings like this, where there’s no female character/interest. ik most fanfics on here are kind of centered around romance involving the triplets, so i thought i would try something a little different that explored their relationships w one another (i didn’t forget nick, i promise)

to everyone who made it to the end, thank you so much, it means the world to me ᡣ𐭩. if u couldn’t bring yourself to read the whole thing, thank you for still taking a chance on my writing and i ᡣ𐭩

all my love x

[hoshifighting]

Crush on Music Student Jihoon

"So, I couldn't help but overhear something at lunch today," he says, his voice tinged with amusement. Your heart skips a beat as you try to recall what you might have said that caught his attention. "Oh? What did you hear?"

Jihoon chuckles softly, a blush creeping onto his cheeks. "Well, it sounded like someone might have been talking about me..."

— Synopsis: Where you have a little crush on the music student Jihoon. He definitively is not like the jocks from the campus, his quiet demeanor between his loud friends, calls your attention, and your friends tell you to let go of this crush once and for all. But Jihoon shows up to show you that your admiration for him was worth it. — WC: 5.8k — WARNINGS: Smut, dirty talk, praising, overwhelming, fingering, blowjob, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, public kiss, their friends having a heart-attack when they kiss, tears and sobs of pleasure, g'spot stimulation and etc.

So, here you are, finally in college. No more high school drama, no more teachers breathing down your neck, and no more petty cliques. It's like a whole new world, and you're loving every minute of it.

College is different. People here have their own inspirations, their own goals, and their own quirks. It's refreshing to be surrounded by so much diversity. You feel more mature than ever, like you're finally coming into your own.

But then there's Jihoon. Your friends won't let you forget about him. He's a music student, from the same campus, and apparently, he's got you feeling all sorts of things. They tease you mercilessly, saying you're acting like a girl in high school with a crush.

"Ah, Jihoon. He's always been the quiet type…" They say. You've noticed it too. While his friends are loud and outgoing, he's content to stay in the background, quietly observing the world around him. It's one of the things that drew you to him in the first place.

But your friends don't seem to understand. They keep trying to push you towards guys like Dokyeom or Seungkwan, who are the complete opposite of Jihoon. Dokyeom, with his extroverted personality and vibrant energy, always seems to be the life of the party. And Seungkwan, well, he's practically a celebrity on campus with his charm and athleticism.

But as much as you appreciate their efforts, your heart just isn't in it. While your friends are off drooling over Mingyu at the football games, you prefer to sit quietly in the back of the university theater, listening to the sweet sounds that emanate from Jihoon's fingers as he plays guitar or piano.

You're sitting with your friends at lunch, trying to enjoy your meal while Jihoon's group of friends acts loud and rowdy as usual. Jihoon himself is sitting nearby, quietly changing papers, which you assume are lyrics for his music.

"So, when are you going to talk to him?" Hyeson asks, a mischievous glint in her eye.

You roll your eyes, knowing exactly where this conversation is headed. "I don't know, maybe when I feel like it," you reply nonchalantly, taking a bite of your sandwich.

Your other friend, Seungjun, chimes in, "Come on, you've been crushing on him forever. He's probably too shy to come and ask you out. Or maybe he's too busy burying his face in those ridiculous scores."

ou shrug, trying to play it cool. "I don't know what you're talking about. I just enjoy his music, that's all."

But your friends aren't buying it. They exchange knowing looks before turning back to you with raised eyebrows.

"Come on, you can't deny that there's something there," Hyeson says, leaning in closer. "Why don't you just go talk to him? What's the worst that could happen?"

You hesitate, chewing on your lip as you consider the idea. "I don't know... What if he thinks I'm weird or something?"

Your friend rolls her eyes, shaking her head in disbelief. "You've practically had the whole college eating out of the palm of your hand since you started to study here."

You feel a flush of embarrassment creep up your neck as she lays it all out there. "I don't know if I'd say that..."

But she cuts you off before you can finish. "Come on, Y/n. Let's be real here. You've practically dismissed every other guy in this place because you only have eyes for Jihoon. And you're worried about him thinking you're weird?"

The conversation about Jihoon continues to flow at the table, with your friend passionately expressing her opinions. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you spot Mingyu approaching. Your friend doesn't seem to notice, her mouth still going a mile a minute about Jihoon.

Quickly, you reach out and wrap a hand around her mouth, effectively cutting off her words. She widens her eyes in surprise, shooting you a confused look as Mingyu stands next to your table, likely coming over to talk to you all.

Mingyu starts talking about the upcoming football game this night, mentioning that there's going to be a frat party afterward. Your friend's ears perk up at the mention of Jihoon, and she can't help but blurt out, "Is Jihoon going to be there?"

Mingyu furrows his brow in confusion, glancing over at Jihoon who is still engrossed in his papers at the other table. "I don't know," he replies honestly. "It's been a long time since he appeared at one of our parties."

But then Mingyu's gaze returns to your friend, a puzzled expression crossing his face. "Wait, why do you ask? Does someone here have a crush on Jihoon?" he asks, his voice a little too loud for comfort.

