#Don't hesitate to come to me for anything

[rinokami]

I get what you're saying, and I mostly agree with it, but I don't think "hopeless" is quite the word for it, and is probably at least partially why Tolkien axed the Noldorian titles. As you mentioned, Tolkien had two different concepts of "hope": estel and amdir.

Amdir is practical hope. It's saying, "ok, we do this, that, and the other thing and we'll probably be ok." It's the strategizing, action-oriented, mindset that most modern folk would think of when they hear "hope". Boromir was very much a man of amdir. Amdir is why he was a good general, why he jumped to plow snow with nothing but his arms on Caradhras with Aragorn so they could all make it back down the mountain. Amdir is good, but it is also fallible.

Estel is... not that. Estel is what Tolkien called "high hope", the enduring hope that the world will turn out right in the end, regardless of what that means for you personally. Estel is saying "I will do what should be done, what must be done, even if it kills me." I guess the closest word would be "faith", but I hesitate to call it that, given the extremely religious connotations that word can have, and, as devout as Tolkien was, he didn't really use estel quite like that. Estel was not a thing that required belief in, or even knowledge of, Ilúvatar or anything like that.

Frodo and Sam are running on pure estel by the end of RotK. Well, everyone left of the broken Fellowship is by that point, tbh. So you could say that their hope for their own personal selves was gone out the window by that point but that's not quite the same thing as being hopeless.

Sam even has a moment after ditching his pots of his own estel and fallen amdir arguing with each other:

He could not sleep and he held a debate with himself. ‘Well, come now, we’ve done better than you hoped,’ he said sturdily. ‘Began well anyway. I reckon we crossed half the distance before we stopped. One more day will do it.’ And then he paused.

‘Don’t be a fool, Sam Gamgee,’ came an answer in his own voice. ‘He won’t go another day like that, if he moves at all. And you can’t go on much longer giving him all the water and most of the food.’

‘I can go on a good way though, and I will.’

‘Where to?’

‘To the Mountain, of course.’

‘But what then, Sam Gamgee, what then? When you get there, what are you going to do? He won’t be able to do anything for himself.’

To his dismay Sam realized that he had not got an answer to this. He had no clear idea at all. Frodo had not spoken much to him of his errand, and Sam only knew vaguely that the Ring had somehow to be put into the fire. ‘The Cracks of Doom,’ he muttered, the old name rising to his mind. ‘Well, if Master knows how to find them, I don’t.’

‘There you are!’ came the answer. ‘It’s all quite useless. He said so himself. You are the fool, going on hoping and toiling. You could have lain down and gone to sleep together days ago, if you hadn’t been so dogged. But you’ll die just the same, or worse. You might just as well lie down now and give it up. You’ll never get to the top anyway.’

‘I’ll get there, if I leave everything but my bones behind,’ said Sam. ‘And I’ll carry Mr. Frodo up myself, if it breaks my back and heart. So stop arguing!’

People often say LOTR is a story about hope. (I'm reminded of it because someone said it in the notes of my Faramir post.) And that's true, but it's not the whole picture: LOTR is in large part a story about having to go on in the absence of hope.

Frodo has lost hope, as well as the ability to access any positive emotion, by Return. He is already losing it in Towers: he keeps going through duty and determination and of course Sam's constant help.

For most of the story, Sam is fueled by hope, which is why it's such a huge moment when he finally lets go of the hope of surviving and returning home, and focuses on making it to the Mountain. To speed their way and lighten the load, he throws his beloved pots and pans into a pit, accepting that he will never cook, or eat, again.

When Eowyn kills the Witch King, she's beyond hope and seeking for a glorious death in battle. It's possible that in addition to her love and loyalty for Théoden, she's strengthened by her hopelessness, the fear of the Nazgúl cannot touch someone who's already past despair.

Faramir is his father's son, he doesn't have any more hope of Gondor's victory or survival than Denethor does, he says as much to Frodo. What hope have we? It is long since we had any hope. ... We are a failing people, a springless autumn. He knows he's fighting a losing war and it's killing him. When he rejects the ring, he doesn't do it in the hope that his people can survive without it, he has good reason to believe they cannot. He acts correctly in the absence of hope.

Of course LOTR has a (mostly) happy ending, all the unlikely hopes come true, the characters who have lost hope gain what they didn't even hope for, and everyone is rewarded for their bravery and goodness, so on some level the message is that hope was justified. But the book never chastises characters who lost hope, it was completely reasonable of them to do so. Despair pushed Théoden and Denethor into inaction, pushed Saruman into collaboration, but the characters who despaired and held up under the weight of despair are Tolkien's real heroes.

(In an early draft of Return, Frodo and Sam receive honorary titles in Noldorin: Endurance beyond Hope and Hope Unquenchable, respectively. Then he cut it, probably because it was stating the themes of the entire book way too obviously, because this is what Tolkien cared about, really: enduring beyond hope. Without hope.)

Also, people who know more than me about the concept of estel, feel free to @ me.

[lyn31]

Game on

Summary:

You asked for this. You wanted Zayne to push you past your limits, to use his Evol to make you feel everything—heat, cold, pleasure, pain. And as his icy touch clashes against your burning need, leaving you trembling and breathless, you realize just how dangerous that request was. He’s patient. Too patient. Keeping you teetering on the edge, never letting you fall—until you beg. Well, they do say a student always surpasses their teacher. You really should’ve seen this coming…

Ao3 link

Note:

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader

CW: Oral sex, Evol/ice play and a lot of teasing

As expected I got carried away again.... Another prompt from @chryssikyu

I was gonna make it short and sweet! Just yk MC coming and squishing Zayne's head with her thigh as the prompt says but then I was like "Here me out, Evol play" so yeah.....

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You lean back against the sofa, sweat dampening your skin, fingers gripping the pillow beside you. Your breath comes in shallow gasps, your body burning—until a sudden, glacial bloom between your legs shocks you upright.

The chill spreads deep, numbing yet electric, clashing against the molten heat pooling inside you. Your muscles clench, helpless against the contrast—searing and freezing, unbearable and irresistible.

A whimper escapes as you clutch the pillow to your chest, desperate for something—anything—to anchor you against the exquisite torment of cold and pleasure.

"Don't cover yourself."

The pillow is ripped from your grasp before you can react. A startled gasp escapes as the exposure sharpens the cold. You tremble—not just from pleasure but from the frost still licking at your insides.

Dazed, you look down, lips parted. “Don’t talk when your mouth is on me,” you manage breathlessly.

He lifts a brow, amused, but doesn’t stop—his tongue moves in slow, deliberate strokes, each flick sending another wave of sensation through you. His grip tightens on your thighs, spreading you wider—leaving you bare, utterly at his mercy.

“Zayne—” His name breaks from your lips in a choked cry as his cool, wet tongue plunges into you again. The contrast is intoxicating—each stroke blurs the line between pleasure and pain, pulling you deeper into a dizzying haze. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging, making a mess of the strands.

He hums against you, the vibration sending another shiver up your spine. “Please what?”

His tone is maddeningly casual, teasing, in stark contrast to the dark intent in his eyes. You asked him to use his Evol on you tonight, to push you further—but now, you can’t tell if you’re melting or freezing. Every stroke is a fresh contradiction, dragging you closer to the edge.

“You know what it is,” you gasp, pushing against his head, the ache between your legs sharpening into an unbearable need.

He chuckles, dark and amused. His cold breath ghosts over your sensitive skin, making you shudder. “Do I?”

Frustrated, you yank him up and crush your lips to his—not in protest, but in need. The taste of yourself on his tongue is intoxicating, like the sharp bite of winter. Your hands grip his neck, pulling him close, craving warmth, craving something solid to ground you against the frigid, euphoric haze he’s drowning you in.

His hands skim your hips, fingers pressing into your skin in slow, teasing circles—still ice-cold, still tormenting. You roll against him, desperate for friction, feeling his hard erection so close to your core. But it’s not enough. His grip tightens, controlling the pace even as you try to chase relief.

He trails kisses along your jaw, lips branding your skin with cold fire. “Can’t wait that long?”

“Ugh, you’re killing me! Please, I thought this was my gift,” you whine, gasping as his fingers pinch your nipple just enough to make you arch.

Zayne pulls back slightly, brow furrowing. His fingers hesitate, grip easing as if searching your expression. “You’re not enjoying it?”

His hesitation is brief, but you feel it like a loss, like warmth slipping away too soon. The chill of his touch fades slightly—his ability wavering as doubt creeps in.

Your breath catches—you can’t let him stop.

“I… I am,” you pant, rolling your hips, pressing into him. A gasp rips from your throat as his fingers brush over your swollen bud, the ice against your heat making you dizzy.

Your eyes flutter shut, but you force them open, locking onto his face. “But it’s been, what? An hour? I want to come. Please.”

Zayne glances at the digital clock on the end table, confirming your words.

You take advantage of the distraction. Your hand slips between his legs, fingers wrapping around his length. Just as you squeeze, his hand clamps around your wrist—his grip like iron. The cold surges back, sharper than before, like he’s reminding you exactly who’s in control.

He lifts your hand to his lips, kisses your palm, his breath cool against your skin. His gaze burns with hunger.

“This is your gift, remember?”

You groan. Stupid gift. Stupid boyfriend. Teaching him anything is a double-edged sword—once he learns, he perfects it, and you always end up paying the price.

His lips curve slightly, amused, as he pulls you in and steals your breath with another kiss.

Both hands slide down to your thighs, spreading them apart once more. The chill of his fingertips burns in the best way, making you shudder as his thumb presses against your sensitive bud. Your grip on his shoulders tightens.

His lips trail lower—your jaw, your collarbone. He lingers at your chest, biting and sucking, leaving tingling marks before moving downward. He doesn’t stop until he’s back where he started, kneeling before you, his tongue moving in slow, savoring strokes.

Your body trembles, nerves frayed from the push and pull of sensation. The cold was once a shock—now, it’s a slow, calculated torment.

Zayne is patient. Too patient. His mouth moves in lazy strokes, sometimes firm, sometimes featherlight—never enough, always keeping you teetering on the edge. Every time you start to climb higher, he pulls back, leaving you gasping, twitching, desperate.

“Still with me?” His voice is maddeningly casual, the cool press of his fingers idly tracing your inner thigh. The touch is light, almost ticklish, but the moment you try to push forward—chase more—he tightens his grip, pinning you down.

Frustration flares in your chest. “Zayne—”

A sharp breath cuts you off as his fingers slide lower, barely brushing over your aching bud. The touch is infuriatingly soft, just enough to spark pleasure but not enough to satisfy.

A groan bubbles up from your throat. “You’re—”

Whatever insult you were about to hurl dies as his fingers press harder, rubbing slow, devastating circles. The sensation is different now—more insistent, more deliberate. And just when you think he’s relenting, giving in, a fresh wave of ice blooms at his touch, sending a violent shudder through you.

You jerk against him with a strangled whimper. The cold is so sudden, so piercing, it borders on pain. It spreads deep, numbing yet electrifying, and just when you think you can’t take it—he stops.

A frustrated sob rips from your throat.

He hums, amused. “Too much?”

You glare down at him, panting, nails biting into the couch. “Too much teasing.”

His lips curve slightly. “You asked me to push you, didn’t you?”

“Not like this!” You try to wriggle free, but his grip is unrelenting.

A dark chuckle rumbles against your skin. “You’re the one who said you could last.”

Then his mouth is on you again, and this time, the cold isn’t gradual—it’s a plunge into ice, shocking and unbearable. You convulse, thighs shaking violently. It’s not just contrast anymore—it’s cruel, exquisite torment.

And then—warmth.

Not from him. From you. The slow throb of your own heat fighting back, melting into him, turning every touch into a battle of sensation. He alternates between extremes, dragging you to the brink, pulling you back, making you feel every second of this agonizing, intoxicating denial.

You don’t know how long it’s been anymore. Your body is hypersensitive, trembling, aching. The temperature war is driving you insane.

Then his fingers press against you again, slow but firm. No teasing this time. No hesitation.

A strangled cry rips from your lips as pleasure slams into you, biting cold, searing heat, too much and never enough.

And when you finally break, it’s violent, shattering—you barely register the way your thighs clamp around his head until he groans against you, voice muffled.

You barely manage a breathless, dazed whisper. “You deserved it.”

He chuckles against your skin, presses an icy kiss to your thigh. “Then maybe you should do it again.”

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Note:

Yeahh... I don't think I'm capable of writing a short story now 😭, I keep telling myself below 1k below 1k, nope, impossible, anyway! This actually turns into a 3 chapter story..... I know! That's how much I got carried away.... Either way, the rest are on AO3!

[anakinstwinklebunny]

☆.・゜𝐀 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍, 𝐀 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃, 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 ☆.・゜

PAIRING: sweetheart!anakin x f!reader

FLUFF ❦

ANAKIN SKYWALKER doesn’t even hesitate. The moment he sees how exhausted you are, how your body trembles from the exhaustion of bringing not only one human being, but two, into the world, he’s already making decisions imaginable. The doctors left the room minutes ago, giving too much space for your too-excited families that buzzed like bees around, when you—his love, his everything—was barely able to keep your eyes open.

"Out." His voice firm, leaving no room for any stupid, possible to happen argument.

At first, everyone thinks he’s joking. Even our mom chuckled, but then she was met with the sign of the clench of his jaw and the sharp, protective glint in those blue eyes of his.

"Anakin—" your sister, you think, began

"I said out." He was already moving towards your bed, one hand braced on the railing as he looked down at you, only you. "She needs rest. She needs peace. We’re not doing this right now. Come later when you're needed"

His mother was the first to leave the room, after murmuring how proud she is of us but the others only huffed, some had hands on their hips, clearly not understanding the psychical and emotional tool it takes to push an entire human beings out of your own body..by your own strength.. So one by one, people shuffled out and as soon as the door clicks shut, the tension in your shoulders melts away.

"Thank you," you whispered, voice hoarse, to which he softened immediately.

"Always, sweetheart."

He crouched beside your bed, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your temple. Large hand that once held yours as you were trying to give birth, now brushed against your damp forehead, tucking loose strands of hair behind your ear. In his eyes, you looked so small in the hospital bed, just so fragile in a way that broke him apart.

"Do you need anything? Water? Ice? A damn castle to recover in?" His voice teasing, but his eyes stayed serious.

"Just you," you murmured, too exhausted to even fight off the overwhelming love you feel for him.

Breath caught in his throat, and before he could say anything, you shifted, wincing slightly at the sharp pain shooting through your body. He noticed in an instant. "Hey, angel—slow. Let me help."

The nurse had said you should try to take a few steps soon, but your legs felt nothing but like jelly right now. The second you try to sit up, Anakin’s already got you. Strong arm winded around your waist, steadily holding you up as if you weighed nothing at all.

"You’re okay," he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Lean on me, baby. I’ve got you."

Each step is slow, so careful, yet so weird and even painful while he watched you like a hawk, guiding you towards the bathroom. The moment you sat down, though, you panic.

The blood. There’s so much of it. You knew this would happen, the doctors warned you, but seeing it—feeling it pour out of you—made your heart race, head spin

"Ani—"

"I know, sweetheart." He’s already kneeling in front of you, hands bracing on your thighs, rubbing soothing circles into your sore as heck and too stretched skin. His voice is so soft, so tender. "I read about this, baby. It’s normal, I promise. You’re okay. I’ve got you. If anything bad happens, doctors are one call away, yeah? So don't worry anymore, just let me at least take care of you now"

Tears stung your eyes at that. Gosh, how did you got so lucky to have such man? What did you do to deserve him? With that, he just kissed you—your knee, your wrist, anywhere he could reach at the moment. "You are so fucking strong," he murmured, voice in awe.

And then, without a second thought, he reached for the postpartum diaper, handling it like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

"Step in for me, angel."

"Ani, I—"

"Shh. It's alright, no worries, remember? All you gotta do is let me take care of you" he repeated

And you do. Because you trust him. Because you love him. Because his hands—so steady, so gentle—make you feel safe. Feel actually loved, cherished in a way none ever did.

He made sure the pad is in place, pulling it up carefully before pressing another kiss to your forehead. "Perfect."

By the time he tucked you back into bed, you’re already half-asleep. His arms wrapped so tenderly, so gently around you, holding you against his chest.

"You’re incredible, sweetheart." His lips brushed against your hair. "I love you so much. So, so much."

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @babybell-cheese @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @ysrjune @anakinskwkler @bimbo-baggins17-deactivated2025 @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne @anakinca @rubiesarepretty @luluartpop @cloverina @nikiloveshayden

[ivyyisbored22]

𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐞—𝘑𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯 𝘹 (𝘧𝘦𝘮) 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

A Stray Kids one shot

Synopsis: They are technically yours. But he owns them.

Warnings: Tiddie obsessed Jeongin. No plot, just Smut🔞. Sucking, fingering, pet names, touchy and kinda whiney Innie. Hand kink(???)

Minors do not interact!!!

Note: I'm on a writing rampage right now, did I just post like 4 one shots in a row?!

If this isn't your thing, you're more than welcome to skip it. Reblogs, likes, comments and feedbacks are always appreciated.

ɪ'ᴠᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴏꜰ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ɪᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪʟʟɪᴏɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ʙᴜᴛ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴘᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪꜱᴛᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴇʀᴇ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ.

Word count: 1.5k

𝑬𝑵𝑱𝑶𝒀!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Jeongin is the sweetest gentleman, the walking green forest, the best boyfriend when he’s with you.

Surprises you with the cutest dates, refuses to let go of your hand when walking through the aisles in the grocery store, snakes his arm around your waist and pulls you close to him, literally wanting to merge you into his soul. He’s just that devastatingly in love with you.

And this is the same gentleman, lover boy Jeongin who is obsessed with your boobs. And not just obsessed. He possesses your tits. 

The way his face brightens like a thousand suns when he catches you not wearing a bra, has him giggling, if he could deadass replace that piece of clothing with his hands, he would do it without hesitation.

But during some mornings—like today—you have to physically push him away from your chest so that you can get ready for work which only has him sulking the entire day.

He'll act like it's the end of the world, as if the universe is being cruel to no one but him, refusing to do anything, be an emotionless robot at the studio that half pisses Chan off. 

And once you come back, does he greet you with a hello? Hey baby, how was your day? No.

“Get here before I rip that top off.” His eyes burned, hungrily. Arms were crossed as he sat on the couch, waiting for you to get back home. 

“Well hello to you too,” You said, kicking your shoes off and hanging your jacket. Sometimes you wondered if he dated you for you or your boobs but deep down you could feel a blooming sense of pride how Jeongin basically survives just because of your pretty mounds.

"Don't start," he warned, his foot tapping against the floor like he was holding himself back from pouncing on you.

"Innie, you behave like you haven't seen them in years," you teased, crossing your arms under your chest just to test him. His jaw clenched, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his eyes dropped straight to where you wanted them.

A low growl rumbled in his throat before he was up on his feet, closing the space between you in two quick strides. His hands found your waist, firm but gentle, tugging you closer until you had no choice but to tip your head back to meet his gaze.

He scoffed, shaking his head before he pulled the neckline of your top enough to get a peek. His eyes darkened as he hummed in approval.

You smacked his hands away. "At least let me change first!"

He arched a brow. "Change into what?" He looked like you had just insulted him in the face.

His pout was almost convincing, but you knew better. He was the same guy who’d whined dramatically when you wore a turtleneck last week, claiming it was "the worst betrayal known to mankind" because he "couldn’t even get a glimpse" the whole day.

A strong hand cupped your right breast over your top, a dimpled grin deepening on his cheek. “I'm reclaiming what’s mine."

“Huh, excuse you!” You swatted his hand away again playfully and he lost it. 

Jeongin let out a frustrated groan, his fingers flexing at his sides as if he was physically restraining himself from grabbing you again. His jaw clenched, and that all-too-familiar spark of mischief flickered in his dark eyes.

"Come on, baby," he whined, begging you, dragging his hands down his face. "I've been deprived. Starved. Look at me."

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest just to taunt him. "Oh, please. You're acting like you haven't had your hands on me all week."

