#I am. So so so sorry for how long this took

[cherrygarcia-07]

You wouldn’t have to go into too much detail with the horrors of the long exhausting case: but Spencer coming home to a civilian reader after such a case and she takes care of him. Maybe he feels bad about asking this if her because she has a job too, she needs to decompress too, take care of herself too but she’s like: “I took a three hour nap, ate some ice cream, watched a movie, I’m fine, I’m energized, I’ll make coffee, just lemme take care of you for goodness’ sake because you’re literally my person, you’re never a burden and you look like a puppy that got kicked right now and it’s breaking my heart.”

How she exactly takes care of him is up to you! But I would love to just…be this man’s comfort and solace

To Love Is To Care // Spencer Reid🌙

Thank you so much for giving me something else to write!! I hope I did okay <33

Synopsis: When Spencer comes home broken and empty from a rough case, you do everything you can to remind him that he is safe and loved, no matter what.

pairing: spencer x reader (gn!)

genre: fluff, hurt/comfort kinda-ish-y idk but they love each other so much

word count: 3.3k

notes/tags: briefest mentions of a death during a case, spencer is sad before he can be happy (sorry), non-sexual nudity (sfw imo literally nothing happens or is described they just shower together, its more for metaphors sake than anything), spencer snaps at reader for a quick sec, lotsa little kisses and hugs, gilmore girls mentioned🗣️, deliberate slight misunderstanding of mythology/philosophy, lotsa lovey doveyness🙂

masterlist

(pls reblog if you enjoy !! it helps a lot !!<3 )

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You were by no means a profiler. You couldn’t read people that way, in that much detail. You couldn’t predict their next moves, couldn’t fill in the blanks of their past and you didn’t always know the best thing to say to people in a given situation. But you knew Spencer Reid. Like the back of your hand, in fact. You knew his moods and how they shifted, the subtle ways his body language and his speech adapted to them, and how his eyes reflected whatever emotions he was trying to keep hidden. Most importantly, you knew how to be there for him even when he insisted he didn’t need you to be.

That night you were sprawled out on the couch with your eyes glued to the TV having gotten home from work earlier than usual. You’d lounged around and relaxed but your muscles still ached with the strain of the day, your eyes drooping despite your nap a couple of hours ago. You sighed at the late hour staring back at you from the clock and reread the message from Spencer telling you he was on his way home. Rubbing your eyes, you settled back into the cushions just as you heard the door creak open behind you.

As you spun to look, a solemn air seemed to creep in through the door behind Spencer, floating around him like a fog that clouded his vision and stopped him from meeting your gaze as he let himself in. He walked tentatively, almost like an intruder in his own home as you watched him try to move as quietly as possible while he hung his bag and coat up and toed his shoes off by the entrance. He moved as if his limbs were being pulled by string, heavy and clunky despite his efforts to seem invisible. Slowly, you rose to your feet, making him turn to face you. As soon as he offered you that forced, tight smile and you met his dull, tired eyes you knew what had happened.

He couldn’t save them.

“Are you okay, honey?” You asked gently, walking over to where he still lingered by the door.

“I’m fine.” Spencer replied too quickly, trying to force a steady voice but it came out hoarse.

“No you’re not.” You whispered. He ducked his head to avoid eye contact and you noted the way his jaw twitched slightly before he responded, voice tighter than before.

“Yes, I am. I told you I’m fine.”

You sighed as you took a step closer to him, tilting your head in his direction in an attempt to get him to look at you again, but he wouldn’t.

“I know you, Spence.” You began, “you say ‘I’m fine’ when you’re not fine. If you said ‘I’m good’ or ‘I’m doing okay’ or anything else I’d believe you but ‘I’m fine’ means you want me to drop it.”

“Then maybe you should.” He snapped, eyes darting back to you with a coldness that wasn’t there before, like a mask shielding the hurt behind them. “I’m a grown man, I’m capable of handling my own problems.”

He moved to storm past you, but you reached out a hand to stop him, resting it carefully over his heart and rubbing gentle circles with your thumb into the fabric of his cardigan as he let out a shaky breath.

“I know you are, but that doesn’t mean you have to.” Slowly, you moved your hands from his chest, upwards until they delicately cupped his face like it was fragile. Spencer sighed as he instinctively leaned into your touch and wrapped his own hands around your wrists to keep you in place like he was afraid he would fall apart if you let go.

The coldness in his eyes melted away, replaced by a hollowness that broke your heart. You may not have known Spencer as a young boy, but you knew enough to recognise that that was the version of him standing before you now, afraid and desperately alone. And it hurt to see.

You knew he wasn’t mad, he was simply that small child trying to defend himself from a world that refused to help him, trying to protect himself before his brain could catch up to the situation and realise no one else was going to. He’d grown up taking care of his mother with no one to take care of him in return, bearing responsibilities meant for years well beyond his age while he suffered in silence and unfortunately that meant he didn’t know how to trust help when it was offered it to him. It felt like some kind of cruel joke in the making, like dangling the answer before his face only to open the trapdoor beneath him when he stepped forward to grab it. Frankly, he didn’t know how to be vulnerable. In the simplest of terms, it scared him.

When you finally spoke, you spoke softly, tenderly, as you opened your arms to him in invitation.

“I’ve got you.”

That was all it took. Instantly, the dam broke and he collapsed into you, burying his face in your shoulder as your hands found their way to his hair. You felt the silent tears soak through your shirt as his arms wrapped around you tightly, anchoring himself to you. Neither of you spoke for a while, you didn’t need to. Instead, you gently swayed where you stood, rocking him side to side as he cried, your fingers never stopping their soothing strokes of his hair, untangling the knots from where his own trembling fingers must have tore through it earlier. You continued swaying, your movement like a metronome tick tick ticking until his breathing matched its pace, evening out as the tears dried up.

You let the silence encompass you both for a moment longer, waiting until Spencer’s grip around you loosened as he pulled back until you were face to face again.

“Let me take care of you, honey.” You said, brushing his hair out of his face.

“I don’t deserve it.” He whispered, voice raw and broken in a way that made a lump form in your throat. His eyes were red and bloodshot, puffy from crying and purple below, bruised from the sleepless weight of his guilt.

“Of course you do.”Your own voice cracked as you spoke, and you cupped his face again when he began to shake his head in disagreement. “Of course you deserve to be taken care of. Why wouldn’t you?”

Spencer took a deep breath before he responded and you could tell he was swallowing another wave of tears. “It’s selfish. You’ve been working too, and it’s late and you’re tired. You shouldn’t be the one suffering for my own failings.” His voice trailed off at the end and you caught the way his nose scrunched up as he fought to push down his emotions.

“Spence,” you tried to flash a light smile in his direction. “I’ve napped. I’ve eaten. I’ve watched so much Gilmore Girls since I got home I think Luke Danes might actually reach out of the screen and slap me if I don’t get off my butt and do something.” This earned a light, albeit wet, chuckle out of him and you breathed a slight sigh of relief that you were beginning to get through to him.

“I don’t want to be a burden.” His voice was as small as you’d ever heard it- and it wrecked you.

“Spencer, look at me.” Still holding his face in your hands, you carefully turned him to look at you as you stared into his eyes, loving but firm. “You could never be a burden. You are the most doting, dedicated, downright adoring man I have ever met in my life. There’s nobody on this earth that makes me feel even a fraction of the way you make me feel, nobody who makes me feel so wanted and so loved and so seen. I refuse to let you go to bed thinking you are anything less than that. Letting me take care of you would be the greatest gift you could ever give me. I would move heaven and earth for you, you know that?” You paused for a moment, making sure your words really sunk in because you meant every single one. When he nodded hesitantly, you leaned in to kiss away the tear that had begun to roll down his cheek before adding “and honestly this sad little puppy dog face you’re giving me is breaking my little heart.” This got a real laugh out of him, pulling one out of you too as you gave him a loving smile.

You took his hand in yours, brushing your thumbs over the callouses that had formed after years of holding a gun, and guided him to the bathroom. Wordlessly, you began to undress him with the utmost care, tender and gentle as you pulled the fabric off of his body as if you were unveiling a work of art, letting him shed the memories of the past few days as his clothes dropped to the floor. Your breath hitched at the bruises on his body, no doubt the result of the case, but you said nothing. Once you were both bare you stepped under the shower head, both relaxing into the warm water as it blanketed the two of you in its much needed heat.

It was moments like this that meant the most to you. It wasn’t about lust or sexuality, it was the pure intimacy of allowing the other to be completely vulnerable in its most literal sense. It was knowing you were unveiling it all; your scars, your flaws, your everything to one another and not doubting for a second that you would be met with anything other than unfiltered love. It was real, it was honest, it was raw. Especially for someone like Spencer who kept his walls so high up and so guarded, you knew how much it took for him to get to this point with somebody and you felt so eternally grateful to any and every force of the universe you could fathom that you got the honour of being that somebody.

Spencer’s eyes fluttered shut as your hands found his hair, running shampoo through it as his forehead dropped to your shoulder. You felt his arms wrap around your waist again as you continued washing his hair, touch light but grounding against his scalp as they massaged him. Every now and then, you pressed a kiss to his temple and when you rinsed out the shampoo you used your hand as a make-shift shield to stop it from getting into his eyes. It’s beautiful, really, how the simple act of just being together can turn the most mundane, every day tasks into something so intimate. It felt like the whole world had disappeared, like if you pulled back the shower curtain you would find nothing but the vastness of space giving you all the time in the world to keep orbiting around each other, just like this, forever.

Afterwards, you wrapped Spencer in his towel before going to get his favourite comfy pyjamas for him. You dressed him with the same care as you had undressed him, putting him back together after he had fallen apart, and you pressed a quick kiss to his lips when his head poked through the neck hole of his shirt, getting a surprised giggle from him that made your heart sing.

As you both wandered back into the bedroom you flicked on his nightlight, welcoming the hazy, warm glow that finally drew out the glimmer in his eyes you’d been missing all night. It was a little moon shaped light that you’d bought him in the gift shop of a science museum he took you to when you first started dating. It was clearly meant for kids and you’d both laughed at its charming tackiness, but he’d slept with it on every night since.

Once the two of you were in bed you immediately climbed on top of him, sinking your head into the crook of his neck as his hands found your back. Deep pressure therapy. He’d told you about it once.

It was back in the early days of your relationship and you’d dragged yourself into his apartment, exhausted and on the edge of crying after a rough day at work. Spencer had watched as you threw yourself onto the couch, perched next to you with a worried look on his face. Before you even had a chance to speak, you found yourself being laid back against the cushions as his tall frame clambered on top of you. He was awkward, unsure of how to execute his plan but knowing that he just needed to do anything in his power to take away your discomfort.

“Spence?” You questioned, though you instinctively reached around him to pull him closer.

“Deep pressure therapy.” He mumbled into your shoulder. “Many people find it regulating. There’s been numerous studies that show that it relaxes the nervous system and helps relieve symptoms of stress and anxiety. Most people opt for a weighted blanket but I don’t have one to offer you so as an alternative…” He trailed off shyly. “You have me.”

You’d laughed, shaking your head affectionately at his over the top, nerdy, and so uniquely Spencer way of looking after you.

“I can feel it working already.” You’d muttered into his hair, and since then it had become routine.

Now as you gaze up at him through your heavy lashes you begin to notice the serenity starting to replace the pain in his eyes.

“Are you ready to talk?” You murmur, your voice a welcome break in the silence.

Spencer takes a deep breath and you can almost see the gears turning in his head as he tries to piece together his thoughts. Finally, he speaks, low and tired, “this job feels so Sisyphean sometimes. It’s like you work so hard and you strain yourself beyond belief every single day but then all it takes is one bad case- one miscalculation or one wrong word, and you lose it all. You lose everything and you end up right back where you started. You can’t help but feel completely hopeless.”

“How many people do what you do?” You reached up to gently tuck a stray hair behind his ear.

“You mean my job?” He asked and you nodded. “Well the amount of agents currently employed by the FBI stands at approximately-“

“No, Spence.” You giggled, cutting him off. He was always so eager to share his knowledge, his passion for statistics always at the forefront of his mind and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t warm your heart in a geeky way. “I didn’t mean it literally. I mean you are already going above and beyond the rest of us. You have a very brave job- a tough, brave job that not a lot of people have. That’s something to be proud of.”

He let out a heavy exhale through his nose. “But what’s the point if people are still dying?”

You shifted your position on his chest slightly, adjusting so your faces were level. “The point is all the people you have saved and all the people you will save. And all the bad, bad people you’ve stopped from ever hurting anyone again. You can’t save everyone- thinking that is just unrealistic as much as I wish it wasn’t- but you’re doing everything you possibly can to try and that’s more than most people can say.”

Spencer was quiet, his eyes drifting to the ceiling above him as he processed what you were saying. You could tell he was trying so hard to let himself believe you were right, to let go of the guilt haunting him, but he just couldn’t.

“You have had the weight of the world on your shoulders for as long as you can remember and I know it’s hard not to feel the pressure when you’re so used to it by now.” You began. “But you have got to learn to take a breather through it all or the weight is going to crush you.”

You watched as Spencer bit his lip in thought, but he remained silent and so you carried on.

“You referenced Sisyphus, right? That moment where he loses the boulder and has to go back to the beginning and start all over again? Well, maybe it’s not such a bad thing.”

He tilted his head back down to look at you, brows furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean?”

You gave a small smile and reached down to give his hand a comforting squeeze before answering. “Sure it’s frustrating. It feels hopeless like you said, like all that work was for nothing. But then there’s that moment when there’s no weight. There’s no boulder, even if just temporarily, and maybe now he can catch his breath before he starts over. Maybe that’s what this moment is for you.”

“But then he does start over,” Spencer started, voice cracking as his brows pinched together further, “for all eternity. His life is doomed to pushing that same stupid boulder up that hill over and over and over again.”

Humming lowly, you pulled his hand to your lips, pressing a reassuring kiss to his knuckles as he tried to calm the sudden racing of his heartbeat.

“So he should savour those breaks in between, don’t you think?” You said, tucking his hand beneath your chin and staring up at him with an affectionate smile.

Spencer felt a grin tug at his lips as he met your eyes. “I don’t think you fully understand the story of Sisyphus” he teased.

“Shush, I’m rewriting it.” You grinned back, “my version is better anyway.”

Another silence fell over you, but now more tranquil, more steady. Spencer felt the boulder slip from his grasp, but for once he didn’t chase after it.

“Thank you.�� He whispered after a while, cupping your face where his hand still rested along your jaw.

“For what?”

“For taking care of me.” Tears pooled in his eyes again, but this time it wasn’t grief or guilt- it was gratitude.

“Never thank me for something you are one hundred percent deserving of.” He opened his mouth to protest but you immediately cut him off, “and you ARE deserving of it, because you are Spencer Reid.” You paused to quickly peck his lips. “Smart” kiss “kind” kiss “handsome” kiss “Spencer Reid.”

He couldn’t hold back his laugh as he beamed into your kisses, and when you pulled away his cheeks were flushed and rosy.

“You are my Spencer Reid, and I love you so, so much.” You murmured, leaning in to kiss him properly, slow and soft.

“I love you too. So much.” He echoed, squishing your cheeks together in a way that forced a pout. You giggled wildly as he kissed you back, sporting a sappy grin on his face.

Yawning, you eventually rolled off of him, finding your place tucked into his side instead. “Well with that established, I think it’s time I get my much needed beauty sleep.”

“Nonsense,” Spencer muttered, already beginning to fall asleep as he wrapped his arm around you, “you’re already the prettiest person in the world.”

“Doctor Reid, are you flirting with me?” You mumbled sleepily, chuckling into his shirt when he hummed proudly in response. “Shameless. Get some sleep, Romeo.”

Just like that, the two of you drifted off together, safe in each other’s embrace. You knew it wasn’t over forever- but it was over for now. There were always going to be more cases, more people who would fall through the cracks. There were always going to be more days when Spencer pulled himself through the door, broken and falling apart where he stood, but you would always be there to catch him. He was learning to be vulnerable one day at a time, that scared little boy inside fading further and further away with every word from your lips or touch from your fingertips- and that was enough for him to keep trying.

-

[sweetbans29]

Risk - CC

Pairing: Caitlin Clark x Reader

Summary: Everyone believed the world revolved around Caitlin but if you were to ask her, she would say hers centered around something (someone) the world was too blind to see. AKA Caitlin is completely in love with you. Loosely based off Risk - Gracie Abrams.

Warnings: slow burn

Word Count: 5k

Sweetbans Masterlist

Caitlin has known you since freshman year. She learned early on that the two of you shared the same major (which she was over the moon about). You caught her eye long before she ever caught yours and that was only because she had put herself in a position to get noticed by you (when she finally got the guts to do so). It took her a whole year before she worked up the courage to say a single word to you and do you remember that word? No. But does Cait? Absolutely.

It was in a stats class sophomore year, she was sitting right behind you, has been in every class she has had with you. There was an exam that day and you had realized you didn't have a no.2 pencil for your scantron. You turn behind you, eyes meeting Cait's and you ask her for a pencil. Her response? 'Yes.' And she provides you with the only pencil she has.

See Caitlin would typically facepalm at the fact that she now has no way of completing her own exam but instead she sat there memorizing the moment when your eyes connected with hers and the faint look of concern that disappeared the second she passed her pencil to you. Caitlin was left rushing to finish the exam when her friend sitting next to her passed her a pencil.

Caitlin ended up getting a C on the exam. To her, it was worth it. She would do it again in a heartbeat.

All throughout college, Caitlin would secretly hope that you would be in each of her classes. She even went as far as changing her schedule a few times when she found out you weren't in her class. That was not an easy feat considering she was a student athlete but once Cait set her mind to something, her determination moved mountains.

Even though she would be in the same class as you, the most she would do is stare at the back of your head - wishing you would turn around so she could see your eyes. She felt like a fool waiting for you turn your head just so she could get a good glimpse of you.

There was one day about half way through spring semester when class ends early and Caitlin has her second conversation with you.

You were about to head out, grabbing your bag from your desk after packing it up. As you grab the strap, lifting it up, it breaks causing all of your belongings to scatter across the floor. You curse under your breath as you bend down to grab the contents of your bag.

As you are on the ground, you notice someone crouching next to you and the next moment you feel yourself being pushed to the ground.

You fall to the side with a little 'hmmmph'.

"I am so so sorry," the girl mumbles, as red as a tomato. She doesn't know whether to help you up or continue gathering your things. As Caitlin was bending down to help, she lost her balance and ended up pushing you over.

You see the conflict in her eyes and begin to laugh, which only makes the girl even more red.

You lift you hand up, asking for her help up.

Caitlin freezes, looking at you, knowing the palms of her hands are sweating. You lift your eyebrows, then let out a little frown. She tries to compose herself and decides to wipe her hands on her pants before taking your hand to help you up.

"Thanks," you say softly, realizing how nervous the girl in front of you is.

She just nods and goes back to gathering your belongings.

It makes you smile.

The two of you finish picking up the contents of your bag and stand. Once you do, you introduce yourself.

Caitlin, of course, already knows who you are but she isn't going to admit that fact. Nor is she going to admit the fact that she has known of who you are for over a year and could probably tell you more about yourself than you may even know.

Like when you sit down, you flip the hair on the left side of your body over your shoulder and then tuck it behind your ear. Or how when you are thinking really hard, your eyebrows furrow and you lick your lips. She has also learned that you never use your phone in class, even when waiting for the professor to begin lecture or during breaks. You sit there and review your notes or turn to your side and spark up a conversation with someone around you - she only wished she had the courage to sit closer to you so that conversation would be directed at her.

Caitlin has also noticed how you tap your pencil when you daydream. Not an annoying tap, you tap it on your hand as your eyes seem to be looking at the professor but your mind is completely elsewhere. This one took Cait a long time to learn since she would almost always sit behind you. But there was one class where the professor had you all sit in a circle of desks rather than in lines and she got to observe you in a different light.

One of her favorite things she has noticed and has come to love is your smile. She didn't catch it all the time but when she did, she was completely and utterly smitten. She would find herself smiling, then blushing realizing she is smiling uncontrollably due to you.

"I'm Caitlin," she says with a little smile. If anyone asked, you would say her little smile was adorable.

No one asked.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Caitlin," you say with a smile of your own. "You are on the basketball team, right?"

Cait nods a little faster than she intends to.

"That is so cool," you say. "I'll have to come check out a game."

Caitlin feels like she could combust from excitement. YOU coming to one of HER games? Where you would watch her do what she does best, absolutely.

"Hey thank you again for helping me out," you say, touching her arm lightly with a smile. "It was nice meeting you Caitlin."

Before she knows it, you have your back to her and are walking out of class.

Caitlin was too excited at the fact that you now know who she is and wanted to come to a game of hers to be embarrassed by the fact that she didn't say anything other than her name. She is also trying to savor the feeling of your touch on her arm. Your hand felt like the softest hand to have ever graced her.

Over the next few weeks, Cait has tried not to think too much into the fact that you could potentially be at one of her games. The last thing she needed was a reason to be nervous in the one area of life that she has never been nervous.

When she didn't see you at the first home game following your meeting, she tried not to be disappointed. If anything, she hid it really well. She played like she always did - all gas, no brakes.

The next few games, she found herself looking over at the student section more often than she had before. Walking over to celebrate with them in hopes that her eyes will fall upon you standing in the middle of the crowd, cheering her on like everyone else. But she doesn't - you are not found in the crowd and her disappointment grows.

After that, things went back to the way they used to be. Caitlin observing you in class and not really doing much to seek out your attention.

That is until March of junior year when she looks out into the crowd during one of the games leading into March Madness and finds you. She is ecstatic which quickly turns to sick when she sees someone's arm wrapped around you as they pass you a drink, kissing your temple.

Caitlin doesn't remember much after that, but she ends up snagging a triple-double during the game. Over the next few weeks, Cait feels the full effects of why it's called a crush.

Senior year rolls around and without having to switch any classes, you are in 4 out of the 5 classes Caitlin is taking. She still finds herself looking your way when you enter the room - really whenever you make any sort of move.

In one of the classes you shared during the second semester, you took the liberty to sit next to her for the first time. Of course it makes Caitlin's heart go a mile a minute but she has to constantly remind herself that you are taken and she has every reason to have no strings holding her down. With her battling with the decision to declare for the W draft or stay, she needs to make the decision that is best for her and only her. Also when Cait thinks about it, it's crazy that she thinks about you in her future when you are taken and haven't shown any interest in her.

Day one, you sit next to her with a wide smile.

"Caity girl!" You say with an enthusiasm that could have Caitlin run a marathon.

"Hi," she says, hoping she doesn't sound as sheepish as she feels. Hearing your little nickname for her has her wanting to hear it 24/7.

"After how many classes we have had together, we finally get to sit next to each other. Seems like a long time coming, am I right?" You say as you situate yourself.

Caitlin nods, she knows no matter what the two of you could talk about, you would always be right.

"Well, better late than never," you say as you open your notebook. It was in this moment that Caitlin realized something that she never really noticed before. You are the only one in class who is handwriting their notes while everyone else is on their laptop. She wonders why.

As the semester goes on, the two of you have little conversations here and there. You try not to pry into the life of a girl who you think always has eyes on her while Caitlin wants to unload everything about who she is to you. It is a very interesting balance really.

There is one week when Cait is super sick and doesn't make it to any classes but ends up traveling and playing a massive game.

When she gets back, and finally begins to feel like she is recovering - she gets an email from you.

[Class Notes 2/11

Hey Caity Girl - we missed you in class this past week but a friend said you were really under the weather. I thought I would share the notes from this past week so you don't fall too far behind. I know you are already doing so many different things and hope this makes it a little easier to manage. Feel better soon, ya? I miss having my notes buddy in class.

One attachment: Scanned by Gmail - *Notes for Caity Girl*]

Caitlin is smiling from ear to ear when she sees your email come in. After she noticed that you handwrite all your notes, she converted to doing the same. She was nowhere near as fast as you were but whenever you noticed she was slightly behind, you would slide your notebook towards her to help her catch up.

Caitlin distinctly remembers when you showed up to class one day with a messy bun and puffy eyes. She was ready to get up and fight whatever or whoever left you in this state.

You go throughout class trying to be as normal as possible, not noticing the worried glances of the girl next to you. At the end of class, you don't move to get up. Neither does Caitlin.

The two of you just sit there. Caitlin doesn't try to say anything and you don't talk either. At one point, you lean your head onto her shoulder and let out a shaky exhale. Caitlin slides your rolling chair closer to hers and lets you rest on her. She brings her hand to rub soft, slow circles on your lower back - just like her mom would for her when she was overwhelmed.

"I am here if you ever want to talk," Caitlin says softly, not wanting to push you in any way.

You let out a soft, 'thank you' and sit up on your own. The two of you finally leave the classroom and head your separate ways.

Later that day, Caitlin finds out that you and your girlfriend broke up. She didn't know details nor did she want to. All she wants to do is hold you and tell you that everything is going to be alright because you are you. And that she thinks you are the most amazing girl in the world and that you are loved and cherished and deserve nothing but best for the rest of your days. But she doesn't, she can't.

Neither of you talk about that day. You seem to go back to your normal self and Caitlin wonders how you compose yourself so easily.

As the semester is coming to a close and Caitlin's world feels like it is about to explode with different things, she can't help but sit and grieve the fact that you aren't going to be a part of it.

Over the past four years, she has slowly gotten to know you and has secretly fallen in love. No one knew and no one would ever know, but her heart screams for you. No other person compares to you in her eyes and she feels like she will never find another you.

Caitlin believes that you are the one for her.

She doesn't know how that would ever happen considering she doesn't even know where the next few weeks will take her but she is down right convinced that you are a part of her future.

When the time comes to leave campus for the final time as a student, Caitlin prays she runs into you. She doesn't care if she see's you across campus and has to spring to catch you, she would do it. She just needs to get one moment with you so she can open the door to a possibility of more.

If there is one regret that Caitlin has at her time as a Hawkeye, it is never being bold enough to get your number. She knows she has had to be careful but when it came to you - she should have been bold.

As she drives off campus with her parents, her heart breaks wishing she would have had the courage.