You widen your eyes in alarm, shooting a panicked glance at Jihoon and his friends who are now looking over at your table, clearly intrigued by the mention of Jihoon's name.

Your friend's eyes widen in shock, realizing that his question may have been a little too loud. "Um, well..." she stammers, searching for an excuse.

But before she can come up with anything, Mingyu's gaze returns to Jihoon's table, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Looks like someone has some explaining to do," he says, loud enough for Jihoon to hear.

"Oh my god, I fucking hate y'all…" 

[...]

As you make your way to the promised frat party tonight, your friend nudges you gently and says, "Come on, Y/n-nie, don't be mad at us. We're just having some fun."

You shoot her a playful glare before sighing and shaking your head. "I know, I know. I'm not really mad. Just a little nervous, that's all."

But your other friend chimes in, unable to resist poking fun at the situation. "Seriously, though, I still don't understand why you like him that much. He doesn't even look like he fucks."

You roll your eyes at her crude remark, feeling a flush of heat rise to your cheeks. Brushing away the thought of your recent fantasies about Jihoon, you try to play it off coolly. "Oh, please. You don't know anything about him."

But deep down, you can't deny the truth in her words. Jihoon may seem shy and reserved on the surface, but there's a fire burning beneath that quiet exterior. And just the thought of him touching you, of him fucking you, sends a shiver down your spine.

How is Jihoon's cock? Could he really fuck you like you've been fantasizing about? The image of him moaning beautifully as he sings, his fingers dancing effortlessly across the strings of his guitar, sends a wave of desire crashing over you.

You squeeze your legs tight together, trying to ignore the pulsing ache between them as you continue towards the party. Each step brings you closer to the possibility of seeing Jihoon again, of finally making your move.

But as you approach the frat house, the thumping bass of the music growing louder with each passing second, you push those thoughts to the back of your mind. Your friend's little black dress that she lent you, hugs your curves in all the right places, a departure from your usual style, but you can't deny that it looks amazing on you.

She had insisted that Jihoon would love it, teasing you about your "Jihonnie" and the potential for a romantic encounter tonight. You couldn't help but laugh at her antics, secretly hoping that she might be right.

But as you glance around the crowded place, your heart sinks a little. Jihoon is nowhere to be seen. You try to push down the disappointment, reminding yourself that there are plenty of other people to talk to and enjoy the party with.

You lean against the bar, swirling your punch in your hand as you chat with your friend. Her eyes suddenly light up, and she says something that makes you furrow your brow in confusion. Glancing over your shoulder, you spot Mingyu walking towards you, with Jihoon by his side.

Jihoon walks with his hands in his pockets, his black shirt hugging his muscular arms perfectly, while his hair falls in his face in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. Your friend takes the hint and excuses herself, leaving you alone with the boys.

Mingyu gives you a sly grin and nudges Jihoon in your direction. "Go on, hyung," he says encouragingly. "You've been wanting to talk to her all day."

Jihoon's cheeks turn a faint shade of red as he leans against the bar with a sheepish smile. "Uh, hey," he says softly, his voice barely audible over the music. "Mind if I join you?"

You feel a rush of excitement as Jihoon starts a conversation, his shy demeanor only adding to his charm. "Of course," you reply with a smile, motioning for him to take a seat next to you.

As the conversation continues to flow between you and Jihoon, you find yourselves laughing and exchanging stories about your time at college. You're pleasantly surprised by how easy it is to talk to him, and before you know it, hours have flown by.

Suddenly, Jihoon pauses mid-sentence, a playful glint in his eyes. "So, I couldn't help but overhear something at lunch today," he says, his voice tinged with amusement.

Your heart skips a beat as you try to recall what you might have said that caught his attention. "Oh? What did you hear?" you ask, feigning innocence as you take a sip of your punch.

Jihoon chuckles softly, a blush creeping onto his cheeks. "Well, it sounded like someone might have been talking about me," he admits, his eyes meeting yours with a shy smile.

You can't help but scoff at his comment, feeling a surge of embarrassment wash over you. "You mean Mingyu mentioning your name out loud?" you reply, trying to play it off coolly.

Jihoon laughs and nods, his smile widening. "Yeah" he says with a nod. "I guess I've been on your friends' minds lately."

You chuckle, feeling a rush of embarrassment wash over you at the thought of Jihoon overhearing your friends teasing you about your crush on him. "Yeah, sorry about that," you say sheepishly, scratching the back of your neck. "My friends can be a little... outspoken."

But Jihoon just shakes his head, a smile playing on his lips. "No need to apologize. It's actually kind of flattering," he says, his gaze meeting yours with warmth. "And to be honest, I've been wanting to talk to you for a while now."

Your heart skips a beat at Jihoon's confession, and you feel a rush of excitement as you muster up the courage to admit your own feelings. "Yeah, I've been wanting it too," you confess, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jihoon's face lights up with a genuine smile, and he leans in closer, his eyes shining with curiosity. "Oh yeah? What have you been wanting to talk to me about?" he asks eagerly.

You feel a pang of panic shoot through you as you realize you hadn't prepared an answer to that question. You stutter for a moment, trying to come up with something to say.

