#I'm still busy with other things sob

[bunnygirllover45]

Each day I'm saying goodbye to an empty apartment hoping one day you'll be there to say it back.

Small comic? about Naoya's daily life.

[mychemikuromance]

Ugh

[ddejavvu]

this is depraved, but grinding on logan’s happy trail to get off 🫢

Hands Free - Logan Howlett x Reader

send me logan requests!

contents/warnings: smut, minors dni, mean!logan, drinking, don't like don't read.

You've caught Logan at a bad time. The surly mutant is a complicated man, and one with less psychological damage than him might be eager to whip it out whenever, but Logan isn't. He's busy brooding, and he's not to be interrupted when he's got a bottle in one hand and a cigar in the other.

But you need him. There's a pit in your belly that's only made worse by the scowl on his face, and your cunt aches beneath your now-slick panties for something to envelop. You're desperate for Logan to fuck you, but there's no way you'll convince him if he's not in the mood.

"I can feel you staring," He grumbles, eyes still cast to the floor as he takes another swig of burning liquor, "What do you want?"

There's no polite way to say you.

"Uhm," You shift on your feet, thighs clenched, "I'm just feeling- I'm a little, um, I-"

"Spit it out."

"I need you." You breathe, ashamed by the sentence, but Logan's face remains untouched, nothing moving but the lingering smoke from his smoldering cigar.

"I'm not in the mood." He grunts, like it isn't obvious.

"I- I know." You fall awkwardly silent again, rising onto your tiptoes and falling back to your heels. Up, down. Up, down. Up, down. Up-

"Don't make a mess." He shifts in the chair, lowering his hips until they're level with his abdomen, offering you the best seat in the house.

He's shirtless, which means that if you can't have his cock, or his fingers, you can get the next best thing. A combination of the friction from the waistband of his jeans, and his toned abs, blanketed with coarse, wiry hair.

You mount him eagerly, which isn't hard to do seeing as his chair has no arms. It's got a back so that he can lean against it, but your support system is his chest, where you firmly plant your hands in preparation to get yourself off.

There's a dark line of hair that trails from the bottom of his navel and disappears beneath his waistband, flanked on either side with a sharp line of muscle that tapers down towards his cock in a V. His body is a work of art, and you only wish his equally gorgeous face was pointed your direction.

No matter- you won't push. You're lucky he's letting you get off on his lap, you'll take what you can get.

"Easy," He grumbles, rocked by the sudden jerk of your hips. As you settle into a steady rhythm you realize you've already failed his one directive of not making a mess, but there's no way to stop or slow the steady stream of slick that's pouring from your weeping cunt. It's sobbing, slobbering, begging for a cock, but you drag it flush against Logan's abs and mat his happy trail down with your translucent arousal.

"One fuckin' job," He gripes, reaching down to swipe two fingers through the slick that's glistening on his stomach as you find better friction near the waistband of his jeans. The texture of the denim is rough, and you realize with giddy desperation that he's getting hard in his pants despite his insistence that he wasn't in the mood.

He sticks his fingers in his mouth for a taste, his cigar left behind in its ashtray on the side table. He doesn't relinquish the bottle, but he takes equal sips of that and of the mess you're making on his abs.

Finally, thanks to the sizeable bulge in Logan's jeans, you're able to hump your way to completion on his stomach. It's not hard, considering you'd been achingly horny before, but without something inside of you your release feels empty and wasted. You'd use your fingers if you could, but you can't move your hands or you'd faceplant on Logan's chest, and you don't want to invade his space any further in case he decides your privileges have been revoked.

"Poor thing." He murmurs when your hips slow and you're panting against his chest. You glance at his face but he's staring at your cunt, not at you, "She's so hungry."

It takes him one, two, three seconds to reach for his belt, "Well, c'mon. Up now, there y'go." As you shimmy up his abdomen, slicking his happy trail up with your release once more. As soon as he's able to free his cock he slides a hand under your ass, boosting you up so that you're finally able to sink down onto his red-tipped, leaking cock.

"Jesus, she's sucking me in," He grunts, his voice gruff and ragged, "How long were you waiting to ask me?"

"Too long." You whine, pussy already sensitive from your first orgasm, and now in utter bliss from finally being penetrated after all that teasing, "I- hnngh! My toys don't work anymore. They're- they're nothing like you, I can't use them. I can't ever finish."

Logan scoffs, still in a mood as sour as the liquor on his breath, but his hands find their place on your waist as he helps bounce you on his cock, "Shame. Those were supposed to keep you busy. Guess I'll have to do it then, hm?"

You nod vigorously against the crook of Logan's neck, your nose buried where his neck meets his shoulder, and where sweat accumulates sticky on his skin. You lick it up, and Logan hisses against the mouth of his bottle as he takes another swig.

"Fine." He grumbles, butting the bottle up to your head and forcing it against your lips, "Take this, take a nice big- there you go. That'll make you sleepy," He vows, and the head rush comes just like he'd warned. His hips begin shifting, circling slightly in gyrations that only add to the pleasure of bouncing on his dick, "And this'll knock you out, crazy."

[cutieln4]

London Boy | LN4 smau

lando norris x verstappen!reader

summary: in which max unknowingly introduces his sister to her future boyfriend

fc: olivia rodrigo

y/nverstappen

Liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris, and others

y/nverstappen i stole max’s cat, don’t tell him

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username1 aww so cute

username2 when are you coming to another race!

maxverstappen1 😑

y/nverstappen i thought i blocked you??

maxverstappen1 Give me Sassy back.

username3 lando in the likes⁉️⁉️

username4 bro chill, he’s literally friends with max

danielricciardo so the heist plan is in motion. perfect.

y/nverstappen he doesn’t suspect a thing😈

y/nverstappen

Liked by landonorris and others

y/nverstappen i had the best time exploring england with the best guide! congrats bro on the win🥳

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landonorris it was lovely showing you around😊

maxverstappen1 no

username1 wait wdym lando showed her around england???

username2 the better verstappen fr

username3 the outfits slay

danielricciardo Nice seeing you again y/n/n!

y/nverstappen my favorite brother🫶

maxverstappen1 I’m right here?? And you’re not even related?

username4 her hair literally always looks good

lilymhe gorgeous girl

y/nverstappen ilysm babe lemme visit you

alex_albon that’s literally my gf???

y/nverstappen lily never let your boyfriend get in the way of finding your future wife

lilymhe you’re so right babe

landonorris posted a story

Replies

username1 babe what about us??? what about the kids??

danielricciardo 🤨

username2 is this a soft launch

username3 NOOOOO THAT SHOULD BE ME😭

username4 who is that????

y/nverstappen i had a fun time hanging out today!🥰

y/nverstappen

Liked by landonorris, danielricciardo, and others

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danielricciardo hmm, interesting

username1 what do you know??

username2 uh girl you got something to tell us?

username3 she doesn’t owe you anything, get out of her business

username4 oh i just KNOW max is fuming💀

maxverstappen1 Y/n who is that

maxverstappen1 Is that a boy

maxverstappen1 Y/n answer my texts

username5 oooh someone’s not happy

username6 that food looks good asf

username7 outfit always serves

y/nverstappen posted a story

landonorris

Liked by y/nverstappen, danielricciardo, and others

landonorris home is wherever i’m with you

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username1 sobbing, hyperventilating, throwing up

username2 nah the caption, that is so fricking adorable

danielricciardo aww i knew you were a big softie

georgerussell63 did you pay someone to take that picture with you😂

landonorris haha very funny mate

username3 god, i’ve seen what you’ve done for others🙏

f1gossip

Liked by username1 and others

f1gossip 🚨🚨Lando Norris spotted with mystery girl over summer break, sources say it could be Max Verstappen’s sister, Y/n

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username1 i literally knew it and you all doubted me😑

username2 chill out, it’s still not confirmed

username3 we can’t even see her face

username4 OMG???????

username5 oh max is DEFINITELY pushing lando off the track in zandvoort

username6 sources: my delusions

username7 y’all we lost a good one😣 (y/n not lando)

username8 you’re so real cause she’s gorgeous

username9 nah cause why is this actually so freaking cute, like omg the way he is smiling at her🤭🫠

username10 HAND PLACEMENT???

username11 max is gonna chop off lando’s hands

username12 i’d pay good money to see the text messages

y/nverstappen

Liked my landonorris, maxverstappen1, and others

y/nverstappen in a world of boys, he's a gentlemen

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username1 AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

username2 this is so adorable! (i'm sleeping on the highway tonight)

landonorris you’re my everything💞💞

username3 y'all owe me an apology, i KNEW it

maxverstappen1 If you're happy, I'm happy

username4 you're definitely being forced to say this

username5 boyfriend lando is everything🥺

username6 they look so happy

username7 i’m balling my eyes out

kellypiquet you guys are adorable🩷

y/nverstappen thanks for talking max down😁

landonorris

Liked by maxverstappen1, danielricciardo, and others

landonorris got love-struck, went straight to my head

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username1 the matching captions omg

y/nverstappen i love you baby❤️

maxverstappen1 🤮🤮

danielricciardo I KNEW IT @.carlossainz55 you owe me 50 bucks

carlossainz55 damn it

landonorris YOU HAD A BET???

oscarpiastri yes

charles_leclerc yes

georgerussell63 yes

alex_albon yes

maxverstappen1 YOU ALL HAD A BET AND DIDNT TELL ME?

maxfewtrell she's good for you, mate🤍

maxverstappen1 remember what i told you🙂

username2 oh! this definitely isn’t threatening at all

landonorris i will😰

y/nverstappen max emilian verstappen what did you tell him?

username3 this😭is😭so😭adorable😭

username4 bro is getting pushed into the barrier next race fs

username5 the IT couple

[gguk-n]

hey could you maybe write a lando x reader where when it was clear that lando lost the championship the reader just comforts him but he is distancing himself from her but she doesn’t give up on him so pls a happy end ❤️

established relationship, not very angsty, short

My World Champion

Things had been rough between the pair for a few months. With the mounting pressure on Lando to perform had left him pushing all those close to him away. He wasn't very happy with it but he felt like maybe he could focus better. The person who had to deal with the brunt of Lando's distance was his girlfriend, Y/N. They'd been together for a while and friends for longer. They just got each other like no other but lately Y/N felt like she didn't know Lando as well as she used to.

Y/N did try to bring up the distance. It was Azerbaijan, "Lan, don't you think we barely talk" Y/N spoke slowly, trying to start a conversation with her boyfriend who was sat across from her on the sofa. He didn't bother to even look up, "What's there to talk about when I'm busy trying to win a championship. Let me focus" he huffed. "I didn't mean it like that. I just thought we could spend some time together" Y/N trailed off. "We are sat together right now. How much more time do you want to spend with me?" Lando sighed and finally looked up from his laptop. "I just" she felt her voice die in her throat. 'I don't remember the last time we kissed Lan' her brain thought as she got up and left the room before another fight ensued.

It was during the winter break when things were starting to look up. Lando had just won the Singapore GP, he was more attentive and present; they even cuddled the whole day. Y/N thought that she had her boyfriend back. Oh how wrong she was because as soon as they were back on track; Lando was back to square one. The Austin loss hit deep, making Lando double down on strategising and spending every waking hour with the team or thinking about Formula One. It was like he forgot Y/N existed or for that matter himself. She would sit there and stare at her boyfriend who looked more and more like a stranger with each passing day.

Things had become rocky between them. She felt the divide growing with each passing weekend. Mexico wasn't any better. But Brazil landed a huge blow to Lando. He shut down, he stopped talking to anyone and spent all his time scrolling on his phone. There was nothing she could do without Lando walking out or shutting the door on her face. So, she sat and waited. She would cook his favourite food or leave out his favourite snacks to munch on. But she didn't make much break through on him; as he still chooses to stay reserved, opting to carry the burden alone.

It was after the Las Vegas quali, when Y/N noticed the light begin leave Lando's eyes. All she could offer were words and cuddles but Lando had put up a wall between them. The bed seemed too big for the two of them with either on each side. She stared at the space in between them wondering when it had gotten this big.

After the race, Y/N sighed a sigh of relief. The Championship battle was over and that meant she got her Lando back. She saw glimpses of him when he congratulated Max and couldn't wait to jump into his arms. But it was like Lando was back, just not for her.

That night, they spent it like any other, on either side of the bed. But as Y/N tried to fall asleep, she felt the bed shake. On further inspection, she saw Lando's frame quietly shaking from the sobs as he tried to not make any noise. Her heart hurt watching him, she slowly scooted over causing Lando to stop crying for a moment. She wrapped her arm around his torso and buried her head in his neck. "I love you, my world champion" she whispered causing Lando to turn around. His face was streaked with tears which she carefully wiped off. "I don't like it when you cry" she muttered and pecked his lips. "I thought you fell asleep" Lando mumbled. "Can't sleep without my cuddles" she quipped. "But, I'm not the world champion" was all he muttered, remembering her first comment. "For the world, no. For me, always" she smiled. Lando searched her eyes for anything, but all he found was undeterred love. "And you're not angry?" he asked. "No. I'm happy to watch you compete for the championship because I know, sooner or later you'll win it. Just waiting for that day" she reassured. "I'm sorry for being a dick. I was just" Lando spoke before she cut him off, "over whelmed. I know. But you didn't have to do it all alone. What am I here for?" she spoke tenderly. "I love you" he whispered kissing her for the first time in a long time. "I love you too, muppet" she whispered back. He looked at her for a long time as his hands pulled her closer, running along her frame; "What would I do without you?" he asked. "Crash and burn" she chided. "Agreed" he mumbled pulling her in for another kiss. "You alway know how to make me happy" he mumbled in between kisses. "Only when you listen to me. Otherwise you're Mr Grumpy" she chuckled. "I promise not to be Mr Grumpy anymore" he laughed kissing her again. "Next time I'm grumpy, kiss me. I think all my worries melt away with your kisses" he said pressing her against him. "So, the next time you start an argument, I'm gonna kiss you" she said cupping his cheeks. "Best way to end an argument" he smiled pressing their foreheads together. "I won't disagree" she kissed him again, making up for all the lost time.

[suiana]

yandere! cheater and gn! reader who's in their villain arc...

you've suspected that something was up when your boyfriend started to get busy with his work, coming home late, hiding his phone from you...

of course you just wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt that he really was just stressed from his work. he was yourboyfriend after all. you had to trust him, didn't you?

well everything was shattered when you found one of his side chicks under your shared bed. she was naked, only wearing a pair of undies while holding in her pee.

"wtf why are you hiding under here?"

"your bf doesn't want u to know that he's cheating. told me that he'd kill me if i came out."

yeah, so the girl was an asshole to get with your man when she knew that he was in a relationship but at least she told it to your face straight up. also she pissed herself while getting out from the bed so there's that.

meanwhile, your boyfriend was sobbing and crying when he came home. you had found out of his side affairs, a side he never wanted you to find out about. to be honest, your boyfriend didn't know why he he got with others in the first place. he had everything he could ever want in you. you made him feel alive, all the good things you know. being with you was like a dream come true and he constantly felt like tearing out his skin from how happy you made him.

you were his god.

oh, yeah, thinking about it now that's probably it. he felt that you were too good for him and didn't want to taint you. which... was why he resorted to sleeping with others.

shitty move, yeah he knows. don't need to repeat it.

but you... why were you so forgiving? you welcomed him back with open arms, sobbed a little and told him how hurt you were! he thought you'd have up and left by now!

but you didn't.

he knew you were too good for him, he had to treat you better now. he just had to, this was obviously you giving him a second chance, right? oh he just loves you so much!

unfortunately for him, it wasn't a second chance. no, you were about to absolutely ruin this man.

it started with the small things. small rumours about him ranging from how he had a small dick to how he's a pushover... you needed to start your plan slow, you know. tear his reputation of a good and sensible man bit by bit. gotta build up that tension teehee >w<

then from the rumours, you started manipulating the people close to him. crocodile tears, white lies, and a whole pity party for yourself... telling his friends and family members how your boyfriend was an absolute shit of a boyfriend, how he didn't treat you right and how he was the worst an alive... well, it wasn't much of a lie. he did spoil you and treat you like a deity but if he really treasured you why would he cheat in the first place? there's no space left in your life to pity him.

the most important part was to constantly reassure him that you loved him and to make sure that he never finds out that you were the one ruining his life from behind the scenes. can't let him find out that his angel lover is the one that's bringing him to social death now!

by this stage, your boyfriend was completely dependent on you. everyone around him was looking at him like he was the absolute scum of the earth. where did the rumours come from? why was everyone avoiding him? he couldn't even go to work without his coworkers side-eyeing him like he grew an extra head! he's just lucky he didn't get fired-

oh and what do you know. he got fired.

he comes home crying, an absolute mess and a shell of the man that he used to be. what was once a confident and charming man is now a desperate and pathetic boyfailure.

"baby i got fired, i'm so sorry. i don't deserve to be with you."

his arms wrap aorund your legs, tears staining your pants as he seeks comfort from the only person still left by his side. yes, you're the only person left dying for. even his own parents desserted him, yet you stayed. he's so thankful-

"yeah, you're right. you don't deserve me."

it's like time stops the second the words fall from your lips. he slowly looks up at you, eyes widening in horror as his tears dry up. what? was he growing delusional? he must've heard you wrong. no way his beloved god just said that!

"haha... you're so sweet baby. joking around in a time like this-"

"i'm not joking. you don't deserve someone like me."

you slap his hands away, looking down at him as he remains on his knees on the floor. you had a smug smile, expression all cocky as you even started to laugh.

"haha! did you really think i wanted to stay with you? fuck no! i have standards okay? i really didn't want to stay with a cheater!"

your boyfriend didn't know what to think. what were you saying? he doesn't understand. is this a late april fools prank? the way his heart was clenching and the way he felt his face paled shows just how much he doesn't like your words.

"babe stop-"

"i hate you god damnit. i really thought you'd be the one for me but no! you just had to go ahead and cheat!"

but you didn't listen to him.

