#and even make the bad things you did even worse

[pacofprunes]

DARK / TOXIC SQUID GAME REACTIONS TO YOU TRYING TO LEAVE THEM

CONTAINS — namgyu x reader, thanos x reader, myungi x reader, inho x reader, sangwoo x reader, saebyeok x reader

WARNINGS — toxic relationship, domestic violence, baby trapping, manipulation, guilt trip, prepare yourself for namgyus that’s the worst probably, mentions of suicide (thanos)

masterlist

THANOS / PLAYER 230 / CHOI-SUBONG — manipulates you / would let you leave and crawl back to him

doesn’t take it well at all. he’s going to laugh and think you’re joking, but after realizing that you’re not, he’s quickly going to scream at you. telling you that you’ll never find anybody better than him.

“do you really think anybody else will want you? if you leave me you’ll never find anyone else. you’ll never find anybody better!”

he’ll start breaking shit. punching walls, shit, he’ll even break your own phone if it’s in arms reach. if you still insist on leaving he’ll say he’s gonna overdose. he tells you that he’ll kill himself if you step out that door while pressing a blade up to his arm. if all else fails, he’ll totally act like he didn’t just beg you to stay and scream at you to go then and not to come running back.

“fine bitch, go ahead and leave! but don’t come running back to me for nothin’.”

in reality, he’s definitely stalking your socials, making fake accounts you haven’t blocked him on, stalking your friends accounts to see other photos of you, visiting the club every night (not that he didn’t already do that) to try to see if you’d show up. after about a month or so of doing this and going out and fucking other girls to get over you, he can’t do it anymore. he’ll send you some fake heartfelt text that he probably used ai to make and call you while making himself sound like he was crying, trying to make you feel bad and convince you that he’s changed and that he can be a better boyfriend. if you fall for it, you’re doomed. the relationships only going to be a million times worse than before. instead of knocking glass over and breaking shit, he might slap you. in public, he might grip your wrist ten times tighter, scared you’ll run away. when he finally lets go, his fingers will be embedded in your skin. he might even guilt trip you into getting a matching tattoo with him. “if you really loved me and forgave me then you would.”

if you really don’t go back to him though, no matter how many times you block him, you’ll get a new video sent to your phone from some unknown number of him fucking a new girl. he sent you the videos in hopes of making you jealous or something. he’s not going to stop for a long time. if you don’t go back to him, he’s going to harass you for the rest of your life. and if you do go back? you’re in for a world of hell.

NAMGYU / PLAYER 124 — would threaten you, would actually harm you

“you’re one funny bitch. you know how much shit i got on you?”

he finds it admirable, honestly. but still, fucking hilarious, that you, you, think you can leave him. what? when did you grow some balls? yeah, no. you just hurt his ego and that’s about the stupidest thing you could ever do to him. he’s not very empty with his threats. if he says he’s leaving? he’ll leave. (for like a week…) if he says he’s gonna hit you? you’re gonna be bruised for a while. if he says he’s gonna kill you? well, you haven’t gotten to that point yet. but keep this up and you sure will.

he keeps every nude and threatens to release it. sure you’re his and all, but that doesn’t stop him. so what if some other guy sees your body? he could care less. now if another guy touches you? let’s not think about what would happen. threatens to send the pictures to your family and threatens to send every sex tape of you two that he filmed behind your back.

“what the fuck is wrong with you namgyu? when the fuck did you film that?”

don’t raise your voice at him. once he hits you and you fall to the ground, he’ll keep kicking at you with his foot over and over until he thinks you’ve had enough. don’t speak up to him, don’t speak against him, and don’t piss him off. just sit there and be pretty, okay? he’s going to be bolder now. next time you two have sex he’s just going to shove the camera in your face. he’s going to manipulate and force you to take nudes for him since you don’t want to anymore after he threatened to send them out. sometimes he’ll force you to strip and then he’ll just take the pictures himself. all in all, sometimes he might just say no and leave it at that. but if you keep pushing, he’s going to threaten you. and if you still keep pushing, he’s going to go through with those threats. you really are just some whore to him, don’t think he’s above killing you.

MYUNGI / PLAYER 333 / MG COIN ★— would let you leave and crawl back to him (except he’s the one who crawls back), babytrapping

“really? fine, if that’s what you want then leave.”

he acts like he doesn’t care because he thinks his annoyance will make you turn right back around to him. he acts like he doesn’t care because he’s trying to not get so bent out of shape about it and move on quickly. but when he hears your footsteps disappear and the door shut, he immediately balls up his fists. you seriously left? he didn’t expect that, but whatever. he doesn’t need you.

he tries to move on but after barely even a week, he can’t do it. he contacts you, but when you block him, he makes more and more numbers. he thought you’d be running back to him, not the opposite. he sends you pictures of you two together in hopes you’d change your mind, but when you just keep blocking him, he’s knocking on your door demanding you open it up. he tries being nice but when you don’t open it, he starts banging on the door. really? you’d been together for months and you’d already gotten over him? no. no no no. you don’t get to just move on! what the hells wrong with you? when you still don’t open the door, he leaves and goes back to his place and sits on his bed while he ponders his next move. he decides for now just to stalk your page and harass you from more and more numbers. he’s not going to stop until you at least respond. oh, you’re gonna get a restraining order? you’re funny. you think that’ll stop him? don’t go back to him. if for some reason you give in, the next time that you two have sex, he’s going to make sure that you can’t leave. he’s sure that you’ll look so pretty with your stomach swelled up.

INHO / YOUNGIL / PLAYER 001 — straight up says no / baby traps / makes you feel like you’re going crazy

straight up, no. you want to leave? no. he doesn’t even care for an explanation on why, you’re not leaving. completely ignores your words and changes the whole topic. everytime you try to say you’re leaving he just completely overrides you with something different.

“inho, i’m serious. i’m leaving you! i’m packing my shit right now and i’m not coming back, i swear to you.”

“what did you want for dinner again? i have to go back out to get some groceries so there’s not too much…”

maybe it’s on purpose, maybe it’s not. but it makes you feel like you’re losing your mind. then he will deliberately go out of his way to make it seem like you’re crazy.

“i’m leaving because of what you’ve been doing behind my back, inho. it’s fucked up and you’re insane.”

“baby, you could follow me around tomorrow. i’ve got no idea what you mean.”

and he says it all with that stupid small polite smile that he gives everyone. you just want to strangle him. if somehow he can get you in bed with him after you just got so pissed, he’ll be more passionate than ever. he’ll treat you nice, focus on your pleasure before his and then quickly when you’re blissed out, he’ll pull out of you, slip the condom off and slide right back in. you don’t notice at all, but he makes sure to tell you like the cocky fuck he is. but he does it while he’s thrusting and when you can tell he’s about to cum. poor you, it’s too late to stop him :(.

“i’m about to fuck a baby in you — agh, i — i took the condom off. gonna have a beautiful—fuck—fucking baby with you.”

how could you leave now? do you have enough money to take care of a child without him? and would you really deprive your child of their father? you’ll get an abortion? he’ll find a way to keep you locked up in your house. you’re still going to leave? he’s going to guilt trip you to the max. and if that still fails? once again, he’s just going to find a way to keep you locked up in your house. he’ll figure it out as you go on, but for now, have your happy little family with him.

KANG SAE-BYEOK — straight up says no

she’s not going to entertain you at all. she might not even say no, opting to just stay silent instead. if you get in her face about it because she’s ignoring you, she’s just going to push you away. if you keep nagging her about it, she’s going to slap you. if you decide not to drop it, she’ll drag you by your hair and lock you in a room. are you stupid? don’t start this shit first thing in the morning.

“saebyeok, this isn’t working. we should go our separate ways.”

“no. did you hit your head or something?”

you should just drop it and move on with your day. nothing you say is going to convince her and if you piss her off too much, like said before, she’s just going to lock you away until you stop sounding ‘crazy’. she’s very cold, but she’s generally pretty nice to you still though. she’s a good girlfriend to you, just a little possessive, but it’s never gotten out of control. you just didn’t think the relationship was working and that it just wasn’t the right time. all in all, if you don’t push to much, you won’t see the shitty side of her that she never shows you. however, if you keep pushing the idea, she’s going to give you a real reason to break up with her.

SANGWOO — would let you leave and crawl back to him

“you want to break up? fine.”

it leaves you shocked at the sound of him not caring. it was as simple as that. you want to break up? bye then bitch! it hurt. it almost made you want to change your mind and say never mind and just stay with him, and that’s exactly what he wanted. that’s exactly why he said it like that. but that didn’t work and you just walked out the door. that’s fine though, you’d come back to him, he knows it.

he makes sure to post old photos of you two on his Instagram. not ones with your face in it, duh, but he posts the photos that you took of him where you’re behind the camera or ones where your arm or your hand is slightly showing. he knows you still stalk his socials. he’s posting these knowing that it’s going to hurt your little heart and make you crawl right back. he leaves every photo of you two up on every platform, not deleting a single thing. for a little while, he even keeps his pfp the same. you two holding hands. whenever he posts something, he always makes sure to put something in the caption that he knows you love. you liked tulips? he’ll put a tulip emoji in the caption. you loved cats? he’ll put a cat emoji in his bio. all these subtle things where you won’t know he’s doing it on purpose, but it’ll be so much of a coincidence that you’ll think this is a sign to run back to him.

he’ll tell his friends to ask about him to you whenever they talk with you.

“how are you and sangwoo doing?”

“oh he talks about you all the time.”

he tells them to act like they don’t know that the two of you have broken up. he makes sure to get in your head and eventually? you’ll come running back. if for some reason you don’t, he might have to pull some strings. spread some rumors about you so that your friends want nothing to do with you and so all that you have to run to for comfort is him.

[promptedwordsmith]

I love your headcannons so I gotta put an ask in here. As we all know, MC can act a bit childish and is quick to push touch/affection away.

It makes me think of the quote, "If you touch me without violence, you'll be the first". Would love a writing about it.

Aw thank you! I hope this is what you meant <3

Caleb

The first time Caleb touched you, you flinched.

It was barely anything—a fleeting brush of his fingers against yours as he handed you something, an innocent, meaningless gesture—but your entire body stiffened, your breath hitched, and before you even realized it, you had yanked your hand back.

The warmth of his skin lingered, and you hated it.

Caleb noticed. Of course, he did. His sharp violet eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he didn’t say anything. Not then.

But he never stopped touching you.

Not in a way that was forceful or overwhelming. Never in a way that felt like he was trying to push you past your boundaries. But it was there—the careful way his shoulder would bump into yours when you walked side by side, the way he’d place his hand on your lower back as he guided you through a crowd, the way his fingers would brush against your wrist when he passed you something.

Each time, your reaction was the same. A flinch. A step back. A refusal.

At first, he gave you space. He didn’t push, didn’t question. Caleb wasn’t the type to force someone into anything they weren’t ready for. But he wasn’t blind either. He saw the way your guard never dropped, the way your muscles tensed at even the gentlest touch.

And then, one night, he finally asked.

You were both standing outside, the city lights stretching far into the distance, stars barely visible beyond the haze. It was quiet between you, peaceful, until he broke it with a simple question.

“Why do you hate being touched?”

You froze.

Your fingers curled into fists, your heart hammering against your ribs. You wanted to ignore him, wanted to pretend you hadn’t heard, but Caleb wasn’t the kind of person who let things slide.

When you didn’t answer, he turned to face you fully, his voice steady but softer than usual. “It’s not just me, is it?” His eyes searched yours. “You don’t let anyone touch you.”

You swallowed hard.

And then you said it. The words that had been sitting on your tongue for years, unspoken, buried beneath layers of defense and survival.

“If you touch me without violence, you’ll be the first.”

The weight of those words crushed the space between you.

Caleb didn’t react right away. He didn’t wince, didn’t gasp, didn’t give you that pitying look you dreaded seeing. Instead, he just stood there, his violet gaze locked onto yours, taking in everything you weren’t saying.

You braced yourself for rejection, for discomfort, for him to leave—but he didn’t.

Instead, after a long pause, he let out a slow breath and said, “…Then I guess I’ll have to be first.”

Your stomach twisted. “Caleb—”

“I won’t push you.” His voice was firm but patient. “I won’t touch you until you let me.”

That should’ve been the end of it. It should’ve been the part where you turned away and let him go, where he accepted your boundaries and never tried again.

But the problem was Caleb never stopped caring about you.

And worse? You had let yourself care about him too.

Caleb never tried to force his way into your space, never laid a hand on you without permission. But he stayed.

He stayed through the silence, through the bad days, through the moments when you wanted to push everyone away but couldn’t bring yourself to do it with him.

He made himself a constant.

And that was dangerous.

Because the longer he stayed, the more you caught yourself wanting to reach for him.

The more you caught yourself watching his hands—the same hands that had held weapons, that had taken lives, that had commanded entire fleets—and wondering how they would feel if they touched you gently.

The more you caught yourself leaning in just a little when he stood beside you, like some part of you was trying to unlearn a lifetime of flinching.

You weren’t used to it.

You weren’t used to someone treating you like you were something precious instead of something hardened. You weren’t used to someone looking at you like you were worth waiting for.

And it scared you.

Because if you let yourself have this, if you let him in—what then?

It happened one night when you weren’t thinking.

You had both been caught in a battle, pushed to your limits, and despite everything—despite all the odds—you had both made it out alive.

Caleb was covered in cuts and bruises, exhaustion heavy in his limbs, but the moment he saw you stumble, he reached for you instinctively—just like he always did.

And this time, for the first time, you didn’t pull away.

His hands found your arms, steadying you, grounding you. You felt his warmth, his strength—and you let him hold you.

It was so small. So insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Just his hands on your arms, steady and reassuring. But to you, it felt like something shattered.

Caleb stilled, his grip light, as if he half-expected you to come to your senses and shove him away. His eyes searched yours, cautious, waiting.

But you didn’t move.

For the first time, you let yourself be touched without bracing for pain.

Without expecting violence.

Without fear.

And the look Caleb gave you in that moment—soft, careful, like he knew exactly how much this meant even if you hadn’t said a word—was enough to make something inside you break.

You swallowed hard, pulse racing.

“You’re the first.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, barely a whisper, but Caleb heard them.

He exhaled slowly, his thumb brushing the edge of your sleeve in the gentlest motion imaginable.

“Then I’ll make sure I’m never the last.”

And you believed him.

For the first time in your life, you actually believed someone.

Because Caleb had never broken a promise to you before.

And deep down, you knew he never would.

Rafayel

Rafayel had always been affectionate—too affectionate, if you were being honest. It wasn’t just the teasing smirks or the casual way he draped himself over you like a cat seeking warmth. It was the way his hands would linger, the way his gaze softened when he looked at you, the way he spoke your name like it was something precious.

But you weren’t used to it.

So, when he leaned in too close, when his fingers brushed against yours absentmindedly, when his warmth wrapped around you in unspoken promises of safety, you pushed him away. Not roughly, not cruelly, but firm enough to make the message clear.

He didn’t take offense, at least not outwardly. Rafayel always bounced back with a lopsided grin, a lazy roll of his shoulders, as if to say, Fine, I’ll wait. But there was something in his eyes—something quieter, something more knowing.

And you hated that.

Because deep down, you knew what he saw.

He saw the way you flinched, even when his touch was gentle. He saw the way your shoulders tensed whenever he got too close, the way you shrank away from affection like it was a foreign language you never learned to speak.

Most people didn’t notice. Most people assumed you were just distant, that maybe you simply weren’t the affectionate type.

Rafayel knew better.

And that made him dangerous.

It started one evening, after one of his exhibitions. The gallery had emptied out, the patrons long gone, and yet he lingered, still basking in the afterglow of another successful night. You had stayed behind too, for reasons you weren’t entirely sure of. Maybe because he had asked. Maybe because it was easier than saying no to him.

He had pulled you into the back room where his latest painting was covered with a cloth. With a dramatic flourish, he yanked it away, revealing the canvas beneath.

It was you.

Not a perfect replica, not a stiff, lifeless portrait. It was you in motion, caught mid-laugh, the golden glow of light flickering behind you as if you were something divine.

It took your breath away.

You swallowed hard, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “You painted this?”

“No, it painted itself.” Rafayel smirked, stepping closer. “Of course I painted it.”

You didn’t have words. You didn’t know how to process something so raw, so intimate. It was one thing for someone to look at you, but it was another thing entirely for someone to see you. And Rafayel had always seen you.

That was the problem.

“I—” The words stuck to your throat. You weren’t good at this. At accepting things. At being loved without conditions, without expectations.

And then, just like always, Rafayel reached for you.

His fingers, long and paint-stained, brushed against your wrist—light, hesitant, careful. No force, no demand, just warmth.

And just like always, you flinched.

You stepped back so fast you almost knocked over the easel. “Don’t.” The word escaped before you could stop it, sharp and unsteady.

Rafayel’s hand froze midair before he slowly pulled it back. His expression didn’t falter, but there was something—something—in his eyes. He tilted his head, studying you with that same knowing look that had always unsettled you.

“Why?” His voice was soft. Not teasing. Not mocking. Just curious.

Your throat tightened. You wanted to tell him to drop it. You wanted him to go back to making jokes, to fill the silence with something light, something meaningless.

But he didn’t.

Because Rafayel never let things go.

You swallowed. “Because… if you touch me without violence, you’ll be the first.”

The words hung between you, heavy and raw.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then Rafayel exhaled, slow and careful, as if he were afraid of shattering you. “Oh.”

He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t apologize, didn’t pity you. He just stood there, watching you with those piercing blue-pink eyes of his, like he was unraveling all the pieces of you you’d kept hidden for so long.

It made you want to run.

And maybe he saw that too, because he took a step back. Gave you space.

“Okay,” he said simply.

You blinked. “Okay?”

He nodded. “I won’t touch you. Not unless you want me to.”

The simplicity of it made something inside you ache.

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

For the first time in your life, someone didn’t demand. Someone didn’t take.

Someone just waited.

Days passed, and true to his word, Rafayel never touched you. He still leaned into your space, still gave you that infuriatingly charming grin, but his hands never reached for you again. Not once.

And you hated that you noticed.

You noticed the absence of his touch. You noticed the way his fingers twitched when he was excited, the way his hands curled into fists like he had to remind himself not to reach for you. You noticed how much you wanted him to.

It was terrifying.

It was exhilarating.

And one night, when he was sitting beside you, lazily sketching something while you both watched the waves crash against the shore, you made the first move.

It was small. Barely anything.

Just your pinky brushing against his.

But Rafayel noticed.

His breath hitched, and his gaze flickered to you, cautious, questioning.

You didn’t pull away.

Neither did he.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The air between you felt electric, buzzing with something unspoken, something fragile.

Then Rafayel, ever patient, ever waiting, turned his hand palm-up beneath yours.

An invitation.

Not a demand.

You hesitated, your heart pounding, before slowly—so slowly—you let your fingers slip into his.

Warmth. Solid, steady warmth.

No violence.

No pain.

Just him.

Rafayel said nothing, didn’t make a big deal of it. He just held your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he had been waiting lifetimes for it.

And maybe, just maybe, you had been waiting too.

Sylus

The first time Sylus touched you, you flinched.

It was subtle—just a stiffening of your shoulders, a flicker of tension in your stance. But for someone as dangerously observant as Sylus, it was enough. His fingers had barely brushed your wrist—light, almost teasing—as he leaned in to whisper something low in your ear.

And yet, you recoiled.

