#but like the care and worry in his eyes PLEASE

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part thirty-two —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 5.1k tags: death. blood and gore. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. enemies to lovers. SA and implication of child SA (very subtle). summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: clearly I am bad at estimating how long this story will take lol

The tray of food crashes to the floor at her feet. Salome gasps. Her hand shoots back, fumbling for the doorknob, and her lips part, ready to call the guard you know is just outside.

"If you call for the guard," you stop her, "I’ll cut deeper."

She clamps a hand over her mouth. "Please—stop! Hurting yourselves is a sin, a great dishonor to the body God gave you—"

“It is,” you agree calmly. You press the shard deeper into the cephalic vein, ignoring the bite of pain. Blood spills in a fresh, startling curtain down your arm, the wound mimicking the severity of an arterial cut. “And she’ll blame you for it. You’re the one she entrusted to watch over us, and you didn't notice we broke one of the mugs."

"I did not think you would—"

"What happens to you,” you cut her off, pointing the bloody shard at her stomach, “—and your baby when the two new child-bearers die because of your failure? Because I will die, if I cut any deeper. This artery,” you lie, tapping the wound for emphasis, “is important. If I finish slicing through it, I’ll bleed out in less than a minute. Not enough time for you to get help. Not even enough to try saving me yourself.”

Her lashes flutter rapidly through a swell of tears. "You could have a good life here—"

"Answer me. What happens to you if I die?"

She swallows hard. "She’ll punish me," she whispers frightfully. "I have seen what happens to those who fail her. She might take my child and I will... never see them. Please, don’t do this—”

"Why should we care about you and your child when you are okay with them killing an eleven-year-old girl tomorrow?"

A flash of shame crosses her face. "I'm sorry. I-I didn't know Maman would want the girl. The offering has never been so young before. But it is God's will, there is nothing I can do to—"

"What you can do is open the cell. Open it and we will kill Maman, then you won't have to worry about anyone taking your baby. But if you don't open it, then we die in here and you will face her punishment."

Her lips part, but nothing comes out. She looks between you and Nereida, eyes darting wildly, fingers twitching against her stomach. 

"Decide before I bleed out!"

"I... I can't," she says pitifully.

With a glance at Nereida, she takes her cue, digging into her vein.

"Open the cell," Nereida urges far more soothingly than you can, blood dripping to her elbow. "We won't hurt you. We want Maman gone, not you."

Salome whimpers under her breath, but her fingers move before her mind catches up, reaching inside her robe to retrieve the key, gripping it like it might burn her. She shuffles closer but pauses, inhaling deeply before finally reaching the door. Her hands shake so violently that the key rattles against the lock. It slips against the metal, failing to match the hole, and your finger twitches when she nearly drops it.

"Mais si elles ne parviennent pas à la tuer..." The whisper leaves quietly, lost beneath the veil. "Sa punition pour moi sera pire."

Then, her hand curls back around the key.

She swallows hard—and steps back.

No. 

You see red.

A growl curls at your mouth and you snap forward, grabbing onto her dress through the bars before she can retreat too far, and pulling her flush against them, her forehead banging into the metal. Before she can scream, you clamp a bloody hand over her mouth and then press the piece of broken mug to her neck with just enough pressure to make her panic. She gasps into your palm, struggling. You dig it harder, forcing her body to turn still and rigid.

"Twix—"

"I tried doing things the nicer way," you speak in a low snarl, veering off the script you and Nereida conjured. Round, glossy eyes stare into yours. "You should have made up your mind before getting within my reach. Now give her the key. I’d hate for my hand to slip."

Another sharp press into her skin wrings a squeak from her, her breath coming out jagged and uneven against your palm. Trembling, she extends an arm through the bars, offering the key to Nereida.

The moment Nereida takes it, she fumbles to find the lock from the outside, her fingers searching blindly. The key scrapes against the metal—once, twice—before a soft click finally reaches your ears.

The door swings open.

You don’t hesitate. Keeping your grip firm over Salome’s mouth, you shove through the opening and swing around to the other side. Before she can react, you force her back into the cell, driving her onto the bed. The veil tears free from her head as you pin her down, your weight pressing her into the mattress, the sharp fragment still poised at her throat. When her legs begin to flail helplessly, you order Nereida to grab them. She clasps Salome's ankles to keep her from bucking you off.

"You were afraid of the wrong person," you hiss, your nose nearly brushing hers. "Maman may have spared your life because she values her baby makers—but I don’t. Answer everything I ask, or I’ll show you just how merciless I can be."

The dishonest threat rolls off your tongue with enough force to make her nod frantically, fear widening her eyes. But what she doesn’t need to know—what you won’t let her see—is the part of you still holding back. Because even now, even as you pin her down and press the shard to a vital piece of her throat, you’re careful. You don’t dig hard enough to damage. You don’t let your weight bear down on the swell of her stomach.

"I'm glad we understand each other. I am going to lift my hand, and you're not going to scream. You're going to tell me everything we need to know about the guards out there."

Her lips are puffy and raw when you set them free. 

"There is only one outside the d-door," she sputters in a whisper. "B-but there are more... more by the... h-homes and the keep."

"The keep?"

"Where they keep the new m-males," she chokes out, snot dripping from her nose.

"That's in the old slaughterhouse, right?"

She nods.

"How many guards are over there exactly?"

"I do not know." At your glare, she rushes out, "B-but there are less after d-dinner ends. Many go to sleep, and switch shifts at sunrise."

You mull over the information, eyes darting across her face. “And the child—the offering? Where is Maman keeping her?”

A terrible look of fear ripples through her eyes. "Only few are allowed near the offering b-before her ascension. 

"So you're telling me you don't know?" you seethe in her face.

She sobs. "I know they... they will offer her to the démons right before the sun rises. The night is when God’s wrath is strongest, but it’s in the morning—when hope ascends—that we seek atonement."

Despite further pressing, that seems to be the extent of what she knows—or she's still withholding. Either way, you're satisfied enough. You rip strips of the sheet, using one to gag her and two more to bind her wrists and ankles. You and Nereida wrap your wounded wrists tightly to stop the flow. Then, you remove her white gown. You’ll need something to wear that doesn't easily mark you as an escapee, but there’s only the one white dress and veil. You hurriedly slip into them, making sure all of your hair and face is hidden, leaving Nereida still in the thin slip. The shoes Salome wears are thin and made of unsupported leather, but they are all you have to tuck your bare feet into.

Salome said there will be fewer guards after dinner. You and Nereida listen carefully to every sound that bleeds through the window. When you hear a few exchanges of bonne nuit, you figure people are starting to retire for the night. You take this as your cue to grip your makeshift weapon. The guard outside the door is expecting Salome to leave at some point, giving you the perfect opportunity to catch him off-guard while dressed as her.

You quietly open the door to the warm summer night, the long gown ghosting around your ankles. As expected, a well-built man leans against the side of the building, arms crossed languidly. No one else is in sight, which brings you some relief. When his gaze shifts to you, he raises a brow.

"Tout va bien, mademoiselle? Vous êtes restée là-dedans un moment."

The last word barely makes it out of his mouth. Within a heartbeat, you spring at him like the head of a snake, one hand over his mouth and the other stabbing his neck with the shard, then sweeping it through the thick of his trachea. A gush of blood oozes out in one thick stream, before he gargles out a strangled choke and turns to dead weight against the wall. 

With Nereida's help, you quickly push his body inside the building to keep anyone from spotting it. 

"Wear this," you usher, already starting to undress him. Like the man who visited you, he's wearing a grey cloak. Though it's too big for her, and bloodied, it will be enough to keep her discreet in the dark, her long hair safely tucked beneath the hood.

Two things race through your mind: the ticking time toward sunrise and the fact that you still don’t know how many more men you’ll have to take out to reach Ghost, Price, and Kyle. The knife you find on the guard adds a small weapon to your shitty arsenal. You have no idea where they could’ve stored the guns and ammo they took from you, or your bow. How you'll manage to fight through a community of cultists without those is a worry you can’t afford to dwell on right now—one step at a time.

After a few minutes of collecting yourselves, urgency pulls the two of you outside, free from the barred enclosure for the first time in almost four days. In the blanket of night, you quickly scan the area, taking in what you’re up against. The community appears fairly spread out, with only six small farmhouses like the one you just escaped from, along with a few larger structures in the near distance—likely where they house the men. You catch a glimpse of a fenced pasture’s perimeter and the unmistakable stench of cattle fills the air. Despite the faint shuffle of hooves and grey plumes of smoke from a few of the chimneys, everything is eerily still, leaving an unnerving amount of quiet for your heart to shatter through.

From what you can see, there aren’t many places to hide Blue, but there could be more to this place beyond what’s visible, especially since the chapel you first saw is nowhere in sight. But none of that matters right now; you need to find the others first if you’re going to have any real chance of saving her and getting out of here.

The next male you encounter spots you first as you make your way up the gravel road towards the barn, the sound of his boots making your hand tighten on the knife's handle. He greets you unassumingly in French, causing Nereida to startle beside you as his shadow approaches. Then he stops in front of her, his shoulders tensing and his hand hovering near a knife at his waist.

"Que fais-tu avec la femelle? C’est interdit!"

Again, you go for the throat, desperate to silence any screams that could cause alarm. You get a good swipe at the base of it, but he is at least a head taller than you, making it difficult to stab fully. He grabs you by the waist, clearly in shock that a veiled female just sprung on him with a knife, but swipes a fist at your face nonetheless. The force spreads through your temple, thrusting your head to the side. 

"Take the knife from him," you hiss at Nereida through the pain, who until now was effectively frozen. She finally moves, using the distraction you've caused as he clutches his bleeding neck, and snatches the knife still hanging at his waist. Once she has it, you leap at the disarmed man again, this time stabbing his liver. With a muffled grown, he face-plants into the gravel, quickly soaking it with blood. 

"The body," she stutters worriedly. "We need to hide it."

You look around, spotting stacks of chopped wood.

"Over there. Help me drag him."

Once the body is heaved behind the logs, you pat him down in search for anything else, but there's nothing.

"Keep that on you," you tell her, and she gives a quick nod, hiding the knife under her sleeve.

You keep following the road up to the fence, your white dress splattered with crimson, resembling the dotted stars overhead. The 'keep' is somewhere by the barn that man said, but you notice smaller buildings to the right and to the left of it. Which one looks like an old slaughterhouse? It's too difficult to tell even when you squint, so you grab Nereida's arm and quickly lower by a bush.

"Watch that one, and I'll keep an eye on this one. Whichever building has more guards patrolling is probably where they're holding them."

"Okay," she whispers, peering around the bush.

Minutes pass. The building on the right has more shadows skirting around it—three guards total. You take a moment to study their movements. One is stationed near the back, the other two at the front.

"I want you to take the one at the back and wait for me. I'll handle the other two."

"How do I take him?" she whispers uncertainly. "He’ll see me coming."

"You’ll come at it from an angle." You point toward a stack of hay. "Sneak over there, quietly. Once you're behind it, circle around and approach where he can't see."

She hesitates, rubbing the back of her hand across her forehead. "I’ve never—"

"Never killed anyone?" 

The way she grips the knife, her fingers white on the handle, confirms it.

"These people deserve it, Nereida," you say, forcing her to meet your gaze. "John is in there."