"let's break up."

oh yeah, you hear that? that's the sound of his heart shattering.

he quickly crawls over to you, face pale as he grips onto your pants tightly. his hands shook with each word he uttered, tone desperate as tears streamed down his cheeks once more.

he never thought he'd start begging for someone to stay when it was usually the opposite but... you were his god. the one he's devoted his entire life too.

so he'll gladly get on his hands and knees for you if he has too. you can't leave him. he doesn't want to be alone.

"please! forgive me! i know i did something wrong but i'm trying! you can't leave me too!"

he looks up at you, face completely flushed as he continues to turn himself into an even bigger pathetic mess. he doesn't care what he looks like now. he's practically lost everything. he has nothing left to lose.

"i promise i'll be better! i haven't cheated since you found out last time! d-doesn't that count for something?"

he gives you a shaky smile, as though that would convince you.

it wasn't.

in response to his words, you could only give a disgusted expression, kicking him away before walking past him to the front door. what a pathetic man he was.

"you know, you look best when you're like this."

you state, glancing at him with a smile before turning to leave his house. well, there's that. your plan was complete and your now-ex boyfriend was absolutely destroyed.

so why did it feel like... something bad was about to happen?

you quickly look back at him, keeping your cool and remaining nonchalant before you feel the blood drain from your face. your best friend?! where did they come from?! and the fact that your crazy ex was holding a knife to their neck-

"no... don't leave me... you can't leave... i have no one else but you..."

what were you supposed to do now that he was holding your best friend hostage?

[mercvry-glow]

you, me, and empty space between us

parings. jack abbot x doctor!reader

warnings. widower!jack, age gap as always (jack late 40s, reader late 20s early 30s), jack literally talks reader off the ledge, undefined relationship but they're clearly in love and going through something, unspecified mental health issues, panic attacks, possible suicidal ideation, talks of losing people, bittersweet ending though.

notes. ever since we learned jack was a widower i've been cursed with angsty thoughts. I think this one is really hard as we see both the reader and jack struggle with each other. I love them your honor, and I'm really in my noah kahan loneliness era for this man. as always any feedback is appreciated and I love all of you!

wc. 2700+

You don’t know when it had become so hard to breathe.

It wasn’t after the first patient death, or even the fourth or fifth. That was just life in the Pitt, and you had grown accustomed to it long ago… at least that’s what you thought.

It certainly wasn’t when he had walked in—Jack Abbot, all swagger and scruff, fresh on shift while you were finishing yours. You truly don’t know when you came to love him as more than a mentor. Maybe it was in the quiet, exhausted nights on his couch, or the rare mornings when your coffee mugs clinked in place of words.

Never open, always tucked away.

And maybe that’s why it hits you like a punch to the chest—because it’s something so small, something that you have no business caring about.

A glint of gold as he reaches for his first chart of the night.

His wedding band.

Still there. Still shining. Still hers.

And your breath just… goes. Like someone pulled the air from your lungs and replaced it with something heavy and wet and cruel.

You don’t even remember walking to the lockers. Just the click of the door behind you, the fluorescent lights buzzing too loud, and the burn behind your eyes as your hands shook, held tight against your sides. Everything became too much all at once. 

God, you're so tired.

Tired of the codes and the screaming and the silence that follows. Tired of watching children and parents die and pretending you’re not breaking a little more each time. Tired of watching your friends break each and every day more and more as this job steals their youth like it’s doing to yours. Tired of giving your heart to a man who, no matter how gently he touches you, will never touch you like you’re loved by him.

Not like he touched her.

You don't even cry. Not at first. You just run up the stairs, heart hammering like it's trying to escape, destination both known and unknown to your frazzled brain. Then you do cry—loud, ugly, shoulder-shaking sobs that don't stop. Not even when someone passes. Not even when your pager buzzes again.

You make it up to the roof before anyone sees you.

The cold Pittsburgh wind bites at your cheeks, but at least here, you can breathe again. 

Kind of.

 You wrap your arms around yourself, eyes burning as you stare out over the city like it's supposed to give you some kind of answer.

But it doesn't.

It never does.

You’re not even sure how long you’ve been up here.

The city stretches out below, distant and indifferent—cars moving like blood cells in some great, uncaring artery. You’ve spent your whole life trying to keep things alive, and now, standing here, arms wrapped around yourself in the wind, you’re not sure how to keep yourself going.

It’s not just Jack.

 It’s everything.

You’re tired in your bones. In your soul, if that’s a thing people really have.

Tired of the endless codes that ring like alarms in your dreams. Tired of holding hands that go cold while families scream down the hall. Tired of smiling when you’re empty. Laughing when your throat aches from swallowing everything you can’t say.

Tired of being second. 

To a memory. 

To a career.

 To a system that chews you up and spits you back out with new scars and fewer tears left to give.

You love your job. God, you do. But lately it feels like it’s eating you alive. And no one sees it. No one wants to see it.  Because you're the one who keeps it together. The calm in the storm. The smile at the desk. The one who always says, “I’m fine. Go. I’ve got this.”

But you don’t.

You don’t got this. Not anymore

You’re drowning.

And Jack—Jack is just the wound you thought you could bandage, only to realize it was deeper than you ever let yourself admit.

You see the way he softens when he talks about her, the few times you got to hear. 

The weight in his voice when he says her name.

And you? You’re the comfort. The quiet. The body he falls into when his ghosts get too loud, too much to handle alone.

But not the one he chooses.

Never the one he chooses.

A sob claws its way up your throat, and this time you don’t stop it. You sink, knees scraped by the roof's edge, standing past the metal railing and let it all go—the grief, the love, the years of being almost enough in every aspect of your life.

You cry until you’re raw. Until your breath hitches like a broken record.

Until you feel like there’s nothing left inside you. 

And still, the world keeps turning. The city lights don’t flicker. The wind doesn’t pause.

You are so deeply, achingly alone.

And in this moment, you don't even want to be saved. You just want to rest. 

To be done. 

“You know,” comes a familiar voice behind you, easy and low, “if you wanted to get me alone on the rooftop , all you had to do was ask. I would’ve brought you coffee.”

You flinch. Just barely. But he sees it.

Jack steps closer, hands tucked in his cargo pockets like he’s just wandered up here on a whim, not after checking every paitent room and hallway trying to find you. There’s that half-smile tugging at his mouth, the one he uses like armor—dry wit and soft hazel eyes, his whole coping mechanism wrapped in a single expression.

But the smile falters when you don’t answer.

When he really looks at you.

You’re standing with your hands pulled to your chest, fingers white-knuckled in your scrubs, eyes red and swollen. Shoulders shaking just enough to make him stop in his tracks after realizing you’re past the guard rail. 

“Hey,” he says again, quieter this time. “What happened?”

You shake your head. A tiny, useless motion. You can't even bring yourself to look at him, back still turned.

He steps toward you, trying to search your face. “Talk to me. Did something happen with a patient? Was it that kid from earlier? Or—”

“No,” you whisper, barely audible. “It’s nothing.”

“That,” he says, voice a touch sharper, “is a lie. And a bad one, kid.”

You let out a bitter little laugh that turns into another sob. “Everything’s just… too much.”

Jack doesn’t speak right away. Just watches you, the tension in his jaw building slowly. “You’re scaring me,” he admits, quietly.

“Fuck,” you snap through the tears. “Now you actually see me?.”

That stuns him. You can sense it—how his shoulders tighten, how his eyes scanning like they’ve missed something right in front of them.

You wobble, or try to move—your knees tremble under you, and Jack moves instantly, hands ready to grab you. 

You pull away.

“I’m tired, Jack,” you say, voice breaking. “So goddamn tired. Of being here. Of being overworked. Of watching people die. Of pretending I don’t care that you still wear her ring when you’re in my bed.”

Silence slams between you.

He swallows hard, words clearly stuck in his throat.

“I know she meant everything to you,” you say, softer now. “And I would never try to take her place. But it’s killing me. Being your person… Being the one you come to… but never for.”

His mouth opens, then closes again.

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “And look, now I’m making my issues about you again. God, I’m tired of that too.”

Jack steps forward, hesitant, like he’s approaching something fragile. Or dangerous. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

“I didn’t want to make it real,” you whisper. “Because if I said it out loud, I’d have to admit that I’m not okay. That this job—this place—you—are breaking me.”

He’s quiet for a long time. The wind whistles around you both, cold and uncaring.

“I didn’t know,” he finally says. “I should’ve. But I didn’t. And I’m sorry.”

You look up at him, exhausted and open and completely undone. “I don’t want you to say sorry. I just… I wanted to matter.”

“You do,” he says, quick and firm. “You matter to me,”

You shake your head again, biting back another sob.

He doesn’t try to touch you this time. He just stands there in the silence you’ve created, eyes on yours like they’re the only thing he sees now.

And maybe—for the first time—they are.

Jack exhales slowly, like he’s trying to steady his own heart before he reaches for yours.

“You wanna know something?” he says, his voice rough but quiet. “First week I met you, I thought you weren’t cut out for this. All business, too rigid, straight spine, soft. Honestly? Scared the hell out of me, I thought you’d be gone by the end of the week.”

You huff, tired, but something like a breath of a laugh escapes you.

“But then you stayed two hours after your shift because a twelve-year-old was afraid of needles,” he continues. “And I saw it. That heart of yours—the one you hide behind clipped words and all that damn competence. You care so much it hurts you.”

He pauses, lets that sink in. You turn your face slightly toward him, just enough for him to see your profile in the wind.

“I know you think nobody sees you,” Jack says. “That you’re just some extra in other people’s stories. But I see you. I always see you.”

Your lips part, but no words come.

“You’re the one holding the line when everyone else is cracking. You’re the one who stays up on nights like this, falling apart where no one can find you. But I found you. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He steps forward again, slowly, cautiously. Like he’s giving you every chance to step back under the rails and hoping you don’t choose the other way down.

“I don’t wear this ring because I’m not over her,” he says, tugging at the band absently. “I wear it because she made me better. And you… you keep me better.”

That stops your breath cold.

“I never meant to make you feel like you were just something temporary,” he says. “You’re not. Not to me.”

“Then why not just say it?” you choke, voice trembling.

He looks at you like he wants to. Like the words are right there on his tongue—but something stops him. Not fear. Not doubt. Just the weight of everything this moment holds.

“I’m saying what I can,” he says instead. “Until I can say it all.”

He steps closer, right in front of you now, eyes searching yours.

“You matter, okay? Not just as my best resident. Not just as a damn good doctor. You matter to me. You’re not alone in this. Even if you feel like you are.”

Silence again. Heavy, but different this time.

“I don’t know what happens next,” he adds, quieter now. “But I know I don’t want to face it without you.”

You feel something give inside you—something that’s been clinging to the edge for weeks, maybe months. You don’t fall apart again, not this time. But you do lean forward. Just a little. Just enough.

Jack reaches out to touch you, wanting to pull you in. Standing right there on the other side of the guard rails, steady as gravity.

 Letting you decide.

You stand there for a second, barely breathing. His words echo in your chest, ringing against all the places that have been cracked and hollowed out.

You matter to me.

It shouldn't be enough. Not after all this. But somehow, it is. Or maybe it’s just enough to stop the bleeding.

Your shoulders slump as the tension you’ve carried finally starts to unwind. You don’t fall into him, not dramatically. You just… lean. Your forehead comes to rest against his chest, tentative, uncertain. But you stay there.

And Jack? He doesn’t hesitate.

His arms move around you with a kind of quiet reverence—gentle but solid, like he’s anchoring you to the hospital roof. One hand settles between your shoulder blades, the other against the back of your head, cradling you like he’s afraid you’ll break again.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he murmurs against your hair.

“I scared myself,” you whisper back, voice hoarse.

“You could’ve told me,” he says, not accusing—just brokenhearted.

“I didn’t know how,” you admit. “I thought if I said it out loud, I’d lose everything and never come back together.”

Jack pulls back just enough to look at you. His thumb brushes gently along your wind bitten cheeks, catching a stray tear you didn’t even feel fall.

“You are coming back together,” he says, firm but soft. “Right now. Piece by piece. You’re still here. That’s what matters.”

You nod, barely, like you’re still trying to believe him.

“I don’t need you to be okay all the time,” he continues. “You don’t have to be strong for anyone. You get to fall apart. You get to feel this.”

“But what if it doesn’t stop?” you whisper, voice cracking. “What if it just keeps coming?”

“Then we’ll face it together,” he says, without missing a beat. “Shift by shift. day by day. As long as it takes.”

Your eyes search his, and for once, there’s no hiding behind sarcasm or guarded silences. Just truth. And maybe something deeper behind it—something he’s still not quite ready to name, but it’s there. Burning steady like a soft fire.

You close your eyes, letting yourself rest in the warmth of him, in the safety of this rooftop moment.

And for the first time in weeks—maybe longer—you take a full, deep breath.

You both stand like that for a long time—no words, just breath and heartbeat and wind. The hum of the city below feels miles away, like a different world. Up here, it's just the two of you.

Eventually, Jack shifts a little, his arms still around you. His voice is soft, barely above the wind.

“Hey,” he says gently. “How about we get back on the safer side of the rail, yeah?”

You realize, with a sudden twist in your stomach, that you’re still on the wrong side. Still too close to the edge, with nothing but cold air and steel keeping you tethered.

You don’t move right away. Your fingers grip the rail, not because you want to jump—God, no—but because the world still feels unsteady. Like if you let go, you might float off into something you can't control.

Jack doesn’t rush you.

He stays with you, warm and steady at your side, hands never leaving you. “One step,” he says softly. “Just one. I’ve got you.”

You look at him, and there’s nothing performative in his expression. No pity. No fear. Just calm, unwavering care.

You nod once. Then slowly, carefully, you swing your leg over the first bar. He helps you the rest of the way, hands guiding you gently, like you’re something precious. When both feet land solidly on the rooftop again, you don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until it finally releases in a shaky exhale.

“There you go,” he murmurs. “Safe and sound. Mostly.”

You laugh, barely. “I must look like a mess.”

“You look like someone who’s been through hell,” Jack says. “And is still standing. That’s not a mess. That’s a goddamn miracle.”

You look up at him, eyes glassy, and something flickers between you. Quiet. Heavy. Unspoken.

His hand lifts slowly, brushing a strand of hair from your face, then lingering—fingertips grazing your jaw, gentle as rain. He looks at you like he’s trying to memorize the moment.

“Can I…” he starts, then stops, catching himself. “I’m not asking to fix it. I just—”

You answer by leaning in.

It’s not rushed. Not desperate. Just soft. Slow. Like an exhale. Like the kind of kiss that says I’m still here. I still want this.

His lips meet yours, warm and steady, one hand still at your waist, the other against your cheek. There’s no fire in it—not tonight. Just light. Just steady comfort.

When you pull back, your forehead rests against his, both of you breathing a little easier now.

“You sure about this?” you whisper.

Jack doesn’t even blink. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m sure.”

You nod. You believe him. And for the first time in what feels like forever, you believe in yourself again, too.

mercvry-glow 2025

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

I want to smell like you.

Pairing: Father in law!Joel Miller x f!reader Words count: 949, all filthy again because why not. Rating: +18, MDNI, NSFW Summary: Joel hears you during the night and can’t help himself Tags/warnings: Joel POV, implied but unspecified age gap, cheating, pathetic yearning old man Joel (lol, he’s desperate for you, bb), Joel thoughts marked in italics, male masturbation, Joel has a son in this one, swearing, mention of alcohol consumption, as usual reader has barely no description, she doesn’t blush, she has hair but it’s not described, she has female genitalia. A/N: sequel for Not the real deal, I think it can be read as a standalone but if you haven’t read the first one yet, it’s only 382 more filthy words 😇 I'm slowly trying to return functioning like a normal human, I’m still hanging in there, I’m happy that I was able to write at least this one. No beta, no proofreading, English is not my first language and I’m sorry for any mistake. Thanks to @joelmillerisapunk for her constant support, I don’t know where I would be without you, bb. Love you so much ♥️ Hope you’ll like it and thanks for giving so much love to the first one, I never had that amount of notes before and I’m truly grateful and overwhelmed ♥️

Masterlist | Joel Masterlist

These walls are so thin.

They don't make houses like they used to.

Joel turns over on the lumpy mattress.

Frustrated, deprived of sleep, he lies on his back with his eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

“It'll be over, it'll be over soon.” He groans.

Ten minutes have passed, they seemed like an eternity.

You are on the other side of the wall and he can hear you clearly.

You have no business being so loud, fucking hell.

He could swear he can pick out every single sound.

The sucking, the slapping, the sliding, the clinging.

The wood of the headboard, your sweet voice broken by sobs.

He could describe every single thing that is happening in that room without seeing it.

He closes his eyes and you’re before him.

Naked, disheveled, your delicious breasts bouncing in the air, your soft thighs wide open, your expression rapt, your mouth agape showing a row of delicate white teeth that sparkle in the dark.

Your eyebrows are raised, your forehead is beaded with sweat, your tongue darts between your lips, your eyes are clouded with desire.

It's too much to bear.

And when you start making that unmistakable sound that is yours and only yours when you’re totally lost in your pleasure, when he feels your breathing quicken and become heavy, he knows he won't be able to resist.

His hands get rid of his boxers mechanically, throwing them on the floor.

He shouldn’t do that but he can’t stop, he’s not in control of his own movements anymore.

Not when your honeyed voice fills his ears with moans and little whimpers and his cock is impossibly hard.

Not when he should be the one fucking you right now instead of being relegated to the guest room.

At least he took after me in terms of stamina.

Fuck.

This is her pussy.

Her juicy little pussy slapping against his cock, swallowing him whole.

He spits on his palm and grab his shaft, fisting it desperately into his hand, muttering angrily, wrapped in the sheets, teeth gritted, blood rushing to his brain, adrenaline blurring his vision, big fat cock covered in his precum throbbing between his fingers as he dream to be buried deep inside of you, your cream dripping all over him.

He tried to push that feeling away, he tried really hard for a very long time.

That heat expanding in his chest whenever he sees you with him has a name that he desperately tries to not address: Jealousy.