Finally, you blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. "Um, your music project! It sounds awesome," you say, mentally kicking yourself for not being more prepared.

You can tell by the look on his face that he knows there's more to it than just his music project. And as the silence stretches between you, you can't help but feel a sense of unease settle over you.

"I was expecting something else," Jihoon says with a small, teasing smirk, his voice laced with mock disappointment.

A strange tension hangs in the air between you, and you can feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment. You wish you had been more honest with him, you can't help but wonder if this awkward moment has ruined your chance with him. With a heavy sigh, you take a sip of your drink.

You feel the unease settling in, a knot forming in the pit of your stomach as you realize the gravity of the situation. Are you really going to lose this chance? Are you really going to ruin this opportunity?

Hell no.

Your hand clenches around the red cup with more force as you weigh your options. Taking a deep breath, you muster up the courage to speak, determined not to let this moment slip away.

"That's not what I meant," you say, meeting Jihoon's curious gaze with determination.

Jihoon raises an eyebrow in confusion, waiting for you to continue.

"No, I mean, your songs are really awesome," you clarify. "But I have one more thing to say."

You lean in closer, your lips hovering just inches from his ear as you whisper softly, "I've been wanting to do this for a long time."

Before Jihoon can react, you close the gap between you, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. The world fades away as you lose yourself in the heat of the moment, your bodies pressed together in an electrifying embrace.

Jihoon responds eagerly, his hands finding their way to your waist as he pulls you closer, deepening the kiss with a hunger that matches your own. In that moment, there's no awkwardness, no tension, only the undeniable chemistry between you and Jihoon igniting into something fiery and intoxicating.

You break the kiss, your lips still tingling with the remnants of his touch, feeling flushed, satisfied, and breathless. A sweet taste lingers on your palate as you lean against Jihoon's chest, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist.

Jihoon's breath is ragged as he pulls back slightly, his eyes locked on yours with a mixture of desire and adoration. "Let's get out of here," he says softly, his voice husky with emotion. "Before our friends have a heart attack."

You glance over at Mingyu and your friends, who are practically collapsing with shock after witnessing your kiss. Your cheeks flush with embarrassment, but Jihoon's hand intertwining with yours brings you back to the present moment.

You nod in agreement, grateful for his quick thinking, and allow him to lead you away from the crowded room. As you step outside into the cool night air, a sense of freedom washes over you, and you find yourself smiling up at Jihoon.

"Sorry about that," you say, a hint of amusement in your voice as you squeeze his hand. "I didn't mean to cause a scene."

Jihoon just chuckles softly, his thumb stroking the back of your hand as he leans in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. "No need to apologize," he murmurs, his voice warm and reassuring. "I'm just glad I finally got to kiss you."

"You should have kissed me before," you tease, nudging Jihoon playfully as you walk together across the campus, heading towards the dorms.

Jihoon chuckles, his arm wrapping around your waist as he pulls you closer to him. "Oh, really? And risk giving our friends a heart attack sooner?" he replies with a smirk, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

You roll your eyes at his response, but a smile tugs at the corners of your lips. "Fair point," you concede, leaning into his side as you continue to walk. "But you could have at least hinted that you wanted to kiss me earlier."

Jihoon's smile softens, his gaze turning tender as he looks down at you. "Oh, really? And here I was thinking you were the one making all the moves," he says softly, his thumb tracing circles on your hip.

You roll your eyes in mock exasperation, swatting at his arm playfully. "Hey, I can't do all the work," you retort, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "It's about time you stepped up your game."

Jihoon chuckles, leaning in closer to press a soft kiss to your cheek. "Well, consider this me stepping up," he says, his voice low and husky as he pulls back to meet your gaze. "And trust me, I have plenty more where that came from."

As you and Jihoon approach his dorm, the air is charged with anticipation, and you can't help but feel a flutter of excitement in the pit of your stomach. The conversation flows effortlessly between you, filled with laughter and teasing banter as you navigate the familiar paths of the campus.

"So, you're telling me that you're going to make up for lost time?" you ask with a playful smirk, nudging Jihoon's side as you walk.

Jihoon chuckles, his eyes glinting mischievously as he glances over at you. "Oh, you have no idea," he replies, his voice low and husky, sending a shiver down your spine.

As you reach his dorm door, Jihoon suddenly stops in his tracks, turning to face you with a wicked grin. Before you can react, he slams you against the door with a sudden force, his hands grabbing your ass firmly as he leans in to kiss your neck.

A gasp escapes your lips as his lips trail along your skin, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. You can feel his warmth radiating against you, his strong arms holding you tightly as you cling to him, your hands gripping his biceps desperately.

With a sense of urgency, Jihoon grabs the door handle and swings it open, pulling you into his room with him. The moment you step inside, the door closes behind you with a soft click, and you find yourselves enveloped in darkness, save for the faint glow of the moonlight streaming through the window.

Unable to detach your bodies from each other, you stumble forward, your lips locked in a passionate kiss. Jihoon's hands roam freely over your body, igniting sparks of desire with each touch, while your own hands explore the contours of his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles beneath his shirt.

