#and i already think he has a pattern of not feeling like he's good enough and with this added on—

[allthingsfangirl101]

Nothing Left To Lose – Tyler Owens

I jumped, instantly clutching my tablet to my chest when everyone's phones went off at the same time. That noise and everyone's reactions were enough. I didn't have to check my phone.

There was a tornado nearby.

I stayed where I was, unmoving, as everyone grabbed their gear and ran out to the trucks. I finally looked up when I thought everyone was gone. They weren't. Tyler was still here. We held our eye contact for a beat too long.

"Y/N, why don't you. . ."

"I'll monitor what I can from here," I started to over-explain, "but remember, once you lose signal. . ."

"I know it's been hard for you, but I really think it's time. . ."

"Stay safe out there," I interrupted him again. Before he could try for a third time to convince me to get back out in the field (literally), I turned on my heel and walked over to my station.

I joined the Tornado Wranglers about two years ago. I have a college degree in meteorology. I spend my life studying the Earth's atmosphere and short-term atmospheric phenomena. I specialize in weather forecasting and understanding the processes that drive weather patterns. This was useful to Tyler and his team. I used to keep track of the weather patterns and monitor our path versus the storm's as we chased it.

That is, until the storm. . .

Six months ago, we got too close to a tornado. Long story short, I was in our small RV with Lily and Dex. The tornado picked us up and tossed us over three miles away from where we started. We were stuck where we landed for over an hour.

When one of the rescue teams found us, all three of us were rushed to the hospital. Our injuries were superficial, and we were each able to go home later that night. I may have only had a few bumps and bruises, but the accident messed with me mentally. I haven't had a full night's rest since it happened.

To be honest, it wasn't that storm that is making me. . . Well, terrified.

Before I joined Tyler and his Tornado Wranglers, I was on a research team at my college. We were chasing a storm when there was an accident. We were able to get out of the van, but I'm the only one who got somewhere safe. The rest of my team died within 3 minutes.

Ever since those two storms, I've stayed in the barn while everyone else has continued chasing. After my parents died, I inherited our family farm. Tyler and I transformed the second barn that was used as storage into a mini headquarters for the team. It was the only place I felt safe.

* * * * *

When the group walked in, my heart jumped into my throat. They looked like hell. I ran over to them, looking them over one by one. They each gave me a hug and reassured me that they were okay. I was starting to believe them until I saw Tyler.

I gasped and ran over to him. He was all cut up and had a large gash across his temple, almost going to his eye. My hands were shaking as I reached up, hovering them inches from his face.

"Are you. . . Your head. . . What happened?" I barely got out. Tyler smiled at me as he reached up and gently grabbed my shaking wrists.

"I'm okay," he whispered.

"But. . ." I stuttered.

"I'm okay, Y/N. I promise." He laughed as he added, "I look a lot worse than I feel."

"But your head. . ."

"Will heal," he reassured. I wanted to calm down, but I couldn't. I shook my head and took a step away from him. I was pacing back and forth, continually running my fingers through my hair. Tyler gently grabbed my arm, stopping me from pacing.

"Y/N," he said gently. "I need you to listen to me. We are all fine. Some sleep and a good sandwich, and we will be just fine. I know that all of this is probably triggering your trauma from that storm where you lost your. . ."

"Stop!" I yelled too loudly. The whole team looked at me, but I didn't care. "I can't. . . I already told you. . . I don't want to talk about this!"

With my arms wrapped tightly around myself, I ran out of the barn. I closed the door behind me but didn't leave.

"What?" I heard Tyler sigh.

"I know you're worried about her," Boone said. "We all are, but we need to give her time. Her last storm really scared her. Plus, it brought up trauma from her first bad storm."

"But how can we help her if she won't talk about it?"

"All we can do is sit back and wait for her to ask us for help," Lily jumped in.

"Well," Tyler said, his tone slightly changing, "I'm not going to sit back and let her suffer on her own. If she's going to suffer, she's going to do it with me right by her side."

* * * * *

After a lot of discussion and begging on my part, the team finally agreed to stay at the house. I was the last one to go to sleep. And when I did, it didn't last long.

I jolted awake, memories of the worst storms of my life swimming around my head. I covered my mouth, struggling to stifle my sob. When I was unable to calm myself down, I quietly went to the kitchen and made myself a cup of tea.

I took my tea and went out to the barn. Weirdly enough, busying myself with the data and numbers calmed me down. Eventually, I couldn't fight how tired I was and ended up falling asleep at my desk. I woke up a few hours later to someone gently touching my shoulder.

I opened my eyes to see Tyler kneeling in front of me. "Hey, you," he whispered as I slowly sat up. "What are you doing out here?"

"I umm. . ." I said slowly. "I couldn't sleep last night, so I came out here to look at the data. I must've fallen asleep."

I stood up and slowly started straightening out my desk. "You had one of your nightmares again last night, didn't you?"

I didn't bother to answer him. Instead, I focused on putting things away. Tyler walked over and took the papers out of my hands.

"Y/N," he said softly, "look at me." As soon as I listened to him, my heart jumped into my throat. "Did you have a nightmare last night?"

I couldn't answer him, so I nodded my head. He grabbed my hands, gently rubbing the back of my palms with his thumbs.

"Why didn't you wake me?"

"It's none of your concern," I shrugged, looking away from his eyes.

"Yes, it is," he said firmly. "Y/N, you are a member of my team. I care about you. I want to know when you're struggling so I can help you."

"It's my trauma," I shook my head.

"That doesn't mean you have to go through it alone." A heavy tension fell between us as he studied me. I could see the concern in his eyes, and as much as I wanted to look away, I couldn't.

"I'm sorry for what happened," Tyler whispered. He paused before adding, "But how much more are you gonna let this thing take from you?"

"I don't have anything left," I said, my voice breaking. Tyler took a step closer to me and gently grabbed my hands, pulling me into his chest. He hesitated for a second before leaning in and pressing his lips delicately to mine.

The kiss was soft and slow. It was clear that he wasn't sure how I'd respond to him. As soon as I started kissing him back, the kiss got slightly faster.

"You've lost enough," Tyler whispered as he broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against mine. "Please don't let that storm be the reason you lose the chance to be with someone who really cares about you."

"I'm just so scared," I whispered, my voice breaking as I choked on my sob. "I don't. . . I can't lose you, Ty."

He leaned back so he was looking me straight in the eyes. "You won't," he said. "You will not lose me, Y/N."

"You can't promise that," I said, shaking my head.

"You're right," he sighed, rubbing my arms. "Yes, what we do is dangerous. And yes, there is a chance one of us might get hurt. But that doesn't mean you should shut people out of your life. Instead, we should make our time together worthwhile."

"How?"

"By not wasting any more of it."

I grabbed his face and pressed my lips back to his. He smiled against my lips as he wrapped his arms around my waist. I giggled into the kiss when he slightly picked me up and turned us around.

We broke apart when we heard Boone yell, "Tyler? Y/N? You guys in the barn?"

"Yep!" Tyler yelled back with a smirk on his face. "We're going over the data from yesterday."

"Well, come inside!" Boone yelled. "Dex made pancakes!"

"Did you hear that?" He chuckled. "Dex made pancakes. Let's go eat, and then I want you to try to go back to bed."

"Ty," I sighed, pulling out of our embrace.

"And when you have another nightmare, I want you to tell me," he continued as he pulled me back into his arms. "When you tell me, I will lie down with you and make it so you fall back asleep safely wrapped in my arms."

"That sounds nice," I whispered. Tyler smiled as he leaned his forehead against mine, slightly rubbing our noses together. I grabbed his hand and started heading inside, but he held me back.

"I thought you. . ." I stuttered.

"Earlier, you said you have nothing left to lose," he said gently. "Y/N's that's not true. You are surrounded by people who care and worry about you. Please let us help you."

"How can you help me through this?"

"Easy," he smiled. "We can talk with you about it. We can help you through the nightmares. We can be with you when you're having a rough day. We can help you, Y/N."

"Okay," I whispered, my voice breaking. "Help me, Tyler."

[apples4shoyo]

𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘎𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘗𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 - 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 1

spiderman!shoyo x f!reader

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: shoyo is late to class, bruised at lunch, and weirdly good at saving your life mid-mall explosion. (you might be in love. he might be spider-man.)

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs/ɴᴏᴛᴇs: HEAVILY based on the plot and characters of the sam raimi trilogy, theatrekid!reader, language, violence/blood, mentions of bullying, use of explosives, mild injury, panic/fear responses

link to masterlist

ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆

You’ve always considered Shoyo Hinata to be normal. 

Well, as normal as he could be. He wasn’t exactly a straight-A student and his way of making conversation was…. questionable to say the least. But you didn’t consider these ‘quirks’ to be off-putting, definitely not enough for him to get pushed around as much as he does.

He’s just a little lost, is all. Like now; it’s already second period and there’s been no sign of the guy in any of his classes. 

“This guy is seriously insane, I mean, I get he has ‘superpowers’ and all but you don’t need to be going around doing kick-flips and basically vandalizing a bunch of buildings so early in the morning.” 

The complaint of the boy next to you stops your train of thought, you glance over to his laptop screen where a proud anchor woman interviews our city’s so–called ‘hero’.

“Hm? Spider-Man? Maybe. I think he’s kinda cute though, don’t you?” you tap your pen mindlessly, resting your chin on your palm as you keep watching the screen. 

“I guess… you never know who’s behind that mask though, could be a total creep.”

“Y’know, despite what you say you don’t sound too opposed.” you tease.

“Ah- quit it! I’m just saying.. He might look strong, and- like, saving people, but…” 

“It's alright, Tadashi. I get what you mean” you laugh slightly, giving him a look before turning your attention to the time and quickly gathering your stuff.

“You going?”

“Uh, yeah. I’ve got somewhere to be, sorry” you stand up from the desk and pat his shoulder lightly. “See you later though, okay?”

“I- okay! Bye!” 

You hear him call out behind you but your mind has already drifted away as you pull your phone out and head into the hallway. You put on your earphones and hum to yourself, getting lost in your thoughts as you make your way to the building exit.

The light breeze hitting your face once you get outside feels good, a nice addition to your daydreaming. The bright head of orange hair that seems to pop up at the best of times is definitely a better addition though.

“Hey! Why’re you so late, huh?” you question and he stops in his hurried tracks, turning to you with a twinge of pink dusted across his face. He looks around for a moment making sure that it is in fact him you’re accusing in your playful interrogation.

“Hey…! Uhm, overslept?” Shoyo blurts. He seems like he’s trying to convince himself more than you, but you’ve got no reason to disagree with his alibi.

“Nice turtleneck. Spidey fan?” you gesture to the famous web-patterned fabric poking out from under his uniform, and the dusting on his cheeks grows tenfold.

“Huh? Crap- yeah! big Spider-Man fan!”

“Right… well, you might wanna change. It looks kinda dorky” you laugh and he lets out a nervous huff, you swear he got even pinker.

“Noted! I’ll definitely take it off, yeah. Uhm, what class do you have next?” he fumbles with the strap of his bag and shuffles on his feet.

“Oh! I’m gonna go audition for the spring play, so I get to miss the next class or two.”

“You’re super talented so you’ll definitely get it!” he notices your surprised expression and immediately backtracks. “I mean-! I remember when you did Cinderella, you were awesome. And.. I'll definitely go watch this one, if you’re in it…” 

“Thank you. but you realise that was second grade, right?” you can’t help the bubbly giggle that escapes your mouth as he tries to gather his next response. “I’ve gotta get going, you should too. Try not to be late again, by the way.” 

“Right!” 

One of the teachers scribble down a note. A student coughs in the back, and you can almost sense someone’s phone about to start ringing. 

The silence is awkward and almost deafening, you hold your ground. Your palms are sweaty and you shift your weight slightly.

Your teacher lowers his clipboard. “You’ve been cast every year since tenth grade,” he states dryly and takes off his glasses. “You’re always good, but what makes this year different? Why do you think you deserve the lead?”

You hesitate, forcing a smile. 

“Because I’ve grown. I’ve worked harder this year. I’m not just trying—I’m pushing myself. I know where I want to be, and I know that’s what I should be chasing.”

Your teacher raises an eyebrow, expression unreadable. He looks down and writes onto his clipboard. 

“Very well.” he says in a monotone voice. “Callbacks will be posted outside the drama studio next week.”

You step off the stage, keeping your head high as you hear people murmur to their friends.

“Kinda dramatic… it’s not like the school needs charity from this play or anything”

“Didn’t Osborn’s dad sponsor the set design again?”

“Maybe. Rich people are weird.”

Shoyo went through his own day as normal; answer a few questions wrong in maths, think about you, get a nice spot at lunch where he can watch you with your friends, think about you some more…

Okay, maybe it was a little creepy, but can you blame the guy? You’re the girl next door, and pretty much the most popular girl in the 12th grade—and you happen to show him the least bit of attention? He'd be nuts if he said he wasn’t crazy about you- okay.

Not to mention, word got out that you recently broke things off with your super douche-bag boyfriend. So now might just be the time to strike. 

Unfortunately for Shoyo, things were never that easy. He had a gift- or a burden- whatever works in this context. He had an anomaly, an anomaly that meant he had other responsibilities. With great anomalies come great responsibilities! Anyways.

Sadly, this anomaly had many times deprived him from your attention that he so longed for; missing out on a school field trip with you, or half of a conversation that might have been in science. Sometimes he wondered if devoting himself to the safety of others was really worth it all, but he’d like to think he could juggle both.

The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. Shoyo stumbles through the crowded hallway—clutching his bag to his chest as he gets shoved around like a pinball.

He makes it back to his locker, taking note of the new absurdity scribbled so nicely in the middle of the metal door. As he grabs his books he tries to keep his head down, but the sight of you at your own locker just a couple lengths away makes him forget any worries he might have had.

You have a fake flower tucked behind your ear, he notices. Probably something you got at the audition. He should probably ask how it went. God, you’re pretty.

You turn and walk away, you catch up with your friend and shoyo can only gaze longingly after you. Moments like these where he managed to catch a glimpse of you so comfortable, so laid back... They made him realise that maybe things aren’t so bad after all. 

“Ugh, do you have to be so vile?” You grimace as your friend squirts about half a bottle of ketchup on her burger.

The rest of the school day had gone by in a haze, and you decided you guys could use some time to talk over your auditions before heading home.

The food court felt alive with the buzz of people and the loud chatter of students, nothing felt out of the ordinary.

You almost didn’t hear the first scream.

It came from somewhere below you on the first floor, sharp and desperate. More screaming followed and you could see people scattering from the atrium like insects.

“What’s going on?” You stood up, peering over the railing. You didn’t see anything until—

BOOM.

The screams intensify, some cut short as debris and dust detonates throughout the mall. Your friends tug at your arm, trying to pull you towards the exit but you stand there frozen in shock as you watch the scene unfold.

You grip the railing, trying to peer through the nebula of rubble and catch a glimpse of what might have caused the destruction. The dust begins to settle and for a moment it goes quiet as a mechanical whirring fills the stunned silence.

In a flash of green and metal, it whizzes out from the wrecking. What appears to be a man dressed in green armor and a disgustingly evil mask swoops over the wreckage on his glider, laughing maniacally. He definitely succeeds in making an entrance.

You stare with your mouth agape, barely comprehending the situation as another explosion goes off and the floor breaks beneath you.

You scream. You’re falling down from 3 levels up and there’s no way you’d make it. You’ll never know if you got that role, you’ll never eat that chicken sandwich you had in the fridge. Your heart lurches in your chest—but something catches you.

It’s not the floor.

It’s a pair of arms.

If you screamed you probably couldn’t hear it over the sound of the wind and your jacket flapping wildly behind you. 

A blur of red and blue is all you can see in front of you, along with the musky smell of sweat as you’re swung to safety. You stumble slightly as your feet touch the ground by a fire exit.

“You okay?” His voice is a bit muffled behind the mask, but in close proximity like this you can hear him perfectly.

You nod, letting go of him. “..You’re Spider-Man”

“Uh, yeah.” He tilts his head at you slightly. Another crash in the background quickly pulls him away quickly though, and you can barely call out or express your gratitude before he swings back into the destruction.

You’re left a bit dazed. It shouldn’t be that shocking, Spider-Man is a public figure, he saves a lot of people. Right? Doesn’t matter. You watch from a safe distance as he seems to effortlessly diffuse the situation—helping other people to safety and avoiding counter-actions from the green guy.

The way he moves is so graceful, like a gymnast. Spider-man is too cool.

“You fight like a gymnast,” Goblin sneers, circling the hero. “-but you bleed like a boy!”

Spider-man acts quickly, webbing a table from a collapsed kiosk and launching it at Goblin and his glider. The glider swerves, the table knocking Goblin off balance as he throws a hand grenade in Spider-Man’s direction. 

The bomb lands, sending a blast of heat and metal fragments through the air as well as Spider-Man himself. He manages to shoot a web at a collapsed railing and catch himself before swinging full force at Goblin. As he lands on the glider, the villain anticipates his attack and throws a punch into the boy’s face with full force.

He can feel the blood from his busted lip leaking into his mask, but he perseveres. Spider-Man manages to stay on the glider and he throws a counter-punch. Goblin blocks his hit and the glider swerves, throwing the boy off balance as he plummets to the hard tile below.

Spider-man groans in pain, trying not to let himself be deterred as he stands up. His legs wobble, why was he feeling scared? He had fought a lot of bad guys before, not necessarily supervillains but plenty of hardcore thugs. In much worse environments than this, too. Despite all that, Green Goblin was taking the shit out of him. It felt like he was getting in his head, without even saying a word.

He pushes those thoughts away, braving himself into a protective stance as he thinks over his next move. He doesn’t get much of a chance as a high pitched beeping alerts him to look down. Crap. 

The pumpkin bomb explodes, it sends him flying backwards and more debris shoots up into the air.

His back hits a pillar and for a moment the world slows. His eyes flutter and his head is spinning, he tries to regain some composure as Goblin swerves over on his glider. 

The villain descends, stepping off his glider with a sharp clank of his metal boots to the tile flooring. He steps closer, snickering at the collapsed heap of red and blue that stands out prominently in the wreckage of smoke and destruction.

“Not quite the performance I was expecting from our city’s one and only Spider-Man..” Goblin taunts lowly, his voice mechanical and sinister behind the faceplate seemingly made for fear. “I was hoping for a real fight, but instead, here you are.. Hurt and weak like a squashed bug. I thought the spider was supposed to bite.”

Spider-Man huffs and props his arm up behind him, barely upright as he struggles to breathe through the ringing in his ears.

“You’ve got spirit, I’ll give you that. But right now, you’re flailing in a world you don’t understand.” Goblin leans down to his level, the metallic mask reflects Spider-Man’s dazed expression as he heaves slightly. “You’re wasted on these people. They run when things get loud, they’d turn on you the second they felt doubt.”

“They’ll never thank you, Spider-Man. But I will.” he extends a hand gloved in more leafy green metal, fingers open in malicious offer. “Join me, Spider-Man. We can change this city. We can rule this city.”

Spider-Man heaves again, eyes fluttering behind the white mesh of his mask. “I’d  rather die.”

He doesn’t know why he said it, really. It seemed like the Spider-Man thing to do. Goblin proceeded to start cackling loudly and step back onto his glider, so maybe it was a dumb thing to say to the first real supervillain you fight.

“Poor choice, bug-boy.” the glider starts whirring loudly, the breeze blowing over Spider-Man’s collapsed form and bringing him further back into consciousness. “I offered you a future, with power and purpose... But you’d rather break your bones for people who scream at the sight of you.”

Spider-Man can barely process the mocking voice of his emerald adversary as he looks up at Goblin. “...Yeah.” He murmurs dumbly, his head still spinning from the impact.

“Think it over. You’ll see things my way soon enough.” 

Goblin almost threatens the boy, giving him a glare through the evil sneer of his mask before the glider makes a large swoop and shoots up through the shattered skylight.

The sirens wail in the distance and the headlights of ambulances in the dark pave the way for emergency crews to arrive. But Spider-Man is long gone.

The fluorescent light in the bathroom is dim, it buzzes softly. Shoyo leans over the sink, water dripping from his face in uneven trails. His mask lay discarded nearby, it’s stained and frayed at the edges from the explosion. His reflection stares back at him, pale and bruised and scared.

The sound of the TV is muffled through the wall—Natsu’s watching cartoons, something cheerful.

Shoyo touches his side and flinches, his ribs ache. There’s a smear of blood on the porcelain and he swipes at it quickly.

This isn’t a game anymore. That guy could’ve killed me.

He looks over at the mask. He hesitates.

She was there—he could’ve killed her.

His knuckles grip the sink tighter, the fear threatening to bubble up to the surface manifesting itself into determination.

I’ve never seen something like that. He wasn’t a mugger or an arsonist—this guy wants to destroy everything. For fun. He’s dangerous.

One more splash of water on his face. He dries his face with a towel and looks back up at the mirror.

If I’m gonna do this, I need to be smarter. Stronger. I need to be—

“—Spider-man.” he says to himself, like it’s the first time it’s ever meant something.

Shoyo picks up the discarded mask. He turns to the door, pausing. He takes one more look at his shaken appearance before flicking off the light.

A/N: HOLY COW!! how was that? I had so much fun writing this!! chapter 2 will hopefully be up soon, so stay tuned! drop me and ask to be added to the taglist!!

thanks to @bernardsbendystraws for spidey dividers :]

[angeart]

Howwwww did you angst the world tour?? 🎀

this question made me giggle so much oh i'm glad you asked :3c there was so much yummy grian angst in the hc world tour!

it's all about grian and his penchant for destruction. he doesn't even mean to! he's not trying to be pesky; quite the opposite. he's curious but restrained, trying to be good, trying to follow instructions. he's not malicious at all! he's just there to see what people were up to, open and friendly and curious, eager to look and learn and praise. not a bad intention in sight... and yet things seem to break wherever he goes. everything he touches goes wrong.

the guilt churns, acidic and overwhelming, and grian's miserable. why is he like this? he's trying so hard, why is this the only way he can ever be? why can't it stop?

spoilers for grian's world tour video below <3

plantie pointed out to me how, during the tour of scar's train, when grian got rid of scar's arrows—the glitched ones that doc put there—he was so desperate to point it out after scar just glossed over it. as if he wanted to show that he can do something good. he can be helpful, he can fix things instead of just breaking everything.

but then we have all the other things, right? grian can't escape it.

when he was with etho and the mushroom farm exploded, he sums it up in a wretched if confused apology: "i'm so sorry. the two times i tried to use it, i broke it :( and created a water source floating— which i don't know how it happened— and flung the TNT, which i really don't understand—"

they move on, but it's so clear it lingers.

etho isn't blaming him. he's amused and brushes it off and moves along, unbothered, but grian himself can't wrap his head around it. about that propensity to breaking things, even unintentionally. the way nothing is safe around him.

he tells etho: "i can't stop thinking about your mushroom farm. why does everything i touch break, in new and unexpected ways?"

(not to mention when etho's showing him frogger and grian plays, almost instantly etho goes: "uh-oh, the game's broken", with a little huff of laugh. it wasn't exactly tied to anything grian did, but still something i wanted to point out, since grian was there for it <3)

and then grian goes to zedaph, right?

the very first game zedaph shows him. the very first. grian plays the way he was told to, the way he was meant to, and— he breaks it.

zedaph just laughs and moves them on.

(just sprinkling in a side note that zedaph's furnace minigame also didn't seem to work the way it should've—)

by the time grian gets to pearl's, it's starting to be a pattern that's so clearly eating away at him, making him anxious. he doesn't want it to happen again!

and yet.

pearl invites him to play her wordle game, and grian mindlessly goes and pushes the wrong button trying to start it... instantly stepping away with a quiet groan of a dread-filled "...oh-" followed by: "i just— ruined it already."

there's something about the mood switch. the way he seems more restrained and tame, silently upset with himself, trying so hard not to mess things up further. questioning why this is happening again. why he can't stop making it happen.

he walks over to the reset game button and asks, carefully: "can i press reset? is it gonna hurt? 🥺👉👈"

pearl reassures him he can, with a sigh noting that it'll just take a while.

there's an almost hysteric laugh from grian, followed by an exasperated, upset scream. "everything i touch breaks! when i went to e— i broke etho's thing when i went to— not frogger, his— his mushroom farm i— it blew up."

"you blew up his mushroom farm?? how? what did you do?!"

"yeah, i— i broke zed's game, instantly, pretty much, it's—"

"oh my gosh :("

"sorry 🥺"

pearl is quick to reassure him, though. "well, luckily for you, this is— you doing that (pushing the wrong button) does not break the game. it's just, you now have to wait for it to reset."

she makes sure grian knows that he didn't mess up anything terribly here. he didn't break pearl's game. it's okay! it's fine!

and then grian right clicks to open the book, and instead makes bonemeal pop out of a composter.

i think at this point pearl is a little bit taken aback by how wrong everything really seems to be going around grian. she makes sure to say, "it's fine," again, just so grian won't start worrying about it all again. "you're clicking on everything that people do not usually click on today. but it's okay. it's still not broken! it's not broken, it's alright, it's okay— i've got failsaves for people like you."

it's so sweet how she really tries to soothe him— and yet she can't help but let out that last remark.

people like you.

those few words surely lodge in more than all the reassurances. they're like splinter, proving grian right.

eventually, he gets to skizz.

during the tour of skizz's base, skizz shows him a horse statue and starts talking about how he lost his first horse at an event that grian was also a part of. and grian's stomach instantly sinks.

he asks hushedly, a bit confused, trying to remember: "was i there?"

skizz laughs. "you were absolutely there, dude."

which leads grian to ask, uneasily: "did i do it?"

skizz waves his hands, quick to easily reassure that no! that's not it, grian didn't do it!

grian lets out an oh with such palpable relief, and goes on to explain about how, "i remember witnessing it, but sometimes it's hard to disentangle whether i did it or not. coz i tell you what, on this tour i've broken everyone's stuff."

nobody was upset with grian when things broke, but here he is, several hermits down, still unable to leave it to rest. because it's him. it's him who did all of that, somehow, and he didn't mean to, but it doesn't matter. it happened anyway.

and now he can't even tell what is and what isn't his fault anymore.

the guilt is deep rooted, leaving anxious assumptions and dark, jagged precipices. how much did he destroy? what else should he be feeling guilty about? how far does this go?

he keeps breaking things, and it's such a blur that he can no longer tell what is and what isn't his fault.

the tour continues, and he delves into skizz's pyramid. and it's just— it's just a tunnel to swim through. nothing to mess up, besides potentially dying to suffocation, right?

and yet you can hear skizz shrilly exclaim: "oh he's going to end up breaking something!!"

and, (plantie's words: ) grian hearing that and just wondering, is that all i'm good for? is that all i'm known for? is that all i am?

there's no room for doubt; not really. that is what grian does, all the time, whether he wants to or not. he breaks stuff. he just— he doesn't mean to. and this tour is one big show of how powerless he is against it. (how everyone expects it from him anyway.)

despite it all, grian perseveres, trying out skizz's game, stubbornly dedicated and trying to win. (to pass; to have something to be proud of, at least—) and he gets to the powdered snow section.

there, he jumps across to a pathway that he was meant to circle to through the snow instead.

it's not breaking anything, not really. not even the rules. it's not cheating! he's just— he just did something skizz did not expect, but that was entirely possible within the game's design, even if not intended. he exploited it to his advantage; a risky, tricky shortcut.

and yet skizz remarks with a laugh: "this is what grian does! he breaks games!"

no matter what grian does... is that all he'll ever be?

is that all they'll see?

he fails getting through skizz's game, is thanked for play-testing, praises it all, they talk it all away, and...

and then grian goes to tour mumbo's base.

and fails to even die properly to his llama—

and then mumbo shows him his archive machine, and instantly panicks when grian gets curious about it, begging him not to touch anything. and grian says: "your stomach just fell through didn't it?" and after mumbo's immediate agreement, he adds: "and rightfully so. coz, almost everything i've touched on this tour has broken."

there's not a sliver of surprise to mumbo's anxious rushed: "yeah, yeah yeah! please stop now." because, of course things have broken. of course what grian touches is bound to go wrong. of course—

and then mumbo very carefully tells grian what to do with the machine.

grian does as he's told.

mumbo looks up and pauses, a frown crossing his face as he takes it in. he notes that grian probably did it too fast—

(something went wrong)

(something broke)

mumbo says: "i can't believe you come along and every single thing in my base starts [going wrong/breaking/malfunctioning]"

and then grian mysteriously ends up with an extra book from mumbo's machine, much to mumbo's dismay. grian's confused, cogs spinning as he tries to figure out what did he mess up this time to result in this.

it's clear mumbo wants grian away from his machine. it's not safe. (grian isn't safe.)