Jeongin tilted his head back, literally one second away from throwing a tantrum. "Yeah, but that was all in moderation. I need full access, no limitations."

You narrowed your eyes at him and he whined again shamelessly. “Please pleaseeee baby,” he cupped your breast again and you didn’t swat him away this time. “I need it…please...” 

Dear god how can you say no to that voice and those eyes? Big, pleading, glimmering with just enough desperation to make your stomach twist in the most delicious way. That whine in his voice, the way he squeezed your breast in his palm like he’d die without it, had you sighing in mock defeat.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, but your fingers threaded into his hair, nails grazing his scalp.

Jeongin grinned, a triumphant smug, before his lips brushed your jawline, pressing slow, teasing kisses down your neck. His hand flexed over your breast, massaging, thumb flicking lazily over the clothed peak.

Then he was suddenly gripping the back of your thighs, lifting you effortlessly, walking into your shared bedroom and tossed you onto the mattress. A surprised squeal left your lips as you landed, but he was already hovering over you, caging you in with his arms on either side of your head.

“Mmm, I missed these,” he murmured, nosing along your collarbone before nipping at your skin. “Missed you.”

Your breath hitched, heat curling low in your stomach. “Jeongin—”

“I know, baby,” he cooed, voice dripping with that lazy sympathy as he sucked a mark right where your shoulder met your neck. His free hand slid down, touching the hem of your top and pushed it up, before you knew he had removed it and your pink bra had found a new home on the floor. 

His brain short circuited when his eyes landed on your pretty tits, his huge hands, long fingers closed over the soft flesh, his thumbs flicking over the now hard, sensitive peaks, before the tip of his tongue painted ghost circles over your areola making your thighs clench instinctively.

His lips brushed over the swell of your breast, latching his mouth onto your exposed skin, leaving another mark on you. His tongue flicked, teeth grazing your nipple and took it in his mouth, sucking hard enough to make your back arch into him.

Your fingers tugged at his hair, making him groan against you. His hands roamed, gripping, squeezing, like he had to feel every inch of you at once.

You gasped as he continued sucking greedily with just enough pressure to have your stomach flipping. Jeongin hummed, laving his tongue over the sensitive bud, before moving to the other one, giving it just as much attention.

He couldn't get enough. If he could have his mouth where it "deserved" to belong, he'd stay where he is right now forever. His breathing was erratic but he didn’t care. His slurps and wet groans rumbled through his chest, sending pleasuring shockwaves through you. 

"You're so soft," he murmured, voice husky, lips pressing teasing kisses over the marks he’d already left, his hands kneading, squeezing and playing with your tits. 

Sure, his slender hands, warm mouth gave you ounces of pleasure but touching and tasting you just gets him off and so down bad.

His lips were swollen from the continuous sucking and your nipples were slick with his saliva and still he dragged his mouth across your chest, leaving behind a wet trail of warm, open mouthed kisses.

“Innie,” you gasped when he rolled and lightly pinched the bud. 

“Hmm?” he hummed against your skin, a smirk evident in his tone. “I’m listening, baby.”

He wasn’t. Not really. He was too caught up in you, too obsessed with the way your body reacted under his touch. His long fingers slid down the valley of your stomach before it slipped in your skirt, tracing his fingertips over your soaking panties. 

You couldn't make out words. A long moan slipped past you when he pushed the drenched fabric to the side and thrusted two of his digits inside your cunt while his mouth was reattached on your breast.

It felt like heaven. To you and him.

His fingers curled just right and his mouth worked just right that had you squirming beneath him, your hands tangling the strands of his hair. 

“More…Innie,” your voice was breathless, pleading, and it sent a rush of satisfaction through him.

Jeongin’s smirk deepened at the way you gasped his name, his hands never stopping their slow, torturous exploration. 

His thumb pressed on your clit right as he hit the sweet spot, your release gushed down your thighs and his fingers, the purring hum of him vibrating over your skin as he released your now swollen nub with a pop!

You looked up at Jeongin who's now half groggy gaze never left yours, lips glistening with a lazy smile tugging the corners.

He withdrew his fingers, licking them clean and rested his head back again on your chest, his other hand closing possessively over the flesh. 

“Mine.” He commanded, a feather light kiss brushing past your skin, his eyes closing as he laid his head on you, falling asleep under the sound of your heartbeat.

You had held him gently, threading your fingers through his hair, soothing him into his slumber as he slept on his favourite pillow but you couldn't help but wonder if what he meant was you or your boobs. 

But again, you couldn't have it any other way. 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Enjoyed this one shot? Consider checking my masterlist for more. Requests? Check 𝚁𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 (& 𝚁𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜)

Taglist: @velvetmoonlght @de-uns-tempos-pra-ca @greyyeti

If you want to be added to the taglist, drop a comment <3 (If I missed someone please lmk)

Thank you for reading!

xx,

Ivyy

[cheralith]

Hear hear hear me out wouldn’t it be so cool if Slytherin!Kaiser x Ravenclaw! Reader go to snape’s class for Amortentia. The most powerful love potion in existence. Smelling different to each person according to what they find attractive, the potion was considered to be dangerous as it could induce obsessive infatuation in the unsuspecting drinker. And Kaiser ends up rambling like “Damn It smells like books and *specific stuff about reader*” being absolutely Oblivious about Amortentia, Reader being a Ravenclaw is aware of said potion and just pauses as she smells his perfume too, But everyone around them is just like Stunned for his ignorance

They don’t drink Amortentia though!

Just a lil Thought i wanted to share cus i love bllk x hp crossover

characters ; michael kaiser (with hiori yo & raichi jingo) || wc ; 906 cw ; gn!reader, no pronouns used, hogwarts!au a/n ; so i actually i covered what kaiser smelled in the very first fic in the slytherin!kaiser chronicles, but tldr: he smells freshly baked bread, cedar wood, and lavender (reader!). but since that was in the present, i'm travelling back to the past for this one.

ravenclaw and slytherin students are paired together for potions this term during their seventh year along with a couple of advanced-level sixth years that join. kaiser and reader aren't in the same potions class, but their friends are aaahahaha. in kaiser's class, he shares it with hiori and in reader's, they share it with raichi. calling raichi and kaiser is friends is a bit much since raichi finds the latter wayyy too arrogant for his liking, even for someone of his caliber, but he still holds some respect for kaiser since he was the one that chose raichi to be a beater on their team. it's not a lot, but it's there haha

hiori and you are close—you met him through your other friend, karasu, another fellow ravenclaw (i'd be doing him an injustice if he was anything but). you find his company the most enjoyable since you and him understand each other to a degree where you can sit in silence, do your own things, and still be completely content. so he makes for a great study buddy and you often invite him to your dorm to study together up late into the evening. what he notices, however, when he comes over closer in the closing hours of the day, is that you'll often spray a little bit of your bed and your area of your shared dorm with a bit of lavender water, a pleasant smell that hiori has grown to associate with you.

he asks you one evening as you're studying together for a magizoology test why so, and you say with a grin that your mother taught you that lavender helps with a good night sleep, so since you were little, she'd always spray some lavender on your bedsheets to relax your energetic self.

"does it actually work?" he had inquired as he sniffed the bottle of diluted lavender you handed.

"dunno, but it's been working all these years, so it feels wrong to go to sleep without it," you shrugged with a small laugh.

so when kaiser is consistently twitching his nose over the cauldron that he and hiori share in their potions class, trying to identify the smell of the last thing he smells in it, hiori just stares incredulously. kaiser keeps babbling about it, getting frustrated that he doesn't know what this scent is and keeps describing it in blurbs that hiori isn't really comprehending.

"it's like... i don't know, soap?" kaiser groans, taking another deep inhale of the shimmering potion. "but it's sweet. and woody. kind of makes me sleepy."

the last statement makes hiori look up from scribbling kaiser's notes on their worksheet. he wants to say an epiphany is approaching him, but it lingers on the tip of his tongue, hesitant. while he can't smell what kaiser is smelling, hiori has a sneaking suspicion that he knows exactly smell what the blonde is talking about more specifically, why kaiser smells it.

on the flipside, your face twists at the last scent you pick up when you're doing the same assignment. it's a cologne, you acknowledge, and it does smell familiar. it's this mix of a citrus aroma with a pepperish flair to it, a cologne you're sure you've smelled in passing before. it's a rather masculine scent, so you think it has to be traced to someone that's close in your life that's male. initially, you think it's yoichi considering you and him are basically joined at the hip, but yoichi smells like clean laundry with a hint of sage, not whatever this is. your dad doesn't really wear cologne, so you scratch him out of the picture.

eventually, the class wraps up and ends, with raichi earning a detention after he threatened to sock igaguri multiple times after he kept messing up their potions to your amusement. you end up going your usual dining hall table where you'll eventually meet your other friends, hiori included.

you smell it suddenly when you sit down, the cologne of what you had smelled earlier in the cauldron is still lingering in the air near you ever so faintly like a ghost. when you go to whip your head around to get a glimpse of someone who might own such a cologne, you suddenly spot ness walking your way in a bit of panic, whisking between tables with a worried visage. he comes closer to where you are and sighs out in relief when he plucks out a textbook from underneath the bench that sits next to you in relief. he whisks himself away back into the corridor.

by the way the cologne's scent is fading, you don't think that someone like him could wear such an elegant fragrance, so you don't think too much of it as you follow him out of the corner of your eye.

until they widen at the sight at who ness meets in the middle of the corridor, the familiar flash of blonde halting all your senses except the ability to smell. suddenly, you find the aroma of the cologne stronger than ever before.

a/n ; the cologne is based off my actual partner's haha, so kaiser wears penhaligon's opus 1870. had to give him a british brand since yknow... they're in britain.

[levanterhaze]

── GAMEBOY, BANGCHAN

♡  ― 󠀬󠀬 fratboy!bangchan x f!reader dirty talk, masturbation, rough sex, slight choking, use of nicknames, overstimulation among other things I can't even name

♡ synopsis ― Bangchan is the campus playboy—charming, cocky, and infuriatingly irresistible. One reckless, drunken night leads to a secret you swore you'd never have. Now, hating him is harder than keeping him your dirty little secret.

[10k words ]♡― once again, I must thank you all for your love and for continuing to enjoy gameboy! this chapter is a bit long, but for me it's interesting to write the development of the characters to get where we want to go! don't forget to listen to the playlist and those who just got here PLEASE READ THE PREVIOUS CHAPTERS!!!! that said, have a good read.

♡― THE PLAYLIST.

♡ [part one] ♡ [part two] ♡ [part three] ♡ [part four]

On the corner of my bed Oh, and maybe on the beach You could do it on your own While you're lookin' at me

After absolutely killing your performance of Out Here On My Own, the applause hit you like a tidal wave. A standing ovation. Even Mrs. Baek looked mildly impressed, which, considering her usual stone-cold demeanor, basically meant she was internally sobbing.

And just like that, all the nerves? Gone. Vanished into thin air like they were never even there.

Bangchan had been watching—because of course, he had—but before you could revel in that fact for too long, he got a call and had to bounce. Typical.

You should have been freaking out about the whole making out backstage situation. Should’ve been scanning every corner for witnesses, mentally preparing for a campus-wide scandal. But weirdly? You weren’t. That reckless, confident part of you—the one still floating on cloud nine—did not care. If anything, you could still feel him. His touch on your waist like a phantom burn, his lips still branded on yours.

But whatever. You had bigger things to stress about. The final list wasn’t coming out until Monday, which meant you had the entire weekend to sit in pure, unfiltered agony over it. Luckily, Saturday’s party was the perfect excuse to get out of your head for a while.

Fast forward through a day of pretending to be studious with Sohee—aka desperately trying to focus while your brain replayed that kiss—you finally took a well-earned shower and decided to go for a solo nighttime stroll. 

Campus was still alive, students buzzing around in little clusters, laughing and talking like they didn’t have impending deadlines. You shoved your headphones in, following the athletics track, which was mostly empty by now.

The night air had that perfect, crisp breeze—the kind that made you grateful you threw on a cardigan. And just when you thought the moment couldn’t get any better, Wonderwall started playing. You smirked to yourself. Damn, you loved this song.

And yet, with every step, your brain kept poking at you like an annoying little sibling. Anxiety, sure. But let’s not forget the other mess currently occupying premium real estate in your mind—Hyunjin.

You hadn’t talked to him since you drunkenly spilled your guts, quite literally, about your whole Bangchan situation. And if you were being honest, which you weren’t, at least not with yourself, you were actively dodging that conversation. Because talking to Hyunjin meant facing your own feelings, and frankly, you were not clocked in for that emotional labor.

Your phone lit up mid-walk.

Mingyu: can I see you today?

You chewed on your lip, staring at the message. It was almost ridiculous how this boy—new, uncomplicated, and seemingly sincere—wanted something real with you. And yet, here you were, hesitating. Because no matter how nice Mingyu was, your brain wasn’t stuck on him.

It was stuck on someone else.

On a certain maddening, frustrating, insanely good kisser who had, at some point, tattooed himself onto your skin. If physical touch could be permanent, Bangchan’s hands would be everywhere on you. And, let’s be honest, you wouldn’t exactly be filing a complaint about it.

Before you even processed the decision, your feet had already made it for you. You were crossing campus, heading straight for his dorm.

Because you needed to talk. Like adults. No teasing, no sarcastic little jabs—just honesty.

And, okay, maybe you needed to see him, too. Feel him. More than ever.

Your determination was fuel to the fire already burning inside you. Your heart was pounding, your brain was screaming at you to calm down, but your body wasn’t taking any orders tonight. That feverish, all-consuming pull settled deep in your gut, an intoxicating mix of adrenaline, nerves, and something terrifyingly real.

You took the stairs two at a time, like the damn dorm might vanish before you got there.

By the time you reached his door, you were clutching your excitement close, biting back a smile even as your fingers trembled. Deep breath. You knocked, quick and sure.

It’s fine. He’ll listen. You’ll talk. You’ll finally—

The door swung open.

And instead of a tall, dark-haired boy, you were met with her.

She was pretty. Unfairly, effortlessly pretty—the kind of girl who belonged on magazine covers and in the daydreams of poets. Medium height, light hair, bright eyes. The kind of face men went to war over.

Your stomach dropped like a stone.

“Hi!” she greeted, all warmth and ease, completely oblivious to the way the air had just been sucked out of your lungs.

You swallowed, forcing a polite nod. “Uh, hey… is Bangchan here?”

She shook her head, smiling like this was just any other casual conversation. And that’s when you noticed it—his black t-shirt, draped over her frame.

“Oh, no. He went to grab some food.” she tilted her head, something curious in her gaze. “Are you a friend of his? Oh! Sorry—I’m Yeojin. His girlfriend. And you are…?”

Her words hit like a gut punch, sucking the warmth right out of your chest.

A bitter laugh bubbled up, but you swallowed it down, masking the sting with a tight-lipped smile. “A classmate,” you said smoothly. “I just had a question, but��� I think it can wait till Monday.”

And just like that, the fire inside you? Extinguished.

The girl pursed her glossy lips, then nodded politely. “Okay. I’ll let him know you stopped by.”

“No need.” the words left your mouth before she could even finish. “Thanks, Yeojin.”

Her name felt like venom rolling off your tongue, thick and bitter, coating your mouth with something vile.

By the time you hit the stairs, you were moving so fast you were honestly surprised you didn’t wipe out. Your pulse was a hammer against your ribs, your breath uneven. Your brain hadn’t even caught up yet—stuck on a loop, trying to process the absolute train wreck that had just unfolded.

He had a girlfriend this whole time.

He lied to you.

He did exactly what everyone said he would.

The sharp sting of disappointment curdled into full-blown anger. Your steps turned heavier, each one smacking against the pavement like a silent war drum. You were so locked into getting to your dorm—so wound up with the need to disappear into your own space—you probably would’ve plowed through half a dozen people without a second thought.

But fate had a sick sense of humor. Because halfway across campus, you spotted him.

Bangchan, heading back toward the dorms, a paper bag dangling from his hand—food, obviously, because why wouldn’t he be casually picking up dinner while your world imploded?

His eyes lit up the second he saw you, but that moment of warmth flickered out fast when you didn’t even look at him. Didn’t slow down. Didn’t hesitate. Just walked right past him like he was nothing—like he was air—nearly clipping his arm in the process.

He stood there for two seconds, frozen, before spinning around. Your name tore from his lips, sharp and urgent.

“What happened?” when you didn’t answer, his voice shot up, strained. “Where are you going?”

You sucked in a deep breath, your whole body practically vibrating with anger. Then, before you could stop yourself, you spun around and marched right back toward him, each step digging into the grass like you were stomping out a fire.

“To my dorm,” you snapped. “Not that it’s any of your business. Oh, and fun fact—I just came back from yours.” sarcasm dripped from your voice like honey laced with poison.

Bangchan blinked, his brain buffering like a slow-loading webpage. The look on his face almost made you laugh—almost. Instead, you just smiled, sharp and humorless. Yeah, process that, asshole.

You turned to leave, but before you could, his hand caught yours. Not your wrist, like some desperate last-ditch grab—your hand. Like he meant it. And the second your skin met his, it was like touching an open flame.

“Let me explain.” his voice was tight, urgent.

“Don’t touch me.” you yanked your hand back like it burned. “I don’t give a shit about whatever excuse you’re about to pull out of your ass.”

His jaw clenched. “Can you stop being so damn stubborn and just listen to me for once?”

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Oh, you wanna explain?” you licked your lips, tasting nothing but bitterness. “Go ahead. Explain how you had a girlfriend this whole time while you were fucking around with me.”

The words landed like a punch to the gut—on both of you.

Because, deep down, being with you had never been defined. No labels. No promises. No safety net to fall back on. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Bangchan’s brows snapped together. “What? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Oh, don’t even try it.” you scoffed, shaking your head. “You’re really gonna stand there and lie to my face? I saw her.”

His frustration bubbled over, his arms flying up in exasperation. “I genuinely have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.” his voice cracked with frustration. He looked at you like he was praying for some divine intervention to make sense of this mess. “If you’re talking about—”

“Just go back to your girlfriend and leave me alone, Bangchan.” your voice was steady, but he wasn’t stupid—he saw the fire still burning in your eyes, catching in the moonlight.

And maybe if he had taken half a second to think, he wouldn’t have said it. Maybe he would’ve swallowed his pride and stopped himself from making it worse.

But he didn’t.

“Whatever, right?” he scoffed, voice laced with something bitter. “It’s not like we were anything.”

You pressed your lips together, jaw tight, throat burning like you’d swallowed glass. And for the first time in your life, really the first, you felt so humiliated—so stupid—that your eyes burned with unshed tears.

Bangchan saw it. Saw the way your waterline glistened, saw the way your breath hitched, but you wouldn’t cry. Not in front of him. Not for him.

“If you really think that’s the problem, then that says a whole lot more about you than it does about me.” your voice was sharp, but quiet, like a blade sliding back into its sheath.

And just like that, the conversation was over.

You turned on your heel and walked away, each step fueled by a firestorm of anger, hurt, and something else you weren’t ready to name. Bangchan watched you go, standing frozen in place, and by the time he even thought about stopping you—

It was too late.

Outside your dorm, you yanked your phone out of your pocket, fingers flying across the screen like a woman on a mission. Your pulse was still hammering, adrenaline buzzing under your skin as you pulled up Mingyu’s contact and typed without hesitation.

You: Feel like crashing a party on Saturday?

Barely a beat passed before your phone vibrated with his response.

Mingyu: You had me at “party.”

Bangchan pushed open the door to his dorm with more force than necessary, letting it slam shut behind him. His pulse was still racing, his jaw tight with frustration.

And there she was. Yeojin.

Lying on his bed, scrolling through her phone like she owned the place. His old sweatshirt was hanging off her shoulder, and she barely spared him a glance when he walked in.

“Oh, you’re back,” she said, swinging her legs idly. “Didn’t take you long.”

Bangchan set his bag of takeout on the desk and exhaled sharply through his nose. “What the hell did you say to her?”

Yeojin finally looked up, her expression the perfect blend of innocence and amusement. “Say what exactly?”

His fingers flexed at his sides. “You know what,” he ground out. “You told her we’re together. Why?”