She closes her eyes, and for a moment, the weight of it all presses down on her. When she opens them again, her jaw is set, and her grip on the knife tightens.

After reminding her where to strike, you pause for a moment, watching as she sneaks over to the hay. Then, you move toward the other two, slipping behind a tree for cover, but your foot catches on something and you almost trip, catching yourself against the bark. Your breath hitches and you steal a peek at them to make sure they didn't hear you. No—they are too busy murmuring to each other, laughing in a low exchange.

When you glance down, you spot a shovel half-buried into the ground, its handle sticking out. Carefully, you wriggle it free, having to grit your teeth to fully remove it. This will let you stun one while you deal with the other. Inhaling deeply to center yourself, palm tight over the splintered wood handle, you close in on the two guards.

The shorter one with curly hair spots you just before you take a swing, his eyes widening. The shovel slams into his skull, effectively making him stumble to the ground, but slips from your grip from the force. The other guard whirls around, hand slapping for the pistol at his belt. You deliver three consecutive stabs to his stomach, heart, and cheek. The gun never leaves his waist before he falls dead.

You suck in a gulp of air just as the curly-haired one regains his footing. His head is still heavy from the blow, and before he can draw his knife, you shove him in the chest, sending him crashing to the ground. You pin him easily beneath you, his movements sluggish and weak. The two of you wrestle in the grass, jagged breaths mixing with frantic, scraping nails, until, with a snarl, your knife finds purchase in his neck, stealing the life from his eyes in an instant. You stab him again and again, shaking, until the ticking urgency pulls you back into control. With a deep breath, you steady yourself and wiggle the knife lodged in his trachea, your hands slippery with blood.

"You got death," you spit in a whisper, thumbing his lids shut.

You lift up.

Now you have a single gun.

It is an old thing. Outdated and far from the military-grade weapons Ghost has. It takes a moment to figure out the parts—your fingers fumble for the small magazine, which is stocked with three bullets. You pull the slide to chamber a round with a click and keep it ready in your hand as you circle the building toward the back, praying that Nereida managed. When you find her, she is stood over the man's body, a deep cut oozing on her cheek.

"He saw me," she says, swallowing. "But I did it."

You nod. "We need to hide them before we go in."

All three bodies are hidden behind the hay stacks. You cover them with manure to mask the smell, not wanting a horde of Greys to materialize. You'd spotted a door at the back and hope it may be more discreet then blazing in through the front, given that you don't know who all is in there. Finger ready on the trigger, you hold your breath as you lead Nereida into the old building, instantly met with the rich smell of pennies. The space quickly unfolds into an old butcher house, rusted hooks hanging from the stone ceiling, the air cramped and cold. 

"Une femme? Maman ne voudrait pas de toi—"

The voice echoes in your ear as you round the corner, and then a fiery bullet rips into the owner's chest. Nereida flinches. Another guard comes barreling over, shouting, but you slide the chamber and shoot him in the head.

You don't linger by the bodies, itching to check the first steel door you see. You lower the gun only to pull at the handle, but it won't budge.

"Check him for keys," you motion to the dead guard.

Nereida crouches, hands rifling through his pockets until she yanks free a ring of keys. Her fingers shake as she tries them one by one, the lock stubborn—until, at last, it gives. With a sharp tug, the door groans open, revealing a windowless chamber. In the center, a lone captive hangs from chains.

It’s Price. Shackles bite into his wrists, his bare chest mapped with deep bruises against pale skin. Beaten, but unbroken—his gaze sharp as it lifts to meet yours. Nereida chokes on a sob, ripping the hood off her head and sinking to her knees before him, cupping his jaw.

A weighted baritone manages: "Duchess."

"There is nowhere I will not find you," she croaks. Teary kisses find the corner of his mouth. "I'm here, I'm here."

"How did you—"

"We got out. Where are the others?" you ask.

His jaw grits. "I haven't seen them since they knocked us out."

"They must be here somewhere. We need to move quick before someone notices the bodies."

After finding the small key to undo the manacles, you leave them to each other for the moment, continuing down the hall until the next door. An undeniable pull rises in your chest, something that has nothing to do with the adrenaline rushing through you—something you can’t quite name. But when you open the door, your heart falters with unwelcome disappointment at the sight of Kyle. He looks equally battered, but still aware enough to lift his head as you step in.

"Who are you?" 

You lift the veil.

"It's me," you answer, the words almost lost in the rush of emotions. Only when you fully take in the room do you notice Ari, curled in the corner. They’ve put them in here together. While there are no obvious injuries on the boy, the sight of the open Bible on his lap, and the empty dinner plate beside him, sends a cold shiver down your spine. You touch his cheek, feeling warmth, and reassure him he’s safe.

You release both of them. "Price and Nereida are through the door down the left. I need to find Ghost. I’ll be back."

Kyle rubs his wrists and manages to stand despite his black eye and shaky legs. "I’ll come with you."

"No. I’ll get him." The words come out sharper than you mean to, but you turn away before he can question them.

You are pulled further through the tight, cold hallway, movements turning more hurried as you look around. There are a few more half-opened doors, but they only lead to supply closets filled with whips and metal batons and empty chambers where old blood stains the floors. Something sharp tugs at your heart, and for the first time since initiating your escape, your fingertips succumb to a tremor of fear. 

Where is he?

The hall spits out into a room where dried animal carcasses hang from the walls.

One final door sits on the far end.

The rusted lock resists, swears hissing from your lips—until a sharp kick forces it open.

The smell thickens with fresh blood, and a cold pit sinks into your stomach at the sight of him—bound in chains, his body slumped haphazardly. Unlike the others, he doesn’t lift his head. You rush forward, a shaky breath catching in your throat as you take in the blood caked on his shoulder blades, deep welts splitting through the inked skin. His back, too, is covered in wounds. He looks worse—so much worse—that a bite of anger swells moisture in your eyes.

"Simon, you idiot. What did you do?" The words slip out on a sharp inhale as you lower yourself in front of him. "Simon," you whisper again, silent tears hot against your lips. You thread a hand through his hair, tilting his jaw up with careful fingers. His eyes are heavy, but relief finds you when they flutter open. He’s alive. The reddened whites flicker over your face, unfocused—until something strange sharpens the haze. A flicker of fear.

"It's me, Simon. We're getting out of here."

The brief fear shifts into shock when he recognizes your face, and only after you fumble with the key ring does understanding click into place, causing his jaw to flex. "Where... where is she?"

"I don't know, but we need to hurry. They have her." You undo the manacles, and his body rolls heavily into you, face falling onto your collarbone. You struggle to hold him up, gripping his shoulders without touching the wounds. A low groan bleeds through his teeth, and his eyes flutter shut again. No, no, no. "Please, you have to... you have to get up, Simon. I can't—she's going to fucking die!"

His upper chest rapidly expands with a breath, and he musters the strength to lift his weight off you and slap a hand against the wall. As he leverages his weight up, you help by grabbing beneath his other arm, until a final rush of adrenaline gets him on his feet. Urgency snaps tension into his limp shoulders, and he growls out another, more steady, breath.

"Price," he says.

"He's alive. Come on."

It takes some effort to help him walk at first, but eventually, he manages on his own. You guide him to the first room, where the others are pacing, murmuring in low voices.

"Simon, Jesus," Price mutters when he sees him.

Ghost brushes it off, his eyes narrowing. "They're going to kill her."

"At sunrise," you add, your voice tight. You pull out the pistol and show it to them. "I have one bullet left. I don't know how many more men are in this cult, but we've killed six so far."

"We have one shitty old gun." Kyle growls in frustration. "They took all our shit. How are we going to—"

"We find the weapons. They must have stored them somewhere," Price says.

"We can't just go searching through every building here. We don't have the time," you press. "And how are we supposed to get it back without everyone noticing we're gone?"

"I don't give a fuck about the guns. We find her first," Ghost grits, nostrils flaring. 

"We can't help her if we don't think things through. We can't just start a war with these people empty-handed, Simon," Price says.

"We find her first!"

"Simon," you say, reaching for his arm, but he pulls it away, clenching his bloody fist. The energy radiating from him would scare you if you didn't feel the same way.

Just then, there is the faint sound of a door opening and footsteps clanging through the hall. You tense up, two male voices shouting in echoes, one of them vaguely familiar.

"Quelqu'un les a tués ! On doit régler cette merde avant que Maman découvre quoi que ce soit."

"Les putains de prisonniers!"

Before you can react, Ghost snatches the pistol from your grip. The second they rush toward the open door, he launches at them—an elbow to one’s face, the butt of the gun breaking the nose of the other. Price uses Nereida's knife to stab the fallen guard, while Kyle helps Ghost subdue the second one. You only recognize him as the man who made you strip when they forcibly drag him toward the manacles, the sight of his blonde hair making your nails curl into your palms.

"You stupid fucking Brits!"

Ghost strikes the gun into his left eye, making him jerk within the constraints, howling as the socket turns into bloody pulp. 

Kyle grips the man's scalp from behind to hold his head up, while Ghost presses the gun into his cheek, where you notice a wound shaped like a bite mark.

"Tell us where she is," he roars. "Or I'll take the other eye."

Nereida cowers into the corner, holding onto Ari's arm. 

"I don't know!" the man spits blood, and Ghost digs the gun into his cheek, ripping it open further until the bitten flesh hangs as a torn flap, exposed all the way to his eye. The scream that follows feels inhuman. "I swear, I don't—I don't fucking know!"

Fresh blood drips to the floor. Price, much more calm, lowers at the man's side. "How many people live here?"

The man grits his teeth, struggling to answer, "T-thirty males, and six females. Plus the infants."

Twenty-two now, you count in your head.

"And the weapons we had. What about those?" Price questions further.

When only staggered, pained breaths fills the room, Ghost tosses the bloody gun and grabs the knife from Price, stabbing the man's kneecap without hesitation. Another scream ensues, and there is the small itch to cover your ears, but you steel yourself against the wall to keep watching.

"Answer the fucking question." Ghost twists the knife in his knee.

He cries out, more bloody spittle flying from his mouth. "All of the ammo is hidden. Only A-Alexandre knows!"

"Who is Alexandre?"

“Maman's son, he enforces her commands and oversees the males.”

"Where is he?" Price asks, voice hard.

“He… he resides in the work shed, while the rest of us sleep in the quarters within the barn.”

You step forward. "We saw another building outside with just one guard, that must be it."

There is a beat of silence as Price processes the information, giving Ghost a satisfied nod. With pain still contorting his face, the man's eye drifts past Ghost's shoulder toward you. His lips twitch into a faint, bloody smirk that makes your skin crawl. Ghost follows his gaze, snarls, and abruptly slashes the man's throat from ear to ear.

B

It is still dark when Eloise comes to awaken her, though Blue's eyes never once fell shut with sleep. She spent the short-lived night alternating between staring at the crescent moon outside the window, and fiddling with the knitting needles left on the table. There is a new dress in the woman's clutch, beautiful white fabric embroidered with flowers, and a pair of beautiful leather shoes in the other hand.

"See? I told you the dress would be nicer." She smiles and hands it over, as if to offer something to be thrilled for. "You must change quickly. There is a lovely breakfast of framboises and milk waiting for you. Put these on as well." She sets the shoes on the floor.

Blue thinks it strange, to bother feeding her just before her death. Blankly, she asks, "How many people will be there? To watch me die."