The next few months for Caitlin are a whirlwind. Being drafted no.1 to Indiana and going from the NCAA championship to her rookie season without slowing down has taken a bigger toll on her than she would ever admit. But she couldn't slow down.

Cait is so caught up that she misses when you attend one of her games - your first time watching her as a professional.

You didn't want to make a big deal out of it because to anyone around during your college days the two of you were just classmates. You never hung out outside of class and really only knew each other because you studied the same major. So when it came to trying to get her attention after a game - a sold out, Fever home game - there was really no pull as to trying to get her attention. You honestly didn't even know if she would recognize you.

It is after the game, after the team huddle and the stands are cleared when one of the members of the media team came up to show Caitlin some of the raw photos they took of the game when she sees you.

Caitlin almost drops the camera and asks how she can zoom in. And sure enough, there you were. Sitting in an Indiana Fever hoodie, a fat smile on your face watching her.

Cait runs back out to the floor, looking around as if she would magically find you but the fieldhouse is practically empty. She runs over to where you were sitting in the photo and she just stares at the empty row of seats.

You were there. You came to watch her play and she had no idea.

Later that night, she did a little stalking to see if you had posted about being at the game. She comes across your IG profile and sees there is a story waiting to be seen.

Would you think she is a stalker for finding you and watching your story? Should she follow you and send a message? The two of you hadn't talked, let alone had any messaging communication prior to now, even when you were in the same classes (minus that one email, of course).

Cait is overthinking when she decides to call Kate.

"CC?" Kate says, voice thick with sleep.

"Kate! I need you to do something for me," Caitlin then begins to ramble about how you were at the game and that you didn't ask to see her but you posted and she wants to see it but doesn't want to seem weird.

"Caitlin," Kate begins after Cait explains everything. "You called me, at - what time is it? Caitlin, you called me at 1am to have me view a girl's story for you?"

It is only now that Caitlin see's how this might be a little crazy but she doesn't care.

"Yes..." Caitlin responds.

"The girl you had a fat crush on in college but pretended not to," Kate says and Caitlin cuts her off.

"Woah, let's not blow this out of proportion," Caitlin says. She can almost feel Kates stare through the phone.

Kate sighs and goes to her IG. She finds you and views your story.

"It is a photo of the Gainbridge Fieldhouse, with your photo on the big screen. The one they put up for introductions," Kate says and Caitlin feels her chest swell.

"Thank you," Caitlin whispers and hangs up leaving Kate even more confused.

Caitlin doesn't sleep that night. How could she? She missed what could have been her only other opportunity to see you again. What if this was the last time? What if she missed her last chance to say how she feels? Even if she had the opportunity, would you be freaked out by her confession? The next day is hell for her.

The rest of the season she makes a point to look into the crowd - searching for familiar eyes. Just to her luck, she doesn't find what she is looking for.

She loses hope as the season comes to an end. The high of the though subsides as life goes on.

The next time you appear out of the blue is when Caitlin is scrolling through IG. Initially she scrolls past, but then freezes when her brain catches up to fingers. She scrolls back up to see a picture of you with your dog.

Caitlin immediately smiles, when she sees the smile you are wearing. She takes the opportunity to tap on your profile.

She sits up when she sees that you are following her and probably have been following her. She feels herself getting nervous as her thumb hovers over the follow button and decides she literally has nothing to lose.

Caitlin hits the follow button and then decides to add you as one of her close friends. She never really uses it for anything, but just knowing that she has you on it makes her feel special.

Time goes on and before she knows it, Caitlin is back in Iowa City on a chilly February morning. She is back with her family as her jersey is going to be retired in Carver-Hawkeye Arena, quite the honor.

She is walking around with her brothers to some of her favorite spots, stopping at the best bakery around just outside of campus. It's a little mom n' pop shop that has been family owned for 50 years. It was one of the only places she gate-kept in college because she didn't want them selling out of her favorite pastries.

As she walks in, she is caught in her tracks by the last person she would imagine in one of her favorite places.

You are sitting in a little table in the back corner with a book in your hand, eyebrows lightly furrowed as you are completely unaware of what's happening around you.

The little nonna, comes out and yells Caitlin's name before she has the time to walk over to you and say hello. Not that she knew what to say, but she was going to.

Your head whips up and you make eye contact with your favorite class partner.

A smile shines on your face causing Caitlin to smile even wider now.

Her brothers look at each other as they are forgotten in the background as Caitlin comes up to you.

"Why hello there," you say, smile never leaving your face. "What a nice familiar face to see." You put your book down and stand.

You go in for a hug and the second your arms are around her, she never wants to leave them.

"It is so good to see you," Caitlin whispers into you.

"It is good to see you too, Caity girl," you say as you pull away.

Caitlin tries to hide the disappointment in the separation. It then occurs to her, that you are standing in front of her. She didn't imagine this ever happening again, after missing you the last time the two of you were in the same room.

"You came to one of my games," Caitlin says before she can stop herself.

You laugh and nod.

"I did, I was traveling for work and the schedule aligned perfectly," you say.

"I would have said hi," she says.

"I didn't want to bug you," you say with a little shrug. You wanted to, you really wanted to.

"You could never bug me," Caitlin says softly.

The two of you just look into each other's eyes. You feel like you can really see Caitlin for the first time. You can see what you had suspected but never truly known until this moment.

You give her a soft smile and nod. A promise for next time. A promise that there would be a next time.

"Wait, what are you doing here?" Caitlin asks. From what she can remember from posts, you live in Manhattan now. You are a little ways away from home.

"Well this place has the best bear claws known to man, so I had to come snag one. Then I got caught up in this," you say lifting your book.

"I mean in Iowa," Caitlin says with a little blush. She has no idea why she is blushing but it is a reaction you seem to bring out of her whenever the two of you are together.

You knew that is what she was talking about, but it is just so easy to tease her.

"Well, I heard there was something pretty big happening and I just couldn't miss it," you say.

"You came for my jersey retirement?" Caitlin asks. She is in awe of you.

"Of course, I came for your jersey retirement," you say.

Caitlin leans in and places her head on your shoulder, trying to hide the blush that has crept up her neck into her cheeks. She is over the moon. Never in a million years would she have imagined to be important enough for you to make a trip to watch her jersey retirement.

You wrap you arm around her with a little laugh and rub her back. You let her take her time to compose herself, finding it incredibly cute at the affect you have on her even after all this time. Even after how big she is.

Nothing else in the world mattered to Caitlin in this moment, just you. Just you with your arms around her - hidden from the world.

This is what she wants - she wants this to be the norm between the two of you. Morning dates to your local bakery. Light touches. Comfortable silence.

"How long are you here for?" Caitlin asks before she can think too much.

"I leave tomorrow morning," you say, slightly disappointed.

Caitlin could take this as a sign that this was just another fluke, that the moments shared between the two of you will always be fleeting. But standing here, your hand still on her arm, she knows that she is done waiting for you. She's in. All in.

"What if it wasn't tomorrow morning?" She says, trying to be bold but her voice comes out slightly shaky.

"And what would I fill my time with if I didn't get on a plane tomorrow morning?" You say, baiting her.

Caitlin stands there, mind blank. She has thought about this moment on countless occasions but had never thought about what she would say if you said yes. She wanted to be bold but here she is, making a fool of herself. Little to her knowledge, you plan on seeing her regardless of what she says. If Caitlin wants to spend time with you, you are all hers.

"Uhhhh," Caitlin tries to find words. Her arm, where your hand is placed on her, is burning up.

You remove your hand and bring it up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

If Caitlin wasn't in love before, she is in love with you now. But she was in love with you before and now she is double in love, if that is even possible.

Maybe it is the fact that up to this point, all of it was in Cait's head. She never ran the risk and here she is, trying to do exactly that. Even when she is cringy and feels like anyone else on this planet would run the other way, you remain in front of her. You are giving her the chance she has always wanted.

Blake comes over and taps Caitlin's arm. "We need to get going," he says.

Caitlin doesn't want to leave. She doesn't want to leave you. Now that she thinks of it, she never wants to leave you again.

"Go," you say with a smile.

She nods, a silly little grin on her face as she begins to talk out, completely forgetting the pastries she walked in to get.

"Wait," she says as she runs back to you. Cait pulls out her phone, opening it for you to put your number in. You do and save it.

"Stay," she says, rushed.

"What?" you ask.

"Tomorrow morning, stay," Caitlin says. "Don't get on your flight tomorrow morning."

"Okay," you say, unsure of where this is going but you are more than open to find out.

Caitlin leaves with her brothers and can't believe what just happened.

She tries to focus on the events of that night - it really is a special moment, getting her jersey retired is huge. She gets ready and she makes her return to Carver-Hawkeye. Caitlin has her friends, family, old teammates and coaches in the building for a special night. She soaks it all in, marveling in the memories made.

When the time comes, she gives her speech and takes photos with her family. She smiles and stands proudly.

You are among the sea of people who are there to support Caitlin and all she has done. You cheer her on as you watch her surrounded by all the people she loves. In the midst of the chaos, you watch her eyes wander to the crowd - searching for something.

Cait's eyes meet yours, yet another sign to her that this is what she has waited 5 years for. Her smile widens as she sees you. Nothing could make this night better.

As the night comes to a close, Caitlin takes photos with friends and fans all around. She gets a little antsy, hoping you have waited to come see her.

You wait and watch as everyone showers Caitlin with so much love. You feel a little weird waiting around but selfishly want a photo. After what feels like forever, the crowd dies down enough to where you feel comfortable heading over to the superstar.

"Think you can spare one more photo tonight?" You ask as you come up, bumping her shoulder with yours.

"For you?" Caitlin begins, confidence oozing from her from the night. "I'd do anything."

The two of you stand together to take a photo. After a few seconds, Caitlin turns to pull you into a hug. Your arms wrap around her and you feel her face bury itself in your shoulder, then turning to hide in your neck. You laugh when you feel her breath graze your neck, tickling it.

"You are amazing," you say, pride evident in your voice.

Cait could die happy now. Hearing you say that, she never wants to let you go.

"I moved my flight," you say when she finally lets go of you.

"Good," Caitlins says.

"Good," you respond.

"Good, because we have a lot to talk about," Cait says.

You smile.

"I look forward to getting to know The Caitlin Clark," you say and she blushes.

"There isn't much to me," she says. "I am much more interested in getting to know you."

"Well, we can get to know each other with time," you say. "How does that sound, Caity girl?"

Caitlin smiles at you, heart full thinking back to her freshman self. 5 years in the making and she finally has the opportunity to get the girl.

AN: Well, that was longer than I expected. I hope you enjoyed this! Let me know your thoughts! And as always, thank you for your love and support 🤍

[theseh00perscanh00p]

Coaching Violation: Part 4

paige x azzi

a/n: i'm sorry for leaving y'all hanging last time...

word count: 5.1k

Bellagio Hotel – Hallway, Outside Room 1125

Paige’s POV

She’d been standing there too long.

Long enough for the hallway’s patterned carpet to start spinning under her sneakers. Long enough to memorize every chip in the faux-gold trim of the room number plaque.

Room 1125.

She should’ve turned around.

Should’ve walked the strip, gone back to her room, counted the ceiling tiles, anything other than this. But her legs had moved before her logic caught up. And now her knuckles had already touched the door.

Twice.

It was too late to run without looking ridiculous.

So she stood there—

Heart thudding.

Throat tight.

Eyes closed.

Until the latch turned.

And a voice said—

“Coach?”

Her stomach dropped straight through the floor.

“Is there something I can help you with?”

Paige’s eyes flew open, already mid-rehearsed apology—

But it wasn’t Azzi.

It was KK.

Standing there with one sock half-off her foot, hair messy, and the world’s most suspicious eyebrow climbing up her forehead.

“…KK?”

KK didn’t move. “So… you knocking on every door tonight, or just the one that used to belong to Fudd?”

Paige’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

“I—no. I thought—this was—Shit.” She coughed, tried to pull herself upright, posture tight like a soldier. “Sorry. Wrong room. I was—uh—just checking in. On something.”

KK leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, smirk sharp enough to slice through Paige’s panic.

“You were checking in… on the door?”

Paige winced. “Just—yeah, I’m gonna go. Sorry to—bother you. It’s late. I’ll just—”

She was already retreating, hands up in surrender, halfway down the hall.

KK didn’t say anything at first.

Just watched her walk like she was studying a film clip in slow motion.

Then, just before the door closed—

“Azzi asked to switch rooms,” she said, voice light but layered. “Told me at the front desk something about 1125 being a bad luck number.”

That stopped Paige in her tracks.

“Oh,” she said. “Gotcha. Makes sense.”

She kept walking.

One foot in front of the other.

Keep it together.

Don’t turn around.

But just as she reached the corner, KK’s voice chased her again—casual, sweet, and absolutely intentional.

“My original room was 1333.”

Paige didn’t respond.

Didn’t need to.

The door shut behind her with a soft click.

And all she could hear now was the blood in her ears… and the echo of the number 1125 ringing like a bell she couldn’t unring.

Bellagio Hotel – Hallway, Just After 1 AM

Azzi’s POV

She hadn’t been able to sleep. Not really.

Even after changing rooms. Even after throwing every pillow off the bed and burying herself beneath the duvet. Her body still hummed with restlessness — too sore to sleep, too wired to lie still, too aware of where she almost had to sleep tonight.

Room 1125.

If she hadn’t caught herself at the check-in desk… if she hadn’t insisted on switching—

She would’ve been back in the same room where everything had changed.

The same sheets. The same walls. The same view of the Strip through a half-closed curtain.

Alone this time. Again.

Azzi pressed her palms to her eyes, exhaled sharp through her nose.

The past few days had already run her raw — physically, emotionally, in ways she couldn’t name. The week had chewed her up and spit her out and now here she was, icing her knees at 1am because she couldn’t figure out how else to feel okay.

She shoved her arms through the sleeves of her hoodie, grabbed the hotel ice bucket, and padded into the hallway barefoot in hotel slippers.

It took her three tries to find a working machine.

She finally filled the bucket, wincing as the chill hit her hands. She shook it off, turned the corner toward her room—

—and froze.

Paige.

Standing in front of the door to her room.

Hair down, hoodie loose, hands shoved in the front pocket like she was trying to hide the fact they were shaking.

Azzi ducked slightly, stayed behind the corner. Watched her.

Paige looked like she was mid-argument — not with anyone, just herself. Her body shifted slightly. She stepped toward the door. Then back. Then leaned her forehead against the wall like she hated herself for even being there.

Azzi’s stomach twisted.

She waited. And waited. Until Paige finally turned, ready to walk away.

And then Azzi stepped forward.

“Uhhh…” her voice broke the silence like a dropped pin. “If you’re looking for Coach KK, she’s not gonna be in there.”

Paige jolted.

Her head snapped up, eyes wide — caught in the act. Like a kid with her hand in the cookie jar. Except the cookies were heartbreak and old feelings and a hotel room full of memories she clearly hadn’t buried as deep as she thought.

“I, uh…” Paige started, blinking. “I thought—this was—”

Azzi just raised an eyebrow, ice bucket still in hand. “You sure you’re a head coach? ‘Cause your recon sucks.”

That earned her a very reluctant, very crooked smile from Paige. The kind that only came out when she was completely thrown off.

Azzi’s heart shouldn’t have leapt. But it did.

And now they were standing there again — just the two of them — in what felt like the same hallway, the same hotel, the same goddamn story they never finished.

And neither of them moved.

The ice began to melt, drip by drip, onto Azzi’s wrist.

Still, she didn’t move.

Paige’s eyes dropped to the ice bucket in Azzi’s hands, then flicked back to her face.

“I already checked 1125,” she said quietly. “KK opened the door.”

Azzi’s brow furrowed. “Wait… you went to—?”

“I was looking for you,” Paige said before she could think better of it. The words left her mouth like an exhale she’d been holding all week. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Azzi stood there, stunned into silence for a second too long.

“You were looking for me?” Her voice was small, caught somewhere between disbelief and hope.

Paige nodded.

“I was,” she said, and then softer — barely audible — “I am.”

Azzi didn’t speak. Just stepped past Paige toward her door and slid the key card through the lock.

The light turned green.

She pushed it open, stood in the doorway, then turned her head just enough to look at Paige again.

“You coming in?”

Paige hesitated. One heartbeat. Two.

Then she stepped inside.

Paige’s POV

The room was dim and quiet — too quiet, save for the hum of the air conditioning and the soft clink of ice in the bucket Azzi set down.

Paige stepped inside like she didn’t quite trust the floor to hold her. Her eyes moved cautiously, taking in everything — the slightly rumpled bed, the duffel bag half-zipped on the chair, Azzi’s hoodie draped over the desk chair like it lived there.

Then her eyes landed on her.

Azzi moved toward the bed, a small wince tugging at her brow as she shifted her leg. She didn’t say anything at first, just reached for the ice like this was routine.

“Wait,” Paige said, voice a little too sharp, a little too nervous. “Can I… help?”

Azzi looked at her, surprised.

But she nodded.

Paige crossed the room slowly, every step more uncertain than the last. She grabbed the towel from the bathroom counter, returned to kneel at the edge of the bed, gently took the bag of ice from Azzi’s hand, and wrapped it.

“You’ve gotta elevate it,” she mumbled, like she was trying to justify why she was here at all. She grabbed one of the pillows and tucked it carefully under Azzi’s calf, adjusting until it looked comfortable. Her fingers brushed skin once — the barest touch — but it lit her up from the inside.

“There,” Paige said softly. “So it doesn’t swell overnight.”

Azzi leaned back, exhaling, the tension in her shoulders easing just slightly.

Paige sat on the edge of the bed, not too close but not far either. Her hands found each other in her lap. Fidgeting.

Azzi broke the silence first.

“So… why were you looking for me?”

Paige looked down at her hands. Swallowed.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said after a beat. “Not after seeing your name… and that room number. It just… it felt like the universe was trying to screw with us.”

Azzi let out a soft laugh — just one breathy note — but it was enough to make Paige look up.

That sound did something to her. Made her chest loosen just a little. Gave her the courage to keep going.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I guess I couldn’t stop thinking about how it must’ve felt for you. Being assigned that room. And I didn’t… I didn’t want you to feel alone in that.”

Azzi tilted her head, studying her.

“That it?” she asked. “Or was there something else you were hoping to say?”

Paige didn’t answer right away.

Her breath caught.

Her hands stopped fidgeting.

And for the first time all night, she let herself really look at Azzi.

Like maybe this was the moment she had to stop pretending.

Paige drew in a shaky breath, eyes fixed on a spot on the floor like it might anchor her. Her voice was low when she finally spoke.

“I’ve been trying to convince myself for the last ten months that what happened between us didn’t mean anything. That it was just a moment. Just… a night.”

She looked up, just enough to meet Azzi’s eyes.

“But the truth is — it meant everything. And that terrified me more than I’ve ever admitted to anyone. Because you made me feel something I didn’t know I was capable of feeling. It was different with you. It is different.”

Paige let the silence sit for a beat, the weight of her words still catching in her throat.

“I’ve never been good at feelings. I’m guessing that’s not exactly news to you.”

A soft, bitter laugh escaped her.

“And then the injury happened. My entire world flipped. One minute I was still trying to process what you meant to me… and the next, I was being told I’d never play again. I was angry. I still am. But more than anything — I was lost. And instead of reaching out, instead of saying something… I shut down. I disappeared.”

Her voice cracked.

“I wanted to text you. I wanted to call. A thousand times. But I didn’t know how. And now? Now I see you every day. And it hurts. I’m still scared. And I’m still mad at myself. Because I don’t know how to fix what I broke… and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with all of this.”

She finally looked at Azzi again.

Eyes soft. Unarmored.

“And I’m sorry. For all of it.”

Azzi’s POV

Azzi sat still, barely breathing.

Her leg was propped up on the pillow Paige had placed, the ice numbing everything but the thrum in her chest. Paige’s words still echoed in the quiet — words Azzi had once begged for in her head, long after the messages stopped and the silence became routine.

She wanted to pinch herself. Honestly, she considered it. Maybe she’d fallen asleep with the ice on and this was just her brain playing some cruel, perfect fantasy.

But then Paige’s hand settled gently on her leg — not possessive, not hesitant. Just… there. Steady. Real.

It made Azzi blink hard.

Because somehow, Paige always knew. She always saw her — even in the moments Azzi wasn’t sure she was visible. That touch said, I’m here. It said, Believe me.

Azzi looked at her. Paige, in all her mess and fear and softness. The same Paige who once left her with no explanation… was now the one showing up.

She didn’t know what to say. Her throat felt too tight.

All she could manage was a quiet breath and a softer look.

She’s scared too, Azzi thought. But she’s here.

And right now, all Azzi knew — more than anything — was that she didn’t want her to leave.

Not again.

Azzi shifted slightly, careful not to jostle the ice. Her voice came out quieter than she meant, but there was no mistaking the truth in it.

“I’m not sure what we’re supposed to do either,” she said, eyes never leaving Paige’s. “But ignoring whatever this is… definitely isn’t working.”

Paige didn’t speak at first, just nodded — slow, heavy, like the weight of that admission was something she’d been carrying too.

Azzi drew in a shaky breath. “I’m not gonna beg you,” she added, eyes dipping down to where Paige’s hand still rested on her leg. “But I really… I really wish you’d stay.”

She looked back up, a flicker of something raw in her eyes. “Please don’t pull away. Not this time.”

That silence between them thickened again, but this time it didn’t feel like avoidance — it felt like recognition. Like finally being on the same page, even if neither of them knew how to read it yet.

Paige’s thumb brushed absently against Azzi’s knee, her voice low, “We can’t do what we did again… not now anyway.”

Azzi nods, eyes soft. “I know. But… can we just talk? Like it’s just us again? Like nothing else matters?”

Paige hesitates.

Then: “Yeah. We can talk.”

Azzi shifts, patting the spot next to her against the headboard. “You don’t have to sit all stiff like that.”

It takes Paige a second, but eventually, she moves — slow and careful — settling beside Azzi, backs pressed against the pillows, legs stretched out over the blanket.

The silence between them isn’t sharp anymore. It starts awkward, a few stilted jokes and questions, but gradually it softens. The rhythm of them finds its way back.

They talk about old college memories. Road games. Dumb locker room dares. Paige tells a story about her rookie year in the league, how she got hazed with glitter and a karaoke mic in the middle of a team dinner. Azzi shares how she once fell asleep mid-ice bath and got locked in the training room.

Laughter bubbles up between them like it used to — quiet but real. Comfortable. Familiar.

Then somewhere between a memory and a sigh, Paige shakes her head. “I still think it’s wild you eat Hot Cheetos before tip-off.”

Azzi grins. “You’re just mad it worked.”

Paige chuckles. “I’m mad it didn’t wreck your stomach.”

Azzi turns toward her. “You remember everything I say, huh?”

Paige’s smile falters slightly. “Only the important stuff.”

Azzi studies her for a beat too long. “So you remember what I said that night?”

The air stills again — quieter this time, heavier.

Paige meets her eyes. “Every word.”

Azzi’s voice lowers. “Even the part where I said… I wasn’t used to someone staying?”

Paige doesn’t blink. “That’s the part that’s haunted me the most.”

For a long moment, neither of them says anything.

Then Azzi, soft: “So stay.”

Paige doesn’t respond out loud. But she does. She stays.

And by the time the clock reads 4:47 a.m., Paige shifts slightly. “You need to get some sleep if you’re gonna survive practice.”

Azzi nods, but doesn’t move. “Just… will you hold me? Just until you have to go. Please don’t pull away. Not tonight.”

Paige swallows hard. Her instinct is to run again. But this time she doesn’t say anything.

She just opens her arms.

Azzi folds into them like muscle memory, like the pause between heartbeats. They lie there, tangled in silence — no kissing, no urgency — just the ache of two people who aren’t ready to admit how badly they still want to be held.

When the sun starts to creep in under the curtains, Paige finally shifts.

Azzi doesn’t ask her to stay again.

She doesn’t need to.

Because when Paige gets up, they both share a look. A quiet nod.

A shared truth that says:

I don’t know what we’re doing… but I’m willing to find out.

Team Breakfast – Hotel Restaurant, 8:03 AM

Paige’s POV

The restaurant buzzed with the usual morning chaos — trays clattering, half-asleep players in mismatched sweats, a line snaking around the coffee station like it was the only thing keeping them alive.

Paige had already claimed her seat at the end of the long table. Black coffee sat untouched in front of her, cooling fast.

She told herself it was strategic — arriving early, getting settled before the noise hit. But really, she just couldn’t sleep. And the silence of her hotel room felt louder than any dining room ever could.

Then Azzi walked in.

Hair still damp from her shower, hoodie sleeves shoved to her elbows, a slight limp betraying the toll of yesterday’s late-night grind. Paige felt it like a static charge — that unspoken pull.

She didn’t look. Not directly. But she felt her.

Azzi scanned the table, paused. The only open seat near Paige was one spot over — separated by a single empty chair.

Azzi didn’t hesitate. She took it.

Not directly next to her. But close enough to make Paige’s pulse rise.

And then — the moment. Quiet. Blink-and-you’d-miss-it.

Azzi leaned forward to grab a napkin just as Paige reached for her coffee, their hands brushing for half a second.

Skin. Heat. Stillness.

They both froze.

Paige’s fingers grazed Azzi’s knuckles. Not intentional. Not technically inappropriate. But when Azzi looked up, Paige was already staring.

Their eyes locked. Just a beat too long.

It was Azzi who broke the silence — voice low, barely audible over the hum of the room.

“You okay?”

Paige blinked, caught off guard. She nodded once. “Yeah. You?”

Azzi gave a half-smile. “Didn’t sleep much.”

“Me neither,” Paige admitted before she could stop herself.

Azzi’s expression shifted — softer, more searching — like she wanted to say something else. Like she might.

But then KK’s voice cut in, smooth and sharp from across the table.

“You sleep okay, Coach?”

Paige stiffened. Looked over slowly. KK had her orange juice in one hand and that familiar I-know-something-I’m-not-supposed-too smirk on her face.

“Fine,” Paige said tightly.

KK tilted her head. “Mm. That so?”

