#Pulled down by the weight of his mistakes

[regressionschool]

Lena's life

featuring the adorable @liljams

Lena swung her feet beneath the daycare table, a giddy warmth bubbling inside her. Today was a special day—one she’d been hoping for, even if she’d never dared to ask outright.

No more panties.

She pressed her thighs together, feeling the soft, snug hug of her pull-up under her dress. Safe. Comfy. A little secret between her and Daddy, even if he hadn’t made a big deal about it.

That was just how Daddy was—gentle, steady, not one for fuss. When Miss Emily had handed him the pack of pull-ups yesterday, he hadn’t protested or even hesitated. He’d simply nodded, like it was the most normal thing in the world. And Lena? She had grinned so wide her cheeks had hurt.

Now, she could hardly sit still.

She squirmed in her seat, letting the faintest crinkle reach her ears, her heart doing a little flip of excitement. No one else seemed to notice—not the other littles coloring beside her, not Miss Emily checking the cubbies. But she knew. And Daddy knew. And that was all that mattered.

Feeling bold, she abandoned her coloring and scurried across the room, straight to where Daddy sat on the couch, his book in hand. Without hesitation, she climbed onto the seat beside him, curling close enough that her pull-up brushed against his leg.

“Daddy,” she whispered, voice brimming with pride.

He hummed, turning a page. “Mmm?”

She grinned, shifting just enough that the waistband of her pull-up peeked out beneath her dress. “No more big-girl panties,” she announced, the words tasting like candy on her tongue.

Daddy glanced down, his expression as unreadable as ever—but there was a softness there, hidden in his eyes. He reached out, tugging her dress back into place, his touch warm and familiar.

“That so?” he murmured.

Lena nodded eagerly. “Mhm! Isn’t it great?”

Daddy’s lips twitched—just a little. Not quite a smile, but something close. He gave her knee a gentle squeeze. “If it makes you happy, princess.”

A shiver of delight ran down her spine. It did. It really, really did.

She wriggled a little closer, letting her head rest against his arm. Daddy didn’t have to say more. He didn’t have to shower her with praise or call her his little baby. She could feel it, even in the silence.

And maybe—just maybe—this was only the beginning.

 Lena sat cross-legged on the Livingroom rug, her fingers absently tugging at the hem of her dress. Daddy had gone to the store. To buy more pull-ups.

She pouted, kicking her feet. Pull-ups were fine, but they weren’t what she wanted. They weren’t thick and safe like her diapers at night. They weren’t what a little girl like her needed.

At Regression School, Miss Emily had told the class that littles should express their feelings and be honest about their needs. Well… Daddy hadn’t asked, but maybe she could show him instead.

A mischievous spark flickered in her belly.

Lena pushed herself up onto her knees, feeling the soft crinkle of her pull-up as she shifted. It was thin—too thin. It wouldn’t hold much. And that was exactly the point.

If she really needed diapers, she had to show him why.

Slowly, she got up onto her feet, glancing around the empty house. Just her. No daycare rules. No one watching. Just her and her pull-up.

She spread her legs slightly, lowered herself into a squat, and took a deep breath. Her body hesitated at first—it was different doing this on purpose. But as soon as she pushed, her tummy squeezed, and warmth flooded through her.

Her pull-up sagged as she filled it, the soft padding straining to hold everything. A deep shiver ran down her spine at the sensation—heavy, warm, messy.

By the time she was done, her pull-up was swollen and droopy between her legs, no mistaking what had just happened.

She reached back, pressing her fingers gently against the back of her pull-up, giggling at the squish. Yep. No doubt about it. Pull-ups were not made for this.

Daddy had to understand now.

With a gleeful little bounce—feeling the weight shift against her—she toddled toward the door, her cheeks warm with excitement.

All she had to do now… was wait for Daddy to come home.

 Lena stood still as Daddy pulled her dress down over her fresh diaper, his hands smoothing the fabric as he checked her over. The thick padding crinkled softly with every tiny movement, still dry, still crisp—but not for long.

“All set for nursery,” Daddy said, his voice gentle but firm.

Lena suckled her paci, her eyes twinkling as she rocked slightly on her heels. She was ready—clean, comfy, and snug in her fresh diaper. But there was still one last step.

She shifted her stance, parting her legs just a little. The flutter in her tummy turned into a quiet sigh as she let go.

Warmth spread through her diaper almost instantly, soaking into the soft padding. The familiar squish replaced the crisp dryness in seconds, the front puffing out slightly as it drank up every drop.

Daddy’s eyes flicked down, catching the telltale shift in her posture. “Lena…” he said, the amused warning clear in his voice.

She peeked up at him, her cheeks warming as she suckled her paci innocently.

Daddy sighed, shaking his head with a knowing smirk. “Not even one minute?”

Lena giggled, her voice muffled by the pacifier. “Nope!”

Lena let out a burst of giggles, bouncing on her toes as the fresh squish beneath her made her feel extra little. She wiggled excitedly, her diaper crinkling with every movement, the warmth pressing against her like a cozy hug.

“See, Daddy?” she chirped around her paci, her voice muffled but so proud. “Told you I needed my diapees!”

She gave another happy wiggle, her hands grabbing at her dress as she rocked side to side, making sure Daddy really noticed how soggy she was now. The feeling was just so good, so perfect, and her whole body practically buzzed with excitement.

Daddy chuckled, shaking his head as he stood back up. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Lena just grinned wider, her pacifier bobbing as she bounced in place, delighting in the way her diaper squished with every move.

“Nu-uh!” she giggled, her energy overflowing. “I’m just really good at being little!”

Daddy gave her bottom a playful pat, the squishy padding pressing back against his hand. “You’re really good at something, that’s for sure.”

Lena squealed happily at that, flopping dramatically onto her padded bottom with a loud plop, the wet squish making her giggle even harder. She kicked her legs, flailing playfully, completely lost in her excitement.

“I win! I win!” she declared, her arms shooting up in victory.

Daddy raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And what exactly did you win, princess?”

Lena giggled, beaming. “The ‘Never-Ever-Stay-Dry’ game!”

Daddy groaned playfully, running a hand over his face. “That’s not even a real game.”

“Is too!” she argued, crossing her arms but still grinning. “And I win every time!”

Daddy sighed, shaking his head. “That’s because you cheat.”

Lena giggled even harder, kicking her legs happily. “Nooo, it’s ‘cause I’m the best little ever!”

Daddy couldn’t help but smile, watching her wiggle and squirm on the carpet like the happiest little thing in the world. He reached down, scooping her up effortlessly and settling her on his hip, her soggy diaper squishing beneath her as she giggled and nuzzled into his shoulder.

“Alright, you little troublemaker,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Let’s get you to nursery before you decide to win again.”

Lena squealed in delight, kicking her legs against his side, her pacifier still in her mouth as she clung to him.

She loved mornings like this.

 Lena snuggled deeper into Daddy’s chest, her body completely relaxed in his arms. His steady breathing, the warmth of his flannel shirt, the way his hands supported her bottom—it was all so safe, so perfect. She suckled softly on her paci, her fingers gripping his shirt as she let herself melt into him. 

Her diaper, already warm and soggy from just five minutes ago, squished gently against his lap. The fullness between her legs made her feel so little, so cared for. She gave the tiniest wiggle, pressing closer, reveling in the thick, swollen padding that cradled her bottom. 

Daddy’s hands cupped her diaper, holding her effortlessly, his fingers resting against the puffy bulk. He didn’t comment on how wet she was already—he never did, not really. He just let her be his little girl. 

And then… it happened. 

Lena barely noticed at first, the familiar flutter in her tummy coming and going like a passing thought. But as she shifted slightly in Daddy’s arms, her body made the decision for her. 

There was no hesitation, no effort—just a natural, helpless release. 

She sighed softly behind her paci as warmth spread through the seat of her diaper, the padding stretching as it eagerly accepted the mess. Her body relaxed even more as she filled her diaper completely, the weight settling thickly beneath her. 

Daddy’s hands adjusted, his grip instinctively tightening as her diaper expanded in his palms. He stilled for a moment, then let out a quiet huff, his fingers giving the back of her diaper a gentle pat. 

“Lena…” His voice carried that familiar mixture of amusement and exasperation. 

She peeked up at him with wide, innocent eyes, her pacifier bobbing as she suckled sweetly. 

Daddy shook his head, glancing down at her in disbelief. “No way this is the same girl who used to fight wearing pull-ups,” he murmured, mostly to himself. “Two years ago, you wouldn’t even try.” 

Lena only giggled, her heart swelling with happiness. She knew exactly how far she’d come. How much she had changed. 

She wasn’t that girl anymore. 

She wasn’t a big girl at all. 

She was Daddy’s little one—his soggy, squishy, helpless baby. 

And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

thank you @liljams for providing the original idea as well as the photos :)

[ddiwata]

if you could only know me (like your prayers at night) — the day you said goodnight, hale

— mydeimos x fem! wife! reader

— help.. help.. his words to phainon.. i cant breathe.. requests open!!

— warnings : MAJOR spoilers for the new quest, angst 💔💔 just tears and desperation idk!! no usage of y/n :3 devil works hard but i work extremely harder

— 🩸

“i’ll be leaving okhema soon to fight the greatest darkness of the world. and to shoulder nikador’s destiny. so, listen well: if there comes a day when we meet again on the battlefield, and i stand opposed to the flame-chase..

remember to stab your sword into my back and through my tenth thoracic vertebra. that’s my weakspot, and the only way to kill me.”

mydeimos’ last words to phainon. he planned to pack up and leave, with nothing but the clothes he has on and his bloodlust coursing through his veins. but every time he gazes down at his fingers, stained with the blood of too many to count. but the twinkle of gold around his ring finger makes him hesitate. he shouldn’t hesitate. he isn’t someone who hesitates.

but the words of his wife rings in his head. “i had these rings forged! look, it’s gold. it matches your armor!” his heart clenches and he can’t bear to say goodbye. to leave her like this. but he can’t bear to see her eyes fill with tears, her hands trembling as she pleads for him to stay when he says goodbye.

too many people he’s slain, too many people grovel at his feet. but every time his wife sobs, he feels mortal. fragile. so he leaves when night has fallen over their humble abode. his wife’s body comfortable underneath the weighted blanket they share, locks messy and her face relaxed— often marred by horror and concern when she finds out he’s died for the nth time after another battle.

he prays—for the first time—that his love won’t cry when she finds out. standing at the gate, where he’ll leave and won’t come back, he exhales deeply.

“walk out of okhema and i swear to the gods, i will divorce you, mydeimos.” the frail threat hangs in the air, and the prince turns around to see his wife—beautiful, tired, and utterly radiant. his breath hitches and he swallows. “it was a mistake giving that coreflame up. you know that, my love,” he looks away, eyebrows furrowing.

“why didn’t you wake me?” she asks firmly, voice cracking in a moment of weakness. mydei knows she’s trembling, fighting the urge to hold onto him. “i didn’t want to see the only reason why i want to stay hurt because of something i did. i left you a letter, but i’m.. horrible at writing.” he groans, his armored feet moving without the intention to.

he falls in his beloved’s arms, soft, sweet, and holding him so tightly. “my love, please forgive me.” de whispers, his cold, gloved hands grasping onto his wife’s cheeks. for the first time in a while, he feels tears trail down his cheeks and her soft thumb wiping it away as she stares up at him.

“you must go. and i understand..” she presses her forehead against her husband’s, nose brushing against his as she exhales softly, “do not lose yourself. come home to me.. please.”

a swift press to her lips, his own locking onto his wife’s, a familiar gesture— but this time it’s filled with grief. longing— desperation. he pulls away just as he kisses her, and with a gentle squeeze to her arms, he leaves, disappearing with the wind.

[littlelamy]

HI THERE! new anon here yasss, okay so i just got this idea

it's kinda a trope where in this case- reader has strict parents, and well obviously- rafe doesnt yknow but, ANYWAYS

I was thinking he texts her and just asks if he can see her or take her out somewhere and she's just like- at first she takes a min to respond but then comes back with "my parents said no :/" and rafe's just like, absolutely flabbergasted. "youre joking, right?" "hm?" "y/n youre 20. seriously?" LIKE- YKNOW?? 😭😭😭😭 you can have the convo go however you please, but however it does end up in rafe being fed up and just going over there and talking to her parents himself teeheeeeee

and reader's all nervous and scared and and and- you can choose how to end it :>

- 🤗 (if it's not taken- if it is that's my mistake but after sending this i'll go ahead and look at your anon list if you have one!)

notes: hi anonie, of course! 🤍

your phone buzzes on your bed, the screen lighting up with a name that makes your stomach do a little flip.

rafe.

rafe <3: wanna go out? take a drive or something?

you bite your lip, staring at the message. you want to. God, do you want to. but you already know what your parents are going to say. still, you hesitate, fingers hovering over the keyboard before typing out the inevitable response.

you: my parents said no :/

not even a minute passes before your phone buzzes again.

rafe <3: you’re joking, right?

you: hm?

rafe <3: y/n you’re fucking 20. are you serious?

there’s a beat of silence, and then another text.

rafe <3: this is insane. i’m coming over.

panic flares in your chest, your fingers flying across the keyboard.

you: rafe, NO.

rafe <3: baby, YES.

before you can try to stop him, he's already made up his mind. and when rafe cameron decides on something, there’s no talking him out of it.

twenty minutes later, you hear the unmistakable sound of his truck pulling up in front of your house. your stomach twists as you rush to your window, peeking out to see him stepping out of the driver's seat, his jaw set, determination written all over his face.

"shit," you whisper under your breath, nerves tightening your chest.

before you can even process your next move, there's a knock at your front door. your heart leaps into your throat.

"who's that?" your dad calls from the living room, suspicion laced in his tone.

you barely have time to react before he’s already opening the door. you squeeze your eyes shut, internally bracing for impact.

"mr. l/n," rafe's voice is smooth, polite, way too confident for someone who just stormed over uninvited. "i wanted to talk to you about y/n."

oh god.

you creep forward, peeking around the corner as your dad eyes rafe, arms crossed over his chest. "talk about what, exactly?"

rafe doesn’t miss a beat. "about why she’s twenty years old and still has a curfew."

your mom gasps from the kitchen. you swear you stop breathing.

"excuse me?" your dad's voice drops, the warning clear.

rafe, to his credit, doesn’t back down. "sir, with all due respect, she’s an adult. she should be able to make her own decisions."

your dad’s brow twitches, gaze narrowing. "and you think you get to decide that?"

"no, sir," rafe replies smoothly, voice unwavering. "but she should."

the room falls into tense silence, your mother looking between them like she’s watching a high-stakes poker game. you want to run, to disappear into the floor, but you’re frozen in place, caught between admiration for rafe’s boldness and terror for what might come next.

then, miraculously, your dad exhales, shaking his head with something that looks almost like amusement. "you've got some nerve, kid."

rafe smirks. "yeah, i’ve been told."

another pause. then your dad sighs, the weight of years of protectiveness slipping just slightly. "be back by midnight."

you nearly collapse.

rafe turns, catching your wide-eyed stare, and winks. "told you i’d fix it."

and just like that, you’re out the door, hand in his, heart still racing—but this time, it’s not from fear. it’s from the exhilaration of stepping into something new, something that finally feels like yours.

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @rafesbabygirlx @drewsephrry @lil-sparklqueen

[arxiwon]

Hi! May I request a yandere PSH fic? I just saw this on TikTok: 'Imagine Sunghoon as the craziest patient everyone calls a monster, whispering your name like a prayer.' (I luv dark romance :))) THANK YOUUU 🤍

Sanctuary of Sin | psh

(Yandere Sunghoon x Reader | Dark Romance | Smut | Psychological Obsession | Horror Elements)

The asylum had always felt like a cage.

Not just for the monsters locked inside—but for you.

Every time you stepped past the heavy iron doors, you felt it—the weight of a hundred staring eyes, the whispers slithering through the halls like ghosts. The patients were unpredictable, their minds shattered beyond repair. But none of them scared you.

None of them except him.

Park Sunghoon.

Patient 207.

The one the nurses refused to speak about, the one even the doctors feared.

"Stay away from him," they warned. "He’s not like the others. He’s… something else."

But no matter how much they tried to keep you from him—he always found a way to pull you in.

Because every time you walked past his cell, you heard it.

Your name.

"Y/N… Y/N… Y/N…”

Whispered like a prayer, over and over again, lips curling around every syllable with a fevered devotion that sent ice crawling down your spine.

You should have ignored it. Should have kept walking.

But that night… you didn’t.

That night, something inside you snapped.

You stopped.

And that was your first mistake.

The second was looking into his eyes.

They were waiting for you in the darkness, pale silver, gleaming beneath the dim, flickering light of his cell. He was seated on the floor, hands in his lap, bound in metal restraints. He was supposed to be harmless, yet the way he watched you made your blood turn thick and heavy in your veins.

His lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile.

"You're finally looking at me."

His voice was hoarse, rough—like he had been whispering your name for hours. Maybe days. Maybe longer.

"You know me?" you whispered, throat suddenly dry.

A slow exhale left his lips. His head tilted, pure delight flickering across his face, strands of silver hair falling over his forehead.

"Know you?" A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. "Sweetheart… I breathe you. I dream you. I bleed you."

Your breath hitched.

Then—he lifted his hands.

Your name was carved into his flesh.

Deep, jagged letters ripped into his own skin, fresh blood trailing down his wrists.

You stumbled back.

"Wh—what the hell—"

"Shhh…" His voice was soothing, almost sweet. "You don’t have to be afraid. This… This was meant to happen."

Your heart slammed against your ribs. "You're insane."

His smile widened.

"And yet, you’re still here."

The air shifted.

A loud BEEP.

Then—darkness.

The power shut down.

The iron restraints around his wrists clicked open.

And then—he moved.

Before you could even scream, he was on you.

A blur of motion, cold fingers wrapping around your throat, pinning you against the wall. The breath was knocked out of you, the sheer force of his body pressing flush against yours.

Your legs trembled. He was strong. Too strong.

But what made your blood run cold—was the look in his eyes.

"Finally," he whispered, thumb caressing your pulse. "You’re mine."

Your breath hitched as his lips brushed against your jaw, his nose dragging painfully slow over your skin.

"Sunghoon—"

"Shhh…" His grip tightened, forcing your head back, exposing the vulnerable curve of your neck. His mouth hovered just above your pulse. His breath was cold, but the way his lips parted—hungry, desperate—sent fire licking through your veins.

"You smell so sweet," he murmured. "So warm. So… delicate."

A slow drag of his tongue over your pulse.

A low, satisfied groan against your skin.

You should have fought him off—but your body betrayed you.

Heat coiled deep in your stomach, your thighs clenching on their own as his fingers traced down your sides, slow and deliberate.

"Are you wet for me, sweetheart?" His voice was nothing but sin.

You choked on a gasp. "You’re insane."

His fingers dipped lower. Slid between your thighs.

And then—pressed against your core.

Through the thin fabric of your pants, he felt it.

The dampness. The heat.

His lips curled.

"You are."

Your whole body burned.

With shame. With fear.

With something else.

"You want me," he whispered, dragging slow circles over your clit, just enough to make you tremble. "Even if you’re too afraid to say it."

Your hands gripped his wrists, trying to push him away—but he was relentless. His fingers slipped past the waistband of your pants, dipping beneath your panties, and—

"Fuck—"

A satisfied chuckle against your throat.

"So warm," he murmured, sliding a finger through your slick folds. "So fucking wet."

His finger pushed inside, slow, teasing, curling against that sweet, aching spot.

Your whole body arched.

He felt it. Heard the tiny, broken gasp that escaped your lips.

And his eyes darkened.

"You’re squeezing me so tight, sweetheart," he groaned, pumping his finger deeper, pressing right against that spot that made you whimper. "You like this, don’t you?"

His thumb rubbed slow, lazy circles over your clit, building the heat, driving you insane.

"I could make you come just like this," he whispered, licking against your ear. "So messy. So desperate."

Your thighs trembled around his hand, your body betraying you.

"Come for me, sweetheart," he purred. "Let me hear you."

And then—he bit down.

His teeth sank into your neck, the sharp pain colliding with the pleasure—

And you snapped.

The orgasm tore through you, waves of heat crashing over you as you shuddered in his grip. Your breath hitched, a broken moan spilling from your lips as he licked over the fresh bite, soothing the wound with his tongue.

His chest rose and fell, breath ragged, his cock pressing against your stomach, aching for more.

"I told you, sweetheart."

His fingers lifted, coated in your release.

"You belong to me."

The air was thick—dense with the scent of sweat, metal, and something primal.

Your body was still trembling from your orgasm, your breath coming in ragged, broken gasps as you sagged against the wall.

But Sunghoon wasn’t finished with you.

Not even close.

He was still pressed against you, his chest rising and falling in slow, deliberate breaths. His silver eyes were blown wide with hunger, his lips parted—slick with your taste and your blood from where he had bitten you.

But it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

"Look at you." His voice was low, taunting, thick with dark amusement. "Already falling apart, and I haven’t even fucked you yet."

His hands tightened around your hips, his fingers digging into your skin brutally, leaving marks—evidence of his claim.

Your thighs clenched instinctively, trying to press together—trying to gain control over the heat still burning between your legs.

But Sunghoon saw.

And he smirked.

"No, no, sweetheart," he murmured, forcing your legs apart with his knee. "Don’t hide from me. Not when I already know how fucking wet you are."

Your breath hitched as his fingers ghosted over your inner thighs, teasing, taunting, not nearly enough.

You hated him.

You hated him for making your body react like this. For making you ache for his touch.

"Tell me you want me." His voice was smooth, intoxicating, but underneath it was something sharp, something dangerous. "Say it, or I won’t give you what you need."

You clenched your jaw, refusing.

But then—he pressed against your clit again.

Your body jerked, a choked gasp escaping your lips as he rolled slow, lazy circles over your sensitive bud.

His smirk widened.

"Stubborn little thing."

He suddenly ripped your pants down your legs, the cold air hitting your soaking folds, making you shudder.

And then—he dropped to his knees.

You barely had time to react before his tongue was on you.

A sharp cry tore from your throat, your hands flying to his hair, trying to push him away—but he didn’t budge.

His hands were iron around your thighs, locking you in place as his tongue dragged through your slick folds, slow and torturous.

"Fuck—" you gasped, back arching against the wall.

Sunghoon groaned, the sound vibrating straight through your core.

"Taste so fucking good," he murmured against you, voice wrecked. "Better than I ever imagined."

His tongue flicked over your clit, sharp and relentless, his lips sucking, his teeth scraping just enough to make you cry out.

You were losing it.

Your fingers clenched in his hair, tugging, but instead of pulling away—he moaned against you, the vibration sending another wave of heat rolling through your body.

"Go on," he purred, licking up your slick before plunging his tongue inside you, "Use me."

You were already so close again, your thighs shaking, your breaths coming in sharp, shattered gasps.

"Sunghoon—"

"Mmm, say my name just like that when you come, sweetheart," he rasped, voice hoarse. "Let me hear you."

His tongue pressed deeper, curling inside you—

And then—you snapped.

The orgasm crashed over you, your body trembling as your moans echoed through the empty halls.

Sunghoon groaned, lapping up every drop, his fingers bruising into your thighs as he held you in place, drinking in every shake, every whimper, every breathless cry.

When he finally pulled away, his lips were glistening, his eyes wild.

"So pretty when you fall apart for me," he murmured, standing up, towering over you. "But I’m not done with you yet."

His hands grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head as he kicked your legs apart.

Your breath hitched. His cock was pressing against your entrance, thick and aching, the heat of it making your head spin.

"You want me to be gentle?" His voice was soft, teasing—mocking. "You think I’m going to take my time with you, make love to you?"

A slow, wicked grin spread across his face.

"No, sweetheart."

His lips brushed against your ear, his next words sending a shiver down your spine.

"I’m going to ruin you."

Then—he thrust inside you.

A strangled gasp tore from your lips, your walls stretching to accommodate him, the brutal, unrelenting stretch sending white-hot pleasure crashing through your veins.

"Fuck—" Sunghoon groaned, his grip tightening on your wrists. "You’re so fucking tight, baby."

He pulled out almost completely—

Then slammed back in.

Your head threw back, a guttural moan escaping your lips as he set a brutal pace, his hips slamming into yours with raw, unhinged hunger.

"You were made for me," he growled, his lips biting into your neck. "You feel so fucking good wrapped around me, taking me so fucking deep."

Your nails dug into his back, your legs wrapping around his waist as he drove into you, the friction so intense it had you seeing stars.

"More—" you gasped, barely able to breathe. "Sunghoon, please—"

A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest.

"Begging for me already?" He snapped his hips forward, hitting so deep you screamed. "That’s right, sweetheart. You belong to me. Only me."

His fingers found your clit again, rubbing tight, relentless circles, dragging you closer, closer, closer—

"Come for me," he ordered, voice dangerous. "Now."

And you did.

Your orgasm hit like a freight train, your whole body arching, shaking, your walls clenching so tight around him that he cursed, hips stuttering—

Then, with a deep, wrecked groan, he spilled inside you, his warmth filling you to the brim.

He didn’t move for a long moment, his breath ragged, his lips pressing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw.

"Mine," he whispered again, soft, but firm. "You’ll never leave me, right, sweetheart?"

You couldn’t answer. Couldn’t even think.

But Sunghoon just smiled.

Because he already knew the truth.

You were his.

And you always would be.

[thefairiesinthegarden]

This was me trying

———————————————————

Heyyyyy this is my first post soo im seeing if this is something I want to do!!!!!! This is angstyyyy so enjoy!!!

Azriel x reader

About 1000 words

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Azriel had never been one for grand displays of emotion, not in all the centuries he had lived. His shadows were often enough to mask the turmoil that constantly swirled within him, the doubts and insecurities he carried as silently as the wind. But the tension between him and you had been building for weeks now, and it was clear even to his shadows. They whispered to him of the cracks in your once unshakable bond, but he ignored them, refusing to face the truth.

He was tired. Tired of the endless fights, of the misunderstandings that left him feeling more alone than he ever thought possible. You were always so bright, so full of life and hope. It had been the reason he fell for you in the first place—your light drew him in like a moth to a flame. But now that very light felt like it was suffocating him, highlighting every flaw, every mistake, every failure he couldn’t outrun.

Tonight, the argument had escalated beyond either of your control.

“I don’t understand why you can’t just be honest with me!” you had shouted, voice breaking under the weight of frustration. “I feel like I’m fighting for this relationship alone, Azriel!”

He stood there, jaw clenched, shadows swirling around his feet in a frenzy. His wings twitched, itching for flight, for escape. His eyes, usually so calm and calculating, burned with something darker, something ugly.

“I never asked you to fight for me,” he snapped back, the words slipping from his tongue before he could stop them.

You flinched, and he immediately regretted it. But instead of apologizing, instead of softening like he should have, he doubled down.

“Maybe if you stopped trying so hard, it wouldn’t be so difficult,” he continued, his tone cutting and cruel. “You’re suffocating me with your constant need for reassurance. I don’t need it, and I certainly don’t want it.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, thick and heavy with the weight of his words. His shadows recoiled, retreating as if they, too, were horrified by what he had just said.

You stood there, eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears. He could see the way his words had wounded you, deeper than any physical blow could have. And yet, you didn’t cry. You didn’t yell. You just… stared at him, as if seeing him for the first time, as if the person standing in front of you was a stranger.

“I see,” you said quietly, your voice hollow.

Azriel took a step forward, regret flooding his chest, but you held up a hand, stopping him in his tracks.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “No, don’t come closer. I can’t—” You swallowed, your throat working as you tried to find the words. “I can’t do this anymore, Azriel. I’ve been trying so hard to make this work, but it’s clear that it’s not enough. I’m not enough.”

He wanted to argue, to tell you that wasn’t true, that you were more than enough for him, that you were everything. But the words got caught in his throat, tangled up in the anger and frustration that had been boiling under his skin for weeks now.

You took a deep breath, your hands trembling as you ran them through your hair, pulling it back from your face. “I just need some space,” you said, your voice wavering. “I need to figure out what I want, what I deserve. And I can’t do that with you right now.”

Azriel’s heart clenched painfully in his chest as he watched you turn and walk toward the door. His wings twitched again, his body screaming at him to stop you, to beg for your forgiveness. But he stayed rooted to the spot, too stunned, too angry with himself to move.

You paused at the threshold, your hand resting on the doorframe as you turned to look at him one last time. “I love you,” you said softly, “but I can’t keep giving and giving when it’s never going to be enough. Not for you.”

Then you were gone, the door closing softly behind you, leaving Azriel alone in the deafening silence of the room. His shadows crept back toward him, hesitant, as if even they weren’t sure how to comfort him now.

He collapsed onto the couch, burying his face in his hands as the weight of his words, of his actions, came crashing down around him. He had driven you away. The one person who had ever truly seen him, who had loved him despite all his flaws, was gone. And it was his fault.

For hours, Azriel sat there, replaying the argument over and over in his head, wondering where it had all gone so wrong. How had he let his own insecurities, his own fears, push you away? You had been trying—he knew that now, could see it so clearly in the aftermath. You had been fighting for him, for the relationship, and he had thrown it back in your face.

When he finally rose from the couch, the sky outside had darkened, the stars twinkling faintly in the distance. He moved to the bedroom, hoping to find some semblance of peace in sleep, but as he entered, his eyes landed on something that stopped him in his tracks.

A note, folded neatly, resting on the pillow where you used to sleep.

With trembling hands, he picked it up, unfolding the paper to reveal your delicate handwriting.

Azriel,

I just wanted you to know that this was me trying. I tried to be everything you needed, but it was never enough, and I’ve come to realize that it never will be. I love you, but I can’t stay in a relationship where I feel like I’m constantly failing. I hope one day you understand that I didn’t leave because I stopped caring. I left because I had to start caring about myself.

Goodbye.

The words blurred as his vision clouded with tears. He clutched the note tightly in his hand, his heart shattering into a million pieces.

He had lost you.

And this time, there was no fixing it. No amount of apologies or promises could undo the damage he had caused. You had given him everything, and in return, he had pushed you away.

Azriel sank to his knees, the weight of the empty room pressing down on him like a vice. His shadows curled around him, as if trying to comfort him, but they couldn’t reach the part of him that was broken beyond repair.

You were gone.

And he had no one to blame but himself.

———————————————————

Theehhehehehehee hoped you enjoyed that, lemme know if we want moreeee

[secretlysamcro]

Unspoken feelings pt. 1 Female reader x Jax Teller Possible plot spoilers, explicit language, domestic violence, violence & murder! If you're under the age of 18, dislike any of said topics or have not finished the show, then please read no further.

Jax takes a final drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling around him before he flicks it away, grinding it under the sole of shoe. He rolls his shoulders, a familiar tension in his muscles as he waits for you to step out of the car. He can already sense the weight of the moment, but he pushes his nerves deep down like he always does.

You draw in a deep breath before exiting the car, closing the door firmly. As you circle around the vehicle, your eyes instantly lock with his. He hasn’t changed at all. Still giving off that same Jax Teller energy, still charming as ever.

His smirk deepens as you approach. “Look who it is” he says, taking slow strides towards you. As he closes the distance, his arms are now open wide. Offering a welcoming embrace, his warmth pulling you in.

Something so familiar, that you never knew you needed, until you were wrapped up in it.

"Hey" you say, your voice muffled against the leather he still proudly wears.

He pulls back, but his hands stay on your elbows. He studies your face, like he can tell somethings off but he cant figure it out yet. "He finally let you come back home, huh?"

You can tell he's just saying it to get under your skin, the way his eyes shine with that familiar mischief. He never liked him, not even a little bit. Everything Opie and Jax had warned you about, everything they said would happen, its all come true.

The music's loud, but your boyfriend's voice cuts through the noise as he leans in close to you, his hand resting possessively on your thigh. "Can't wait for you to move in" he says, his voice sleazy. His words are loud enough for everyone to hear "Sex whenever we want, anywhere we want".

You stiffen, catching the shift in Jax's posture. He stands up, and walks out of the clubhouse without a word, Opie following right behind him.

You know its because of what they've just overheard, and they're fucking pissed.

Jax leans heavily against his bike, Opie stands next to him, arms crossed, watching Jax. He's not happy either, but he's trying to keep his cool.

"You're not helping yourself Jax" he mutters, trying to keep his voice steady, trying to get through to him.

Jax lets out a frustrated grunt, wiping his face and looking upwards to the sky. "She's about to make the biggest fucking mistake of her life, and we’re supposed to just stand here and let it happen?" He’s swaying slightly, the alcohol taking control now.

Opie shakes his head, his eyes narrowing "She's not some kid, Jax. She ain't gonna listen to you pushin' her...also, you do know wendy's gonna clock on soon why you're acting like this, right?"

Jax's eyes flash, looking almost dangerous. "I don't give a fuck about Wendy right now" His words snap, and its clear he means it "She's leaving, Ope. For that asshole"

Opie rubs his face, "He might be talking out his ass, could just be dreamin'"

Jax laughs, and it sounds bitter. "Yeah? then why's he running his mouth inside like its a done deal?" he shakes his head, looking to the ground.

“We all make mistakes Jax” Opie says, his voice cutting through the tension.

Jax stares at him, his eyes heavy, feeling the weight of the whiskey. “Don’t Ope, just don’t” he grumbles.

