#I’m going to sleep now so night night!!

[wriokitty]

Sukuna is not good at apologizing.

And you? You’re not good at letting go of grudges. The end result is a pretty nasty predicament—you’re mad at him, he’s mad that you’re mad at him, and you’re mad that he’s mad that you’re mad at him. It’s a full circle. The start point and the end point meet and you just don’t know where to begin.

He could always apologize, of course—that would be a lovely start. But he won’t. (He really should, though, you think. It’s his fault).

“Hey,” he says gruffly, “scoot over. ‘S my side.”

You’re taking up the entire bed. A petty, childish, and last resort sort of method to keep him away from you for the night because you don’t think you can handle dealing with him in such close proximity. And of course, you certainly won’t be taking the couch, so that naturally leaves only one option: him.

“Hey. Did’ya hear me?” He scowls, looking at you with deeply creased, deeply furrowed brows and an intense glare that makes you want to throw a pillow at his face. You refrain, however—but only because someone has to be the emotionally intelligent one of the two of you, and it certainly won’t be him. “I said move over—I’m tired as fuck and I wanna sleep.”

“Then sleep,” comes your unhelpful reply.

“They teach you this in the first grade,” he smiles thinly, eyes narrowed into slits as he gives you a sarcastic look, “but you actually have to lay down to sleep. Can’t do that if you hog the entire damn bed.”

“I’m sure they taught you what a couch was in first grade, too,” you counter—and as if to double down on your juvenile, stubborn display of spitefulness, you angle your body to take up more of his side of the bed. “Go ahead and use that if you wanna lay down so bad.”

“And they also teach you in first grade that the couch is bad for your damn fucking back, so move the fuck—”

You cut him off sharply with a rather snobby tone. “That’s not in the first grade curriculum. I don’t know what first grade you went to, but maybe that would explain some of the loose screws in your head.”

He’s had enough. Sukuna is not good at apologizing. And on most days, he’s not that good at being a boyfriend, either. Not by the general standards, anyway. He doesn’t say sweet words or coddle you very much. Sometimes, he’s awkward about affection and doesn’t quite know how to initiate physical touch. And, on most days, he can’t communicate his feelings properly, so they tend to come out wrong. Typically, that manifests in rough, unintentionally harsh words.

He’s not proud of it, but it’s not a switch he can exactly flip off in one day.

But one thing he is good at, however, is worming his way into your soft spot, anyway. It’s a very peculiar, very distinct part of you that for some unknown reason, opens up for him and puts up with his bullshit regardless of what that bullshit is. Fifty percent soft, sweet affection, and one hundred percent stupid, foolish devotion.

He wouldn’t trade it for the world.

He debates it for a moment—because sometimes even Sukuna doesn’t dare test your limits—before he ultimately decides to go for whatever plan he’s scheming. It turns out his plan involves all two-hundred-something pounds of his bulky, muscled figure draping itself over your body with an exaggerated sigh from him. You flinch, gasping in shock, and he simply gets himself comfortable.

Sukuna is not good at apologizing.

Yet, somehow, he’s even worse at reading the room, evidently. You clearly don’t want him near you, but here he is, arguably closer to you now than he is on the average night.

“Sukuna!” You hiss, trying to push him off as you grumble under his weight, “get off! You asshole, you’re too heavy for—”

“Heavy?” He gasps, “this is considered body negativity.”

“Oh fuck off,” you scowl, “you’re doing this on purpose.”

“Doing what, exactly?” He asks smugly.

Despite it all, there’s something surprisingly gentle about the way he lays on you. His head is perfectly situated to rest against your collarbone, his hands delicately have your hips in their hold, and half of his body is slotted between your legs to keep a good brunt of his weight off of you.

More than anything, he’s a weighted blanket than he is an aggravating boyfriend that you’re trying to avoid.

“Is everything a joke to you?” You glare.

He glares back. Equally as hard, equally as intense, but infinitely more infatuated underneath it all. “No,” he grumbles, “just don’t like goin’ to bed mad. So ‘m here whether you like it or not.”

Some part of you can’t help but soften at that. A small, fractional, tiny amount of you thinks…oh. Oh.

(And yes, there are certainly better ways to express: I would like to go to bed without being mad at each other because I love you too much, but he’s not perfect. Nowhere near it. That much is a known fact quite abundantly by now. But you know what he means, and in you’re being honest with yourself…well, it’s enough.

He’s always enough, even when he seems like he shouldn’t be.)

“I’m still mad at you,” you grumble stubbornly.

Your arms wrap around him tightly.

“And I’m still fuckin’ tired and sleepy. What’s your point?”

He tucks his head into the crook of your neck and inhales your scent.

You’re mad at Sukuna. And he’s tired of it. Sometimes, he’s not good at apologizing, and sometimes you’re stubborn about accepting it. In the end, your limbs tangle in bed like this, anyway. You think that’s the only part that really matters.

You sigh, pulling up the blanket to cover yourselves. (Mainly you. He just happens to be there, too, of course. But this isn’t for his warmth, too—it’s just for yours. How cold he is or isn’t through the night is of no concern to you.)

“Night,” he mumbles quietly after some time, “and…and sorry, or whatever. I…well, I just…you know?”

You snort softly at his attempt, giving in and letting your fingers weave into his soft, familiar strands of hair while he relaxes at the feeling.

“We’ll talk in the morning. I love you.”

He smiles a little into your neck. It’s barely-there, but it undoubtedly exists.

“Love you too.”

“A lot, right?” You ask cheekily.

It’s quiet for a moment. You think he’s going to tell you to shut up, or just go to sleep, already. Instead, there’s a hushed mumble of, “yeah. A lot. Now goodnight.”

(You fall asleep rather quickly after that—and admittedly, much easier than you would have if his body was on the couch and not with you.)

Cliche fights before bed that end with a begrudging petty cuddle sesh are my guilty pleasure. My crack if you will

[gumii-bearr]

thinking about the first time megumi calls you a pet name.

you’d been dating for a while, a few months at that point, but he was always reluctant to use a pet name for you.

he preferred to call you by your name or the nickname everyone gives you.

but maybe it’s yuji that changes his mind.

“wait— fushiguro, you don’t call her baby? or sweetie? pookie maybe?? just y/n?”

“…that’s her name.”

but the thought lingers for weeks and he starts thinking about all the things that you call him.

“hey, gumi!”

“hi, baby,” before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“oh my god, gumi you have to see this!”

“thank you, sweet boy—“

since when did you start giving him pet names? perhaps it’s because it sounds so natural coming from you. you say cute pet names with such confidence behind them that he barely registers that you’re the only one who calls him those things.

there are a few failed attempts where the cute pet name he totally didn’t spend hours thinking about in his dorm last night, gets stuck in his throat and he just ends up hiding his red face in the collar of his jacket.

pet names don’t come naturally to megumi. before he met you, he thought pet names were sort of cringey and lame, that they sounded stupid.

but he feels so fuzzy when you say them, your smile bright and beaming, your sparkly eyes making him weak at the knees and the adorable pet name sending a jab right through his chest.

so there’s a second attempt.

and a third,

and a fourth,

before he gets it out without stuttering over his words and wishing the floor would swallow him whole because you didn’t hear him or it came out as a choked cough rather than an actual word—

“hi baby! i picked us up some pizza… i thought we could catch up on our watch list tonight.”

and megumi gulps back the lump in his throat, clammy hands clutching the material of his sweats—

“sounds good… babe.”

and you pause, a smile beaming across your face and you slowly turn to him.

“what was that—?”

“nothing.”

“no, what did you call me?”

“forget it.”

“wait, don’t be embarrassed, gumi!”

“too late, i’m going to ask shoko for her strongest shit so i can forget what just happened—“

and you giggle, tugging on his sleeve as he attempts to writhe away from you on the bed, pressing his face into the nearest pillow as you clamber over him with a cheeky smile.

“did you call me a pet name mr. fushiguro?”

“and i’ll regret it til i die.”

“oh, boo.”

safe to say he tends to stick with calling you your name or your offical nickname, but there are some rarer occasions where it slips out.

like when he’s unbelievably tired and sore from a day of sparring and missions, and he sneaks into your dorm and crawls into bed with you.

“long day, hm?”

“mm, i feel better now though.”

and you stroke his hair, “get some sleep then, ‘kay?”

“mhm… thank you, baby.”

and you just smile against his hair, he doesn’t realise what he’s said and it’s better that way, because it makes it a little more special.

[ja3yun]

Pillow Talk | L.HS

bf!heeseung x gf!reader warnings: fluff, smut (mdni), unprotected sex, cream pie, oral (m.rec), nipple play, mentions of alcohol and insecurities, pet names (baby), not proofread, lmk if i missed anything! w.c: 6.2k synopsis: after a night out with friends, heeseung's insecurities surface, making him question his worth as a boyfriend. with some reassuring pillow talk and a night spent wrapped in one another, he's determined to prove himself a/n: hi! happy valentine's day to my loves <33 i hope you spend the day surrounded by love - romantic or platonic. i love valentine's day more than anything so this is my gift to you! if you think you've read it before, it's because you have! this is a reupload that won the poll so enjoy!

“Baby?”

A soft, lazy groan vibrates through the stillness of the room. Your body which is still heavy with sleep feels the tender pressure of a hand shaking your arm gently, followed by the familiar brush of petal-soft lips against your shoulder. The gesture is soft but something about the way he calls for you feels different, slightly urgent even though there is no panic in his tone.

“Baby, can you wake up for a minute?”

There’s something off in Heeseung’s voice - something unsure and a tad bit unsteady. His breath catches, then leaves him in a long, heavy exhale, like he’s trying to let something go but can’t. Even with your eyes still closed, the sound of it tugs at your chest, finally stirring you from sleep. The last remnants of drowsiness fade, replaced by a quiet kind of worry.

You shift under the blankets, forcing your eyelids open. The world is still blurred at the edges, softened by sleep, but your focus lands on him immediately. From what you can make out thanks to the streetlight outside, his face looks drawn - tired, but more than that. Troubled.

A slow blink and rub of your eye clears the haze from your vision.

“Heeseung?” Your voice is quiet, thick with sleep but there’s an undercurrent of concern. “Are you okay, baby?”

The silence between you stretches and the silence of the midnight hour amplifies everything - the rustling of sheets, the hum of the city, the way his fingers twitch slightly against the fabric. 

He seems…nervous.

Last night, he’d gone out with friends. It was just supposed to be dinner, a break he’d needed after weeks of drowning in work and deadlines. But now, the faint flush on his cheeks and the pink along the bridge of his nose tell you he had more than just a couple - that much is obvious. What’s not obvious is why he’s still awake, sitting here like something’s eating away at him.

His hand drifts to your hair, sweeping a few strands away from your face, and for a brief second, his lips twitch, like he might smile. It’s something he does without thinking, a habit that’s settled into him over time. Even now, even like this, he pauses to take you in - soft, half-asleep, so stunningly beautiful.

Still, the weight in his eyes doesn’t lift.

“Hee,” you murmur, a little more awake now. “What’s wrong?”

His gaze drops. His lips part slightly, hesitation tightening his shoulders. Seconds drag by before he finally speaks.

“Do you think I’m a good boyfriend?”

The question makes you blink. Once. Then again.

“What?”

His eyes meet yours again, uncertain, searching for an answer without you having to utter a word. “Like…am I doing enough?”

That shakes the last bit of sleep from your mind. You sit up slowly, instinct guiding your hand to his chest, where his heartbeat is steady but tense under your palm. “Heeseung, of course you are. Why would you even ask that?”

The words even feel too simple for what you really mean. Because the truth is - he’s not just a good boyfriend. He’s everything.

Sure, there are hard days. Moments when life is messy, when you argue or when things feel overwhelming. But even when you test one another, he never makes you feel anything less than loved. It’s not just about grand gestures with him - it’s in the little things. The way he remembers details you don’t even remember telling him. The way he texts you just because. The way he looks at you when he thinks you won’t notice - like you’re irreplaceable.

And maybe that’s what hurts the most; seeing doubt where there should never be any.

Sitting here in the dim half-light, you can see the weight he’s carrying - the slight hunch of his shoulders, the way his lips press together like he’s holding something back. And yet, even through the uncertainty in his eyes, he’s still reaching for you. Not just for comfort, but to make sure you’re okay, too. Still scared he’s not the perfect boyfriend. 

That’s who Heeseung is. He loves deeply and gives even when he feels empty.

Your fingers trace gently along his jaw, warmth meeting warmth as you take him in. “Heeseung,” you murmur, steady, soft. “You’re the best boyfriend I could ever ask for. You know that, right?” A pause, letting the words sink into him, but they don’t reach where you need them to. You try again, a little more pointed. “What’s going on, baby? What’s making you feel like this?”

His gaze flickers, doubt clouding his eyes, but your words seem to seep into the cracks, softening the tension in his face. The quiet between you is tough and unfamiliar. The bedroom you lay in is usually brimming with laughter. It’s so strange to see him like this.

Although you don’t have all the answers as to why he’s so heavy, you’ll hold him through whatever storm is brewing in his mind - just as he’s done for you more times than you can count.

Heeseung exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes drift, landing somewhere in the soft glow of the room before he finally speaks. “At dinner…the girls were talking about their boyfriends. About how they don’t really pay attention to them, or like, they never ask about their day, or forget things that matter. Always late, always distracted, y’know?”

“And what has that got to do with you?” You ask slowly, genuinely not seeing the correlation.

His brows knit together, lost in thought, and you can see the spiral beginning - the way he’s already picking apart every moment in your relationship, analysing each time he might have been tired, distracted, or anything less than perfect. You know him too well. His heart is so full of care that the idea of falling short - of disappointing you - feels absolutely unbearable.

But where he sees gaps, you only see love. Commitment. A kind of attentiveness that most people can only dream of. Genuinely, people yearn for a man like Heeseung, so it hurts to see him like this.

Heeseung has never been that boyfriend. The one who forgets anniversaries, who doesn’t show up when it matters, who brushes off your feelings like they’re an afterthought. If anything, he’s the opposite.

You remember the countless nights he’s sat with you, listening, no matter how exhausted he was, his eyes never leaving yours. The way he never lets a single date slip by unnoticed, whether it’s a quiet dinner out or a handwritten note tucked beside your coffee cup before he heads out. The way he remembers things you don’t even remember telling him - your favourite parts of a book, a song you mentioned offhand weeks ago, the smallest details that make you feel seen in a way no one else ever has.

A breath of laughter escapes you - soft, incredulous, not mocking but disbelieving. “Baby,” you say gently, warmth laced in every word. “Those things? The things they were talking about? That’s just…what most guys do at some point.”

At that, Heeseung shrinks a little, his shoulders drawing in as though your words only confirm his worst fears. His face falls, vulnerability flickering across his expression. You see the downward spiral start again, but before he can fall too deep, you reach for him. Your palm finds his cheek, thumb brushing over his skin in slow, reassuring strokes.

You don’t let him sit in those thoughts for long.

“But you - you’re the rare 0.0000001% that isn’t like that,” you continue, your voice steady and confident in your own declaration. “Hee, you listen to me even when I’m rambling about the same thing for the hundredth time. You show up for me, no matter how tired or stressed you are. I don’t think you’ve ever missed a date, let alone forgotten one.”

His lips part slightly, like he wants to argue, but the words don’t come. His eyes meet yours, uncertainty still lingering, but something in the way you’re looking at him keeps him quiet.

“You’ve never turned up late to anything, not once,” you add, a small smile tugging at your lips as your hand drifts down, resting against his chest. Beneath your palm, his heartbeat is vibrating with love. “You’re thoughtful in ways those girls were probably wishing for when they were talking. And even when things get rough, you never make me feel like I’m alone in it. You’re always there, Heeseung. Always.”

Heeseung exhales, slow and deep, your words finally settling into him. There’s still hesitation in his eyes, but the pressure in his shoulders has shifted, loosened just a little. He shakes his head, the smallest of smiles ghosting across his lips. But you can tell - he’s still trying to let go of the doubt entirely.

“I just…” He pauses, glancing down as if searching for the right words. “I don’t ever want to take you for granted. I never want to be that guy who doesn’t pay attention. Who makes you feel like you’re not important.”

“You could never,” you whisper, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips, letting it linger just long enough to feel the warmth of him. “The fact that you want to be a good boyfriend already proves that you are one.”

Heeseung lets out a soft laugh, his breath warm against your lips as you peck his lips once more to punctuate your reassurances. He bites his lip, giving you that boyish, slightly embarrassed smile that always makes your heart flutter.

“You think so?” he asks, his voice quieter now, almost like he’s seeking reassurance even though he knows he’s already got it.

You raise an eyebrow playfully, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “I know so,” you tease, letting your fingers trace gentle circles on his chest. “I mean, come on - how many boyfriends out there get worried in the middle of the night about whether they’re doing enough for their girlfriends? You’re basically setting the bar impossibly high for everyone else.”

Heeseung chuckles again, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “Oh, so now I’m the standard, huh?”

“You’re more than the standard, you’re the dream.”

Grinning widely, your boyfriend leans in to kiss you once again, this time more confident and at ease. It’s not like Heeseung to be vulnerable like this, the mix of alcohol and the early hours playing a massive part in his sudden change in behaviour. But he is so thankful that you aren’t judging him or deflecting his concerns in a passive moment even though you could have. It speaks volumes of your love and adoration for him, and that makes him feel more loved than anything else in the world.

His pretty lips melt with yours, your love blooming through each passing breath and brush of his nose with yours. His palms find a place on your waist as he guides you to crawl onto his lap, the sheets that were keeping you warm in your cocoon of sleep now long gone, the heat from Heeseung’s love now flooding your bloodstream. 