It’s so damn stupid, he himself led you to the altar and handed you over to him.

He should have more consideration for his son. But he can't stop thinking that you should be his and his alone.

He feels pathetic, beyond redemption, as he strokes his cock like a horny teenager.

Every molecule of you is like a drug, a siren song that wrecks his reason.

Cum is spilling on his hand, staining the sheets, dripping on his legs, he’s making a fool of himself, wishing he could paint your tits, wishing he could fingerfuck his sticky mess into your warm cunt, wishing you could be on his side of the wall on your knees, tongue out waiting for every drop.

He covers his mouth with his hand trying to stifle your name that rises to his lips. He bites into his own flesh, he moans and groans and curses himself.

His orgasm is strong but not nearly as devastating as if you were there.

Nothing compares.

The noise has stopped.

He breathes a sigh of relief, reaching for a tissue on the nightstand. The box is empty.

He reluctantly gets up and slips silently out the door.

His now soft cock dangles between his legs, the cold air contrasting with the heat of his sweaty chest makes him shiver as he tries to reach the bathroom.

As he places his hand on the handle he hears the door of your room open.

Fuck.

He hasn’t even put his boxers back on, his mind really isn’t reasoning anymore.

What will I do if it’s him?

He is in his son's house.

He insisted he spend the night there because he had one glass too many at dinner.

"It's not safe for you to drive like that, stay," he had told him.

And now he’s here, naked in the hallway.

Fuck.

It’s you, thank goodness.

A vision in lacy lingerie.

He feels his heart beating in his throat.

“Hey.” you whisper, moving closer to him and hugging him from behind. You bury your face between his shoulder blades, your tits pressed against his broad back, leaving small kisses on his skin, licking away a streak of his sweat.

“Hey.” he replies coldly, his voice hoarse.

“I heard you,” he grumbles softly.

“I know,” you purr, “I wanted you to hear me.”

You’re cruel when you want to be, why do this to me?

“You smell like him.” He groans.

“Yeah, but I’ve been thinking about you all the damn time.”

Joel feels a surge of pride fill his body, his cock reacting to your words.

“Is he sleeping?”

“Yes,” you murmur against his skin and then add, “Joel, I can’t wait any longer.”

“What do you want, baby?” he smirks in the dark hallway, one hand on the bathroom doorknob, the other gripping the wrist of your arm around his waist.

“I want to smell like you.”

tag list: @aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @baronessvonglitter @harriedandharassed @probablyreadinsmut @almostempty @thundermartini @cas-readsandwrites @lemon-nomel

archive tag: @pedrostories

let me know if you want to be added or removed, I'll do it right away! Thanks for reading ❤️

[ssahotchnerr]

girl!dad aaron reading to his daughter over the phone while on a case! 🥹 just like that one episode of jj and henry 😭🥰

nightmares

i will sob. 🥺 i'm also setting this in ellie's bad dreams era :( cw; fem!reader, girl dad!aaron, slight angst, fluff <3

"It looks like this is his comfort zone." Using a red marker, Spencer circled an area on the map. "If we pinpoint-"

As he was continuing his thought, Aaron's phone rang. He fully expected to see Penelope's name, anticipating her call as she was working her magic to narrow down a pool of potential unsubs. However, his eyebrows furrowed in worry as he saw it was from you instead.

"Excuse me." He spoke lowly yet urgently, keeping his eyes on his screen and hurrying away with no hesitation, missing the team's concerned glances.

"Hey," he answered, closing the door to the empty conference room behind him. There was knowing feeling deep in his chest - and a grim one at that. "Everything alright?"

"Kinda... no." You switched up quickly with a sigh, slight distress in your voice. "I'm sorry, I know you're busy. But can you spare a minute or two?"

"Another nightmare?" Aaron's eyes shot to the clock perched on the wall. While it was somewhat early for him, it was getting late back home, timezones to thank. And doing the math quickly, bedtime for the kids had been about two hours ago. So sadly this - right on schedule.

You hummed in confirmation, beginning with the positive first. "She fell asleep in her bed tonight, actually. Went down easy, not much protest. But then woke up crying, and was nearly inconsolable for a while. She's with me now." Your eyes shifted down to your frightened daughter besides you, who was inching closer and closer to seemingly making herself smaller. "And keeps asking for you."

Aaron glanced out; the team was still preoccupied, discussing the geographical profile amongst themselves, and could definitely manage without him for a while longer. "Yeah, I have some time."

There was a quick rustle as you set your phone down, placing it on speaker. Your voice was farther now, not by much, but it felt treacherously distant, as if more miles had been added. "It's Daddy, honey."

"Hey Ellie Bellie." Aaron's tone quieted, his face softening as he spoke. "What's the matter?"

A light sniffle came from the other end. "I had a scary dream."

"A scary dream, huh?" He repeated, an achy pang producing in his chest. Ellie's nightmares have been occurring for a while now, and indubitably becoming a problem. You both expected the dreams to run their course, eventually pass, and things would return to normal. But as time moved forward, it was becoming clear it was well beyond that as they worsened. "It's okay, you're safe with Mom now, right?"

Ellie nodded, unknowingly to him. Her small voice cracked, laced with tears. "I want you."

"I know, and I'll be home when work lets me, I promise. You can even use my pillow tonight too, if you want." He bit down onto his lip as Ellie mumbled a small 'okay' in response. Hard. "Or how about a story? Would that help you feel better?"

Her head rose up and down again, prompting you to speak up as Aaron was met with only her silence.

"We have a few right here." You reached across her, grabbing the few storybooks that frequented Aaron's nightstand and settling back against your own pillow.

"Your pick sweetheart." Aaron pulled a chair from the table, sitting down and making himself comfortable momentarily.

"Goodnight Moon?"

Goodnight Moon, also one of Jack's favorites when he was younger. Between him and Ellie, Aaron's read it so many times, he had the entirety of the book memorized. In addition, Ellie's other, more lengthy favorites - he had gone through and cleverly taken a picture of each page, all stored safely in his camera roll for instances such as tonight. No matter where he happened to be, he could read the text, while also drawing attention to and discussing the images with her.

"Sure. Get all comfy and cozy up to Mom, yeah?"

Ellie nestled herself more into your side, her head resting on your arm as she death-gripped onto her plush bunny. You adjusted the duvet to adequately cover the two of you, scooting down and propping the book up for the two of you to see.

"We're ready when you are." You told Aaron, brushing a few stray strands of hair away from Ellie's face.

As your brief sentence concluded, a harsh pinch formed behind Aaron's eyes, the guilt creeping in as he pictured the two of you laid together, where he also should've been. His little girl was beside herself in fear, wanted him, and yet here he was. Far away on the other side of the country. He felt as if he were failing her; letting her down.

Aaron swallowed to even out his voice, to sound as cheery as he possibly could, and to refrain any agony from being heard. He took a deep, yet small guttural breath.

"In the great green room..."

[levanterhaze]

── GAMEBOY, BANGCHAN

♡  ― 󠀬󠀬 fratboy!bangchan x f!reader praise kink, protected sex, rough sex, fluff & angst.

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

[12.3k words ]♡― here we are, at the last chapter of gameboy. writing this series has been so much fun and having the opportunity to tell the stories i love to write is a privilege. i hope i don't disappoint you with this ending, that you understand each choice made for the characters. i also hope you continue to support me, this has been so special and welcoming to me, i can't thank you enough for everything. thank you for embracing gameboy, for continuing to read and for all your support. from the bottom of my heart. PLEASE READ THE PREVIOUS CHAPTERS!!!! that said, have a good read.

♡― THE PLAYLIST.

♡ [part one] ♡[part two]♡ [part three] ♡[part four] ♡[part five] ♡[part six] ♡[part seven]

'Cause I'm right here waiting for us 때로는 두려웠어 다신 오지 않을 것 같아서 두 손 꼭 잡은 채 그 어떤 순간이 덮쳐 와도 널 놓지 않을게

After all the chaos, the only thing that made sense was leaving.

So you did.

You shot Hyunjin a text, practically begging him to take you to the bus stop. He didn’t ask questions—he was too pissed off about the whole thing, ranting the entire drive about how it was bullshit that you had to be the one to go. In his mind, Eunji and Mingyu should’ve been the ones packing their bags.

And maybe he was right. But you were exhausted. Your body ached from the tension, your head was a tangled mess of emotions, and honestly? You just didn’t have it in you to fight anymore.

By the time you got back to campus, you had a plan—or at least, a temporary bandage disguised as one. You marched straight to the admin office and spun some tragic, half-true sob story about needing to “regain focus” on your studies. A few forced tears later — maybe slightly real ones— they handed you the keys to a new dorm on the other side of campus.

No hesitation. No second-guessing. You packed what little you had and moved in before anyone even realized you were gone.

And then you disappeared.

One day after another, like clockwork. No calls, no texts, no explanations. Just silence.

Your life has shrunk down to a routine: rehearsals, studying, sleep, repeat.

Hyunjin and Seungmin still tried to pull you out of your self-imposed exile, inviting you to lunch, cracking jokes at rehearsals to get a reaction out of you—but you always politely refused. You weren’t rude, just... distant. Like a ghost of yourself.

Bangchan had tried. Over and over. Messages sent and then deleted, calls he never made, moments of hesitation that stretched into frustration. He wanted to give you space, wanted to respect whatever it was you needed, but that didn’t make it any easier. Every time he saw you, it felt like his chest was caving in.

He’d even asked Hyunjin about you, but the guy was like a vault. Hyunjin wasn’t about to betray you—not even for him. “She’s busy,” was all he ever got. “Leave her alone, man.”

But how could he, when you were right there? When you were always the last to show up at rehearsals and the first to leave, slipping away before he even had a chance to try? It was torture. Watching you go about your life like he wasn’t part of it anymore. Like he never had been.

And it was worse because he could still feel you.

In his bed, between the sheets. In his hands, aching for your touch. In his mind, where your laugh and your voice were stuck on a loop, growing more distant with every passing day—like a dream he was trapped in, running but never getting anywhere.

And you wouldn’t even look at him.

If your eyes ever landed on him in the theater, they flicked away like it physically hurt you to see him. If you spotted him on campus, walking with the boys, you immediately turned your head.

So you buried yourself in anything that wasn’t him. Anything that wasn’t Eunji. Because thinking about either of them was the only thing more unbearable than being alone.

And Eunji—who didn’t even look at you, let alone speak to you. Every time your paths crossed, she barely acknowledged your existence, like you were something rotten in her periphery. A stranger. No, worse—something beneath her.

And that hurt. Maybe even more than Bangchan.

Because you’d believed in her. In you two. In the kind of unspoken loyalty that came with late-night talks, inside jokes, and secrets exchanged under dim dorm room lights. You thought there was sisterhood in that. Something unshakable.

But in the end, it was nothing. A mirage. A mist that vanished the second you tried to hold on.

A few weeks had passed and you were enjoying your own company in the library, an iced coffee and your headphones. You were studying your lines for the next class, until someone took the seat in front of you and your eyes looked up in surprise to see Sohee sitting with her arms crossed.

“Sohee.” you murmured, almost not believing she was there.

Sohee arched her brow, unimpressed. “Oh, so you do remember me.”

You blinked, scrambling for words. “I—of course, I do. I just—”

“Disappeared?” she finished for you, leaning back in her chair. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Guilt twisted in your stomach, but you kept your expression neutral. “I’ve been busy.”

She let out a dry laugh. “Right. Busy. Too busy to text? Too busy to tell me why you packed up and moved to the other side of campus?” Her eyes narrowed. “Eunji won’t tell me what happened. Neither will Hyunjin. Which means something happened, and I need you to stop bullshitting me.”

Your mouth went dry, fingers tightening around your coffee cup. The truth sat heavy on your tongue, bitter and unspeakable. 

What if she looked at you the way Eunji did? 

Sohee exhaled, her sharpness softening just a fraction. “Look, I don’t know what went down, but I missed you, okay?”

Your heart clenched. She wasn’t angry. She was hurt. And that somehow made it worse.

You put your headphones aside and took a deep breath, gathering the courage to begin.

So you started from the very beginning. Bangchan, the secrets, then Mingyu, Eunji finding out, all your emotions, the fight between Bangchan and Mingyu, and how completely broken you’d been ever since.

Sohee listened, her expression shifting from shock to disbelief. “That’s... insane. I can’t believe Eunji would do something like that.”

“I know.” You gave a small, bitter smile. “That’s why it hurts.”

“And rightfully so. She had no right to interfere in your life or come at you like that.” Sohee leaned on the table, eyes searching yours. “But please, don’t let this kill your spark. Everyone misses you.”

And you missed them too. All of them. Without exception.

“If you must know,” Sohee drawled, cocking her head with a little smirk, “I’d already kind of guessed there was something going on with you and Bangchan.” 

You shot her a look, but she kept going, unbothered. 

“I just figured you’d spill when you were ready. No pressure. Not my circus.” She shrugged, then narrowed her eyes playfully. “But seriously… you do like him, right?”

Your chest tightened. Because the answer was obvious.

Sohee gave you a pointed look, like she could see right through you. “Oh, come on. Don’t give me that I guess it doesn’t matter bullshit.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “It doesn’t.”

“It does.” She leaned in, voice low but firm. “You’re miserable. He’s miserable. And all of this is because of what? Miscommunication and some high school level drama?”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yeah, it kinda is.” She shrugged. “You like him. He clearly likes you. But instead of dealing with it, you ran.”

“That’s not fair—”

Sohee held up a hand. “I’m not saying you didn’t have your reasons. I’m saying that if you keep avoiding it, you’re just gonna hurt yourself more. Let things cool down, sure. But don’t wait until it’s too late.”

You stared at her, words caught in your throat. Because the truth was, you were terrified. Terrified that if you faced him, he’d look at you differently. That the damage was already done.

But another, quieter part of you—the part that still remembered the warmth of his touch, the way he looked at you like you were it for him—wondered if maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t too late at all.

You were alone in the theater, the crumpled sheets of your solo scattered around you like forgotten love letters. You were dead set on nailing that high note — the heartbreak one, the kind that’s supposed to rip your chest open and bleed on stage. Humming through the first verse, you air-strummed like your life depended on it, lost in the rhythm.

“Am I crashing a rockstar's private concert?” Changbin’s voice broke through your focus, making your head snap up so fast it almost hurt. He was in his basketball jacket, the team logo front and center, and that usual mischievous grin was pulling at his mouth. He stepped closer, then plopped down next to you on the edge of the stage like he belonged there. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You’re fine.” You flashed him a crooked little smile as you scooped up the sheets from the floor. “I’ll just pretend you weren’t suspiciously wandering the theater.”

“Busted.” He lifted both hands in mock surrender. “What can I say? If you hadn’t pulled a full-on undercover mission and vanished from campus, I wouldn’t have to play detective just to track you down.”

You shot him a look. “Busted.”

His smile softened a bit, but it didn’t reach his usual brand of easy humor. Changbin had always been the steady one — loyal to Bangchan, to the whole group really. But right now, there was something quieter in him, like he’d pocketed the jokes for later.

And even though you kept your expression cool, you felt it too — the weight of whatever he wasn’t saying yet. “The guys miss you, you know that, right?”

His voice was casual, but it landed heavier than he probably meant it to. You dragged in a breath, sharp like it might actually clear out the guilt clogging your chest. 

Spoiler: it didn’t. You’d gone ghost on them, the second life got messy, and there was no pretending otherwise.

Before you could open your mouth, probably to spit out some lame excuse, Changbin raised a hand like he could see it coming from a mile away. “And no, before you even ask, he didn’t send me,” he said, shooting you a knowing look. “Didn’t even bring you up. But it wasn’t rocket science, you know? Mingyu stormed off, then Chan showed up looking like he lost a bar or something.”

You winced. “Bin… I’m sorry.”

“Hey.” He shook his head, like that wasn’t what he came here for. “This isn’t a guilt trip, alright? Whatever Mingyu pulled, he had it coming. Trust me, no one’s crying over him.”

A pause. “But that’s not why I’m here.”

You straightened up, catching the shift in his tone. Less playful, more real. The kind of real that you couldn’t dodge even if you wanted to.

“I’m just—look, I’m just trying to knock some sense into both of you,” Changbin went on, like he’d been carrying this around too long. “I don’t know all the details, and honestly? I don’t need to. But I do know my best friend’s been walking around like the lights are on, but nobody’s home.”

Your chest tightened, the words slipping past your guard way too easily.

“And I’m not saying this to dump it on you, okay? I swear,” he added, catching your expression before you could speak. “It’s just... he’s a mess. And it’s not just the basketball thing, or the usual stress — it’s you. He misses you. Bad.”

The way he said it — simple, no drama, no exaggeration — hit you harder than any speech could’ve.

And you hated it. You hated that part of you wanted to hear it. You hated that it hurt more than you expected. Because deep down, you already knew.

“I’m only doing this because he’s my guy,” Changbin started, running a hand through his hair like this whole conversation weighed more than he let on. “Chan’s always been the one to clean up after the rest of us, you know? First to show up with advice or some half-baked plan to save the day.”

You tilted your head, a small smile sneaking onto your lips despite yourself. Classic Chan.

Changbin caught it, and his own grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, softer this time. “Yeah, exactly. And when he met you? Man, it was like someone turned the lights on in his head. Swear to God, I’ve never seen him like that. He was just... lighter.”

The way he said it twisted something in your chest, but you held his gaze, letting him finish.

“What I’m saying is,” he went on, “even if you two don’t go back to being, like, whatever you were before—” he waved a vague hand between you, “—at least talk to him. He’s stuck in that ‘she hates me, so I better give her space’ spiral, and you know how Chan is. He’ll bury it to do what’s best for you.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how much that stung. “Wait... so he doesn’t hate me?”

Changbin actually laughed at that, a real, rough-around-the-edges laugh. “Hate you? Please. I don’t think that man has it in him, even if he tried.”

Your fingers tangled together, fidgeting without you meaning to. The truth slipped out before you could stop it. “I care about him. I really do.”