Opie leans against the railing, his posture casual, looking away from Jax but speaking to him directly. “You can’t be pissed at her for not tellin’ you shit, when you’re sittin’ on the biggest fuckin’ secret. You haven’t even told her Wendy’s pregnant”

“I haven’t told anyone yet…just you” he stumbles, beer bottle shaking in his hand. “If I say it out loud…it makes it real” His voice cracks as he tries to keep composure.

Opie watches him now “when you’re up all night with a baby, shittin’ diapers, getting puked on, shit will be real then”

“She’ll have too much shit to say. I can’t handle it…not now, I just-”

“She doesn’t want you fuckin’ your life up. Just like you don’t wanna watch her fuck hers up” Opie says. He’s always been the one stuck in the middle of you both.

Jax drops his head trying to shake it off as Opies words sink in deeper than he can admit.

Before Jax can answer, the door swings open. You step outside and the second their eyes land on you, you already know this is gonna go to shit.

And the look Jax gives you? its gonna be a fucking challenge.

You clear your throat. "Can we talk?" You didn’t expect them to find out like this. You didn’t expect Jax’s eyes to hold that hurt, even if he tries to hide it.

Jax snorts, the pain turning to anger now, shaking his head "Oh, now you wanna talk?" He takes another swig of his beer "By all means, darlin...talk"

You exhale, steadying yourself. Arms crossed over your chest. "I was gonna tell you both...”

Jax laughs, shifting in place "Right... and when exactly was that gonna be? before or after you packed your shit and left"

The way he's looking at you, like you've betrayed him cuts deeper than you expected. "I just...wanted to wait for the right time"

"The right time?" he repeats, stepping closer, you can smell the whiskey on his breath. "Bullshit"

Opie, who senses the tension, steps in "Alright lets just take a second..."

Jax ignores him, his eyes focused solely on you. "So what is it, huh? he finally got in your head...convinced you to cut us off completely?"

"That's not what this is Jax-"

"Nah, its fine" he shuts you down. "You wanna leave? then go. Nothin' stoppin' you"

"What the fuck is your problem?" you step forward, fuming and ready to confront Jax. Opie quickly steps between you both, trying to keep the situation from escalating.

"y/n just let it go, he’s drunk" Opie says, his tone calm but firm, trying his best to defuse the tension.

Jax jerks his head towards your boyfriend, who's making his way over.

"He's my fucking problem" he mutters. Without another word, Jax continues walking. As he passes your boyfriend he deliberately bumps into him, a sharp shove of the shoulder, as if to make a point.

He stumbles slightly, but doesn't say anything to Jax, he's looking between you and Opie now, with a confused expression. "The fucks his problem?” he asks, his voice uncertain.

You feel your stomach twist at the sound of his voice. You look up to Opie "I'm Sorry" you whisper, as you turn around to join Jax's fucking problem.

Opie nods in understanding, but Jax who's now heading back into the clubhouse, doesn't look back. He's pissed, he can't admit what's really bothering him, not with Wendy now pregnant and not with you on the verge of leaving Charming.

Jax leans against the kitchen counter, his fingers tapping absently on the side as the silence stretches between you.

His eyes are fixed on the coffee machine, yours trailing over the pictures scattered across the fridge, by Abel of course. Finally, you break the silence.

“How’s Wendy, and Abel?” You ask, your eyes floating around the place. You hadn’t seen either of them in person since the night at the hospital.

Since you left without a word.

“She’s uh…” his voice is flat, his hand scratching the back of his neck “...back on the shit. She ain’t coming anywhere near him. Divorce when through not long ago”

“Jax…” you begin, unsure of how to respond.

He forces a smile, leaning against the counter. “Go on. Say it”

“Say what?” You frown, confusion on your face.

“That you told me so” he stirs the coffees.

You shake your head, as much as you want to, you couldn’t. “I’m not gonna do that”

He runs a hand over his hair “You were right though, shoulda listened, you told me enough times”

You chew the inside of your cheek, watching the tightness spread across his face. You’re pissed for him, but you know better than to poke the fire.

You take a seat at the kitchen table. “Where's Abel? He okay?” You ask, your voice softer.

“With Mom...he's confused but, he's good” he places the coffees down before sitting across from you.

You nod a silent thank you. It’s no longer awkward, just heavy.

“Shits a mess, huh?” He almost laughs, shaking his head.

You hesitate before spilling your own life dramas. Your fingers tightening around the mug. “I left him…this morning, took the shit I needed and left”

Jax studies you, his expression doesn’t portray what he’s thinking.

“That’s why you’re staying at the motel?” He thought it was weird you’d rather do that than stay with someone you knew here.

“Yeah” you let out a deep breath, “told him a few days ago, but he obviously thought I didn't mean it. It’s not the first time I’ve tried…guess he figured when he got home and I was gone” you look to your phone, another 2 texts from him. “He hasn’t stopped” you wave your phone in Jax’s direction.

His jaw tightens, the same way it does when something pisses him off. “He know you’re here?” He finally asks.

“Probably knows I’ve come back to Charming, just not where”

Jax stares for a moment longer, then lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head “guess we both fucked up, huh?”

You give him a small smile “yeah…nothings changed there”

Jax leans back in his chair “So, does Opie know you’re back?” He raises an eyebrow, a smirk on his lips “you know he’s gonna be pissed if he finds out you’re hanging with me and not him”

You can’t help but laugh at the thought of Opie’s reaction. “Nah, told him I’d come visit soon, but he doesn’t know I’m here right now”

"All your shits at the motel?" Jax asks, his arms crossed scanning you, like he's trying to piece together everything you're not saying out loud.

You sigh, rubbing your temples. "Just the important stuff, clothes, shit I couldn't leave behind" You hadn't even had a second to breathe, let alone think what the future holds.

Then your phone rings again. You don't even need to look.

Jax's gaze flicks down, watching you ignore the call and shoving the phone back into your purse.

He rubs his chin "So what now? You stickin' around, or is this just another pit stop before you disappear again?"

You let out a tired laugh "Jax, I don't even know what I'm doing tonight, let alone the next few days" Your head tipped back, eyes on the ceiling. You cant break, not here. Not in front of him.

It's not like Jax hasn't seen you cry before, shit, he's probably seen it more than anyone. But after all this time and distance, it feels...different.

Jax made a sound, something between a scoff and a sigh. "You know you could've called me right? or Opie" His voice displaying that rare softness. "You could of come straight here"

"Jax, its not that simple" you mutter, shaking your head. "It's not just a night or two. I don't know how long its gonna take me to get my shit together"

He grins a little, "and?"

You blink, shaking your head towards him "And what?"

"And it’s not like we ain’t done this before?" his eyes stay serious "Shit, y/n you basically lived with us back in the day... mom would've traded me for you if she could've"

That made you laugh, his words pulling you straight into the past. Late nights sneaking beers from Gemma’s fridge. Falling asleep on the couch after club parties, waking up tangled in blankets you never remembered pulling over yourself. Sunday mornings, a joint shared between the three of you talking shit on the clubhouse roof like the world couldn't touch you.

"Get your shit, y/n" he says, steady and certain.

Before you could respond, his phone rang. He barely registered it before answering, already pacing the kitchen, his voice dropping to that familiar tone. "Yeah?"

You couldn't hear the other side, but you didn't need to. His whole body language changed.

Club business.

"Alright, I'll be there soon" he said, like he didn't want to leave.

Jax tucks his phone back into his pocket "I gotta deal with somethin', but go grab your stuff. Call me when you're done, i'll meet you back here" a smile creeping on his face "Maybe I should tell Ope you're back too"

That pulls a more genuine smile from you, you stand, hesitating for a second before meeting his eyes. "Thank you Jax" You step towards him, and before you can even think about it, his arms are around you. Solid and warm. The kind of hug that makes you feel like you never left, like nothings changed.

His grip tightens ever so slightly, his chin resting against the top of your head. "Missed you", he admits. His voice quieter now, like he almost doesn't want to say it too loud.

Your fingers curl into his kutte, holding onto the moment. "Missed you too".

The club business was quiet for now, Nothing urgent. Whatever they'd called him in for was handled quickly. Opie is currently driving Jax back to the clubhouse, he decides its the perfect time to let him know you're back.

Opie glances over to Jax, who cant keep his grin off his face. His brow raising at the look "What?"

Jax laughs, taking a drag before starting "Guess who's back in town"

Opie gives him a long look, waiting for him to speak up "Who?"

Jax exhales, pushing his hand over his head. "y/n"

That got Opie's full attention, he straightened up his eyes sharp "No shit?"

"No shit" Jax confirms "finally left that asshole"

Opie let’s out a low whistle "Damn" he exhales slowly "How's she doin'"

Jax wasn't sure where to start, so he gave him the basics "She's been through it man...She didn't say much, but I could tell. She's tryin to play it cool, but you know how she is"

Opie nodded, he knew exactly what he meant. You were good at keeping shit locked down, good at pretending you were fine, even when you wasn't. That hadn't changed since you were kids.

"She tell you why she finally left?" Opie questions.

"Nah, and I didn't push...figured she might spill to you first, anyway"

The motel room feels suffocating now. You can barely catch your breath as you carry things from the room to your car, packing it all up, trying to get out of this mess.

As you step back inside to grab the last of your things, the door is slammed open, nearly knocking you off your feet. His eyes are wild, rage written across his face.

"What the fuck!" you shout, pushing back against him, trying to regain your balance. "How the fuck did you find me!"

He doesn't flinch, doesn't back off, he's in your face. His voice seething. "Tracked your phone, Don't act like I didn't know where you'd go. Always knew you'd run back here"

You're burning with anger now, it wasn't supposed to happen, not like this. "You think you can just show up and fuck with me?"

He steps forward, closing the gap between you. His body tense. "You think you can just pack your shit and leave? you think I'm gonna let that happen?"

You turn away, making your way over to the desk, subtly pulling out your phone and calling Jax without saying a word. You cant speak, you cant make it obvious, you just hope he answers.

"I'm fucking talking to you!" he comes behind you, dragging you back around by your shoulder.

His jaw is hard as he spits "Four years, y/n. Four fucking years and you're gonna throw it all way for that fucker?"

His words hit you like a slap, but you refuse to let him see you fall. "I didn't leave you for anyone. I left because you're a fucking asshole. You're a controlling manipulative piece of shit" you edge closer towards him "You don't love me. You just wanna own me, you think I haven't learnt that by now!"

He doesn't even think before lunging forward, grabbing you by the arms, his grip as strong as iron. "I always saw the way you two looked at each other. The way he fucking wanted you. The way you looked at him, I fucking knew it" his voice is low, almost a growl.

"You're insane!" you shout back, trying to break free. But it’s not working, he’s too fucking strong. “Don’t fucking lie to me” he snarls, his hands tightening, “You think I’m stupid? I bet you were fucking him the whole time, huh? That's why he was so pissy about you leaving!"

Jax’s phone buzzes in his pocket as him and Opie head toward their bikes. He looks down, your name on the screen. He answers, expecting to hear your voice. Thinks maybe you’re gonna ask for help or give him an update.

But there’s nothing.

Silence.

“y/n?” He grips the phone tighter, reaching his bike. “y/n you good?” He tries again but still, nothing. He can just work out a sharp breath, the sounds of muffled voices. It’s faint but unmistakable.

Then he hears it.

“You think you can just pack your shit and leave? You think I’m just gonna let you do that y/n?”

Jax’s stomach drops. He knows exactly who that is.

“You’re insane!” He hears your voice, it’s shaky but there’s anger there too.

“I bet you were fucking him the whole time, weren’t you?”

Opie, walking beside him, must feel the tension change, because he stops in his tracks, looking at Jax trying to read the situation.

Jax puts the phone on speaker as he and Opie listen in, they hear you shouting back, the sounds of a struggle. You’re defending yourself, but the way he’s yelling…it’s violent.

“Is that him?" Opie mutters under his breath.

“That’s him” Jax answers, practically jumping on his bike “Rockstaff motel” he instructs Opie.

This wasn’t the reunion either of you had planned.

The room now smells like sweat, fear and blood. You’re on the floor, your knees pulled to your chest, head buried in your hands. You didn’t mean for this to happen, you didn’t even want this to happen. But when he shoved you again, and again, when his hands grabbed at you like he was going to choke the life out of you, you snapped.

The heavy lamp lying beside him, was all you could reach, so you did, swinging it hard. You heard the crack when it hit his skull, sending him to the floor. He’s still there, no movement, no sound. He could be dead for all you know, you haven’t got it in you to check, all you know is the dark red stain beneath him, is getting bigger and bigger.

You’re covered in it too, your hands, your face, your clothes. Tears blur your vision, the sobs leaving your body like you’re gasping for air.

Then, you hear the footsteps, fast and heavy. You don’t even look up. You’re still trying to breathe, your body frozen in its place.

The door slams open with a force that rattles the frame, Jax nearly booting the door off its hinges.

"Jesus, y/n" His voice is sharp, but beneath it, nothing but pure rawness.

You don't answer. You can't.

Jax shoves his his gun back into his waistband and drops to his knees in front of you. His hands come to your face, tilting it up, forcing you to look at him. "talk to me darlin"

Your lips part, but nothing comes out. Your mind still spinning, stuck in the moment.

Jax's thumb wipes at the blood trailing down your face, leaking from the cut above your brow, his eyes flicker down to your lip, busted and swollen, then to your ex sprawled on the floor, unconscious, head split open. Then to the shattered lamp, the jagged base glistening red.

The puzzle pieces fall into place.

Opie kicks him with his boot. No response. He crouches, pressing two fingers to the bastards throat.

"still breathin", he says, standing back up.

Your breath shudders as it leaves you "I'm... sorry" you whisper. The words barely leaving your lips, but when Jax hears them, it almost breaks him

Even now, after after everything this bastard has put you through, you're still apologizing, like you're the one who did something wrong. "don’t" he says, his jaw locking.

Your fingers brush against your eyebrow, the pain only registering now that the adrenaline is wearing off. You blink fast, still dazed. "I..."

Jax shakes his head "we're gonna get you cleaned up, alright?" His fingers lace through yours, squeezing gently, a contrast to the rage he has written all over his face.

He turns to Opie, voice short "Call Gemma. Tell her to get here now" He nods, pulling out his phone without question.

Then, a groan from the floor, a breath, slight movement.

Jax snaps his head towards the sound, his body tensing. Before your ex can even lift his head, Jax is on him, driving his fresh Nikes into his ribs, before dropping down, and landing a brutal punch across his face, rendering him unconscious again.

Jax stands, flexing his fist like he's debating punching him some more. Opie shoves his phone back in his pocket "Gemma's on her way, taking Abel to Neeta's first". He shoots Jax a look, no words needed. Jax reads it instantly, the unspoken agreement passing between them like second nature.

This asshole doesn't walk away from this. Not after what he's done to you.

Jax nods in response to Opie, turning his attention back to you. His voice drops lower and slower making sure there's no room left for doubt.

"I need you to hear me, darlin" His thumb brushing over your cheek. "You done with him...for good?"

You swallow, your heart pounding. You already know the answer.

Jax tilts his head, his tone darker now "because if you say the word, I handle this. No second thoughts, no lookin' back" his eyes scan your entire face "but I need to hear it from you"

"Yeah...I'm done" you breathe the words out.

Jax watches you for a second, then slowly nods. The tension leaving his face.

"Alright" he turns to Opie "Call Happy".

He shifts closer to you again, his hands framing your face with a gentleness that almost breaks you. "He's never gonna hurt you again y/n. I promise"

Gemma held your face steady as she wiped away the blood, the cotton pad pressing against your swollen brow. The drive back to Jax's house was silent. You hadn't said a word since leaving the motel, your eyes were vacant, tears dried but still staining your face.

She couldn't help but notice you, she’d seen you hurt before but this? this was different. She noticed how the girl sitting in front of her wasn't the one she remembered. You were always the fierce one, the girl who didn't let anything hold her back. The one who spent countless hours with Jax and Opie, always laughing, always in control.

The girl Gemma, deep down always thought would end up with her son.

"Hold still, sweetheart" she mutters, her voice thick with concern. She holds your chin gently, taking everything in. The ready to bruise marks, the cuts, the blood. They told a story, one Gemma never wanted for you. "Have you heard anything?" The question slips out before you can stop it, your mind still racing, trying to catch up with everything that'd unfolded. It feels like the worlds turned upside down in a matter of hours, and you're struggling to make sense of it all.

She sighs softly, moving down beside you "They're dealing with it, y/n, don't stress"

Your chest tightens as the weight of it all sinks in. "I shouldn't have dragged them into this mess" your voice drops, the guilt hovering within it.

She's quite for a moment, then turns to you "Those two boys would burn the world down for you. You know that y/n" “I know” the words simple, but holding so much weight. Because you did know. You knew exactly what they were doing, what Jax had asked you, it wasn’t in vein, he really wanted to know if you were done with him forever.

