#and be the reason ur in chains like

[seventh-district]

babe wake up a new Venti-coded song just droppped

“I’m as sober as a drunk.

I’m as high as rock bottom.

Free as a man with his hands handcuffed to the bar.”

[bibleofficial]

real talk when does a bender end & become just … abuse

[dragontatoes]

:)))))

[agustdtown1]

CLOSER TO YOU II [JJK]

PAIRING: nerdy!roommate!jungkook x fem!OF!reader

GENRE: smut, roommates au, nerd!jk, photography major!jk, friends to fuck buddies, OF!reader, slight fluff.

SUMMARY: After getting various comments about your poor filming skills for your OF page, you finally decided to give in and reach out to the one person that could help you with your problem. However, what started as your roommate just helping you to film your video turned into you begging him to fuck you.

How long would it take for Jungkook to finally give in? After all, all he ever wanted was to be closer to you.

WC: 4.5k

WARNINGS: pwp, this is pure smut (mdni), unprotected sex, smacking, choking, dumbification/slight degradation, jungkook wearing a silver chain (trust me, that needs a warning), riding, jungkook being a complete meanece for real this time, teasing, a lot of pet names, nipple play, slight fingering, jungkook saying that one line from that one live, big dick!jk, very slight fluff at the end bc i didn't know how to end it. lmk if i'm missing something.

A/N: part 2 is here woo! i cannot even explain how much i love this jungkook, like omg nerdy!jk is just a yes for me. Anyway, i hope u guys like it and enjoy it as much as i did writing it. As always lmk ur thoughts on the comments or through asks, feedback is always appreciated. Happy reading <3!

part 1 | masterlist

Moans, lewd and whiny moans filled the room. A mixture of breathless words, nonsensical chants and obscene sounds engulfed both of your ears, pulling you into a dreamy dimension where only your and Jungkook’s body existed. The reality of it all was that the man in front of you was taking you places that you never thought of reaching, all in the comfortness of your bed. His hands, once timid and careful, were now running wild over your body, eliciting the most beautiful noises out of you. His avid fingers were pressing hard enough in the right spots while his mouth was eagerly devouring yours. 

It was only you and him, him and you; nothing else mattered in the world, only the warm touches and harsh curses thrown to the wind whenever either of you would bring pleasure to the other. The video —which was the main reason for you two to end up like this— was long forgotten, with the camera still aiming to the spot you two were sitting at but neither of your bodies were in sight. Jungkook was nice enough to carry you to the bed and lay you down to get more comfortable.

“You deserve better than just pillows and a blanket.” He said, waiting for you to wrap your legs around his waist to finally get up.

Everything leading up to this moment felt like a fever dream, the attempts to dirty talk, the way Jungkook used his fingers to pleasure you, the pet names and the look that coated his face when he watched you come on his hand; it felt like the most cliche plot for a porno. Asking my roommate to help me with something ends up with us fucking; you were sure that if you browsed for a few minutes in the hub you would find at least ten videos with the same storyline, but here you were, being another addition to the list, the only difference is that this wasn’t a raunchy film that you could find on the dark side of the internet, it was your life, and you were about to fuck your roommate.

“I need to ask before this goes any further.” Jungkook's breathless voice sounded so good that it almost distracted you from what he was saying. “Are you completely sure about this?”

“Kook, baby, I appreciate you asking, but if you don’t put your dick in me, I’ll kick you out of the apartment.” You deadpanned. 

Jungkook chortled at your response, pulling away just enough to undress. You waited patiently, enjoying the view he was providing you with. His honey-like skin glistened under the neon lights after taking off his black shirt; abs were in full display along with his big biceps. His right arm was adorned with an array of tattoos that he collected all through the years he’s been living with you. Who would have thought that under all those baggy clothes was hidden such a hot body? It often baffled you how different his appearance was compared to his personality; Jungkook looked like a cinnamon roll with the body of a certified fuckboy, however, he wouldn’t catch you complaining, especially not now. The brown-haired guy took his glasses off, carefully placing them on your night-stand, and just as you were about to protest, your roommate was quick to form a knowing smile on his face.

“I know you like them on me, but it’ll be impractical to fix them all the time while I fuck you dumb, don’t you think?” It was ridiculous how much his voice and words affected you. “Let’s keep them away from now.”

You couldn’t even form a proper response to that, other than a meck nod. You were hypnotized by the way he was taking his clothes off. Jungkook was now left with his usual pair of baggy jeans that were low enough to show the hem of his Calvins, he also had a silver chain wonderfully hanging from his neck; you often daydream about it, imagining how the cold material would feel against your skin, dangling just close enough to your face that you could simply take a bite and pull him down to meet your lips. It seemed like you were about to find out.

“Can you leave it on?” You requested signaling to his chain. 

“Sure thing, pretty.” He flashed you a smile, pulling away his hands from the necklace. 

You really needed to get used to this side of Jungkook, otherwise you weren’t going to survive the night, although you had a feeling that it wouldn’t really make a difference considering what was about to happen. 

Both of his hands drifted down to undo his pants, pulling them down easily and tossing them somewhere in your room. Next thing was his underwear, a pair of black Calvins that were just tight enough to reveal his evident hard-on. Even with the fabric covering that area you could still make out its length. It looked bigger than what you were expecting, which only added to your eagerness. Without further ado —and driven by the sudden confidence, Jungkook took them off, letting his thick cock spring free from its confinements. You couldn’t help to let out a tiny gasp, zeroing on his reddened tip that was already leaking precum. It was in fact bigger than what you assumed he would be, nothing too crazy but drastically larger than the other guys you’ve been with. It was slightly curved to the right, the perfect angle to reach the places you wish him to reach. The veins adorning his cock made you salivate at the thought of what it would feel like against your hot tongue. Would it feel heavy? Would it make you gag? Would it get you crying and turn you into a spit mess? Maybe you will have to wait to find out. Tonight was all about you and him enjoying each other in a closer way, getting a taste of him would have to wait. 

The more you stared at him the more your hands were eager to reach out and stroke it, to see if it would be able to fit in your palm, because judging by its looks, you even doubted that you could take it all. 

“You like what you see?” Jungkook’s voice was the embodiment of sin. Low and raspy with a hint of hesitation that he tried to cover with a faint chuckle. 

Deep down he was feeling nervous once again, feeling too vulnerable and exposed, however, backing down wasn’t an option for him, so instead of letting his insecurities conquer his mind, Jungkook decided to act driven by desire more than rationality. 

“I do, actually.” You answered, staring at him with such a look that made the guy weak in the knees. “Come here, pretty boy.” 

Pulling him by his chain you crashed your lips together, both liberating a satisfied moan when the head of his cock brushed through your folds. His hands, that were on each side of your head, caging you in, fisted the soft material of the pillow in which your head was resting on, all due to the sensation of your hot cunt against his length. 

“Shit.” You breathed out after pulling away. “Do that again.” 

Jungkook only shook his head, confusing you with the sudden rejection. 

“You’re missing something there.” He added, eyes never leaving yours. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Come on, pretty. I know you’re smart enough to figure it out on your own.” His answer was followed by a harsh smack on one of your thighs. “Aren’t you?”

“But I don’t—” Another smack delivered to your tender flesh interrupted you. “Fuck, wait…” The next time his hand impacted against your skin a sting of pain mixed with pleasure spread within you. “Jungkook!” You whined, trying to create some friction on your own. 

“I thought you said you were gonna be good for me.” He mockingly said, colliding his big hand with the flesh of your ass this time. “Why don’t you look back on your manners, hm?” 

This fucker. 

Jeon really was full of surprises, or so it seems, because just when you thought he would go easy on you, he pulled this. 

“Seriously? All of this over me not saying, what? Please?” You sassily argued back. 

“Is that how you wanna act right now, doll?” He raised one of his eyebrows, questioning you in such a way that got you wondering what would be the appropriate approach. “I’d be careful with what I say if I were you.” 

“What if I don’t want to?” 

The question hung in the air for a few seconds before Jungkook pulled away from you completely. His hands reached out for your waist, holding you with a strong grip. 

“Turn around.” He ordered. A few more seconds passed before he turned you around himself. “And just so we are clear, I’m not repeating myself tonight.”

Ass in the air, completely exposed to him. It excited you what his next move would be, but it was also killing you not knowing what he was up to. 

His hands were caressing your sides slowly, distracting you for a second with his touches from what was coming your way. 

“It seems like you can’t keep up with your promises.” It was sudden, completely unexpected; the sound of skin being slapped echoed through the room. His tattooed hand colliding with your ass. “So I might need to remind you what you asked for.” 

The next one felt harsher than the last one, eliciting a deep moan out of you and making your whole body move forward. This is not what you imagined that your night would be like, and you were definitely not expecting your roommate to turn into such a brat tamer. However, what surprised you the most is how much you actually liked it. This whole scenario in which Jungkook was simply handling you in any way he wanted was far way better than what your fantasies were about. The way he talked to you; the fact that he knew just the right amount of strength he needed to use to make you whimper in pleasure rather than pain; the tender touch he would provide you with before delivering another slap, as if he were preparing your skin for the collision. Everything felt like the perfect wet dream. 

After delivering one last slap to your ass, Jungkook leaned down to place wet kisses all over the area, before admiring the red imprint of his hand on both cheeks. 

“You think you’re ready for me now?” He mockingly asked. “Or should I check?” Not even expecting an actual answer, he slipped two fingers inside your entrance, moving them painfully slow. 

“Jungkook, please…” You whined, burying your face into the pillow. 

“Oh, now you know how to use the word, hm?” His fingers never stopped moving. “How convenient.” 

You shook your head, whimpering and squirming under his touch. “No more, please…”

“No more what? Tell me doll, what do you want from me?”

“No more… teasing.” 

You struggled to answer, letting out a deep breath before looking over your shoulders to glare at him. In hindsight, you should’ve known better than doing so, because the way his sweat-coated skin shone under the red lights almost got you coming on his fingers again. 

“Oh god!” You moaned when his fingers dug deeper into your velvety walls. “Right-fucking-there!” 

And just when you started to feel your walls getting tighter and your stomach feeling funny, Jungkook pulled out, stroking your clit a few times before flipping you over on your back. 

“Why did you stop?” 

“You’re the only one getting all the fun, baby.” He simply answered. “And next time you come, I want you to do it on my cock.” He placed a kiss on your lips before adding, “Where are the condoms?” 

Jungkook wasn’t dumb, he knew you had to have some hidden somewhere in your drawers, he’s seen you buy a package before, and while he had some himself, the brown-eyed boy didn’t think it would be practical to go to his room for it. 

“No need.” Just before he could question your answer, you added, “I’m on the pill.” 

Jungkook couldn’t comprehend what good he did in his past life to get this lucky, but he was thankful for it. 

“Should’ve said that from the start.” 

“Why? You like it raw that much?” You chuckled.

“Only when I have a pretty girl like you under me.”  His lips brushed against yours with a fleeting touch, making you chase after him which caused a smug laugh out of him. “Patient, doll. I’ll give you what you want, but you gotta be on your best behavior. Can you do that for me?” 

You nodded, adding a quick yes right after. Jungkook leaned down once again, placing his hands on each side of your head just like before. He started up kissing your neck, placing wet kisses all over it before reaching your mouth again. It was the perfect distraction from him lining up with your entrance. Before you even knew it, Jeon was pushing his tip right in, slowly and steadily. 

“Oh, fuck, ah…” You moaned out, hands flying over his shoulders. “Jungkook.” His name came out of your mouth as a whimper. 

“I know, pretty, I know.” He rested his forehead against yours. “Fuck, you’re really tight.” 

The brown-haired guy kept pushing in, careful to not hurt you and stopping every now and then to help you get used to his size. It was more than what you would normally take, so it took you a few seconds to go from slight pain to pleasure. Your nails were digging into his honey skin, eliciting a hiss from the guy above you, but not even once did he complain, if anything it looked like he enjoyed that sliver of pain.  

“Oh god, you feel amazing.” Jungkook whispered against your lips when he finally bottomed out. His breath was agitated and it was evident that he was struggling to keep still, yet he managed to do it, waiting for your permission to move. “You're doing so good, baby. Look at you, you took me so well, it’s all in.”  

You tried to look down to where both of your bodies were united. It was just there that reality really hit you; having all of his manhood nestled deep inside you was a whole new sensation, a different kind of feeling. You knew that there was no coming back from this, no going back to normal, no getting the same feeling from anyone else. You could only hope for this to be good enough for your roommate to stay with you. 

“Let me know when I can move, yea?” His breathy voice brought you back from your thoughts, preventing you from overthinking. 

A small nod was your first response, “You can… You can move.” You softly said. 

“Alright, I’ll be gentle okay? Promise I’ll make you feel good.” A sweet kiss was placed on your mouth before his hips started moving. 

Jungkook commenced thrusting in and out, sliding with enough ease inside of you while maintaining a steady pace. You could feel the entirety of him, stretching you out deliciously good. His cock was hitting the right places over and over again, eliciting moan after moan from you. His face had the most beautiful expression you’ve ever seen. Eyes connected to yours, lips parted while panting and cursing, eyebrows furrowed with a slight coat of sweat covering his forehead. Everything was just right.

Jungkook was loving every second of it, the way you were clenching on his length, while looking right up at him with pleading eyes and your nails scratching his skin was something he never thought would love so much. It was until then that he questioned if he was into pain, because the burning sting of your nails digging into his toned back was getting him more excited than it probably should. 

“Shit, Kook, you feel so good right now.” You panted, connecting your lips into a messy kiss. “Faster… I need it faster.”

“Anything you want, doll.”

You didn’t need to tell him twice; going at a slow pace was torturing him. Jungkook was quick to speed up, thrusting in and out of you with such strength that almost made you scream. He continued to fuck you like that, pressing his chest agaisnt yours while leaving a trail of wet kisses from your neck to your collarbones, sliding down with ease until he reached your tits. Jungkook admired them for a few seconds before diving in to close his mouth around one of your nipples. 

“Ah, Jungkook.” You whimpered, feeling his hot tongue circling your already hardened bud. His pace never relented even when his sole focus was on devouring your tits. 

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” He whispered against your skin. His teeth made contact with your sensitive nipple, stealing a gasp from you while some incoherent sentences flew out of your mouth. “What was that, pretty?” 

Jungkook was fucking you so good that it was difficult to even utter a single word. Everything felt so intense, and he was taking good care of you that it felt almost unfair to only lay there and enjoy it, that’s why you tried to compose yourself to voice your request.

“Come on, baby, use your words. Or is it hard for you to speak with your pussy stuffed with my cock, hm?” He mocked you and your little sounds. 

You’ll pay for that later. 

Trying to push him away would be futile so you didn’t even try, instead you glared at him while saying, “I wanna ride you.” It was clear and straight to the point, you needed to experience being on top of Jeon Jungkook while taking all of his cock as deep inside you as you could, at least once in your life. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me, doll.” He breathed out, “But okay, show me what you got.”

In a split of a second, Jungkook was laying down on your bed, staring right at you with lustful eyes and a smirk plastered on his face. His big hands were resting on each side of your hips, caressing your skin tenderly, almost encouraging you to get going with what you wanted to do. With no further ado, you guided his twitching dick to your folds, sliding through them and smearing your juices all over his length; you were enjoying the sensation of his tip nudging your clit when a harsh smack was delivered to your ass.

“No teasing.” Jeon warned you when you looked at him pouting, however, you complied, lining his cock with your entrance, sinking in slowly to enjoy how good he was stretching you out. “There you go, fuck, that’s it, pretty. You’re so good.” He hissed, holding your hips with a stronger grip than before. 

“You feel so big like this.” Throwing your head back, you whimpered out of pleasure, losing yourself in the sensation of his cock reaching deeper into you in this position. 

You started to move, back and forth with a steady pace; hands now resting on his chest to get more comfortable. Little by little you gained speed, sliding up and down just like you always wanted, the sound of skin on skin filled the room, along with the filthy sounds coming from both of your mouths. 

“Shit, that’s it. You look so pretty bouncing on my cock.” Jungkook loved the new view, not only did you feel amazing in this position, with your walls clenching on his girth, but also the way your tits were bouncing up and down with every move was driving him crazy. 

One of his hands reached up to hold your tit, fondling and kneading your tender flesh, however, his hand didn’t stop there. Jungkook felt bold enough to push his hand further up, slithering smoothly until his fingers reached a certain part of your body. Without even thinking, Jungkook wrapped his hand around your neck, just tight enough to make you gasp in surprise but without any ill intent. Nonetheless, it seemed like you weren’t the only one being taken by surprise, because the sudden pressure on your neck was like adding fuel to the fire, encouraging you to fuck yourself harder and faster on his throbing cock, and Jungkook noticed how your whole demeanor changed.

“Look at you,” He chuckled, “You liked being treated like this, huh? Like it when I choke you and smack you hard enough to leave a mark on you?” 

It was cruel the way he was speaking to you, but you couldn’t deny it, if anything it only pushed you to speed up, making your thighs ache and almost fall on his chest completely exhausted. 

“Ju-Jungkook…” You tried to call his name in a pleading voice. It was only then that you recognized the hot feeling forming in the pit of your stomach. Your orgasm was, once again, approaching.

“What? Can’t you answer the question? Are you that dumb to say a simple yes, hm?” His mocking smile was as infuriating as attractive. “Come on, doll, I know you can do better than that.” 

You really tried to hold yourself together, but the more his cock hit your sweet spot, the more your strength crumbled. 

“I- I’m…” It was getting pretty hard to voice your thoughts with his hand around your throat. 

“Am I making it difficult for you to speak?” The hand he placed on your waist was helping you to keep moving, but the one adorning your neck never lessened the grip. “Do you want me to take my hand off? You just have to say please and I’ll do anything you want, pretty.”

How could such a sweet and nice guy turn into a complete meanece in the blink of an eye. Jungkook continued to prove that judging a book by its cover it’s never a good thing, because the way he was acting with you in that moment, was beyond what you imagined he would be like in this type of scenario. 

“Ple-Please,” You begged, “Jungkook… please.” Not even a second passed before you could breathe properly again, his tattooed hand away from your neck. 

You felt like passing out, but his angelic voice brought you back from your hazy state.

“You okay there, Y/n?” He smiled softly at you, confusing you and making your heart skip a beat. Jungkook looked at you with a split of concern and tenderness for a brief second, making a weird feeling spread through your body, one that you were too scared to address. 

“I’m… yes, all good.” You nodded. 

“I’m glad to hear that.” Both of his hands were back to holding your hips. “Because I’m not done, understand?” His eyes had that evil glint once again.

Before you could even ponder on his switching attitude, his strong arms wrapped themselves around your waist, forcing you to rest on top of him, chest to chest and face so dangerously close to yours.

“I know you’re close, baby, stay like this and I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

And so you did, burying your face in the crook of his neck while Jungkook positioned himself the right way to slam his cock into you with hard and fast thrusts. Your whimpers were muffled against his skin, while his moans filled your ears. He sounded so pretty, chanting your name the more you clenched on him.

“Shit, I’m getting close too.” Jungkook announced. 

“Please, I wanna cum…” You begged, pulling away from his neck to look at him with pleading eyes. “I can’t hold it.”

“I’m almost there, doll, wait for me, come on.”

His hands started to slide down to get a hold of your ass while still thrusting into you at such a relentless pace. So persistent and intense, every touch, move and caress felt ten times more than before, your whole body was sensitive that it was so difficult for you to hold it together, you desperately needed to have your release. Jungkook was aware of it, it was so painfully clear how bad you needed to cum, how desperate you were for him and his cock.