“Yeah,” Changbin said simply, no teasing this time, just plain fact. “I know you do. And I know you’ll figure this out.”

After a beat of quiet, Changbin pushed himself up, casually brushing nonexistent dust off his jersey like he’d just wrapped up something way more dramatic than a heart-to-heart.

“Thanks, Binnie,” you said, flashing him a crooked smile as he gave you an overly formal little bow.

He started toward the door but paused right at the exit, glancing back over his shoulder with that familiar spark in his eye. “You know I love you, right? But if you mess with my best friend’s heart, I will write the nastiest diss track you’ve ever heard. Full production. No skips.”

That earned a laugh out of you, real and warm. “Gonna throw in choreography too?”

He smirked like you’d just dared him to. “Obviously. Backup dancers and everything."

And with that, he turned on his heel and disappeared down the hall, his voice echoing back as he called out, “You’re not getting off that easy!”

And just like that, you were alone again—surrounded by a whole storm of thoughts you weren’t quite ready to untangle.

You’d swallowed that whole conversation with Changbin like it was a bad shot of cheap tequila — still burning in your chest, still impossible to forget. And yet, life rolled on, dragging you with it while you kept trying to figure out when the hell would be the right time to talk to Bangchan.

Problem was, the whole thing still felt like an open wound — not bleeding anymore, but definitely not ready for anyone to poke at it either.

Sohee was in your new room, fussing with the straps of her dress in front of the mirror. The place wasn’t as roomy as the one you used to share with her and Eunji, but it did the job.

“I talked to Eunji," Sohee said, swiping mascara on with laser focus. "Well — argued is probably the more accurate term. She wouldn’t even let me finish when I tried to tell her she was being a bitch."

You were sprawled across your bed, cozy in your oldest, softest pajamas, like this whole conversation wasn’t tying your stomach in knots.

"I didn’t want you two fighting because of me," you muttered, playing with the hem of your sleeve.

Sohee whipped around, one eye still missing eyeliner but her energy fully charged. “Please. I’m morally allergic to bullshit. What she did was a straight-up foul. And until she figures out how to act like a halfway decent human being, maybe it’s time we put that friendship on ice.”

You sighed, a tangled mess of guilt and low-key relief knotting in your chest. "Yeah, well... it still kinda sucks."

“Everyone’s gotta make their own choices…” Sohee went back to her makeup like it was no big deal, but then spun around again, narrowing her eyes at you. “Speaking of choices… you’re really not going to the game? It’s the final. Literally, everyone’s gonna be there.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh and flopped onto the pillows like your life depended on it.

“Yeah, hard pass. Not in the mood to humiliate myself in public, thanks.”

“Girl, come on,” Sohee groaned. “This is your perfect excuse to finally talk to Bangchan and fix things. I know he’d love to see you there, especially at his last game this semester.”

You hesitated, chewing the inside of your cheek. “I don’t know… Feels like showing up would just make it worse.”

Sohee snapped the mascara shut like it personally offended her. “Stubborn as hell, I swear. Fine. Just—promise me you won’t do something you’re gonna regret later, alright?”

“I know, I know,” you waved her off, a little smile tugging at your lips. “I’ll figure it out when the time’s right. Go have fun, kiss your boyfriend, and drink an unreasonable amount of beer in my honor.”

She grabbed her bag off the bed, but before heading out, she paused at the door and shot you a final look over her shoulder. “Last chance. Are you sure you’re staying?”

“Yeah. Have fun at the game,” you said, forcing a half-smile.

Sohee shrugged like she’d expected that answer. “Alright… I tried. Don’t say I didn’t.” She shot you a quick grin over her shoulder as she headed out. “Catch you later!”

As the minutes dragged on, boredom hit you like a brick. Your brain was way too wired to even think about running lines for the play. You tried putting on a movie, but you zoned out every five minutes and had to keep rewinding just to figure out what the hell was going on.

That’s when you decided: screw it. Time to hit the campus café and drown your existential crisis in hot chocolate and maybe the most sugar-loaded cupcake you could get your hands on. Comfort food therapy, top tier.

You threw on some cute but cozy clothes, something to shake off the emotional slump clinging to you like a bad ex. Skirt, sweater, your trusty boots — the holy trinity.

The second you stepped outside, it felt like the whole weather system had joined your pity party. What started as a light breeze had upgraded to full-blown dramatic gusts, and the sky was throwing major moody vibes with all those gloomy gray clouds.

The cafeteria was basically a ghost town. No surprise there — most people were off hyping up the basketball final, the very game everyone had been pushing you to go to. But showing up last-minute just to cause a scene was so not your style. If you were going to fix things, you’d do it on your own terms, not crash the party like some soap opera twist.

Inside, the café was warm but dead quiet. The staff looked just as miserable as you felt, probably counting down the seconds till they could ditch work and catch the game too. You kind of felt bad for bothering them. Kind of. But hey, desperate times. Your soul needed sugar before life threw another plot twist your way.

You went for the hot chocolate — obvious choice — and threw in a slice of strawberry sponge cake for good measure. Not exactly a gourmet pairing, but at this point, flavor combos were the least of your problems.

You slid into the table by the window, pulling out your phone like it could somehow save you from your own restless brain. 

Sohee had just posted a story: her, Minho, and Felix, all grins and mid-cheers. Typical. You kept scrolling, letting the endless stream of everyone else’s highlight reel wash over you. Felix, Jisung, and Hyunjin had apparently hit up a barbecue place recently, and yeah — that one stung. Hard. Like a punch right in the ribs, just above where you’d been keeping all your unresolved guilt.

Brilliant. Love that for me.

“Hey.”

The voice snapped you out of your spiral so fast you damn near fumbled your phone like it was evidence in a crime. Guiltily, you locked the screen and glanced up.

Mingyu stood there, iced coffee in hand, wearing that soft, easy smile.

“Hi…” you answered, a little awkward. He hadn’t exactly been on your recent contact list either.

"Can I sit?" He gestured at the chair across from you. "I won’t take up too much of your time, scout’s honor."

You nodded, curiosity getting the better of you. Might as well — it’s not like you were killing it at the whole “alone with your thoughts” thing anyway.

“You kinda vanished,” Mingyu said as he set his coffee down and folded his arms casually over the table. “Haven’t seen you around at all.”

You let out a humorless little laugh, more of a scoff really. “Didn’t exactly feel like I had a choice.”

“I see,” Mingyu exhaled, slow and steady, like he was gearing up to unload something heavy. “Look, I’m really sorry about everything. Honestly. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking, coming out swinging at Bangchan like that.” He shook his head, as if still baffled by his own actions. “That’s not me. At all. And I’m sorry for dragging you into the mess.”

Well. That was... unexpectedly nice of him.

You weren’t sure what you’d expected — maybe some half-baked excuse or him brushing it off — but an actual, straight-up apology? Kind of refreshing.

“I should’ve seen it, you know?” He gave a small, hollow laugh. “The way he looked at you... yeah, it was pretty obvious. Can’t really blame the guy.”

There was a flicker of something in his smile, something resigned and maybe a little bit sad.

 “I’m sorry for hurting you,” you added, softer this time.

He shrugged, a wry twist to his lips. “No need. Things happen the way they’re supposed to, right? We had a good run. And well... I guess that’s it.”

“No hard feelings?” he asked, reaching his hand across the table like he was closing a deal.

You didn’t even hesitate — you took it, gave it a firm squeeze. “No hard feelings.”

“Right.” He nodded, like it was the final period of a sentence. Then he got up, grabbed his coffee, and shot you a parting smile. “I—I just hope you’re happy.”

And just like that, Mingyu walked out through the glass doors, disappearing across campus like he was just another passerby in your life. It wasn’t until the door swung shut behind him that his words really hit you, settling deep in your stomach like a lead weight.

I hope you’re happy.

And you weren’t happy. Not even close.

The brutal truth? You had no one to blame but yourself. Every twist, every wrong turn, it all traced back to your own fear, your own hesitation. If you’d been just a little braver — if you’d let people in instead of keeping them at arm’s length — maybe things would’ve been different. Maybe you’d be happy.

The cruel part? It took hearing it from Mingyu to finally see it for what it was. It was always you.

Your half-eaten cake sat abandoned on the table, the hot chocolate cooling into something sad and forgotten. Without thinking twice, you pushed back your chair and stormed out of the café, straight into the chaos waiting outside.

The wind hit you like a wall, and then, as if the universe was feeling especially theatrical today, fat, icy drops of rain began to fall — fast and merciless.

Karma? Maybe. Challenge accepted.

You didn’t slow down. You ran.

Your biker boots pounded against the slick grass, water splashing up your legs as the rain came down harder, so heavy it blurred the world into a messy watercolor. But you didn’t care. You weren’t stopping now — not when your heart was finally awake after pretending to sleep for so long.

The gym was all the way across campus, of course it was. Far enough that you were completely drenched by the time the courtyard came into view. Your chest heaved with every breath, burning like you’d sprinted through fire instead of rain. Your clothes clung to your skin, soaked to the bone, and your hair stuck to your forehead, your cheeks, your neck — like the rain wanted to wear you down.

But you kept going. You had to get there. No matter how soaked, no matter how late.

You had to.

You squared your shoulders, puffed out your chest like you had a whole army at your back, and stomped straight toward the gym doors. No hesitation. Okay — a little hesitation. Your heart was doing somersaults in your chest, adrenaline crashing into nerves like they were fighting for control.

But you pushed the doors open anyway.

Only to be greeted by... absolutely no one.

Just the janitor, casually mopping the far end of the court like this was any other boring Saturday.

Your pulse stumbled, like it tripped over itself. No way.

You yanked out your soaked phone, fingers slipping against the drenched screen, and checked the time. Way too late. The game had ended — you’d missed it. They were probably already at some bar downing cheap drinks and yelling over greasy plates of fries, and here you were, a walking raincloud with nothing to show for it.

Your thumb hovered over Sohee’s number, ready to call, beg, something — but before you could hit the dial, a voice cut through the empty court.

“Your plan is to flood the gym or what?”

Your heart flat-out stopped.

Slowly, you turned, every inch of you shivering from the rain and a healthy dose of panic.

Bangchan.

He was right there, leaning against the entrance like he hadn’t just flipped your entire internal system upside down. His hair was a mess of wet strands, some falling over his forehead in a way that should’ve been illegal.

Your mouth went dry, brain buffering like a bad connection.

"I'm... um... a little soaked," you managed, glancing down at yourself and the puddle spreading beneath your feet. A tremor ran through you, part chill, part nerves, leaving your words thin and shaky.

Bangchan gave a quiet, amused breath — almost a laugh, but softer — before he started walking toward you.

It was only then, as he drew closer, that you really saw him. His hair had grown longer, the damp curls now brushing the nape of his neck, framing his face in a way that felt painfully unfair. Draped over his shoulders was a black jacket, the kind that made him look like he’d stepped right off a movie scene.

"What are you doing here?" Bangchan’s voice cut through the hollow echo of the gym, roughened by surprise but threaded with something deeper.

With one simple movement, he removed the jacket from his shoulders and placed it over yours. You gulped, the words knotting in your throat. "I—I'm leaving," you managed, barely above a whisper.

"You're leaving?" His brows pulled together, like the thought alone caused him genuine pain.

Instinctively, you took a step back, clutching his jacket tighter around your soaked frame. Coward. Even now, even with him standing right in front of you, you were slipping into old habits, retreating when you should be reaching out.

Bangchan tilted his head, eyes flicking over your rain-soaked figure. "You really think I’m gonna buy that? After you ran through a damn storm to get here?" His voice was low, rough around the edges, but his gaze was soft.

Your throat felt like it was closing in on itself, your breath turning shallow and uneven. "I thought the game was still on," you confessed, your voice small, almost childlike.

"It ended early," he said, his tone softening. "Thunderstorm warning." He gestured toward the windows, where the rain continued to batter the glass in relentless sheets. "Most people cleared out fast. But I stayed behind."

Why? you wanted to ask. But maybe you didn’t need to — his eyes already told you everything you needed to know.

"You stayed," you echoed, almost in disbelief, as if saying it aloud would make it real.

He stepped closer, his gaze dipping to your hands, which clung to his jacket like it was the only thing keeping you afloat. When his eyes met yours again, something flickered in them — something deep and quiet, something that felt dangerously close to hope.

Bangchan’s gaze didn’t waver. "You came here for a reason," he said, his voice rough at the edges. "So stop pretending you didn’t."

Your heart twisted painfully, tangled in the unsaid. The truth clawed at your chest, desperate to surface. I wanted to see you. I wanted to stop running.

"I..." But your voice trembled, fragile as glass stretched too thin.

Bangchan’s expression softened, like he could see straight through the façade, like he saw every crack you were trying to hide. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he reached up and brushed a damp strand of hair from your cheek. His fingers were warm against your chilled skin, and despite yourself, you leaned into his touch.

"You’re freezing," he murmured.

"I'm fine," you lied, even as your body betrayed you with a violent shiver.

A faint, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Liar."

"I need to ask you something," you said, your voice tighter than you wanted. "That night on the beach… were you serious? About everything you said?"

His expression twisted, disbelief written all over him. “Really? Really? Don’t waste my time pretending you don’t know.”

You let out a breath, sharp through your nose. Fair enough. But you had to say it, get it off your chest before it ate you alive.

"I messed it all up," you admitted, the words tumbling out. "I kept telling myself I didn’t care what people thought, like I was above all that crap. But it turns out I care. Way more than I should. And that fear? It had me choking on my own feelings."

You risked a glance at him. He was watching you like you were the only thing left in the world worth looking at. No interruptions, no sarcastic quips — just quiet focus.

"I mean, you were— God, you were so good to me," you kept going, voice thick with regret. "And I think I freaked out because I’d already fallen for you way before I let myself admit it. Like, properly fallen. And that scared the hell out of me because I never thought I’d actually… like you. Not like this."

Your throat tightened, a painful lump that wouldn’t go away. "I liked everything. Being around you. Talking to you. Even the way you annoyed me." you smiled softly.

Your eyes stung, tears slipping free, but you kept going like you couldn’t stop. "I hate what I did to you. I hate that I messed this up beyond fixing it. And I know it’s too late... yeah. I get it. I understand."

You swallowed against the lump in your throat, words tumbling out too fast. "I just needed you to know, before I go — I’m sorry. For everything. You didn’t deserve any of it."

Your breath hitched, but you met his eyes anyway — full on, no flinching. "I’m so sorry."

Tears blurred your vision as you crossed the court toward the exit, not even bothering to shield yourself from the rain. What was the point? You were already soaked, inside and out.

You let out a choked sob, hating yourself for being such a coward — for always running when it mattered most.

“Wait—” Bangchan’s voice cut through the downpour, rough and almost swallowed by the storm.

You froze, eyes narrowing against the sheets of rain, blinking fast to see through the water streaming down your face.

“Wait," he called out again, sharper now, like the rain itself had finally lit a fuse. "What gives you the right to drop that on me and just walk away?” His anger was written all over him, carved deep into the lines of his face.

"What?" you shot back, breath catching, but the storm swallowed your voice, forcing you to yell just to be heard.

Bangchan raked a hand through his soaked hair, slicking it back as he stepped closer, chest rising fast, like he couldn’t breathe right with you this far away. "You’re running," he said, rough and tight. "Running from me. From us. Again."

And hell, he wasn’t wrong.

"Everything I’ve done," he said, the words rough-edged and raw, "since the second I met you — it’s been about you. Always you." He caught his breath, like saying it out loud made it real. "Because I wanted you. More than anything."

The confession hit like a punch to the ribs, sharp and breath-stealing.

"Since Hyunjin introduced us and you barely noticed I existed," he kept going, like he couldn’t stop now. "Since you breezed right past me without a second thought. Since you crashed into my life and wrecked every single thing I thought I had figured out."

Your heart was beating out of rhythm, too fast for your own body to keep up, like it was trying to outrun the storm — or maybe run straight to him.

"You don’t get to stand there and tell me it’s too late," Bangchan shouted over the rain, his voice tearing through the downpour like it had something to prove. His eyes burned so bright, it almost hurt to look at him. "Not when I’ve been standing here this whole time, heart wide open, just waiting for you to see me."

His chest heaved, rain sliding off him like he didn’t even notice, like all he could see was you. "I’ve been waiting for you," he said, softer this time, but it was the kind of softness that carried weight. Heavy. Unshakable. "So if you want me — really want me — you’ve got to say it. I need to hear you say it."

The storm raged around you, but it felt like the eye of it had landed right here, right between the two of you. Your pulse throbbed in your ears, every muscle strung so tight you could barely breathe.

This was terrifying. This was exhilarating. This was everything you had been too scared to want.

Your lips parted, but for a heartbeat, all you could do was try to swallow the lump in your throat. Then, steadying your breath, you let a small, shaky smile tug at the corner of your mouth. A flicker of defiance, maybe even a little hope.

"Bangchan," you said, your voice rough but sure, "there’s never been anyone else. It’s only ever been you."

There wasn’t a second of hesitation when your lips found his — only the wild, breathless certainty of two people who had run out of ways to pretend they didn’t need this.

The desperation between you felt electric, almost feverish, like your skin couldn’t decide if it was burning or freezing in the rain. You’d never felt anything like it — like the whole world had finally spun off its axis and was crashing headfirst into this moment. Into him.

When his hands, just as cold and trembling as yours, cupped your face like he was terrified you might slip away, you gasped, a sharp breath of shock and longing tangled together. Bangchan made you feel reckless. Young. Like you were caught in the middle of one of those ridiculous romance high-school movies you always scoffed at, the kind where the girl lifts her leg during the kiss — and for once, you understood why.

This kiss, soaked to the bone and laced with every scrap of resentment and longing, felt like proof. Proof that what you had wasn’t just real, but unstoppable.

You clung to him like he was the only thing anchoring you to the earth, fingers fisting in his drenched shirt as the rain poured over you both, careless and wild. And still, beneath the chaos, something pure unfurled in your chest — something terrifyingly beautiful, raw and undeniable.