Jihoon's eyes search yours, filled with desire. "Tell me," he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You furrow your brow in confusion for a moment before he repeats himself, his tone more insistent this time. "I want you to tell me, with words."

You feel a thrill run through you at his words, and you hold onto him tighter, your lips still brushing against each other as you melt into his embrace.

For a moment, you're lost in the sensation of being so close to him, your heart pounding in your chest as you try to find the right words to express how you feel.

And then, before you can respond, Jihoon speaks again, his voice teasing and playful. "Come on, Y/n-nie," he says with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I want to hear you say it. Tell me how much you want me."

You can't help but chuckle at his bold request, feeling a rush of heat spread through you at the thought of indulging his playful banter. "Why?" you ask, raising an eyebrow in mock innocence. "Are you planning to use this in your songs?" you ask breathlessly, your voice barely above a whisper as his hands slip under the fabric of your little black dress, hands find their way to your breasts.

Jihoon laughs at your response, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he shakes his head. "Who knows?" he replies with a smirk. "But I think I'd much rather hear it from your lips than write it in a song."

You roll your eyes playfully, a smirk playing on your lips. "Fine," you say, leaning in closer to whisper in his ear. "But you're going to owe me for this."

With a sly grin, you reach down and find the waistband of his pants and underwear, pulling them down in one swift motion. Jihoon gasps in surprise as his pink, big cock springs free, standing shiny and eager in the dim light.

You can't help but let out a low moan at the sight, desire coursing through you as you gaze hungrily at him. "God, I wanted this cock so bad," you whisper, your voice dripping with desire. "I've been dreaming about it for so long."

As Jihoon holds back the urge to roll his eyes at your words, you lean in closer, your breath hot against his skin as you lick a stripe from the base of his cock to the tip. He lets out a low groan, his hands gripping the hem of his shirt as he tries to steady himself against the overwhelming pleasure coursing through him. "Hmm Y/N yes!" 

With a hungry desire, you take his cock into your mouth, filling your cheeks with his hardness as you work him with eager enthusiasm. Jihoon's hands tremble slightly as he holds onto his shirt, his moans growing louder and more desperate with each movement of your mouth.

Feeling your own arousal building with each passing second, you can't help but reach down between your legs, pushing your panties to the side as you slide your fingers into your dripping wet pussy. You can't help but moan around Jihoon's cock as you pleasure yourself.

Jihoon's moans grow even louder at the sound, his hips bucking involuntarily as he struggles to hold back his release. "Fuck, I'm cumming, I'm cumming," he says, head thrown back. With each thrust of your mouth and each stroke of your fingers in your pussy, the tension in the room grows thicker, until finally, with a loud cry, Jihoon reaches his climax, his hot cum spilling into your mouth.

As you swallow eagerly, relishing the taste of Jihoon's release, you feel a surge of ecstasy coursing through you. But before you can fully enjoy the moment, Jihoon's voice cuts through the haze of pleasure, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Stop," he says, his voice hoarse with desire.

You reluctantly remove your hand from between your legs, your fingers still slick with arousal as you look up at Jihoon with glazed eyes. He takes your hand in his, pulling you to your feet and guiding you towards his bed.

Your dress is now bunched up around your waist, the fabric clinging to your skin as Jihoon manages to remove his shirt with trembling hands. You can feel the heat radiating off his body as he presses you gently onto the bed, his hands roaming over your exposed skin.

With a sense of urgency, Jihoon leans down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue dancing with yours as he explores every inch of your mouth. You moan softly into the kiss, the sensation of his lips making you feel rewarded.

As Jihoon's hand finds the fabric of your panties and tugs them down your legs, throwing the piece away, you shiver with anticipation, your arousal pooling between your thighs. His fingers find your sopping wet cunt, and you moan at the slight touch, your body trembling with desire.

With a wicked grin, Jihoon leans in close, his voice low and husky as he begins to dirty talk to you. "You know, Y/n-nie," he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "I saw you all those times you sat in the auditorium, watching me play."

You gasp at his words, the memory of those moments flooding your mind as you feel a surge of heat spreading through you. "I loved knowing you were there, looking at me, wanting me." Jihoon continues, his voice dripping with desire. "I couldn't help but wonder what was passing through your little filthy mind as you watched me." 

"Did you imagine me touching you, pleasing you, making you scream my name?"

His words send a surge of desire rushing through you, and you can feel yourself getting wetter by the second. With a desperate need, you arch your hips towards him, silently begging for more as you lose yourself in the intoxicating heatness of Jihoon's dirty talk.

s Jihoon's fingers sink inside your pussy, you let out a gasp of pleasure, the sensation overwhelming your senses. Your mouth opens to answer him, but all that escapes is a string of expletives as pleasure washes over you.

"Fuck!" you swear, your voice strained with desire as Jihoon's fingers move inside you. The sound of your arousal fills the room, loud and squelching as his fingers slide in and out, your wetness coating his hand with each delicious thrust.