“I’m gonna fill you up so good.” His husky voice rang through your ears, making goosebumps coat your skin. “Fuck, I’m right there, baby, come with me. Make a mess on my dick.” 

It was automatic the way your body reacted to his command. A needy moan abandoned your mouth while your hands fisted the sheets in which the both of you were laying. You finally came on Jungkook’s cock, clenching so deliciously tight, meanwhile your whole body shook with the intense feeling of your awaited release. 

“Fuck, so good… Y/n, shit.” You couldn’t even pay attention to whatever the brown-haired boy was saying; completely lost in the moment and how well you felt. “I’m gonna come.”

With a final thrust, Jungkook finally unraveled, filling you to the brim with his warm cum. Hips stuttering and voice completely hoarse while calling your name. It felt so good to hear him like that, so breathless and spent; weak and whiny, so needy for you and only you. 

It took you a few minutes to fully recover from such an intense moment. Neither of you dared to speak once the rush of your orgasm finally subsided, you laid there, on his firm chest, breathing his scent and relishing in the sensation of his fingers caressing your back with a soft touch. 

“Are you… Are you okay?” There was a pinch of shyness in your roommates voice, almost as if his dominant persona vanished the moment he got his release. “I wasn’t too much, was I?”

You giggled against his warm skin, lazily shaking your head to answer his concerns. 

“It was way better than I expected.” You confessed, feeling your cheeks heat up due to that. “I gotta admit that you surprised me, though. I didn’t know you could be like that.”

Jungkook sighed softly, feeling satisfied with your response but slightly amused by your comment. 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, yet.” 

It was the way he said it that piqued your interest, promising and inviting, as if he was trying to lure you into discovering just how much you still needed to learn about him. And just like Jungkook wanted, you fell right into it.

“Maybe you can show me.” Lifting your head slowly, you stared into his beautiful brown eyes, waiting for a reaction.

“Are you sure you want to get into that?” 

You nodded, eyes drifting down to set on his puffy lips. Jungkook didn’t think twice before leaning in to kiss you, slow and soft, with so much care that almost made you feel dizzy. 

“Alright, I’ll show you all of me.” 

taglist 🏷️: @petalsofink @goldietigers294 @ggukieshoe @jk-190811 @hanamgi @internetbelle @songbyeonkim @berryonasummerevening @lanyia @rpwprpwprpwprw @brokebitch-101 @satisfied18 @nikixkoo @susansemolinathrower

[anisespice]

“ baby steps ” || tokyo rev.

continuation of this post.

pairing: bonten x fem!reader [ mikey, ran, sanzu ]

warnings: mature content ahead. MDI. mature language, crude humor, ANGST w/ comfort (mostly in mikey's), deadbeat!bonten (unintentionally), not proof-read so there may be A LOT of errors :// mikey's is LONG, ran + sanzu's are silly goofy, mikey + sanzu's are a lil unhinged lol and i think that’s it :))

notes: can i just say thank y'all so much for showing "accidents happen" the love that i didn't think it would get, it was made on a whim so i'm so so so happy y'all enjoyed! i tagged as many as i could (or that tumblr would allow) sorry if i missed some of you :( thank you for your patience and let me know how you feel about this continuation format :) !! notes ii: also also, pt. 2 for "accidents happen" coming soon! notes iii: MY COMPUTER CRASHED AND I THOUGHT I LOST EVERYTHING BUT IT'S OKAY IT'S OKAY :'))))

tagged: @fantasycantasy , @illegalspacecow , @captaincyberqueen , @cherryblossiren , @niragiswhore , @awkwardaardvarkforever , @valentsoup , @lovely212 , @miffysoo , @yandere-kouhai , @i-am-just-a-girl-ur-honor , @wisteriarose214 , @kindadolly , @yuwaimo , @sweetbella1221 , @simpingfor-wakasa , @sirachano0dles , @yutahg , @slowlikehonee , @blurpleuni-squid , @haruchiyoreen , @istanstraykidss , @loyard176 , @msluccapotato , @luv444lay , @backgroundcharactera , @jegelskeranime

Ever since you picked up your daughter, there’s been a hovering presence that wouldn’t go away no matter where you went. From the park, to the grocery store, all the way home it clung to you like a bad itch. Despite looking over your shoulder and being met without any sort of threat, that didn’t stop the uneasy feeling. And it only intensified when you received a knock on your front door.

You made a confused hum, checking the time on the microwave to confirm that it was indeed past the reasonable hour for potential visitors. Not to mention, you weren’t expecting anyone.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up, instincts telling you that something wasn’t right, that your best option was to pretend you weren’t home. However, the person on the other side knew otherwise as they knocked on the door again, this time with more fervor. You inhaled sharply, taking hesitant steps towards the door until you were mere feet away from it. Eventually, you worked up the courage to look through the peephole, your brows furrowing in distress when all you could see was black—They were covering it. All the more reason not to open the door…

What if it’s a robber? Ridiculous, they don’t knock.

What if it’s just the neighbor? Why cover the peephole?

More and more did your mind swirl with endless possibilities, each one becoming less and less believable. Taking a long, deep breath, you doubled-checked the door-chain was on before slowly cracking it open. And as you attempted to peek through the sliver, nothing could’ve prepared you for the arm that forced its way through, startling you as you yelped, stumbling back as it made a grab at you.

Before you had the thought of shoving the door closed on the offender’s arm they grabbed the little chain, then yanked it clean out of the wall. To your terror, a dark hooded figure entered your home, head hung low, concealing their identity.

You began to hyperventilate, backing up to keep distance as they staggered further into your home before kicking the door closed behind them, effectively blocking you from the exit. Surely, someone heard your scream and would check in, or call the police. But, how long did you have before the intruder decided to make a move? Not to mention, your sleeping child just down the hall…

With that last thought in mind, you immediately steeled your nerves.

Even if you had to use your bare hands, you were going to do whatever it took to keep your baby out of harms way.

You reached for the closest weapon without taking your eyes off the figure, hands clasping onto a discarded umbrella that was leaned up against a closet door. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do. Taking a defensive stance, you prepared for what you assumed to be the inevitable.

“I-I don’t know who you are, or what you want…b-but if you don’t leave…my..my boyfriend will be home any minute! H-He knows how to fight, and he’ll fuck you up if you try anything!”

Your means of intimation fall on deaf ears. It were as if you hadn’t spoken at all. They just…stood there. Watching you from the darkness. That feeling, that hovering presence you’d been weary about all evening…there was no doubt in your mind it was because of this individual. Suddenly, they gave a watery chuckle, hand coming up to rub the lower half of their face as the chilling noise dissipated into soft snickers.

You sweatdropped. “I mean it! He’ll be here real soon, so you better get out of here before-”

“[_____]…” the figure finally rasped, voice heavy with an emotion you couldn’t decipher in the moment. You froze, eyes widening.

“…How the hell do you know my name?”

Without much urgency, they stepped forward into the light. Beneath the warm glow, it took you mere seconds to recognize the person standing before you. You gasped, trembling hands dropping the umbrella, it landing with a harsh clatter. Soft, mortified hitches in your breath echoed through the small space, memories flashing before your eyes as you covered your gaping mouth.

“M.. Ma..” you whimpered, throat tightening. A shell of a man, who gazed upon you with stormy eyes flooded with tears at the mere sight of you.

He gave another strained laugh, muttering to himself as he soaked you all in. “Needed to know.. Needed to know it was really you…”

Mikey eyed you up, intensely, eerily silent as he did so. Then, he took in the surroundings, the warmth, the interior, the smell of dinner—It truly felt like a home. A bitter pill to swallow once he reminded himself that you built it without him.

His sharp gaze returned to your stunned expression. He sneered.

“Must’ve been easy for you. To forget me and move on, just like that. Like I was nothing.”

You blinked, taken aback. All you could do was remain speechless, cemented to the ground with thoughts and questions racing in your head. Now matter how many times you opened your mouth, no sound would come out aside from choked whimpers.

“Do you know…how long I’d been searching for you? Been mourning for you?” He hissed through clenched teeth. “When you left, I thought… I thought someone had taken you. That I lost you all because I was too stubborn to say I’m sorry…”

As he spoke, Mikey slowly closed the space between you. The more he came into the light, the more you could see how the years had treated him. His cheekbones were more pronounced, the dark circles under his eyes as well. His lips were dry, cracked, his fair skin now ghoulishly pale. If not for the black hoodie you would’ve mistaken him as such; ghost of your past.

Your shoulders shook, hands hovering over your face as you gaped in disbelief. He’d been looking for you?

That night, that stupid fight you could barely remember…he made it crystal clear that he wanted nothing to do with you. He pushed you away. Pushed so hard that you almost believed he really wouldn’t have cared if you dropped dead. You knew he didn’t mean it, knew it was just another dark impulse…but none of that mattered when all your pregnancy tests came back positive just hours prior.

That night, you made the decision for the sake of your daughter. And also, for his sake. At the time, you were certain he wasn’t ready to be a father. He was quick to rage, merciless, losing himself to the darkness you tried to protect him from. If you had stayed, you were certain Mikey would’ve never forgiven himself if he lost control in front of his own flesh and blood, if the child grew to resent him for something he struggled to control.

You thought you were doing him a favor…but it appears to have done the opposite.

“And this whole time…you’ve been here, alive. Playing fucking house with someone else.”

You stiffened. Someone else? Your visible confusion only irritated him further.

He scoffed. “Don’t play dumb. You said it yourself. Too bad he won’t be coming home anytime soon. I’ve already got Sanzu and the Haitanis looking around for the bastard. And when they find him, I’ll make him regret sticking his filthy dick inside you.”

Confusion morphed into realization. You did threaten him with said hypothetical boyfriend…But, that was before you knew it was him!

“Oh, Manjiro…” you whispered. He glared, scorned.

“Don’t you dare pity me. I mean, you got the family you always wanted, right? So who cares who it was with, right? Congratu-fucking-lations.”

You shook your head, exhaling deeply as you held your face in your hands. For years, he thought you dead. Then, when he received word of your appearance, he finds you with child. And not once did he consider that child to be his? It’s like…he couldn’t fathom the thought.

If only he had looked just a little bit closer, he would’ve seen that she had his eyes. How they resembled those pools of ink that used to shine with so much hope back in his youth, so playful and full of love…those same eyes that now gazed upon you with contempt.

It stung.

He thought so low, not only of himself, but of you as well.

Taking a deep breath to reel in your emotions, tears began to well up in your eyes. He assumed they were tears for your doomed lover, further breaking his heart as Mikey clenched his fists to the point of nearly drawing blood. Luckily, even though you struggled to find the right words, someone else happily found them for you.

“Papa..?”

Both of you instantly drew your attention on the toddler standing near the kitchen, one fist clutching her blanket while the other rubbed the sleep from her eye. You glanced at Mikey, and he was stiller than stone. His once dead-stare had morphed into what could only be described as incredulous. Surely, he heard her incorrectly…

With a sniffle, you crouched down to address her, offering a soft grin as you nodded earnestly. “That’s right, sweetheart. Papa’s finally come home.”

The little girl blinked sleepily, taking a second to reboot. But, as soon as the words registered, a bright smile stretched across her face as she excitedly rushed towards Mikey, throwing herself onto his legs and hugging them like a koala as she chirped, “Papa, home!”

Said man hobbled a bit at the force, arms windmilling as he caught himself to keep from falling backwards. He didn’t know what to do with himself, especially when those big, round pools of ink opened and stared right up into his soul. Mikey’s heart nearly stopped. With a hitch in his breath, the gangster did everything he could to hold his composure, looking between you and the child as you both gazed at him with so much warmth…it was suffocating.

Sensing he was overwhelmed, you reached down to scoop up the bubbly bundle, holding her close as you eyed Mikey, apprehensively.

He resembled a cornered animal—Muscles stiff, jaw tight, eyes wild. After a moment, Mikey began to slowly back away into the shadows of your home, conflicted, devastated. It wasn’t until his back hit the door did he eventually fall to his ass, of which caused your child to giggle at how silly he was being. However, all you could do was hold back tears, watching as the reality started to weigh down on a man who just discovered he was a father.

Nervous, you gently explained. “I didn’t leave you because of our spat, Jiro…and I never moved on. I just…thought that I’d be doing more harm than good sticking around when I found out I was pregnant…I didn’t want to add any more stress on your plate, so I…”

Mikey didn’t respond. He sat there, stare vast and unfocused. But, you knew he hung on to every word. So you continued. “I wanted to tell you. But…I wasn’t sure how. At the time, I believed you had stopped caring about me altogether. And to hear you’d been looking for me, I-I’m…I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you harbored all that guilt. I didn’t mean for any of that to happen.”

Your daughter wiggled around in your hold, making small grunts in complaint. Her eyes were trained on his figure huddled in the dark, wanting to be acknowledged, wanting his attention. “Papa!”

Mikey flinched. He focused his gaze on the two you, haloed by the light emitting from the living room. You both were like salvation, reaching down to a broken sinner…How could she want anything to do with him? When he had missed so much already…

To keep from accidentally dropping her, you placed your daughter back on the ground, watching wearily as she wobbled all the way to Mikey, blanket in tow. You weren’t worried about him hurting her, far from it…if anything, he appeared to be the fragile one.

Eventually, she made it to her destination, standing before him with a curious, but eager expression as she rested a hand on his knee. Mikey watched her, took in all of her features, every last detail as he engraved it to memory. She was beautiful, just like her mother. One would think his genes didn’t stand a chance. But the eyes. That was all him. From his mother to his older brother to himself, there was no doubt in his mind that those were Sano eyes.

His lower lip quivered, reaching out hesitantly to caress her cheek. She didn’t cower away, merely babbled as she began patting his knee, allowing his thumb to rub over her chubby cheek. You clasped your hands over your mouth, growing even more emotional at the delicate moment. Mikey looked enamored already, eyes subtly sparkling from what you could see as they interacted.

“I-I told her stories, about you. And I made sure to show her photos, too. Old ones, but still you nonetheless. I wanted her to know who her father truly was. Despite everything else…”

Your daughter cooed, then placed her blanket in Mikey’s lap before climbing into it. Mikey didn’t dare move, rigid as she made herself comfortable. He looked up at you, looking for guidance, for reassurance. Your encouraging smile was enough for him to hesitantly place his hands on her small back for support, carefully adjusting so that she was stable. She laid her head on his chest and stuck her thumb in her mouth, sighing contentedly.

And, for the first time in years, he smiled.

When you hadn’t seen her familiar pigtails bobbing around, or heard any of her excited chatter with the receptionist up front, worry couldn’t even begin to describe what you felt the moment you realize…your daughter wasn’t here.

As soon as the meeting looked like it was wrapping up, you politely excused yourself from the room. Masking your worry wasn't too difficult, but there's no doubt a couple people might've noticed the spring in your step as you exited. One of them being Rindou Haitani. He watched you speed down the hall with mild interest, corner of his mouth ticking up ever so slightly as he thumbed around on his phone beneath the table. Having been updating his older brother during the meeting while he was on his smoke break, he was more than eager to inform him of the storm that was no doubt heading his way.

Little did the younger Haitani know, he was already dealing with one.

"And then, Haruka-kun tries to take Momo-kun's bento box because she had cuter animal shapes, but Momo-kun already said no, and so Haruka-kun pushes Momo-kun, and then tries to take it! But I pushed him and hit him with my fist, like this," she clenched up her tiny fist and held it up to Ran before striking down on his forearm with all her might. It didn't even pitch. "Like that."

The lavender-eyed man merely gazed upon her with mirth. "Did you now?"

"Mmhm! And teacher got so mad, and said that she would tell Ma about me fighting, but she's stupid because Ma didn't pick me up today, and I told Haruka-kun if he snitches, I'll beat 'em up!"

Ran lowly whistled. "Quite the little menace, ain'tcha?"

She pumped her fists. "Yeah!" Then, she paused, holding a finger to her chin in thought. "Wait...what's a menace?"

"Ah, something you inherited from your old man." He ruffled her hair, much to her displeasure. Though her innocent jab earlier regarding his age still hit a sore spot, he was starting to like the sound of it. She, on the other hand, wasn't convinced.

"I already told you; Ma was on her happy juice when she said that. She said not to believe anything she says when she's on happy juice. It makes her do silly things."

Ran chuckled. He knew that all too well. The little girl wouldn't be in this world if not for your inability to hold your liquor. But judging based on how you've raised her so far, clearly you made the right decision keeping him in the dark.

He'll admit, he wasn't the best in terms of commitment. Throughout his day to day, Ran just didn't have the energy. With being in Bonten, keeping an eye out for his younger brother, handling business, dealing with numbskulls and disposing of their bodies, there was never a time to even consider settling down. One-night stands and on and off flings were the easiest choice. At least, until he stumbled upon you.

You were the whole package and more. Classy, independent, witty, and a looker to top it all off. When Bonten started collaborating with the organization you worked in, he couldn't help but to be drawn to you—Like a moth to a flame. It started out as the occasional bantering, trying to one-up the other, catch them off guard. Ran was smooth with his words but could never quite beat your sharp tongue. Thus, things escalated to something more flirtatious. Harmless, but it didn't take long before the months of tension between the both of you began boiling over...and throwing alcohol into the mix, it was the first time Ran finally felt like he had the upper hand. Seeing how poorly you handled just a few glasses of wine, it endeared him. Seeing a piece of you that no one else had the privilege to witness. Your sloppy side, the clumsy, whiny, touchy side. After that long, passionate night beneath the sheets, the one time you and Ran allowed yourselves the space to be vulnerable with one another...you found yourself pregnant. And Ran found himself being nonethewiser.

He wonders, if he hadn't left the next morning and completely ghosted you...would you have kept him in the picture?

Suddenly, his phone dings. Reaching back to pull it from his back pocket, Ran half expected it to just be another update on the meeting or Rindou cursing at him to hurry his ass back inside. But, it wasn't that at all. And at the sound of your kitten heels rushing out of the building and halting at the top of the steps, Ran didn't even need to look up to know who was glowering down from them.

"Hey, Ma! Guess what, the purple man isn't such a meanie after all!"

Ran snorted, finally looking up from his phone to greet the woman who not only still had his heart, but evidently his first child. You, on the other hand, weren't so thrilled to see him.

"Rika. Wait inside. Ma's got some words for the purple man."

He smirked. "Wanna say 'em over a glass of wine?"

"You son of a-!"

"Bad word!" Your daughter covered her ears. You flushed, your composure nearly slipping just by being in his prescence. Ran, immediately seeing the opportunity, teasingly pouts at you whilst covering her tiny hands with his larger ones, shielding her.

"Honey, please, not in front of the child. Can't have her repeating those dirty words at school, can we?"

You fumed, speaking through clenched teeth. "Haitani, as soon as I get her in this building, away from you, I swear to God, I'm gonna wring your neck."

He hummed, amused. "Well. Guess she didn't get her violent side from me after all. Speaking of which, did you know at school today-"

"Hey! No snitching!"

“...What did you say?” 

You were hoping you heard the teacher wrong. Surely it was just your exhaustion taking the wheel. But, when her kind smile didn’t falter, nor did her gushes for the supposed “adorable display”, you immediately grew suspicious.

While heading home from work, you went to pick up your children from daycare. And when you arrived, the teacher merely informed you that it was already taken care of by your very handsome and very devoted husband. 

“I-I think you’re mistaken. My boyfriend and I aren’t married…”

The teacher, finally coming back down to earth, tilted her head in confusion. “Eh? You aren’t?” 