He didn’t comment on it then, only let a smirk curl at the corner of his lips as if he hadn’t noticed.

But he had.

Of course, he had.

Sylus never missed anything.

Sylus was nothing if not patient.

He had seen resistance before. He had encountered people who feared him, people who worshipped him, people who wanted something from him. But you?

You were different.

You didn’t fear him—you feared being touched.

And that… was fascinating.

So, he tested it.

Little things, at first. A hand at the small of your back as he guided you through a door. A knuckle brushing over your cheek under the excuse of tucking away a stray strand of hair. A moment where he let his fingers graze yours when he passed you something.

Every time, your body tensed—just slightly—but you didn’t pull away.

Not right away.

You always let it happen for a heartbeat longer than necessary, as if waiting for something.

And that was when he knew.

You weren’t just unused to affection.

You were waiting for it to turn into something else.

Something harsher. Something cruel.

Something violent.

And that realization—that truth about you—made his blood burn with something he couldn’t quite name.

The night it finally broke, Sylus hadn’t meant to push too far.

It had been a long evening, tension thrumming beneath the surface between you both like an electric current. You had been irritatingly stubborn during negotiations, as always, challenging him, testing him, making him bite back a smirk as you stood your ground.

But the moment that lingered with him was after, when the night had settled and you had found yourself alone in his office.

He approached you like he always did—without hesitation.

This time, he touched your face, his thumb grazing over your cheek in a slow, deliberate motion. It wasn’t just teasing.

It wasn’t just a test.

It was real.

And you panicked.

You slapped his hand away, hard. The sound cracked through the air, sharp and startling, but Sylus didn’t react. He barely blinked, only watching as you took a step back, breath uneven, eyes wild.

His fingers flexed once before he let them drop to his side.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then, quietly—

"If you touch me without violence, you’ll be the first."

It wasn’t said with anger. It wasn’t a warning or a threat.

It was just… the truth.

And Sylus, for once in his life, didn’t have a response.

Something Unspoken

After that, he changed tactics.

He didn’t stop touching you entirely—no, never that. But he let you decide.

He let you approach him.

He gave you space but stayed close enough that you could always reach him if you wanted to.

And, for a while, you didn’t.

But then—

One night, after an exhausting mission, you sat beside him, close enough that your shoulder brushed against his. You didn’t move away.

Another time, when exhaustion weighed on you, you let him take your wrist to check your pulse, your fingers trembling slightly—but not from fear.

And then, the night that changed everything—

You let him touch your face again.

This time, when his hand cradled your cheek, you leaned into it.

Not much. Just a fraction. Just enough that he could feel the shift.

Just enough for him to know.

And that was all the permission he needed.

Slowly, deliberately, his thumb traced the curve of your jaw, his voice low when he finally spoke:

"I would never hurt you."

Your breath hitched.

He felt it.

He didn’t ask why it was so hard for you to believe him. He didn’t ask who had left you expecting pain from every touch, from every lingering moment.

He only let his hand remain where it was, grounding, steady—yours, if you wanted it.

And finally, you did.

You didn’t say anything that night. You didn’t have to.

But after that, something changed.

Sylus, perceptive as always, noticed immediately.

The way your body no longer tensed at his presence. The way you lingered just a little closer when you stood beside him. The way your fingers, hesitant at first, brushed against the sleeve of his coat as if testing a boundary you weren’t sure you were allowed to cross.

And the way, eventually, you did.

It happened late one evening, when the city outside was silent, the only sounds in the room the distant hum of a record player spinning on low and the soft shuffle of papers on his desk.

You had been sitting across from him, absentmindedly twirling a pen between your fingers when, out of nowhere—you reached for him.

Your hand, small but steady, settled against his.

No hesitation. No flinching. No fear.

Sylus, always composed, almost stopped breathing.

You didn’t say anything, and neither did he.

But his fingers curled over yours, slow, deliberate—a silent promise.

A promise that, for the first time in your life, someone’s touch wouldn’t bring pain.

And that was enough.

For now.

Xavier

The first time Xavier reached for you, you flinched.

It was instinct, sharp and immediate. His fingers had barely brushed your sleeve before you jerked away, stepping out of reach so fast you nearly tripped over your own feet. His hand hung in the air for a moment before he slowly lowered it, tilting his head as if trying to decipher something unsaid.

You weren’t looking at him, though. You were staring at your own hands, fingers curled into fists at your sides, knuckles tight. Get it together.

"You okay?" His voice was light, easy, like he hadn’t just watched you recoil from his touch as if it burned.

You forced yourself to nod. "Yeah. Just���" You hesitated, then exhaled sharply. "You shouldn’t do that."

Xavier raised an eyebrow. "Do what?"

You lifted your chin, meeting his gaze with something colder than you really felt. "Touch me."

His eyes flickered with something unreadable before his expression shifted back to something more familiar—a smirk, teasing but careful. "Alright," he said, as if it didn’t matter. "No touching."

Except it did matter. Because Xavier wasn’t someone who kept his hands to himself—not in an intrusive way, but in a way that made him feel real. He was the kind of person who nudged you with his elbow when he made a joke, who ruffled your hair just to annoy you, who tugged at your sleeve when he wanted your attention.

But he listened.

For the next few weeks, he was careful. He kept his distance, kept his hands in his pockets, kept a respectable space between the two of you even when it was just the two of you on a mission, walking side by side.

And for some reason, it made your chest ache.

You wanted him close.

You just didn’t know how to let him be.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like him. If anything, that was the problem.

Xavier had wormed his way into your life in a way no one else had before. He was constant—too constant, maybe. There was no hesitation in the way he cared, no moment of doubt in his affection. He liked you, so he showed it. He wanted to be around you, so he was. There was no second-guessing, no caution.

You didn’t know what to do with that.

Because affection had always come with conditions. Because touches had always been accompanied by something sharp—by expectation, by control, by violence.

So the idea of Xavier touching you with nothing but warmth?

It scared you more than any fight ever had.

"You ever gonna tell me why?"

You blinked up from where you sat at the edge of a rooftop, staring out at the cityscape below. Xavier was standing a few feet away, arms crossed, gaze unreadable.

"Why what?"

"Why you don’t like me touching you." His voice wasn’t accusing, wasn’t pushing—it was just curious.

You swallowed. "I just don’t."

Xavier hummed, as if considering that. "You sure about that?"

You tensed. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged, stepping forward—not close, but closer. "I’ve seen the way you look at me sometimes."

Your heart skipped. "I don’t—"

"You do," he interrupted, voice softer now. "Like you want me to reach for you, but you don’t know if you should let me."

You exhaled sharply. "It’s not that simple."

"Then explain it to me."

Your fingers curled against the fabric of your sleeves, gripping tightly. You should have expected this—Xavier wasn’t the type to let things go so easily. He was patient, sure, but he wasn’t blind. He noticed things, noticed you.

And now, he was waiting.

You stared at your hands. "If you touch me without violence," you murmured, voice barely above a whisper, "you’ll be the first."

Silence.

For a moment, you thought he might not have heard you. But then, after a long pause, Xavier let out a quiet breath.

"That’s a damn shame," he said. His voice was soft, but not pitying. "Because you deserve better than that."

You didn’t look at him. "Maybe."

"You do," he said, firmer this time. "And I want to prove it to you."

Your breath hitched. "Xavier—"

"I won’t touch you until you want me to," he promised. "But when you do?" His gaze was steady, unwavering. "I’ll make sure you never have to doubt it."

It took time.

Xavier kept his promise. He didn’t touch you—not even accidentally. He was careful, patient in a way that made your chest ache. But he never pulled away emotionally. He was still there, still unwavering, still him.

And slowly, slowly, you started to realize something.

You wanted to close that distance.

You wanted him.

It started small—lingering closer when you walked together, sitting next to him instead of across the room, letting your shoulders brush just slightly before pulling away. And Xavier noticed. He always did.

But he didn’t push.

He let you take your time, let you move at your own pace.

Until one night, after a mission, when you were exhausted and sore and tired of your own fear, you turned to him and—hesitantly, carefully—reached for his hand.

His fingers twitched in surprise, but he didn’t hesitate. He let you take his hand in yours, let you squeeze it lightly before letting go just as quickly.

You expected him to say something—maybe tease you, maybe push for more. But he didn’t. He just smiled, warm and real.

"Was that so bad?" he asked, amusement lacing his tone.

You huffed, rolling your eyes. "Shut up."

Xavier chuckled, but there was something softer in his gaze. "Alright. No teasing. Not today, anyway."

You nudged him lightly with your elbow. "I hate you."

He grinned. "You love me."

You paused.

Then, quietly, you admitted, "Yeah."

Xavier stilled. His smile faltered—just for a second—before it softened into something genuine. Something real.

"Good," he murmured.

And for the first time, when he reached for you, you didn’t pull away.

Zayne

Zayne had always been patient. It was in his nature, woven into the fabric of his being just as much as his steady hands and level-headed presence. As a surgeon, patience was a necessity—an unwavering calm in the face of pressure, a stillness when chaos reigned.

But this was different.

This was you.

You, with your guarded eyes and the walls you built around yourself so high that even he, with all his skill, couldn’t navigate them easily. He had known from the start that you were different—not because you were difficult, not because you weren’t capable of love, but because the world had been cruel to you in ways it hadn’t been to him.

And still, he wanted you.

It started slow. The quiet companionship, the moments where neither of you needed to speak but simply existed together. A shared cup of tea in the morning. The warmth of his coat draped over your shoulders on a cold night. He never pushed, never asked for more than you could give, and yet…

Even he had limits to his patience.

Zayne had always been affectionate. Not in a way that was overwhelming, nor in grand declarations. No, his love was in the small things—in the way his fingers would brush against yours when passing you something, in the way his voice would soften when speaking your name, in the way he would lean in, close enough that you could feel his warmth but never quite touching.

And so, when he reached for you one evening—just a simple touch, the lightest brush of his fingertips against your wrist—he hadn’t expected you to recoil the way you did.

You flinched, your entire body going rigid, as if his touch had burned you.

Zayne froze. His hazel-green eyes flickered with something unreadable before he slowly withdrew his hand, watching you carefully. He wasn’t offended, nor was he hurt, but there was something in his expression that made your stomach twist.

“Don’t,” you whispered, your voice quieter than you intended.

His brows furrowed slightly. “I—”

“If you touch me without violence, you’ll be the first.”

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, raw and sharp. The room felt heavier in their wake, like the air had been sucked from it.

Zayne didn’t speak for a moment. He simply looked at you, studying you in that careful way he always did—like he was dissecting a puzzle, trying to understand without breaking it further.

You hated the silence. Hated the way it stretched between you like an open wound.

Then, finally, he exhaled softly.

“I see.”

And just like that, he shifted back, putting a comfortable distance between you. Not out of rejection, not out of frustration, but because he understood. He always understood.

You expected him to ask. To pry. To demand to know what had led you to this—why you had flinched, why you had spoken those words with such bitterness. But he didn’t.

He simply nodded, accepting it as fact, and changed the subject.

It should have been a relief.

It wasn’t.

Because Zayne, for all his patience and for all his understanding, was not one to simply forget.

Days passed. Then weeks.

Zayne hadn’t touched you since.

Not in the way he used to. No fleeting brushes of his fingertips, no teasing nudges, no quiet, lingering moments where his warmth bled into yours. It was as if he had drawn a line in the sand and refused to cross it.

You told yourself it was for the best.

So why did it feel so much worse?

You had never needed touch. Never craved it, never longed for it. But now, in the absence of it, you felt its loss like a phantom pain. You missed it.

You missed him.

And so, when you found yourself standing outside his apartment one evening, your fingers curled into fists at your sides, you knew you had to do something.

The door opened before you could even knock.

Zayne blinked at you, surprised but not displeased. He stepped aside, wordlessly inviting you in.

You hesitated.

And then, taking a deep breath, you walked past him, into the familiar warmth of his home.

He didn’t ask why you were there.

He simply poured you tea, as he always did, and waited.

You stared at the cup in your hands, fingers tightening around the ceramic.

“I don’t…” You hesitated. “I don’t want you to stop.”

Zayne tilted his head slightly, watching you with quiet patience. “Stop what?”

You swallowed. “Touching me.”

For the first time in a long while, he seemed genuinely surprised. Not in a dramatic way��Zayne was never dramatic—but in the way his fingers stilled against his cup, in the way his gaze softened ever so slightly.

“I thought that’s what you wanted,” he said, his voice as steady as ever.

“I did.” Your throat felt tight. “I do. But I also… I don’t know.” You exhaled sharply. “I just… don’t want you to stop trying.”

Something in his expression shifted.

He set his cup down carefully before looking at you with an intensity that made your stomach twist. Not with judgment, not with pity—just understanding.

“I never stopped,” he murmured.

Your breath hitched.

“I just adjusted,” he continued. “To what you needed.”

And you realized, with startling clarity, that he had been touching you. Just not in the way you had expected.

It was in the way he always made you tea, the way he listened so intently, the way he never pushed, never pried, but always made sure you knew he was there.

He had been touching you in the only way you would allow.

And now? Now, you wanted more.

Tentatively, hesitantly, you reached out.

Your fingers brushed against the back of his hand, and you felt him still beneath your touch.

It was light. Barely there. But it was enough.

Zayne didn’t move. Didn’t push for more.

He simply let you choose.

And, for the first time in your life, you did.

You let yourself be touched—gently, without violence, without fear.

Zayne, patient as ever, simply held still and let you set the pace.

And maybe, just maybe, for the first time in a long time, you weren’t afraid.

[sleepycelestialprincess]

Urgg! I see this e v e r y w h e r e!

I work a lot with art and photographs, I'm an artist, I work as a picture framer, and I also have a lot of experience with the history of photography and photo scanning and retouching.

Something that I see a lot is the expectation that old photographs will look low quality because they are old and new photographs should look good. This is entirely opposite in most cases. There are all kinds of limitations that may cause the quality of a photograph from any age to look good or bad and I'll get into some of those later.

Early photography was typically a daguerreotype or tintype. These are both images that are made directly on the surface that you look at. Meaning that there was no intermediate negative or copy made. The image you see was left there by light that came from the subject, through a lens, and hit that surface. The clarity of that image is limited only by how well the photographer focused the lens. If well made, there is upwards of 4000dpi (dots per inch). If you have a 2"x3" image that is approximately equivalent to at least a 96MP (megapixels or million pixels) image. If its a 4"x5", it'd be 320MP. This far surpasses any of today's highest end digital cameras. There are obviously other factors to consider in the overall quality of an image but these photographs from the mid 1800s if in good condition, look great by today's standards.

I'm not going to go into all the photography formats and sizes from the last 175+ years but I'll mention a few. When your great grand parents had their 5 wedding photographs taken, it was probably with and 8x10 or 4x5 inch large format film. Film of that era was grainier than today but at those sizes, even with making a print, will hold great tonality and detail. I would estimate between 400MP – 200MP in resolution for 8x10 or 4x5 respectively.

When 35mm film was introduced in the 1910s, it was largely criticized as not having enough resolution to make an acceptable image. It didn't really take off until the 50s when film got more detailed, and finer grained. Great improvements were introduced over the decades bringing the resolution from about 10MP (very rough estimate) to today's finest films being equivalent to about 34MP with very smooth grain.

I really don't know what they were thinking pushing out digital cameras when they did. Photographs never looked worse! Even a cheep point and shoot camera with 24mm film (APS film was 2/3 the area of 35mm film) produced images far far better than any digital camera for many years. Many early digital cameras were between 1/3rd of a MP up to maybe 3MP. And they were way noisier than even early film was grainy. Even when digital cameras became acceptable in quality if you had the budget for a good one, they still had limitations below that of film. I feel like the crossover was no earlier than 2005. I could go into detail but this post is getting too long.

Then of course phone cameras entered common use not long after and set us back again to utter trash being petaled as anything worth using for anything. This further lowered people's expectations of what an image should look like. What once would have been scoffed at by anyone, became the average common image. Family's memories being reduced to images not worth even looking at.

Luckily things have gotten quite a bit better again, digital cameras of any larger variety look decent. But I think its a real shame that most family's have completely lost about 15 years of photos because of the onset of digital cameras. I fear that may end up longer for many people, if social media sites ever loose someone's photos, many people will have nothing.

—

I didn't even get into photo and art printing. But many things were very high quality in the past, then got much worse, and hopefully have gotten a bit better again. But a lot of things right now are at their lowest yet, like buttons.

Historical context is of course very useful for important things like Politics and Science and everything, but will also open your eyes to things like, uh... the way the clothing/textile/crafting industries try to use the word "natural" as an excuse to sell shoddy and bad quality goods and make you think that's normal.

God knows there are worse things going on in the world, but it really pisses me off when I see companies advertising "Real Shell/Pearl buttons!" like that's supposed to be some upscale selling point, and the buttons in question are the thinnest, roughest, most crudely-made buttons in existence... 🙄😒 "But they're made from Natural Materials! You can't expect Natural Materials to look refined and consistent like synthetic ones!" They are lying to you. THEY ARE LYING TO YOU! And I know this because I've seen "real shell buttons" from 100 or even 50 years ago. And most of them are sturdy and smoothly polished, of a consistent thickness, and sometimes even finely carved. The buttons on nice men's dress shirts? Those are the cheap, plastic IMITATIONS of what people expected actual mother-of-pearl buttons to look like! "Natural" isn't an excuse! Your product is cheap and badly and lazily made! And I'm so sick of this, because I see it EVERYWHERE. "Linen-look" has become shorthand for "coarsely woven fabric with visible slubs" and that drives me CRAZY because do you KNOW what kinds of linen I have seen??? Antique linen so light and fine and smooth you can't even SEE the weave unless you magnify it!!! A fragment of a linen damask tablecloth so smooth and glossy, it looks like SILK? 😭 (On that note, "dupioni silk" is so roughly woven that it would have been considered hardly fit to sell a century ago) "This fabric is woven of Natural Materials, so imperfections will be inevitable!" 🙃 No! 😀 You just made it cheaply and sloppily, and that was your choice! 😊

[gabseyoo]

FIFTEEN SECONDS — SAKUSA KIYOOMI

content: female reader, friends to lovers, love confession, fluff, bit of comedy. word count: 1,2k.

note: here’s a little something for valentine’s day, hope you like it!

What should I say?

“Here.” No, too dry.

“Here, it’s for you.” Shit, still too dry.

“I bought this for you, I hope you like it.” Okay, that one wasn’t so bad. 

For the past ten minutes, Kiyoomi had been locked in a brutal staring contest with the small black box sitting on the café table. The thing wasn’t even looking at him, and yet he was the one losing.

This was ridiculous. He was ridiculous.

He had bought the damn gift two weeks ago. Two weeks of overthinking, of waiting for the perfect moment, of nearly shoving it to the back of his closet out of sheer nerves. But then Valentine’s Day crept up on him, and he thought—maybe this was fate giving him a chance.

Or setting him up for humiliating rejection.

Kiyoomi had rehearsed this moment in his head. And still, here he was, breaking into a nervous sweat over a bracelet. What if you didn’t like it? What if you thought it was stupid? What if you liked someone else?

Then, in the middle of his internal crisis, a familiar voice nearly made him jump.

“Hey, Kiyoomi.”

He looked up so fast he almost knocked the gift off the table. There you were, standing in front of him with that impossibly pretty smile, your presence alone enough to make his pulse go haywire.

“Did you already order, or should I—?” You asked as you sat down in front of him. 