His hands slide up your waist, fingers exploring the curve of your sides before resting at the small of your back. The heat of his touch burns through the thin fabric of your pyjamas, setting you alight under his fingertips. He pulls you closer, guiding you to straddle his lap with ease and you can feel the beat of his heart and the ridge of his cock all at once - lust and love both present.

The kiss deepens and you find yourselves in a rhythm, the kind where neither of you is in a rush, savouring the moment for all it’s worth. His lips move with yours in an intoxicating way, every caress from his tongue sends shivers along your spine. He tastes like something familiar, something safe and beautiful - like home.

“I love you so fucking much, baby,” he murmurs into the kiss, his voice dripping in longing, each word brushing against your lips like a secret meant only for you. His breath fans over your face and the way he speaks, the pure adoration in his tone, makes your chest swell with so much emotion you feel like you might physically combust. It’s a confession he’s made a thousand times yet each time it feels like the first because he means it just as heavily each time.

If there was ever a reason for your heart to exist, for your lungs to keep breathing, it is to love Heeseung. Your heart is to keep you alive, but if you can't love him like this, there's no reason for it to keep pumping.

Nodding at his confession, you smile against his lips, a sound of contentment escaping you as you press closer to his chest, wanting to feel every inch of him. You want to be as close as physically possible to this man. Your hands find their way into his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as you deepen the kiss, pouring all your love into it. 

“I love you too, Hee,” you whisper between kisses, your voice low, filled with a yearning ache that matches his. “Always.”

His hands tighten around you, holding you as though you might slip away, his kisses becoming more urgent, more desperate. It’s the last few worries working through his brain, finding an escape in your comforting embrace.

Hands roaming your now fully alert body, Heeseung grips and caresses every inch of you he can, his fingers dancing along your back as his nails drag down ever so gently, just enough for you to feel the bite. He needs you under his skin. He needs you part of him. He needs you full stop.

Every brush of his lips, every gentle tug of your lower lip, every graze of his teeth sends a thrill through you, making your skin hum with electricity. His hand moves up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze dark with emotion, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

“I know we just had a sappy moment and I don’t want this to take away from it, but I’m horny as fuck right now.”

A sharp laugh escapes you, breaking through the moment, and you shake your head at Heeseung's bluntness, though the heat in the room is unmistakable. His words might’ve caught you off guard, but they don’t surprise you - it’s just so him to switch from vulnerability to desire. One of the many, many, reasons you adore him.

You grin goofily at him, your hands still tangled in his hair. “Oh, really?” you tease, your voice light but laced with that same unspoken tension that’s been building between you. “I never would have guessed with your cock poking my thigh.”

You both look down and see Heeseung’s member semi-hard, concealed only by his boxers. It makes you bite your lip in lust as you reply moments that his thick cock has taken you to the stars, has made you arch your back as your heart tries to leap from your chest and shout how much you love his inches pounding into you.

Heeseung's cheeks flush a deep pink, only adding to the alcohol flush he still has blushing over his features, but that signature mischievous grin appears on his face, his embarrassment melting into amusement. He lets out a soft chuckle, his eyes flicking between your teasing gaze and the obvious evidence of his desire pressing against you.

"Well," he says, his voice dropping an octave, his hand tightening slightly on your waist, "you can’t blame me, can you? I mean, look at you." His tone is playful, but there’s no mistaking the hunger behind his words as his eyes drag over your body, drinking in every inch of you. His lips find their way to your neck, teeth working in tandem to nip at your skin before he speaks again. “Y’know, I guess I should prove that I’m a good boyfriend, not just say it.”

A part of you wants to tell him that he proves it every day, that he is even proving it right now, but you know what this will lead to and you’ll be damned if you don’t let him continue. So you play along, smirking as you feel his mouth move south, kissing over your collarbone.

“I think you should,” you giggle out in a moan as his teeth sink into you. The sound escapes your lips, a mixture of laughter and desire, and you feel his cock twitch at the sound, a primal response that only fuels the fire igniting between you both. 

Any noise you make is Heeseung’s favourite song.

With a swift motion, Heeseung peels your tank top off, revealing your breasts. He ogles at them, memorising every mark, line, and curve of them as if he doesn’t study them every day. If he was set the challenge to draw them from memory, he could pass with flying colours.

Attaching his mouth to your right nipple, he teasingly bites around the peak and flicks it with his tongue before wrapping his lips around it, sucking gently as though he’s savouring a fine wine; your body has the same effect as alcohol on him anyway. 

The sensation sends an electric jolt through you, arching your back and pushing your chest further into him, a silent plea for more. Heeseung's hands grab hold of your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive skin, heightening the atmosphere in the room.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he mumbles against your skin, punctuating each word with soft kisses. The way he admires you - like you’re a masterpiece and he’s not even worthy to be standing in the museum you decorate - fills you with a sense of pride. You never feel more beautiful or worthy than when you’re in your boyfriend’s arms. 

You can’t help but tilt your head back, surrendering to the desire-filled feeling crashing over you as he lavishes the skin on your body.

His mouth moves from your breast to your collarbone, trailing kisses that leave a path of fire in their wake. As he nips at your skin, you feel a rush of warmth pool low in your belly, the heady mix of desire and adoration overwhelming. Heeseung's fingers dig into your hips, anchoring you to him, and you can feel the way his body responds to yours - hard and insistent against your thigh. 

“Am I proving myself?” he asks playfully, pulling back to look into your eyes, his gaze dark with lust and mischief. His lips glisten slightly, and you can’t help but admire how he looks at this moment - wild and undone, completely lost in the taste of you.

“More than you know,” you breathe, a smile creeping onto your lips as you lean in closer, brushing your nose against his. The closeness feels intoxicating, every heartbeat syncing with his own. “But I think there’s a way you can really prove it to me.”

With a playful glint in your eye, you push him back gently, manoeuvring him to lie flat against the sheets of your shared bed. You straddle him, your knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his hips as you trap him. 

Leaning down, you place a teasing kiss on his lips before trailing your mouth lower, down his chest, relishing every inch of skin you encounter. He tastes like a mix of his body wash and perfume. You take your time, letting your lips brush against his abs, ghosting and teasing while feeling the taut muscles beneath your fingertips as you draw nearer to where you want to be.

“This doesn’t feel like me proving I’m a good boyfriend if you’re doing all the work,” he laughs, his voice rich with playful sarcasm.

“Just relax,” you murmur, looking up at him through your thick lashes, “I’ve got this.” With that, you grip the waistband of his boxers and edge them down, revealing him fully. The sight of his arousal makes your heart race even faster. Fuck, he’s so delicious. The air is thick with tension and anticipation, and as you wrap your fingers around him, the knowing of what’s to come sends shivers down your spine.

“Seriously, Y/N, why don’t I-”

You interrupt him, your voice playful yet sultry, “I’m literally in love with your cock, so if you want to ‘prove’ you’re a good boyfriend, you’ll let me suck it.” You smile innocently up at your boyfriend, and the mischievous glint in your eyes only heightens the intensity surrounding you.

 When you say you love his cock, that isn’t even enough to convey just how much you worship it.

For the past year, this single cock has taken you to heaven and back, lifting you past the clouds and into galaxies that haven’t even been explored yet. Heeseung has done more for your pleasure than any self-exploration or rose toy could ever hope to give you. If he wants to talk about women’s complaints about their boyfriends, unsatisfying sex is more common than not, and he has yet to disappoint you.

When you first started dating, the chemistry between you was so strong that you found yourselves lost in each other’s arms on the very first date. Even then, while you still had so much to learn about one another - your likes and dislikes, how you moved with one another - Heeseung somehow pressed every button inside you, fine-tuning spots you hadn’t even discovered. He is so attuned to your needs, both physically and mentally.

That is how you know he is a cut above the rest.

With a teasing grin, you peel his boxers down further, whisking them off and throwing them to the floor. You take a moment to admire him, the way his dick stands eager and glistening. It’s a sight that always sends a rush of heat straight to your cunt, making it purr and mewl out to be stuffed.

Leaning in closer, you let your breath ghost over the tip of his bell, watching as he shakes out a breath in response. The tension in his body is palpable and it fuels your desire even more. You love to see him wriggle beneath you - it makes you feel good. Probably a people-pleaser trait that you’ve developed. But if it’s Heeseung? You want to do your very most to please.

You give him a slow, teasing lick, starting from the base and moving up to the tip, taking your time to savour the taste of him. A low groan escapes his lips, and the sound makes your heart race, sending a thrill of pleasure coursing through you.

“Y/N,” he gasps, his voice thick with desire, “you really don’t have to-”

But you cut him off again, looking at him with pleading eyes. “I want to,” you assure him, your voice a whisper as you lean in, capturing his tip in your mouth. The warmth of you envelops him, and you hollow your cheeks, sucking gently as you begin to take him deeper.

Heeseung’s hands find their way to your hair, fingers threading through it as he guides you softly, his breaths turning into heavy pants. You love the way he watches you, eyes dark and filled with admiration and lust. As you take him deeper, you let your tongue swirl around the tip, teasing and tantalising him, every flick sending shockwaves of pleasure through his body.

Gathering your hair into a ponytail and threading his fingers through your strands to make sure he doesn’t miss a bit, he begins to tie your hair up. He does this; one, so he can see your pretty lips wrapping around him, and two, because he knows how annoyed you get when your hair is in your face. It’s partly the reason why he always carries a bobble on his wrist, for spontaneous times like this. 

The black bobble has come in handy more times than he can count; parties, work events, in the car, you name it. You love to suck his cock, there was no denying it, and you will take any opportunity, hence why he is always prepared.

With each slow movement, you can feel Heeseung tense. You watch him closely, revelling in the way his mouth falls open, struggling to find the words to express what he’s feeling - though, his face does enough explaining. His chest rises and falls, each breath coming faster than the last as you continue to work your mouth around him. 

“That’s it, baby,” he breathes, his voice shaky as he tries to keep control. You can sense his yearning and quite honestly, it makes you feel so powerful. With every moment that passes, you grow more determined to show him just how much he means to you.

You start to pick up the pace, your head moving faster as you slide him deeper into your mouth, allowing your lips to wrap around him snugly. You can feel the muscles in his thighs tense, his body urging you on as he struggles not to bust a load in your mouth right here and now. The raw desperation in his eyes only ignites your need for him, and you find yourself lost in the rhythm of it, moving in sync with the unspoken connection between you.

“Y/N, please, I’ll not last long,” he murmurs, his voice thick with the urge as he bites his lip, a look of pleasure painting his features. You can tell he’s holding back, wanting to let go but trying to let you take your time. The contrast of his restraint against your eagerness sends a rush of heat through you, and you can feel the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips as you squeeze his thighs.

Instead of slowing down, you push him fully down your throat, the bell of his cock sitting exactly where your voicebox is located, and you swallow. It’s something you know he loves more than anything and thanks to a lot of practice paired with patience from your boyfriend, you perfected it. 

Your throat gags at the intrusion of his cock as it tries to gulp down, Heeseung thrashes beneath you, holding in his breath and he tenses, toes curling in desperation. 

“Jesus, fuck,” he gasps out through gritted teeth, the intensity of the sensation overwhelming him. His fingers grip your hair tighter, a mix of pleasure and desperation coursing through him as he feels you take him deeper than ever. The warm heat enveloping him is almost too much to bear, and he can't help but thrust his hips slightly, seeking that delicious friction that drives him wild.

You can feel every shudder and quake of his body, the way he fights against the urge to let go. With each swallow, you tighten your throat around him, your body instinctively reacting to his need. The vibrations from your throat send delicious, torturous vibrations through his entire length, and you can tell he’s so fucking close.

“Y/N,” he moans, his voice laced with an intoxicating mix of desperation and awe. “You’re so fucking perfect.” The way he breathes your name is music to your ears, fueling your desire even more. The rasp in his tone along with the tiny giggle that pushes out, showcases the glee he is feeling within himself. It’s a beautiful contrast to how this rude awakening started.

Determined to push him over the edge, you pull back just slightly, letting the tip of him rest on your tongue as you swirl it around his knob, dipping it past his slit a few times before diving back down, taking him fully once more. Each movement is deliberate, each glide of your lips sending him further into the abyss of pleasure. The sound of your lips slurping and the wetness of your mouth fills the room, creating an intoxicating rhythm that both of you are losing yourself in.

“Please, stop,” he begs, his eyes squeezing shut as he loses himself in the moment. “I can’t hold back much longer.” You revel in the power you have over him, the way your actions leave him breathless and needy. It’s a perfect feeling, one that makes you want to do this forever, to draw out his pleasure as long as you can.

But just as you think he might tumble over the edge, Heeseung suddenly pulls you off of him, his chest heaving with short breaths as he fights to regain control. His gaze is dark, filled with desire and a hint of desperation, and it sends a thrill through you as he locks eyes with you.

With a swift motion, he pulls your face up to his, capturing your lips in a feverish kiss. It’s a clash of passion, sweetness and raw hunger as his mouth moves against yours. He can taste the remnants of your earlier actions on his tongue but he doesn’t care, he’s never been one to care about that, unlike some men.

Again, a reason why he’s a cut above the rest.

As you kiss, his fingers find home between your legs, feeling how wet you are just from sucking his cock. The feeling makes him smirk, his ego growing along with his arousal. He pushes your shorts and underwear to the side and you gasp into his mouth as you feel the heat of his member sliding against your pussy. 

“I need you so fucking bad,” Heeseung breathes between kisses. You can feel the urgency in his words, the way his body reacts to yours, the heat radiating off him, makes your heart race faster, and you instinctively press against him, seeking that sweet friction. “Let me fuck you, please, baby.” Heeseung is whiny and desperate, which means you know he’s close, seeking out that sweet release.

And you are more than happy to give him it.

You break the kiss just long enough to whisper, “Fuck me, please, Hee.” 

The invitation drives him over the edge, losing control completely, and you can see the flicker of determination in his eyes as he moves to claim you, each moment stretching out as you both surrender to the overwhelming connection that binds you together.

With pure greed, Heeseung captures your lips again, his mouth moving against yours with urgency. When his mouth finds your breasts again, he takes your right nipple into his mouth, sucking gently before nibbling around the peak, his tongue swirling and teasing as he sends waves of pleasure through you.

Slipping into your heat, Heeseung’s cock finally stretches you open, a gasp in harmony orchestrating around your bedroom. Your eyes roll back as he fills you to the hilt, the exquisite sensation sending electric pulses of pleasure coursing through every part of your body. Heeseung pauses for just a moment, letting you adjust to his size, his breath coming in heavy pants as he watches you. 

“God, you feel amazing,” he murmurs, his voice thick with need as he slowly pulls back, only to plunge deep again. Each thrust is a slow exploration at first as he seeks to bring you both to that blissful peak. The sensation of his cock sliding against your inner walls sends waves of pleasure through you. Heeseung's eyes never leave your face, drinking in the sight of you lost in ecstasy, each gasp and moan drawing him deeper into the moment.

Heeseung's hands grip your hips, fingers digging into your flesh as he finds a steady rhythm, pushing deeper with each jerk of his hips, trying to prove to you just how great of a boyfriend he can be, how he will give you everything he has; mind, body, and spirit. 

Your body instinctively responds, arching into him, craving more as the world around you fades into the background. The sounds of skin slapping against skin echo in the quiet room, punctuated by the choir of your shared gasps and moans. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans, his voice low and husky, thick with pleasure as he quickens his pace. It doesn’t matter how many times he fucks you, your walls will always welcome him in the most delicious way. 

You can feel the tension building within you with each thrust. The urgency in his movements builds, each movement charged with desperation and longing as he works hard to drive you both to the brink. He leans down, capturing your lips in another messy albeit loving kiss, stealing what little breath you have left.

As he kisses you, his hands roam down to your thighs, lifting your legs higher to allow him even deeper access. The shift in angle has you moaning like a pornstar as he hits that sweet spot inside you. You can feel the pressure building, the familiar tight coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter within you, urging you closer to release.

“Y/N,” he breathes against your lips, his voice low and breathy, filled with both desire and admiration. “You’re everything to me.” The words resonate deep within your chest, and they only serve to heighten the intensity of your love for him. “I want you to cum for me,” he murmurs, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing in perfect time with his thrusts, his thumb pressing down on your sensitive bud.

The sensation of his fingers combined with the friction of his cock sends you spiralling toward the edge. With each stroke of his cock and each slow circle of his thumb, you can feel the heat pooling in your core, a delicious tension building that threatens to overflow.

“Hee, I’m so close,” you gasp, nails digging into his back as the sensations overwhelm you. Heeseung groans in response, his thrusts growing more frantic, his desire matching your own as he chases that high alongside you. “Just a little more, baby, you can take it,” he urges, his voice thick with need, every thrust a promise of the pleasure to come.

Your breaths come in sharp bursts as the pleasure builds to an unbearable peak, the world around you narrowing to just the two of you. With every movement, Heeseung brings you closer to the edge, the rhythm of his hips and the precision of his fingers drawing you nearer to bliss. Your body begins to tremble, the coil inside you winding tighter as Heeseung’s pace quickens, urgency fueling every thrust.

“Let go for me, baby,” he whispers, each word enveloped with need, and that simple command pushes you over the edge. With a shriek, your body explodes in pleasure, waves of ecstasy crashing over you as you shatter beneath him.

The sensation washes over you, and as you lose yourself to it, you can feel Heeseung following closely behind, his own release spilling into you as he groans your name, ropes of his cum painting your walls, the heat adding to your pleasure and making your cunt try and swallow each drop. 

As the waves of pleasure finally begin to subside, you find yourself still tangled together, your breaths mingling in the now warm air. Heeseung’s arms are wrapped securely around you, holding you close as his heartbeat gradually slows, though the lingering electricity between you remains palpable. You can feel the aftershocks of your climax coursing through you along with the final jumps of his cock, each pulse a gentle reminder of the ecstasy you just shared.