His movements are slow and deliberate, each stroke driving you closer and closer to the edge. You squirm beneath him, your body writhing with pleasure as ragged gasps leave your lips. With each movement of his fingers, you feel yourself spiraling out of control, lost in the intoxicating heat of the moment.

And as Jihoon continues to drive you wild with his fingers, his voice fills the air with a mixture of desire and frustration. "Fuck," he breathes, his words heavy with longing. "Everyone told me to take action, but..."

But what? You find yourself holding your breath, waiting for Jihoon to finish his sentence. But he doesn't say anything else, leaving the words hanging in the air between you, tantalizingly unfinished.

You can feel the tension mounting, the anticipation building as you wait for Jihoon to speak again. But instead of words, he leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "But now that I have you like this, begging for more," Jihoon continues, his voice dripping with lust, "I never want to let you go." 

The admission sends a thrill of excitement coursing through you, knowing that Jihoon has been thinking about this moment just as much as you have. 

As Jihoon pumps his fingers inside you, you grip his forearm tightly, feeling the muscles flex beneath your touch. Your head spins with pleasure, and your stomach flutters with anticipation as he drives you closer and closer to the edge.

Every sensation is overwhelming, from the scent of his cologne to the intensity of his gaze, to the sound of his voice saying all those filthy things that send shivers down your spine. You're lost in a whirlwind of ecstasy, unable to think about anything except the pleasure coursing through your veins.

And then, just when you think you can't take any more, you feel yourself tensing, your pussy throbbing and clenching around Jihoon's fingers. He senses your impending release and curls his fingers inside you, sending you over the edge.

"And I promise," Jihoon murmurs, his lips brushing against your skin, "I'm going to make you feel so good, Y/n-nie. You won't be able to think about anything else but me."

You arch your back, a pornographic moan escaping your lips as you cum around his fingers, your juices coating his hand and forearm in a sticky mess. The intensity of your orgasm is overwhelming, leaving you breathless and trembling in Jihoon's arms.

"You're amazing," Jihoon continues, his voice low and sensual. "The way you moan, the way you tremble beneath my touch... It's driving me wild."

You can't help but blush at his words, feeling a surge of arousal coursing through you at the thought of Jihoon being so captivated by you. His praise is like a drug, intoxicating and addictive, and you find yourself craving more with each passing moment.

"Can I fuck this pretty pussy, hm?" Jihoon asks, his voice low and filled with desire, as he flips your clit with his thumb.

You gasp at the sensation, your breath catching in your throat as pleasure shoots through you. "Yes, please," you whisper, your voice thick with need.

Jihoon chuckles softly, a teasing glint in his eyes as he leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "Are you sure you can handle it?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin.

You whimper at his words, feeling a surge of desire coursing through you. "Yes," you moan, your voice barely a whisper. "I want you to fuck me until I can't take it anymore."

As Jihoon's tip presses against your slit, you quiver with anticipation, feeling the wet folds parting to welcome him inside. His lips meet yours in a searing kiss, his tongue teasing yours as he guides his cock deeper inside you.

You moan into his mouth as he enters you fully, his length stretching you deliciously as he fills you completely. A gasp escapes Jihoon's lips as he sinks into you, the sensation overwhelming both of you with pleasure.

With his cock buried deep inside you, Jihoon opens his mouth in a gasp of ecstasy, his breath hot against your skin. You whimper at the sensation, feeling a surge of desire coursing through you as he bites your chin lightly, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you.

As Jihoon moves inside of you, his hips rolling with a rhythm that drives you wild, you can't help but cling to him desperately, your hands finding purchase on his back as he fills you up so perfectly. The previous orgasm has left you sensitive and achingly aroused, making it easy for him to slide in and out of you with ease.

You look into his eyes, lost in the depths of his gaze, feeling a connection that transcends words. His necklace brushes against your face with each thrust, a reminder of his presence, grounding you in the reality of the moment.

Tears stream down your face, mingling with the pleasure and overwhelming sensation of having him finally inside you. It's not a dream – Jihoon is here, fucking you with a passion that leaves you breathless and shaking.

Your mouth hangs open in a silent cry of ecstasy as you surrender yourself completely to the pleasure, every movement of his hips sending waves of pleasure crashing over you. You hold onto him desperately, your nails digging into his skin as you ride the wave of sensation, knowing that this moment will stay with you forever.

As Jihoon's cock hits your G-spot, you arch your back in ecstasy, the pleasure overwhelming you as you cling to him desperately. He watches your reaction with a smirk, clearly enjoying the effect he's having on you.

But then, a sob escapes your lips, the intensity of the sensation bringing tears to your eyes. Jihoon hears your sob and responds by thrusting in the same way, driving you even closer to the edge of pleasure.

You sob even louder at the sensation, the pleasure so intense that it's almost unbearable. But Jihoon is there for you, cooing softly as he continues to move inside you, his touch bringing you both pleasure and comfort.

You call out his name, your words babbling as you try to express just how good it feels. "Jihoon, it's too good," you whimper, your voice thick with desire. "Too good..."

"Shh, it's okay," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your skin as he holds you close. "I've got you, Y/n-nie. Just let go and feel it."