“Did he…say we were?” 

“Well, no. I just assumed since it was easy to tell who he was here for. Hikaru and Kaoru look so much like their daddy.”

You choked on your spit.  Hikaru and Kaoru look so much like their daddy. Hikaru and Kaoru look so much like their daddy.

You did everything in your power to keep from strangling the poor woman. Sure, she didn’t do anything wrong per say…but she sure did make a grave error. And your struggle to restrain your intrusive thoughts must’ve shown on your face from the way she placed a concerned hand on your arm. “Are you alright, miss? You look like you’re about to faint.”

“M-Mhm, yep, great, just peachy.” You squeaked through clenched teeth, sweatdrop on your forehead. “Could you um…confirm something for me?”

“Uh.? Er, sure. I’ll try my best.”

With tense shoulders and a tight smile, you asked, “Their…father…did his mouth have two scars in the corners?”

The teacher blinked, confused. Shouldn’t you already know that answer yourself?, she was probably thinking. And she would be right; you did know. But her simple, hesitant nod was the final nail in the coffin that was your delusion—Haruchiyo Sanzu had found you. And to make matters worse, he had the children.

Your smile faltered, twitching ever so slightly. Covering it with a forced chuckle, you cried, “Oh, that’s..wonderful! He’s always been self conscious about them, and I’m j-just.. beaming with joy that he’s embracing them more. Have a nice evening, Ms. Yuki.”

The teacher didn’t get a chance to respond as you quickly turned on your heel and began speed walking home. You’d apologize for your abrupt exit another day…right now there were more important matters to worry about. For instance—How on earth did Sanzu find you? How did he know about the twins and where they were? Oh, God…did he know about Satoru?

Dialing him up a few times only for the calls to go straight to voicemail weren’t reassuring in the slightest, having you rush across oncoming traffic just so you could avoid any further delays for your fraying nerves. You could see your apartment complex up ahead, heart thumping in your throat at the familiar, black SUV parked a couple blocks down. Had it not been for the heavily tinted windows and no license plates, you probably would’ve overlooked it. He knew where you lived. Stomach in knots, muscles stiff, nerves shot. You didn’t know whether to feel relieved or devastated. Your kids were safe at home, but at what cost? You stood in front of the building, rooted to the ground. Despite mentally preparing for this exact scenario for years, it all went down the drain the second you went to that daycare and discovered your children were missing.

It wasn’t until your phone vibrated did you snap out of your thoughts, shakily pulling the device out of your back pocket to check the notification.

from : unknown 1:06 pm     “ hi, mama.~ ”

Your stomach twisted. Attached to the message were two photos.

The first photo was of your kids eating McDonald's in the kitchen, happily cheesing and waving at the camera. You couldn't hold your choked gasp, hand coming up to hold your quivering lower lip—They were safe.

The second photo...was of Satoru. Tied to a chair, gagged, and beaten senseless. And standing behind him, holding him by his hair so that he could pose for the camera, grinning like a cheshire cat...

Another message pops up. Your grip tightened around your phone.

from : unknown 1:09 pm " daddy's home.~ "

© 2024-2025 anisespice ッ all rights reserved. likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!

[makeitworse]

ease your mind

older bf seungcheol when ur mad at him. ─ jealous reader. best bf cheol. age gap (duh). hurt/comfort. suggestive at end. requested by anon.

seungcheol’s nothing but good to you. and it will never fail to piss you off.

he refuses to raise his voice, won’t storm out mid-argument. wouldn’t dream of saying anything he doesn’t mean just to hurt you, and would actually just drop dead if he were the reason for your tears.

when you’re mad, it’s not a fight— but rather a discussion, “us against the issue” he says. like it’s inconceivable that he’d ever be on anything but your side. like the matter at hand is a problem to solve together, gently and patiently, and not the literal end of the world.

he makes you feel insane.

because what are you supposed to do with that? what are you supposed to do when you’re spiralling, stomach tied into knots over everything and nothing at all, and the man you love is just sitting there: kind and calm and infuriatingly understanding?

safe to say, dating cheol has been uneventful. but not in a way that’s boring. he’s full of pleasant surprises— little things, sweet gestures, soft confessions in the middle of grocery stores. he remembers your coffee order better than you do. pulls you into his chest when you’re overstimulated. rubs your back through cramps without being asked. it’s just.. natural. because you love him and he loves you. god, does he love you. in a way that’s so stable and soft it makes your heart ache.

you didn’t think it could be this easy. he’s too perfect of a catch— you’re just waiting for him to reveal he’s actually been a serial killer this whole time. no one’s that emotionally mature, no one’s that patient out of their own will.

especially not with you.

it’s late, and you’re probably PMSing, but you can’t stop the overthinking when it hits. you’re curled up in bed with cheol, his arm wrapped around your waist, shirtless and warm and that stupid smile of his pressed at your shoulder. and all you can think about is how good he looked at today’s fan meeting.

pants hugging his thighs just right, silver chain dangling from his neck, toned forearms on display for everyone but you. the photos are already circulating: comments full of hearts and “daddy” and shit only you should be allowed to say to him plus a hundred other things that shouldn’t bother you but does.

he must love all the attention. he could have any of them on a moment’s notice. girls older than you; someone he could relate to more. someone who’s mature enough to not be an emotional minefield over something so meaningless.

you don’t know what to do with it. where to put it. this burning in your throat, the pressure pulsing behind your eyes. so cheol— of course, poor cheol— gets the brunt of it.

he just listens when you rant at him. laying down still, propped up on an elbow while you sit beside him. your voice comes quick, sentences tumbling out that don’t even fully make sense, but cheol’s nodding his head along. watching you with an expression that doesn’t reveal much.

and when you pause, breathless and shaky, he shifts in his spot. he reaches for you, even after all of that.

“what’s got you so worked up, hm?” cheol hums, a warm palm sitting flat on your thigh.

you flinch. the affection in his voice only makes you feel worse.

“don’t fucking—”

he shushes you softly. his hand slides to your waist, pulling you closer until you’re flush against his chest. his other hand comes up to stroke your hair, thumb brushing the back of your neck.

“i’m sorry, baby.” he mumbles at your forehead. “don’t like seeing you upset.”

and it sounds so earnest. like he really means it. as if you’re the one he feels sorry for, not himself.

it’s almost pathetic how fast your frustration unravels, and suddenly you can’t even recall what the hell you were even pressed over.

you just feel tired now. small in his arms. embarrassed that he’s the one who has to be comforting you.

and then he’s sinking down your body.

you gasp— because what the fuck is he doing— but cheol just presses his face to your stomach, arms looping around your waist. he breathes you in, voice low.

“let me make it up to you, yeah?”

you go still above him. you know he’s not meaning it in a transactional way— like he’s fixing your mood with sex. he’s trying to ground you. a reminder that that he’s here, he’s not mad, and he’s all yours.

you don’t have to feel threatened or be perfect or make any sense— not when you’re with him. because you’re his girl. that’s all that matters.

and you best believe he’ll do whatever it takes to remind you.

mlist · taglist 〃

@lightinbug @sherrayyyyy @namsgyu @riddlerloveb0t @ttturnitup @rafesbunniebby @nicaeno @orphicarchive @vix3e @babycaratdeul @jmkookie0 @sseungcheols @sunnysidesins @livelaughloveseventeen @nezhamoment @nervousaggressive @macheriezz @madebybec @aaronwarners69thwife @gyuguys

[bapelana]

heyyy moot, can u maybe write a fic where we give toji sloppy head? like toe curling, him biting his fist to keep from being too loud type of dome. let ur demons take ova pls

POOKIE. STAWP. yk i had to add to the wife!reader x husband!toji franchise! YOU HIT THE PENTAGON WITH THIS

toji was laid up in bed, one arm behind his head, the other resting on your thigh.

a random tv-show that you both couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to played on the screen.

he was wearing his infamous grey sweatpants, no shirt, chain still on his neck from earlier, chest rising slow like he was finally relaxing.

you were posted next to him in your favorite night-dress.

the blue and yellow one with the print down the middle and the loose sleeves. your bonnet was still on. your thighs were bare underneath the dress. and he’d been palming the inside of them the whole night without even realizing it.

it was something he always did unconsciously.

you looked over and up at him. at how good he looked just laying there, face all calm, brows relaxed. and then your eyes trailed down from his chest, biceps, to the half-hard and heavy imprint sitting fat against his thigh.

you tilted your head, blinking. “…you hard?”

he glanced over to you and then down. he scoffed.

“damn near always am when you sittin’ next to me,” he muttered. “why?”

you shrugged. chewed your lip. your hand slid over his abs real slow, fingertips tracing over the ridges.

“wanna suck it.”

he blinked at you, slight confusion taking over his expression as his brows softly furrowed. “…for what?”

“no reason. i jus’ do.”

your eyes dropped back to the bulge in his pants. “you don’t want me to?”

“shit.” he exhaled sharp through his nose. “you ain’t even gotta ask.”

you pulled the covers down and slightly over your head as you settled between his legs, knees tucked under you on the soft mattress. he helped you tug his sweats low. no boxers. just his thick dick and heavy balls, sitting relaxed.

he was already hard when you pulled them down. he was thick and big—enough to make you feel as if you were getting ripped apart—his mean mushroom tip flushed and red.

you let your wet lips part, tongue sliding out to lick across the head—slow. lazy. like you were trying to savor it.

he groaned. hand laying softly against your check. thumb slightly flexing at your jaw.

“shit, ma—why you act like this dick yours?”

“’cause it is,” you whispered, looking up at him as you take him in deep.

he moaned. deep in his chest. head tilted back against the pillow, eyes fluttering. “o-oh…”

your throat squeezed around him. spit bubbled and popped every time you pulled back. his dick was so big ‘n fat, your thumb could barely reach your fingers.

and you slurped—nasty, obscene, wet noises echoing off the walls. he looked down and nearly passed out at the sight.

you, all pretty in your bonnet and moomoo, drooling on his dick like he was your first meal in days.

slapping your tongue against the underside, sucking on his mean tip like candy, eyes big and shiny like this was the best thing you ever tasted.

“shit—shit, mama, s-slow down—f-ffuuck.”

you didn’t slow down.

in-fact, you sped up. gripped his thighs and pushed them apart, lowering your face until your nose brushed his shaft.

he choked on a moan. loud. ugly. back arched forward, abs jerking.

“b-baby please—! oh my ffuuckin’—”

his hands moved to your head and trembled. one leg twitching.

you stroked the base while your mouth worked the top—spit running down your chin, lips puffy and glistening, throat making the nastiest little gulp noises every time you swallowed him whole.

“g-gon’ cum,” he whimpered. “haaah, i’m gon’—b-baby—ma, i’m—”

and he did. hard. hips almost off the bed, loud moan tearing from his throat, eyes squeezed shut.

ropes of cum flooding your mouth, hot and tasty, so much it almost leaked out the corners. you swallowed what you could. wiped your chin with the back of your hand.

he tried to breathe. chest rising and falling like he just ran sprints.

but you weren’t done. you couldn’t be. not when he tasted this good. not when he looked so pretty crying and moaning over you.

you sucked him back in.

toji gasped. twitched. his thighs jerked like he’d been electrocuted.

“oh-oooh shhitt, w-wait—ffuuck! mama, i can’t—i jus’—!”

“mhm.” you moaned around him. bobbed your head faster. used your hands again.

“hah—! o-oh my—n-no, baby—shit, you’re fffuuckin’ crazy.”

you looked up. tears were falling down his cheeks. real ones. his lip was trembling. his body was stuck in this lil shaky loop, muscles jerking every time your tongue slid under the head.

you pulled back just to speak. your voice was sweet. mean.

“you actin’ like i ain’t seen you nut through worse, pa. come on. be good f’me.”

he whimpered.

you dove right back in.

wrote this in 30 mins guys stop. nutted 400 times just at the thought ughhhhhh toji WILL be seeing me & my moo-moo tnite.

[rawme-price]

Thinking 'bout all the different gear and toys 141 pups would like...

Pup!price who likes to keep it simple. A thick leather collar and chain leash. He finds the simplicity and aesthetics of it match the rest of his home well, something he takes pride in. Ofc he also gets the biggest fluffiest dog bed bc his old man joints would die if he slept on the floor without it. On top of that, I think he'd have like a dedicated mat to kneel on for the same reason, bc the last time he knelt without a cushion his knees cracked so loud you flinched lol. Doesn't do much more than that.

Pup!gaz appreciates some good toys. His collar is one of those brightly colored leather ones with a tag. He's actually got a few different tags but prefers the one with ur name on it. He's definitely got gags and knotted dildos, the gag is ofc doggy bone shaped. Also. Cages. Hed definitely love a nice big crate with a dog bed and blankets inside. Stuff a toy in him and leave him there, its for enrichment.

Pup!soap is a bit tricky, he loves all the gear and toys but gets super excited, so his gear has to account for that. He's got the classic collar, but sometimes it gets swapped out for a shock collar when hes being disobedient. Also owns the most muzzles, caged, leather, whatever. He will bite anything if u dont muzzle or gag him. Hed own a pretty decent collection of toys. Deffo has a knotted strap for his partner. Also owns doggy bowls.

Pup!ghost is the most "extreme". He literally wears a costume to work, you think he wont go all out in pup gear? He's got a few different pup hoods, but prefers the all black one most. While he gets a bit anxious with collars, ghost opts for harnesses with handles on the back. Also a tail. I feel like he'd also lowkey have a dedicated room, just from the sheer quantity of stuff he owns. He had to get a custom crate made bc lets be real this guy is huge. Also helps him get into the pup mindset when there's a dedicated area. Overall, definitely the most extreme of the four.

[mejaemin]

happy mother’s day - lee donghyuck

wc: 0.4k summary: caramel hyuck appreciating his fav women on mother’s day 🫶🏽 warnings: fluff, he’s so cute istg, v vague mentions of sex and hyuck having a mommy kink (ik random..) an: happy mother’s day to all the amazing mothers out there 🫶🏽🫶🏽 and to my fav caramel hyuck fan, val 👅 ur my mommy… (caramel hyuck masterlist here! ʕ ᵔⰙᵔ⠕ʔ)

you’re already awake, for no reason in particular, and it’s one of the rare times that hyuck isn’t gripping you in his sleep like you’re his lifeline, so you allow yourself to float around with nothing to do.

you’re in the kitchen, making breakfast when you hear heavy footsteps stumbling behind you. you turn, and there he is, donghyuck with his eyes still closed, coming up behind you to trap you in his arms.

“happy mother’s day,” his voice cracks multiple times throughout his sentence, voice still full of sleep. he doesn’t linger for long, leaving a quick kiss to your temple before running off somewhere.

you continue cooking, smiling to yourself at his strangeness. you’re definitely not a mother, and won’t be any time soon, even if the names he calls you and the amount of time spent in bed say otherwise.

once the food is done, you plate it and set it on the counter. hyuck comes back at the same time, hair and face a little more put together as he walks out with two sets of gift bags.

“thank you,” he says, referring to the food you cooked as he sets all his items down, “and again.. happy mother’s day, mama.” he pulls you into his arms, smiling down at you, admiring your features until he finally leans in to press his lips against yours.

he pulls away to check the gift bags, making sure he has the right one before handing it to you with a smile. “the other one’s for your mama.”

“this is so sweet of you, hyuckie..” you pull the tissue paper out, pulling out two boxes, both designer of course. when you open them up, one’s a pair of pretty bejeweled sunglasses, ones you can already picture outfits for. the other is yet another necklace, a dainty little chain with gems embedded in the metal. at this rate, you might have to buy a second neck with all the necklaces you own.

he steps behind you, pulling your hair out of the way to clasp it around your neck, layering perfectly with all the others he’s bought you. he leaves a kiss in wake of his fingers, moving to sit down in front of his plate of food.

“i’ve got a whole day planned, okay? so we should eat quick so we can get started.” he says, his hand automatically finding its way to your thigh when you sit next to him.

“where to?”

“mm, i already asked, and both our moms aren’t doing anything, so maybe we can go out with them.” you hum in agreement, and he fights a smirk as he suggests the next event, “and then.. maybe with just us.. we can go to the beach?”

nct 🏷️ @chenlezip @coquettejunnie @prettymoles @jia127zen (check privacy settings !!!)

[lilolebambi]

"ur vibes are off."

chris needs a good high to sleep, so he hits you up. dealer!reader x client!chris blurb. ⋆ ★

Chris can't sleep.

He's been awake for 72 hours now. Every single time he watches the clock change to a new number, measuring the amount he hasn't had his head shoved between his pillow. He kisses teeth. His usual strain of weed from his dealer just isn't doing it for him anymore.

He doesn't like having his business all out there, but this is ridiculous. So he turns to Matt.

When Matt sends your Instagram he thinks he's tripping, why would you be a dealer?

He knows you, not personally but he's seen you around. bright outfits, big jewelry, small bottoms, tight shirts, bold makeup—He's sure everyone on campus knows your name. You're at frats everyweekend, clubs every other week.

You look like you hang out with unicorns and fairies in your free time, why on earth would you be a dealer?

He takes Matt's word though. He finds out that you're gonna be at their frat later tonight for one of his frat brother's birthday, which ultimately is perfect because he didn't feel like chasing you down.

You're not hard to spot.

Almost mesh white top, brown mini skirt, knee-high black boots, gold chains dance along your waist, and gold bangles on your arms to match. You're a sight alright.

When he comes up to you, you're leaning against the wall, hair splayed out behind you, 2 drinks in hand, and a dazed look on your face.

"Hi." You say glancing up to him with a small smile. "Chris, right? Youngest of the triplets?"

He gives a nod in return. "Mhnp..." You let out of a soft noise that leads to him locking eyes with you. The glitter that's on your lids clumps in your mascara and makes your eyes sparkle, your lips tinted in a cherry shade. He blinks at you.

You just look at him. You stare at him like you're trying to read his soul. He hates it. But he can't bring himself to look away from you.

He begins to pull out his wallet, "Matt already paid for you, s okay." He quickly shoves his wallet back into his pocket, "Hold this." You say handing him 1 of the 2 drinks you're holding, and he does. For some reason.

You reach into your bra and pull out a small glitter baggie. "Are you serious?"

You blink. "S just a bag." You roll your eyes. Chris is starting to get annoyed at how long this interaction is taking. He's been awake for far too long, and his eyes are starting to burn like crazy. He practically snatches the small bag from your hand.

Chris is pissed. "What the—?" Okay, the pink rolling paper is pushing it, but a bow wrapped around a joint?

"What is your deal—! I.." The more he stares down at the joint, the more he notices. He can see light purple and pink sprinkled throughout the joint. "What's in this?"

"Weed."

He scoffs. "Obviously, dumbass— what other shit did you put in here?"

If music wasn't blasting hard enough for you to feel it in your heart, everyone would hear how loud Chris is yelling at you.

You glare at him—The dazed look on your face slowly disappearing. "Lavender and rose. They help calm anxiety," You say, clutching the drink in your hand tighter, causing it to spill over. "It's a free joint, man, your brother already paid for it, he specifically asked for this one," You step away from the wall and maintain eye contact, you're close enough to feel his breath on your lips.

"But if my glitter bag and my bow bother you so much, you don't have to take it. So. Do. You. Want. It. Or. Not?" You hit the center of his chest with your acrylic nail repeatedly, as each word files out of your mouth. If Chris wasn't sleep deprived, he'd probably do something about it. Like dragging you off to his room and showing what else you could do with that big mouth. But right now, all he wants to do is smoke, get high, and pass the fuck out.