“I already did.” He forced his voice to stay steady. “Iced latte with two shots of vanilla, right?”

Your smile grew. “You know me so well.”

Yeah, because I’m hopelessly in love with you.

The words were right there. On the tip of his tongue.

Relax, Kiyoomi. Ease into it.

That was the smart thing to do. You didn’t just shove a confession at someone out of nowhere—there should be a conversation first, something natural.

“So, uh…” He wracked his brain for something—anything—normal to say. “How’s work?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “It’s fine?”

What the hell was that, Kiyoomi? It was comical how his calm and collected personality seemed to disappear at this moment when he needed it most. Was love always this complicated? Or was it because it was about you?

You tilted your head. “Are you okay?”

No. No, he was absolutely not okay. His fingers tapped anxiously against the small box. The longer he waited, the worse this was getting. His nerves were eating him alive. He could already feel the impending doom of chickening out.

Screw it.

With zero transition or warning, he grabbed the box and shoved it across the table. “Here.”

Goddamn it. 

You blinked in surprise. “For me?”

A stiff nod. This was fine. You’d open it, love it, and then he’d tell you. Smooth. Simple. Foolproof.

Except…

You were taking your sweet time untying the ribbon.

Kiyoomi clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to do it for you. Why were you so slow? Was this some kind of test? Did you already know he was panicking and just wanted to see him suffer?

Finally, you lifted the lid. Your lips parted as you took out the delicate silver bracelet, the small star charm catching the café’s warm light.

“Oh, Kiyoomi…” You breathed. “It’s beautiful.”

His fingers twitched under the table as your eyes widened slightly. “Wait… this is—”

Kiyoomi looked away, pretending to be fascinated by the café menu on the wall. “Yeah.”

Your fingers traced the charm, realization dawning. “This is the bracelet from that shop at the mall, isn’t it?”

He cleared his throat. “Maybe.”

You turned to him, eyes suspiciously bright. “You went back for it?”

Kiyoomi picked up his coffee, taking a slow sip as if that would somehow make this moment less humiliating. “You wouldn’t stop staring at it.”

“I looked at it for like, five seconds.”

“It was at least fifteen.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

This was it. The perfect moment.

He took a breath, preparing to say the words that had been stuck in his chest for way too long.

“I—” He began, but the words he had rehearsed for days were interrupted when a waiter appeared at the table.

“Here’s your order! One vanilla iced latte and one black coffee.”

Kiyoomi clenched his jaw so hard he thought he might crack a tooth. Not now, man. 

He nodded stiffly as you thanked the waiter. Okay, fine. Minor setback. 

“What were you saying?” You asked after the guy turned around, taking a sip from your drink.

His heart was about to beat out of his chest. Now. Now is the time. Just say it: I like you.

Kiyoomi opened his mouth, determined to do it, but then— 

“Do you need any sugar?”

Oh my god.

Kiyoomi glared at the waiter. Who was back. Did this man have a vendetta against his love life?

He mumbled a half-hearted, “No, thanks.”

“Cream?”

“No, thanks.”

“Any appetizer? We have a special red velvet cake because of Valentine's Day.”

Was this a joke?

“We’re fine.”

“Actually, I want a slice of cake.” You said.

Before the waiter could leave, Kiyoomi muttered, “Make that two.”

The guy finally left, and he was beginning to get irritated by his bad luck.

Just do it now! He scrambled at himself mentally. 

“Y/N, I bought–” He hurried to say, but then the loud hiss from the blender machine drowned out his voice.

Was this the universe making fun of him? 

By now, he was one more interruption away from actually losing it. So, ignoring the annoying noise, he decided to just keep going, “I bought this because–”

“Oh! Look at that dog outside.”

Kiyoomi stopped mid-sentence as you turned to the window, grinning at a fluffy golden retriever wagging its tail on the sidewalk. Are you serious?

But, when he turned back to you, you were watching him with amusement.

You two made eye contact for a few seconds, he blinked, you blinked, and then— you laughed.

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What?”

You smirked. “Kiyoomi, don’t be so shy.”

His stomach dropped.

“I like you too.”

For a full three seconds, his brain just ceased to function.

You… what?

His ears burned. His grip tightened on his cup. His entire soul left his body. “You knew?”

You giggled, tapping his hand lightly. “Of course. I actually got something for you too.”

You reached into your bag and pulled out a small gift box, setting it on the table in front of him. Kiyoomi tried—really tried—not to look too eager as he picked it up and carefully lifted the lid.

Inside was a watch. The watch. The one he had lingered on in the mall that day.

“You looked at it for at least fifteen seconds.” You teased, a knowing smile playing on your lips.

Kiyoomi froze. His fingers tightened around the box as the realization sank in.

You had noticed. Just like he had noticed you staring at the bracelet. You both had thought of each other.

For a moment, he couldn’t speak. His throat felt tight, his chest oddly warm. He looked up at you, something soft, something real in his gaze.

“This is—”

“Here they are! Two slices of red velvet cake!”

Kiyoomi visibly twitched.

Oh, come on!

[kunareads]

how you talk so sweet when you're doing bad things

actor!satoru x popstar!reader

you and satoru fulfill the prophecy (he picks you up, pulls them down, turns you around).

prev / next

series masterlist / full masterlist

wc: 4.7k

satoru "filthy mouth" gojo!!! i had to stop writing this multiple times because of what he does to me. PART 3 VALENTINE'S DAY (comment for taglist)

content: fluff and SMUT! even more tension, you and satoru are once again the subjects of internet speculation, making out, 69, oral (m! and f! receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v sex, pronebone, cowgirl, he's very much in control here

18+ please i block children <3

+++

the internet does what it does best: fill in the blanks.

neither of you say anything. no statements, no denials, no acknowledgments. but speculation spreads like wildfire.

it started small. the blurry afterparty photos, the red carpet chemistry dissection, the think pieces about hollywood's most unexpected flirtation. the usual.

then you post an instagram story.

nothing special. just a close-up of a wine glass, city lights blurred in the background. no context, no caption. but the fans? they think they know.

twitter erupts.

@/satorumess: not to be crazy but i mapped out their locations based on timestamps and—

@/fulltimeshipper: this is worse than when the CIA redacted half that UFO document

@/ynupdates: y/n posting a cryptic story the same night satoru is spotted downtown… oh we are in the trenches forreal

then, satoru likes a tiktok.

a slow-motion edit of you in your red carpet and afterparty looks, set to some dramatic song, captioned this woman is dangerous, your honor.

he doesn't comment, doesn't follow the account. just leaves one single like. and the internet implodes.

@/fandomedits: nah this isn't pr this is a man down BAD

@/popcultupdates: GOJO SATORU LIKING THIRST EDITS IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT WE HAVE LOST HIM COMPLETELY

@/ynstan: this man saw a slo-mo thirst edit and said "yeah let me cosign that"

but it gets worse.

an old clip resurfaces. a red carpet from last year. you and satoru, near each other but never interacting. a moment that meant nothing—until now.

fans slow it down, zoom in, analyze every tiny detail:

satoru steps onto the carpet, and your eyes flick toward him, barely noticeable.

he glances in your direction.

there's a beat where he exhales, seems to collect himself—something no one caught before.

and suddenly, it's evidence.

@/fathergojo: why do their interactions feel like deleted scenes from a romcom

@/yninvestigator: guys. GUYS. what do you MEAN she looked at him FIRST. what do you MEAN HE TOOK A BREATH AND LOOKED AWAY.

@/stanwars: suddenly i believe in fate. suddenly i understand greek tragedies.

apparently, none of this is new.

you and satoru are just catching up.

+++

+++

satoru isn't good at waiting.

patience isn't exactly his strong suit, but when the reward is this good? he doesn't mind.

you walk in like the last week never happened. like the chaos never even registered.

the rooftop lighting catches the silk of your dress, the shine of your jewelry, the sheen of your lips. it makes you look untouchable.

attention follows you effortlessly. heads turn, backs straighten. someone says something, you smile—polite, charming, distant. you're impossible not to watch.

and satoru watches.

he's become acquainted with the effect you have, but it hits harder tonight than it did a week ago.

because now he knows how you taste.

the glass in his hand is cool, condensation falling between his fingers. he takes a sip, tracking you, cataloging details no one else would catch.

the way your shoulders shift, subtle, as you get closer.

the flick of your gaze toward him before you fully reach him.

you stop beside him, close enough for the scent of your perfume to settle between you.

a pause before you meet his eyes.

"so… how's your week been?" you ask, tone light, a smile gracing your features.

satoru exhales a laugh, tipping his glass like a toast. "surprisingly quiet. you?"

as you talk, your fingers trace the rim of your glass. he watches. you let him.

he leans in when he speaks. you don't move away.

he notices the way the waiter lingers, the way you dismiss it with a polite, distant smile.

you notice the way his expression shifts at that, just slightly. neither of you acknowledge it.

"you're kind of a nightmare," you tease.

satoru grins, unbothered. "funny. some people call me a dream."

you laugh and roll your eyes at him. he takes his time with his next sip, letting the tension settle. you're watching him watch you.

it would be easy to let you play this game, to see how long you can act like you're not as impatient as he is. but he leans in, voice quiet, just for you.

"you gonna make me wait?" low, taunting.

you could, but you don't. instead, you lean in too, meeting him halfway. you set your glass down carefully. he mirrors you.

someone—a bartender, another guest—tries to pull you into conversation, but you don't reply.

you lean into him, your voice calm but sure.

"let's go."

+++

streetlights skim over sleek black paint as the car pulls up, satoru swinging the door open. you barely take a step before his hand finds the small of your back, fingers pressing just enough to guide you.

he grins lazily. "last chance."

you roll your eyes as you step in. "so dramatic."

he closes the door after you and circles the car, the driver pulling off.

the backseat feels too small.

you cross your legs. his knee brushes against yours, and he doesn't move away. his hand rests on his thigh, relaxed, too close to yours. deliberate.

you pretend not to notice, but he knows better.

the silence is louder than words. the city blurs past the tinted windows, neon bleeding into the dark. the hum of the engine, the distant murmur of traffic, the faint pulse of something unsaid.

satoru exhales slowly, gliding his tongue over his teeth, thinking. he pushes a button, the partition rising.

you're both quiet, but it's a silent signal: stop pretending.

the second it clicks into place, he moves. or maybe you do. it doesn't matter. he's closer now, facing you, and you're already leaning in.

a beat. a sharp inhale.

his fingers skim your thigh, higher this time.

"i was trying to be good," you say quietly.

his voice drops, tight with restraint, and your breath catches. "don't."

the second the word leaves his lips, you're on him. a hand finds the back of his neck, drawing him in.

the first kiss is slow, but not reluctant. he drags it out because he can. he tilts his head, deepening it. he hums against your lips when you press closer, pleased.

his fingers tease higher. yours twist into his hair, nails scraping just enough to make him sigh into your mouth.

the car rolls to a stop.

neither of you move. not right away.

satoru's grip tightens, like he's considering pulling you onto his lap. like he could keep you here a little longer, let the city blur beyond the tinted glass while he takes his time.

instead, he drags his lips down your jaw, then lower. he breathes you in before murmuring, "upstairs."

+++

the door clicks shut, sealing you in. no music, no distant hum of the city, just quiet, dense and charged.

neither of you break the silence.

satoru steps in first. the air seems to crackle around him here the same way it does everywhere else.

you hold his stare, challenging. he waits.

a test. a game.

then, finally, you reach for him. his grin is lazy, knowing. like he was waiting for you to break first.

this kiss is purposeful. his lips brush yours—once, then again. a silent question, just the slow press of his mouth, the barely-there slide of his hands down your waist.

your fingers slip under his shirt, nails grazing skin, just enough to pull a slow, amused breath from him.

his hands find your hips, insistent, pulling you in until there's no space left. the shift makes you gasp into his mouth, and he drinks it in, looking smug, like he expected it.

like he's been waiting for this all week.

his grip tenses, like he's about to pull you closer—but then he's gone. his heat vanishes, his lips just a ghost of pressure before they disappear completely.

he barely moves when you chase him a bit, just tilts his chin, smiling. like he knew you wouldn't let him go. like he was counting on it.

you inhale, frustration sparking low in your chest, and you move before you think. your hands find his shirt, tugging him back in—but before you can, his fingers close around your wrists, catching you with ease.

his grin is knowing, his grip firm but teasing. he tilts his head, amusement spreading across his face.

"easy, princess," he murmurs, voice low, eyes flicking to your lips. "what's the rush?"

you arch a brow, fingers flexing in his grasp. "you did haul me out of the car."

his grin widens. "not like you put up a fight."

you push.

you press into him, backing him towards the wall. he lets you. lets you kiss him deeper, hands still wrapped around your wrists but relaxing, giving you room to move.

for a second, you think you've won.

then the world tilts and your back meets the wall with a gentle thud, your head tipping back slightly as he crowds you.

he smiles at you, eyes sparkling, enjoying himself too much. his hands settle at your waist, keeping you where he wants you.

you should be annoyed. instead, you match him and smirk right back.

you like the way he handles you.

+++

his touch is maddening.

his fingertips skate over your ribs, your stomach, but never where you need them. it's intentional and exploratory, like he has all the time in the world.

and he does. his apartment is a sanctuary from the mess of the last week. no prying eyes or a disgruntled kento to interrupt here.

you shift, trying to lead him downward, but he only chuckles, barely making a sound.

"you can be patient for me, can't you?" his voice dips lower, "or are you already too far gone?"

he's mocking you, and reflex kicks in—your thighs squeeze together, and you feel the heat creep up your neck when he notices.

his fingers ghost up your inner thighs, teasing warmth into your skin before retreating. every near-touch is calculated, just enough to remind you of how easily he could give you what you want.

he watches as impatience builds in your expression, as your breath stutters when his hands graze your waist again.

your nails press into his shoulders, a silent dare. before he can smirk, before he can gloat, you roll your hips against him, slow, deliberate. the response is immediate.

his breath falters, a groan through gritted teeth. his jaw tightens like he wasn't expecting you to test him. for a split second, he stills entirely.

you smile at him. message received.

"if you wanna ruin me, do it right, satoru." a taunt disguised as a whisper, just enough to chip at his restraint.

his hold turns bruising, like he wants to leave something behind. the teasing tone vanishes, his smirk dissolving into something darker. your breath catches—not in surprise, but excitement as something kindles in your stomach.

because suddenly, it's not a game anymore.

the realization barely registers before he has you pinned, wrists above your head, mouth at your ear.

"hope you know what you're asking for," he murmurs, hips flush against yours. his voice is different now—rough, heat twisting through every syllable. you shudder at the sound, your body responding. he makes good on his words immediately.

his hands find the backs of your thighs—then, suddenly, you're weightless, gasping, clutching at his shoulders. your legs draw around his hips, heat pooling fast.

a startled breath leaves you, but he's already moving, carrying you across the room like you weigh nothing at all.

+++

he drops you onto his bed, grinning at the glare you send him when you bounce.

you don't even get the chance to scold—his hands are already on you, pulling your panties down.

his teeth graze your inner thigh before he bites down, sharp enough to make you whine, hips squirming. he exhales with a smile. "thought so." his tongue follows—slow, indulgent, a promise to ruin you.

you've barely found your breath when he shifts, broad hands pressing into your thighs, spreading you open. his gaze lifts, dark and teasing.

"comfortable?" he asks, lips skimming the inside of your knee.

you roll your eyes, about to retort—but your fingers curl into the sheets instead when his mouth finds your core, hot and devastating.

your hips shift, back arching, and he hums against you, content.

you move the moment he adjusts—quick, decisive, hands pushing into his shoulders. he lets you shift the balance, rolling onto his back, breath catching when he opens his eyes to find you above him.

your fingers work fast, tugging at his belt, yanking it free with a sharp pull. you work on the button, the zipper, pulling the fabric down just enough to free him.

he was so fucking cocky a second ago. now, he's not even breathing right, body taut under your hands. so you stroke once, then twice, then take him into your mouth.

no warning, no reluctance.

his grip tightens on your thigh, breath punching out like you knocked it loose. his head tilts back, jaw tensing, a soft "fuck—just like that, baby" escaping him.

you hum around him, pleased, tongue teasing, and he swears again under his breath. his hands fist into the sheets, trying to ground himself.

but satoru doesn't like being outmatched.

his fingers skate up your thigh, squeezing. and then his mouth is on you, tongue dragging through your folds, slow and deep.

you gasp against him, body tensing, and he grins.

"that's better," he mutters against you, lips brushing sensitive skin before his tongue circles once, twice.

the sound you make is muffled around him, and he groans in response, the vibration rolling through you both.

you try to keep a rhythm, fingers curling at the base as you sink down, but every time his tongue moves just right, every time he sucks at your clit, you falter.

he notices, and he loves it.

his hands tighten on your hips, keeping you still as he buries his face deeper, determined, fucking into you with his tongue, sending you to the edge without mercy.

you try to keep going, try to keep your lips wrapped around him, but every nerve in your body is on fire, pressure winding as you moan around him.

he grins against you. "that's it, princess. lemme hear it."

his fingers dig into your skin, tightening as he licks into you with purpose, drawing desperate sounds from your throat.

it's too much. you pull your mouth off of him, panting, lips slick and hips twitching against his face as the bliss hits all at once, unraveling you from the inside out.

"satoru, fuck," you gasp, the words nearly unintelligible through your moans. you can't do anything but let it consume you, your body seizing before the release finally drives through you.

you gasp, sharp and unsteady, his name tumbling past your lips again, voice cracking into a whine.

satoru doesn't stop until you're shaking, your legs weak, pleasure rolling over you in dizzying, tormenting waves.

only when your thighs twitch, too sensitive, does he finally pull away. his face is wet, and he's breathless. he presses one last kiss to the inside of your thigh before looking up at you, eyes dark and lazy.

"you're fucking perfect," he murmurs, voice hoarse, before flipping you onto your stomach, pressing you into the mattress.

+++

you're still coming down when he lifts your hips, tucking a pillow underneath them.

his breath is warm against your shoulder, steady and grounding. his lips trail down your spine, flirting, savoring the way you squirm. a hand settles on your hip possessively, making sure you don't slip away.

his other hand trails lower, sliding between your legs, fingers pressing in—gradually, unhurried, teasing the mess he left behind.

"fuck, baby—you're dripping for me." his voice is all rough edges and satisfaction, murmured against your ear. you shiver. his fingers slide through your folds, spreading your slick, teasing the spot he knows will make you gasp.

"been thinking about this all week," he mumbles, kissing the curve of your neck. his fingers dip lower, pushing inside, slow and deep. "bet you have, too."

you whimper, and he smirks against your skin.

"should've had you like this that night. should've fucked you right up against that wall."

his fingers move at an unbearable pace, curling, pressing into the spot that makes your knees weak. your hips jerk, but he holds you still.

"needy, huh?" his breath is burning against your ear, teasing, smug. "tell me how bad you want it, baby."

your fingers clutch the sheets, patience fraying. you should fight him— push back, make him work for it—but you're too far gone for games.

"satoru—"

his fingers stall. "mm, not good enough."

"want you," you gasp, growing desperate. "need you inside me."

he groans like you just hit him where it hurts. he pulls his hand away, leaving you empty for barely a second before the thick of him replaces them.

he slips the tip through your folds, slick and teasing, but doesn't push in. "this what you wanted?" he asks, rougher now.

"yes."