Gemma moved quickly, gathering your bloodied clothes whilst you were in the shower. Tossing them into a bag, ready to destroy all evidence. You were in Jax's room, after scrubbing away the chaos, the weight of it though, still clinging to you.

Gemma searched through Jax's stuff, eventually pulling out a SAMCRO tee and a pair of sweatpants for you to wear in replacement. They were too big, but they gave you a sense of comfort.

Jax and Opie stepped through the front door, their faces set, knowing the job was done. No traces, no mess, nothing left behind.

Gemma rises from her seat as they enter the kitchen. "She's in the bedroom" she says quietly. Both of them turning and heading straight for it.

"Jax?" Gemma calls him back, leaving Opie to see you alone.

"Yeah?" he leans against the counter, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes sharp and tired.

"She's not okay" Gemma says, her voice laced with concern, "I've never seen her like this, and we've been through some shit with that girl"

Jax exhales heavily, a sigh saying more than any words could. "I know" he says, looking down.

"Don't just sit on this Jax" Gemma says, her words giving off that strong motherly energy she always carried. "She needs you now, more than ever"

Jax looks at her, a silent understanding as he nods in response.

"No jax..." she stands up now, closing the space between them "...she needs you, and I don't mean in the way you're used to. She needs you to be there, really be there for her"

"Yeah" Jax says, before pushing off the counter and heading to the bedroom.

Jax made his way towards his room, his steps slowing when he hears your voice inside. Opie was always the one who could drag the truth out of you, the things you didn't really wanna share.

Jax paused just outside his open door, leaning against the wall and listening in.

"You're stubborn as shit y/n" Opie said, a little teasing in his tone "always have been" he says as he takes a seat next to you on the edge of the bed.

Your soft laugh followed, the sound making Jax's lip curl into a small smile.

After everything that had happened today, hearing you laugh, even if it was just a little was a fucking relief.

"Guess you were both right" you whispered, resting your head against Opie's shoulder.

"The hell did you even see in him?" Opie asked, his voice firm but also calm.

He wasn't asking to push, just giving you an opening, if you wanted to take it, you would.

You inhale deeply, rubbing a hand over your face, careful not to press against the cuts. "I don't know" the words sounding weak.

Opie scoffs, shaking his head "bullshit"

You can’t hide the emotions, knowing Opie has always seen right through you.

"C'mon, we both know why..." he continues "...you weren't really in it...not really, it just made things..." he paused, searching for the right words "...easier".

Jax, still standing just outside the doorway, froze, trying to figure out what you were both talking about.

You let out a small laugh "easier" you repeat, your voice flat. You rub the back of your neck, feeling the heat rise through you "I just wanted to forget, Ope"

His gaze turns harder "Forget what, y/n?" Trying to force you to say it.

You didn't answer.

Didn't have to.

Jax runs his tongue along his teeth, the pieces starting to fit together.

"Jesus, y/n" Opie rolls his shoulders, "you should've just told him"

Your eyes snap towards him, wide and defensive "It ain't that simple Ope"

"Yeah it is" he says sternly, taking a look over his shoulder, seeing Jax's shadow hovering outside the door.

And then, he steps inside.

Without a word, he sits next to you, mirroring Opie's position on the opposite side. His hand found your thigh, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against the fabric of his borrowed sweats.

"How you holdin' up, darlin?" he asks, pushing aside everything he just overheard, making sure you were okay.

You look over at him, the weight of what you'd just confessed to Opie making your chest tighten and your emotions a chaotic mess.

You manage a soft smile though, "I'm okay" you let him know, quietly.

He didnt press. He just stayed there, solid and steady. The weight of them both beside you, like they always had been, made you feel safe in a way you couldn't put into words.

Before you knew it, a small laugh left your mouth.

"What's funny?" Opie asks, looking between you and Jax.

You smirk a little "been a long time since I've been stuck in the middle of you two" you nudge them both playfully.

Jax lets out a low chuckle, Opie laughing too but with a more mischievous tone. "That sounds kinda wrong"

You smack his arm "Fuck off Opie" you say,still laughing.

Jax shook his head, still amused before giving Opie a look.

One he understood without needing words.

He patted your leg before standing up, "Alright, I'm headin' out. Gotta get back to Lyla and the kids. He places a gentle kiss on the top of your head. "He can't hurt you anymore y/n"

You nod, Opie ruffling your hair like he used to when you were younger, and then clapping Jax on the shoulder before leaving you both in the quiet of the room.

Jax stares at you now, his eyes tracing over the cuts left on you by the man who should've never fucking touched you. His hands clench into fists at his sides, before he forces them to relax.

"He ever put his hands on you before?" His voice is controlled, but just about.

You don't say anything, just look towards the floor.

Your silence is enough.

Jax exhales, dragging a hand down his face "Jesus Christ" He shakes his head like he's trying to shake off the guilt. "If I'd just..." he stops himself, gritting his teeth before continuing. "If I'd just fucking said something back then, maybe you never would have left with him".

He looks at you, really looks at you. Like he's weighing whether to just keep it all inside like he always has, or to finally let it all out.

You brows furrow slightly, the pulse just under your cut hammering away.

"You heard me and Ope talkin earlier?" you ask, wondering just how much he caught onto.

"Wasn't tryin to" he says, his voice steady.

"We were talking about you" you admit.

"Yeah?"

You nod, If ever there was a time to set shit straight, it was now.

"It's always been you Jax"

His expression shifts, his breathing hitches a little in his chest, but he stays quiet.

"Since we were kids..." you continue, almost laughing to yourself. "I just never said anything. Didn't wanna mess shit up" you shake your head, deciding to just let it all out. "That night at the clubhouse, when we were on the roof, talkin' about losing our virginities"

Jax laughs, confused as to why you're bringing this up. "Yeah..."

"I lied"

Jax frowns, "what...why?"

"I never slept with Lowell" you feel the embarrassment work its way up your face. "Didn't happen. I just didn't wanna be the only one who hadn't"

Jax lets out a quiet laugh, almost in disbelief "You serious?"

You nod, looking down at your hands in your lap "Jealousy's a bitch, I guess."

Jax watches you for a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching like he's piecing something together. "So...if it wasn't Lowell..." he tilts his head "...who was it?"

You let out a small laugh "I didn't...until I met him" The words feel strange leaving your mouth, like you're admitting something you never wanted to.

He doesn't say anything at first, just looks at you. His jaw tensing along with his hands. "Shit" he mutters under his breath, "That asshole was your first?"

"Yeah" you whisper "And I wish he wasn't"

Jax runs a hand over his jaw, still processing, but then he adds his own truth. "You wanna know why I was so pissed when I found out you were leavin'?"

Your stomach twists as he leans forward, his forearms resting on his knees "was a few days after I found out Wendy was pregnant"

Your chest tightens.

"She was just...around. I was young and stupid, using her to distract me...from you, then suddenly she's pregnant, and I'm about to be a dad, and then I hear that asshole talkin' about you movin' in with him" he scoffs, shaking his head "It fucked me up"

You swallow hard, a hint of a teasing tone in your voice "So you married her?"

Jax lets out a dry laugh "Yeah, not because I wanted to, but because I thought I had to"

Your throat tightens. "I wasn't sick that day, you know"

Jax looks confused "What are you talkin’ about darlin’?"

"The day you married her" you’re forcing yourself to look at him now. "I wasn't sick, I just... couldn't sit there and watch you marry someone else"

He stares back at you, something breaking in his expression. His lips part, like he wants to say something but its like he doesn't know what to say.

Instead, he moves slowly. His hands come up to your face, ghosting over your cheek, careful of your bruises.

You don't move.

You don't breathe.

And then, his lips press against yours.

There's no urgency, no desperation. Just a single, unbroken kiss.

It’s everything you've never said.

Everything you've both been too afraid to admit.

Gifs & photos do not belong to me, just edited.

forgot how fucking devine Jax looked with short hair so you know I had to keep that going 🖤

I’m loving doing lil flashback scenes I find them so fun to write. Every flashback will be defined by the barbed wire, so if you see that just know it’s back in the day.

The ending is deffo left open for a part 3 so message or comment what you’d like to see in it!!

Also, I’m like 10 followers away from 300 (how the fuck did that happen?) I say it all the time but I do love you all! But anyways, I was thinking of starting to do some headcanons for our boy Jax Teller, so please send some in, if you wish 🫶🏽

Jax Teller Masterlist

xoxo secretly samcro

[ofbatsandballads]

“like real people do” by hozier is so jason todd coded it has me writing purple prose at 1pm on a friday. i was listening to that masterpiece of a song and couldn’t stop thinking of jay’s childhood first love being there the night he came back. so out came this sort of au based on the ‘superboy punches reality’ version of his resurrection.

tw for depictions of jason’s torture and murder, his being resurrected and escaping his grave, reader’s severe depression and suicidal ideation surrounding her grief, heavy codependency implied between jason and reader, and general resurrection angst.

It was a dark and stormy night. Isn’t that how these things always go? Horrid cliches find unexpected ways of coming back to life. Much like the life that sparks suddenly within the boy in the casket. Black, dark nothingness becomes humid, suffocating air. He tries to sit up and meets silk-covered mahogany that traps him. The boy in the casket does not know where he is. He does not know who he is.

He remembers feelings. Something loud, bright, and hot that made everything go dark. Resignation, the urge to protect, forgiveness. The feeling of his skull cracking, his collarbone shattering under the blunt force of metal. The laughter the laughter the laughter it is driving him mad. The white hot pain of his legs snapping under the weight of the man that laughs. The guttural feeling of betrayal and fear. The smell of cigarettes. He is the sweet boy that wants his mother.

Hope, bright and incandescent. Rebellion and longing. Anger, angst, the horrible need to be understood by the people you love most. Ambition, pride, joy, encouragement; the warmth of family. He is no longer a fatherless son. Hope, wary but resilient. Fear, then relief, at the sight of the Dark Knight.

The boy in the casket remembers. He still does not know who he is. But he knows he has a father. He knows it because he is screaming for his father as he tears through the silk and scrapes the skin from his fingers against the hard mahogany. He screams for his father as he kicks through the wood, as the damp earth fills the enclosed space and steals the little air that remains for him to breathe. He is thinking of his father as he pulls his body through the hole he made. The jagged wood is digging into his side and he feels blood drip hot down his torso. It’s different from the wet cold that surrounds him and he focuses on that to stay cognizant. But the earth presses in and he is tired. He is so very tired.

He remembers something else. He remembers being tired once before, but he was warm then. He remembers being cozy under blankets. Innocent laughter and innocent kisses. The prettiest eyes he’s ever seen and the love that gleamed just for him shining within them. Then a voice. Melodic and beautiful and sweet as honey.

“C’mon, Jay, don’t fall asleep yet.”

You would not want him to fade back into the eternal sleep he just woke from. No. He cannot go back just yet. He tries to dig upward, but his body aches. The earth grows thicker, turns to sludge that drowns him. He shoves one hand over his face to claim a bit of air and is given a mouthful of mud instead. He chokes out one final scream. His head is getting fuzzy, lack of air making his skull feel cotton-filled and staticky. Still he digs up and up and up. But there’s no light. Just more earth. Maybe he does belong here. Maybe someone made a mistake and gave him a few moments that were meant for someone else. He makes one last push, that familiar resignation washing over him again as he closes his eyes. Then a hand wraps tight around his wrist and he’s showered in the cold midnight rain.

You have a secret. It’s personal and it’s abnormal and it’s yours. You’ve been sleeping on Jason Todd’s grave for the past week. No one knows. Well, Bruce Wayne knows. He must. His son’s grave is on his estate, after all, and the Bat’s security measures are the best you’ve ever seen. You don’t know why he’s letting his dead son’s girlfriend sleep on his grave, but you’re thankful he hasn’t kicked you out yet.

It’s been four years since Jason died. Four years and you still can’t accept it. You visit him every day. You bring him flowers and read him books and tell him about your life. You try to pretty it up a bit for him. You tell him about the new sundress you bought; it’s red, his favorite color. You tell him about the amazing bakery that opened up in the Heights and how you think he’d adore their chocolate chip cookies.

You don’t tell him that you’re so depressed over his absence that there are times when you go weeks existing only in your bed with sparse trips to the bathroom. You don’t tell him that you dropped out of college after your first year, that you failed in your joint promise to go to Gotham City University together. You just couldn’t handle it. The weight of your grief is already an iron chain around your throat, hooked to an eternal anchor. You didn’t need the pressure of perfect grades—an unshakeable requirement of your scholarship as you couldn’t afford to go to school any other way. You certainly don’t tell him that you’ve considered joining him, that sometimes that seems like the only thing you want anymore.

But it’s been getting worse. You miss him. Not in any way that’s healthy. At least that’s what you were told by the grief counselor your mother made you see. You miss him so badly that you’re sleeping on his grave come hell or high water. Tonight it’s high water. The cold rain soaks through your hoodie and sweats, but you don’t care. You’ve stabbed an umbrella into the ground and you’ve got an old blanket under you, so you’re all set. The bone-chilling cold of the water doesn’t matter. The way that it lures you to sleep doesn’t matter. Your body temperature is probably dropping and sleep to the freezing is deadly, but that doesn’t matter either. What matters is that you’re here with the boy you love.

You have another secret. This one’s worse, so terrible that you even scare yourself. You’ve been considering digging up Jason’s grave for the past thirty minutes. It started subconsciously. You didn’t even realize you were clawing into the ground until the grass was uprooted. You’ve made a good dent now, maybe six inches or so. It’s insane. You’re insane. But you ache to be close to him. Jason Todd took half of your soul with him when he was lowered into the ground. The better half; the half of you that was light and joyous and filled with love. You want it back. You want him back. You don’t know what you would do if you dug up his grave, but you know that you’d be closer to him than six feet.

You lie in the rain and contemplate why you’re here. You’ve missed him this fiercely every day for the last four years. It’s just this past week that you’ve been drawn to sleep on the earth above him. Like a moth to flame, like Ariadne’s golden thread leading out of the darkness of the labyrinth. Or maybe you’ve finally lost what’s left of your mind. You think you have when you hear noises from beneath the earth.

“Finally talking to me, Jay?” you ask.

Melancholy sarcasm is made weak by the way your teeth chatter and how your shivering leaks into your tone. But then you hear it again. It’s faint, deep below and muffled but it’s there. Then a thudding noise. Over and over and over. Your heart kicks to life. Adrenaline shoots through you and the cold seeped into your body melts with the heat of it. Jason is dead. He’s been dead for four years. But something is alive in his grave. Your hands sink into the small hole you’ve already made and you shovel the earth out in a manic rush. You dig and dig and dig. Your arms are elbow deep when you feel fingers brush against your own. You should be afraid. You should run. Instead you reach further, grasp hard around the wrist and pull. The ground gives way and your reality shatters in an instant. You’ve just pulled Jason Todd from his grave.

He’s bigger than you remember. His body weight is crushing as he collapses on top of you. (You’re smaller than he remembers. He has a crystal clear image of looking up into those pretty eyes and now he can barely feel you squished underneath him.)

He’s covered in sodden earth from head to toe. There’s blood seeping warmly from his torso into your red hoodie. (Your arms are caked in mud. Why? What were you digging for?)

Even with his difference in size—he must be well over a foot taller and at least one hundred pounds heavier—there is nothing that compares to the pure shock of looking into his eyes. Piercing gunmetal blue that you see every time you close your eyes is now a deep seafoam green. And yet looking into them you still feel like you’re home again. (Those pretty eyes are still the same. They still have that gleam of love when they land on him. But they’re also red and bloodshot like you’ve been crying. Please don’t cry. He doesn’t want you to be sad. He loves you. He doesn’t know your name but he knows that he loves you.)

You’re both as still as the memorial statues of Martha and Thomas that loom protectively beside Jason’s grave. Shock settles in.

“Jason. Oh my God. Jason, you’re—“ your voice breaks before you can say the words you thought would only come in dreams.

“Alive,” he croaks, voice dry and grating from lack of use.

He is alive. He is alive and breathing and with you again. You don’t know what caused this, why a dead boy crawled from his grave in the body of a man, but you’re not going to ask questions. The only answer you need is lying in your arms. Tears stream down your face, only differentiated from the rain by their warmth.

“You’re here, you’re here, you’re here,” you murmur into his mud-soaked hair as you cradle his head in the crook of your neck.

“Here,” he echoes. “Real?”

It doesn’t feel like it. His head is hazy and clouded but he’s starting to recall things. Like a steady trickle of water coalescing into a stream, into a river, into a flood. He remembers your name. He remembers stolen tires and bat ears. He remembers chamomile tea with a butler and stories of old theatre productions. He remembers how all the classic romance novels in his freshman English class looked just like the pretty girl sitting at the desk to his right. He remembers sweet giggles and shaky hands and soft kisses. He remembers. But he can’t speak it. He can’t find the words or the comprehension. He sees these things in flashes, feels them in his bones but he can’t make his mind and body catch up. So he lurches forward, stiff and clumsy, and tries to replicate the warmth of your kisses that have survived death itself.