"maybe just give that to me and maybe just step away from the contraption. and then— maybe just leave me to—"

grian's upset and bewildered voice cuts in: "i didn't do anything wrong this time :(("

he's trying so hard.

he's trying so hard to be good and do things right and not mess anything up.

(it isn't working.)

(it's never bound to work, is it?)

mumbo ushers him away, and ends up showing him another cool invention—an elevator. except the second mumbo hits the button, a creeper shows up and explodes it. (it's midday.) (it wasn't even meant to be there.)

this one isn't grian's fault at all, but with everything that's happened— well, it's easy enough to link it to grian's presence. like a bad luck omen.

apprehensively, grian asks if the elevator broke, and mumbo—a bit bewildered by the reality of it—says that no, it seems to still work. "amazingly," he tacks on, disbelieving.

grian's relieved. "ohh, i thought we were in big trouble there!"

besides himself, mumbo anxiously agrees: "augh. i was like, if every single creation that i show breaks in some fashion, i'm just gonna quit."

because this isn't normal. none of this is, least of all everything at once. it simply doesn't happen.

(not when grian isn't there, anyway.)

mumbo notes that he needs to work on his lighting, and grian nods wisely saying it's a perpetual issue, but the anxiety is digging its talons in now, unrelenting. (what else is going to go bad in grian's presence? what else will he mess up? what else will he break? why is he like this?)

another remark that comes after this is mumbo's nervous: "i've actually just built up the automatic sorter which does this—which you're not gonna touch. we're banned from touching any redstone contraptions!"

and what can grian do but oblige? (but he can at least look, right?)

but does it ever change anything?

does it matter?

-

at the end of the day, the others don't think too much about it.

they all say their part, pass their judgment, wave their hands, dismiss, move on. it doesn't keep them up at night.

... i think it might keep grian up at night.

a cacophonous collection of word snippets, aimed at him or woven around him, digging under his skin until it bleeds. a noose of inescapable fate, a tightening band around his chest that promises he can only ever be one thing:

a vessel for destruction.

it doesn't matter if he wants to be.

shackles and chains and a cosmic inevitability written into his skin, etched into his bones, tangled into his bloodstream. and an ever-rising guilt like stormy sea, far above his head now, drowning him.

(maybe he's not meant to be near other people and their things.)

(maybe he's not meant to touch games that were constructed with so much effort and love and passion poured into them.)

(maybe he shouldn't—)

==========

bonus screenshots from discord DMs (with extra sprinkles of hmtb mentions):

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bonus hmtb quotes because i kept thinking about it:

He always destroys the things he loves most, after all.

and:

He destroyed everything he touched, and when there was nothing left, he destroyed the only remaining thing: himself.

-

[willowser]

katsuki is back!!!!!! and im so so happy about it!!!!!!!! what do you think the long term implications are gonna be for our blasty boy tho? i mean, having to immediately jump back into battle to help all might and izuku doesn't leave a lot of time for him to process stuff and i dont think knowing that edgeshot literally stitched him up and died in the process would be an easy thing to come to terms with. I'm curious to hear what you think!!✨✨

HE IS BACK !!!! ✨️🩷✨️ I'M BUZZING !!!! but—

you're so right 🥺 gosh. i think the long-term effects this will have on him will be very dependent on how this upcoming fight plays out, but, regardless—he died, okay ? like not almost died or was on the brink—his heart literally burst inside his chest. and then someone else had to sacrifice themselves so that he could live again.

not to mention, tomura/afo really read him to filth during that fight ajfbdjala and i feel like that had to hurt to hear, to witness, to experience; a painstaking moment when he gave it his all and realized just how little that did, in the moment, to tomura/afo.

having to jump right into the fight is going to be—so hard on him, i think. not right away, but he literally is going to be fighting for all might's life, and that is also so heavy, because we know how much all might means to him. and i think the fact that he can't process it now will just cause soooo many issues for him in the future, when it comes time for him to process the whole thing. it will probably take years !! for him to even consciously accept what happened out there !!!

and it's all just such a pile up of emotion......i think he'll always feel guilty about what happened with all might in kamino, and then edgeshot had to give his life to save him—bc he couldn't save himself, or stop tomura/afo—and now he's fighting for all might, and if that ends up breaking his heart, too, it's just—TOO MUCH.

i'm so scared for him 🥺 this is so much to emotionally bear 🥺 to walk around with 🥺 like as a hero, he has to make up for it, right ?? like he has to give it everything he has, or else what did edgeshot die for ? i feel like, as a young adult, he would bury himself in being dynamight, so focused on the goal of being the best hero he can be, in honor of his heroes, that he probably wouldn't even sit down and process what happened for a little while. like he thinks there's no time. he has to keep going for them 🥺

[hencheri]

— dior girl

▸ 18+ mdni.

When Park Sunghoon wants something, he gets it no matter how hard it can be. He's not scared to get his hands dirty. If he had any morals, maybe he'd consider his obsession with you getting out of hands, but he has absolutely no morals.

| pairing. designer!sunghoon x fem!reader

| warnings. dark!sunghoon (he's not a good person lol), implied legal age gap, alcohol consumption & mention of drugs use, mention of gain weight, manipulation, corruption, violent sexual thoughts, unprotected sex, anal play, dacryphilia, aftercare because yes sunghoon's a sadist but he still has a heart.

| wc. 7.5k

| a.n.: repost from an old blog. pls forgive me for how lengthy the smut is (or thank me)!!

His studio is his sanctuary. It's the only place where he can spend hours without even noticing the moon setting or the sun rising. In his studio, it feels like time doesn't exist or that it's just a futile detail that doesn't have much importance.

When he's creating a piece, nothing around him matters. The only things he's willing to give attention to are the placements of the needles on the fabric, the little lines that form the pattern of the clothing, or the way his scissors cut through the satin material of the dress he's working on.

He's thought about this design for so long and he finally got the opportunity to make it. He's thought about the colours of the dress and of the seam, about the length of the hem and the sleeves, how deep the neckline should be and if lace would be suitable.

He doesn't even recall how many sketches he's made of that dress. At some point, it was consuming his entire mind, the only thing he could draw and think of.

Now that he's finally making it, he has the feeling that it's going to be the best piece he's ever created. He already sees everyone talking about it, saying how much of a genius Park Sunghoon is. It's going to be the design of the year—of the century.

He still misses something, though, and it might be the most important part of it all. He needs a model, the perfect body to wear his piece and present it to the fashion world.

It can't be anybody, it must be someone who's confident, who always has their head up and radiates elegance and sports a unique beauty.

Sunghoon still hasn't found this person. He constantly searches for them, but never finds them or when he thinks that he has, he discovers flaws he cannot unseen.

All the Dior models are great, but not enough. They don't spark anything in Sunghoon when he watches them strode down the catwalk. He's checked upon the apprentices and the newer models the company has hired, but he saw no one extraordinary.

Until today.

He hears steps against the wooden floor of his studio, entering the place without knocking. 

"Ah, there he is!" A manly voice exclaims and Sunghoon immediately recognizes it as his friend's, Soobin. "I have someone to introduce you."

Sunghoon raises his gaze up from his working table and looks at Soobin who's accompanied by a beautiful, young woman. He's then suddenly interested, contrary to usual where he never really cares about the many girls Soobin brings, claiming each one as the new phenomenon of the fashion industry.

When Sunghoon turns around, he eyes you up and down, barely glimpsing in Soobin's way. It's all it takes, one simple glance and he knows you're the one he needs—the one he wants and has to ruin.

Soobin introduces you both and when your name is pronounced by the man, sounding so charming and delicate, he's certain you're the model he had been waiting for since a long time.

You seem shy, arms locked behind your back, but you stand up straight and have a polite smile drawn on your face.

"I thought maybe you'd like to get to know each other, right?" Soobin raises his eyebrows in Sunghoon's direction. "Everyone's fond of her," he smiles and pats your back, encouraging you to speak up.

"Thanks," you smile back at Soobin before glancing at Sunghoon who still hasn't looked away from you. "I'm a big fan of your work, Mr. Park. You've inspired me to become a model."

The way you say his name has his cock twitching in his pants, filthy thoughts of him spanking your butt as you cry his name invading his mind.

He can sense your vulnerability, your willingness to submit. Who would he be to deny you that? Him, who is so eager to dominate the ones he's attracted to, so eager to break but also repair them.

He knows it when someone's fragile, hiding their weaknesses under fake confidence. He doesn't know you, but he recognizes the pattern almost instantly. What can be broken can also be repaired and you're asking him to break you.

"I'm glad to hear that," Sunghoon says politely, a slight smile tugging on his lips. He's not the type to smile—stretch the corner of his mouth upward to imitate the person in front of him, he finds it shallow. But for you, he'll do it, just so you trust him, so desperate to give yourself to the opposite sex. 

"Park, you were wondering who'd be part of the fall show this year," Soobin begins, looking at you like you're the most irradiant ruby in the world. "Well, you have her in front of you." 

You chuckle softly at the man's words, nodding your head at him and then looking at Sunghoon as if waiting for some praises.

Sunghoon faintly smiles, seeing your eyes glimmering and he curses himself for not finding you sooner. You'd have been his by now, his to praise, his to kiss and fuck. His to destroy. But he swears, if he happens to break you, he'll gratefully keep you safe close to him.

๑♡՞

"Careful," Sunghoon softly says as he catches you up before you can fall to the floor. You let out a high pitched laugh, as if all of this is a big joke, and push him back with a hand on his chest.

"I'm fine," you answer, shrugging him off with a flip of your hand. You stagger from left to right, leaning against the wall when you almost stumble. You laugh it off again, halting your steps.

Sunghoon looks at you with a cringe expression, eyeing the people behind, sporting worried looks on their faces.

You all went out after the show; models, designers, directors, stylists... everyone. It wasn't your plan to get drunk, Sunghoon knows that because you're not supposed to drink alcohol during your diet. A glass from time to time isn't so bad, but your consumption clearly surpassed just a glass tonight.

It's not really your fault, though. Technically yes, since you're the one who swallowed all of the wine, but you had a little help.

A little help from Sunghoon himself.

When you weren't looking, he poured more alcohol in your glass and to his satisfaction you noticed nothing and gulped everything down. Sure, you got a bit suspicious, wondering how you had only drank so little when you remembered swallowing more than that.

But Sunghoon assured you it was only your first glass, so you drank, and drank, and drank... 

Until you were more than tipsy.

You've received nasty looks from your colleagues, especially the other models who weren't drinking a single drop of wine, and yet, still weren't awarded with the status of the 'face of Dior'. How ironic that the drunkest girl in the room was the face of Dior and the little protégée of Mr. Park.

"I'll... I'll bring her to our room, you can go out without us," Sunghoon announces, watching you sit down on the floor in the middle of the corridor.

"Will she be okay?" 

"Of course. I'll take care of her."

He waits for everyone to be gone before he gets you up from the floor and leads you both to your hotel room. When you're in the room, he sits you down on the bed.

You don't say anything as he takes off his jacket and loosens his tie. He crouches down in front of you to remove your heels and he does the same with his shoes, leaving them by the entry.

When he comes back, he sees you quietly crying, the features of your face contorting into a sad expression. You've slightly sobered up, harshly coming back to reality, realizing how much you've embarrassed yourself tonight.

"What did I do?" You ask, looking up at him with teary eyes. "I fucked up, didn't I?"

Sunghoon sits down beside you, lifting your head up with his index under your chin and his thumb over it. "There's nothing that can't be repaired," he states in a soft voice, so low it sounds like a sweet whisper—a secret, a confession only you know. "Right?"

You sniff, wiping your tears away. You nod your head in agreement, slightly reassured, hoping Sunghoon will fix your mistakes. 

"Shh, baby, shh," he softly murmurs, cradling your head in his hands and gently laying your face against his chest. You wrap your arms around his waist, hugging him tighter.

He strokes your hair delicately, placing a sweet and warm kiss on the top of your head.

Someone as vulnerable as you contains a lot of emotions. He has to deal with them, which doesn't bother him at all. He wants you the way you are; sad and pitiful.

"Everything's going to be fine," he promises, but it's not entirely the truth. Not everything will be fine, though it'll be in the end, he thinks—he hopes.

You eventually pull away from his embrace, just enough to look at him. It seems like you're searching for something or maybe waiting for something, your eyes desperately staring at Sunghoon as if his simple presence will make all of your problems go away.

You throw yourself at him and kiss him on the lips, fingers pulling on the hair at the nape of his neck. He reciprocates it, knowing you like your kisses sloppy and messy, wanting Sunghoon everywhere on you to remind you that he's always there.

You bring him closer, wrinkling the material of his white shirt between your fists, moaning and whining as your teeth clash together at how roughly you kiss each other.

Sunghoon breaks your exchange first, both catching your breaths. His eyes observe you quietly as you look at him like you're still waiting for something.

"Did you do what I told you to?" He questions you, referring to your conversation of a few days earlier when you came to his studio to try on his dress.

You were a bit stressed out, putting on the clothing like you were scared you'd rip it. He still remembers the way the satin was sliding up your body, hugging your waist and ass perfectly. 

He was baffled at how incredibly well it suited you as if he had made it exactly for you.

And maybe it was made for you, after all.

Because when he saw his creation on you, he knew you had to wear it for the runway. It has to be you, he'll accept no one else.

Sunghoon will make you walk the runway wearing his dress—the last time you'll ever step on the catwalk. After that, he'll keep you away from the rest of the world. He'll refuse anyone to see you because you're going to be his.

His forever.

"Yes," you nod your head, trapping your bottom lip between your teeth.

"Tell me what you did," Sunghoon softly demands, holding your chin in his hand, mouths inches away from each other.

You're too shy to say it out loud and that's why he wants you to tell him. Also to be sure you did everything correctly, but mainly because he wants to see you embarrassed.

"I prepared myself for you..." you begin, holding eye contact even though you feel your face heating up just thinking about all the things you've done per his request. "I... I used lube both on me and... the toy," you continue in a shy tone, so low Sunghoon wouldn't hear you if he wasn't so close.

"Where on you, sweetheart?" He interrupts, wanting each detail, each little thing you normally wouldn't have done if it wasn't for him. 

You swallow, "On my ass, Sunghoon," you answer in a whisper. "I stretched it out for you, using the toy like you told me," you finally admit.

"Good girl," Sunghoon purrs. "Let me see it then."

You proceed to strip off of your dress, now used to be nude in front of him, and slide your panties down your thighs, discarding them away on the floor. 

You get back up on the mattress and position yourself on all fours close to the edge of the bed. Sunghoon stands up and goes behind you to have a closer look at your ass.

His veiny hands pull your cheeks apart, revealing your rim to his insatiable, sadistic eyes. You glance over your shoulder, curious of what he has in mind and what he has prepared for you. 

You softly gasp when he spits and lets the globe of spit drip down between your asscheeks, rolling over your puckered hole. You clench around nothing, relieved to have his attention, to finally feel his hands on you instead of the usual touch of yours. 

He sees that your ass is a bit more loose than the last time he saw it, but it still clearly needs more preparation to welcome his girthy cock—though it's not like he cares that much if you're prepped enough or not. 

He passes his thumb over your tight muscle, circling it and smearing his saliva over it. He wants to fuck it so bad, destroy it and do unbelievably violent things to you. Should he tonight? Should he show you his dark and evil side? 

He's choked you before—smacked your ass hard till you felt your skin stings, overstimulated you to the point your orgasms were just spasms passing through your body, fucked your throat while you were drooling all over yourself, and tied your legs and wrists together to restrict your movements. 

So fucking your ass can't be that bad, but the thing is Sunghoon wants it to be bad. He then wonders what would happen if the line is ever crossed. Would you endure it, would you defend yourself? Would you shut the fuck up and take it like you're asked to?

But you trust him so much—with all of your pathetic being—and he thinks you'd let him cross any lines he desires to. He probably already has crossed multiples, and being the poor girl that you are, you said nothing.

You truly are extraordinary. 

He gives a slight slap to one of your asscheeks, groping both of them after, feeling how soft and tender your flesh is. "You did good, sweetheart," he comments in a honeyed voice, "how about we play with it a little?" 

He lifts up a brow at you and you nod sheepishly, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip. "Yes..."

"Great," he says in a low tone, running his hands one last time over your ass before going to take something from his suitcase. 

"What is it?" You question, your curious eyes landing on the small object he's holding.

Sunghoon brings the object to you, something made of metal, the end having the shape of a cone and a pink gem placed on the top. "A gift for my princess," he replies, opening the bottle of lube he brought as well. 

He applies some lube around your tight hole and on the butt plug, and carefully pushes the head of the toy in your ass. You gasp softly, feeling it slowly stretch you, sinking in gradually as Sunghoon holds your cheeks apart.

"Feels good, Sir," you moan, arching your back and pushing your butt closer to Sunghoon. 

When the plug is all the way in, the pink gem peeking out between your two globes of flesh, he smacks your other cheek, leaving his stinging handprint on you. 

"Is that so, dirty girl?" He wonders, gripping your hips and colliding his hips with your butt, sensing his bulge pulsing under his pants. "You like it when your little ass gets stretched out?" 

"I like everything you do to me," you say with a content sigh, pussy clenching around nothing as your ass gets used to the small butt plug. 

Sunghoon genuinely thinks he can't find better than you. You were so shy in the beginning, looking like a lost puppy wherever you went. You just needed someone bigger and older to show you the way—though you were too dumb, and still are, to realize he was leading you to the wrong path.

It's not like you seem to mind, anyway. 

After all, you both got what you wanted; you, male attention, someone to rely on and be protected by, and him, a woman to break and keep with him forever. 

He lets go of your hips to unbuckle his belt, pulling the leather material out of the gold loop with the luxury Dior logo on it. He lets the two ends of the belt hang off, not bothering to remove it completely, and tucks the fly of his pants down.

He finally frees his cock from the confines of his boxers, springing up and slapping his stomach, the bit of pre-cum escaping from his tip dampening his shirt. 

"You're so good to me, princess," he praises as he wraps a hand around the base of his engorged cock, aching and begging to be nestled in your cute little pussy. 

His head pushes at your entrance, never fully entering, only teasing your hole and stimulating all of your sensitive nerves. He watches how his cock stretches your cunt, your walls expending to receive his bulbous tip and then closing down when he pulls out. 

"Sir, please, want more," you beg him, pushing your ass on him to have his dick back in you. You let out a little whimper when Sunghoon holds your hips in place, stopping you from wiggling your butt side to side against his thick cock. 

He hums and slaps your ass harshly, your skin burning after. "Want my cock in your needy little pussy, baby? Is that what you're crying for?" He asks, teasing even more by swiping the head between your pussy lips, a string of your arousal sticking to his angry tip. 

"Yes," you say back quickly and desperately, arching your back, literally presenting yourself to Sunghoon. "Been so good, don't I deserve it, Sir?" You softly murmur, still looking over your shoulder to see his gaze fixated on your quivering pussy, cock head sliding up and down over your sex. 

"You do..." He responds distractedly, licking his lips, his fingers touching the pink gem peeking out from your ass. You're always so good and obedient for him, he even wonders if you ever did something that genuinely pissed him off before. 

When he really sinks in, his head passing the barrier of your sweet pussy, he groans deeply, feeling your walls envelop him tightly. 

He bends his back over yours, running his hand up your spine, feeling all the little bumps of it until he reaches your neck and shoves your head against the mattress. 

You whine when he starts pounding into you, his girth stretching you out so well, leaving you panting and moaning loudly. His other hand holds your hip against his dick, fingers digging into your skin, leaving permanent marks on your body.

He already sets a hard and rapid pace—fucking is never soft or loving with Sunghoon, it's violent, long, and agonizing. It's a way to be himself, the real and dark version of himself he hides in public, and releases when he gets intimate with you. 

You surprisingly got accustomed to it, embracing it as if it was your destiny, the reason for your existence; to be his personal slut, the little toy he likes to play rough with. You've accepted it, like you had no other choice but to be fucked into oblivion by Sunghoon whenever he feels like it. 

"You like that, baby? Huh?" He growls, as if you're the disgusting one for liking the way he treats you, to be ravished and delighted to have his cock sliding against your walls. "You like it when I fuck you hard like this?" He repeats and grips your hair, pushing your head into the bed covers with more strength. 

You babble out something, voice caught in your throat, too out of breath to formulate a simple sentence. You then only nod, your cheek squished against the mattress, Sunghoon's hand still pushing down on your head. 

His mouth hangs open to let out heavy breaths and his eyes are focused on your face, watching the little translucent pearls fall on your face and onto the bed. Your pussy swallows all of him, clenching so tightly it has him groaning and saying profanities under his breath.

It's sick how it makes his cock so fucking hard, leaking so much pre-cum in you and twitching avidly by seeing you struggle to breathe. You hold the bed sheets between your fists, doing everything in your power to keep your ass up for Sunghoon and not slump down on the bed from the hard thrusts he's inflicting on you. 

He snaps his hips against your ass and the entirety of his length is covered in your wetness, a white ring made of your cream circling the base of his cock. 

His hand holding your head descends to your neck, enclosing it with his fingers. He squeezes a little, just a bit so you know who's in control, so you never forget Sunghoon controls you—controls your life and thoughts. 

With a grip on your hair, he brings your torso up, arched back against his chest. The material of his shirt sticks to your skin, covered in a thin layer of sweat. He continues to pound into you and as he holds you by the throat, he lewdly licks the side of your face in a long stripe. 

You shudder in desire, hair standing up on your arms. "You're my little whore, aren't you, baby?" His mouth is right beside your ear as he whispers the words to you, his lips touching your hair, damp at the nape of your neck. "So fucking compliant... You want to please me so badly like the slut that you are.”

His free hand that doesn't have a hold around your throat slides down your body, passing over your belly and reaching your puffy clit. The sharp zipper of his pants graces the flesh just under your ass, irritating your skin and making it itchy. You clench around him when his digits find your sensitive bud.

"Yes, want to please you, Sunghoon," you gasp, bucking your hips at the feeling of his rough fingertips on you. He grunts when you address him by his name, loving how it sounds on your tongue, so sweet and timid. 

He remembers the first time you moaned his name; you were sprawled across his expensive leather couch, blindfolded and hands attached together with his black tie. Intense for your first time with him, but it was also the last time he's ever been that gentle with you. 

It was when his cold fingertips graced the skin of your stomach that you let out a squeak followed by his name, said in the quietest moan. He had then stopped his movements and looked at your face, an expression of distress painted over your features. 

He had realized how frail and weak you actually were, needing your most important sense to be at ease. That's why he had blindfolded you, to show you how dependent you were on him, how impossible it was for you to live without someone to guide you. 

He pushes your jaw to the side so your lips can meet in a feverish kiss, wet tongues mingling together, drool dripping down from the corners of your mouth. He continues to ram his cock in your pussy, the sound of skin against skin resonating in the hotel room. 

He traps your bottom lip between his teeth, making you whimper and close your walls around him once again. Your hands grip the material of his trousers, keeping him close and holding on to something because the hard cadence of his hip thrusts push you forward, breasts bouncing up on your chest. 

"Fuck," he curses and he suddenly stops, steadying his hips against your butt. You let out a whiny moan as Sunghoon lets go of your face and hips. 

You're sad to have your pleasure ripped away from you so hastily, but you don't have the time to complain, Sunghoon slipping out of your cunt and pushing you down violently on the mattress. 

You turn around on your back to see him unbuttoning his dress shirt and throwing it on the floor, revealing to you his beautiful chest and milky skin. He gets rid of his pants and socks after, finally removing his boxers, the only thing remaining on him being the watch crowning his right wrist. 

His cock glistens in your juices, more pre-cum leaking from his swollen tip and twitching avidly against his stomach. Even though him fucking you while being all dressed and you completely bare is a way to humiliate and degrade you, he also likes to be naked sometimes. 

He loves skin to skin contact, how your bodies stick together because of all the sweat coating you. It's addicting, it's rougher and it creates more friction—more pain. 

He doesn't mind being naked because he knows how to dominate you either way. He doesn't find it embarrassing, on the contrary, it makes him scarier and hungrier. While you shiver without your clothes on, curled up on yourself, Sunghoon is imposing, his cock thick enough to split you in half. 

He crawls back to you, hovering over you like a predator that has caught his prey, boring his eyes into yours. You look at him in awe, always waiting patiently. You feel his cock against your thigh, your hole pathetically quivering—missing his size terribly. 

He sneaks a hand between your legs and reaches the little pink gem, ready to get it out. "Take a deep breath, sweetheart," Sunghoon instructs and you inhale deeply.

He doesn't waste a second, pulling out the butt plug out of your ass. You scrunch your eyes shut at the pain, exhaling when it's done. There's still a bit of lube left on it and around your ass. He carefully sets it on the nightstand, coming back to you after. 

He bends your legs over your stomach and looks at your ass, just begging him to fuck it, shining with lube and arousal that leaked from your pussy. His cock is so close to it and Sunghoon could slide right in with one movement of his hips. 

He lets go of one of your legs to grip his erection, a little gasp escaping your lips when he presses the head of his cock at your tight hole, threatening to sink in. 