"say it again."

your breath stutters, but you give him what he wants. "yes. please," you gasp.

his hands flex against your hips, keeping you still as he pushes forward, stretching you open with an unrelenting drag that knocks the air from your lungs. it's almost too much—almost—but you want all of it. you take all of him.

he moves in slowly, and a shaky gasp escapes as he bottoms out, deep inside you, holding himself there, letting you feel it.

his breath is ragged now, his exhale hot against your skin. "fuck."

his hands slide up your sides, guiding you, holding you where he needs you.

"you feel so fucking good," he breathes, voice dipping into something ruined.

his hips roll, deep and slow, like he wants to feel everything. like he wants to make this last.

you think for a second that you won't survive at this pace.

satoru brings his body lower, pressing his chest flush against your back, all heat and tension, breath ghosting over your shoulder as he sinks in.

his arms slip under yours, palms spreading over your shoulders, drawing you into him. not just pulling you back, but owning the space between you.

hi thrusts are indulgent, stretching, coating himself in you. his breath is uneven, satisfaction humming in your ear.

you push your hips back into him, matching his rhythm.

satoru exhales a sharp breath, fingers digging in. "you trying to make me lose it?"

you don't answer, just push back harder on instinct.

his response is immediate—a sharp, precise thrust that knocks the air from your lungs, ripping a moan from your throat before you can swallow it down.

"thought so," he murmurs, lips grazing your shoulder.

his pace turns deep and steady—controlled, measured. he brings his face close to yours, wanting to watch you react, to feel you tighten around him with every movement.

but you're impatient. you shift, pressing up onto your elbows, angling your hips just enough to take him deeper.

his pace stutters. he swears under his breath, voice raw, and one arm locks around your waist. he holds you in place as he fucks into you now, hard enough to leave you trembling, helpless against the bed.

his name leaves your lips, breathless and desperate.

"fuck—it's so good," he groans, half-choked, messy. his face buries into your neck, hands gripping like he's holding on for dear life. "let me hear you, baby."

you can barely think, barely breathe. his hand slides between your legs, fingers finding that spot, pressing slow, teasing circles.

"satoru—"

he chuckles, low and smug, but there's an edge to it now, a tension in the way his hips stutter, his movements losing their precision.

and then you tighten around him, body seizing, pleasure cresting all at once—

"fuck," he bites out, breathless, grip tightening like he's trying to hold on.

and then—he pulls out.

a sharp inhale, the loss making you gasp, but before you can even form a thought—

he flips you over.

"not done with you yet," he mutters, voice rough, gaze dark as he hovers over you.

+++

and just like that, everything shifts.

his hands find you the second he pulls out—a sharp, dizzying shift as he flips you over, settling beneath you. his hands slide up your ribs, brush over your breasts, then slide back down.

his fingers splay wide on your hips, steadying you, but it's his gaze that pins you in place. "wanna see you like this," he murmurs, voice low, still rough from before.

your lips part, but the way he looks at you makes it hard to tease. instead, your nails drag down his chest, unhurried, feeling his abs tense beneath your touch.

"yeah?" you breathe.

his fingers flex, tightening just slightly. "yeah, baby. show me how bad you want it."

you wrap your fingers around him, stroking once, slow and teasing, just to watch him squirm.

his jaw clenches, but he doesn't push. he lets you take your time, lets you set the pace, struggling to hold back.

you don't make him wait long.

you line him up and sink down, savoring the stretch—the way he exhales, sharp and shaky, fingers digging in.

"fuck," he breathes, watching you, eyes dark, half-lidded, all heat.

one of your hands finds his shoulders, nails scraping lightly as you start to move. the other moves down to where you're connected, feeling just how far he spreads you open.

at first, it's slow—like you're figuring each other out all over again. a careful roll of your hips, tension simmering, teasing at something deeper.

but it doesn't last.

his grip firms, guiding you down, matching your rhythm. he thrusts up to meet you with a force that knocks the breath from your lungs.

"you feel me, princess?" he asks, pulling you down harder, deeper.

you answer him with a desperate little whimper that makes him melt.

both of your movements are messy, desperate—like you both know exactly where this is going and you need to get there.

your fingers tangle in his hair, nails scraping, tugging just slightly, and he hisses, eyes squeezing shut for a second.

his hands slide up your spine, pulling you closer, his forehead pressing to yours, breathing hard.

"you feel so fucking good," he murmurs, almost a whine. "so wet for me, so fucking perfect."

you can't even speak. your thoughts blur, pleasure winding tight, breath coming in short, uneven gasps.

he shifts beneath you, angling deeper, hitting exactly where you need him. the sudden jolt of pleasure makes your whole body tighten, makes you let out a sound you didn't mean to make—

a loud, broken moan, breathy, helpless.

his head snaps up, eyes wild, something cracking behind them—like he just lost his last thread of control.

"oh," his breath shudders, grip tightening. "oh."

and then he's gone.

he snaps his hips into yours, his hands gripping, guiding, setting a pace that's relentless, that has you gasping, nails biting into his shoulders.

your vision goes hazy, body tightening, winding up unbearably fast. you try to tell him you're close, but all that comes out is a shaky, broken "satoru—"

"oh, fuck—there it is," he breathes, voice dropping, eyes dark and triumphant. "knew you'd sound so fucking sweet falling apart for me."

his hand finds your clit, pressing just right—teeth gritting as he holds on, watching you break first.

and you shatter.

it slams into you, sharp and consuming, a shockwave rolling through your body. your breath stutters, a broken gasp stumbling free as you tighten around him, locking him in.

he feels it—the way you pulse around him, the way you tremble, how your moans dissolve into something helpless. it undoes him. his arm slides your waist, his other hand finding the back of your neck, and he pulls you closer like he needs you.

he curses as you tremble against him, holding you close, burying himself deep in you as he falls apart.

your name leaves his lips like a prayer, breathless, reverent. he groans against your skin as he finally spills into you. pleasure crashes through him, and for a moment, all he can do is feel **the heat of you, the way you throb around him, the way your body takes him like you were made for this.

for a second, you both stay still; the only sound between you is the sharp, uneven puff of breath.

your hands shake against his chest. his fingers are still locked around your waist.

he exhales a wrecked laugh, warm and lazy against your temple.

"so fucking worth the wait," he murmurs, voice low, sated. he kisses all over your face, palm smoothing down your spine. "knew you'd be perfect for me."

+++

the morning light spills through the curtains, golden and soft, warming tangled sheets and bare skin. everything is still. quiet, but not empty. satoru is warm against you, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. at some point in the night, your leg found its way between his, one of his arms draped lazily over your waist.

you shift, stretching slightly, and his fingers flex at your hip, like some part of him refuses to let you go.

he murmurs something unintelligible, voice low and drowsy. then, with a slow, easy smile against your skin, "stay."

you huff a quiet laugh. "clingy."

"mmm," he hums, voice is thick with sleep. "you're warm."

he still hasn't opened his eyes. he just shifts a little, nestling deeper into you. his fingers pressing idly into your hip, like he's memorizing the shape of you beneath them.

you stay like that for a while.

you steal a button-up from his closet when you finally get up, slipping it over your shoulders before following him into the bathroom. he doesn't comment, just flicks his gaze over you, lips twitching, before rummaging through a drawer. a moment later, he presses a spare toothbrush into your palm.

"definitely took you for the clingy type."

he grins, stretching lazily against the counter. "not my fault you're so soft."

you brush your teeth side by side, bleary-eyed in the mirror. he stands just a little too close, bumping into your arm like he can't help himself.

and when you head back to bed, he follows, catching your wrist just before you climb in, guiding you back under the covers with ease.

"wait." his lips brush your shoulder. "just stay there."

"i am staying," you point out, amused.

"good," he hums, pressing one last kiss to your head before disappearing into the kitchen.

satoru returns minutes later, two mugs in hand. he sets yours on the nightstand before wordlessly disappearing back to the kitchen.

you wait until you smell breakfast, then you get up and follow the scent out to his kitchen island.

he doesn't ask if you're hungry. he just plates your food and sets it in front of you without a second thought.

you steal sips from his juice between bites, and he lets you, just watching, amused, eyes flicking toward you over the rim of his glass.

soft touches happen naturally, thoughtlessly.

his palm finds the small of your back when he moves past you, warm and steady.

your fingers brush when you both reach for the same thing.

his knuckles graze your thigh when he leans back against the counter.

none of it feels unfamiliar.

you stay longer than you expected to. he doesn't call you out on it.

the goodbye is unserious, drawn out in a way that makes it obvious neither of you is in a rush.

"try not to miss me too much," you tease, pulling on your shoes with a grin.

he smiles, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. "oh, i will."

his tone is playful, but something about the way he says them makes you hesitate, just for a second.

and as you step out, just before it closes behind you, he calls after you.

"i'll be thinking about you, y'know."

tags (ongoing): @moonchhu @httpstoyosi @lavnder311 @harryzcherry @perkypeony @katecupcakekate @hellicify @oh-my-god-donald @jupiterbinnie @i88b0nten @satxoru @chuuminn @moncher-ire @r0ckst4rjk @flwerie @raendarkfaerie @pinksdump @blkmystery @pearlessance @satoruxsc

[marshemillow]

Okay but you do realize the danger in saying, "This is an addiction because I feel good when I have it and I feel bad when I don't have it." right? Do you understand that that's a slippery slope invented by conservative purity culture to make people feel bad for fulfilling needs they can't fulfill in other ways?

Are there people who spend 22 hours a day watching porn even when the rest of their life is going well? Sure, of course there are, but the vast majority of people who claim to struggle with porn addiction don't actually watch more porn than the average person; They just feel worse about it. Pathologizing normal, healthy expressions of sexuality is how these high control groups get and keep members.

It's the same with "food addiction"; Yes, binge eating disorder is a real thing, but a lot of people who think they're addicted to food are actually eating way less than they should be, and their cravings are really just normal feelings of starvation. People go on extreme diets, binge because their body is screaming at them to stop starving themselves, and then they feel bad for binging like it was just lack of willpower that made them cave and they think it's their fault for not being strong enough to be "healthy."

My whole point is that this attitude comes from people believing that addiction is a moral failing, and also acting like anything that makes you feel better is an addiction by default when it's probably just a normal coping mechanism for needs you can't fulfill normally like loneliness. Yes, there are people who are addicted to phones, just like there are people with Pica who can't help but eat drywall, but the consensus right now is that there is insufficient evidence to prove that phones are addictive. Even if you could find thousands of people who were addicted to eating drywall, that's still not enough to prove that society at large needs to be worried about becoming addicted to drywall.

Honestly, genuine question; Why did you bother replying to me if you couldn't even be bothered to read everything I said? Did you just see a couple key words and assume you knew what I was saying? Do you know how frustrating it is to feel like people are misunderstanding you on purpose?

If you're actually addicted to social media, then I would say you deserve compassion and treatment for that, but don't act like these movements to label everything as an "addiction" are perfectly innocent. Even on an actually unhealthy level, taking people's phones away doesn't solve the root cause, and it does nothing good to make people feel bad for their coping mechanisms, even if it really is an addiction.

I wish it was easier to talk about mobile phone addiction without sounding like a boomer

[loveritas]

anypov જ cw: hints of pseudocest જ wc: 561

Caleb.

He had always been there, like your own personal shadow, a knight in shining armour you’d joke as kids. The one person who made sure you were never alone. From the moment you’d been taken in together, he’d taken you under his wing and kept you there...For protection? Perhaps, if not a little for possession...

When you were younger, he made sure no one picked on you at school. If someone so much as looked at you wrong, Caleb was there, standing just a little too close, his voice low and even as he scared them off with nothing more than a few well-placed words. You never even had to ask; he just knew when you needed him.

You never felt like you were an obligation with him, or that he was forcing himself to spend time with you. He encouraged you to take up the same hobbies, his favourite music, comics, video games, anything it was, he’d happily bond with you over it if you wanted to.

Similarly, he’d do the same for you. You’d mention something and it would stay in his brain, he’d learn all about your hobbies and fixations, just so you’d have someone to share it with. Your smile whenever he’d show interest was always worth it to him, the image framed permanently in his mind.

It was sweet, the way he was always there.

But then you got older and it didn’t stop. If anything, it got worse.

Every time you got close to someone, Caleb had something to say. A subtle comment, a warning laced with just enough truth to make you doubt. “I heard he’s a player.” - “He’ll just use you.” - “Heard some real bad things about that one.”. Sometimes he didn’t even need to say anything, just a glance, a tight-lipped expression, and suddenly, you were second-guessing everything.

And if that didn’t work? He found other ways.

He pulled you aside at a party, fingers closing a bit too firmly around your wrist as he leant down and whispered, “You're not really into him, are you?” His voice was gentle, nearly teasing, but there was something underneath. Something darker.

“You trust me, don't you?”

It was a stupid question, of course you did, you always had, probably would forever more.

You always looked up to him, he knew best and it allowed him to draw you back into the protection of his presence, allowed him to remind you—over and over—that no one would ever know you the way he did, take care of you the way he does.

As you stepped out into the evening chilly air Caleb's arm slid around your shoulders, pulling you close into his side. His warmth seeped into you, always so comforting and grounding, even now when there was a hidden undercurrent of something else

"Let's go home, parties’ not all that great-" he whispered, as he pressed a small gentle kiss to the top of your head.

It should have been nothing. A brotherly thing. A habit formed over the years.

But the way his lips lingered—just a second too long, inhaling your scent a little—had you mind racing, and a subtle warmth running along your skin.

You didn’t look up at him, too scared for what you might see in his eyes.

Or perhaps too scared it would be reflected in your eyes too.

© loveritas → do not copy or translate any of my works

[heliosunny]

Hello! I was curious what your take on the Amphoreus men’s reactions would be to a sick or even injured reader? I had bad nausea and a migraine today, bedridden and all, (but I’m better now!) and I fear if I was their darling they’d think I’m pregnant or something dumb like that 😂

Wishing you a lovely day! Thank you for sharing your writings ❤️

I'm sick atm so Imma answer this. Glad to hear u got better.

When you're sick

🌿 Anaxa

At first, he's simply observing. He doesn't react strongly, but his mind is already working to figure out what’s wrong.

(Watching you struggle to sit up, his eyes gleaming with amusement at first.)

Anaxa: “How fascinating. Your skin is warmer than usual, your pupils slightly dilated… Could it be a poison? Did someone poison you? Or perhaps a parasite? I do wonder.”

Anaxa is unsettlingly calm as he begins testing different treatments on you (you poor thing). You say it’s just a cold? He doesn’t believe you.

(You groan, insisting it’s just a cold. He hums, unconvinced, swirling a dark liquid in a glass.)

Anaxa: “Drink this. It may cure you, or at the very least, give me something new to analyze.”

(He scares you, but he only wants the best for you. Such hypocrite.)

Pregnancy thought? Unlikely. He’s too logical for that, he's looking for tangible symptoms. However, if he does think it, it’s because he wants to study the changes in your body up close.

(You woke up just to see his hand already inspecting your stomach.)

Anaxa: “We managed to put a baby in here huh. Don't you move, I'll take very good care of you.”

(You pushed him away soon after and refused to drink or eat anything from him.)

🐶 Phainon

His smile starts to fade when he heard the news. You have a minor fever?

(He barges into the room)

Phainon: “You're going to die? Don't leave me! I can't bear the thought of living all alone...”

(Lays you in bed dramatically like you’re on your deathbed.)

If you say it’s just a cold, he’ll be offended and insist that you need “proper royal treatment.”

(He tucked you in so tight you can't even move.)

Phainon: “I always know that you're not as strong as me, but I didn't expect you to be sick. I will feed you, every day, don't worry.”

Pregnancy thought? that’s not possible… unless…

(You tell him to calm down, but he ignores you, crouching beside your bed with a look of pure anguish.)

Phainon: “What if it’s something deadly? What if *gasp you’re with child?!? Whose? Mine?”

(You choke on your own saliva at his ridiculous assumption.)

Phainon: “Stay right here, I’ll summon someone immediately!”

(He rushes out before you can protest. You are doomed.)

🦁Mydei

At first, he just watches you suspiciously. When he realizes it’s real, he softens… a little.

He doesn’t fuss, but he becomes overbearing in a quiet way. He forces you to rest, doesn’t let you lift a single finger.

(Arms crossed, standing near the door, eyes narrowed as he watches you weakly sip your drink.)

Mydei: “If you’re too weak to hold a cup properly, you shouldn’t be holding it at all.”

(You glare at him, muttering that you can take care of yourself.)

Mydei: “Clearly.” (Sarcastic. He takes the cup from your hands and forces you to lie down.) “Rest.”

If you get worse, he just picks you up and hauls you off to a doctor, no questions asked.

He’ll be stubbornly glued to your side until you’re better.

Pregnancy thought? The possibility crosses his mind, but he immediately throws it out because he would’ve known if anything like that was possible.

When you're injured

🌿 Anaxa

He is completely unfazed. Even if you’re bleeding out, he will only act calm and professional while getting out his medical tools.

(Kneeling beside you, observing the wound with a calm, almost clinical expression.)

Anaxa: “Hm. A deep cut. The bleeding is slowing, but the damage is substantial.”

You swear he’s a doctor with how efficiently he patches you up—but he makes little effort to comfort you. Rather, he finds it interesting to mess with you.

(You wince as he prods at the wound. He doesn’t even warn you.)

Anaxa: “I expected better. Letting yourself get hurt like this… Have you always been so careless?”

(You glare at him.)

Anaxa: “Oh, don’t look at me like that. This is your own fault, after all. Still, if I find out someone else dares hurt you... nevermind.”

🐶Phainon

Trying to hold back his anger, won't let it shows in front of you. You can only see his good side.

(His entire body is tense as he kneels beside you, gripping his sword so hard his knuckles turn white.)

Phainon: “Who did this?”

(You try to downplay it, but his eyes still burning with fury.)

Once he’s calmed down, he scoops you up and takes you to the best healer available.

He’s genuinely shaken up by it and might get overly protective afterward. Even minor scrapes will have him wrapping you up in bandages like a mummy.

Phainon: “And once you’re healed, you are never leaving my sight again. I won’t allow it.”

🦁Mydei

He’s surprisingly calm when he sees you’re injured, but it’s the eerie kind of calm. He’s not saying much, but the rage is there.

He doesn’t panic, he assesses your wound like a warrior, checking the severity before deciding what to do.

(He crouches beside you, examining the wound with an eerily quiet intensity.)

Mydei: “You’re bleeding.”

(You bite back a sarcastic remark. He rips off a piece of his sleeve, pressing it against the wound with firm but careful hands.)

Mydei: “Does it hurt?”

(You hesitate. He looks at you, his sharp gaze unyielding.)

Mydei: “Good. Remember it.”

Two priorities:

Getting you treated.

Finding whoever did this and destroying them.

No more fights. No more risks. You are staying where he can see you.

(He finishes bandaging the wound, then stands, offering you his hand.)

Mydei: “Come. You’re not walking alone.”

[tangerineastronaut]

hello can I get ateez members as doms? how they act with there subs in these relationship.