You kiss Jason Todd for the first time in four years. You taste your tears, the damp earth, and the blood from where he’s bitten his own tongue. You have never tasted anything better because for right now it tastes like him.

“Real. We’re real.”

A sweet surprise and a gentle reminder. The other halves of your souls have been returned, and you are both allowed to exist again.

[silverbrain]

Play Me Like a Love Song

Summary- Jealous Xavier makes mc play the piano while he.. yeah, that piano card gave me some ideas.

NSFW, Minors Do Not Interact

Xavier had been teaching you the piano for quite some times now. Ever since he had held that breathtaking performance for you, you had asked him to play for you. Xavier accepted, a little shy at first, but soon warming up when he saw how your eyes lit up watching him enjoy his hobby.

Soon, you had joined in. Xavier sat beside you patiently, watching you as you focused on the finger movements. He didn’t realize his hawk eyes were only making you more nervous, but eventually you had got used to it and had become quite good.

It’s another day when you’re practicing the piano in his apartment. Xavier was probably lazing around somewhere, usually on the couch in the living room. He had quickly gone from teacher mode to appreciator when you had found your bearings around a few songs. You didn’t notice him creep up behind you, footsteps as quiet as a cat.

He stands, watching you for a few moments, eyes roaming up and down your body as your deftly play, an admiring look on his face. Finally, he moves closer, resting a hand on your shoulder.

You jolt. “Xavier! You scared me?”

He chuckles. “What happened to your Hunter senses?”

“Didn’t realize I was prey here”, you scoff, before turning back to continue where you had left off.

He quietly takes a seat beside you, watching your fingers fly over the keys. You raise an eyebrow. It’s been days since he’s observed you like this, and it’s making you nervous.

You press a wrong key, and make a series of mistakes, the serene piece sounding awkward.

Xavier simply looks at you. “Go on. Pretend I’m not here”

You turn your gaze back to the keys, determined to get it right. There was no need to get nervous.

You start again, a little behind, from a part you knew well. Your brow furrows a little as you breeze past the mess up, continuing to a slower, easier part.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Xavier relax. You also see him move closer, impossibly close, and before you know it, he’s wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning in.

“Do you want me to mess up?”, you joke.

“Am I that distracting?”, he asks, big blue eyes staring into your soul innocently.

You continue to play, arms occasionally brushing his chest as he leans his body weight on you. He brushes his cheek against your neck and you steel yourself. He was certainly not as innocent as he was pretending to be.

Xavier hums, a low sound of satisfaction escaping his lips as he pulls you tighter against him.

The song comes to an end and you relax, leaning into his embrace. “Go on, play some more”, he says casually, as if he wasn’t clinging to you like a koala. “I don’t want to distract you”

You sigh, but continue. You weren’t sure what kind of games he was playing, and you weren’t sure how to ask. You straighten yourself as you play the beginnings of the next song.

“Why do you keep moving away? You know what you’re doing to me”, he complains, voice half muffled from where he’s pressing his face into your shoulder.

“I’m not doing anything!”, you protest.

“You’re ignoring me too…”, he sulks.

“I’m not ignoring you. I just want to show you what I’ve been working on”, you say, “Didn’t you want to listen”

His nose nuzzles against your neck, his voice low “I’m listening”. His voice makes a shiver run down your spine.

A few moments pass, filled with the lilting melodies of a lovely song. “You play so well, darling”, he whispers, still against your neck.

“Not as well as you”, you admit. He smiles, your words making his ego swell. “Mm that’s right. No one can ever compare to me. I’m the best…”

So, that was what it was about?

It wasn’t even a noteworthy issue in your mind. Xavier had a few complicated missions that he was supposed to be handling alone, and as a result, the association had assigned you a temporary new partner. It didn’t help that Max was the type to talk up a storm. Within the first mission, he had managed to ask you all about how you had become a hunter, and how you were lucky enough to have Xavier as your partner and your partner, also be your neighbour, and why you preferred the stars to the ocean.

Xavier had caught the tail end of an innocent interaction, when he had been heading to the Chief that morning. Max was clocking out, but he hadn’t forgotten to bring you your daily cup of hot chocolate. “Thanks Max, you’re the best!”, you had cheered. It didn’t help that Xavier was jealous of his own shadow. He had let it simmer.

The realization floods you, and you nearly stop playing to turn your attention to him, but his fingers press into your hips heavily. “Am I not?”, he asks.

“Yes”, you reply sternly, annoyance simmering in you mixed with a certain heat that his demeanour was bringing.

“Don’t stop then…”, he whispers. Oh, so it was a challenge.

You focus your attention on the keys once more, but your attention is long gone. Xavier’s hot breath now fans your neck shamelessly, and his hands move down your waist to toy at the hem of the skirt you’re wearing.

Your eyes dart to his. His gaze locks onto yours as his lips set in a smirk. You look away, still slightly annoyed.

It only seems to push him further, his hand snaking up your thigh. You clench your thighs involuntarily.

“Look at you…so distracted…”, he whispers huskily. You clench your teeth, willing not to give in. If Xavier was going to be stubborn, you weren’t going to be the one to back down.

“I want to hear you…”

“I…”, you begin. You falter at how foreign your own voice sounds to you, how affected, how high strung. “I don’t sing”

“Is that so…?”, Xavier asks, now shamelessly kissing your neck, “Haven’t I told you, darling? Every noise you make…”, he sucks harshly at a particularly sensitive spot, “is music to me”

Your lips fall open at his words, but you swallow down the moan with sheer will.

Xavier stills his hand, gripping your thigh with his large palm, laying it flat. You can't help but feel the arousal pool at your center. You try to shift discreetly, but he only huffs a soft laugh.

You falter a note, a clang. You stop.

"Don't stop playing. I want to hear what I've taught you..."

His hand moves higher still, his fingertips dancing over your inner thighs, so close to where you want him to touch you.

A moan punches out of you before you can stop.

"Yes. That's what I wanted to hear. I want to hear you...give in.."

He suddenly stops, only to pull you onto his lap. You gasp, feeling the warmth of his chest behind you. He wraps one arm around your waist, holding you tight, while his other arm moves further up your thigh. "You belong...here", he hums.

You can't help it anymore. Your hips move of their own accord, grinding down into him. It is his turn to gasp. But Xavier is not one to give in easily. "So, you do agree?", he all but growls.

Need pulses through your veins as his hand reaches the hem of your underwear, his fingertips tracing the soft fabric. "Please...", you hear yourself say, the words leaving your mouth barely registering through the haze.

"You're begging huh?", he teases. "So, are you...admitting defeat?". His hand continues to trace small circles over your underwear.

You take a hand off the piano to grab onto his arm, the one circled around your waist securely. Behind you, Xavier takes a deep, ragged breath. He can't help but thrust his hips against you, the slight friction making his mind spin even though he's the one trying to teach you a lesson.

His deft fingers wrap around the straps, tugging your underwear down to your knees, before they fall the rest of the way around your ankles.

You bite your lip at the sight, a soft keen escaping.

Xavier pulls his hand away to grab your waist and hoist you off him. You stand helplessly, fingers scrabbling to move. "Xav-?"

You hear the sound of a zipper, but before you can turn around, Xavier is standing up and pulling you against him. You feel the hard length press against your ass, before he's lifting your skirt and parting your legs expertly. Xavier presses himself against your slick core. Teasing, still teasing.

You nearly whine, before he grabs your hips and thrusts in. White lines your vision at the sensation. You open your mouth, but before your brain can form words, he pulls you down again, seating you on top of him, filling you up.

"Xav– Xavier", you say his name helplessly.

"Hmm?", he asks. A thin layer of sweat lines his bangs.

"It's not–", you can barely finish your thought before he thrusts once, lazily. "Did I say you could stop playing?"

Your fingers scramble at the keys, considerably slowing, your brain barely able to think beyond the pleasure that's twisting inside you. You barely get through two notes before he lifts you by the waist, only to slam you down on himself. Your hands clutch at the keys desperately, a cacophony of sounds ringing through the room, music long forgotten.

"Oh dear", Xavier says, "is this what you've learnt?"

Your mouth opens, only releasing a heavy breath.

"I think you need more lessons", he growls, his voice catching at the end, unable to deny the effect everything is having on him. "I didn't–", you begin. He thrusts again and this time you whine audibly. "Still making excuses I see?", Xavier whispers.

"No", you gasp.

"No?", he echoes. Tears line your eyes as your vision swims. The wetness, the heat, the coil in your stomach feeling like it's going to make you lose it.

"Don't cry", Xavier says, noticing. His voice is a tad bit softer, and his thumb rubs at your hip apologetically.

Anger suddenly bubbles inside you. The audacity, you think to yourself. How could Xavier be jealous? Xavier, who you texted all day, Xavier who you called your 'partner' to everyone who so much as said hi. Who occupied your thoughts, your days, and your dreams. How dare he be jealous?

"He's GAY!", you yell.

Xavier is confused. "What?"

"You...", you can barely get the words out, but you're angry and you need him and you have to let him know. "Max...is literally gay. Not your...fucking competition", you manage.

Xavier stills for a bit, before leaning in to kiss your shoulder. You can sense the apology, but you're still feeling a bit annoyed. He's always been good with apologies, though, effortlessly shifting between bunny and wolf as and when needed.

Xavier brings one of his hands on your hip to your front, dipping his fingers into your folds. He rubs a long stripe down to where you're connected to him and you nearly see stars. His fingers don't stop their ministrations as he nibbles at your earlobe. "Sorry", you hear amidst the feeling of that coil curling deliciously inside you.

"Sorry, starlight", he whispers again, kissing your neck repeatedly.

"Will you forgive me?", he asks. "Please, my star?"

You can tell he's unravelling a little from the way he's babbling, his thrusts becoming more and more erratic. Your eyes fall to your hands gripping the keys, white at the nails with how hard you're gripping them. You grind down against his hand, unable to contain yourself anymore.

"Xav– hah. I'm–"

"I've got you, baby", he says. You know he does. Bursts of stars erupt inside you as you orgasm, eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head with how hard your muscles clench.

Xavier certainly feels it- your shaking thighs, your clenching core around him. He all but whines into your neck pitifully before he comes, filling you up with his warm spend. Xavier collapses onto the seat while collecting you in his arms, breathing heavily.  

You catch your breath against him for a minute, legs feeling like absolute jelly before he gingerly pulls out. He doesn't give you a second to think about anything, before lifting you up in his arms and carrying you to the bed, lying down beside you.

You stare at him for a second, his fluffy silver hair now sweaty and messy, sticking to his forehead, his pupils still blown wide. Xavier moves quickly. He gives your lips a quick kiss, and before you know it you find yourself smiling a little.

"What, scared I'm gonna be mad?”, you tease.

Xavier only pulls you closer by the waist, diverting his eyes shyly.

How he does it, is still beyond your understanding. Bunny to wolf. Wolf to bunny.

"It's okay", you whisper, rolling your eyes a bit. "I've missed you", you confess.

He kisses your cheek. He knows you did.

[shizuturnspages]

What if child reader khaenri'ah, having the magic power sealed for so long, his body will collapse and explode?? Imagine it's a lock trying to turn off the water, but BOM the water flies out of the pipe because it can't hold any more (Ignore the previous post message by mistake,error xD)

A Power Unchained

Synopsis: After years of having your magic sealed, your body can no longer contain the overwhelming power within. When the seal finally shatters, your magic erupts in a devastating explosion, sending shockwaves through your surroundings. But one thing is certain. They will never let this happen again. Pairings: [Separate] Yandere Dainsleif, Pierro, Kaeya, Albedo, Capitano x Khaenri'ahn Child

Dainsleif – The Breaking Point of Fate

Dainsleif had always known this day would come.

He saw the signs—the feverish glow beneath your skin, the way your body trembled, unable to contain the pressure of your own existence. Khaenri'ah's blood, its curse, its power—all of it had been bottled inside you for too long.

"Hold on. Just hold on a little longer."

He wasn't begging. Dainsleif didn't beg. But there was an urgency in his voice as he carried you away from prying eyes, away from Mondstadt, away from any place where your destruction could hurt someone else.

He tried. He really did.

But as he set you down on the cold grass of an abandoned ruin, your body convulsed.

Cracks of blinding blue light split across your skin. Your breathing turned ragged, eyes wild with pain as the magic—sealed for too long—finally demanded release.

"No—" Dainsleif moved to hold you down, to contain it, but he was too late.

The moment your body could no longer take it—

The explosion shattered the night.

Blue energy tore through the ruins, shaking the very earth beneath him. Dainsleif shielded his eyes, gritting his teeth as centuries-old stone crumbled into dust.

And then—silence.

When he looked again, you lay there—unmoving.

Dainsleif didn't breathe. Not until he saw the slight rise and fall of your chest. Alive, but barely.

His hands trembled as he pulled you into his arms.

"I should have never let this happen." His voice was low, dangerous.

He wouldn't let this happen again.

He would find a way to control your power. Even if it meant breaking you in other ways.

Because if your body exploded again—

Next time, there might not be anything left to save.

Pierro – The Grandfather Who Will Not Lose Again

The Jester stood in his study, staring down at the shaking form of the child before him.

You had always been a stubborn thing.

A relic of a kingdom long lost, carrying its magic even after its destruction. He had done everything to suppress it—layer upon layer of seals, enchantments that should have lasted a lifetime.

Yet here you were, crumbling under their weight.

"Foolish child." Pierro's voice was calm, but his hands curled into fists behind his back. You were failing. Breaking apart at the seams.

He knew this feeling. He had lost a nation this way.

And now—he was losing you.

The explosion was inevitable.

The moment it happened, his vision went white. The force tore through his study, sent books and scrolls flying. A shockwave rippled through the walls of the fortress, rattling even the most seasoned Fatui.

But Pierro did not flinch.

When the light finally dimmed, he stepped forward, his long coat billowing behind him.

You were barely conscious, small hands grasping at the air, body too weak to move.

"You cannot control it on your own," he murmured, kneeling beside you. His voice was not kind, but it was not cruel either.

"You need guidance. And I will not let you fall apart, not like this."

His gloved hand rested atop your head, and his cold magic sank into your skin.

A new seal. Stronger. Unbreakable.

"You will not explode again, child." His gaze darkened. "Even if I must carve my control into your very soul."

Kaeya – The Fear of Losing Family Again

"It’s okay, I’ve got you. Just breathe."

Kaeya’s voice was soft, but his grip on your shoulders was tight.

He saw it coming.

The way your magic itched beneath your skin, the way you clenched your hands into trembling fists as if trying to hold it in—

But you couldn’t.

"Kaeya, it hurts—!" Your voice cracked, panic setting in.

And then—

BOOM.

The streets of Mondstadt lit up in blue. The force of your magic sent a shockwave through the city, shattering nearby windows, knocking over carts. The explosion threw Kaeya back, and for a terrifying moment, all he saw was fire, destruction, chaos—

Just like before.

"No—no, no, no—" He stumbled forward, ignoring the ringing in his ears. You weren’t dead. You couldn’t be.

And there you were—collapsed in the middle of the destruction, small and fragile.

His heart nearly stopped.

Kaeya was at your side in an instant, scooping you into his arms, holding you close like you would disappear if he let go.

"You scared me, snowflake," he murmured, forcing out a chuckle to hide the raw panic in his chest.

You barely stirred.

He pressed his forehead against yours, breathing you in.

"I’m never letting this happen again."

No more holding back. No more pretending to give you freedom.

You were his sibling.

And he refused to lose family again.

Albedo – A Fragile Experiment on the Verge of Collapse

The alchemist had warned you.

"Your body is a vessel, and every vessel has a limit."

But even Albedo had miscalculated.

Because as he watched your body convulse, cracks of searing blue light racing up your arms, he knew—

This was not something he could control.

Your screams echoed through Dragonspine as your body reached its breaking point. The explosion ripped through the cavern, knocking over vials, shattering glass.

For the first time, Albedo felt fear.

He rushed to you, scanning your vitals, checking if your body could still hold itself together.

It could. Barely.

"I won’t let this happen again." His voice was firm as he grabbed your wrist and pressed a needle into your skin.

A new formula.

A new containment method.

He would not allow you to fall apart.

Because you were his greatest experiment.

And he would perfect you.

Capitano – The Price of Strength

Capitano had always known you were powerful.

But even he had not anticipated this.

One moment, you were struggling in training—panting, frustrated.

The next?

The ground ruptured beneath your feet.

Flames. Darkness. Pure, chaotic magic.

Fatui soldiers were thrown like ragdolls, unable to withstand the sheer force of it.

Capitano?

He didn’t move.

Even as the energy burned the air around him, he stepped forward.

Through the chaos.