Heeseung gently pulls out, and a soft whimper escapes your lips at the loss, but he’s quick to pull you into his embrace, cradling you against his chest. His fingers brush through your hair, and you can’t help but smile, the afterglow of your connection illuminating your heart. 

“So...did I prove myself,” he breathes, a satisfied grin spreading across his face as he meets your gaze. There’s a playful glint in his eyes, his brows wiggling. You’re so happy to have this Heeseung back, the worries and doubts are long gone.

“You never had to prove anything, Hee. You prove yourself every single day.” Your voice is earnest and raw, meaning every word. Your hand comes up to cradle his cheek as you stroke his flushed face. “I love you so much, baby. Please never doubt yourself like that again.” 

Heeseung’s eyes soften at your words, a bashfulness coming over his features as he leans into your touch. The sincerity in your voice wraps around him like a comforting blanket, easing away any lingering insecurities. 

“You really mean that?”

“Of course, I do,” you assure him, the depth of your love for him echoing amongst each syllable. “You are everything I have ever wanted and more. I don’t just say it for the sake of it, you know. You really are perfect for me, Hee. Perfect in general.”

His heart swells at your declaration, a grin lighting his face the way the moon lights up the room. “Well, I guess that means I should keep doing what I’m doing, yeah?”

“Abso-fucking-luty, “ you giggle, kissing his chest before you settle your head there, listening to his heartbeat, the one that beats only for you. “Just keep being mine.”

“Always.”

[tqlepatia]

─ BETTER LATE THAN NEVER .ᐟ .

- ❝ Mild angst, guilt, late Valentine’s Day surprise, lots of fluff, Sevika being a workaholic but making up for it.❞

The day had been a blur of work, papers, and endless discussions. Sevika barely had time to breathe between meetings, her mind occupied with council matters, trade agreements, and the usual bureaucratic nonsense. She barely registered the time until one of the other council members, shoola said,

"Aren't you worried your wife is upset? I mean… it is Valentine’s Day, after all."

Sevika froze.

Valentine’s Day.

Her heart sank. She hadn’t even sent a message. No flowers, no quick “I love you,” nothing. She’d been so buried in work that she had completely forgotten.

She muttered a curse under her breath, gathering her papers in a rush. The moment the meeting ended, she bolted out of the council chambers, pushing past people as she made a beeline for home.

The house was dark when she arrived. No warm glow of candlelight, no soft music playing in the background—just silence. The scent of food lingered faintly in the air, though it had gone cold.

Sevika swallowed the lump in her throat as she took in the sight of half-deflated balloons slumped in the corner, their bright colors now dull in the dim room. She sighed, running a hand through her hair before making her way to the kitchen.

Opening the fridge, she was met with neatly packed containers of food—dishes she knew you had spent hours making. Everything labeled, everything carefully stored so it wouldn’t go to waste.

She felt like absolute shit.

Her heavy boots barely made a sound as she climbed the stairs, already dreading what she’d find. And there you were, curled up in bed, buried under the blankets, breathing softly in the quiet of the night. The dim light from the window cast a soft glow on your face, peaceful in sleep, but Sevika could see the dried mascara smudged at the corners of your eyes.

She clenched her jaw. Guilt gnawed at her as she grabbed the blanket at the foot of the bed and gently draped it over you, tucking it in around your shoulders. You deserved better than this.

She stripped out of her work clothes, took a quick shower to wash off the exhaustion of the day, and slipped under the covers beside you. Careful not to wake you, she reached out, letting her fingers trail lightly along your arm before pressing her forehead against your shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” she whispered, voice thick with regret. “I should’ve been here. I should’ve—” She exhaled sharply, her breath warm against your skin. “I love you. I love you so much, and I fucked up. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

You stirred slightly, shifting to face her, your sleepy eyes barely open as you hummed, “S’fine, Sev…”

But it wasn’t fine.

Sevika stayed awake long after you drifted back into sleep, her mind racing with ways to fix this.

She was up before the sun the next morning.

It was her day off, and she intended to make up for yesterday in every possible way.

The first stop was the flower shop down the street. She picked out your favorite ones, making sure they were fresh, vibrant—the way you deserved them to be. Then she made a quick detour to a jewelry store, her eyes scanning the cases until she found it: a delicate necklace, simple yet elegant, one that perfectly matched the earrings she had given you a while back.

And, of course, there was the last thing. The thing you had been asking for for months now.

By the time she got home, the sun was just starting to rise, casting golden light through the windows. She carefully placed the flowers in a vase, set the small velvet box on the counter, and finally, set down the small pet carrier, where a sleepy kitten blinked up at her with wide, curious eyes.

Sevika smirked, scratching behind its ears before making her way upstairs.

You were still curled up in bed, the blankets tangled around you. Sevika sat on the edge of the mattress, brushing a few strands of hair from your face before leaning down to press a soft kiss to your temple.

“Baby,” she murmured, voice warm and low. “Wake up.”

You groaned, stretching slightly before blinking up at her, your voice still groggy. “What…?”

Sevika smirked. “I got something for you.”

You sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. And that’s when you saw it—the flowers, the box, and, most importantly, the tiny kitten now climbing onto Sevika’s lap, letting out a tiny meow.

Your eyes widened, and Sevika chuckled as she handed the kitten over to you. “Happy late Valentine’s Day, angel.”

You gasped, holding the little fluffball close. “No way. No way. You actually—,vika oh my god.” You grinned, pressing a quick kiss to her lips before nuzzling into the kitten.

Sevika watched you with a small smile, then grabbed the necklace box, flipping it open. “Figured this might go with those earrings you love,” she murmured, placing it into your hand.

Your breath hitched slightly as you looked at the delicate chain, your heart swelling.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you said softly, looking up at her with nothing but love in your eyes.

“I did,” Sevika corrected, reaching up to cup your cheek. “Because I don’t ever want you to think I take you for granted. I know I messed up, and I hate that I hurt you.” She exhaled, her thumb stroking your cheek. “So let me make it up to you, yeah?”

You smiled, leaning into her touch. “You already have.”

Sevika pulled you into a slow, lingering kiss, the kitten trapped between both of you as you laughed softly against her lips.

You kissed Sevika again, slower this time, your fingers threading into her damp hair, still smelling faintly of soap and something unmistakably her. She hummed into the kiss, her hand resting warm on the back of your neck, pulling you just a little closer.

The kitten mewed between you both, wriggling slightly, and you both broke apart with a soft chuckle.

“Guess we’ve got company now,” Sevika murmured, watching as the tiny creature nestled into the crook of your arm.

You cradled the little ball of fur, scratching behind its ears. “I can’t believe you actually got me a cat.”

Sevika smirked. “You’ve been begging for fucking months. Figured I’d stop pretending I wasn’t gonna cave eventually.”

You bit your lip, glancing at her. “Did you name them?”

She shook her head. “Figured I’d let you do that.”

You looked down at the tiny kitten, stroking its soft fur. After a moment, you smiled. “How about Lucky?”

Sevika raised a brow. “Lucky?”

You nodded, meeting her gaze. “Because I feel pretty damn lucky right now".

Something softened in her expression, and she leaned in, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “Cheesy,” she murmured, lips lingering against your skin. “But I like it.”

You grinned, tucking the kitten into the blanket before turning back to the little velvet box still resting between you. Carefully, you lifted the delicate necklace from its case, running your fingers over the cool metal. “Put it on me?”

Sevika nodded, taking the chain from you. You turned, pulling your hair to the side as she gently clasped it around your neck, her fingers brushing against your skin. Her touch lingered for a moment longer than necessary, and you felt the warmth of her breath against your shoulder.

“Looks good on you,” she murmured.

You turned back around, smiling up at her. “You always pick the best gifts.”

She huffed a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Not always. Sometimes I forget the most important ones.”

Your gaze softened, reaching up to cup her cheek. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

She exhaled, leaning into your touch, her eyes searching yours as if making sure you really meant it. And you did. Sevika wasn’t perfect—she worked too much, forgot things, and sometimes got caught up in her own head—but she loved you. She loved you enough to make up for her mistakes, enough to always try.

And that was enough.

“Come on,” you said, nudging her lightly. “We still have an entire Valentine’s dinner sitting in the fridge. Help me heat it up?"

Sevika smirked. “Anything for you, love.”

Together, you made your way downstairs, Lucky trailing behind you with tiny, eager steps. Sevika rolled up her sleeves, pulling out the food containers as you grabbed plates. The kitchen filled with the comforting sounds of soft laughter, the clinking of dishes, the warmth of home.

And as you sat together, sharing a meal in the early morning light, you realized that maybe, this was even better than a perfect Valentine’s Day.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

cw - yandere behavior, choso doing perverted stuff, bondage, problematic behaviors, smut, mdni, not proofread

imagining you and sick pervert!choso being roommates in an apartment together.

sick pervert!choso doesn’t like when you leave the apartment. he has some form of separation anxiety when it comes to you, but actually, he just loathes the idea that other people are getting to see you when he can’t.

sick pervert!choso who sets a curfew for you to help “ease his worries”. you agree because you like the fact that someone is watching out for you.

sick pervert!choso who ties you up to his bed when you break curfew one night. he doesn’t even touch you inappropriately. he just keeps you right where you belong: in his room.

sick pervert!choso who coos sweet condescending words to you while you’re tied up in his bed. “you know why i had to tie you up, don’t you?” you swallow thickly and nod your head. your eyes are glassed over from tears and the alcohol you had consumed earlier in the night.

sick pervert!choso who assures you that he forgives you for staying out past curfew. “it’s okay, baby. don’t cry. i just needed you to stay here with me for a little while, okay?”

sick pervert!choso who keeps you tied up until the next morning. he only unties you to lead you to the bathroom. he cares for you so tenderly as you shower and brush your teeth, but it’s right back to being tied down to the bed after your little break.

sick pervert!choso who admires you while you sleep. he loves how soft and vulnerable you look. it makes his dick twitch in his boxers, and he doesn’t understand why. he just knows he has to take his own bathroom break now.

sick pervert!choso who finally lets you go after a full day of being tied up, but he gives you big puppy dog eyes the moment you try to go to your own room, so of course, you sit with him and let him kiss the rope burns on your wrists.

sick pervert!choso who has a love/hate relationship with your job. he hates the fact that he has to share you with your job, and he hates that other men get to look at you while you work. what if they start getting the idea that they actually have a chance with you? then, choso will have to kick their teeth in :(

sick pervert!choso who also loves the time you’re gone sometimes because that’s when he gets to go shopping in your room! he breaks in, and he only steals a few things… like your used panties.

sick pervert!choso who will spray your perfume against his pillows while your gone. he will have a pillow with your perfume shoved against his nose while he chokes his throbbing cock with your panties.

sick pervert!choso who makes it a mission to fuck all of your used panties, leaving behind globs of cum in the crotch portion as he cries out your name however loud he wants to because you’re at your stupid job.

sick pervert!choso who noticed you’re taking far too long at work one evening. he’s blown up your phone with texts, and he finally checks the apple tag on your car that he accidentally left behind between the seats. you’re at a bar… without notifying him first.

sick pervert!choso who paces around the apartment all night, debating on just showing up at the bar, but he knows you’ll be upset with him for stalking you. his heart leaps into his throat as he hears the door open up.

sick pervert!choso has your back pressed against the door in record time. his nose is buried in your neck and shoulder as he’s trying to smell for anyone else’s scent on you. “where were you, baby? i was worried…”

“my boss brought us all out for drinks since we hit a big deadline, chocho. i’m sorry. my phone died.” you say as you rub his back, trying to soothe him from how tore up he was.

sick pervert!choso who leads you up to his room anyways to tie you up. you should’ve known better than to keep him worried and waiting like this! now he’s all pent up with too much possessive energy… he needs to see you bound to his bed to ease his anxiety.

sick pervert!choso forgot to hide the evidence of his activities all day. a few pairs of your panties are scattered around the floor, and he immediately tries to do damage control, but it’s too late. you already saw them.

“chocho, is this why my panties always go missing?” you ask as you pick up your favorite white cotton pair. you hold up the pair for him to stare at it with guilt in his eyes.

“i try to always return them!” he says with a small pout. “they smell like you. it helps me…”

sick pervert!choso who’s terrified that you’re going to give him a look of disgust. he knows that you’re going to hate him forever for being so sick and demented. he doesn’t want to have to, but he will drug you to keep you here with him. he loves that you stay willingly, but he’ll do whatever he has to do to keep you by his side.

“you do this while i’m at work?” you ask slowly. choso can’t see an ounce of disgust in your face.. only curiosity and something he can’t quite put his finger on.

after gathering his confidence, he finally nods his head, “and sometimes while you’re asleep…”

sick pervert!choso who’s awe struck when he watches you slide your panties out from underneath that sinful pencil skirt you wear to work. he’s nearly drooling out of his mouth as he looks at the pink lacy fabric.

“you want them?” you coax, and he’s quick to nod. the thought of being able to feel and smell them while they’re still fresh and warm… he’s about to cum in his pants from the thought.

“i’ll give them to you if you agree not to tie me up tonight,” you bargain with a knowing smile. “i also want to watch,”

holy shit. sick pervert!choso’s heart is hammering through his chest. this is like a fantasy come true. he reaches out and takes the panties from you, and he’s quick to hold them over his nose.

he groans and palms his throbbing dick through his pants as your scent fills his nose. he takes another deep breath, committing the scent of your pussy to his memory. he’s never experienced anything this divine in his life.

you sit on his computer chair as you watch your roommate fall apart over a simple pair of your panties.

you cross your legs together, watching as choso’s eyes are resting on you. he pulls out his massive cock, and be strangles the lacy pink fabric over it. he then slowly wraps his hand around the pace, and he fucks himself into your panties.

it’s truly a sight for sore eyes. choso’s leaned against his bed, whining and whimpering pathetically as he claims your panties again and again. he wishes he could shove the pillow over his nose, but then, that would block his perfect view of you.

sick pervert!choso would’ve never expected for his sweet roommate to react the way you do to the sight of him fisting his cock with your panties.

“fuck,” he growls, and he pumps his dick faster. the fabric is becoming slick with his own pre-cum. “you want me to mark your panties like this, baby?” he asks, managing to dirty talk you without stuttering or whimpering.

“yes,” you barely whisper. you’re so caught up in the sight of him — you almost forgot to reply to him.

his hips start to raise with each pump, and he feels himself getting close. he grips his cock tighter, imagining it was you gripping him like a vice while he fucks your tight pussy until you forget your own name.

a moment later, he groans as he quickly aims his cock, and he cums all over the crotch of your panties. rope after rope of his cum cover the pink fabric until it’s a sticky mess.

he pants as he looks over at you, and his heart is elated by the fact that you look just as desperate as he feels.

sick pervert!choso knows he could he making a mistake, but he takes a leap of faith based off your facial expression. “put them on,” he roughly demands, holding out your freshly ruined panties to you.

your eyes widen, and you look up at him with a little bit of uncertainty. however, you know you two are on a path of depravity now that you watched him claim your panties. you slowly take the panties from him, and you carefully slide them up your legs.

a moan escapes your lips as you feel his warm arousal press against you. it’s sticky and wet. it’s slightly uncomfortable, yet you’ve never been more turned on in your life. it was like a raw act of deprivation as you wore your panties that he had soiled.

“you like that, baby?” he asks, and he can’t help the small tremble in his voice. he desperately wants you to like it as much as he likes it. he’s enamored by the sight of your thighs clenching together. he might just make you wear the panties for the rest of the night.

you nod shyly with a small hum.

sick pervert!choso who never knew his roommate was a secret deviant freak until he watched you sit in panties filled with his cum all night long.

sick pervert!choso who falls even more in love with you after feeling so raw and close to you, and he has no idea that you have plans to ask him to use your panties while you’re wearing them next time <3

[kaisentine]

is the mikage corp’s heir trying to steal your man? you know that he probably is.

purple is a unique color, purple is a noticeable hair color, purple is a striking eye color, purple is the color you can see from your peripheral vision when nagi is snuggling up against your side.

“sei . . . did you invite mikage?” you lean down to whisper in his ear—referring to reo as mikage because you aren’t at all close at him nor do you think he likes you. anyway, nagi didn’t mention anything about inviting his best friend today.

he’s too lazy to look at you to respond but you see the way his head just barely moves when he opens his mouth, “nope.” he matches the volume of your voice. so was this considered a break in or . . ?

you fight the urge to cling onto nagi like a koala because reo just keeps . . . staring. “sei, he’s literally in your apartment.” you deadpan as quietly as possible whilst trying to keep audible for him to hear because you know damn well he’s about to fall asleep right on you shoulder.

this time, he moves his head to look up at you. then his eyes start wandering off to the side—did he finally see him? you get the answer when he starts speaking. “reo? why’re you here?” he asks the purple haired male—not bothering to mention how he got in because nagi was the one who gave him the keys.

finally, he actually steps out of the shadows. he looks scary like this, giving you a deadly glare. “sorry, did i interrupt? i was just going to check in on you.” he quickly switches up when answering your boyfriend. obviously he interrupted something . . . but to your dismay, nagi only shakes his head.

the night ends with nagi sandwiched by two people: his very lovely amazing partner and reo.

it feels like you’re in a constant competition with mikage reo. the way you lowkey have to fight with him to snag the place beside nagi.

you and reo glare at each other as soon as you guys see the vacant spot on nagi’s left side. it’s gonna be a race that reo wins, you know that for sure—you’re not even gonna try to win against a freaking scary 6’1 soccer player.

so while he is fast walking to his best friend’s side, you’re taking slow strides to catch up. it’s only a matter of seconds before he sits his ass down triumphantly in victory—you roll your eyes at him. when you do get to the destination, you’re giving him the “i’m gonna win in the end anyway” type of glare.

nagi obviously doesn’t care,he probably doesn’t even know what just transpired because he’s still on his phone playing some video game.