Dom!ATEEZ and Sub!Reader individual dynamics | ot8

Pairing: ot8 and their Dom!style Genre: ot8 reactions Requested: Yes w.c. 2.5k Warnings: BDSM dynamics, mentions of smut/sex/etc, discussion of punishments, dacryphilia A/N: what even is this I am so sorry this is so bad omg Please remember this is just my take. If you disagree, you're more than welcome to make your own! Don't take it personally 🫶🏽 Requests: Open (link below)

Requests | WIPs Masterlists: BTS | ATEEZ | GOT7 | Stray Kids

Hongjoong

Be afraid

^ When you’re bad (most of the time, u little shit)

Hard!Dom, strictest of the members

Brat tamer 100000% but doesn't want to be

Genuinely gets angry when you’re a brat, would prefer if you’d just listen to him

Punishments are meant to break you emotionally

Worst of all the members in that regard tbh

Will deny you things rather than physical discipline ~ praise, orgasms, affection

Wants you desperate and needy, it gives him control over you

Can forget to give you praise at times, does not get angry if you ask/remind him

“Ah, sorry. I’ve been busy, baby. Yes, I’m proud of you for going out today, I know you’ve been struggling recently. Did you eat at that cafe you liked? Did you remember to use my card? Why not? That's what it's for, love."

Blows money on you

Cannot stop buying you pretty things, especially clothes

Makes you try on the things he's purchased for you - usually ends with you getting fucked in whatever you had on last

Wants you to wear nice things when you go out to fancy dinners

Not very physically affectionate but will be if you need him to be

Will not punish you for being insecure, just wants to reassure you and make you feel beautiful

Sex is either quick and dirty or long and passionate

Fav positions are standing or missionary with your legs over his shoulders

Shower sex >>>

He's so damn busy there's not much other choice

Looks so fucking hot when he's got you pinned to the tile wall

Biting/marking - he loves to use his teeth on you

Don't you dare bite him back

Likes foreplay but prefers sex, is good at eating you out but would rather use his cock than his tongue

Is good at aftercare, though it's more of a standard, doesn't like pillow talk unless you need it

Will still make sure you're safe/comfy/loved and will do anything for you

Is rough, but can turn it off when he knows you need a softer side.

Seonghwa

Soft!dom

Gentle until he isn't

Strict, but not the strictest

Does not enjoy punishments as much as the others, but still wants to make sure you know your place

Does not understand the concept of being a brat, you're so good for him

"What do you mean no? Like no...what? I just asked you to come here, silly."

Rarely has to punish you anyway, he doesn’t have many rules

You break the rules on purpose sometimes

He’ll punish you harder if he thinks that’s the case vs you accidentally breaking a rule

Very snuggly

Will want you to just sit with him while he works with his legos

Loves to be held by you

Asks you for compliments

“Do you like this color on me?”

Will not scold you in public

Expect gentle touches and verbal correction

Hates seeing you cry, even if it's from an intense orgasm

Obsessed with aftercare

Will shower you with praise and tell you how well you did

"I'm sorry baby, I was rough today. Took me so well though, so pretty. Love it when you get on your back for me. Want me to wash your hair?"

Likes taking care of you in general, will mother you like his members (but worse)

"Why didn't you eat today?! C'mon, let's go to that noodle shop you like."

Sex is not super kinky but is almost always emotional

Pretty straightforward, wants you both to feel good and snuggle after

Likes getting head and giving head, but prefers sex over foreplay

Fav positions are spooning and intimate spaces like in a comfy chair with you in his lap

Soft kisses + him stroking your hair + thanking you for always being his good girl

Yunho

Cocky and playful

Neither soft nor hard, just likes to keep you guessing

Is silly unless he's in a bad mood

Likes to make you sit in his lap while he games

You like it too, he knows it

Will get pouty if you don't praise his efforts

Don't tease him while he plays

Fr don't

If you value your cervix, you will not tease this man when he's not in the mood for sex

"What's wrong, baby? You were whining for my attention, now you're whining that it doesn't fit? That's a fucking lie."

Size kink

Likes feeling bigger/taller/stronger than you

Expect to be teased over this, even if you're not that short

Loves taking selfies with you

A big puppy

Can be a big scary puppy

Doesn't scold you in public

Likes it when you know you're in trouble

Sweetheart but will do a 180

When he's stressed or in a bad mood he can be too rough

Sometimes it's hard to tell when it's okay to be silly and not

He will let you know

Breeding kink at its finest

Size kink + breeding kink = RIP ur ability to walk

"I know it's deep baby, shh...almost there..."

Likes making you beg

Loves to degrade you and then praise you in the same breath

Talks you through it

Very sweet, silly aftercare

Sex is not complete until you're a giggling, sleepy mess in his arms

Fav position is anything where he can manhandle you beneath him

Yeosang

Quiet dom

But not soft

Very strict but is not loud about it

Perfect brat tamer, but isn't one (you can't rile him up—most intuitive of the members and rarely rises to the occasion)

Most of his dominant side is only seen when you're alone

Does not scold you in public

Expects you to follow the rules and does not remind you

Goes straight to punishment

You cannot catch him off guard

Knows your moods before you do

Terrifyingly calm

"Is that how we're acting today? Okay."

Likes to edge you

Loves when you orgasm as soon as his cock goes in due to overstimulation

^ will continue fucking you anyway

Thinks you're prettiest when you're crying

"That good, huh? You're blushing baby...such pretty tears."

Fucks you sitting up, likes it when you cling to him and wants to feel your tears on his shoulders

Eye contact >>>

So fucking calm it's scary, truly

Like imagine you've fucked up in public and you know it, this mf just gives you the gentlest of smiles

He likes you anxious

Sex is deceptively rough

You would not expect it but he likes it to hurt

He wants you to fight back

That grip strength is not to be taken lightly

Fav position is missionary or in a car with you in his lap

Aftercare is pretty strict, he has a routine

Bathroom, water, bed, letting him hold you

Prioritizes you afterwards since he knows he can be rough

Wants you to tell him about your day as though he didn't just rail you into next tuesday

San

Very traditional dom vibes

Does not hold back on punishments like hwa

Expect an equal amount of praise and correction, heavily values both

Big on body worship, either you on him or vice versa

Will want you to kiss his chest and shoulders and remind him how safe he makes you feel

Protective, but not possessive

Best dom for daddy issues

Will tell you he's proud of you but fuck you into the mattress a few minutes later

^ while still telling you he's proud of you

Most fair punishments, typically physical but not cruel

Spankings, being made to take it on the floor, being tied down, etc etc

Loooooves tying you up

Huge on boundaries and safewords

All the members are but San prefers constant check ins

"How are we, baby? Can you still take it? Use your words, pretty girl."

Sex lasts a loooooong time from foreplay to aftercare

Like, expect to spend an entire evening in the bedroom

Only because he loves to warm you up beforehand with a few orgasms

Loves it when you orgasm

Edging is not necessary, he wants you to have as many as possible until you're overstimulated

Follows your lead during aftercare, whatever you need

"Did so good for me. What do you need from me, baby? A massage? I can do that. Love you so much. Did so well tonight."

Will let you sit in his lap while he works

Likes it when you tease him, but won't punish you right away

Makes you wait for it

"Hi baby. Remember what you did earlier? Let's figure out how to make you say sorry without words."

Fav positions are you in his lap or lying on the counter/table

Mingi

BRAT TAMER

and loves it

Will encourage you to act out just so he can punish you

Literally begging for a reason

"Please baby. Tell me no one more fucking time. The kitchen table is right there and I'm hard as fuck."

Mean and you love it

Is going to bend you over any surface when you give him the slightest inclination that you're about to act up

Effortlessly attractive, actually unfair

Genuinely does not know how wet you are simply because he's pinning you down

Lives for his own pleasure and you're along for the ride

DO NOT think he doesn't care about you getting off tho—

—and do not let that man's mouth near your pussy if you know what's good for your health

Addicted to eating you out

Mingi demands few things of you as his sub, but allowing him to ravish your pussy is a requirement

You WILL sit on his face and you WILL cry and he WILL hold your hips so you can't squirm away while he sucks your clit and makes you cum for the third time

Uses it as both a reward and punishment

That overstimulation will have you in tears

He does not care

Sex lasts a little longer than average simply because you have to pry him off of you

Impatient when it comes to you and your attitude

Punishment is always physical

Loves to spank you for misbehaving

Not the kinkiest but probably the most hypersexual of the members

LOUD sex

Aftercare is not really organized but still very involved. Expect kisses, a very clingy man, and cuddling

Loves you with your clothes on too

Can forget to give you praise, but shows you he's proud in his own ways

"You made this? Holy shit, it's amazing. My baby can cook??"

Kissing the top of your head, just because he can >>>>

Does not scold you in public—probably has not realized you've done something that warrants scolding

Is possessive and VERY jealous

Like Hongjoong, he knows when to turn it off if you need him to be gentle with you

Wooyoung

A fucking? brat dom?

Will ignore you for attention

You can't outbrat the brat

Big on silent treatment as long as he thinks you can emotionally handle it

Very touchy feely, likes grabbing you and holding you against him

Has a range of looks to give you to tell you when you've fucked up

Hates when other men stare at you, will absolutely stare back

Loves PDA the most out of the members

Does not care if you're in public, will scold you when needed

Will also tease you just to see you squirm

Is not above things like vibrating panties when you've been acting up

Loves to use his hands during punishment or praise

Expect handprints on your ass

May as well get them tattooed on there tbh

Whiny when he wants your attention

Can sometimes be too much

"Are you okay? Was that too hard?"

Likes to make you cry

Enjoys pissing you off since you can't do anything about it

Imagine getting fucked daily by your biggest opp

"Aww, are you mad? Huh? I can tell. Cry me a river while you take this cock, baby."

a menace, tbh

Sex is kinky af

DIRTY TALK mf won't shut up as it is and rambles when he's inside you

"Take it, baby. That's it, just like that. So fucking pretty. You just open those legs when I come near, huh? An obedient little slut when she expects cock."

Not super long sex but can happen multiple times a day

Possessive and jealous

Takes lots of pictures of you

^ Doing anything

"Hold still, I'm taking a pic. Can you tilt your head? Your toothbrush is in the way."

Aftercare is forehead kisses and praise, whining when you have to get up.

Big heart, loves giving you compliments and seeing you shine

Is infinitely proud of you and will not stop telling you so

Likes to do domestic things with you like cooking

Takes you on cute little dates rather than big fancy dinners

Do NOT let him hear you talking bad about yourself

Jongho

Loves being a dom the most

Similar to San, very straightforward, traditional dom

Unlike San, has a cruel streak

Basically a combination of Hongjoong and San

He feels the best when he spoils you

Wants you to buy anything you want

Obsessed with you fr

Wants to make love to you any time he can

Will pin you down but...romantically??

Master of seduction, likes you warm and ready for him

Takes you to fancy dinners and then fucks you in the car on the way home

Loves having his cock worshipped by you

Can eat pussy but prefers seeing your lips wrapped around him

Calls you good girl more than anything

"Did you take your medicine this morning? Good girl."

Isn't jealous at all

Doesn't have to be, he knows you're his

When he catches other men staring at you he feels proud like "yeah, she's mine."

Extremely physically affectionate but only in private

Gentlemanly in public, his hand is usually at the small of your back

In private he just wants to hold you

Loves picking you up

Will pet your hair and pull you in for kisses while he asks about your day

Loves your hair btw

Like, wrapped around his insane grip while he fucks you from behind

Dirty talk

"That's it, baby. Look so pretty like this. You've been wet all day, huh? Just waiting for me to get home and make it better? How many times did you touch that pussy thinking of me?"

Not super kinky, but sex is still intense

Does like to blindfold you occasionally

Likes it when he comes home from work to find you naked in bed, where you're supposed to be

"Is this for me?" he'll ask, sliding his hand over your bare ass.

Doesn't even get fully undressed before he's inside you, he's only impatient when it comes to you

Breeding kink but AUTHENTIC. Like, wants you pregnant (only when you're ready) will probably find you absolutely irresistible when pregnant

Aftercare is whatever you need but will always include water and cuddles

Very protective of you, scolds you for being clueless at times

"Why the hell did you take an uber? You should've just called me. Who knows what kind of people are out there!"

Will get angry with you but you're literally the gem of his life, he treasures you more than anything

[sometimescharlolette]

JOEL MILLER X F!READER (BRAT TAMING)

Synopsis: You disobey Joel, putting your life at risk once again, his patience runs out, and he teaches you a lesson.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: +18, age gap, p in v, rough sex, punish sex, dirty talk, possessive behavior, degradate, orgasm denial, age gap not explicit

A/N: Hello pretty people, valentine's day is coming, and I thought I'd write a few things to celebrate this special day. There will be five in total, starting today and ending on the 14th. I hope you enjoy this idea as much as I do. In any case, comments and feedback always motivate me to keep writing and trying to improve. Kisses 💜💜

How many times would Joel have to repeat himself until your stubborn little head got it through your thick skull? Keeping you within the perimeter wasn’t some arbitrary punishment—it was survival. He wasn’t the bad guy for trying to make sure you didn’t get yourself killed. Or worse, turned. The thought alone made his stomach churn, a bitter taste rising in the back of his throat. He had already lost too many people. He wasn’t about to lose you, even if it meant keeping you under lock and key.

And yet, there you were. Again.

He found you near the HQ containment zone, cigarette dangling from your lips, laughing at something some idiot had whispered in your ear. Smoke curled from your mouth, slipping between soft, pink lips as though the world wasn’t on fire around you. As if you had no care at all.

Joel never wanted this job. Never wanted to be responsible for you. But Tess, of course, had volunteered to keep an eye on you, which meant he’d been dragged into this mess, forced to play babysitter to a reckless brat who didn’t seem to give a damn about how dangerous things were outside those gates.

“Let’s go.”

His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument, the crunch of his heavy boots against the gravel matching the unwavering determination in his eyes. He didn’t slow as he approached, didn’t hesitate as he wrapped his fingers around your wrist, yanking you away from the wall you were leaning against.

“Wait—” you whined, twisting in his grip, but he didn’t stop. The cigarette slipped from your lips, embers snuffing out against the cold ground. You cast a glance at the others, as if hoping one of them might step in. But no one did. No one ever did. Not when it came to Joel.

With a frustrated growl, he had enough. In one swift motion, he hauled you over his shoulder, one arm locking around your thighs as you yelped in protest. You kicked, fists thudding against his back, hair falling over your face as the blood rushed to your head.

“Joel, put me down! You caveman—”

He ignored you, jaw clenched tight, stride unwavering as he carried you back to the apartment. Your struggles were useless against his iron grip, every squirm and protest met with nothing more than a gruff sigh. Only once he crossed the threshold, locking the door behind him, did he finally let you go—unceremoniously dropping you onto the worn couch.

You landed with a huff, limbs sprawled in a graceless heap. “What the hell was that?” you snapped, glaring up at him. “I’m not a damn child.”

Joel exhaled sharply, running a rough hand down his face. His patience was gone, his body taut with frustration. His dark eyes locked onto yours, voice low and edged with exhaustion.

“No. But you sure as hell act like one.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, your breath hitching as his gaze pinned you in place. He was tired—tired of chasing after you, tired of dragging you back from the edge when you so eagerly danced on it.

Joel stepped closer, looming over your sprawled form on the couch. He could see the defiance in your eyes, the stubborn set of your jaw. It was infuriating, but it also stirred something primal in him. He had to put an end to this reckless behavior, one way or another.

"Listen up, 'cause I'm only gonna say this once," he growled, voice rough and low. "You can't keep pullin' this shit, darlin'. It ain't safe out there."

He grabbed your chin, tilting your face up to look at him. His calloused thumb brushed over your bottom lip, a rough caress that felt a jolt through you. "You're playin' with fire, and you're gonna get yourself burned. I won't let that happen."

Joel leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Maybe it's time I taught you a lesson about listening in' to your elders." His other hand slid down your side, coming to rest on your hip. He squeezed, fingers digging into the soft flesh.

"Wh-what are you doing?" you stammered, a flush creeping up your neck. You tried to pull away, but he held you firm.

"Shh, just relax," he murmured, voice a low rumble. "I'm gonna make you understand, one way or another." His hand slid higher, brushing over the curve of your breast. He could feel your nipple stiffen beneath the thin fabric of your shirt.

Joel captured your mouth in a demanding kiss, swallowing any protests. His tongue delved past your lips, claiming your mouth with a hunger that stole your breath. He kissed you until you were dizzy, until you could only cling to him for support.

When he finally pulled back, your lips were red and swollen, his chest heaving. "You're not leaving this house until I say so," he declared, voice rough with desire. "And if you try, I'll just have to punish you again."

His hand slid under your skirt, finding the heat between your thighs. He groaned at the dampness he found there, a finger tracing your slit through the fabric of your panties. "Fuck, you're already so wet," he muttered. "Guess you like bein' manhandled like this, don't you?"

He ripped your panties away, tossing them carelessly to the side. Then his fingers were on your bare flesh, stroking through your slick folds. He circled your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your hips buck up against his hand.

"Joel..." you whimpered, head thrown back in ecstasy. "Please..."

"Please what, baby?" he taunted, fingers delving deeper. "Please stop? Or please don't stop?" He pumped two fingers in and out of you, curling them just right to hit that sweet spot inside.

You could only moan in response, lost in the pleasure he was giving you. He worked you closer and closer to the edge, until your thighs were trembling and your walls were clenching around his fingers.

"Please, Joel, keep it up, I'm, I'm gonna cum," you moaned breathlessly, your head thrown back on the arm of the couch, your chest rising and falling with the scorching heat building in your pelvis, but before you could get caught up in the sensation of pleasure, he pulled his fingers out.

Joel smirked at the confused, frustrated look on your face as he abruptly pulled his fingers from your aching, desperate cunt. He could see the need written all over you, the way your body trembled and your chest heaved with each ragged breath. It was a delicious sight, seeing you so wound up and wanting. He planned to take his time with you, to make you beg for release like the needy little thing you were.

"Please, Joel, I can't-- ah!" Your protests turned into a yelp as his palm cracked against your sensitive pussy, the sharp sting only adding to the fire burning under your skin. He could feel your slick coating his hand, your arousal dripping down your thighs.

"Listen up, you brat," he growled, voice low and dominant. "You don't get to cum until I say so. This is your punishment for being such a reckless little fool."

Joel grabbed your ankles, pushing your legs up and back towards your shoulders. He held you in a tight hold, folding you nearly in half as he loomed over your exposed, dripping cunt. His cock strained against his jeans, rock hard and aching to be buried inside you. But he had other plans first.

Leaning down, he ran his tongue along your slit, tasting your essence. "Fuck, you taste so good," he murmured against your flesh. "Sweet as honey." He delved deeper, tongue plunging into your entrance as he ate you out with eager.

Your moans filled the room, back arching as much as his grip would allow. He could feel your walls fluttering around his invading tongue, desperate for more. But he pulled back, leaving you wanting once again.

"No, please Joel, I need-- I need to cum," you whined, voice high and needy. Your hips bucked, trying to grind against his face, but he held you still.

"Not yet, you don't," he chided, giving your clit a sharp nip. "You don't get to cum until I say so. Until I've had my fill of you."

Joel released your legs, letting them fall to the couch. He undid his belt and jeans with quick, rough movements, freeing his hard cock. It sprang up, long and thick, the swollen head already leaking with need.

Joel fisted a hand in your hair, gripping it tight as he rubbed the leaking head of his cock along your cheek. The scent of his arousal filled your nose, making your mouth water with anticipation. You could feel the heat radiating off his thick shaft, the weight of it as he painted your lips with his pre-cum.

"Open up, baby," he ordered, voice rough with lust. "If you do a good job sucking my cock, maybe I'll let you cum. Would you like that?"

He pressed the tip against your lips, demanding entrance. Your gaze flicked up to meet his, seeing the dark hunger in his eyes. He wanted to use your mouth, to fuck your face until he spilled his load down your throat. The thought sent a thrill of excitement through you.