She tilted her head, brows lifting. “I never said that.”

Bangchan let out a humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Yeojin, don’t play games with me.”

“I didn’t, Chan.” she sighed dramatically, stretching her arms over her head. “She asked if you were here, I said no, and I introduced myself. It’s not my fault if she jumped to conclusions.”

He clenched his jaw, glaring at her. “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

She just smiled. “So what if it is?” her voice dropped, teasing, as she sat up. “You used to like when I messed with people.”

Bangchan took a step back when she reached for him, his whole body recoiling instinctively.

“We’re not kids anymore, Yeojin,” he muttered. “And I don’t have time for this.” he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. “I got Thai food. Help yourself.”

Before she could say anything else, he was gone.

The cool night air did little to calm Bangchan’s nerves as he walked toward the basketball court, fists shoved in his hoodie pockets. His mind was a mess, replaying the way you had looked at him—like he was exactly what people warned you about.

Before he could spiral further, a familiar voice cut through his thoughts.

“Damn, what’s with the face?” Changbin asked, appearing from the other side of the path. “You look like you wanna punch a hole in a wall.”

Bangchan exhaled sharply. “Not a wall.”

Changbin frowned. “What the hell happened?”

Bangchan hesitated before tilting his head toward the court. “Basketball first. Talking later.”

Changbin smirked. “I like where this is going.”

Fifteen minutes later, Bangchan sat on the edge of the basketball court, legs stretched out, elbows resting on his knees, looking like life had personally drop-kicked him.

Across from him, Changbin dribbled the ball lazily, waiting. And waiting. Until his patience ran out.

“So?” Changbin finally asked, passing him the ball. “Spill.”

Bangchan caught it, staring at it for a second before shaking his head. “Yeojin’s here.”

Changbin nearly fumbled the rebound. “I’m sorry—what?” his face twisted in immediate disgust. “What the hell is she doing here?”

Bangchan sighed. “She came to visit. Said she was in town. It’s been years, and I figured—whatever, right? No harm in catching up.”

Changbin let out a dry laugh. “No harm? Bro, she’s a walking red flag. Why would you even entertain that?”

Bangchan pressed his tongue against his cheek. “I don’t know, man. Nostalgia? I mean, we didn’t exactly end badly, we just—” he sighed. “Didn’t work.”

Changbin scoffed. “Yeah, well, I never liked her. You know that.” 

Bangchan dribbled once, then tossed the ball toward the hoop. It hit the rim, circled, then dropped through the net. “There’s more.”

Changbin folded his arms. “Yeah, no shit. You’re sitting here like you just found out Santa isn’t real. What else happened?”

Bangchan caught the rebound and exhaled. “She saw.”

Changbin frowned. “Saw what?”

Bangchan gave him a look.

“Oh.” Changbin winced. “Shit.” he let out a slow whistle. “That’s… bad.”

“No shit,” Bangchan muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “She showed up at my dorm, and instead of me opening the door, Yeojin did.”

Changbin groaned. “Dude. No.”

“Oh, it gets worse,” Bangchan went on, voice dripping with frustration. “Yeojin, being the manipulative little menace she is, basically introduced herself as my girlfriend.”

Changbin stared at him like he just admitted to murder. “And she believed that?”

Bangchan laughed bitterly. “Why wouldn’t she? The look she gave me, man… like I was exactly what she expected. Some asshole playing games.”

Changbin studied him for a second. “And that bothers you.”

Bangchan scoffed. “Of course it fucking bothers me.” he leaned forward, gripping the ball tight. “She drives me insane, Bin. Like—she acts like it’s nothing. Like whatever we had was just this casual, meaningless thing. But then she turns around and—” he exhaled sharply. “Her actions say otherwise. She looks at me like she feels something. She reacts like she cares. But every time I get close, she shuts it down.”

Changbin snorted, rolling the ball between his palms. “So basically, she’s bullshitting, you’re bullshitting, and now you’re both miserable?”

Bangchan shot him a glare.

Changbin smirked. “I mean, she won’t admit she likes you, and you’re sitting here trauma-dumping on me instead of doing something about it.”

Bangchan groaned, tilting his head back against the wall. “She’s pissed, Bin. Like, really pissed.”

“So fix it.”

Bangchan laughed humorlessly. “Yeah. Easier said than done.”

Changbin passed him the ball. “So what now?”

Bangchan caught it, staring down at the faded lettering on the rubber. That was the question, wasn’t it? Because right now, you wanted nothing to do with him.

And honestly? He deserved it.

Saturday morning. Group breakfast. Good vibes. At least, that’s what you were aiming for.

You were mid-story, telling Felix how the auditions had gone, when the universe decided to test your patience. Again.

Changbin strolled in with Jisung, Bangchan, and—you had to blink twice just to confirm—Yeojin.

Of course. Because it wasn’t enough that he lied. He had to parade it around like some kind of grand event.

“I need a fat slice of chocolate cake,” Changbin announced, dropping into his seat. “Something sweet to cleanse the absolute trash energy in the air.”

Your eyes flicked to Yeojin, who was standing a little too comfortably next to Bangchan. 

“Yeojin, long time no see,” Hyunjin greeted, all polite and civil.

She beamed. “Hyunjin! Oh my God, it’s really you!” she gushed, voice dripping with enthusiasm. You wanted to be a girl’s girl, really—you did. But something about her tone made your eye twitch.

“Who’s that?” Sohee whispered, not even bothering to be discreet.

“Oh, nice to meet you,” Yeojin said, flashing a smile that felt way too rehearsed. “Yeojin. Chan’s friend.”

She said it like she was accepting a damn award. The table went dead silent. Everyone shared a look.

You, however, remained completely unbothered, taking a slow sip of your strawberry milk like you had all the time in the world.

Bangchan slid into the seat across from you, throwing not-so-subtle glances in your direction—just in case you maybe wanted to acknowledge his existence.

You didn’t. Instead, you busied yourself with literally anything else. The napkins. The straw in your drink. The slow, satisfying process of ignoring him.

If he wanted your attention, he’d have to earn it.

Yeojin was annoyingly easy to get along with. Effortless charm, perfectly timed laughs—like she’d studied the art of socializing and graduated top of her class. And maybe that wouldn’t have bothered you if you didn’t feel an immediate, inexplicable urge to dislike her.

Maybe it was the way she smiled just a little too much. Like she was in on some inside joke that no one else was laughing at. Or how she leaned into Bangchan like he had his own gravitational pull, always conveniently this close to falling into his lap.

For someone who had been so desperate to explain himself last night, he looked awfully comfortable letting her cling to him now.

“So, everyone’s going tonight, right?” Jisung asked, drumming his fingers on the table.

Yeojin jumped on the conversation like it was an open invitation. “What’s tonight?”

“Jisung’s DJing at a party,” Eunji answered, taking a sip of her drink.

Yeojin hummed, tilting her head in that thoughtful but not really way. “I was going to leave after lunch, but… I guess I can stay a little longer.”

She glanced at Bangchan like she was waiting for permission.

Too bad he wasn’t paying attention. His focus was glued to his phone, fingers tapping out a message.

Your own phone buzzed in your pocket.

Bangchan: can we talk?

Your eyes flicked up, purely on instinct. And there he was. Watching you.

You frowned, pulled out your phone, read the message, and stuffed it right back in your pocket. No response.

The table blurred into background noise. Laughter, conversation, the occasional clatter of silverware—it all melted into static. Because Bangchan was still looking. That steady, expectant stare that made your skin itch. That made your chest feel a little too tight.

Your phone buzzed again.

Bangchan: you can’t ignore me forever.

Bet.

You smirked to yourself. If Bangchan thought he could tell you what to do, he had another thing coming.

Grabbing the strap of your bag, you stood up, all casual confidence, and turned to Sohee and Eunji. “I’m heading out with Hyunjin.” no further explanation. Just a statement.

Hyunjin, caught in the crossfire of whatever this was, frowned. “Wait—what? Since when?”

You just kept walking, tossing a grin over your shoulder. “Since right now. Just smile and act natural.”

 You made sure to take the long way around the table, passing directly in front of Bangchan—not looking at him. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment. Just air.

Hyunjin, still struggling to keep up, shot a quick glance back before leaning in. “Okay, seriously, what was that? Bangchan looked like he was about to start breathing fire.”

You flicked your hair over your shoulder, your smirk widening.

“Revenge, Hyun. Just a little harmless revenge.”

The house was packed.

Neon lights flickered wildly, splashing the room in chaotic waves of electric blue and fiery red, pulsing in sync with the bass. The air was thick—heat, sweat, cheap cologne, and the sharp sting of alcohol weaving together into something intoxicating. The floor thrummed beneath your boots, bodies moving in effortless rhythm, a silent agreement to just let go.

Jisung was at the DJ booth, throwing in ad-libs between transitions, hyping up the crowd like he was born for this. A remix dropped, shaking the walls, and the entire party roared in approval. Off-campus ragers had a way of making reality blur, like stepping into a fever dream.

Perfect.

Eunji and Sohee spotted you first, their eyes going comically wide, like they’d just witnessed the second coming of Christ.

“Jesus, look at you,” Sohee gasped, gripping your arm for dear life.

Eunji gave a solemn nod. “This outfit should be illegal.”

You twirled, just enough to let your skirt flare out, a little reminder of why you picked it.

“Drinks first, right?” you pointed at Hyunjin, who gave you an approving nod.

You peeled away from the group, squeezing through the sweaty crowd toward a corner where a massive keg stood like a beacon of bad decisions. There were stronger drinks, but you decided to take it easy—for now.

Then, in half a second, you felt it. Like your body already knew, like a moth drawn to a flame.

Under the pulsing red lights, he looked dangerous. A predator in slow motion, moving through the crowd with that effortless, lazy confidence that made people either run toward him or clear a path. Flashes of white and blue caught the sharp cut of his jaw, the faint sheen of sweat at his collarbone. A contrast—razor-edged and infuriatingly soft all at once.

And yet. You couldn’t focus on any of that.

Because Yeojin was practically clinging to him.

Talking—laughing, leaning, performing—but Bangchan barely seemed to notice. If anything, he looked somewhere else entirely. Somewhere you were. Because the second your eyes met, his focus locked in.

And he started moving. One step. Then another.

But before he could take a third, an arm slid around your waist.

Mingyu.

His touch was warm, firm—a perfectly timed lifeline. His lips brushed against your ear, voice low and deliberate. “Have I mentioned you look insane tonight?”

A slow, satisfied smile curled on your lips. Perfect.

Through the neon haze, you caught Bangchan’s reaction over Mingyu’s shoulder. Electric blue light flickered across his face like something straight out of a movie scene.

Oh, he was pissed. Not just annoyed. Not just irritated. Seething.

Jaw clenched. Shoulders tight. Eyes locked onto you with an intensity that sent a delicious shiver down your spine.

Good.

Mingyu pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. “Dance with me?”

You let the question hang, stretching the moment just because you could—fully aware of your audience. Then, with a casual flick of your fingers, you grabbed Mingyu’s wrist and turned back to your friends.

And that’s when the remix hit.

The song of the summer. A full-blown club anthem blasted through the house, lights flashing in sync with the bass, and suddenly Eunji and Sohee were dragging you onto the dance floor. You barely had time to toss Mingyu a look before pulling him into the crowd with you.

Sohee was already wrapped around her boyfriend’s neck, hair flying as she danced like she was possessed, while Minho just laughed at her antics. Jisung was losing his mind behind the DJ booth, hyping up the party like a man on a mission.

And Bangchan? He didn’t move. He just watched.

Watched as you danced. Watched as Mingyu’s hands found your waist. Watched as you threw your head back, laughing, moving with the beat like you had nothing to prove.

And under the pulsing red lights, with silver glitter catching on your cheekbones, you didn’t just look good. You looked untouchable.

And he looked like a man about to start a war.

You spun around, arms draped over Mingyu’s shoulders as his hands trailed down to your waist, pulling you into the rhythm. To anyone watching, you two looked dangerously close—every move synced, every touch easy, like this was something more than just a party moment. But in the back of your mind, a small, annoying voice reminded you that this wasn’t about Mingyu at all.

Still, too late now.

The strobe lights flashed in bursts, making everything feel like a glitch in time—jumping, dancing, bodies moving like there was no tomorrow. You lost sight of Bangchan for a while, which was probably for the best. So, you let go. Had fun. Actually enjoyed yourself with your friends.

Until someone slammed into you, knocking the air right out of your lungs.

One second, Mingyu was right there. The next, he was gone, practically launched across the floor. “What the—” you barely got the words out before you saw the damage.

Changbin stood there, wide-eyed, drenched in a suspiciously pink drink, looking like he just survived a battlefield. And Mingyu? Equally soaked, equally stunned, like he was still processing what the hell just happened.

“Dude, shit—sorry!” Changbin shouted, voice barely cutting through the music.

You blinked, taking in the absolute mess before turning back to him. “Are you good?”

Changbin nodded rapidly, looking between you and Mingyu like he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or start running. “Yeah, yeah, my bad!”

Then he turned back to Mingyu, hands up like a man pleading for his life.

Mingyu just let out a sigh, lifting the hem of his now ruined white T-shirt like he was mourning a fallen soldier. “Alright. I’ll be right back,” he said, shaking his head before disappearing into the crowd.

Meanwhile, Changbin grabbed your arm, his expression serious—well, as serious as someone drenched in a neon-pink drink could look. He gestured for you to follow, weaving through the bodies until you reached the foot of the stairs.

“What?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“Can you grab me a shirt? I left one in Jisung’s backpack.”

You took a second to assess the situation. Changbin, slightly tipsy, covered in pink, blinking at you like a lost puppy. He looked ridiculous.

With a dramatic sigh, you caved. “Fine.”

“You’re the best,” he said, clasping his hands like he was praising the heavens. “It’s in the room on the right, upstairs.”

You turned, climbing the stairs while dodging couples making out on the steps like it was some kind of kissing marathon. Once you reached the hallway, you scanned the doors—long corridor, a few rooms—until you spotted one slightly open on the right.

Alright. In and out. Quick mission.

Stepping inside, you started searching for Jisung’s bag—first the floor, then the bed. Nothing.

And then—

Movement.

From the corner of your eye, a figure emerged from behind the bed, rising like a shadow from the dark.

Your breath caught. Bangchan. Standing there. Watching you.

A black cable twirled between his fingers, slow and deliberate, his gaze unreadable under the dim glow of the hallway lights.

“What?” you were the first to break the silence, arms crossing instinctively. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Bangchan gave you a flat look, holding up the black cable like it was evidence in court. “I should be asking you that. I came to get Han’s charger.” he raised an eyebrow, gaze sharp, like he wasn’t entirely convinced.

You opened your mouth, fully prepared to deliver something scathing—but before you could get a word out, the door swung open again.

“Sorry, kids! Not opening this door until you sort yourselves out!”

You barely had time to process Changbin’s smug, drunken grin before the door slammed shut.

For half a second, you froze.

Then you launched at the door, fists pounding like you could open it through sheer rage. “Changbin, open this fucking door right now!”

No answer. Just the distant thrum of music, too muffled for anyone outside to hear you scream bloody murder.

You yanked at the handle—definitely locked.

With a sharp inhale, you turned, glaring daggers at Bangchan, who was just… standing there. Watching. Amused.

“Are you just gonna stand there? Do something!”

His lips twitched, like he was this close to laughing. “Pretty sure this is your problem, not mine.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Oh, so now you don’t wanna get involved?”

Bangchan sighed—slow, exaggerated—before strolling up to the door, resting a lazy hand on the knob, and giving it a completely useless jiggle. Then he turned back to you with a straight face.

“Yeah. It’s locked.”

You stared at him. Blinked. Then scoffed so hard you nearly choked.

“No shit, Sherlock. Are you serious?”

Bangchan couldn’t help it—he laughed. Because you were spiraling, and honestly? It was funny as hell.

“I’ll call him,” he said, still smirking.

You rolled your eyes so hard they nearly left your skull and made your way over to the double bed in the corner. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered, collapsing onto the edge like this was some Shakespearean tragedy.

Then a thought clicked, and suddenly, everything made sense.

Your head snapped up. “Wait—” you shot to your feet, eyes narrowing. “He knows. You told him.”

Bangchan barely looked fazed. “He kinda figured it out on his own, if that makes you feel any better.”

Which wasn’t exactly a lie. Bangchan was so into you, stealing glances constantly, and Changbin wasn’t stupid. The man could read a room like it was his job.

You dragged a hand down your face, exhaling sharply. “This is a nightmare.”

Bangchan tilted his head, amused. “Jesus, is it really that bad being stuck in here with me? Last time, you weren’t exactly complaining.”

The second those words left his mouth, you hit him with a look so deadly he immediately shut up.

“Just get Changbin to open the damn door, Bangchan,” you said flatly, plopping back down onto the bed, dead center, legs crossed like you were settling in for a long, miserable wait.

You pulled out your phone, thumbs flying across the screen as you sent a message to Hyunjin—the only person who knew about the whole situation. You could have asked Sohee, Eunji, or even Mingyu, but that would just open a very annoying can of worms.

And you were not in the mood for questions.

This couldn’t be real. No way. The second you got out of here, Changbin was getting his ass handed to him. And Mingyu was probably already wondering where the hell you’d disappeared to. Just like Yeojin was probably searching for Bangchan.

Perfect.

“He’s not answering,” Bangchan announced, completely unfazed. “Which means he’s ignoring me on purpose. So, we wait.” he sat by the window like it was just another Tuesday, leaning back on his palms.

“This is your fault.”

That earned you a scoff. “How the hell is this my fault?”

You shot him a glare. “If you hadn’t spilled everything to him, none of this would be happening.”

Bangchan let out a dry laugh, tilting his head like you were so predictable. “Right. And if you hadn’t jumped to conclusions without actually listening to me—like you always do—none of this would be happening either.”

Oof. Direct hit. You hated when he had a point.

“I have nothing to hear from you,” you muttered, crossing your arms and staring at literally anything else in the room.

Silence.

Annoyingly, maddeningly, deafeningly loud silence.

Bangchan rested his arms on his knees, watching you like he had all the time in the world. And pretending he wasn’t there, yeah, that was a joke. His presence was like gravity—pulling, heavy, impossible to ignore.

Less than ten minutes passed before the anger started simmering down. Because that’s how it always went with him. Like a fire that burned too hot, too fast.

“You seriously thought she was my girlfriend?”

You turned, locking eyes with him. “What else was I supposed to think? She said it herself.”

Bangchan hummed, tapping his fingers against his knee. “She’s not. Yeojin’s an ex—from high school. Ancient history.” he exhaled sharply through his teeth. “She’s just… a little clueless.”

“A little?” you let out a sharp laugh. “She was wearing your clothes when I showed up at your dorm.” you rolled your eyes, but Bangchan only smiled. Because, yeah, that sounded a whole lot like jealousy.

Then something clicked. “Wait—what were you doing there that night?”

“Nothing.” you looked away, ignoring the sudden heat crawling up your neck.

His laugh was soft, almost teasing. But the way he was looking at you? Like you were the only thing worth seeing? That was dangerous.

“C’mon. Seriously.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes, because he was so annoyingly persistent. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Doesn’t it?” Bangchan tilted his head, lips curving in that cocky little smirk. “I doubt that.”

“Well, I don’t care,” you shot back, folding your arms in defiance.

Bangchan pushed himself off the floor, moving to sit on the edge of the bed—close, but not too close. Still, he was big. Broad. Built like a problem. And despite the space between you, he somehow took up all of it.

Worse? He smelled stupidly good.

“What do you want?” you asked, bracing yourself for the answer—because Bangchan was stupidly honest, and you weren’t sure you were ready for whatever was about to come out of his mouth.

But he didn’t say a word. Just kept looking at you, pupils blown wide, gaze slow as it dragged over your face like he was trying to memorize every detail.

Then, finally— “Why’d you come that night?”

You swallowed. “I went because… I wanted to talk. And… I wanted things to be okay between us.”

For a second, he just stared at you like you’d punched the air out of his lungs. Because you had gone after him. To fix things. To close the distance.