“sei, you’re still on that game?” you ask, standing on the other side beside him. he hums as a little yes to your question, you let out a fake chuckle. “you’ve been playing for too long, i wanted to show you something.” you pout and almost direct an evil grin to reo but stop because nagi pauses his game to look at you, grey eyes lazily staring back at you. “what’d you wanna show me?” he’s interested now, he hates surprises because it’s too much of a hassle to think about what it could be. “it’s in your bedroom,” you put an innocent smile at the end and he’s already jumping out of his chair. when you’re both leaving reo to sulk on the counter, you turn back to flash him a devious smile—the one you intended to give him the first time.

“we’ll be right back,” said nagi.

you guys were in-fact not right back.

reo later found you guys sleeping on nagi’s bed, bodies all up against each other.

i don’t think nagi understands the phrase “bros before hoes” nor does he understand “hoes before bros”. . . he doesn’t really care—he’s too lazy to give a fuck.

sticky note. i feel like nagi is lowkey a red flag or probably a yellow ( beige??? ) flag . . .

[mareastrorum]

I’m still not over Crokas getting the Stormgirdle.

Imagine you’re a dragonborn during the apocalypse. You lived in a city, then you got captured by assholes, and you were forced to work for them up until they shoved you into a cage to send you elsewhere. Like, you’re not very smart, you know that, but you know enough to be sure that this sucks. Then the nurse says actually you’re sick, you can’t go. (Actually, she whispered that you’re not sick, but for a moment, you thought maybe the patterns on your scales were bad, but it’s okay now.)

Okay, now the plan is to leave this bad place, but everyone keeps getting distracted by little animals that you haven’t seen recently. Then a fight breaks out, all your friends help you figure out what to do, there’s fingers growing out of the walls, and you manage to find a place to hide that isn’t collapsing.

After a few hours of struggling, you and your friends dig out of the ruins. Good news: all the bad guys are gone. Bad news: there doesn’t seem to be any one else here, and you only have a bit of food and water. And that one bronze dragonborn is a jerk, you’re gonna keep an eye on him. But you all agree to travel together to search for food and water.

Days go by. Just walking. You’re doing okay, but other people aren’t, especially not the kids, so you carry them and walk like a lizard. More walking. More walking.

Then, one night, when you were sleeping, you wake up because someone’s pouring water on you. It keeps happening to everyone, and it doesn’t make sense. Just water falling from the sky. You drink the water anyway like everyone else. Then you walk to the tree line and see a storm in the shape of a person walking in the distance.

The giant fucking looks at you.

It asks if you’re scared, and you can’t even attempt to lie, because it’s the size of a mountain. It asks if you’re gonna run, and you’re like, would that even work?

The mountain-sized cloud man laughs at you.

Then when he asks why you’re tired, you say you were carrying some kids, so he gives you a belt. It’s got dragon claws, which you aren’t sure how to feel about, but it’s otherwise a nice belt.

“….Belt.”

Because what the fuck else are you supposed to say?! A giant cloud gave you a belt! He made it out of mist and lightning, somehow it’s the perfect size for you, and it’s for carrying tired kids. What else would it be for?

Belt.

[bitchinbarzal]

Got you | J Hughes

summary: jack shows up in the middle of the night and you’re the only one he wants.

-

The insistent buzzing of your phone jolts you awake. Disoriented, you squint at the screen, the glowing numbers reading 1:37 am, before your bleary eyes focus on the name flashing across it.

Jack.

Your stomach twists. He never calls this late. Jack is the kind of guy who falls asleep with his phone still in his hand, mid-text, and wakes up at a reasonable hour with no recollection of what he was saying. If he’s calling now, something’s wrong.

You answer, voice thick with sleep “Jack?”

There’s a pause, just long enough to make your chest tighten. Then, his voice — low, quiet.

“Can you let me in?”

You don’t think. You just move. Throwing off the covers, you rush to your front door, unlocking it without hesitation. The second you pull it open, you see him stood with his hood pulled up, hands stuffed in his pockets, the dim hallway light casting shadows across his face.

“Jack—”

He steps past you, barely meeting your eyes, his movements stiff like he’s holding something back. He paces once before sinking onto your couch, elbows on his knees, hands laced together like he’s trying to keep himself from coming undone.

You close the door softly “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head.

Jack is rarely quiet. He’s the guy who always has a chirp ready, who fills silences with offhand comments or dumb jokes just to keep the energy light. But this is different. This is Jack stripped of all his usual defenses, and it unsettles you.

You sit beside him, close but not touching “Talk to me”

He exhales sharply, tipping his head back against the couch. For a second, you think he won’t say anything at all.

“I had a bad game”

Your heart aches at the way he says it. Like it’s more than that.

You frown “Jack—”

“I know” he interrupts “I know it’s dumb. I know it’s just one game, and I know I’ll bounce back, and I know it’s not the end of the world” His voice strains on the last part, and he shakes his head, jaw clenched “But I couldn’t shut it off. The way I played, the way I let the team down. I got in my own head, and I couldn’t stop. I didn’t know where else to go”

The last part is barely a whisper.

You exhale slowly.

So this is why he’s here.

He didn’t come for empty reassurances. He didn’t come for someone to tell him it’s fine, that it doesn’t matter.

He came for you.

For the quiet. For the comfort.

You don’t say anything at first. Instead, you shift closer, reaching for his hand. He tenses at first, but then exhales, letting you thread your fingers through his. You squeeze gently.

“It’s not dumb” you murmur. “I know how much you care. That’s not a bad thing”

He lets out a shaky breath, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against your skin “I just feel like I can’t get out of my own head sometimes. Like I’m never enough, no matter what I do”

Your chest tightens. Jack Hughes; rising superstar, face of a franchise, beloved by an entire city and yet, sitting here in the dim glow of your apartment, he’s just Jack. He is a boy who puts too much pressure on himself, who carries the weight of expectations too heavily on his shoulders.

You wish you could take some of it from him.

But all you can do is be here.

“You don’t have to figure it out alone” you whisper “I’m here. Always”

Something shifts in his expression. His fingers tighten around yours like he’s grounding himself in your presence. For a long moment, he just looks at you, something unspoken hanging in the air between you.

Then, he moves.

He leans into you, head resting on your shoulder, body finally relaxing for the first time since he walked through the door.

You stay like that. Wrapped up in each other, your fingers still laced together. You don’t fill the silence with meaningless words. You just exist beside him, letting him take what he needs.

And when his breathing evens out, when the tension in his body finally eases, you press a soft kiss to the top of his head and whisper

“I’ve got you”

And you do.

Always.

[starkwlkr]

just need to let old man logan rest his head on some tits after a long day of getting his ass handed to him🙏🏽

it’s been a long day | old man logan

an: back at it again with the old man logan fics 😩

The door creaked open, and Logan stepped inside, bloodied knuckles aching, the sting of fresh bruises settling into his ribs. He kicked off his boots with a weary grunt, wincing at the tight pull in his shoulder. Another long night. Another fight. Just some punks trying to take his goddamn car—his car. Like he was just gonna let them.

His coat hit the floor, and he dragged himself to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face. The reflection staring back at him was the same as always—tired eyes, grizzled beard, streaks of blood smeared across his jawline. He cleaned up as best he could, wiping away the worst of it, then shuffled down the dim hallway, exhaustion weighing on him like lead.

You were already asleep when he got to the bedroom, curled up under the sheets, your slow, steady breaths the only thing in the quiet room. The sight of you—peaceful, warm—made something deep in his chest unclench. He didn’t want to wake you. He really didn’t. But he needed you.

With a low sigh, he climbed into bed and shifted closer, pressing his face against your chest, his weight settling over her as he rested his head between your breasts. You stirred, murmuring something soft and sleepy, your fingers instinctively threading through his silver hair.

“Logan?” You whispered. Even in the dark, you could tell he was in a bad shape.

“It’s been a long day,” he muttered, his voice sounding rough and worn.

Your hands moved gently, smoothing over his scalp, fingertips tracing slow, soothing lines. He exhaled against your skin, tension slowly ebbing away under your touch.

“You’re hurt,” you continue whispering, pressing a light kiss to the top of his head. “Let me take care of your wounds.”

“Don’t move. Stay,” He mumbled. He was far too comfortable in his current position. And he for sure wasn’t going to let you clean his wounds, he could do that himself in the morning. Right now, all he wanted was to be in bed with you. “I’m . . Okay.” He could feel himself getting sleepier by the second.

You kept running your fingers through his hair, slow and rhythmic, the way you knew calmed him. "Go to sleep, Logan. I’ve got you."

That night, Logan slept so peacefully, he swore you had magic that made him sleep so well. Whatever it was, it made him look forward to sleeping each night.

[rafecswhore]

rafe grieving about ur breakup so much to the point where he breaks down in front of u (angst and fluff?) tysm <3

authors note: I LOVE THIS IDEA ALSO hope this does you some justice; sorry for the late response !!

he thought he could handle it.

he told himself over and over that this was for the best, that if you didn’t love him anymore, he had no choice but to move on.

but fuck—why did it still feel like you were everywhere?

your name haunted him. it was in the laughter of passing strangers, in the lyrics of songs he used to hear you hum absentmindedly, in the scent of his hoodie that you wore more times than he did.

everywhere he looked, he found pieces of you. pieces that refused to fade.

and god, it was killing him.

he wasn’t supposed to be like this. he wasn’t supposed to care this much. he wasn’t supposed to be the one breaking.

but he was.

and it all came to a head the night he saw you again.

it wasn’t even supposed to happen. he had been avoiding you, staying away from places he knew you’d be, because every time he saw you, it felt like his ribs were caving in. but there you were—standing outside the party, arms wrapped around yourself against the cool night air, looking at him like you weren’t sure if you should speak.

for a moment, he thought about walking away. but then you said his name.

and just like that, he was unraveling.

“rafe,” you whispered again, like you knew. like you could see right through him.

he inhaled sharply, shaking his head, his throat tight. “i don’t—” he cut himself off, rubbing a hand down his face. “i can’t do this.”

“do what?” your voice was gentle, but it only made it worse.

“this.” he gestured vaguely between you. “pretending like i’m okay. pretending like it doesn’t still fucking hurt.”

the words slipped out before he could stop them, before he could shove them back down where they belonged. his breath hitched, his hands clenched into fists, but it was useless—he was already breaking.

“rafe…”

“you left,” he said, voice raw, eyes stormy and lost. “and i don’t know how to live with it. i don’t know how to be without you.”

the confession shattered something in the air between you.

he exhaled shakily, his chest rising and falling unevenly, and when he looked at you again, there was something in his eyes that made your stomach twist.

desperation.

“i don’t sleep,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “i don’t eat. i don’t feel like—fuck—i don’t even feel like a real person anymore.”

your breath caught.

“i pick up my phone a hundred times a day, and i don’t even know what to say to you,” he went on, words tumbling out of him in a way that felt out of his control. “i keep thinking… if i had just done something different, if i had just—”

his voice cracked.

and then, before you could even register what was happening, he was breaking right in front of you.

his shoulders slumped, his breath coming out in short, shaky gasps. his hands ran through his hair, like he didn’t know what to do with them, like he was trying to physically keep himself together.

“tell me what to do,” he whispered. “tell me how to make this stop.”

your chest ached.

because this wasn’t the rafe cameron the world knew—the sharp, confident, untouchable boy who never let anyone see him bleed. this was the real him. the one you had spent years knowing, loving, understanding.

and right now, he was falling apart.

before you could think better of it, you stepped forward, reaching for him.

the second your hands touched his face, his breath hitched, his skin burning under your fingertips. his eyes fluttered shut, his jaw clenching, and for a moment, he just stood there, letting himself feel it.

letting himself feel you.

“you’re going to be okay,” you whispered, even though you weren’t sure if it was true.

his grip on you tightened, his forehead dropping against yours. “i don’t know how to be okay without you.”

“you will be,” you promised, though the words tasted like a lie.

he exhaled shakily, his arms wrapping around you in a way that felt desperate, like he was afraid to let go. his fingers clung to your back, his breathing uneven, and for a few long moments, neither of you moved.

and maybe, just for tonight, you let him hold you.

maybe, just for tonight, you held him back.

[forcaleb]

bouquets, bracelets, and big plans — caleb

warnings — fluff, valentines day fic, caleb is so in love with you btw

notes — the yandere fic had to be postponed because its valentines day and i had to write a fluff fic teehee :) tags: @aomiiine @sydneybee @tojicide

today is the first valentine's day you celebrate with caleb. since reuniting with him, you’ve been planning a bunch of surprises for when he finally comes home to linkon for the occasion. you’ve already booked two seats at the movie theater for a film you and caleb have been dying to watch and made a reservation at a five-star restaurant.

however, a text from caleb shatters your plans.

caleb: sorry, pipsqueak :( turns out i’ve got a ton of paperwork to handle, so i might not be able to come home tonight T^T

caleb: forgive me? i’ll make it up to you tomorrow. promise.

you: that’s okay! i understand :) just don’t forget to get enough sleep tonight, or else.

caleb: okay, okay :)

caleb, being your soft spot, makes you forgive him easily, but disappointment still creeps into your heart. It’s always like this. caleb is rarely home, and when he is, it’s only for a short while.

sighing for the tenth time today, tara pats your back. “plans ruined?”

you nod, groaning as you cover your face with your hands. “yeah… he said he has too much to do tonight, so he might not make it home.”

“oh, y/n,” tara says, giving you a comforting hug. “maybe he’ll make it up to you tomorrow? he only said he might not make it tonight, right? so cheer up! he’ll definitely make time for you tomorrow.”

tara’s enthusiasm brings a small smile to your face. “yeah, you’re right. i shouldn’t be too disappointed. i know he’s busy. thanks, tara.” she flashes you a grin and returns to her desk.

just as you refocus on your work, your phone buzzes. the caller id surprises you—it’s caleb.

you answer quickly. “caleb? what’s wrong?”

“hey, pips,” caleb greets, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “are you done with work yet?”

“i’ve got a few more things to wrap up, but they can wait until tomorrow. why? what’s up?”

“mind heading home early?” his tone carries a hint of mischief. “i’m downstairs.”

“wait, what?!” you exclaim, standing abruptly. everyone turns to look at you as tara giggles in the background. “you’re downstairs? right now? why? i thought you said you’d be working tonight!”

“calm down, princess. just come downstairs, and I’ll explain,” caleb says before hanging up.

you stare at your phone in disbelief. “did he really just hang up on me?” you mutter, though a smile creeps across your face. “tara, where’s jenna? can i-”

“you can go, y/n,” tara says with a grin. “i’ll let her know where you went. it’s almost clock-out time anyway. have fun!”

you thank tara silently with a nod, grab your things, and rush to the elevator, jabbing at the button impatiently.

when you reach the lobby, you spot caleb’s car parked out front. he’s leaning against it, and when he sees you, his eyes light up. “hey, princess.”

“caleb!” you hurry to him. “what-? i thought you said you couldn’t come home until tomorrow! did you lie to me?” you cross your arms, pretending to be angry.

caleb doesn’t answer immediately. instead, he opens the passenger door to reveal a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a bracelet from your favorite jewelry store.

“caleb…”

“sorry i lied,” caleb begins, handing you the bouquet. “but will you forgive me now?” he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “this took all evening to put together since it was a bit last-minute. and the bracelet… i had to-”

“you don’t need to explain,” you say, giggling. “i love the gifts, and i love you. even if you’d come without them, i’d still be happy just to spend the night with you.”

“since when did you get so cheesy?” caleb teases, and you pout, smacking his arm lightly.

“okay, okay!” he laughs. “i take it back. i love it when you’re cheesy.” then he grins. “i heard you made reservations, huh?”

you blink in surprise. “yeah… how’d you-” then it hits you. “tara told you, didn’t she?”

“mm-hmm,” caleb admits. “since we still have time before the reservation expires, want to head over now? i bet you’re hungry.”

“i’m starving,” you whine. “i was about to cancel, but then you called.”

caleb picks up the jewelry box from the seat and opens it, revealing a silver bracelet with an apple charm.

“how’d i know you’d pick the apple one?” he says, carefully helping you put it on. it fits perfectly.

“i knew it’d look beautiful on you,” he murmurs with a proud smile. he sturing for you to get into the passenger seat, he adds, “i promised i’d make it up to you, didn’t i?”

as he settles into the driver’s seat, caleb glances at you. “after dinner and the movie, i have something else planned.”

“what is it?” you ask, curious.

caleb’s eyes gleam with mischief. “you’ll see. let’s just say… it involves working out, if you know what i mean.”

your eyes widen. “caleb!”

[aspenmissing]

Okay. This one is specific and hyper indulgent. This past week (last Friday to today) I've worked 70 something hours. With two fourteen hour days back to back on days lol

Could we have some sweetness from Arcane boys for an overworked s/o who's in healthcare (working with folks with intellectual disabilities. If you don't want to get that specific I don't blame you, and a generic 'medic' of sorts would be fine, too)

ʀᴇꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴇᴀʀʏ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴄʟᴀɢɢᴏʀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ-ɪꜱʜ || 3714 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ʙᴜʀɴᴏᴜᴛ, ᴏᴠᴇʀᴡᴏʀᴋɪɴɢ, ɴᴇᴀʀ ꜰᴀɪɴᴛɪɴɢ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʏᴀʀɴ! ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ, ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ʙᴇ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ʀᴇꜱᴛ ᴡʜᴇɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ! ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴏᴜɴᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ʀᴇꜱᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴄᴀɴ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴀᴛ ʙʀɪɴɢ ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴄʟᴀɢɢᴏʀ

JAYCE

Y/N had always been the kind of person who pushed through. She had to be. Working in healthcare, caring for those with intellectual disabilities, was more than a job—it was a calling. But lately, it felt like the weight of the world had settled on her shoulders, refusing to budge.