Paige glanced at her. “You got something to say?”

KK leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice low. “Only that it’s funny how two people can sit a breath away from each other and still pretend they’re on opposite sides of the world.”

Azzi, now focused on peeling an orange, didn’t look up.

Paige’s jaw flexed. “Drop it.”

KK raised her brows in mock surrender. “Hey. Just admiring the tension. Impressive stuff.”

Paige stabbed at her eggs. “Admire quieter.”

Azzi finally let out the tiniest laugh — not at the food, not at Rickea’s joke. At them.

And Paige…

She didn’t smile.

But she didn’t look away this time, either.

Las Vegas Practice Facility – Late Morning

The bounce of basketballs echoed through the facility like a steady drumbeat. Sharp. Controlled. Comforting, almost — if it weren’t for the way Paige’s nerves felt like they were held together by fishing line.

The team was running shooting drills. Clean lines. Sharp cuts. Nothing fancy.

“Footwork!” Paige called out from the sideline, clipboard in hand. “You don’t get a second look in this league. Make it right the first time.”

She was trying to keep her voice even. Sharp, not harsh. Focused, not frazzled.

But every time Azzi touched the ball, Paige felt her grip tighten on the clipboard. Not because she was messing up — she wasn’t. She looked good. Efficient. Composed.

Too composed.

No teasing. No talking. No spark.

Like something inside her had folded in on itself overnight.

KK sidled up beside her near the half-court line, arms crossed, watching the same player Paige was pretending not to track with every blink.

“She’s locked in,” KK said under her breath. “Scary focused.”

“Good,” Paige said without flinching.

“Or,” KK added, “she’s burying something. Real deep.”

Paige didn’t respond.

“She’s not the only one,” KK muttered.

Paige snapped her eyes toward her, warning sharp. “What do you want me to say, KK?”

“Something honest might be nice.”

“I’m coaching,” Paige replied. “That’s what I’m here to do.”

KK leaned closer, voice low and clipped. “Yeah, well, maybe try doing it without looking like your chest’s about to cave in every time she breathes near you.”

Paige blinked once, hard.

“Keep your eyes on the court,” she said finally, and walked down the sideline before KK could say anything else.

She made herself stop near the rack of spare balls by the baseline. Scribbled something pointless on the clipboard just to feel in control again. But then she heard a ball clatter off the rim, bounce wide, roll out toward her.

Without thinking, she stepped forward to grab it at the same time Azzi did.

Their hands collided — again.

Not grazing. Not brief. Full contact. Palm to palm.

Azzi flinched first. Paige didn’t move.

For half a second, they both froze, fingertips still pressed into the seams of the same ball.

Azzi didn’t look up. “Sorry.”

Paige did look up. Watched her jaw tighten, watched the mask slip just slightly — enough to catch a flash of something raw in Azzi’s eyes before she yanked her hand back and walked away.

Azzi caught the next pass without missing a beat. Drained another three from the corner. No celebration. No glance toward the sideline.

Paige turned back toward the ball rack, heart thudding, clipboard limp in her grip.

She stared at the court like it might unwrite everything she felt.

It didn’t.

Locker Room – Post-Practice

Azzi’s POV

The locker room was quiet in that heavy, damp kind of way it always was after a hard practice — sweat clinging to the air, jerseys peeled halfway down, music faint and low from someone’s speaker in the corner.

Azzi sat on the bench in front of her locker, towel draped over her head, elbows on her knees, staring down at her laces like they held answers.

She had gone full autopilot today. Shot when she was supposed to. Passed clean. Hit her marks.

No mistakes.

No spark either.

And still, it was like her skin couldn’t forget Paige.

The shoulder brush during warmups. The brief hand graze during water break when Paige passed her a towel. The stupid, charged moment when they both reached for the same marker at the whiteboard and their fingers touched — just long enough to freeze her breath.

Every one of those moments, tiny as they were, still pulled her back into that hotel room.

Into the sound of Paige whispering her name in the dark.

Into the weight of her staying.

Azzi thought she’d feel better after their talk. And she did. In a way.

The silence was gone. The unknown wasn’t quite so sharp.

But the weight of it? The want of it? That hadn’t gone anywhere.

“You good?”

Azzi blinked. Rickea was sliding down the bench beside her, halfway through a protein bar, sweat still clinging to her curls.

“Yeah,” Azzi lied. “Just tired.”

Rickea gave her a long look. “You’ve been tired all week.”

Azzi shrugged, wiping her face with the towel again to stall. “Long camp. You know how it is.”

Rickea didn’t press. Just nodded slowly and stood to grab her slides. “If you say so. Just don’t forget how to breathe, Fudd. You’re allowed to.”

Azzi gave her a tired smile. “Thanks.”

When Rickea left, Azzi stayed seated a moment longer. The towel dropped to the floor. She leaned back, the cool of the locker pressing against her spine, and stared at the inside of the door like it might spell out what to do next.

Her phone sat facedown in her locker. She didn’t check it.

She didn’t have to.

No message.

Not even a bubble.

Just the echo of Paige’s hands on hers. And the silence that always came after.

Last night had meant something.

This morning had meant something.

But every accidental touch since then felt like a haunting — like her body was remembering all the things her mind wasn’t allowed to say out loud.

Media Room – Minutes Before the Presser

Private Hallway, Just Outside the Doors

The hallway was too quiet. A sterile stretch of beige carpet and echoing footsteps, with the low murmur of media setting up just beyond the doors.

Azzi stood by the water cooler, arms crossed, trying to steady her breath. Her heart thudded loud in her ears, and it had nothing to do with tipoff.

Then she heard it — the unmistakable rhythm of Paige’s steps.

She turned before Paige could pretend not to see her.

Paige stopped, tension bracing her shoulders, clipboard tucked tight to her chest.

“Hey,” Azzi said quietly.

Paige gave a small nod. “Hey.”

They stood there for a moment. Just like always — too close to ignore, too far to reach.

Azzi tilted her head, voice soft but edged. “Yesterday didn’t mean nothing… right?”

That landed like a direct hit.

Paige exhaled, slow, hands fidgeting with the corners of the clipboard. “No. It didn’t mean nothing.”

Her eyes flicked up to meet Azzi’s, clear and serious now. “I don’t regret it. Not any of it.”

Azzi swallowed hard. “Then what are we doing?”

Paige’s voice dipped low — barely above a whisper. “Trying not to ruin everything.”

A silence stretched between them, thick with everything they weren’t allowed to say.

Then Paige added, almost like a plea: “If we can just get through this first game… together… maybe things will start to make sense.”

Azzi held her gaze, searching for cracks — but there was only sincerity there. And fear.

She nodded once. “Okay.”

The media handler’s voice echoed from down the hall. “We’re ready for you.”

Azzi stepped toward the door. So did Paige.

They didn’t speak again.

Didn’t touch — not intentionally.

But for one second, their shoulders brushed.

And this time, neither of them pulled away.

Media Room – Pre-Game Presser

Paige’s POV

The lights were bright. Cameras flashing. Reporters half-listening, already typing.

Paige sat at the mic with the poise of someone who’d done this a thousand times — because she had. But today, her collar felt tighter than usual. Every breath felt choreographed.

Azzi slid into the seat next to her, setting her water bottle down with just enough force to earn a look from KK across the room.

They hadn’t been scheduled to speak together. But media assignments changed last minute. Of course they did.

The moderator adjusted their headset. “Coach Bueckers, Azzi — welcome. First question?”

A reporter in the second row leaned in. “Coach, how do you feel about opening the season in Vegas — the lights, the pressure, the history of the venue?”

Paige didn’t flinch. “We’re focused on the court, not the zip code.”

Next question.

“Azzi, this will be your first game back since the trade. How are you adjusting to the Sparks system?”

Azzi’s voice was steady, cool. “It’s been an intense camp. But I’m excited to compete. This team has a vision. We’re here to win.”

She didn’t look at Paige. Not directly. But her fingers tapped once against her knee — that subtle, nervous rhythm Paige recognized from nights where everything felt unspoken and still somehow safe.

Another question. Then another. Paige deflected them like usual — cool, clipped, practiced.

Then came the one they should’ve seen coming.

“Coach, what’s it been like coaching someone you once competed against — and now, you know, someone you clearly respect in Azzi?”

Paige’s gaze flicked to Azzi without meaning to. Just for a second.

Respect. Was that all it read as?

She cleared her throat. “Azzi’s one of the most disciplined players I’ve ever coached. High IQ. High intensity. She raises the bar for everyone.”

Azzi looked over, just slightly. And for a flash — the smallest shift in her expression. Gratitude. Pain. Something in between.

“And Azzi,” the reporter continued, “same question — what’s it like playing under someone who used to be on the other side of the ball?”

Azzi didn’t hesitate. “It’s… surreal. But earned. Paige has always been someone who is trusted on the court — that hasn’t changed.”

A longer pause than necessary.

“I listen when she talks.”

Something flickered in Paige’s chest. Something warm. Something sharp.

The moderator glanced at the time. “One final question.”

But Paige wasn’t listening anymore. Not really.

She was too busy trying not to read into the way Azzi’s leg had just barely brushed hers under the table.

Too busy trying to ignore how much that last line — I listen when she talks — sounded like something that meant more than it was allowed to.

And Azzi?

Azzi was still tapping her fingers against her knee. Like she didn’t know what else to do with her hands.

Like she was waiting for the game to start just to stop thinking.

Moments Before Tip — Tunnel Outside the Court

Azzi’s POV

The tunnel throbbed with anticipation — the muffled roar of the crowd beyond the curtain, the sharp scent of sweat and floor polish, the distant clang of warmup drills wrapping up on the court.

Azzi stood just inside the shadows, bouncing lightly on her toes, stretching out her shoulder with one hand, the other gripping the hem of her warmup jacket.

She should’ve been calm.

She’d done this a hundred times.

But her heartbeat wouldn’t settle. Not tonight. Not here.

Vegas always did too much.

She stared ahead at the edge of the light, where the tunnel opened to the court. It glowed like something holy. Or dangerous.

And then — she felt it before she heard it — the presence behind her.

She didn’t have to turn to know.

Paige.

Azzi held still, breath caught somewhere in the back of her throat.

Paige didn’t speak.

Instead, a steady hand settled on her shoulder — firm, grounding — and her thumb pressed in just slightly. Not rough. Not possessive. Just present. Like she was trying to say I’m here. Like she was still choosing her, even now.

To the world, it was nothing. Just a coach offering last-second reassurance to her star guard.

But Azzi’s knees almost buckled under it.

She glanced sideways, just enough to meet Paige’s eyes. They didn’t say much. But the weight of that look — the intensity of it — told her everything she needed to know.

No one else could hear it.

But Azzi did.

I see you. I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere this time.

The announcer’s voice thundered through the tunnel:

“And starting at guard… number thirty-five… AZZI FUDD!”

Paige’s hand lifted — slow, careful — like she didn’t want to let go, but knew she had to.

Azzi swallowed hard, turned toward the light, and jogged out onto the court.

She didn’t smile.

She didn’t look back.

But her skin still burned from Paige’s touch.

And for the first time in days… her chest didn’t feel quite so heavy.

[thecottageinthedark]

#incredibly fucking disturbing to me how many people seem to be of the opinion#that baby it's cold outside is the ideal blueprint for how we should treat transfems' transitions#i don't know how to tell you this folks but 'we HAVE to deny women the agency for their own self-determination'#'because they're too stupid and helpless and lacking in insight to POSSIBLY decide for themselves when given the information and support'#'they HAVE to be forced; they HAVE to have someone smarter than them perceive what they are better than they ever could'#'or else the poor little dears will just never ever ever ever ever figure it out 🥺'#is just misogyny! it is just plain old misogyny!#you are not stupid or helpless if you took a long time to figure it out; even if it was '''obvious'''; fuck that#but the people who do this shit think that you are. that is what they're saying. it's not solidarity or a compliment it is infantilization.#i am so sorry you had to deal with this op; i wish you many years yet of enjoying the life that you've chosen for your own self#and i wish anon a very spraycan of raid to the face#transmisogyny cw#transphobia cw#gaslighting cw#queertag#also right as i went to reblog i was reminded that anon brought up forcefem specifically#add 'sexually harassing transfems by treating their identities as inherently sexual + gloating about forcing them to participate in a kink'#to the list of This is Not Praxis or a Cute Meme This is Just Plain Misogyny and You are a Gross Objectifying Piece of Trash#sexual harassment cw

you resisted the forcefemmification beams for too long

Nope. Completely incorrect and wrong.

This is a decision that I made for myself. I made this choice because it's who I want to be. Not because someone else wanted me to for their own pleasure.

[formylovetodaryldixon]

"Without you." Daryl Dixon Imagine.

Summary: As the two of you navigate the mysterious and sometimes turbulent waters of falling in love, a devil in angel's clothing threatens your life, managing to keep you quiet. Until Daryl finds out...

@gunnerblue21: So cool! I just found your content yesterday and so far im loving what im reading so youre amazing in my books lol so, for my request, i was wondering if you could write a story where back in the prison era, daryls girl best friend is secretly being harassed by one of the guys from woodbury, he knows that reader and daryl have a friends with benefits relationship secretly and threatens to out the reader to everyone about their secret if she tells anyone about about his harassment. When the dude from woodbury takes it too far one day and beats up the reader for trying to run from his abuse, daryl finds out and finds reader, he deals with the harassment his own daryl way lol im sorry if its long, i just really love protective daryl energy especially when its someone he really loves.

A/N: I felt some nice things with this imagine, hehe Promise it's not THAT boring, but I do hope the person who asked for this like it at least a little. Sorry for saying your name! I generally don't like the "she's mine" thing, but with Daryl I can break that rule. A warning about the sexual harassment theme in this story! although it's not very explicit. To everyone who has been harassed in any way, I'm so sorry. I still don't know why we keep silent, feeling guilty about our weakness to speak up and defend ourselves, ultimately feeling like we deserve that experience. I hope everyone can recover from that. There are surely mistakes, but it's 3 am and I have a baptism tomorrow, so I'll correct them as soon as possible. Thanks as always!

Your breathing is soft, but almost nonexistent in the void of the silent prison after the night swallows the sun, so silent that it forces Daryl to slide an arm around your waist, breaking the distance he promised himself to keep with you, searching for your warm skin beneath your short–sleeved shirt, fingers tickling your flesh with just a touch to elicit a slight movement from you, always accompanied by a sigh, a proof that you're still alive.

Sleeping together was not part of the deal, but a rule he broke long ago when, amid a world fractured by thunderous noises (guns, screams, curses), the gentle sound of your breathing helped him sleep.

Far from being a romance, the bittersweet story between the two of you began when you appeared that sweltering afternoon in the city alley next to Glenn, aimless walkers wandering the world, ruling it, and yet, his petulant, sarcastic, and judgmental, though always alert gaze, matched his condescension and hopeless and even somewhat dark comments that day—real, you couldn't deny it—but unnecessary, until it all ended in an argument between the two of you (the first of several along the way), with his true belief that he knew best shining brighter than the scorching sun.

Blue eyes like an ocean too dangerous to swim in stared at you relentlessly, a clear warning not to come closer, infested with trauma like sharks in the water.

“Ya wanna die, woman?”

That was his response to your desire to rescue Glenn when he was kidnapped, underestimating the only thing you had at hand and within you: a weapon you barely knew how to use, and an insatiable desire to live and help people. Daryl wasn't selfish, you could see it in his deep gaze—along with a somewhat terrifying intensity—it was just his own fervent wish not to die with that sharp pain under the hands and teeth of the undead, and yet, that didn't prevent the feeling inside you. You hated Daryl so deeply you could taste it on the tip of your tongue, an almost metallic taste.

“There are worse fates than death.”

Your words echoed in him the entire time it took you all to return to the camp outside Atlanta, everyone finally safe, momentarily.

Losing his brother made him withdraw from the back—and—forth conversations, sometimes empty, never deep because everyone wanted to leave the past in the back of their heads when the present and future felt like stepping into a minefield, but Daryl was always ready for the hunt and feed the people, bringing in small animals (after losing that deer and taking out his frustration on that already–finished walker) leaving them quietly near Carol or Lori, before retreating to the solitude of his tent.

Yet you always ran into each other in that small space, by chance or when Rick started to lead the camp in his endless attempt to keep everyone alive. Arguments between such different people became normal, something routine, but you were one of the few who let him go off the deep end, with the annoying and loud way Daryl used to snap at others, highlighting their lack of survival skills, with you ending the pointless conversation with a whatever, leaving him incredulous, with a frown so deep it hurt and the incandescent desire to throw a curse at you that he swallowed.

A new life had begun when that new world arose, stained with the blood of those who perished along the way, and although Daryl was always calm and ready to survive—amid his short temper that sometimes put him at risk as well—the annoyance that settled in his chest when he saw you, laughed in his face, turning the table where his cold apathy rested.

You were beautiful to look at, and the way you wrinkled your nose before smiling caught him like a poor rabbit in a trap, falling into his own trap, turning him into a prey, pathetic, vulnerable, and weak, and Daryl hated you even more for it. He hated you because you made that gesture especially with Glenn, as if you could destroy all your walls around yourself when you were with the Chinese boy (even though Daryl knew he was Korean) only to build them up again when you were with him. Daryl didn't recognize it as jealousy, even though it was, in all its splendor.

Daryl Dixon wasn't used to calling people with sweet names (they were a punch to his masculinity), but he found himself calling you lil' bunny, using that false sweetness that carried all his sarcasm in that moment. And those words were a mockery of your entire existence, you knew it, as if you were weak. But with what would happen later, you managed to convince yourself that you were.

But your sass almost matched his own, turning you into a dream Daryl dreamed at night and a nightmare during the day, and yet, he began to look for you with his eyes when the day began, always making sure you were somewhere safe, always making sure you were in his line of sight. And maybe it was staring at you too much that made him think of you differently, almost sinfully, thoughts so shameless and impure that they made him blush or feel the heat on the tips of his ears and inside his pants.

The hate meter had crossed the limit long ago.

Sometimes, just seeing you exist there in the middle of the woods made him feel things that were warm, and unpleasant, and totally foreign to him. Life had been a bitch to Daryl, so unfair that it was hard to believe those things had happened to a kid (like something out of fiction, out of the most twisted mind), but they were real and they happened, and all the experiences he'd lived through built who he was—though he'd eventually put it all behind him. Daryl was hurt, both physically and emotionally, so battered and broken that he was unable to feel big, good things, keeping the wounds of war in the shadows after he'd barely escaped from that hostile place alive: his own home, ironically.

The iron blows of his parents' fists sank into his body and played cruel tricks on his mind until that little angel with blond hair and blue eyes had his tiny wings ripped off and he was convinced that heaven never existed, and that he deserved hell. So for Daryl, this new world was just a new kind of hell he knew how to live in.

Although he had also managed to chuckle a few times, a short, harsh sound, always accompanied by his usual sarcasm, like that day you two had to find a car to get back to camp when night fell, too dark and dangerous to walk.

The damned engine resisted, stubborner than a mule.

“Go ahead, give it some gas. Jus' a lil'.” You turned the key that was connected to the car, hearing a dry, harsh sound that Daryl tried to stop with a rap on the hood, his eyes finding yours between the slits. “Stop! I said a lil'!”

“That was a little.”

“No, that was too much.”

“How am I supposed to know when too much is too much, Daryl?”

“Ya listen, and if it sounds like too much, then s' too much.”

You frowned, confused and irritated.

“You're too much.”

“What?”

“What?”

“What?”

A moment later, the car decided to cooperate, but when Daryl got in, slamming the door with a little too much force than necessary, your body tensed in the seat as he drove back, opening his stupid mouth to just snarl at you like a child. And as always, you let him talk until he shut up.

“Bite me, asshole.”

Though with all the dirty thoughts about you piling up in his mind, a pile so high he could no longer see the end of it, Daryl didn't know if that was an insult or an invitation.

His temper was a roller coaster that went up and down so violently that a crash seemed imminent, with you always feeling like it would all be over in a second, catastrophic, making you feel unstable. But among the things that could be salvaged about Daryl, it was his undeniable, indelible desire to protect people—his people. Behind his apparent apathy, there was a need to make sure everyone was safe.

You had seen it, you had felt it. Between the unspoken words and the stares that trapped each other, even between the layers of his false hatred for you, he would often stand in front of you at any sign of danger, when things felt deadly, one arm extended in the air to guide you behind him while Daryl used his own body as a shield for you at the same time.

By the time you all arrived at the CDC, the fake place that seemed like a fairy tale (too perfect to be real) gave you a false sense of security, and beneath four walls that promised a safe and even promising future, Daryl dared to do what he never thought he'd be capable of.

That night, when there was no one left, not a soul wandering the world, there was only him and you, and his hand that closed around your waist in the kitchen. With your back to him, your body tensed, his heat invading your senses until you were drunker, even after all the wine at dinner, but when you felt his breath on your hair and recognized his full presence, the confusion of pulling away and pressing yourself against his body, which was already too close, was so great that the line between them blurred.

“Tell me to stop. Please.” You closed your eyes as his calloused fingers, the result of a lifetime of working with them, pressed against your stomach, and it contracted every muscle in your body, awakening a scorching heat inside, right where he was touching and a little lower. “Can I keep goin'?”

You nodded. And the rest was history.

Daryl just needed to get you out of his system, give his body the answers to that question in his head: what would it feel like to touch you, to feel you pressed against him, naked? Part of him hoped to feel in his own body that your time together would be a disaster so he could move on, but the problem was, it wasn't at all.

Shit, you were passionate even in intimacy, your hands pressing his body against yours the entire time that night lasted. And like becoming addicted to the most dangerous drug in the world, he and you started looking for each other again after that, even after the explosion of that place, during the time at the farm. Being between your legs, doing something other than thinking, blocked out the outside world and all the dangers and sadness it brought. Daryl always started there, especially when the whole dysfunctional but close–knit family arrived at the prison and that gave you two a kinda decent bed instead of the floor of a tent, when time gave you all a break.

Then you started to think that the more you cared for someone, the more vulnerable you were to a broken heart. But between the way you started wrinkling your nose when Daryl actually said something that might have been funny (sometimes unintentionally because he had no sense of humor) he started to let his interest in you show, though only one person outside of the original group seemed to notice.

Among the people of Woodbury, existed someone who hid his empty heart beneath the facade of being a good boy, always willing to lend a hand. Like new lives in a new environment, everyone struggled to adapt to that kind of normalcy, trying to collaborate to ensure the well–being of others. You among them, because you were kind or tried to be, eager to build a true future for the adults and especially the children, until that person mistook your good wishes for weakness.

One night, dressed again and breathing more calmly, Daryl and you existed in silence because life was simpler that way, less lonely, side by side in bed, but not touching, leaving a small space between you two, until he took a small rock from his pants that seemed even smaller in his large hands. It had no sharp corners, only smooth, smoothed edges.

It seemed polished, soft against your fingers, a reminder that not all that is hard is rough.

He handed it to you silently.

“Are you proposing to me penguin–style?” You joked with him, laughing when Daryl scoffed to mask the feelings he’d genuinely tried to keep from growing too much, but that were already spilling over the edge of his soul.

And as you inspected the stone under the dim light of the candle on a nearby table, Daryl took in the profile of your face, the tip of your nose, the edge of your lips, the ones he used to press against his, a demanding hand on the back of your head to keep you in place, and that sparkle in your eyes that seemed to glimmer with the power of a star.

“Thank you.” You meant it, but when you turned your head to look at him, Daryl looked away again, his eyes lost in the space between the cracks in the ceiling. “I’m truly grateful for this, so I apologize for all the times I cursed you too loud.”

Daryl frowned, his gaze searching yours, brave enough to do anything when it wasn't about feelings.

"Yer not loud, yer quiet as shit."

"In my head, I've cursed you in every way possible, very loudly. So I’m sorry.”

Again, a scoff, almost accompanied by a roll of his eyes as he settled back onto the uncomfortable mattress, closing his eyes as the weight of sleep began to overcome him, an arm draped over his face.

"Whatever. Now shut up, I wanna sleep."

Confused, and slightly offended by his sweet personality, your eyebrows tried to knit together.

"Are you going to sleep here?"

There was no annoyance in your voice—so you weren't chasing him away.

"I don' wanna walk back to ma cell."

And even with his eyes closed, you could see a new kind of ocean in his eyes, safe, peaceful.

You shrugged even though he wasn't looking at you, putting the rock in your pocket for safekeeping before closing your eyes as well. But when reason stumbled for an instant, you knew it was stupid to fall for Daryl—the person at your side who could be as much of a jerk as he was handsome—with his long hair now and those damned arms exposed, clearly hard to the eye even when he wasn't flexing them.

Daryl was intimidating, walking silently with his steely gaze that made people fear and respect him at the same time. His imposing figure was scary, but none of that mattered when everyone noticed that he genuinely cared for all and for you, in a selfless way.

And all of that made someone truly hate him.

Sean was charming, the opposite of Daryl's exterior: smiling, falsely warm, so kind at first glance that he offered to entertain the children in the library to distract them a little from the reality on the other side of the gates. And that's when it happened for the first time: his hand pressed against your backside in the solitude of that hellish place, empty after everyone left, so violent it froze you there, like a little rabbit that knows it will be devoured in the cruelest way possible.

“What are you—?”

Your stuttering made him smile, laughing at your fear, which crushed you cruelly, like a blow to the stomach that knocked all the wind out of your body. You knew there were still bad, unscrupulous people, but you didn't expect to find one in that place. A sick desire shone in his green eyes, a feline that played with the mouse's body even after it was dead, because deep down, he enjoyed that macabre and perverse pleasure of knowing he'd ended a life and could continue to amuse himself with the remains, of knowing he could do whatever he wanted with his victim.

You were never a victim, but he turned you into one in a single second, silently, taking away pieces of your will to live little by little.

And the harassment began that night, and not gradually, but escalated with such brutality that it made you vomit. Why didn't you say anything? Maybe you knew, maybe you didn't; maybe it was all the reasons, and because you couldn't find any that made sense. The fear of speaking up and made him being kicked out of security burned in your stomach, a new kind of hell that screamed at you with anger and mockery how stupid you were being. Telling Daryl would be like unleashing the lion from its cage, the beast that would end everything, though you knew Sean's expulsion would be a godsend considering what Daryl would do to him.