Through the fire.

And when the magic finally collapsed, leaving you a trembling heap in the ruins—

He was there.

You barely register his presence, body convulsing, eyes glazed with pain.

But Capitano kneels, scooping you up effortlessly.

He says nothing.

But his grip is firm. Unbreakable.

"We will fix this."

His tone leaves no room for argument.

Because if he has to tear the world apart to make sure you never break like this again—

Then so be it.

[ugotnojamzzz]

Mistake Pt 1.5

Word Count: 3.9k

Pairing: Idol!Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Smut smut smut, hella Angst, Hurt, ex!Jungkook

Warnings : Graphic Smut (Minors DNI), unprotected sex, bad decisions.

Synopsis: Jungkook hasn’t healed even months after his ex-girlfriend Y/N said ‘I do’ to another man.

Masterlist

Previous Chapter : Mistake Pt.1

—

Y/N barely registered the sound of the zipper sliding down, the weight of the fabric loosening around her body as Jungkook’s hands roamed over her skin. Every nerve in her body was screaming at her to stop—to push him away, to walk out, to remember the life she had chosen. But all she could feel was the warmth of his lips, the way his body pressed so desperately against hers.

Her dress hit the floor in a soft rustle of fabric, pooling at her feet like a discarded memory. Before she could think—before she could even breathe—Jungkook grabbed her waist and pushed her back.

She fell onto the bed, catching herself on her elbows, her chest rising and falling as she looked up at him. His gaze was dark, wild, hungry.

He was on her in an instant, kissing her, devouring her, his hands everywhere—gripping her thighs and sliding up her ribs. His mouth moved from her lips to her jaw, to the column of her throat. She felt the burn of whiskey there, the sharp edge of it lingering in his breath.

When his palm skimmed over her breast, his thumb brushing over a stiffening peak, she arched, moaned against his lips, and fuck—he felt it everywhere.

She gasped as his hand slid lower, pressing against the heat between her legs, teasing through the fabric of her panties, slow and deliberate. His touch was enough to make her ache, enough to make her hips rise against him—

And fuck, that was it. That was all it took.

Jungkook groaned, low and wrecked, pressing his hips against hers, letting her feel just how hard he already was.

Her hands moved without thinking, tugging at his shirt, dragging it over his head. It hit the floor beside her dress, forgotten, and then he was back, kissing her deeper.

His hands found the lace between her thighs, a teasing brush of fingers before he hooked them under the waistband and dragged them down, slow, watching as she shivered, watching the way her legs shifted restlessly against the sheets.

He sat back, standing at the edge of the bed as he looked down at her.

His fingers worked quickly, undoing his belt, pushing down his trousers, kicking them aside along with his boxers. The second he was free, he exhaled hard, watching her.

Taking her in.

The flushed skin of her chest. The slow rise and fall of her breathing. The way her legs had parted just slightly, almost unconsciously, like her body was already calling for him.

He climbed back onto the bed, settling between her, his own thighs pressing hers further apart, making room for himself, making space to own her again.

Jungkook didn’t give her time to think.

His mouth was on her chest, wet and open, tongue flicking over her nipple before sucking hard, harder, like he wanted to leave his mark. She gasped, hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging in, and fuck, that sound—

He pressed his hand between her legs, fingers sliding through slick heat, groaning against her skin when he felt just how ready she was.

He exhaled sharply.

“Fuck,” he muttered, rubbing tight circles over her clit, just enough to make her jerk, just enough to feel her hips twitch up, chasing it.

She was so wet.

For him.

Still.

“Jungkook—” she gasped, voice breaking, body already fucking shaking.

He grinned, filthy, breathless, before slipping two fingers inside, deep, curling against her in slow, deliberate strokes—

And fuck, she clenched around his fingers.

He couldn’t wait anymore.

He pulled his fingers out, barely taking a second to lick them clean before gripping her thighs, spreading them wide, pinning her open for him.

He pressed against her, bare and leaking, sliding against her soaked heat, and—

His stomach twisted.

He should ask.

He should say something.

Should reach for a condom, should do something other than just look at her—

But then she pulled him down, wrapped her legs around him, exhaled his name—

And all logical thought disappeared as he sank into her.

He pushed inside, slow, stretching her open, a sharp, choked sound spilling from her throat. His arms trembled as he held himself over her, his body already shaking from how fucking good she felt, from how tight she was, from the way she clenched around him

His hands roamed—gripping her thighs, sliding up her sides, holding her like she still belonged to him. And maybe, for these few stolen minutes, she did.

Her nails scraped down his back as he thrust harder, dragging a choked moan from her throat, her body arching up to meet him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, burying his face in her neck, his breath ragged, his chest heaving. “I missed you.”

She stiffened beneath him. Just slightly. Just enough.

He slammed into her again, dragging a wrecked, breathless moan from her lips.

Then again.

Then again.

He set a pace that was punishing, hips snapping against hers, hands gripping her thighs so hard she’d feel it tomorrow, holding her down, forcing her to take it.

And she did.

She fucking took it.

Her hands clawed at his back, at the sheets, at anything, her legs locking around him, dragging him in deeper, fucking up into him like she needed more, like she was losing her mind.

“Fuck,” she gasped, half a moan, half a plea, her head tipping back against the pillows.

His hands were everywhere.

Dragging. Pressing. Bruising.

She couldn’t think. She didn’t want to think. She just wanted to feel. So she kept her eyes closed. Kept her head tilted back, throat bared, body rocking against his.

Let herself dissolve into the heat, into the weight of him above her, into the way he moved—desperate and hungry.

And for a little while—just a little while—it worked.

For a little while, it was just this.

Just heat, just breath, just sweat and delicious friction.

But then—

Then she felt it.

A slight pressure at her hand.

A gentle tug at her finger.

And everything stopped.

Not literally.

Jungkook was still moving inside her, still fucking her like he was trying to rip himself out of her, still groaning into her neck.

But for her—

For her—

Time stopped.

Because he was grasping her left hand.

Because she knew before she even looked.

Her stomach dropped. A sick, heavy, suffocating weight.

She ripped her eyes open—And there it was.

Her wedding ring. Held between Jungkook’s fingers.

He was still inside her. Still claiming her.

And she—

She choked on her own breath.

Because what the fuck was this?

What the fuck had she done?

The spell shattered, cracked clean down the center, split open like a wound—And suddenly, it was real.

The ring. The marriage. The man waiting for her in another country, in another bed, another life.

Jungkook must’ve felt the tension in her body for his head suddenly snapped up from her neck. His gaze followed hers and landed on their intertwined fingers.

Quietly, he turned the band over between his fingers, rolling the gold between his thumb and forefinger, watching how it caught the dim light.

He moved again.

Slow now.

Deep.

Dragging her through it, forcing her to stay here in this awful, fucking moment.

She hated him for it.

She hated herself more.

“Let me,” his voice was quiet. Wrecked.

She shook her head. Didn’t trust herself to speak.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, nostrils flaring, jaw clenching as he turned the ring over again.

And then, before she could stop him—

Before she could even breathe—

He slipped it off her finger. 

Her stomach lurched.

She had to get it.

She had to put it back on.

She had to fix this.

Swiftly, she reached for it—

But Jungkook caught her wrist midair and pinned it to the mattress. He looked her dead in the fucking eyes.

Her entire body seized.

Her heart slammed against her ribs, breath ripping through her lungs.

She wanted to fight. Wanted to shove him off. Wanted to run. But she didn’t.

Jungkook leaned in, lips brushing her ear, voice quiet. “Please.”

He held his fist out to his left. And slowly let the ring slip from his fingers like it was nothing.

It landed on the carpet beside them.

Silent.

Small.

Final.

She hated him.

Hated the way his voice made her stomach turn, hated the way he was right, hated that she was still here, still beneath him, still letting him fuck her while her ring lay forgotten on the hotel floor.

But she didn’t move. Didn’t fight. 

And he fucked her some more. Or she wished he would. But he did something else. Something awful.

He made love to her. 

She didn’t even know when the tears started. Maybe they were always there. Maybe they had been threatening to spill over from the moment she had walked into this room, from the second she’d seen him sitting on the floor, broken and waiting for her like some kind of ghost.

Or maybe it was the way he was looking at her now, the way his hands had finally—finally—gone soft, the way he cradled her face like she was delicate, like she was precious, like he hadn’t spent the last half hour trying to break her.

It was the contradiction that did it.

The tenderness now, after everything—after all the ways he had not been soft when she had neededhim to be.

She had wanted this. For so long, she had wanted this—his warmth, his gentleness, his voice murmuring against her skin like a prayer.

But now?

Now it was just cruel.

Jungkook stilled beneath her, his breath catching. He noticed it then—the tears slipping silently down her temples, pooling at her hairline, the way her brows are drawn tight, her body tensing beneath him as if this—even this—was hurting her.

His stomach dropped.

“Y/N—“ His voice was low, horrified. “Shit—baby, are you okay?”

He started to pull away, his hands moving to brace himself, to stop, to fix this—but before he could, her arms clamped around his back, her legs lock around his waist, and she dragged him closer.

“Don’t.” Her voice was tight, shaking, desperate. 

Jungkook swore under his breath, pressing his forehead to hers.

“Baby—”

“Don’t call me that.”

But he couldn’t help it.

He cupped her face, thumb swiping under her eye, catching a tear before it fell. He kissed her cheek, kissed her jaw, kissed away the proof of her grief. 

She shoved his hand away fast. As though the touch burnt. 

Too late.

Too late for all of it.

She hated it.

Hated him for this sudden softness. It was insulting.

She had needed it then.

Not now. Not when it was pointless.

A quiet, wounded grunt escaped her, something between a sob and a snarl, and before she even knew what she was doing, she wiped her own tears away.

Then—with everything in her—she shoved him back and flipped him over.

Jungkook let out a startled breath as his back hit the mattress, his hands instinctively coming up to brace her hips.

And now she was the one on top.

The one in control.

She braced her hands on his chest, pushing herself up, ignoring the way her own body was trembling, ignoring the wetness still clinging to her lashes.

She didn’t want softness anymore.

She didn’t want him to comfort her.

She didn’t deserve it.

She just wanted to forget.

Jungkook stared up at her, his mouth parted, his chest rising and falling fast beneath her palms.

For a second, he thought she might stop.

Slap him across the face. 

Tell him to fuck right off.

But then she rolled her hips down on his length, slow, dragging, and his head fell back, a groan ripping from his throat.

He gripped her waist, fingers bruising. 

She watched him through narrowed, tear-streaked eyes, her lips pressed into a thin line, jaw clenched tight.

She could feel the anger bubbling under her ribs, burning, suffocating.

Because this shouldn’t feel this good.

It shouldn’t feel right.

He looked at her through the haze of his own pleasure. She finally spoke. 

“You don’t get to fix this now.”

Jungkook’s entire body tensed.

It was a statement, not a request.

Not a challenge.

A truth.

He sat up fast, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her into him, crashing his lips against hers in a hungry kiss.

And when she pulled away and moved against him again—harder this time—when his hands tightened at her waist, his forehead pressing into her collarbone, his breath coming in sharp, choked gasps—

She realized that this wasn’t just grief anymore.

This was a fucking war.

And neither of them were coming out alive.

She rode him like she was trying to outrun something. Fast, brutal, all sharp angles and clenched teeth, her thighs trembling from the force of it. His hands dragged over her waist, trying to hold on, trying to slow her down, but she tore herself away, nails digging into his back, using him, taking him deeper, chasing something that had nothing to do with him. 

She was almost there.

She could feel it building, tight and unbearable, winding deep in her core like a fist closing around her gut. Her muscles locked, her thighs ached, her breath shuddered as she dragged herself closer to the edge.

And she knew—she knew—she wouldn’t be able to stop it.

But she wouldn’t look at him.

She wouldn’t let herself look at him.

She kepts her eyes fixed on the ceiling, at the blurred shadows cast by the dim hotel lamps. She listened to the sounds—the creak of the mattress, the slap of skin, the damp heat of breath against her throat.

If she didn’t see him, if she didn’t let his face become real, then maybe this was nothing.

Maybe this was just a body beneath her.

Maybe this was just a fuck.

But then—

Then she heard him. 

Jungkook’s voice—above her own heartbeat and bated breath. Soft, hoarse, wrecked, he muttered against her skin.

“I love you.”

His lips grazed the swell of her breast, pressing a kiss there—tender, reverent, fucking blasphemous.

“I love you.”

His hands, firm yet trembling, slid lower, guiding her movements, worshiping her the way he always used to—like she’s the only thing that’s ever mattered. He rubbed her clit just the way she needed most.

“I love you.”

And her stomach lurched like she’d been punched.

It was not a plea. Not a demand. Not even a declaration.

It was an apology.

And that—that—she couldn’t allow.

So she did what she did best.

She shut it out. Closed her eyes.

Focused on the feeling instead—the sharp drag of his hands over her hips, the slow burn of friction, the way the ache in her thighs spread like wildfire.

She concentrated on the sweat between them, the way her body took and took and took until it didn’t matter who he was, until she could convince herself she was somewhere else.

With someone else.

With no one at all.

She bit her lip, felt her pulse spike, heard herself break, and then—

Then it hit.

Not like before.

Not like when he used to hold her close, whisper in her ear, tell her he had her, that he’d never let go.

Her body shook, her breath ripped from her throat, and she won’t let it be beautiful. Won’t let it be something he could hold onto.

Because this—this—wasn’t his anymore.

She rode out her high wordlessly, and Jungkook groaned beneath her, falling on his back to guide her through it. His hips snapped up, his grip tightening. She was glorious, beautiful, and his body stuttered as he felt her tighten around him. He was right there, right on the brink, and he wanted her to see him.

But she wouldn’t look.

She wouldn’t fucking look.

And it destroyed him.

She tilted her head back, bared her throat to the ceiling, swallowed down the mess of emotions clawing up her throat and let herself drown in the pleasure, but not in him.

Not in this.

And Jungkook knew why.

He fucking knew.

It didn’t stop him.

Doesn’t stop the way he snapped his hips up, didn’t stop the way he groaned with every bounce of her breasts.

Because he’s spent years imagining this, spent months dreaming of having her like this again, of feeling her body around him, of hearing her fall apart—

But not like this.

Not like she’s somewhere else.

Before she can react—before she can slip further, before she can disappear completely—Jungkook flipped them over.

Rough. Sudden. Unforgiving.

A startled gasp left her lips as her back hit the mattress, her legs falling open, body still trembling from the aftershocks of her release.

But he didn’t pause.

Didn’t give her a second to process.

He just grabbed her wrists, pinned them above her head, locked his body to hers—

And kept going.

Harder.

Deeper.

Her eyes shut tight, her breath stuttered in overstimulation as her body took every inch of him—

But she still wouldn’t look at him.

Wouldn’t see what she was doing to him.

Wouldn’t see how much he was still hers, how much this was still theirs, how much she still fit him the way no one else ever would.

Jungkook snapped.

His grip tightened.

His forehead pressed against hers.

His panting breath burned against her lips.

And then—

“Look at me.”

It was not a request.

It was a fucking order.

She flinched, her jaw tightening.

His hips snapped forward, harder, pulling a sharp inhale from her lips.

“Look at me.” His voice cracked. “I need—fuck—I need you to look at me.”

She swallowed, her throat working around something thick, something that hurt.

She didn’t want to.

She knew what would happen if she did.

But then—

Then he grabbed her chin, forcing her, making her, daring her—

And finally—

Finally—

She did.

Her lashes lifted.

Her eyes meet his.

And fuck.

It was over.

Jungkook fell apart instantly.

His whole body seized, his muscles locking up, his hands shaking where they gripped her, his thighs burning from the sheer effort of holding on.

He broke.

His release hit so hard his breath choked, his vision blurred.

And he couldn’t look away.

He wouldn’t.

Not from this.

Not from the way she looked beneath him, hair stuck to her temples, skin flushed, her body still twitching, her mouth parted as he filled her up—

A strangled, wrecked groan rips from his throat as his body betrays him, as he lost himself completely, as he buried himself inside her one last time.

It was violent. Ruinous.

The kind of orgasm that ends things.

The kind that erases every every last rational thought from his mind, every last reminder that this could ever be anything more than a mistake.

Because the way she was looking at him—

The way her eyes widened, the way her lips parted, the way a final tear finally spilled over the edge—

His body slumped, his breathing ragged, his hands still gripping her hips like he forgot to let go.

His forehead dropped to her collarbone, damp hair sticking to her skin, his entire weight pressing down on her.

For a second, they just existed like that.

Panting. Sweating.

Not moving.

Not speaking.

Not anything.

Then—

“You should get some sleep,” she murmured.

A weak excuse. A flimsy deflection. Something to fill the silence, to put a period on what had just happened, to steer them toward the inevitable.

Jungkook heard it, but he didn’t listen.

Instead, he stayed inside her just a little longer.