"I'll take it." He grumbles, staring directly down at you, refusing to be the one to break the eye contact you guys have been holding for so long.

"Yeah." You roll your eyes and step back. "That's what I thought." You say, snatching back the drink you gave him to hold and walking off.

He thinks you're an annoying little piece of work, but that doesn't stop him from staring at your ass as you walk away.

When you're finally out of his sight is when goes off to his room.

He lets out a deep sigh sigh as he closes his door behind him, the music of the party slightly muffled by his door. He feels his phone go off.

matt: yo

tf you say to n/n???

chris: ?

matt: she said ur vibes are off

Chris scoffs. If he doesn't get high enough from your little mythical fairy joint he's finding you, immediately.

Chris sleeps like a baby that night.

tags 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚: @inspiredangel

[slvthrs]

ALL THE THINGS WE COULDN'T SAY | v.hacker

— MINORS PLEASE FUCK OFF FOR UR OWN GOOD —

No matter what, seeing him all over again feels like the inch has given you, spans the entire seas.

OLD BSF!VINNIE X FEM!READER

WARNINGS: NSFW CONTENT MINORS DNI, some angst, some fluff, unprotected sex, alcohol ment, making out praise kink, degradation kink, cheating, possessiveness, angry sex, slapping, face pushing, begging, choking, mean vinnie!!

word count:  2.5k <3

a/n: lil apology for the disappearance mls :(

Ever since that fateful day, I haven’t spoken a word to Vinnie.

It’s not like we were best friends, chatting everyday- at least not best friends in LA. But having sex whilst he had a girlfriend proved too much for me.

I ignored every text, every call, every attempt to get in contact despite what I really wanted. However I knew that any form of interaction between us would end up the same way our last one ended.

And I was very right.

It had been 2 months, it was all going good. I was starting to forget the feeling of his lips on me. Starting to forget the way he made me laugh, held my body close whispering sweet nothings. 

I started spending more time at the gym, and spent more time with my friends. Went out clubbing, shopping, anything that would help me forget. 

But in the back of my mind, only one thing actually made me crumble in the middle of the night, only one thing I thought of when I fell asleep, the one thing I craved.

He had given me an inch and I imagined it to be a mile- the same mistake I kept on making.

So when I heard that Vinnie was throwing his birthday and I had received the coveted invitation- I imagined it to be the world.

Vinnie’s birthday was always something I looked forward to back home. Maria’s cooking, Nate on the grill, and Reggie playing silly board games with Vinnie and I.

***

“YOU FUCKING CHEATER” I yelled, jostling Poncho in my lap.

“Oh c’mon it’s not my fault you suck at Uno” Vinnie laughs moving to pet Poncho.

“Absolutely not! I had Uno, I was about to win!” I grumble, my head falling onto the coffee table table.

Reggie’s hand rubs my back, “Hey we all know Vinnie cheats don’t worry,” He teases sticking his tongue out at his big brother.

The two boys start bickering, laughing, and yelling curses as I cradle Poncho, “Shh baby ignore em their just two stinky men” I whisper

Their words quickly turn into playful rough housing until Maria breaks them up bringing out Vinnie’s cake.

His face is illuminated by the soft glow of the candles, as the cake is set in front of him. His big signature toothy grin covers his entire face as he watches us start to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to him.

One of his hands wraps around my waist and my world just stops- at least for a moment before I’m jostled by him blowing out the candles in one big huff.

“What did you wish for Vin?” Nate asks, smiling at his newly adult son

His face turns to look at me giving me a smile before turning back to his dad, “Can’t say unless I don’t want it to come true.”

My world just died right there before starting all over again.

That was a day before he left for LA.

***

I had spent the night getting ready with my friends. I was adorned in pretty jewelry complimenting my hair. I was wearing a pretty white tie-in-the-front white cropped top with long sleeves and a low-rise white mini skirt. I had matching waist chains with some strappy white heels. 

Vinnie’s favourite perfume of mine sprayed on my skin in an involuntary action as I packed up my little purse with some needed essentials and some non-essentials.

I stared in the mirror, Was I really doing this?

“Babes Tyler is here!” My friend Kylie shoots in my direction.

Tyler- the only reason my friends thought I should go to this party was if I brought a guy, so Tyler had to do.

I guess I am.

My friends and I walk out to Tyler’s car, not before a shot for pure confidence, and slip into the passenger seat driving down the same way I went two months ago.

We arrive at the house around 10:30, right around when most people are trickling in. I fix my dress as we walk through the door and all of a sudden the wave of anxiousness washes over me and I want to run.

I don’t however run away, despite how much I want to, I still hold it together.

Kylie pulls me aside to check up on me and hands me a drink, telling me to ‘get some!’ Despite the fact that we both have very different people in mind. 

Jordan, one of Vinnie’s friends walks up to me engaging in mindless conversation that's so clearly an attempt to find out who Tyler is or if “I’m seeing anyone.”

Despite that fact we have a pleasant conversation whilst I feel a pair of very familiar eyes burning into the back of my skull as I hug Jordan goodbye as people get ready for midnight.

Two blonde dudes come in holding a large sheet cake with 22 candles placed ever so gently on top.

Vinnie’s hand is wrapped around Allison who stares at him as if he’s the sun and the stars and his eyes stay on me, causing me to sweat. He grins as the cake is placed in front of him, straightening out his stupid little suit as everyone begins to sing.

As the song finishes everyone bursts into cheers as he blows out his candle as Allison grips onto him, his eyes leave the cake finding his girlfriend’s as she asks, “What did you wish for baby?”

He smiles, not saying a word as he looks back at me, “It’s a secret.”

That’s too much for me.

I maneuver around the drunk crowd, sprinting up the nearest stairs and into the first room, walking out onto the balcony and sitting down on the ground.

My world feels like it's out of orbit, everything just stopped. My head tips back on the glass balcony as I try to recollect my thoughts.

Stray tears fall onto my face, if he can do it for her, why couldn’t he have done it for me, is the only thought that swirls in my mind.

“Hey are you okay?” No no no.

I shut my eyes praying he’ll just go away, but he doesn’t, he never could. He sits down next to me, his body heat slipping on to me.

His hand rests on my shoulder, “Open your eyes” Vinnie’s voice whispers and like a marionette, I obliged.

My bloodshot teary eyes meet his as I turn my head as I move to wipe away my tears.

“Yes?” My voice breaks.

“Why are you crying?” He whispers, his gaze soft and his words even softer.

“Don’t do this, Vinnie.” I whisper, desperation evident in my voice.

“What pretty girl?”

And I cry all over again. I take in staggered breaths as his arms wrap around me. His hands soothe my skin as I crumble into his dumb suit.

I melt into his touch. I want to die like this, in his arms.

“I can’t do this, I don’t know why I came” I whisper as tears fall on my face and into his shirt.

“It’s my birthday… didn’t you want to be here?” He asks, his voice breaking a little as he pulls my face away, lifting up my chin to look at him.

His gaze drops to my lips for a moment as I snap out of it, immediately rising to my feet stepping into the room.

“No no we can’t do this” I whisper-yell at him, my hands crossed over my chest

“We’re not doing anything?” He looks bewildered, his eyebrows knit together

“We can’t be friends.. I-I can’t be here alone with you, your girlfriends downstairs!” My voice rises a little

His expression is the picturesque definition of pain, “Why not?”

“Because I spent years loving you and you threw it all away!” I yell my hand pointing at him

“I didn’t throw it away!” He raises his voice, stepping closer to me

“Oh yes you fucking did, and I was doing so good! I was forgetting about you!” I cry out, I step closer to him.

“I don’t want you to forget about me” His voice is expressionless, as he steps closer as we’re practically chest to chest

“I want to! You have a girlfriend” I slam my fist on his chest as his grabs my wrist

“Jesus were you always this fucking bossy when we were kids?” His eyes narrow, eyeing me

I roll my eyes and scoff, “Fuck. You.” 

He has the audacity to laugh, “You can try and forget me, get with that idiot you got here with- But never, tell me I threw us away, I loved you! I love you.” 

His voice softens ever so slightly, “I will never not love you, tell me to break up with Allison, I will, tell me to kick everyone out right now, I will. Whatever you want, tell me. I’m yours”

“I hate you. Leave.” I huff

He shakes his head, “Anything but that.” 

“Leave me like you left me 3 years ago and 2 months ago” I whisper

“No.” His voice is harsh and commanding

“Vinnie…”

“No.” His grasp on my hand doesn't falter and in fact his other hand grasps my other wrist.

My eyes narrow, please whatever scraps of self respect I have please kick in.

His pushes me back against the wall, my hands pinned either side of me as he places a kiss on the birthmark on my neck, “I’m never leaving you”

I shut my eyes, tipping my head back, please kick in, I beg.

“Open your eyes.” His voice rough and ragged

My eyes flutter open, meeting his blown out brown eyes.

Oh no.

His lips meet mine in a desperate kiss, his hand moves to grasp my waist as mine tangles in his hair. 

“We can’t” I whisper despite still kissing him back

“Just shut the fuck up” He groans as he bites down on my bottom lip

“You’re my worst addiction” He mumbles moving to kiss my neck

I whine, nails digging into his curly brown locks, “I hate you”

“I know my love” I murmurs against my skin, kissing every spot of my neck he can find before dipping down to my tits.

“Vinnie-”

“Yes.” His voice cuts mine off, his head tipping up, looking up at my eyes.

I shut my eyes, “Need you”

“What? Where? Tell me” He begs

“Need you to fuck me, rough” I whisper

He stops his kisses, moving to cup my face, “Whatever you want doll”.

He meets my lips in a rough kiss guiding me to the edge of the bed, pushing me down to sit.

“God you're so pretty, it makes me wanna ruin you sometimes” He whispers out, his voice rough as he moves a strand of my hair away from my face as he looks down at me.

He moves me further up the bed as he leans over me, pulling the buttons of his waist coat down but as he’s mid way he gets frustrated he just rips it off along with his shirt as he kisses me again.

His lips move in tandem with mine as he pulls the knot of my shirt, causing it to fall down.

“Mine” He whispers into the kiss, “Say it princess”

“Yours” I whine as he shuffles my skirt and panties off and unclasped my bra

“My perfect girl” He mumbles as he flips me over, smushing my face into the pillows

I can hear his belt clinking open and he shuffles out of his constricting dress pants and boxers

“S gonna hurt darling girl, just be good for me” He whispers as he kisses my spine as he slowly stretches me out

His hand pushes my head down into the pillow as his other hand rubs circles on my clit.

My toes curl up and my eyes roll back as he starts to slowly rut into me, “There she fucking is”

His grunts echo in the room as my muffled moans coat the pillow, “Cmon, you can take it won't you? You're just so good for me.”

His words tease me as he speeds up his pace, he pushes down my head to thrust deeper into me as his muscles flex around me.

“So fucking tight, s’ like you were made for me” He grits as he pulls my hair up as a ragged moan leaves my mouth

“Such a whore, so good for me aren’t ya?” He chuckles

I whine nodding my head as my mind is too cloudy to form words.

He slaps my ass illciting another pitchy moan from me, “Asked you a fucking question” 

“Mhm all for you” I mumble biting down on my lip

“God you don’t even know what you fucking do to me darling” He groans as his hand speeds up around my clit

“M close, Vin m close” I ramble like an idiot shutting my eyes

He slaps my ass again causing me to yell, “Beg for it gorgeous girl” 

“Please Vinnie” I crumble whining

He laughs at my sad attempt, “My good girl can do better than that can’t she?” 

“Please please I need it so bad, need you so bad” I mewl under him

His pace speeds up, “Yeah? Take it baby”

I cum with a loud moan as my eyes screw shut. I can feel Vinnie kiss along my spine, caressing the sides of my body.

He flips me over so I’m looking at him, his flexed biceps on either side of my face and his dumb chain dangling over my face.

He sinks in again as I whimper, “Can’t Vin” 

“Yes you can, you're so good, aren’t you?” His voice teases

I succumb to his words mindlessly nodding my head.

“That's right, you can take it and you fucking will.” He punctuates with a sharper thrust

The headboard slams against the wall against Vinnie’s impossible strength rutts into me.

One of my hands wraps around his bicep and the other holds onto his wrist as I pull it on to my neck.

His eyebrows scrunch together in confusion.

“Please?” I whisper

He chuckles as he squeezes around my neck using the grip to pound deeper into me as my eyes roll back as my cunt clenched around him.

“M’ gonna cum, can’t hold out, you just feel too fucking good” He whispers

I whine at that cumming around him without warning as I clench around him he finishes inside me.

We take a second to catch our breaths just lying there for a second.

He pulls out maneuvering us on the bed as he kisses my neck, “Not too much my love?”

“Never” I hum

He nuzzles into my neck as my back meets his chest, “Want me to break up with Allison?”

I take a second to process his question.

“Yes… but I don’t want to date you right now” I whisper

“I'll stay alone forever if it’ll make you happy princess” He hums 

“Good” I giggle

“God should've known you were heartache from the moment I met you” He chuckles as he falls asleep in the crook of my neck.

An inch? A mile? As long as it's Vinnie, for you its enough.

[big-poppa23]

heyyy!! can we pls have an angsty nam-gyu x fem reader who doesn't make it to the end of the games with him (dies in jump rope). basically, min-su took revenge for se-mi by severely hurting reader before the 5th game but he couldn't kill her to death since nam-gyu arrived on time. feel free to add suggestive scenes or fluff where you see fit or not, but overall, i just want it tragic yet sweet. thank u in advance & luv ur hyun-ju series 🥰😭

Cross My Heart

synapse: three games left. nam-gyu is acting like he doesn’t care…but he does

pairing: nam-gyu x reader

contains: strong language, mentions of sex, death, graphic injuries described

a/n: yes i can. i promise i wasn’t ignoring your ask, i just wanted to write it out first. btw i really liked writing it. i put a lot of effort into it so I hope you like it.

. . .

Y/N had blacked out the last ten minutes like a bad dream. She couldn’t even remember stepping up to the gumball machine or turning the crank that sealed her fate. It was only the sound of a guard’s voice, sharp and mechanical through the modulator, that jolted her back to the present. Her fingers were already curled around the small box they’d handed her. The color was painted across the side in thick blue ink.

She was on the blue team. The hunted.

When she lifted the lid, a single silver key lay inside, strung through a chain meant to be worn around the neck. No weapons, no backup. Just a key — and the rapidly fading hope that she’d find a door to safety before someone like him found her first.

She slipped the chain over her head with numb fingers and sat down on a nearby bench. Her stomach churned.

She didn’t need to look up to feel him approaching.

Red vest. Knife in hand. That cocky strut in his step like he owned the world and everyone in it.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Nam-gyu greeted, kneeling in front of her like this was some twisted proposal. “What’s the matter? You nervous about possibly dying?”

Y/N didn’t answer at first. Her jaw clenched as she looked away, her fingers curling around the edge of the bench.

“I would trade with you,” he continued, resting his chin on his hand like she was just being dramatic. “But you’re mad at me. I still don’t get why.”

Her gaze snapped to him, fire in her eyes. “You seriously don’t know why?”

“Se-mi?” he scoffed. “You didn’t even talk to her.”

“You don’t think Min-su did?” she shot back. “You killed her because she voted X? Because she wanted to go home? Or was it just because she bruised your precious ego?”

Nam-gyu snorted, unbothered. “She wouldn’t shut the fuck up. Thought she was some kind of hero. I couldn’t stand the way she looked at me like she was better.”

“And what if I talk back to you like that? You gonna kill me next?”

He smirked, tongue running along his teeth. “No. I like fucking you too much.”

Her glare didn’t waver, but he kept going. “Besides, I don’t have a reason to. Thanos is dead. Gyeong-su too. Se-mi’s gone. You and me? We’re what’s left. We’re the ones that made it. That’s gotta count for something.”

“What about Min-su?”

He scoffed. “Kid’s dead weight. He’s not like us.”

Nam-gyu set down his knife for a moment and reached for her hand, voice dipping low and coaxing. “Come on, just swap to red. We’ll get high, have a little fun, and slit a few throats together. After that…” His smile curled like smoke. “We find a room. Just you and me.”

Y/N jerked her hand back like his skin burned. “I’m good,” she said, standing up. “I’m not in the mood to fuck.”

He gave a small shrug, picking his knife back up like it was no big deal. “Fair. But remember, you’re blue now. And I’m red. So if I find you first…”

“Then you’ll have a fight,” she interrupted, voice cold. “I’m not going down easy. If you want my key, you’ll have to take it off my corpse.”

Nam-gyu laughed under his breath as she walked past him, the tension snapping like a taut wire. He watched her go, his eyes trailing the sway of her shoulders, the way she didn’t look back.

His fingers found the small metal cross that hung from his neck, last of the pills nestled inside. He didn’t take one. Not yet.

He’d lied. He wasn’t planning to kill her.

And deep down, he wasn’t sure if what he felt for her was hate or something worse — something dangerous.

He stood there for a moment longer, then turned and melted into the crowd of hunters.

. . .

Blue team had gone in first. Thirty minutes to hide. Thirty minutes to run or claw their way to an exit. It felt like a fever dream with no end.

The arena was massive, surreal. The ceiling stretched high above them like the sky in a child’s picture book — painted in gentle shades of twilight blue, speckled with uneven golden stars and fat yellow crescent moons. They shimmered under flickering lights that gave the illusion of something magical. But magic didn’t live here. Only madness.

The walls were concrete beneath layers of grotesque mural work — rolling hills, stubby trees, and flower fields in chalky colors that clashed with the coppery scent of blood already hanging in the air. A child’s fantasy smeared over a killing floor. The cheerfulness was disorienting, like walking into a dream where you already knew you’d die.

And Y/N was alone.

Ten minutes in, she had already seen what happened to those who weren’t fast enough.

She’d passed two blue players — both slumped lifeless, red soaking through their tracksuits. She forced herself not to look at their faces as she pulled the keys from their necks, adding them to her own. Circle. Triangle. Square. Three shaped keys. One step closer to freedom. If freedom even existed beyond this place.

Her body was running on instinct. Adrenaline. She didn’t know how long she’d been sprinting, ducking behind doors, unlocking them, hiding, and moving again.

It wasn’t just Nam-gyu she feared — though his shadow lingered in the back of her mind like a blade to her throat.

It was everyone in red. Every knife-wielding body out for blood. Out for her.

And everything was going okay.

Until it wasn’t.

She turned a corner too sharply, the slap of footfalls echoing behind her. Too close. Too fast. She didn’t think — she just moved, slipping into the nearest door, pulling it closed and crouching in the dark.

Through the small crack of the door, she saw the blur of a blue player sprinting down the corridor, a red player chasing him down like a wolf. Her heart raced, eyes locked on the scene.

She didn’t hear the door behind her burst open.

By the time she turned, it was too late — Player 096 lunged at her, the blade of his knife catching the light just as it slashed past her face.

She ducked, barely avoiding it, his forearm slamming into her shoulder as he shoved her to the ground. Pain shot through her ribs, but she kicked out wildly, her foot connecting with the back of his knee and sending him crashing down beside her.

He was fast. Too fast.

His weight pressed her down as he grabbed her wrists, trying to pin them, his knife hovering over her. She screamed, twisting, grabbing his wrist with both hands, pushing, pushing to keep it away from her chest.

He growled, then used his free hand to grab a fistful of her hair and slam the back of her head into the floor.