Long shifts bled into sleepless nights, and exhaustion settled into her bones like a second skin. She barely had time to eat, let alone rest, and Jayce had noticed. How could he not? The dark circles under her eyes, the way her hands trembled when she tried to hold a pen, the distant look in her gaze when she thought no one was watching—it all worried him.

Jayce had never been one to sit idly by when someone he loved was hurting. And he loved her. He loved her in ways he couldn't put into words, but if there was one thing he knew for certain, it was this—he wasn’t going to let her burn herself out.

So when she stumbled through the door after another grueling shift, her coat barely making it onto the hook before she collapsed onto the couch, Jayce knew he had to intervene.

Y/N groaned softly, rubbing her temples as she lay sprawled across the cushions. Her entire body felt like lead. Just the thought of moving again made her want to cry.

Jayce crouched beside her, his warm hand brushing against her cheek. "Y/N," he murmured, his voice filled with concern.

She hummed in response, her eyes fluttering open just enough to meet his gaze. The sight of him, so soft and worried, made her chest ache.

"Have you eaten today?" he asked, his voice soft but firm.

She hesitated. That was answer enough.

Jayce sighed, shaking his head. "You can’t keep doing this to yourself."

She let out a tired laugh. "It’s fine, Jayce. I just need a little—" A yawn interrupted her words. "—a little rest."

"No," he said gently but firmly. "You need a break. A real one. Not just a ten-minute nap before you push yourself into another shift."

She closed her eyes, exhaling slowly. "I don’t have time for a break."

"You don’t have time not to take care of yourself," he countered, his thumb brushing over her cheek. His touch was grounding, but it also made the guilt rise in her chest. "What if you get sick? What if you collapse in the middle of your shift?"

"They need me," she whispered.

Jayce’s jaw clenched, his expression softening even more as he leaned in closer. "And I need you," he said, voice barely above a breath. "You take care of everyone else, but who's taking care of you?"

She swallowed hard, staring at him like she wasn’t sure how to answer that. Because the truth was—she hadn’t thought about it.

Jayce ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly before standing up. He didn’t give her room to argue as he gently took her hand, coaxing her up from the couch. "Come on," he said, his voice softer now. "Let’s go to bed. You can sleep in tomorrow, and I’m making you breakfast. No arguing."

"Jayce, I can’t just—"

"Yes, you can," he interrupted, unwavering. "You deserve rest. You deserve to be taken care of too."

Her resolve wavered. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the warmth of his hand wrapped around hers, but she let him pull her into his embrace.

She melted against him, burying her face in his chest as he held her close. His arms were strong, steady, the kind of warmth that made her feel safe. He pressed a lingering kiss to the top of her head, and for the first time in what felt like weeks, she let herself breathe.

VIKTOR

The apartment was dimly lit, the soft glow of a single lamp casting long shadows against the walls. Y/N barely had the energy to remove her coat as she stepped inside, her shoulders slumping under the weight of exhaustion. Her limbs felt like lead, her mind hazy from another grueling shift. Healthcare was rewarding, but it was also relentless. The long hours, the emotional toll of caring for individuals with intellectual disabilities, the paperwork—there was never enough time, and yet, she pushed through.

The soft clink of metal against the wooden floor echoed through the quiet space, pulling her from her thoughts. Viktor stood at the end of the hall, his cane in hand, concern evident in his golden eyes. He didn't say a word at first, simply watching her as if assessing the full extent of her weariness.

“You’re home late,” he finally murmured, stepping forward with a slight limp. “Again.”

Y/N let out a breathy chuckle, though it lacked any real amusement. “Yeah. I know.”

She turned to hang her coat, but before she could, Viktor gently reached for her wrist, his touch featherlight yet firm. “Come sit,” he said softly, guiding her toward the couch. He was careful, mindful of the way her body sagged with exhaustion.

She didn’t resist. She couldn’t. The moment she settled onto the cushions, the weight of the day threatened to pull her under completely. Viktor knelt beside her, his cane resting against the couch, his hands finding hers. He traced slow, deliberate circles against her palm, grounding her.

“You do too much,” he whispered. It wasn’t an accusation, merely an observation, spoken with the quiet concern of someone who knew her far too well.

“I have to,” Y/N replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “They need me.”

“And I don’t?” Viktor tilted his head, lips twitching with something unreadable. “Because I do. More than you know.”

Her breath hitched at the sincerity in his tone. Guilt gnawed at her edges, but before she could argue, Viktor lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss against her knuckles.

“I am proud of you,” he admitted, his voice raw with emotion. “You have the heart of a saint, but even saints must rest.”

A lump formed in her throat. “Viktor, I—”

“Shh.” He shook his head, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Let me take care of you tonight.”

For the first time in weeks, Y/N allowed herself to let go. She melted against Viktor as he guided her to lie down, resting her head in his lap as his fingers threaded gently through her hair. The steady rhythm of his touch, the warmth of his presence—it was enough to quiet the storm inside her, if only for a little while.

“You can’t keep going like this.” Viktor murmured, his brow furrowing slightly as he gazed down at her. He brushed his fingers gently over her cheek, concern laced in every touch.

Y/N exhaled, closing her eyes for a moment. “I don’t have a choice,” she muttered. “They need me.”

Viktor shook his head. “And I need you too,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “I see what this is doing to you. Let me help.”

Her breath hitched, and she felt Viktor’s fingers tighten around hers. She wasn’t alone. She had him. And maybe—just maybe—she could lean on him, if only for a little while.

JAYVIK

The apartment was dark when Y/N stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind her. It was late—too late—and exhaustion pressed against her bones like a vice. She exhaled a deep breath, rubbing at her temples as she toed off her shoes. The day had been long, draining, and thankless. She loved her job, truly, but some nights, it took everything out of her.

Her body moved on autopilot as she drifted into the kitchen, her fingers fumbling with the fridge handle. Food. Water. She needed something, anything to keep her from collapsing into bed on an empty stomach. But her hands shook, her limbs sluggish as she reached for a glass from the cupboard. She barely registered the way her grip faltered before—

Crash.

The sound of shattering glass rang through the apartment, snapping her out of her daze. Y/N blinked down at the mess, the broken shards scattered across the floor, twinkling under the dim light. Her heart thudded in her chest as frustration burned behind her tired eyes. She was too exhausted for this.

Footsteps—quick, concerned—echoed from down the hall. Viktor appeared first, his cane tapping softly against the floor as he approached, eyes wide with worry. Jayce followed close behind, his broad form shadowing the doorway.

“Drahá, what happened?” Viktor’s voice was thick with concern, his accent wrapping around the words as he immediately stepped forward. (Dear)

“Are you okay?” Jayce asked, already reaching for the broom in the corner.

Y/N let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “I—yeah. Just dropped a glass,” she mumbled, but her voice wavered, betraying her.

Viktor’s sharp gaze flickered over her, taking in the slump of her shoulders, the exhaustion in her eyes, the way she was barely keeping herself upright. He sighed, setting his cane aside carefully before placing his hands on her waist, grounding her. “You should be resting, not cleaning up broken glass at this hour.”

Jayce knelt down, sweeping up the mess without hesitation. “You’ve been overworking yourself again, haven’t you?” His tone wasn’t accusatory—just worried, just soft.

Y/N swallowed, guilt curling in her stomach. “I had to stay late. Some of my clients needed extra care today.”

Jayce huffed out a breath. “That’s always the case, isn’t it?” But there was no anger in his voice, only gentle exasperation. He stood, dumping the glass into the bin before turning back to her. “Come on, let us take care of you for once.”

Viktor tugged her closer, pressing a feather-light kiss to her temple. “Sit. I’ll make you something to eat.”

“You should be resting too,” she murmured, leaning into him despite herself.

He chuckled, a quiet, warm sound. “Ah, but I am stubborn. And you, lásko, are exhausted.” (Love)

Jayce wrapped an arm around both of them, his warmth seeping into her bones. “He’s right. You take care of everyone else—let us take care of you.”

Y/N wanted to argue, to insist she was fine. But her body betrayed her, leaning into them, melting against their touch. She sighed, finally letting the weight of the day slip from her shoulders. “Okay,” she whispered.

Viktor pressed another kiss to her hair before pulling away to start cooking. Jayce guided her to the couch, settling beside her, his hand never leaving hers.

VANDER

The streets of Zaun were quiet at this hour, the dim glow of the undercity’s lights casting long shadows as Y/N made her way back to the Last Drop. Her feet ached, her limbs felt heavy, and exhaustion settled deep into her bones, but she pressed on. She always did. The job was grueling, demanding, but she couldn’t turn away from the people who needed her—those who relied on her care, on her patience, on her unwavering presence.

By the time she reached the familiar door of the bar, the front was already closed up for the night. She slipped inside, careful not to make a sound as she locked it behind her and made her way toward the living area. The soft sound of Vi’s breathing, the occasional sleepy murmur from Powder, and the quiet shifting of Mylo and Claggor let her know that the kids were all safe and asleep.

Relief should have settled in her chest, but instead, the weight of the day threatened to crush her. Her legs barely carried her to the couch before she sank down onto it, head in her hands as she tried to steady herself.

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.

It didn’t help.

Her vision blurred as hot tears slipped down her cheeks, silent at first, then shaking sobs wracked her frame. She had been holding it in for so long—every frustration, every overwhelming moment, every pang of guilt for feeling like she wasn’t doing enough.

She didn’t even notice the soft creak of floorboards until a warm, familiar presence settled beside her. Strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her close, and the scent of smoke and leather surrounded her.

“Y/N,” Vander’s voice was rough with sleep, gentle with concern. “What’s wrong, love?”

She couldn’t answer, not at first. She just buried her face against his chest, hands clutching at his shirt as if he was the only thing keeping her from shattering completely. And maybe he was.

He didn’t rush her, didn’t push for words. He simply held her, one hand stroking slow, soothing circles on her back while the other cradled the back of her head.

“You’re workin’ yourself too hard again,” he murmured after a long silence, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You can’t keep doin’ this to yourself.”

She shook her head against him. “They need me, Vander,” she whispered, voice raw. “I can’t just stop.”

“They need you, yeah. But so do I. So do the kids.” He pulled back just enough to cup her face, wiping away the tears with his calloused thumbs. “And you can’t help anyone if you run yourself into the ground.”

She let out a shuddering breath, her body finally beginning to relax against him. She knew he was right, even if the guilt still gnawed at her. But in this moment, with his arms wrapped around her, she allowed herself to let go—just for tonight.

“C’mere,” Vander murmured, shifting so he could pull her fully onto his lap, tucking her against him like she was something precious. “Rest, love. I got you.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed herself to believe it.

SILCO

The dim glow of the flickering lamp cast long shadows across Silco’s office, illuminating the stacks of paperwork that awaited his attention. He sighed, rolling his sleeves up as he stepped inside, feeling the familiar weight of exhaustion settle onto his shoulders. But the moment he did, his sharp gaze landed on the worn couch tucked into the corner of the room. There, curled up in exhaustion, was Y/N.

His footsteps softened as he approached, his chest tightening at the sight of her. Her uniform was slightly disheveled, the fabric creased from a day spent tirelessly tending to others. The faint scent of antiseptic clung to her, mingling with the natural warmth of her skin. A clipboard lay discarded beside her, barely hanging onto the couch, a sign that she had likely intended to work but succumbed to exhaustion before she could even begin. The dark circles beneath her eyes, the way her body seemed so small, curled up against the armrest—it all painted a picture of just how hard she had been pushing herself. His jaw tightened, irritation prickling at the back of his mind—not at her, but at the cruel reality that forced her into such relentless dedication.

Silco crouched beside her, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face with the backs of his fingers. She was always so strong, so unwavering, yet here she was, fragile in her fatigue. Y/N stirred slightly but didn’t wake, only letting out a small sigh as she unconsciously shifted toward his touch. The sight of her like this made something in his chest ache in a way he rarely allowed himself to feel.

“Why are you here?” he murmured, more to himself than to her. He had expected to find her at home, asleep in their bed, not here—drained and vulnerable, asleep in his office like some exhausted soldier who never knew when to rest.

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open at the sound of his voice. She blinked up at him sleepily, taking in the concern that lingered in the hard lines of his face. Her lips parted, voice hoarse from sleep, “Didn’t wanna wake you.”

Silco exhaled sharply, his expression shifting into something unreadable. “You could have.”

She gave a small, tired smile. “You work too much already… thought I’d let you rest.”

Silco shook his head, taking a seat on the couch beside her. He placed a hand on her back, rubbing small, slow circles as he let out a rare sigh of frustration—not at her, but at the situation. At how much she gave to others, so much so that there was nothing left for herself. He had seen it time and time again—the way she poured every ounce of herself into her work, refusing to acknowledge the toll it took on her.

“You push yourself too hard,” he muttered.

Y/N let out a breath of amusement, her fingers weakly grasping at the fabric of his sleeve. “Takes one to know one.”

His lips twitched, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he shifted until he was settled against the couch, pulling her gently into his arms. Y/N sighed as she melted into his warmth, tucking her head beneath his chin.

Silco’s hand continued its slow movements on her back, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns. He could feel the steady rise and fall of her breath against him, her weight pressing into his side in a way that felt so utterly human. He was a man who built walls, who allowed few people close enough to see past his defences—but she was different. She had a way of slipping past his barriers without effort, of settling into the spaces he thought had long since been abandoned.

“You need rest,” he murmured against her hair, his voice softer now.

“Mm. Just for a little while.”

Silco didn’t argue, simply holding her as the weight of the day finally pulled her back into sleep. His own exhaustion crept up on him, settling behind his eyes. The flickering lamp cast a warm, golden glow over them, illuminating the rare moment of peace they shared. And for the first time that evening, he let his own eyes close as well, allowing himself to rest alongside her, if only for a little while.

CLAGGOR (AU)

Y/N sat at the kitchen table in their small apartment, staring at the glowing papers that had been scattered in front of her. The documents, full of notes and reminders, reflected the exhaustion that had been taking over her lately. Another long day at the healthcare clinic, filled with paperwork and endless tasks. People needing attention, patients needing guidance. She had been working for hours already, but there was no end in sight. The piles were only getting bigger, a mountain that seemed impossible to climb.

Her shoulders ached from the weight of the work, and her head throbbed with the onset of a headache she couldn’t seem to shake. Every day, it was the same—overworked, pushing herself to do it all because she couldn’t bear to leave anyone behind. But tonight… Tonight, she wasn’t sure if she could keep going.

“Y/N?” The familiar voice of Claggor echoed from the living room. His deep voice was tinged with concern, his usual carefree nature now clouded by the realization that something was off.

“I’m fine,” she replied, her voice faint and tired, though she wasn’t sure if she truly believed the words herself. She heard him pause before he entered the room, his footsteps slow and deliberate.

Claggor stood in the doorway, his gaze soft as it landed on her hunched figure. His hand rested gently on the frame as he leaned against it, studying her. Y/N didn’t meet his eyes, keeping her focus on the work before her.

“You’re not fine,” he murmured, stepping closer. “You’ve been at this for days, haven’t you? Don’t lie to me.”

Y/N sighed, pushing the papers aside as she finally looked up at him. “Claggor, you don’t understand. There’s so much to do. The people I work with, they need me, and if I don’t give them everything I’ve got, who will? I don’t want to let anyone down.”

Claggor's expression softened, his lips curling into a small, knowing smile. He sat down beside her, his large hand gently brushing the back of hers. “Y/N,” he said softly, “you’re one of the strongest people I know. But even the strongest need a break sometimes.”

“I don’t know how to stop,” she whispered, her voice cracking with exhaustion. “I don’t know how to rest when there’s so much to do.”

He leaned in closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into the warmth of his chest. His comforting embrace felt like a safe haven from the storm inside her. “You don’t have to do everything alone. You don’t have to push yourself past your limits. I’m here for you.”

Y/N closed her eyes, leaning into him, letting his words sink into her. “I’m just so tired, Claggor. I don’t know if I can keep going like this.”

“You don’t have to keep going like this, love,” he said, his voice steady and comforting. “You’ve already done so much. Let me help you. We can face it together.”

He reached over, pulling the papers away from the table and tossing them aside. “For tonight, you don’t need to worry about them. I’ve got you.” He brushed his fingers against her cheek, wiping away a tear that had escaped without her noticing.

Y/N turned her head, her forehead resting against his shoulder as she let out a soft, relieved sigh. “Thank you,” she whispered, her body sinking into his embrace as if it had been starved for this kind of care.

Claggor pressed a kiss to her forehead, his arms tightening around her as he whispered, “You’re my everything, Y/N. Rest now. We’ll face tomorrow together, and we’ll take it one step at a time. But tonight, just let yourself be here with me.”

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Y/N allowed herself to just be. With Claggor’s arms around her, she didn’t have to be anything more than what she was—a woman in love, in need of care, in need of rest.

And for the first time in days, she finally allowed herself to sleep, knowing that she didn’t have to carry the weight of the world alone anymore.

[curatedcurios1ty]

(18+, fingering. reader has a pussy)

It had been a long week, and honestly, it had been even longer since you’ve masturbated.

It’s not that you dislike devildom or anything..it’s just a little frustrating not having any time to really take care of yourself.

So when the perfect night rolls around, with most brothers out of the house (lucifer meeting with diavolo, mammon doing god knows what, asmo clubbing, levi at a convention with beel tagging along, and satan at book club). You take full advantage.

And so, that’s how your night begins, you’re under your blanket with your knees up, underwear hanging off of one ankle, your hand makes its way between your legs and you sigh, finally.