He didn’t move, didn’t pull away.

Because he couldn’t.

Because how could he?

She was still warm around him, still trembling slightly, her breath still shallow. He could feel the sweat cooling on her skin, the slow rise and fall of her chest, the last, lingering spasms of pleasure ebbing away inside her.

For one second—one fucking second—he let himself pretend.

Pretend this was any other night. Pretend this was them, before.

Pretend he was going to roll them over, pull her into his chest, bury his nose in her hair, press slow, lazy kisses against the curve of her shoulder while they breathe each other in.

Pretend that in the morning, she’d be there, stretching against the sheets, mumbling something half-asleep, smiling at him like he’s the first thing she wants to see.

For one second—

He let himself have that.

Because maybe—just maybe—if she let him inside her like this, if she let him love her like this, if she came for him, if she let him come inside her—

Maybe she still wanted him too.

Maybe it was not over.

But then—

Then she shifted slightly.

And he felt it.

The way her thighs pressed together a little tighter. The way her breathing turned just a little too measured. The way her fingers subtly flexed against the sheets—

Like she was waiting for him to move.

Jungkook closed his eyes, took a breath.

And pulled out.

Slowly.

She exhaled sharply. Barely a sound.

And it made him hesitate, made him linger over her for just a moment, hands splayed on either side of her waist.

But before he could say something—before he could do something—she shifted, rolling onto her side, pulling the sheet up over her naked figure.

Hiding herself from him.

It would’ve been hilarious had it not been so fucking tragic.

Jungkook forced himself to move.

Got up, still naked, still feeling her on his skin, inside his chest, in the pit of his stomach.

Grabbed a glass from the nightstand, filled it in the bathroom sink. Pulled a handful of tissues from the box.

And when he turned back—

She was still curled on her side. Still small, covered. Still refusing to meet his eyes.

He handed her the water first.

She took it, fingers brushing against his and he sat on the edge of the bed, watching her sip it slowly.

And then he watched as she took the tissues. Watched as her hand disappears beneath the sheet.

Watched as she wiped him away.

And fuck.

His stomach turned.

Because she was already erasing him.

Already pulling herself back together. Already undoing what they’d just done.

Jungkook sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing a tired hand down his face. He didn’t even know what he was doing anymore. He didn’t even know why he asked, but he did anyway—

“Will you be here when I wake up?”

It was humiliating.

He heard it in his own voice.

That same soft, aching, delusional hope that’d been killing him for months.

For a moment, he let himself believe she was thinking about it, let himself hope she was weighing the possibility of staying—of waking up next to him, of letting the morning light crawl over their bare bodies the way it used to.

But then, she shifted beneath the sheets, her fingers reaching for the bedside lamp.

Click.

Darkness.

That was her answer.

She couldn’t even lie to him.

He sat there for a long time, staring at the faint outline of her silhouette under the covers, listening to her silent breathing. He knew she wasn’t sleeping. 

Then, without thinking, he slipped under the sheets, found her in the dark. His fingers brushed against her hip, cautious at first, waiting for her to pull away.

She didn’t.

She let him press against her back, let his arm settle over her waist, let him breathe her in. let him fit himself into the shape of her the way he always used to, like muscle memory, like nothing had ever changed.

And maybe it hadn’t.

And just for tonight, he let himself believe that she might still be his when morning came.

— 

Next Chapter : Mistake Pt.2

Okay I’m back, no big deal. Hope you liked it! Please interact and Gimme all the feedback if you want some more please I’m begging y’all. Xoxo

[christopherisfoive]

Cold Burn (Chapter 4)

!idol reader x Seungmin; enemies to lovers

Word Count: (It literally won't let me move it from here lol)

Note: I wrote this super late last night and tried to edit my best but sorry if there are any mistakes, going back to drafting on docs because tumblr hates me. It has been a long week. Thank you for reading, I appreciate it <3 (it will eventually make sense i promise)

Masterlist

The city was alive with the midday rush, bustling streets and flashing signs lining every corner. It should’ve felt freeing after being cooped up in venues and hotels for the past few weeks, but even with the fresh air, I still felt off.

I adjusted my mask, letting my hood cast a shadow over my face as I followed behind my group.

It was supposed to be a day off.

But my mind was still playing back every mistake I’d made on stage during the tour.

I should have been enjoying this break. But instead, I was still holding onto every mistake, every moment that made me feel like I was losing control.

And then, like perfectly timed chaos, I heard it—the sound of cameras clicking.

Whispers turned into excited calls.

A group of fans and paparazzi had spotted us, and before I could even process it, they were already approaching fast.

I instinctively pulled my hood lower, keeping my face neutral as the others started interacting.

"Oh my god, it’s Stray Kids and Stellar!" one girl squealed, phone already out.

The energy shifted immediately.

Han, Hyunjin, and Leah engaged easily, smiling and waving. Bang Chan answered a few quick questions, even as security started stepping in to maintain a barrier.

Then came the actual questions.

"Y/N! Can you talk about your solo stage? People said it didn’t seem like your usual energy!"

"Are you okay? You seemed out of sync in the last show!"

"Is it true you don’t like performing live?"

I ignored them.

I always ignored them.

Instead, I kept walking, keeping my gaze forward, shoulders tense under my hoodie.

That was all it took to shift the crowd’s mood.

People started stepping in front of me, blocking my path, shoving phones and cameras in my direction.

The excitement turned to pushy persistence.

"Why won’t you say anything?"

"Y/N, just one word for your fans?"

I clenched my jaw and sidestepped them, but it was too late.

Someone moved in too close.

Before I could react, a fan—a girl, maybe late teens, wearing a hoodie with our group’s name on it—stepped right into my space.

"Why do you always ignore us?" Her voice was sharp, demanding.

I took a step back, my pulse spiking. Too close. Way too close.

She didn't stop. "Other idols talk to their fans. What’s your problem?"

Before I could respond—before I could even process how uncomfortable I felt—she lifted her phone closer to my face, snapping a photo at point-blank range.

I barely kept my composure, my breath hitching as I turned away sharply.

Security finally stepped in, blocking her as one of our managers started ushering us forward.

But the damage was already done.

I could already hear the murmurs.

"What’s wrong with her?"

"So rude."

"Seungmin would never act like that."

And of course—there he was.

I glanced up just in time to see him smiling effortlessly, answering questions, personally greeting every fan that came up to him.

Easy. Natural. Everything I wasn’t.

I could already feel his judgment from across the crowd.

To him, I probably looked like the worst kind of idol.

What he didn’t know was that I had my reasons.

And I wasn’t about to explain myself to him.

The second we finally got away from the crowd, I could feel the weight of the encounter still pressing on my chest. My steps were quick, my head down, but I could still hear the lingering whispers, the judgment heavy in the air.

I wasn’t sure if it was my own overthinking or if they were actually talking about me, but it didn’t matter.

The damage was already done.

As we turned the corner onto a quieter street, I felt someone fall into step beside me.

I didn’t need to look to know who it was.

"You could at least pretend to care."

I exhaled sharply, barely sparing Seungmin a glance before looking ahead again. "Not in the mood, Seungmin."

"Oh, I know," he said, voice casual but laced with something sharp. "You’re never in the mood, right?"

I clenched my jaw. "Drop it."

But of course, he didn’t.

"Seriously, what’s your deal?" He scoffed. "You act like it’s such a burden to interact with people who support you. The rest of us can handle it just fine. Why is it so hard for you?"

That did it.

I stopped walking, turning to him with narrowed eyes. "You have no idea what you’re talking about."

Seungmin raised an eyebrow, arms crossed over his chest. "Don’t I?"

I let out a sharp breath, shaking my head. "Not everything is as easy as you make it seem, Seungmin."

"No," he agreed, "but being decent to the people who made your career possible isn’t that hard."

The words hit me harder than I expected.

I had spent years learning how to brush off the criticism, how to let things roll off my back.

But for some reason, hearing it from him—someone who already thought the worst of me—made my blood boil.

I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "You don’t get to judge me."

"Then give me a reason not to."

The challenge was clear in his expression, in the way he refused to look away first.

I had so much I wanted to say.

But I knew it wouldn’t matter.

Not yet.

So instead, I just exhaled sharply and turned away, continuing forward.

"That’s what I thought," Seungmin muttered behind me, before falling back into step with the others.

I didn’t look back.

But the anger sat heavy in my chest, burning quietly.

-

The hotel lobby was quiet, save for the occasional footsteps of staff moving around and the faint sound of music playing from the lounge area. Most of the others had already gone up to their rooms or found their own ways to unwind after the long day.

I had planned to do the same.

Instead, I found myself sitting in the corner of the lobby, scrolling through my phone, letting the harsh glow of the screen burn into my eyes.

I knew I should’ve put it away.

I knew I shouldn’t have been reading any of this.

But my fingers kept moving, my screen lighting up with headlines, forum posts, and brutal opinions dissecting everything about me.

"Y/N is proof that visuals matter more than talent in the industry."

"Best 4th Gen Dancer my ass."

"She’s not even the best in her group—why does she get so much attention?"

"I heard she got her spot because of connections, not skill. Makes sense why she’s so stiff on stage."

"You really think she made it this far just by ‘working hard’? LMAO, be serious."

My stomach twisted, and I could feel my pulse in my fingertips.

The accusations weren’t new—I had heard whispers like this for years. But somehow, seeing it laid out so blatantly, with thousands of likes and shares, made it feel heavier.

Worse.

Like no matter what I did, no matter how much effort I put in, there were still people who would never respect me.

I barely noticed when someone sat down in the chair across from me, but I did feel the weight of their stare.

"You still look at that stuff?"

I flinched slightly, my thumb freezing mid-scroll.

I glanced up to see Jeongin, leaning back in the chair across from me, arms crossed.

I quickly locked my phone, shoving it onto the table. "It’s nothing."

"Didn’t look like nothing."

His voice wasn’t accusing, just matter-of-fact.

I sighed, running a hand over my face. "Just people talking. Same as always."

Jeongin didn’t respond right away. He just sat there, watching me like he was waiting for me to be honest.

After a beat, he exhaled, shaking his head. "You know none of that’s real, right?"

I let out a small, dry laugh. "Yeah, sure."

Jeongin frowned, his usual playfulness gone. "Y/N."

I forced myself to meet his eyes, but my chest felt tight.

I didn’t want to talk about this. Not now.

So I shrugged. "It’s fine. Doesn’t matter."

Jeongin studied me for a second longer before pushing off the chair, leaning forward to grab my phone.

Without asking, he flipped it face-down on the table.

"Then stop looking."

His tone was soft but firm. A simple statement, not a suggestion.

I swallowed, my fingers twitching slightly.

Jeongin sighed, his expression less teasing than usual, more serious. "Don’t let them win, Y/N."

And with that, he stood up, walking off toward the elevators.

I sat there for a moment, staring at my phone, my reflection faint in the dark screen.

I should’ve let it go.

But the words were still burned into my mind.

And I wasn’t sure if I knew how.

-

The burn in my throat started a few nights ago. Subtle at first, just a scratch that I figured would go away with enough water and rest.

Except, there was no rest.

Not when we were on back-to-back schedules, traveling city to city, rehearsing between shows, barely enough time to breathe, let alone recover.

I pushed through like always.

Now, standing in the middle of the rehearsal room, sweat clinging to my skin, I felt off.

The usual ache from training felt heavier today, my limbs sluggish, my breath coming shorter than it should have.

I rolled my shoulders back, ignoring the way my vision blurred for half a second.

I was fine.

Across the room, Jeongin watched me.

I caught the way his brows furrowed slightly, the way his gaze lingered as I moved through the choreography.

I knew that look.

I ignored it.

"Let’s go again," Chan called out, already stepping forward to reset the formation.

I exhaled sharply, steadying my stance, locking my body into position as the music cued up again.

But the moment I took my first step, I felt it.

The slight dip in my balance, the way my head felt lighter than it should have.

I corrected it immediately, moving into the next beat as if nothing had happened.

But Jeongin saw.

And so did Seungmin.

I felt his gaze before I even turned his way, a glance quick enough to catch the way his expression flickered—something almost unreadable flashing across his face.

For once, he didn’t say anything.

I wasn’t sure if it was the heat of the room or my own body turning against me, but every time we restarted the routine, my chest felt tighter.

I took a deep breath, forcing air into my lungs, willing my body to cooperate.

I couldn’t stop now.

Not when I had spent the last few weeks feeling like I was slipping. Not when people were already questioning whether I deserved to be here.

I needed them to see me succeed.

So I kept going.

Even when my legs felt heavier than they should have. Even when my head felt like it was filled with static. Even when I knew—knew—I was moving on sheer willpower alone.

I felt the weight of Jeongin’s stare first.

He wasn’t even being subtle about it anymore—I could see him watching between reps, his usual easy-going expression replaced with something more cautious.

But he didn’t say anything.

Neither did Seungmin.

I caught his gaze in the mirror, just for a second.

He was standing off to the side, arms crossed, eyes narrowed just slightly.

For once, there was no smirk. No sharp remarks.

Just quiet observation.

I ignored them both.

I had to.

The music started again, the pounding bass vibrating through my body, rattling in my chest.

I moved on instinct, letting my muscle memory carry me through—each step, each transition, each sharp hit of the beat.

But something was off.

I felt it before I saw it.

The moment my foot landed wrong, I knew. The angle was off, the weight uneven. My body moved a fraction of a second behind my mind, and suddenly—

I was out of sync.

Just for half a beat.

But in this world, half a beat was everything.

I immediately corrected, snapping into place, but the mistake had already happened. I could feel the eyes on me.

Someone spoke. "Y/N, what was that?"

I blinked, chest rising and falling faster than it should’ve been.

My mind scrambled for a response, but the words weren’t there.

I wasn’t fully there.

"I—" My voice sounded strange, distant, like it belonged to someone else.

Across from me, Ari’s gaze sharpened.

She saw it.

But she didn’t get the chance to say anything.

I sucked in a breath, forcing my posture straight, willing my body to hold itself together.

"Let’s go again," I said quickly, pretending nothing happened.

I needed to shake this off.

I needed them to see me succeed.

Even if my body had other plans.

The music thundered through the speakers, vibrating through the stage beneath my feet.

I kept moving. Kept pushing.

Every step felt heavier, like my limbs were fighting against me. My skin was damp with sweat, but I felt cold.

It was getting harder to breathe.

The stage lights burned hot, casting everything in a hazy glow. The air felt thick, each inhale tighter than the last.

And then—

The misstep. The dizziness. The moment my body finally gave out beneath me.

The floor rushed toward me, the sharp gasp of someone nearby cutting through the ringing in my ears.

The music stopped.

Someone called my name.

I barely heard them before everything faded to black.

The moment my body hit the stage, everything exploded into chaos.

The music cut off instantly.

Footsteps—rushed, frantic—pounded against the stage floor as voices overlapped in panic.

"Y/N!"

"Someone get the staff!"

I felt hands on me—someone kneeling beside me, another hand brushing my hair back, the fabric of my sweat-soaked clothes sticking to my skin.

I was aware of it all, but everything felt distant. Like I was watching it happen from the outside, my limbs too heavy to respond.

"Is she breathing okay?" Ari’s voice was the sharpest, her usual calm cracked with pure fear.

"She’s burning up," Leah’s voice trembled. "We need to get her offstage—now."

Someone lifted me slightly, supporting my upper body. The movement made my stomach turn, a weak groan escaping before I could stop it.

"She’s conscious," Jeongin said quickly, relief barely masking the tension in his voice.

A shaky breath. My lips parted, but no words came out.

Through the haze, I caught a glimpse of Seungmin standing a few steps away.

Frozen.

For the first time since this tour started, he looked…unsure. His usual sharp eyes were wide, his lips pressed into a thin line as if he wasn’t sure what to say.

But I couldn’t focus on him.

Because my head was spinning, my skin was on fire, and the weight of every mistake, every moment I ignored my body’s warning signs, had finally come crashing down.

And now?

I wasn’t in control anymore.

The coolness of the backstage area barely helped with the heat radiating off my skin.

I felt cold and hot at the same time, my limbs too heavy, my breathing uneven.

Voices blurred together.

"Her temperature is high." "She needs fluids—has she eaten today?" "She’s completely burned out."

I tried to speak, to tell them I was fine, but my throat felt raw. The most I could manage was a weak, halfhearted shake of my head.

"Don’t try to talk," Ari’s voice was there, close, softer than before. "They’re just checking your vitals."

I swallowed, eyes flickering open.

The faces above me were blurry, shifting in and out of focus. A few staff members kneeled beside me, pressing a cool cloth to my forehead, speaking in hushed tones.

Ari, Leah, Jeongin, and Lee Know were still there.

Lee Know stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching the scene with an unreadable expression.

I tried to sit up, but the second I moved, my head spun.

A sharp inhale.