Bangchan kissed you like he was starving, like he had been starving for you. He deepened the kiss, tasting every inch of you like it had haunted him in dreams and in every quiet, aching moment you’d spent apart.

It wasn’t new, this hunger — you’d felt it before. But tonight, in this storm, in his arms, it felt entirely different. Like you’d finally let yourself give in to the fire you’d been dancing around for far too long.

How you ended up sprinting down the hallway with soaked shoes that squeaked like a bad joke didn’t even matter at this point. Thunder growled overhead like it was personally offended by your existence, and Bangchan was fumbling with the dorm keys like his life depended on it.

“Could you not kill the key while you’re at it?” you shot at him, half breathless, half laughing despite the anxiety twisting in your stomach.

“I'm trying, damn it,” he muttered, jamming the key into the lock with a speed that was both impressive and completely ridiculous.

The door finally gave in, and the two of you stumbled inside, drenched to the bone. The room was dim, only lit by the bruised grey daylight leaking through the window, and for a second, the world just... stopped spinning so fast.

You didn’t even think about it. Your hand found his face like it belonged there — like you were tracing something ancient and sacred, a statue carved by the gods, Apollo himself if Apollo wore wet hair and a breathless grin. Your thumb brushed his cheekbone, and you caught yourself smiling, then sinking your teeth into your lip to hold it back.

Bangchan swore under his breath, like your touch was enough to short-circuit his whole system. He closed his eyes for half a heartbeat, then caught your hand in his, holding it like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“I missed you…” you admitted, your voice low and honest, like the words had been burning a hole in your lungs.

Bangchan’s breath hitched. He caught your hand gently, his fingers wrapping around yours like he was scared you might vanish if he didn’t hold on tight enough. His eyes — god, his eyes — they searched your face like you were something holy, like every answer he’d ever wanted was written in the curve of your smile.

He kissed your knuckles, slow and passionate, and that tiny gesture nearly undid you. The way he was looking at you sent a shiver down your spine. Tears pricked behind your eyes, not from sadness, but from the insane, overwhelming relief of finally feeling. Like your chest had cracked open and light was pouring in, fierce and free.

And damn, it felt so, so good to finally breathe again.

The best part, freedom didn’t need an invitation — it just showed up, slipped right between you two like it belonged there all along.

And then, his lips found yours. No hesitation, no second-guessing, just there — warm and certain and carrying every shred of doubt far, far away. If those questions still existed, you sure as hell weren’t looking for them.

Bangchan kissed you like he knew. Like he knew exactly how long you’d been waiting for this, and he wasn’t about to ruin it with panic or rush. He was careful, but not shy — calculated without making it feel forced, a perfect balance of hunger and restraint that made your heart stutter in your chest.

This wasn’t reckless. No, this was something else entirely. This felt like he was handling something precious, like you were made of glass and he wasn’t sure if you’d shatter or melt in his hands. Maybe a bit of both.

Your arms looped around his neck, a familiar move, but now it felt charged. You’d always been secretly obsessed with how he towered over you, how his presence alone seemed to wrap around you like a second skin. Like gravity had picked favorites and he was yours.

Without even breaking the kiss, you found the hem of his drenched T-shirt, fingers brushing over cool skin as you tugged it upward. He caught the hint, helping you pull it over his head in one smooth motion before tossing it somewhere behind him like it didn’t matter — because it didn’t.

The jacket he’d draped over your shoulders slipped to the floor with a quiet thud. Your lips were still tangled in his, tasting rain and fire and something dangerously close to forever. Every brush of your mouth against his felt like a spark in a storm, friction building and building until you were certain you’d catch flame.

You didn’t know how long you’d been kissing him, and honestly? You didn’t care. All you knew was this moment — soaked skin, racing pulse, and the wild, breathless certainty that whatever this was between you, it was finally, finally real.

Before he even thought about sitting down, Bangchan stripped off every soaked, useless layer like it personally offended him. His shirt hit the floor with a wet splat, followed by the rest, and then he dropped onto the edge of the bed like he owned the damn place — which, technically, he did, but still.

You stood between his knees, and for a second, it felt like the air got thinner.

Slowly — painfully slowly, because he had to know exactly what he was doing to you — he tugged your skirt lower, knuckles grazing your skin like it was an accident. His fingers made quick work of your boots, then your sweater, all without breaking eye contact. His gaze had this impossible mix: soft but hungry, steady but burning with something you couldn’t quite name. Like you were some kind of inevitable he’d been waiting for without even realizing it.

Without a word, he curled his hand around the back of your thigh and coaxed you onto his lap, like you were gravity and he didn’t stand a chance. You went willingly — of course you did — knees bracketing his hips, your palms finding his shoulders, solid and warm beneath your hands.

He hovered at your mouth, maddeningly close but not quite there. A ghost of a smile played at the corners of his lips, easily teasing you.

His breath skimmed yours, electric and careful, until finally his lips brushed over yours, so light you almost convinced yourself you imagined it. His hands tightened at your waist, fingers sinking into your skin like he needed you closer. Like breathing wasn’t enough anymore.

The room fell into this heady, perfect silence, just the sound of your breathing, uneven and shallow, and the rain tapping against the window like it was keeping rhythm.

Your voice barely rose above a whisper, but it carried all the weight in the world. “Can we just freeze this?” you asked, your eyes tracing every line of his face like you were afraid it might vanish. “Right here, right now. Forever.”

You felt him shiver beneath your fingertips — or maybe it was you. Hard to tell anymore. His answer was the way he kissed you like yes. Like hell yes.

Bangchan let out a low, rough sound, like you’d just stolen the last ounce of self-control he had left. His mouth trailed along your jawline, barely-there kisses that felt like they were searing into your skin.

Normally, he was the one filling the space with words — teasing, coaxing, making you dizzy with how easily he could wreck you. But tonight, you wanted him to feel it. To really feel it. Not just in his head, but in his bones.

You cupped his face between your palms, your thumbs brushing the damp heat of his cheeks. God, he looked at you like you were the whole damn galaxy — like he’d waited light-years for this exact moment. And you traced your fingertip along his parted lips. He didn’t even hesitate; he kissed your fingerprint like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m yours,” you breathed, your voice barely louder than the rain tapping at the window — but it hit him like thunder all the same.

He froze, like your words had short-circuited every nerve in his body. His chest rose on a sharp inhale, his eyes drinking you in like you were the only thing keeping him alive. “I’ll always be,” you whispered, like a vow only he was meant to hear. 

His eyes softened, something raw flickering in them, right before you kissed him — full of every unspoken promise, fearless and certain, like you were stitching your heart straight into his mouth.

His hands found your waist, grounding you, as he shifted you effortlessly to the center of the bed. His lips brushed your neck, making you shiver all over again.

“My heart is yours,” he said softly, his lips brushing your skin like he was confessing a secret. “I’m all yours.” His words melted into kisses — first at your lips, then your cheek, and finally at that place beneath your ear that made your breath hitch.

You couldn’t help it. You laughed, breathless and a little reckless. He grinned against your throat, like he liked you like this — alive, teasing him back.

For a heartbeat, you just looked at him. At this man who somehow made the world quiet and loud all at once. Like maybe, just maybe, life could actually be this simple.

“God, you’re so beautiful…” he said, brushing a damp strand of hair away from your face, his fingers cradling your chin. His gaze dipped to your lips, dark with hunger. “Wanna touch you everywhere…”

His hand slid to the curve of your neck, making your eyes flick up in challenge.

“Make you feel so good,” he added, voice rough with intent.

You bit your lip, settled deeper into his lap, and gave him your signature smirk. “Then what are you waiting for?”

He didn’t need an invitation twice.

The kiss deepened, turned heady and hungry, but never rushed. Bangchan’s fingers toyed with the side of your panties, lazy and teasing, like he had all the time in the world to drive you insane. He hooked his finger under the edge, barely grazing your skin — just enough to send a sharp, electric pulse through your entire body.

There was heat, sure. A wildfire between you, no doubt. But underneath it, something steadier, something that felt terrifyingly like eternity. He wasn’t rushing it. He wasn’t just touching you to have you — he was memorizing you. Worshipping, almost.

“I want you,” you breathed in his mouth, voice rough around the edges, like it had been sanded down to the truth.

He didn’t waste a second. Quick, practiced, a little frantic but still smiling that lazy half-smile of his as he reached for protection, slipping it on in record time, like every second apart was unbearable.

You shifted your knees, adjusting for him — for both of you — and his eyes darkened like you’d just flipped a switch. He tugged the last stubborn scrap of fabric away, his hands lingering like he couldn’t quite let it go.

Without thinking, without hesitating, you sank down onto him, the movement natural, inevitable, like your bodies already knew this rhythm by heart. A gasp escaped you both, caught somewhere between surprise and relief.

Your hands clutched at his shoulders, not for balance, but because you needed to hold on to something real — and he was the only thing that felt like solid ground.

Bangchan buried his face in the crook of your neck, lips warm and wet against your skin, like he couldn’t get close enough. Like he wanted to taste every inch of you, commit you to memory, down to the last shiver.

You moved against him slowly at first, like you wanted to feel every single second of it — to let it burn through your nerves until it became too much to hold back. His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you closer, anchoring you to him as if he couldn’t stand even a breath of distance.

Every shift of your hips dragged a sound from him, rough and raw, like he was barely holding on. His head fell back for a moment, jaw clenched tight, but then his gaze was back on you — dark, devouring, full of need that felt like it could swallow you whole.

You tried to swallow the sounds tearing out of you, sinking your teeth into your lip, into his shoulder, into whatever you could reach — but it was useless. Every slow thrust made you unravel a little more, made you feel like you were coming apart right around him. He filled you so deep, so perfectly, it felt obscene, like your body was made just to take him.

And he knew it too — the way he moved inside you was relentless, unhurried but devastating, like he wanted to make sure you felt every inch of him, every inch of what he was doing to you.

And he wasn’t any steadier.

He fought to hold himself together, but the moans kept breaking free, rough and desperate. He was lost in the delirium of being buried deep inside you, of feeling you stretch and clench around him like you were made to take him. The way you took him, so eager and tight, had his control fraying fast.

He was pulsing with need, every second of restraint twisting into something almost unbearable — too good, too much, almost painful in its pleasure.

His hand slid up to your hair, fingers threading through before he tugged it aside to expose your neck. His mouth found your skin without hesitation — warm, open kisses trailing along your pulse, his tongue tasting the sweat-slick heat of you. 

He worked his way down your neck, lips brushing teasingly over every inch of your sensitive skin. At your chest, he paused, let his tongue explore the soft skin there, coaxing a sharp gasp from you as your body reacted without thinking. He wanted to ruin you with his mouth, to taste every inch until you were dripping for him, until the only thing you could think about was how good he felt owning you like this.

You found your rhythm together, perfectly in sync, like you’d been built for this. Built for him. Each roll of your hips sent a fresh wave of need spiraling through your veins, building, tightening, pulling you both closer to the edge. His hands held you like he couldn’t bear to let go, his touch rough but reverent, worshipping every inch of you.

The room felt molten, the air thick with heat and desire. Moans tangled between you, breathless and desperate, until all you could hear was the storm outside and the sound of your bodies moving together.

"Can’t get enough of you—fuck—" Bangchan’s voice tore out of him, rough and wrecked, words slipping into broken sounds as his hips snapped into yours, chasing the high with a desperation that felt like it might kill him.

Sweat and rainwater dripped down his skin, slick between your bodies, his hair clinging damp to his forehead. He looked like sin, like every fantasy you’d ever had but filthier, messier, better.

You crashed your mouth to his, swallowing the ragged moan that escaped him, tasting the heat of it on his tongue.

“Please,” you begged, breath trembling as your lips brushed his. “God, please, just—”

"You feel—fuck," he choked, breath catching hard as you rolled your hips, grinding right where he needed you. His eyes fluttered shut, helpless to the way you squeezed around him.

"Say it," you demanded, your voice all heat and sin, lips brushing his ear like a spark to gasoline.

He groaned, wrecked. "So good, so fucking good, baby, you drive me insane."

Your lips parted on a shaky exhale, your entire body tightening around him. The knot low in your belly twisted, pulling you closer to that breaking point with every relentless thrust. The storm outside thrashed against the windows, but it was nothing compared to the storm inside you.

Your forehead pressed against his, breaths tangling, sweat-slicked skin sliding together as you moved in sync. His gaze burned into you, wild and wrecked, like he couldn’t get enough.

"That's it," he rasped, rough and hungry. His thumb worked your clit in tight, relentless circles, dragging you closer to the edge. "Cum for me, baby. Be my good girl and soak my cock. Let me feel you lose it all over me."

“Fuck, you were made for me,” he rasped, voice thick and raw, every word dripping hunger. His hips snapped into you, fast and relentless, hitting so deep it made your mind spin, had you gasping his name over and over like it was the only thing you knew how to say.

You felt impossibly full, stretched around him to the point of unbearable pleasure, and you craved it — you wanted more, wanted him to take you apart until you were nothing but his.

Bangchan’s hand slid up to your throat, not choking, just holding you there, steady and close, like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space between you. His other hand gripped your waist tight, dragging you harder onto his cock, like he was chasing something dangerous and beautiful all at once — like he needed to claim every part of you.

“Take every inch of me,” he growled against your skin, his lips hot at your neck as his teeth sank in, just sharp enough to make you shiver. “Fuck—yes, just like that, my perfect fucking girl.”

Your body clamped down on him, another violent wave of pleasure wracking through you as you moved together, desperate and wild. His breath stuttered, sharp and wrecked, his hips jolting hard when you clenched around him again, milking him, pulling a raw, broken moan from deep in his throat.

“Fuck, angel,—” His voice cracked, strangled on a gasp, and then he lost it completely. His hips slammed up into you, rough and frantic, burying himself deep as he spilled inside you with a helpless, guttural sound, like he was unraveling from the inside out.

The second you felt him pulse, you shattered, pleasure crashing through you in devastating waves. Your whole body jerked, trembling in his hold, your mouth falling open on a cry of his name that sounded like both worship and ruin. He groaned through his release, grinding up into you as he emptied himself fully, like he couldn’t stop, like he never wanted to stop.

Even when the aftershocks tore through you both, he kept you tight against him, breathing hard, lips brushing your skin in shaky, reverent kisses. He kissed you like he was trying to swallow your moans, like he was desperate to keep every last sound of you for himself.

Your breath was wrecked, your chest heaving against his as you clung to him, still pulsing around him like you never wanted to let him go.

“Such a perfect little thing for me,” he rasped, dark and tender all at once, “my pretty girl.”

And in his eyes, you swore you saw it — the words he didn’t say yet, thick and heavy and dangerous on the tip of his tongue.

After basically spending the entire weekend barricaded in Bangchan’s apartment — more specifically, in his bed — where you’d thoroughly explored every possible way to kill the mutual longing, you figured it was time to rejoin society. Preferably not looking like you’d just crawled out of a two-day sex coma, but well, damage done.

The perfect excuse arrived in the form of Changbin and the rest of the soccer guys throwing a victory party after their game. They won, obviously — and Bangchan had not let you forget it for even a second. He’d been strutting around the dorm like some smug MVP, dropping lines like, “You’re literally sleeping with the best basketball player, babe. Iconic behavior.”

You were so gone for him it was almost embarrassing. Almost.

It was Sunday night, and looming over you like an anxious little storm cloud was the fact that this was your last week. Final week. Curtain call was Friday, and you were already spiraling.

The panic over your performance felt like it had its own pulse — quick, sharp, and completely unnecessary, considering Hyunjin and Seungmin had basically held your hand and all but screamed, “You’re going to kill it. Stop overthinking.”

Still. Easier said than done.

Although, to be fair, the crippling anxiety had taken a temporary vacation over the last 48 hours — because Bangchan, bless him, had thoroughly, repeatedly, and almost heroically, fucked it right out of you.

Like a true gentleman.

He kept your hand in his the entire walk, fingers tangled like it was the most natural thing in the world. And you couldn't help but smile at the way he casually included you in every plan for the mid-year break. Like he couldn’t imagine doing any of it without you. You didn't even realize how much you needed that feeling until you had it.

When you got to the frat house, the party was already in full swing—music thumping, laughter spilling out into the yard. The moment you two stepped through the door, a few of the basketball guys waved, greeting Bangchan with their usual teasing banter. And, surprisingly, they were actually kind of polite to you. No eye rolls, no snickers. Just the usual ‘Hey, Bangchan’s girl’ vibes. But that was enough.

You’d chosen a dress that was a little daring—tight, short, and definitely not the kind of thing you’d wear to a casual party. But you didn’t mind it. Especially when Bangchan’s leather jacket was draped over your shoulders. It was a nice change, wearing something of his, and you kind of liked how it made you feel like you had a little piece of him with you.

And, of course, he didn’t complain about it. In fact, he was practically glowing, the way he looked at you, like he couldn’t wait to show you off. You could tell he was enjoying the attention, and somehow, that made you want to pull him in closer, just to remind him that yeah, you were his too.

The party was already in full swing when you and Bangchan walked in, fingers laced. When he squeezed your hand like a silent promise, you didn’t think twice about holding tighter.

The music was loud, people were already half-drunk on cheap beer and good vibes, but it was the way your friends froze mid-conversation that really caught your attention.

Changbin’s eyes went wide first, like he’d just seen his parents kissing. “Hold on. Hold on,” he said, pointing between you and Bangchan like he was trying to solve a crime scene. “My two pretty best friends are... doing this now?” He made a vague swirling motion with his finger that you hoped was meant to represent holding hands and not something filthier.

Hyunjin didn’t miss a beat. He scoffed and threw his arm over your shoulder, grinning like the devil himself. “Back off,” he shot back. “She’s my best friend.”

You raised a brow, looking between the two of them. “Okay, can we not make this weird?” you deadpanned, shrugging Hyunjin’s arm off with a smirk. 

Your friends were loving every second. You could see it on their faces — the shared glances, the knowing smirks, like they’d been waiting for this moment longer than you had.