There were no labels between the two of you; you were nothing more than a piece of silence when the world became heartbreaking, but there was something about Daryl that everyone knew, a truth they spoke only with their eyes. The difference between Daryl and Rick, or Glenn, or the rest, was that Rick seemed to be guided in his decision–making by the shadow of his morals that still lingered within him, a memory of his past life, a compass to stay on track, while Daryl seemed willing to have no morals at all if it ensured the safety of his family.

And his anger could easily overcome his morals, or make them disappear in an instant.

Unbridled, such was his love and his anger. Daryl fought, hurt, and even killed, and you didn't want another body to fall lifeless because of you and become another scar on his mind, another reason to feel guilty about still being alive.

Sean's harassment was just words piercing your insides, calling you names others would call you if they found out you were Daryl's whore, words that were just that, nothing more: a terrifying touch that, like the wind, came and went, until one night, his hand pressed so hard into your flesh it almost felt like a bone of your ribs would break.

And when all that torture of a few minutes was over, you sat in the prison's backyard, asking for some kind of guidance from whoever or whatever was on the other end of the call. A sign, a hint of what to do, how to stop keeping quiet, how to stop suffering and fearing, but with no answer, just the devastating emptiness that seemed to swallow you alive—only shining to tell you that maybe the only way out was a bullet in the head, in his or yours.

But shit, the beast was dragging you down to hell with him, and you let him do it.

“Shit.” You cursed under your breath when someone sat behind you, but like the first time his body landed behind yours, it only took you a second to recognize him as you glanced over your shoulder. “You scared me.”

Daryl chuckled, his legs on either side of you.

“Whatcha doin' here? S' cold.”

Always hiding your feelings, you chuckled back.

“I was waiting for you.”

“Shut up.” He scoffed, wishing with all his might that it were true, that your feelings for him were as strong as his, but silently, always avoiding speaking about them, Daryl leaned forward until his chest was so close to your back that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body, even under his poncho. “Did ya have fun with the kids?”

He cared for everyone, without measure or any condition.

“Yeah. We read a lot today. I know it’s not your strong suit, so I won’t bore you with the details.”

“I can read, woman. I jus’ don’ like it.”

“Can you? Tell me the truth; I won’t tell anyone.”

It was an attack, but not an offense, and Daryl chuckled once more, that signature sound of his, before pressing himself against you, his hand cupping the spot where Sean had touched you without a hint of kindness, hand holding you with affection and a hint of teasing, his fingers almost cupping your breast.

"Hey." The tickle of his touch made you try to escape, but there was no way out when his other hand held you in place. "At least ask me out first."

He's screwed, always had been since that first afternoon together in the city, and now Daryl knew it clearly as he smiled softly against your hair, ignoring your fake protest as he tried to hide from his own feelings.

"Missed ya, bunny."

That same night, when he buried himself in you, you held him even closer, wanting to erase every touch Sean left on you, which still felt like fire burning your skin. But trauma, guilt, or shame—everything made you keep silent for the weeks that followed, which brought more damage, leaving you feeling more worn down every day, making your self–loathing grow, and even your desire to end it all.

And one day, it all turned into just pain, physical in every fiber of your being.

Sean had an unstable temper, quicker to anger and lose control than a little boy who didn't know how to manage his emotions, and hell, he did just that. In one moment, one of those distant moments now because you'd stopped going to the library alone, the devil disguised as an angel caught you in the emptiness of a hallway, his claws closing so tightly around your arm that it was easy for him to push you into an uninhabited room.

Don't cry, don't give him that pleasure. The only thing he won't be able to take away from you is that. Not one tear, not because of him. Fight, or at least die trying to be free, but he didn't give you the chance when his fist slammed into your belly, destabilizing your whole world, breaking something inside, just because in his eyes, as if you belonged to him, you dared not to listen to him, to try to run away from him. And when he felt he had nothing left to lose, Sean took advantage of every second of it. His anger was like those natural disasters that sweep away houses and people in their wake, leaving a stain of mud so big that covered the essence of your life and the hope to live that you always knew how to keep alive.

He didn't make a sound, and your body screamed without making the slightest sound either.

But life and pain became one when you were told it was your turn to go on a supply run, just you and Daryl because the chosen neighborhood was remote and small, enough territory for only two people to go. You were good, you were careful, meticulous about not letting walkers see you, but Sean had exposed you to so much pain that your vision blurred at the edges of your eyes, obscuring your gaze to the point where you didn't see the walker who pushed you against the wall of that kitchen in that abandoned house.

Maybe it was the sound of his fist in your ear that kept you from hearing death.

Life passed in a second, like the worst things that end quickly because they don't deserve to have freedom in the world, almost dying when you took too long to press the knife against his skull, the sharp edge finally sinking into what remained of his rotting flesh at the same time as an arrow.

The lifeless body fell to the ground, as heavy as your breath.

Every day that you had to leave the protection of the prison, it was like a blow to his chest, or so it felt to Daryl, with no air in his lungs until you finally returned, always worried that something would happen to you, that you wouldn't come back to wrinkle your nose in sarcasm or happiness, but in that moment, when death's hands truly almost closed around your body, Daryl could swear he saw life laughing at him as it played with yours.

You were there, but the next second you could not be.

And Daryl lost control.

"Are ya stupid?!"

Yes, you were, but not for the reasons he thought.

He shouted a few cruel words, and you listened silently, missing another chance to tell the truth, lowering your gaze for the first time in your life, but holding your head as high as you could, somewhat exhausted. For Daryl, the thought of you vanishing from his life was terrifying, but in that moment, that possibility became devastating and unbearable.

The drive back to the prison was so silent it stunned you.

The afternoon fell, heavy and lonely as you sank into your cell, lying on your side and face against the wall, wanting to disappear so far that not a trace of your existence would remain in the world. With your body aching, your muscles begging for mercy, and a mind screaming into the void to let it sleep until the end of days, you fell asleep. You had fought hard for the hope of living even in that world dictated by Sean's selfishness, always without conscience, eager to see blood, but not spilling it like the coward he was, enjoying sending you tumbling off the cliff only to catch you a second before hitting the ground, repeating the action over and over again.

Always on the verge, but never allowed to truly die.

That night, late when the icy wind chilled him to the bone and let him think, Daryl entered your cell, leaving dinner on a plastic plate on the only table.

“(Y/N)?” He sat on the edge of the bed, his heartbeat blocking his throat and any attempt at an apology Daryl was ready to utter. “Hey—”

“Leave me alone.”

“Bunny—”

“Don’t call me that.”

Your indifference hurt more than your anger, more than the blows he’d received in his childhood and in that life. So many years of abuse in the place that should have been the safest for him—his house, not a home—and yet, Daryl would much rather have to face that hell again, as a child, than have to feel the cold of your heart.

“M' sorry.”

“I don’t wanna hear you.”

Daryl swallowed, hard.

“Can I stay here at least?”

His voice was low, deep, but terrified, like the child silently begging his mother to love him, even after feeling her hatred.

“Do whatever you want.”

It felt like the entire prison was collapsing on his chest, crushing him underneath.

Daryl feigned courage, refusing to accept the idea that this was the end of both of you, and he lay down, on his side even though his view of you was your back, the space between you feeling wider than an abyss. And again, as the minutes or a couple of hours passed, your breathing slowed, hiding behind the silence of the place. You had forbidden him any access to your body, losing that right himself with his stupidity and his actions, with his outburst, with his fear of losing you that Daryl didn't know how to begin to explain, but the idea of ​​feeling your lifeless body, in any sense, in the most brutal or the simplest way (like simply stopping breathing, an unnecessary fact that Hershel had dropped one afternoon long ago) made him cross the boundaries you silently drew, reaching out his nervous hand to tickle you as he had been doing so many times that he had lost count.

Just a touch, so light you wouldn't feel it. Yet when his fingers lifted a fraction of your long–sleeved shirt, a whimper of pain seeped between your closed lips. Daryl frowned, for you'd never done that in your life together, and then, a red bruise glowed almost imperceptibly in the light of the candle that was a few nights away from burning out.

His calloused fingers slid over your skin to expose you even more, just as the pain made you wake with a gasp.

"Stop."

"The fuck happened to ya?"

Your words and his collided, a mess scattering around the room as you turned, sitting up with a pain you held prisoner between your still closed lips as he sat up as well, and your confused, dazed, and anger–filled expressions met, face to face. There was no place to hide your surprise anymore.

“Daryl—”

“Who?” His voice grew thicker, more dangerous with the full weight of his rage. “Ain't gonna ask ya again, (Y/N). But m' gonna to beat the shit outta every single person in this whole damn place 'til I find out who it was if ya don’' tell me who did that to ya.”

He was threatening you… not you, but there it was, the moment looming when he would lose control, reaching the point of no return. Your throat was so dry it hurt to swallow, feeling the fear in every corner of your being, as if you were made of nothing but that.

“Daryl—” His jaw was so tight it hurt, every muscle that contracted, but he didn't ask again, true to his promise. “Please, no, it's not worth it.”

And then he saw it clearly, the pain in your eyes that hurt more than that bruise on your skin, the misguided idea that, somehow, you were the one who wasn't worth it, that the person who hurt you wasn't worth hurting. And that was more painful for him, for the man who took other people's pain as his own, especially if it came from the person he loved the most. And between the small spaces of his anger, Daryl felt his gaze water as he approached you as he could, pulling you close, until his demanding hand cupped the back of your head, once again to look you in the eyes.

“M'sorry, m' so sorry.” His deep voice cracked on the last word, but it was all or nothing, to love you completely or not to love you at all. “M'sorry I yelled at ya, m'sorry I was such a jerk. I swear I only did it 'cause m' terrified of losin' ya. I love ya so much that I know I can’t live in a world without ya. I’d die for ya, ya know that, but I hope I don’ have to 'cause I want a future with ya. An' to do that, I need to keep ya alive.”

Daryl pulled away, playing his part.

“Tell me the name. I’ll do the rest.”

Then, you said his name out loud, for the first time. And Daryl nodded, pressing his lips to yours in a hard, short kiss before he left, without another word. Unable to speak, you knew it was either you or Sean; you couldn’t save both of you: and he didn’t deserve to be saved either.

And it all made sense to Daryl in that moment, the way you stopped going to the library alone, the way you started jumping in fright whenever he touched you, an act that began when that boy came into his own home, daring to destroy it, not knowing how far someone like Daryl Dixon would go for you. Sanity faded into the shadows, terrified of fighting a nearly savage man, a man who lived so much in the wild that he adopted the instincts of an animal: fight to dead to live, to protect.

He clenched his fists, so tight the skin seemed to stretch to the point of breaking. Daryl needed nothing more than his own hands, hard and rough after using them to fight for his own life. And though his mind was clouded with only one murderous thought, his near–perfect memory led him seamlessly through the prison until he found Sean's cell.

The bars creaked slightly when he opened them, but the peacefully sleeping boy didn't feel it until Daryl's hand closed around his neck, with no trace of gentleness until he pushed Sean to the ground, though his fingers itched to break it right there. It was like forcing a dormant volcano to awaken, a force of nature that not human could stop.

Sean whined, scared, feeling the fear of being prey in his body. He looked so small compared to Daryl that Daryl felt a throb of pity, one that disappeared instantly.

"Out."

"What?"

“Get the fuck outta this prison 'fore I step on yer neck. An' if ya cry for help like the lil' bitch ya are, I'll break it 'fore ya say a word.”

He knew Daryl would do it, without any guilt. There was a blankness in his gaze, but somehow, all his composure was gathered there, and that was even more terrifying to Sean. Daryl wasn't completely blinded by his anger, but rather used it almost strategically, calculatingly. So he did it. Sean walked down death row in silence, feeling his heart pounding in his prickles, his mind so messed up that he couldn't even imagine how it would all end, but knowing it would.

The cold air hit him in the face, as hard as a punch.

"Listen, man, I don't know what's going on, but I swear you're wrong." Daryl's expression remained flat, emotionless, even though they were all over his body, noisy, buzzing in his ears, so loud that they blocked out the sound of the walkers' growling on the other side. And when Sean saw that his words didn't make even the slightest change on his face, he feigned dementia even more. "I don't know what (Y/N) told you, but she's crazy. She threw herself at me."

There it was, the typical excuse, absolving himself of all blame only to throw it at you.

Which only made his blood boil.

"Yeah, she kinda is. (Y/N) is wild, but she's good, one of the best people in this fuckin' place an' in this fuckin' world, an' ya dared to hurt what's mine even though ya knew I'd kill ya."

“I don’t—” Sean choked on his terror, so latent it made his body shake even more, like a tiny leaf. “I’m sorry, I swear. Please don’t kill me, I don’t want to die.”

And it was funny how Daryl remembered what you said to him that first day.

“There are worse fates than death, but by the time m' done with ya, yer gon' beg me to kill ya.”

Like fire on gunpowder, everything was strident even when there wasn’t a deafening sound. Time stretched each time Daryl gave him a break, a pause just to make him feel the pain of each blow more, for his body to register it even after his mind shut down when it could no longer take so much damage, his system shutting down as well, leaving Sean on the edge of the precipice until morning came.

The exact trace of time was lost long ago, but when Daryl returned to your cell, you were still there, sitting on the edge of the bed, one leg tucked beneath you, the other on the floor as if everything had frozen, until you looked up and your gaze regained a little life, a promise that everything would soon be all right.

“Lie down.”

You did, silently and painfully. Daryl lay down with you, closing the space between you for the first time, as if it had never existed.

[loveharlow]

okay okay hi harloww :) how ya doin??

okay so I had an idea well request- jj and sex on a trampoline BAH i don’t know this kinda happened irl to me and idk how to write abt it ??

abbie idk what kind of damn miracle worker you think i am ??? SEX on a goddamn TRAMPOLINE??? and wdyMEANNNN "kinda happened irl to me"???? ABIGAIL??

ps: sorry this took so long girl, i was tryna make sure i did my best

swearing, smut, outdoor sex/exhibitionism, slight dom!jj

"Really enjoying the view from down here, I tell ya—"

"Shut up." You hushed the blonde beneath you, cutting him off before crashing your lips against his. Your hands framed his head as he lay stretched out on the trampoline in your backyard, his pants pooled around his knees. You were on top, your skirt your only shield against any prying eyes from nearby windows.

You weren't sure whose idea it had been, or why either of you had agreed. But somehow, you found yourself riding JJ on your childhood trampoline, a relic unused for years. Your parents were out, and you'd snuck him in for a house tour. Though, you couldn't pinpoint the exact moment it had escalated to this.

The old structure groaned with each movement as you ground against him, watching his face contort in pleasure. His tongue peeked from in between his lips, his hands gripping the skin of your waist and thigh for dear life — his fingers hidden beneath the fabric of your shirt and skirt.

The trampoline's buoyancy only served to amplified your pleasure. As you pushed off him, you seemed to damn near fly, and each recoil from the trampoline sent JJ's frame dipping and then rising, driving his length impossibly deeper within you, hitting that spot perfectly.

"Fuck, I wish you could take this off," he breathed out, tugging slightly at your shirt, a faint moan woven into his words.

"Can't," you gasped, dropping slightly as it became harder to hold yourself up. "Neighbors."

JJ simply huffed out a laugh. "You don't seem to care about them too much right now, sweetheart—"

His words were cut off once more as you slapped a hand over his mouth, his blue eyes widening. "Sh. Shut up," you hushed him again, your eyes rolling back, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you ground down harder against him—your own orgasm nearing.

With a raised eyebrow, JJ's hand left your thigh, prying your hand off his lips before intertwining his fingers with yours. "Feisty," he sighed, looking you up and down with hungry eyes. "I like it." He winked. "But I think I've let you have enough fun, don't you think?"

At his words, the blonde sat up, your eyes snapping open. With both strong hands on your hips, halting your movements, your face twisted in confusion.

You yelped in surprise when JJ swiftly reversed your positions, leaving you underneath him, the Maybank boy pinning both your hands on either side of your head.

"What're you—"

"Shut up," he warned lowly, looking down at you as damp, blonde strands of hair fell across his face. You didn't miss the small smirk that appeared when you fell silent — eyes wide, face flushed and glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. "Atta girl," he praised, dipping down to kiss your forehead as one of his hands expertly realigned himself with your entrance. "Not so bold now, are you?"

"My skirt, J..." you whined, wiggling beneath him. "It's not covering us anymore..."

"It won't matter in a second, anyway, sweetheart." He laughed lowly, mainly to himself, as he pushed forward, pulling a gasp from you as your back arched off the trampoline. "'Cause if they don't see us, they'll definitely hear you."

JJ Maybank Taglist in replies!

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.

©loveharlow

[snowfall-jess]

Sylus comforting you when you suddenly burst out crying

Word count: 496

Spoilers for Honkai Star Rail 3.2 story quest lol - also not proofread so pls excuse any mistakes aaaa

Critique is always welcomed btw! I wanna get better at writing <3

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It started out as a normal chat. Granted, you were seated in Sylus’ lap but it was your day off. Dressed in comfortable clothes, you were chatting away with Sylus as he kept you close. His hand on your waist and the other supporting his head as he watched you ramble with a slight smirk.

His red eyes sparkled as he watched you talk. Each word you said music to his ears as he responded with soft hums and quips to let you know he was listening.

“- And with that it was revealed that the Trailblazer was actually dead.” You said, your hands moving as you talked and explained your current favorite game to Sylus.

“Oh?” Sylus hummed, his brow arching as his thumb rubbed circles on your hip. “That must have been quite the surprise, kitten.” He said, a soft chuckle leaving his lips.

“Yeah! I feel like it could have been elaborated more since it was really only mentioned in one line from Dan Heng and the surrounding characters.” You sigh, shaking your head. Parting your lips to speak, you pause.

Then, there was a sudden tightness in your throat and there was a sudden heat in your eyes. With a soft gasp from you, Sylus immediately was on alert. His form straightened in the chair as he gripped your waist a bit tighter.

“Kitten?” Sylus cautiously asked, his voice soft and gentle. But that was all it took as hot tears rolled down your cheeks. A soft whimper left your lips as your eyes met Sylus’ red ones.

“I-I'm sorry,” You hiccuped, trying to wipe your tears away. “I don't know why I'm crying.” Your voice was shaky, your body starting to tremble as your body was hit with the heavy emotions that felt like everything and nothing at the same time.

Sylus was quick to softly shush you. His hand moved to cradle your head and to tuck you under his chin as he tightened his grip. “Shhh, it's alright, sweetie.” He cooed, starting to rock you a little.

“It's alright that you don't know.” Sylus said, his voice a gentle rumble in your ear as he combed his fingers through your hair. “Cry it out, sweetheart. I'm right here.” He said, his voice soft.

“I'm not going anywhere. It's okay to just cry.” He said, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “I'll hold you for as long as you need me to.” Sylus vowed, gently nudging his head against yours.

His grip tightened, his eyes closing as he rocked you. Listening to your soft whimpers and sobs, letting you cry as he pressed gentle kisses to your face and head, gently rocking you until you calmed down.

But even then, he kept his vow. Holding you close and secure in his arms. Keeping you present with his kisses and gentle words. And silently in his mind, he vowed that he will never let you go through this alone ever again.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

A/N

I didn't know how to end this lol. But I have been having these moments where I really want Sylus to hold me and I know I'd start sobbing like a baby so this is very self indulgent lol. Am I okay? I dont know! :D I just know I need a good hug and to cry lol

[tuttle-did-it]

M*A*S*H is and was incredibly brilliant.

There are a few things I do find cringy. Season 1 in particular had a lot of unnecessary rape jokes and sexism. This did improve once Alda took over the writer’s room.

They carried Oliver’s incredibly racist nickname from the books, and rather than deal with that in the show, they just disappear him. The show is incredibly white. They could have made an episode where he said ‘hey you know, don’t call me that. It’s a racist nickname some horrible republican white man [named Hooker] gave me. I put up with it for a long time, but I am just tired of it.’ And they could have used that moment to address that ‘yeah, it’s a racist name and it we shouldn’t be saying it. Sorry, Oliver.’ Instead, the white writers just wrote him out of the show cos they didn’t really know how to write a Black character.

Klinger can occasionally be quite queerphobic whenever someone assumes he might be trans or gay. Exceptionally so, in fact. Frustratingly so— to the point where I do have mixed feelings about holding him up as a queer icon.

The show is incredibly male- the nurses are literally A, B, C (Able, Baker, Chapman, etc) and only in later years are they even acknowledged regularly or given much personality beyond being chased by the Swamp Rats.

(And this is just a personal irritation but the continuity just sucks. They change people’s backgrounds, family dynamic, marital status, age, etc with a roll of the dice and I find it irritating. )

I love M*A*S*H enough to have done a PhD on it. I have M*A*S*H tattoos. M*A*S*H is an excellent show despite all of this. Some of the best TV I’ve ever seen. But there are some pretty big flaws in this show.

I think those flaws are important to recognise. I still believe M*A*S*H is one of the best shows to ever be in television. But it does have moments where it did not live up to its potential. And I do think that needs to be recognised and understood.

One also must remember that the skeleton for the show came from Hooker’s novels. Hooker wrote Hawkeye based off himself— and Hawkeye— the protagonist— was basically Frank Burns. The writers did throw 99% of the books away to use their own research with doctors who served in Korea (they even went to Korea to interview people there about the M*A*S*H units). But the racist, sexist and super white skeletons of Hooker’s books was used.

So frankly it is a miracle the M*A*S*H TV show was as incredible as it was. Despite the flaws, everyone in the show— especially Alda— were indeed fighting constantly to make the show better. To find a new high bar. They really wanted to make a quality, meaningful show— and despite these flaws, they absolutely did. And for their era they were light years ahead of a lot of TV at the time. And they were limited in their time, as we all are, with what their society around them was.

But regardless, M*A*S*H was, and is, an incredible show that d good their best to be progressive.

Alan Alda’s send off to Loretta Swit

[stargazedwinchester]

ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `still here, still waiting, sam winchester ༘♡

summary: you've finally broken up with your ex. whilst you're venting to sam about it, you realise it's been him all along. word count: 1,059 pairing: sam winchester x reader prompt: "you're still waiting for me?" you can find the prompt list here! cred to @promptsbytaurie for the idea!

⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧

The beer in your hand is warm by the time you realise you’ve stopped drinking it.

Sam is sitting across from you whilst you’re venting about your breakup — pacing in the library in one of your oldest yet comfiest sweatshirts. Sam sits with one leg crossed over the other, a beer bottle also sitting comfortably in his hand. You turn around and he’s watching you like you’re the only person in the world who matters.

“Sorry. I’m rambling.” You stop mid-sentence. Sam smiles faintly at you. “It’s okay. You can ramble all you want.”

You smile back at him, sinking onto the couch next to him. “I just feel stupid. Like, how did I not see it sooner? God. Maybe I am stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” he says, his voice quieter. Softer. “Sometimes it’s easier to see the good in people than it is the bad. It’s easier that way than to admit they’re not what you need.”

After he said that, something settled in your brain. He’s right. The constant battle with yourself in your head has silenced. Sam’s not wrong, but is he just saying it to be kind?

“You always see the good in people, Sam.”

“Yeah.” He chuckles. “I do. But I also see the truth. And you deserved better.”

Your heart twists. He’s always been kind to you, and in this moment, you start to wonder what else you’ve been too blind to see.

“You think?”

“I know you did, Y/N.”

You study him, the way his fingers curl nervously against his jeans, he shifts a little awkwardly, that shy, gentle smile sticking to his face.

Sam had been watching from the sidelines, all these months. He never said a word or crossed a line — he just kept being your friend. He always cared, more than what he let on. You’d notice, but always put it down to Sam just being… Sam. There were moments where it almost slipped, where he caught himself smiling at you for a little too long, or when you lean your head on his shoulder a little too easily. He always pulled away before it could mean something more, because you weren’t his to hope for. Not yet.

As you sit there, watching the way his thumb moves in small, absent circles over his knee, it hits you. Sam’s always been patient and quiet. He’s the one who stayed through every high and low, stayed through each sensitive moment, every time you needed a shoulder to lean on, he was there.

He always has been.

Suddenly, every memory looks different. Every laugh, every late-night conversation, it all comes into focus.

“Sam…” you say slowly, concern clouding your eyes as Sam looks at you gently. “Yeah?” He asks, running a hand through his hair. You sigh deeply, afraid of the answer he’s about to give you.

“You’re still waiting for me?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

His brows furrow. “Sorry? What for?”

“For not seeing it sooner. For not seeing you sooner.”

His demeanour changes slightly, freezing into place. “You’ve been there for me through everything. Always so kind and patient. You’ve never asked for anything in return and I hate that I didn’t see it.”

He’s quiet. His eyes just glaze over you as you figure out what to say next. “I gave my time and my heart to someone else when you were right there the whole time.”

He turns to face you, leaning his arm against the top of the sofa. “Look at me.”

You do.

“There’s nothing to regret. If this is what it took for you to see me, then I’d do it all over again.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you take his hand in yours, tangling your fingers together, squeezing his hand tight.

Sam carries on. “I just wanted you to be happy. Even if it wasn’t with me. I didn’t want to make you feel guilty.”

“I don’t feel guilty, I just—” You pause, your heart pounding. “I think I always felt it somewhere. I just wasn’t ready to see it.”

He sits there, his eyes soft and open, as if he’s telling you it’s up to you to decide. He’ll always be there, whether you want him to be or not.

You reach out, inviting him for a hug. He doesn’t hesitate, wrapping his strong arms around your back, and yours over his shoulders.

All you can do is breathe him in. Because in this moment, you feel like you’re where you need to be.

With him. With Sam.

[anylady-fics]

First | Mingi x F Reader

Cross posted on ao3

Summary: You just wanted to lose your virginity — no drama, no strings attached. What you didn’t expect was for your friend Mingi to make it that good. One wild night, a lot of firsts, and maybe… just maybe, a reason to do it all over again.