Lee Know was faster than Ari this time, pressing a hand to my shoulder and easily keeping me down.

"Not happening," he muttered. "Just rest, okay?"

Leah crossed her arms, clearly annoyed. "How long have you been feeling like this?"

I didn’t answer.

Because I knew the truth would only piss them off more.

Before I could gather enough strength to argue, the managers arrived.

Their voices were firm, no room for negotiation.

"She’s not performing tonight."

The words hit like a slap, and suddenly, the heaviness in my body wasn’t just from being sick.

I forced myself to sit up, ignoring the pounding in my head as I looked between them. "No. I can still do it."

"Y/N," Leah warned, eyes flashing with frustration.

But I wasn’t listening.

I turned to the managers again, pushing past the ache in my limbs. "I’ll be fine by showtime. I just need—"

"You just collapsed on stage," Ari cut in, arms crossed. "There’s no debate. You’re sitting this one out."

No.

No, no, no.

I had spent weeks proving myself, clawing my way through every performance, every mistake, every doubt.

I wasn’t losing my spot now.

"I can do this," I tried again, my voice hoarse. "I just—"

"Oh!" A voice interrupted, and I didn’t have to look to know who it belonged to.

Mira.

She strolled into view, faux concern plastered all over her face, hands clasped in front of her. "If she can’t go on, I can step in."

The air shifted.

For a split second, nobody spoke.

Then, one of the managers nodded. "That could work. You already know the choreo."

My stomach twisted violently.

Mira turned to me, her smile oh-so sweet, but her eyes telling an entirely different story.

"Don’t worry, Y/N. I’ll take good care of your part."

I felt numb.

The room was still spinning, but the real sickness sat in my chest.

I should have fought back. I should have said something.

But the moment Mira tilted her head, smiling like she had won, everything inside me just… shut off.

I went blank.

Ari’s head snapped toward Mira, eyes narrowing. "You’re really volunteering that fast, huh?"

Mira turned to her, expression perfectly innocent. "What do you mean? Someone has to do it."

Ari’s lips pressed together, but she didn’t buy it. I could see the irritation tighten her jaw, the way her hands fisted at her sides.

She wasn’t the only one.

Lee Know, who had been mostly quiet until now, finally spoke.

"You sure you can handle it?" His voice was flat, unreadable, but there was something pointed underneath.

Mira smiled wider. "I mean, it’s not that complicated, right?"

Ari let out a sharp breath, like she was physically stopping herself from saying something she’d regret.

Lee Know just stared at Mira for a long moment.

Then, slowly, he turned to me.

"Y/N."

I blinked, but I couldn’t force words out.

What was I supposed to say?

Mira had already taken my spot.

Nothing I said would change it now.

So I just looked away.

-

The moment Mira stepped away from me, I could already hear her faking concern as she walked over to the others.

"Guys, change of plans," she said, voice just loud enough for me to hear from where I sat. "Y/N isn’t performing tonight, so I’ll be taking her place."

The reaction was immediate.

Kat’s face twisted in confusion. "Wait, what? Since when?"

Mira sighed dramatically, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Since about five minutes ago," she said. "The managers agreed, and I already know the choreo, so it just makes sense."

Hyunjin’s eyes flickered toward me, his concern obvious. "And Y/N’s okay with this?"

Mira didn’t even hesitate. "Well, she didn’t argue."

Ari scoffed. "Yeah, because she’s half-conscious."

The room tensed.

Mira only shrugged, smiling just a little. "Either way, we should start getting ready."

Lee Know, who had been watching the whole thing in silence, finally spoke. "Just don’t mess it up." His tone was neutral, but his expression wasn’t.

Mira’s smile didn’t falter. "Oh, don’t worry. I’ve got this."

And with that, she turned away, ready to steal the show.

I barely registered the conversation.

I barely felt anything at all.

Because the second they all turned away, the second I was left sitting backstage, my chest tightened in a way I couldn’t control.

I blinked up at the ceiling, forcing back the burning in my throat.

I had lost my spot.

After everything I had fought for—**after every moment I forced myself to push through, to prove I was worth something—**I was still replaceable.

And the worst part?

Mira was making sure I knew it.

My hands curled into fists, nails pressing into my palms. I squeezed my eyes shut, but it didn’t stop the feeling of failure from swallowing me whole.

I had fought so hard.

And it still wasn’t enough.

-

By the time the show started, I was watching from the wings, still too weak to stand on my own.

The lights hit the stage, the energy buzzing through the arena as Stellar performed without me.

And then, it happened.

Mira did my move.

Not just any move—my signature move. The one I had created, the one I had made my own.

The audience cheered like nothing was wrong.

Mira beamed.

And I?

I felt sick for a whole new reason.

The energy backstage was still buzzing, staff members congratulating each other, the usual post-show adrenaline filling the space.

But I wasn’t part of it.

I sat off to the side, still too weak to stand properly, watching as everyone came back from the stage.

And Mira?

She made a beeline toward me.

She tilted her head, still in full makeup and costume, wiping sweat off her brow like she had just saved the whole show.

And then she smiled.

"That was fun," she said sweetly. "I mean, I wouldn’t want to replace you permanently or anything, but… I did fit in pretty well, don’t you think?"

She let the words sink in, let them cut.

Then, with a final smirk, she turned and walked off.

And I sat there, feeling like I had lost everything.

I needed to get out of here.

The post-show energy, the voices, the flashing lights from the screens playing encore footage—it was too much.

I pushed myself up, ignoring the way my legs wobbled beneath me.

Leah and Ari noticed immediately, their heads snapping in my direction, but I didn’t give them time to stop me.

I kept my head down and moved, weaving past staff and dancers, making my way toward the private restroom backstage.

My hands were trembling by the time I pushed the door open.

The second it closed behind me, the weight I had been holding in collapsed all at once.

I braced myself against the sink, sucking in sharp, uneven breaths.

Everything hit me at once.

The exhaustion. The humiliation. The sharp, suffocating feeling of being replaced so easily.

A ragged breath tore from my throat, and I gripped the edges of the sink, my vision blurring as my chest heaved.

I couldn’t do this.

I couldn’t—

A soft knock at the door made me freeze.

My stomach twisted.

For a second, I thought it was Leah or Ari coming to check on me.

But then—

"Y/N."

I went rigid.

Because that wasn’t Leah.

Or Ari.

Or anyone I would’ve expected.

It was Seungmin.

I gripped the sink harder, willing my breaths to even out, willing myself to stay silent.

Maybe if I didn’t answer, he’d take the hint and leave.

Seconds passed.

Then—

"I know you’re in there."

His voice was calm. Not sharp, not teasing—just even.

I clenched my jaw, staring at my reflection in the mirror. Red-rimmed eyes. Flushed skin. The complete opposite of the image I was supposed to keep up.

I swallowed back the lump in my throat.

Silence.

Maybe he’d take that as an answer.

Then he spoke again.

"So that’s it?" A slight shift in his tone, like he was testing the waters. "You’re just gonna sit in there and pretend nothing happened?"

My fingers twitched against the cool porcelain.

That’s exactly what I was going to do.

Pretend this wasn’t happening. Pretend I wasn’t falling apart.

Another pause.

Then, softer this time—"You don’t have to pretend with me."

Something in my chest tensed.

I squeezed my eyes shut, gripping the sink even harder.

Why was he still standing there?

And more importantly—why did it sound like he actually meant that?

A long beat of silence stretched between us.

I refused to move. Refused to speak.

But Seungmin wasn’t leaving.

Instead, he let out a slow exhale, and when he spoke again, his voice was lower, less guarded.

"You know… I thought you were stronger than this."

Something in me flinched.

His tone wasn’t mocking, wasn’t sharp—just honest. And that somehow made it worse.

He shifted outside the door, and I could almost picture him standing there, arms crossed, debating what to say next.

"All this time, you’ve acted like nothing gets to you. Like you don’t care what people say." A pause. "But you do, don’t you?"

I sucked in a quiet breath, my grip on the sink tightening.

"You care too much."

Another pause.

Then—"That’s why you don’t fight back."

My stomach twisted.

Because I hated how close to the truth that was.

I stared down at my reflection on the floor, my own exhausted eyes staring back at me.

And still, I didn’t say a word.

Seungmin shifted again, like he was about to say more—then stopped himself.

A beat of silence.

Then, his voice dropped to almost a murmur.

"You know, you’re not the only one who’s ever felt like this."

I blinked.

My breath hitched just slightly, but I caught it before it could be heard.

I didn’t know what I was expecting him to say, but… not that.

Something in his voice was different now.

Less sharp. Less detached.

More like he actually… understood.

I swallowed, my chest tightening with something I couldn’t place.

And yet—I still said nothing.

I heard him shift once more, but this time, he hesitated.

Then, after one last pause—I heard footsteps.

He was leaving.

But somehow, it didn’t feel like an ending.

It felt like the beginning of something I wasn’t ready to face.

The room was quiet again.

No more footsteps. No more words.

Just me.

I stayed where I was, back pressed against the cool tiles, knees pulled up to my chest.

My breathing had finally evened out, but my mind was far from calm.

Seungmin’s voice still echoed in my head.

"You know… I thought you were stronger than this." "That’s why you don’t fight back." "You care too much."

I wanted to ignore it. Pretend like none of this happened.

But I couldn’t.

Because somehow, for the first time since this tour started, Seungmin didn’t sound like my enemy.

And that thought alone terrified me.

I exhaled, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes.

I didn’t know how long I sat there, just thinking.

Minutes passed—maybe longer.

Eventually, my legs felt steady enough to move.

I pushed myself up, straightened my hoodie, and finally unlocked the door.

The hallway was empty now.

No one waiting. No one lingering.

And yet, as I stepped out, the weight of what just happened still clung to me.

The venue had mostly cleared out by now—staff moving equipment, dancers heading back to their dressing rooms, the energy finally settling after the chaos of the night.

Seungmin was off to the side, stretching out his shoulders, his expression unreadable.

Jeongin had been watching him for a while.

And he was done staying quiet.

He stepped up beside him, arms crossed. "I know what you’re doing."

Seungmin barely glanced at him. "What are you talking about?"

Jeongin let out a sharp exhale through his nose, shaking his head. "You and Mira. You’ve been messing with her this whole time."

That got Seungmin’s attention.

His expression barely shifted, but Jeongin knew him too well to miss the way his jaw tensed.

Still, he played it cool. "You sound paranoid."

Jeongin huffed, not buying it for a second.

"You think I didn’t notice?" He tilted his head. "The mic feedback. The ‘accidental’ positioning mistakes. Mira shifting in formations just enough to throw Y/N off. You might think you're being slick, but I see it."

Seungmin’s hands curled into loose fists.

But Jeongin wasn’t finished.

"And tonight?" His voice lowered. "You let Mira take her spot. You watched her steal Y/N’s move. And you didn’t say a thing."

Seungmin’s eyes flickered, but he kept his face carefully blank.

Jeongin took a step closer. "Tell me this, hyung." His voice hardened. "At what point does it stop being funny?"

Silence.

For a moment, Seungmin didn’t respond.

Then—"It was never funny."

Jeongin’s brows furrowed. "Then why?"

Seungmin exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck, but he didn’t answer.

Because maybe—for the first time since this started—he wasn’t sure anymore.

Why had he gone along with Mira’s games?

At first, it was easy. It was just harmless frustration, just a way to get under Y/N’s skin—because she annoyed him, right?

That’s what he told himself.

But now?

After seeing her collapse on stage, after watching her lose everything she worked for while Mira stole her place without hesitation?

It didn’t feel like a game anymore.

And suddenly, he wasn’t so sure who the real problem was.

Taglist: @victoriaaf @mirophobic @minhosprettywife @peskybirdysya @littlewolfieposts

[an-established-butt-dent]

Dragon age: the Veilguard

What I imagine the cover of a comic about the Dreadwolf looks like.

[thermodynamic-comedian]

arthur and john's relationship is built on codependence and working together because there's no other choice, but it's also a lot about arthur projecting onto john. arthur considers himself a failure as a person, but now he has a chance to prove that someone evil can actively choose to be better. he believes that if john can be saved, so can he. if john can be redeemed, so can he. that's why he tries, at every possible turn, to push john to be better. that's also why, whenever john takes a few steps back in progress, it has such an intense effect on arthur. because he wants to save john.

because if he can save john, he'll finally have proven to himself that he can be saved too.

[bizlybebo]

Dakota and Williamcore

KILLS YOU.

[frogaroundandfindout]

Vienna but make it about dick grayson talking to Tim so he doesn’t end up like Jason

[catchastarorten]

—Sleep well.

Pairing: Kang Dae-ho x fem!reader

Summary: Gi-hun suggested that the group took turns staying on watch in case the other players attacked, him and Jung-bae stayed up while you and the others napped, Dae-ho took his place beside you to rest with you.

Content: fluff, cuddling(?), you head-butting him in your sleep lol, English isn’t my first language, mistakes should be present, not really proofread, sorry!

Word count: 808

You were tucked into the corner with your group—Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Young-il, Dae-ho, and Jun-hee. Trust was a rare thing in the games, but the six of you managed to stick together, watching each other’s backs through the brutal rounds.

The weight of exhaustion clung to you, but Gi-hun’s paranoia kept your eyes open longer than you would have liked. He wasn’t wrong, though. The fear was palpable.

Your group pulled a couple of mattresses off of the bunks, arranging them as best as possible. One was dragged and laid flat against the wall, the others shoved under bunk frames for some semblance of protection.

“Is this really necessary? I don’t like sleeping under there.” Jung-bae asked, sliding a mattress to Gi-hun, who shoved it under a bunk frame.

“Once the lights go out, somebody might attack us.” Gi-hun said, his eyes focused and his voice steady. “The prize money still goes up if we kill each other. It’s a part of the game they designed.”

You exchanged a look with Dae-ho, who sat cross-legged beside you, holding onto some blankets and pillows. He had been your shadow ever since Red light, Green light. Always sticking close, insisting on protecting you in this place after seeing the way you froze during the first game—when he told you to stay behind him closely so you could use him as a human shield.

“We need to take turns keeping watch after the lights go out.” Gi-hun muttered, sitting down at the foot of the bunk beds, his sharp eyes scanning the room. “I’ll take the first watch.”

The lights flickered out not long after, leaving the only source being the giant piggy-bank hung on the ceiling that was glowing dimly.

It was after a while when Jung-bae rolled out lazily from under a bunk and plopped down beside Gi-hun, the two of them speaking in hushed voices.

You laid down on one of the mattresses, wrapping the thin blanket around yourself. Dae-ho settled beside you not long after, and though you weren’t expecting it, his hand brushed against yours as he shifted to get comfortable, and you were sure you saw his face flush before he hid it, which barely worked, to be honest.

“Don’t worry,” he mumbled, his voice low and soothing. “I’ll keep you safe. I’ll fight them off if they try to come over here.”

The sincerity in his words made your heart ache in the best way. Dae-ho had a knack for looking out for you since you met him in the games, even in the little ways—giving you his portion of food, stepping in when someone got too close. You hadn’t known him long, but there was this easy warmth between the two of you.

Within minutes, you were sound asleep.

Dae-ho’s soft snores filled the small space you both shared. Exhaustion had gotten the better of him, just like it did to you. His arm had draped protectively over your side in his sleep, his presence a cocoon of safety.

Gi-hun and Jung-bae sat near the bunks, their attention now drawn to the sound of soft snoring. Both sets of eyes landed on you and Dae-ho, curled up together on the mattress.

“They’re out like a light,” Jung-bae remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice. “You know, seeing them like that... it reminds me of when we went on strike. We were occupying the factory, and management told us to come out. They said anyone who came out voluntarily would be let off the hook and receive more severance pay.”

Gi-hun stared into the distance, as if recalling what happened.

“You were sleeping beside me and you were talking in your sleep. ‘Mom, I’m hungry, give me some food.’” Jung-bae made an exaggerated crying face, and Gi-hun gave him a glare as Jung-bae nudged him with his elbow, smirking.

Their voices echoed, and soon enough, soft laughs filled the quietness.

Jung-bae chuckled again, louder this time. He clapped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late. The noise had reached you, and you stirred slightly. Dae-ho, still asleep, curled closer to you instinctively, his arm tightening around your side. His movement caused your head to shift slightly, and without warning, you head-butted him in your half-asleep state of grogginess.

Dae-ho furrowed his brows, a soft noise escaping his lips as he shifted again, burying his face into the crook of his arm. You tugged the blanket over your shoulders, muttering something incoherent before nestling deeper into the mattress, falling right back asleep.

Jung-bae stifled another laugh, his shoulders shaking with the effort. Gi-hun gave him a glare, but a faint smile was already tugging at the corners of his mouth too.

“They’re like kids,” Jung-bae whispered, his tone fond.

“Let them sleep. They’ll need it.” Gi-hun shook his head and sighed softly.