"Sir," you sigh, not sure if you're ready for that. It always burns no matter how good you prepped before and he knows that. That's why he's so tempted, staring so obsessively at your rim. 

Will it hurt you? Will you grip his biceps in an attempt to dissuade him? He wants to see those tears falling from your eyes again, he wants to lick them and tastes your pain. He feels more blood rush down to his cock at the mere thought of hurting you. 

Give him all of your pain, he'll fucking take it whole and cherish it. He wants it—he needs it. Accuse him of having a sick and twisted mind, accuse him of everything you've ever been hurt by because he'll gladly take the blame. 

"I know you can take it," he says in a low tone, glancing up at your face as he applies just a bit more force. "Can you, baby?" Sunghoon asks, waiting for you to admit how much you want it, how badly you want him to destroy you. 

"Yes..." You whisper back, a long shiver running up your spine as his eyes pierce through you. 

"Yes what? Tell me, sweetheart," he demands, and it's as if he doesn't care about your response whatsoever because the next thing he does makes you yelp in pain. 

His tip has entered you, the burning sensation forcing you to scrunch your eyes shut. 

"Yes, I- I can..." you stutter and as expected, you dig your nails into the flesh of his biceps, only fair to hurt him in return. "I can take your cock in my ass."

You take a sharp breath, eyes slowly opening, all watery and painful. Sunghoon groans at that, stuffing more of himself into you. "Good girl," he praises.

He stretches you out completely, his dick in no comparison to the toys you've used on you. You open your mouth as he pushes himself in gradually, tears streaming down your face when you blink. 

The tears roll down the side of your face and Sunghoon can't help but love the sight, leaning in to kiss your face and collect one of your tears, tasting the saltiness of it on his tongue. 

"Sunghoon!" You look at him with the saddest and most hurtful eyes. "It burns," you add in a quiet voice, now scratching his back, leaving long red trails on his skin. 

"I know, baby, I know," he softly murmurs in your ear, a husky moan leaving his mouth when he's completely nestled in you, balls touching your ass. "You're so tight, fuck," he sucks a breath through his teeth, not moving until he estimates he's waited long enough. 

He gives warm and wet kisses to your neck, going down to your collarbones and pawing at your breasts, slowly starting to move his hips. You lock your legs behind his back, wanting him as close to you as possible despite the pain he's inflicting on you. 

He loves knowing it hurts you because it makes it more pleasurable to him somehow. The pain will go away soon anyway, that's why he doesn't bother to stop or slow down. You have to get used to the feeling first. 

The choking, the hair pulling, the smacks... He keeps it for the bedroom, but he won't lie that there's a part of him that wants to ruin your life, ruin everything you've accomplished so far just so he can see those sad eyes of yours and hear you ask him for help out of desperation. 

It's not even sexual, he just wants to break you, that's all he desires. Though your life is something he wants to destroy, it's more of a way to have you dependent on him after. If your career is no longer successful, your solution is Sunghoon because he's the only person in your life capable of taking care of you both emotionally and physically. 

His teeth chew on the tender skin of your neck while his hand travels all over your body, many veins popping out along his strong arm. His finger gently circles your clit to make the pain more bearable. 

His hand that was roaming over your body comes to close around your throat and he turns his head to your side, lips brushing over your temple. "Yeah, just like that, baby," he mutters under his breath, his nose pressing down on your hair as he murmurs the words to you. "Just like that..." 

A choked moan is all that escapes your mouth. His hot breath hits the side of your face, his chest heaving rapidly while you claw at his back, white scratches appearing on his shoulder blades.

He sweetly kisses your temple as he pounds into you, not tightening his hand around your throat, just holding you in place—making sure you know that he’s always in control. 

Your tits slightly bounce up and down on your chest, little whines coming out of you each time Sunghoon bottoms out. It starts to feel good for you—really good—and you think that this pleasure is totally worth a bit of pain at the beginning. 

You grip the hair at the nape of his neck and bring him in for a kiss. He accepts it, kissing you back as if he wants to possess your whole mouth, biting and licking your lips. You moan into his mouth, twisting his hair between your fingers.

He pulls away from you, his full lips glistening in both of your saliva, and places his two palms on your boobs. He feels your perky nipples under his hands, just loving how plushy your breasts are, fitting perfectly in his palms. 

He keeps thrusting in you as he gropes your tits and you bring your hands over his, looking into each other's eyes. He lets out a low groan, holding eye-contact with you. 

You feel his veins under your palms, your pussy clenching around nothing but air while you run your hands all over his arms. You love to feel his pulsing veins under your fingertips.

"Sunghoon..." You moan his name, throwing your head back and closing your eyes, just enjoying the feeling of his hard cock entering and exiting your tight hole. Sunghoon takes the opportunity to smooch over your neck again as you expose it to him, his lips pressing down on your throat. "I love it," you sigh pleasantly. 

He hums, the sound coming deep from his throat. He wants to hurt you, yes, but he likes it even more when you love the pain. He just knew you were exactly like him when he first saw you. He had the feeling that you needed someone like him, someone that'd push you to your limits and make you discover a new type of pleasure. 

And he was right because there's not one time where you told him to stop.

"My dirty girl," he purrs in response, bringing his lips up to your jaw. He slowly rolls your nipples between his fingertips, pinching and pulling on them. "You're stupid, but so, so good for me, baby.” 

He slowly halts his hip thrusts and he eventually pulls out of you. You gasp when he does so, already missing his cock stretching out your ass. 

Sunghoon raises himself up from you and gets out of the bed. His erection stands tall against his stomach, bouncing up as he walks to the front of the bed. 

You watch him getting away until he orders you to follow him. "Come here," he says softly and you don't make him wait. "On your knees," Sunghoon commands when you're facing him, sinking down to your knees. 

He places a hand behind your head and the other around the base of his dick, guiding the head of his cock toward your lips as he pushes down on your head. 

"Here, baby," he instructs in a low voice. "Take it in your mouth." You part your lips to welcome Sunghoon's length, his bulbous tip shining in pre-cum and your juices under the light of the room. 

He immediately moans when he enters the warmth of your mouth, his heavy cock sliding on your wet tongue. He doesn't let you have much control, pushing his dick in your mouth until your nose touches his pubic hair. 

You relax your jaw for Sunghoon, allowing him to stuff more of himself into your mouth. He looks down at you, watching at the way your lips wrap around him tightly, your eyes starting to water. 

He begins to fuck your mouth, forcing you to take him whole each time he bottoms out. He moves his hips back and forth, obsessed with the way his girth appears and reappears between your lips as he uses your mouth as he pleases. 

"Shit," he hisses when you hollow your cheeks, "you're a fucking cockslut, aren't you, baby?" He says breathily, his eyes not once leaving his cock penetrating your mouth over and over again. 

You whine around him, surely agreeing with what he said, sending vibrations throughout his entire body. He lets out a deep moan, your cheeks and eyelashes all wet because of your tears, eyes burning as Sunghoon fucks your throat roughly. 

"Stroke your clit," he manages to say between two heavy breaths. "You can get off by yourself, right? I know you're soaking wet just by letting me use that pretty mouth of yours," he mocks you, but he knows he's right. Whatever he does, your cunt is always dripping wet. 

You whimper again, doing what he told you to and sneaking a hand between your thighs to play with your pussy. You part your legs wider as you circle your clit with your finger, Sunghoon's hooded eyes lazily watching you playing with yourself. 

Your right hand is laying on his thigh while the other is operating between your legs, pleasuring yourself to the sounds of Sunghoon's moans and the feeling of his cock weighing down on your tongue. 

You do your best to breathe through your nose, swallowing around his length and flattening your tongue underneath him. Your juices drip down your inner thighs, your finger smoothly flickering over your sensitive bud.

The whole room is smelling like sex, an odour that Sunghoon can't ignore, loving it so much. Your lips glide so easily over his hard cock, completely covered in your spit and still some of your wetness, tasting yourself on him. 

"Ah, fuck," he curses, his head rolling back on his shoulders, eyes still strained down on you. He feels the familiar burning sensation at the pit of his stomach, indicating he's really close to his orgasm. "Go on the bed, baby."

You're taken aback, but you follow his order, pulling him out of your mouth and laying your back down on the mattress close to the edge. You beautifully moan when Sunghoon penetrates your pussy, bending your legs over your stomach. 

"Oh, god," you cry softly, being pounded onto the bed right away, tits moving up and down on your chest. 

His hands are positioned on each side of your shoulders, snapping his hips against yours so harshly it hurts. You keep doing circle motions on your clit, now faster and impatient to reach your high. 

You let out a high-pitched moan when Sunghoon suddenly steadies his hips over yours, dropping down to his elbows as he hides his face in the crook of your neck. "Holy fuck," he grunts, gripping the bed sheets tightly in his fists beside your head as his cock twitches in your cunt. 

"Yes, yes," you quietly exclaim, your orgasm passing through you, making you arch your back and buck your hips. 

Your pussy clenches repeatedly around him and he finally comes undone into you, shooting long, thick ropes of cum deep in you. When he slips out of you, more spurts out of his tip, landing on your pussy, covering you in his cum. 

He stays above you for some time, catching his breath and looking at the mess he made of you. 

Later, Sunghoon is in the shower, washing his hair and his body, passing a soft cloth soaked in soap over his chest. He lets the water fall over his head, wetting his black locks. He stays maybe a bit longer than normally, staring at the tiled wall. 

He thinks about you, about all the things he's planned. He revised everything in his head, imagining you walk on the podium wearing his dress, people looking at his piece with admiration in their eyes. 

He thinks about everything that will go down for you after the show, getting fired, losing your career and your fans. Many articles talking about your excessive use of alcohol and drugs, saying how tired and sad you look beside Sunghoon. 

You won't last long, you're too weak anyway. A downfall like this is unconquerable, nobody recovers from that, and surely not a model who will be thrown out of the industry as soon as you turn twenty-five. 

Sunghoon knows the industry, he's been in it for years now. He's aware of how cruel it is, how difficult and harsh it can be on fragile little girls like you. 

But that's why he's here, he'll take care of you once nobody will want you anymore. That's the goal, after all; you to be finally his—solely and completely. 

"Sunghoon?"

Your voice reaches him, turning his head in your direction, seeing you hesitantly entering the shower with him. He opens his arms, inviting you to come closer and you do, hugging him and laying your head down on his wet chest. 

"I love you, sweetheart," he softly murmurs against your hair. "I'll never leave you, you know that, right?" 

You nod your head, looking up at him and meeting his gaze. "I love you, too."

๑♡՞

The runway went incredibly well. Celebrities and journalists were all gathered for the fall show, totally amazed by every design and the models that were wearing them. 

But there was one specific piece that everyone was willing to say was the best. 

Sunghoon was satisfied to see that his name stood out amongst everyone else's, being mentioned more times than Dior itself. He predicted it; it was the creation that every guest remembered, the dress that the fans were only talking about. 

He'd take all the credit, he was the one who imagined it and then sewed it after all, but he has to admit that you contributed to the fame a lot. 

Being the beloved face of Dior only made people talk more about it and that was what Sunghoon needed. 

But every good story has an end, doesn't it? 

When Sunghoon comes back to his apartment, the place is silent except for the TV playing, as he thought it would be. You're looking through the window, the city draped in the dark, splotches of bright yellow light flashing in front of your eyes. You're sitting on the sofa, not even acknowledging his presence as he enters, getting rid of his shoes. 

You're not much of a talker since you've been fired from Dior a few days ago just after the fall show. He understands your wish of remaining silent, needing a bit of space to process everything that happened the past weeks in your head. 

It was going to happen soon or later anyway. You've been to your photoshoots completely drunk, sometimes just going in with a hangover, but of course it didn't help your case at all. 

Sunghoon was guilty for letting you drink alcohol so soon in the morning. No need to deny it, he was even the one dropping you off at work like that. Well, he had to do it if he wanted people to notice how far you've fallen. 

He doesn't feel bad, though. Your career wasn't going to last with or without Sunghoon's sabotage. He did you a favour. 

You can't handle being a model. If you could, none of that would have happened. You wouldn't have gained weight, you would have been suspicious of the amount of calories Sunghoon was feeding you. The bottles of wine wouldn't have been so tempting and smoking weed wouldn't have ever occurred to you as a good idea. 

You shouldn't be ashamed of it, sometimes things just don't work out like we would have wanted them to. 

"Did you see the article they wrote about me?" You ask, still looking outside. "You surely did, I bet that's all they're talking about..." 

He sits down beside you and you eventually turn around, facing him. You care so much about what others think of you. It must be so tiring having such a low self-esteem. He can only imagine it; seeing you look through the window like a sad puppy, your life finally making sense when Sunghoon comes home. 

"I did, but nothing of that matters to me," he answers, the most honest he's ever been. And even if he had to lie, it's not like you wouldn't have believed him. You always trust whatever he says. 

You don't reply, your head still filled with many thoughts. 

"Hey, come here," he softly tells you, patting his thigh. You straddle his lap, setting your hands on his shoulders. He cups your chin, forcing you to look at him as you keep avoiding his gaze. "Whatever they say, whatever their name is, nothing will ever be more important than you." 

Because who is he if he lets some article affect the way he sees you? He's known you since the beginning of your career and he stayed till the end of it. 

He knows you better than everyone else. He was with you during your highs and lows and he'll still be there for the next ones. There's nothing in the world that could make him leave you. After everything he's done to have you, there's no way he'll go away. 

How cowardly of him if he does. He can't leave when he's promised he'd heal you—close all of your past wounds and create other ones. He may be selfish, but there's one thing that he isn't and it's a fucking liar. He sticks to his words, and when he says he'll never leave you, that means he'll never, never abandon you—he'll never leave your side, not even once. He can't risk it.

[pucksandpower]

She’s a Menace

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max has to deal with quite a distraction while on his sim (or in which there are definitely worse reasons to crash than you on your knees in front of him)

Warnings: 18+ content

Note: Max Verstappen is a four-time World Drivers’ Champion, so I leave you with this in celebration

Max squints at the screen, the blue glow of the monitors highlighting the concentration etched on his face. The steady hum of his sim rig fills the room as he grips the steering wheel, eyes locked on the track ahead. The chat is already buzzing with excitement, a stream of messages flowing faster than the race itself.

He leans forward slightly, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he pushes for the perfect line through the next corner. This is supposed to be a casual race with Team Redline, but Max never does anything halfway.

From the corner of his eye, he catches a flicker of movement. His heart stutters, but he keeps his gaze trained on the screen. Just focus. But then you’re there, slipping under his desk with the kind of stealth that makes him question how well he really knows you.

“Hey, what are you-” His voice is low, more of a mutter to himself as you settle in the cramped space, your hand resting lightly on his knee. He almost laughs at the absurdity, but then he feels the warmth of your palm through the fabric of his jeans, and his breath hitches.

“Max?” Your voice is sweet, innocent. The kind of innocent that makes his blood rush south.

“Not now,” he whispers harshly, trying to sound firm, but the effect is ruined by the way his voice catches on the last word. He clears his throat, gripping the wheel tighter. “I’m in the middle of a race.”

“I know,” you say, and he can practically hear the smile in your voice. “That’s why I’m here.”

His eyes flicker down for just a second — just a second — but it’s enough for him to miss his braking point. The car skids off track, and the chat explodes in a mixture of surprise and good-natured ribbing.

“Shit,” he mutters, jerking the wheel back to recover. He can hear his teammates’ voices through the headset, but they’re a distant buzz compared to the sensation of your fingers trailing up his thigh.

“What are you doing?” He hisses, trying to keep his voice low enough that it doesn’t pick up on the mic.

“Just helping,” you reply, your breath hot against his leg as you shift closer. “You seemed tense.”

“Tense?” He echoes, his voice tight with disbelief. “You’re not helping.”

“Are you sure?”

You lean in, your lips brushing against the inside of his knee, and he sucks in a sharp breath. His grip on the wheel falters, the car veering dangerously close to the edge of the track again.

“Stop,” he manages to say, but it’s more of a plea than a command. “Seriously, I-”

The next corner is coming up fast, too fast. He needs to focus, but then you lick a slow, deliberate line up his thigh, and it’s like every coherent thought evaporates from his brain. His foot jerks on the pedal, and the car slams into the wall with a crunch that makes him wince.

“Max, what the hell happened?” One of his teammates asks through the headset, genuine concern in his voice.

“Uh,” Max swallows, trying to keep his voice steady, “I think Sassy’s messing around. You know how she gets.”

“Sassy?” You repeat, muffling a laugh against his leg. “Really?”

Max doesn’t dare look down at you, his face burning as he tries to get the car back on track. “Yeah, Sassy,” he mutters under his breath. “She’s …you know …”

“A menace?” You offer, sliding your hand higher until it’s dangerously close to something that would definitely get picked up by the mic.

“Distracting,” he corrects, his voice cracking just slightly. “Very distracting.”

“Hmm.” You hum thoughtfully, your fingers tracing patterns that make his pulse race. “I thought you were good at handling distractions.”

Max clenches his teeth, trying to will away the flush spreading across his cheeks. “This is different,” he bites out, his knuckles white on the wheel. “You’re-”

He cuts off with a strangled noise as your lips brush against the zipper of his jeans. His head falls back for a split second, eyes squeezing shut. The chat is a blur, his teammates’ voices barely registering over the pounding of his heart.

“You okay there, Max?” Someone asks, clearly picking up on his unusual silence.

“Yeah, fine,” he says, forcing the words out in a breathless rush. “Just — Sassy’s really being a pain tonight.”

“Oh, Sassy’s being a pain, is she?” You tease, your fingers deftly working at his zipper.

Max’s heart leaps into his throat as he feels the fabric give way under your touch. “Don’t-” He starts, but it’s too late. You’re already working him free, your breath ghosting over his skin, and he feels like he might actually die right here, on stream, in front of thousands of people.

He can barely see the track now, his vision blurring at the edges as you take him into your mouth. The sensation is overwhelming, the wet heat of your tongue drawing a low, involuntary groan from his chest. He tries to bite it back, but it slips out before he can stop it.

The sound of his own voice brings him back to reality with a jolt, and he scrambles to mute the mic before anyone can ask questions. He fumbles, nearly dropping the wheel in the process, but finally manages to switch off his headset.

“God, you’re going to kill me,” he gasps, his voice hoarse as he looks down at you.

You pull back just enough to look up at him, your eyes gleaming with mischief. “You’re doing great, by the way. Really holding it together.”

“Barely,” he mutters, his hand slipping from the wheel to tangle in your hair. He knows he should stop you, that he should be focused on the race, but the way you’re looking at him — like this is all some delicious game — makes it impossible to think straight.

“You’re such a good driver, Max,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to the tip of him, and his whole body jerks in response. “But I wonder how good you are at multitasking.”

“I’m not,” he breathes out, his hand tightening in your hair. “I’m really not.”

“Sure you are.” You smile against him, and the sensation sends a shiver down his spine. “You just need a little more practice.”

“I’m going to crash again,” he warns, but it’s weak, almost a whimper as you take him deeper.

“Mmm,” you hum around him, and his hips buck involuntarily, the wheel spinning out of his grip as the car careens off the track once more.

He bites down on his lip so hard he tastes blood, but he can’t stop the moan that rumbles in his chest. “Fuck,” he mutters, his free hand gripping the edge of the desk like a lifeline. “Fuck, fuck-”

You pull back just enough to let your breath cool the wet skin, and his whole body shudders. “Max,” you purr, your voice a sinful mix of sweet and sultry. “What would Sassy think if she knew you were blaming her for this?”

“She-” His breath hitches as you lick a slow line up his length. “She would definitely not approve.”

“Maybe you should apologize to her later,” you suggest, and then you’re taking him back into your mouth, and he can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but fall apart.

“Yeah,” he gasps out, the word barely audible as you suck harder, your hand sliding up to cup him in a way that makes his vision go white at the edges. “Definitely. Later.”

You hum in agreement, the vibrations driving him to the edge faster than he’d like to admit. He knows he’s losing control, knows that anyone paying attention to his stream can see how erratic his driving has become, but he can’t bring himself to care.

All that matters is you, your mouth on him, your tongue working him in ways that make his toes curl inside his socks. His head drops back against the chair, his eyes fluttering shut as he lets himself drown in the sensation.

“Fuck, you’re-” he chokes out, the words getting lost in a strangled moan as you take him even deeper, your nose brushing against the base of him. He feels the world tilt on its axis, the car crashing into the wall once more, but it’s a distant concern, something he can’t even begin to process right now.

His hand tightens in your hair, guiding you, urging you on as he teeters on the brink. “I’m close,” he warns, his voice a desperate rasp. “So close-”

But you already know, you always know, and the way you speed up, the way you suck him in like you’re starving for it, pushes him right over the edge. His whole body tenses, his hips jerking as he comes with a guttural moan that he knows would have been embarrassing if he weren’t so far gone.

“Fuck,” he breathes out again, the word shaky as you continue to work him through it, your movements slow and gentle now, coaxing every last bit of pleasure from him until he’s a boneless heap in his chair.

He’s vaguely aware of the game still running on the screen in front of him, the car idling against the wall, the chat a blur of confusion and speculation. But all he can think about is the way you’re licking him clean, your tongue gentle and deliberate as you savor every lingering moment of his release. His breath comes in shallow gasps, the aftershocks of pleasure rippling through his body, leaving him utterly spent.

“Jesus,” he finally manages, his voice rough, barely more than a whisper. His fingers slip from your hair, trailing down to rest on your shoulder. “You … I don’t even know what to say.”

You look up at him from beneath the desk, your eyes sparkling with mischief and something darker, more intimate. “Say thank you,” you suggest, a teasing lilt in your voice as you place one final kiss on him before tucking him back into his jeans.

Max chuckles breathlessly, running a hand through his hair. “Thank you,” he echoes, but it’s more than just gratitude — it’s awe, admiration, an acknowledgment of just how thoroughly you’ve unraveled him.

“You’re welcome,” you purr, crawling out from under the desk with a grace that seems unfair, given what you’ve just done to him. As you straighten up, you brush a hand over your clothes, smoothing out any wrinkles as if you haven’t just reduced him to a quivering mess.

Max watches you, still dazed, as you take a seat on the edge of the desk, your fingers idly tracing the lines of the virtual steering wheel on the screen. “You should probably get back to your race,” you say casually, though the satisfied smirk on your lips tells him you know exactly what kind of chaos you’ve left in your wake.

“Race?” He blinks, trying to reconnect with reality. The reality where he’s supposed to be streaming, where thousands of people are watching, where he’s just crashed his car in the most embarrassing way possible. “Oh, fuck.”

You laugh softly, clearly enjoying his distress as he scrambles to put his headset back on. The game is still running, but the car is totaled, and his teammates are probably wondering why he’s been completely silent for the past few minutes.

Max clears his throat, trying to summon some semblance of professionalism as he un-mutes the mic. “Sorry, mates,” he says, his voice cracking slightly as he glances at the chat, which is now filled with endless variations of what happened? “Uh, Sassy … Sassy knocked something over. Had to deal with that.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end, followed by the sound of someone barely holding back laughter. “Sassy, huh?” One of his teammates finally says, amusement clear in his voice. “Sure it wasn’t something else?”

“Yeah, mate, you sounded a bit — preoccupied,” another one chimes in, and Max can practically hear the grin in his voice.

Max shoots a glare in your direction, but you just smile sweetly, completely unrepentant. “Just a bit of a distraction,” he says, forcing a laugh that he hopes sounds natural. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Mmhmm,” his teammate replies, clearly unconvinced. “Well, whatever it was, you might want to keep it in check. You’re not exactly in winning form right now.”

Max groans internally, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll focus, promise.”

But as he puts his hands back on the wheel and tries to get back into the game, his thoughts are still swirling around what just happened, how thoroughly you’ve taken him apart and put him back together. He can feel the ghost of your touch on his skin, the way your lips felt against him, the sound of your voice whispering his name in that sinfully sweet tone.

You, however, seem entirely unbothered by the chaos you’ve caused. You hop off the desk and start to leave the room, but not before pausing in the doorway to shoot him a look over your shoulder.

“Oh, and Max?” You say, your voice just loud enough for the mic to catch it, ensuring that everyone in the stream hears. “Next time, don’t give our cat the credit for my handiwork.”

Max’s eyes widen in horror as the implications of what you’ve just said sink in, and the chat goes wild with speculation. He can’t believe you’ve just thrown that grenade and walked away, leaving him to deal with the fallout.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, his face burning as he hears the barely suppressed laughter of his teammates through the headset. He quickly fumbles to mute his mic again, before the noise from the chat can start bleeding through his headphones.

From the other side of the house, you can hear Max still muttering, cursing under his breath as he tries to explain away what just happened, though it’s clear from the chaos in the chat that he’s not fooling anyone. You’re pretty sure “Sassy” is going to become the new code word among his fans for a long, long time.

You can’t help but smile to yourself as you walk away, already planning the next time you’ll disrupt his perfectly controlled world with a bit of your own brand of chaos. Because you know Max — no matter how much he complains, he secretly loves every minute of it.

***

Max clicks out of the game, his heart still racing — not from the competition, but from the aftermath of your little stunt. His teammates had ribbed him mercilessly for the rest of the race, making it impossible to focus, and he’d finally had to give up entirely when it became clear he was more liability than asset.

But that’s fine, he thinks, as he heads to your shared bedroom. You’d wanted to play, and now it’s his turn.

He pushes open the door quietly, the soft sound of your breathing drawing him in. You’re sprawled out on the bed, lounging in a silk robe that clings to your curves in a way that leaves nothing to the imagination. One leg is draped lazily over the edge, your foot brushing against the floor, and your head is tilted back against the pillows, eyes half-closed in what looks like pure satisfaction.

Max pauses in the doorway, taking in the sight of you. The low light casts a warm glow over your skin, making the fabric of your robe shimmer as it catches the subtle movement of your body. You don’t see him at first, too caught up in your own thoughts, and he uses that moment to just watch you, to drink in every detail.

He’s still not entirely sure how he got so lucky, how he ended up with someone who could turn his world upside down with just a look, a touch, a whispered word. But he’s never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth. You’d taken control earlier, had driven him to the brink of insanity with your teasing, your lips, your tongue … but now, now it’s his turn.

“Enjoying yourself?” He asks, his voice low, almost a growl, as he steps into the room. You startle slightly, eyes snapping open, but then you relax, a slow, lazy smile spreading across your lips.

“Immensely,” you reply, stretching like a cat, your robe parting just enough to give him a tantalizing glimpse of what’s underneath. “Though I was wondering when you’d finish up in there. Took you long enough.”

Max’s eyes narrow, though there’s no real heat behind it. “You’re awfully confident for someone who just crashed me into a wall in front of thousands of people.”

You laugh softly, completely unrepentant, as you prop yourself up on one elbow. “You needed to be taken down a peg. I figured I was doing the world a favor.”