And yeah maybe you’re kinda excited to be able to cum, too excited in fact. To the point where you almost (almost) miss the click of your door opening.

Dammit!

God Dammit. That’s it, you decide, the entire universe must be against you. Shouldn’t he be sleeping? Fuck! You drop your knees back down onto the bed. Belphegor makes his way over to the bed, he’s just about to get under your covers when you reach out a hand to stop him.

“Hold on, not tonight.” Thankfully he pauses, fist wrapped around the blanket.

“Why not?” His voice is soft, he’s almost pouting.

“It’s just…because, i’m busy right now.” You don’t have the heart to tell him what you were actually doing. Yet, after a moment of silence he’s already pressing forward again.

His expression shifts into something quizzical, like he’s trying to figure something out. You see him sniff the air around you and look back at you.

“You’re turned on. Were you masturbating?”

God fucking dammit. This is embarrassing. Is it a demon thing? You knew Asmodeus could sense lust, but can Belphie really smell your arousal? Well if he knows, he should be giving you space now. You hope.

“Uh, yeah actually,” That was still mortifying to admit, your body feels hot in more ways than one. “That was my plan for tonight, so maybe you should nap someplace else?” Even after all of this you still want to cum.

Instead of listening to you, Belphie fully slides under the covers. His eyes hold this intensity you’ve never seen before, and it’s all directed towards you.

“Let me help you, turn around.” He sounds more serious than you’ve ever heard. You don’t know what compels you to but you obey, turning so he’s pressed up against your back.

He wedges his head into the crook of your neck and inhales. “Let me take care of you.”

One of his hands traces along your side until it reaches the swell of your ass. He gives it a light squeeze before gripping your cheek and using it to push it to the side, giving him access to your pussy.

He uses his fingers to spread your pussy open, and fuck, you’re glad he can’t see how soaked you are..it’s just been so long.

As soon as that thought passes through you, feel his other hand reach under you. He drags his middle finger over your throbbing clit down to your sopping, wet hole before pulling back completely. You can’t help but moan, his touch is delicate yet deliberate. You want more.

You’re about to ask him why he stopped when his hand comes out from under the covers and into view. He holds it out in front of the two of you.

“Wow, you’re really wet, huh?” You can’t help but to be in awe as well. The digit is shining in slick juices, only made worse when he spreads it over to his pointer finger with his thumb.

“Belphie, keep going,” You don’t think you can take this teasing, not when he’s still holding you open. “please.”

“Okay.” The fingers disappear from view, a moment later you feel them on your clit rubbing in small circles. You move to grind on them but the hand on your ass holds you in place.

This continues for a while, you’re getting more turned on by the second. It’s good, but you need more.

“Put a finger inside.” You expect the ones on your clit to fulfill that task, but instead he stops holding you open to wriggle his other middle finger inside you. Fuck, it’s almost too much it’s-

“So good.”

He’s mouthing along your neck as he stretches you with his finger. He’s slow with it, but it feels like you’re on fire. Soon, you feel him slip out completely and trace over your hole with two fingers.

“Can I add another?” You nod, not sure if your voice would come out whole. Slowly, his fingers push in, and you gasp. He reaches so much deeper than you could on your own.

Slow thrust turn into slight stretching, which then turns into him curling his fingers. Hitting that gummy spot that makes your mind go blank.

“Do you think you could come, just like this?” His breath is hot against your neck, hell, everything is hot right now.

“Yeah, I could. Keep going, please.” And you mean it. Fuck, your orgasm is so close you can taste it. Like he can read your mind, his hands speed up. You’re moaning louder than before. And just like that something snaps.

You feel yourself clench around his fingers during your orgasm. Your sure belphie can feel it too, from the breathless way he says your name as his hands slow back down.

You’re still blinking hard from the aftershock when he finally pulls away. You turn your body to see him wipe his fingers on the corner of the blanket. Too out of it to say anything, you try to remember to wash it later.

He turns back to you and looks you in the eyes. Even if his face is flushed you can tell that he’s utterly exhausted. Your point is proven by how he cuddles up to you and completely deflates.

“Can we sleep now?” Any reply you would have giving would be useless. His eyes closed, and breathing already slowing down. You decide that you could save a real conversation for later.

For now you’ll just lie down with him.

[wvyik]

you wanna?.. d.w. ᝰ.ᐟ

dean winchester x fem! reader

summary; dean’s been acting weird all morning, but you don’t think much of it — until he casually slides something across the table between bites of waffles. And just like that, your whole world tilts.

warnings; mdni!! pre-established relationship, aggressively casual proposal, dean being a menace as usual, fluff so sweet it might kill you!!… eventual smut (because let’s be real, this man does not propose without following through. is skip able though!!). dirty talk, dom! dean, oral sex, praise kink, unprotected sex, after care cause ima softie.

notes; AHH!! had so much fun with this one. tysm for all the support >ᴗ< i appreciate you all!! tbh this is the best thing I’ve ever written in a while. we love dean with a happy ending. ꒰˶  - ˕ -꒱ buckle up for the spicy stuff later!! as always, feel free to drop a comment or yell at me if you’re feeling some type of way about this. i’m here for it.

words; 4420

It’s early. Too early.

You’re exhausted in that way only hunters understand— the kind that seeps into your bones, makes your muscles ache, keeps you in that hazy space between asleep and awake, even with a steaming cup of coffee cradled between your hands.

Dean, of course, looks annoyingly good for someone who barely got any sleep. His hair is a mess, there’s a fading bruise on his jaw from last night’s hunt, but he’s still effortlessly him — green eyes warm with amusement, shoulders relaxed, mouth curling into a smirk as he watches you fight to keep your eyes open.

“You look like you got run over,” he says, the corners of his lips twitching.

You take a slow sip of your coffee, staring at him blankly. “Thanks. You always know just what to say.”

He chuckles, reaching for his own mug. “Just speakin’ the truth, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes but don’t argue. Not now, anyway. You’re definitely too tired for that.

The sound of Dean shuffling around the motel room pulls you out of your half-sleep. You crack open one eye, only to find him already dressed, boots laced up, and pacing with that ‘we’re about to hit the road’ look in his eyes. His leather jacket is hanging on the back of the chair.

You rub your eyes, groaning, and try to keep the sleepiness from spilling out of you. “Do we really have to go now?”

Dean grins, not even bothering to look at you. “You know how I feel about sitting still.”

You roll your eyes again, itching to bargain with him, but knowing if you did, he’d just drag you into whatever shenanigans he had planned for the day anyway. After a couple of minutes, the room starts to feel too small, and the silence is making your head spin, so you sit up. The plan— at least, the unspoken one — was to hit the road after a quick breakfast, and you’ve learned that when Dean Winchester says quick, he means quick.

The car ride isn’t long. Dean’s humming along to the radio, steering with one hand as he swerves around potholes, and you’re trying to ignore how damn good he looks in the morning light filtering through the car windows. Eventually, the sound of the engine and the warmth of the sun lull you into a comfortable quiet. You’re barely paying attention when you both pull up to an old diner on the side of the highway, a place that looks like it’s been around longer than you’ve been alive.

Dean parks and shoots you a look and smirks. “I’ll bet you ten bucks the pie here could change your life.”

You raise an eyebrow but don’t question it. You know better than to doubt him by now.

The diner is quiet, just a few truckers scattered at the counter, the hum of conversation mixing with the low crackle of an old radio playing Blue Öyster Cult in the background. The air smells like burnt coffee and bacon grease, and the vinyl booth seat sticks slightly to your thigh where your jeans have a tear, but it’s…nice.

Comfortable.

It’s one of those rare, normal mornings. No hunts lined up. No immediate danger. Just you, Dean, and a crappy little diner on the side of the road.

You should’ve known he was up to something.

Dean’s been acting weird all morning.

Not in an obvious way. He’s still teasing you, still stuffing his face with an ungodly amount of waffles and bacon, still shooting you that signature smirk every time you make a face at him.

But his knee is bouncing under the table. His fingers keep drumming against his coffee cup. And every once in a while, you catch him looking at you — this soft, thoughtful expression flickering across his face before he shakes it off.

You think about asking. But then your waitress swings by again, and Dean immediately perks up, flashing her a charming smile as she tops off his coffee.

“Another round of waffles, darlin’?” she asks, clearly smitten. You don’t blame her.

You smile softly behind your mug as Dean leans back, cocky as ever. “Wouldn’t say no.”

The waitress laughs, shaking her head. “You got a hell of an appetite.”

“That’s what she said,” Dean mutters under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

You kick him under the table. He deserved that one.

By the time the waitress walks away, Dean is already back to his food, completely unfazed. You shake your head, cutting into your own waffle, stealing one of his bacon strips just to be a menace. He lets you.

And then— casual as anything, like he’s commenting on the weather— he reaches into his pocket, pulls out something, and slides it across the table toward you.

A ring.

Just sitting there. Between your plate and the salt shaker.

Your brain short-circuits. You stare at it, then at him. Then back at it.

Dean, the absolute menace that he is, doesn’t even look up from his food. Just swipes some syrup with his fork, chews, and— without a single ounce of drama — says,

“You wanna?”

You blink. Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Because what the hell is happening right now?

Dean finally looks at you, chewing like this is just another Thursday.

“What?” he says around a mouthful of food.

Your heart is slamming against your ribs. You feel warm all over, but you can’t tell if it’s from the crappy diner coffee or the fact that Dean Winchester just proposed to you like he was offering you the last french fry.

“That’s your proposal?” Your voice comes out hoarse, disbelief and laughter mixing in your throat.

Dean tilts his head, squinting at you. “What, you want me to get down on one knee in a greasy diner?”

“You literally just slid it across the table like it was a packet of sugar!”

He shrugs, still watching you, still unreadable in that way that makes your stomach flip. “Ain’t exactly my style, sweetheart.”

Your fingers shake as you reach for the ring. It’s simple— silver, understated, perfect. It feels warm from being in his pocket, the edges smooth against your skin.

Dean’s watching you carefully now. The teasing is gone, replaced by something softer, something quieter.

And that’s when it hits you.

Dean Winchester— who has faced monsters, demons, literal hell — is nervous. Like he’s bracing for impact. Like there’s a real, tangible fear in him that you might say no.

Your throat tightens.

“You really want this?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

Dean exhales through his nose, sets his fork down. He leans forward slightly, arms resting on the table, eyes locked onto yours.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice steady now, sure in a way that makes you melt. “I already got you. This is just making it official.”

Your heart stumbles. Because of course he’d say it like that. Like it was never even a question, like you already belonged to each other. Like you always would.

The ring feels solid between your fingers, grounding. It’s not grand or flashy. It’s him. It’s you. It’s perfect.

And god,

You don’t cry, but it’s a close thing.

You swallow hard, slip it onto your finger. It fits like it was meant to.

Dean watches, lets out a breath like he was holding it for years, and then— because you know him, because you love him— you smirk and say,

“You better get me a pie for this.”

That knocks the tension right out of him. His mouth quirks, the easy grin sliding back into place. “Damn right, I will.”

And just like that, you’re engaged. Not with a big speech. Not with grand gestures. Just this. Just him.

In a tiny diner off the highway, with bad coffee and waffles and the love of your life sitting across from you, grinning like a fool.

You bite your lip, trying to hold back the flood of emotions building up in your chest. You weren’t expecting this. Hell, you didn’t even know you needed it. But now that it’s here, now that he’s here, you feel like your whole world is shifting into place.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” you whisper, leaning your forehead against his.

Dean chuckles, the sound deep and warm. “You’re the one that’s perfect, sweetheart. I’m just lucky.”

You shake your head slightly, not sure how to respond. You’ve been together for so long now, and yet, this moment still feels like a beginning. Like everything that came before— every hunt, every stupid argument, every late-night conversation— it was all leading to this. To this small, simple, perfect moment in a stupid dingy diner.

Dean cups your face, tilting your chin up so you’re looking directly at him. There’s a quiet intensity in his eyes, and for once, you see a rawness that he doesn’t always show.

“You know that’s the thing,” he murmurs. “It’s not about what you deserve. It’s about what you’re willing to fight for. And you—” He pauses, his thumb gently brushing over your cheek. “You’re worth every damn fight, sweetheart. Always will be.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, and you realize you’re not even breathing properly. It’s overwhelming, the way he can say so much with so little. His words hit you deeper than you expected, more than you thought you needed.

“I’m in this. All the way, okay?” he says softly, like he’s reminding you, like he’s trying to make sure you know it, truly know it. “I don’t do half-assed. Not with you.”

“I know,” you reply, your voice barely more than a whisper, the emotions bubbling up.

His lips press against your forehead, soft and tender. And in that moment, you know—you know—that you’re not just his. He’s yours too. No matter what comes next, you’re a team.

Dean pulls back, a playful smile tugging at his lips again, trying to break the weight of the moment. “So, uh, you think I could maybe get a little ‘yes’ out of you? Just a tiny one?”

You laugh softly, your chest full. You tilt your head, looking up at him with a smile that feels too big for your face. “Yeah. Yeah, you could.”

Dean’s eyes light up, a twinkle in them like he’s won the lottery, like this was the answer he’s been waiting for. He presses another kiss to your lips—brief, but meaningful.

And for the first time in a long time, you feel like you can breathe. Like the world, in all its chaos, has paused just for you two. Like nothing else matters except the person standing in front of you.

You know there will be bad days, tough hunts, and fights, but for now, this moment is enough. This love is enough.

And you, you finally feel like you’ve found where you belong.

“Guess we should finish our waffles, huh?” Dean says, the mood lightening again, but his hand still resting on yours.

You chuckle, your heart still racing. “Yeah. But let’s take it slow, okay? We’ve got all the time in the world.”

Dean grins, that cocky, perfect grin you know so well. “Works for me.”

As you both finish your meal— laughing, talking about whatever random thing crosses your mind— there’s an understanding between you two now. You don’t need big gestures or flashy moments to know what’s real.

What’s real is here. What’s real is you two.

And it’s always been that way.

Back in the motel room, the door clicked shut behind you with a soft thud. The dim light from the lamp on the nightstand cast long shadows across the room, the only sound the faint hum of the old air conditioning. The weight of the night pressed in on you— quiet, comfortable, and full of possibilities you weren’t ready to voice just yet.

Dean kicked off his boots and tossed his jacket onto the chair by the door, then turned to face you. There was something different in his eyes now, something deeper, as if the last few hours had opened up a door neither of you could walk away from.

You stood by the bed, your heart thumping in your chest, but your feet seemed glued to the floor, unsure of what came next. His gaze flickered down to your hand, still resting in his from the diner, then back up to your face. That smile— always so effortless, so charming— pulled at the corner of his lips.

“You good?” he asked, voice soft, but with that low, steady warmth you knew so well.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your words barely escaping as your breath hitched. Your heart was racing, but you felt rooted to the spot, unsure if you should make the first move or wait for him to pull you in again.

Dean’s eyes never left yours as he slowly closed the distance between you, his movements slow, deliberate. You could feel the space between you getting smaller, the air in the room suddenly feeling thicker, charged with that same electricity you couldn’t ignore.

When he finally reached you, his hand came up to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was soft, but there was no mistaking the heat in his fingers, the way they lingered just a little longer than necessary, as if he was trying to memorize the feel of your skin.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, eyes fluttering shut for a second, just to take in the moment. He was so close now. Close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off of him, close enough that the faint scent of the leather jacket he had left behind filled your senses.

Dean’s lips brushed against yours with a familiarity that made your heart skip a beat. This wasn’t the first time— far from it— but each time felt like it was. Every kiss was still a little bit like a spark, each one lighting a new fire. And tonight, there was something different. Something deeper, even though you’d been here before.

His fingers trailed down your arm again, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing every inch of your skin as if he couldn’t get enough of it. You shifted beneath him, feeling the tension of the moment settle between your legs, but it wasn’t rushed. It never was with him.

“You know what you do to me, right?” Dean’s voice was low, rougher now, but laced with that familiar tenderness. He didn’t need to say it, not really. You could feel it in every touch, every lingering kiss.

You nodded, your lips parting as you leaned up to meet him halfway, pressing your body closer to his. You’d been here before, but that didn’t mean it ever lost its power. It was still just as electrifying, just as sweet.

His hands moved to the waistband of your jeans, pausing for just a moment as his eyes locked onto yours, searching for any hesitation. But there was none. You didn’t need words; your body told him everything. Your jeans met the floor with a slight thud.

With a deep, almost frustrated sigh, Dean pushed your jeans down just enough to slide his hand under them, his fingers skating over the curve of your hip. It was familiar, comforting even, but the way he touched you now felt different. There was a slowness, an intentional care in every movement. Like he wanted to savor you this time.

His lips met yours again, but this kiss was slower, more languid, as if he was taking his time, soaking in the moment. He kissed you like he was letting his feelings pour into every movement, every press of his lips, until the rest of the world disappeared.

“You make me forget everything else, you know that?” Dean’s breath was hot against your ear, his hands expertly undressing you, but it was still slow. As if he was enjoying the feel of your skin more than the outcome of it. You could tell that this wasn’t about rushing, about getting to the end. This was about being with you, right here, right now.

You breathed his name again, a plea more than a whisper, and Dean, ever the attentive lover, responded immediately, his lips trailing down your neck, to your chest, as his hand wandered over you, knowing exactly where to touch to make your breath hitch.

But this time, it wasn’t about the heat of the moment— it was about the slow, delicious build of something bigger. His lips left a trail of soft, lingering kisses across your skin as his hand gently slid down your side, his touch grounding you to the bed. His body moved against yours with that familiar rhythm, but tonight, it felt like it meant more. Like you meant more.

He paused for just a moment, looking at you with those eyes—dark and soft all at once. “I love you, ‘s fucking much. I wanna make you feel so good, baby.” His voice was thick with something deep, something serious, and it made your chest tighten with emotion.