WC: 10.5k

⚠️ warnings: smut, first times, virgin!reader, oral sex (f/m), vaginal sex, dry humping, dirty talk, praise kink, voice kink (kinda), big dick Mingi (canon, right?)

An: sorry about the wc, I just really like Mingi 🫠

You got dumped again. Yeah, seriously. At this point, it was getting old. But no matter how frustrating it was, you knew exactly what the problem was, and it wasn’t something you could just fix overnight.

You were… inexperienced.

Going to college after a lifetime of being smothered by overprotective parents meant they had successfully sent you off as a virgin. And for a while, that was fine. It wasn’t a big deal—until people started acting like you were some kind of loser just because you hadn’t fucked anyone yet.

And the guys? Every single one you tried dating was the same. Either they wanted to get into your pants before the first drink was even finished, or they pretended to be patient—like they weren’t just waiting for the moment you’d cave. You might be inexperienced, but you weren’t stupid. And as much as you wanted to get it over with, you couldn’t do it with just anyone.

But after getting dumped for the third time in two months, you decided to do something about it. Something had to change. You wished you’d just handled it back in high school like everyone else, but that ship had sailed.

Your friends told you to just ask one of your guy friends to help you out. Which sounded easy enough… until you actually pictured doing it, and embarrassment nearly killed you on the spot.

Still, if you wanted to lose your virginity, your options were limited. The random guys you’d been trying to date were too impatient, too pushy, and way too stupid.

Which meant your only real option was actually asking a friend. But which one? 

You had a few options, but you needed someone who wouldn’t laugh in your face or make things weird. Someone who’d get that this was just a favor, not a relationship.

Okay. That made things a little easier.

Maybe Mingi? You’d been friends for years, you went to the same college now, and he was definitely experienced enough to help. Plus, he already knew you were a virgin, so at least you wouldn’t have to explain that part.

But how were you supposed to ask him?

Like… “Hey, I need someone to fuck me so I can finally lose my virginity and date like a normal person”?

Yeah. That didn’t sound awkward at all. Well, you would have to try. Maybe it would be less awkward if you could text him…

You: Hey! You good? Look… I kinda need to talk to you about something. 

Mingi: Hey, pretty. Long time since we talked, wanna hang out at that coffee place you like? 

You: Sure, we can meet there after class. Byeee, see ya.

Well, if you couldn’t even type the question, saying it out loud was going to be a nightmare. But you had to try. No backing out now.

After class, you went straight to the coffee shop and ordered your usual before Mingi arrived. The second you saw him walk through the door, your stomach dropped, a cold, nervous, oh-god-what-am-I-doing panic settling in. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down.

“Hey! Still buried in your books, nerd?”

“Yeah, and it’s been causing me some problems.” Mainly the one you were about to dump on him. “What about you? Still hitting up every party?”

“Not as much. Kinda got tired of it.”

That… was a surprise.

“Oh. Right.”

He ordered his drink, then leaned on the table, watching you. “So… what did you wanna talk about?”

Okay. You can do it.

“Uh… so… I don’t even know how to say this, Mingi.” You took a slow sip of your way too large Americano, trying to find the right words. “I mean, it might be a lot to ask, but I’m kinda out of options.”

He tilted his head, waiting.

“I got dumped again yesterday. And look, I know these guys are assholes and not worth my time, but it keeps happening because I’m a virgin. And I feel like… it’s really getting in my way, you know?”

“Uh… I don’t.”

“Of course you don’t.” You groaned, shifting in your seat. “Okay, what I’m asking… it’s just a favor, that’s all. I really want to lose my virginity, and I really don’t want it to be with those idiots I’ve been dating.”

Mingi blinked. Then blinked again.

“You’re asking me… to take your virginity?” His eyebrows shot up, his expression somewhere between shock and did I hear that right? “…Is that what’s happening here?”

“Yeah… I mean…” You trailed off, shifting uncomfortably.

Mingi still looked shocked, but you could tell—this whole situation was doing wonders for his already massive ego.

“I gotta ask… why me?” He leaned back slightly, arms crossed, clearly enjoying this a little too much. “You have a few friends.”

You sighed.

“You already know I’m a virgin. And you also know I’m not an idiot.” You glanced down at your drink, feeling your face heat up. “We’ve been friends for years, and I don’t know… I trust you.”

Mingi didn’t say anything right away, and the silence made your stomach twist.

“But if this is too much,” you added quickly, forcing a laugh, “just forget I ever said anything. And then I’ll dig a hole in the ground and hide from you for the rest of my life.”

“Relax, I was just curious,” Mingi said, holding back a grin. “Of course, I can help you with that. I think any guy in the world would.” 

You rolled your eyes. His ego was thriving.

“But,” he continued, tilting his head again, making that cute puppy face at you “I gotta ask… how far have you actually gone?”

You exhaled sharply. Alright. You can do this. You weren’t exactly the type to chat about your sex life — or lack thereof — but considering you’d just asked Mingi to take your virginity, honesty was kinda mandatory at this point.

“Huh… I…”

“Oral? Fingering?” He had zero shame. Which, good for him. Terrible for you.

You cleared your throat.

“No. And… yes.”

“And did you ever… you know, finish from it?”

“Nope. Only by myself.”

That bit of information seemed to stir something in him. His expression flickered between offended and genuinely shocked.

“Damn. So the guys were really that bad, huh?” He shook his head, exhaling like this was personally upsetting. “Yeah, okay. We’re definitely not jumping straight to it, that’d be traumatizing.”

Your eyes narrowed. “What exactly are you suggesting…?”

“That we take it step by step.” He leaned in slightly, voice a little lower, a little slower. “I can’t just… do it. I mean, it’s already a painful experience for most girls, and it’d be a hell of a lot easier for you if we… prepped first.”

You were already blushing because of his lower voice. It got worse.

“Oh…OH…”

“Yeah. Well, that’s my one condition if I’m gonna help you.”

“Okay… I guess.” You swallowed, fingers tightening around your cup. “So, uh… when do we start?”

Mingi shrugged, finishing his coffee.

“You can come over tonight if you want. My roommate’s out.”

He set his cup down and looked at you expectantly. You, on the other hand, were frozen.

That soon? 

You did want to get this over with. But you’d kinda imagined having some time to mentally prepare. Then again… maybe not thinking too much about it was the better option. If you gave yourself too much time, you might just chicken out entirely.

“Okay. So…”

“We can go now,” Mingi said, already standing up. “It’s getting dark anyway.” He waited for you to do the same, then tilted his head before asking you. “You’re really sure about this?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I can ask you to stop anytime, right?”

“Of course.”

You nodded, but your mind was already spinning. You couldn’t stop thinking about what you were about to do — and who you were about to do it with. But the truth was, you had no idea what was actually going to happen. Mingi had been clear, this wasn’t going to be just jumping into it.

So… were you two just going to make out and see where it led?

Jesus. Just thinking about that made your stomach flip.

You hadn’t really considered how weird this could get, but for some reason, you still felt safe about it. Mingi was a lot of things, kind of a fuckboy, sure, but he wasn’t a liar. If something felt off, he’d tell you. You just knew that.

As soon as you got to his place, Mingi gestured for you to sit on the couch before heading to the kitchen. A moment later, he came back with two cans of beer, handing you one. The silence was already killing you.

“Drink,” he said, popping open his can. “Might help you relax. You’re really tense.”

“Yeah, I am… thanks.” You exhaled, cracking yours open. “I was just about to ask for one.”

Mingi smirked before sinking into the couch beside you. “So… tell me more about these guys you dated. They’re really dumping you just because you’re a virgin?”

“Yeah… I mean, they always try to get in my pants, and when I don’t let them, they just… lose interest.” You shrugged, taking a sip. “I don’t even always tell them I’m a virgin. I don’t need that getting around and people making fun of me, you know? So I just let them assume I’m, like, frigid or something.”

“They’re just assholes.” He paused, tilting his head. “But, like… your virginity… it’s not something important to you?”

“Not exactly…” You sighed, swirling the beer in your can. “I just wish I’d gotten over it when I was younger, like all my friends did. But you know my parents.”

Mingi nodded. He definitely knew.

“I just couldn’t do it with some random guy,” you continued. “That would’ve been awful.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, watching you. “I get that.”

“And I know you’re very experienced, so…”

Mingi chuckled, finishing off his beer and setting the empty can on the coffee table.

“I wouldn’t say very… Just… enough.”

Oh. His voice. The way he looked at you.

There it was.

That shift in the air, the kind of tension you could feel settling between you. You took a slow, deep breath, then placed your empty can next to his.

“If you say so…”

“So… whenever you’re ready, pretty.”

Your stomach flipped again.

“Can we… kiss?”

Mingi’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “Yeah. That’d be a great start. I told you… I wanna take things slow.”

You were already sitting close, so all it took was him leaning in, a slight tilt of his head, a shift in the air between you. You mirrored him, your breath catching just before your lips met.

Soft. Damn, his lips were soft… and so plump.

So far, nothing too unfamiliar. You let yourself ease into it, testing the feel of him. But then his tongue brushed over your lips before slipping into your mouth, meeting yours in a slow, teasing slide. And that… that sent a rush of heat straight through you.

In just seconds, that shy kiss turned into something messy, wet, hot, needy. Damn it. You could feel the effect between your legs, heat pooling inside your panties. And just when you thought it couldn’t get worse, Mingi chuckled, that deep, lazy sound vibrating against your skin as he trailed kisses down your chin, your neck. 

“How you feeling?” he murmured against your throat, his voice low, teasing.

“G-good…”

His lips curved against your skin. “Hm… you’re pressing your thighs together.” Another kiss, right under your jaw. “Already horny?”

God. You swallowed hard. Why were you suddenly so shy?

“Uh… yes.” 

Mingi hummed like he expected that answer. 

“Ever dry-humped someone before?”

“No… never.”

Another smirk, he was such a tease… and then, two slow taps against his thigh.

“Come here. Sit on my lap.”

You hesitated for half a second before obeying, standing up just to settle yourself over him. His thighs… fuck. Thick. Comfortable. Solid under you. And even through his jeans, you could feel him. He was hard, very. 

“Good girl.” Those words hit you in a very specific way…

Your hands rested on his broad shoulders as you kissed him again. Embarrassment still lingered somewhere in the back of your mind, but it was quickly drowned out by the heat pooling deep in your core. You let your body take over, responding to him — the kissing, the touching… the way his big hands gripped your waist, strong and steady.

“Come on, baby. Grind on me.”

Oh, fuck.

You felt those words straight between your legs, a sharp pulse of need making you clench so hard you whimpered against his lips.

Mingi groaned, his hands sliding down to cup your ass, guiding you into motion, urging you to move against him. Against his hard cock pressing through his jeans. Against his thick thighs.

“Just like that…” The delicious friction sent sparks up your spine, and soon enough, you were moving all on your own, chasing more of it. “Don’t stop.”

“Mingi… fuck!”

You ground down harder, a little faster, just enough to push you right over the edge. The orgasm hit you in waves, leaving you shivering and whimpering in his lap as his hands held you steady. He murmured soft praises, his voice thick with something dangerous, something that made your toes curl. Wow, that was really fast.

And all you could think was: Holy shit! You just had the best orgasm of your life. From grinding on your friend. And you didn’t know how you were supposed to feel about that, but you were just fine for now.

“So… was it good?” Mingi chuckled against your neck, his lips trailing soft, teasing kisses back up to your mouth. “You good?”

“Yeah, but… I feel… uh…” You pulled back just enough to catch your breath, to think. “I don’t know. I just came, but I’m still…”

Needy. You didn’t have to say.

His lips curled into a smirk, and you didn’t even know you like that pretty face of him that much.  

“We can keep going if you want to.”

“What would be the next step? Since you wanna take things slow.”

“Hm…” He tilted his head, considering. “Maybe I can make you feel good with my fingers. If you’re okay with that.”

Your brain short-circuited for a second. Because fuck. Your panties were soaked, embarrassingly wet just from kissing and grinding against him. But you were still throbbing, still desperate for more.

So you just… nodded. 

 “Yeah… it’s fine.”

Still perched on his lap, you hesitated before shifting off him, kneeling on the couch beside him. Your legs felt shaky, but not from exhaustion, no. It was pure anticipation.

Mingi followed, sliding down to kneel on the floor in front of you, his eyes dark and hungry as he leaned in.

“You want me to take your shorts off, or you wanna do it yourself?” He murmured the words against your lips, stealing a quick peck before trailing his fingers down to the waistband of your shorts.

“Y-you can do it…”

His touch was slow, deliberate, as he unbuttoned your shorts and slid them down, pushing them aside like they were nothing.

Then, his hands settled on your hips, his thumbs rubbing slow, soothing circles against your skin.

“Wanna keep the panties on?” His voice was low, husky. “I can still make you feel good like this, if you’re not ready to take them off.”

You should’ve been embarrassed. Should’ve felt shy about the way he was staring at you, at your pussy, taking in the obvious wet stain darkening the fabric.

But you weren’t.

Because he looked wrecked just from seeing you like this. And you loved that, really turned you on even more.

“...It’s okay,” you whispered. “You can take them off too. I mean… there’s no point feeling shy now, right?” Your breath hitched. “You’re gonna see my pussy anyway…”

“Hm…” He chuckled at your words, fingers toying with the waistband of your panties. “So… you told me you’ve been fingered before, right? How was it for you?”

You hesitated for a second before exhaling, remembering the times you let that happen.

“It was always rushed. Like… in the backseat of a car, or some dark corner in a club. Sometimes it just felt uncomfortable. Sometimes a little painful…”

Mingi hummed, his fingers slipping lower, tracing light patterns over the fabric.

“So has anyone actually seen this pretty pussy, baby?” His voice had dropped, thick with something you couldn’t quite name. “Am I really the first?”

Your breath hitched as he hooked his fingers under the elastic, dragging your panties down slowly, revealing your mound first, then the rest as you lifted your hips just enough to help him.

“Yes… you are.”

“Fuck.” His exhale was heavy, like he was struggling. His hands smoothed over your bare thighs, slow and teasing, while you instinctively pressed your legs together. You had just told him there was no point in feeling shy, but still… his eyes on you like that made your skin burn. Mingi let out a soft, amused hum, his lower voice killing you. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, baby.” His thumbs brushed gently along the inside of your thighs. “But I need you to talk to me, okay? I don’t want you to feel any pain.”

You nodded, but he wasn’t done.

“Good girl.” He said that again, making you shiver once more at his words. His lips curled into something dangerously soft, dangerously sweet. “Now… spread your legs for me.” His voice was just sinful, God. “Let me see you.”

Even with a lingering trace of shyness, you spread your legs for him. Mingi let out a sound that looked like a moan, his eyes locked onto your glistening pussy like he was savoring the sight. You knew you were dripping, could feel it pooling beneath you, and the thought alone made you squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for his touch.

“Nah-ah.” His voice was pure, silken dominance. A soft kiss landed on your thigh, his warm palm resting against your belly. “Eyes on me, baby. I wanna see every little reaction. So behave, and look at me while I touch you, okay?”

Your breath hitched, but you obeyed, blinking up at him, cheeks burning under the weight of his gaze.

Mingi started slow, his fingers first trailing over your mound, teasing, barely there, making you ache for more. Then, with the lightest pressure, he dipped lower, parting your folds, gathering your slick on his fingertips. You whimpered when he finally brushed over your clit, already swollen, already throbbing for him.

“Fuck, you’re so wet…” His voice was rougher now, and when he pressed down on your clit, moving in slow, deliberate circles, your body reacted instantly. Your thighs threatened to snap shut, but his free hand kept you open.

“Talk to me, baby.” He smirked at you, making your cheeks burn again. “You like it when I touch you here?”

“Y-yes… feels so good, Mingi…” Your voice was barely more than a breathy moan, your chest rising and falling rapidly. God, what was this man doing to you?

“Good…” He kept up the slow, torturous rhythm, circling, sliding, making sure you felt every second of it. And then he smirked again, eyes flickering down between your legs. “I can see you clenching…” His fingers teased lower, brushing over your dripping hole, but never pushing in. “You want a finger inside this pretty pussy, huh?”

“Yes… please.”

You’d never felt like this before. Sure, you’d touched yourself before — your fingers, the desperate grind against your pillow. But this? Craving someone else's touch this badly? That was new.

“Yeah?” Mingi��s voice was warm, teasing, his breath fanning against your skin. “Alright, baby. Gonna put it in now. Tell me if it hurts, I’ll stop right away.”

He played with your clit for a second longer, making you squirm, before twisting his wrist and easing his middle finger inside you. He slid in easily — too easily — because you were already so wet, dripping onto his palm.

“Fuck…” He exhaled, watching the way you clenched around him, his voice thick with something almost reverent. “You’re clenching around my finger so tight, baby. Tell me how it feels.”

“Hm… it’s okay. No pain…” Your words were soft, airy, but your body was already responding to him, hips shifting just the slightest bit, searching for more.

“Yeah?” He started moving, slow thrusts, just the tip at first, then deeper, dragging against your walls in slow, deliberate strokes. “You like it like this? Or maybe…” He let his finger sink all the way in, curling it just right, hitting somewhere entirely new inside you.

A moan ripped from your throat before you could stop it. 

Mingi chuckled, clearly pleased. “I think I have my answer… Looks like I just found your G-spot.”

“It’s… embarrassing that I couldn’t find it myself…”

“Mm, it’s fine, baby…” His tone was honeyed sin, smooth and coaxing. “It’s kinda deep, see?” He pushed in again, curling that single finger right against the spot, making your body jolt. “Here… this spongy little place… this is where you’re most sensitive inside.”

Another slow press, another deliberate curl of his finger, sending a shudder down your spine, leaving you gasping.

“Feels… different…”

“A good different? Or do you want me to stop?”

“No… keep going. It’s good… really good…”

“Mm…” He smirked, his free hand sliding down to find your clit, circling it in slow, teasing motions while his finger pressed against that spot inside you over and over again. “Like this, baby? Feels good?”

“Yes…” Your voice was breathy, almost desperate. It felt too good — like nothing you’d ever experienced before. You had no idea your body could respond like this, that just one finger could unravel you so easily. But now you knew. And you needed more. “Don’t stop…”

Mingi hummed in approval, his movements shifting, pressing into your G-spot with more precision, rubbing your clit with just the right amount of pressure. It was overwhelming, the pleasure washing over you in such an intense way it left you breathless. Your hips had a mind of their own now, rolling into his touch, grinding against his hand as you chased the high building inside you.

“That’s it, baby…” His voice was low, dripping with praise. “Keep riding my fingers like that… fuck, you look so pretty like this…”

You felt something building inside you—something different. A weird kind of pressure you’d never felt during an orgasm before. It made you panic a little.

“Mingi… feels weird.” But it still felt good, so you didn’t stop. You kept grinding against his hand, chasing the high.

“Weird how? Talk to me.”

“Like I’m gonna… pee…” you admitted, your voice small, embarrassed.

“Mmh…” He didn’t sound the least bit bothered. “Wanna try letting go, baby? You might squirt if you do. It’ll feel so good…”

But you couldn’t. The sensation was too intense, too unfamiliar. And the idea of actually doing that in front of him made your whole body tense up.

“I can’t… I just wanna cum, please… make me cum…”

He kissed your thigh again, soft and reassuring, his finger still buried deep inside you. But now his focus shifted. His other hand is working your clit in that perfect way. God, he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Come on, baby… cum on my fingers. Keep moving, just like that…”

You did. And it hit you hard. Your orgasm crashed over you, stealing your breath, making your legs tremble uncontrollably. You couldn’t even speak, so you just moaned and whimpered as he worked you through it, drawing it out until you were spent.

Then he slowly pulled his finger out and, without breaking eye contact, brought it to his mouth and licked it clean. The sight alone made your pussy clench again.

“You taste so fucking good…”

You bit your lower lip, trying to hold back a moan, because fuck. He wasn’t even touching you anymore.

“So…” Mingi sat back down beside you, his tone playful. “How was it for you?”

You let out a breathy laugh, still recovering. “That was amazing… thank you. Uh—” your hand moved to his thigh, remembering how you’d been grinding on it minutes ago, “—want me to return the favor?”

“Not today, pretty. Tonight was all about figuring out what you like.”

“Well, mission accomplished.”

“Next time we can try adding another finger… if you’re up for it. Maybe I could eat you out, too.”

“You really wanna do that?”

He looked at you like you were crazy. 

“What kind of question is that?” His eyes dropped briefly to your bare skin. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know… Some guys just don’t like giving head, I guess.”

“Straight guys? I don’t think I know anyone like that. Shit… were your exes that kind of loser?”

“One of them… maybe two.”

“Yeah, they probably didn’t like girls to begin with.” He laughed, shaking his head. “But me? I love eating pussy. You’re so damn responsive… so sensitive. Probably ‘cause you’re a virgin. Honestly, I had a lot of fun today.”

You smiled, cheeks warm. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is!” He gave you one of his cutest smiles, like he wasn’t just talking about eating you out a minute ago.

“Wanna crash here or want me to take you home?”

“I don’t know… I think I could stay on your couch.”

“Damn, do you think I’m an asshole or something?” He laughed, but it had a bit of a bitter edge to it. “You can use my bed. I mean, if you want, we can share. It’s big, and I don’t mind. But if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll take the couch.”

“Calm down, Mingi… I just don’t wanna bother.”

“We’re friends, relax. So, bed or couch?”

“We can share the bed, I don’t mind.” You were just a little embarrassed, but it was fine. “Give me one of your shirts or something so I can sleep.”

“Wanna shower?” You did. You were still a mess, sticky and flustered, adjusting your clothes like it would help somehow. “Go ahead, I’ll order some food.”

Mingi was so sweet you couldn’t help but feel safe there, like actually comfortable. That post-makeout awkwardness you usually felt with guys? Nonexistent. Maybe it was because he was your friend, and it really felt like he cared.

You took a long, needed shower, and when you were done, he handed you a pair of boxers, some comfy shorts, and a soft oversized shirt like you’d asked. He’d ordered Chinese, and you ate with him while watching TV like nothing had just happened between you — chatting about college, life, random stuff. At some point, you were barely keeping your eyes open.

“Let’s go to bed. It’s pretty late,” he said, turning off the TV and getting up. “I’m gonna shower. You can go ahead and sleep if you want.”

So you did. You headed to his room, crawled into his bed and immediately sank into the smell of his sheets. That soft, clean scent of his cologne was everywhere. Your brain briefly panicked about what you’d tell your roommate the next day, assuming you’d even tell her anything. But she'd probably annoy you until you did.

You were drifting off when you heard Mingi come in. He had a towel slung low around his hips, and you peeked — just a little — before shutting your eyes again. He changed, then slipped into bed right beside you, and suddenly your heart was racing. He smelled like soap, like shampoo, like everything warm and familiar, and holy shit, all you wanted to do was reach out and touch him. But you didn’t. You forced yourself to stay still, and eventually, you managed to fall asleep.

But nothing — nothing — could’ve prepared you for the morning.

You woke up to a warm weight draped over your waist. At first, you almost ignored it… until you remembered you weren’t in your bed. You weren’t in your room. You were at Mingi’s. And his arm was on your waist.

And then it all came rushing back… the way his finger felt inside you, the things he said, the way you came so hard you couldn’t speak… and now? Now he was pressed right up against you, and very clearly hard. You could feel his cock resting against your lower back, thick and hot even through the fabric, and you really, really didn’t want to freak out.

But fuck.

How?

You shifted your hips, just a little, enough to grind back into him, slow and deliberate, because you wanted to feel him. All of him.

Mingi mumbled something low, half-asleep, and pulled you closer, spooning you tight, his breath warm against your neck. The way it made you shiver? Unfair. You bit back a soft moan, trying to keep it together.

You couldn’t stop wondering… was this just morning wood? Or was he actually turned on?

But the way he was holding you, not moving away, letting your ass press right up against him like that… yeah, it could definitely be both.

“Hey…” His voice was deep and rough, soaked in sleep, and it went straight to your core. “You doing that on purpose?”

“I was just… trying to feel you.”

Your voice came out breathier than you expected. He let out a low groan, somewhere between sleepy and way too sexy for your own good.

“Then why don’t you just touch it?”

“You want me to touch your dick?” You didn’t mean to sound so surprised, but damn.

He chuckled against your neck, his body shaking a little with it.

“You did say you wanted to feel me.” Then he rolled onto his back, arms behind his head, shameless and relaxed. “I’m all yours.”

You could see it. The tent in his shorts, the thick bulge straining against the fabric… and shit, it looked huge.

You swallowed hard, your shaky hands practically begging to touch him.

You sat up on the bed, reached for him, and the second your fingers brushed over his clothed length, you felt it. Hard and heavy, all for you. Fuck. 

“Shit, baby… want me to take it out for you?”

His voice was low and wrecked, thick with lust, and god, he wanted this just as badly as you did.

“I can do it.” Your fingers slid under his waistband, tugging down his shorts and boxers in one go until his cock sprang free. Thick, flushed, and already leaking, smacking lightly against his stomach. “So big…”

“Yeah?” He wrapped a hand around himself, giving a slow squeeze that made precum beads at the tip. “You like it?”

“Yes…” God, you did. He was pretty, and that wasn't something you'd ever said about a dick before. But his? Fuck, yes. “Let me touch you.”

You weren’t some handjob expert or anything, you’d done it before, sure, but this felt different. Bigger. More intense. More him. Still, you wanted to do it right. You wanted to make him feel good.

Mingi watched you as you wrapped your fingers around him, slow strokes at first, eyes flicking between your hand and your face. His cock twitched in your grip, and that alone made your thighs clench. 

He hummed in approval when you squeezed a bit harder, stroking slowly, getting his tip wetter with precum before you could do it a bit faster.

But you wanted more. 

You didn’t even think, just leaned in and spit on his cock to help your hands glide easier.

The slick sound it made when you started stroking him faster had you biting your lip, and then came his whimper… breathy, needy, absolutely filthy.

“Fuck… you’re good at this…”

Hearing that lit something in you. Gave you all the confidence you needed to keep going.

You spit on him again, not giving a damn about being messy, and the way Mingi moaned for you… it was the hottest sound you’d ever heard.