“Oh, is that right?” He crosses the room, his gaze dark and intent, and you shift slightly under the intensity of it, though you don’t look away. “Well, I think it’s only fair that I return the favor.”

He doesn’t give you time to respond before he reaches the walk-in closet, pulling open the door and flicking on the light. The space is meticulously organized — suits, Red Bull-branded shirts, shoes all lined up with military precision. But it’s the back corner that interests him tonight, the small, nondescript box that he keeps tucked away behind a row of neatly hung jackets.

He retrieves it with a sense of satisfaction, running his fingers over the smooth wood before he opens it. Inside, nestled in soft velvet, are the toys he’s collected over time. Some are simple, others more complex, but each one has a purpose, a particular use that he knows will drive you wild.

He hears you shift on the bed, a small rustle of fabric as you sit up a bit straighter, curiosity piqued. He doesn’t turn around just yet, letting the anticipation build as he selects a few choice items, things he knows you love, things he knows you can’t resist.

When he finally turns back to you, the box in hand, your eyes widen slightly, and you bite your lower lip — a telltale sign that your confident façade is starting to crack. Good.

“What are you planning to do with those?” You ask, though your voice wavers just enough to give away the thrill that’s running through you.

Max sets the box down on the bed beside you, his gaze never leaving your face as he leans in close, so close that you can feel the heat of his breath against your skin. “I’m going to make you beg,” he says simply, the words a promise, a challenge.

Your breath hitches, but you don’t back down, your eyes locked with his as you try to maintain some semblance of control. “You can try,” you whisper, though the defiance in your voice is already weakening.

He doesn’t respond with words — he doesn’t need to. Instead, he reaches for the silk tie at your waist, slowly, deliberately tugging it loose until the robe falls open, exposing the soft, bare skin beneath. You shiver as the cool air hits your body, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his gaze, the way his eyes rake over you with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat.

Max takes his time, tracing a finger down the line of your collarbone, over the curve of your breast, the flat plane of your stomach. You watch him, transfixed, your breathing growing shallow as his touch ignites a fire beneath your skin.

When he finally reaches for one of the toys — a sleek, slim vibrator that he knows you love — you feel a surge of anticipation, your body already responding to the thought of what’s to come.

He clicks it on, the low hum filling the room, and you can’t help the small gasp that escapes your lips as he trails it along the inside of your thigh, just teasing, just enough to make you squirm. “Max …” you breathe, your voice shaky, and he smiles, a slow, wicked smile that sends a thrill of both excitement and nervousness coursing through you.

“Relax,” he murmurs, his free hand coming up to cradle your jaw, his thumb brushing over your lips. “We’re just getting started.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he presses the vibrator against you, right where you’re most sensitive, the sudden burst of pleasure making you cry out, your hips bucking instinctively against the pressure. But Max holds you in place, his grip firm, his eyes never leaving your face as he watches your every reaction.

“Look at you,” he whispers, almost to himself, his voice filled with something akin to awe as he takes in the way your body responds to his touch, the way you can’t help but arch against him, your hands clutching at the sheets. “So beautiful …”

You can’t form a coherent response, your mind too clouded with pleasure, too focused on the way the vibrator is driving you closer and closer to the edge. But Max isn’t done with you — not even close.

He switches to a lower setting, drawing out the sensation, making you writhe beneath him as he pushes you to the brink but refuses to let you fall over it. “Max, please …” you whimper, your voice barely more than a breath, but he only chuckles, clearly enjoying the way you’re already coming undone beneath him.

“Not yet,” he says, his tone teasing, as he leans down to capture your lips in a kiss that’s as much about control as it is about passion. You can feel the smirk on his lips as he swallows your desperate moans, the vibrations from the toy matching the rhythm of his kiss, each one driving you closer to that sweet release.

But he doesn’t let you have it. Not yet.

He pulls back, the vibrator slipping away just as you’re about to tip over the edge, leaving you gasping, trembling with need. You make a small sound of protest, your body arching towards him, but he only smiles, a look of pure satisfaction on his face as he watches you struggle to catch your breath.

“You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?” He asks, his voice low and husky as he reaches for something else from the box — a small, delicate clamp that he knows will drive you wild. He catches one of your nipples between his fingers, rolling it gently before attaching the clamp, the sharp sting of it sending a jolt of pleasure straight through you.

You cry out, your hands fisting in the sheets as the sensation takes over, and he doesn’t give you a moment to recover before he attaches the other one, his hands firm and steady even as you squirm beneath him.

“Max … Max, please …” you beg, the words spilling from your lips before you can stop them, but he only shakes his head, his eyes dark with lust as he takes in the sight of you — flushed, panting, utterly at his mercy.

“Not until you’re screaming for me,” he says, his voice a promise, a threat, as he turns the vibrator back on, this time at a higher setting, pressing it against you with enough force to make you see stars.

It’s too much, too intense, the pleasure building and building until you’re on the verge of breaking, but Max holds you there, right on the edge, refusing to let you fall until you’re practically sobbing with need.

“Please, Max, please …” you cry, your voice broken, desperate, and finally, finally, he relents, his hand moving faster, the vibrations intensifying until you’re shattering beneath him, your entire body convulsing with the force of your release.

You scream his name, the sound ripping from your throat as the pleasure crashes over you, wave after wave, until you’re left trembling, barely able to catch your breath. Max doesn’t let up, his hand steady, relentless, pushing you through one orgasm and into the next until you’re nothing but a quivering, incoherent mess beneath him.

When he finally pulls back, turning off the vibrator and removing the clamps with a gentleness that’s at odds with the intensity of what just happened, you’re too spent to even lift your head. Your body feels like it’s made of jelly, every nerve ending still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure. Max watches you for a moment, his eyes dark and unreadable, before he leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

“You did so well,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing, as if he’s trying to bring you back down from the high he just sent you to. His fingers brush a stray strand of hair away from your face, and you lean into the touch, your eyes fluttering closed as you try to steady your breathing.

You’re too tired to respond, too worn out to even think about moving, but Max doesn’t seem to mind. He moves off the bed, and you hear the soft rustle of fabric as he picks up the discarded toys, the quiet click as he puts them away in the box.

When he returns to your side, he’s holding a bottle of water, and he gently lifts your head, pressing the cool rim of the bottle to your lips. You take a sip, the water refreshing as it slides down your throat, and Max gives you a small smile, his thumb brushing over your cheek in a tender gesture.

“Feeling better?” He asks, his tone lighter now, teasing, as he sits down beside you on the bed. You nod, still too exhausted to speak, and he chuckles softly, clearly pleased with himself.

“You’re not going to try that again anytime soon, are you?” He raises an eyebrow as he leans back against the headboard, one arm draped casually over your shoulders. There’s no real edge to his words, no anger — just a quiet amusement, as if he’s already looking forward to the next time you challenge him.

You manage a weak smile, your head resting against his chest as you let out a soft, contented sigh. “I might,” you murmur, your voice still a little shaky, but there’s a hint of defiance in it, a spark that tells him you’re not completely defeated.

Max laughs at that, a deep, rich sound that vibrates through his chest and into your ear, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your arm. “We’ll see about that,” he says, his voice warm and full of affection.

For a while, the two of you just sit there, wrapped in the comfortable silence that only comes after something so intimate, so intense. Max’s hand never stops moving, his touch soothing and grounding as he holds you close, and you can feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek.

Finally, after what feels like hours but is probably only minutes, you let out a soft sigh, tilting your head up to look at him. “You’re too good to me,” you say, your voice barely more than a whisper, but the words are full of gratitude, of love.

Max’s gaze softens, and he leans down to press a lingering kiss to your lips, his thumb brushing over your cheek in a gentle caress. “I love you,” he says simply, and the words are so full of sincerity, of emotion, that they take your breath away.

You smile against his lips, your heart swelling with warmth as you snuggle closer, feeling safe, cherished, and utterly content. “I love you too,” you whisper back, and for a moment, the world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you in this perfect, blissful bubble.

Max holds you like that for a while longer, until your breathing evens out, and you start to drift off to sleep. He shifts slightly, pulling the covers up over you and tucking them in around your body with a tenderness that makes your heart ache.

Just as you’re about to fall asleep, you hear him murmur something, his voice low and full of affection. “Rest now,” he says, his fingers brushing over your hair in a soothing rhythm. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

And with that, you finally allow yourself to relax completely, letting the warmth of his embrace and the soft, steady beat of his heart lull you into a deep, peaceful sleep.

[mintyys-blog]

HEADCANON | how they give aftercare

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: implied sex

Shiesty Mark

Aftercare is reluctant but real. He’ll grumble and insult you while cleaning you up: “Tch. Can’t believe you’re so fragile. Fuckin’ needy… now hold still.”

Will pull you into his lap after, arms crossed while glaring at the wall, but you’ll feel his thumb lazily stroking your side.

Might even call you “his girl” if he’s tired enough to let it slip. Don’t mention it—he’ll deny it.

After everything—after the chaos, the rough hands, the biting kisses—he’s usually still talking shit. “You need to do more cardio. Can’t handle the real thing, huh?”

But while he’s saying that, he’s pulling a blanket over you, already wiping the sweat from your forehead with the edge of his own shirt.

His swearing doesn’t stop, but the way he touches you betrays something softer beneath the surface. Calloused fingers drag gently down your spine, thumb circling lazy patterns on your hip like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

If you nuzzle closer, he scoffs. “Clingy ass.” But he doesn’t push you away—in fact, he lets you tangle your legs with his.

If you whimper or shift like something hurts, the teasing drops for a second. His voice lowers, still rough but quieter: “You good? …Tch. I didn’t go that hard.” Pause. “…But I’ll ease up next time.”

He acts like it’s a chore when he massages your sore thighs or helps you into a clean shirt. But you catch the way he lingers afterward, fingers ghosting over your skin just to feel it warm and alive.

When you fall asleep against his chest, he whispers something you don’t quite catch—low, breathy, almost scared. You think it might’ve been “Mine.”

No Goggles Mark

His idea of aftercare is twisted. He’ll trace every bruise or bite mark like they’re trophies.

“Look at what I did to you… you’re perfect like this. Ruined.”

Doesn’t ask how you feel, but he watches you intently—memorizing reactions, especially discomfort.

Empathy is a foreign concept to him. Aftercare, as most would define it, doesn’t exist in his world.

But what he does love… is control. Power. Obsession. Watching you unravel under him, then seeing what’s left when it’s over.

After everything, he looms over you—eyes hungry, calculating, studying every mark, bruise, and tremble like a scientist admiring his own twisted experiment.

He speaks in a low, amused tone: “You’re lucky I like you like this. Broken. Breathless. Mine.”

If you try to get up, he yanks you back without effort. Not harshly—but with unsettling calmness. “Where do you think you’re going? I’m not done admiring my work.”

He’ll run his fingers down your spine just to watch you shiver. Not to comfort you, but to remind you—he owns every inch.

Kisses aren’t tender—they’re cruel, lingering, claiming. He bites, marks, leaves reminders.

If you show fear or vulnerability, he smirks. “You’re scared of me… and that’s what makes this perfect.”

But when you finally fall asleep, his fingers brush your cheek once. Almost… curious. Almost gentle.

Not out of affection—but fascination. “So soft… so stupid. And still breathing.”

Sinister Mark

Doesn’t say much afterward, just quietly helps you get cleaned up.

His hands are rough, but he makes sure you’re not hurt badly. If you wince, he pauses.

“You okay? Or are you too fucked out to talk?” comes out like a chore, but it’s still asked.

Won’t cuddle, but he’ll sit on the edge of the bed until you fall asleep, watching over you.

If he’s in a better mood, he might mutter something sarcastic like, “Survived me again, huh?”

Sinister Mark doesn’t do emotions—at least not the soft kind. If he stays after, it’s not out of affection; it’s because you’re his, and he doesn’t like leaving things unfinished.

“Tch. Don’t pass out. Not yet.” he mutters, wiping the sweat off your brow with the corner of his torn shirt.

He has zero patience for whimpering or complaints. You’re not broken, so what’s there to whine about?

And yet… when you wince or show weakness, his eyes narrow—not with sympathy, but something like curiosity.

You’re fragile. Mortal. Easy to destroy. But you’re his, so he won’t. Not yet.

If you try to cuddle him, he won’t move away, but you’ll feel the tension in his muscles. His mind’s always racing, calculating, plotting—even while your head rests on his chest.

His voice stays low and gruff, even as you fall asleep in his arms: “You keep holding onto me like I’m not a monster. I don’t get it.”

But he doesn’t push you off. Maybe it’s control. Maybe it’s something else he won’t name.

And if you ever pull away too soon, his grip tightens. His tone drops. “Don’t. We’re not done.”

Prisoner Mark

He always keeps the lights off. The darkness hides what’s been done to him—what he’s become.

He avoids full nudity and stays mostly covered, not because of modesty, but because of shame.

Yet… when you reach out in the silence—your fingers grazing over the rough, veiny texture of his scarred chest—he flinches… but doesn’t stop you.

Your soft touch against his ruined skin, your lips brushing over old burn marks—each one once a reminder of agony—becomes something else in your presence.

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t dare move. Not even when you gently cup his face—his marred, twisted face—and press a slow kiss to his lips.

He kisses you back. Tentatively. Then fiercely.

And when you hold him after, stoking his face, his breathing slows.

He doesn’t say thank you, but the way his arms tighten around you, trembling and desperate, says it all.

In your embrace, he forgets to hate himself—for a little while.

Mohawk Mark

Laughs at you when you’re out of breath or dazed: “Damn, did I break you already?”

Doesn’t believe in “softness” but still throws you one of his shirts.

Might slap your ass while saying, “You’re mine now, like it or not.”

Aftercare is casual—he might clean you off, or he might just light a cigarette and toss you a water bottle.

If you ask for cuddles, he rolls his eyes, but he’ll eventually let you curl into his side.

Still cocky as hell, cracking jokes while you’re catching your breath: “Was it too much for you, princess? You gonna start crying now?”

But if you roll over or try to pull away, he grabs your wrist—not rough, but firm. “Where the hell you goin’? We’re not done.”

His version of aftercare is possessive, not soft. He throws one of his shirts at you, maybe ruffles your hair (while muttering something like “You look better in my stuff anyway”), and flops next to you with zero shame.

He’ll lazily sling an arm over your waist, acting like it’s for his own comfort—“Don’t move. You’re warm.”

If you do something tender—kiss his jaw, trace patterns on his chest—he goes dead quiet. Not uncomfortable, just… confused.

Doesn’t stop you. He stares at the ceiling, pretending not to care, but the tips of his ears turn red.

If you fall asleep on him, he won’t admit it, but he doesn’t sleep. He just watches the rise and fall of your chest like he’s guarding you—then mutters, “Dumbass… you’re lucky I like you.”

Viltrumite Mark

Treats you like an asset afterward, but he’s surprisingly meticulous—he doesn’t want his “mate” damaged.

He sees intimacy as a means to an end—a necessity for preserving and strengthening the Viltrumite bloodline. But aftercare? That’s where things get complicated.

He’s not kind, but he is thorough. He ensures you’re physically taken care of—checking for bruising, rebalancing your vitals, and monitoring your energy levels like a mission report.

He doesn’t cuddle. Doesn’t whisper sweet things. Instead, he stands over you, arms crossed, voice cool:

“You did well. Rest. You’ll need your strength.”

But sometimes, when he thinks you’re asleep, he’ll run a rough, gloved thumb along your jawline… as if memorizing you.

If you stir or whisper his name, he goes still, eyes narrowing—not out of anger, but confusion.

He doesn’t understand tenderness… but when you pull him down beside you, when your hands rest on his bare chest and you look at him like he’s something more than a conqueror— he doesn’t pull away. Not right away.

In rare moments, he’ll press his forehead to yours, not speaking, just breathing. As if searching for something he doesn’t remember how to ask for.

He’s not a man of comfort, but your presence softens him in ways that make him… hesitate.

“You are… suitable,” he’ll say flatly—but his eyes linger too long.

And when you kiss him—slow and firm—he doesn’t kiss back like a warrior. He kisses you like a man who’s terrified of needing someone.

Omni Mark

Almost robotic in how he handles aftercare. He’ll wash you with perfect precision, no wasted movements.

After intense moments, Omni Mark doesn’t get flustered. His breathing is steady, his voice low and composed.

He moves with precision, silently wiping you down with a warm cloth or helping you into a robe without a word.

You’re not sure if it’s affection or habit, but there’s something soothing in how calm he is.

He rarely speaks, but when he does, it’s thoughtful and deliberate: “You’re unharmed. That’s all I need.”

He doesn’t initiate cuddling, but when you roll onto his chest, he lets you stay—one hand absently resting on your back.

He never sleeps first. He lies there in the dark, staring at the ceiling with a conflicted look in his eyes.

Sometimes, if you trace circles on his chest or cup his cheek, he’ll gently turn his head into your touch. It’s the only time he seems vulnerable. “I could conquer worlds… but this… this quiet with you—” he pauses, then goes silent.

He’ll never admit he craves the peace you bring. But his fingertips brushing your spine say everything his words won’t.

Speaks softly but with no warmth: “You did well. I’m satisfied.”

Wraps you in silk sheets and ensures your body is warm, hydrated, and relaxed.

Occasionally, he’ll glance at you, eyes unreadable.

Target/ Striped Mark

He’s still seething after it’s over—muscles tense, jaw clenched, pacing like a caged animal. Even in aftercare, he’s angry at the world, at himself… at how much he needs you.

When he finally comes to bed, he yanks you into his arms, not out of affection but possession. “No one touches you but me.”

He runs his hands over your body, not always gently—he’s checking for damage, bruises, proof that you’re still his. If he sees marks left by someone else (even by accident), expect instant rage.

He’ll raise his voice, slam a fist into the wall, but he never lays a hand on you in that moment. His fury is directed outward, always.

Eventually, he pulls you close again, forceful and rough, burying his face in your neck. His voice is hoarse when he says, “You’re mine… Say it.”

If you whisper it back, you’ll feel him exhale against your skin, tension easing for the first time.

He doesn’t do soft. But if you press close—kiss his chest, wrap your arms around his waist—he’ll stand there for a long time, arms wrapped around you like a fortress.

Doesn’t care about bruises—unless someone else caused them. Then he’s furious.

And if you fall asleep first, he stays awake, staring into the dark, whispering plans for the future… and how you’ll rule beside him.

Full Mask Mark

Full Mask Mark is not a tender lover, despite the occasional crack in his hardened exterior. He may seem like he’s doing it out of necessity, but deep down, he’s selfish when it comes to intimacy.

“I didn’t mean to be that rough… I just…” he trails off, guilt clinging to his voice.

He wants to feel wanted, even if he won’t admit it. When you hold him close or kiss him, it’s not just comfort—he craves the control, the reassurance that you need him just as much as he needs you.

“You don’t know what I’m capable of… why do you even want to be near me?” The words are said with a cruel chuckle, but it’s clear he’s testing you, pushing to see how far he can go.

Even in moments of affection, he’s assertive, demanding more attention, more validation. “Don’t hold back… You want me, don’t you?” His hands trace over you, not with the gentleness you’d expect from someone who feels sorry for themselves, but with an intensity that borders on possessiveness.

When you kiss him, he doesn’t just reciprocate. He takes the kiss, angling his head to deepen it, to make sure you can’t pull away.

He’s selfish in how he needs you to feel for him. If you try to pull away or take the lead, he’ll fight you for dominance, even if just for a fleeting moment.

But beneath the mask of dominance, there’s a fragility he doesn’t want to admit. He doesn’t let you see it, but the way his chest tightens when you pull him closer says it all.

Afterward, he pulls you into his chest, his hand resting possessively at the back of your neck. It’s not out of tenderness—it’s because he needs you to stay. He needs you to want him in ways he can’t even verbalize.

He doesn’t let you go. You’re his, whether you like it or not. And despite the harshness, there’s a dark kind of satisfaction in knowing you won’t leave him, even after everything.

Maskless Mark

After the act, he doesn’t rush to pull away, but he doesn’t speak much either. His thoughts seem to be miles away, but his actions are gentle, almost like he’s scared of breaking something—someone.

He offers his hand, hoping you’ll take it, but he doesn’t push if you don’t. He’s cautious, almost as if unsure of how to truly comfort someone.

He watches you carefully as you lie beside him, silently tracing his features with your fingers. His face, usually concealed, is now bare—vulnerable. The sharpness in his eyes softens, and his lips twitch into the faintest of smiles as your touch makes him feel seen.

“You don’t have to stay… but I hope you do,” he whispers in a voice that’s barely above a murmur, the vulnerability in his tone betraying his usually guarded nature.

If you kiss him, his lips are tentative at first—hesitant—but as he feels your warmth, he deepens it, his hand gently cupping the back of your head to pull you closer.

When you hold him, tracing your fingers over his skin or letting your hands linger on his chest, he relaxes into you, his breath steadying as if you were the only thing keeping him anchored in the moment.

There’s a palpable tension in him, a longing to be more than just the quiet, passive observer in his own life. And when you’re with him like this, it’s as if he’s finally allowed to exist for himself, not just for others.

He doesn’t ask for much—but your presence, your affection, is enough for him. And he makes sure to show you in small, subtle ways, by holding you tighter, kissing you a little longer.

The warmth of your embrace lingers with him long after the moment, and as you fall asleep in his arms, he stays awake, simply enjoying the rare peace he’s found in your company.

[nilla03]

𝑻𝑨𝑳𝑲 𝑫𝑰𝑹𝑻𝒀! 𝐹𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔： 𝐁𝐨𝐱𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐣𝐢 ღ

𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠： 𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑥， 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔， 𝑏𝑜𝑥𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑜𝑗𝑖， 𝑠𝑒𝑚𝑖 𝑝𝑢𝑏𝑙𝑖𝑐 𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑥

Your phone vibrates in your hand as the screen lights up with an incoming FaceTime call. You barely have time to fix your hair before you’re swiping to answer, your heart still pounding from watching Toji’s match on TV.

The screen opens to a slightly grainy view of him, sweaty and grinning, a small cut above his brow and knuckles still wrapped in tape. He’s in the locker room, the faint buzz of celebration and voices in the background.

“Hey, baby,” he rasps, voice rough from exertion. His smirk deepens when he sees you biting your lip. “You watchin’ me?”

You nod quickly, adjusting the phone in your grip. “You were amazing,”

Toji chuckles, dragging a hand through his sweat-damp hair. “Guess I’ll have to make it up to you, huh?” His eyes darken as he shifts in his seat, rolling out his shoulders. “What you doin’ right now, princess?”

“I was just…” you trail off, toying with the hem of your shirt. “Thinking about how good you looked out there.”

his gaze sharpens, tongue swiping over his bottom lip. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Your voice is softer now, breathy, as you let your legs shift, the movement making your shirt ride up just a little. His eyes catch the glimpse of bare skin, and he exhales harshly, leaning forward towards the screen.

“Fuck, baby, don’t play with me right now.”

“I’m not playing,” you murmur, tilting your phone slightly so he gets a better view of your thighs, the way your fingers are tracing little patterns on them. “Just wanna reward you for winning.”

Toji groans, tilting his head back against the locker. “Shit. You tryna kill me?”

You giggle, shifting until you’re reclining against your pillows. “Mmm. Maybe just making sure you know how proud I am.

“Pull ‘em to the side for me.”

You shiver, heat pooling low in your belly as you obey, tugging the fabric aside just enough to show him your needy cunt

“Fuck, baby,” he mutters, gripping the phone tighter. “Already so wet for me?”

You let out a soft whimper, spreading your legs just enough for him to see the slick glistening on your fingertips. “Been wet since I watched you in the ring,” voice sweet and breathy. “Seeing you all strong and rough… knocking that guy out like he was nothing.”

“Shit.” His hand definitely isn’t idle now, his breathing ragged as he watches your fingers dip lower, spreading the slick that’s gathered between your thighs. “Wish I was there—would’ve had you on your knees, letting me fuck that pretty mouth while I cool down.”

His head tilts back, exposing the thick column of his throat, and the way his abs flex has you rubbing tight circles over your clit, back arching against your pillows.

Toji groans low in his throat, his other hand disappearing out of frame. You hear the rustling of fabric, the unmistakable sound of his belt loosening. “Yeah? That turn you on, princess?” His voice is thicker now, laced with hunger. “My pretty girl getting all worked up just from watchin’ me?”

You nod quickly, circling your fingers over your clit, gasping at the feeling. “Mhm—wanna be there with you. Want you to use me like you used him.”

His breath catches, and when he speaks again, it’s practically a growl. “Keep talking like that, and I’m booking the next fuckin’ flight home.”

You whimper, back arching slightly. “Wish you’d just take me right here.”

“Yeah, that’s it,” he groans, stroking himself faster now, eyes glued to the way you’re touching yourself just for him. “Be a good girl—cream all overrr those fingers baby”

[ncrthofnowhere]

kisses for you

summary: you are a different person to every woman you've ever kissed in piltover.

tags: nsfw! sexworker!reader, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, overstimulation, cuckolding, cheating, slightly angsty, dom/sub dynamics, you kiss a lot of people!

wc: 2.9k

notes: you make out nastily with a bunch of women from the hit netflix animated series arcane

Grayson.

You were sitting alone at The Last Drop, sipping on a sweet, fruity cocktail you had gotten for yourself as a treat when she walked in. Easily twice your age and over six feet tall with chiseled cheekbones. Score. 

It delighted you even further when she walked up to you, the sound of her heavy boots was unmistakable. You smiled up at her sultrily.

“Do you happen to know where Vander is?” Her raspy voice sends shivers down your spine. You had to have her.

“Wow, buy a girl a drink first,” you giggle.

Luckily, rather than be annoyed at your flirting, the woman raises an amused eyebrow at you.

“If I buy you a drink, will you tell me where he is?”

You pretend to think for a moment.

“Hmm… maybe.”

She laughs, one that comes deep from her diaphragm, “what do I have to do for you to tell me?”

At that you saunter up closer to her, your face inches away from hers.

“Well… there is one thing,” you say coyly as you traced the intricate pattern of the badge on her chest. Her gaze flicks to your hand, then your eyes, intrigued.

“A kiss.”

She chuckles, “you’re young enough to be my daughter, little girl. Besides, you don’t want to kiss an old woman like me.” You gasp, fake shocked, “You are not old!”

Both of your arms wrap around her neck and she startles slightly at the sudden movement.

“Besides,” you mimic, grinning impossibly wide, “I like what I see.”

That’s how you end up in the alley next to the bar, being fucked into the wall by this woman, named Grayson as you’ll learn later. Her fingers feel nice against your clit and her gravelly voice murmuring into your ear sends steady pulses up and down your spine. Grayson is experienced, reserved, she kisses you with the patience of a saint. You kiss back with all the reverence of one.

After you two are done, you tell her you don’t know where Vander is. She groans.

Ambessa & Maddie.

“Again.”