Reaching up, you wrapped your small hand around the base of his thick cock, feeling it throb against your palm. Slowly, you parted your lips, letting the head slip past them. Your tongue darted out, lapping at the slit, tasting the salty essence leaking from the tip.

"Fuck," Joel groaned, hips jerking forward slightly as your tongue caressed his sensitive flesh. "That's it, baby. Take it deeper."

He pushed more of his length into your mouth, the thick head hitting the back of your throat. You had to relax your jaw, letting him slide in further. He was so big, stretching your lips wide around his girth. You could only take about half of him before you started to gag, throat convulsing around his shaft.

"That's enough," Joel growled, pulling out abruptly. Strings of saliva connected your mouth to his cock, dripping down your chin. He wiped the head of his cock across your cheek, smearing your spit mixed with his pre-cum across your skin.

"On your knees," he commanded, voice rough and demanding. "I want to fuck your face properly."

You quickly complied, slipping off the couch to kneel before him. The hardwood floor was cold against your knees, but the heat of his body was warm against your face. You looked up at him, waiting for his next instruction, ready and eager to please him.

Joel gripped your hair tighter, fisting it like a handle as he began to thrust into your mouth. His cock pushed past your stretched lips, hitting the back of your throat with each pump of his hips. Drool leaked from the corners of your mouth, dribbling down your chin and onto your heaving chest as he used your face.

"Take it, you cock-hungry slut," he grunted, eyes dark with lust as he watched your lips stretch obscenely around his shaft. "Fuck, your mouth feels so good."

He set a brutal pace, fucking your face with long, deep strokes. The head of his cock slammed against your throat again and again, making you gag and choke around him. But he didn't let up, too lost in his own pleasure to care about your discomfort.

"Touch yourself," he ordered, voice strained. "Play with that needy cunt while I use your mouth."

You quickly slid a hand between your thighs, fingers delving into your soaked folds. You circled your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub in tight circles as Joel continued to pound into your throat. The dual stimulation was almost too much to bear, pleasure and pain blurring together until you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

Joel could feel his release approaching, balls drawing up tight against his body. He thrust harder, chasing his end with single-minded focus. With a guttural groan, he buried himself deep in your throat and held himself there, spurting jet after jet of hot, thick cum directly down your gullet.

You swallowed convulsively around him, trying to gulp down every drop of his release. Some of it leaked out, dribbling down your chin and onto your heaving tits. When he finally pulled out, you gasped for air, coughing and sputtering, face flushed and eyes watering.

"Good girl," Joel praised, tucking himself back into his jeans. He hauled you up by your hair, crashing his mouth against yours in a filthy kiss. He could taste himself on your tongue, the salty flavor of his cum mingling with the sweet taste of your own saliva.

"Now, beg for it," he demanded, hand drifting down to rub your clit hard and fast. "Beg me to let you cum, you dirty little brat. Beg me to give you the release you so desperately need."

Joel smirked down at your lascivious state, taking in the way your face was flushed and smeared with the evidence of your debauchery. He could feel your hips writhing against his fingers, desperate for more friction, more stimulation, more of anything that would bring you the release you so desperately craved.

"Please, Joel, please let me cum," you whimpered, voice high and thready with need. "I'll do anything, I'll be so good, just please let me cum!"

He could feel your pussy clenching around his fingers, greedy and hungry for more. He rubbed your clit harder, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves with rough, calloused fingers. His other hand slid up your body to grope at your tits, squeezing the soft mounds roughly.

"Beg harder," he demanded, pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers. "Convince me of how badly you need it. Tell me how much you want to cum all over my fingers like the desperate little slut you are."

He pumped his fingers faster, plunging them in and out of your soaked cunt. The obscene sound of your arousal filled the room as he fingered you hard and fast, the wet squelch of your pussy echoing off the walls.

"Please, oh god please!" you cried out, head thrown back in ecstasy. "I need it so fucking bad, Joel. I'm so close, I can't-- ah! I can't take it anymore!"

He could feel your body tensing, your walls starting to flutter around his invading digits. He knew you were on the verge of cumming, teetering on the razor's edge of the most intense orgasm of your young life.

"Cum for me, you filthy girl," he growled, rubbing your clit with quick, rough circles. "Cum all over my fingers like the vicious brat you are. Show me how badly you craved it."

With a scream of pure pleasure, your body convulsed, back arching as your orgasm crashed over you like a tsunami. Your pussy clamped down on his fingers, rippling and squeezing as you gushed all over his hand, soaking his palm and dripping down onto the couch.

Joel worked you through it, fingers pumping and rubbing, drawing out your pleasure for as long as possible. He could feel your juices flooding out of you, your body shaking and trembling as the aftershocks rolled through you.

Finally, as your orgasm started to subsid, he pulled his fingers out of your dripping cunt. He brought them up to his mouth, sucking your delicious essence from the digits and groaning at the taste.

"Fuck, you taste so good," he murmured, eyes dark with renewed lust. "I think I'm going to keep you, baby. Keep you here, so you won't put your pretty ass in danger"

He pulled you close, crashing his mouth against yours in a esurient kiss. He could taste himself on your lips, the flavor of your shared pleasure mingling together. His cock was already hardening again, straining against his jeans and pressing insistently against your hip.

"You will take seriously what I say," he declared, voice rough and low. "If I tell you not to leave the perimeter, you don't, if I forbid you from going out alone, you obey. Understand?"

You could only nod, still dazed and pliant in his arms, your body humming with satisfaction. You knew that no one would ever make you feel as good as he did. And god help you, but you couldn't wait.

"Good," Joel mused softly, pulling your limp body closer to him, holding you affectionately, "cause I don't want to chase you around to save your ass anymore."

[muniimyg]

𐙚₊˚⊹ boxer!jungkook⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

series m.list // taglist closed

boxer jk x neuro doctor oc

post fight vibes

meet cute

note: possibly a mini series but idk

after his home and the ring; jungkook's third home is the hospital.

yet, one thing he will never get used to are the bright lights. 

fuck. 

they’re always so fucking bright.

it doesn’t matter if he’s in for nearly busting his brain or if he’s just here for a casual IV drip—each time, the lights are insanely bright.

the hospital room is too white too. 

too sterile for someone like him.

his eyes flicker down to his knuckles. they’re split and bruised, resting against his stomach, rising and falling with each slow breath. his lip is cut, swollen at the corner, and when he rolls his shoulders back, he winces—just slightly—like he's trying not to show it.

suddenly, the doors burst open and his head turns towards it. 

you walk in. 

navy blue scrubs, white doctors coat, and your hair is tied high and back. 

it’s… love at first sight. 

your cheeks are so perfect. that’s the first thing he notices about you. they have this puff that makes him wonder if anyone has ever complimented you on them. next, are your lips. they’re perfectly shaped—so kissable. maybe he’s just that fucked in the head but everything about you looks so perfect. like your eyes are the exact size they need to be. you button nose where your glasses sit so cutely… 

god help him. 

maybe he got beat up a little too much this match. 

jungkook swallows drly as you approach him. you pull out the scans and show him on the monitor. you glance at them and then at him. for a moment, you’re silent and he doesn’t know if he should be saying anything. 

should he introduce himself? 

better yet, can you introduce yourself?

"you're concussed," you say simply.

jungkook blinks at you, like he was expecting more. 

"that bad?"

"you've had worse." you say it simply as you click on the monitor and pull out old scans from months ago. your eyes widen as you look through the ones from the past 3 years. pausing at one scan from 2019, you use your pen to gesture around the areas where he’s been concussed before. “this old one? probably your worst one.” 

he huffs out a laugh, shifting in his seat. 

"my brain is still here, though. couldn’t have been that bad, huh?"

you don’t humor the joke. 

"debatable."

his grin widens, even through the soreness. "harsh, doctor…”

“doctor ___.” 

“___,” he breathes. “that’s pretty.”

“doctor ___.” you correct.

“right,” jungkook folds. then, the moment shifts. he can’t help but blurt; “... you sure you're not just mad you had to sub in for my usual guy?"

"not mad," you say, flipping through his chart. "just not impressed."

he laughs again, low and raspy, like this whole thing is funny. like the fractures and bruising on his scans are nothing more than a bad grade on a test.

"aren't you too young to be a doctor?"

you glance at him, raising a brow. 

"aren't you too young to have this many head injuries?"

his smile lingers, but he doesn’t say anything for a beat like he's trying to come up with a clever response. like he's trying to read you.

"did you win?" you ask instead.

"huh?"

"your fight."

his grin flickers—surprise, maybe. or amusement. 

"yeah. of course."

you nod, flipping the chart closed. 

"is it worth it?"

he tilts his head, the movement slow. calculated. like he's trying to see if you're serious. truth be told, he can’t read you. not your tone or your facial expression. it intrigues him… how could someone be so warm and so cold at the same time? you’re lukewarm… but it’s refreshing. it’s scratches his fucked up brain somehow.

"i'll tell you," jungkook muses, "if you go out with me."

you scoff. 

"that's okay."

he waits.

"some things are worth asking about," you say, pushing your chair back. you stand up and lean over to check over his vitals. as you fix his IV, you squint as you notice his knuckles. for some reason, jungkook suddenly fights to urge to reach for you. his fingers twitch. you see it. you brush it off and say; "some things aren't worth the answer."

you don’t miss the way his lips part slightly, his brows lifting in surprise. 

you don’t stick around to see if he has a follow-up. you grab your clipboard and head towards the door. as you push the door open to leave, you bid him goodbye. 

"rest up, mr. jeon."

the next time jungkook is back, it's not you.

"dr. ___ isn’t in today?" jungkook asks, trying to sound… anything but how it came out.

namjoon doesn’t look up from his notes. 

“you met her?”

“yeah,” he breathes. “can’t get her out of my head ever since.”

namjoon chuckles as he takes out his slit lamp and examines jungkook’s eye movement. as jungkook’s eyes follow the light, nam joon continues;

"why’s that?”

“dunno,” jungkook confesses. 

namjoon can’t take jungkook seriously. he’s never been the type to care about girls since they’ve always come to him one way or another… but knowing you, he should’ve known jungkook would take interest. 

“miss her or something?" nam joon teases. “love at first concussion?”

“not my first concussion… and i was just wondering. shit, man.” jungkook shrugs, trying to move past it. suddenly, he’s embarrassed. 

namjoon hums, like he doesn’t believe him (because he doesn’t).

"she doesn't date patients," namjoon says, flipping a page and writing down notes from jungkook’s checkup. "definitely not ones with a brain like yours."

jungkook blinks. "is it that bad?"

namjoon grins. "she spends her days saving patients who get injured unwillingly. you? boxing? that's a choice. you're her least favorite kind of patient."

"but am i her type?"

namjoon laughs and shakes his head. 

"your brain is fucked up."

when jungkook’s checkup finishes, he says goodbye to namjoon and exits the room. 

then, like fate, he sees you in the hall when he's leaving. you're walking in the opposite direction, clipboard tucked against your hip, eyes scanning over charts.

jungkook doesn’t think. 

he moves.

jungkook catches up to you and taps your shoulder. as you turn your head to respond, he steps forward and in front of you instead. suddenly, you face him.

"you."

you blink up at him, unimpressed. "me."

"i'm not concussed anymore."

"i'm glad,” you smile at him softly before you lower your gaze back to your charts. “have a good day mr. jeon—"

"i won that match," he says, like it's important. like it means something.

you pause.

"i'm a good boxer," he continues, standing taller. "i don’t get injured that much. when you saw me last… i let the guy get in a few hits. whatever… it was for show, i swear to god… but if you go out with me, i promise to always win and never get a head injury ever again."

you stare at him.

he waits.

you exhale, shifting your clipboard to the other hand. then, before he can say anything else, your fingers push into his hair, ruffling it gently.

his breath hitches.

you drop your hand and step past him.

"i think you're still a little concussed," you murmur. 

“i’m not,” jungkook says, voice soft. “one chance.”

you tilt your head at him and for a moment, you really contemplate. his lip looks almost healed. his knuckles are only bruised now… for a moment, you want to give in. 

“do you ever lose?”

he scoffs. “no.”

you nod and begin to slip away. jungkook stands there confused at the growing distance. as you walk away, you tell him; 

“maybe you should learn how to.”

“why? so you can feel better about rejecting me?"

jungkook tilts his head, lips twitching. he lifts his foot to move to you but you shake your head at him. he stops his tracks. cutely, you mimic him and tilt your head too, feigning sympathy. 

"no, so you stop getting concussed."

he grins, sharp and easy. "i told you, i don't get injured that much."

"right… just enough to keep me employed."

his laughter comes quick, like he wasn't expecting that. 

"damn," he mutters, shaking his head. "you got a sharp tongue, doc."

you exhale through your nose, the closest thing to a laugh you’ve given him, and start toward the door. with one hand, you wave him off, like he’s not worth the breath it takes to keep talking.

but just before you step out, jungkook hears you murmur over your shoulder—low, teasing, like you’re indulging him for just a second longer.

"good thing you’re used to taking hits, jeon."

jungkook’s smile lingers long after you’ve disappeared down the hall. for a moment, he contemplates on running after you and continuing to annoy you… and then, for the nth time today… he thinks. 

he’ll be back. 

injured or not—he’s coming back just for you.

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Teacher's Pet Baby

Shopping Trip

Cg!Professor!Wanda Maximoff x little!student!reader

Summary: Wanda offers to take you out on a shopping trip

Word count: 1.5K

Warnings: Age regression, mild anxiety, emotional vulnerability, fluff and comfort

Authors notes: Thank you my little ghost for sending in this request here~

Also, to all the littles, seeing this, please tred lightly on this blog! This is my big 18+ blog, but I do have some little!reader fics. Everything is marked accordingly!

You're nervous when Wanda suggests it after asking she'd only known about you being little for a week when she asked,

"Do you have any gear?" It was an innocent enough question she asked in the empty room of her class while she graded papers and you did some homework.

"Gear?" Your head tilted slightly, not looking up from your own book and notebook. 

"Little gear. I know you have your crayons and coloring book and your favorite stuffie you showed me pictures of, but is there anything else?" 

"Oh...um no...I left most things back at home." You absentmindedly tugged at your sleeve, pulling it over your hand to put it in your mouth slightly. It was a bad habit you’d long since tried to get rid of.

"Well how about this Saturday we go get some things?" She offers casually like it was something the two of you had done before. Like it was something so simple.

"I can't keep them at my dorm...my roommates will say something..." you felt your chest tighten. You knew if any of them found out about it they’d probably kick you out of the dorm. Probably call the dean on you or something, but just as your thoughts started to spiral, Wanda spoke up again.

"It can stay at my place and you can come and go as you please baby for whatever you want or need." Now there's a knot in your stomach. 

“Y-your place?” You hadn't been over to her place. The only place you two had spent time together was here in this classroom. 

“Do you not want that? I understand if you'd rather keep it here between us.” 

You knew being with a professor at all would be frowned upon even if it was something like this…for some reason in your brain this felt even worse than if you were having sex with her. You shook your head to get rid of the thoughts. sure you were big right now, but it's only been a week and you two haven't discussed anything beyond her being Mama.

Wanda let you sit with the idea, her eyes flicking between your face and the paper she was grading, letting you process in your own time. You weren’t sure what made your stomach twist more—her casual offer or the realization that you wanted to say yes.

“I…” You hesitated, gripping your pen a little too tightly. “I don’t know.”

Wanda hummed softly, setting her pen down. “That’s okay, baby. You don’t have to decide right now.” Her voice was gentle, patient, like she had all the time in the world for you. “I just want to make sure you have what you need. Somewhere safe for your things and a space where you can just be.”

A part of you wanted that so badly. The idea of a place where you didn’t have to hide, where you didn’t have to worry about judgment, where your things wouldn’t have to stay tucked away in the back of your closet or hidden under your bed—it was tempting. But this was still so new.

Your hands fidgeted with the corner of your notebook. “I just… I don’t want to be a burden,” you admitted quietly, barely above a whisper.

Wanda leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand as she looked at you. “Oh, Malyshka,” she murmured, shaking her head. “You could never be a burden to me. This isn’t about me doing you a favor—it’s about giving you what you need. Making sure you’re cared for. That’s what being your Mama means.”

Your heart clenched at that, the sincerity in her voice making it hard to breathe for a moment. You’d never had a caregiver before, you didn’t know everything. You knew what you saw on the internet; all those posts of imagines with a caregiver that made you feel something was now here in front of you. You swallowed thickly, nodding slowly. “Okay,” you whispered, finally glancing up at her.

Wanda’s smile was soft and full of warmth, like she was proud of you for even considering it. “Okay,” she echoed, reaching across the desk to gently squeeze your hand. “We’ll take it slow, baby. Just one step at a time.”

You nodded again, still nervous, still unsure—but with Wanda, you felt safe enough to try.

It was about an hour later when you spoke a simple, "Yes." Aloud that Wanda smiled. 

"Okay well how about we meet up here and we'll take a drive out so we're far away from others? Does that sound good?" She asks, finally looking at you. You felt her sea glass green eyes on you. You looked up to meet her eyes, suddenly feeling small. 

"Yes Mama, that sounds good.”

Wanda’s smile softened, her eyes full of warmth as she heard you call her Mama again. She reached over, brushing a strand of hair from your face with gentle fingers. “Good girl,” she praised softly. The simple words made your chest feel warm, a little fluttery even, but you still shifted in your seat, feeling shy.

She chuckled, recognizing the way you squirmed under her gaze. “We don’t have to rush, Malyshka. Just a nice, quiet drive. A little shopping. No pressure, okay?”

You nodded, chewing your lip. “Okay.”

Wanda leaned back in her chair, a satisfied look on her face as she picked up her grading again. But every so often, you caught her glancing at you, like she was just making sure you were okay. It made something in you settle, knowing that even when she wasn’t speaking, she was still paying attention.

You went back to your own work, but your mind kept drifting to Saturday—what it would be like, how it would feel to have things again, to pick them out with someone who actually understood. The idea was nerve-wracking but also… really exciting.

✎✐ ✎ ✐ ✎ ✐

The drive was peaceful, just you and Wanda, the hum of the road beneath the tires filling the silence between songs playing softly on the radio. Wanda let you control the music, occasionally glancing over at you with a smile as you mouthed the lyrics or tapped your fingers against your thigh. It made her heart swell knowing you felt comfortable enough to just be with her.

When she finally pulled into the parking lot, you felt your stomach twist with nervous energy. This wasn’t just any store—it was a town far enough away that no one from campus would see you, giving you the freedom to pick out what you needed without fear of judgment.

Wanda grabbed a cart, and the two of you walked in together. At first, everything felt normal as you strolled through the grocery aisles. Wanda picked up some snacks, her fingers grazing over brands you had mentioned growing up with. “How about these, Malyshka?” she asked, holding up a box of animal crackers.

You felt a small grin tug at your lips as you nodded. “Yeah, those are good.”

From there, she guided you toward the baby and toddler section. The moment you stepped into the aisle, your heart started beating faster. Your fingers twitched as you looked over the selection—things you hadn’t let yourself have in years.

Wanda was patient, watching as you hesitated before slowly reaching out to touch a pack of toddler fruit pouches. “These are good,” she encouraged. “Easy to have when you don’t want to use a spoon.”

You swallowed hard and placed them in the cart. One by one, Wanda helped you pick out what you needed—plates and bowls with cute designs, a sippy cup that felt just right in your hands, even a bath toy set shaped like little sea animals.