"Honestly," Jisung chimed in from the couch, raising his drink dramatically, "about damn time."

Seungmin just gave you a slow, nodding approval, the corners of his lips barely twitching into a smile. “We had a pool going,” he said, as if that explained everything.

You shot him a playful, but suspicious look. "A pool? Seriously?"

"You're a very predictable couple," Seungmin replied with zero shame.

Bangchan chuckled under his breath, his smile tugging at the corners of his mouth in that way that made your knees go a little traitorous. "Told you they’d figure it out."

You nudged him with your shoulder, smiling but with a touch of sass. “I was kind of hoping for more mystery. You know, make them work for it.”

"Yeah, well," he said, leaning closer so only you could hear, his voice low and warm in your ear, "I’m not that good at pretending I don’t want you."

And just like that, you were the one who had to fight back the stupid, giddy grin threatening to take over your face.

The night rolled on with teasing jokes and too many toasts in the team’s honor, but somewhere between the crowded kitchen and the messy dance floor, you caught Bangchan watching you — like you were the only person in the room worth looking at.

And you looked at him the same way.

You were still breathless from Bangchan’s kiss, your smile stretching so wide it almost hurt. You two were dancing and kissing almost the whole night. When you felt someone step into your line of sight.

You turned, and there she was — Eunji.

Her gaze flicked between you and Bangchan, catching the way he still had his arm slung lazily around your waist like he belonged there (because he did). For a split second, something unreadable passed over her face, but then she forced a smile.

“Hey.” Eunji’s voice was quieter than usual, almost hesitant, as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Congrats on the game. You played really well.”

Bangchan blinked, caught off guard by how soft her tone was. “Uh… thanks,” he said, a little wary.

She shifted her weight, eyes flicking to you for a beat before landing back on him. “Do you think we could talk for a second?” she asked, nodding toward the hallway. “Just us?” Her gaze lingered on you, like she was asking permission. Or daring you to say no.

You shot Bangchan a quick glance. He met your eyes with quiet understanding and gave you a little nod, squeezing your hand before letting go.

Curiosity pulled you to follow her.

In the quieter corner of the frat, Eunji took a breath like she was gearing up for something heavy. 

“Look, I probably don’t have the right to even ask you to listen,” she began, voice tight. “But I need to say this.”

You didn’t move. Arms crossed, not hostile — just careful. “Okay. Say it.”

She nodded, like that tiny bit of permission gave her permission to fall apart.

"I was jealous," she admitted, the words tumbling out too fast, like they’d been bottled up for too long. "It’s stupid, I know. But it felt like you had everything — both of the hot guys," she gave a bitter, awkward laugh, "while I had no one. And it got in my head. Made me ugly inside. I hated how small I felt next to you."

Her honesty was disarming. You hadn’t expected her to just lay it out like that.

"I guess I thought," she went on, voice wobbling, "if I could tear you down, maybe I’d feel less... invisible. But it didn’t work. It only made me feel worse. And I am sorry. I’m sorry for how I treated you."

You searched her expression, looking for cracks, for any sign of performance — but what you saw was genuine. Flawed, but real.

You studied her face. No defenses. Just raw regret and maybe a little shame. For the first time, she looked like someone trying to unlearn the worst parts of herself.

You tilted your head. “Is this because of Sohee?”

Her head jerked up. “No,” she said quickly, eyes wide. “This isn’t damage control. This is me... finally being honest.”

Silence stretched between you, heavy but not uncomfortable. Finally, you let out a breath.

"I can’t speak for everyone," you said honestly, thinking of your friends who had long since cut ties with her. "But for me... I need more time. You hurt me, Eunji. Really hurt me. And that’s not something I can forget overnight."

Eunji’s eyes shimmered, but she didn’t argue. She nodded slowly, lips pressed together like she was holding back a hundred other apologies. “That’s fair,” she whispered. “And... I’m happy for you. And Bangchan. You look really happy.”

You didn’t say thank you. But you didn’t walk away, either.

And maybe that was enough — for now.

Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked away, her figure disappearing back into the noise of the party. You stayed there for a beat, letting the moment settle in your chest, then spun on your heel and made a beeline for Bangchan.

He caught sight of you immediately, his whole face lighting up like you were the only thing that mattered in the room. "Hey," he said, pulling you back into his arms like you were gravity itself. "Everything okay?"

You slipped your arms around his neck, your heart finally settling. "Yeah."

His grin went lazy and warm, and he kissed you again, slow and certain, like you were home.

You were pretty sure your organs were about to revolt — heart somewhere in your throat, stomach twisted in knots, lungs forgetting how to breathe. Your hands trembled as you peeked through the velvet curtain, catching a glimpse of the packed house. First row, all family. Behind them, a blur of students, teachers, and more faces than you wanted to count.

Seungmin was adding the final touches to his makeup with clinical calm, while Hyunjin stretched dramatically in the corner like he was about to run a marathon instead of hitting the stage.

You were ready — or as ready as someone could be when standing on the edge of a dream. The makeup they had given you was soft, radiant. Perfect for Seulgi — the wild, bright, untamable girl you’d spent months breathing life into. A character made of longing and light, all wild heart and messy hope. You’d love her instantly.

And tonight, you were going to give her everything.

Then, right on cue, you felt him — warm arms sliding around your waist, steady and grounding, a kiss pressed to the top of your head like a silent anchor in the storm.

You leaned into him without thinking, soaking in the calm he carried like it was oxygen.

“Holy shit,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to look at you, his grin wide and full of awe. “My girl’s a star.”

And for a moment, everything stilled — nerves, noise, the chaos behind the curtain — like the whole world was holding its breath just for you.

You felt your face flush, your cheeks burning in that dizzying, weightless way that only came when someone made you feel so properly, soul-deep loved that it scrambled your entire system.

“I’m so nervous, I think I might faint,” you whispered, pressing a trembling hand to your stomach. The silky fabric of your dress did nothing to calm the storm underneath.

You peeked through the curtain again, heart stuttering at the packed audience. It looked endless. A sea of eyes. A million possible failures.

Bangchan gently cupped your chin, coaxing your gaze away from the chaos and back to him — steady, warm, certain.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and fierce in that quiet way of his. “You’re gonna walk out there and blow their minds. There’s not a single universe where this doesn’t go amazing — because it’s you. And you’re the best.”

It was stupid, how quickly your throat tightened. How fast your chest got all shaky, like his words had knocked the air clean out of your lungs. You blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall and mess up the makeup Nahee had so carefully painted on you.

“Stop,” you whispered, biting back a wobbly smile. “You’re gonna make me cry and then everyone’s gonna think my character dies in act one.”

He laughed, quiet and warm, and you took a shaky breath. Because suddenly, you wanted to say something that had been burning at the edges of your mind for days.

You wanted to leap, to risk it all.

“Bangchan, I—”

“Guys! It’s time!” Miss Baek’s voice cut through the moment like a bell, bright and urgent as she clapped her hands, motioning everyone to gather backstage.

You stepped back, breath caught, the confession stuck in your throat. But you weren’t ready to let go of him just yet, so instead of finishing your sentence, you reached for his hand and pulled him into the small circle forming around the cast and crew.

Miss Baek stood in the center, her eyes gleaming with pride. “All right, everyone,” she said, voice a little breathless with excitement. “This is it. You’ve worked hard for this show. Now go out there and own it. I trust you — every single one of you. So... break a leg.”

You felt Bangchan’s thumb brush over your knuckles again, grounding you.

And even with your nerves still coiled tight in your chest, a flicker of something brighter pushed through — like maybe you could do this. Maybe you were ready.

Especially with him right there, holding your hand like he never planned to let go.

The curtain rose slowly and steady, gliding open with a faint hum that made your pulse spike. Lights warmed the stage with a golden hue, soft and rich, like the first rays of sun spilling through a window on a quiet morning. The theater was silent — not the heavy, awkward kind of quiet, but the kind that buzzed with anticipation. Like everyone was holding their breath at the same time.

And then Seungmin stepped into the light.

Dressed in his costume — something timeless and simple — he looked completely at ease, the softest confidence in his posture as he took his place center stage. No theatrics. No build-up. Just him. And then he opened his mouth to sing.

It was like the world paused.

His voice slipped into the room like silk — clear, effortless, pure in that heart-wrenching kind of way that doesn’t just touch you, but clutches at something deep inside your chest. Notes floated from his mouth like a secret he trusted the whole room to keep. 

Someone in the third row audibly gasped. Someone else sniffled. And no one even cared about hiding it.

You could feel it ripple across the room — the moment where everyone realized this wasn’t just a student play. This was something real. Something alive.

And a huge part of that was Bangchan. He made a real effort to help.

You could see him in the sound booth, lit only by the glow of his equipment. His headset was on, hands gliding over the controls like he was conducting his own invisible symphony. Every rise and fall in Seungmin’s voice was perfectly balanced, wrapped in a sound that felt warm and cinematic.

The reverb was subtle, giving Seungmin's voice the echo of a cathedral without drowning him in it. The background instrumental, faded in at just the right moment, swelled like a heartbeat — quiet and steady — then soared.

The lighting shifted with the rhythm, delicate hues melting from gold to soft blue, and you knew that was Bangchan too. Timing everything. Perfecting everything. Making the show feel bigger than the stage it stood on.

The audience didn’t move. No one dared. It was like they were afraid that even a single breath might break the spell.

And when Seungmin hit the last note — long and gentle, the kind of note that settled into your bones — the silence lingered for one suspended second before the applause burst like a wave, loud and relentless, crashing against the walls of the theater.

You clapped with everyone else, heart pounding, chest full, eyes shining.

And somewhere backstage, you caught Bangchan glancing up from his booth just long enough to shoot you a grin.

As if to say, Yeah. We did that.

It was Act Three.

Your act.

The final, sweeping moment you’d been rehearsing in front of mirrors, empty classes, and late-night voice notes. And now, standing just behind the curtain with the theater buzzing like a live wire around you, it hits you all at once — the weight of it. The lights dimmed, the overture swelled, and your pulse was racing so hard it felt like it might echo through your mic.

You smoothed your dress with slightly trembling hands, eyes darting through the curtain gap to catch a glimpse of the full house. Your chest rose with a shaky inhale. 

“Hey—hey, wait,” a voice said, breathless.

You turned, confused — and there he was.

Wild-eyed, flushed, a little out of breath like he’d just run across the building — and completely not where he was supposed to be. “What are you—? You need to go,” you whispered, eyes wide. “You’re supposed to be in the booth! I’m literally about to go on—”

He didn’t answer. He just grabbed your face and kissed you.

No warning. No hesitation. Just lips on yours like it was the most natural, necessary thing in the world. And everything else — the voices, the music, the sheer panic clawing at your ribcage — melted into static. It was just him. Warm and real and grounding you in a moment that didn’t feel like it could possibly exist in real life.

When he pulled away, he didn’t go far — his forehead pressed to yours, and his hands lingered like he didn’t want to let go just yet.

“Break a leg,” he whispered. Voice low. Serious.

You were about to respond, maybe something witty to cover how stunned you were “Thank—” but then he said it.

“I love you.” He mumbled.

Just like that. No build-up, no performance. Just soft and real and tossed at your feet like a match he was willing to watch burn.

Your breath caught.

You looked up at him, eyes gleaming, lips parted — something in your chest cracked wide open, but the words stayed stuck behind your teeth. Not because you didn’t feel the same. God, you did love him back. But the moment had too much weight, too much emotion, and not enough time.

Someone offstage hissed a frantic “Places!” but neither of you moved.

Instead, you smiled. A little too wide. A little breathless. Tears covering your eyes.

And he got it. He didn’t ask for anything else. 

His entwined fingers slid unhurriedly, inch by inch, until the last touch. Then he backed away like it hurt to leave and vanished into the shadows like he’d never been there at all. 

You wanted to cry — not from sadness, but from the overwhelming weight of it all. Being loved like this, so completely, felt like being wrapped in sunlight after a lifetime of gray. It was terrifying and beautiful and everything in between.

You never expected to fall for Bangchan. Not like this. Not so fully.

But somewhere between the late-night conversations, the lingering looks, and the quiet ways he held space for you, your heart cracked open — and he simply walked in.

And that was it. You were his. And he was already yours.

And then the curtain rose. The light hit your face. And you stepped into it like you were made for it.

And as the first line left your lips, steady and clear, you weren't just playing a part anymore.

You were living it — heart full, eyes bright, and finally, finally, not acting at all.

♡ taglist ― @kenia4 @chrizrizz @meerabmalik @gnabnahcsworld @gncbnahc @jinniejjam @skzworldx @itsacatastrophe-xo @soonie1010 @4ng3l-ch1ld @justwonder113 @tsunderelino @eastjonowhere @lyracarvahall @akindaflora @victoriaaf @ebnabi @wickedbutlovely @bitchysunflower11 @ravengxbss @letrascafeymar @letrascafeymar @twentytwofour @pacha02 @skzaddictsincedebut @strayk1ds143 @micr0c0soms @vixy-vix

[kxsagi]

“𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐨𝐟”

a/n: tried to make it not too angsty since i'm a happy person, but it's when reader finds out she's pregnant post-divorce! slight mentions of "doing it." inspired by @neeeooon's "when they find out they have a kid, pt 2” I LOVE HER WORKS

you and isagi were truly that one couple where you couldn’t tell if they were dating or just best friends. 

strangers would glance at the two of you and wait for some sign of affection to confirm an answer to their thoughts, friends would always admire how the two of you made the cutest couple, and family would always support your relationship through thick and thin. 

over four years of dating inevitably ended up in marriage, a beautiful ceremony celebrated with the most beautiful rings. 

but, oh how marriage was the worst thing that could’ve happened to you. 

you’re not too sure what made everything spiral downwards. only after a month of initiating vows, your first ever argument as a married couple occurred, and boy was it heated. more only followed after that, becoming more frequent as time went on, usually ending in nights at a friend’s house or spent alone in your shared house. 

the final straw was when isagi insulted you in an escalating fight. 

“why do you always shut me out?" you asked, voice trembling and eyes narrowed. 

isagi turned away, running a hand through his hair. “i’m trying to think, woman. just give me a minute." 

the word landed like a slap. your breath hitched and your face paled. 

to this day, you can still taste his venom on your tongue and feel the burn on your cheek from that moment. he had never talked to you like that before. sure, he had a dirty mouth, but he had never gone so far as to insult you or call you a name like that. 

without thinking, you signed the divorce papers and forced yourself to show up in court to finalize the divorce. your now ex-husband wasn’t there, but he had his parents speak for him instead. 

just two days later, you’re panicking. 

as if the mental toll wasn’t enough from your recent divorce, there was a positive pregnancy test resting on your bathroom sink counter, staring back at you. with a hand clasped to your mouth, you remembered the last passionate night the two of you shared after another heated argument, ending with him releasing inside of you, despite knowing you were ovulating. 

holding back the sobs was unsuccessful as you pondered about what to do. 

𐙚

over two years later, you’re carrying your 18-month old boy on your hip as you attend to chores around the house when you hear your doorbell ringing. rushing to see who this unexpected visitor may be, thinking it may be your mother coming for a surprise visit, you’re shocked to see isagi’s best friend, bachira. 

“hey, long time no see! i feel like i haven’t seen you since your wedding,” he laughs, as bubbly as ever. 

quickly turning to try and hide your baby boy, you nervously laugh. “oh hey bachira, how are you doing?” 

bachira dodges the question, noticing who you’re holding. “to be honest, i haven’t talked to isagi in over a year because we’ve both been so busy with our soccer careers. but i at least thought he would tell me he had a kid.” 

you play dumb. “isagi? this isn’t –” you stop yourself short, knowing there was no point in lying when your baby boy was an exact copy of his father, even with the tiny hair sprout. 

“uh huh… that’s definitely believable. i’m assuming isagi doesn’t know about this either?” 

not long after that, you gave up in defeat, inviting bachira in as you explained everything: the arguments, divorce, and pregnancy. your baby boy absolutely loved bachira, and bachira loved him. the two grew close rather quickly. 

so when your doorbell rang the next day, you expected to see bachira at the door yet again. a smile was already on your face as you held your baby to your hip like glue, happy that someone other than your family and girlfriends was going to spend time with him. 

but your eyes widen when you not only see bachira, but also isagi. 

your ex-husband is staring at you in shock, jaw clenched, staring back and forth at you and his son. he had no idea that this entire time you were parenting alone. “is he mine? no – that’s just a stupid question. he is mine.” 

bachira took your baby from you, walking over to the living room to leave the two of you alone to talk. 

“when… when did you find out you were pregnant?” 

“two days after our divorce.” 

isagi runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “so if you were pregnant for nine months then… he’s 18-months now?” 

you nod slowly, heart rate breaking records as you stand in front of the man you once loved. at the time, you didn’t know what decision to make, whether to keep the baby, contact his father, or just raise him alone. 

“i know we ended off on bad terms, but you didn’t wanna tell me?” isagi glares. “what the hell?!” 

“what was i supposed to do?! you didn’t even show up to the court room!” you yell, your volume causing the man to flinch. "how do you think i felt?!"

“how could i?! i still –” isagi groans, stopping himself from saying something without thinking again. 

realizing the situation, you take a deep breath, exhaling with your hands on your hips. 

your ex-husband takes the hint and clears his throat. “well... you’re living in the same house.” 

“because your parents spoke for you in court and said that you would give me the house. and… thank you for paying it off. i know that’s not easy,” you quietly say, so soft that isagi could barely hear you. 

“it’s… no problem…” he sighs. 

a long stretch of awkward silence stands between the two of you, two gazes looking everywhere but each other. 

bachira comes back, “i heard silence and took it as a sign that you’ve talked some stuff out?” 

while that was far from the truth, you nodded, ready to talk to your ex-husband more later, but for now, he deserved to see his son. 

taking your baby boy from his uncle bachira’s arms, you look up at eyes you once loved. eyes you fell in love with. and now eyes that make you feel heavy regret and guilt more than anything else. 