Maddie cries out, trying to writhe out of your grip. You’ve lost track of how many times she’s come already, four or five? Six even? As you bring your dominant hand down on her clit once more, Maddie jerks, letting a high pitched keen out of her mouth. Ambessa, you think, is a cruel, cruel woman.

“Now, now, child,” The General tuts, “there is no need for that. I’ve taught you better.”

At Ambessa's words, Maddie seems to cry harder, clearly overstimulated and struggling not to break apart in your arms. You almost feel bad, if she didn’t wring five good orgasms out of you earlier at Ambessa’s command.

With a curl of your fingers, you enter Maddie’s soaked cunt. You start out slowly, massaging at her walls, teasing her. She groans, but even she knows that this is the calm before the storm.

“Faster.”

What Ambessa Medarda demands, Ambessa Medarda gets. You go faster, rubbing at her upper walls and g-spot with much more force and speed than before. The thumb on your opposite hand teases at the hole below her cunt, which makes her clench around your fingers tightly.

A low, pathetic “unf,” is the only warning noise Maddie makes before she comes, squirts, over your front. It surprises you, but it's not unwelcome. She bucks, trying to get away from your fingers or to follow your thrusts, you don’t know. Maddie starts shaking uncontrollably when you don’t stop, because Ambessa hasn’t ordered that of you yet. When her wails get ear piercingly loud, Ambessa halts your ministrations.

“Good.”

Is all Ambessa says before she takes your mouth into hers. The warlord kisses like she’s running out of time, like she has to devour you whole with her lips and teeth this minute or else she’ll die in the next. It’s surprisingly desperate, but still dominant. The feeling makes you weak in the knees.

Ambessa hums when she pulls away, satisfied. 

—

(“I fucking hate this ginger hair.” Maddie groaned as she tugged at short strands of hair.

You laugh at her, “why didn’t you dye it blonde or something?”

“I tried! It turned ginger!”

“Pfft,” you start, tickled at her confession, “that haircut isn’t doing you any favors either,”

“You know what — fuck you.”)

Mel & Elora.

Mel Medarda was an odd woman, you thought to yourself as you scratched your nails down the expansion of Elora’s back. You delighted in the assistant’s hiss at the sensation. Though, you supposed it wasn’t too surprising for a politician to have odd kinks.

The woman sat daintily in a plush chair in the corner of her bedroom, nursing a glass of Noxian red. She had her legs up under her, casual and uncaring like the scene in front of her was just another casual Friday. You scowled.

Elora moaned as you thrust your strap-on up into her particularly harshly. You were a bit annoyed at Councilor Medarda, at her non-reactions and indifference. You don’t know why you were so vexed at the woman, it was completely irrational, all you had to do was fuck her cute little assistant silly while she watched. It was an easy job.

(You wanted her to join, to ravage Elora with you. Oh, well. If she liked watching, then a show you would give her.)

You bent Elora over so that she was head down, ass up on the bed. One hand tangled in her usually neat hair while the other steadied your balance as you leaned your weight against her and continued thrusting. Elora whimpered at the way your cock rubbed against the walls of her cunt. In the corner of your eye, you can see that a particularly high squeal from her assistant had caught Councilor Medarda’s attention.

Good. She’s really watching now.

You use the last bit of your strength to flip Elora over on her back — she mewls at the movement. Your dominant hand reaches for her swollen clit as you mash your mouths together in a sloppy kiss. Elora’s usually a better kisser this, but you'll give her a pass, your dick is inside her is surely scrambling her brain into a fine paste.

You smile at how her mouth goes slack when she comes, hard. She’s still recovering when you hear gentle footsteps coming toward you. Councilor Medarda stops at the edge of the bed, staring holes right into your face.

“Good?”

Mel brings her pointer and middle finger to the underside of your chin and lifts them up so that you’re looking directly up at her. She leans in and gives you the softest kiss of your life. Mel smells like florals, roses, and tastes like vanilla and black raspberries. She’s delicious and you bring your own hand up to her face to deepen the kiss, but she pulls away, leaving you reeling. Mel smiles at you affectionately. 

“Very good.”

Cassandra.

You snaked your hands through Cassandra’s salt and pepper hair and yanked. The older woman squeaked indignantly, both surprised and slightly incensed at the rough treatment, but not exactly angry enough to not want you to do it again.

“I bet Tobias doesn’t kiss you like this,” you smirk, needling the older woman was your favorite part of being with her, “he doesn’t fuck you like this, does he?”

Cassandra’s eyes widen at the mention of him. Maybe she’s finally realized just how fucked up her arrangement with you is.

(Maybe she wants to leave everything behind and lick at your high heels forever. You could live with that.)

“Don’t you dare talk about—” She snarled, irate. 

Your hand, as fast as a viper and just as vicious, cuts her off with a curl of your fingers around her throat.

“You don’t get to talk back to me, girl.”

Cassandra’s heart pounds deliciously underneath your palm. You can feel her squirm at the degrading pet name — she’s twenty years your senior and not a trembling inexperienced girl by any account, but in your bed, for the night, she’ll be one, for you.

You press your mouth to hers. Cassandra even kisses like a damn politician. Selfish, slow, and languid, like she has all the time in the world. You almost always lead — perhaps her position on the council has her needing to give up that control just for a moment, even if it is to you. You bite at her thin bottom lip hard enough to draw blood and she moans into your mouth. You smile, how good Cassandra was for you.

(Her sudden death had you trembling in your bed for a week.)

Caitlyn.

It wasn’t all that uncommon for those in Topside to come down to Zaun for a taste of the cuisine. For a peoples so uppity, they loved the desperateness that existed in the Under City, the depravity that was born from it.

Caitlyn Kiramman was just like any other pretentious, rebellious daughter of rich parents in that regard. 

She’s lucky she met you first and not someone else because anyone with working eyesight could have recognized that she was Caitlyn Kiramman and robbed her blind. You probably don’t even need working eyesight though, since her accent was so damn distinct.

The first time you two meet, she asks you about life here. How it was like to be born here, to have lived here all this time. You shrug, you were still young and dumb and had no life experience, this was all you’ve known — you can’t compare it to anything else.

You ask her about life in Topside. How it was like to be born there, to have lived there all this time. She had pursed her lips and looked around, saying nothing.

She didn’t have to say anything. The silence spoke the words she didn’t.

One night, she asks you:

“Do you ever want to leave here?”

You tilt your head, contemplating with your knees drawn up to your chest. 

“Where would I go?”

Caitlyn looks at you with a pity in her eyes that you cannot stand.

“Anywhere.”

You look away with clenched fists and jaw.

“I hear Ionia’s nice.”

Caitlyn smiles at you, you see it in the corner of your eyes. You can’t stay mad at her for too long, she’s endearing to you like how a kitten would be. You grin back at her.

Suddenly, the other girl closes the distance between you two and smacks her lips onto yours. She’s inexperienced, doesn’t know how to move her lips or where to put her tongue, but the kiss excites you nonetheless. It’s chaste, exploratory, and full of a puppy love that makes your heart ache. 

When you two pull back you’re both blushing madly. Caitlyn stumbles over her words trying to apologize, to take back what she had just done.

All you do have to do is place your hand on top of her pale ones, and she calms.

(As Caitlyn and you grow older, she visits less and less. She’s busy, you’re busy, it’s understandable. You haven't met with her for a very long time when you see her use The Grey in Zaun. Your heart aches.)

Jinx.

Everyone tells you to avoid the blue haired girl who hangs around The Last Drop. She’s crazy, they say, she’ll kill you, they say.

You think she’s pretty endearing.

You were the one that came up to her first. She was in the bar, sitting at a booth and writing formulas and doodling what you’re sure were engineering marvels if you knew anything about building shit. You had asked to see what she was working on; she enthusiastically agreed.

From that day forward, whenever Jinx spots you in the bar or around town, she shows you her blueprints. She always tries to explain what she’s doing, and you want so desperately to understand, but you don’t have the brain for engineering and she is too smart to put what she means in simpler terms. But, you like the sound of her voice, so you listen anyway.

Today, she seems frustrated with something in her blueprints. No matter what she builds and how she builds it, the machine just doesn’t seem to cool well.

You hum as she complains, just content to listen. When you try to take a sip of water, Jinx gasps and you startle.

“What?” you look around, “did something happen?”

Without warning, Jinx places her hands on your shoulders and gives you a fat kiss on your mouth. Her lips are slightly chapped and the kiss is entirely unromantic and too short, but the feeling of her mouth on yours gives you butterflies anyway.

“You’re a genius! I’ll see you later!”

With that, she bounces away, presumably to work on her blueprint again.

You sigh, touching your bottom lip and watching Jinx skip away at an alarming speed. That girl will be the death of you.

Lest.

You don’t know what to make of Lest. You can’t read her very well, and you’re damn good at reading people. But, when you feel sharp nails teasing at the lips of your cunt, you decide that maybe you’re overthinking things. Lest’s hand trails up to press harshly at your clit, making you hiss. 

Your hand tugs at one of her fluffy ears, not enough to hurt, but enough to make Lest yelp.

“Behave.”

Lest grins at you deviously.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Your eyes close as you lean your back onto the concrete wall. The other woman wastes no time, she is on the ground, tugging down your skirt and lapping at your hole. You hum in satisfaction, a hand in her brown hair.

Lest, the cheeky thing, bites at your clit, just to provoke you before she makes you come. You growl in response.

“What did I just say?”

You tug harshly at her ears. The rough treatment makes her whine and you can see how hard she’s grinding herself on her hands.

“Oh?” you smirk, “You like that, huh?”

You push yourself harder onto Lest’s open mouth, trying not to pant, “If you behave, I’ll play with them a bit more, hmm?”

You think Lest tries to nod, but your thighs between her head and your hands on her ears prevent her from doing so. All she can do is lap at your pussy with a renewed vigor.

After you come, Lest brings herself back up to height. She kisses at you hungrily and without care, spreading your musk and juice all over your faces. She nips at the fat on your bottom lip and you run a tongue over both her canines, tasting yourself on her mouth. When you pull back, you’re half asleep in her arms.

“Didn’t know you were into that sort of thing, Lest.”

Lest blushes.

"Shut up."

Sevika.

Sevika’s your best friend. She gets a little overprotective over you, like all best friends do. She snarls at the thought the various women you’ve fucked for your job, like all best friends do. She looks at your tits, your fingers, your lips, all for a little too long, like all best friends do.

You’re Sevika’s best friend. Not that she really needs defending, but you yell at anyone who’s mean to her, like a good best friend. You get just a little catty with the women she brings over, like a good best friend. You look at her muscles, the gap in her teeth, her lips, all for a little too long, like a good best friend.

You two also flirt, like best friends. It’s a nice day, you and Sevika are hanging out in her messy as fuck apartment, having fun. You’re tipsy and she’s tipsy and everyone’s a little drunk. You can’t remember the night very well, but you had said something about wanting her to sit on your face. You remember how red she flushed at that comment and you had laughed real hard. Never one to not tease Sev, you closed your eyes and made exaggeratedly cartoonish kissy noises at her.

The next thing you knew, her lips were on yours. You had opened your eyes in shock for a moment, but quickly melted in the kiss. Sevika kissed like she loved you, like she wanted to do this forever ago. With a firm hand on your ass and your arms around her neck, she hauled you over to her bedroom and flung you on the bed with ease. 

You wake up with hickies in places you can’t reach and to a sheepish Sevika offering you water. Your smile is uncontained and bright as you bring her down to taste her lips again.

Bonus: Babette.

“You should eat.”

You whip your head around to see Babette by the doorway, holding a bowl of stew.

“I–” you try to argue, but a withering glare from her has you shutting your mouth. There’s no use challenging her, if she said you should eat, you were going to eat.

Babette sighs, “you need to take care of yourself, I’m not always going to be here to do that.”

You frown, “don’t say things like that.”

“It’s true,” she shrugs.

You take the stew from her hands and set it on your nightstand. You crouch down to hug her and she hugs back, just as tight. Babette places a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“Goodnight, sweetie.”

[lustlovehart]

Oh my gods, I was eating the sick!reader piece UPPPPP. 😩 Already re-read it like 5 times. Especially the Diasomnia part had me so good. Silver is the real MVP here.

Do you think you'd ever be willing to write about what'd happen if we didn't recover from an illness and specifically Lilia & Malleus got their way? I find their dynamic as yanderes always super interesting.

Ahh i’m so happy you liked it <33!!! Silver is basically your prince charming and it’s adorable!! Diasmonia was wayy longer than the other parts because the situation I decided on them was the most entertaining! Everyone else only thinking about turning you… They’re the ones who actually act on their thoughts (unfortunately).

(shh, he actually felt extremely guilty letting them do their thing, because no matter how hard he tries, he feels the same desire of you becoming one of them as well… the only thing that stops him is the fact you’ll be miserable, and he doesn’t know how he could live with that </3)

Pairing: [Monster!Twst] Diasmonia x Reader

Cw: You’re turned into a monster (Up to you what kind of monster, but there are scales and claws), Obsession, Craving Human, Kisses, Implied human eating (not a lot), It’s not said in the text but Malleus regenerates so he doesn’t lose a limb, Silver and Sebeks parts are kinda angsty

In the case you fall for your illness, they’re plans succeed, and you fall into a deep slumber. The last thing you see before your eyes shut, you see Silver, an apologetic frown looking at you as he mouths a silent ‘i’m sorry’. It’s enough to tug at your heartstrings, but the sight behind him immediately cuts any form of forgiveness you have.

Malleus’s cold-clawed fingers tracing up your arm, a soft smile on his face as his nail traces a pattern on your palm, Lilia playing with the bracelets gifted to you by the others on the table, and Sebek staring through the castles window, glowing eyes lighting the dark from his swamp.

“It will be over soon, Child of Hunters.”

…

The moment you jolt awake it feels as if you were forcibly taken from the afterlife, a feint memory of Idia desperately trying to pull you back into his arms before being dragged away. Your head is essentially a living furnace, flares happening every other moment leading to an excruciating headache. Despite the tremble in your hands, you reach up to soothe the thrumming, your fingertips coming into contact with skin.

But, rather than human, you feel pin sharp nails poke at your forehead.

You didn’t notice, not at all, with the blur in your vision it was practically impossible to see, but now with the newfound clearing in your sight you see it. Claws emerge from where your cuticles once rested, scales crawling up your skin. You throw the covers off your bed, the sleep wear concealing your horrific monstrous traits beneath the fabric, but it does nothing to rid the fear of what’s under your clothes.

“Mal… Malleus—!” your words are hoarse when you yell, a sign of your voice being unused for… you have no idea, but you know it’s a long time. “Damnit…! Malleus where are—?!” Your next step has you colliding with a stiff material, arms wrapping around you in an attempt of comfort. A fist is raised towards this entity, prepared to break wretched stone. “What the hell did you do to me Mal?!”

“… I’m so sorry.” the softness in his voice is different from the gargoyles, leading you to drop your hand, the only part of yourself you rest on him is your head, Silvers tough muscle tensing before gradually relaxing.

“… No you’re not.” your fresh fangs bite into your lip, your claws reaching into his bicep and burying them self into the dreameaters skin.

Silver hesitates for a moment, before speaking again, “I really am”. His previous pause has you doubt him, but the way he tightens his arms around you tells you he’s being entirely truthful, unfortunately.

You can feel a sting in your eyes, a familiar feeling of tears ready to burst, yet it’s like your tear ducts burned away with your humanity. But that’s not the thing that disturbs you in this moment, no…

It’s the way your stomach is desperate for food. A food you never wished to eat,

“It seems you’re in desperate need for food, yes?” the voice you were looking for emerges from behind you, a stone hand dragging your sleepwear down your shoulder, placing a hard kiss against your scaly skin. You’re quick to slap Malleus away, your claws cutting a strand of his mossy hair.

“Oh, be careful new one, it would do no good to hurt your potential supplier~” another equally disliked voice enters the fray, Lilia floating right next to you.

“Like hell i’m eating human…!”

“I wouldn’t advise not doing it, you’ll die a more painful death than you did a few years ago.” Malleus interjects, his pleasant smile falling into a much more serious frown.

“That’s better than becoming one of you bastards—” You pause your spiel, your legs buckling at his words, a great shock that has you falling into Lilias's arms, and not even fighting back. “… years?” Lilia's hand pets your head, a pathetic attempt at soothing you that only furthers your despair. “You’re joking… But, everyone else… Everyone else…!” you throw yourself back up, pushing Malleus against the wall, a hard clash sounding at stone hitting stone. “What the hell happened to them?! The monsters… Jack… Neige…!” your eyes burn like you’re crying, but you know you’re not. You hiccup before dropping to the floor, the last name that leaves your lips causing your last shred of sanity to snap. “… Rollo.”

For a moment, Malleus’s eyes glare at you, but they’re quick to disappear when he falls to his knees.

You despise it, you despise how even in your current panic, all you can think about is consuming. You grit your teeth, resisting all desire, but the sound of wind has you knowing something will happen, something that will test your patience. Your eyes are closed when Lilia’s hand takes yours, placing a kiss on your wrist before leaving you with his words of departure. “Do try to not eat all of Malleus, new beastie.”

You can’t question him before his presence disappears, but before you know it, when your eyes reopen, you don’t see stone, only pure human. “Malleus… What are you…?” He lifts his arm to your mouth, your lips attaching to his skin while his forehead rests on yours, looking right into your eyes. You can feel your canines put pressure on him.

“You’re what you are now because my affection for you runs so deep…” his free arm reaches behind you, pushing your head into his limb, “that I will do anything for you to stay alive, and here, together.” his voice is low, your jaw trembling with the urge to eat. But his words gnaw into your soul.

… Is this really living to him?

…

You rest your head on Lilia’s shoulder, his deep voice humming as he wipes your mouth clean. “Did you enjoy it?” your silence tells him not to inquire further, but in truth, you hate the fact… that you did enjoy it. “Hm, well, if you’re not satisfied with just Malleus…” his clawed finger taps your lips, red eyes piercing your soul, “I’ll always offer myself up for you too~”

He laughs at the way you glare at his joke, only continuing to rest yourself on his shoulder.

You stare deep into the swamp as Lilia continues to hum, hoping he will emerge. And he does, but he’s quick to disappear just as quickly as he appeared.

“Why did you want this for me…?” your ask has him pause, his finger pushing your head up and off his shoulder. “I just wanted…” you pause, Lilia patiently waiting for the rest of your sentence, yet there’s nothing more to be said. His thumb swipes across you bottom lift, showing you all signs of you feast had been wiped clean.

“Everyone wants something, whether it be human or immortal.” you bury yourself in your arms, the moon reflective on the mystery creature's pale exterior. “And you want to know why it is I wished for this?” he uses his hand to signal at your body, his smile disappearing, an all too serious expression painted on his features. He leans into your face, a few centimeters stopping him from being directly on your skin.

For a moment, a single second, it’s like his scarlet eyes share every single moment of greed and cruelty in his hundreds of years alive, even moments from before his improved personality. A cruel beast who’s a monster just for the sake of being one… It’s gone in that same second.

“Because you’re so adorable!”

“…Go away Lilia.”

“You’re hurting my feelings… And I thought you wanted a bite of me.” you glare at him again but this time he doesn’t laugh, only smiles, “You’ll learn how mucher crueler the world is as a human… We only wish to protect you.” and with that, he’s gone, leaving you and the creature of the swamp alone.

…

“Sebek?” you dip your hand into the water, splashing the liquid up. But to no avail, he doesn't appear, a different monster answering your calling.

“I don’t know if he wants to see you.” you turn around to see Silver, his eyes looking into yours, but you can tell how hard he’s trying to avoid looking at your new monstrous traits. You can’t fault him though, the sight of your replaced eyes in the water sends chills up your spine.

“It’s not like i’m the one who asked for this…” you throw a stick in the water, hoping maybe it’ll darth through the marsh and poke the beast underneath.

“I— He knows…”

“Great! So what’s his problem?” Silver doesn't reply, but to be fair, you don’t think he knows the answer either. “… He left me flowers while I was dying.”

“He did?” Silver sits next to you, he eyes focused on your rather than the ripples you trace into the water with your claw.

“Mhm. I never saw him do it though.” you can see Silver’s reflection staring at you, but you can’t bear to look back, only continuing to draw on the surface.

“That’s… Nice.” he watches you stop, the waves halting as well, the silence that hangs in the air suffocating. You grit your teeth, turning your head but not looking him in the eyes, eyes that are far too kind for a monster of his caliber. You fixate on the place his heart would be if he was human.

It was meant to distract you, but it instead has you wonder, maybe Silvers's warmth would be much stronger had he had the makeup of a mortal. Such hypotheticals are better left in your head though, and you know this. It doesn’t stop you from taking his hand in yours, squeezing his limb as you force your words out.

“Did you want me to be a monster too Silver?” his stoic expression widens, hesitation evident, before his head hangs in shame when he finally tells his truth.

“I… Don’t know.” he watches you stand up, making no effort to stop you, but very obviously tensing at the prospect of you leaving. “I just… I just knew I didn’t want you to die painfully somewhere we can’t reach you…!” he’s about to jump up to meet you eye to eye, stopped by you placing a flower on his head.

“That’s something I knew would happen, something I signed up for.” you both stay still, only looking at each other. This contact is broken when Silver lets the flower fall, his head resting on your bottom half.

“I know… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t feel this way, but…” he expects you to leave when he feels you shift, but instead, relaxes when you let him continue to rest his head on your lap. All his words die in his throat, but you know what he meant to say. Truth be told though, you don’t know if you’re okay with it.

…

Your bottom half is cold as you sit in the water, staring directly at Sebek under the water.

“Can you come out? I don’t wanna risk being a non-marine based monster and drowning.”

“I don’t think so human, I don’t wan to risk— Er…!” He jolts at the mistake he made in his burgled voice, further burying himself into the water. You lean over, your hand reaching out to dunk one of his flowers beneath the surface, he quirks an eye at the action.

“You never visited me when I was dying.” your words have him furrow his brows, but he doesn’t give you a reply nor explanation. “Why is that Sebek?” a moment passes, a few moments, before he emerges from the water, his large form moving towards you on the ledge. His large arms cage you between the side of his marsh and his body, golden slit eyes staring into you.

“I did not want to see that.” His eyes move down your new form, scales, claws, canines, and all, he sees it all in his mind. “You bedridden… It’s a weak sight. It’s like you were giving in, it was cowardly.”

“Aren’t you the one who said all mortals are pathetically weak?”

“They are! You are!” Sebek pushes back, the water splashing at the outburst. “But you’re not supposed to be!” his tail swings in the water causing a wave to move towards you. “You weren’t supposed to die… You were meant to prove me wrong…” you’re about to move towards him before he stops you, a single outstretched webbed hand in your face. “But now you’re here because you proved me right… Humans are weak, pathetic… evil…” he slowly moves towards you again, wavering clear in the way he slowly places his forehead on your shoulder. “It’s why you can’t be one anymore… you can’t be any of those things...”

There are two directions I think their scheme could end, one where they successfully stop anyone else from the cast from knowing your current predicament, and one where your current state is found out by everyone else. If the latter were to happen, it doesn’t matter where their domain is, they will show up to Diasmonia and demand to see you. A vast majority will wish to have you in their care, while the ones who never wished for you to be a monster, will make sure you don’t fall into the other's hands.

[dazedhyu]

Focus 𓂃 💧 ldh

:¨ ·.· ¨: paring ー ex!haechan x fem!reader (ft 7dream)

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ warnings : angst, smut, slight noncon (he pressures her into consenting at first), light exhibitionism, fingering, oral (fem rec.), mentions of cheating, pet names (angel, princess, etc), lmk if i missed any ^_^

★彡 5.9k wc!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ authors note >< : my first post here :D!!! this is the second fic i actually decided to attempt to write.. so im so so so sorry if the pacing is off or the writing is weird LMFAO,, it took me way longer than id like to admit to finally finish this.. literally has been in my drafts since july of last year 😭 this was supposed to be inspired by focus by nct 127, unfortunately though i definitely went a little off track.. hopefully whoever reads this enjoys it as much as i do!! any and all feedback is welcome :3 psa.. though this was proof read like 89 times pls ignore any spelling errors im dyslexic ok

It’s been almost a year since you and Haechan broke up. You’ve spent every second since despising him. You hate the way he steals glances when he thinks you won’t notice. You hate the way his voice still lingers in the back of your mind when the room is too quiet,  and more than anything, you hate how much you still find yourself craving the warmth of his touch at times. 

You do your best to ignore him. You guys share the same friend group and hang out often. The last thing you’d want to do is make your shared friends feel tied up in your weird relationship drama. But it was hard when Haechan would joke around with them and slip in snide comments about you, glancing over at you with that stupid shit-eating grin plastered on his face, desperately trying to get a rise out of you. 

Though you’ve convinced yourself you’re over him, completely given up, you sometimes wonder if he ever stops hating you. If, for even a second, he lets himself remember what it was like before everything fell apart. If he ever regrets the way he cheated on you and left you confused, and broken.

As the long-awaited spring break weekend arrived, you and your six friends — plus Haechan — found yourselves at Chenle’s summer estate, a secluded getaway nestled between towering pines that you all tended to visit every vacation you got. The midday sun filtered through sheer white curtains, casting warm patterns across the wooden floors of your designated room. 

You wasted no time unpacking, barely bothering to fold your clothes as you stuffed them into the nearest dresser. The trip had only just started, and you already knew you wouldn’t be spending much time in this room, not when the sun was high, the water was cool, and the pool was calling your name.

Slipping into a simple black bikini, you gave yourself a once-over in the mirror. Satisfied, you grabbed your phone and headed for the door, the distant sound of laughter drifting up from downstairs. Voices overlapping, doors opening and closing. It was familiar, easy, the kind of noise that made the place feel lived in.

You exhaled, relaxation finally overriding your system. You were here to enjoy yourself, and nothing, not even the lingering tension of past mistakes, was going to change that.

In the kitchen, Mark and Renjun were hunched over the island, deep in some conversation you didn’t care enough to eavesdrop on as they cut up fruit. Everyone else was out by the pool, laughing, sunbathing, and just having a good time overall. 

Everything felt easy, weightless, like nothing mattered beyond this weekend, beyond the warmth of the sun and the cool relief of the water.

Unfortunately for you, though, you saw him, and your mind immediately started to wander.

Haechan sat at the edge of the pool, legs submerged, an unreadable expression on his face as he stared out at the water. There was something detached about his gaze, like he wasn’t fully there. Like he was completely lost in thought about something else. 

You rolled your eyes and turned away before you could linger too long. You hadn’t spoken to him once since getting here, and you weren’t about to start now. It was bad enough you had to share this weekend — just like every other moment with your friends — with him. He wasn’t going to ruin this for you. Not like he always did. You refused to let him get under your skin whatsoever.

Without a word, you walked past the kitchen, past the open doors, and stepped onto the sun-warmed patio, quietly taking a seat on a secluded sun lounger. The laughter, the sunlight, the cool water, all of it should have been enough to soothe you. And for the time being, it was.