You were using both hands now; he was big, too big for just one. It made your hands feel small, and the thought of having his cock inside you? Kinda terrifying… but mostly it just made your pussy clench and drip even more.

“Baby… I’m gonna cum—” he panted, voice desperate, eyes locked on you like he was begging you not to stop.

And you didn’t. You weren’t stopping until you felt his hot load spill across your fingers.

He let out a deep, wrecked moan as he came, hips twitching, cock pulsing in your hands. His cum painted your fingers, spilled onto his belly, his pelvis, so much of it.

God, it was so hot.

You loved the feeling, knowing you made him come like that. Make him lose it with just your hands.

“So…” Mingi was still catching his breath, chest rising and falling. “Now you’ve felt me.”

You laughed under your breath. Yeah, the whole thing started with you just wanting to feel how hard he was. But this? This was so much better.

“Yeah… I liked that. And…” You still had his cum on your fingers, warm and sticky. And you didn’t fight the urge anymore. You brought them to your mouth, licking them clean right in front of him — just like he did with you. “I like your taste too.”

“Fuck, you’re killing me.”

He sat on the bed and pulled you closer, kissing you like he needed it. That caught you off guard. You thought most guys would be grossed out by kissing you after you had their cum in your mouth.

But not Mingi.

He kissed you deep, tongue and all, messy and hot, just the way you liked it.

“Can I do something? Please?” he asked, breathless against your lips.

“What?” You were already dizzy from the kiss alone.

“I wanna eat your pussy…”

You felt heat rush through your whole body. You wanted that, bad. Even if the sunlight was peeking through the window, making everything feel more exposed. There was no way you could say no.

“…Okay.”

You didn’t know exactly what to do, but Mingi did. He gently switched your positions, laying you on your back and climbing over you.

He tugged your shorts off and tossed them aside without looking, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from your pussy. You were soaked, your arousal shining under the light, and it clearly drove him wild.

You didn’t need to be asked, your legs opened for him on their own, desperate to know how it would feel to have his mouth on you.

He kissed your thighs first, slow and wet, his soft lips making obscene sounds against your flushed skin. You couldn’t stop staring at him, he looked like he was enjoying this as much as you.

Your eyes locked, and in that second, you knew: if you wanted him to stop, he would. You felt safe. Even with your legs spread wide open in front of him.

Then his lips met your mound. A chill shot through your spine and you had to fight the urge to squeeze your thighs together.

But Mingi kept you open for him.

He pressed a kiss to your clit first, then started to lick it, slowly, teasing, just getting a taste of you. Watching your reactions.

Your eyes fluttered shut. It was already one of the best things you’d ever felt — and somehow, it got better. He started sucking your clit, flicking his tongue over it, then dipped just the tip of his tongue inside you. Then he was making out with your pussy, completely lost in it.

You wanted to scream. Your whole body was trembling, your chest tight with how good it felt. You couldn’t keep your hips still, you were grinding against his mouth, moaning uncontrollably, fingers tangled in his hair as you pulled him even closer.

You were so close. You could feel yourself falling apart.

And when your orgasm hit, it wrecked you.

Your legs trembled, your stomach clenched, and your moans were so loud you didn’t even register them until your body started to come down.

It was hands down the best orgasm of your life.

Fuck.

Mingi kissed your thighs while you were still trembling, then crawled up your body to press soft kisses to your neck and lips.

You could taste yourself on his tongue, and fuck, that was easily the hottest thing you’d ever done.

“So… did you like it?”

“Are you kidding?” Your voice was barely audible. “That was insanely good.”

“I’m glad.” He let himself drop beside you with a satisfied sigh, stretching lazily. “Hmm… I think we should get some breakfast. But… my roommate might be home already…”

What?

Fuck.

There was someone there? And Mingi just let you moan like that?

“You didn’t think that was worth mentioning before I screamed loud enough for your neighbors to know your name?”

“Nope,” he said, grinning. “Didn’t want you to hold back. But relax. If he heard anything, he won’t care.”

“Fuck, Mingi. I’m so embarrassed.”

“There’s no need. He won’t say anything, and he won’t even know it was you. I’m not telling anyone.”

“…Okay then. Thanks. I guess.”

You didn’t stay in bed much longer. Not because it wasn’t tempting, but because you were starving. You changed back into your clothes from yesterday, and Mingi took you out to your favorite coffee shop so you could have your much-needed morning caffeine.

What surprised you most was how easy everything felt. There was no awkwardness between you two.

You talked about college, cracked dumb jokes, and laughed about random stuff like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just made you come harder than anyone ever had.

But then it hit you: a vivid flashback of Mingi’s mouth between your legs, and your thighs clenched on their own. Your cheeks burned instantly.

“What?” he asked, smirking. “You’re blushing.”

“Yeah, I…” Why couldn’t you breathe properly all of a sudden? “Sorry, I just…”

“You were thinking about the dirty stuff we did, huh?” He leaned closer, teasing. “I think you might be ready to really do it.”

“I was… and you think so?”

“Yeah. I figured you might be a little traumatized from the other guys,” he said gently, “but you’re doing fine. So, whenever you feel ready… we can.”

You were speechless. Truth was, you’d felt ready the second he first kissed you. He had been nothing but respectful, never pushing, never rushing, and that made you want him even more.

“…Okay, so what do you think about tonight?”

Mingi raised his eyebrows, looking a little surprised by what you’d just said. You were surprised, too. You thought it would take longer for you to let go like that. But the truth was… you felt ready. And the best part? Him.

You weren’t going to lose your virginity to some random loser. It was going to be with someone you trusted. Someone who cared about you.

“It’s totally up to you. I’m free tonight,” he said with a soft smile, a sweet one this time. “You sure about this?”

“Yeah… I really want to.”

Mingi smiled wider and, like the absolute prince he was, formally invited you on a date. He said he didn’t want to just take you to his place and jump into bed — he wanted to give you the whole experience. And you kinda liked the idea.

He even walked you home. But the moment you stepped into your apartment, your roommate nearly lost her mind.

“Tell me everything!!! You slept with your hot friend, didn’t you?! I saw you two! Holy shit, he’s gorgeous… you’re so fucking lucky.”

“I didn’t…” you muttered, cheeks burning. “Yet.”

You were way too embarrassed to give her all the details, like how he made you moan louder than you ever had in your life. So you just said one thing led to another… and now you had a date.

That was enough to send her into full panic-mode-on-your-behalf. She practically dragged you out of the house to buy lingerie, insisting that if you were finally going to lose your virginity, you needed something sexy. And you knew that she was right.

You found a few beautiful sets. Lacy bras and panties that made you feel way hotter than you expected. But once you bought them, it really hit you: this was happening. You were finally going to have sex.

Fuck.

You still couldn’t believe it.

Back home, your roommate helped you style your hair and pick out an outfit for the night.

She was genuinely happy for you, and you were getting really nervous. But in the best possible way.

“Listen… it might hurt a little. But it’ll feel good after, okay? Just keep that in mind.”

She wasn’t trying to scare you — she was actually being gentle — but it wasn’t exactly helping. “And he’s experienced, right? That’s a very good thing.”

“I know it’s gonna hurt…” Because Mingi was big. Like, the biggest you’d ever seen. “But I’m not really that scared about the pain. I’m more nervous about… what happens after.”

“Like… things getting weird between you two?”

“I don’t think they will…”

And you meant it. Mingi didn’t make things weird. He made you feel safe.

“Then relax,” she said, placing a hand on your shoulder. “And for the love of God, use a condom.”

That made you laugh, even if you weren’t sure why. Maybe because you were quietly freaking out and laughter was the only thing keeping you from losing it.

And yeah… time was running out. He’d be there any minute, and your nerves weren’t exactly calming down.

You took a deep breath, reminding yourself that it was Mingi. You’d already done things with him, intimate things. This was just the next step. You wanted it. And you trusted him. Everything was going to be fine.

Your roommate helped you finish your makeup, soft and glowy, just the way you liked, and a few minutes later, your phone buzzed.

Mingi was calling. He was already downstairs, waiting for you. 

When you came down, he was already in the car, parked right in front of your building. As soon as you got in, the scent of his cologne hit you. Clean, expensive, and so him. He looked really good too, even more so in those clothes.

“Hi…” you said, trying not to fall apart while buckling your seatbelt. “Where are you taking me?”

“Well… I know you like Italian food, so I picked a nice Italian restaurant.”

“You’re making me really nervous, you know? I…” your voice was shaky, your breathing unsteady. “I just feel a little weird doing this, like…”

Like it was something serious. That’s what you meant.

“There’s no need to be nervous, you know that, right?” he said gently. “We’ve gone out to eat a bunch of times. The only difference is that tonight, I’m helping you with something… personal.” He smirked, starting the car. “Could’ve happened before, if you wanted.”

“I just don’t want you to think I’m unsure about this. I want it. I’ve been thinking about it all day, actually… it’s just… I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Maybe you’re just overthinking it,” he said, flashing you that same calm, charming smile. “It’s all good. We don’t need to plan every step. Let’s just eat, talk, and see where the night takes us.”

He was right, you knew that. But still, why was your heart racing like that? Damn. 

Either way, you managed to calm down a bit when he let you pick the music.

Dinner was amazing. You ate well, sipped on some very good wine, and Mingi showed you just how much of a gentleman he could be on a date. You’d been out with him before, sure, but it never felt like this. This was different. This was a real date.

A few hours passed in what felt like minutes. Eating, drinking, laughing, talking. When the check came, he grabbed it and paid before you could even peek at the price.

As you were leaving the restaurant, his hand found your lower back — guiding you gently, protectively, until you reached the car. That simple touch made you shiver, even though you were way calmer than earlier.

“So…” he said once you were both buckled in. “Wanna go somewhere else?”

The playful tone in his voice helped a lot. You were still a little nervous, sure, but you knew exactly what you wanted now. You weren’t backing out.

“Maybe your place, handsome,” you replied, matching his tone.

He chuckled, turning the engine on. “Not nervous anymore?”

“Just a little. But I’m good.”

“That’s good.”

You looked over at him while he drove, and damn, he looked so good. So relaxed, so confident. You were on a date with a ridiculously hot guy… and you were going to sleep with him. Silly thoughts, maybe. But you couldn’t stop them.

Not long after you left the restaurant, Mingi was already pulling into the parking lot of his building, and you could feel the thick tension between you as soon as you stepped into the elevator. He was acting all relaxed, but you could tell… he was probably just as nervous as you.

When he opened the door to his apartment, you walked into the living room a little faster than you meant to, maybe driven by all that anticipation building inside you. He locked the door behind you and turned the lights on.

“Do you want something to drink…?”

“Not now, but thanks. I’m kinda nervous…” You bit your lower lip, taking a good look at him. God, he looked so good. So fucking good. “Can we… go to your room?”

“I’m kinda nervous too, to be honest. I’m gonna be your first, and I really don’t want this to be a bad experience for you. I’ll try my best.”

“Mingi, I trust you. I really do. I’m not even worried about that…”

“Good… so, we’re both nervous and in the mood. What are we waiting for?”

You chuckled at his words as he guided you to his bedroom. He had changed the sheets, it smelled really nice in there, clean but still like him. You sat right on the edge of his bed and waited as he closed the door behind you.

When he turned around and looked at you, his gaze was so intense, you could feel he was holding something back. And fuck… you couldn’t wait to find out what he was going to do to you.

Mingi sat right next to you, and after making you squirm under his intense stare, he grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you into a rough, hungry kiss. Fuck… it was really happening now. Kissing him wasn’t new, but this time it felt different. It felt hotter, more desperate, like you both couldn’t wait any longer.

Your body was already burning up, and it was like he knew exactly what you needed. Without saying a word, he unzipped your dress and slid it off you like it was nothing, not even giving you a second to overthink it. You let him, kissing him harder, wanting more.

You couldn’t help but silently thank your friend for making you buy that lingerie set, because the second Mingi saw you sitting there in just your bra and panties, he let out the filthiest fucking groan.

He hooked a finger under the strap of your bra, playing with it, before biting your lip and trailing his mouth down your neck. Then, without hesitation, he reached behind you, unhooked your bra with one quick move, and tossed it aside like he couldn’t get it off fast enough. 

He was still fully dressed, it didn’t feel fair at all. So you tugged at his shirt, desperate to feel more of him. You had to break the kiss for just a second to pull it off, and that gave you a chance to really look at him… his flushed face, his lips already swollen from how hard you’d been kissing him. You couldn’t help yourself. You had to bite them, suck on them, make him feel just as desperate as you did.

You pushed him back until he was lying flat on the bed, and as soon as he hit the mattress, you climbed on top of him, straddling his hips. This time, it was you who kissed him like you were starving for it, your tongue in his mouth, your hands all over his chest, raking your nails down his skin.

His hands slid down from your waist to your ass, gripping you so hard it almost hurt, squeezing and groping until you couldn’t help but moan into his mouth. He pulled you closer, pressing you down against the bulge in his pants, making you grind against him as your bare tits brushed over his chest.

But he wanted more. He pulled you enough to bury his face in your breasts, licking and sucking your nipples, teasing them with his hot tongue until they were aching. He devoured you, biting just hard enough to make you gasp, his lips marking you, claiming every inch of your skin. Fuck, it felt so good you couldn’t think.

You shifted to kiss him again, grinding shamelessly against his clothed cock, your hips moving on instinct as dirty flashbacks flooded your mind. You could already feel how soaked your panties were, though they barely counted as panties at all. The thin, see-through thong did nothing to hide how wet and desperate you’d gotten for him.

“Baby… I gotta…” He grabbed your hips, holding you still for a second as his hands moved down to unbuckle his pants. You hadn’t even realized how tight they were on him. “Let me take these off.”

As soon as he shoved them down and kicked them away, you climbed right back on top of him, grinding against his cock again, slow and needy. He left his boxers on, but you could already see the wet spot spreading there. 

You really wanted to make him feel good, you felt this urge to try something new, it was pulsing inside you. You rested your hands on his chest, slowly breaking the kiss.

“Mingi… can I…” Your fingers slid down to his waistband, teasing, pulling the elastic just enough to catch a glimpse of the neatly trimmed hair there. “Can I suck you off?”

He blinked at you a few times, like he couldn’t quite believe what you’d just said. Of course, you knew you were offering something no man in the world could resist, and you wanted to get that exact reaction out of him. It worked.

“F… fuck. You really wanna do that?” He licked his lips, almost trembling beneath you. “If you really want to… do it. I know I’m gonna fucking love it.”

“It’s my first time…” you murmured, trailing wet kisses along his jaw, down his neck, then over his chest and hard abs. “Tell me how to make you feel good.”

He just nodded, breath hitching, eyes fixed on you as you slid his boxers down, finally freeing his cock. It sprang up, thick and heavy, slapping against his lower belly. Your mouth watered instantly. Fuck… you’d never thought about sucking a dick before, but you needed it, craved the taste of him.

You wet your lips first, then stroked him slowly a few times, just to watch the precum bead at the tip. You leaned in and cleaned it up with your tongue. It tasted a little salty, but it only made you crave more. You licked along his length, making him groan again, a sound that you felt deep between your legs as you clenched harder than you thought was possible.

Wrapping your hand around the base of his cock, you started sucking on the tip, just like your friends had described before. God, you liked his taste, and you were already making a mess with your spit and his precum.

“Just like that, baby… make it wet. I like messy.”

Fuck, his voice. You couldn’t believe how turned on you were just from sucking him off.

You tried to take more of him into your mouth, and you gagged a little when he hit the back of your throat, but the way he moaned almost made you not care at all.

“You’re so pretty sucking dick, baby… keep going…” He caressed your head, holding your hair to get a better view as you started moving a little faster. “Fuck, yes… use your hand too. Like that… fuck. Such a good girl for me.”

You didn’t care if you were choking on his cock or not. You loved being praised like that. You could already feel how wet you were, ready to drip at any second.

You kept using your hand just like he told you to, listening to every instruction, loving how much he kept telling you how good you were at it. You bobbed your head faster, getting used to taking him while jerking him off at the same time. It was hard at first, but now you were doing it easily.

“I don’t wanna cum in your mouth… let's stop here. Let me eat your pussy now.”

He gently pushed you away, watching as a string of spit kept him connected to your swollen lips.

“God, you’re gonna kill me.” He touched your lower lip, running his thumb across it, as if he couldn’t resist praising you. “Lay down and spread those legs for me, huh?”

You used the back of your hand to wipe your chin and happily laid down for him, letting him slide your ruined panties off in a second.

“Fucking God, you’re so wet…” He ran his fingers between your pussy lips, feeling just how slick you were. “Baby got this wet just from sucking my cock?”

Yes, you did. And you were so horny that any trace of embarrassment had already faded. You nodded, spreading your legs a bit more, silently begging him to lick your pussy because you couldn’t wait another second.

Mingi didn’t make you wait. He dived in, eating you out like you were his favorite fucking meal. His groans and moans vibrated against your pussy, his tongue teasing your entrance before he slipped a finger inside, making your head spin. Fuck. You ground down on his face, unable to stop yourself… your whole body was on fire, and you screamed when he added a second finger, the sudden stretch making you shiver under his touch.

There was nothing but pure pleasure. He finger-fucked you so fast and so deep that the obscene wet sounds echoed through the room, proof of how messy and turned on you were.

“Gonna cum… fuck, don’t stop, please…” You clutched at his hair, grinding your pussy against his face, sloppy and desperate. He loved every second of it. So did you.

You tried to close your legs when your orgasm ripped through you, stealing every breath and almost your soul, but he didn’t let you. You whimpered, tried to push him away, but your legs barely worked. He finally stopped touching you, but kept his eyes fixed, watching the way your pussy kept clenching even after you came.

"That was so hot, baby..." When you finally came down from your high, you saw Mingi ripping open the condom and rolling it down his cock. "Ready?"

"Yes. Fuck. Yes." You didn’t mean to sound so desperate, but your pussy wasn’t exactly letting your brain make decisions anymore. Your legs were already spread, your body completely relaxed, and you couldn’t possibly be any wetter. Everything was ready.

"Okay, I’m gonna put it in… slowly. Tell me if you need me to stop, okay?"

He hovered over you, eyes locked on yours, holding himself up with one arm while guiding his cock to your entrance with the other. You felt the pressure, the stretch as he started pushing in—slow, careful. There was pain, but not in a way that made you want to stop. It was… thick. Full. He was big. You knew that. But feeling it? That was something else. And he was barely halfway in.

"God, you’re so big…" You gripped his biceps, biting down on your lip.

"You can take it." He leaned in and kissed your cheek, his voice deep and steady. "It’s just the tip now, but you can take my cock. You’re my good girl, aren’t you?"

You moaned just from hearing him say that. He already knew how much you loved being praised, and when he felt you clenching around him, he groaned.

"Fuck... can I keep going?"

You nodded, bracing yourself, but the pain never got too sharp. He didn’t bottom out just yet, but even half of him made you feel stretched to your limits. Still, the thought of having him completely inside you made your whole body ache for more. You focused on relaxing, breathing slowly.

"Fuck... I want more. Give it to me. Please."

Mingi waited a few seconds, like he needed to be sure you were okay, and then did exactly what you asked. He was so gentle, so patient—you couldn’t have asked for a better first time. And then it happened. His cock slid all the way in, filling you to the hilt.

The feeling was overwhelming. You felt so full, so hot, so incredibly stretched.

"Tell me when I can move."

You pulled him in for a kiss, wrapping your legs around his waist.

"Move... please..."

Nothing could’ve prepared you for that. Not fingers. Not toys. Nothing. It burned at first, but not enough to stop. You were soaked, and the sounds—wet, obscene, addictive—only made you more delirious. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus on how he moved inside you, how deep he was, how thick he felt.

But you needed to see it. You looked down, desperate to watch the way your pussy was taking him.

Mingi got the hint. He sat back on his knees, shifting your hips slightly so you could see it happen—see his cock disappearing inside you over and over.

"Play with your clit for me." He grabbed your thighs, his eyes fixed on where you were connected. "Fuck, you're taking me so well..."

You licked your fingers and started rubbing your clit. It was swollen, hypersensitive, and the added stimulation made you moan like a mess. You didn’t care. You just needed more.

"Feels good, baby?" He held himself deep inside you. "Think you can cum for me like that?"

"Yes..." You looked again, watching how slick his cock got each time he slid in. You didn’t stop rubbing, and soon your hips started moving too, chasing that feeling. You felt everything—his size, his weight, the way he hit that same spot his fingers found before—and it made you dizzy.

"You're clenching... keep going, baby. Use my cock. Get yourself off. Cum all over it."

You didn’t hold back. You rode him the way you needed, chasing your high, grinding and moaning and letting go. It didn’t take long. Your body locked up as your orgasm hit, your pussy squeezing him in waves while you screamed, head thrown back, completely undone. Mingi groaned with you, like your pleasure alone was driving him insane.

Your legs were useless now, limp from the intensity. You were still coming down when he started moving again—this time harder, faster, with no hesitation. All you could feel was pleasure.

"You're so hard... I can feel you. So deep..."

"Didn’t think you’d take cock this well, baby... Can I fuck you harder?"

"Yes... fuck me. Wanna feel you cum too."

For a second, you hated the condom, but it didn’t matter. Not when he started pounding into you like that. It was rougher, and you loved every second. Your body was sore but it felt too good to care. You heard his moans, his breath getting shakier as he got closer. He kissed you, bit your neck, and moaned against your lips when he finally came, filling the condom as his cock throbbed inside you.

God, that was insanely good. 

You were caressing his back while he tried to catch his breath. You had just lost your virginity, and it felt so good you could barely believe it.

“So… good enough for your first time?” He slowly slid out of you, pulling off the condom and tying it up. “I’m really glad you chose me, gotta say.”

“It was amazing. Thank you… really.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I did you a favor, and as you can see…” He lifted the condom, still full. “I had a great time too. Huh… Did I hurt you?”

“Not at all. And… you know… is this a one-time thing? I’m sorry for asking that right now, it’s just…” You hesitated, suddenly aware of how exposed you were—and not just physically. “I… I don’t know. Forget it.”

“It doesn’t have to be. A one-time thing, I mean. If you want more…”

“I was just thinking that maybe next time you could… skip the condom, maybe?” Your voice dropped a little, more nervous now. “I was a virgin until now, and I take the pill. I just… really want to know how that would feel.”

“So… you’re asking me to creampie you?” He raised an eyebrow, smirking like the cocky bastard he was. “You know that feels like going to heaven, right?”

He looked so hot saying that, so confident, his body still glistening slightly from sweat. You couldn’t stop staring.

“I can do that, of course. Your pussy’s gonna look so pretty dripping with my cum…”

Your cheeks burned instantly, and you had to look away.

“Hm… feeling shy now? Bit too late for that.” He chuckled, tossing the condom aside and lying down beside you, his fingers lazily exploring your chest, your collarbone, your neck. “Ask me whatever you want. I’ll do it. I can be your first for a lot more things, you know.”

“That sounded like an invitation… want to keep me around?”

You turned to your side, facing him, still trying to process everything that just happened. Your legs were sore, your body still buzzing, and your brain felt like it had short-circuited somewhere halfway through.

Mingi looked over at you with that same cocky, satisfied smile, resting one arm under his head.

“I think I'll.”

A second later, he slid closer behind you, pressing his bare chest against your back and wrapping an arm lazily around your waist. You didn’t answer him, it wasn’t necessary. You just tangled your fingers with his and fell asleep. 

Somehow, the crazy decision that led you to end up naked in his bed turned out to be the best one you’ve ever made.

[xxmcr05xx]

Down In A Hole | re4!Leon Kenney x f!Reader

Summary: Leon can't get enough of F/N after a life-threatening mission.

Warnings/Contains: Smut, breeding, needy Leon, trauma after RE4, lingerie, rutting, no foreplay, dacryphilia

WC: 2,485

Originally Posted: 01/04/25 on AO3!

Title Song: Down In A Hole - Alice In Chains

18+ MDNI!!!

Divider by @v6que

Leon bounced his leg nervously.

He was on a private plane home from Brazil after a month long mission - barely able to get in contact with his fiancée F/N. The blond sighed in relief finally as he noticed that the plane was almost at the airport, "Not much longer now..." Leon sighed, anxiously checking his watch after being told he would be picked up by F/N. Luckily for Leon the plane landed smoothly at exactly eighteen thirty - just what time he told F/N he'd be on the ground by. He wasted no time, Leon grabbed his duffle bag and almost ran down the plane's stairs and towards the front exit of the airport, ignoring any comments given to him.

Leon scanned the exit, desperate to spot the H/C hair of his fiancée. After what seemed like an eternity, he heard F/N's calming voice call out his name - she was sporting one of Leon's leather jacket, a plain white t-shirt, and denim jeans. "Oh my love..." Leon felt like his breath was taken away by her as he practically ran straight into his arms.

"L-Leon! I'm so happy you're back!" F/N squealed.

The woman smiled and held Leon back, rubbing his back gently with her free hands. "How was the mission, Lee? I haven't spoken to you in ages," The woman exclaimed as Leon finally let go of the hug.

"Oh uhm," Leon stood up properly, a bit embarrassed at the people staring at him, "it was okay... I'll explain it to you once I get home, and I know we haven't spoken I'm sorry. I missed you however," Leon answered.

F/N knew what Leon would be like after these missions and it was torturous for both of them.

The woman nodded and held Leon's hand, "Let's just get home, 'kay? I've got your favourite, chicken alfredo, cooked up at home," F/N told Leon, which really perked his interest up. The two left the airport hand-in-hand, making their way towards F/N's car. Leon chucked his duffle bag in the back seat and made his way to the driver's seat, opening the door for his fiancée. "Aww, thanks babe," F/N thanked with a smile.

The car ride home was an excruciating thirty four minutes as the pair drove through extreme end-of-work traffic. "God... I can hear the bed calling my name already," Leon joked with a sigh, F/N snorted and nudged him gently.

"Hey! So I am.... didn't you heard me call your name out while you were in Brazil?" F/N joked back.

"My bad, baby. I promise I did."