“You wanted to?” you barely nodded before he let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Well, we’re two idiots, then.” his lips curled slightly, his whole energy shifting. “Because that’s all I want.”

Your eyes locked, and something about the way he was looking at you made your chest tighten. He had this insane ability to make you feel completely seen, like he could pick apart every thought in your head just by watching you.

“Why?”

Bangchan was never one to hold back, never afraid to be himself—especially when it came to being honest about what he wanted. And right now, he was this close to just laying it all out. Because the truth? He was ridiculously into you. More and more, every damn day.

“You’re stubborn, and I’m an idiot,” he muttered, lips pressing into a thin line before he let out a short laugh. The kind that made you laugh, too, before you even realized it. And honestly it pissed you off a little how easily he could do that—swing you from one extreme to another like it was nothing.

“Look,” he sighed. “I’m just gonna be straight with you, like I always am. I’m not playing games. I didn’t mean it when I said we were nothing.”

“But we are,” you mumbled, even though the words tasted like a lie. You weren’t anything. No labels, no relationship. Just a mess of late nights and tangled sheets—until things got way too complicated.

“I don’t want us to be nothing,” he said, shrugging, like he was just casually throwing his cards on the table. “Because ever since that first time, I haven’t wanted anyone else.”

Your breath caught, and suddenly, the bed felt too small, the room too warm. What the hell? You hadn’t expected this conversation to go there.

Bangchan? Not with anyone else? That was news. The guy was basically campus royalty when it came to hookups. Half the girls in your year had probably been in his dorm at some point.

And now he was sitting here, telling you this?

But now he was standing there, saying it out loud—no one else. Just you. And it sent your stomach into a tailspin.

“I shouldn’t have given you shit for it,” you muttered, nodding like that would somehow make the awkwardness go away. “I mean, since we’re not… you know.”

Bangchan lifted an eyebrow, clearly amused by how flustered you were.

“Oh, I know,” he said. “But you don’t get it. I don’t want anyone else.”

Your pulse spiked. Too fast. Too loud. What the hell was he trying to say?

“No, you’re just—” you let out a breathy, nervous laugh, stepping back like that would help. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Bangchan didn’t let you go far. His hand caught yours, warm and steady, fingers wrapping around your wrist before he pulled you closer—right between his legs.

And then his hands were on your waist, fitting there like they belonged.

Your breath hitched.

His voice, suddenly lower, smoother, like silk wrapped in heat. “I know exactly what I want.”

Your eyes met his, and damn it, he was beautiful. That kind of beauty that wasn’t just about sharp jawlines and perfect features—it was something deeper, something that burned. The way his eyes locked onto you, glowing under the dim light. The way his expression was serious, but there was still softness lingering beneath it.

You knew what you wanted too. You just weren’t ready to admit it.

Your hands moved before your mind could catch up, tracing the curve of his brow, the sharp edge of his cheekbone—slow, like you were trying to memorize him by touch. Then, without thinking, you cupped his face, thumbs brushing over his skin.

Bangchan didn’t pull away. Didn’t even flinch. He just leaned into your touch, like this was normal, like you did this all the time. But you didn’t. Not like this.

Then he kissed the back of your hand, soft and slow, and damn it, you smiled.

“Say what you want,” he murmured.

“I…”

“I don’t care if I’m your dirty little secret,” he cut in, voice rough, low, burning at the edges. “I don’t care about any of it. As long as you’re mine, I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give.”

Something shifted inside you—hot, sharp, irreversible. Like a match hitting gasoline.

Bangchan tilted his head, pushing a strand of hair from your face. “What are you so afraid of?” his lips curled into a half-smirk. “You hate me that much?”

You let out a breath, shaking your head. “I don’t hate you.” your fingers tightened against his jaw. “Not even close.”

Bangchan pulled you in, arms locking tight around your waist, pressing you so close you could feel every breath he took against your skin. A shiver shot down your spine, anticipation curling in your stomach. You were teetering on the edge, seconds away from giving in—giving him everything. And if he was willing to take whatever you had to offer… What was stopping you?

With one swift move, his hands traced up the back of your thighs, fingers pressing into the sensitive skin behind your knees, guiding you onto the bed and onto his lap. The air between you shifted, crackling, something unspoken but heavy settling in the space only you two could understand.

It was automatic—this need, this burn. Like gravity, like the sky being blue, like the way your chemistry was always one spark away from setting the whole place on fire.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, yanking back just enough to force his eyes on you. And God, he looked wrecked—vulnerable in a way that made your stomach flip, pupils blown wide like he’d already lost the battle.

That’s when you kissed him.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was desperate—a clash of want, frustration, and every second of tension that had built between you. Like a wave crashing against the shore, wild and uncontrollable. You rocked against him, fingers tightening in his hair, barely biting back a moan when his hands gripped your ass, lifting you further into him.

Your skirt had already ridden up, but Bangchan wasn’t complaining.

He knew exactly what he was doing—kissing, nipping at your skin, hitting every spot that made you gasp. But it wasn’t enough. You needed more. More contact, more of him.

Your fingers found the hem of his shirt, tugging it up with shaky hands. Bangchan barely hesitated, lifting his arms, muscles flexing as he pulled the fabric over his head. The low, guttural sound that left his lips sent a shiver through you—deep, raw, almost primal. And God, he looked unreal.

“You want me to stop?” he murmured against your lips, voice thick with restraint.

You shook your head immediately, body betraying you with the way it trembled against him.

“I can stop,” he teased, but this time, the possibility made your stomach flip. Your eyes snapped to his, filled with something dangerously close to panic.

Stepping back, just for a second, you took him in. And no matter how many times you’d seen him like this, you never quite got used to it. All of him. Broad, sculpted shoulders, solid arms, every inch of him screaming strength. And all of that was yours.

Bangchan smirked, eyes narrowing with smug satisfaction. “You look like you want something.”

You huffed a laugh, shoving him back. “Shut up.”

But before you could move away, his hands gripped your waist, pulling you down with him. You landed against his chest with a startled yelp, his warmth pressing into you.

Then he kissed you—slow and deliberate, like he was savoring every second, every breath, as if the night stretched endless before you, mapping every inch of your lips with his own. Your laughter faded, swallowed by him.

Pinned against him, you could feel the effect you had on him, the heat of him beneath dark denim. And if there was one thing you knew, it was how to push him over the edge.

So you kissed him harder, rolling your hips against his.

His hands flew to your ass, squeezing before delivering a sharp slap that had you moaning into his mouth. That was just how it was with you two—obscene, messy, utterly shameless. And nothing turned you on more.

Your fingers found the zipper of his jeans, finally breaking away from his lips to look down at him. Bangchan pushed up on his elbows, watching you through half-lidded eyes, his breath ragged as he fought to stay still. His fingers twitched, desperate to put an end to the torturous wait. He was so hard it was unbearable—just seeing you like this had him on the edge.

He didn’t hesitate to help, making quick work of what little fabric still separated you. And fuck, you were drenched. Just the sight of him like this—wrecked for you—had your whole body tightening in anticipation.

There were so many ways this could go, and you wanted them all. One night would never be enough.

Your hand wrapped around him, firm, deliberate. A shaky curse tumbled from his lips, his head tipping back as he melted into your touch. He was barely holding it together when you lifted your hips, and for a second, he thought you were going to sink down onto him. Instead, you slid against him, rolling your hips so he could feel everything—dragging over your entrance, teasing up to your clit before sliding back down.

“Holy shit,” Bangchan groaned, voice strangled.

His hands twitched, reaching for you, aching to do something. But before he could, you leaned in, pinning his wrists down against the mattress.

He was at your mercy now. Completely helpless. And he fucking loved it.

Meanwhile, your hips kept moving, sliding over him, teasing but never giving in. The sheer size of him, the way he dragged against your clit with every slick roll of your hips—it was maddening. You lost all sense of rhythm, chasing pleasure in short, frantic motions, needing more, always more.

Bangchan was wrecked beneath you. His breath came in ragged bursts, his chest rising and falling as he groaned through clenched teeth, letting you take what you wanted. And the sight of him like this completely undone because of you? It was enough to make your head spin.

Your wetness mixed with his pre-cum, making a mess between you, the heat of it dizzying. Another deep grunt tore from his throat, and fuck—his orgasm was creeping up way too fast. He wasn’t about to let that happen. Not yet.

Your grip on his wrists loosened, your body trembling above him, so damn close—

“Want me to fuck you?” the words were a rasp, low and filthy against your skin.

And God, hearing him say it like that, made you feel absolutely ruined.

You were right there, wavering on the edge, but then—Bangchan’s hands gripped your waist, flipping you with ease. Your fingers dug into his shoulders as he pulled away, standing at the edge of the bed.

For a second, frustration flared hot in your chest—he’d just ripped away a mind-numbing orgasm—but the way he looked at you, eyes dark and full of promise, made it clear.

He wasn’t done. Not even close.

With impressive speed, Bangchan yanked your panties down, leaving you in nothing but that tiny skirt. You reached for your blouse, tearing it off without a second thought. Meanwhile, he fished a condom from his pocket, standing at the foot of the bed like he owned the place.

You bit your lip, taking in the sight of him—so big, so stupidly gorgeous.

Bangchan climbed onto the bed, his strong hands wrapping around your thighs, keeping them pressed together. His voice was low, commanding. "Spread your legs."

Your breath hitched, but you obeyed, parting them slowly. The skirt inched higher, higher, until it was bunched up around your waist.

He muttered something under his breath, gaze locked on how wet you were—for him. Almost dripping. You bit your lip, the weight of the moment thick in the air. "Please..."

Bangchan leaned in, kissing your stomach, then up to your chest. One arm braced against the bed, the other gripping himself as he brushed his cock against your cunt. The slow drag, the teasing, was cruel, and he knew it. He was watching you unravel—your body torn between frustration and aching need.

You were this close to grabbing him, to taking what you needed, but before you could, he caught your wrists in one hand, pinning them down.

"I'll let you..." his voice was a husky whisper, dark and full of promise. He kept that agonizing friction going, dragging against you, just enough to drive you insane. "But you have to tell me."

You were burning up, mind hazy, barely able to process his words. "Bangchan," you tried for something firm, but the second the tip of his cock rubbed against your clit—just the right mix of pleasure and frustration—a strangled moan slipped out instead.

"Tell me what you want, and it's yours," he murmured against your lips, smug as ever.

Your gaze met his, dark and needy. He picked up the pace, teasing you mercilessly—only to stop again. You let out a desperate whimper. This was torture.

"Just say it, love."

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, frustration bubbling over. "Your ego is too big."

Bangchan chuckled against your skin, stealing a quick kiss. "You know what else is big?"

You hooked a leg around his waist, pulling him in close. His breath caught, and for a second, he just looked at you—lips parted, eyes searching yours, ready to dive in.

"Guess you'll have to show me."

And Bangchan never turned down a challenge.

The moment he let you go, he was all action—rolling on the condom with practiced ease before yanking you flush against him. "Gonna fuck you so good you'll take it all back."

Then he slammed into you, deep, all at once, knocking the breath from your lungs. Stars burst behind your eyelids. Fuck, you’d never get used to the stretch. And neither would he, not with how tight you clenched around him, inch by inch.

Bangchan started slow, deliberate, watching every little reaction like he was committing it to memory.

"More," you gasped, nails dragging down his back.

And who was he to deny you?

A low, guttural curse slipped from his lips as he gripped the back of your leg, struggling to keep himself in check. But even he was failing. That dark, insatiable hunger inside him wanted to ruin you, break you apart piece by piece, and devour whatever was left.

"Yeah..." his hand found the back of your neck, and in one brutal motion, he buried himself to the hilt. Your eyes rolled back as a cry of pure pleasure ripped from your throat. "Fuck."

He did it again. And again. Testing you. Seeing just how much you could take. And then restraint snapped—his rhythm shifted from slow, deliberate thrusts to deep, relentless strokes that had you gasping, moaning, melting beneath him.

Your lungs fought for air, your body wrecked by the force of him. A tangled mess of curses and broken sounds spilled from your lips.

Bangchan leaned down, catching your mouth in a searing kiss, fucking you through every ragged breath. The filthy, desperate moans leaving his lips had you clinging to him, desperate to consume every last one.

"Bangchan—my God!" your fingers dug into his back like an anchor, but you were weightless, floating, dissolving into nothing.

You tried to pull him closer, but he straightened, still gripping your throat, keeping you right where he wanted.

"Say it." his thrusts were brutal, hitting so deep you thought you’d break apart. Faster. Harder. You cried out, a mess of pleasure and desperation, dizzy on the edge of something devastating."Tell me— you want me? Wanna cum on my cock?"

Your vision blurred, the sheer intensity forcing a tear to the corner of your eye. It was too much, but not enough, never enough.

"I want you," you choked out, voice ragged, shaking. "Fuck—" you barely finished the sentence before your body gave in, collapsing into pure, obliterating pleasure.

Bangchan caught your bottom lip between his teeth, sucking on it before murmuring against your mouth, “Good girl.”

Then his hand slipped between your bodies, finding your clit as he thrust into you, his fingers moving in tandem with his strokes. And that was it. The tipping point. Your back arched, but he pressed a firm hand to your stomach, pinning you down as pleasure overtook you. The last few thrusts sent you spiraling, your body clenching tight around him as you came hard, waves crashing over you.

Bangchan cursed under his breath, his grip tightening as his own release hit him like a freight train. "Fuck, fuck, fuck—" his whole body tensed, abs flexing as he emptied himself, barely managing to keep from collapsing on top of you.

Your chest rose and fell in sync with his, both of you wrecked, tangled, completely undone. He was so close, his forehead pressing against yours, damp hair sticking to his skin. And just like that, you kissed him—slow, deep, something unspoken passing between you. A shift.

Something had changed, and you both felt it.

"We need to stop doing this," you muttered against his lips.

Bangchan pulled back slightly, his brows knitting together. "What...?"

"Having sex in strangers’ rooms," you teased, the corner of your mouth quirking up. "Bad habit."

Relief flickered across his face before it was replaced by something far more dangerous. "Then let’s go to mine," he said smoothly, his voice thick with intent. "I’m not done with you."

You just laughed, shaking your head as you reached for your clothes. No argument, no teasing comeback—just that breathless, satisfied chuckle that told him you were just as wrecked as he was. And God, he admired you. The way you moved, the way you carried herself, as if what just happened was the most natural thing in the world. Like you hadn’t just left him completely undone.

He leaned back against the bed, watching as you slipped your blouse on, covering up inch by inch what he had just memorized with his hands, his lips, his tongue. A damn shame.

“I could go like this all night,” he murmured, voice thick with lust. His eyes dragged over you, slow and deliberate. “I’d never get tired of you.”

You paused for half a second, then, with a smirk, you glanced at him over your shoulder.

“Sweet talk won’t get you another round.”

He grinned, unbothered. “Who said I was asking?”

"Alright, lover boy," you sighed, straightening your skirt. "Call Changbin so we can get out of here before we end up adding ‘breaking and entering’ to our list of bad decisions."

But Bangchan just huffed out a laugh, reaching into his back pocket. You frowned, watching as he pulled out something small, something metallic—

And then he dangled a tiny key in front of your face.

Your breath caught. "You absolute—"

"Had the key the whole time?" he finished for you, grinning like the unapologetic menace he was.

You just stared at him, utterly gagged. "Are you telling me we could’ve left at any time—and you let me believe we were locked in here?!"

Bangchan had the audacity to laugh, and before you could get a single word of protest out, he grabbed your wrist, yanking you against him and crashing his lips onto yours. You let him. You melted into it, kissed him back like you weren’t even a little mad.

When he finally pulled away, his breath ghosted over your lips as he murmured, "I’m sorry, baby." But he was still laughing. Not sorry at all.

"No, you’re not," you shot back, trying—and failing—to sound pissed.

"You’re right," he admitted without shame, pressing another kiss to your mouth, slower this time, smug and indulgent. "But, in my defense… I knew you wanted me just as bad as I wanted you."

You narrowed your eyes, heat licking at your spine because—damn it—he wasn’t wrong.

Cocky bastard.

Still, you snatched the key from his fingers and shoved him toward the door. "Move before I leave your ass locked in here and tell everyone you cried for help."

Bangchan just smirked, twisting the doorknob with infuriating ease. "Joke’s on you—I’d make it sound sexy."

Bangchan slipped out first, leaving you alone in the dimly lit bedroom, the air still thick with everything that just happened. You took a breath, running a hand through your hair and letting out a low, incredulous laugh. Insane. That was the only word for it. Completely, absolutely, batshit insane.

You took your time freshening up before heading downstairs, blending back into the party like nothing happened—like your whole world hadn’t just been flipped on its head by a cocky bastard with unfairly good hands.

You found the drinks and poured yourself a beer, the cold liquid grounding you, when Hyunjin appeared at your side, eyeing you suspiciously.

“Mingyu was looking for you,” he said, tilting his head. “For a while. Then he gave up and left.”

You took a slow sip of your beer, carefully masking any reaction. “Huh. Tragic.”

Hyunjin squinted. “Okay, where the hell have you been?”

You shot him an easy smirk. “In the bathroom, Hyunjin. I have bodily functions like every other human being.”

His eyes narrowed further. “For that long?”

“Maybe I got lost,” you said with a shrug, taking another sip. “Or maybe I was reevaluating all my life choices.”

Hyunjin was still staring at you, unconvinced. “You were with someone.”

You huffed. “Stop being nosy and dance with me.”

Before he could pry any further, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him onto the dance floor. The bass thumped through your veins as you moved to the beat, thankful for the temporary distraction. But Hyunjin was sharp—too sharp. His gaze flickered to something over your shoulder, and then his lips parted in realization.

You didn’t have to turn around to know. You felt it.

Bangchan was across the room, talking to Changbin and Seungmin like he hadn’t just been inside you not too long ago. But the way he looked at you—steady, knowing, like he was still feeling every second of what just happened—Hyunjin caught it immediately.

“No way.” he gaped at you. “You didn’t.”

You met his stare, unfazed. “I did.”

Hyunjin groaned, rubbing his face like this was his personal crisis. “You two are so fucking messy.”

You just laughed, finishing the rest of your beer. “And yet, I’m having a great time.”

A while later, when you finally decided you’d had enough social interaction for one night, you nudged Hyunjin. “I’m heading out.”

He nodded. “Cool, I’ll get you an Uber. I’ll go with Lix.”

Before you could even reach for your phone, a familiar voice interrupted. “No need.”

Bangchan. Standing way too close, hands in his pockets, looking like the devil who got exactly what he wanted.

“I’m driving back,” he said smoothly. “I’ll take you.”

Your mouth opened, but Hyunjin’s eyebrow was already rising, looking between the two of you like he had front-row seats to a drama he needed to see play out.

“I can go alone,” you said, keeping your voice level.

Bangchan smirked. “I insist.”

You sighed, side-eyeing Hyunjin. His expression was nothing short of feral with interest.

“Fine,” you muttered. “But no funny business.”

Bangchan only chuckled, walking off first. You lingered behind for a few beats before following, slipping out quietly, only Hyunjin watching your exit with a smug, entertained look.

He was never letting you live this down.

The night air was sharp against your flushed skin, a cruel contrast to the heat still licking at your nerves. Bangchan stood by his car—a sleek, black beauty that suited him too well. Under the dim glow of the streetlights, he looked almost unreal, all sharp lines and confidence as he pulled the passenger door open, his gaze never leaving yours.

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t want to get in. But because you knew—the second you did, there’d be no turning back from whatever the hell this was becoming.

Bangchan saw right through you. He always did.

His voice dipped low, rough with amusement. “Get in, baby. Or I’ll put you in myself.”

Your stomach flipped. You rolled your eyes, masking the way his words sent a pulse of heat straight through you. “Such a gentleman,” you muttered, but your lips twitched, betraying you.

Still, you slid into the seat, the cool leather kissing your bare thighs. He followed, reaching over—closer, closer—until his fingers brushed the seatbelt, tugging it across you.

And suddenly, the air inside the car felt thick. Heavy.