Stars exploded behind her eyes. Her fingers went slack for a moment, pain blooming through her skull.

She gasped, dazed — but alive. For now.

096 grinned. A sick, gleeful grin as he pressed the knife teasingly to her throat, letting the blade kiss her skin.

He raised it high with both hands to finish her off.

And that was his mistake.

Y/N moved on instinct. With a scream, she drove her knee up and kicked him square in the chest. He stumbled back, landing hard. She rolled, scrambling toward the door. Tried to yank it open — but his body blocked the exit.

“Shit!” she hissed.

He lunged again, slashing. She ducked. The blade drove into the door where her neck had been.

She didn’t wait.

She bolted through the other door he’d entered from, tearing down the corridor, taking the stairs two at a time. Her legs burned. Her chest felt tight. But she didn’t stop.

096 was already behind her again, the thud of his boots pounding the concrete.

She spun into another open room and slammed the door shut behind her just as he turned the corner.

Crack.

The door smacked him hard across the face and shoulder. He collapsed, groaning, dazed.

Y/N didn’t hesitate.

She stomped on his wrist, pinning it to the floor. He tried to buck her off, but she pried the knife from his grip, her breath ragged, her hands slick with sweat and someone else’s blood.

“Please—!” he gasped, eyes wide. “Please, I’m sorry—don’t—”

Her jaw locked. “Fuck you,” she whispered.

Then she stabbed.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

She didn’t stop until he stopped moving.

Blood splattered her face, warm and sticky across her cheeks and throat. Her chest heaved, but she didn’t flinch. Not anymore.

She stood over his lifeless body, her hands still gripping the knife.

Then the mechanical voice blared through the speakers, monotone and cold:

“Player 096, eliminated.”

Y/N gripped the blood-slicked knife with trembling fingers, her heart hammering against her ribs like it wanted out. She was ready to move — to keep running, hiding, surviving — but then she froze.

There was someone in the hallway. Watching her.

Min-su.

He stood half-shrouded in shadow, wearing a red vest now, a knife dangling from his hand. But it wasn’t just that. His eyes…

Glazed. Vacant. Haunted.

Her breath caught.

“Min-su,” she said quietly, trying to keep her voice calm. “What are you doing?”

He blinked slowly, stepping closer. “Y/N…” he said, almost dreamlike. “I can’t find Se-mi. You have to help me find her.”

Her stomach twisted. The way he moved, the slackness in his expression — she knew that look. The drugs. He had them in his system. How? It didn’t matter. Someone must’ve slipped him something. Or…maybe he took it himself.

“Min-su, stop. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He didn’t stop. His steps were slow but steady, and the closer he got, the more his pupils dilated. She saw the shift in his gaze — how her face twisted in his perception, how her voice no longer reached him.

“I need you to stop him,” he mumbled. “Nam-gyu wants to hurt her. You have to stop him.”

“Min-su, listen to me,” she pleaded, backing up. “It’s me. It’s Y/N.”

But it was already too late.

All he saw now was Nam-gyu. The mocking voice. The insults. The sneers. His mind replayed it all — distorted, warped by the chemicals surging through his veins — until Y/N’s face blurred into his.

He yelled and lunged.

She yelped and dodged, running.

“Min-su!” she called, panicked, glancing over her shoulder. “We were friends! Don’t do this!”

But he didn’t hear her.

She sprinted blindly around a corner and collided with another body, crashing to the floor. A fellow blue player — who took one look at the chaos and bolted in the other direction.

She tried to get up, but Min-su was already there, looming above her with the knife glinting in his hand.

“Min-su…” she gasped, scrambling back. “Please—I’ve only ever tried to help you.”

But he wasn’t hearing her. His lips were trembling, eyes wild and unfocused.

She kicked up hard, catching him in the stomach. He stumbled back, enough for her to scramble to an open door and try to slam it shut.

But he reached it first.

The door slammed hard into her ankle — the sound and sensation made her stomach flip. She screamed, crumpling to the ground. Pain lit up her leg like fire.

Then he was on her again, dragging her onto her back. She raised her arm in defense just as the knife came down.

The blade plunged clean through her palm.

She screamed — a raw, animal noise torn from her throat — as blood burst between her fingers and the steel. She thrashed, pushing against him, sobbing from the pain.

Then—

Two pairs of footsteps.

Nam-gyu’s bloodshot eyes widened. “What the fuck—?!”

Myung-gi slowed, then stopped. It wasn’t who he was searching for. Not Jun-hee. His gaze flicked to Y/N, bloodied and writhing in pain, and then back to the wall.

Nam-gyu didn’t stop.

“Min-su, you little fucker!” he roared, charging forward and yanking him off of her. The knife tore free from her hand with the motion, and she shrieked again, curling protectively around the wound.

Min-su stumbled back and slammed his head into the metal doorknob. He crumpled, stunned.

Nam-gyu dropped to his knees beside her. “Shit…fuck… I was joking, okay? When I said if I found you first…”

“My ankle,” she sobbed. “My hand…”

He looked — her ankle was twisted at an unnatural angle, her hand mangled and slick with blood. He clenched his jaw, looking up at Myung-gi.

“MG Coin!” he barked. “Get over here!”

Myung-gi hesitated. “She’s a blue player. We’re supposed to—”

“You want me to help you find your bitch, right?” Nam-gyu snapped, already looping her arm over his shoulder. “Then help mine.”

Myung-gi flinched at the words but nodded, jogging forward.

Together, they lifted her off the floor. She cried out again, the pain radiating through every nerve as her broken ankle dangled uselessly. Her blood smeared across both of them as they half-carried, half-dragged her down the hall.

Nam-gyu kept muttering under his breath — curses, apologies, threats — but he didn’t let go of her. Not even for a second.

Behind them, Min-su stirred again, groaning. But the trio was already disappearing down the corridor, swallowed by shadows and flickering lights.

Nam-gyu kicked a door open, the sharp slam echoing off the concrete walls as he and Myung-gi hauled Y/N inside. The room was small and windowless, lit only by a flickering overhead bulb that cast eerie shadows across the space. Neon-colored crayon drawings of suns and stick figures littered the dark walls, glowing faintly in the dim light like forgotten memories of happier times. The air was stale, thick with the scent of sweat and metal.

They lowered her carefully — or as carefully as Nam-gyu could manage — onto the floor. She winced and bit back another scream as her ankle brushed the ground, tears slipping down her cheeks unchecked. Her hand throbbed like it had a heartbeat of its own, blood still leaking from the jagged puncture where the blade had gone straight through.

“What do we do now?” Myung-gi asked, looking over at Nam-gyu with uncertainty.

Nam-gyu exhaled harshly, running a hand down his face. “She’s gonna have to hide in here until the game’s over.”

“That’s your plan?”

He rounded on him. “Look at her fucking ankle, MG. Does it look like she’s about to sprint her way out of here?”

Myung-gi glanced down at Y/N. Her chest was rising and falling in short, labored breaths. Her fingers trembled as she pressed the edge of her sleeve to the wound in her hand, trying to slow the bleeding. She didn’t speak — maybe couldn’t. The pain had hollowed her out.

“So what?” Myung-gi said, his voice sharp with disbelief. “We just sit in here and hide with her? There’s more blue team to hunt. More players—”

“No shit,” Nam-gyu snapped, straightening to his full height. He looked at Y/N, then back at him. “She stays. We go.”

“You trust no one’ll find her?”

Nam-gyu’s mouth twitched. “They won’t. She’ll be fine…if she keeps quiet.”

Y/N managed a weak nod, her face pale and slick with sweat.

Nam-gyu stepped toward the door, gripping his knife with more force than necessary. His other hand lingered over the cross necklace at his chest, thumb brushing the cool metal like a nervous tic.

He was halfway out when Myung-gi spoke.

“You said earlier in the hall…” Myung-gi’s voice was quiet but cutting, making Nam-gyu stop in place. “That she was nothing. Just an easy lay.”

Nam-gyu paused, hand on the doorframe.

“So why are you doing this?”

There was a silence — not hesitation, but something heavier. Nam-gyu looked back over his shoulder, expression unreadable. “Same reason you’re looking for your bitch, MG Coin,” he said coolly, a shrug rolling off his shoulders like it meant nothing. “Because I care.” He didn’t wait for a response. Just turned back and pushed open the door. “I’m going back out there,” he added. “Go with me. Don’t. Doesn’t matter.”

Myung-gi looked between him and Y/N, conflicted. Then, with a quiet sigh, he bent down to retrieve his knife. He nodded, wordlessly.

Y/N watched them go, the sound of their footsteps fading down the corridor.

And then she was alone.

The fluorescent light above her buzzed softly. The childlike drawings stared down at her with wide, colorless eyes. She let her head fall back against the wall, her hand cradled to her chest, her ankle screaming with every shift of her weight.

She tried to breathe — slow, deep. But all she could think was:

How long could she really stay hidden?

And if Nam-gyu didn’t come back… would she even want to survive?

Y/N sat in the corner of the dim room, breathing through clenched teeth. Sweat and tears streaked her face, and her heart pounded in her ears like war drums. But she had no choice — if she wanted to live, she had to act now.

Control the bleeding first.

Gritting her teeth, she shrugged out of her jacket — difficult with one functional hand and searing pain in the other. Her fingers fumbled with the zipper of her blue tracksuit vest until she peeled the jacket off, leaving only her sweat-damp shirt beneath. The moment cold air hit the bloodied fabric of her sleeve, the pain sharpened. Her hand — pierced clean through — throbbed in sync with her pulse.

She laid the jacket on her lap and used her teeth to tear a long strip from the cuff. It took time. Every motion sent a lightning bolt of pain up her arm, but she endured. She had to.

Once she had the strip, she inspected the wound: the entry was through the palm, the exit near the base of her knuckles. The bleeding had slowed, but not enough. Her fingers were stiff and already beginning to swell.

She took another breath. Then folded the strip into a thick pad and pressed it directly against the wound.

A scream tore through her throat through gritted teeth, involuntary and raw. Her vision blurred for a second.

Keep pressure. Hold it steady.

She used her knee to brace the injured hand while she wrapped another piece of fabric — this time torn from the inner lining of the jacket — tightly around the pad and her hand, securing it with a rough knot over her wrist. She knew it wasn’t perfect. The knife had missed major arteries — thank God — but she wouldn’t be using that hand for anything soon. And infection would come next if she wasn’t careful.

She leaned back against the wall, catching her breath.

Then came the ankle.

She’d been avoiding looking at it, hoping the pain might pass. It didn’t. The joint was swollen, visibly out of alignment. Likely a dislocation, she thought. Not a clean break — that pain would’ve been sharper, more immobilizing. This she could still fix.

But it was going to hurt.

She pulled her leg closer, sweat dripping down her temple. Her fingers dug into the soft groove just above her heel. The joint was misaligned — obvious even through her sock. She pushed the fabric down and bit into the collar of her jacket sleeve to muffle her cries.

One breath in.

And then with a brutal motion, she pulled her foot forward and twisted.

A sickening crack of bone and cartilage echoed through the tiny room. She screamed into the cloth, muffled and guttural, falling sideways onto the floor.

Then stillness.

The joint slid back into place. The searing pain gave way to a dull, nauseating throb. Her foot still couldn’t bear weight, but it no longer hung at the wrong angle.

She lay there for a moment, shivering, bloodied, and half-conscious. But the bleeding had slowed. Her ankle was set. And she was alive.

That would have to be enough for now.

. . . 

When the final ding of the timer echoed through the arena, signaling the end of the hunt, Nam-gyu didn’t waste a second. He ran.

His shoes pounded against the concrete as he retraced his path through the maze of cartoon-painted corridors until he found her — slumped against the wall in that forgotten room, blood drying on her hand, her eyes heavy with exhaustion but still alert.

“Come on, baby,” he muttered, crouching to sling her arm over his shoulder. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Together, they hobbled back to the dormitory, Y/N barely able to put weight on her leg. Every step was agony, but she clenched her jaw and bore it. The worst part was already over.

Probably.

As they stepped through the metal doors of the dormitory, the buzz of conversation faltered. Heads turned. A few whispered. Nam-gyu didn’t care. His grip tightened protectively around her waist as they moved toward their side of the room.

“How you feeling?” he asked, his voice almost gentle now.

“Like I got stabbed through the fucking hand,” she mumbled. “And like my ankle’s broken in three places.”

“Charming,” he muttered, helping her sit down on the edge of a lower bunk. 

She groaned softly, eyes fluttering shut as the mattress creaked beneath her.

Nam-gyu straightened — and almost immediately reached for the small cross necklace that hung from his neck.

Except it wasn’t there.

His fingers groped at bare skin. His eyes narrowed. He yanked off his jacket, shook it out, checked both front and back of his tracksuit. Then dove into his pockets.

Nothing.

Panic flashed across his face.

“Baby,” he said sharply, turning to her. “Have you seen my necklace?”

She blinked slowly. “No.”

“You sure? You don’t have it?”

“You want to frisk me, Nam-gyu?” she replied, deadpan. “You probably dropped it back in the arena.”

His gaze flicked over her, then over to the rest of the returning players. She followed his eyes — and froze when she saw Min-su. He stood near the back, head down, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot like a boy waiting to be scolded. She didn’t know if he remembered what he’d done. Maybe the drugs had wiped it clean. Maybe he just didn’t care.

Then he looked up.

Their eyes met.

And Y/N knew. She knew he had it — that Nam-gyu’s precious necklace full of pills had somehow ended up in his hands. But she said nothing. Despite the pain, despite the trauma, she wouldn’t throw Min-su to the wolves. If Nam-gyu knew the truth…

She looked away.

Nam-gyu didn’t. He kept pacing. Then his hands were on her — patting her down, not rough, but frantic. Her sides, her pockets, her thighs. She hissed in pain as his fingers roamed upward again, not stopping even when he reached her chest.

His hands cupped her breasts, feeling around the sides as if his necklace might be hidden inside her bra.

She shoved one of his hands back with her good hand. ��It’s not there. I told you, I don’t have it.”

He let out a strangled scream and clutched his face with both hands, pacing in a circle before storming toward the nearest guard.

“I left something in the arena,” he said breathlessly. “I need to go get it. Just give me two minutes, okay?”

The guard stepped in front of him, silent and unmoving.

“I need it,” he said again, trying to push past — only to be shoved back with a hard arm. “Please, please, come on! I can’t do anything without it!”

The guard didn’t respond. Another stepped in, lifting his rifle.

Nam-gyu lunged — and got slammed to the ground for it. The barrel of a rifle hovered inches from his face, the red triangle mask above it unflinching.

Y/N shifted forward on the bed, trying to stand. “No—!”

But then a sound cut through the tension like a blade.

A baby’s cry.

Everyone turned.

Two women stepped into the dormitory — Player 222, limping heavily, her face pale with exhaustion, and Player 149 behind her, cradling something in her arms. A newborn, wrapped tightly in 222’s jacket. The crying grew louder, high-pitched and frantic.

Gasps echoed throughout the room.

Even Nam-gyu froze, his chest heaving, as he looked at the infant.

Y/N’s eyes widened. 

The guards turned, momentarily distracted by the impossible.

The Games had rules. Harsh, bloody rules.

But now… there was a baby in the dormitory.

And nobody knew what the hell to do next.

The baby’s cries echoed like a siren through the dormitory. For a moment, it swallowed everything — the tension, the fear, the blood in the air. All the players stood frozen in some mix of awe and horror, staring at something they’d all forgotten existed: life.

But the silence didn’t last.

Nam-gyu stormed back toward her, the fury barely restrained in his tight fists and twitching jaw. He didn’t look at the baby. Didn’t care. Not right now. His hands ran through his hair as he muttered curses under his breath, pacing in a crooked line until he finally dropped beside her bed like something in him snapped loose.

“I can’t do this,” he rasped, gripping the edge of the mattress so tightly his knuckles turned bone-white. “I can’t fucking do this without it. I’m gonna lose it. I am losing it.”

Y/N watched him carefully, chest still rising and falling with effort. She could see the tremors in his hands now — subtle at first, but building. His eyes were red, but not from the drugs this time. From whatever came after.

Withdrawal.

“You’re okay,” she said softly, gently. “You’ve gone a few hours without it before, right? You just need to breathe—”

“Don’t tell me to breathe,” he snapped, turning toward her, his eyes wild. “You don’t get it, Y/N. My chest is fucking tight. My head’s pounding. My skin itches. Everything hurts and it’s only been—” he looked up at the large monitor as if time mattered, then gave up and slammed his fist down on the bunk. “I need it!”

She flinched at the noise, hand tightening over the makeshift wrap around her palm.

“Nam-gyu,” she said calmly, keeping her tone even, “look at me.”

He didn’t.

So she reached out — shakily, painfully — and rested her bloodied hand on his knee. He finally looked.

His face cracked then. Just slightly. Like something behind his usual smirk and snarl had started to rot away.

“You’re here,” she whispered. “You made it through the game. You saved me. You’re here. But if you lose control now, if you make a scene, they’ll kill you. And I’m not gonna survive in here without you.”

His eyes burned into hers. She could see how fast his mind was moving, how everything was crashing in at once — rage, fear, need. He leaned forward suddenly, forehead pressing against her shoulder as his whole body trembled.

“I should’ve killed that little shit,” he growled into her collarbone. “Min-su. I should’ve fucking killed him. After what he did to you—”

Her hand came up slowly, settling on the back of his head.

“I don’t want him dead,” she said. “Not by your hand. That won’t help me. It won’t help you.”

“He almost killed you. He slammed a door on your ankle. Stabbed your fucking hand, Y/N. Do you understand how close I was to losing you?”

“I do,” she whispered. “But I’m still here.”

He pulled back, looking at her — breathing heavy, eyes glassy.

“You’re the only thing keeping me from ripping someone’s throat out right now,” he said, voice rough. “You know that?”

“Then let me keep you steady,” she said.

His hand found hers — the uninjured one — gripping it tightly.

She leaned her forehead against his.

And for a moment, just one, the rest of the dormitory faded.

Min-su.

The guards.

The baby.

The games.

None of it mattered more than this.

Than the fragile line they walked between violence and something dangerously close to love.

. . .

The lights overhead flickered to life in a slow pulse, casting a sterile glow across the dormitory. The heavy footsteps of guards marched in a steady rhythm, lining up like shadows across the walls. Most of what was said was zoned out but she could read the board: Twenty-six players remain. Current prize total: 43.1 billion won. Each remaining player’s share: 1.724 billion won.

Nam-gyu was curled beside her on the narrow bed, drenched in sweat. His face was pale, lips cracked, body trembling like a fraying wire pulled too tight. His head rested low on her stomach, his fingers tangled lightly in the hem of her shirt — not possessive like many times before, just…grounding. Desperate.

Like being close to her could mimic the drug that was no longer in his system.

“Breathe,” she whispered softly, stroking a hand through his damp hair. “Just breathe through it. You’re almost through the worst.”

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t move away either. His breathing came in shallow, ragged waves.

Then the guard called his number.

“Player 124.“

Nam-gyu flinched. He let out a quiet, choked breath before slowly rising. He wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist and turned to her, the wildness in his eyes dulled now — not gone, just buried under the fog of pain.

“I’ll help you,” he said quietly, his voice hoarse.

He draped her arm around his shoulder again, careful of her injured hand. Together they hobbled forward, every step slow and heavy. He stopped in front of the voting booth, steadying her with one arm before he let go. She nodded, signaling she could stand on her own.

For the first time since entering the games, Nam-gyu looked up.