“do you want to hold him?” 

isagi is breathless, caught off guard by the question, but he reaches his large hands out. “yes…” 

the moment his son is in his arms and looks up at him with those copy of eyes, isagi feels like he’s changed. 

he puts himself in your shoes, wondering how hard it must have been for you to support yourself when he was the breadwinner of the family. also how lonely you must have felt, and suddenly, he feels guilty and regretful all at once. 

the two of you created this beautiful human, this new life. 

“18 months old…” 

isagi manages to smile, nuzzling his nose against his now smiling son’s own. “i already missed one birthday. i’m not missing another one again.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

a/n: LMK IF YOU WANT A PT. 2 BC I’M WILLING TO MAKE ONE FOR THIS!!!

(header image credits go to @reinyy-days here on tumblr! HER ART IS AMAZING THIS IS MY FAVORITE ISAGI FANART EVER)

[venusbyline]

Jacaerys Velaryon — Nine Moons.

chapter four (previous chapter)

— summary: After Lucerys' death and the arrival of the dragonseeds, Jacaerys no longer wants to be betrothed with Baela. He wants to marry his twin sister, even if it means going against Rhaenyra's decisions and sealing suffering in your life and his.

— pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x twin sister!reader

— type: dark, angst, sequel to Sleep (but can also be read as a standalone series)

— word count: 2.6k

— chapter's warnings: female!reader, dark!Jacaerys, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, Targcest (twin brother/twin sister), forced pregnancy, past rape/non-con, dubcon somnophilia mentioned, abusive and toxic relationship, manipulation, possessive behaviour, obsessive behaviour, gaslighting, blood and injuries, argument, crying, curse words, implied underage sex, referenced Jacaerys Velaryon/Baela Targaryen, forced marriage mentioned, dark content, canon divergence. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— author's notes¹: Nine Moons is a shortfic, sequel to the one shot Sleep, written for Kinktober. Both Nine Moons and Sleep can be read as standalone.

— author's notes²: Each chapter will have its own trigger warnings.

— author's notes³: It took a while longer than usual! I'm having a hard writer's block because of some personal things, and now I'm full of WIPs 🤣🤣 Anyway, please tell me your opinions and theories. Comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated.

— tagging list: @neobangverse @hufflepuffxsworld @cwallace02sblog (Anyone who also wants to be tagged in the next chapters, tell me! ❤️❤️)

— crossposting: AO3

❥ Nine Moons masterlist • Jacaerys masterlist • HOTD masterlist

❥ about me • main masterlist

You had been inside the Small Council room during all that time, your hands shaking due to the tension and tears streaming down your face while you waited for the hours to pass, your gaze focused on the windows as if you expected to see some dragon flying over the surroundings at any moment.

The servants had already come to try to calm you down and bring you something to eat, their efforts failing brutally every time your crying fit got worse or when you pushed the dishes away, not caring about the noise of the wares hitting the floor or the women's frightened expressions.

When you threw down the fourth glass of water in the last four hours, Baela burst through the doors. "You need to loose that temper."

"Shut up..." You whined, turning to the opposite side and facing the windows again, wanting to get rid of any lecture your cousin and sister-in-law could give you.

"You are acting like a crazy little girl." She growled, approaching you without worrying about your form huddled in the chair. Her gaze dropped to the broken kitchen utensils on the floor, looking at the servants in the corners before staring back at you. "And you are scaring the maids."

"I do not care." It was a lie, you did not usually treat any servants that badly and you knew you would regret it later.

Baela sighed with frustration, sitting down in the chair next to you. The fingers of her right hand tapped the marble table as she rested her chin on the other palm. Even though you were not talking, there was heavy air between the two of you, your sobs irritating her and her calm behavior making you more frustrated.

You would have preferred that it had been your own mother who had come to try to lecture you, but she was too busy panicking in her chambers after the Maester checked that everything was physically fine with your little brother Aegon III. The boy had arrived in Dragonstone very terrified, having flown on his little dragon for the first time, his clothes damp with his own piss due to his panic.

"We still do not have any news about any of them, including Jace."

More tears appeared in your eyes after Baela's words. You wanted to scream, to knock down everything you saw in front of you. Jacaerys should not have gone looking for Prince Viserys II. Everyone was almost certain that your youngest brother might already be dead, but Jace was stubborn and gone to the battle anyway, instead of letting that mission only for the Rhaenyra's soldiers.

"He cannot die, Baela." You whispered, hands shaking and stroking your own round belly to ease the painful twinges that were bothering you during the past minutes. "I cannot lose another brother."

Baela remained silent for a while, taking deep breaths to control what she would say next, not wanting to get into trouble with anyone during such a catastrophic situation. Her head ached slightly, thinking about the order Jacaerys made before leaving with Corlys. "Jace asked me to give you that."

You frowned when Baela handed you a necklace with two pure gold pendants, one of them was a waning crescent moon and the other was a sun, this last one decorated with a small red diamond in its center. It was very delicate and matched perfectly with the velvet dark red dress you had been wearing since Jacaerys left.

"I presume these symbols have a special meaning to both of you." Baela's tense tone returned your attention to her, nodding silently and wiping away the falling tears with your free hand. "He asked me to give it to you over if he did not come back."

"Then you should not have shown me it yet." Your voice sounded rude and you continued to hold the gift with a firm grip. "He will come back. Everyone will come back, including Viserys."

Baela sighed, massaging her temples. The atmosphere became even more tense, you keeping admiring the necklace and the other princess keeping sitting next to you, thinking about something to say that would not worsen the terrible relation between the two of you since Jacaerys got you pregnant.

She understood very well about the orders Jace gave to her when he was leaving the castle, her wrists were still bruised from the way he held them and threatened her life. Even though she wanted to just ignore her sister-in-law and hole up in her own chambers to deal with envy and worry that consumed her feelings, Baela knew she should not go against what her betrothed had told her to do.

She needed to help you stay sane and ignore the hatred she felt about you carrying Jacaerys' bastard children. She needed to obey him not just because he told her to. Baela needed to help you because if something happened to Jacaerys' life, you were the next heir to succeed your mother to the Iron Throne.

It was already night when Baela managed to convince you to go to bed. Your eyes were reddish from crying and your belly continued to pain, as if the babies were sharing your fears and moving inside your womb more roughly than usual.

The necklace that was once held by you was now decorating your neck, fingers caressing the pendants and a few sniffles echoing in the private room.

You did not pay much attention to what Baela mumbled when she was helping you change the clothes. All you knew was that her gaze lingered a little longer on your big swollen stomach, frowning with the same doubt that Jace had been thinking just minutes before the argument and sexual moments in your chambers during that morning.

The princess' confused face turned pretty obvious that Rhaenyra was not sharing the secret details of your pregnancy with her too.

"Jace believes… He believes the babies are twins."

The white-haired girl widened her eyes, clearing her throat and looking away, concentrating on placing the white linen chemise on you, the larger size fitting perfectly on your current form. "Twin pregnancy, such a surprise." Baela feigned enthusiasm, tying your clothes carefully, noticing how your fingers kept caressing the sun and moon symbols decorated on your throat. "He really corrupted you, did not he?"

The rhetorical question raced your heart, your head aching as did your stomach. A part of you was grateful that she was behind you, taking charge of dressing you. You would not know what to say if you were face to face.

When you did not respond anything, Baela continued. "I mean... He raped you. Forced you to get pregnant by him. He is still betrothed to me... And yet you are more worried about his life than the safe of your little brother who was probably kidnapped or even killed when the Pentoshi cog carrying him and Aegon III was captured."

"Viserys is not dead." Your argument did not seem convincing even to your own ears. "And Jace is only engaged to you because our mother is making him to, and also—"

"He corrupted you." The repeated words were stark and raw, your eyes filling with tears as you walked away from the hands helping you dress, a mix of anger and sadness filling your brain. "Do not you realize how Jace is manipulating you? Making you think you need him, making you want him." Baela growled, rubbing the palm over her face, the last of her patience now disappearing. "He forced you into this situation, took advantage of you when you were sleepy and vulnerable. And now you are crying because you are afraid he is going to die!"

"Jace is my twin... How do you expect me to turn against him? To not forgive him? To not fear about his life?”

"Yeah, I know he is your twin. But he is also the one who forced you to carry these things." She pointed to your belly, which was already about six moons.

A bitter and vulnerable chuckle escaped your throat, crossing arms and turning to face Baela. The girl's full lips were pressed into a thin line, both of you controlling the anger they felt at going through all that.

If only Jacaerys had not gotten you pregnant, or if only Baela had given up on keeping the betrothal...

"You are jealous..." The spiteful and sudden demeanor was not well received by your cousin, who rolled the eyes and scoffed, waiting for the next hypocrisies said. "You are jealous because Jace loves me, because he will love my children and—"

"Did you see that?" Baela pointed at you without even letting your rant end, heartbeat quickening in anticipation of the bitter words. "He already got into your mind enough. Now you think I am the villain and not him. That is what he wanted. He wanted you to resent me for envying you, to forgive him for raping you."

"STOP SAYING THAT!" You yelled with salty tears streaming down your cheeks, flushed and warm from panic, sitting up in the bed and sobbing like a child. "Stop! Just stop saying that word... Please."

Baela hummed another scoff and was about to open her mouth to retort your request, being brutally interrupted by the sound of some guard knocking on the door to your chambers with frightening force. The two princesses were silent until the man's voice came out. "Your Graces, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon has returned."

The cuticles of your nails were ripped off by your own teeth every second that passed without further news. You refused the Maester's order to remain resting in bed, being banned to enter the room until the Maester and the other servants took care of whatever happened to Jacaerys during the battle.

Your hands were trembling, nervous for the moment when someone would open the doors and allow your visit.

Most of the things said there were not understandable behind the big doors. All you could hear were the movements of the servants, your twin brother's screams of pain and some comforting words that Rhaenyra gave him.

No one had let you see his injuries. In fact, no one had explained almost anything to you about what had happened. All you knew was that Jacaerys had been very attacked by the enemies and your youngest brother Viserys had not returned along with Rhaenyra's allies.

"You should be sleeping, it is late." Daemon's lecture increased the discomfort inside your stomach and you crossed arms to hug your own shoulders, wanting to continue focusing on the confusing sounds behind the doors instead of what your uncle and stepfather had to say. "The Maester has already said that your presence inside is prohibited."

You remained still where you were, however, this time you allowed yourself to growl in disbelief. "How can I go to sleep when I do not know what my brother's condition is like?"

Daemon crossed his arms almost as if he was imitating you, his big and strong body leaning against the doorframe. "Your twin was hooked like a fish in the shoulders. He was arrowed several times in the right part of his body. His dragon is also injured and I doubt the creature will survive for more than a month after all of this."

"Do not... Do not talk that way. Vermax will be fine." Daemon did not retort against your overdone optimism at first, limiting himself to just sighing.

The more Jacaerys' screams echoed during the procedure, the more desperate you became, moving from side to side, leaving the pain in your womb aside so you could focus on the well-being of the child's father. You could hear Jace's screams of pain and pleas for the Maester to let you in there, all requests being ignored by everybody there.

Your fingertips tightened around the necklace he had given you, and Daemon broke the silence once again. "It is inappropriate for a pregnant woman to witness a somewhat bloody scene like that. You know..." Your uncle told you the obvious and you clenched the jaw, not wanting to keep hearing anything about it.

Obviously you knew too well the reasons why you were not there to help your twin brother's suffering. And that did not make that any easier. At that moment, you did not worry about the baby — or babies — you were carrying, your attention was on ensuring that Jacaerys would stay alive until the end of the night.

He had promised he would not let you die in childbirth. So he could not die now either, right? He said during the morning that you were born together and would die together... And that was a promise the Gods could not ignore.

"Your mother would hate to hear this, but I am glad Jacaerys is suffering at least a little." Daemon mumbled nonchalantly and you almost threw up in front of him, now staring at him with your face paler than before. How could he say something so cruel? "Oh, are you really surprised that I think that? Or that I am owning up to my cruelty?"

Your throat burned with bile that threatened to come out, not answering until you were sure you would not vomit the food you had managed to ingest. "B-Both."

The whisper was weak, tremble... Almost humiliating. And Daemon found it funny. "Both..." He repeated with a mocking tone, thin lips pulling into a smirk. "What did you expect, dear niece? Your twin brother has been making my daughter's life a hell since his obsession with you became more unhealthy than it already was."

You shook head, letting go of the jewelry to take three steps back when Daemon dared to take three steps towards you. "You are wrong. These are the effects of the war. Jace was not like this before Lucerys' death."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps this obsession was already the start of a fire from the moment your lives were conceived together, and your younger brother's murder was just what Jacaerys needed to allow himself to show the true insane dragon that always existed inside him. Perhaps inside you too." He continued with those long intimidating steps, no more space for your legs to move back. "Jacaerys' soul was probably already sick since the moment you left him alone and waiting inside your mother's womb for a little while during the childbed and—"

"What?"

Your question uttered in a loud voice echoed off the large walls. Daemon, who was already close enough with his shadows almost covering yours, suddenly stopped. The man narrowed the eyes, staring at you with a look that could either indicate genuine perplexity about your reaction, or could indicate that he was just trying to escape the spark of curiosity and rage that he lit in your heart.

Daemon did not move himself, not even when the doors of the chambers where Jacaerys was being treated opened, revealing Rhaenyra and Baela's with with bloodstained clothes and tense facial expressions, now worsening even more after realizing something was happening between you and the older Targaryen.

Rhaenyra called your name loudly, but you ignored her, keeping looking at Daemon. "What is wrong, Daemon?" Your mother asked and walked towards the two of you to pull her daughter away, being stopped by her husband's hand.

"He said Jace was waiting for me inside your womb during the childbirth." Rhaenyra swallowed hard as she listened to your voice sounding as shaky as it did when you were just a little girl getting lectured for some poorly executed innocent prank. "Why the hells would Daemon say that, if you always told to all of us that Jacaerys is your firstborn and he was born before me?"

[valentine-cafe]

. ˚◞♡ top rockstar boyfriend x bttm male reader x switch naga boyfriend ꒰ kinktober: phone sex ꒱◞ ₊˚

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ᥫ᭡ 1311 jingyi / reader / alessio ꒱ one of your boyfriends goes out of the country and calls you up. yet it would seem your other boyfriend is already taking advantage of the situation and fucking you as much as he possibly can.

𖹭. content warnings◞  explicit content . penetrative sex . hand job . phone sex . rough sex . degradation . dumbification . creampie . threesome . multiple orgasms . jingyi is playing switch & is whiney . 1.6k

𖹭. receipts◞  yk what I'm actually happy that I fucked the prompts up because then I got to write this amazing piece hellooooo

. ˚◞ ꒰ 🍰 𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒔 ꒱ m.list . guidelines . characters . lorebook ⊹ ۪ ࣪ 

“Are you touching yourself, hermoso?”

The deep, grave rumble of his voice stiffles your own in your throat. You swallow, trying to get rid of the lump of mewls and whines that settled itself. Alas, all you could do was buck your hips meekly as your hand presses the phone closer to your ear.

“H-Huh? Course not - of course not. . . Alessio. . .”

You sure did a poor job at convincing him. The strain in your tone combined with your stuttered pants did little to shoot down his accusations. Well. He is still only half right.

“Yeah?” Muses the voice on the other end. You hear the creak of a chair and assume he’s settled in his hotel for the night. While you were less than keen at the idea of Alessio leaving for a few days to handle ‘business’ - you failed to realise what the ramifications of that would entail.

Your ass plaps softly. Just missing the line of the call. A large hand grips onto your hips and yanks you back again. So that your back flushes further into a cold chest. Another arm wraps tightly around your middle, holding you still as slow yet powerful thrusts shake your body and the bed.

Jìngyí always had quite the appetite. Especially now that Alessio was away and he had you all to himself. Of course he wasted no time in pushing into you when you were on the verge of sleep. What a way to wake you right up and keep you in his company for longer.

“So what’s with the panting then, amor? Or are ya that happy to see me, eh?”

Alessio’s croon makes you click your tongue. Bite on your lip and try to keep your hips still as your other boyfriend abruptly speeds his thrusts up. A feral wet slapping fills the room as his hand slips to your thigh, shoves it open - and the other reaches down to palm at your spurting dick. A whisper of hushes, hissed praises meets your ear to top it off.

With a gasp and a choked cry - you barely have time to answer Alessio. Instead, your head falls into the pillow and you whine out oh so loudly. A stammered - “J-Jìng - Jin - yí-!”

You hear the other’s breath hitch over the line and at last, Jìngyí speaks up with a breathless chuckle and words tightened by a clenched jaw. “Pretty lil’ thing’s so messy when you’re not here - fuck - you should see him.”

To accentuate the wet slaps - Jìngyí angles his thrusts and shoves your thighs together. A cold grin falling to his lips when you buck back into him and sob his name down the phone. He can already see Alessio burning green yet painfully hard. He knows his fiance well enough by now.

“Oh,” hums Alessio. You can hear the faintest clear of his throat and another creek of the chair over the line. “Oh I see how it is - you’re both having fun in my absence yeah?”

Jìngyí rolls his eyes. Hands promptly grabbing onto your body and roughly shoving you into the sheets. His weight cramped down on you so that you have no choice but to melt into the sheets as he starts pounding your pretty little ass. Until you are whining out sobs and hiccups through the room and down the phone. His cock stretches your rim out so perfectly - and his aggressive thrusts make you see stars.

A hand tightens around your head. Pushing it down into the plush of pillows as he pours the pure frustration of this week out onto your poor thighs and shaking body.

“A-Ah - ah - ah - ah!”

You slur into the casing. Fingers tight around the fabric. For a moment you had completely forgotten about your other boyfriend over the phone. Until you hear his low grumble.

“Jìngyí.”

The name makes the one above you falter. But he bites down on his lips and narrows his white eyes. Slamming his hips forward so that he might fuck into you shallowly. But it is evident with the sudden atmosphere dripping from your phone’s speaker - something has stirred within him.