Eloise's smile quivers slightly, a slight crack in her composure. "Not too many, I assure you. Only a few of us women, and one or two worthy men. Most are still sleeping." After a pause, she adds even quieter, almost ashamed, "Be thankful you don’t suffer through childbirth instead. It is... a painful thing. Long, too. At least this pain will be honorable and swift."

Blue's fingers tighten around the dress. "Okay. Do you mind if I change alone, please?"

Eloise bows her head. "Of course."

She casts one last gentle glance her way before shuffling out of the room, locking the door behind her and leaving Blue with only the dress and shoes. Once the door is closed, Blue quickly slips the dress on, shuddering as the cold fabric caresses her limbs. It’s more beautiful than anything she can remember ever wearing, and that disgusts her. Swallowing the churn in her stomach, she grabs the needles and sits back on the bed.

The wounds on her feet are shallow, her fingernails only able to pierce the thick skin slightly. Using the needles, she digs into them deeper, trembling from the pain that throbs as fresh blood begins to seep from the soles. She cuts and cuts furiously, teeth gritted, praying it’s enough to soak into the shoes she slips on over the new wounds. She covers the blood stains on the sheet with the blanket, then stands, almost crying out from the agony of walking on her torn feet.

"Please dad," she whispers, closing her eyes briefly, before calling to Eloise that she is ready.

"But if they don't manage to kill her... her punishment for me will be worse." "Is everything alright, miss? You've been in there for a while." "What are you doing with the female? It’s forbidden!" "A woman? Maman wouldn’t want you—" "Someone killed them! We need to fix this shit before Maman finds out anything." "The fucking prisoners!"

[iamgonnagetyouback]

soft!mattheo riddle headcannons ⭑.ᐟ

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ soft!mattheo who throws punches like he doesn’t care if his knuckles bleed but wipes his busted lip with the back of his hand and grins when you scold him. “what? you worried about me, angel?”

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ soft!mattheo who smells like smoke and expensive cologne, who always has a cigarette tucked behind his ear but never lights it when you're around because he knows you don’t like the smell

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ soft!mattheo who gets into trouble just to make you roll your eyes at him, just so he can tilt his head and say, “c’mon, don’t act like you don’t love me like this.”

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ soft!mattheo who always has an arm draped over the back of your chair, who pulls you onto his lap at parties like it’s second nature, who lets everyone know, without a single word, that you’re his

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ soft!mattheo who will teach you how to throw a punch but won’t let you actually get into a fight—“nah, angel, that’s my job. you just stand there and look pretty.”

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ soft!mattheo who lets you braid his hair, sitting between your legs with his head tilted back against your stomach, eyes closed, a lazy grin on his lips when you call him pretty

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ soft!mattheo who steals your hair tie to wear on his wrist, even though it doesn’t match his whole ‘i don’t care about anything’ aesthetic, but he keeps it there anyway—just because it’s yours

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ soft!mattheo who teaches you how to drive his motorcycle, watching with amusement as you struggle, but when you get the hang of it, he just grins and says, “that’s my girl.”

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ soft!mattheo who keeps a picture of you tucked into his wallet, folded and worn at the edges, but if anyone ever points it out, he just scoffs and shoves it deeper into his pocket, pretending it’s not a big deal

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ soft!mattheo who acts all tough, all ‘i don’t do romance,’ but still waits up for you when you’re out late, still makes you coffee in the morning (even if it’s terrible), still presses his lips to your forehead when he thinks you’re asleep

© iamgonnagetyouback ⋆.˚ please do not copy, translate, or repost any of my work.

[midnite-c6]

Heyyy! I just wanted to say I love your writing!! And I was wondering if I could request VIP!thanos x reader x VIP!Namgyu ?? I haven’t seen anyone write something like this yet and I think you’d write it so well😚 thank youuu❤️

ugh. yes. this. to pink guard, to frontmen and now to VIPs, god those pervy ones in season 1 really fit their essence!! this is also for the ones who wanted bukkake of the two! <3

VIP!thanos & VIP!nam-gyu x reader !!<3 warnings: 18+, DARK content, noncon, sa, sex, public space, threesome, no aftercare, degradationnnn (pls read at ur own risk!!)

つ⁠｡⁠�� your broke ass was looking EVERYWHERE for a job... luckily! a man with dressed in a suit gave you a special card to call. boom. you're hired. but not as one of the guards, not as one of the players, but simply a servant, more of a maid. instead of being in any involvements during the games, you'd be cleaning up the soldiers rooms, washing the sheets for the 456 players who'd lay down on the beds, to think, the games were actually pretty clean and organized.

but... now it's your time to shine, since now the VIPs would come and visit. the frontman would prepare the small watching area for the VIPs, this was the first time you ever caught a glimpse of what was actually happening during the games, you thought it was some low quality TV show before, not realizing it was way darker than that. it made you quite shocked, and scared, duh.

the VIPs were loud and talkative, with their fancy suits, sure, but the ones in the corner were just full-on distracting! both had golden masks, a dog and a cat, they even seemed like bestfriends. "hey, pst, maid, c'mere." the one with the tattooed hand would signal you to come over, you were hesitant, but you decided to join them nonetheless. carefully walking over to not spill the tray you were holding onto. "a shot of vodka, please." the one with the cat mask hummed, offering his glass so you could refill it. you'd turn your face to the man in the dog mask, a much more deeper voice, he had the hand tattoos too. "babe, which player do you think will last the longest? bet on it, if you will." you shrugged, you weren't really trained to talk to the people you were serving at, especially in these type of games. he wasn't slow to surprise you, giving you a smack in the ass, making you yelp out loud. but only as much as they're the only ones to hear. "ah!"

"talk. i want you to talk. don't be boring.." he nudges your stomach, trying to annoy you even more. you really want to punch him, this guy's nerve. but the frontman was looking directly at you, if you were to do anything absurd, there's no doubt you'd get a bullet through your head. "just give us a damn number, woman, is it so hard?" the man in the cat mask groaned. he had less of a deep voice, sounding much more sly and snarky, like it was meant to push you over. "don't pressure," the tattooed hand would make way to touch your face, you were masked aswell, the frontman had his ideals in not to provide any information of the workers to the viewers and participants. "take this off? i'm sure you're pretty without it, hm?" you quickly shake your head! you can't do that! "fuckin' idiot, you remember what the guy said? no taking off masks." the cat was definitely much more grounded. "oh yeaah, whatever, nam-su. fuckin' stupid idea, but..!" "nam-gyu." the other one corrects, guess the guy wearing the cat mask was named nam-gyu? why do you care about this now? ..when the unnamed one has his hands now moving to your neck.. then to the sides of your chest, your body was shaking.. "they wouldn't mind if i take this off, huh?"

you didn't wanna strip! of course that wasn't in your plans, ever, even if it was in the darkest corner of the room! "i can see your eyes, all worried, sososo cute." he giggles, nam-gyu would sigh, "it's too easy," "right? m'sure it is, you getting turned on by masked men, honey?" this guy was getting on your last nerve. shut up! "let's make it a bit more challenging for me then." as if, as if you were turned on right now, as if you didn't tremble at the sound of his deep voice. "just say a number of a player, someone you'd think would survive!" you quietly mumble, not wanting any other servants or your boss to hear, "sir.. i.."

he cuts you off, with a warning. "...and if he dies, we'd get to fuck your cute little body, 'kay? make a wise decision." "and if she gets lucky? we'll just be blue-balled, idiot. thanos the legend my ass." his name was thanos ?? "shut up, jeez." was this even fair? no way! you shake your head, not wanting to do whatever they say. thanos would only scoff, flicking your forehead. "you're a servant here and you don't serve? are you dense?" this wasn't in anything you signed up for. "hey, man, we can take her to the bathroom later, yeah?" nam-gyu would question the black-masked man, you turn your head to face him, he surely knows what that implied.. but it broke your heart into pieces when he'd nod, not caring about you :(. poor you.

you look at the big window outside, quickly muttering out a number, you'd only pray that they'd live for the whole entirety of the round.

nope, the player didn't survive. (⁠.⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)

nsfw below!! ->

as they both promised, carrying you out to the small bathroom stall strictly for VIPs, your squirms and attempts to escape were no match to their strength, especially thanos'.

"fucking hell! these masks were making me sweat." nam-gyu would take off his mask, forehead sweaty, he had soft yet sharp features, he looks young too. "let- let me go!' you'd see him look down on you and laugh. wow, it felt much more humiliating this way. thanos would toss his mask out aswell, flashing you with his purple hair. "looks like we won the bet, babeee." fuck, these were handsome men, who look like they're high as hell, but handsome nonetheless. "i'm sure you're not even thinkin' about it like it's a punishment."

thanos would quickly rip off the black tights you were assigned to wear, ripping off the black body-con dress that fit the aesthetic of the frontman's taste. he'd bite his lips, seeing the wet patch forming at the center of your panties, he politely moves them aside instead of ripping them off! still, he'd shamefully slide his fingers onto your slick, making you unfortunately moan in front of him, he'd take a lick at the residue that would stay on his fingers. "you like? you taste like you do." he asks, before diving in to give a generous lick on your pussy, licking the juices off clean, what the hell "stop-" you whined. he'd bite your clit in response, making you whine even louder, "if you didn't want this you prolly would've guessed better." making it sound like it was your fault, ultimately.

nam-gyu would move underneath the two of you, he was as aggressive as thanos, tearing more of your stockings, just to feel your pretty ass bare. his hands would grope roughly. "you used to takin' two?" he asks, into your ear. even at this point, you didn't wanna entertain them at all, "jesus." his grip on you would tighten. why was he so pissed all the time? "i'll fuck you with no prep, just answer, damn." his grip was now starting to hurt even more. "n-no! no. i'm not.. i'm not used to two." "yeah. was that so hard?" you shake your head. "no..no.." he was too rough, he makes the purple-haired one look gentle.

turns out, their idea of "prep" was just spitting on your trembling pussy, before putting out their dicks to simply put inside you! thanos was too teasy about it, he'd have the tip of his dick brushing against your pussy lips, slightly pushing past your hole, but he'd pull out quickly, leaving you to clench against thin air. "nn... please..." as much as you didn't want to, he'd make your subconscious beg for it! to beg for more! "beg more, baby, let me hear." "please, pleas-! hoh- fuck!" and when you did beg for more... nam-gyu, who was underneath you, would fully push inside your other hole, leaving a loud groan to echo your ears. "so tight, holy fuck. not used to anal?" you nod, it was pretty obvious. though that didn't stop him from starting a brutal pace, leaving you moan out from the pain and stinging feeling, whining about how it hurts too much... "stop bitching around, and take it, that's all your good for, yeah?" all the while, thanos's dick would teasingly brush against your clit, giving it the slightest bit of attention.

and when thanos would feel generous enough to slide inside your needy cunt, who was aching for his dick to finally be shoved, prepare for the thick loads of seed to be inside you, i mean, he seems pent up all the time. the sight of leaking cum out of you, juicing their balls dry, was too rewarding. "ah bro, i feel like a true VIP now," thanos would laugh. "she's beginner at best, i woulda paid less." that hurt a bit... still, they'd take turns to fuck your cunt and ass, dumping their load inside, leaving your body to become a container of their white sticky juice, you'd pass out from the contact, losing breath, and the compact space. :< "we'll come back again, okay?" "we already trained you for next time. don't forget."

now you're left in the VIP bathroom, your unconscious body lying on the tiled floor, they didn't even take the time to take off your mask to see your pretty face :(. you were only two holes to them </3.

war is almost over for me, my training is almost over 💓 i'll be free to write moreeeee

[celestiamour]

Any ideas on Squid game characters (esp in ho and Dae ho) x hyper feminine! Reader?

ft. kang dae-ho, hwang in-ho, cho sang-woo, se-mi, cho hyun-ju x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ hyper-feminine! reader┊0.6k words

contains: lots of makeup, jewelry, pink, hyper fem stuff, sugar daddy in-ho, mention of transphobia for hyun-ju’s part

➤ author's note: when will i post a real one-shot? good question

━━━ .°˖✧ kang dae-ho ˚₊ ⊹

╰₊✧ one would think that growing up with four older sisters would make him sick of all the pink and makeup, but it’s quite the opposite! he loves watching you put on your make-up, asking billions of questions about each product and your technique while also interjecting with his own surprising amount of information on the topic. he probably has the ability to do an entire face himself, but finds it a little embarrassing. he also insists that you put on little fashion shows of all your outfits of dresses and blouses acting as your biggest hype man to help boost your confidence. his sisters think you’re a doll, literally, and adore you! they love to steal you away for girls’ night and always return you to him with a basket of things they think would suit you.