He stared at the glowing board, the two buttons in front of him. A red X. A blue O.

For so long, the choice had been easy. Win. Kill. Survive. But now — with the drugs gone and her blood still staining his clothes — everything felt quieter.

He pressed the red X.

The vote to leave.

Then, with a quiet exhale, he reached for the edge of his jacket and peeled off the old blue O patch he’d worn since the very first game.

And picked up a fresh red X.

Not the hunter.

Not the hunted.

Just… a player.

He stepped aside, and Y/N limped forward.

She didn’t need to look at the buttons for long. Her eyes lingered on Nam-gyu, on the way his shoulders sagged now, like the weight of survival had finally settled into his bones.

Then she pressed X.

They had played long enough.

They had bled long enough.

And now… they both wanted out.

The final vote lit up across the screen, each red and blue light clicking into place like the teeth of a lock snapping shut.

16 for O. 9 for X.

No one cheered. No one moved.

It was a quiet kind of devastation — the kind that sat in the pit of your stomach and stayed. The kind that made your hands feel heavy, like they belonged to someone else. The kind that told you: you’d die here.

Greed had won. 

Again.

Nam-gyu stared at the ground, unmoving, jaw clenched so tightly it made his temples twitch. His hand flexed at his side like he was searching for something that wasn’t there — the necklace, the pills, a reason to keep pretending he was in control.

Y/N didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. The silence between them said enough.

He finally turned to her, offering his arm again.

She took it without hesitation.

Together, they made their way back to the bunk, one slow step at a time. His hand stayed firm around her waist, and her arm gripped his shoulder for balance. Their bodies leaned into one another like two broken structures barely holding each other up.

As they reached their corner, Nam-gyu helped her sit back on the lower bunk. He crouched in front of her, head bowed, hands on his knees.

His voice was quiet. “I really thought we’d be out…this….it might’ve been different.”

Her fingers brushed the edge of his jaw, coaxing his face up to meet hers. “So did I.”

His eyes flicked to hers, then away. “We’ll have to survive one more.”

She nodded, though it hurt. “One at a time.”

Nam-gyu settled beside her, his back against the cold wall. The tremors in his hands had started to come back, but he didn’t mention it. He didn’t need to. She laced her fingers — the ones that still worked — through his, anchoring him.

And for the moment, that was enough.

Not hope. Not yet.

But something close enough to hold onto.

. . . 

Y/N couldn’t remember sleeping.

Not really.

Her body begged for rest — ached for it, screamed in every nerve and muscle for just one uninterrupted hour. But her mind wouldn’t let her.

Instead, she sat upright in the bunk all night, back pressed against the cold metal wall, Nam-gyu curled beside her, drenched in sweat and trembling from the inside out. Withdrawal gripped him like a sickness, stealing away all the sharpness and swagger he usually wore like armor. He groaned softly in his sleep, his face twitching, muscles jerking every so often as if his body was fighting phantoms she couldn’t see.

And still, she stayed up for him.

If someone had told her a week ago that she’d be watching over Nam-gyu, of all people—him—through the night like he was something fragile, she would’ve laughed in their face.

But this wasn’t the man who used to grin at her with blood on his hands and pills on his breath. This wasn’t the same cocky, chaotic, sex-obsessed drug addict who prowled the dorm like a wolf in a red vest.

This was just Nam-gyu now. Weak. Hurting. Human.

And even as the withdrawals tore through him, he’d still helped her — saved her when Min-su nearly killed her. Became her crutch when her ankle couldn’t hold her weight. He didn’t abandon her. Not once.

So she stayed.

Every so often, she’d wake him up gently, enough to press a water bottle to his cracked lips and whisper, ‘Drink.’ He’d groan, blink blearily, obey, and then fall back into the pit again.

Time blurred after that.

She didn’t remember when the lights flicked on or when the guards came in to count heads. She didn’t remember when the piggy bank buzzed to life again or when someone screamed in the far corner over something they saw.

It was only when they passed the second row of bunks — her injured leg dragging beside her — that she saw it.

Player 149.

The old woman who had come in with her son. She barely knew her, had only shared a few glances in passing. But the image seared itself into Y/N’s mind with perfect clarity.

The woman hung silently from a twisted bedsheet, eyes closed. Her face was pale and peaceful in a way that made it worse.

She hadn’t made it to the next game.

Her son died in the fourth one. And without him, she’d quietly folded herself into the sheets and let go.

Y/N didn’t realize she was crying until she blinked and felt the damp warmth on her cheeks. She didn’t sob. Didn’t break down. Just stood there, held up by Nam-gyu, eyes red and throat tight as the guards came in and gently cut the sheet.

They didn’t speak. Just placed her in the black coffin. A pink bow on top. Like it meant something.

Y/N watched until the box disappeared from the dorm.

And then her body moved forward again, barely feeling the steps under her feet.

It wasn’t until they reached the last flight of stairs that she heard him — Nam-gyu’s voice, quiet and rough beside her.

“Almost there, baby,” he said, his arm firm around her waist. “Last step.”

She nodded, barely able to return the pressure of her grip on him.

Her head was swimming, her hand still throbbed beneath the jacket wrap, her ankle ached with every inch forward. But with his help, she climbed the last stair.

They walked through the tall green doors into the next room.

The next game.

And whatever horror waited for them inside.

The arena for the fifth game was eerily quiet.

It resembled a child’s toy set built on the edge of a nightmare.

High above a cavernous drop, a narrow bridge stretched between two round platforms, suspended in the void like a fragile thread. The bridge itself was a rickety construction of wooden planks and rusted steel beams, just wide enough for one person at a time. Beneath it, there was nothing but a black pit that seemed to go on forever, the kind of darkness that made your stomach drop just looking at it.

At one end of the bridge stood a towering doll — a girl in a faded red dress, frozen in mid-motion. Her molded plastic hands gripped a thick rope that stretched across the full length of the bridge. Opposite her, at the far end, another oversized doll stood still — a boy dressed in a green-striped shirt and tan shorts, unmoving, blank-eyed.

The rope hung suspended between them, motionless for now — like a loaded weapon that hadn’t fired yet.

Everything was still.

Unnervingly still.

And then, from the ceiling speakers, that cold, detached voice rang out: “Welcome to the fifth game. The game you will be playing is Jump Rope. You must cross the bridge as you jump over the rotating rope and get to the other side within 20 minutes. You may decide on the order amongst yourselves. Now, let the game begin.”

And just like that, the countdown began.

A loud mechanical beep echoed across the chamber as a twenty-minute timer illuminated on the far left wall, numbers glowing red and merciless.

At the same time, the jump rope began to move.

At first, it was slow — a gentle sway, harmless. But then it dipped lower, gathering speed as it arced across the bridge. Whoosh. It sliced through the air, skimming just above the wooden planks with frightening precision before lifting again, then crashing down a second time.

Y/N stared at the bridge, eyes trailing the rope’s path.

Then she looked down at her ankle.

Swollen. Purple. Barely able to bear her weight. Jumping was laughable. She could barely stand.

This was it.

Her arm slipped from around Nam-gyu’s shoulder as she leaned back against the cold painted wall, one hand pressed over her chest, trying to slow the galloping pace of her heart.

Nam-gyu watched her from the corner of his eye, chest rising and falling too quickly. Then he looked toward the edge of the bridge — the abyss below. That endless drop, hungry and black.

He swallowed hard, eyes fluttering shut. He couldn’t carry her. Not now. Not like this. If he had the pills—the energy, the edge— maybe. But now?

He was terrified.

Terrified of dying.

More terrified of watching her die first.

He slowly sank to the floor beside her, legs folding beneath him as if gravity had become too much.

Then came the sound of footsteps.

Min-su.

He stopped in front of Nam-gyu, gaze unreadable. “Are you feeling okay?”

Nam-gyu didn’t even look up. He reached out and shoved his arm away with a weak snap of the wrist. “Piss off. Piss off, you fucking loser,” he muttered, his voice dry and barely above a whisper.

Min-su didn’t react. Not to the insult. Not to the trembling.

Instead, he reached into the front of his jacket… and pulled out the small, metallic cross.

Nam-gyu’s eyes widened instantly, breath catching in his throat.

The necklace dangled between Min-su’s fingers like bait. “Is it because of this?” Min-su asked, voice calm. Almost detached.

Nam-gyu scrambled, reaching for it — but Min-su yanked it back. He kept trying.

Min-su stood taller, lifting the chain above the edge of the pit behind him. The cross swung dangerously over the void.

“Fuck off!” Min-su barked. “Piss me off, and I’ll throw it.”

Nam-gyu screamed in frustration before covering his face and then slowly…he shifted to his knees. “Look, Min-su,” he breathed. “Min-su…” His voice cracked. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. For everything. I’m sorry.” He clasped his hands together, knuckles white. “I can’t do this without it. Please.”

Min-su’s jaw flexed. His grip on the cross tightened as Nam-gyu continued to plead.

Y/N watched from the wall, her heart breaking and her throat tightening all at once.

This was Nam-gyu.

Begging.

Not raging. Not laughing. Not manipulating.

Begging.

Not for himself.

But for both of them.

Min-su didn’t answer right away.

He just turned. Calmly. Quietly.

He walked to the edge of the platform where the bridge began, his steps echoing softly in the deathly stillness. Nam-gyu shot up from the floor with a jolt, staggering after him, desperation in every breath.

But it was too late.

Min-su tossed the necklace.

The small silver cross flew through the air and landed almost exact in the center of the bridge with a soft metallic clink.

Min-su turned to face him, expression hollow. “If you want it…” he pointed. “Go get it.”

Something in Nam-gyu’s chest snapped.

He grabbed the front of his own jacket like he was about to lunge, fury flooding his face — but Min-su shoved him back hard with both hands. “What’s the fucking matter, huh?” he barked, stepping forward. “You scared? You fucking loser.”

Nam-gyu just stood there, breathing hard.

He looked at the cross, lying so far away — yet so close.

He looked back at Y/N, who hadn’t moved from the wall. Her body was still, but her eyes were wide with dread.

His rage dimmed. His shoulders fell.

He closed his eyes and sighed. Then he turned and walked back toward her, crouching down in front of her.

“I’ll be back,” he said quietly.

Y/N shook her head. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m just gonna grab it,” he said like it was simple. “Turn around. Jump back with it. Take one. Then I’ll carry you across that bridge.”

“Nam-gyu, please—”

“I’ll feel invincible. Like… like Superman or some shit.” His eyes were distant now, glimmering with both fear and resolve. “We cross that bridge, and we’re one step from getting out.”

She blinked at him, fighting the scream rising in her throat. “Nam-gyu, no offense, but that plan is fucking stupid. Don’t risk yourself. Don’t—”

“I need to,” he said softly, cutting her off. “For both of us.”

And then — before she could stop him — he leaned down and kissed her.

It was soft.

Gentle.

Real.

His lips lingered just long enough to say everything he never had — and maybe never would again. He’d never kissed her before. Not even during all the bathroom hookups and dorm shadowy stolen moments. Kissing was too vulnerable, too intimate. It meant feeling something.

But now, it was all he had left.

When he pulled away, her eyes were glassy, wide.

It didn’t feel like I’ll be right back.

It felt like goodbye.

“Please don’t do this…” she whispered, her voice already breaking. “Please…”

Nam-gyu didn’t answer.

He just looked at her one last time.

And then he turned… and stepped toward the bridge.

Nam-gyu ran a shaky hand through his hair, jaw clenched tight, heart slamming against his ribs like it was trying to claw its way out. He stood at the edge of the platform, eyes fixed on the bridge — on the silent, mocking glint of the cross lying dead-center and tried to time it.

The rope lifted overhead, its path smooth and cruel.

He took a breath and jumped.

His feet hit the wooden slats with a thud, but the impact forced him into a crouch, hands splayed on the floor, breath caught.

The rope came again.

He jumped. Just in time.

Landed on his hands and the the tips of his toes. Crawled. Moved forward, fast but careful.

Another pass. Another leap.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t clean.

But it worked.

From the platform, Y/N stood frozen, her eyes locked on him, body trembling with every beat of the rope. Every time it sliced downward, she flinched, her hand going to her chest, her mouth silently forming his name.

She couldn’t breathe.

He was getting closer.

One jump.

Two.

And then—he reached it.

The cross.

Nam-gyu snatched it off the bridge in a fumbling grip, his fingers slipping as he tried to flip it open with one hand and prepare to jump again. The rope came closer, the wind from its swing whispering against his back.

He managed to open it mid-motion, the tiny hinges squeaking—

And froze.

It was empty.

His heart plummeted.

No pills.

No relief.

No escape.

He wasn’t going to save himself. 

And he wasn’t going to save her. 

He stood there, blinking, barely hearing anything, barely seeing until he looked up over his shoulder, eyes seeking her.

Y/N was already watching him.

Their eyes met.

Hers filled with fear. Then with tears.

Her lips moved — a scream:

“Jump!”

But he didn’t hear it.

Not really.

Because time slowed down, and suddenly the rope was there again.

This time, he didn’t jump.

The rope slammed against his ankles with brutal force, ripping his feet out from under him. His body hit the planks hard. He rolled — once, before crashing against the edge of the bridge—

And then he was gone.

Y/N let out a strangled gasp and slapped both hands over her ears just in time to muffle the sound of his scream as it echoed down into the void—

And ended.

"Player 124, eliminated."

Just like that.

Nam-gyu was gone.

And Y/N… was alone again.

Y/N didn’t realize she was crying until her hands came up to cover her face and came away wet.

The sobs came softly at first — a trembling inhale, a cracked exhale — until the grief took over. Her shoulders shook as she curled in on herself near the wall, muffling her cries in her palms.

She was crying over Nam-gyu.

The same asshole who came on too strong the very first day they met. Who flirted shamelessly and loudly, then had the audacity to say a woman didn’t belong in their group. The same guy who persuaded her into sleeping with him by the second day. Who made her his second go-to escape (next to the drugs), his little secret in bathroom stalls and shadowed corners. And who, through all of it, never kissed her — because kissing, he once said, was ‘too intimate. Beyond what I want from you.’

The same guy who told her to her face he only liked her for the sex.

Who had stared at her before the fourth game and basically said, “If I find you first, I’ll kill you.”

She wanted to focus on that. She tried to.

She tried to cling to all the ways he hurt her, used her, reduced her to nothing more than a warm body and a distraction. If she could hold onto that version of him — cruel, selfish, impossible — maybe losing him wouldn’t feel like being carved open from the inside.

But her mind betrayed her.

Because it remembered other things, too.

It remembered him — the Nam-gyu who didn’t hesitate to pull her into a room during the last round in the third game. Who threw himself at Min-su in a blind rage when she was nearly stabbed to death. Who carried her when she couldn’t walk and stayed beside her through her worst night, even as he shook with withdrawal and trembled from the lack of his pills. He had no strength left — and he gave what little remained to her.

And today, he’d died trying to get something that would help both of them survive. He’d kissed her for the first time, real and unfiltered, then leapt into hell for a pill that wasn’t there.

Nam-gyu didn’t die a hero.

He died violent, and young, and desperate — just like people always said he would. Like Thanos. Like Gyeong-su. Like all the other doomed men she’d once stood beside.

No one on the outside would mourn a dead ex-club promoter and junkie.

But she would.

Because despite everything he was—violent, impulsive, cruel—he tried to be something better in the end. Even if just for her.

He died gallant.

Or at least…trying to be.

Y/N wept for him, silently and endlessly. Not because she loved him, not exactly. Their relationship had never been anything close to stable. She didn’t know what to call it. But she had cared for him.

And now he was gone.

Just another number. Another name that would vanish into the folds of the Game.

But to her, he wasn’t just another player.

He was Nam-gyu.

And she couldn’t stop crying.

Min-su stood a few feet away, silent.

Then he took a hesitant step forward. “Y/N…” he said quietly.

She slowly lifted her head, her cheeks wet, eyes rimmed with red, lips trembling as her breath hitched between sobs. She didn’t bother wiping the tears this time. She just looked at him — broken, hollowed, raw.

Min-su shifted awkwardly, his gaze flicking to her ankle — the ankle he’d crushed — and then back to her face. His voice cracked as he spoke again.

“We should try and cross the bridge… together. I can help you.”

She blinked at him like he’d slapped her. “You want to help me,” she said, voice hoarse, “after you tried to kill me in the last game?”

His face faltered. “I’m sorry about that, okay? I was high, I didn’t know—”

“I have done nothing but try to be kind to you,” she snapped, her words shaking now. “I was the one trying to get Nam-gyu off your back. I stood up for you. I tried to keep you safe.” More tears streamed down her face. Quiet this time. Steady. “And you still tried to kill me,” she whispered.

Min-su opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

She shook her head, bitterly. “I knew you had his pills. I knew what would happen if Nam-gyu found out. He would’ve gutted you.” Her voice cracked again. “I didn’t say a word.”

Min-su sniffled, guilt breaking through his eyes. “Y/N… I’m trying to fix this. Please.”

“You can’t fix it,” she whispered. “You should’ve just killed me in the last game. Maybe Nam-gyu wouldn’t have died trying to carry both of us.” She looked up fully then, voice like glass. Cutting. “Gyeong-su died because Thanos picked you to live. Thanos died because you couldn’t take responsibility for your choices. You started that fight — you ran, and he paid for it.”

Min-su’s face crumbled, but she didn’t stop.

“Se-mi died because you hid. Because you didn’t defend her. She probably screamed for help and you hid.” Her voice broke again. “Nam-gyu is dead because you were trying to avenge a dead girl you turned your back on, just hours before, like she meant nothing to you.”

She wiped her tears with the sleeve of her jacket, breath trembling.

“You got me killed, too. You broke my ankle. Left me to die.” She pointed to it — bruised, swollen, taped with a strip of her own jacket. “All of them. Gyeong-su. Thanos. Se-mi. Nam-gyu. Me. You killed us all,” she said softly, looking away, her voice no longer angry — just hollow.

Min-su exhaled shakily, eyes glistening. She saw him fight the urge to cry, his chest heaving slightly like he couldn’t breathe.

Then he reached into his pocket.

He pulled out the final pill.

No words.

He popped it into his mouth, swallowed dry, and walked toward the front of the group.

He didn’t look back at her.

He simply got in line — behind a trembling player — and waited for his turn to jump.

Y/N sat slumped against the cold wall, her injured leg stretched in front of her, arms limp at her sides.

One by one, the remaining players jumped.

Some screamed. Some didn’t. Some made it across with barely a second to spare. Others plummeted — swallowed by the pit in an instant, their stories ending midair.

And she just watched.

Her tears had dried. Her eyes stung, but she didn’t blink much anymore. Her breath came shallow, like her lungs had given up on trying to fill all the way. Her body was heavy. Her heart heavier.

The clock ticked mercilessly on the far wall.

Then — movement.

Player 222.

The young woman who once clutched her pregnant belly, now limping forward with a ghost-like calm.

Y/N’s gaze locked on her, confusion slowly setting in… until she noticed the way the girl walked. The same stiffness. The same quiet pain in every step.

Her ankle was broken too.

They were the same.

Two injured women. Two wrecked bodies. No way forward. No real chance.

On the far end of the bridge, 456 reached out toward her, panic etched in his face as he nearly attempted to cross the bridge again. But 222 only stopped him and spoke through the tears, voice raised as she begged him to take care of her baby. To make it worth something. To make her mean something.

And then she stepped forward.

No hesitation.

One broken step.

And she was gone.

Y/N flinched as she vanished. Just like that.

She looked at the timer.