You nodded, pulling him back to you, pressing your lips to his with a fierce intensity. It wasn’t just the physical connection anymore. This was something that went deeper, something stronger than before. And you wanted it. You wanted him.

Dean groaned as you tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as he moved between your legs. You moan, as he skillfully worked his fingers in you, slowly climbing on top of you— as your head hit the not-so-soft pillows on the bed. You could feel the thrum of his heartbeat against yours, steady and strong.

“Dean…” The word came out like a breath, your fingers gripping his shoulders as you tugged him back up, wanting his lips on yours again. He smirked, just slightly, but there was nothing playful in the way his eyes held yours. It was all raw, all real.

“Easy,” he whispered, voice gruff but gentle as his thumb traced over your lip. “Atta girl, doing so good for me.. Don’t worry bout’ it, we can take your time.”

You nodded, your eyes heavy with desire but filled with trust. “I need you, De..” Your voice was soft, but there was a definite edge to it. The words felt like they had weight, like they meant something. Something more than just this moment.

He exhaled deeply, eyes darkening as his hand slid to your waist, guiding you beneath him as he moved down on you, slipping your panties fully off. The space between you was so minimal now that it felt like you were one.

His mouth lightly sucked on your needy clit, his thick fingers still working their magic inside you. You couldn’t help but let out an almost pornographic moan. You were so close, he could tell.

“Mhm, honey.. let it out, cum on my face,” he whispered against your needy pussy. The stubble on his jaw teasing you even more, as he practically buried his face in your wetness.

Oh, you were a goner. “Dean— fuck, I’m gonna—“ You didn’t even finish your sentence as the orgasm came rushing through you. As dean still worked, still slurping up your juices in his mouth like his life depended on it.

He finally let his face out of between your thighs, kissing you gently— letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“You’re incredible,” Dean muttered, his voice raw as he pressed his forehead against yours, breathing deeply. “Never forget that.”

You met his gaze, your chest tight with emotion. “I won’t. Not with you.”

Dean’s lips found yours in a deep kiss, and as he slowly pulled back, his hand moved to your waist, gently coaxing your hips up against his. His jeans came off, so did the shirt — the sound of the zipper loud in the quiet of the room, and you felt a rush of heat flood your body again. He was so close, and yet, there was still something in the way he touched you that made everything feel like it was building to something more.

“Don’t tease me,” you whispered, your voice a little breathless, but there was a hint of playfulness too—something you knew he’d pick up on.

He smirked, his lips brushing your jaw as his body settled between your legs. “Me? Tease?” His voice was a teasing mockery of innocence, but there was nothing innocent in the way he touched you, nothing at all.

“Oh, yeah, and this? Off.” He gestured to your shirt, earning a chuckle from you. He skillfully pulled the shirt off of you, unclasping your bra with ease, gently touching up on your breasts.

Dean’s eyes never left yours, that fire still burning in them, but there was a softness there too, a tenderness that made your chest tighten. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, the words slipping from his lips like a prayer. His lips moved to your neck again.

You looked at him wide-eyed, as he pressed his lips back onto yours briefly, before sliding one hand down his boxers, pulling his hard cock out of its confinements, already leaking with pre-cum. You never get tired of seeing it, really.

There’s a hunger in his gaze, but it’s a hunger you recognize—one that’s been building between you two, one that isn’t just about tonight. It’s deeper, quieter, but oh so real.

“Y’ ready for me?..” he murmured, and you could only respond with a soft ‘mhm’ sound, too turned on to make any proper sentence.

You’re not just the next moment in line for him— you’re everything. His hand on your skin, his body pressed to yours, it’s all proof of the quiet trust that’s been growing between you since day one.

You can feel the way his chest rises and falls with each breath, as he slowly pushes inside of you, his heart beating steady against yours. It’s like he’s giving you all of him, in this simple, quiet way, and you know you have his heart just as much as he has yours

“That’s it— Jesus, sweetheart. You’re still so fucking tight, can’t believe it’” he chuckles slowly, and you whimper when he finally gives all of himself for you. And he waits for your permission to start moving.

“De.. okay— you can move.” You manage to say breathlessly after a little bit. Nothing can prepare you for that moment, though. As he slowly moves in and out you swear you see stars. And gosh, the sounds that fill the room, it’s so goddamn good, you think before biting down the moan.

“Mhm, yeah.. So fuckin’ perfect, angel, you’re doing so well for me.” He almost whimpered. Goddamn you, Dean — And your filthy mouth.

His lips found yours again, and the kiss was deeper this time— full of assurance, of trust, of a promise that nothing could tear apart. You could feel how much he believed in the two of you, in the bond you shared.

His hands roamed your body, confident and firm, like he knew exactly where to touch to make you lose your breath. Every movement was purposeful, a teasing promise of what was to come.

“De— m’ so close, please” you managed to whimper through the moans, trying to keep up with his pace with your hips.

His lips lingered along your neck, kissing and nipping at your skin, his breath hot against your ear. “I know baby, me too. You can come, sweetness, m’ right there with you.” he murmured, his voice a hushed growl that sent shivers down your spine.

As you both reached your climax, you can’t help but smile. After the world-shifting intensity of the moment, you both lay there, tangled up in sheets and each other. Dean shifted just enough to pull you close, his chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm against yours, as though he was grounding himself in the softness of your presence.

His fingers brushed gently through your hair, the touch so tender it was almost as if he was trying to memorize every strand, every curve of you. The warmth between you didn’t need words; it was enough to feel him there, still connected to you in every possible way.

“Are you okay?” Dean’s voice was low, but it carried that softness you’d only hear when the walls were down and he wasn’t trying to hide anything. There was a genuine worry in his tone, an unwavering need to make sure you were feeling just as safe and cared for as he felt.

You nodded against his chest, your hand resting over his heart, feeling the steady beat that reminded you of the calm after the storm. “I’m perfect,” you whispered, your voice still a little breathless, but full of warmth.

Dean chuckled softly, the sound low and comforting, like it always was when he felt content. “Good. ‘Cause I’ve got you, and I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured, pulling you closer, his arm draping over you protectively as if making sure you stayed there, safe in his arms.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, the gesture soft and caring, his way of showing that there was more to him than just the physical connection. It was always about the little things—the way his touch lingered, the way his eyes softened when he looked at you, like you were the only person in the world that mattered.

There was no rush to get up, no need to fill the space with words that didn’t need to be said. You both understood each other in the quiet.

Dean’s thumb brushed against your hand in a rhythm that made you feel grounded, like he was telling you he was there in ways that didn’t need to be explained. Slowly, you let your eyes flutter closed, wrapped in the softness of his care, feeling safer than you had ever felt.

He kissed your forehead again, his voice barely above a whisper. “We’re good, you and me. Always gonna be good.”

And in that moment, with the faintest smile tugging at your lips, you knew he meant every word. The world outside the room didn’t matter, not when you had this—this peace, this love, this feeling of being completely and utterly cared for.

taglist; @lieutenantchaos ⊹ ࣪ ˖

tysm for reading pooks! more works incoming @ library. ⊹₊⟡⋆

── all rights reserved © 2025 wvyik | do not repost, copy, translate, or alter my work

[luvashli]

ESCAPISM PT.2

SYNOPSIS -> After a night with Ni-ki, Y/N returns to her toxic relationship with Heeseung. But what happens when Heeseung finds out about Ni-ki?

PAIRING -> non!idol!ni-ki x fem!reader x non!idol!ex!heeseung (heeseung is very toxic)

GENRE -> oneshot, romance, drama, angst, suggestive, emotional, mature, toxic love, love triangle

STARTED -> 2/14/2025

STATUS -> complete

WC -> 4k

click here for part 1

click here for part 3

Masterlist

The first time Heeseung calls, you ignore it.

The second time, you stare at the screen, fingers hovering over the answer button before letting it ring out again.

The third time, he sends a message.

"Please. Just talk to me."

And that’s how you end up here—sitting across from him in the dimly lit corner of a restaurant, the air between you thick with unspoken words.

He looks the same. Maybe a little more tired, maybe a little more hollow. But he’s still him. The man you once loved, the man who once broke you.

"I know I messed up," he says quietly, fingers gripping the edge of the table. "I shouldn’t have let you go."

You exhale, forcing yourself to stay composed. "Then why did you?"

His throat bobs. "Because I was scared. Because I didn’t know how to love you the way you needed me to." His eyes meet yours, raw and pleading. "But I do now. And I don’t want to lose you again."

Something inside you clenches.

You should walk away.

You know you should walk away.

But instead, you whisper— "What if it’s too late?"

"It’s not," he murmurs. "Not if you let me fix it."

You don’t say anything. But you don’t pull away, either.

It happens later that night.

You’re standing in his apartment, the familiar scent of him wrapping around you like a memory you thought you’d buried.

Heeseung stands close—too close. His fingers trace up your arm, slow and deliberate, testing the waters.

“We can be happy again," he whispers against your skin, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You shudder. "Heeseung—"

"Shh." His hands slide to your waist, pulling you closer. "Just let me show you."

Heeseung kisses you like he’s trying to erase the past.

Like he can undo the nights you spent without him, the cold emptiness of your bed, the arms that weren’t his wrapped around you.

And you let him.

Because maybe if you let him touch you, hold you, have you, things will fall back into place. Maybe if you just let him love you like this, everything that was broken will mend itself.

His hands are familiar, tracing the same paths they once knew—along the curve of your waist, the slope of your back, the soft skin of your thigh. He moves slowly, as if savoring the feeling, as if memorizing you all over again.

"You’re so beautiful," he breathes against your lips, voice rough with longing. "I missed you."

Your chest tightens.

Because you want to believe him.

You want to believe that this isn’t just about holding onto what’s slipping away.

But his grip on you is desperate, needy. The way he pulls you onto his lap, fingers pressing into your skin, is laced with something heavier than just desire.

It’s possession.

It’s fear.

"Tell me you’re mine," he whispers, lips trailing down your jaw, leaving heat in their wake. "Tell me you’re not going anywhere."

You hesitate. But then his fingers slide under your shirt, his touch burning, his mouth moving lower—and suddenly, it’s easier to give in.

"I’m yours."

The words slip past your lips, barely above a whisper.

And when he groans softly, tightening his hold on you, you convince yourself that this is love.

That this is how you fix things.

That this is enough.

Even if a part of you knows it’s a lie.

---

The morning after, you wake up tangled in Heeseung’s sheets, his arm heavy around your waist.

For a moment, everything feels right. The warmth of his body pressed against yours, the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the way his fingers absentmindedly trace circles on your skin.

"Morning," he murmurs sleepily, voice rough with sleep.

You turn your head, meeting his gaze. His brown eyes are soft, filled with something that looks like love.

And you let yourself believe it.

"Morning."

---

The first few weeks pass in a blur of soft touches, late-night talks, and sweet apologies.

Heeseung is different now—attentive, loving, careful with his words. He asks about your day, surprises you with flowers, pulls you into his arms like he never wants to let go.

You tell yourself this is how love is supposed to feel.

You tell yourself you’re happy.

But then, the cracks start to show.

---

It’s little things at first.

The way his grip tightens just a little too much when you mention going out with friends.

The way his mood shifts when you don’t answer his calls right away.

"I just don’t want to lose you again," he says, forcing a smile when he catches himself. "You understand, right?"

And you nod. Because you do.

Because this time will be different.

But then one night, you’re getting ready to meet up with some friends—just a small gathering, nothing crazy. You’re slipping into a dress when Heeseung leans against the doorframe, arms crossed.

"You’re going out?"

You hesitate. "Yeah. Just for a little bit."

His jaw tightens. "Do you really need to?"

You pause. The air between you shifts.

"Heeseung, it’s just—"

"I just think," he cuts in smoothly, stepping closer, "we haven’t had much time together lately. Don’t you think you should stay?"

His fingers brush your arm, featherlight. His gaze is soft, pleading.

"For me?"

You swallow. The answer should be no.

But you think about the way he held you last night, the way he whispered that he loved you against your skin.

So instead, you nod.

"Okay."

And just like that, you cancel your plans.

---

Your friends stop calling as much.

Your world starts to shrink, revolving around only him.

And deep down, something in you aches.

Because this isn’t what happiness should feel like.

Because love shouldn’t feel like a leash.

But then Heeseung pulls you into his arms, kisses your forehead, and whispers, "I don’t know what I’d do without you."

And you let yourself believe that this is enough.

That this is love.

Even if it’s breaking you.

---

The evening air outside is cool, but inside your apartment, the tension between you and Heeseung is thick, suffocating. You stand by the window, arms crossed over your chest, eyes trained on the glowing city below.

Heeseung’s voice breaks the silence.

“Why do you have to make everything so difficult?” he asks, frustration lacing his tone. He stands near the door, adjusting his jacket, clearly ready to head out.

Your eyes narrow slightly, your patience wearing thin. “I’m not making anything difficult. You’re just going out with your friends, right?”

“Yeah, but that’s not the point.” Heeseung turns to face you, his face soft but still laced with annoyance. “You know I don’t like you going out without me. You always say you’re fine with it, but I can see how it affects you.”

Your heart drops. You can feel it, the weight of his words, as if he's saying them to make you doubt yourself. But why is he still so controlling? Your own voice sounds small in your chest when you speak, “I told you I’m fine, Heeseung. I don’t see why I can’t go out too.”

Heeseung takes a step toward you, his hand reaching out to lightly graze your arm. “I don’t trust these people you hang around with, Y/N. You know I care about you, and it’s because of that, I don’t want you out there alone. It’s dangerous.” His voice softens at the end, like he's being caring, protective, but you recognize the manipulation beneath his words. The way he always tries to frame his possessiveness as care.

“You think I can’t take care of myself?” you ask, your voice trembling with barely contained frustration. You turn to face him now, standing tall, but inside you're fighting the urge to cave in to his controlling ways. “You always treat me like I’m fragile, like I need your permission for everything.”

Heeseung steps closer, almost too close, and his eyes soften. “I’m just looking out for you. Don’t you get it? I don’t want anyone else getting in your head. You’re mine, Y/N. And I know you understand that. Why can’t you just trust me?”

You feel a sickening twist in your stomach. Why can’t you just trust him? It’s the same argument he’s always used, and for some reason, in this moment, it makes your chest feel tight.

He sees the hesitation in your eyes. “You’ve never had a problem with it before. You trust me, right?”

And there it is, the subtle insinuation—that if you truly loved him, you’d give in. That if you didn’t comply, it would mean you didn’t trust him, or worse, you didn’t care about him.

You hate it. You hate the way he makes you question yourself.

But despite everything, you find yourself nodding. “Fine. I’ll stay in,” you mutter, your voice quiet, surrendering to the weight of his words. You tell yourself it’s just for tonight. That it's no big deal. But deep down, you know this pattern will repeat itself. One night becomes two, then three.

Heeseung smiles, his hand reaching for yours. “Good. I’ll be back later, okay? We’ll do something together tomorrow.”

You nod mechanically, your heart sinking as he pulls you into a tight hug. You’ve given in again. You’ve allowed him to manipulate you with his promises of love and protection, just like he always does.

And yet, even as you feel his warmth around you, a part of you knows that you're losing yourself again. But for tonight, you push that thought aside.

You don’t have the energy to fight anymore.

When he leaves, the door clicks shut behind him, and you stand there in the silence, alone with the heaviness of what you’ve allowed to happen.

---

Your thoughts swirl, conflicting emotions rising to the surface. You want to be free of this. You want to stand up for yourself, for your own independence. But the fear, the guilt, and the years of manipulation cloud your mind.

With a sigh, you sit down on the couch. You don’t want to admit it to yourself, but you know—you’re still stuck in this cycle.

---

It starts with a casual conversation.

Heeseung and Ni-ki sit in a dimly lit lounge, drinks in hand, unwinding from the weight of the week. It’s routine, something they do when schedules align. The music hums low, people talk in murmurs around them, and Heeseung doesn’t think much of it—until Ni-ki starts talking.

"Met this girl a while back," Ni-ki says, swirling his drink. "Shit was crazy."

Heeseung barely reacts, bringing his whiskey to his lips.

"She was all dressed up, drinking like she was running from something."

A pause.

"Kept saying she didn’t wanna feel anything."

Something sharp scrapes the back of Heeseung’s mind.

"Took her to my hotel after. Best damn night I’ve had in a while."

Crack.

The ice in Heeseung’s glass splits. His fingers tighten around it, jaw clenching.

No. It’s a coincidence. Just some random girl.

But then Ni-ki keeps talking.

"She had this way of looking at me—like she was trying to forget someone else." Ni-ki chuckles, shaking his head. "Didn’t tell me much about him, though. Just that he fucked her up bad."

“She also had this cute flower tattoo on her back.“

Blood rushes in Heeseung’s ears.

His stomach drops, nausea curling at the edges of his mind.

Because it’s not just some random girl.

It’s you.

And suddenly, it’s like everything in him snaps.

The next thing Ni-ki knows, Heeseung is shoving back his chair, the legs scraping loudly against the floor. He stands so abruptly the drink nearly spills from his glass.

Ni-ki blinks. "What’s your problem?"

But Heeseung doesn’t answer.

He’s already storming out the door.

---

You barely have time to react when the pounding starts on your apartment door.

Not a knock. A demand.

Your stomach twists, a feeling of dread crawling up your spine.

You already know who it is before you even reach for the handle.

When you open the door, Heeseung is standing there, chest heaving, eyes dark with something unreadable.

"What the hell—"

But before you can finish, he steps inside, slamming the door shut behind him.

Your breath catches.

"Say it.“ His voice is dangerously low.

You frown. "Say what?"

He steps closer. You instinctively take a step back.