━━━ .°˖✧ hwang in-ho ˚₊ ⊹

╰₊✧ you know how buying things like makeup, skincare, jewelry, and clothes can get pretty expensive? well, with him, you don’t have to worry your pretty head over any of those prices and can shop to your heart’s content! he just adores how beautiful you are all dressed up and is willing to buy you an entire store of attire that fits your aesthetic if you so please, you just have to show him with a little twirl and give him a kiss on the cheek afterward. he’s usually like a scary old guard dog with his lovers, but you soften his intimidating presence with how girlish you are, but he doesn’t exactly hate it.

━━━ .°˖✧ cho sang-woo ˚₊ ⊹

╰₊✧ acts annoyed when you have to spend extra time getting ready putting on makeup, spending your money on cute trinkets, and continuously asking him what he thinks of your usually pink outfits. he finds it excessive and sometimes inconvenient, but never vocally says anything against it because he doesn’t want to hurt the feelings he pretends he doesn’t care much about. he doesn’t admit it, but he would be gutted if you stopped living your life as a living barbie especially if it was because of him. it grows on him after a while and you’ll eventually see a glint of affection in his eyes when you’re going about your hyper-fem life. 

━━━ .°˖✧ se-mi ˚₊ ⊹

╰₊✧ loves all things girly (especially girls) even if she doesn’t like it on herself. that being said, it’s the perfect contrast to her aesthetic: smudged eyeliner with glittery eyeshadow, dark cargo pants with pink pleated skirts, gauge earrings with dangly diamond ones, combat boots with high heels, the list goes on and on. every time she sees you applying a fresh layer of lip gloss, she feels a pang in his heart like cupid’s arrow and dramatically pout that you’re too pretty for your own good. she probably wouldn’t let you do her makeup in your style, but she does let you tie little bows into her hair and will fight anyone in the thanos squad who may make fun of her for her soft spot towards you (especially nam-gyu).

━━━ .°˖✧ cho hyun-ju ˚₊ ⊹

╰₊✧ is so grateful to have you on her side helping her out because all the things associated with typical womanhood is a tad bit overwhelming to her. she was literally a sergeant in the military, so studying all things beauty is a bit of a learning curve for her, but she quickly gets the hang of it. also, matching outfits!! she’s a little embarrassed at first, especially pre-transition because she’s worried she doesn’t have the right body type, but you help give her the confidence she needs with her hand in yours and give death glares to any potential assholes before they can even open their mouth.

[lustlovehart]

OH MY GOSH RIDDLE??? He is ACTUALLY a pretty princess now omg. And tangled?? Me and Riddle are the same person fr 🤞🤞

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASEEE imagine being the Eugene to Riddles Rapunzel. (With a few creative liberties <3)

Cw: Rapunzel Riddle, Mother Gothel Ms.Rosehearts, A blade is held to your throat, Threatens of Beheading, You both get really close, Low key just cheesy stuff, Riddle deep in his mothers control and you’re the one who breaks it <33

The moment you set foot into his tower shelves upon shelves of books surround the room, all of which seem pertained to studies that you simply could not care in the least about. A vast majority of them are related to medical while a smaller portion is other educational subjects like Math and English.

It has no matter to you though, all you need is shelter before the guards inevitably catch your thievery. Originally, you believed this place to just be an abandoned library, but the closer you look at it… Fresh tea and a warm plate filled with food that looks plain yet nutritional tells you a different story. Especially how organized and tided the room is, and… The long cascade of red hair that has circled around the room.

You don’t have the chance to fly out the window before someone holds you in place, a blade to your throat.

“Mother said the most important rule is to not let anyone inside.” You don’t turn around to look at your captor, only tightening the grip on your bag.

“Is her rule more important than the law? I hope not—“ before you know it he pulls you to the floor, his long hair tangling into your legs. You finally see his face in all its glory, the sun hugging his skin. He looks… Familiar.

“Yet you’re trespassing. If you really cared for the law you wouldn’t be here!” The blade is closer to your neck, his fingers grazing your skin. He opens his mouth to say more truth, his eyes shifting over to your bag. In turn you catch his gaze when he reaches over.

“Ah ah—! Hey that’s mine you recluse—!” You stretch over to grab your rightful steal before he can, but you’re too late.

“… What’s inside?” It’s a book no doubt, he can tell from the indent of the object through the fabric.

“You don’t talk to anyone but your mommy do you? I’m not telling someone who just tried beheading me!” For a moment his face goes red, expression shifting to anger, ready to yell every rule you’ve broken so far. His rage subsides when he notices the way your freed hand grips his hair.

No one else has touched it but his mother.

When you notice the natural progression of his emotions, you lean into him, your faces a few inches apart. It takes a moment before he realizes how close you are, his body falling back in shock. He buries the book into his body, looking up as your body pins him from above. It’s weirdly a pretty sight, the strands of his crimson hair highlighting your features as it webs your body like webs. He winders what kind of person you are.

“Do you wanna leave?” The words don’t fully process, as if he has never even considered the thought. He doesn’t reply, furrowing his eyebrows in suspicion. He really shouldn’t trust you, not at all, yet your smile seems so genuine he can’t help but feel his worry dissipate at your face. You lower your body down, your chin placing itself on the book, the only obstacle blocking you both from practically embracing each-other. “I’ll help you out, and you can give me the book back.”

He shouldn’t believe you, but the moment you smiled at him, he can’t help but put his belief in you.

“… Riddle.” He leans back up, his hair following him, which only further traps you in himself, but you don’t seem to mind for some reason. Your finger twirls his hair, your hand grabbing onto his.

“Let’s go then, Riddle.” Little does he know, the familarity you felt has been realized.

This Riddle, is your childhood crush who suddenly moved away.

[filthygalli]

Hush

Fem!Reader x Hwang In-Ho

Warnings: MDNI18+, Oral (F receiving), Fingering, Pussy Eating, Overstimulation, SoftDom! In-Ho, Secretive In-Ho, Mentions of Gunshot wound, Light Alcohol consumption, No usage of Y/N (but readers getting called as "Sweetheart" and "Darling"), Not proofread, Let me know if I missed anything! 🖤

Word Count: 1,686

Author's Note: I was so sleepy and I zoned out with this idea, I had the urge to write it because I'm afraid if I sleep it'll be gone by the time I wake up, so I apologize if there's spelling and grammar mistakes!

© Pictures are from: I come by the rain (2009)

You've been married to In-Ho for 3 years. You've known him since you were kids, he's a dominant man but he would worship the ground you walk on, give you expensive things, treat you romantically without you noticing it. That's probably the main reason why you married him.

For over 3 years of marriage, you still don't know what's his work, he always tell you that he's just going out for a ‘business trip’ that he'll be gone for 7 days, you begged for him to tell you what's his work about—but he's just changing the subject quickly, avoiding the question about his work. You let it pass every time though, maybe it's something that you don't need to know, something that it's private—but you're worried, what if something bad happens to him during that ‘business trip'? Though, when he's away he always call you and send you messages when he can, one time you told him you missed him and you need him that you cried on the phone while begging for him to come home, In-Ho's heart ache at the sound on your voice breaking through the line on the phone, sometimes he hates himself from not telling you the truth about what he do, on who he really is…but for the sake of your safety—he choose not to.

He went straight home and cuddled up with you on your shared bed, whispering sweet nothings to your ear as you lay your head on his chest, his breathing calms you down—the way his chest would slowly rise up and down, matching the pace of your breathing, you relaxed at the soft hum of his voice as he tells you that he's sorry for leaving you for almost 3 days, that he'll take you out tomorrow to go and shopping and eat at one of your favorite restaurants in Italy.

But sometimes, you just can't help but ask In-Ho about it, even though you know he'll avoid the question, you wanted to know the truth.

“Sweetheart, I wish I could tell you in detail, but even if I did…you won't understand.” He said, sitting on the leather sofa, a whiskey in his left hand while looking up at you, “It's just…I'm worried,” you sat down beside him, “Last time you went home…you had a wound on your shoulder,” In-Ho clenched his jaw tightly, recalling the incident between him and his brother Jun-Ho, he sighed softly, eyeing you, “I know sweetheart, but I promise I'm ok, nothing to worry about.” he sets down the glass of whiskey on the coffee table as He assured you, he gave you a kiss on top of your forehead, You smiled up at him, “I love you, In-Ho.” You said kissing him, the kiss was gentle and delicate, you liked it when he kiss you like this—taking his time with you, making you take control of him if you want to, his hands travelled up to your waist as he picks you up to sit on his lap, he pulls away slowly, “I love you too, Sweetheart.” He said as he trails down kisses on your jaw all the way down to your neck, you whimper, “In-Ho…” you start to feel a familiar sensation between your thighs, “I know, sweetheart…let me take care of you, hmm?” you nodded eagerly, In-Ho chuckled at your response. He hooked his finger on the strap of your shirt, pulling it down slowly revealing your bare chest to him, “You look so beautiful like this, sweetheart,” he said as he plants kisses on your chest, sucking the exposed skin—leaving reddish marks on it, you whined, “In-Ho…please–” you begged as you looked down on him, still sucking your skin, he looked up, dark brown eyes turned up at you, he trails his warm tongue on your nipple, you moaned as he started sucking it gently. In-Ho can feel himself getting hard, he wants to fuck you right here, right now, but he wants to push you first, to make you feel good.