His breath ghosted over your collarbone, close enough that his lips could’ve skimmed your skin if you so much as moved. You could feel the warmth of him, the way his fingers lingered just a second too long before clicking the buckle into place.

Your throat went dry.

You cleared it quickly, forcing out something—anything—to cut through the tension threatening to swallow you whole. “I’m exhausted.”

He pulled back just enough to smirk. “Sure you are.”

The car hummed to life, but your brain? It was shot to hell.

Because now you had to sit there and endure the sight of him driving one-handed, muscles flexing, veins peeking through his skin like temptation itself. It was obscene, the way he handled the car—like he did everything else. With control. With ease.

You swallowed, shifting in your seat, pressing your legs together.

Bangchan noticed. Of course, he did.

His smirk deepened, eyes flicking toward you before drifting back to the road. “Something wrong?”

“Nothing,” you lied, voice far too even to be convincing.

He made a sound, low in his throat, clearly unconvinced. Then, like he lived to ruin you, his hand dropped to your thigh—warm, steady, fingers pressing just enough to make you feel it.

Your breath hitched. “Bangchan.”

He leaned in slightly, just enough to let you catch the edge of his scent—clean, intoxicating, laced with something that made your pulse stutter. His thumb stroked slow, lazy circles against your skin.

“You’re always ready for me, aren’t you?” his voice was nothing but a taunt, silk-wrapped sin.

A shiver licked down your spine. The worst part? He was right. And he fucking knew it.

His fingers crept higher, brushing against the inside of your thigh, deliberate and slow. “I could fuck you right here,” he murmured, his breath feather-light against your ear. “No one would see. No one would know.”

Your body responded before your brain did, every nerve alight, screaming at you to let this happen.

But you had to be smart. For once.

With every ounce of restraint you had left, you grabbed his wrist, halting his movements before they ruined you completely. “I have to go.”

For a moment, he just looked at you, eyes dark, unreadable. Then, his lips curled—not in disappointment, but something far more dangerous.

“Fine.”

But before you could breathe, before you could move, he reached for you, tilting your chin up with maddening ease. His gaze locked onto yours, deep and knowing, before his tongue swept over your bottom lip, slow, deliberate, claiming.

Then he kissed you. Deep. Slow. Devastating.

By the time he pulled away, you were wrecked. Breathless.

“Goodnight, baby,” he murmured, unlocking the door like he hadn’t just unraveled you in a single move.

You barely remembered getting out, legs weaker than they had any right to be. As you walked back to your dorm, dazed and burning, one thought rattled through your skull like a warning you’d never heed:

He’s gonna be the death of me.

♡ taglist ― @kenia4@chrizrizz @meerabmalik @gnabnahcsworld @gncbnahc @jinniejjam @skzworldx @itsacatastrophe-xo @soonie1010 @4ng3l-ch1ld @justwonder113 @tsunderelino @eastjonowhere @lyracarvahall @akindaflora @victoriaaf @ebnabi @wickedbutlovely @bitchysunflower11 @grandpasb0ng

[heliosunny]

Hello, I am obsessed with how you write Mydei and I wanted to request Mydei with a skittish Neko reader, like will jump over the smallest noise with ears and tail standing on end kind of skittish, if you're not comfortable with writing this that's completely alright and I hope you have a good day/night 😊

Yandere!Mydei x Neko!Reader

The merchant’s voice droned on, a tedious exchange of goods and gold that should have been routine. But Duke Mydei’s attention was elsewhere. Amid the scent of aged parchment and exotic spices, something sweeter lingered in the air. A presence—delicate, trembling, and utterly fascinating.

He turned his gaze, slow and deliberate, toward the one who stood just behind the merchant. A pair of feline ears twitched atop their head, betraying their unease. Their tail, sleek and furred, flicked anxiously from side to side. Every subtle movement spoke of nervous energy, as if they might dart away at the slightest provocation.

Intriguing.

The merchant’s assistant, he presumed—though the word ‘assistant’ seemed far too generous. The way they shifted behind their master, hands clutching the fabric of their too-thin cloak, suggested something else entirely. Something more akin to property than partnership.

The merchant followed Mydei’s gaze and, with a greedy glint in his eye, chuckled. “Ah, you’ve taken notice of my little pet?”

Mydei did not reply immediately. Instead, he observed. Your ears had gone rigid. Fear—pure, unfiltered fear. Yet you could not run.

“…How much?” Mydei asked at last.

The merchant blinked before a wide grin split his face. “Oh, Your grace, you jest.”

“I do not.”

Gold exchanged hands with an ease that sickened Mydei. He had purchased fine silks with more effort than this. You did not protest, did not speak, merely stood frozen as your former master took his pay and left without a backward glance.

“You belong to me now” Mydei said, stepping closer. He took in the way your pupils dilated, the way your ears twitched at his voice.

“Come.” His tone was gentle, coaxing, as if he were speaking to a frightened bird. “You must be cold.”

He offered his hand. You hesitated. Then, slowly, you placed your trembling fingers in his.

The ride back to his estate was silent, save for the steady clatter of horse hooves against cobblestone. Mydei sat comfortably, one leg crossed over the other, gloved fingers drumming idly against the armrest of his carriage. Across from him, his newly acquired companion sat stiffly, hands curled into their lap, shoulders hunched as if expecting a blow that never came.

You refused to meet his gaze.

What a shame, he would have liked to see your eyes again.

Every time the carriage jostled, your ears twitched, your tail puffing slightly before you forced it back down.

How easily startled.

“You needn’t be so tense. You are safe with me.”

Your ears pressed flat against your head. He could see your nails digging into your palms, the faintest tremor in your fingers. You didn’t believe him.

Not yet.

The carriage rolled to a stop before the grand estate, its towering silhouette standing stark against the night sky. Mydei stepped out first, turning to offer his hand.

“Come. Don't make me wait”

He led you up the steps of his home.

The doors shut behind you. The warmth of the grand hall should have been comforting after the cold air outside, but you only looked more tense. Your wide eyes darted around, as if mapping out the exits, gauging your chances.

Thinking of an escape already?

“You will be staying in the east wing” he said, releasing your hand. He reached for the ribbon at his collar, undoing it. “Your chambers will be well-kept, and you will have anything you require.”

“Why…?”

Mydei smiled. “Because you belong to me now.”

The way you flinched sent a spark of satisfaction through him. He reached out, brushing his fingers beneath your chin. You jerked slightly but didn’t pull away entirely.

“You will learn” he said, voice as gentle as it was unyielding. “There is nowhere safer than at my side.”

“Rest,” he commanded. “We have much to discuss tomorrow.”

He turned and walked away, confident that you wouldn’t dare disobey.

The night passed restlessly. Sleep did not come easily, not with the unfamiliar silk sheets wrapped around you, nor with the knowledge that you now belonged to someone who could do with you as he pleased. Yet, morning arrived all the same, ushered in by the soft chime of bells echoing through the grand estate.

The knock at their door was polite, yet firm.

“It is time to wake”

You hesitated before slipping out of bed, ears twitching at the sounds of movement outside. Slowly, you approached the door, heart hammering. When you opened it, Mydei stood there, dressed immaculately as always, a knowing smile gracing his lips.

“Good morning” he murmured, leaning against the doorframe. “Did you sleep well?”

You didn’t answer, simply looking down at the floor.

His fingers came up to tilt your chin up,“You should at least pretend, pet.” His tone was playful, but the grip on their chin was firm. “It would be rude to ignore me.”

You finally nodded.

“See? That wasn’t so hard.” He chuckled before stepping back, allowing you space. “Come. I had breakfast prepared.”

—---

The dining hall was grand, its ceilings adorned with chandeliers, the morning light streaming through vast windows. A lavish breakfast had been prepared—freshly baked bread, delicate pastries, fruits laid out in a careful arrangement.

Yet, despite the warmth of the food, you couldn’t bring yourself to eat much.

“What’s wrong? Afraid I’ve poisoned your meal?”

His laughter rang through the hall. “Oh, I do enjoy how easily rattled you are.” His fork clinked against his plate as he leaned forward. “I assure you, if I wanted to harm you, I wouldn’t do it through something so dull as food.”

That wasn’t particularly comforting.

“Eat,” he instructed. “You’ll need your strength.”

You hesitated but took a small bite.

“Good,” he murmured, watching you intently. “See? You’re already learning.”

—---

The next few days passed in much the same way. Mydei was always near, though never forcefully so. He would simply be there—at meals, in the corridors, seated beside you in the grand study. If you flinched at a sudden sound or tensed under his gaze, he would only smile, amused.

And he loved to tease.

“You startle so easily, pet. Should I keep a bell on you?”

“You look like a frightened rabbit when you do that. It’s adorable.”

“My, my, you do blush rather prettily, don’t you?”

Every time you reacted—ears twitching, tail puffing, eyes widening—he drank it in like fine wine.

Yet, in small, unspoken ways, he was… gentle.

He never raised his voice. Never forced you into conversation. If you grew overwhelmed, he would grant you space—though never too much. If you grew cold, a thick blanket would appear without a word. If you struggled with silverware during meals, his hands would guide yours—his touch firm, yet patient.

One evening, after a particularly quiet dinner, you felt something drape over their shoulders.

A thick, warm coat—his coat.

You looked up at him, surprised.

“You’re trembling.”

“…Thank you.”

“Oh? You do have a voice after all.”

Your ears flattened in embarrassment.

He chuckled, leaning in just enough for his breath to ghost against your ear. “I’ll have to get you to use it more often, then.”

—---

The next day started peacefully enough. Mydei had left early to handle estate matters, leaving you alone in the grand halls. You took cautious steps through the corridors, tail flicking as you tried to memorize the layout.

Then, the peace shattered.

A woman stormed into the estate, her heeled boots clicking sharply against the floor. She was beautiful, elegant, but the moment her eyes landed on you, they burned with pure hatred.

His fiancée.

“You” she hissed, closing the distance between you in an instant.

You barely had time to react before she grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked. Pain shot through your scalp as you let out a panicked yelp, your ears flattening in terror.

“What spell did you cast on him, you filthy thing?!” she seethed. “How dare you take what’s mine?!”

You trembled violently, your heart pounding. You didn’t understand—you hadn’t done anything! But her grip only tightened, nails digging into your scalp.

Then, the temperature in the room dropped.

“Mydei…” she started, her voice faltering.

He stood at the entrance, his golden eyes like ice, his presence suddenly suffocating.

“Let Y/n go.”

She hesitated for only a second before scoffing, shoving you back as if you were nothing more than filth. You barely caught yourself, hands trembling.

Mydei approached slowly, he reached down and helped you stand, his gloved hand steady against yours.

Then, he turned to her.

“We are no longer engaged.”

She paled. “W-What?”

“I will not repeat myself.”

She looked between you and him, disbelief turning into fury. But she knew better than to argue. With a final glare, she stormed out, the doors slamming behind her.

You felt Mydei’s fingers brush against your hair, straightening the strands she had yanked.

“…You’re shaking” he murmured.

Tears pricked at your eyes as you bit your lip. You had never been more terrified in your life.

He pulled you against his chest, his arms wrapping around you “No one will ever harm you again,” he whispered, “I will make sure of it.”

After that day, everything changed.

The maids, who once looked down on you with disdain, now treated you with careful respect. Whispers of Mydei’s canceled engagement spread through the estate like wildfire, and with it came an unspoken understanding—you were the one he favored now.

It was strange, being treated so differently. No more dismissive glances, no more hushed snickers behind your back. Instead, you were addressed properly, your presence acknowledged.

But the most significant change was Mydei himself.

Where before he had been playful in his torment, teasing you for every little reaction, now there was something… more.

A certain attentiveness. A sharper edge to his protectiveness.

And so, for the first time, you were granted the privilege of staying by his side.

—---

One evening, as Mydei reviewed documents in his study, you sat nearby, tail curling idly as you observed the delicate way he handled each page. The flickering candlelight made his golden eyes glow as he read, his fingers drumming thoughtfully against his desk.

A crease formed between his brows. Something was wrong. You peeked over, ears twitching as you scanned the document. It was a trade agreement, filled with dense wording and numbers.

Then you spotted it.

“This number is wrong” you murmured before you could stop yourself.

Mydei paused. Slowly, his gaze lifted to meet yours, amusement flickering behind his eyes.

“Oh?” He leaned back, resting his chin on his hand. “Do enlighten me, pet.”

You swallowed, suddenly nervous. But his expression was patient, expectant.

Tentatively, you pointed at the figures. “Here… The numbers don’t add up properly. If you sign this, you’ll be losing a significant portion of the expected profits.”

“Well, well…” Mydei mused, tilting his head. “A sharp eye. I wonder, what else can you do?”

As it turned out, you were quite useful to him.

Your ears, sensitive as they were, allowed you to pick up hushed conversations from maids, guards, even nobles who visited the estate. You never meant to eavesdrop, but sometimes you would hear things—things Mydei found… interesting.

“So the noble’s son has been gambling away his family’s fortune?” Mydei hummed as he idly twirled a lock of your hair between his fingers. “How very unfortunate. Perhaps I should extend a kind offer before his father notices.”

Your keen instincts also came in handy. You could tell when someone was lying, the way their heartbeat quickened, the subtle shift in their scent.

One afternoon, during a business meeting, a merchant attempted to deceive Mydei with false reports. You, standing beside his chair, stiffened ever so slightly.

“Lying to me? How bold.”

The merchant turned pale. You remained still, suppressing a shudder at the way Mydei’s fingers traced slow circles against the back of your hand—silent praise for your perceptiveness.

And then, there was your agility.

One evening, as you walked through the estate, a vase teetered off a shelf. Without thinking, you leapt, catching it mid-air with practiced ease. Your tail bristled from the sudden movement, ears standing on end.

A slow clap echoed through the hall.

You turned to find Mydei lounging against the doorway, lips curled into a smirk.

“How graceful,” he mused, his gaze trailing over you. “I wonder… would you be this quick if I were to chase you?”

Your tail puffed up instantly.

His laughter rang through the corridor, rich and amused.

It became a game between you.

He would test you, push you, always watching how you reacted. A teasing remark here, a fleeting touch there. Each time you startled, each time you hesitated, he would smirk as if memorizing every little detail about you.

But he also valued you.

You weren’t just a pet to him anymore.

You were his sharp-eyed, quick-footed, ever-loyal companion.

And oh, how he adored that.

Mydei had left early that morning, dressed in his usual pristine attire, a smirk playing on his lips as he bid you farewell.

“Try not to get into trouble while I’m gone, pet,” he had teased, his fingers brushing against your ear just to see you flinch. “I’d hate to return and find you missing.”

At the time, you had rolled your eyes, tail flicking in mild irritation.

You should have known better.

The estate was quieter without him. You had spent the morning wandering the halls, occasionally chatting with the maids—though they were still somewhat wary around you. Then, as the afternoon sun cast golden streaks across the courtyard, you had settled near the garden, enjoying the warmth.

Your tail swayed lazily as you basked in the peaceful moment, eyes half-lidded.

Pain.

A sharp yank at the base of your tail sent a jolt of agony up your spine. You barely had time to yelp before rough hands clamped over your mouth, muffling your cry. Panic surged through you as multiple figures surrounded you, their grips firm, unrelenting.

“Gotcha,” one of them sneered, his breath rancid against your skin. “Damn thing moves fast, but you let your guard down.”

You thrashed, ears flattened in distress, but they were prepared. Thick ropes bound your wrists before you could claw at them, and a cloth was stuffed between your lips to keep you from calling for help.

“Careful with this one,” another muttered. “The lady wants them unharmed—well, mostly.”

Lady?

Realization struck like ice in your veins.

His ex-fiancée.

They were going to take you. Sell you.

Your heart pounded in your chest, terror clouding your thoughts as they dragged you toward a carriage waiting beyond the estate walls. The guards—where were the guards?! Had they been bribed?

You struggled, kicking wildly, but a harsh slap across your cheek left your vision spinning.

“Behave,” one of them snapped. “You’re valuable merchandise. Don’t make us damage you too much before the sale.”

You were on your own.

The days in captivity blurred together.

Cold iron shackles bound your wrists, the dim candlelight of the underground auction hall casting eerie shadows against the damp stone walls. You weren’t the only one locked away—other unfortunate souls huddled in their cells, whispering prayers or sobbing softly.

Your ears twitched at every sound, tail curled tightly around yourself as you sat in the corner. Fear clawed at your chest, but you refused to break.

Mydei will come for me.

You repeated it over and over like a mantra, clinging to the hope that the man who claimed you as his own wouldn’t let you disappear into the hands of strangers.

Three days passed.

Then, the auction began.

You stood on the platform, bound and displayed like an object, your tail bristling in humiliation as greedy eyes roamed over you.

The auctioneer’s voice boomed through the hall.

“A rare specimen! Keen senses, remarkable agility—an exquisite addition to any collection! We’ll start the bidding at—”

The doors to the hall slammed open.

A hush fell over the room as a tall, imposing figure stepped inside, flanked by a dozen men in dark coats. His golden eyes gleamed with fury, his presence suffocating.

“I’ll pay ten times the highest bid.” His voice was calm, but the threat beneath it was unmistakable.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. The auctioneer sputtered, momentarily at a loss. No one would dare challenge such an outrageous sum—not when it came from him.

The gavel struck.

“Sold—to the Duke.”

Before anyone could react, Mydei moved, his gloved hands ripping away the shackles that bound you. You barely had time to register his warmth before he pulled you into his arms, his grip tightening as if to assure himself that you were real.

“Y-You’re late” you mumbled, your voice trembling.

“Forgive me”

The carriage ride home was quiet.

You sat beside him, still shaken, your tail curled around yourself as you tried to process everything.

Mydei’s fingers brushed over your wrist—where the iron cuffs had left bruises.

“They will all suffer for this. Every single one of them.”

You believed him.

But before either of you could speak further, the carriage suddenly lurched to a violent stop.

The horses neighed in distress. The driver shouted something—before his voice was abruptly cut off.

“Stay behind me.”

The door was kicked open. Figures clad in black swarmed in, blades glinting in the moonlight.

Assassins.

You barely had time to react before Mydei drew his weapon, slashing through the first attacker with terrifying precision. Blood splattered against the seats, but more came, their strikes ruthless, aimed to kill.

You fought back as best you could, claws unsheathing, instincts kicking in—but there were too many. Mydei cut through them mercilessly, but even he couldn’t deflect every blow.

You saw it too late.

A dagger, aimed directly at your heart.

Before you could move, a strong force shoved you aside.

The blade sank into flesh—but not yours.

Mydei.

The world slowed. His golden eyes widened slightly as the dagger lodged deep into his neck, crimson spilling down his pristine coat.

“No—”

Adrenaline surged through your veins as you lunged, your claws sinking into the assassin’s throat, tearing through flesh. Blood sprayed, but you didn’t stop. You didn’t think.

The bodies of the assassins fell one by one, but none of it mattered.

He collapsed.

You caught him before he hit the ground, panic clawing at your chest as you pressed against his wound. His breath was shallow, his pulse weakening beneath your fingers.

“No, no, no…” Your vision blurred. His blood soaked into your hands, warm and thick.

He looked at you, eyes half-lidded, lips curling into the faintest smirk.

“Why do you… look so worried, pet?” His voice was weak, teasing even now. “I… won, didn’t I?”

He was dying.

You couldn’t let that happen.

Not to him.

You had never spoken of it before, never revealed what set you apart from others of your kind. The ability to sacrifice one of your lives to save another.

A price only you could pay.

Your hands trembled as you made your choice.

Without hesitation, you pressed your forehead against his, your energy surging forward, giving itself to him.

Pain lanced through you—a sharp, searing agony, like something vital being ripped away. You gasped, body convulsing, but you didn’t stop.

The wound at his neck closed.

His breathing steadied.

His fingers twitched—then tightened around yours.

And then, he laughed.

“You foolish, foolish pet” he murmured, his grip unrelenting. “You think you can sacrifice yourself for me?”

“I won’t allow it.”

You threw your arms around him, burying your face in his shoulder as the weight of everything finally crashed down on you. The fear, the pain, the relief—it all spilled over, and you trembled in his arms, gripping his coat as if letting go would make him disappear.