You weren’t going to let him be the thing you noticed most.

A few hours had passed, the sun just barely starting to dip below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow across the patio. You and your friends were deep in discussions. Yet, despite the carefree energy surrounding you, your attention kept flickering toward the empty space where Haechan should’ve been.

You hadn’t seen him for a while now — not that you cared, but you could definitely tell something was on his mind, slowly eating away at him. Usually, he would do everything in his power to irritate and annoy you, take every opportunity he had to glare so intensely you swore he was trying to burn holes into your skin, but today he was quiet. Too quiet. 

You told yourself it didn’t matter, that he’d probably just had a rough day and called it quits, going back to his room. Yet the longer you sat there, the more you found yourself unconsciously searching for him.

Shaking off the thought, you stretched your arms above your head, sighing as the stiffness from sitting too long settled into your shoulders. Deciding you needed a break, you made your way inside, stepping into the dimly lit kitchen. The faint hum of the fridge filled the quiet space as you reached for a glass, the cool sensation of condensation forming against your fingertips while you poured yourself a drink.

Just as the first sip of cold juice touched your lips, a sudden grip on your hips sent a sharp jolt up your spine. Your breath hitched, fingers tightening around the glass as a shiver coursed through your body. The grip was firm, possessive even, harshly pushing your back against their chest. 

For a split second, your mind raced. The silence behind you felt heavy, the presence lingering close. Immediately, you knew it was Haechan, the fear in your body being quickly overridden with irritation as you grabbed his wrists and forced his hands off your body.

“Don’t touch me, Donghyuck.” Your voice was a weird mix of soft yet stern, it only made his smirk grow wider. His hands immediately moved back to your hips, fingers digging in so harshly you were sure it would leave bruises. A small hiss slipped past your lips before he rested his chin on your shoulder, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. 

“Why not? I know you miss my touch, baby.” He whispered sweetly, his hands pressing you further against him. Your ass flush against the bulge in his swimsuit made you wince, the pressure of his fingers digging into your hips sent an intense pain through your body. You hesitated for a second, your breath catching in your throat, before you reluctantly set the cup down on the counter.

“No need to get all dumb and quiet, you're shaking so much… just let Hyuckie take care of you the way he always did. Yeah, angel?” He spoke again, his hands abandoning your hips to slide down to your thighs, gripping them tight as his lips pressed hot, hungry kisses down the back of your neck and shoulder. You shook your head, a small, desperate "no" slipping from your lips, barely more than a breath.

Too many emotions surged within you, too disoriented to make sense of them all. A mixture of irritation, confusion, and fear gnawed at the pit of your stomach. You could feel the heat of his body behind you, his every movement making your pulse race even faster.

Something inside you screamed to get away, but another part of you… made you hesitate, made your mind make excuses telling you to stop trying to squirm out of his grasp. Maybe it was the slight yearning you've had for his touch since you've broken up, but you couldn’t admit that to him. Let alone yourself. You hated everything about this interaction, it made you sick to your stomach and you wanted nothing more than to get away and forget all about it. Everything about this made you feel so vulnerable.

“No? Not something my pretty girl would say… You don’t have to lie, baby, I know deep down this is what you want. Isn’t it, yn?” He spoke smoothly, his voice low and almost commanding. 

You hated the way his words rang in your head, you especially hated the way your body reacted to his voice. Your legs subconsciously squeezing together before your breath caught sharply in your throat once more, feeling his hand slide from your thigh straight to the lining of your bikini bottoms. 

Gently yet urgently he tugged the cloth aside, the cool air brushing against your warm core making a small whine leave your mouth. He chuckled deeply ー his fingers wasting no time circling painfully slow motions to your swollen bud. 

"C'mon, angel, say it." He cooed softly into your ear, his chest somehow pressing even more into your back. His breath, warm and unrelenting against your skin, it made goosebumps rise across your arms and legs. You felt a chill despite the heat of his presence, your body instinctively tensing under his touch.

You knew, deep down, that no matter what you said, he wouldn't stop. That was how these situations always played out after all. But you also knew Haechan, you know the one thing he hates most is not getting what he wants, the thought of saying no and the lingering uncertainty of what he might do next made your stomach churn. 

Not knowing what else to do besides pray that one of your friends outside just a few feet away would walk in and end this before it went any further. You hesitated, your body trembling ever so slightly as you nodded, almost unwillingly.

“I… I want this,” you murmured, the words slipping from your lips before you could stop them. “Hyuck…”

He hummed softly, his warm breath fanned against your skin, sending another shiver down your spine as his lips trailed lower, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat. His pace was slow, deliberate as if he was savoring every reaction he pulled from you. His teeth grazed the delicate skin just below your jaw, a teasing bite followed by the soothing heat of his tongue. All simultaneously followed by his fingers moving faster against your poor clit.

A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest, the sound low and pleased as he tilted your head further to the side, exposing more of your neck to him. His hands, warm and pace steady. You did everything in your power to fight back the little whines and moans escaping your lips, you couldn’t stand how much you loved the way he touched you, you wanted to hate this, wanted that escape still but your body completely told him otherwise. Your legs slightly shaking and hands tightly gripping the counter in front of you. 

Your noises had him smirking against your skin, his grip on your thigh tightening as he pulled you closer like he couldn't stand the thought of any space between you. His hips now rolling against you in his own desperate but steady motions. 

"You like that, don't you?" he murmured, voice dipping into something lower, rougher. His teeth grazed over the fresh mark he'd left on your skin, a silent claim, before he moved lower, trailing kisses along the curve of your shoulder.

His hand on your leg slid up your back, fingers tracing lazily over your spine before tangling into your hair. He gave it a soft tug, guiding your head back just enough for him to meet your gaze. His eyes were darker now, half-lidded as he studied you the way your lips parted, your chest rising and falling a little faster than before. 

"You're always so sensitive," he spoke, his voice dripping with amusement as he added more pressure. The pads of his fingers rough against your clit made you whimper louder than intended. "You need to be quiet, baby. Want all our friends to hear how good i make you feel?"

You weakly shook your head, your mind far too dazed to comprehend anything he was saying. The heat between your legs was unbearable, every nerve in your body still buzzing from his touch. But before you could even catch your breath, the sound of the patio door sliding open made your stomach drop.

Haechan didn't hesitate. In one swift motion, his hands were off your aching clit and immediately readjusting your swimsuit bottoms back into place, hands pulling away from you like he hadn't just been driving you insane seconds ago. His expression didn't falter, not even a flicker of guilt or hesitation crossing his features as he reached for your glass on the counter, bringing it to his lips as if this was just another casual moment.

Renjun barely had time to take in the scene as he stepped inside, his gaze flickering between the two of you. His eyes briefly landed on you— your messy hair, your flushed cheeks, the way your arms instinctively wrapped around yourself like you were trying to shrink into the background. Embarrassment weighed heavily in your posture, but Haechan? He was completely unbothered, standing there with the same nonchalant douchebag grin you were used to seeing him with. 

Renjun blinked, his confusion evident for a moment before he shrugged, deciding not to question it. Haechan, who was proud of himself for getting away with this, stepped away from you with an easy stretch, barely sparing you another glance as he made his way past Renjun. 

And just like that, he was gone, slipping back outside to join the others without so much as a second thought, leaving you standing there messy, breathless, and weirdly turned on.

For the rest of that night and the entire next day, you did everything in your power to avoid Haechan. The situation alone left you unsettled, a shiver running down your spine whenever you thought about it. You hated everything about it — the way it happened, the way it made you feel. But what you loathed most was yourself. How you let him take advantage of you like that. How fear had rooted you in place, keeping you from standing your ground.

Now, late into the night, the house was quiet. Everyone had retreated to their rooms, either fast asleep or winding down from another relaxing day. But you were restless. Lying in bed, replaying everything over and over, had become unbearable. Eventually, you’d had enough.

Slipping on a clean bikini, you made your way outside to the hot tub by the pool. The cool night air contrasted with the steam rising from the water, the moonlight reflecting off its surface in shimmering waves. The soft hum of crickets mixed with the bubbling water, a gentle, rhythmic sound that finally eased the tension gripping your body. As you sank into the warmth, the heat wrapped around you, melting away the stiffness in your muscles, a contented sigh leaving your lips. 

Your eyes fluttered shut, head tilted back as the soothing warmth of the water surrounded you. You didn’t notice the soft, subtle sound of the patio door sliding open or the quiet patter of footsteps approaching you. Your mind was too consumed by the quiet, the weight of everything else you had been trying to push aside.

But then, you felt the shift in the air as legs brushed against yours. Your head snapped up in surprise, only to meet Haechan’s gaze. A cold rush of panic ran through you, and your body tensed instantly. The chill spread down your spine as the faintest shiver of fear crawled up, uninvited. The instinct to run surged, but something about the way he was looking at you, something almost… apologetic, stopped you cold. You stayed rooted to your spot, too nervous to speak, your heart hammering in your chest as his eyes locked with yours.

Haechan studied you, his gaze narrowing slightly as he noticed the stiff tension in your posture. It hit him, a soft pang of regret, that you might be afraid of him right now. The thought twisted in his chest. He shifted, eyes dropping to the bubbles swirling in the water, giving himself a moment to collect his thoughts. When he looked back at you, his voice was gentle, almost too soft, a stark contrast to the way he last spoke to you.

“Why are you so scared? You know me better than anyone… I would never do anything to hurt you.”

His words made your stomach churn, the sudden tenderness sending an unsettling ripple through you.

The way he said it, so calm, so careful, it made your skin crawl in the worst way. It was all wrong— this soft tone wasn’t the one you were used to. Either he was always cocky and annoyed when he talked to you, or you truly haven’t heard this tone from him since you guys dated. 

You could barely manage to hold his gaze as his words hung in the air, thick with something you couldn’t place, something that felt all too fragile. Your eyes shifted back to him, your lips twisted into a small, tight frown. “Your actions say otherwise, Haechan.”

Haechan’s eyes flickered with regret. Softly, he shook his head. “I know. I’m sorry, okay? I just… I lost control. I let my thoughts get the best of me. You didn’t deserve that.”

“What’s with the sudden change? How do you go from loving me to hating me to… doing what you did and now being sorry for it? It doesn’t make sense at all.”

The words hit Haechan harder than he expected. He leaned back slightly, running a hand through his hair, frustration building. 

“I never hated you.”

“Felt like you did. And the feeling was strongly mutual.”

“No, come on, you know that’s not true.” Haechan’s voice was pleading, but it was strained with his own guilt. “You ended our relationship, your own free will, because in your words, you ‘couldn’t take this anymore.’

The fear in your demeanor quickly faded, immediately being replaced with irritation. You exhaled sharply, staring at the water for a moment to ground yourself. “You literally cheated on me,” you finally said, your voice trembling but still firm. “How do you expect me not to hate you?”

Haechan froze for a moment, his heart sinking. He knew he had done something unforgivable. He couldn’t deny that. But hearing it out loud, it was still a punch to the gut. “You cheated on me first,” he shot back, but the words felt hollow, even to him. “I just… I wanted you to feel the way I felt.”

Your expression twisted into disbelief. “What are you talking about? I never cheated on you?” You turned fully to face him now. “Even if that was true, how the fuck would two wrongs make a right?”

Haechan bit his lip, staring down at the water, avoiding your gaze. He had nothing to say to that. “I didn’t know better. I just did the first thing that came to mind. But I know the truth now, yn. You don’t need to lie about it.”

“Donghyuck,” you said softly, but it was almost like a warning. “You don’t know anything. Why would I cheat on you?”

The silence stretched for a moment, thick and heavy. Finally, Haechan looked up at you, his face softened with regret. “You tell me. I saw you unblock your ex on Instagram. His name was constantly popping up on your phone, and you were going out more often. Obviously, I assumed the worst.”

Your eyes narrowed at him once again, desperately trying to make sense of his words. “Okay… so you could’ve talked to me like a normal person?” You paused for a moment, sighing softly. 

“I unblocked him because we ran into each other at a café, and honestly, we had a nice conversation. He started texting me more because he wanted to apologize for the way he treated me and ask me how I was doing. I only started going out more because you were always hanging out with Mark, and I wanted to be with my own friends as well.”

Haechan swallowed hard, his hands now gripping the edge of the tub as if to anchor himself. “So you guys never met up again?”

“No,” you replied, your voice laced with annoyance and slight disbelief that he’d even ask. “God, fuck no. I didn’t even accept his apology. My replies to him were so dry, and I kept mentioning you so much that he gave up and stopped talking to me.”

Haechan’s face flushed with shame. His eyes softened as he let out a quiet, “oh… I’m so sorry, yn..”

You looked at him for a long moment, as if assessing him, as if trying to decide if you could still be mad. You shook your head softly, your frustration still there but it was slipping. Your shoulders sagged, as you let out a breath you didn’t realize you'd been holding. “Yeah, you should be. I can’t believe you didn't just talk to me in the first place.” Your words were more tired than angry now, but they still carried weight.

But despite it all, despite the anger and the hurt, there was a crack in your resolve. You missed him, he missed you too, and you knew that. The silence between the two of you grew heavy again as your gaze softened, just a little. 

He inched his way closer, the warmth of his palm grazing your skin as he cupped your cheek with delicate hesitation. His pleading searched yours, as if he was begging for your forgiveness.

“Yn, let me make it all up to you…” His voice was barely above a whisper, thick with something between regret and desperation.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to put distance between his touch and your resolve. “Hyuck, I don’t—”

“Please?” he interrupted, his thumb ghosting over your cheekbone. There was no force in his touch, only quiet insistence, as if the weight of his remorse alone could change your mind.

You let out a small breath you didn’t realize you were holding, your resolve crumbling at the way he looked at you, like you were the only thing that mattered. With a slow nod, your fingers found their way to his shoulders, pulling him slightly closer to you. 

That was all the permission he needed.

Without hesitation, his lips crashed onto yours, desperate yet careful, as if he was scared you’d pull away. His hands trembled slightly as they found their place, one still cradling your cheek, the other gripping your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. You could feel the way his fingers dug in, not enough to hurt, but enough to make it clear that he wasn’t letting go.

The kiss was deep, laced with something far more potent than just lust. There was an unspoken desperation, a need to feel, to forget, to forgive. Quiet hums and breathless moans melted into each other's mouths, the heat between you building with every passing second. Your fingers slipped into his hair, tugging just enough to make his breath hitch, a quiet groan vibrating against your lips.

His grip on you tightened. His hands roamed, one splayed against the small of your back, the other trailing up your side before settling just beneath your ribs, as if he needed to feel every inch of you. He let out a shaky exhale before his tongue slid past your parted lips, deepening the kiss, making it messier, hungrier. His lips moved against yours with urgency, like he was afraid to let go.

The way his body pressed flush against yours sent a heat straight to your core, your legs instinctively tightening around his waist. He couldn’t help but moan at the feeling, his restraint slipping with every desperate press of your lips, every soft gasp that fell from you.

His hands gripped your waist, lifting you effortlessly onto the edge of the hot tub. The cool air met your damp skin, sending a shiver down your spine, but his touch, his mouth on yours, burned hotter than the water that lapped at your calves.

His lips never left yours, kissing you like he could pull you deeper into him, like if he kissed you hard enough, it would erase the distance that had once existed between you. His fingers kneaded into your hips, thumbs rubbing slow, teasing circles against your skin. He swallowed your whimper, his own breath coming out unsteady as he pressed himself closer, needing more, needing you.

"Missed you so much, pretty girl... could never forgive myself for letting you go." His words were whispered against your lips, each syllable dripping with regret and longing. His voice was low, raspy, barely holding together the emotions threatening to spill over.

Before you could respond, his lips left yours, trailing soft, lingering kisses down your jaw, moving slowly and deliberately, as if savoring the moment. His breath was warm against your skin, sending shivers down your spine as he nipped at the delicate flesh of your neck.

Instinctively, you tilted your head back, granting him more space to roam, your grip tightening in his hair as breathless pants and whimpers spilled from your lips.

His hands, firm yet reverent, traced down your sides as he continued his descent, mouth exploring every inch of you like he was trying to memorize the feeling all over again. Lips pressed against your shoulders, slow and sensual. His teeth grazed over your collarbone before he kissed his way lower, down the swell of your chest, your stomach, your thighs, taking his time, as if each kiss was an unspoken apology.

He missed this. He missed the way your body reacted under his touch, the way you shivered and tensed, the way your breath hitched with every kiss. His fingers caressed your skin with a delicate kind of desperation, like he was afraid you'd slip away again.

“God, you're so beautiful," he murmured against your thigh, voice drenched in need. His hands squeezed at your hips, holding you in place as he looked up at you, eyes dark with lust. He wanted to worship you, to love you in every way possible, to make you feel just how desperate he was for you, for your forgiveness.

You looked down at him, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, lips parted softly as you tried to steady the emotions rushing through you. Your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

“I missed you just as much, Hyuck," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, thick with longing. “I needed your touch more than anything."

A slow, satisfied smile curved at his lips before he leaned in, pressing delicate kisses up your thigh, inching closer, making sure you felt every lingering second of his touch.

"You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear that," he murmured against your skin, lips grazing over sensitive flesh. 

Then, without breaking eye contact, he pressed a sweet, lingering kiss straight to your clothed core. The gesture was both reverent and teasing, a silent promise laced in the way he held you, the way his fingers squeezed at your sides like he was grounding himself in your presence.

"Let me take care of you, baby," he whispered, voice deep and filled with a tenderness that made your breath hitch. "I'll be gentle, the way you always liked."

His fingers traced slow, featherlight patterns along your thighs, his lips followed soon after, trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses, leaving warmth in their wake. Every motion, every touch, was deliberate like he was savoring you, worshiping you, determined to make up for every second you'd been apart.

You shivered at his words, your fingers instinctively threading through his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan softly against your skin. The heat pooling in your core only grew as he pressed another kiss over the dampened fabric between your thighs, his nose grazing against you in a way that had you biting back a whimper.

"Hyuck," you breathed out, barely able to keep yourself still under his touch.

His hands gripped your hips tighter, anchoring you in place as his lips moved deliberately, teasing, testing your patience. "Shh, baby," he murmured, his voice sending shivers straight through you. "Just let me take my time with you."

Another slow, lingering kiss against the sensitive spot between your legs had your back arching slightly, a needy whine slipping past your lips. He chuckled lowly at your reaction, pressing his mouth to your inner thigh, sucking just hard enough to leave a mark. His tongue soothed over the spot immediately after, his free hand sliding up your stomach, fingers tracing over your ribs like he needed to feel every inch of you under his touch.

"So pretty," he murmured against your skin, "Missed touching you... missed tasting you."

Your breath hitched at his words, your body reacting to every bit of his attention. His touch was gentle yet possessive, his lips slow and deliberate, as if savoring the way you trembled beneath him. His hands roamed, memorizing every dip and curve, pressing soft, warm kisses along your hips before his fingers toyed with the waistband of your soaked underwear.

"Tell me you want this," he whispered, his lips ghosting just above where you needed him most. His voice was soft, pleading, as if he needed to hear you say it, to know you wanted this just as badly as he did.

You looked down at him, eyes hazy with need, your fingers tightening in his hair as you gave the smallest nod. "I do, Hyuck," you whispered breathlessly. "I need you."

His eyes darkened at your words, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly. "That's all I needed to hear, baby."

And with that, he wasted no time sliding off your bikini bottoms, tossing them aside carelessly before spreading your thighs apart, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight of you. Without a second thought, he dipped his face into your heat, his lips brushing the sensitive skin with an intensity that made you gasp.

You could feel the heat radiating off him as his breath fanned over you, a soft shiver running through your body. His fingers sunk into your thighs, keeping you steady as he kissed you slowly, teasingly, taking his time to savor every inch of you. You couldn't help the soft moans that escaped your lips as his tongue finally made contact with your aching clit, warm and relentless, moving in slow, deliberate strokes that had you bucking against him instinctively.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, "You taste so fucking good," he murmured against you, his voice husky and laced with need. 

He was quick to pick up his pace, lapping at your pussy like his life depended on it. The way his mouth moved against you made you forget everything time, space, the world around you. All that mattered was the heat that coiled inside you, building with every passing second as his hands tightened their grip.

You felt yourself unraveling, the pressure in your chest mounting, the tension in your core winding tighter and tighter until you couldn't hold back any longer. The way he drove you to the edge without hesitation, without mercy, was maddening. You gripped his hair, tugging him closer, your body unable to stop itself from reacting to him.

"Hyuck.." you gasped, your voice breathless, barely a whisper as you dug your fingers into his scalp.

"Please..."

He smirked against you, the feeling of his lips curving into a grin sending another surge of heat through your body. "Please what, baby?" he teased, his voice low.

"I need you," you whimpered, barely able to keep your composure. "so bad.."

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against your sensitive skin, lifting his head just enough to lick his lips with a sly grin. "Be patient, angel," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "Can you do that for me?"

You whined softly, the sound barely escaping your throat, before nodding eagerly, your body desperate for him, hips arched forward instinctively, silently begging him to continue.

He smirked, the dark gleam in his eyes full of satisfaction as he saw the way you squirmed under his gaze. "Good girl," he praised, his voice smooth like honey, almost cruel in how calm it was. "Just sit there, keep making those pretty little noises for me."

And with that, he dove back in, his mouth moving against you with newfound urgency, his tongue working you over with perfect precision. The wet sounds of his lips against your cunt mixed with the breathless moans spilling from your mouth, the pleasure so overwhelming it left your head spinning.

Your hands gripped at his hair, tugging sharply as your hips rocked forward, meeting his movements in a desperate attempt to chase the high only he could give you. He groaned at the sensation, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure shooting through your body.

Then, without warning, you felt his fingers tracing along your folds, teasing you with slow, torturous strokes.

"So wet for me," he mumbled, his breath hot against your slick skin. "You want more princess?"

You nodded frantically, your grip tightening on him.

"Please, Hyuck," you whined, your voice trembling.

A deep chuckle rumbled through his chest before he finally slipped two fingers inside you, slow and deliberate, letting you feel every inch of him. Your walls clenched around him immediately, a sharp gasp leaving your lips as he curled his finger just right, pressing against that perfect spot that had you seeing stars.

"There you go," he cooed, watching your body react to him. "Always take me so well, pretty girl."

His lips quickly made their way back to your clit, tongue flicking gently as he wrapped his lips around it, sucking you with a newfound passion. 

The sensation was overwhelming, the combination of his mouth and fingers sending a hot, electric pulse through your veins. Your legs trembled, your breath coming in ragged gasps as the pressure in your core built higher and higher, coiling so tightly you thought you might snap at any second.

"Hyuck-" you choked out, your thighs tightening around his head.

He hummed against you, the sound vibrating through your entire body as his fingers quickened their pace, fucking into you with more intensity, more purpose. He could feel you getting closer, your body tensing, your moans turning into desperate, broken cries.

"That's it, pretty," he murmured against your heat, his voice rough with desire. "cum for me, baby."

And with one last flick of his tongue and a perfectly timed curl of his fingers, you shattered. The pleasure crashed over you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing as your release hit you with blinding force. Your back arched off the edge, a strangled moan tearing from your throat as he worked you through it, not stopping until your body was shaking from the overstimulation. 

Only then did he finally pull away, his fingers slipping out of you slowly, as he pressed one last kiss against your sore soaked pussy. He looked up at you, his lips glistening, a cocky smirk playing on his face.

"That's my girl," he murmured, bringing his fingers up to his lips and sucking them clean, his eyes never leaving yours. 

"I’ll never get enough of how good you taste."

love letter from mae 💌 augegsgshsj 😵‍💫,, i wanted to add more to the end but i physically cannot bring myself to.. maybe one day a pt2 will be in the works if people actually enjoy this! lmk lmk lmk!

ty for reading!! ♥︎♪ヽ(*´∀｀)ﾉ

[moonlitdesertdreams]

Stuck like glue

Request: "I'm going to scream your domestic character joining coop on his travels from her cabin is SO good 😭 I was wondering if you would write something with the same character in her cabin when coop turns up from nearby having taken one too many bullets? Or maybe he's sick and needs some jet. Some hurt/comfort fluffy sweetness"

A/N: Thank you to the awesome anon who sent the idea! Maybe not AS fluffy as we wanted, but there's for sure some soft Ghoul going on in here. And, oh yeah, the reader has a dog now. No description of said dog has been given, so please imagine as you'd wish.

Tags: Fallout, Cooper Howard, Cooper Howard x F!Reader, Cooper Howard x You, Ghoul x Reader

WARNINGS: Canon-Typical language and violence, brief mentions of sexual interaction.

Summary: Your favorite Ghoul needs to be patched up after a spat with some Raiders, and you always know just how to make him feel better.

Word Count: 2.0k+

Gif credit to @elisefrost from this set

You’re outside attempting to hang clothes to dry when you hear it. 

The soft but distinct sound of jingling metal comes from behind your cabin. You set one hand on the pistol strapped to your thigh and walk in that direction, eyes peeled for any movement. A bark echoes the sound from your porch, and you snap at your four-legged companion in an attempt to get him to stay. 

“Tiger!” You hiss. “Quit!”

 He relents with an indignant huff and returns to the porch, while the metallic noise keeps up in a steady pattern, akin to the cadence of a slow walk. You tilt your head at the thought and eventually move the hand off your pistol; only one person would dare tread this close in broad daylight with such carelessness.

“Coop?”

You don’t see him anywhere, but you’re almost certain it was the sounds of his old spurs that caught your attention. 

“Cooper if you’re tryna scare me, you know I'll gut you.” The threat is an empty one, but saying it gives you some hope that it’s indeed him and not a Raider or Slaver looking to score some loot. 

“No need, babydoll.” His voice sounds ragged, tired. “Don’t think I could scare a bunny rabbit at the moment.” 

You follow his voice to your left, and find the Ghoul leaned up against a tree. He’s practically swaying in the breeze, very apparently unsteady. You rush over just as he slides down and collides with the dirt.. 

“Cooper! What happened to you?” 

Your hands flutter up and down his arms, brusquely checking for any injuries. Nothing obvious jumps out at you, but he heals fast and external wounds are rare. A wheeze claws its way up his throat and morphs into a hacking cough. You recognize the sound as the need for a Vial, and grab at his bag. 

“Do you have any on you?” 

A stuttered cough answers. “Fresh out… s’why I came here.”

Your stash of Vials had been growing just about as long as you’d known Cooper. When you traveled together, he’d hand some off to you for safekeeping, and there always ended up being extras. Upon your return home, he’d tell you to keep them. It wasn’t shocking, given that he found his way back every couple of days.

“Alright, come on.” You crouch down and position yourself beneath Cooper’s arm. 

You can tell he’s weak by the way he leans into you, knees wobbling relentlessly as you pull him up. Another round of coughing wracks his body and you squeeze him reassuringly. 