Eleven seconds.

This was it.

No fanfare. No final words. No big, bloody send-off.

Just time.

Running out.

She placed one hand on the wall behind her and forced herself upright. Her leg screamed in protest. Her balance wavered. She took one breath, then hobbled toward the edge of the platform — to the very spot where Nam-gyu had stood, where Min-su had mocked him.

She could still feel him there, the echo of that moment scorched into the floor.

She stood there.

Unmoving.

Her eyes flicked up to the nearest guard, whose rifle was already raised, aimed at her head like a countdown of its own.

She looked between the gun and the pit below.

Which one would hurt less?

The platform across the gap was already emptying, players led away.

She turned her head slightly—just in time to see the broken girl fall.

And then… the beep.

“The game is over.”

The announcement rang hollow.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t open her eyes.

Then—

She felt it.

The cold barrel pressed gently to her forehead.

She didn’t cry. Didn’t beg. Didn’t flinch. 

She just…waited.

One breath.

Two.

A final whisper of Nam-gyu’s name in her head.

Then—

BANG.

Darkness.

"Player 123, eliminated."

[amethystarachnid]

no bc why would a loki friends to lovers be so good?? 😭 ✋✋✋

can i request loki trope best friends to lovers with female avenger!reader from love is in the air? i have a whole plot and i am so sorry in advance so here we go:

reader is lokis best friend and they became friends bc she was the only avenger who was nice to him when he first came to the compound and they got really close. he still gets bad nightmares and when he does, he goes to readers room and she just accepts him and holds him while he cries until the nightmares are over!! (she’s so book boyfriend coded i literally can’t) and then this happens a lot but is only mentioned like a few times in the story (i really hope you understand this im so sorry my thoughts are literally all over the place) and then one night he goes to her room again bc of another nightmare and she comforts him and they fall asleep and he doesn’t have any nightmares while sleeping and then in the morning when they wake up (tangled in each others limbs) he goes ‘i love you’ and she smiles and goes i know and then he goes like ‘no, i LOVE you’ and she smiles more and whispers ‘i know’ and then kisses him!!!

thank you for making this new game and always specifying the as much detail as we want part i love u and ur writing soso much and you are so amazing and im so sorry for making you read this super long request

— anon 🌷

NIGHTMARES

⤷ LOKY LAUFEYSON

ᯓ★ Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, some angst and some fluff

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 4.3k

ᯓ★ Summary: just what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing I think, just some angst

ᯓ★ Love is in the air - Valentine's Day special game

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

Loki has no choice but to be here.

It is a punishment, though not the kind he expected. No dungeons, no chains—just the ever-present weight of Midgardian hospitality, which is its own sort of prison. After Asgard’s fall and the madness that followed, Thor petitioned to bring Loki to the Avengers Compound rather than leave him to whatever grim fate awaited him elsewhere. It was a mercy, Thor claimed. Loki knew better. It was just another way to keep him under watch, to keep him leashed. So he plays along, lets them believe he is something tame and manageable, even if the mere presence of this place makes his skin crawl.

The others do not trust him. That much is expected. Even if Loki had miraculously decided to change his ways, there is too much blood between them all. Stark especially watches him like a vulture, always ready with some barbed comment, some clever little jab to remind Loki that he is not welcome. Rogers is quieter about his disdain, ever the noble soldier, but he does not mask it well. Romanoff does not bother with pretense—she does not speak to him at all. Barton is much the same, still nursing whatever wounds Loki left behind in New York. Maximoff has her own reasons to hate him. Strange treats him as one might treat an unpredictable wild animal, barely interested beyond the occasional veiled threat.

Thor is the only one who does not look at Loki like an enemy, though his efforts to bridge the gap between them are clumsy at best. Loki does not want his brother’s pity. He does not want to be here at all.

And yet, somehow, against all odds, you happen.

You are the only one who speaks to Loki without venom in your voice, the only one who does not look at him like a problem that needs solving. From the very beginning, you offer him kindness. Not the strained, obligatory sort Thor extends, nor the artificial niceties of someone waiting for him to slip up. You are simply… kind. It baffles him. It frustrates him. It keeps him awake at night, replaying your words and gestures in his mind, trying to decipher your angle.

He tests you at first. He is cruel, the way he has always been, sharp-tongued and dismissive. He tries to chase you away, because he cannot fathom why you would want to be close to him. But you stay. You take his barbs with an infuriating sort of patience, countering his wit with your own, refusing to let him push you into the shadows. And slowly, against his better judgment, he stops trying to push at all.

Loki does not know when exactly things change. One moment, you are just another foolish Midgardian trying to play nice with the villain, and the next, you are something else entirely. A constant. A presence that lingers in his mind even when you are not there. He finds himself seeking you out, watching for you when he enters a room. He makes excuses to be where you are, though he is certain you see through them all.

You are different from the others. Perhaps that is why he lets you in. Perhaps that is why, when you tease him, he does not feel the usual bite of mockery. When you speak to him, he listens. When you laugh, he does not wish for silence.

It is strange, this… whatever this is between you. He does not know what to call it.

There is a night, early on, when he realizes how much he enjoys your presence. The others are away on some mission, leaving the compound oddly silent. You do not know he is there when you slip into the common room, curled up in the corner with a book, lost in the pages. Loki watches you for longer than he should before making himself known. You do not startle when he speaks, do not tense like the others do when they notice him lurking. You simply glance up, meet his gaze, and smile.

It is a small thing. A meaningless thing. And yet, Loki feels it somewhere deep in his chest, in a place he thought long since turned to stone.

From then on, things are… different. You and Loki fall into an easy rhythm, one that does not require explanation. You are his friend, though he still struggles with the weight of that word. It is unfamiliar on his tongue, but there is no other way to describe what you are to him. You speak to him as though he is not a monster. You listen when he speaks, even when his words turn bitter. You do not pity him, nor do you fear him. It is a delicate balance, and yet, you hold it effortlessly.

The others notice, of course. Stark makes his comments, forever incredulous that you would willingly spend your time with Loki. The others exchange looks when they see you together, silently wondering what exactly has formed between you. Even Thor is perplexed by it, though he does not question it aloud.

Loki does not care what they think.

For the first time in what feels like centuries, he is not entirely alone.

---

The first time it happens, Loki does not intend for it to happen at all.

It is late—long past the hour when even the restless find sleep. The compound is silent, steeped in the kind of darkness that makes everything feel heavier, more oppressive. He should be resting. He knows this. And yet, as he lies in the too-soft Midgardian bed, the sheets tangled around his restless limbs, Loki cannot shake the remnants of his nightmare.

It is not the first time he has suffered such things. They have plagued him for years, twisting his thoughts into cruel shapes, dragging him into memories he cannot escape. Usually, he endures them alone, swallowing down the horror, letting it fester in silence. But tonight is different. Tonight, the weight of it is unbearable.

He sits up, dragging a hand down his face, breath still unsteady. The dream clings to him like a second skin. He can feel it—thick, choking, inescapable. His own screams still echo in his mind, a cruel reminder of how easily he unravels when left alone with his thoughts.

He needs to breathe.

Loki forces himself out of bed, out of his room, into the dimly lit hall. He does not know where he is going at first. He does not think at all. His body moves on instinct, his feet carrying him forward before his mind catches up.

And then he is standing in front of your door.

The realization strikes him like a blow. He should not be here. He has no reason to be here. And yet, something in him will not allow him to turn away.

He hesitates, jaw tight, fingers curling into fists. He should leave. The last thing he wants is for you to see him like this—weak, vulnerable, broken. You have only ever known the pieces of him that he allows you to see, the sharp wit, the clever smirk, the mask that keeps the world at bay. This… this is something else entirely.

And yet, before he can stop himself, he lifts his hand and knocks.

It is soft, barely audible, but in the silence of the compound, it may as well be a thunderclap. His heart pounds against his ribs, and he almost turns to flee before the sound of movement reaches his ears.

A moment later, the door opens.

You stand before him, bleary-eyed and wrapped in a blanket, confusion written across your features.

"Loki?" Your voice is thick with sleep, but there is no irritation in it, no impatience. Just quiet concern.

He does not know what to say. He does not even know why he is here, why he has come to you instead of locking himself away like he always does. The words catch in his throat, his pride warring with his need for something—anything—to ground him.

But you look at him, really look at him, and something in your expression shifts.

You step aside without a word, leaving the doorway open in silent invitation.

For a long moment, Loki simply stands there, waging a battle within himself. He should not do this. He should not need this.

But the alternative is far worse.

So, with slow, reluctant steps, he moves inside.

You close the door behind him, and the quiet settles between you, not awkward, but heavy with something unspoken. You do not ask why he is here. You do not press him for an explanation. Instead, you gesture toward your bed, a silent offer, as if you have already decided what he needs before he can admit it himself.

He swallows, shame burning in his chest, but he cannot bring himself to refuse.

Without a word, he lowers himself onto the edge of the bed. His hands tremble slightly as he presses them against his knees, his entire body taut with tension. He feels exposed, raw in a way that terrifies him.

And then you sit beside him, so close he can feel your warmth.

Still, you do not push. You wait.

It is this—your patience, your quiet understanding—that breaks something in him.

He exhales sharply, his composure fracturing at the edges. His shoulders shake before he can stop them, and then, before he even knows what is happening, his hands are gripping the fabric of his own sleeves so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

You move before he can react, before he can even think to stop you. Your arms come around him, careful but certain, pulling him into your embrace.

Loki stiffens at first, instinct screaming at him to pull away. He is not used to this—to being held. He does not know how to accept comfort, how to take something so freely given.

But you do not let go. You do not waver. You simply hold him, warm and steady, as if this is the most natural thing in the world.

And Loki breaks.

A shuddering breath escapes him, and then another. His body sags against yours before he can stop it, his forehead pressing into your shoulder, his fingers clutching at the fabric of your shirt like a lifeline. The dam bursts, and before he can stop it, he is trembling, shaking, silent sobs wracking his frame.

You say nothing. You do not tell him it is okay, do not offer empty reassurances. You simply hold him through it, your hands moving gently along his back, your touch grounding him in a way that nothing else ever has.

Time loses meaning. He does not know how long he stays like this, pressed against you, his breath uneven, his body betraying him. But you never pull away. You never make him feel as if he is too much.

When the storm finally begins to pass, when his breathing evens and the tremors fade, he feels exhaustion settle deep in his bones. He should move. He should leave before he humiliates himself further.

But then you shift, adjusting your grip so that you are holding him more fully, your chin resting gently atop his head.

"Stay," you murmur, the word barely above a whisper.

He does not fight it.

For the first time in his life, Loki allows himself to be held.

That night, he sleeps.

And then, somehow, it becomes normal.

It does not happen every night, but often enough that neither of you question it anymore. When the nightmares come, when the weight of his past becomes unbearable, Loki finds himself at your door.

And every time, without fail, you let him in.

The shame he once felt begins to fade, replaced by something he does not have the words for. You do not judge him for his weakness. You do not make him feel like a burden. You simply accept him, in all his fractured, broken pieces, without hesitation.

It is terrifying.

It is the most comfort he has ever known.

And Loki does not know what to do with that.

---

Loki does not know when it begins. Perhaps it has always been there, buried beneath layers of denial and self-preservation, something too delicate to acknowledge, too dangerous to name. But slowly, steadily, it grows.

He notices it in the quiet moments, in the spaces between words.

It is in the way he seeks you out without realizing it, the way his day does not feel quite right until he has spoken to you. It is in the way his chest tightens when you laugh, in the way his mind lingers on your voice long after you have left the room.

It is in the nights spent wrapped in your arms, when the nightmares become too much.

At first, those nights were a necessity, a last resort when his own mind betrayed him. But now, they are something else entirely. The shame that once clung to him has faded, replaced by something far more dangerous. He no longer fights the pull toward you—he welcomes it. He does not know when it became so natural to find solace in your presence, to lean into your warmth without hesitation.

But it is not just about the nightmares anymore.

It is the way he lingers when he does not need to. The way his fingers brush against yours in passing, the way he memorizes every shift in your expression, the way your touch lingers on his skin long after you have pulled away. It is the way his heart pounds in his chest at the smallest of gestures, the way your absence leaves an ache that he cannot name.

And then, one night, it happens.

It is late, but Loki is not in his room. He is in yours, as he has been countless times before. The routine is familiar—he wakes from a nightmare, the echoes of it still clinging to his skin, and without thinking, his feet carry him to you.

You let him in, as you always do.

Tonight, the weight of it is heavier than usual. The nightmare lingers in his mind, curling around his thoughts like smoke. He does not speak of it, and you do not ask. You simply pull him into your arms, letting him bury himself against you, his breath uneven against your collarbone.

For a long time, neither of you move. The silence is comforting, your fingers tracing gentle patterns along his back, grounding him.

And then, in the stillness, something shifts.

You sigh softly, a sleepy, content sound, your arms tightening around him just slightly before relaxing again. It is the simplest thing—an unconscious movement, a meaningless moment.

But it unravels him.

The realization hits Loki with the force of a thousand suns. It is sudden and absolute, as if it has been waiting for this exact moment to make itself known.

He loves you.

It is not friendship, not even close. It never has been.

His love for you is deep and consuming, something that lives in his very bones. It is in the way he looks at you when you are not watching, the way your presence soothes him in a way nothing else ever has. It is in the way he would burn the world to the ground if it meant keeping you safe.

The realization is terrifying.

Loki does not move. He does not breathe. He simply lies there, pressed against you, as the weight of it crushes him.

This should not have happened. He should not have allowed it.

Love is a weakness. It is a thing to be used, to be twisted and turned against him. He has seen it happen too many times before. He has felt the sting of rejection, the sharp bite of betrayal. He knows better than to hope.

And yet, it is too late.

Loki swallows hard, willing the ache in his chest to subside. He cannot tell you. He will not. You are his closest friend, the only person who has ever truly seen him, the only one who has never turned him away. If he speaks this truth aloud, he risks losing that.

And that is something he cannot bear.

So he does what he has always done—he buries it.

He forces himself to breathe, forces himself to relax against you, as if nothing has changed. Because for you, nothing has.

You do not know. You cannot know.

And Loki will make sure it stays that way.

From that night on, everything feels different.

He pretends it does not. He is careful, measured. He acts as he always has, keeps his words and actions the same. He does not allow himself to linger too long, does not let his touch betray him.

But inside, he is unraveling.

It is a constant war, a battle he fights every second he is near you. He is hyperaware of every glance, every touch, every breath. He cannot stop looking at your lips when you speak, cannot ignore the way his heart clenches when you smile.

And the worst part? You do not even notice.

You treat him the same as always, utterly unaware of the storm raging inside him. You laugh with him, tease him, pull him into your arms on those quiet nights, completely oblivious to the fact that every moment is torture.

Because he wants.

Gods, how he wants.

There are nights when he stands outside your door, debating whether or not he should knock. Not because of the nightmares—those still come, but they are no longer the only reason he seeks you out. He knocks because he aches for your presence, because the thought of being alone feels unbearable.

And every time, without fail, you let him in.

You do not question it. You do not ask why. You simply welcome him as if he belongs there, as if it is the most natural thing in the world.

And maybe, to you, it is.

But for Loki, it is agony.

Because he cannot have you.

Not the way he wants.

And so, he suffers in silence.

He lets himself be near you, lets himself feel your warmth, your touch, your kindness. But he never says a word. He keeps it locked inside, where it cannot hurt either of you.

Because if you do not know, then you cannot leave.

And for Loki, that is the only thing that matters.

---

It happens again.

Another nightmare. Another night where the ghosts of his past pull him under, drowning him in horrors he cannot escape.

Loki wakes with a sharp inhale, his breath coming too fast, his chest tight with panic. The darkness of his room feels suffocating, the walls too close, the air too thin. His hands tremble as he presses them against the mattress, trying to ground himself, trying to remind himself that he is here, not there.

Not falling. Not failing. Not alone.

The thought comes unbidden, as it always does.

Because he is not alone.

Without thinking, without hesitating, his body moves on instinct, slipping out of bed and into the hallway. His bare feet make no sound against the floor, the compound silent in the deep hours of the night. He does not question where he is going. He does not stop to consider if he should.

Because he already knows the answer.

Your door is slightly ajar, just as it always is. You never lock it. You never turn him away.

Loki hesitates for only a moment before pushing it open.

The room is bathed in darkness, the faint glow of the city outside casting soft shadows along the walls. You are curled beneath the blankets, your breathing slow and steady, lost in sleep.

He should leave. He should not do this.

But the remnants of his nightmare still cling to him, cold and suffocating, and he cannot bear the thought of returning to his room, to the silence, to the weight of his own thoughts.

So he steps inside.

The floor creaks beneath his weight, but you do not startle. You stir slightly, shifting against the pillows, but you do not wake.

And yet, as he stands there, lingering in the doorway, you sigh softly, murmuring his name in the dark. Not with fear, not with surprise—just quiet understanding, as if you expected him to be there all along.

Something in his chest tightens.

He does not speak, does not explain. He simply moves toward the bed, and when he hesitates, you lift the blanket in silent invitation.

He exhales, slow and shaky, before slipping beneath the covers beside you.

The warmth of you envelops him immediately, soft and steady, grounding him in a way that nothing else ever has.

He presses closer without thinking, without meaning to, his forehead brushing against your shoulder, his hands curled near his chest.

And then, as if sensing the last of his hesitation, you shift just enough to pull him fully against you, wrapping your arms around him in a way that makes everything inside him unravel.

Loki breathes.

The tension eases from his body, the nightmare fading into nothing, the ghosts retreating into the shadows where they belong.

You hold him, just as you always do, your fingers tracing lazy, soothing patterns along his back. He feels your breath against his temple, soft and even, and for the first time in a long time, he lets himself relax.

His eyes grow heavy, his body warm, and then—

Sleep finds him.

And for the first time in years, there are no nightmares.

The morning sun filters through the curtains, golden and soft, chasing away the last remnants of night.

Loki stirs slowly, caught in that hazy space between sleep and wakefulness, his mind still wrapped in warmth, in comfort, in you.

There is something different this time. Usually, when morning comes, he is awake before you, careful to slip away before you can stir, before you can see him in the vulnerable light of day.

But this morning, he does not move.

He is tangled in your limbs, his head resting against your chest, your arms still wrapped around him.

He does not want to move.

Your scent surrounds him, your warmth pressing against every inch of him, and for once, he allows himself to savor it.

His eyes flutter open just enough to catch the golden light spilling across the bed, the way your hair glows in the morning sun. You are still asleep, your breath slow and steady, your heartbeat a gentle rhythm beneath his ear.

And he is safe.

The thought settles in his chest, warm and unfamiliar, something he has never allowed himself to believe before.

And before he can stop himself, before his mind fully catches up with his body, the words slip out, slow and sleepy and utterly unguarded.

"I love you."

The words are barely above a whisper, a sigh against your skin, but you hear them.

Because you smile.

Loki does not see it at first, but he feels it—the shift in your body, the way your arms tighten around him just slightly, the way your breath catches for half a second before settling again.

And then, still drowsy, still wrapped in the warmth of morning, you murmur, "I know."

Loki freezes.

His breath catches in his throat, his body going rigid against you as his mind finally catches up with his words.

What has he done?

Panic rises in his chest, sharp and sudden. He had not meant to say it, had not meant to ruin this. He was supposed to keep it buried, to let it fester in silence where it could not hurt either of you.

But it is too late.

You know.