Your voice cracked as you sobbed into him. “You almost died! I thought—I thought—”

Mydei let out a low chuckle, his fingers trailing lazily through your hair. “Oh? So you do care about me, pet.”

You pulled back just enough to glare at him through your tears. “Of course I care! You saved me, you got hurt because of me—”

“Then you should take responsibility.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“I’ve decided, pet. You’ll marry me.”

Your ears stood straight up, your tail fluffed in sheer panic.

“Nope” you blurted out, voice cracking. “That’s not happening.”

His smirk widened, clearly entertained by your horror. “Oh? And where exactly do you think you’re going?”

Your fight-or-flight instincts screamed at you. Flight. Definitely flight.

You turned, bolting.

Or at least, you tried to.

A firm grip snatched your tail before you could take a single step.

A high-pitched yelp escaped you as your entire body froze. Your tail stood straight up, your ears twitching wildly as a shiver ran down your spine.

“Ah, so that’s how to keep you still” Mydei mused, his voice far too pleased with himself.

“L-Let go—!”

“Not until you admit you’re mine.”

Before you could argue, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the clearing.

“My lord!” Mydei’s men rushed forward, eyes widening at the bloodied scene around them. “Are you hurt?!”

Mydei finally released your tail, letting you stumble forward as he straightened up. His usual smirk returned, his injuries practically forgotten.

“Nothing I can’t handle” he said smoothly, then glanced at you.

You, on the other hand, were still recovering from the absolute horror of what just happened.

One of the knights frowned. “Shall we return, my lord?”

Mydei hummed, stepping beside you before leaning in close, his lips nearly brushing your ear.

“Don’t think this conversation is over, pet.”

Your tail bristled. Oh no.

[yanderedrabbles]

Hi I love your stories and characters so much.

Reading your stories always makes me happy. They are a huge comfort💖.

I hope no one has asked you this question, in case I apologize🥲.

I wonder, of your yandere characters, who would be able to threaten you by saying that they would hurt one of your family members (a sibling, a parent), to tenderi by their side?

Who would be able to hurt or worse kill them?

Or would they not because they would know that it would make you unhappy to lose a relative?

It occurred to me while reading the story about Yandere!Yakuza.

If he were to hurt our little brother so that he wouldn't leave us, I would be extremely sad.

(Instead, I think characters like Yandere! State Trooper or Yandere!Pirate, wouldn't care much about your feelings and would hurt your relative if they saw them as a danger)

-smally anon

Yanderes Who'll Threaten Your Family - a totally wholesome collection I promise

Yandere! Yakuza tries to be a nice guy. He really does. But don't ever forget that he's a criminal. You have no idea the things he's seen, the things he's willingly done. It won't be his first option, but if it comes down to it he'll happily break as many bones as it takes to get you back in his arms. And if he feels a family member is being a particular hazard to your relationship? Well, him and his boys are just gonna have a friendly chat. Of the baseball bat to the face variety.

Yandere! Military Contractor won't hesitate to put a bullet in the gut of anyone stupid enough to get in his way. Hell, he'll do it right in front of you if he has to. To him, strength and brutality are all that matters. Is it any surprise that guilt over bloodshed doesn't even feature on his radar?

Yandere! Pirate thinks of himself as a gentleman criminal. The rougish counterpoint to the rich merchants and naval captains that infest the sea. But don't be fooled - he's a killer and a criminal to the bone. How far do you have to go to become Captain on a ship of dangerous, heartless pirates? Trust me, you don't want to know.

He won't kill them in front of you. No, that would just complicate things. He doesn't want to needlessly frighten you. Getting you into bed would be so much less enjoyable if you were constantly trying to claw his eyes out. He'll claim to not know anything about your suddenly missing brother or fiancé, honest to God above. But oh, the sharks do seem so very well fed.

Yandere! Cyberpunk Mercenary is another ex-soldier with a rotten heart. He's got a soft spot for you - sheltered rich girl that you are - but that doesn't mean he's above bloodshed when necessary. In his case, it's almost inevitable. Your parents will keep sending people after you, desperate to get their daughter back from the filthy criminal that has her. He'll try not to let you see any of it. But the acid vats on Titan and the nuclear reactors on Europa have seen more than a few unorthodox disposals.

Yandere! Mobster is... well, he's not a bad guy. Tries to help folk out, look out for the community. If there's any trouble with your family, he trusts his reputation will solve it. No one wants to tell the Don's favorite enforcer that he's not good enough for their family. That's how a person's car ends up in the river with them in the trunk. No, no one in your family is stupid enough to get in his way. And if they did... well, you never liked your cousin Vinny that much, did you?

Yandere! Riot Control Officer is lining up to hurt them as we speak actually. He doesn't even need an excuse. 

[gold-onthe-inside]

asylum

n. def. the protection granted by a state to someone who has left their home country as a political refugee

who? spencer reid (s7) x analyst!reader summary: a few months into dating spencer, you become peeved by penelope's boyfriend's constant presence at the apartment, and spencer offers a quick and easy solution. content warnings: none word count: 0.9k a/n: this was a quick little 1am fic, please enjoy

You liked your dates with Spencer, quiet little affairs, huddled in the corner of a cafe as you both swapped stories from work. You’d do your best to make your work sound more interesting than it was, and he’d do his best to limit the gore you were exposed to.

Finding quaint bookstores and hunting rare books, or buying secondhand books for the other to read. You’d always fancied more contemporary books, he liked the older classics, so trading meant expanding horizons. He had been horrified at your habit of annotating books for about five minutes, then telling you all about how Mark Twain used to do the same thing, writing in the margins of his books.

Going to foreign film festivals, Spencer whisper-translating the trickier dialogues for you, his hand laced in yours, smiling to himself when you’d nestle your head against his shoulder. This was the new normal. You were his girlfriend. He was your boyfriend.

After an awful week trying to catch a sadistic killer, Spencer was eager to spend Saturday curled up on the couch. He changed into his ‘old-man pyjamas’ as you liked to tease him, half-asleep on the couch with one of your novels propped up on his lap, when he heard you come through the front door using his spare key.

"I've gotta move out," you complained, dropping your bag on his coat stand and toeing off your sneakers before walking over to the couch. "I mean, seriously, Penelope's been bringing Kevin to the apartment almost every day, it's so weird," you said, flopping onto one end of the couch as he sat up.

“Tell me they’re not being loud,” Spencer said, grimacing a little.

"I don't want to find out," you groaned, collapsing onto his shoulder. "I really didn't think Kevin would be such a permanent fixture." It had been two weeks into dating that Spencer had found out about your distaste for Penelope’s boyfriend — knowing your best friend and roommate deserved better than some unkempt, disheveled, unhygienic (and to you, very unattractive) analyst.

"He's not that bad, is he?" Spencer asked, gently maneuvering himself to pull you onto his lap, and you let him, more than okay with physical intimacy.

“I mean, he makes her happy, I guess,” you said, pursing your lips as Spencer’s hand trailed over your arm. “And he can keep up with her intellectually, but… I dunno, I just feel like she’s settling for him.”

Spencer’s hand drifted down your side, absentmindedly rubbing your hip. “Settle is a strong word, don’t you think? I mean, she obviously loves him.”

You chewed your bottom lip. "I suppose," you agreed, reluctantly. "Either way, being around him is just... uncomfortable. And Penelope keeps telling me it's fine if I stay, but like... I don't wanna walk into the living room and see them making out... or worse." You shivered slightly at the thought of it.

Spencer chuckled, and his hand wandered back up to your midsection, massaging lightly. "Well, you are more than welcome to stay here," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. "I have plenty of room."

You peered at him. "Just so I'm clear... Are you asking me to move in?"

There was only the slightest hesitancy in Spencer's voice when he finally responded. "If you wanted to. No pressure or anything, of course. But, yeah, I thought it might be nice. Living here, I mean."

You wet your lips, thinking about it. "Are you sure? I mean... we've only been dating a few months."

"What, you get sick of me already?," he asked, feigning hurt. This was a big deal that he was offering, and he desperately wanted you to say yes, but he wouldn't push the subject if you resisted. He was terrified of moving too fast.

"No! No, of course not, it's just... It's a big step, I don't want to rush into it," you said quickly. "Have you thought about it?"

Spencer smiled at your immediate denial. You didn’t have to reassure him so vehemently, but it was always nice to hear it nonetheless. He relaxed into the couch cushions a bit more, his hand moving over to play with your hair. "I have," he admitted. "I'm not necessarily in a rush, either, I just figured... it was an option."

You hummed, thinking about it. You did like the vibe of his apartment, and it was a lot closer to the station than Penelope’s place, and you always ended dates wishing you had more time with him. And you liked the mundanity of your dates, even the simplicity of lacing your hand through his while you both traipsed around Quantico’s greenery on a lunch break. The potential of moving in flashes before you — lazy Saturday mornings, breakfasts together, going to the farmer’s market on Sundays, sleeping with him more often than you did now.

“Okay,” you agreed, looking at him with a soft smile. “I wanna move in with you.”

There was a moment of hesitation before Spencer realized that you had said yes, and his shoulders slumped with relief, a grin spreading across his face. "Yeah? You're sure?" His voice was hopeful.

"Positive," you murmured, kissing him gently. Spencer returned the gesture with fervor, pulling your body a little more on top of his, his hands moving from your sides to rest on your waist. He pulled away, breathless, and leaned his forehead against yours, staring into your eyes.

"I'm moving in," you repeated, breathlessly.

"You’re moving in," Spencer agreed, his eyes bright and excited.

[the-froschamethyst4]

Just found your account I love Guns and Dahlias it’s fantastic will you be doing a part 2 🥰

Guns and Dahlias Pt: 2

𖤐Pairing: Crime Lord! Ghost x Wife! Reader

𖤐Pronouns: She/Her

𖤐Warnings: Angst, smut, harsh language, kissing/making out, mention of guns, violence, blood, and gore, no codenames,

𖤐Summary: Picking up where we left off. Ghost is now on a rampage trying to find the person he cares more about then anything in the world his wife

𖤐Yes, of course! I will never you guys on a cliff hanger for any reason

————

————

March (12:00PM)

It's been close to a month now, Simon was led to dead ends about the whereabouts of his wife.

Harry was no help, even though Simon was using him as leverage thinking maybe the asshole would come forward on who might have taken Y/n.

Simon paces in the meeting room, Johnny was going over the last compound thinking Y/n was there and wasn't, Simon blood was just boiling when he felt like they're not even close to finding her.

"I just want my fucking wife, that's all I fucking ask for," he grabs Harry by his shirt. "GIVE ME ONE GOOD REASON WHY I WOULDN'T BLOW YOUR BRAINS OUT?! You said you'd help us, and you keep dragging us to dead fucking ends."

"If you want to know so bad, then kill me," Simon takes a gun from John holster and with no regret or hesitation finally put this asshole out of his misery.

"SIMON!" Simon then started to go through Harry's pockets, grabbing a dagger and then reaching for a his jacket pocket and pulled out a photo.

"What is it?"

He flips the photo between his fingers and showed the guys. "The Alpes," he says. "The bastard knew the whole time." Simon moved his foot and kicked Harry's bloody face away.

"There's a compound in the Alpes?"

"Wait, can we be for sure."

"Find me those security cameras to every fucking airport!" Simon demands.

------------------

The Compound

Y/n's fingers were cold, blistered, she just wants to know if Simon is coming? If he was close to finding her? She looks down at her fingers and saw them slightly yellowed.

"Fuck," she whispers while her teeth chattered. "S-Simon...please," she begs.

"Get up," someone stood at her cell door, she did what she was told, the guard walks in and she was yanked up off the floor, she was pushed to the wall as they searched her room like she was some sort of criminal.

"I-I'm cold."

"We all are," the guard says.

"You g-guys are in warm furs...I-I'm in a t-shirt and shorts..."

"Give her these," a man comes in, a scar over his left eye and one on the corner of his mouth. He tossed in some furs and pants that she knew wouldn't fit her.

"Boss, she's clear-"

"O-Of course I'm clear, you s-snatched me from my house with n-nothing on me, you f-fucking psychos," she curses.

"Oh she's got a fucking mouth on her, Boss," the guard spits as he walks passed Y/n. Y/n looked at the guard then at the man who gave her the warm clothes.

"Just t-take me back home, I-I'm not apart o-of whatever my husband d-does."

"Why would I do that? You're the one thing he cares about the most, if anything you're leverage till I get to see that bastard, again."

"Again?"

"Guess you don't know your husband at all...he use to work under me! He was a nobody before he met me." He just chuckles, he walks away from Y/n and they closed her cell door.

-----------------

12:50PM

"There." Simon pauses the video and zooms in, a guy in a mask carrying Y/n-well more like dragging her, her face was covered with a sack and her hand tied behind her back.

"That jet, track that jets data."

"Left at...5pm, landed in XYZ Airport just outside the Alpes."

"More information they had struggled to get into the air because a fight broke out."

"A fight? Are there cameras in there?"

"No, but...audio..." Johnny was hesitant to play the audio but Simon nods signaling to play it.

"This is Captain Jack Orsen, we're having a problem on the flight-"

"GET OFF OF ME! DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME!"

"SHE BROKE MY NOSE!"

"YOU BITCH!" There was a struggle but they heard a smack and Simon clench his fists.

"THE BITCH SLAPPED ME!?"

"How did her hands get loose!?"

"Tie her back down."

"For a lady getting kidnapped, she does know how to fight," John says.

"She is a fighter-get me a flight to the Alpes, asap."

"Yes, sir-"

"You'll need back up."

"Tackle up," Simon says as they break.

------------------

Now The Alpes 15 Minutes outside Potential Compound

"Insights say that it could be the compound."

"Alejandro managed to get in with no problem, undetected."

Speaking of Alejandro, he walked through the compound like everyone else, undetected. He carries a gun and walked with a mask covering his face like all the other guards. He stood just outside of a cell, he sees her curled up on the floor.

"Get up." She sits up and once Alejandro opened the cell door, he pushes Y/n to the wall, spreading her feet like it was protocol, he leans forward close to her ear. "Simon is coming." He says.

"Alejandro?" She whispers.

"Shh, don't blow my cover." Soon the head honcho stepped behind Alejandro. "She's clear."

"O-Of course I'm clear, you s-snatched me from my house with n-nothing on me, you f-fucking psychos," Y/n curses at the two men playing along with Alejandro.

"She's got a fucking mouth on her." He says, stepping out of the cell.

He walks down the hall, putting an ear piece in as he was away from the other guards and the head honcho.

"Simon? Do you copy?"

"Yes, where are you Alejandro?"

"In the dungeon where she is...she's here."

"Is she safe?"

"Couple of bruises," he looks up. "I have to go," he pulls his earpiece out and continues walking.

---------------

Red lights flashed across the hallways. Shouts erupted in the distance. Alejandro instinctively reached for his pistol, pressing himself against the wall as chaos unfolded around him. The guards scrambled, some rushing toward the commotion outside while others barked orders into radios.

Then the first explosion hit.

The force rocked the foundation, dust raining from the ceiling. The blast sent a guard stumbling into Alejandro’s path. Without hesitation, Alejandro grabbed the man by the collar and drove his knee into his gut. The guard wheezed, doubling over, but Alejandro was already spinning him around and using his own rifle to snap his neck with a sickening crack.

Gunfire erupted in the distance, closer this time. Simon was here.

Alejandro sprinted back toward Y/n’s cell, neutralizing another guard with a swift blade across the throat. He retrieved the dead man’s keycard, swiping it against the panel. The lock clicked open.

"Move!" he barked.

Y/n didn’t hesitate. She stumbled forward, but Alejandro caught her arm, steadying her. "Can you run?"

"I can fight," she shot back, grabbing a fallen guard’s knife.

He smirked. "Then let’s get the hell out of here."

The hallway ahead exploded in a shower of sparks as gunfire ricocheted off the walls. Alejandro shoved Y/n behind cover, returning fire. Three guards fell before the rest scrambled for cover.

"We have to move now!" Alejandro shouted over the gunfire.

A familiar voice crackled over the radio. "Alejandro, where the fuck are you?"

He quickly tries to put his earpiece in. "North wing, second floor! Need extraction!"

"Hold tight. On my way."

Another explosion rocked the compound. Alejandro turned to Y/n. "You trust me?"

"Not really," she admitted, gripping her knife tighter.

He smirked. "Good. Stay close."

They sprinted down the corridor, dodging bullets and bodies as the compound erupted into full-blown war. And somewhere in the smoke and fire, Ghost was coming.

"Get down," Alejandro says, covering Y/n as they heard gun firing and then...it stopped. Alejandro released Y/n and they looked to see if it was clear.

Y/n sees her husband, blood covering his front as he was pulling his knife from the back of one of the guard that was firing at them.

"Simon!" Y/n calls out, Simon looks up and sees her.

No others words were exchanged, Simon put his knife back into his holster and running up to Y/n picking her up and hugging her so tight she could barely breath.

"Si," she coos, while holding his face.

"Oh, thank fuck, you're safe." He says. He looks at Alejandro and motions for him to get in front so they can all leave here unharmed and safe.

"Leaving so soon, Simon?" A voice calls from the end of the hallway. They stopped and turned. "The fun has just begun," he smirks.

"Viktor Mikhailov," Simon growled.

"It's been awhile...I'm not surprised you came in guns up and firing, and you setting off my alarms..."

"Take her out of here."

"Simon-"

"I'll be fine this is between Viktor and I."

Alejandro moved Y/n out of the way and headed out of the compound.

"Y/n!" John yells.

"He's still in there!" She cries.

"He'll be fine, Y/n, he's tough," Johnny tries to reassured her.

"I don't need that right now, I want my husband, I just got him back, I don't want to lose him."

They felt bad for Y/n, she cried on her knees, holding her face in her hands as tears streamed down her face.

"No need to worry," Johnny says, moving Y/n to turn and look.

"Simon!"

"No, need to cry, my love, I'm not going down that easily. It's gonna take more then that."

----------------

7 Months Later

"Si? Where are you?"

Simon came out of the bedroom and was in a very nice suit.

"Where are you going? Are you going to see your mistress?" She teased.

"Funny, no I'm not. I have meeting today."

"Is it to talk about your retirement?"

"No...that's another time, my love." He leans down kissing her lips and placed his big hand on her plump stomach. "Get some rest, you're gonna need so much strength for when this little one comes along."

"I know." She whines, putting her head back.

"I'll be back later."

"Fine," she groans. He just smiles down at her and pats her back giving her a soft kiss and waited for her to get under the covers and get comfortable before he leaves.

[rubylace]

PROLOGUE 3. TRUTH OR DARE

m.list

pairing: musician!jay x reader (f)

genre: coming-of-age, new adult, personal growth, sexual tension, fams dynamic

wordcount: 4,257

a/n: here's another idol's name, I don't have idea whose names I'm using anymore🫢

💙 taglist: @rikizm @sumzysworld @xylatox @morganaawriterr 💙

Jay whispered in your ear, “I don’t like it when they start playing these games. We don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to, Patch.” His hot breath caused a shiver to run down your spine.

“It’s okay,” you said.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

A group of kids from school were hanging out in Sunghoon's basement. From time to time, he suggests that they all start playing Truth or Spin. It was a combination of Truth or Dare and Spin the Bottle. Sunghoon select the ‘victims’ as he called them.

He would ask a question, and if the person pleaded the fifth, refusing to answer, he would spin the green Heineken bottle. The victim would then have to kiss whomever the bottle pointed toward. The kiss needed to last a full minute that was the rule. It was fun to watch as long as neither of you got called upon.

Part of the deal in getting invited back to Sunghoon was to play along with his games. Somehow, neither Jay nor you had ever gotten picked upon to participate the last couple of times you came here.

“Jay.” Your heart dropped when you heard his name.

“Yeah?”

“You’re up.”

“Sh*t,” Jay muttered under his breath. He flashed you a worried look before Heeseung posed the question.

“Question. Do you, or do you not secretly want to bone Y/n?”

His face turned red. You don’t think you had ever seen it that color before. Your heart was pounding. You couldn’t believe Sunghoon asked him that, and you was truly scared of the answer whichever way it went. He shook his head. “Pass.”