“Couch isn’t far.” You chose your words carefully, avoiding any inkling of pity. Having an already deteriorating Ghoul is enough, let alone a defensive one who hates being pitied. 

Cooper does his best to keep up with your steps, but his movements are sloppy and uncoordinated. You can feel the heat radiating off of him through his jacket and hear him wheezing beside your ear. Stepping onto the porch gives him some trouble, but you manage to haul him up and inside the door. Tiger whines nervously, circling the pair of you as you trek inside. The Ghoul collapses onto the couch as soon as it’s within reach. 

After making sure Cooper’s not going to slide off the couch, you continue to the med-kit in your makeshift kitchen. The Vials are hidden at the very bottom, wrapped in cloth for extra cushion to prevent shattering. You decide there’s more than enough for him to take two, and carefully extract the mysterious chem. 

Cooper’s laid out on his back when you return with the Vials. One arm is thrown over his eyes and the other dangling off the side of the couch with Tiger perched beneath. The dog nuzzles his favorite person’s hand for attention, and it elicits a chuckle from you. Even as the only conscious person in the room, you were still second in Tiger’s eyes. 

“Coop.” You shake his shoulder gently. “Hey. Hey. Where’s your inhaler?”

You nudge his hat away and he blinks slowly. “Mmm.”

“Ok then.” You mutter and pat down his jacket, searching for the contraption he always carries. The coat yields no results, and you pat down his pants until you feel it tucked away into the pocket at his hip. “Finally.”

Cooper shuffles ever so slightly when you slip your hand into his pocket. “H-hey now. I know you love me, baby, but I-I ain’t got it in me right now.”

An errant smile pushes its way onto your lips. You snap the meds into place on his inhaler 

“Open up.”

He fails to heed your instructions, and you ultimately end up forcing the inhalant into his mouth. It never works instantly, but within a minute or so of administering it there’s movement. One of Cooper’s hands lifts to cup yours, puffing on the inhaler again. 

You release your hold on it and rock back onto the balls of your feet. It’s then you take note of the holes in his clothing, and run a hand down his chest. There’s numerous holes, some as big as your finger and others no larger than a pinhead. 

“Cooper, what happened to you?” You sit on the edge of the couch beside him as he takes his first deep breath without Chems. 

“I just turn’d in a bounty and some Raiders jumped me.” He looks down at your hand on his chest. “Bastards shot me ten or eleven times. Damn buckshot got me good.”

You nod. “I can tell. You were in a bad way, Coop.”

The Ghoul sits up slowly beside you so his legs can swing off the couch. “I’ll be good as new, soon as this stuff starts workin’ good.” 

Tiger hops up on the couch next to him, tail wagging with excitement. The dog licks your cheek on his way to Cooper and pushes his nose into the Ghoul’s shoulder. You chuckle at the interaction, patting the dog’s shoulders. Coopers are still hunched with exhaustion, and his deep-set eyes look even more so. 

“Well until they do, you rest.” You stand, glancing out the still-ajar door. “It’s getting dark anyway.”

Cooper, as usual, opens his mouth to protest. If there’s anything he hates, it’s feeling useless. 

“No arguments.” You point a finger at him. “I mean it.”

He grumbles, but relents. “Fine. Only if you turn somethin’ on that ol’ TV of yours.”

The television turns out to be a perfect method of relaxation. You have to remove Cooper from the couch temporarily, but wrestle it into the pullout bed form and line it with blankets. The Ghoul had given in to his exhaustion rather easily at the prospect of a comfortable bed and kicked off his boots to climb all the way in. You hung his coat on a nail by the door, but made sure to leave his guns, lasso, and assorted weapons within arm’s reach. The TV played some old soap opera from before your time while you snagged a couple of hard candies- a luxury item, as the nearest settlement called them- and made to settle in. 

Cooper had managed to prop himself against the back of the couch, feet kicked out down the length of the thin mattress. Tiger, seeking attention as per usual, is curled up against his right leg. A wet nose rests just beneath Cooper’s knee and twitches in interest when you unwrap the first candy. 

The Ghoul might as well be a dog himself for the way his ears perk at the sound of a wrapper. 

He watches intently as you very gracefully clamber to sit next to him. You pop the fruit-flavored candy in your mouth and scoot around until you find comfort. In this case, it’s leaned up against the Ghoul beside you, head dropping onto his shoulder. His breathing is still shallower than you’d like, but a vast improvement from where it was when he’d shown up. 

“You ain’t gonna share?” 

You open your fist and offer up one of the candies. “I suppose I could. But only for you.”

A smirk twists the corners of his scarred lips. You poke at the candies and attempt to read the labels to no avail. 

“I’d offer you a choice of flavor, but…” You shrug, looking back up to your Ghoul. “Slim pickings.”

He lifts a bare hand to your chin, tilting up. “I think the pickin’s are just fine.”

You smile and lean in to meet him, lips falling into a familiar dance.The hand on your chin slides down to grip your nape and holds you firmly in place. It’s not long before the candy is gone from your mouth. Its remnants remain, mingling with the taste of gunpowder and smoke. A few moments pass before you decide to separate

“Miss me much?” You inquire, cuddling yourself down into his side. 

His arm raises to accommodate your body and lowers it back down to encircle your shoulders once you’re settled. “I always miss you darlin’. For a variety of reasons.”

You hum softly, “Yeah? Why’s that?”

Cooper’s hand trails up and down your arm, leaving wide trails of gooseflesh. “Well, the main one happens to be the lack of entertainment.”

You scoff. “I’m your entertainment?”

“Fuck yeah, you are. ‘Specially when you’re hollerin’ at scavengers and shootin’ anything that moves.” The Ghoul chuckles to himself. “Or trippin’ over a sleeping yao guai.”

You shove him playfully. “That was one time, and I shot it dead anyway.”

Cooper pulls you towards him, and you shift until you’re between his legs, back pressed against his chest. “That you did, sweetheart. I ain’t forgot.”

He grabs the nearest blanket and tosses it over your entangled bodies. You curl to the side and rest your cheek to his chest. Tiger shuffles his body with a huff, apparently frustrated with the lack of attention.

“What would you do without me?” You tap his chest gently, relishing in the warmth he produces. “Other than get eaten by a yao guai?”

The Ghoul scratches Tiger’s head. “Prolly go feral. Chase around some folk to scare em’.”

You know he’s joking, but the thought of losing him to ferality scares you to no end. Particularly since he’s just shown up on death’s door and almost hacked a lung onto your floor.

“Don’t say that.” You lift your head to catch his eye. “Please.”

Cooper may be a gruff old Ghoul with a dreadful outlook on the world, but he softens ever so slightly at your words.

“You know I don’t mean it, sugar. You’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not.”

Two scarred fingers hook beneath your jaw and pull you back up to his lips. It’s tame at first, but the Cooper you know wastes no time making an appearance. His teeth nip at your lip gently and one rough hand slides up your side until it cups your breast. You press into him eagerly, climbing upwards until your thighs slot around either side of his hips. He responds by grinding them into you, delicious friction warming you from head to toe.  

Tiger decides he’s disgusted at this point, and hops off the couch with a comical groan.

Unbothered, one of your hands latches onto the lasso that is tossed on top of his pile of weapons. You loop it around his neck, gripping either side of the rope and pulling him in. Cooper smirks against your mouth. 

“Oh I love being stuck with you, Cowpoke.” You whisper against his mouth, earning yourself a quick bite to the bottom lip.

The Ghoul grins and quickly shows how much strength he’s regained by reversing your positions. He snatches the rope faster than you can react, and wraps the fingers of one hand loosely around the column of your throat. There’s just enough pressure to shoot a pang of arousal between your legs. Cooper knows you’re squirming, and presses a knee there to relieve some of the ache. 

“Glad t’hear it.” He murmurs into your neck, “‘Cause I sure as hell ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

-------------------

thanks for reading, much love ❤

Read More: Fallout Masterlist

[areislol]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤobsession bound

pairings. m!yandere x gn! reader

warnings. yandere, mature explicit 18+ content, MDNI, suggestive content, toxic obsession, stealing clothes, stalking, the whole yandere package.

a/n. i don't condone this irl guys!! please do not fantasize about this

wc. 2.9k

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤi love you like an alcoholic - the taxpayers

he knows everything about you. not just your favourite foods, hobbies, or the songs you play on repeat, but the details you wouldn’t even think to share. the way your nose scrunches when you’re deep in thought, the pattern of your breathing when you sleep, the subtle twitch in your hand when you’re anxious. he’s studied you as though you were a divine text, each quirk and habit catalogued and committed to memory.

your presence is his religion, and you, his deity. he doesn’t just love you—he worships you. to him, you’re the very essence of perfection, the axis on which his world spins. every smile you offer, every word you speak, is a blessing he clings to with an almost fanatical devotion. if he could, he’d bottle the sound of your laughter and keep it close, playing it on loop in the quiet hours when he can’t be near you.

his obsession began innocently enough—a fleeting glance in passing, a shared space for mere seconds. but those seconds were enough to ignite something dangerous within him. from that moment on, you consumed him.

your image invaded his thoughts, leaving no room for anything or anyone else. it wasn’t enough to see you from afar. he needed to know you, to possess you, to make sure you could never leave.

he follows you everywhere, his footsteps as silent as a predator stalking its prey. he’s always there, just out of sight, ensuring you’re safe—or so he tells himself.

when you stumble, he fights the urge to rush forward and catch you. when someone dares to get too close, his fists clench, his jaw tightens, and dark thoughts swirl in his mind. no one has the right to invade your space like that. no one but him.

every trace of your existence is precious to him. he’s collected everything—strands of your hair caught in your brush, the lip balm you left on your desk, even the receipt you crumpled and threw away. he keeps them in a secret box, hidden away like a dragon hoarding treasure.

he’ll run his fingers over them, murmuring your name like a mantra, his mind spinning fantasies of the life you’ll share once you finally see the truth.

he keeps a journal where he writes about you obsessively. page after page filled with your name, detailed accounts of your daily activities, and his dreams of your future together. he’s planned it all—your wedding, the house you’ll live in, the names of your children. he knows it’s premature, but in his mind, you’re already his. the only thing left is for you to realise it.

his jealousy is a violent, uncontrollable thing. anyone who gets too close to you is a threat that must be eliminated. he doesn’t care who they are—friends, coworkers, even family. they don’t deserve to share your attention.

they don’t love you like he does. he’s not above sabotage, spreading rumours, or even more drastic measures to ensure they stay away. it’s for your own good. can’t you see how much safer you are without them?

his methods of surveillance are disturbingly meticulous. cameras hidden in your home, trackers on your phone and keys, even your favourite coffee shop isn’t spared. he needs to know where you are, what you’re doing, and who you’re with at all times. if he sees something he doesn’t like, he’ll act without hesitation. a threatening text to someone he perceives as competition, a “chance” encounter to remind you he’s always there—it’s all part of his carefully crafted plan.

the nights he spends in your home without your knowledge are the most sacred to him. he’ll sit in your chair, run his fingers over your belongings, and breathe in the faint scent of you lingering in the air.

when he’s feeling especially bold, he’ll lie in your bed, his heart pounding as he imagines you beside him. the boundary between fantasy and reality blurs, and for those moments, he allows himself to believe you’re already his.

despite his madness, there’s a tenderness in his obsession that makes it all the more unnerving. he’ll leave gifts on your doorstep, thoughtful things he knows you’ll love, but always unsigned. he’ll take care of things you don’t even realise—paying overdue bills, fixing a broken lock, replacing the lightbulb you forgot about. in his mind, these are acts of love, proof of his devotion. he’s your saviour, your guardian. why can’t you see that?

his darker thoughts are carefully hidden beneath a façade of adoration. but they’re there, lurking just below the surface. he’s imagined what it would be like to keep you locked away, safe from the world that doesn’t deserve you.

a place where it’s just the two of you, where no one can hurt you or take you away. he’s convinced himself it would be for the best. you’d be scared at first, but eventually, you’d understand. you’d love him like he loves you.

he’s a master of manipulation, always a step ahead. when you start to suspect something, he’ll play the perfect confidant, the shoulder to lean on. he’ll comfort you, reassure you, and subtly guide you into his arms. every move he makes is calculated to draw you closer, to ensure you never look anywhere else but at him.

his love is suffocating, overwhelming, all-consuming. it’s not just a feeling—it’s a need, a compulsion, a fire that burns so fiercely it threatens to destroy everything in its path. he doesn’t see the danger in it. to him, it’s pure, untainted, the way love is meant to be. and if you ever tried to leave, he’d see it as a betrayal so profound it would shatter him. he’d do anything to keep you. anything.

he’s utterly captivated by every little thing about you—your smile, your voice, the way your clothes hug your figure just right. his eyes linger longer than they should, memorizing every curve, every subtle movement. he tells himself it’s just admiration, but the way his thoughts wander late at night says otherwise. the image of you is burned into his mind, and no matter how hard he tries, he can’t escape it.

his fantasies are vivid, detailed, and deeply personal. he doesn’t just imagine holding you close or brushing his lips against yours; his mind ventures further, into moments that would make your cheeks burn if you knew. he’s thought about how your skin might feel against his fingertips, the warmth of your body pressed to his. he knows it’s wrong, but the idea of being the one to make you blush, to see the shy tilt of your gaze, is intoxicating.

he’s fascinated by the small, intimate details of your life—the scent of your shampoo, the way you unconsciously adjust your clothes when you’re nervous, the way your lips part when you’re lost in thought. it’s not enough to simply watch; he wants to know what it feels like, what it tastes like. the thought alone sends a shiver down his spine, a mix of guilt and desire twisting in his chest.

your photos are his most cherished possessions, though he’d never admit it aloud. he’s saved everyone he’s found, both those you’ve posted and those he’s taken without you noticing. they’re his solace on nights when his need for you becomes too overwhelming. his fingers will trace over the screen, wishing he could reach through and pull you to him, to claim you as his own in ways only he dreams of.

his touches are deliberate and lingering, though he always makes them seem innocent. a hand brushing against yours when you pass him something, a too-long hug where his hands press just a little lower than they should. he tells himself it’s harmless, that he’s just expressing his affection, but the heat that pools in his chest whenever he’s near you betrays his true intentions.

he’s memorized the way your clothes fit, the way they shift when you move, and he often imagines what lies beneath. it’s an intrusive, maddening thought that he tries to push away but can’t. he tells himself it’s only natural to wonder about someone you love this much, but the intensity of his fixation borders on obsessive.

his jealousy takes on a darker edge when he sees someone else earning your smiles or making you laugh. he imagines pulling you into his arms, pressing his lips to your ear, and whispering that you’re his, only his. the idea of someone else touching you the way he wants to sends a wave of anger through him, but it also stokes the fire of his need to claim you in every way possible.

he’ll leave little hints of his affection, gifts that seem innocent at first glance—a necklace that sits just right against your collarbone, a dress that hugs your body in a way that makes his heart race. he wants to see you wear them, to know that he had a hand in how you look, to feel like you’re his in some small way, even if you don’t realise it yet.

the nights he spends in your home without your knowledge are where his darker fantasies come to life. he’ll stand in your bedroom, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you sleep, his mind wandering to places he knows it shouldn’t. he wants to reach out, to touch, to feel the warmth of your skin beneath his palm, but he stops himself. not yet. it’s not time yet.

he’s thought about what it would be like to have you entirely to himself, away from prying eyes and other distractions. a place where you wouldn’t need anyone else but him, where he could show you just how deeply he feels for you. his fantasies are tinged with possessiveness, imagining you looking at him with flushed cheeks and soft whispers of his name, the way only he would ever deserve.

he knows your body as well as he knows your habits, even if he’s never touched you the way he dreams of. the way you stretch when you’re tired, the curve of your lips when you smile, the smooth expanse of your neck—he notices it all, cataloguing every detail to revisit later in the privacy of his own mind. you’re a living masterpiece, and he’s the only one who truly appreciates every stroke of your beauty.

his obsession isn’t just emotional; it’s physical. he craves the warmth of your body, the softness of your skin, the way you might gasp if he were to press his lips to yours. it’s a hunger that grows stronger with every passing day, consuming him until he’s left trembling with the sheer intensity of his desire. he tells himself he’s patient, that he can wait for you to come to him, but his restraint is wearing thin.

he imagines the way your voice would sound, breathless and needy, calling his name. the thought alone makes his heart pound, his breaths shallow. it’s a dangerous game he plays, teetering on the edge of madness, but he can’t help himself. you’ve become his addiction, his obsession, and he knows there’s no turning back.

he loves jerking off to photos of you taken by him. he flips through the steamy photos on his phone, a wicked glint in his eye begins undoing his pants, freeing his rock-hard erection. a low groan escaping his lips as he wraps a hand around the thick shaft and starts stroking it slowly.

steals your clothes. he's practically grinning maniacally as he rummages through your dresser, his fingers trailing over the fabric of each garment with a possessive touch. he snatches up your most intimate items - panties, bras, and even that cute little skirt from last night - holding them to his face and inhaling deeply before tucking the stolen clothes into his bag like precious treasures.

—

the sound of footsteps trailing behind you wasn’t unusual. you had grown accustomed to the presence of people bustling through the streets or even just the echo of your own shoes against the pavement.

tonight, though, something felt...off. the streetlights flickered overhead, casting long, thin shadows that seemed to stretch and waver unnaturally. you clutched your bag tighter as a cold breeze cut through the air, the faint rustle of leaves amplifying the eerie silence.

unbeknownst to you, a figure lingered a safe distance behind, his breathing steady, his eyes locked on you with an intensity that bordered on fanaticism. he had followed you every night for weeks now, taking meticulous care to remain unseen.

you never noticed the subtle changes in your routine—the slight chill in your room despite closed windows, the faint smell of cologne that wasn’t yours, or the way your things never quite seemed to be where you left them. he made sure of that.

when you finally reached the safety of your apartment, fumbling with your keys, a wave of relief washed over you. the feeling of being watched dissipated the moment the door clicked shut behind you. you didn’t know he was already inside.

hidden in the shadows of your closet, he crouched silently, listening to your every move. your obliviousness only deepened his obsession.

he had memorized your schedule down to the minute. he knew the way you stirred your coffee in the mornings, the playlists you hummed along to while cleaning, and the books you kept on your bedside table. each detail was etched into his mind as sacred knowledge, proof that you were meant to belong to him and only him.

his fingers itched to touch the belongings he had stolen—your hairbrush, the shirt you thought you lost, even the empty chapstick tube you tossed away without a second thought. they were treasures to him, pieces of you he could keep close when he couldn’t have you entirely. not yet.

you were so kind, so trusting. it amazed him how naive you could be. When he brushed past you in a crowd, intentionally grazing your shoulder, you had offered an apologetic smile as though it were your fault. when he sent anonymous gifts to your doorstep, you accepted them with gratitude, never questioning their origin.

you had no idea who he was, but he knew you. he knew everything. He watched as you unknowingly consumed his devotion and smiled sweetly, blissfully ignorant of the storm brewing just beneath the surface of his calculated calm.

the days passed in a blur. you noticed small things—a lingering glance from a stranger at the café, a text from an unknown number asking if you’d gotten home safely.

you chalked it up to coincidence, even as unease began to settle in your chest. little did you know, he had orchestrated it all. the stranger wasn’t a stranger at all. The text wasn’t random. everything was deliberate. everything was for you.

one night, you woke to the sound of something clattering in the kitchen. heart racing, you crept out of bed, clutching your phone tightly. the light from the hallway illuminated the edge of a shadow—a tall figure, unnervingly still. your breath hitched.

before you could scream, a hand clamped over your mouth, and you were pulled into an unrelenting grip. his voice, low and desperate, whispered your name like a prayer.

"shh, it’s me," he said, as though that explanation should bring you comfort. "i couldn’t stay away anymore."

you thrashed against him, but his hold was iron. His tone turned sharp, frantic. "stop. please don’t fight me. i've done everything for you. don’t you see that?"

your heart pounded in your chest as his words spilled out in a torrent of obsession. he spoke of how he had protected you, how he had eliminated those who dared to insult you, how he had waited so patiently for this moment.

it didn’t make sense—none of it did—but the sincerity in his voice was chilling. He believed every word.

when he finally loosened his grip, you stumbled away, trying to catch your breath. his golden eyes shimmered with something between adoration and madness. he took a step closer, and you backed away instinctively. "don’t look at me like that," he pleaded. "i’m not a monster. i love you. i've always loved you."

you didn’t respond. you couldn’t. fear constricted your throat, making it impossible to form words. he noticed your hesitation, and his expression darkened.

"you don’t understand now," he said softly, almost to himself. "but you will. i'll make you see. you don’t have to be afraid of me—i’d never hurt you. i'd only hurt anyone who tries to take you from me."

your legs trembled as you pressed yourself against the wall, desperate to find an escape. he tilted his head, watching you with an unnerving calm. "you’re so beautiful when you’re scared," he mused. "but i don’t want you to be scared of me. i want you to love me back."

the realization of how deeply unhinged he was hit you like a wave. this wasn’t just a stranger breaking into your home. this was someone who had been in your life—lurking in the periphery, shaping your reality without your consent.

you had no idea how much he had already taken from you, how much he was willing to take to keep you his.

and he wouldn’t stop. no matter how much you begged or how far you tried to run, he would always find you. because in his eyes, you were already his.

you are his world, his everything. and in his mind, that’s not obsession—it’s love.

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[loveinhawkins]

picturing Dustin watching at the trailer park, right after Eddie says, “Hey, Steve? Make him pay.”

And for some reason Dustin’s reminded of ‘84, of his conversation with Steve on the railroad tracks, it’s like before it’s gonna storm, you know? You can’t see it, but you can feel it, like this, uh... electricity, you know?—although he’s grown enough to suspect that Steve might not know everything in that regard.

And it’s not electricity he senses, not exactly, but it’s definitely a storm of some kind: something fragile. Something—someone—that’s very scared.

Dustin’s running before he’s even registered his decision. “Steve!”

Steve turns around, and he already looks like he’s about to ask a question—something practical, like whether Dustin’s forgotten something—and Dustin feels a twist of regret, that that’s where Steve’s mind goes; yeah, they’re all ready for battle, so it makes sense, but…

Feeling suddenly very young, Dustin barrels into Steve and hugs him.

He hears Steve’s surprised inhale, his hesitancy, before he returns the hug in full force.

For a little while, it’s like the world narrows down to only this. No ash in the air, no nightmarish red in the sky. Just the two of them.

Dustin’s about to pull away when he feels Steve’s chin dig into the top of his head. Hears him sniff, very quietly, like he’s trying to hide it; and that makes Dustin think of the tunnels, or afterwards, really, when Steve held onto him with shaking hands, kept saying, “We’re okay, we’re okay.”

So he just keeps hugging back.

Steve’s the one to let go; he’s smiling, but he looks a little sad too, forehead creased with worry.

“I need a ride tomorrow,” Dustin says.

Steve huffs. “Oh, yeah? Where to?”

Dustin taps his nose obnoxiously. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

It’s bullshit, of course; Dustin doesn’t need a ride anywhere.

Steve rolls his eyes, but some tightness in his jaw finally eases. “God, you’re such a dick.”

“Bright and early, Steve!” Dustin adds smugly. “Five am!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says, waving him off, and for a moment it’s like they’re just in the school parking lot. He looks as if he’s about to say something else, then thinks better of it—glances back to where Robin and Nancy are waiting. He pulls Dustin in with one arm, a brief but tight hold. Nods, as if to himself. “Go on, scram.”

Dustin runs back to the trailer with a stitch in his side but a smile on his face. He knows it’s naive to think he can fix everything, but in this moment at least some part of the universe has been righted, even while in The Upside Down.

Eddie’s standing right where he left him, like he’s been frozen the whole time.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “is he, uh… is he okay?”

Dustin’s reminded that of course, Steve isn’t the only one who’s scared.

“Yeah, he will be,” he says, which he thinks is a more accurate answer than a simple yes or no.

It’s funny how life works, he muses while gathering supplies for the trailer defences. There’s no way he’d have thought even a week ago that Eddie would be sincerely asking him about Steve’s well-being. Whenever he happened to bring Steve up at Hellfire, Eddie would imitate him in a comedic falsetto, “Oh, Steve this, Steve that.”

For a minute, Eddie remains rooted to the spot, still staring in the direction of where Steve went—like he’d watched helplessly as Steve walked into the eye of a storm or something.

“You just gonna stand there and gawk?” Dustin says.

Eddie snorts. “So rude, Henderson.”

And it’s not like Dustin really knows, not when Steve and Eddie are still barely dancing around it themselves. Still, he can pick up on some things.

Like when they’ve finished setting up everything, waiting for the go-ahead for Eddie to start playing his guitar—to pass the time, they recount the high points of the day, keep it light. It’s a practice Eddie used to implement after campaigns.

And look, Dustin’s damn good at picking up on patterns. Like, he loves Steve, but he’s pretty sure the reality of him driving the hotwired RV doesn’t quite match up to how Eddie’s currently waxing lyrical about it.

He’s making it sound like it was something outta James Bond, Dustin thinks, when he’s sure Steve drove right into several trash cans.

Suddenly he knows exactly what he should do.

“Steve this, Steve that,” he sing-songs.

Eddie flushes; Dustin cackles.

“Fuck off,” Eddie says, but he’s smiling as Dustin keeps laughing, like he knows there’s nothing mean-spirited in it. He keeps going, Steve this, Steve that, talking right over Dustin’s teasing—somehow finding even more moments where Steve truly shines.

And Dustin doesn’t know everything, not even close, but at the very least, he knows that this feels right.

[gyorouis]

── ✦ the boy next door.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚 ˚⋆ synopsis⸝⸝ the guy next door, he seems cute. and oh, he has a dog.

꒰ genre⸝⸝ fluff!! FLUFF, angst if you squint, but anyway lovey-dovey bcs soobin is so boyfriend and i miss soobin sm pairing⸝⸝ boy next door!soobin x afab!reader wc⸝⸝ 5.3k warning⸝⸝ none (lmk if i forgot any!) tune in⸝⸝ sixspence none the richer — kiss me ୨ৎ ꒱

you’ve been living in this apartment complex for what feels like forever now, or at least long enough to memorize the creaky spots in the hallway and which neighbors prefer late-night TV at full volume. it’s not that you're shy, but you’ve never been great at the whole “friendly neighbor” thing either. while others seem to naturally strike up conversations about the weather or the latest neighborhood gossip, you’re more of a smile-and-nod kind of person. friendly enough, but not exactly handing out invitations for coffee.

every morning, you take your usual jog around the complex. it’s become a routine, something to clear your mind before another long day of work. you pass by mrs. kim from the third floor, who always seems to be engaged in an animated conversation with mr. park from the second floor. they wave at you, and you offer a polite nod in return, as always. everyone here seems to know each other, chatting away as if they’ve lived in this building their entire lives.

you? not so much. you’ve always found socializing a bit… draining. especially since your job involves talking to people all day long. by the time you get home, the last thing you want is to have yet another conversation.

it’s a sunday morning, and instead of your usual jog, you’re busy cleaning your apartment. your balcony door is open, letting in the fresh air as you sweep the floor. as you pause to stretch, you notice a moving truck pulling up outside. new tenants, you think to yourself. the unit next to yours has been empty for about a month, ever since the previous owner moved out. you glance down at the truck, spotting a few movers carrying boxes and furniture into the building.