When you reached the bedding aisle, she let you run your fingers over the different sets, waiting patiently for you to make your choice. Your heart ached a little as you settled on one with soft pastel stars and moons. It felt safe.

Finally, she led you to the toy section. “Alright, Malyshka,” she said softly. “You’ve been so good and so brave today. Pick out a toy, anything you want.”

You hesitated at first, shifting on your feet as your eyes scanned the shelves. It felt overwhelming—like you shouldn’t be here, like you were doing something wrong. But Wanda was right beside you, her presence grounding you.

After a few moments, your eyes landed on a plush bunny with floppy ears and the softest fur you’d ever seen. You picked it up, hugging it to your chest without thinking.

Wanda smiled, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. “That’s a very good choice, sweetheart.”

Your cheeks burned as you nodded, gripping the bunny tightly as she led you to the checkout. Wanda handled everything, paying without a second thought, and once you were back in the car, she handed you the bunny again.

“You did so well today,” she murmured, squeezing your knee affectionately.

You hugged the bunny close and whispered, “Thank you, Mama.”

And in that moment, you knew—you were exactly where you were meant to be.

[opal-owl-flight]

John. John Splatoon. The man, the goofball the sweetest man youll see. Chatty, bubbly, and gives really good team morale.

But things arent all sweet.

I wonder if he shuts himself up when he feels hes being *too* jolly.

His family is kind. Its not their fault. Yknow how people are fucking mean to those who are very excited abt things.

I think he had an experience like that. Tanara was thankfully there when things started getting really bad.

John was made fun of when he first started turfing. He was just sooo excited abt it all. So enthusiastic!! He studied abt the greats, the top players, all that. And the bitchass mean kids thought itd be funny to crush his dreams.

They made fun of him when he rambles abt strategy. They mocked him whenever he tries to be a hero and gets fucking splatted for it (OH GEE, IF HIS TEAMMATES WERE ACTUALLY *HELPING* HIM HE WOULDNT HAVE GOTTEN GOT).

One time I think some bastard jammed his weapon so it was unusuable for a while, and he was unable to turf.

"Good riddance," the team had said. "That beak is finally quiet for once."

Tanara saw this happening and decided to stand up for him.

They saw this boy getting picked on, and didnt hesitate in open firing at the bastards. Didnt care if theyll get banned for a week for firing a weapon off the field.

"|Hey, are you the guy who cornered me in the last match? Color me impressed.|"

Tanara doesnt stand for bullies. Ever. They hate seeing these kinds of people in the leagues. They hate the fact that these nutjobs are so good at the game!!! they want to make the leagues a fun place for everyone. None of this fuckinh bullshit. From a young age theyve already defended others. Wanted to make a better world where everyone can just be who they wanted to be, grow into their best selves.

The orange squid was a big help. With them actually recognizing his talent and running by his side,,,

They made him believe in himself. Fuck what everyone else says.

"|We won because of your strategy,|" they sign. "|If it werent for you, we'd have lost the tournament.|"

And hes given a smile of encouragement. Oh, sweet understanding, sweet recognition.

For a tender year they and John built a strong team and friendship. John became this cheery man bc of them.

They helped him stand up for himself. Helped him in the art of not giving a fuck. Or raining retribution where it is applicable (the duo have sent bullies crying after giving fjem say -- a 20 second rainmaker match)

Whenever someone tries to make fun of him in the later years, or now -- even if Tanara is out of the picture bc theyre getting blended -- he will literally ignore the naysayers. Bc he knows. He knows Tanara believes in him. He knows his team believes in him. He knows many others do, as well.

He knows his own capabilities. He knows what his limits. And hes. God, theres a reason hes second in command. Hes smart about the sport. Hes scary on the field. Dont let the goofy attitude fool you. Hes having fun but you on enemy team wont!

Some people are recently saying that Tanara left their old team bc John was lagging too far behind them, that Ink Typh∞n is the natural next step for them.

Dead wrong dipshits. If anything, those two are eye to eye.

If Tanara wasnt forced to retire, theyf still be fighting by his side.

-----------

Ofc its not all perfect. He still shuts down sometimes. Shuts himself up if he gets scared of offending someone/in general.

If he doesnt get reassurance or proves to himself/his naysayers of his own capabilities, he starts going quiet, smiling less.

Those wounds still hurt, Im afraid....

-----------

And what about after Octo Expansion.

What was going through his mind?

Like....this is your best friend. The one who helped you become the man you are. They were your role model. Theyre so strong, so assured. Confident. Ruthless on the turf. So skilled that nothing can faze them. Believed in you like no one else did.

And youre watching them seem to get worse day by day.

Theyre closing up. Theyre not telling you anything. You reach out but they dismiss you. And their colors only get more desaturated with time. They still believe in you, but its clear that theres something bothering them.

You try to share your joy with them, talking about the things you liked. Like old times. It turns out however, that the character you idolized in the media you consume, is them.

And it explains everything.

An entire secret double life and they didnt tell you.

You were their best friend. They were by your side when you struggled to make it in this city. They gave you assurance when your confidence started to fail.

They were your hero.

Where were you then, when they needed one themself?

They slump into John's arms,,

Theyre only older than him by a year. but they feel so,,

They feel so frail. A shadow of how they used to be. A body broken by war, a mind and heart ravaged by worry and vigilance and the weight of the world on their shoulders.

They tell him that they dont want him to take this load. They tell him he doesnt deserve it.

He says he has no plans of getting into this, not directly. He just wants them to come back to him after duty, or allow him to help in any way he can.

He'll just wait by the door, like he always has.

And hes holding them. He wants to keep them there til everything becomes okay again.

[marril96]

Mirrors

Chapter 2: Broken

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x reader

Summary: While Agatha is resting, Billy engages you in a heart to heart.

Editor: @fruityhahn

Previous chapter.

Agatha looked so peaceful when she slept. There was a calm to her, a peace that wasn't often known to her. Her head lay in your lap as you caressed her hair with utmost tenderness, your eyes glued to her face that was still unnaturally pale. Were it not for the steady rise and fall of her chest, and the gentle beats of her heart that reverberated against your forearm, you would have thought her dead.

Thankfully, she was very much alive.

You swore to do whatever it took to ensure that it stayed that way.

While the rest of the coven had gathered around a fire and engaged in chatter and laughter, you had made a fire of your own, hidden away behind the trees and away from prying eyes. Giving Agatha some privacy as she rested. Giving you some time alone with her for the first time in three long, long years.

You'd draped her coat over her, covering every inch of her, hiding it away from the cold that was eating away at her. Every now and then your hand would slither down to her side and feel the flesh that, mere hours ago, was pierced deep, almost to the bone. Just to make sure that the wound was no longer there. That for some strange reason, hadn't reappeared. That she wasn't in danger of bleeding out again.

You'd come so close to losing her. It was worse than the last time since then at the very least you knew that she was alive. She wasn't in your life but, to the best of your knowledge, she was among the living.

She almost wasn't that lucky.

You're such an idiot, you thought, shaking your head in disapproval. She could have told you that she was injured. She could have asked for help. No matter how awkward things were between you, you would have rushed to her aid, no questions asked.

Which was exactly why she'd kept it to herself.

This was just another problem that she could avoid addressing. Just another problem that she could ignore in hopes that it would go away.

Things like this never did.

Which, in turn, had only made her even more keen on pretending it wasn't there.

Even as the pain got unbearable (it had to have been; that wound was pretty deep) and she was barely able to keep herself on her feet, she'd kept on a brave face and insisted that nothing was wrong.

Had she not collapsed, she would probably still be at it, pale as a ghost but insistent that she was okay.

You fucking bitch.

If only you could hate her. Even when she did things like this, you couldn't muster an ounce of hate towards her. You hated that she did it, hated that she'd put you in a position — once again; this wasn't the first time she'd done this in your centuries together — where you feared for her life. Hated that she couldn't put her pride aside and let you help her before things got this bad.

But her, you could never hate.

You loved her too much for that.

Yet another thing you hated.

A rustle prompted you to twitch, shaking you out of your thoughts. Your hackles rose, firm as needles. Instinctively, you bent over Agatha's sleeping form and pulled her closer against you, shielding her, protecting her. Keeping her safe from whoever and whatever could possibly pose a threat to her wellbeing.

Teen's thin form slowly padded closer, his hands up to signal that he was here in peace.

A breath you'd been holding in left your mouth, almost painfully. Relief flooded your veins, lifted heavy weight off your shoulder. "Sorry, I thought…"

I thought you were Rio.

Out of everyone, she was the last person you wanted around Agatha at a time like this.

"You're good," Teen said, offering a smile that proved he meant it. "I just wanted to see how she's doing."

"She's still asleep." Your hand resumed its place on her hair, fingers twining into chocolate locks. "Unconscious. Whatever."

Teen gave a nod of understanding. "Mind if I sit?"

"Go for it."

You didn't exactly want company, but there was no harm in letting him join you, if only for a few minutes.

The kid cared about Agatha; that much was clear. Be he the Scarlet Witch's son or not, he was a kind soul. He meant no harm.

Agatha was quite fond of him, as well. When he had gotten injured, she was the one who'd urged Jen to act. She was the one who'd sat by his side until he'd woken up.

She could pretend all she wanted — she cared about this kid. She cared too much for her own good.

He reminded her of her own kid.

Not that she would ever admit it out loud.

"You're very protective of her," Teen remarked.

Heat rushed to your cheeks, staining them flush. "Someone has to be."

Especially now that she was powerless. She needed someone in her corner, someone to have her back. Someone to defend her when she couldn't do it herself.

"She doesn't exactly have a stellar reputation," the kid said with a chuckle.

"Nope." Understatement of the century. "Most people aren't her biggest fans."

"I've noticed."

Who wouldn't?

"Everyone either wants her dead or hurt."

"How come you don't?"

"Because I got to know her."

Because she let you get to know her.

Because she let you fall in love with her.

Because, behind closed doors, she wasn't the cold-hearted bitch everyone thought her to be.

"She does grow on you," Teen said.

It was your turn to let out a chuckle. "She sure does."

His face suddenly grew serious. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Do you know what happened to her son?"

Yes. You did. She'd told you once, two centuries ago, and had spent the rest of that night crying her eyes out while you'd held her and assured her that she wasn't a bad mother, that Nicky had loved her and had known that he was loved in return.

"That's not my story to tell."

Agatha had sworn you to secrecy. She didn't care about what people were saying about her. Didn't care that they'd spread around a tale of her having murdered her son or sacrificed him to the Devil. Didn't care that they'd made her out to be a monster.

As much as it pained you to listen to the rumors, you had to let it go. 

It was her life. Her character. If she didn't mind having it assassinated, who were you to say anything?

"Just… don't believe rumors, okay?" You couldn't tell the truth, but you sure as hell could point in its general direction. "People say awful things. None of it's true."

"Jen said—"

"That's definitely not true," you cut him off, setting the record straight. You'd wanted to strangle the other witch, especially after her gossip had resulted in Agatha getting that awful hallucination, but Agatha had ordered you to back off. "I can't say much. Just… it wasn't her fault."

That was what made that situation so tragic.

Agatha had done right by her son, had loved him and cared for him the best way that she knew how, and that still hadn't been enough. She'd still lost him.

Teen nodded, taking your words in.

"Don't prod her," you told him. "She doesn't like talking about it."

"She closed off when I asked her."

"She has a tendency to do that."

Of course, you had ways of making her talk, regardless.

Most times.

If she was being really stubborn, not even mind control could get the words out of her.

"Any other Agatha tips and tricks?" Teen asked with a hint of amusement in his tone, trying to lighten the mood.

Your response, on the other hand, was as serious as a heart attack. "Give her some grace. She's not bad. She's just… her. She may say or do some unsavory things, but that's not who she is."

Your eyes fell to her face in your lap. She looked so serene. So soft. The picture of the woman you fell in love with, once she'd lowered her walls and let you in. Once she'd allowed you to meet the real her.

Yes, she was selfish, yes she was wicked, but there was good in her. It was there in traces, present in every touch of her hand, every brush of her lips against yours, every comforting embrace and loving word that came out of her mouth in times when you most needed it.

Your Agatha was no angel, but she was a person, with all the good and bad that came with it.

She was your person.

"Don't take it to heart when she pushes you away."

"Is that what you did?" Teen asked, contemplating his words for a few moments, unsure whether to dare to prod.

One look from you was enough to assure him that it was okay.

It was only natural to ask.

After all, he had been there when Agatha had shown up at your house — the house that the two of you had used to share — and started reaming you out for having abandoned her, and you, giving as good as you'd gotten, had screamed how she had been the one to abandon you.

In reality, you'd both abandoned each other.

You'd both suffered, each in your own way.

"Yeah."

It would be a lie to deny it.

You'd been doing so for long enough.

"Can I ask what happened?"

You thought it over for a moment, then decided, what the hell.

Maybe telling someone would help lift this enormous burden off your shoulders.

"Three years ago we got into this massive fight. She left and…" The lump in your throat hurt to swallow. It burned its way down. "She didn't come back."

Fights like that were a yearly occurrence in your relationship. Usually, one of you would leave in a huff, pissed to high heavens, in desperate need of space, of time to cool off and clear her head. A few days would pass, and the angry party would return home. There would be tears and a conversation filled with apologies from both sides, and the truce would be sealed with a kiss.

There was none of that this time around.

Agatha hadn't returned home.

She hadn't responded to text messages or picked up calls.

It was like she had disappeared off the face of the planet.

The words that had left your mouth that day had been foul. You'd never spoken to her like that before. Had never known you'd had it in you to even attempt to.

Agatha, true to her character, had given as good as she had gotten. Her sharp tongue had made sure to make every insult sting like a slap to the face.

It had, by far, been the worst fight the two of you had ever had.

When she hadn't returned and had — it seemed — ignored all of your attempts to contact her, you'd thought that that was it. She'd had enough. She'd decided to cut you off for good and go her own way. She'd decided to find herself a girlfriend who wouldn't yell at her and call her names. She'd decided you just weren't doing it for her anymore.

So you'd let her go.

You'd moved on.

Well, theoretically.

One didn't move on from Agatha Harkness. One didn't just stop loving her. It would be impossible.

But you'd learned to live without her.

For the past couple of weeks you hadn't even cried once.

It was progress, of sorts.

Then she'd shown up at your door and, instead of hurt, there was guilt, and it was there to stay. For good, it seemed.

Just as you deserved.

As much as you wanted to pretend otherwise, the brunt of the blame was on you.

You shouldn't have given up on the woman you loved.

You should have looked for her.

You should have fought for her.

"And you didn't look for her?" Teen said softly, as if afraid of offending you.

The truth itself was far more offensive than any perceived slight.

You gave a small shake of your head. "I thought she'd moved on."

"Did you move on?"

"I thought I did."

Your hand slid to Agatha's side again. All clear. No wound. You allowed yourself a breath of relief, a welcome distraction from the turmoil that was eating you up inside.

"Sounds like you guys just had a misunderstanding."

That was exactly what it was.

A misunderstanding.

A case of mixed signals. Something a simple conversation should be able to fix.

It would have, if not for what had transpired as a result.

Oops didn't even begin to cover it.

"Yeah, well, that misunderstanding cost her three years of her life," you said, angry at yourself, at the dire situation that your inaction had contributed to.

"That wasn't your fault," Teen pointed out.

It was your mother's, you thought bitterly.

Wanda had inflicted unparalleled damage upon Agatha.

And you had let her.

You were none the wiser, pissed at the woman you loved instead of directing your anger where it actually belonged. Too busy resenting her to consider unforeseeable circumstances might be at play.

"You don't understand, Teen." You almost said Billy, but you caught yourself at the least moment. Agatha was way better at this stuff than you. "That spell that she was under… it was torture."

Even short-term exposure to such a spell could leave permanent marks on one's psyche.

Agatha had been under it for three years.

Three years of pain. Three years of anguish. Three years of torment.

Your hand gripped her shoulder. You pulled her closer, relishing in the fact that, despite everything that had transpired, she was safe. She had people to help her when she was in need. She had a coven.

She had you.

"She was suffering for three years and I had no idea."

Teen shifted uncomfortably. His gaze briefly fell upon Agatha's sleeping form before returning to you. "I'm sure she knows it wasn't on purpose."

"It doesn't matter. She was still hurt, and I wasn't there to protect her."

"You couldn't have known."

"Yeah, well, I should have!"

Teen flinched, startled by your outburst. Uttering a small apology, looked down at Agatha's tranquil face. Still pale, still deathly cold. No healthy blush that usually adorned her cheeks.

"I can't even imagine what it must've been like." You brushed your fingers across her cheek, tenderly, softly, as if she were made of porcelain. As if one careless touch would shatter her into a million pieces. "She won't talk to me."

Even if she did, there wasn't much that you could do.

Something like that didn't leave one's mind unscathed. The damage, once inflicted, was done. She would bear that pain for life.

The only thing that you could do was have her back. Assure her that it was okay, that you loved her no matter what.

This was just another scar in her collection. It didn't make her weak. It didn't change how you saw her, how you felt about her.

She was still your Agatha.

The problem was she was stubborn and would die before allowing herself to be vulnerable yet again.

"You can still be there for her," Teen said.

If only it were that easy. "She won't let me."

"Make her," he said with a shrug. As if it were that easy. As if Agatha would admit defeat and surrender without a fight.

You had to laugh. "You think anyone can make Agatha Harkness do anything?"

There was that time she'd caught the flu, and she wouldn't take Tylenol to lower her fever because human medicine was beneath her. You'd ended up crushing it into her soup, which, when she'd realized the white, gritty substance weren't spices, as you'd adamantly claimed, had ended in her dramatically proclaiming that you were trying to poison her.

Granted, that could have been the fever talking; Tylenol hadn't yet kicked in. But still.

"You're here now, aren't you?" Teen said.

"Only because she's unconscious." You stroked Agatha's hair, thick and beautiful. Silk between your fingers. You missed it. "I'm fine with her not wanting me around. I just want her to be okay. That's all. I don't wanna force myself into her life."

"Something tells me that you wouldn't be here if she didn't want you to be," Teen pointed out. "Even if she's putting up a front."

A smile broke out on your mouth. "Maybe."

She did say she didn't hate you.

Maybe there was still hope.

Maybe she could find it in her to forgive you.

"You said it yourself: she's not bad. She's just… her. Give her some grace."

You had to laugh. "Using my own words against me? That's very Agatha of you."

"It's true," Teen said with a chuckle.

Yeah. You supposed it was.

Agatha could do with some grace.

She didn't have people — friends, loved ones — out there to look out for her, to have her back even when she was in the wrong.

For three long, long years she didn't have you, either.

You wanted to make it right.

Agatha deserved that much.

"I should get back," Teen said, motioning to the rest of the coven out back, their chatter and laughter a distant echo.

He glanced down at Agatha; at her face being caressed by your fingers, at the steady rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, concern etched all over his face like a tattoo.

He didn't want for her to be hurt any more than you did.

"She'll be okay," you said softly, offering him the same guarantee that Lilia had given you.

Agatha was strong. Resilient.

She would survive this.

She would recover in record time, as if she'd never even been in this predicament.

"I know," Teen said. "She's the baddest bitch in South America and Europe. Nothing keeps her down for long."

A laugh, loud and hearty, tore from your throat.

He was right; this was just an injury. One of the countless she'd acquired over the centuries, that she'd lived through with relative ease.