F/N parked in the garage of their shared home, opening the door and heading towards the front with Leon. Behind her, Leon anxiously stared at F/N as she entered the house, not believing that he would be here right now, "Ah... Home sweet home," F/N sighed out, taking off her jacket and hooking it on the wall hook. Leon did the same; he also took his boots off and sighed heavily - just the smell of their home and the sight of it's slightly disheveled look put him at ease.

The pair then made their way to the kitchen where F/N promised dinner. "Oh wow... babe, this looks absolutely delicious," Leon huffed out, amazed at the pot in the middle of the table.

"T-Thank you, Lee. Um, it's a bit cold... but I'll reheat it on the stove. Please, wash up while I do that, 'kay?" F/N asked with a gentle smile.

The blond hummed in agreement and walked off to the bathroom to wash off. When Leon made his way to the bathroom, he started to feel a bit more anxious again as he was left on his own - being in that dangerous jungle part of Brazil had really had a hit on him, especially being there for about a month. He quickly shook off the oncoming anxiety and washed his hands thoroughly, doing the same to his face.

After five minutes he made his way back to the kitchen, "Leon! Just in time, I have the table set you should sit down there, okay?" F/N greeted with a cheer. She had a baby blue apron on with white frills on it, which made Leon's heart melt at the homeliness - he nodded and made his way to the dining table, in awe at the lovely display his fiancée set up for them.

When Leon sat down at the table, F/N made her way towards him with the pot, "I'll give you quite a bit, since I know that you like alfredo a lot," F/N told him with a grin. Using the tongs, she grabbed a fair amount of pasta and plopped it onto his plate - then doing the same for her own plate. Leon stared at the pasta with a teary eye as F/N walked away.

"You okay?" F/N asked with a snort when she got back, untying the apron and throwing it on a side table. The blond nodded and poked at his pasta with his fork.

"I just haven't had your cooking in ages... Missed it so much," Leon confessed.

The H/C haired woman simply chuckled at his confession, "Well, I hope it lives up to your expectations then, Lee," F/N confessed back, taking a bite of her pasta right after Leon did. As soon as the food had entered Leon's mouth, he let out a loud moan, swallowing it quite quickly.

"This..." Leon started as he wiped his mouth with a napkin, "... This is the best pasta I have ever tasted, my love..."

F/N looked over at Leon shyly with a small smile, whispering out a quiet thank you as the two continued to eat dinner.

Over the course of thirty minutes, the pair ate their dinner together along with a side of bread & olive oil, as well as a glass of chardonnay. Leon had given F/N an anecdote of what had happened on the month-long mission, which made F/N gasp quite a few times.

Soon, their dinner had come to an end, the couple finished their meal and stared at each other with loving eyes. "Oh, baby, that was the best meal ever," Leon exclaimed with a soft smile, rubbing the top of her hand with his thumb.

"Thank you, Lee. I'm glad you enjoyed it!"

The two stared at each other for a while before Leon stood up, "I'm going to shower now, alright?"

F/N giggled and nodded, waving softly at him as he made his way to the ensuite. She then cleaned up the table with a grin, happy that Leon was safe home.

When she finished cleaning, F/N made her way to their bedroom, planning before she left to wear a lingerie that she wore for the first and last time during their one year anniversary as boyfriend-girlfriend ten years ago. The outfit was a simple pink lacey lingerie with bows over it.

As F/N made her way to the bedroom, Leon was having a relaxed shower, taking in the sweet scent of F/N's shampoo and bodywash - he missed it that bad. While he was washing his body with the loofa, Leon's mind wandered off to dinner and how well her food had been tasting. Unfortunately for Leon in that moment, that wandering ended up shooting through his cock as he realised that he was hard. The scene of F/N in a tight apron that accentuated her curves had made him extremely horny.

"Fuck... Not now," Leon groaned out quietly to himself, he rubbed his face and tried to think of other stuff, not wanting to be hard at the moment.

After his shower - managing to let his cock go soft - Leon dried off with his towel, wrapping it around his waist before quickly opening the door to head to his wardrobe. As soon as he opened the door however, the scene in front of him made him extremely hard again: F/N was sitting on the bed, staring right into Leon's eyes as he wore the lingerie piece he recognised from their first date.

"F/N wha- fuck..." Leon huffed out and walked towards the nervous woman, "you look so fucking hot right now... did you wear this just for me, baby?" Leon asked, placing his hands on her shoulders and rubbing them softly. F/N looked up at Leon with bedroom eyes and nodded, leaning ever-so slightly towards his left hand.

"Baby..." Leon whispered out.

He moved his hand to her face, rubbing her cheek softly, love and lust filling his mind. Leon finally pushed F/N back a little so that she was in the middle of the bed, giggling softly as Leon huffed. Making full eye contact with her, Leon dropped the towel that was around his waist to reveal the dark-red colour of his hardened cock. "See this, F/N? This is how you make me feel - I always fucking feel like this with you," Leon growled.

The blond moved onto the bed and right over F/N who had jumped slightly at Leon's roughed exterior. "You look so beautiful, baby..." Leon groaned out, his lips made their way to F/N's neck, kissing it quite roughly as his hands went to grope F/N's tits roughly. "Y'know... I thought I'd fuckin' die in Brazil," Leon muttered between kisses, "I never thought I'd get to fuck this tight pussy of yours again," Leon confessed with a growl, his hand making its way down to F/N's clothed cunt.

"Mhhg, well, I'm glad you're back, Lee," F/N whined out a little as Leon rubbed her over her panties.

"Oh I know baby."

Leon sucked on F/N's neck a little, leaving a few hickeys across her neck before moving up to her lips. He kissed her lips quite possessively, tongue and teeth clashing as he carefully made F/N arch her back so that he could take off her lingerie set from the top. His eyes wandered down when he moved away from the kiss, happy to see her tits once more. "Now this... this is a view that I will never be tired of looking at," Leon confessed, smirking a little as he kissed both her nipples gently, "is it wrong to say that I just wanna go straight to the fucking? Because I have been aching to be in this cunt for a month."

F/N snorted and rolled her eyes, "Okay okay, Leon, just make sure to be gentle at first..." F/N asked with a small smile, peeling off her lingerie bottom.

"Mmm, I'll try, princess, but I won't guarantee it."

The woman pouted as Leon grabbed one of their pillows, placing it underneath F/N's lower back to make her arched a little. "There we go... so fucking pretty for me, baby," Leon growled out, "I just need to feel you so bad," he cried out as he moved right over F/N. Leon didn't bother putting a condom on as he slowly sunk himself inside F/N.

"C-Condom Leon!" F/N cried out, "Are- Are you not using one?" she asked in a slightly panicked voice. Leon simply shook his head, kissing her lips gently to calm her down.

"I can't, F/N, I'm sorry. I need this raw so bad, I just need to feel you on me fuckin' raw," Leon told her as he rubbed her cheek, staring down at the point where the two were connected. After a couple of minutes of F/N whimpering through the pain, she looked over at Leon and gave him a quick nod to move now.

"Thank you sweetie," Leon sighed out.

He indulged in the soft feeling for a minute before starting to slowly jerk his hips in and out. The two let out quiet and shared moans as Leon's thrusts started to get harder, "Oh fuck, Leon, that's so good-"  F/N cried out, arms moving to his back and digging her nails into. Leon's eyes were squeezed shut as he indulged in the pain coming from his back and the pleasure in his cock.

"Oh... oh fuck F/N..." Leon said in between huffs, moaning quite loud into her neck which he started to kiss and suck harshly, "missed this so fucking much... I- oh my God- this is the wettest cunt I'll ever need again," he confessed, tears were threatening to fall onto his cheeks. "I love you, F/N, so so much," Leon told her, he moved his head away from her neck to stare into F/N's crying eyes, "gonna fucking marry you after this- I can't wait any longer I need my wife now."

This made F/N squeeze tightly against Leon's cock, the overwhelming feelings getting to both of them, "Auhh.. Leon- fuck fuck fuck, I love you so much, please just fuck into me and make me into a mommy- then we'll get married, I'll- I'll be your F/N Kennedy. I promise," F/N begged, her nails were seriously digging into Leon's back, scratching all the way down but he didn't care at all.

The blond man nodded and cried out, basically drooling onto F/N's collarbone as he felt himself nearing the end. "Mmhj, I'll cum I'll cum, shit- I'm gonna cum so deep inside you I promise I'll make you pregnant, baby, I really do," Leon blabbered, he held onto her so tightly as he felt himself cumming soon. "Please... please please fucking cum, F/N, I need to feel you cum on my cook it just feels so fucking good," Leon cried out, he moved his head so that it was above F/N's face now. He took in the image of her fucked out face and was going to save it for later.

F/N's legs wrapped around Leon's waist now, trapping him so that he was staying inside of her - not that Leon minded one bit. The two smashed their lips together, almost cumming together as Leon's hand moved down to rub F/N's clit with his rough-padded fingers. Ropes of warm white cum spread all through F/N's womb as Leon orgasmed inside of her; F/N came just after he did.

The few minutes afterwards were met with heavy panting and small whimpers as Leon grew softer inside of her. "I missed you so much if you couldn't tell, F/N."

F/N laughed a little as she moved Leon out and off of her, "Fuck, babe... that was really good; I missed you too by the way," F/N responded with a giggle. Leon gave her a small smile before picking her up bridal style.

"C'mon, babe, I'll go give you a bath. Just relax and I'll wash you off."

[himasgod]

NRC STAFF AND YUU

Where they find out that Yuu is self-harming

I was going to add a warning and a lil comf message as always in this type of fanfics, but I think annonie explains it pretty well <3

responding to this request

It was Grim who approached him—nervously, voice urgent.

“You gotta talk to Yuu, Professor. They’ve been… off. They flinch when I get too loud, and the other day I saw bandages I know weren’t there before. I don’t get it… why would they do that?”

Crewel paused.

He had graded over fifty exams last night, scolded a third-year for exploding a cauldron... But that one sentence stopped everything.

He didn't scold Grim. He didn't panic. He nodded once and said,

“Thank you for telling me. You did the right thing, pup.”

That night, Crewel stayed up researching.

He was poring through psychology journals. His brow furrowed as he read about pain, coping mechanisms, and invisible wounds.

The next morning, he requested Yuu stay after class. Not in front of the others—he simply handed them a folded slip during potion lab, saying, “Come see me after last bell. No rush.”

When Yuu arrived, they looked uneasy, shoulders high with tension.

“I’m not in trouble, am I?”

“No. Sit. Please.”

They did, eyes darting to the ingredients shelf, then to the floor. Crewel sat across from them, hands folded on his desk, voice softer than they’d ever heard it.

“Grim spoke to me.”

Yuu froze. Crewel continued gently.

“He’s worried about you. And now, so am I.”

Silence. Yuu’s throat tightened.

“I’m sorry—” they blurted, eyes starting to burn.

“I didn’t want anyone to know— I was just— I didn’t know how else to deal with everything and—”

“Stop.”

Not a harsh command. Crewel stood and walked around the desk. He knelt beside them, one gloved hand hovering over their shaky hands .

“You have nothing to apologize for. Pain is not a moral failure. It doesn’t make you shameful. It makes you human.”

Yuu’s breath hitched.

“I’m not here to fix you. I can’t wave a magical pen and erase what you’ve felt. But I can promise you this: you’re not alone in this. Not anymore.”

He rose, placed a hand over his heart.

“You’re a part of this college. My student. And I take care of what’s mine.”

From then on, Crewel didn’t hover—but he checked in.

When Yuu looked withdrawn in class, he’d ask them to help sort ingredients. I

f they were dissociating, he’d say, “Mind walking with me to the greenhouse?”

Small tasks that let them breathe.

And he never pushed. Never pried.

Only left the door open—always open.

Crowley had a knack for dramatics. He thrived on being the center of the room.

But when Grim nervously shuffled into his office one rainy afternoon and said, “I think Yuu’s in trouble,” the headmage's feathers metaphorically dropped.

He didn't say a word at first. Just listened.

Later, he knocked on Ramshackle’s door himself.

Yuu answered, surprised. “Headmage?”

He took off his mask.

“May I come in?”

They blinked.

Crowley never took off his mask.

Never.

Crowley stood in the entryway.

“I hear you’ve been struggling. And before you say anything—I’m not here as your headmage.”

He placed the mask gently on a dusty table.

“I’m here as someone who once felt like a ghost too.”

Yuu swallowed hard.

“I know it’s hard, adjusting to this place,” he continued. “You’ve had to survive here without magic, without family, without answers. And you’ve done it all without a safety net.”

His voice wavered.

“Perhaps I should’ve given you one sooner.”

Yuu stared at him. Crowley’s eyes, usually behind his mask, were steady.

“Can I show you something?” he asked.

He led them to a storage room near the staff quarters. There, behind old uniforms and spell books, was a small chest. He opened it.

Inside were journals.

Dozens of them, worn at the edges.

“I wrote these when I was your age. A long, long, long.... long time ago.” he said quietly.

“When I didn’t understand the world, or my place in it. When I thought maybe… the world would be better off without me.”

Yuu’s breath caught.

“You’re not weak for needing help,” he said, turning to them. “You’re wise for accepting it.”

From then on, when he saw them anxious in a hallway, he didn’t sweep them away with flair.

He’d tap their shoulder, whisper, “There’s tea in my office. Let’s get some air.”

And on days when Yuu couldn’t speak at all, Crowley would sit beside them in silence. No mask. Just himself.

In time, Yuu came to understand that even the loudest voices sometimes scream just to be heard.

And Crowley?

He’d make sure Yuu never had to scream alone again.

It started with a quiet knock on the side door of Mystery Shop one evening after lights-out.

“Hey, little imp,” he said without turning around“Didn’t expect you tonight.”

But when Yuu stepped inside, their energy wasn’t curious about the items. It was heavy.

Sam finally looked over, smile fading as he saw their eyes red rimmed, hands tucked in their sleeves.

“Something happened?”

“I relapsed.”

Sam didn’t recoil, didn’t gasp.

He just set down the crystal orb he’d been polishing and stepped out from behind the counter.

“Come sit,” he said gently, guiding them to the little seating nook near the incense shelf. “Tell me what you need.”

“I don’t know,” Yuu whispered. “I just—Grim told the others, and everyone’s being kind, but I feel like I’m broken again. Like I failed.”

Sam reached over and pulled a tiny wooden box from a shelf behind him.

“Know what this is?” he asked, resting it in their lap.

Yuu shook their head.

“This box came from a spirit walker in the Scalding Sands. It’s over four hundred years old,” Sam explained. “Used to carry healing charms, notes of love, little promises folks made to themselves when they were hurting.”

He opened it slowly.

Inside were slips of folded paper—some new, some brittle with age.

Sam added one more—his own. He held it out to Yuu.

“Write one. Anything you want. Doesn’t have to be big. Could be: ‘I want to breathe tomorrow.’ Or: ‘I want to see the sun.’”

Yuu stared, then shakily took the pen.

After a long pause, they wrote:

“I want to believe I’ll be okay again.”

Sam tucked it inside the box, sealed it, and whispered, “Now it’s kept safe. No refunds, no backsies. That promise is real now.”

Yuu smiled weakly.

From that night forward, Sam always had a space open at the back of the shop.

If Yuu was overwhelmed in class, they’d sometimes find a handmade “delivery” waiting in their dorm room: a spell charm for calm dreams, a candle, or a simple note that read:

“Healing ain’t linear. But I’ve seen how stubborn you are. You’ll get there.”

Professor Trein stood at the front, chalk still in hand, yet his eyes had wandered from the blackboard.

He watched Yuu—slumped at their desk, shoulders taut, eyes unfocused. Not bored. Not distracted. Disassociated.

Lucius had already leapt from his desk perch and was weaving around Yuu’s chair. Trein set the chalk down.

“Yuu,” he said calmly, “Could you assist me in the archive room for a moment?”

There was no reason to doubt the request. It was casual enough.

No alarm in his tone. No heads turned. Yuu nodded numbly, rising without protest as the class barely took notice.

Trein’s pace was slow as he led them to a quiet hall—far from noise.

He closed the door behind them.

“Would you like to sit?” he offered, pulling out a chair from a reading desk.

Yuu did. But their gaze remained lowered.

Trein sat across from them, hands folded.

“There are lessons one cannot find in any curriculum,” he began, “Lessons about how to exist in a world that often refuses to make space for our pain.”

Silence.

“You don’t need to speak right away. I only ask that you listen.”

Yuu nodded once—just enough to let him know they were still with him.

“I’ve seen the signs,” he said. “The trembling. The vacant stares. The way your hands fidget when you believe no one is watching.”

“I want you to know I do not pity you. Pity can be shallow and cruel. What I feel is respect.”

Yuu looked up, confused.

“It takes strength to face each day knowing you’re at war with your own thoughts. It takes courage to survive when the world you knew has been torn from you and replaced with a place that doesn’t always feel real.”

Trein continued, “Grim came to me out of concern. And I assure you, Yuu… there is no shame in stumbling during recovery. Only in believing you must do it alone.”

Lucius jumped into Yuu’s lap then, curling up. Yuu slowly let a hand drift to stroke his back.

Trein gave a faint smile.

“Even Lucius knows who needs grounding.”

He then reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a bound notebook—aged but blank.

“This is for you. Write what hurts. What confuses you. Or write nothing at all. You may tear out the pages, burn them, or never show a soul. But sometimes, the mind cannot quiet until its burdens are given a place to rest.”

Yuu took it gently.

Down the road, Trein never hovered. But he always noticed.

If Yuu’s answers in class were shorter than usual, he’d adjust the lesson pace. If he saw their breathing stutter when voices around grew loud, he’d assign a solo reading task and lead the others elsewhere—shielding them with normalcy.

“Oi! You’re not gettin’ out of PE that easy!”

Yuu had hoped to sneak past the training field.

But Vargas spotted them with that hawk gaze of his and jogged over, waving enthusiastically.

They braced for a lecture about attendance, but he paused as he got closer.

“You okay?” he asked—less gruffly than usual.

Yuu tried to shrug it off, but Vargas tilted his head.

“I know I ain’t always the most gentle guy. But I do notice when one of my students looks like they’re carryin’ a boulder on their back.”

He crossed his arms.

“You wanna go for a walk?”

Yuu blinked. “You’re not gonna make me run laps?”

“Nope. Today we walk. Slowly. No sweat.”

So they did—around the track, where Vargas usually shouted drills.

His voice was calm, explaining how, even in physical training, injuries sometimes come from inside.

“Used to have a friend back in my rookie days,” he said. “Tough guy. Strong as hell. But he had demons in his head that none of us could see.”

He glanced at Yuu.

“Pain ain’t just broken bones and bruises. You can be fightin’ for your life, and no one will know unless they look close enough.”

Yuu swallowed. “I didn’t want to disappoint anyone.”

“You didn’t,” Vargas said, dead serious. “You’re still standin’. You showed up today. That takes guts.”

They stopped near the bleachers, and Vargas handed them something—a pair of weight gloves.

“These are yours now, not for lifting. Not for workouts. Just a reminder. You’re stronger than you think.”

From then on, Vargas kept an eye on them.

If Yuu’s breathing quickened during group drills, he’d subtly call a “water break.” If they looked spaced out, he’d shout, “Hey! Wanna time me on the sprint?”

[livlocus]

HoO Boys x Heavy Music Lover!Reader

Characters: Percy Jackson, Jason Grace, Leo Valdez, Frank Zhang

Summary: How the HoO boys would react to their partners liking heavy music!

Warnings: the use of y/n, my grammatical ability, MENTIONS OF WEEZER

Word Count: 2.7k

Liv Yaps: hey so this came from the depths of my brain and i put this all together at like 5 am after no sleep so idk how in character this is, tbh it's all based off of vibes... personally, i think that all of the hoo boys have gone through a weezer phase (it was never a phase for jason sorry not sorry) but yeah... also if it seems like i'm making fun of any bands i am not all of the artists mentioned in this are ones that i thouroughly enjoy! i may or may not have gone a little overboard with jason but hey what else is new i guess... and i'm also tagging @jjsblueberry for your daily does of leo haha

ALSO ALSO ALSO my requests are open so pls pls pls send some in !!

Percy Jackson

In the books, Percy is a big fan of like '80s rock because that’s what Sally plays, and those are the CDs that she has around, so I don’t think that it would be too far-fetched for him to end up liking heavier rock music

Odds are, when he starts to get like angsty in the later books, he starts listening to heavier rock music anyway 

So when you get the aux on the drive to camp half-blood and you start playing Sleeping with Sirens, he’s all “oh wait I know thi—”

Doesn’t even finish his sentence before he blows out everyone’s eardrums because he needs to be singing along off-key and with a strained voice, and he is not sorry at all

But anything heavier than bands like Sleeping with Sirens/Pierce the Veil/Bad Omens (I'm so sorry I'm writing this at 4 am, I can't think of any other bands, but you get the idea) he isn’t very familiar with

He 100% has a superiority complex when it comes to music, cause his mom introduced him to the music he likes now, so of course, 80s rock music is in fact the best music… but whatever it is that you listen to is a close second 

“Y/N, I think that Pierce the Veil is great, but Led Zeppelin is so much better, I’m putting them on after this.” “Can’t we just listen to one album all the way through?” “… no.” Cue his evil smirk as he changes the music.

Percy WILL go to concerts with you because odds are he also wants to go with you

already have a vision in my head of Percy moshing at a rock festival somewhere in the middle of nowhere, upstate New York, that you managed to find tickets for

He literally grew up in nyc, he would totally be down for basement shows or ones in dive bars 

The lock screen of his phone is a 0.5 selfie that he took of you guys in a super crowded show at a random dive bar in Brooklyn 

As long as you were there with him and enjoying yourself, he probably wouldn’t even care if he didn’t know the bands or didn’t like the music itself

He would be so fun to go to concerts with, like yeah, he would carry all your stuff too

Percy would let you have aux in the car even when he drives because he likes the music you play

My man would love Tyrants by Pierce the Veil (currently listening to this song as I write these lmao)

If you’re more into grunge, he would scoff at first (cause he’s convinced that 80s rock is superior to literally everything) but then quickly eat up Alice in Chains and Silverchair

He cried when you told him that, like almost all of the lead singers of the big grunge band from the 90s that you showed him are dead

“What do you mean that Layne Staley is dead, Y/N? Couldn’t you have told me that before I started listening to them?!"

Driving from the city all the way out to Long Island together would go so hard, it’s just you guys going back and forth from 80s/70s rock music, and then 90s grunge, and then early 2000s rock music.

By the time you two get back to CHB, you'll both have lost your voice ‘cause you were scream-singing for five hours driving from Manhattan all the way down to Long Island

Percy is literally so in love with you the entire time, trying to drive and watch you sing at the same time is not a good combo for him, he almost swerves into the divider like three times before he decides to lock in 

Jason Grace

This poor, poor man 

In my head, the only music that Jason puts on with his own free will is like smooth jazz and soft rock so when you offer to drive him somewhere he needs to go and you hook up your phone to the car and a Korn song starts playing Jason goes into fight or flight and quite literally flies out of your car

He panicked and flew right out through the sunroof like 

“What the hell was that noise?” “That was music, Jason.” “That sounded like someone was banging metal pipes together and growling, Y/N, growling.”

I am fully convinced that the heaviest song that Jason will listen to voluntarily is song 2 by Blur

He is the complete opposite of Thalia, he cannot handle the sound of a double kick drum

Like, mostly because when he isn’t actively fighting, why would he want to listen to something so aggressive?

Which is like fair, but if you showed him Linkin Park after showing him something like Knocked Loose, you could be like “wow, this is so much lighter”

The only heavier music that you can get him to willingly like is Linkin Park, but that’s because he’s hella sad and listens to the lyrics instead of just vibing

You’re all “I TRIED SO HARD AND SO FAR BUT IN THE END IT DOESN’T EVEN MATTER !!!” 🗣️🗣️🗣️ But Jason is like “I tried so hard… and got so far… but in the end… it doesn’t even matter…” 😔😔😔

Like that’s lowkey it though, I do not think that he would enjoy listening to any other sort of metal/hard rock music, but he would soldier through for you

You show him Radiohead, starting with the softer stuff and when he’s like “yes, now this is music,” you know that he’s hooked on the pathetic sadness that is Thom Yorke and you show him other Radiohead songs that are more adventurous for him and THAT is like toeing the line for him

THAT BEING SAID 

You do manage to drag him to concerts and festivals by showing him videos of what the pit looks like during the song you’re looking forward to 

“What do you mean you want to be fighting for your life while trying to enjoy the music?” “It’s fun!” “You can’t be serious—“ “Bet your bottom dollar.” “… then I’m coming with you.”