Sunghoon sounded surprised at Jay’s refusal. “Pass? Are you sure?”

“Pass.”

“Alright, then.”

Sunghoon wasted no time bending down to spin the bottle. The glass spun around, scraping across the laminate basement floor before coming to a stop.

“Oh! You’re not-so-lucky victim is Karina!” Jay looked at you. The worry in his eyes was tangible, but he knew he had to go through with it.

“One minute,” Sunghoon reminded. Karina, who’d been sitting on the ground, slithered toward him. You watched, devastated, as Jay pressed his lips into hers. She opened her mouth wide and wrapped her hands around the back of his head, pulling him harder into her and practically eating his face.

You always knew she liked him.It felt like your heart was slowly breaking with every second that passed. That was the longest minute of your life. It was the first time the jealousy monster had reared it's ugly head to that extent. It was also the first realization of how strong your feelings for him really were.

When the minute was up, Jay wiped his lips with the back of his hand and came back over to me. You wouldn’t even look at him. You knew you shouldn’t have been mad, but your feelings were out of your control. “Are you okay?” he asked.

You continued to look down at your shoes. “Let’s just go.”

He followed you. “Patch…it’s just a game.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You started the quiet and awkward walk home.

You stopped suddenly in the middle of the sidewalk and turned to him.

“Why didn’t you just answer the question?” He just looked at you for the longest time before admitting, “I didn’t know what to say.”

“What do you mean?”

“If I said no, your feelings would have been hurt. If I said yes then things would be weird between us. And I don’t want that. Ever.”

“Was she your first kiss?” He hesitated, looking up at the dark sky, then whispered, “No.”

You shook your head and started to walk ahead of him. It felt like you didn’t know him anymore.

“Patch, come on. Don’t do this.”

Tears started falling. You was crying, and the you couldn’t even pinpoint exactly why. That was the first time you realized that you’d fallen in love with him. You loved Jay. More than a friend, more than anything. You was so mad at yourself. Your biggest fear was losing him. It hit you that it was going to happen someday. Maybe it was already happening.

Nine Years Later. It was definitely another storm, you just didn’t know it yet. The property was in good shape because the neighbor, Mella, who was also Ameryn's good friend, had been looking after it. Two weeks into you stay at Ameryn's summer house, your summer house, you was knocking on wood that the peace and quiet would continue.

No word from Jay. No word from anyone. Just yourself and your books as you enjoyed a tranquil start to summer amidst the salty ocean air that surrounded you on the island. Never in your life had you been more appreciative of this kind of peace. It was just over a month ago that it felt like your world had ended. Not only had Ameryn just died.

You’d also just discovered that Alex, your boyfriend of 2 years, had been cheating on you, you just had s*x when he went to the bathroom to dispose of the con*** and take a shower he’d left his phone by the bedside and that was when you saw all of the messages from this b*tch named Yemi.

He normally always took his phone everywhere with him even to the bathroom but that night he slipped, you looked her up on private insta couple acc and saw that half of the pictures posted were of the two of them. Over the six months prior, you’d been feeling that something was off with him.

That was your final confirmation. Just before you left for the summer house, you found out that Alex moved to Boston to live with her.

⟩ SERIES START SOON🙌🏻❤️

[ponyosfrogg]

Hey! Thank you so much for your response.

I've never thought I would actually have to respond to one of these kinds of comments but here we are! :) I understand where you are coming from and that's okay so here's an explanation for you 🩶

In the world of comics especially as in the universe as fluid as the DCU: characters exist across multiple timelines and alternative universes. Yes, Damian is a kid in multiple universes but he's also an adult in various issues as well. I've never found myself looking at the child version of him and thought: "I'm gonna write a fic abt this." No. Since I also read those issues and explore different characters with different storylines I write abt that. It's as easy as it is. My Fan-fiction is based on an older version of him not his child version and I'm sure my readers don't think of him as a fourteen year old kid as well 🙏🏻

I respect that this is an important issue and everyone has their own comfort levels with certain topics and I also understand that you may feel what I was trying to do as a wrong. and if my story isn't for you, its alright. But i want to assure you that my intent is simply exploring new characters within the different issues and AU's.

If you'd like to learn more about certain points such as the issues he is an adult or anything, do not hesitate to contact or message me for further information. I hope we can respect each other's approaches. Have a wonderful day 🤍

Blood and Silk 2

Summary: Damian wants to hear you say his name and things go heated once you challenge him.

Warning: MDNI. Dirty thoughts and idk how to write warnings. (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠) not proofread maybe.

A/N: Gosh, so many things to mention. Thank you all for the love and support that you guys showed for this fic (⁠っ⁠˘⁠з⁠(⁠˘⁠⌣⁠˘⁠ ⁠) mWah.I was gonna publish it yesterday but something came up so here we are. Lmk if you want pt 3. ᕦ⁠(⁠ò⁠_⁠ó⁠ˇ⁠)⁠ᕤ trying to overcome my fear of writing explicit content.

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┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ˚★⋆｡˚ ⋆

┊ ┊ ┊ ⋆

┊ ┊ ★⋆

┊ ◦

★⋆ ┊ . ˚

˚★

A week had passed since yours and Damian's first encounter. A week full of hunting The League of Assassins.  Some of them were taken out quite cleanly, into the shadows of Gotham. Others left as a warning for the leaders that were after you.

He agreed to help you quite easily after your small talk on the rooftop. He made some calls and was able to find you a small safehouse outside of the city. It was quite clear that the safehouse was for shorter stays since it had only one bedroom and one bed. You thought you were going to stay there alone considering how small it was but no, Damian was staying with you. It was a good thing that you guys were always on the move otherwise you were sure that you guys might kill each other after two days.

As the gentleman he was, he slept on the couch for a week. Even though you knew it was the most uncomfortable thing ever. He never complained though, not even once.

You guys were getting better along now that he was helping you. You knew each other's fighting styles too well, each step a counter to the other's instincts. He was a natural leader after all so he was making the plans about the ambushes while you were following every step one by one. He had changed his stupid outfit into something more traditional which made him look delicious you thought.

Black, green and gold. They were his colors and you were sure of it. You knew that he wanted them to know that he was helping you, it was his way of getting revenge for himself maybe. For the things that they had done to him.

But tonight was different.

You guys made some miscalculations and Damian took a blade to the side of his body, on his ribs to be more specific during a rooftop ambush, the wound shallow enough to complete your mission but deep enough to stagger him, almost falling off from the rooftop multiple times, making his balance shit. He cut through the remaining assassins with practiced ease like he was doing this everyday, but you saw the way his breathing hitched every time he was moving.

By the time you guys reached the safehouse he was barely standing. There was blood everywhere: on his clothes, on your clothes, on the ground and on the couch he was sitting on right now.

You grabbed the first aid kit from the kitchen counter and rushed towards him.

The safehouse smelled like the pasta you guys made before going out. The dim light of the desk lamp cast long shadows as you sat beside him on the couch and opened the bag.

"Take your shirt off" You said with a serious tone in your voice just to disguise your worry. "If you wanted to see me naked you could've just said so, you know? No need to be this bossy." He said jokingly. You couldn't believe he was still teasing you even under these circumstances. Thank god he followed your instructions and you helped him while he took off his shirt revealing the deep cut along his ribs. You tried to clean the blood off of his body to be able to see the wound more clearly while his muscles tensed under your soft fingers, but it wasn’t just from the pain.

You couldn't help but stare at his body. There were scars around his upper body and some bullet wounds from his past. It actually broke your heart to see him like this.

“Enjoying yourself?” His voice was low, almost whispering, the amusement not quite masking the tightness in his jaw.

You rolled her eyes as you took out an alcohol from the bag and put some of it on the cotton pad you were holding. “Yeah, stitching up your flesh is my favorite pastime dumbass." 

"I knew you had a thing for me." You didn't bother yourself to find an answer to his flirty comments. Instead you grabbed the needle from the bag and threaded it. His eyes were lingering on you, hell; you weren't even sure if he blinked or something. He was watching you like his life was depending on it. You spoke again. "This is going to hurt" While getting closer to the wound he spoke:

"I've had worse." Jesus, does he have to be such a show-off all the time. "This doesn't mean it is going to hurt any less, charming." You stopped calling him Al Ghul or heir after the first three days realizing it actually made him stiffen every time. It was nice to torment him but spending time with him made you realize you still liked him. Even after all the time you wished he was dead.

You started stitching, your hands were steady, your movements were careful. His breath hitched after the first pull of the needle, but he didn't move at all. He just kept watching you. Watched the way your brows furrowed with concentration, watched the way you bit your lip when you were sure that the pull was going to hurt, watched the way your fingertips touching the side of his body with the most affectionate way he could imagine. Thought that if getting wounded or even bleeding was the price of your touch—he would bleed himself dry just to feel your soft touch against his skin one more time. His thoughts were occupying him so much that he didn't realize you were done with stitching until your touch stopped.

"You should take a day off or two. This wound has to heal." You murmured after a while just to break the silence. You could still feel his eyes on you and you were trying so hard not to meet his gaze. "Getting soft, kitten?" He scoffed, though it wasn't mocking like the other times. You rolled your eyes and started taking off your gear. "No, I don't want you to bleed on my hands again because it is fucking disgusting."

When you take your gloves and your shoes off, you collapse onto the couch beside him, exhaustion settling deep in your bones. His blood is still on your suit, dried in thin layers over the leather, but you were too tired to care. You stretched out your arms and yawned, propping your feet onto the coffee table, arms folding behind your head as your eyes closed.

The safehouse was quiet. Being away from the city, gave you comfort that you didn't know you needed at all. Damian was sitting tensely next to you. Even with your eyes closed, you could feel the heat radiating from his body. You could sleep right there, right now too tired to even move a little bit.

Then, his voice cut through the silence— "You look comfortable." You smirked with him stating the obvious. "I am"

"Just like a fucking princess." Your breath hitched and it was subtle, really. But he noticed it. Just like he noticed every other thing you were doing.

Your brows furrowed, showing the annoyance you felt for your own reaction. "Don't call me a princess, unless you want—" He didn't even let you finish your sentence before he spoke. "What?" His voice was as smooth as the silk around your throat with a hint of pleasure.

"Don't start the sentences you can't finish, princess." Gosh, it was so hard with him. You clenched your jaw and opened your eyes. He was already looking at you.

Damian had been watching you since you closed your eyes. Hearing your calm breaths and he, of course, saw how your chest started to rise faster after the nickname. How you pressed your already crossed legs closer to hide your excitement. His pupils were dilated so much that you could barely see the dark green part. He had little to none control over his body around you. That was the reason why he was sleeping on that damn couch every fucking night since the beginning of the week. That was the reason why he was spending so much time on his computer during nights or coming up with a lame excuse like patrolling around the city just to make sure there's no one following you guys around. Every day that he spent around you made him lose his composure more and more. He never felt this way before for no one, he had girlfriends, he had one-night stands hell; he even tried some of the most disgusting and unspeakable things that some nights he felt ashamed of yet none of them gave him the thrill like you did. He was a top for sure but for some reason all he wanted to do was worship you.

"Why are you staring at me like that?"  You tilted your head to a side slowly like you could understand what he was thinking by simply staring back.  "Like you don't already know?" Your mouth went dry. You were usually so quick with your words, always had a comeback ready yet you couldn't think of anything beside his soft, plump lips that lost its color because of the blood loss. He wet them quickly with his tongue. Your eyes wandered back to his eyes and behind those darkened eyes you could see that he was trying to restrain himself so hard. Like he was scared that he would ruin you if he attempted to do anything. That left your mind completely blank. 

"All I know is that you're imagining things." you murmured as you forced yourself to stay still. But your body was betraying you. Your pulse was faster than ever.

He hummed, his voice was lower now. Darker and almost thoughtful. "Am I?" The way he was leaning towards you was telling another story. You realized then how your bodies were positioned. He was on your left side, sitting next to you. His shoulder and his legs were brushing against yours. You felt yourself sweating all of a sudden. He leaned a little bit more and now his breath was dancing on your cheek. His hands were on his laps but one of them moved towards your face and brushed your hair behind your ear. They were twitching with the need of your skin. None of these things were your imagination.

He was close enough that if you turned your head just slightly, your lips would brush his.

And you almost did. It took every will power on your body to stay in the same position.

Or maybe you did, or maybe he did? Maybe both of you met halfway, neither of you were willing to admit you wanted this. His eyes were lingering around your lips now. The tension was thick once again but this time you wanted this tension to last until one of you (preferably him) breaks.

Your thoughts were interrupted when he spoke. Although you heard what he said, out of a habit you asked. "What?" Your heart was about to leave your body. It was stupid, he was stupid, this whole thing was the stupidest thing you've ever seen.

"Say my name."

He spoke his next words against the space between you and you could feel the tingling sensation on your lips. "You never say it, not once since you came back."

Your stomach twisted, you wanted to tell him that it wasn't intentional at all. You wanted to tell him that calling him with nicknames was easier for you to ignore your past, you wanted to tell him calling him Damian would make everything so real so fast. Yet you didn't say anything at all. Just looked at his eyes, dumbstruck.

You tilted your chin like you were challenging him. Your body was moving and you weren't sure if you had any control over it. "And if I don't?"

Something flashed in his eyes, like he waited his whole life for this challenge. He smirked and it made the butterflies on your stomach move downwards. God, you were ashamed how much teasing made you wet.

"Then, I'll just have to make you." It wasn't a threat, it was a promise. Your breath hitched but you refused to look away so you stared right into his eyes. If he thought that he could tease you, you weren't going to surrender this easily.

His hand was now on your neck, fingertips tracing lines towards your face. His long fingers were now on your jaw, barely touching. His thumb came over your mouth, barely touching your aching lips. If it would've been a different situation you knew that you would just throw yourself over him and kiss him until his lips bleed.

You didn't want this to stop.

You had to stop this.

You had to say something but your mind wasn't even working. "You can't force me—" The second you started to speak his restraint snapped.

He kissed you. His lips were soft yet cold on yours, moving firmly. He was slow, not rushing at all which made you squeak with surprise. But you pulled yourself together fast, and started to move your lips.

Your head started to spin with pleasure. You were pathetic. So desperate for his touch. These things should make you feel embarrassed yet they only make you hornier. Your fingers curled into his body and you remembered he had no shirt so you were touching his bare chest. Feeling him made you more wet. Your hands started to wander around his beautiful torso, feeling every muscle on his upper body. You pressed your legs together once more and tried to swallow your moan.

Damian hummed, low and knowing. He was insisting on the slow pace even when you started to move your lips faster. He broke the kiss suddenly and he rested his forehead on yours. Breathing fast.

"I'm trying to be gentle here, princess."

You rolled your eyes. "If I wanted gentle, I would’ve found someone else—maybe the kind of guy who doesn't kiss like they're eighty years old.." His eyes snapped open this time. You could see the burning fire of pride behind them. His hand grabbed your chin. His four fingers were on one side of your mouth, his thumb was on the other side. He was holding it too tight that you felt like it might actually break. "Careful," he murmured, his voice dangerously soft. "You don't know what you're asking for." You closed your eyes and moaned uncontrollably, it was loud. He felt something below his torso moving with the sound of your moan. He chuckled humorless and sharp. "You really don't know when to shut your pretty fucking mouth, don't you kitten?"

He was staring at you like he could see right through your bluff. With his free hand, he grabbed you from your hip and pulled you towards himself. He was strong. He positioned you on one of his legs and made you sit. With the sudden pressure on your wet folds you whimpered. Your hands immediately found his neck and wrapped around. He let your jaw go while wrapping them around your waist, pulling you closer to himself. This time you managed to bite your moan off but his hot breath started to linger around your neck and your cheek.  "You're such a needy kitten." His lips are brushing around your ear, whispering like someone else could hear your conversation. "You look so flustered when you lose control."

You exhaled sharply, your grip on his neck got tighter, one of your hands wandered through his shoulder and grabbed it as well to calm down. "Like hell I am." It didn't come out as you imagined it would. You were breathless.

"Then make yourself believe what you said first and stop shaking." You cursed under your breath, willing to stay composed this time. But then his fingers slid up, tracing the line along your jaw, tilting your face towards him. His eyes flickered to your lips, his own barely a breath away.

He kissed you once again. This time it wasn't gentle, it wasn't slow. It was burning, It was challenging; a completely different kiss from the other one. His lips claimed yours possessively. Like he was waiting for this moment for his whole life, like everything he managed, every obstacle he obscured was to be able to reach this moment. He felt like he was only breathing when he was kissing your lips. He liked how your body was reacting to everything he does, he liked how you were all over him. He liked you, more than he can imagine or even admit.

Your fingers curled into his hair and started to pull them. This movement alone made Damian groan into your mouth while you swallowed his sweet voice. His hands were now each side of your hip, pushing his fingertips onto your skin over your clothes holding you firm and strong. He slightly opened his mouth a little bit more and grabbed your bottom lip. He started to suck your beautiful lip between his own and bit it a little too hard, earning another moan from you.

Your tongue asked for permission to wander around his mouth and he didn't even lose his time while he let you enter. You were practically lost under his touch, completely at his mercy.

Suddenly Damian pulled away, without opening his eyes he rested his forehead on yours once again. The safehouse was now filled with unsteady breathings coming out from both of you. "You still didn't say my name." You felt like you were floating so he repeated himself once again for you to understand. "Say my name, kitten." God, why was he so persistent?

He didn't even let you think about what he said and he attacked your neck. Soft and slow. A kiss pressed right below your jaw. Your fingers twitched with his touch and you told yourself it was just irritation. His lips moved again tracing a path towards where your neck meets with your shoulder. A bite accompanied his lazy kisses. You hissed with the feeling. 

"Still nothing to say?" You were about to respond yet another bite came. You wanted to tell yourself you weren't someone weak that would break with a bunch of kisses and love bites. You were trained to be tortured and actually tortured multiple times yet you were sure you would spill everything if Damian would be your interrogator. His lips were heavenly.

His hands around your hips made them presences known. He was reminding you that he could sense every little move your body was making. You thought he was going to take you off of him but instead he guided you back and forth on his thigh.

The friction made you almost lose your mind. His mouth was still taking his sweet time on your neck and sucking the thinnest layers of your skin. You never wanted to get rid of your clothes that fast before. His pace was not fast yet not slow either.

"Say it." He pulled his head out of the crook of your neck and stared into your eyes once again. You felt like you were drunk and he didn't seem any different. His pupils were dilated, lips swollen and his cheeks were blushed with all the hotness. His, usually so neat, hair was a mess now because your hands were pulling them. The wound you came to tend is long forgotten.

"Stubborn." He spoke again. His pace is starting to get faster. He was pushing you down on to his thigh more and moving your hips back and forth. This was the part where you couldn't control your body anymore. Your eyes shut close, you were moaning, whimpering and hell, even screaming. He was going crazy, just knowing that a simple grinding on his thigh was making you lose it. He holds you closer as his hands take a faster pace. You were dripping, you could even feel your juices wetting your inner thigh and even though the leather clothes were thick enough for you to contain your juices. he could feel the heat radiating from your core.

But he wasn't different at all, his precum was wetting his bottom. He felt his cock throbbing with pain, yearning for your sweet pussy. That was all he could think about.

"Damian, I'm about to..." You didn't even realize you told his name no, you were so focused on his touch and him..The familiar feeling was rushing towards you, "Please don't stop" That was enough for him to keep going. He growled, when he heard his name off of your pretty mouth. God, if you would have grind over his cock right now he would've come right there right then.  You pulled him closer to your body as you started to see the stars, shivering under his hands, trying to breathe. Your hands wandering through his body, almost touched his newly stitched up wound yet he didn't care. "Fuck." you heard him saying under his breath. You collapsed on his body completely, head resting on his shoulder.

There was silence for a few minutes. The room was filled with your breath and under your touch you could sense that he was not different at all. You didn't know what to say and you weren't sure if you actually had to say something.

You felt a small peck on your forehead. Reassuring you, telling you he's right there with you. You smiled how peaceful it was within his arms. He was holding onto you like you would break if he let you go.