Who was to say she wouldn't do so again?

Your Agatha was nothing if not a fighter.

No sooner had his footsteps faded in the distance than Agatha's voice, coarse like beach sand, broke the silence that had settled over you. "Wasn't that disgustingly sappy? Lifetime channel would be proud."

How could you forget?

Your Agatha was nothing if not a sneaky bitch, as well.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @miss-moon-guardian @hermslore @uniquelesbianidiot @natashamaximoff1 @alsoknownasmel @swan-queen-is-magic @tardisesandtitans @ahintofchaos @fruityhahn @midnight-lestrange @lift-heavy-be-gay @katieswain123 @riovidalharkness @revleftshark

[aliceinborderlandsquidgame]

Yandere Alphabet | Gi-hun (S1 + S2)

TEMPLATE CREDIT

Warnings: Yandere themes - Toxic!Gi-hun - Obsessive!Gi-hun - Suggestive - NON CANON BACKGROUND -

Note: You can read S1 and S2 as him being with the same Darling after the games.

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

S1: First, S1 Gi-hun its a delusional Yandere. He believes because you helped him once now you are in love with him and then he must be in love with you too. Right ? Its the logical thing to do. So his ways of showing love are extavagant. He has no money, so he goes back to make you handmade gifts and gives them to you. He is telling everybody that you two are together (no one believes him). He will take you out for walks and have you by the arm pointing out at different things with a big dork smile.

S2: This Man has trauma. Being his darling its now different. He is possessive of you. Wants to know where you are during all the time. In fact he may not let you leave the hotel where he lives now. Is he less obsess with you ? No. His way of showing affection did change. He will try and get you things you like from your home so you are more comfortable. Gets your favorite food and drinks. Pulls you on his lap and kisses your head. It helps him ground himself.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

S1: If he can avoid fights then he does. He is hella scared of the loan sharks but if they even try and go to you so he can hurt him. He gets ready to give a fight (he loses).

S2: MURDER.

No one touches you or dares to look at you. He is willing to get his hand full of blood in order to protect you.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

S1: He most likely wont abduct you. He will take you to dates and think that you two are already in a deep relationship (its the second date).

S2: If you are so negative to go with him then he ends taking you by force. He wont mock you, will tell you its for your own safetly even if you dont believe him.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

S1: NEVER. He loves you and thinks you are an angel. If anything he thinks he does not deserve you at all. So the idea of doing anything that you dont want its not appealing to him.

S2: Yes, forces you to live with him. But thats how deep it goes. If you wanna go out then he goes with you. You are not allowed outside his watch.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

S1: He shares all his feelings with you. From love to the dark thoughts he has because of his problems with debts, alcohol and races.

S2: He gets a bit more secretive at first. But believes its best if you know whats going on so you understand all he does its for your protection. Lots of nights he finds himself cuddling you or asking to cuddle. He feels too bad sometimes and only you can help him feel right.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

S1: A fight would broke because of his own problems. During it he can be quiet cruel and blame you (who just told him to drink less or stop gambling). After it he would feel terrible and would beg for you to forgive him.

S2: Fights back and actually manages to make you pass out. He is done playing nice. Its not like he would hurt you with intent. But he wants you to stay with him and cause him no problem than the ones he already has.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

S1: No. He is delusional and in love. He would hate if you decide to leave him and would chase after you begging for another chance.

S2: No. But he wont like it. If he sees you trying to escape he is giving you a stern talk, with lots of screaming too.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

S1: With S1 Gi-hun the worse that you can go with him its a really nasty fights with lots of insults. The Man will later feel terrible and beg you to forgive him or gashlight you into beliving it was your fault and that he is the one hurting the most.

S2: A fight too but also the insolation and lack of freedom. He wants you to have zero contact with the exterior world. Beliving that will keep you safe. Most fights are around that topic of you wanting to leave and him not allowing it. However he will leave bruises on you because he held you with too much Force during the fight. He feels bad and cures them after it but its firm on not letting you go.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

S1: He wants to marry you and form a family together. Has no sense of his own life so he thinks you too can end living on the countryside with two kids and a dog.

S2: Just peace. He is so dam stressed and tense from the trauma and from looking for the Salesman. He just wants to find peace with you. He may toy the idea of getting married but now its not the time.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

S1: Yes. This is based on his insecurity, thinking you deserve better but also thinking you will eventually leave him. He gets easily jealous but acts like a kid. Wont talk about it and ignore you till you are the one who beings it into conversation.

S2: Also YES. But this time is becuase he finds himself unable to trust others. Chances of you talking with others are slim since he keeps you caged but even with that...he still gets jealous.

A fair example would be when Jun-ho shows up and puts two and two together that you are there against your will and will try to convince you to help him or to let him help you. Gi-hun knows Jun-ho its a valuable asset for finding the island but its not against the idea of threating him if he crosses the line and offers you help.

Other type would be if by a fatal chance you end finding the Salesman in the hotel. He is not there for you but will have his fun tormenting him. Maybe he will get inside all worried and see him having tied you up and taunting you with his gun then would look at Gi-hun like he has the upper hand (and he does).

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

S1: Sweet boy!! Crumbles when he is with you. Begs for kisses and hugs. Does not mind if its summer or if you or him are sweaty. All he wants its you by him. He also does not mind PDA!! Would hold hands and kiss your cheeck in front of others.

S2: Its more reserved. He still likes to hold you but does not act like a sick puppy. He finds you being his light with all the trauma he has to deal with.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

S1: Probably saw you one time and thought how cute you were. And kept looking at you till he felt it was a good time to approach you. Its slow at it, its obvious he has fallen for you HARD. He cant control his blush and his words are a mess when he first tries to talk to you. The good thing is he makes you laught! And that laught its music to his ears. Once he feels more confident he will ask you out, but for that he will need at least two months on meeting up.

S2: He will first make sure that no one suspicious is around you. He got quiet paranoid after finding out he had a tracker on him...

Once he finds its safe enough he will show to you again. He does promise to eventually tell you what did happen but...first he needs you to go with him. If you dont want to move in then he will stay with you for sometime till the fear of someone coming for you its too much. And he decides to take drastic methods.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

S1: No. He may be more sweet with you but his personality its the same. A goofy man who has lots of problems but cares deeply for others as well.

S2: Yes. With you he is softer, lets you see his hurt side. How much the games have affected him. He is usually cold and with a firm exterior. No one really knows what he is thinking. But with you his walls falls and he lets you see just how truly tired he is. He is still protective and caring. But his goofy side its gone.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

S1: He does not really needs to punish you. Besides him being delusional for you at the end you two are dating and its normal. So he does not need to ever punish you.

S2: Mentally. This most likely happens if he catches you wanting to leave him or escape. He is going to tell you the terrible things he saw at the games and how he still lived. Basically he makes you see him as the only person who can protect you.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

S1: Maybe he will take more of your time and wont let you see your Friends as much as you used to. But he blames that on you and that you dont give him enough time as a couple.

S2: FREEDOOM. You are down to live with him at the hotel and does not let you leave for nothing. Even if you need to see a Doctor he gets you one that works under the law. Food ? He has people to get you that. Some medicine or personal things ? He gets that himself.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

S1: Not a lot. He is quick to judge if he feel insecure over the relationship. Of course its never his fault but yours.

S2: He is more patient now with you because he knows the situation its really different from how it used to be. Does not mean he does not get angry specially after so many times when he told you how dangerous its for you to be on your own.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

S1: Probably yes and no. Gi-hun loves but its also not aware of how to love. Does it make sense ? He may move on but never truly do it. Like moments of you two together will be back to his mind and then he ends sad the rest of the day. This is for both if you die or leave him.

S2: No. You were all he had and hoped that you would give him some type of comfort and sense of home and normal after the games. If you leave him he will go and try to find you. If you die he blames it on himself forever. Its another death under his name.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

S1: He did not abduct you so he does not feel guilty. Not even when he knows he is making you feel bad so you stay with him. So no, he wont let you go.

S2: No. He believes its for your own safety so no. And you wont ever leave him.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

S1: Curiosity. He was a odd one in the good sense. The type of naive person that just atracts others. His life may have made him like that.

S2: Trauma. After the games he ends so Traumatic that his yandere tendecies get worse and change.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

S1: Guilt but not enought to let you go. Look he is insecure you will leave him for other or others (Friends) so he does not get that sad seeing you insolate yourslef from others. Just...dont do it from him. Then he will feel truly bad.

S2: Sad, stressed, guilty and frustration. He knows its not your fault and that you should not be forced to hide with him (in fact he should not be forced to hide either). He wanted a normal relationship with you once he got out from the games but understood that would never happen. He ends stressed because he worries of your well being and frustrated because he has explained to you lots of times why he does this.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

S1 + S2: No, they both follow a classic Yandere path. S2 its more possessive and uses more drastic methods while S1 was more naive as a Yandere but did blame you a lot so you would stay.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

S1: His insecurity and worries over debts. If his darling is Smart and can see that he is trying to blame them on feeling bad then they can turn the cards and blame him and make him feel bad.

S2: Guilt but it would be really hard to escape from him. Most likely you will end getting more restrains.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

S1: Mentally ? Yes. May be on accident during a fight, mean things would be said. And if its on purpose then his words are more calculated ones.

S2: Would try not to but he may do something. Nothing too harsh or scary.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

S1: A LOT. He is so in love, he believes every action you do its just PERFECT. No matter what you do.

S2: Same but its more reserved about it. Like he would smile at you at what you are doing at any moment.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

S1: He follows you around for around two months till he finally decides to ask you out. But in his mind you two were almost dating, if you gave him a smile or were polite at him he is a goner. The reason he asks you out formally its because he does not understand why you dont seem to have his number or why you two dont go out.

S2: After getting back to Seoul he will look for you, he is scared the ones behind the game may have gone after you since he did threath them. So once back he is going to your usual place and bringing you with him. He did not go sooner because he felt like you deserved better and that he was not healthy for you (after what he lived) but that its out the moment he realizes you may be in fatal danger.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

S1: No. He does not have the will to or energy.

S2: No. He cant bring himself to hurt you in that way. He will try till the end for you to understand this is the best for you.

[djarindroid]

Resurfacing

Pairing: Thanos (Choi Su-Bong) x Reader

Summary: After Su-Bong's last visit will you ever see him again?

Warnings: mentions of drug use, brief mentions of gore

Word Count: 1,951

Comments: Apologies if there are mistakes, I've tried to proofread but I've been super ill this weekend and I'm a bit out of it 🤧

<- Part Four

You told yourself you did the right thing. He wasn’t himself, and letting him stay would’ve made things worse. You were protecting him as much as yourself. He had to understand that, didn’t he? 

Still, no matter how many times you tried to convince yourself that it would be okay, you couldn’t shake the bad feeling that had settled over you the moment he walked out the door.

The worst part was you didn’t know if he regretted it, or if he even remembered what happened.

In the cold light of day, you couldn’t help but wonder what it all meant. Maybe he didn’t mean any of it. Maybe it was just the drugs talking. It had felt so real- the way he looked at you, the sound of his voice as he called you baby, the touch of his hand on your cheek. Was it real? Or just another night he’d forgotten?  

The thought made your stomach twist with uncertainty.

You forced yourself to go to work the next morning, unsure if it was a blessing or a curse. The distraction helped, but every few minutes your fingers twitched with the urge to check your phone, to see if he’d called - to see if he cared.

He hadn’t.

You tried to push it down, to focus on anything else. The rhythm of work, the chatter of customers, the busy routine. But the pit in your stomach didn’t ease.

Your boss must have noticed because, as the rush ended, she pulled you aside.

‘Are you okay sweetheart?’ She asked gently. 

You plastered on a smile. ‘Yeah, I’m just tired.’

She didn’t look convinced. ‘You’re quieter than usual today.’

You paused. You weren’t the type to just spill your problems to someone, but your boss had never been anything but kind. And maybe saying it out loud would make it feel less like it was swallowing you whole.

‘It's just my…friend. He left on a bad note yesterday and I haven’t heard from him at all today.’ You were careful to keep the details vague.

Your boss leaned against the counter and hummed knowingly. ‘The friend that walks you home?’

You nodded.

She gave you a small understanding smile. ‘Sweety, maybe you need to reach out to him first. I’ve been around long enough to know that if someone matters to you then it’s better to talk it out.’ She continued, placing a warm hand over yours. ‘Call him. Otherwise you’ll worry yourself sick.’

Her words stuck with you through the remainder of your shift. By the time you left you were done debating with yourself. The second you stepped outside, you pulled your phone out and clicked his contact.

One ring.

Two rings.

Three.

Voicemail.

You lowered your phone slowly, staring at it as if that would will him to answer. Maybe he was busy. Maybe he was asleep. Maybe he didn’t- … No. No more excuses.

You called him again.

Ring.

Ring.

Voicemail.

This time the rejection settled in you.

You gripped your phone so tightly that your fingers ached. The cold air nipped at you, but you barely noticed it compared to the hollow feeling taking over.

You shoved your phone to the bottom of your pocket and forced yourself to keep walking. You weren’t sure if you’d try again tomorrow.

Deep down, you wondered if he’d ever pick up.

The next few days blurred together, work, home, sleep. You’d tried calling again to no avail. Each time you were met with the same voicemail message, it felt like he’d built a wall between you. 

Eventually you stopped trying. Slowly, beginning to accept that maybe this was his way of saying goodbye without actually saying it. It hurt more than you’d care to admit, how easily he could just block you out.

Your apartment started to feel too big without him. You never realised how much he made himself at home. The way he took over your couch, or raided your fridge with no shame, or leaving half finished energy drinks on your table. Now it was back to being just you, and it felt lonelier than ever.

You spent evenings curled up on your couch, catching yourself glancing at the door more often than not, half expecting him to just show up. But he never did. 

You crawled into bed on the fourth night of no contact, emotionally exhausted, but sleep didn’t come easily. Thoughts of Su-Bong mixed with memories of the games circled around your mind, no matter how much you tried to push them away.

And then, at some point, your exhaustion won and darkness swallowed you whole.

At first there was nothing. Then the distant sound of screams filled the space around you. The air was suffocating, pressing down on you like a weight. 

A flash of movement caught your eye. Someone was there. A voice rasped out your name, it sounded oddly familiar. You tried to move towards it but the ground gave way beneath you. You fell hard, landing in something warm. When you looked down your breath hitched. The green numbered tracksuit clung to your body, soaked through with blood.

Piles of bodies surrounded you, their lifeless eyes staring straight at you. You tried to scramble back but something latched onto your ankle. A cold, lifeless hand. 

Panic surged through you as you kicked and thrashed but more hands reached out for you, dragging you into the darkness with them.

There was no way out.

You opened your mouth to scream…

And suddenly awoke with a jolt. Sharp breaths came quickly, your trembling hands gripped at your bed sheets. 

Your heart was beating so hard you thought it might break your ribs. You knew it wasn’t real, but the echo of the screams still rang in your ears. The panic still clawed at your chest.

Without thinking you reached for your phone, calling the one person who would understand what you’re going through. It didn’t ring long enough for you to even doubt whether he’d pick up.

‘Hey?’

At the sound of his voice you froze, fingers tightening around your phone. For days your calls had gone unanswered, you’d come to expect the sound of the voicemail. But now his voice sent a jolt through you.

‘Su-Bong?’ Your voice was quiet and disbelieving, as if you’d imagined him answering. 

There was a brief pause, you heard him shift and take a breath, then he was suddenly more alert. ‘What’s wrong? You okay?’

The concern in his tone shocked you almost as much as the fact he’d answered at all.

You tried to steady your breathing before carrying on. ‘I just, it was…’ you suddenly felt stupid, embarrassed that this was the way you two were finally talking again. ‘It was just a nightmare, I’m fine. Sorry for waking you.’

‘I’m coming over.’

‘No, you don’t have to-‘

‘I’ll be there soon.’

He ended the call before you could question him.

You stared down at your phone, breath still coming too fast. A cold sweat coated your skin, the fear still lingering. The images from the nightmare stayed sharp in your mind, refusing to fade completely.

But now something else was added to your nerves. Su-Bong was on his way over.

After the way he’d left. After four days of nothing.

Would you both pretend like nothing happened? Your heart continued to pound for a different reason now. You had no idea what to expect when he showed up. But you didn’t have time to dwell on it because before you knew it there was a light knock at your door.

You felt unsteady as you made your way to the door. You simply stared at it for a moment, your hand hovering over the handle, The last time he’d been here he’d disappeared without a word. But he’d actually shown up. He was here. You unlocked the door and pulled it open.

Su-Bong stood on the other side, looking slightly out of breath and as though he hadn’t slept much either with tousled hair and a hoodie thrown on haphazardly. He kept his distance, the space between you felt heavier than it should. 

Neither of you spoke at first, but his eyes searched yours like he was looking for something, like he was waiting. The memory of your last conversation clung to the silence. Now here he was, in your time of need. Like that last time hadn’t happened, like he hadn’t ignored your calls. Your throat felt tight. Should you say something? Should he?

Then, softly, he asked ‘You okay?’

You wanted to say yes, it was just a stupid nightmare, and apologise for calling him. But standing there, staring into his eyes the truth slipped out before you could stop it. ‘No.’

His expression shifted, but he didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, closing the distance between you and wrapping his arms around you, firm but cautious.

He held you tightly, grounding you but there was something else. He was being careful, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to hold you like this. It was in the way his fingers hovered briefly before tracing soothing circles across your back.

His breath hitched when you clung to him. Gripping his hoodie like it was a lifeline. His touch became more sure, his warmth fully enveloping you. You finally felt safe as the memories of the nightmare began to fade away. 

‘It’s okay,’ he murmured into your hair. ‘I’ve got you.’

A shaky breath escaped you, and suddenly the weight of everything crashed down onto you. The nightmare, the four days of silence, the games. Your fingers curled tighter into his hoodie as tears stung your eyes.

You squeezed your eyes shut, but it was useless. A single tear slipped down your cheek, and then another. 

Su-Bong must have felt you shake, because he shifted slightly, pulling you closer. ‘I’ve got you,’ he repeated gently. 

That was all it took, your tears fell harder, there was no hiding the way your shoulders trembled or the way your breath stuttered against his chest. Su-Bong held you through it, continuing to rub slow circles across your back.

You weren’t sure how long you stood there before the tears slowed. But after a while your legs began to feel weak, noticing this Su-Bong gently guided you to the couch. He gestured for you to sit down, waiting until you did to settle beside you. 

‘You wanna talk about it?’ He asked.

And for a moment you weren’t sure if he was referring to the nightmare or to the last time you saw him. You knew you should probably talk about both, but not tonight.

Tonight you just wanted to enjoy the comfort he’d brought you, so you shook your head and remained quiet. 

‘Alright.’ He didn’t push. Just settled back into the cushions, like it was a normal night. As if everything between you wasn’t a mess of unspoken questions.

After a beat he reached for the tv remote, flicking it onto a random programme with the volume low. It was a distraction. A kindness. You focused on it for a while, letting it drown out the remaining thoughts.

Minutes passed before you realized he had draped an arm across the back of the couch, close enough that if you leaned just a little, you’d be against him. You hesitated for only a moment before shifting toward him. He didn’t react at first, but then you felt it—the way his fingers curled slightly, barely brushing your shoulder. A silent reassurance.

Neither of you spoke after that. You didn’t need to, not yet.

For the first time in days, the pressure in your chest eased.

-> Part 6 coming soon Series Masterlist

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