"Tell me Ni-ki is lying."

The air freezes.

Your pulse pounds in your ears, but you force yourself to keep your face blank.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about."

But the way Heeseung laughs—low, humorless—tells you he already knows.

"Don’t fucking lie to me, Y/N."

He’s close now, eyes locked onto yours, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. He looks at you like he’s trying to rip the truth out of you.

You swallow.

"Heeseung—"

"Did you fuck him?"

Silence.

And that’s all the confirmation he needs.

His jaw clenches, his hands curling into fists at his sides. You can see the way his shoulders rise, his whole body rigid with rage, betrayal, something deeper.

"You’re unbelievable." He lets out a harsh breath, shaking his head. "One fucking mistake, and you run off to my friend?"

Your thoughts come to a halt at the word friend.

Your own temper flares. "Are you serious? You ended things with me first, Heeseung!"

"That doesn’t mean you had to spread your legs for the first guy who gave you attention!"

The slap comes before you can stop it.

Sharp. Immediate. Deafening.

His face barely turns from the impact, but the moment it happens, everything changes.

His expression shifts. The anger is still there, but something else lurks beneath it now—hurt, disbelief, something breaking.

Your chest is heaving. So is his.

And that’s when the door swings open.

Ni-ki walks in, brows furrowed. "What the hell is going on—"

Ni-ki just sees a girl.

Sees Heeseung.

Sees the way your hand is still trembling from the slap. The way Heeseung’s entire body is coiled like a snake ready to strike.

Realization crashes over him like a tidal wave.

"You." Heeseung’s voice is venom.

Ni-ki barely has time to register what’s happening before Heeseung lunges.

Ni-ki doesn’t see the punch coming.

One second, he’s standing there, confused as hell, trying to piece together why Heeseung looks like he’s about to murder someone—

And the next, a fist collides with his jaw.

The impact is sharp, sending him stumbling back into the doorframe. Pain explodes across his face, shock flashing through him before it turns into something hot and violent.

"What the fuck?!" Ni-ki spits, touching his jaw, already throbbing.

But Heeseung isn’t done.

Before Ni-ki can fully recover, Heeseung is on him again.

Another swing—this time, Ni-ki blocks it. His arm jerks up on instinct, catching Heeseung’s fist before it can land another hit.

"What is your problem?!" Ni-ki snarls, shoving him back.

And that’s when he sees your face.

You’re standing there, frozen, your breathing shallow.

And suddenly, it clicks.

The girl from the club. The one he spent that unforgettable night with.

It was you.

Ni-ki’s stomach plummets.

"Holy shit." His breath comes out uneven, his mind spinning. "You—her—fuck."

But Heeseung doesn’t give him time to process.

"You knew." His voice is deadly. "You knew, and you still fucked her."

Ni-ki’s eyes snap back to him, something flashing in them. "Are you insane? I didn’t know shit!"

But Heeseung doesn’t care.

He lunges again, tackling Ni-ki to the floor.

Fists fly. Knuckles collide with skin.

It’s raw, unfiltered rage.

Heeseung lands another hit, his fist crashing against Ni-ki’s cheek, sending his head snapping to the side. But Ni-ki isn’t defenseless. He shoves Heeseung off, flipping them over, pinning him down with a hand fisted in his shirt.

"You’re a fucking psycho," Ni-ki growls.

Heeseung spits blood. "And you’re a backstabbing piece of shit."

Ni-ki loses it.

His fist slams into Heeseung’s ribs, making him grunt. Heeseung retaliates with a knee to Ni-ki’s stomach, forcing him back just enough to send another punch into his face.

You snap out of it.

“Stop!" Your voice cuts through the chaos.

Neither of them listen.

They’re tangled in hatred, betrayal, years of unspoken tension.

Blood smears across Heeseung’s lip, Ni-ki’s knuckles are raw, but neither of them let up.

Until you step between them.

Your hands shove against Heeseung’s chest. "Stop it, Heeseung!"

His breath is ragged.nHis eyes—wild.

Ni-ki wipes blood from his mouth, exhaling sharply. "You really think she’s just yours?" His voice is a taunt, reckless. "You let her slip away, and you’re mad at me? That’s on you."

Heeseung sees red.

He moves again, but you block him.

"Enough!" Your voice shakes.

Both of them freeze.

Chest heaving, hands trembling, you look between them.

The room is silent, except for your own breathing—shaky, uneven, raw.

Ni-ki wipes at the blood smeared on his mouth, his chest rising and falling with exhaustion. Heeseung is still seething, his fists clenched at his sides, his lip split from the fight.

But neither of them move.

Because your words cut deeper than any punch ever could.

"Enough." Your voice is breaking, but you refuse to let yourself crumble. Your hands tremble at your sides, fingers curling into fists. "I’m done."

Both men freeze.

Heeseung’s head snaps toward you first, his anger flickering into something smaller, afraid. "Done with what?"

You swallow hard. Everything in you aches.

"With you. With this. With pretending I don’t know how I feel."

Your throat tightens.

You see the exact moment Heeseung realizes what you mean.

The fire in his eyes dims, his whole body going rigid.

"No." His voice cracks. "Please, don’t do this."

But you’re already stepping back.

Already walking away.

Because you know if you stay, he’ll pull you right back into the cycle. And you’ll let him.

And it will destroy you all over again.

You reach the door.

Hand on the knob.

Almost free.

And then Ni-ki speaks.

"Tell me one thing."

You stop.

Slowly, you turn to look at him.

His face is unreadable.

But his eyes—they hold something fragile.

"Was I just an escape?" His voice is quiet. Careful.

A breath shudders from your lips.

Because you don’t know.

Because the answer is complicated.

Because your heart is still split between them.

You meet his gaze, voice barely above a whisper.

"I don’t know."

His jaw clenches.

But he nods.

He understands.

And you leave.

Alone.

Because for the first time, you need to figure out who you are without running into someone else’s arms.

---

The days blur together.

The weeks feel like an eternity, stretching out in front of you like a road with no end.

At first, you were unsure of what to do with yourself after walking away from both Heeseung and Ni-ki. The aftermath of the fight, the heartbreak, and the chaos—it all felt too much to process. But with time, things started to feel… quieter.

Not necessarily better.

But quieter.

You didn’t meet with Heeseung again. You didn’t seek Ni-ki out. The messages stopped, the calls stopped. And for the first time in a long time, you felt a strange relief at the absence.

---

You spent your days in the studio, your work taking on a new significance. The quiet hum of your surroundings, the soft click of your keyboard, the way the brush strokes felt on canvas—you immersed yourself in creation.

You had forgotten what it was like to feel the quiet satisfaction of focusing on yourself. The work didn’t ask for anything in return, didn’t demand attention or affection. It simply let you exist.

It took weeks before you were able to realize that you had stopped thinking about them.

At least, for the most part.

But no matter how far you push the memories of Heeseung and Ni-ki, they linger.

Heeseung—so sorry, so broken, so human.

Ni-ki—so sharp, so raw, so tempting.

Neither of them are easy to forget.

There were still moments—when the world felt too empty or when the nights got too long—but those moments were getting fewer. Slowly, you were rebuilding yourself, brick by brick, without the pressure of constantly wondering if Heeseung still cared, or if Ni-ki would ever text you again.

You found new hobbies, revisiting the old things you used to love—long-forgotten books that had collected dust on your shelf, forgotten music that once brought you peace. You ran for miles in the morning, feeling your heart beat in your chest and your lungs expand. You let your body feel strong in ways it hadn’t in so long.

You weren’t the same person you were when you were with them.

You began to realize that you had always been chasing validation. From Heeseung, from Ni-ki, from anyone who could fill the emptiness you felt inside. They were distractions, temporary escapes from the turmoil inside you. But now, you were learning to find peace within yourself.

And it wasn’t easy.

There were nights when you found yourself staring at the ceiling, the weight of the past pressing down on you. You could still feel Heeseung’s touch, the way he used to look at you with longing and possessiveness. Ni-ki, too—his smile, the intensity of his gaze, the way he made you feel wanted in ways that were both exhilarating and dangerous.

But you were beginning to recognize something you had buried deep down for too long.

You didn’t need them to feel whole.

You didn’t need anyone to complete you. You were learning that your worth wasn’t dependent on the validation of others.

---

One afternoon, you’re sitting at your favorite café, a book in front of you, the steam of your coffee rising into the air, when it happens.

The realization.

You see a couple sitting across from you, laughing and talking with ease. There’s no tension, no discomfort. Their hands are intertwined on the table, their smiles genuine, and it’s like something clicks inside your chest.

You realize you’ve been avoiding love—not just the love of others, but your own love for yourself.

You’ve been so caught up in chasing external validation that you forgot the most important thing: self-acceptance. You have to learn to love who you are before you can ever truly give love to someone else.

You smile softly to yourself, feeling a small but significant shift inside. The emptiness you’d been trying to fill isn’t gone, but it’s becoming something you can live with—something you can grow through rather than hide from.

---

Weeks later, you’re walking through the park, the sun dipping low in the sky, casting a golden glow over everything.

You breathe in deeply, the air crisp with the changing seasons. You’re alone, but for the first time, you don’t feel alone in the sense that you used to. There’s a quiet strength inside you now. A sense of peace that wasn’t there before.

You smile at a child who runs past you, their laughter ringing through the air. You smile at the elderly couple sitting on a bench, holding hands, completely at ease in each other’s company. And for the first time, you don’t envy them.

You understand now.

You are enough.

And that’s when you feel it—the tiniest seed of hope, deep inside. Maybe, someday, you’ll find love again. But it will be because you’ve learned how to love yourself first.

The world is yours now.

You are free.

And for the first time in a long time, you’re okay with that.

Masterlist

Open taglist

If you’d like to be tagged in future updates for other storys, let me know by:

- Sending me a message or

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Note: I’m so excited to finally share Part 2! The journey with Y/N, Heeseung, and Ni-ki is far from over, and I’d love to explore more in a potential Part 3. Let me know if you'd like that! Thank you for all your support!

@luvleyylina @crimson-reaper576 @d-dilemma @laylasbunbunny @luv-rizzimura @hoonkishoe

[mistyresolve]

| Valentines Day - Simon “Ghost” Riley X Reader

Word Count - 1.7K

Summary - What a valentines with Simon might look like.

Tags/Warnings - Established relations, Mentions of the narsty and some heavy petting, interrupted

A/N - welp...it was supposed to be a valentines post but uhhh...I got busy

Masterlist  ❤︎ 

You and Simon had a routine for the mornings. There was an unspoken agreement that the first person to get out of bed was to make breakfast. Since you were both early risers, it was usually a 50/50 chance that you’d be the one making breakfast. Although, you liked it more when Simon cooked. He would die if you told the rest of the 141, but he was a good cook. It was never anything fancy or over the top, but everything he made was delicious. His go-to was the regular bacon, eggs, and toast. He made your eggs just how you liked them—Crispy around the edges and the yolk runny enough to dip your toast into it.    

The clock on your bedside table read 07:17. It was later than you usually woke up, but you and Simon were up late the night before. An “early Valentine's gift,” he had said, before he took you into the bedroom and worshiped your body. Made you a quivering mess beneath him.  

Looking at his sleeping form, you could tell he put his all into it. Into you. 

You couldn’t help the soft smile from your mouth as you brushed his hair back from his face. It was the longest you’d ever seen it, curling at the tips of his ears and furling down his neck. There was no real reason for him to follow the mandatory military cut since no one ever saw it. Although, he claimed he preferred it short because it was more comfortable underneath the mask. 

He looked so calm when he was asleep. Younger even. The worries and stresses that drew lines between his brows didn’t follow him into sleep. Not tonight, anyway. However, no amount of rest would ever be able to erase the dark shadows under his eyes, a permanent mark of exhaustion.        

You slid out from his embrace with utmost care to not stir him awake. He huffed a sigh and shoved his now-empty hand underneath the pillow, subconsciously searching for a new source of warmth, but he didn't wake. You tip-toed into the ensuite, clicking the door shut behind you to quiet the noises of you getting ready for the day. You had a quick shower, washing away the remnants of last night, albeit reluctantly. 

By the time you entered the room again, Simon was sitting over the edge of the bed. Still half asleep and only managing to keep one eye open. He must have opened the curtains at some point because the room was now basking in the morning light. The sunlight climbed up the bed and warmed the sheets. 

“Good morning,” you said as you made your way to stand in front of him. He immediately reached out for you, pulling you between his legs and letting his face rest on your chest. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and cradled his head into you. With nimble fingers, you combed into his hair. He breathed deeply, groaning, inhaling your fresh, clean scent. 

You stayed like that for a while. Long enough to think he fell back asleep like this, with his arms wrapped around you. You scratched playfully at his scalp to get his attention, “What are you wanting for breakfast?”   

He looked up at you with bleary eyes and shook his head, “I’ll cook this morning. It’s valentines.”      

You leaned back to get a better look at him. “I got up first, and you’ve already given me my gift.”

“Mhm,” he straightened and came to life at the hint of a dispute, “That wasn’t all I was intending to give you.” 

You rolled your eyes at him, “I’m serious–” 

He stood and put a hand over your mouth to keep you from arguing further, “I’m serious.”

You pulled your head from his grasp. “Okay,” you said, searching for a compromise he would accept. “What if you make the food and I make the coffee?” 

He played with the still-wet strands of your hair, twirling it around his finger and letting it fall into a curl, “Hmm, sure.” 

You padded after him into the kitchen, oogling his bare, muscled back all the way. Noting the symmetrical red lines that were etched into his back. Something akin to pride burned in your chest, and you bit your lip to keep a smile from spreading across your face. 

You press a single button on the coffee machine and let it run. Then, you sit at the island and watch as Simon starts breakfast. 

He moved with the same grace he did with everything. Every move was thoughtful and calculated, even for something as simple as cracking an egg. 

A devious idea popped into your head. You weren’t that hungry for food.       

“I love it when you moan,” you sighed, pretending the statement was innocent. 

He froze at the stove before spinning on a heel to look at you. His eyes were wide with shock and confusion, “Pardon me?” he said incredulously. 

“You know when my legs are wrapped around your waist, and you're pounding into me,” you slid off the chair and walked around the island, his dark eyes following you, “When you say the dirtiest thing to me, and I tighten around you.”

His graze flashed from you to the stove, then back to you, and narrowed, “What are you doing?”

You took a step forward, locked your fingers behind your back, and pushed your chest up towards him. “I can stop,” you said, tilting your head up to him. He was so tall, and you loved it. If you could climb this man like a tree, you would. 

You could practically see his resolve disintegrating, and he fought to keep his eyes drifting from yours. 

With fingers chilled from the morning air, you slid them up this barren skin. The corded muscle of his abs tightened under your touch, and he tried to cover up his surprise with a chuckle. Only it came out more nervous than he had intended it to. 

He responded to your advances with an enthusiasm that knocked your breath from your lungs. He had his fingers wrapped around the back of your knees, making a noise to signal you to jump up. He gracefully placed you on the island and nestled his hips between yours. With an experimental roll of your hips, you felt his arousal.  

His mouth slanted over yours, and he pulled the hair at the base of your neck to maneuver your head how he needed to. He nipped at your bottom lip before working his way down your neck. You sighed in bliss at the feel of him.   

Behind him, a familiar smell of char wafted from the pan. You were so engrossed in each other that you missed the first few signs of burning food. At the same time, you looked over his shoulder as flames from the propane stove started to lick up the side of the pan. 

Faster than you’d ever seen him move, he was flicking on the fan above the stove and pulling the pan from the heat. You were jumping off the counter and rushing to open the patio door for him. Without a doubt, you were going to brag to everyone who would listen, the scary calm demeanour with which he placed the pan on the concrete stairs.  

He straightened and stared down at the pan. His face was unreadable, and his hands resting on his waist was a comedic scene. He was still shirtless, and his shorts sat low enough on his hips that you could see the waistband of his briefs underneath. 

“Baby,” you said slowly, trying to hide the humour. You walk to stand in front of him and obscure the view on the pan.  “It’s okay. I didn’t really want eggs anyway.”  

The pan had followed you and been by your side throughout your college days. It had been the only pan you had for years after. A go-to. It made perfectly crispy chicken and the most incredible sauces. 

“It’s okay,” you patted his chest and pressed a chaste kiss to one of the myriad scars that scattered across his skin. “We’ve got leftovers." You couldn’t help but smile at him. 

As you reach the fridge, the tips of his ears turn bright red—a telltale sign of embarrassment, rare as it is. You pause, your suspicions rising at his reaction. “What?” 

He just shook his head and pursed his mouth, gesturing with his hand for you to open the fridge. 

Confused, you slowly opened the door, the light from inside flipping on. 

A bouquet. A very large bouquet that took up half of the bottom shelf. You noticed he must have had to shift the shelves above it to fit it in there without damaging any stems or petals. It was a breathtaking arrangement of white and light purple flowers and an assortment of greenery.

”Simon,” you whispered in awe, reaching for the vase.

”I-uhh,” he shifted uncomfortably on his feet, “Yesterday was the only time I could pick it up. But I wanted to have something to give you today, so the florist told me to find a fridge to put them in to keep them as fresh as possible. I was going to give them to you after breakfast was done. " He jerked his chin to the patio. Well, it is done. I done it to death, actually.” 

You set them out on the island, and the sun crawling across the marble made the colours pop. You clamped your mouth shut, realizing you were gapping. You had never received such a large bouquet before. Spinning the vase to fully examine the flowers, you found the card nestled into the greenery.  

A little card, and all he had written on it was ‘Simon’

Not ‘Love, Simon’ or ‘Happy Valentin’s’. 

Just ‘Simon’

You turned back to him and grabbed his face before diving in for one last kiss, “My god, I love you.” 

Masterlist

A/N - Happy late valentines