He released his mouth on your nipple with a loud pop, his saliva glistened on your nipple, “Tell me what you want sweetheart.” He said gripping your neck lightly, not too much to hurt you, “Please.. In-Ho,” you begged, tears started to prickle on the corner of your eye, “Please what, sweetheart?” He said reaching through your cheek to wipe your eyes using his thumb, “Fuck me, please, In-Ho…” you once again begged as In-Ho chuckled, “Want me to fuck you, huh, sweetheart?” He said cupping your chin to look down at him, you didn't say anything and just gave him a whinny look, “Need your words sweetheart,” he said giving you a smirk, “Want you to fuck me, Please In-Ho…” “As you wish, sweetheart.” He said as he lays you down softly on the sofa, he motioned you to lift your hips as he pulls down your shorts, revealing you in your undies, he leans down and trails kisses on your thighs, licking your skin, you whimper as In-Ho chuckled, the vibration of his chuckle sends shivers down on your spine, “Please…” you cried out, “Patience is a virtue, Darling.” He whispered on your skin, his breath feels hot on your skin, you want him to touch you, to fuck you to put you on your place, He hooked his index fingers on the waist band of your undies—exposing your bare cunt Infront of his face, “So wet for me, Sweetheart.” He said as he traced his middle finger on the slit of your pussy—earning a whimper from you, He leaner in as you felt his warm breath on your aching cunt, “In-Ho…please–want you,” your hips jerked up as he looks at you, he glared at you, your breath hitched as he stick his tongue out slightly licking your clit, teasing you as he smirk, “Mmm–” you mumbled, lips pressed together, “Wanna hear your voice, sweetheart, let me hear them.” He said in between kisses on your pussy, You moaned, When In-Ho heard your pornographic moans he eats your pussy like a starved man—slurping every juices that your pussy could offer him, sucking the bundle of nerves, biting the soft skin as your eyes rolled back from the back of your head, you arch your back—gripping your hands on the leather couch as you moaned his name like a broken record, He continues to eat you while looking at you, he reached for your hand that's grabbing the leather couch, softly putting it on his hair, your grabbed his hair tightly—pushing him down on your cunt—you want more, you want more of him, He flicks his tongue faster as he slides his index finger inside your pussy, “Fuck–In-Ho!” You moaned as he curled his fingers inside you, he smirked at the sound of you, priding himself that he could make a mess out of you by just doing this, making you beg for more till you break—of course he will keep giving you more till you can't cum anymore, he'll make you writhe against his touch, make you feel sore, he'll make you unable to walk for days as he pride himself for eating you out and making you cum and squirt all over his face. You started to feel a familiar sensation in your stomach as In-Ho continuously flicked his tongue on your aching clit, you're so gonna be sore for days you'll be staying in bed and call In-Ho for help to stand up, he hasn't fucked you yet and you feel worned out, what more if he rammed his thick cock inside your pussy? He'll rip you apart, not that you don't mind though, you're going to take it like a good girl. His good girl.

“In-Ho…” you cried out, In-Ho felt your pussy clenched around his index finger, he knows you're about to cum and he'll give it to you no matter what. “I know sweetheart, cum for me, Be a good girl and cum on my face,” he said in between a flick of his tongue as his husky voice sent shivers down your spine “ruin my face with your sweet juices, squirt on my face like a damn fountain.”

his voice soft but demanding, you whimpered at his words as you felt him go crazy on your clit, he added a second finger inside you, making you feel full of him already, he pumped his thick fingers inside and out of you, shoving it harshly—hitting every spot inside of you as you shivered and moan his name, “In-Ho!” Is the last thing you screamed as you squirt your juices on In-Ho's face, he hurriedly opened his mouth and slurped everything he could get, not wasting a drop as he repeatedly fuck's you with his tongue, you felt so overstimulated, it's all too much, but you need In-Ho inside of you, you want him badly.

“Stop–I can't! Too much!” you breathe out, “Want you.. inside ah!” You heard him chuckled darkly, “Sweetheart,” he said as he brought up his face a little, his chin and cheeks glistened with your juices, he licked his lips before opening his mouth to talk to you, “Let me make it up to you for those days that I'm gone.” He said as he sat up, unbuckling his belt—not breaking an eye contact with you, you moaned at the sight of him; it always excite you when he does this, it's simple yet so fucking hot and sexy, “I'll make sure you'll forget to ask that damn question,” he said as he threw his pants on the floor revealing his cock, he lined it up on your entrance, gathering some of your juices to use it as a lube for his cock, pre-cum beaded on his tip as he slapped the tip of his cock on your now swollen clit, “The only thing you'll remember is this moment, while I fuck you senselessly with my cock, I'll pump you full with my cum that you'll be leaking for days that I'm gone, You'll only remember how I fuck this pretty cunt of yours.”

Author's Note: I hope you like this one, Its longer than what i've imagined. Anyways, Let me know if you want a part 2 of this one, Thank you for the support!

< Squid Game Masterlist I Main MasterList >

[ang3lmoans]

Angel's deep chuckle resonated in his chest at Rico's reminder of their dynamic.

"I have not forgotten my place. But do I not have a say? And am I not allowed to express my concerns?"

His eyes flickered with confusion as he retracted his hand. Memories of how the other wolves had cowered earlier, a sight that had never sat well with him. But he couldn’t control himself when it came to his mate. He moved closer, his presence attaching itself to the other,

"Until tomorrow, hmm? What happens if I can’t convince you?"

His tone carried equal parts amusement and concern.

"I’m just jealous and concerned. But I can’t seem to communicate that properly. Or turn off the emotion it seems."

Running a hand through his hair, he continued, his voice taking on a thoughtful edge.

"I just want to be more involved. I’ve been reading some of the literature and you're right about the complexity of that battle. High magic like that required precision more than raw power. The original spell's framework needed to be understood before it could be properly manipulated. Allow me to learn more about how to harness my power to be more controlled. By observing you work closely. And working with Thoth more often.”

He paused, nervously falling silent. Angel recognized how much he was asking of the Demi-god.

"Master, please understand. While you may not be bound by my alpha voice, our mate bond gives me every right to worry about your well-being. Consider it less of an order and more of a... strongly worded suggestion from someone who's rather invested in keeping you whole and healthy. I deeply care for you. I’ve proven that, haven’t I?"

UDW: Faction Wars

[syluriar]

please...help me - sylus x mc!reader. part 1

sypnosis: you call sylus to escape caleb.

a/n: i know i'm not the only one who thought this, a lot of us sylus girlies wanted to call out man and get him our of sjyhaven ASAP. so i wrote this little fic for that, and as you can tell by the title this is just part 1. ofc that means there'll be a part 2, maybe a part 3??? let's wait and see :)

warning: caleb being possessive (yandere??). mc (you) feeling uncomfortable and scared of caleb. hurt and some comfort by sylus (i luv you<3 ). this is rushed and like all my fics, have no grammer check.

word count: 990

RING RING

The vibration of the phone rang loudly through the bathroom, the one place Caleb grants you privacy. More than one you were thankful that he wasn’t here, his duty calling him out to do some work, work that you don’t question anymore, exactly how he likes it.

“I’ll be back soon, Pip-squeak,” He said with a tone meaning for warmth, but you feel the opposite, especially when he looks at you with a smile, the one you remember from your childhood, but it’s not the same anymore. 

“Don’t cause any ruckus, ok? We don’t need a repeat of last time.” 

You shudder at the memory, the way his hand had gripped your wrist and dragged you to your bedroom and placed you not so gently on your bed, scolding you not following his orders and locked you in. He would only allow you to come out for food and he would watch you the whole time you ate, sending shivers of fear down your spine the more it went on. It lasted for two weeks, after that you had a bit more freedom, but every night he would announce it was time for you to sleep and lock you in the bedroom, the next would be the same.

And you hated it. You hated how different he was, how much he had changed since you last saw him. Where was the Caleb that joked around with you? The one that always picked you up when you were feeling down? The one that would wipe away your tears and hold you close? 

Where’s one where you felt safe with? 

Gone. He was all gone, and he scared you. You couldn’t stay here any longer, to try and get the old Caleb back. You had enough of being ordered around and being scared. 

RING RING

Despite Caleb’s watchful eye you managed to snag a new phone as he confiscated yours, checking though all your data to make sure you couldn’t leave, Luckily you thought he would do that and got rid of anything that would get you into trouble; contacts, messages and pictures in your camera roll. So far he hasn’t commented on anything which you pat yourself on the back for.

Another thing your proud of is remembering a phone number, just one that you know would get you out of here.

RING RING

“Please pick up…” You whispered desperately. You have called the number twice now, and you hope people are right when people say third time's the charm, because you needed as much luck as possible right now.

RING RING - 

“I must say your persistence to get hold of me is both annoying and -”

“Sylus!” You couldn’t hold back the happiness as you heard his voice, it had been so long since you last heard it.

“...Is that you, sweetie?”

“It is.” You answer, the endearing name making you blush instantly. 

“Who’s phone are you calling on? Did you get a new phone and not tell me?”

“I’ll tell you that later but I need you to listen to me.” Time was of the essence, and you didn’t want to waste any of it. “I need you to track this phone and come help me.”

“Help you?” His tone held confusion. “What trouble have you gotten into now?”

“Don’t ask. I just need you to come to Skyhaven and get me out of here, fast.” You spoke hastily, you might have sounded desperate, but right now you don’t care. 

“You sound weird, kitten. Are you alright?”

Trust him to take notice. “Please, Sylus. I can’t get out of here and I’m….” You take a deep breath, tears threatening to spill. “I’m scared.”

His answer was instant. “I’m coming, sweetie. Don’t worry, I’ll get you out in no time.”

It’s like a weight is lifted off your shoulders, your heart is lighter and a smile graces your lips. “Thank you. Please hurry Sylus, I don’t like it here.”

“I can tell, sweetie. I’ll destroy everything if it means getting you out.”

“Maybe don’t go that far, there are innocent people here.”

“The ones that hold you against your will are nowhere near innocent.”

You grimace as you think about Caleb, a small piece of you feeling guilty for this, but you needed to get out of here, and if that meant hurting Caleb to escape…then so be it.

Looking at the time, you realise you’ve been left on your own for a while, and Calen would be due back soon. The last thing you wanted was for him to find you like this. “I have to go now, but I’ll see you later?”

“As soon as possible, sweetie. I’ve been making arrangements since you first said you needed my help.”

You end the call quickly and stash within your period products, you knew that Caleb never came in your bathroom, but just in case he changed his mind, at least you knew he wouldn’t search through them.

But now your body is full of nerves, you can’t believe you managed to get through to Sylus, even more so that he’s coming to get you. You just have to wait and keep playing Caleb’s game till he comes, which he assured you will be as soon as possible. In Sylus’ language, that could be within a few minutes to an hour. You hope it’s the first option, but you were determined to wait if that’s what it took.

Before leaving the bathroom you remind yourself to go back to your usual personality that Caleb likes, if he see’s any of your happiness he’ll question it, and you don’t know how long you can lie and fake it for. 

So you lower your excitement, lose your smile and take a few deep breaths to calm your beating heart. Once your assured that you’ve gone back to the obedience look, you open the bathroom door - 

“Have a nice phone call, Pip-squeak?”

[olderwomenenthusiast]

tell me in the morning (spencer reid)

PAIRING: spencer reid & fem reader DESCRIPTION: you make sure spencer tells you his confession when he's sober CAUTION: drunk spencer WORD COUNT: 2.1k AUTHOR'S NOTE: not proof read, they never are x

Morgan stared at Spencer, who was swaying slightly on the barstool, eyes half-lidded and a slight slur to his words. "Man, you're not usually like this," Morgan said, an amused yet concerned expression on his face. "Rossi, we need to get him out of here."

Rossi just shook his head, eyeing Spencer with a mix of disbelief and sympathy. "He's not usually this bad, but he’s been on a roll tonight. I think we pushed him a bit too far."