As Jihoon turns you around and pushes your head onto the pillow, you let out a scream of pleasure, the intensity of his thrusts overwhelming your senses. With each movement of his hips, you feel yourself weakening, surrendering completely to the pleasure coursing through you.

Jihoon's thrusts are intense, his cock driving deep inside you with a ferocity that leaves you breathless. His hands tremble as he grabs onto you wherever he can, his moans mingling with yours.

And then, just when you think you can't take any more, you feel it – the tightening in your stomach, the trembling of your muscles as your pussy walls hug Jihoon's cock tight. He spasms with pleasure everytime you clench around him. 

As you feel the wave of pleasure building inside you, you grip the sheets and pillows tight, your body convulsing with the intensity of the sensation. Jihoon continues to thrust into you with the same relentless rhythm, driving you to the brink of ecstasy with each movement of his hips.

And then, it happens – you cum on his cock, your entire body trembling with the force of your release. A long, exasperated cry escapes your lips as you convulse around him, your pussy gushing with wetness as you ride the waves of pleasure.

Jihoon watches you in awe, his own desire reaching a fever pitch as he sees you spasming and creaming around his cock. He holds himself back with every ounce of willpower he has, determined to wait until you're fully satisfied before allowing himself to succumb to his own release.

But as he feels you tightening around him, the sensation driving him to the edge of control, he knows that he won't be able to hold out much longer. With a guttural groan, he lets go, his own climax crashing over him in a tidal wave.

As Jihoon rides out his climax, his cum mixing with yours as it drips from your pussy, the sound of the messy aftermath echoing around the room. You both collapse onto the bed, spent and breathless, the intensity of your orgasms still coursing through your veins.

The room is filled with the scent of sex and sweat, a tangible reminder of the passion that has consumed you both. But as you lie there together, wrapped in each other's arms, you feel a sense of contentment wash over you.

As Jihoon plays with your hair, breaking the comfortable silence that has settled between you, he asks softly, "Are you going to continue watching me play in the auditorium?"

You smile up at him, your heart fluttering at the thought of seeing him perform again. "Of course," you reply without hesitation. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Jihoon's eyes light up with a hint of mischief as he leans in closer, his breath warm against your skin. "Good," he says, his voice filled with determination. "But this time, I want you to be in the front row, not on the last chairs."

You can't help but blush at his words, feeling a surge of excitement at the thought of being so close to him while he performs. "I'd love that," you murmur, your heart pounding in anticipation.

[lvrsturniolo]

Addicted -c.s

part of my dealer!chris x angel!reader au

content warning; smut. unprotected p in v. high sex. overstimulation(f & m receiving). pussydrunk!chris. praise. light choking. BODY WORSHIPPP. yearning!chris tbh. obsession w reader on the low.

synopsis; it’s all yearning tbh !

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws <3

Chris felt needy for you a lot.

But when he was high? He was wrecked by the need.

Some random movie played quietly in the background, but his focus hadn’t left you in over twenty minutes. Not since the joint passed between your lips, your gloss smeared against the filter, your eyes glassy and soft from the haze.

You were in his hoodie. No bra. Shorts barely covering anything. One thigh draped over his lap.

And it was killing him.

“C’mere,” he said, voice hoarse, pulling you into his lap like he didn’t have a choice.

You giggled, straddling him easily. “What?”

Chris just shook his head like he couldn’t believe you were real. “You have no fuckin’ idea what y’doin to me, Angel. S’like my brain shuts off when you’re around.”

You giggled, kissing him before he could say more, and that’s all it took.

His hands were everywhere. Under your hoodie, gripping your thighs, cradling the back of your head like he was scared you’d disappear. He laid you down on his bed and peeled everything off your body like it was a ritual, a process he needed to feel.

“God, look at you.” He stared like he was high on your skin. “You’re my favorite fuckin’ thing on this planet.”

And when he got between your thighs? He was gone.

Chris made out with your pussy like it was the only thing keeping him alive — desperate, deep licks, hands gripping your thighs so hard you knew there’d be bruises. He moaned against you, tongue messy, nose bumping your clit just enough to push you over the edge fast.

Your orgasm hit hard — your thighs trembling, your back arching, but Chris didn’t stop.

You squirmed, overstimulated. “Chris—too much—”

“Not yet.” His voice was cracked and breathless, but he sounded needy, feral. “I need more. Gimme another, baby, please. One more. Wanna taste you fall apart again. Need it.”

He dragged a second orgasm out of you, licking until your whole body tensed under him, until you gasped his name and came again — harder than the first. Your thighs clenched around his head, but he didn’t care.

When he finally pulled away, lips wet, eyes wild, he crawled up your body and kissed you so deep you tasted yourself on his tongue.

Then he was inside you.

The stretch was overwhelming, perfect, like you were built to fit him. Chris moaned into your mouth the second he bottomed out.

“Jesus fuck,” he groaned. “You’re so wet—so fuckin’ tight—squeezin’ me like that.”