The click of a tongue is what sounds through next. Followed by a tutting noise. “Tan lindo ( cute ) . . . what didya think you’d have us both?” Alessio grunts over the line. You hear the shuffling of fabric — and the idea of him sitting there. All alone and stroking at his hard dick leaves you drooling even more. If the way you were squirting over the sheets wasn’t doing enough for you.

“Shut up,” hisses Jìngyí. His body cranes over yours and he continues his movements without falter. Although with a few more whining moans. “You’re not taking lead when -” a clear of his throat. “Y-You are fuckin’. . . countries away.”

Another croon. This time Alessio’s voice takes on a sweet lilt. “Won’t I baby? You might be fucking him sore but I know that whine from anywhere. You’re not getting your way this time.”

That’s how it is with these two. A constant fight for domination and control. Suppose you expected that when you entered a relationship with two tops. If you were not sprawled out on the mattress and being fucked raw - you might have teased Jìngyí for losing this time.

His pace becomes a little sloppy. A bit haphazard the more that Alessio speaks to him. He has the need to claw at you. Control you. But he cannot help but abide by some of the commands thrown his way.

“That all you can do baby? Oh come on, know you can pound him harder. Or are ya playing the pathetic slut t’night?”

And so Jìngyí’s hips somehow gained even more power. Crushing yours into the sheets as he brings his forearms own on either side of your head. His noises both guttural and whiney all the same as he starts fucking into you wildly. Faster. Harder. In every way that makes you whine out his name — and Alessio’s while you’re at it.

All you can do is roll your eyes back. Part your lips and let out your own slew of whines when his rough, large hand cups around your jaw. Forces your head to the side so that he can kiss you all messy. His elongated tongue shoving past your quivering lips and down your throat. So that he might at least have some kind of advantage.

The thin sheets cling onto your body. Like a second sheen of sweat that coats you full. The front of your thighs roughly hump against the mattress, creating the perfect friction for your throbbing, wet dick.

You try to whine for him. Tell him to slow down a bit; but is that really what you want? After all it was you that sleepily grinded into him with all your little whines. It was you that started all of this.

“What ‘bout his cute little dick? You playing with it enough?”

A small rasp of air leaves Jìngyí from the voice of his lover. His hand immediately scrambling to hook around you. Palm and fingers wrapped around your quivering cock once again and pumping messily. His thumb swirling at your tip as though to apologise for his neglect.

The sudden sparks of pleasure to your already overstimmed body makes you cry out. A slur and confused mixture of both of their names pouring from your moist lips as you squirt into the sheets again. And again - and again.

All the while, Jìngyí refuses to let up his thrusts. His whines and groans catching the attention of Alessio who you can already hear palming at his own dick. Probably squeezing around his tip and trying his utmost hardest not to cream himself from the slew of lewd noises pouring out of his phone.

“You gonna cum, cariño? Yeah? Gonna stuff them full?”

“A-Alessioooo,” whines Jìngyí, he cannot stop himself from doing just that. His thrusts faltering and dick tensing for but a moment before he snaps and spurts ropes of icy, cold cum into your awaiting hole. The way he collapses into you with a gasp and starts aggressively, shallowly, humping into you again and again spurts out the thick substance down your thighs.

Not to worry. He’ll stuff you full even more.

Of course you follow quickly after. The feel of him painting your walls has your head dizzy and you can only clench. Squirt yourself. And whine down the call.

“Looks like the little whore couldn’t help himself either - hah,”

Alessio’s degradation makes you bite your lip. If only for your head to limp when another order meets Jìngyí’s ears and he’s following like an obedient puppy. Rolling over and pulling you onto his lap. His face flushed and eyes glossy but his expression ever as cold when he takes control over you.

His hips snap up in quick succession to his fiance’s command. Making you bounce like a ragdoll on his throbbing cock that forms a ring of cream at the base. The prominent veins thrumming against your gummy walls. Clawed hands dig into your soft thighs and he grunts up at you.

“Th-Thatt’ssss it - that’s it - yeah, th-that’s it pretty boy.”

His grunt strains a whine. You can all but limp into him. Try and fail to keep up with his rough pounds that send ripples through your plush ass.

Through it all you hear a stiffled sound over the call. A grunt followed by a long groan. You can only imagine that Alessio has stained his hand at last. His hips messily bucking into his own palm. But the both of you are well aware of his insatiable libido. So it is no surprise when his voice drips out of the speaker. Low and raspy.

“Put camera on. Wanna see you fuck and cream our slutty boy full.”

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. ˚◞ ꒰ 🍰 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒖𝒔 ꒱ tip jar . masterist ⊹ ۪ ࣪

[lxkeee]

HEAVEN AND BACK!

—PART TWO

Pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x Alastor's Mom! Angel! Reader

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Genre: Romance, love at first sight.

Warnings: none.

Notes: this one is comparably shorter than chapter one.

PART ONE | PART THREE

Lucifer was absolutely baffled, so many things happened in one day. First, a very gorgeous and tall seraphim angel decided to come and stay at the hotel to oversee its progress and on top of all that, the said angel is that damn radio demon's mother.

Lucifer watches as the angel, who he learned that goes by the name [y/n] is still currently scolding her son. Him, Charlie, Vaggie, Angel Dust, and Husk are at the bar area just watching it unfold.

Alastor sitting on the couch, head hung low in shame but there's still a smile on his face.

“So... You killed your father and many more? And also ate them....?” [y/n] asked, disappointed in her voice. Alastor's deer ears lay flat as he remained seated as he listened to his mother.

“Oh god, my son is a cannibal!” [y/n] cries, Niffty wiping away her tears as [y/n] carried the smaller girl in her arms—how did it happen? She just somehow was raising her arms for uppies while the taller woman was scolding her boss and the older woman just did so without thinking and carried her and then resumed to scolding Alastor.

“But they deserved it, mother! He deserved it for—” Alastor tried to defend himself, his smile strained.

[Y/n]'s own smile widened, eye twitching, “Who said you could speak? My own son is talking back to me!” she cries, smiling through the tears, her wings puffed up in anger and Alastor shuts up his mouth immediately.

“Where did I go wrong in raising you? I didn't raise you like this.” [y/n] sobs, Niffty handing her a handkerchief where the taller woman accepted and used it to blow her nose.

“Yikes.” Lucifer muttered in amusement as he sipped his dry martini while watching the angelic woman continuing to scold Alastor. Now that's my kind of woman. He thought before almost choking his drink. Hold up. What is wrong with him today? He barely knew the woman and he is already thinking like this.

“You okay there pal? I'm pretty sure you almost choked on your drink.” Angel Dust laughs and Lucifer just glares at him.

Charlie giggles beside him excitedly, “Isn't it amazing? Alastor reunited with his mom! And heaven finally decided to help us!” Charlie squeals and Vaggie hums in agreement.

“Well... It surely isn't a happy one as smile's is getting scolded even more.” Angel Dusts laughs and Husk chuckles behind the counter.

Back to the mother and son, Alastor is finally done with seeing his mother cry. He hugged her in which the older woman was weakly hitting his chest while she sniffled. Niffty being pressed in-between the two. She's just glad to be there.

“I am sorry, mother. I'm still your son.“ Alastor says softly and [y/n] sniffled against her son's embrace.

“I'm still mad at you.” she says, and Alastor's smile widens every slightly, “I know.” he says with a grin before getting his forehead flicked once more by his mother, making him winced in pain. [Y/n] gently lowering Niffty down to the floor. Lucifer and Husk snickering at the bar area.

[Y/n] pouted as she finally left her son's embrace, “And here I was waiting in heaven for so long wondering what's taking you so long and only for you to be here in hell? My goodness...” [y/n] sighs, pinching her own nose, her other hand on her hip.

“My bad.” Alastor says with a grin and [y/n] sighs, wiping the tears away from her eyes then clapping her hands together and a smile is back on her face as she turns around to look at the other hotel crew.

“Well, I suppose that is over. I am sorry for the scene I've caused, this young man right here is to blame.” [y/n] deadpans, pointing her arms towards Alastor who was lounging on the couch, he just gave a thumbs up.

[Y/n] sighs, shaking her head. “Back to business, I myself am not really sure why Sera decided to change her mind but she's my boss so... I don't really have a choice.” [y/n] says with a shrug, smoothly lying to them and the others just look at her with a slight deadpanned expression.

“I will be staying here for the time being, Sera didn't exactly say for how long...” She says before her eyes widened, Sera really didn't tell her how long she'll be here.

“I am starting to wonder if I accidentally got myself kicked out of heaven.” She muttered and Lucifer snickered slightly, looking at her with an amused smile on his face.

“Well if that's the case, there's a space made just for you in hell.” Lucifer says smoothly and [y/n] smirked, “My... Special treatment for lil' ol' me by the king of hell himself? It would be an honor.” she says with a small smirk, approaching the bar area and standing in front of the sitting man, looking down on him.

“I feel like they're each other's types.” Angel Dust whispers to Vaggie in which he gets elbowed to the side by the fallen exorcist.

Alastor's eye twitched in annoyance as he watched the scene unfold, not my mother. Speed walking to the two, Alastor held his mother's shoulders protectively and slid her away from the king of hell.

“Alastor, dear... I can handle myself.” [y/n] chuckles and Alastor just smiled, though his smile strained a little bit. Clearly annoyed how the king of hell is getting smooth with his mother.

“I'll be showing my mother around and show her to her room. Please excuse us.” Alastor says as he gently drags [y/n] with him upstairs with Niffty following the two.

The others just watched in amusement, still hearing the two's slowly muffling voices as they left the room.

“Mama please, he's the king of hell. Why are you already getting so chummy with him?” Alastor's muffled voice can be heard as they walk away.

“Have you seen him, Alastor? Heaven's scrolls didn't do him any justice, he's gorgeous!” [y/n] says with a laugh and a followed groan from Alastor. Their voices can no longer be heard as they were getting farther and farther away.

Angel Dust nudges Lucifer and wiggles his eyebrows at the short king, the arachnid teasing the man as he can really see Lucifer's flustered cheeks.

“You two looked nice together, you better shoot your shot.” Angel Dust says with a smirk which prompted Lucifer to stammer.

“Huh? What? I just met her for God's sake!” Lucifer says, pulling his collar away from his throat as he awkwardly chuckles.

“Please... Everyone can see you were eyeing her like a piece of candy.” Husk says gruffly behind the counter, scoffing.

Lucifer blushed, nervous that he wasn't slicked at all.

“Can't blame him to be honest.” Charlie says with a chuckle as she sipped her wine. Vaggie just rolls her eyes playfully, “Still, she's suspicious.” she says and Angel Dust scoffs, “Please, when are you not? Besides, if you ever end up right, I'm sure short king over here can handle her.” He says with a shrug before smirking at Lucifer, “Just admit you were admiring the sexy angel lady, couldn't blame ya toots!” he giggles.

“I wasn't... You guys are just seeing things.” he deadpans, his ears tinted pink. His daughter, Maggie, Angel Dust, and Husk just gave him a raised eyebrow. Clearly not believing him in the slightest.

“Whatever you say, short king.” Angel Dust says in amusement.

TAGLIST:

@adaizel @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @thedarkkitten @selvyyr @froggybich @brithedemonspawn @kottenox @totallymitya @many-fandoms-lover @dou-dou @mezzyb0nb0n @n1chxyaaenthusiast @cherry-4200 @koirb @galaxyj3lly @crystalplays28 @luleck @scootinonyourmom @rory-cakes @mixplara @crescent-z @bitchyzombienacho @kalisha2004 @altervex @nehy019 @napbatata @kouyoumarryme @sxgacxbe @kooidoom @yukichan67 @apple-pop @akiralovespenguins @storydays @kaurochika @amphiroxx @lil-writer-523 @punching-pentagrams @moonlovers34 @h3110kitty0 @bethleeham @hcneyiced @ashleygryffindor @ghostdoodlen @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @cupidsgift @shilladodo

[0scxmlqrd]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 hardest to love.

in which you realize how hard to love a person who doesn't even love themselves.

pairing: player 125 | min-su x f! reader

warning: angst

author's note: not a big fan of this dude, but decided to write one for him since i thought of a scenario for him first before the others.

ONE thing you've come into a realization after all these years you've been with him is that it's hard to love Park Min-su.

He's a coward.

You knew he had feelings for you— and so did you. That's why you kept waiting. Waiting for the coward Park Min-su to have the courage to confess for you—his one and only best friend.

That's the reason why you followed him to play this bloodbath game. Promising yourself that if he doesn't confess—you will.

Yet, he never did. Even until you take your last breath.

"Ha! You... you seriously chose them over me...?!"

You screamed whilst banging the door with all your strength, frightening the boy who's eyes remained glued on the floor, trembling. You ignored the pain coming from your hands, your full attention focused on the face of the boy behind the door keeping you away from each other.

You bit your lips enough in frustration that it drew blood in them. Tears flowing down your cheeks from the thoughts running through your head, making your knees go weak.

You began to break down.

This is it, your end.

You leaned your forehead on the door, sobbing.

You failed to see his hands twitches from the sound. It was as if he wanted to reach out to you, but he can't. He's a coward, remember?

You were too busy on your thought to notice anything else. Not entirely confused as to how come even after knowing you're going to die, you felt glad that he chose those two scumbags after you and survive the round, you were glad he's manage to survive up until now despite his cowardly actions.

You can hear the people around you screaming and as you started to hear the loud guns shooting down other players like you who didn't get to enter the doors on time. Soon, you'd end up just like them.

You cried, silently.

Then, you looked at him one last time, "Min-su, look at me, please..."

He didn't.

You cursed him silently to yourself before speaking once again to the person who couldn't spare you a single glance, "You coward, can't even face the person you betrayed, huh? F*ck! Don't worry, I won't hurt you or anything—it's not like I can. Just... look at me, please!"

Still, he refused.

You suppressed yourself from screaming at him, slightly banging you head on the door as you said, "I don't blame you for choosing them though, so don't blame yourself."

You paused for a second, contemplating before you sighed and continued, "I'm so glad you're okay. I care for you way too much, don't I? Honestly, I don't even care anymore, I do what I want to do."

"I never got to tell you, but... you're the reason why I joined this game."

Suddenly, his eyes met with yours.

You can see tears threatening to fall down on his cheeks. You wish you could reach out to them and wipe those tears off while you hug him—just like how you'd always do with him before everything.

"So, you knew, huh? Stop crying, idiot. I'm not trying to make you feel guilty—even though I know you are right now. But I have my own faults too, you know. I should've never allowed you to enter this game, now look how we ended up..."

You hear him whisper under his breath, "I'm sorry..."

Your breath hitched, more tears building up from your eyes, "Stop apologizing, idiot. You're making me want to cry more."

He took a step forward, catching you by surprise as he leaned his forehead on the door with his eyes clenched tightly as he began to fight himself from crying much more. Still, he remained silent.

You could see regret in those gentle eyes of his, one of the features he has that you love. You wished you had more time to admire them. But then you felt it, someone aiming their gun at you.

By then, you realized one thing. It's hard to love someone who doesn't even love themselves. It's hard to love Park Min-su. But still, you managed to do it.

And with the last energy you could muster to yourself, you whispered enough for him to hear, "I never got the right time to tell you I love you, didn't I?"

And when his eyes connected so closely to yours once again, a loud bang followed.

©0SCXMLQRD

[kaaaaaaarf]

Sirius, who owns a popular nightclub in NYC, and Remus, who is dragged there by Lily one Friday night, but would really rather be drinking tea in his tiny industrial art studio apartment in the Bronx with his cat. Wolfstar hit it off, and Sirius takes him home—which happens to be a multi-story apartment in an old building in Tribeca that he paid for not with inheritance, but with the money he makes from his legitimate business. Remus has never been less comfortable in someone's apartment, feels like he's getting Punk'd.

Months go by and they keep seeing each other, but Remus has a panic attack every time he goes over because he is slightly afraid of the doorman at Sirius' building.

Remus, panicked and sweating: What if he doesn't let me in? It's after midnight!

Sirius: What, do you think he's gonna make you answer his riddles three before you'll be allowed in or something?

Remus: I dunno, maybe!!! Should I bring him a coffee to say sorry?

Sirius: Sorry for what?!

Remus: I don't know, existing???

He braves the doorman, though, because he's nervous about letting Sirius see his apartment, which in addition to being industrial and the size of a box, only has heat 45% of the time and has a shower rigged over the toilet. He's like no way can I take this fucking model-level hottie anywhere near this dump because it isn't meant to be lived in...but eventually, six months into the relationship he relents and brings him over. Remus is nervously pacing around his apartment, picking up clothes from his floor and Sirius is completely unbothered, more concerned with petting the cat than with how the apartment looks. It turns out that actually, Sirius lived in a very similar apartment when he was first disowned by his family and was starting up the club with a loan from Fleamont.

Sirius: Remus, sit down. My old apartment was way worse—there was actually a hole in the wall behind the bathroom mirror that lead into another apartment. I had to padlock the fucking thing so I didn't get robbed.

Nevertheless, they still spend most of their time at Sirius' place, so Remus starts baking so that he can give the doorman a peace offering for disturbing him so frequently, which turns out to be a hobby he can't really afford.

Remus, wringing his hands: Lily, I don't know if i can afford to be with this guy...I really like him, and he always pays for our dates and stuff, but I am really eating it with all the money i'm spending on the doorman. ☹️

Lily: ...I love you, but you're an idiot.

Eventually, Remus gets over his fear of Gary (the doorman), and they actually become friends. His peace offerings turn into weekly screenings of Bake Off episodes behind the security desk in the lobby. Sirius has no idea this is happening, just that Remus is always busy Tuesday nights at 7pm. He comes downstairs to walk Padfoot one day and has to double take at his boyfriend and Gary laughing about a soggy bottom.

When Gary retires a few years later, Remus actually sobs, but continues to meet him at the park on the corner on Saturday mornings with his and Sirius' daughter.

The end????

(This has been a co-production from me and @pain-in-the-riri who are both absolutely doing the work we're being paid for and not plotting the lives of wolfstar)