Morgan was already reaching for his phone, dialing your number. The sound of it ringing echoed in his ear. "Hey, it's Morgan. We’ve got a problem. Reid’s way too drunk, and I don’t think he can make it home on his own. Can you come pick him up?"

He paused, hearing the concern in your voice. "Yeah, I know, we tried. But you’re his best bet. Please come get him."

He glanced at Spencer, who was now giggling at some joke only he understood, then back at Rossi. "I’ll keep an eye on him, but he’s not going anywhere until you get here."

When you walked in, you saw Spencer’s usual sharpness completely gone, replaced by a goofy grin and a drowsy gaze. He perked up when he saw you, his eyes widening a little. "Hey, hey, it’s you! My favorite person," he slurred, attempting to stand but stumbling into the table beside him.

"Spence," you said softly, moving quickly to steady him, a little worried at how uncharacteristically vulnerable he was. "Let’s get you out of here, okay?"

He nodded, his head falling onto your shoulder as you helped him to his feet. "I’m fine, really," he muttered, but it was clear he wasn’t. He leaned into you more than usual, his weight pressing heavily on your side.

Morgan shot you a quick, apologetic look, and Rossi gave a knowing nod, both stepping back to let you take the lead.

"You’ve got him, right?" Morgan asked.

"Yeah," you replied, though there was no hiding the concern in your voice. "Don’t worry. I’ve got him."

Spencer gave a soft laugh, his arm sliding around your waist as you guided him out of the bar. "You always know how to make me feel better," he murmured, his voice muffled against your shoulder.

You smiled, though it was laced with worry. "Let’s just get you home, Spence."

As you led Spencer out of the bar, his head bobbing slightly as he struggled to stay upright, you could feel the weight of the situation settling in. He was usually so put-together, so controlled—this side of him, so vulnerable and unguarded, was unsettling.

"You really went all in tonight, huh?" you asked, trying to keep your voice light, even as your concern deepened.

Spencer chuckled softly, but there was an odd, almost self-deprecating edge to it. "I just… wanted to forget, you know? For a little while. It’s... hard sometimes."

You stopped, glancing at him. He looked at you, eyes unusually glassy, but there was still that familiar vulnerability in his gaze. "Spence, you don't have to do this alone, you know. We’re here for you."

He leaned against you a little more, letting out a sigh. "I know. It’s just... sometimes it feels like I’m too much, even for you guys. Like I’m a burden." His words were slower now, a quiet honesty slipping out as the alcohol loosened his usual guardedness.

Your heart clenched. You didn’t know if it was the alcohol talking or if Spencer truly felt this way, but you weren’t about to let him believe he was a burden to anyone—especially not to you. "You’re not a burden, Spencer. Never have been. We care about you. I care about you."

His head tilted up, just enough to catch your eyes, and for a moment, the playfulness faded as the weight of his words seemed to sink in. "You do?" he asked softly, almost like a whisper, his voice vulnerable in a way you weren’t used to.

You nodded, your hand gently brushing his cheek. "Of course. You're one of my closest friends, Spence. I’ve always got your back."

Spencer didn’t say anything for a few moments. He just stared at you, his expression unreadable, before a small, grateful smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Thank you," he whispered, voice full of sincerity.

You smiled back, guiding him toward the car. "Let's just get you home, okay? We'll talk more in the morning."

As you helped Spencer into the car, the ride back was filled with a kind of quiet tension. His hand rested on the seat between you, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to reach for you, but he never quite did. His usual intelligence and wit seemed clouded, and his mind wandered more than it usually would. Every now and then, he'd mumble something under his breath, something you couldn't quite catch, but it didn’t seem important at the time.

However, as you pulled into the parking spot outside his apartment, he looked over at you with an intensity that was too sharp for the state he was in.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" His voice was softer than usual, almost fragile.

"Of course," you said, keeping the car in park and looking over at him. You noticed how his eyes were fixed on you, a kind of vulnerability in them that you hadn’t seen before.

He shifted, leaning closer, his breath warm on your face. "I’ve been meaning to say this for a long time," he continued, words slow, as if working through something heavy in his mind. "I... I think I’ve always loved you."

Your heart skipped a beat, and the air between you both seemed to hang still for a moment. You blinked, trying to process what he was saying, but Spencer was already moving closer, his hand finding your arm as he leaned in, eyes closing in anticipation of a kiss.

For a brief moment, you froze, feeling a mixture of shock, confusion, and concern. This wasn’t right—not now, not like this.

"Spence," you said, your voice gentle, but firm. You placed your hand on his chest to keep him from leaning in further, your heart pounding in your chest as you made sure he was steady. "I care about you, I do. But this... this isn’t something we should do right now, not when you’re drunk."

He stilled, his face faltering for the briefest of seconds, and when he pulled back, his eyes seemed distant, like he was already retreating into himself. "Oh," he muttered, almost to himself, looking away from you. "Right. I didn’t think... I guess I just thought... you’d feel the same." His voice was tinged with hurt, and that small, vulnerable side of him seemed to sink even further.

You took a deep breath, your hand still gently on his arm, and you spoke softly, careful not to dismiss his feelings. "Spencer," you started again, searching his eyes, making sure he understood. "If you still feel the same way in the morning when you’ve had time to clear your head, then we can talk about it. We can see where things go. But right now, I don’t want you to make any decisions when you’re not yourself."

His expression faltered, but he nodded, albeit reluctantly. "Yeah, okay," he muttered, his gaze dropping. "I just... I just thought... never mind."

You could see the pain behind his words, and it made your heart ache. You reached out to gently squeeze his shoulder, giving him a comforting look. "It’s okay, Spence. Just... let’s get you inside and get some rest. We'll talk more tomorrow, alright?"

He didn’t respond at first, but when you helped him out of the car, his steps were slower, as if the weight of his confession and your response had settled on his shoulders. Inside his apartment, you made sure he was settled onto the couch, and though you could see the disappointment and hurt in his eyes, you also knew that this wasn’t the end of whatever was beginning between you two. It was just a pause, a moment where time had to catch up with feelings and circumstances.

"Sleep, Spence," you whispered, tucking a blanket around him. "I’ll be here when you wake up."

He looked up at you one more time, his gaze soft but weary. "Okay," he said quietly, before closing his eyes. "Thanks for... not making this worse."

You watched him drift into a restless sleep, a swirl of emotions in your chest as you settled into the chair beside him. You didn’t know what the morning would bring, but for now, you stayed by his side, knowing that whatever happened, you would work through it together - when he was ready.

The smell of coffee filled the kitchen as you busied yourself with the morning routine, the soft clink of mugs and the steady drip of the coffee maker offering a comforting normalcy after last night’s emotional rollercoaster. You were trying to focus on the task at hand, but your mind kept wandering back to Spencer, and the confession he had drunkenly blurted out in the car. You hoped that, with time, things would settle; though the quiet anticipation in your chest told you otherwise.

Then, you heard the familiar soft padding of footsteps behind you. You turned to find Spencer standing in the doorway, looking a little disheveled, his hair sticking out in every direction, but there was a slight glint in his eyes that made him look almost endearing in his disoriented state.

"Good morning," you said, offering him a soft smile as you poured the coffee. "You need pain meds? A glass of water?"

He shook his head, blinking as he seemed to gather himself. "No, surprisingly, no headache. Just... a little embarrassed." He scratched the back of his neck, his nervousness clear in the way he avoided your gaze. "I can’t believe I said that last night."

You raised an eyebrow, turning to face him more fully, leaning against the counter. "What exactly did you say last night, Spence? You’ll have to remind me." You couldn’t help but tease him lightly, letting the playful tone soften the tension that still hung in the air.

Spencer flushed, taking a few slow steps closer to you, his eyes never quite meeting yours, though you could see the vulnerability behind them. "I told you I loved you. And I meant it," he murmured, his voice quieter now, more serious than it had been before. "I just... I needed to tell you. I was too scared before."

Before you could stop yourself, your heart softened. You didn’t need time to think about it; you knew exactly how you felt. You stepped closer to him, your voice barely above a whisper. "I love you too, Spencer." Your eyes met his, and the depth of your words seemed to linger between you both.

He seemed to freeze, a surprised little breath escaping him as he finally allowed himself to look at you, his gaze searching your face for any sign of hesitation. When he found none, he took one more step toward you, his hand reaching out to cup your face, his thumb brushing across your cheek softly, almost as if he were still trying to convince himself this wasn’t just a dream.

"I’m serious," he said, his voice almost pleading now, his fingers gently tracing the curve of your jaw. "I meant it. I love you."

You smiled, feeling a flutter in your chest at the honesty in his words, but couldn't resist the urge to tease him just a little. "I know you meant it, Spence." You let your fingers brush over his hand where it cupped your face. "But it takes a genius like you to get drunk just to finally tell me."

Spencer’s face flushed deeper, and you could see the little smirk that tugged at his lips, despite the embarrassment. "I guess... I guess I needed a little push."

"You definitely did," you teased, leaning forward just slightly, enough that your lips brushed the edge of his cheek. "But I’m glad you got there."

Spencer chuckled softly, a genuine warmth behind the sound. "I promise next time, no alcohol. I’ll be a little more... coherent when I tell you."

You smiled, your hands gently resting on his chest as you looked up at him, heart full of warmth. "I think I’d like that."

He leaned in just a bit closer, his forehead resting against yours for a moment, his breath warm against your skin. "Good, because I plan on telling you a lot more often."

The air between you seemed to settle, a quiet understanding filling the space. Spencer’s nervousness melted away, and in its place was something stronger, something real. You didn’t know what the future held, but as you stood there with him, the weight of last night’s confession didn’t feel so heavy anymore. It felt right.

[revelboo]

Revel, this is very important (Atleast to us-). Me and my friend have both been reading Everything is Alright and we both agree on something, we were hoping that you could make Starscream a Girl dad, and make the first sparkling a girl. Only if you want to though and don't have any plans, we'd be alright if you don't do this too. We both really love and enjoy your writing, and check everyday for new updates from you. <3 Also, considering this is a request, If you don't mind and it isn't too pressuring, could we please have updates on the Brainstorm and Chromedome/Rewind fics?

Sure! I didn’t have a plan yet for Star’s kid so that works. I’ll try to update Chromedome/Rewind, Tailgate/Cyclonus, Sunder, Brainstorm, and Metroplex if I can today

Everything Is Alright Pt 123

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• “If I was in charge, we’d have conquered this miserable mudball already and crushed the Autobots,” Starscream says, lip curling and you freeze. “The Constructicons already have a refinery going, mining is in full swing. But we’d be much further ahead if you hadn’t let those disgusting Insecticons just scurry away. I’ve said that those little savages need to outfitted with mode locks and tracking implants they can’t just remove themselves.” You’ve heard Star’s side of the war. That they were fighting for freedom and to overthrow a corrupt senate, but this is the first time he’s mentioned conquering your world and it leaves you cold inside. Because was that his intention all along? Whispering to you at night whole knowing he was going to destroy everything and not even caring?

• “What do you mean about conquering Earth?” You ask and Soundwave tenses as your emotions begin to build. Glares at Starscream to stop, but the Seeker is on a roll, secure in the knowledge that Megatron can’t hurt him too badly now. Not looking at you to realize you’re upset. ‘The only value in this world is the energon Shockwave seeded millennia ago,’ Starscream says. “The only value? This is my world. My home.” And you’re shrugging off Soundwave’s hand to face the Seeker, little hands balled into fists. Furious and he’s never seen you angry like this before. “What do you to do to worlds you’ve conquered?”