[luvsizedfrellie]

Okay, okay. But why Ellie and insecurities, just belong together so well??

Ellie lay still, her head pressed against your chest, the steady rhythm of your heartbeat grounding her, even if her thoughts were anything but. Your fingers moved with careful precision through Ellie's short auburn hair, undoing tangles and massaging her scalp in a way that was almost maddeningly intimate. For someone who said she wasn't looking for anything serious, you sure knew how to touch like this meant something.

Ellie swallowed hard, her fingers loosely clutching your wrist as if to anchor herself, her chest tightening with the same stupid gnawing panic that always seemed to creep in at times like these. Naked. Vulnerable. Trapped in her own head. She hated it—how something so good, so warm, could twist into a knot of self-doubt and jealousy the second her brain decided to turn on her.

The sound of your voice broke her spiraling thoughts. "I should probably get going…" you murmured, your free hand trailing along Ellie's bicep. It wasn't dismissive—your voice had this warm, easy tone, but it still hit like a fucking knife in the gut.

Ellie stiffened. Panic flared, hot and sudden, adrenaline rushing like it was a fight. That anxious knot screamed at her to say something, anything to keep you here. She wasn't ready for this—wasn't ready to let you go back to being just a friend when moments like this left Ellie too raw and too fucking tangled up in feelings she didn't want to need.

Her voice came low, raspier than she'd meant, overthinking every word before spilling it out anyway. "Stay. Stay with me."

You paused, your hand stilling in Ellie's hair as if you hadn't expected the word.

"I mean—" Ellie fumbled, her knee jerking against your thigh as she shifted to sit up slightly, "it's fucking freezing outside. And i uh.." she licked her lips, hesitated. "I don't wanna sleep alone."

Your deep brown eyes softened, but something flickered behind them—like you were reading Ellie too well, like you already knew this wasn't just about the cold or whatever excuse Ellie could pull out of her ass to justify needing more time.

"Els…" your voice had that soft, careful note that you used when Ellie was being impossible, your hand coming down gently to brush against her cheek.

"You're seriously gonna leave? After we…" Ellie trailed off and groaned under her breath, exasperated by her inability to just spit it out. "Fucked around like this? C'mon."

You smiled faintly, but your hand stayed on Ellie's cheek, thumb brushing against one of her pretty freckles, lingering just a little too long to feel like casual comfort. "I gotta patrol tomorrow," you said softly. "First light, remember?"

Ellie blinked hard, her mouth opening before slamming shut again, frustration curling in her gut like wildfire. She didn't know what to fucking say. Should she ask you to stay and admit how hard it was for her to act like this didn't hurt every single time? How it killed her inside that she wasn't sure if she meant something or was just one more fucking name you barely remembered the next morning?

The silence stretched awkwardly, suffocating them both until you brushed your lips across Ellie's forehead in a light, fleeting kiss before resting her chin against Ellie's head. "How 'bout i stay a little longer," you promised, "but only if—"

"Fuck off, no conditions," Ellie shot back immediately, voice snapping like static, but she curled back into you instinctively, her fingers pulling gently at your arm. "You're staying. That’s it."

You laughed lightly, the sound booming through your chest, and Ellie could feel the vibrations where her cheek pressed against your skin. For all your confidence and smooth-talking, there wasn't a single part of you that seemed eager to leave just yet.

[bobbedazzled]

Forget It All

pairing: zayne x reader word count: 2.0k content: !!!Main Story Spoiler!!! | very light angst, mentions of grief, smut

Caleb and Grandma’s passing is still fresh in your mind. The weight lingers, pressing against your chest like an ache that never fades. You recall the nights you lay awake, eyes swollen and raw from the tears you gave up wiping away. The silence of your apartment is suffocating, a stark contrast to the warmth of the home you once knew.

The Captain’s orders were simple: heal. From your injuries—both physical and mental. But healing is easier said than done. The walls of your apartment close around you, loneliness pressing along the sides. The TV illuminates the room you've sat in all day, and you applaud yourself for at least leaving bed. The half-eaten meal on your coffee table has long gone cold. You know you should try to sleep, eat, do anything that resembles normalcy—but the weight in your chest won’t let up.

You need someone. A voice to ground you, to remind you you’re not entirely alone.

Your phone sits on the armrest beside you. You stare at it for a long time, debating, before finally reaching for it. You don’t know who you’re trying to call until your thumb hovers over a familiar name, Tara’s. She's left notes and food at your door since she heard what happened, a friend worthy of confiding in.

You tap her contact, but before the call even connects, a choked sob rises in your throat. The moment the sound escapes, your hands shake, and you fumble to end the call. Despite how much you need it, asking for help is nauseating. You toss the phone to the side, curling into yourself as shame washes through you. You should text her, something to ease the concern you know you'll cause, but the thought alone exhausts you. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing the feeling away.

The seat vibrates as your phone hums into the couch cushion. Your heart skips a beat as you notice an incoming call not from Tara.

Zayne.

You hesitate, pressing your lips together. She must’ve contacted him when she saw your missed call. You should ignore it—you’re a mess, and he’s probably busy—but your body moves before your mind catches up. You press accept, attempting to say hello, but only a shaky breath comes through.

"Where are you?"

Your voice is frail as you respond "Home." You murmur.

"Unlock the door."

You don’t question it. With weak limbs, you push yourself off the couch and shuffle to the front door, flipping the lock before returning to your spot. It’s barely been a few minutes when a firm knock echoes through the apartment. You blink, disoriented, but drag yourself to the door.

The door swings open, and Zayne fills the frame. A tall, broad figure, his sharp gaze meets yours. He steps inside without hesitation, shutting the door behind him like he’s sealing you away from the outside world. His eyes rake over you, concern etched into his face, but he doesn’t speak.

You muster up a smile, "Did I interrupt your workday?"

His expression softens. "Your wailing had me worried," he says.

You laugh apologetically, noting how tense he looks.

"Any amount of crying can raise your heart rate," he continues, following you to the kitchen. As your physician, I wanted to check on you."

Your eyes roll, "Sorry," you chuckle. "I guess I did call just to sob on the phone. Now I feel dramatic."

Zayne places his hand over yours, preoccupied with pouring coffee. You look over to meet his stern eyes.

"What you went through…." He starts, his hand grounding you. His touch is a sensation you need after nights spent reclusive in your room. "You're coping with a tragedy, don't call yourself dramatic."

"I wouldn't say I'm coping very well."

"You are doing well," he reassures. "crying releases the hormones necessary to ease the pain you feel."

You scoff, "Yea, well, I've been crying for ages and the pain hasn't gotten better." You bite your cheek, annoyed by his need to lecture you.

His eyes soften, "With time it will." He affirms. "Until then," the hand pressed against yours moves to your waist, "what can I do to help?"

Your eyes meet again as he inches closer, caging you against the counter. Your body craves attention, comfort, and affection—a need he's made a habit of fulfilling.

Dr. Zayne has always been there, steady and unshaken, a presence you could lean on without consequence. Until one night, the boundaries between patient and caregiver dissolved in the hush of an empty office. A desperate tangle of hands and lips, his whispers laced with something dangerously close to devotion, his name caught between your breaths as he unraveled you.

Now, you exist in the delicate space between restraint and surrender, unwilling to name what lingers in the glances you steal, the touches that last too long. And yet he waits, patient and unwavering, for the next time you'll let yourself fall into him again.

His hand lingers at your waist, fingertips pushing into the fabric of your shirt. He presses close to you, his nose brushing against your ear as your chest drums against his. His voice drops, softer, but thick with something unspoken.

"Tell me what you need."

You part your lips, but no words come. You don't know what to ask for. You don't know how to say what you need, something that will pull you out of the ache in your chest. Zayne watches you struggle, his grip tightening just slightly. His patience is unraveling, thread by thread.

"Use me." He pleads, "In any way that is useful."

The air is too thick, humming with something neither of you will name. You can feel the heat radiating from him, the restraint in his posture. He is waiting for permission, for you to let go, to let him pull you from the abyss, even if just for a moment. You can't look him in the eye. You're not sure what to ask for—and for what you need, you're not sure how to ask. You lean over, lying your forehead on his shoulder.

"A hug?" He asks, his gaze growing heavy. You don't respond, simply pressing into his chest. Your hands start at his forearm, shyly caressing and massaging the skin before trailing up to his biceps. His body feels cool, a haven for yours burning with emotion. You want to be held, to share your warmth with him.

He leans in, softly speaking into your neck, "Do you need a distraction?"

You nod and allow him to close his arms around you, enjoying the pressure surrounding your body as he carefully plants kisses down your shoulders. You free your arms to wrap them around his neck, enabling him to pull you close as his hands begin to wander.

"What do you need from me?" His fingertips tickle the skin as they slip beneath your clothes. You melt into him tracing your figure. Enjoying the attention, your hands creep up to his hair, massaging the lobe of his flushed ear.

He hums against your ear, reminding you to answer him.

"Touch me. Please."

The pajamas loose around your waist slip and fall to the floor. Unable to follow his wide strides to your room, you're lifted into his arms. Your hands cup his face, and a warmth blooms under your palm as his face reddens. You sink into the familiar embrace of your bed, your breath quickens as Zayne hovers over you. His cheeks are flushed, but his eyes—dark and searching—never leave yours, as if he sees something sacred in the way you exist. He leans into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment as he caresses the hand resting on his cheek. His lashes flutter open at the sound of his name leaving your lips, his gaze soft but intent.

"What will happen after this?" The question escapes you in a whisper, weighing the uncertainty between you both. For a moment he simply watches you, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. His thumb traces gentle circles along your wrist before he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to your fingers. “That’s for you to tell me,” he murmurs.

His quiet laughter melts into the space between you as he guides your hand into his hair, lowering himself down the length of your body. You feel irresponsible for not controlling yourself. Anything can happen when emotions are this high, and the consequences of waiting at the end of the night is another reason to savor the feeling of his slender hands tracing the legs wrapped around his neck.

Every lingering touch, every unspoken word between you has led to this moment. You should have drawn a line, should have kept your distance, but the warmth of his breath against your skin, the longing etched so clearly in his eyes, makes restraint feel impossible. A dull pain pulls you back into the moment. You yelp and glance down, watching his mouth suck and soothe the indents on your inner thigh.

"It's rude to nod off like that." He teases, dragging his teeth up your torso, ready to take another bite.

"Am I boring you?" He trails up to your chest with open-mouth kisses, tongue swirling against your sternum. You feel him smile against your skin at the soft moans leaving your lips. He watches, lips following yours, swallowing your gasps as his hand slips to where his head was buried.

"Don't think, just enjoy me."

Sparks fly up your spine as he fondles the folds between your legs. He kisses the skin you expose as you roll your head into the pillows. A heat in your belly expands, its slow progression teasing you to chase. Flushed and in awe of you, he watches the skin below flex around his fingers. "You're so cute. " he praises, adding a digit and cooing to your whimpers. You grind into the hand massaging your velvet, encouraging the heat coiling inside you to unravel. But it's not enough to take you there.

You push him out of you, tugging at what's left of his clothes to position him over you. "I need more."

He follows, eyes scanning yours for direction, "More of what?" His voice is low, more demand than question. His gaze, heavy-lidded and dark, tells you he already knows. He wants to hear you say it. You squirm under his stare, his lust is evident as he lowers himself, pressing his forehead against yours as he wraps your legs around his waist. He repeats his question, delivering pecks to the corner of your lips.

"More of you."

He sighs, satisfied at the sight of you letting go. Your lips clash as his pants jingle and drop to the floor. The cold left behind from the metal of his belt is warmed by the heat of his girth rubbing down your thigh—hazed breaths exchange as you undress each other, entangling yourself in him. Your hands rake through his hair, down his back—undecided on what to grab first. Zayne's arms slink under your pillow, bracing himself on the edge of the mattress.

A gasp breaks your kiss as he enters and retreats, using your velvet to lubricate every new inch. He sinks into you, swallowing every gasp as he grinds into the hard wall of your cervix. He buries his face into the side of your neck, dazed by your sweat, the faint smell of shampoo mending with his cologne. The warmth of his body engulfs you, his grip firm—possessive, desperate, as if letting go isn’t an option. Every peck, every slow drag of his lips against your skin sends ripples through you. The gentle scrape of his teeth, the hushed words of praise against your ear—each one frays you further, pulling you deeper into him. He holds you as if he’s afraid you might slip through his fingers, as if the night wasn’t enough, as if he needs more.

The quiet hue of twilight spills through the curtains, unveiling the remnants of the night before—clothes scattered without care, sheets tangled from restless hands and desperate limbs, the lingering warmth where bodies had once been entwined. Dawn kisses his skin in soft gold as he trails his lips over the slow rise and fall of your chest, a silent invitation. As the world stirs beyond these walls, he lingers, greedy and unwilling to let the night end.

[saltminerising]

thank you fr community for reminding me that fr is not, in fact, an escape from reality and real world issues! trans rights and protect trans folks means trans men, trans women, and the full spectrum of nonbinary people, not just trans women and feminine nonbinary people.

And on that note, this topic is ending here. Collection of asks below the cut that came in before this, but any further discussion can be held in the replies or not at all.

>1 person on the LGBTQ+ thread ignores that "being feminine means you're a woman" rhetoric can affect trans men even if it's aimed towards cis men & she doesn't have nuance about how context matters and some egg jokes are okay/others are not & thinks if she hasn't seen them done badly in her own circles it never happens >2 different people are like "i guess trans men can't talk about our experiences" >look at the trans discussion on the thread prior to the egg joke debate >the trans-specific posts are vast majority transmascs >chat does 1 person excluding trans men in the thread mean trans discussion on this thread/online excludes trans men in general. (shoves several pages of transmasc-centric discussion under a rug) idk it's just too close to "if one trans woman is a bully to trans men then they must all be" rhetoric/denying that transmisogyny exists in trans spaces for my comfort

Sometimes I don't really get it when other transmascs or trans men talk about their online experiences but seeing some of these asks about M from Lightning make me get it. He literally did not say anything wrong in that thread.

M and K in the lgbtq thread both had fair points. But they were both being kinda weird about it so... also apparently im blocked by M despite having never interacted with him? strange but whatever

you guys are insufferable. egg jokes pushed ME further into the closet, AND IM TRANSFEM. I get why some people are fine with them but they make me so fucking uncomfortable and feel unsafe, especially in a red state. I’m glad mousemod stepped in. I second what someone else said, it’s like some of you DONT want solidarity.

ok maybe m from lightning was annoying about it but k from shadows response to somebody's vent with 'um well it helps some people' was also a little inappropriate

ok but if someone wrote a whole essay about trans men in reply to someone talking abt their experiences as a trans woman ppl would call them every slur under the sun. can we all at least agree that K's series of posts in reply to M was not fucking cool. if they'd literally just not quoted M it would've been fine. If I were in M's position I'd be annoyed as fuck too. initial anon was right, shit like this IS why transmascs are hesitant to speak about our experiences online. And when we speak out about it/snap back in a MILDLY RUDE way we get fucking demonized lol

Listen, it's clear K's posts were coming from a place of personal experience/passion for the subject and this is not to say their points weren't valid but I think some of you might have missed the fact that after their initial post they came back into the thread and quote replied to a completely different person who was exclusively talking about their experience as a transmasc person and the negative experiences they had with gender expectations from other people that were directly related to their identity with someone else in the thread and K used it to continue their "rant" and even told that person "it wasn't about them", despite the person sharing a personal experience. I get wanting to talk about the subject but utilizing that person's post to do so was uncalled for and disrespectful. You do not need to trample over random trans people talking about their personal experience to have a valid moral discussion. Time and place.

[lou-struck]

A Winters Roll

Yuji Itadori x reader

Prompt: ❄️☃️ + snow angels

W.C: 981

~ A freak snowstorm means that you and Yuji have the day to your self to walk through the snow and make a new friend. 

a/n: this is one of the submissions for the second rendition of the Emoji Event! Thank you to everyone who participated. 

The warm hand holding yours makes you forget for a moment about the snowflakes circling your head as they float gently down from the sky as you walk through the park; the path uphill has been salted and cleared by maintenance plows just moments ago, creating a clear divide between the wet concrete and snow-covered grass.

Right when you think you have made it through the harsh cold of the winter, Mother Nature circles back around with another surprise, an unexpected winter storm. 

The on again off again snowfall makes commuting for most people practically impossible, and your manager, after being bombarded with dozens of emails, texts, and calls, decided to give everyone the day off. 

Nostalgia warms you like a hot cup of cocoa as you give Yuji's hand a squeeze. "Thanks for dropping everything to come and take a walk with me." the condensation of your breath lingers in the air as the pink-haired Jiu-jitsu sorcerer looks down at you with rosy cheeks.

"You bet," he says enthusiastically. "I can't remember the last time we got this much snow." he points to one of the park benches that looks so encased in the fluffy white snow that it looks like an overstuffed sofa. 

"You wanna sit on that, don't you?" you ask, watching his warm, smoky quartz-colored eyes flicker to the bench as you pass it by.

"Maybe, Just to see what it would feel like," he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck, "But look behind it."

Straining your eyes, you squint until you can vaguely make out what caught his attention. A large clump of snow sitting in the middle of a snowy clearing. The falling snow around it slowly covers up the dozens of dimples in the snow made by little boots. 

"Is that a snowman?" you ask curiously, taking your first step off of the paved path into the snow-covered grass. 

"It looks like someone started him and got too cold to finish the job." Yuji frowns, and you know exactly what you need to do. 

"Well, what are you waiting for?" you grin, brushing off the unpacked snow from the base. "Frosty here isn't gonna build himself."

"I'm coming," he laughs, pulling a pair of gloves out of his back pocket and handing them to you. "Here, I thought these would come in hand-y."

His little pun makes you snort as you hesitate to take the gloves. "But what about you? Won't you need them?"

"Don't worry about me baby," he grins, shooting you a wink. "I run hot."

He sure does… 

"Fine, but you have to tell me if your hands start to freeze off." you huff, placing your hands on the snowman's base. He follows suit, and you start to push; as the snowball gains in size and weight, you find yourself struggling to keep up with Yuji's superhuman strength and lose your footing. With a yelp, you land face-first into the soft snow. The cold sensation washes over you as you lift your face from the pile.

"Hey, are you alright?" he asks worriedly, his strong arms pulling you up from the snow as you stare down at the you-shaped print in the ground. 

"I'm alright. The snow broke my fall," 

"I see that, but at least you made a snow angel," he says, ever the optimist. You laugh, not wanting to ruin the moment by telling him that you didn't move your arms. His fingers gently brush a clump of snow from your cheek as your gloved hands snake around his neck. 

His hands come to rest on your midsection as he pulls you in even closer by the pockets of your winter coat.  

"I'm sorry for moving too fast." he frowns, "So you can pick the name of our snowman."

"Anything I want?" you ask coyly. 

"Sure, but I'll tell you right now, Snowtoru Gojo would make for a great snowman name. Just look at hi~" His voice trails off as he turns to the snowman to gesture at its luscious spherical base only to find that it has disappeared. "Wait… where did it go?"

You look around, and then you spot it. Your snowball rolling down the hill gaining in both size and momentum as it caves its way through the snow. "It's going there," you point. Your stomach sinks when you realize how dangerously close it is getting to the road and the row of parked cars. If it hits one of them, it could cause quite a bit of damage. Your tone turns urgent as you utter his name.

"I'm on it," he says taking off running down the hill after the runaway snowman. With his amazing speed, he is halfway down the hill before you can blink. You follow, but your legs don't move the way his do. 

Snow slides down your boots as you stumble down the hill, arms flailing every which way as you fight to stay upright amidst the slick, uneven terrain. 

In the distance, Yuji manages to overtake the snowball just before it makes it to the cars. His eyes shine with pride as he looks at you. "I. Made. It." he says between pants as he flops down on the snowy ground. 

"Good job Yuji," you huff, reaching him at last. You join him on the ground and take his hand. "Let's take a little break; we can finish Snowtoru Gojo in a little bit."

His happy laughter echoes through the air, creating large clouds of condensation, but he has no objections whatsoever, 

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