He tries so hard to have fun for you, but man is stressed the entire time (he does carry all of your stuff though, cause in my head he wears cargo shorts and he uses those pockets)

Begs you not to go into the pit because then he would have to go in with you

You go anyway, of course he follows, and then realizes that he’s taller than everyone there and can see the tops of everyone's heads, and suddenly maybe he was being a bit dramatic / over-protective

Jason has a decent time waiting in line, getting merch, etc., until the band starts actually playing music

HE WILL BE SHIELDING YOU FROM PEOPLE IN THE PIT WITH HIS BODY

Like standing behind you, arms wrapped around you, head on a swivel

He sleeps for ten hours after the concert

You have a selfie of the two of you, and it’s you having the time of your life while Jason looks like he’s trying so hard not to sweep the entire band away with a particularly strong gust of wind (he doesn’t)

You absolutely gang up with Thalia to bring Jason to as many shows and festivals as possible to get him acclimated, like people do when they get a puppy and the trainer tells you to take them to as many different places as possible so that they get used to it

You and Thalia drag Jason to a Green Day concert, and he doesn’t hate it, but that’s probably because he’s with you and his sister, and your good mood rubs off on him too (and bc Green Day is not that heavy, it’s a good introduction for him)

You show Jason Deftones, but songs like Sextape (“y/n, that’s kind of a crude name for a song, no?”), No Ordinary Love, Diamond Eyes, Passenger, Rosemary, and he actually doesn’t mind it

That’s how you get him to a Deftones concert, and you convert him just enough to where you have found a middle ground, and it’s all of the less hectic Deftones songs

You don’t get pit tickets for the show cause they’re hella expensive, and he actually has the time of his life because he isn’t trying to keep both of you from getting trampled

It’s definitely like how dads will say that they don’t want to watch a movie, but then end up standing behind the couch for twenty minutes looking at the TV until they sit down and lock in

Jason does that at the concert and is like “I mean it’s better than the other one, I like these seats much more… oh that’s kinda cool… they sound much nicer live…” and then he’s standing up with you out of the seats and bobbing his head a little bit, mouthing the words that he knows (he is having a phenomenal time)

He has a picture of him kissing you while they played Mascara, and it’s in his wallet now

I don’t mean to make him sound so boring because I love metal and all that, and Jason is literally my husband, but heavier music is just not his scene, I think

Jason seems like he’s the kind of guy to listens to music to calm down, so listening to heavier rock music isn’t something that he would have done on his own

But ultimately, if you like it and have fun listening to it, he’ll get used to it and think of it as a thing that he does when he’s with his partner 

So, of course, he would get Pavlov-ed into thinking of you whenever he was listening to the radio, and a heavier song would come on

“Hey, this song is playing, thinking of you,” texts from him when he’s walking around and hears a kid walking by with the music leaking out of their headphones

Leo Valdez

HE LOVES LIMP BIZKIT FIGHT ME

Leo absolutely has enough angst and pent up feelings to be a Limp Bizkit enjoyer and so when he finds out that you like heavier music—forget it

“Y/N, have you heard this one? It’s much more fun than listening to whatever snooze-fest Jason is listening to right now.” *Leo starts blasting Rollin’ with an insidious smirk*

He can do an amazing Fred Durst impression no one can convince me otherwise

Leo’s karaoke song is Limp Bizkit’s cover of Faith by George Michael because I can hear him singing “~well I guess it would be nice, if I could touch your body, I know not everybody, has gotta body like me~” in a voice that sounds more like Goofy than Fred Durst because he is quite literally screaming at the top of his lungs

You walk in on him singing My Way to himself in Bunker 9 to hype himself up before he has to go do something important

“Uh— oh, hey Y/N, didn’t see you there—uhm…” *starts doing an interpretive dance to the beat of My Way because he doesn’t know what to do*

You two went to a Limp Bizkit concert and he absolutely dressed up like Fred Durst, long khaki shorts, baggy white shirt, and a backwards red cap (he made you match with him)

You guys listen to the wackiest songs together when you’re with him in Bunker 9 while Leo is working on something

I feel like Leo would like them because of how funky the band is, so I don’t think that he would like other heavier bands

If you play any other kind of heavy music in front of him, he thinks it’s funny, especially if the lyrics are kind of extra.

You get aux in Bunker 9 one afternoon and play Werewolf by Motionless in White, and he laughs at the song

“What—what is this?” Leo is actively trying not to roll on the floor laughing when he hears the electronic voice say “werewolf” in the background of the song “It’s a song?” “Is it though?”

Leo, similarly to Percy, has a superiority complex when it comes to music

He truly believes that his music is simply so much better, but he will listen to what you put on… he just won’t be quiet about it

THAT BEING SAID

… Leo listens to Weezer and then has the audacity to tell you that you shouldn’t play Motionless In White or The Plot in You because it’s cringy

“Leo, you’re literally listening to a song called Pork and Beans ???” “Mhm, and you’re listening to a song called Broadcasting from Beyond the Grave: Death Inc., what’s you’re point?”

You two learn to love each other’s cringey-ness more and more, and suddenly you know the words to all of the Pinkerton album, and he knows a lot more Motionless In White than he would ever admit to anyone who isn’t you

Equal trade

Leo would so be down to go to a concert or a festival with you, even if he didn’t like the band(s), he just likes to spend time with you, and he likes that kind of atmosphere

If you do like a whole makeup look for the concert, Leo is invested

“This is so different from what you usually do… It’s really cool.” “Well, we’re going to a Motionless In White concert, I do have to look cool, Leo.”

He watches you do your makeup like he’s in a literal trance

Leo becomes your assistant too, handing you whatever you need, he’s just happy to be sitting next to you and being able to look at your face tbh

Frank Zhang

Frank doesn’t even know that there is music heavier than whatever is on the top 50 hits radio station

Whenever you’re in the car with Frank, he always lets you pick the music, even if he’s the one who’s driving

So one day, Frank is driving you somewhere, and you just have to listen to the new Spiritbox album that just came out

Frank hears the first few seconds of the song and ascends

I’m lowkey pretty sure that in like the first pjo book, it’s canon that the ares kids like hard rock/heavier music (I may or may not have just made that up, sue me, I guess), so I’d like to think that the same thing applies to the mars kids

But regardless, Frank most definitely has enough feelings to thoroughly enjoy heavy music

Anyway, back to business

He actually loves the entire song 

“Y/N, I need to hear more—who was that?” “That was Spiritbox, pretty good right?” “It-it was, that was really cool—“

Frank insists on you showing him more, and it speaks to his soul

Frank was meant to be a bit of a metalhead, sorry not sorry

Like this dude had anger issues that he had to work very hard on to get under control and is a bit pessimistic, but is overall a pretty nice dude who tries his best to be chill, yeah, he was meant to blow off some steam headbanging to some Knocked Loose

You are his guide into metal music, and it’s such a fun thing that you guys do together

You make him little playlists for each band or for a specific vibe, and this man listens and takes notes 

“So, I really liked it at 2:54 when the guy did that thing with the guitar—very cool, very cool.”

You get him into Spiritbox, Kittie, and Poppy 

He absolutely gets a shirt that says “Spiritbox is my favorite male-backed band” 

(It’s a play on how people would say, like “oh yeah, this is my favorite female-led band” instead of just calling it their favorite band)

Frank likes the women artists better than the bands who are just dudes, sorry that’s just a Frank FactTM

He will absolutely go to shows with you and will happily go into the pit because he’s a huge guy, so literally what would there be to worry about? 

Frank does enjoy the shows better if you guys are in the stands as opposed to the pit, because he can’t help but feel like he would hurt someone if he were there

He never does, but sitting in the stands just makes him feel a bit more comfortable 

You guys make a list of bands you both want to see live and assuming you both are still in New Rome, you get to see most of them pretty quickly (i swear to god all of these bands are always touring in cali)

Frank absolutely goes and finds the tickets himself and will just suprise you with them

"Hey, I found these... the show's in three weeks..."

You and Frank shop for vinyls together all the time since you two like the same music

It turns into a shared collection between the two of you !!!

But if anyone asked Frank who’s vinyls they are he says that they’re all yours cause he’s whipped sorry

[bewitched-hours]

itz fjcmign Zanon gyyz

I dknt njow ehat we're doinh herr

Uhh, coulad yuo make a Elliot Forzaken yander>:4?

It's twu fucking amat the mkment help

-Zanon

Zanon... Please sleep, don't be awake at two AM and although I'll gladly do a oneshot for our boy, please don't push yourself- Also, excuse my horny mind, I'm trying to step out of my comfort zone a bit to see how well it does- (feel free to scold me /j)

Reader's pronouns are She/They this time around~

From the moment he laid his eyes on you, something snapped.

He tried to ignore it, telling himself this purgatory was just making him delusional.

Thoughts suggesting you were his and his alone. To not let anyone make you half as happy as he could.

He tried to suppress those thoughts, simply treating you with slight favouritism at first in a bad attempt to hide his feelings.

You weren't oblivious to it, just a bit shy about reciprocating because you couldn't exactly risk too much awkwardness in this hellish realm. It would affect rounds negatively.

But your little acts of reciprocation was what ultimately encouraged him to allow himself to get close. To protect you and make you his...

It started off small.

Praising your strategies and thanking you for protecting him when you did, helping you cook when you expressed the desire to learn a new recipe or even helping you with generators when you two happened to be near one.

But then it grew into more... Physical attention.

Dragging you away from killers during rounds and hiding with you, 'randomly' hugging you when you're talking with the others to get your attention or even just trying to find any excuse to be alone with you.

You may not be realizing it, but your mere presence made his obsession with you worse. He was ashamed at first, loosely comparing it to Two Time's obsession with the Spawn.

But he learned to accept it, not even fighting his urges anymore whenever he wanted you all to himself... Which was most of the time-

It didn't take a genius to catch on but if you were being honest? The behaviour wasn't all too unwelcome.

As long as he still treated the other survivors like normally, you didn't mind dedicating a little more time for Elliot.

But you made it clear that while you didn't mind your current dynamic, that he shouldn't start viewing the others as any less. And he respected that.

The others were honestly a little grateful that you had him somewhat under control. All it took was some basic boundary setting and reassurance and Elliot was right back to his usual self.

At least so it seemed when you two weren't alone.

In private, you kept him calm through cuddles and letting him leave little marks on your neck.

He didn't want to hurt you so it was just little hickeys peppered over your neck that were usually gone when a new round started.

"Ell-" Your quiet protests were being drowned out by his kisses. He wasn't really doing anything... Yet...

But he was feeling a little needy today and barely even waited for dinner to end before dragging you off to your cabin.

"I'm sorry, [Reader]..." He whispered softly, giving you those puppy eyes that he knew made you weak. And no matter how much you tried to look away, he just buried his face against your neck.

Not marking you, not talking, not even a kiss. He was waiting for consent.

With a sigh, you knew you couldn't escape it. You wanted it too, although you were still a little upset neither of you stayed to help clean up. You could probably just scold him for that later...

Hesitantly, you reached your hand up to comb through his hair. "L-let's just stay quiet this time..." You whispered meekly, a sharp gasp shortly coming to your lips as he began marking your neck and whispering sweet praises against your skin.

It didn't help that you were literally sat on his lap, barely any space being left between your chest and his as his praise left you with goosebumps.

He was making sure to handle you gently, like you were an artwork threatening to break if he went too fast. And you were hopelessly in love with it.

You were practically melting into it, relaxing as he held you close and occasionally stealing little passionate kisses from you to see you gradually slip into the comfort of his touch.

Slowly but surely, you were both stripping each other down until you were left in your underwear.

You had a feeling this would be a long night but at least he allowed you to have control over it...

I FEEL LIKE A NUN- /J

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[eru-vande]

Zutter || Kwon Jiyong x Reader

Summary: Jiyong's old friends visits him while he's being held cuffed in the cellar of his boss' rival's company

word count: 2,5k

warning: smut (hand job), knife play, low-key sub/dom interaction

A/N: inspired mostly by the MV, my first time trying to write sub/dom dynamic i'm not sure if it worked out lmao you tell me (no seriously, you tell me)

A/N 2: i'm rusty now i'm sorry i haven't written in 3 months... :(

✧✧͏✧✧

The blood was dripping to the ground, painting the dirty cemented floor of the cellar bright red under Jiyong’s feet. He would’ve told how many hours he had already spent there if the room had any windows, but the pain in his wrists were screaming it was way too long. His hair was damp, his lips chipped and broken, nose bleeding, he quite didn’t feel the fingers on his hands already and his shoulders became numb. 

Deep down inside? He was enjoying it. Everything, except his friend being knocked out and dragged into another room.

Jiyong knew this cellar. He knew it from his old days. And not a single person that was forced to pay this room a visit had a great life afterwards. Not after being hung by your wrists on the wall for hours, not after being beaten up until you feel it with your bones that the next punch would end everything for you. And not after they left you bleeding out for hours just to come back and beat you up again, trying to get the information out of you. Or just for fun.

But somehow, being the one hung on the wall, being the one who’s got beaten up, he was waiting for something with his heart beating a cheerful beat. As if he knew that something special was coming his way.

And something indeed came.

In the silence of the cellar Jiyong’s ears noticed a sound. A light clicking of heels on the ladder, the leather coat dragging on the floor, a still, cold laughter when the clicking of the heels stopped a few meters away from him.

“Who am I looking at? Kwon Jiyong himself…” 

Your voice ringed through the silence, rewarding you with a sly smile from Jiyong, who lifted his head just slightly enough to look at you.  

“And what are we doing here? Finally missing your old friends?” You took a step closer, wrapped your fingers around his chin and lifted Jiyong's head higher, squeezing his chin uncomfortably. “Bullshit, right? You were so happy to ditch us, suddenly getting so fucking upstanding…” your face shivered with disgust as you let go of Jiyong's face. “Betrayed us for good, and now what? Wanted to steal from us? Not so morally good again?” 

You wiped the blood on your fingers off with a piece of cloth, cleaning every inch of your fingers precisely as if his blood alone disgusted you.

Jiyong tried to laugh, but instead only a gnarly wheeze left his mouth. 

“You're doing better than your friend anyway.”

His eyes darted at you. “Where… is he?” 

“You know where, don't you? He'll be dealt with.” 

The coldness of your tone would send shivers down anyone's spine, but not Jiyong's. He got used to it long ago, years ago when you both were only starting to work with each other. 

Jiyong tried to move his hands, adjusting to the pain in his joints. 

“Why did you come?” his voice was barely audible, blood still dripping down his chin from his broken lip. “Why you?”

“Came to mess with you.” Looking him over, you moved his legs with yours so he wouldn't reach the floor, making him whimper from a sudden tug on his wrists. “You really thought you could just come and steal from us? Did it take you so little time to forget everything about this place?” 

Jiyong greened, laughing, his laughter mixed with silent wheezing. “No, I came to see you, Y/N. Missed your childish insolence.”

You haven't seen him for two years. You forget how unbearable he was, and how he used to annoy you being so damn hot when he was bleeding, his smile sly yet so captivating. 

“Did your friend come to see me too? So cute.”

“He came to take what you've stolen from our boss.”

Your razor sharp laughter ringed in his ears. “You think it's so easy to just take what you want from us?”

“Well, it was easy enough to take you back in the days.”

You huffed at him chuckling, placing your hands on his shoulders and pressing them down to make him cry out from the pain in his joints. “Don't fuck with me, Jiyong, you're not in the right position for that right now.”

“I'm always in the right position to fuck you.”

This brat. Even when cuffed, still toying with you. But it would be a lie to say his raspy voice didn't make you curl your toes. You did come there to mess with him, though, so maybe it's the right time to start. 

“I just know what you want most from me, you haven’t changed…” you said, coming up even closer to Jiyong, bending over right to his face. Too close but too far away. Your breath teasing his broken skin, you eyes piercing his with undeniable desire to fuck him up while he can’t do anything to you. Your leg pushing his crotch to the wall, giving him as much friction as you possibly could.

The challenge was accepted. He let his head hang loose, pressing his forehead to yours as he chuckled. “Try me.”

You pressed your palms flat to his chest, sliding them down until you felt the belt on his pants. 

“You’re gonna punish me by fucking me, seriously?” Jiyong’s voice resonated off the four walls, disappointment mixed with curiosity. “You can do better, Y/N.”

You smiled, tugging the belt out and throwing it away on the damp floor. One sharp glance into his eyes when you fingers undone his pants and let them fall loose to the ground made Jiyong weak in the knees. “Who told you i’m gonna fuck you?”

Jiyong was still smiling at you, but you saw a quick shiver of his lips as he drew the air in. “If you’re not, then you’re doing a weird thing going for my dick.”

The next thing he felt was your nails sliding up and down his dick —  the touch almost unnoticeable, the pressure was barely there, but his dick was twitching with every little touch of yours, getting harder.

“We all know what’s the purpose of fucking, right?” Your voice laced his ears like honey, but he couldn’t shake off the feeling that this whole performance won’t end well for him. 

The outrageously smug smile that has been plastered on his face this whole time went blank as he watched you getting down on your knees, without any intentions to break eye contact. From all those years you knew it turns him on.

Your fingers were still running up and down Jiyong’s dick when you leveled with it. Your eyes plastered to his face detecting a twitching of his muscles, his Adam's apple going up and down slowly as he struggled with gulping, as you breathed out way too close to his sensitive tip. Your warm breath coated his head as he whimpered silently, trying to back off with zero success. 

You let one of your hands go up under his shirt tracing light circles on the skin of his stomach, feeling his abs tensing under your touch as you kept on blowing the warm air on his tip.

“You always liked to play games, yeah? With me…” A heavy grant escaped his lips. Jiyong’s mind couldn’t understand how to react to everything that was happening to his body: the excruciating pain in his arms that was driving him crazy for the last few hours, you, playing the touch game on his dick and stomach. The pain versus the pleasure. His mind was too busy going insane to detect your movement, but the coldness he suddenly felt on his abs sent him back to reality.

“Now, game’s mine, Jiyong.” You twisted a knife, the sharp point of it dancing on Jiyong’s skin, sending hundreds goosebumps running all around his body. “I like to see you like this. Helpless, but… what if?..”

And you dropped the knife lower, you slid the point of it down his shaft to his head, careless, not looking at it to be sure you won’t actually hurt him, but yet again checking his reaction. The way his chest heaved as he drew in a breath when he felt the knife touching his dick almost made you lose your sanity. He couldn’t realise if it was because of pleasure or out of realisation that you could chop off his dick, but he yelped, swirling around and trying to get away from the knife.

“You just have to ask me nicely, there’s no need to act like this, Jiyong.” You grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer, trying to stop him from swirling. “Didn’t you want to play?’

Jiyong shrugged, sucking in air. “Y/N get the fucking knife away!..” He tried to scream but his voice cracked when he felt the wave of muscle tension going through his body as you pressed the cold blade of the knife to the hot flesh of his tip. “fuck…”

“Just accept that you like it.” Your little laughter filled the room mixed with Jiyong’s babbling and cursing as you started rubbing the blade on his tip. “Well…” Suddenly the rubbing felt easier and smoother and as you curiously checked the blade you chuckled, teasingly. “I already see that you quite like it, Mr Kwon.”

The blade was wet with his pre-cum. A few seconds later, Jiyong’s whole body spasmed and he bucked his hips forward, his body trying its best to find some needed friction, but you were fast enough to back off.

You hissed, stopping him midaction by pressing a hand to his hip and pressing it back. “Oh, no-no, Jiyong, you won’t get it. Only if you beg, maybe then I’ll think about it.”

You stood up carelessly, putting the knife in the pocket of your coat, and lifted Jiyong’s head just slightly by just barely tapping his chin. “Good boy.”

Your hand went up to mess with his damp hair, tangling your fingers in between his strands, you tugged on it, making Jiyong tilt his head back. His mouth fell open and you didn’t waste an opportunity. You launched on him aggressively, almost making him choke out of surprise. 

Jiyong didn’t back off, not that it was possible anyway, but he savoured your kiss as you were giving it to him. Passionate, wet, bloody from you biting his lips. You put your other hand back to his crotch, rubbing and tugging on his dick, playing lightly with the sensitive skin, eliciting the groan of pain from all the feelings out of his mouth. Your fingers were drawing light circles on his tip, coating itself in his wet sticky precum. 

“You want it bad…” You lulled, bringing your fingers to your mouth and licking the liquid off them, watching Jiyong visibly shake as the disappointment decorated his face.

Damn, the view turned you on. His head hanging loose between his cuffed to the wall arms, his chest muscles so tense you wanted to bite it, his dick dripping from your touch and body twitching in desperation. 

“Just say ‘Please’...”

He looked at you, something in his stare was animalistic and desperate, when his lips parted slightly he breathed out. “Please…”

His chest heaved a little when he felt your light touch on his dick. It was just a play for you, you only were teasing him, but it gave you so much power over the man that had all that power over you all those years. The way he toyed with you, making you feel so damn wanted and desirable, you could do anything he asked you to. And then he left. Without saying a word, he just left. 

You were rubbing his tip until you felt Jiyong breathing slowered and his muscles tensed. You won’t give it to him just like that.

“Y/N, s-stop, just…”

“Just what?” You pressed your fingertip to his dripping head again, drawing a low moan from Jiyong’s mouth. “Just say it, baby, it’s not that hard. I said it plenty of times to you.”

Jiyong gulped his pride down, the desire to stop this teasing and just cum was excruciating, it was tickling his skin painfully, swirling his stomach and curling his numb fingers. He wanted it. He needed it. But it was so hard to even mutter these words.

Jiyong heard you chuckle, watching him battling with himself for so long. “Okay, you can hang here. I’ll go visit your friend.” You took a few steps backwards, tapping your chin with your fingers. “What was his name again? TOP? Tabi? Whatever…” 

You almost turned around when the silence was interrupted with a breathy whimper.

“Y/N…” You looked at Jiyong, he was visibly waging war within himself. “Please… I…” he bit his lips in disgust, but the twitching in his stomach made him continue speaking, leaving all the male pride behind. “I beg you.”

“Damn? where is my camera? I should’ve captured this for future generations… mr. Kwon Jiyong begging me to let him cum.

You came closer to him, wrapped your fingers roughly around his chin and squeezed it tightly. “Okay, I'll let you.” You kissed him loosely, biting into his lower lip and tugging it away until you felt a drop of blood on your teeth.

You grabbed his dick again, firmly and started tugging on it in a quick rhythm, rubbing your thumb against his tip. The movements sent a wave of arousal up Jiyong’s body, his chest started heaving and dropping hectically, his stomach tying into a knot, as he panted heavily.

“P-please, tighter…”

He groaned on the way you tighten your grip around his shaft way too hard. “You think you can boss me around?” Hearing him groaning and squealing, you might have wanted to squeeze the living soul out of his dick, but with a few more rubs of your thumb against his wet tip, his whole body spasmed and he mellowed, coating your palm in his semen.

“Are you good now?” You wiped your palm on his shirt, slapping his cheek with another hand. “Now, it’s time to pay a visit to your friend. I didn’t come here exclusively to see you. Too much honor.”

You turned around on your heels, and walked away to the door, a smug smile shining on your face. “Maybe I’ll come visit you again if your friend bores me.”

When your hand was reaching the door handle, you heard Jiyong laughing. It took you a split second to turn around and dart a sharp look at him only to see him standing free on his feet, his hands uncuffed.

“So you could’ve stopped it anytime?” That man made you crazy again, putting a wicked smile on your face. “You’re really a sick weirdo, Kwon Jiyong. See you!”

The door closed on the other side of the room, locked.

Jiyong left standing there, in an empty cellar all alone. Why didn’t he stop you? Didn’t overpower you? At the end, he only toyed with you again.

On the other side of the door you’ve been thinking on how to recoup.

✧✧͏✧✧

Open ending i'm guessing it's a part 2 coming......

Event tag list: writers: @namsgyu @mashtatosworld @gds-daisy @gdinthehouseee @ldydeath @wcnderlnds @eru-vande @emmiesoverthemoon @petersasteria @breakmeoff @makeitworse

readers: @seungttttop @keiraryan @moontabi @mintandmuse @steponupbabe @heartubeatusalon @burningheartdetective @thanosspills @aizshallnotbefound @ttturnitup @szonyix6277 + personal tags! (comment to be added)

my tag list: @loveesiren @infinetlyforgotten @sevendaysummer

[liesineyes]

Okay, now that I took that off my chest, here's some episode six thoughts -

- Charlie backhanding Willy and Babe struggling to hold him back was exactly what I was expecting. But honestly it is crazy how the show totally glosses over sexual assault. Like they want to go extreme but without taking any accountability.

- Honestly, the sexual assault was 101% Willy's fault but Babe is also at fault (not the sa) for hiding all of this from Charlie, sneaking around to text Willy and all and then removing his ring and showing himself as though he is available to Willy knowing well that Willy has been constantly pushing his boundaries from day one. I mean I am not sure what Babe was expecting would happen, like what exactly was his plan? Show Willy he is interested and then Willy would tell his special sense and Babe would be like 'you bitch I was just playing you?'

- The whole Babe trying to explain but with 'I had my reasons' 'I didn't go further' like sir, you removed your ring to show yourself as available and then instead of explaining you are hitting Charlie with 'you don't give me time, I am lonely' what were the writers thinking writing such dialogues from Babe in this context?

Alan asking Babe to apologise to Charlie and Babe:

I don't know if I want to mirror Alan's expression or laugh at the absurdity. Though Pavel crying made me want to jump through the screen and hug Babe.

- I'm glad Jeff is reasoning with Charlie about Babe's decisions better than Babe explained himself because Charlie needed to hear that to cool down.

- Also, Okay. OKAY. Kim casually feeding Kenta? I am sorry!? Did I just see that? Like he made food for Kenta canonically and then fed him with his own two hands!? I am completely and fully sane about this (no I am not.)

- Pete trying and failing, I swear he is setting himself up for being dumped by Chris. Also the fact even Pete knows why Charlie wants this drug to work but the show implies Babe thinks Charlie doesn't think of him at all when he does something. (Also I want to talk' about how Babe actually didn't think of Charlie's feelings when he accepted the bet with Willy with his own ass on bet. Or when he followed after Willy, in the sauna so Charlie saying that actually made sense but Babe? I am sorry that was such a misfit dialogue from Babe because Charlie doesn't even have much of a personality beyond Babe - in the show only though)

The communication gap between them is stressing me out. How is it that everyone but these two idiots know about each other!?

- Sonic-North - I thought these guys were supposed to serve me friends to lovers but I am kinda disappointed with their story's progression. Feels like every couple is getting more than them, but this is what happens when you so many couples.

- I'm probably going to be the minority here but I think Alan is not a good captain at all. He is a good father figure/friend to them but the fact he is always like team team team but the only plan he has is where everyone helps Babe win the race. Be it Dean, Kim, North or Charlie. Anyone who tries to overtake Babe on the race track, Alan immediately goes into 'It is a team, you have to think of the team, cover for Babe, let Babe take the lead'. Like I genuinely have zero idea about racing cars, so I can be wrong but like if it was one person, I would understand but there's four now. Alan needs to figure out if he can even provide equal opportunities to all his team members or they are there just to cover up for Babe so Babe could win.

- I'm not surprised Willy is with Tony but I've a feeling he might flip sides like Kenta later on? He did look rattled on hearing Tony say take everyone around Charlie down.

- And Charlie is a weak weak man when it comes to Babe (I mean who wouldn't be? Babe should be bubbled wrapped and protected all the time.) But can we talk about them fucking the first chance they get to talk properly? like ✨ communication✨

This is getting way too long, okay I will stop here. But I liked this episode if you ignore the bad writing at places.