• Rant faltering at the edge in your voice, Starscream sees Megatron smirk and realizes he’s just made a mistake. Wings dropping, he turns back to you and forces a smile. “Nothing to worry yourself over, little one. Our home is Cybertron. Yours now, too.” And your eyes narrow, looking from him to the other two and back as your face reddens and your chin lifts. Why are you so upset? You’ll love Cybertron. You’ll be with him and your sparkling.

• “I asked what you do to the worlds you conquer,” you repeat. “What’s left after you’re done? Is anything left?” Hates that the upset edge in your voice bothers him and knows it’s the bond pulling him to you, urging him to soothe you, but Megatron has no intention of interfering. Enjoying watching the SIC struggling for words, wings flicking as he finally catches on that he’s screwed up. “I’m not going anywhere,” you say, tossing your hands up and striding away, though there’s nowhere you can really go trapped on the berth. Watches Soundwave drift after you, touching your arm and getting his hand slapped. And Starscream is glaring at him like this is all his fault.

• “Typically,” Megatron growls and you turn to glare at him, unsettled by his lazy smile. “Worlds our war spills onto don’t survive.” Breath catching, you wish he was mass displaced so you could slap him. Actually right now, you want to slap all three of them. There has to be a way to keep your idiots from razing your home to ash with their stupid war. They’re bigger and stronger than you, but they need you don’t they? You’d gotten the impression from Star that fully bonding takes ‘til death do us part to the most literal extent. Which means you’ve got leverage to get your way, even if it’s absolutely awful to even consider holding your life over their heads by threatening yourself just to try and get them to behave.. “Though, I might be convinced to spare this world. With the proper motivation.”

• And he can feel the shift in your emotions, the cold calculation. Doesn’t like it one bit, either. Scheming and manipulation isn’t your strength. Curling his arms around you and tugging you back into him when you try to shrug him off, Soundwave tries to pin down exactly what you’re thinking, but as always your mind is too chaotic for him. But he can’t help but be worried. He’d played kingmaker for Megatron, started playing the same game for you, positioning you so you’re safest, but if you’re also playing? It complicates things. Needs to fully bond you as soon as possible so he can better protect you, be able to get a better grasp on your thoughts. Except. There’s the problem of your lifespan. If it was only his life, he’d take it, claim you, but his cassettes need him. Depend on him. And so do you. For the first time he can remember, his path forward isn’t clear to him. What he wants and needs at odds with reason.

Previous

[rowdyluv]

can i request 7g with quinn she/her please🥺

Prompt: “Don’t cry. God, please don’t cry. I hate seeing you like this and not being able to do anything.”

Warnings: anxiety, panic, hints at bad past, wrote & posted no editing (So I re-read it and saw how yucky it looked so it’s semi edited)

Y/n boss appeared at the edge of her cubicle with a sly smile edging his face and his tie slightly askew. "Y/n," he called out, his voice cutting through the low murmur of the office. "I need to see you in my office right away." Her stomach plummeted. If she wanted to make it downtown to Roger’s without any trouble she needed to leave in exactly two minutes. Any later she would be fighting the surrounding area schools.

The office was a blur of desks and faces as she tried to keep her breath steady, trying to not let her anxiety rile her up. What could he possibly want? He hadn’t spoke to her in the last 8 months since she had started dating Quinn. She had been excluded from all other meetings, why now?

Inside his office, he gestured to the chair opposite his desk, his expression unreadable. She sat down, her hands fidgeting in her lap as he closed the door behind her. He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers together. "I know you requested to leave early, Y/n," he said, his eyes closing briefly as he slowly breathed out a sigh. "But I have a... document that requires your attention."

“My…my att..attention?” She stuttered out with growing anxiety. “Can I do it tomorrow? I..I’ll come in early? Stay late?” She asked quietly sitting on the edge of her seat.

His eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk. “I’m afraid it’s rather urgent. It shouldn’t take long. But it’s something that requires your immediate and professional attention.” He said with a rigid tone that left no room for argument.

Y/n’s shoulders slumped as she nodded reluctantly. She could feel the minutes slipping away, each one lowering a heavier weight on her chest. She returned to her desk, her eyes scanning the email. The document was pages and pages of information. “Shouldn’t take long” she muttered to herself. If she worked carelessly it wouldn’t take long, but if she worked as she’s known to it would take her at least two hours to get through it thoroughly. Her mind was racing with the thought of Quinn and his family waiting for her at the arena, wondering where she was.

With trembling hands, she began to work, her eyes darting back and forth over the screen. Her heart felt as if it was in a vice, each beat a painful reminder of the promise she was about to break. The words and numbers started to blur together as she rushed through the text, making mental notes and trying to ensure she didn’t miss any crucial details. The longer she was stuck at her desk the less she cared about her job. She was worried about letting Quinn down, him being disappointed in her, him being mad at her.

Y/n shot off a message to Quinn once she sent an email back to her boss of the finished document. The clock read 6pm, her thumbs moved frantically over the screen as she typed. "Leaving the office now…hope to be there soon! I’m so, so sorry." She sent it with a heavy painful sigh, knowing it was probably too late. Her eyes stung with the threat of tears, and she took a deep breath to compose herself. She couldn’t let her anxiety ruin this for her, not when Quinn had been so supportive of her through all of her mental health struggles.

The city streets were a sea of red brake lights and honking horns. Each minute that passed felt like an eternity. Her chest tightened, and she rubbed her hands over her face, wishing she could just will all of the cars in front of her to move. "Come on," she murmured under her breath desperately her eyes darting to the time. 7:23pm. She quickly typed out another message to Quinn, her heart racing. "I’m so so sorry I’m late. I hope I make it by the start of the second. Traffic's a nightmare.."

Not long after the message sent, her phone was ringing with an incoming call, and she saw it was Quinn. Her hand hovered over the answer button for a second, dread mixing with anticipation. "Hello?" she answered, her voice shaky.

“Y/n.” He sounded relieved. “It’s intermission, they said you never picked up your ticket. Are you okay?” He rushed out. Y/n knew he must of fought his coaches to call her. He never uses his phone during intermissions. She had only been messaging him out previous relationship habits.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m…” She trailed off looking up the highway of bumper-to-bumper traffic. “I’m still stuck in traffic. It’s so bad, I don’t think I’ll make it, Q.. I’ll just..I’ll just go wait for you at your apartment. I’m so sorry, Quinn. I know this game means so much to you and your family. I messed up,” she said, her voice cracking with regret.

“No, no. It’s okay. I’ll see you after. Be careful sweet girl.” Quinn softly says to her in the sweet tone he gives only her.

★★★★

By the time she arrived at Quinn’s luxurious apartment there were only moments left in the game. She not only missed it live in person but also televised. The elevator ride to the top floor seemed to drag on forever, each floor number lighting up with a painful slowness. She stepped out into the hallway, her feet echoing against the hard floor. She fidgeted with her keys, trying to find the right one to unlock the door. Her hands were trembling so badly she could barely hold onto them. With a shaky breath, she pushed the door open and stepped inside. Her anxiety was an ugly, ugly thing.

The thought of him expecting her to be there, only for her to miss, brought a lump to her throat. She sat down on the plush couch, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them tightly. Her mind raced with scenarios of his disappointment and anger, each one more intense than the last. Each scenario ended differently but each had the common denominator of him expressing his disappointment in her. Something about the thought of him saying the phrase ‘I’m disappointed in you, Y/n.’ Made her dizzy, made her nauseous, made her feel like she had committed the most audacious crime. The quiet was deafening, and she found herself holding her breath, waiting for the moment he would come through the door and throw his anger at her.

★★★★

Quinn’s heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway, and she felt a new surge of panic. She leapt to her feet, her heart racing as she rushed towards the door. She threw it open just as Quinn was about to push his key inside the door knob. With wide eyes and erratic breathing, she flung herself at him. Her arms wrapped tightly around his waist. “I’m so sorry, Quinn, I got held up at work and the traffic was horrendous! I tried, I swear, I really, really, reaaalllyy did. I wanted to be there so badly!” she babbled out in a rush.

He looked at her with surprise in his eyes before a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He gently wrapped his arms around her, lifting her just enough off the ground to walk inside, “It’s alright, it’s okay,” he murmured soothingly, his breath warm fanning against her ear. “You’re here now, that’s all that matters.”

He set her down gently on the couch taking a spot right beside her and she felt a little calmer just by being in his space. Quinn sat so close to her, trying to give them a little bit of privacy. What little they could earn with his parents and brother standing feet away. Y/n took a deep breath, preparing for the blow that would never arrive.

"Pretty girl, why are you crying?" He whispered, his thumb brushing against her cheek. "I’m not mad at you, I promise." His eyes held contact with hers, filled with concern and confusion. Y/n sniffled, trying to compose herself. "I..it's just that… It’s just I missed a game you really wanted me to be at. One we’ve talked a lot about. You might not be made, but I wanted to be there for you," she managed to get out, her voice cracking with emotion.

Quinn’s face softened, and he pulled her into his chest, her head resting snuggly against his chest. "I see… You’ve labeled it was important to me because I was playing, but honey it’s just a game. It’s seeing my family that’s important. Them seeing you too. That’s why I wanted you there. I wanted to look up and see you cheering for me and my brothers next you mom.” He explained rubbing her back in an assuring way. “So, next Hughes Bowl is in Jersey and I will be fixing your arrangements first thing Monday morning. Right now? I’m more concerned about you than a silly hockey game." He kissed the top of her head, his hands rubbing circles into her back. "You’re here now, thats what is important."

Y/n looks up at him, placing her chin on his chest. A couple stray tears slipping down her face.

"Baby, please don't cry," Quinn murmured, his voice thick with concern. "It kills me when you cry."

Y/n sniffled, her eyes meeting his. "They're happy tears, I promise," she said with a wobbly smile. "I'm just so... thankful that you're you. That you understand."

“I’m nothing like anyone you’ve been with before me. I take care of you, of us.” Quinn affirms wiping her cheeks. “Now come meet my momma before she interrupts us to introduce herself.”

[soluversworld]

Pardonnez-moi, Monsieur!- Solivan brugmansia x Yan!G.N Reader!

Words:10004

Genre: Yandere-(Self aware yandere won the poll)

Summary: You’ve become consumed by your obsession with Solivan Brugmansia. What started as innocent curiosity quickly spiraled into a fixation. He started it and you began to stalk him, learning every detail about his life. You felt a sick sense of satisfaction in making Sol’s world safer while growing increasingly delusional about your connection with him. Your love for him deepens as you fantasize about the future, convinced that you are the one who truly understands him—better than anyone else. Despite the line between reality and obsession blurring, you remain certain: Sol is yours, even if he doesn’t know it yet.. You’re his and he’s yours…

( Reader is a g.n!)-

Trigger Warning: This content contains themes of obsessive behavior, stalking, manipulation, mental instability, and delusional thinking, Drugging, Yandere?, Hopeless in love for attention Please read with caution.

Obsessive behavior: The reader becomes dangerously fixated on someone, bordering on stalking and delusion.

Manipulation: The reader engages in schemes to control or harm others, often through deception.