And then, just as he is about to pull away, just as the weight of his own foolishness threatens to crush him, you shift beneath him, tilting your head just slightly, pressing your lips to the top of his head in a touch so soft it makes him ache.

And then—

"I know," you whisper again, and this time, your voice is different.

He swallows hard, eyes squeezing shut, his fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt.

"No," he breathes, barely audible, as if saying it again will somehow change the meaning, make you understand the weight of it.

But you do.

You have always understood him better than anyone.

"I love you," he says again, more certain this time, more him, his voice rough from sleep and tangled in something too big to contain.

He feels you smile against his hair.

And then, gently, finally, you whisper, "I know."

And then you kiss him.

Loki stills, every thought in his mind vanishing into nothing as your lips press against his.

It is soft and slow, something delicate, something precious.

It is not hurried or desperate. It is intentional. Certain.

Your fingers brush against his jaw, tilting his face up to yours, deepening the kiss just enough to steal the breath from his lungs.

And Loki—Loki, who has spent his entire life running from things he cannot bear to lose—lets himself fall.

When you finally pull away, your forehead resting against his, Loki does not move. He cannot. His heart is still catching up with what just happened, his mind still drowning in the warmth of you.

You smile, pressing one last kiss to the corner of his mouth before murmuring, "Took you long enough."

A breath of laughter escapes him, something he did not expect, something light and unguarded.

He presses his face back into the crook of your neck, exhaling slowly as the last of his fear dissolves into nothing.

"You are insufferable," he mumbles, but there is no heat behind the words, no bite.

Only love.

And this time, he does not try to hide it.

[cece693]

hihi! i luvv ur hannigram work, i rlly need to start reading some of ur other work! especially now that I know u write for twilight!!

can I please request hannigram x reader who has really bad trauma and it gives them awful nightmares? like reader wakes up after a nightmare and cannot fall back asleep, or be alone, so they just lay in bed beside them. or they go to the living room and stay with one of the dogs. when I was little I went through a lot of things and they caused rlly bad nightmares that I still have, and ive read fics abt reader dealing with nightmares but they all feel so wrong for some reason.

NIGHT MANAGEMENT PROTOCOL

pairing: hannigram x gender neutral reader With this being a sensitive topic, I didn't fully disclose the trauma reader went through and from the deepest part of myself, I tried to be as respectful in writing such a thing. However, I'm still human so please (politely) inform me if anything is incorrect or offensive in any manner. Thank You!

You surface hard from the nightmare—lungs dragging for air as though someone turned gravity off while you slept. Sweat sticks the sheet to your back; the cotton feels like gauze in a wound. At first you don’t even open your eyes. The darkness behind your lids is an echo of where the dream left you: concrete overhead, fluorescence buzzing, bleach biting your nose. Somewhere, metal ticked like coins in a dryer. You concentrate on identifying a single sound in the real bedroom—anything familiar enough to prove you’re home.

There.

The radiator ticks once. Wooden house, Wolf Trap, January. If the heat’s running it’s past two-thirty in the morning; Will always lowers the thermostat before he goes to bed. You catalogue the detail like a field note and shuffle for another: faint dog snores, different pitches. Buster’s warble; Winston’s whistling exhale; Max’s occasional “hmmph” when his feet twitch. No echo. No metal.

That should be enough—but the snapshot of the dream has burned afterimages across your vision. A length of chain swings in bright, vicious loops. You taste copper and realize your jaw’s locked so tight it’s bruising the inside of your cheek.

Next to you, Will and Hannibal breathe in opposite cadences—Will a coastal tide, Hannibal an old cathedral organ. You could stay. You want to stay. But your skin is buzzing, every nerve ending convinced you’re still horizontal on that metal.…If you lie down you’ll flinch and wake them both, and that would feel like losing the small victory of silence you’ve practiced for months.

You open your eyes and ease upright, peeling the damp tee from your chest. The room’s temperature feels Antarctic on your skin, a shock that breaks the dream’s static. You slip out from under the duvet, feet searching the braided wool rug. At the foot of the bed, Winston’s ear flips. He’s on early-warning duty—he perks whenever anyone leaves the bed after midnight. You stretch a hand, scratch behind the ear in apology.

“Stay,” you whisper, though your voice cracks on the single syllable.

You cross the hallway by touch, refusing to switch on lamps—light this early triggers headaches. The house creaks. Nothing predatory, just timber shrinking in the cold. But your chest tightens anyway. Your therapist calls the sensation “echo fear”—when the body acts like time hasn’t passed. You rub the heel of your palm under your ribs, convincing yourself it’s bone, not chain, pressing there.

The living-room hearth throws faint glow; embers from the dinner fire still pulse behind the grate. You squat, prod a charred log until sparks jump. Fire, dogs, blankets: the recipe printed on Will’s fridge under a magnet shaped like a stag’s head, labeled “Night Management Protocol.” You almost laugh—Will, emperor of insomnia, reduced the worst parts of your life to a checklist. But the pragmatism works.

You tug an Afghan throw from the sofa back and sink onto the rug. Ellie ambles over, claws clicking; she thumps her head into your chest and collapses half across your lap, deadweight of a dog who knows practice rounds by heart. You bury both hands in her coat—live warmth, dusk-sweet scent of cedar chips and dog shampoo.

Grounding: five things you can touch (fur, wool, hardwood under one knee, the knuckle ridge of your own hand, the tackiness of old sweat). Four you can see (embers, fireplace grate, Ellie's mismatched eyes, the crooked picture frame over the mantel). Three you can hear (wind through the eaves, Ellie's breathing, the fridge cycling). Two you can smell (burned oak, dog). One you can taste (copper on your tongue, real, not memory).

Heart rate lowers; you feel it like a gear downshifting. You stroke Ellie’s side until your fingers stop shaking.

A floorboard moans behind you. You don’t jolt—Will never calls your name abruptly if he senses you’re raw. He pads into the firelight wearing one of Hannibal’s robes, silk pooling at the cuffs, drawstring of Will’s sweatpants peeking underneath. Bed hair collapses over his eyes. He eyes the hearth, then Ellie, and finally you.

“Chasing ghosts again?” he asks roughly. He doesn’t mean the phrase as flippant; it’s the label you gave the nightmares in group therapy.

“They didn’t want to stop running tonight,” you admit.

Will sits cross-legged opposite you, mirroring posture. He waits until Ellie shifts enough to rest her head in Will’s lap, then drapes a palm over yours. Your pulse drums beneath tendon; Will doesn’t comment, just lets the warmth drain from him into you. He studied polygraph biofeedback in Quantico—he can sync breathing like a metronome.

“Want company or quiet?” he murmurs after a moment.

“Both,” you say, embarrassed by the contradiction.

Will’s mouth curves. “We can manage both.” He scoots closer until knees bump, then simply sits, eyes half-closed, breathing a steady 4-7-8 pattern. You follow—inhale four, hold seven, exhale eight—and the edges of the living room sharpen; no more tunnel vision.

A soft flick of a switch: the lamp on the sideboard glows amber. Hannibal stands in the threshold, one hand still on the toggle, head inclined as though he’s observing a nocturnal species newly discovered. Where Will looks half-drowned in sleep, Hannibal is maddeningly composed—robe cinched, hair smooth, expression neutrally concerned.

“I woke and found the bed missing two occupants,” he explains, voice pitched quiet enough not to break the hush. “I feared the dogs had stolen you both for their own.”

“We are communing with the pack,” Will answers, tone affectionate but wry.

Hannibal steps onto the rug, kneels with a surgeon’s elegance, and settles behind you so your backs touch. The contact is slight—linen brushing your skin—but it chains you to the present more effectively than any grounding trick. You feel the rise of his breath against your spine like a slow tide.

“What remained when you woke?” he asks. Hannibal never says “tell me the nightmare”; that frames it as narrative, something he could pick apart intellectually. Instead he focuses on residuals—scent, sound, body memory. Easier to translate without reliving.

“Bleach,” you say after a swallow. “Cold metal table. Chain on tile. And…fluorescent hum. I hate that buzz.”

“Which sense feels safest to load first?” he prompts.

“Smell, maybe.”

Hannibal reaches, plucks a half-burned cedar log from the basket, nudges it onto the embers. Turpentine-sweet smoke unfurls. “Cedar counters bleach,” he says. “A softer antiseptic, one humanity has used for preservation, not erasure.”

You breathe in until lungs ache pleasantly. Ellie sneezes once in protest, then settles.

“Sound?” Will offers, glancing up. He reaches to the bookshelf under the window, retrieves an old wind-up metronome. He sets it to sixty beats per minute—average resting heart rate—and starts the pendulum. A gentle tick-tock over the fire’s crackle replaces the fluorescent drone in your head.

“Touch,” you murmur. Hannibal’s hand comes round, palm flat to your sternum, thumb stroking the dip above the xiphoid process. Will covers your hands where they drum a nervous tattoo on your thigh. Two points of warmth—front and back—like brackets sewn around a wound.

“Anything left?” Will asks, gaze steady.

You hesitate—taste of copper still lingers. Hannibal’s eyes narrow imperceptibly—he smells blood when no one else can. You lift your thumb to your mouth, wipe the inner cheek, show the faint red. “Bit myself.”

Hannibal rises, returns with the small first-aid tin kept on the mantel. Instead of antiseptic swabs he produces a square of dark chocolate—the emergency stash he pretends is for low blood sugar, though you know it’s for nights exactly like this. “Let us replace the flavor.”

You accept, let the chocolate soften on your tongue until bitter gives way to caramel notes. The tension between your shoulders loosens another centimeter. Will glances at the clock—3:07 a.m. “We could stay up,” he offers. “Hot milk, scrambled eggs, bore ourselves back to sleep.”

“Or,” Hannibal counters, voice the verbal equivalent of a down pillow, “we could attempt rest again, now that the worst has been named.”

A month ago you’d have chosen wakefulness, afraid the second sleep would reopen the wound. Tonight the room feels survivable. You nod. Hannibal’s fingers squeeze once in acknowledgment; Will stands, joints popping, and whistles for Ellie to go back to her bed.

The walk back to the bedroom is still a corridor of potential darkness, but Will’s shoulder brushes yours every other step, Hannibal’s palm rests between your shoulder blades, guiding. When you pause at the doorway, lungs hitching, Hannibal flips the hall light off himself—removing the choice that paralyzed you. Inside the room, moonlight paints silver stripes across the foot of the bed. Normal. Familiar.

Will crawls in first; you slide after him, and Hannibal takes the outermost edge, creating a human enclosure. Will tugs the duvet over your hips, then threads his fingers through yours and settles them on his chest so you can feel respiration without needing to check visually. Hannibal curls against your back, knees bracketing yours, his breath a warm tide at the nape of your neck.

“Five senses,” Hannibal murmurs against your skin, a reminder rather than instruction. You breathe in cedar, chocolate, clean cotton, dog. Will’s heartbeat thrums under your ear. The metal table dissolves.

[revelboo]

my god how much do u write its like almost everyday i see i new fic (say this as i check tumblr daily lmao)

hope u still do sum hand and wrist stretches, take care of ur hands cuz they the ones who bring these pieces of poetry to us 🙏

but ur brain the main boss, so tace care of urself op

🤣 There’s a reason I post these like they are rather than the actual, detailed long form bits I’ve posted a few times. These are like my notecards for my manuscripts, hitting the high points I need to remember, but not bothering to flesh out a lot of the filler. I can type up a short form scenario like this in a few minutes if I want to. I try not to spam a ton at a time.

It Had to Be You Pt 5

TF One Megatron x Reader-Connection

• He’s aware of you all the time, even when you’re not near. You’re an itch in the back of his processor, snagging him and claiming his attention. Distracting him. None of his followers know about his little human yet and he intends to keep it that way. You’re too small. Too fragile and completely dependent on him for survival. Rummaging through the packages in his hand, he lets himself into his quarters. Knows his Decepticons must be wondering what he’s up to, why he’s always shutting himself away. He wishes he knew.

• He’s back. You hear the heavy sound of those peds and curl into a tighter ball among the blankets. If you pretend you’re asleep he might leave you alone. You know he won’t, though. Peeking out, you watch him drop a handful of packaged food in a corner of your cage and your stomach growls even as you hold your breath. Praying he just goes away. And you still try to claw away, kicking as he reaches in and picks you up. Groaning as you shove at his servos and hating the way that disjointed sense that you know him jangles through you every time his metal flesh touches your skin. It’s a lonely ache that echoes through you, calling to you even as you resent it. Resent him.

• That sense of peace, of rightness, washes over him as he cages you between his servos and vents, optics shuttering. Whatever this is that chains him to you, you either can’t feel it or are fighting tooth and nail against it. But he knows you can’t win. He couldn’t either. The two of you are tied together in ways he can’t understand, that ancient ache only abating when he can touch you, feel you against him. Something in you soothing his very spark when he should hate your weakness, your dependence on him. “Be still,” he growls, carrying you to his berth and stretching out. This too has become a routine as he pins your soft form under his servos so you’re sprawled on his chassis over his spark so he can soak in that warm sense of connection.

• You’re drowning in him, can almost swear you can feel him and not just physically. It’s like there’s a door shut between you and you want to tear it open even as it terrifies you. Those big servos lay heavy across your back, pressing you flat. The hum and heat of his internal systems rumbling through you. Part of you wants more, to press your cheek to his warm hide and just give in. Relax. Your heart begins to race as panic begins to claw its way up your throat. You don’t want to feel so safe in his hands, like this is exactly where you belong.

• “Calm, little human.” A servo slides over the back of your head as he focuses on the feel of your breathing and the frantic beat of your heart against him. You try to wiggle away when he slides his servos under the back of your shirt, strengthening that connection and feeling his spark thrum as that imbalance settles. As soon as he breaks the contact, it’ll be back, but for now he feels whole. For now, it’s enough.

Previous Next

[meo-eiru]

Hi hiiiiii!!! I just wanna say i love ur oc’s so much, they live rent free inside my head like a growing necrosis!! Ever since u dropped the character trivias for Lavi and Elias I cant stop thinking about an AU with the game Catherine for Elias and Lavi but like with a lil twist to itt (the twist being i cant properly remember the entire plot to Catherine, its been like a decade since i played it so i tweaked so much of the actual storyline to better fit the narrativeT-T) feel free to delete it if its too weird;;

TW: cheating, pregnancy, reader/mc is pregnant, ooc Lavi im sorry, Elias having a reasonable crashout, yandere behaviour, continuous affair, reader/Mc cheats, character death(?), misuse of commas and my terrible grammar really

—

Okay so Imagine this, whilst drinking out one day, trying to drown out the midlife crisis and potential worries about the future, you end up having a drunken one night stand with Lavi, this one night stand however snowballs into an affair as you end up sleeping with Lavi AGAIN.

You’re pregnant, and you’ve been in a relationship with Elias for 5 years, Elias is absolutely ECSTATIC to find out that you’re pregnant, and is even considering marrying you if you agree to it (you have no choice in the matter btw lol), so in order to plan for the baby (and wedding), Elias has been taking more and more modeling jobs to hopefully save enough for your future together.

This would’ve been a happy ending for both parties if you actually KNEW who the father was. Youve been rethinking your entire relationship with Elias for a while and whilst its good to feel loved and appreciated just for existing, Elias’ is just… he’s too much sometimes— well most times tbh.

Elias would kill you both, but he hasn’t suspected anything yet, and you plan to keep it that way because you’re thinking of ending things with Elias by the end of the month anyway,

until you can’t.

And you find yourself puking every morning, a worried Elias by your side at every step of the way, loving, understanding (?), pulling your hair back and dabbing away sweat from your face as you stay hunched over the toilet seat, and the guilt smashes into you like a truck, its debilitating—Elias loves you so much, cares for you (too) so much. The guilt should have set in sooner, you should be groveling at his feet begging for forgiveness, but you dont, instead you stay, and the affair continues, even when you don’t remember spending the night with Lavi (where they even at the bar last night?). Even when the test shows two lines. Even when Elias starts doing more work to provide for the two of you.

Maybe it’s guilt, maybe its your consciousness telling you you need to leave, to not subject Elias to a life chained up to someone who doesnt love them enough to stay faithful.

You end up having these weird nightmares where you have to fight for your life trying to escape a hellish landscape. You survive each night but always seem to end up waking up to Lavi on your bedside (you haven’t been outside, Elias hasn’t allowed you to go to work since the pregnancy test, you don’t remember telling Lavi your address either)

But one night, when you wake up from another nightmare, crying, shivering, Elias and Lavi nowhere in sight.

Impulsively, you end up calling Elias and tell him about the affair, how you don’t know who the father of the child is, how you’re sorry and how terrible you are and how it would be better if you just break up.

and as expected, he breaks down. asking you, demanding answers, crying, screaming, shouting, asking if you actually loved him, asking if the child is actually his, asking you why he wasn’t enough, how he knew you were acting weird, asking which fucker he has to kill to make everything work out. its guttural, the way he screams, shouts for answers.

You end up dropping the call. And Elias immediately spams your phone with missed calls until you end up blocking his number.

He’s coming for you, you know he will. And he does, not even an hour later, banging on the door. You worry about your neighbours hearing about all of this commotion, its 11pm, he should’ve been at home but he was still at work, should’ve spent this time relaxing and watching tv shows with you at saturday night, but instead he was still at work, working to support the both of you (even if a big part of you knew it wouldn’t have stopped him from coming anyway)

He’s banging on the door, and you have half a mind to grab the knife at the sink. He stops after what felt like an eternity, only to forcefully barge his way in by using his body to slam the door open.

Elias makes his way inside, immediately grabbing you by the shoulders, eyes red with tears as he looks at you with the most painstakingly hurt expression you’ve ever seen (you’ve seen it countless times before, but only this time its different, it’s it scarier, it feels like he might actually hurt you)

His eyes grows into slits, as you feel another arm snake behind you.

It’s Lavi.

You are so fucked.

Elias ends up lunging at Lavi, screaming, intent to kill, to get rid of the vermin homewrecker that ruined (whatever was left of) your relationship.

Lavi fights back, albeit without mentally damaging Elias in the process as he talks about how much time he spends with you, how he planned on taking you with him secretly behind his back, how the child is actually his and how he intends to take full accountability for it.

You watch as Elias screams reaching for something in the sink only for Lavi to laugh at him, taunting him, waving the knife in his hand hautily, simpering with a glint of malice in his eyes “Looking for this?”

You’re about as useful in this situation as a screen door to a submarine. And you know its in vain, but you scream at both of them to stop anyway. Crying as you fall to your feet, you feel like puking.

Elias freezes, breath hitching as he turns to you before the expression on his face falters, angered as Lavi continues, telling him that “he’s the reason you’re having such a hard time right now”, “how he has no business being a father when all he does is hurt you”.

Everything falls into a blur as the fighting continues,

it feels like forever but it does stop, and you hear someone slump on the floor.

and you find Elias on the floor, with the knife plunged into Lavi’s stomach.

——

I had to write it out the brainrot was killing me, had to write it out until the brain rot unrotted itself.

I do know i couldve done this darker and better but i cant write anymore i feel so rustyT-T if you see “them” instead “you” its because i originally wrote this with “Mc” and using “they/them” before changing it to explicit xreader

Rereading my writing realising it is so tellenovella coded oof

Holy shit anon I don't know how you did it but this might just be the most hellish possible scenario known to mankind. I'd honestly just end it right then and there, there's no getting out of this bermuda triangle ass dynamic we got going on here.

Like Lavi and Elias being in the same universe is already horrible, them liking the same person is even worse but darling CHEATING on one of them with the other??? I would just