He started slow, hips grinding into you like he was trying to imprint his name inside your body. His forehead pressed to yours, and his voice broke as he whimpered softly, whispering a small, “m’never gonna get enough of this.”

His thrusts got rougher. Needier. Every grind of his hips pushed your body higher, and you felt him everywhere — the way he filled you, the way he kissed you, the way his hand wrapped lightly around your throat just to feel your pulse under his thumb.

“You feel that?” he breathed. “Fuckin’ you so good you’re shaking? Hm?”

You were—again. You barely had time to recover, and now he was chasing another orgasm, rubbing your clit with tight, practiced circles that had you screaming through the third.

“C-Chris..fuck—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” He kissed the corner of your mouth, eyes pleading. “Give it to me, baby. I need to feel you fall apart. Want you dripping for me.”

You came again, choking on a sob, your nails digging into his back — and that is what undid him.

He buried himself deep, groaning your name, pumping you full with his release—but he didn’t stop thrusting.

You blinked up at him, dazed. “Wait—Chris—?”

“Just one more,” he panted, needy. Absolutely drunk off the feeling of you. “Please- fuck—just let me feel you one more time.”

He’d never done this before. He was still hard. Still fucking you. His cum leaking out of you, mixing with how soaked you already were. He was overstimulating himself now — you could see it in the way his face twisted, in the breathless gasps falling from his lips.

“Pussy’s so good, Angel,” he whimpered. “So fuckin’ good I can’t stop— I can’t stop.”

You were already half gone, and still he kept going — hips faltering, stomach flexing, veins in his neck standing out as he gasped for breath and chased a second orgasm.

You locked your legs around him and whispered, “P-please cum in me again.”

He did.

His second orgasm hit harder — a broken sound tearing from his throat as he emptied himself inside you again, shaking, trembling, burying his face in your neck like he was unraveling.

Then, silence. Heavy breathing. Sweat. His heartbeat against yours.

Chris didn’t move right away — he just held you tighter, still buried inside you, bodies locked together like you were the only thing anchoring him.

When he finally spoke, his voice was so soft you barely caught it.

“You ruin me. Makin me fuckin weak, angel.” He mumbles, still out of breath.

You smiled against his skin. “Good.”

He kissed your cheek, your jaw, your shoulder. His body still twitching from aftershocks, but he didn’t care. “I’d stay in you forever if I could. So perfect f’me.”

mel speaks; this is lowkey shitty but I love them 😛

[sturniololuvz]

daisy having a tantrum in public?

🍼teendad!chris

Walmart was already too bright, too crowded, too loud. Chris didn’t even want to be there — but Nick had asked, and Matt said it wouldn’t take long. So Chris had hauled Daisy out the door, already cranky, blanket forgotten on the couch, and a bottle only half full.

She started whining in the car. And she didn’t stop.

By the time they were halfway through the snack aisle, Daisy was full-on crying on Chris’s hip — not tantrum-style, but that slow, loud, miserable toddler cry that just spirals. Her face was blotchy, nose running, little fists pushing against Chris’s chest as she whined nonsense through her tears.

“I don’t wanna be here anymore,” she mumbled, breath hiccuping.

Chris bounced her automatically, trying to keep his voice low. “I know, but we’re almost done. Just a few more minutes.”

“No!” she screeched, smacking her hand against his collarbone. “Down!”

Chris started to crouch, but the second her feet touched the floor, Daisy arched her back and cried louder. “Upppp!”

Matt watched from the cart, quiet as usual, his eyes flicking between Daisy and Chris. “She’s overtired,” he muttered.

“No shit,” Chris snapped, rubbing his forehead. His arms were shaking from holding her for so long. “She’s been like this all damn day.”

“Need help?” Nick asked, but his tone wasn’t super serious — more like he was asking because he felt like he had to.

“No,” Chris said through clenched teeth, hoisting Daisy back up, but she started kicking immediately. “Daisy, stop!”

She was full-on crying now, face red, hands shoving at his chest, eyes squinting shut. And she would not stop squirming. She didn’t want up, she didn’t want down, she didn’t want water, and now she was yelling about her blanket again — the one they didn’t bring.

“Daisy, that’s enough!” Chris barked suddenly, his voice sharp and way too loud for the aisle. “Stop hitting me. Stop screaming. I’m done, Daisy. I’m done!”

She froze for a second — that little inhale toddlers do before the real cry starts — and then burst into a wail. But this time, it wasn’t frustrated or bratty. It was sad. She twisted in his arms and reached out her hands past him, sobbing through broken breaths: “Matttttyyyy!”

Matt’s eyes widened slightly, stepping forward. “Hey, hey,” he said gently, reaching out. “Come here, bug.”

Chris handed her over without a word — not because he wanted to, but because he couldn’t handle another second of her sobs in his ear. The second Matt took her, Daisy clung to him, her cries quieter but still steady, her face hidden in his shoulder.

“Dude,” Nick said under his breath, pulling Chris aside near the frozen foods. “You gotta calm down. She’s two.”

Chris ran a hand over his face, heart still racing. “I know, Nick. I know. But I haven’t slept, I’ve been holding her for an hour, and she’s been screaming in my face since breakfast.”