“well, good luck,” you mumble to yourself, knowing how thin the walls can be.

you continue with your cleaning, pushing the thought of the new tenant aside. after all, it’s not like you’re going to be inviting them over for tea anytime soon.

in the days following, you caught glimpses of the new tenant, though never quite enough to get a clear picture of them. once, while heading out for your morning jog, you heard the door to the next unit creak open just as you were locking your own. instinctively, you turned your head, but by the time you glanced down the hallway, the door had already closed. you could hear faint footsteps receding, but whoever they were, they were gone before you even had the chance to see them.

it became a pattern—just when you thought you might catch a glimpse of this mystery neighbor, something would intervene. you’d hear a door slam shut just as you were about to turn the corner. you’d see shadows under the door when you were in the hallway, but no one ever stepped out. it was like the universe was conspiring to keep you from meeting them.

you told yourself it didn’t matter. after all, you weren’t the type to strike up a conversation with strangers anyway. still, you couldn’t help the growing curiosity. who was this person? what kind of neighbor were they? and, more importantly, why did it feel like they were always just out of reach?

one particularly frustrating moment happened when you were in the mailroom, sorting through the usual stack of bills and junk mail. out of the corner of your eye, you saw someone approach the door, a tall figure with dark hair. for a split second, you thought this might finally be the moment you’d meet your elusive neighbor. but just as the door began to swing open, your phone rang loudly in your pocket, startling you enough that you dropped your mail all over the floor.

by the time you scrambled to pick it up, the person was gone. the door clicked shut, leaving you alone in the mailroom once again.

“seriously?” you muttered under your breath, shoving the crumpled letters back into your bag. it was becoming a running joke in your head now—the universe seemed determined to keep the two of you apart.

later that week, you were returning from work, exhausted after a particularly draining day of meetings and presentations. your only goal was to collapse onto your couch and binge-watch something mindless. as you stepped off the elevator, you saw a large package leaning against the door to the unit next to yours. it was addressed to a “choi soobin,” which you assumed was your new neighbor. your curiosity spiked again. soobin—the name didn’t ring any bells, but it didn’t matter. you’d probably never get the chance to talk to them anyway.

as you fumbled with your keys at your own door, you heard something—a faint shuffling from inside the next unit. you paused, glancing sideways at the door. was this finally your moment? you listened closely, heart pounding a little for reasons you couldn’t explain. but, like every other time before, nothing happened. no door opened, no introductions were made.

you sighed and went inside, trying to shake off the strange sense of disappointment.

then, that evening, something broke the quiet routine.

you were sprawled on the couch, remote in hand, flipping through channels without much interest when a sound made you sit up. it was faint at first—a soft barking, coming from the apartment next door. your eyes darted toward the wall, as if you could somehow see through it. a dog? you hadn’t heard a single sound from that unit since the mysterious soobin had moved in. now, all of a sudden, there was a dog?

“must be the new neighbor,” you muttered to yourself, sinking back into the cushions.

the barking stopped, and you assumed that was the end of it. but then, barely a minute later, there was a knock at your door. you blinked, glancing at the clock. it was late—who could be knocking at this hour?

you dragged yourself off the couch, padding over to the door and pulling it open. standing there, looking slightly frazzled, was a guy. he had dark hair, a hoodie pulled over his head, and in one hand, he held a leash attached to an overly excited golden retriever that was wagging its tail so fast it was practically vibrating.

“uh, hi,” he said, offering a sheepish smile. “sorry to bother you, but i’m your new neighbor. i think my dog’s ball ended up on your balcony. mind if i grab it?”

you blinked, momentarily thrown off by the sight of him. soobin, you realized, putting the pieces together. this was the elusive neighbor who had been slipping in and out of your life for the past week. and now, here he was, standing at your door with an overexcited dog.

“oh,” you said, snapping out of your daze. “yeah, sure. give me a second.”

you stepped out onto your balcony and quickly spotted the bright yellow ball wedged against the railing. as you bent down to pick it up, you heard soobin talking to his dog in a low voice.

“buddy, sit. come on, man, be cool for like five seconds.”

you couldn’t help but stifle a laugh as you walked back inside, holding the ball out to him. “here you go.”

soobin beamed, taking the ball from you. “thanks. i’m soobin, by the way. and this troublemaker is buddy.”

buddy barked in response, his tail wagging even faster—if that was possible.

“i’m y/n,” you replied, offering a small smile. “welcome to the building.”

soobin shifted awkwardly, as if unsure whether to continue the conversation or let you return to your evening. “uh, thanks. sorry again for the interruption. we’re still getting used to the place, and buddy here is still adjusting.”

“no problem,” you said, your voice soft. despite the late hour and the unexpected visit, you found yourself oddly relaxed in his presence. there was something about his easy-going nature, the way he seemed just as out of place as you often felt.

“well, i should let you get back to your night,” he said, giving buddy’s leash a gentle tug. “thanks again for the ball.”

“anytime,” you replied, watching as he headed back down the hallway, buddy bouncing along beside him.

as you closed the door, a small smile crept onto your face. you hadn’t understood the strange anticipation you’d felt before meeting your new neighbor, but after this little incident, you were starting to get an idea why.

as you leaned back against the door, you found yourself replaying the brief interaction in your head. soobin seemed... different. maybe it was the casual way he introduced himself or the way he was clearly flustered by his dog’s antics, but something about him had left an impression on you. you tried to brush it off—after all, it was just a simple neighborly encounter. nothing more.

you sank back onto the couch, but the quiet of your apartment felt louder now, like the presence of the new neighbor had shifted something in the air. you absentmindedly reached for the remote but hesitated before pressing play. instead, your mind wandered back to soobin’s awkward grin, the way buddy’s tail wagged enthusiastically, and the light laughter that almost escaped your lips as soobin tried to calm the excitable dog.

“why am i thinking about this?” you muttered, shaking your head with a smirk.

over the next few days, it seemed like fate kept you and soobin on the verge of crossing paths, only for something to always get in the way. every time you left for your morning jog, you'd hear his apartment door creak open as if he was leaving too. but by the time you reached the bottom of the stairs, there’d be no sign of him or buddy. you’d glance back, wondering if maybe you'd imagined hearing it. or when you returned home in the evening, you'd see buddy’s leash hanging on the door handle, a clear sign they were out for a walk, yet you'd just missed them.

it was like the universe was toying with the idea of introducing you both properly, but not quite ready to make it happen. part of you found it amusing—the almost-encounters, the little signs of his presence—but another part of you grew more curious with each near-miss.

one evening, as you sat on your balcony with a cup of tea, a cool breeze ruffling the pages of the book you weren’t really reading, you heard it again—the faint sound of a dog barking next door. instinctively, you leaned over the railing, trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening. and there he was, standing on his own balcony with buddy at his feet, looking up at the sky like he was deep in thought.

for a moment, you considered saying something, maybe making a casual comment about the weather or how quiet the building usually was. but just as you opened your mouth, buddy let out an excited bark, causing soobin to laugh and look down at his dog.

“not now, buddy, i'm trying to enjoy the sunset,” he chuckled, giving the golden retriever a playful pat on the head.

you quickly leaned back before he could notice you watching, heart racing a little too fast for your liking. why did it feel like you were in high school again, trying to avoid being caught staring at the cute guy in class?

the next day, you were in the hallway, heading out for work, when you heard hurried footsteps behind you. you turned just in time to see soobin, earbuds in, walking briskly with buddy trotting beside him. for a second, you both locked eyes, and soobin gave you a quick wave, almost stumbling over buddy’s leash in the process.

“oh—uh, hey!” he called out, a little breathless as he caught up to you. “sorry, i didn’t see you there.”

you smiled, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “no worries. looks like you two are in a hurry.”

he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “yeah, we’re running late for our morning walk. buddy takes it very seriously.” buddy barked as if agreeing, his tail wagging eagerly.

“i’ve noticed,” you replied with a small laugh. “he seems like quite the handful.”

“you have no idea,” soobin said, shaking his head with a grin. “it’s like living with a toddler.”

there was a brief pause, just long enough for the moment to stretch into something a little more comfortable, a little more familiar. you weren’t sure what it was, but the awkwardness from your first meeting had melted away, replaced by something easier, like you’d known each other longer than a few days.

“well, i’ll let you get to work before i make us both late,” soobin said, glancing at his watch before giving you a quick nod. “but, uh, maybe we’ll bump into each other more often.”

“maybe,” you replied, trying to ignore the way your heart fluttered at his words. “have a good walk.”

as you walked away, you couldn’t help but smile, the warmth of his casual words lingering in your mind. sure, it had been brief, but something told you that this wasn’t the last time you’d be talking to soobin.

the next few weeks passed with more casual interactions, little moments that didn’t feel like much on the surface but somehow started to carve a space for soobin in your routine. the mysterious air surrounding him had slowly faded away, revealing a guy who was surprisingly easy to talk to—at least, when your paths finally crossed.

like that time in the elevator, when you both happened to be leaving the building at the same time. you’d awkwardly shuffled inside, glancing at the buttons only to realize you were both heading to the ground floor. soobin had offered a lopsided smile as buddy sat obediently at his side, his tail thumping against the floor of the small space.

“morning,” he greeted, rubbing his eyes sleepily, the hoodie he wore wrinkled like he’d just rolled out of bed.

“morning,” you replied, chuckling lightly at his tired expression. “late night?”

“buddy doesn’t understand the concept of sleep,” he said, laughing softly. “he decided at 2 a.m. that the middle of the night was the perfect time to chase his tail.”

you smiled, leaning against the cool wall of the elevator. “sounds exhausting.”

“you have no idea,” he groaned, glancing down at buddy. “but i wouldn’t trade him for anything. what about you? late night or early start?”

“early start,” you replied. “work keeps me on a pretty tight schedule.”

“right, you mentioned that you’re always busy,” soobin said thoughtfully, as if he was genuinely interested. “what do you do again?”

you hesitated for a second, not because you didn’t want to tell him, but because explaining your job always felt like you were opening a door to questions you weren’t sure you had the energy to answer. “i work in marketing. lots of meetings, lots of socializing.”

“sounds... exhausting,” he echoed your earlier comment, giving you a knowing grin. “no wonder you don’t join the neighborhood chat.”

you let out a soft laugh. “yeah, i’m not great at small talk.”

“same,” he said with a shrug. “i mean, i like people, but there’s something about forced conversation that makes my brain just... shut down.”

the elevator doors slid open, and you both stepped out, walking side by side toward the entrance. buddy trotted ahead, sniffing everything in his path.

“i get that,” you said. “there’s always this pressure to say the right thing, to fill every silence.”

“exactly!” soobin said, his eyes lighting up. “but sometimes, silence is comfortable, you know? like right now, we’re not talking every second, but it doesn’t feel awkward.”

you blinked at his words, realizing he was right. the quiet that settled between you wasn’t heavy or uncomfortable—it was easy, like you didn’t have to force anything. it felt... natural.

“yeah,” you agreed, glancing over at him. “it’s nice.”

he smiled, and for a moment, there was a flicker of something in the air, something you couldn’t quite place but also couldn’t ignore. but before you could dwell on it, buddy barked, pulling soobin’s attention back to his overexcited dog.

“looks like someone’s ready for his walk,” soobin said with a chuckle. “i’ll see you around?”

“definitely,” you said, waving as you headed in opposite directions.

and so it continued—a series of brief moments. sometimes it was in the hallway, when you both reached for your mailboxes at the same time. other times, it was in the parking lot, when buddy would tug soobin’s arm just as you were pulling out of your spot, prompting an exaggerated apology from soobin and a wave from you, which had gradually turned into shared grins over time.

but despite the ease of these small interactions, there was still a slow, steady burn building between the two of you. neither of you rushed it—there was no sudden moment of revelation, no dramatic confession. instead, it was the little things that started to draw you closer.

like the day you came home late from work, exhausted and hungry, only to find that your fridge was depressingly empty. you were about to resign yourself to a bowl of instant ramen when a knock came at your door. when you opened it, there was soobin, holding a takeout bag in one hand and a sheepish grin on his face.

“i ordered way too much food,” he said, looking down at the containers like they’d betrayed him. “and buddy is refusing to eat anything that doesn’t come from his dog bowl, so... thought i’d see if you wanted some?”

you blinked, staring at the food and then back at him. “you’re offering me leftovers?”

he scratched the back of his neck, looking a little embarrassed. “well, when you put it like that...”

you laughed, stepping aside to let him in. “i’m kidding. i was actually about to have instant ramen, so this is a serious upgrade.”

“wow, really? i guess my timing is perfect,” he said, setting the food on your kitchen counter. buddy bounded in after him, sniffing around curiously before settling by soobin’s feet.

the two of you sat down to eat, and conversation flowed naturally. soobin told you about his work—he was a freelance artist, which explained his flexible hours and the occasional paint smudges on his hands. you talked about your own job, surprised at how easy it was to open up to him. the hours slipped by, the conversation shifting from work to hobbies to random stories about your lives.

“you know,” soobin said at one point, pushing his empty plate aside, “i’m glad we finally hung out like this. i always see you around, but i didn’t want to be that weird neighbor who tries too hard.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “i think you’re safe. besides, if anyone’s weird, it’s me. i’ve been here for ages and haven’t made a single friend.”

he raised an eyebrow. “well, you’ve got one now.”

you looked at him, and there was something in the warmth of his gaze that made your heart skip a beat. “yeah,” you said softly. “i guess i do.”

over time, the encounters became more intentional. you’d text each other when you were free, ever since he asked for your number during one night that was actually a terrible way of asking someone for their digits. he’d tripped over his own feet while trying to make a quick exit from your apartment, and as he stumbled, he blurted out, “hey, can I get your number? for dog emergencies!”

you couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. “dog emergencies?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“you know, buddy might need a playdate or... or a treat,” he fumbled, his cheeks turning slightly pink. “or if i accidentally steal your trash...”

“okay, that sounds like a solid reason,” you replied, trying to suppress your grin as you wrote down your number on a sticky note and handed it to him. “but it’s not like he’s going to call me.”

“you never know!” soobin joked, glancing at the note before slipping it into his pocket with a satisfied grin.

the days that followed were filled with little surprises. you’d receive random texts from him, often accompanied by pictures of buddy in various ridiculous poses—like the time he’d managed to get his head stuck in a cereal box, or when he was sprawled out on the floor, tongue out, looking utterly defeated after a long walk. each message came with a lighthearted caption that made you chuckle.

“buddy found the ultimate hiding spot. no one will ever find him!” one message read, the accompanying picture showing the golden retriever wedged between the couch and the wall, his big brown eyes peeking out like he was plotting a secret escape.

you found yourself looking forward to these texts, each one brightening your day a little more than the last. sometimes you’d respond with your own pictures—like a candid shot of you attempting to bake cookies (which ended with a flour explosion in your kitchen) or a video of your cat giving you the cold shoulder after you accidentally stepped on his tail.

then there were the instagram reels. soobin would send you random clips that were almost always about dog humor—like the one of a dog desperately trying to catch its tail but only succeeding in tripping over itself. “this is buddy every morning,” he captioned, and you couldn’t help but laugh as you imagined his dog bouncing around in a similar fashion.

“what’s with all the dog content?” you texted back one afternoon, grinning at your phone screen.

“dogs are life,” he replied instantly. “and buddy is basically my child. wouldn’t you want to see every moment of his existence?”

“fair point,” you typed back, shaking your head at how seriously he took his role as a dog dad. “just don’t expect me to babysit anytime soon.”

“how about we do a double date?” he proposed jokingly. “you, me, and buddy? i’ll provide the treats, you bring the toys.”

“sounds like a plan,” you responded, a small thrill coursing through you at the thought. “but if buddy eats my favorite toy, we’re going to have a problem.”

the banter continued, each conversation layered with a comfortable rhythm that felt natural. there was something about the way he interacted with you that made it easy to let your guard down. and in those moments, you found yourself looking forward to the next time you’d see him—no longer just as the mysterious neighbor but as someone who was becoming an integral part of your life.

the following weekend, you both decided to meet for coffee at a local café. it was your first official hangout outside the confines of your apartment, and excitement bubbled in your chest as you walked into the shop. the aroma of freshly brewed coffee enveloped you, and you scanned the room for soobin.

he was already there, perched at a small table in the corner, a steaming cup in front of him and buddy lying at his feet, looking adorably patient. as soon as he saw you, he waved enthusiastically, his smile brightening the cozy atmosphere.

“hey! over here!” he called, standing up as you approached. “i hope you like this place. buddy does, which is basically my criteria for any establishment.”

you chuckled as you took a seat across from him. “so, what does buddy think? is this place up to snuff?”

“he’s giving it a solid four paws,” he replied, glancing down at buddy, who was wagging his tail, clearly enjoying the vibe of the café. “though he’s more interested in the snacks they give out than the coffee.”

“priorities,” you said, laughing as you imagined buddy’s enthusiasm. “i can relate.”

the conversation flowed effortlessly as you sipped your drinks, discussing everything from your favorite books to the best dog parks in the city. soobin shared stories about buddy’s antics, and you found yourself hanging onto every word, amused by the way he animatedly described each little adventure.

“one time, he decided he wanted to chase a squirrel,” soobin said, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “and in his eagerness, he leaped right into a fountain! it was like something out of a cartoon—he came out soaked and just sat there, looking utterly betrayed.”

you burst into laughter, picturing the scene. “did he recover? i can’t imagine he’d take that lightly.”

“he was fine, but he gave me the dirtiest look afterward,” soobin said, mimicking buddy’s disgruntled expression, which only made you laugh harder.

as you both shared stories and laughter, the connection between you deepened. it was a slow burn, building gradually, like the gentle warmth of a fire that had just begun to flicker to life. you found yourself stealing glances at soobin, his smile infectious, his passion for his dog evident in every word. and when your eyes met, there was a spark—something unspoken yet palpable that lingered in the air.

by the time you finished your coffees, you felt a sense of ease, as if you’d known him for much longer than just a few weeks. the way he looked at you, his eyes twinkling with warmth and sincerity, made your heart flutter in a way you hadn’t expected.

“we should do this more often,” soobin said, packing up his things as buddy nuzzled his leg, eager to get moving.

“definitely,” you agreed, feeling a grin spread across your face. “i’ll bring the treats next time.”

“and i’ll bring the chaos,” he promised, a playful glint in his eyes.

you both stood to leave, and as you walked side by side, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning.

one morning, with the scent of freshly baked cookies wafting through your apartment, you felt a rush of excitement. you’d decided to surprise soobin with a batch of chocolate chip cookies and some homemade dog treats for buddy. you could picture the delighted look on his face, the way his eyes would light up when he tasted your baking.

clutching the container tightly, you made your way to his door, heart racing at the thought of sharing something so personal. but as you lifted your hand to knock, the door swung open unexpectedly.

standing there was a woman you didn’t recognize. she had a bright smile and an air of casual confidence as she walked right past you without so much as a word. confusion flitted through your mind as you watched her, but then your gaze shifted to soobin, who stood in the doorway looking equally surprised to see you.

“oh, hey! i didn’t expect you this morning,” he said, his tone cheerful but slightly bewildered.

you felt heat rush to your cheeks, embarrassment flooding over you as you awkwardly held out the container. “i, uh, brought you some cookies and treats for buddy,” you stammered, trying to keep your voice steady.

before he could respond, the woman walked back through the doorway, completely ignoring the interaction. your heart sank as realization hit you. the closeness of their familiarity sent a pang of insecurity through you. were they together? the thought made you feel nauseous.

“oh, um, i should go,” you muttered, the words escaping your lips before you could process them. you turned on your heel and hurried back to your unit, locking the door behind you as if that would shield you from the embarrassment.

for days afterward, you tried to avoid soobin. you found yourself deliberately taking a longer route to the elevator to avoid running into him in the hall. it was ridiculous, really; how could you be catching feelings for a guy who might already have a girlfriend? you felt grossed out by yourself, convinced that your infatuation was misguided.

despite your efforts to create distance, the texts kept coming. soobin sent you updates about buddy, silly memes, and cute dog reels that made you smile despite yourself. but with every message, your heart ached, and you felt more confused.

one afternoon, as you sat on your couch, scrolling aimlessly through your phone, you felt a mix of confusion and longing. soobin’s texts had become a lifeline, his silly memes and dog videos bringing unexpected joy amid your self-imposed isolation. but every time your phone buzzed with a message from him, a pang of guilt twisted in your stomach, reminding you of the distance you were trying to maintain.

when you heard a knock at your door, your heart raced. you knew it was soobin, and the thought of facing him made you want to disappear. after a moment of hesitation, you reluctantly opened the door, finding him standing there, his brow furrowed in concern.

“hey, can we talk?” he asked, his voice soft yet urgent. “i’ve noticed you’ve been... avoiding me. did i do something wrong?”

the sincerity in his eyes sent your heart racing, but the weight of your feelings and the embarrassment of the situation crashed over you. you hesitated, caught between wanting to explain and the fear of being vulnerable. before you could stop yourself, your tongue slipped. “i can't keep talking to you; you have a girlfriend, that's just weird,” you blurted out, the words tumbling out with a mix of frustration and mortification.

soobin’s expression shifted from confusion to surprise, his brows furrowing deeper. “what? no, i don’t have a girlfriend,” he replied, his voice steady but laced with disbelief.

“but—” you stammered, flustered. “i saw a girl come out of your apartment the other day. she seemed... close to you.”

“that was my sister!” he exclaimed, running a hand through his hair. “she just moved in for the summer. we were just hanging out.”

the realization hit you like a wave, crashing against the dam of your confusion. “oh,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “i... didn’t know.”

you both stood there for a moment, the air thick with unspoken feelings and awkwardness, before it cracked, and you burst into laughter at the absurdity of the situation. it felt like a weight had lifted off your shoulders.

“so what now?” you asked, recovering from the laugh, your heart racing as you met his gaze.

he smiled, the warmth in his eyes making your stomach flutter. without breaking eye contact, he reached out and gently grabbed your pinky with his big hand. you raised your eyebrows, intrigued. “are we on the same page?” he asked, his voice low and inviting.

you felt your cheeks heat up as you whispered, “i think so...”

his smile grew bigger, a mix of relief and excitement, and he fully enveloped your small hand with his larger one, sending butterflies racing through your chest.

“where are you taking me?” you asked, following him as he started to pull you out of your unit, excitement bubbling within you.

“i’m going to introduce you to my sister,” he said, a teasing look dancing in his eyes.

“soobin!” you exclaimed, playfully hitting his arm, laughter spilling out. the warmth of your connection felt electric, each shared laugh building a bridge between you that you never knew was missing in your life.

gyo's note: OMG YES boy next door soobin alsjdhsdhsh, i’m changing the posting schedule to every friday (bcs i have a vv shitty schedule for mg rle and lecture and HOPEFULLY i could finish alumni homecoming kai asap (yes pray for my writer's blocked braincells) if you made it to this part, thank you so much! you will be loved. xoxo!

✮ 2024 gyozies, all rights reserved.

[solxamber]

Hi Sol! Hope your having a good February so far!

Could I get a: Leona, Romantic with Shivers by Ed Sheeran?

Happy early Valentine's day!

"Like my soul's on fire" || Leona Kingscholar

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: Shivers by Ed Sheeran

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 650

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Happy Ending, Realization of feelings

Leona Kingscholar doesn’t chase things.

The world has always handed him its expectations, its disappointments, its half-hearted praises wrapped in thinly veiled insults. He’s learned to shrug it all off—to take only what he needs and sleep through the rest.

But then there’s you.

And Leona doesn’t chase, no—but he follows.

Because when you burst into his life, wild and restless, dragging him by the wrist into whatever chaos you’ve concocted this time, he finds himself moving before he can think. He groans, he complains, he calls you a menace—yet he always follows.

And it should irritate him. The way you throw yourself into things with no plan, no hesitation. The way you insist on midnight road trips with no destination, on dancing under flickering neon signs, on sneaking onto rooftops just to stare at the sky. It should be exhausting, annoying—

But damn it, you make his blood burn.

And Leona, for all his grumbling, has never felt more alive.

Tonight, it’s the city. You’re out past a reasonable hour, the streets buzzing with life, headlights flashing against wet pavement. There’s a chill in the air, but you barely seem to notice, too caught up in whatever scheme has taken hold of you this time.

Leona leans against the hood of his car, watching you with that lazy half-smirk that does nothing to hide the heat in his gaze.

“Tell me there’s a plan,” he drawls, even though he already knows the answer.

You flash him a grin, eyes alight with mischief. “Where’s the fun in that?”

And of course, he should’ve known. You live for the rush, for the spontaneity, for the feeling of wind whipping through your hair as you take a leap without looking. And the worst part?

You make him want to jump too.

Before he knows it, you’ve grabbed his hand, tugging him forward. And for all his complaints, he doesn’t resist.

He never does.

Hours blur together—bright lights, laughter, stolen kisses in the shadows of alleyways. Leona doesn’t remember the last time he let himself have fun, not like this. Not in a way that didn’t feel like a performance, like something expected of him.

But with you, it’s different.

With you, it’s easy.

You don’t want the prince. You don’t want the strategist, the second-born, the disappointment, the afterthought. You just want him.

And it terrifies him.

Because Leona has spent his whole life avoiding expectations he can’t meet, avoiding fights he can’t win. He never lets himself want things too much. It’s easier that way.

But then there’s you—laughing, warm, pressing close to him as the night lingers on—and he knows, deep down, that this is a battle he’s already lost.

It’s nearly dawn when you both end up somewhere quieter, the city still humming in the distance. You’re leaning against his shoulder, exhaustion finally catching up to you, but you’re smiling, your fingers lazily tracing patterns over the back of his hand.

Leona watches you, his mind a mess of things he’ll never say out loud.

You make him want things. You make him ache.

And then, in that quiet, reckless way of yours, you say, “Leona, let’s stay like this forever.”

His breath catches.

It’s a stupid thing to say. Impossible, even. Forever isn’t real—not for people like him, who have spent their lives being second place, almost-enough, not-quite-worthy.

But you look at him like you mean it. Like you really believe it’s possible.

And damn it all, maybe he wants to believe it too.

Leona exhales, pulling you closer, his lips brushing against your temple. “You sure you can handle forever with me?”

You tilt your head up, meeting his gaze, your smile soft but certain. “Try me.”

And Leona, who has spent his whole life avoiding the things he can’t win, decides—just this once—to stop running.

If this is a dream, he thinks, then he never wants to wake up.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event