Matt rocked Daisy gently in the background, whispering to her while she curled into his hoodie.

“I’m not mad at you,” Nick said, softer now. “I’m just saying — she’s not trying to ruin your life, bro. She just doesn’t know how to say she’s tired.”

Chris leaned against the freezer door, eyes shutting for a second. His chest felt heavy, throat tight.

“I didn’t mean to yell like that,” he said quietly. “I just… lost it for a second.”

Nick patted his back. “It happens, man. We’ll finish fast. You go sit with her in the car.”

Chris nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. Okay.”

He looked back at Matt — still holding Daisy, still calm — and his heart kind of ached. He wasn’t a bad dad. He was also just tired.

⸻

taglist: @sturniolo-szn2 @fadedstvrn @tezzzzzzzz @stayingstromboli @ivysturnss @sturniolofreakk @ihateemetoo @sturniolo-tease @sturniololuv3r @sturnsclam @nxvasturns @csturniolo43 @mattspillowprincess @sturniolo-fann @izzylovesmatt @sturniolosymphony @bernardmatthews @bugs-tags @emely9274 @arianna1342 @stevielovesmatt @riggysworld @ph3ebssturniolo @whore4chris @amelia4chris @pizzapocketpocketpizza @strxn-2 @xxxxxxlovesstuff @whump-loverz @sarahsturnn @urloveanaa @k-pevensie28 @chrissturniolobendmeovernow @chriss-slutt @lenus1aa @kitty-meow-meow44 @sturnslux3 @blahbel668 @kingofeverythingmb @kenah-sturniolo

[hazelira]

always yours, hana

♡ ~ ♡ ~ ♡ ~ ♡

The quiet hum of the baby monitor buzzed like background static in the soft glow of the nightlight. The new nursery—still half—finished—smelled faintly of wood polish and laundry detergent. You stood there momentarily, hand on the gentle curve of your belly, wondering if Hana would ever love this room like she loved her own.

Down the hall, muffled sniffles crept through the half-closed door of Hana’s room.

Ni-ki was already there when you padded down the hall. His tall frame sat awkwardly at the edge of her tiny bed, his hands rubbing slow circles on Hana’s back as her little body trembled beneath the covers.

“She won’t talk to me,” he whispered, eyes lifting to meet yours.

You nodded. You’d noticed it too, these last few weeks—her once never-ending stream of questions had quieted, replaced by long silences and downcast glances. Her favourite purple headband had been abandoned, and her drawings were suddenly full of heavy rain clouds instead of sunshine and stars.

“I think… I know what this is,” you murmured.

Ni-ki's eyes searched yours for a beat before realization flickered there—sharp and painful.

“She thinks I’m going to forget her,” he said quietly. “Because of the baby.”

Silence passed, and Hana’s small voice trembled from under the covers.

“You are.”

Ni-ki froze like the words knocked the breath out of him.

“Hana,” you said gently, stepping forward.

The blanket rustled as her little face peeked out, cheeks damp and eyes red-rimmed. “You’re always talking to the baby now. Mama gets tired a lot. Dada reads baby books. You forgot to say goodnight to Mr. Foxy yesterday…”

Ni-ki sank fully onto the floor beside her bed, heart crumbling. “Oh, Hana bean…” His voice cracked.

“I’m still here, Dada,” she whispered, voice so small. “But I feel like I’m…going away.”

Tears gathered in your own eyes, but Ni-ki shook his head, reaching to brush her hair back, his fingers trembling.

“You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart. You’re my first. My baby girl,” he said, his voice thick. “You made me a dad, remember? There’s nothing—nothing—in the whole world that could take you away from me.”

She sniffled. “But the baby…”

Ni-ki reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out something small—her old purple hair tie with the fraying stars.

“I keep this with me every day,” he said softly. “Because every day I miss you when I’m away. Every day, I look at this and think about how lucky I am that you picked me to be your Dada.”

Hana stared at the hair tie, eyes wide.

“The baby’s not here to replace you,” you added, kneeling beside Ni-ki. “They’re coming because of you. Because we love being your mom and dad, we thought we could share that love with one more little person.”

Ni-ki smiled, brushing tears from her cheeks. “But I’ll always love you first. In every version of this life, you’re the first person I ever loved this way.”

Hana blinked, eyes slowly clearing. “Even if the baby cries a lot?”

“I’ll still love you.”

“Even if I draw clouds instead of suns?”

“I’ll hang them on the fridge anyway.”

A tiny smile broke through her stormy face. “Even if I get jealous sometimes?”

Ni-ki leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Especially then.”

She finally reached out, climbing into his lap with a hiccupping sob, arms around his neck. “I don’t wanna go away.”

“You don’t have to,” he whispered, pulling her close. “You never will.”

You watched them quietly, hand resting over the life inside you, your heart full of both ache and awe.

Later, when Hana had drifted to sleep against his chest, Ni-ki glanced at you over the moonlight spilling through the window.

“She’s still my whole heart,” he murmured.

You smiled. “Now your heart just gets to grow.”

requested by @yejisuu

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