Mental illness: Delusional thinking, possible dissociation from reality, and unhealthy fixation on someone.

Violence: There are references to bullying, physical harm, and emotional manipulation.

Emotional abuse: Both in terms of how the protagonist manipulates others and how they might internalize toxic behaviors.

Stalking: The reader watches and follows the person they are obsessed with.

You always knew something was off within the labyrinth of your mind, an ache that whispered solitude in every corner. Perhaps it was loneliness, so profound that you yearned for someone to notice you—anything to shift the weight of your gaze from them to you. Some flicker of curiosity, a moment that lingered in the eyes of another.

Love? No, it wasn’t something you believed you deserved. That thought had long been etched into your consciousness like a brand. But if, by some twist of fate, someone were to fall for you, you’d ensnare them with relentless support until they admitted it, an inexplicable, almost desperate logic born from the shadowed corners of your heart.

The end of the first semester brought the storm. It wasn’t just another rough day; it was the day you became a target for the school’s cruelest crew. Fists flew, words cut, and everything seemed to blend into one terrifying blur until Crowe stepped in, his eyes dark with determination.

“Thank goodness you’re unharmed,” he gasped, breathing heavily, each word a raw mix of relief and pain.

“You’re worried about me? Look at you, you’re the one who’s hurt!” Your voice quivered, the disbelief clashing with gratitude.

He stood there, battle-worn and steady, blood trickling from a split lip, the bruises stark against his pale skin. Those who had cornered you were finally satisfied, leaving with the empty laughter of the bored and cruel. Crowe looked at you and shrugged, the glint in his eyes softening.

“As long as you’re safe, this doesn’t matter.”

A warmth spread through your chest, alien and consuming. Someone cared. Someone defended you, unyielding in their resolve.

“What’s your name, crazy prince?”

He managed a tired, almost mischievous smile. “Jericho. Jericho Ichabod. But just call me Crowe.”

You exhaled a shaky breath. “Nice to meet you, Crowe. Call me Y/N.”

That moment in the clinic, under the unforgiving fluorescent lights and the sterile scent of antiseptic, became the silent contract that bonded you two. You shared conversations, silent glances, and a strange understanding that made the world seem a little less harsh. For a while, you even harbored a crush, tender and tentative.

But then it hit you, as sudden as that fateful day. Crowe would have done the same for anyone—he was simply good. He was kind. The realization struck with an ache so deep it nearly broke you. Love, you learned, was an unrequited script in your story. But you respected him too much to let it taint what was there.

You laughed at the absurdity of your own heart, wondering how it had come to this: delusional, hopeful, but still grateful for the fleeting feeling of being someone’s concern.

There was always that gnawing thought, like a shadow, lurking at the back of your mind. You tried to shake it off, but it whispered relentlessly: There’s something wrong with the way you love. Maybe it was the way you sought attention, not in small doses but in that raw, hungry kind of way. The way you craved someone’s gaze not as a fleeting glance but as an unwavering fixation.

Too much, you thought, turning the phrase over and over like a bitter pill on your tongue. You wanted to be loved so desperately that it bordered on obsession, a gnawing, insatiable need. It wasn’t the soft, gentle kind of love you read about or saw in movies—it was something darker, almost suffocating. It made your chest tighten with both longing and dread.

You swallowed hard, a dry laugh slipping past your lips as the thought settled in: That’s just you, isn’t it? Creepy Y/N, always wanting more, always needing to be consumed by the flame of someone’s attention. A shiver traced down your spine, and you hugged your arms close, seeking comfort in the cold truth.

Now, you’ve perfected the act. You’ve slipped so far into delusion that reality feels like it’s cracking at the edges, and your mind might not make it back intact. But you only have one task: work relentlessly and pay off the debt, save the farm that’s been the lifeblood of your family.

Your obsession with love, you remind yourself, is nothing but a sickness—a distraction, unhealthy and unneeded. Focus, you think. Study. Keep your head down. Your father believes in you, doesn’t he? He trusts you with this responsibility. But would anyone love a mess like you anyway? The question loops bitterly in your mind, self-loathing taking hold before you even have the chance.

“Pathetic, isn’t it?” You tell yourself.

Something felt off for a few weeks now, like an odd tension building in the corners of your life. It was… something. It wasn’t anything you could pinpoint, but you couldn’t shake the feeling.

A pair of eyes, always there, always watching. At first, it was subtle—just a flicker of awareness when you turned a corner or sat down. But it was more than that. It was almost a presence, an invisible force that seemed to follow your every move. It wasn’t a simple glance. No, it was far more intense, almost stalking.

And yet, a strange part of you… liked it. It sent a thrill through you, a kind of adrenaline rush you couldn’t explain. You’d find yourself sitting in class, pretending to study, but the sensation of being watched made your heart race. It wasn’t discomfort—it was excitement, a twisted thrill, something you couldn’t shake.

It wasn’t just at University. No, it followed you home too. As you entered your room, you couldn’t help but feel the familiar weight of someone’s gaze on you, lingering in the dark corners, watching through the crack in your door. Your mind spun with a chaotic mix of fear and anticipation. Who was it? Why were they watching you?

There was no reason for it—at least, none you could rationalize. And yet, you found yourself… hoping to meet them. Wanting to meet them. A part of you longed to finally see the one who’d been following you in the shadows. Because somehow, you knew they were close. You knew they were waiting for the right moment to step out from the

The next morning, something was off. The usual routine of brushing off your paranoia seemed heavier, more tangible. Your bedroom window, which you always locked at night, was ajar. Not just unlocked—it had slid open slightly, exposing a crack wide enough to send shivers down your spine. You tried to push it closed, but the latch was broken, the mechanism jammed beyond repair. Had it always been like this?

You stared at it for a moment, the realization sinking in: someone could have come in. Someone might have been inside.

You tried to shake it off, but as the day went on, more pieces fell into place. A gnawing sense of violation crept up your spine when you went to grab your laundry and noticed… something was missing. Not just something—specific clothes. Shirts you’d worn recently, soft hoodies you curled up in, a pair of socks that didn’t match but had sentimental value. Gone.

Your chest tightened, panic flooding your veins, but it wasn’t just fear. A part of you—some sick, pathetic part—felt thrilled. Someone is watching me.

The thought settled in, heavy and dark, but the sharp edges of logic began to dull. Who would stalk you? You’re not even pretty. You weren’t special. Not worth the effort. And yet, here you were, clothes missing, your window breached, the unmistakable weight of someone’s gaze following you through every step of your day.

“Normal people would think this isn’t fine,” you muttered aloud to yourself, trying to anchor yourself in rationality. This isn’t fine. This isn’t okay.

But the words fell flat. Somewhere in your mind, reality started to bend. Yes, it was wrong—stalking was wrong. It was invasive, dangerous, terrifying. And yet, the pounding in your chest wasn’t just fear. It was curiosity. It was longing.

The thought twisted in your mind, dark and intrusive: What kind of person would go this far just for me? They must care. They must want to know you in a way no one else ever had. What do they see when they watch? What do they think about?

You couldn’t help yourself. The idea of being desired so intensely that someone would break into your life, leave pieces of themselves hidden in the cracks of your existence—it sent a thrill through you. Wrong. So wrong. But intoxicating.

You paced your room that evening, staring at the broken latch on the window. The moonlight spilled across the floor in sharp lines, almost like it was pointing at the scene of the crime. A part of you wondered if they were watching now. Standing somewhere in the dark, just out of reach, their breath fogging up the glass.

Who even are you? Why me?

The questions spun in your mind, each one pulling you deeper into a strange obsession of your own. You should be scared. You should be scared. But instead, you were intrigued. Drawn in. You wanted to know this person, to see the face that lingered in the shadows.

You sat down at your desk, your reflection catching in the window’s glass. “This isn’t normal,” you said softly, your voice cracking slightly. “I shouldn’t feel like this. I shouldn’t want this.”

But you did. You couldn’t deny it any longer. The thought of someone dedicating their time, their energy, their every waking moment to you—it filled a hole you didn’t know existed. You craved that kind of devotion, twisted as it was.

You caught yourself smiling, a wry, self-deprecating grin. “God, I’m a mess,” you whispered. You leaned back in your chair, staring at the ceiling. Why do I feel this way?

The truth settled in, stark and undeniable: you’d never felt wanted before. Not like this. And now, even if it was wrong, even if it was dangerous, you couldn’t help but feel… excited. Like something in your life was finally happening, shaking you out of the monotony of existence.

You wanted to meet them. To see them. To understand the face behind the gaze that followed you everywhere you went. You told yourself it wasn’t love—not yet. But it was something. Something raw and electric, and you weren’t sure you could resist it.

Your fixation deepened, evolving from a vague thrill to deliberate action. The missing items didn’t alarm you anymore—they exhilarated you. At first, it was small things: a pen left behind on a desk or the bench outside class. Accidental, you told yourself. But you knew better. You weren’t careless. You’d started leaving things on purpose, wondering, hoping, knowing they would take them.

And they did.

The pen was gone when you returned, replaced by nothing but the faintest hint of satisfaction in your chest. You tested it again, leaving behind a notebook with a stray doodle inside—gone by the next day. It became a game. A secret dance between you and this unknown figure lurking in your shadow.

The knowledge that someone wanted these pieces of you made your heart race. Pathetic, you thought, but the warmth in your chest told a different story. You were addicted to the idea, to them. And soon, you weren’t just leaving things behind. You were creating a world where they could exist freely.

You didn’t fix the window. Why would you? You liked to imagine them climbing through it, their hands brushing against the sill, their breath in your room. Fixing it would shut them out, make their life harder. You couldn’t do that—not to them. You told yourself it wasn’t because you wanted them inside, because you were inviting them in. No, it was just… considerate. Thoughtful.

The laugh that bubbled up from your throat at the thought startled you. Soft, at first, then louder. “I’m losing it,” you murmured, but the giggles didn’t stop. They spilled out of you, an almost giddy sound as you turned the idea over and over in your head.

If they were coming in, why not make it easier for both of you? Why not see them, finally see them?

That night, you slipped a tiny camera into the corner of your room, hidden carefully in the folds of an old, dusty bookend. It was subtle, unassuming—nothing that would stand out to anyone who didn’t know it was there.

The thrill of it sent a shiver down your spine. Soon, you’d have answers. Soon, you’d see their face, their expressions, their intent. Ah, what would they look like? You’d imagined it before, of course—soft features, a piercing gaze, maybe even a shy smile. Someone who would look at you with the intensity that had kept you up at night, that had followed you for weeks.

You sat in the middle of your room that night, staring at the blinking light on the camera, anticipation coiling in your stomach. “You’ll come, won’t you?” you whispered to no one. The silence answered back, but you weren’t disheartened. You knew they’d come.

You could feel the laughter building up in your chest again, giddy and uncontrollable. The corners of your lips curled upward as you muttered, “I’m going to see you. Heheh… Soon.” The giggle turned into full-blown laughter, sharp and manic as it filled the room.

This wasn’t normal. It wasn’t healthy. But God, it was intoxicating.

The thought of finally meeting them, of knowing them, sent your thoughts spiraling. Your hands trembled as you checked the camera one last time before heading to bed. It was all set. Everything was perfect. All that was left was to wait.

As you lay in bed, staring at the broken window, your mind swirled with fantasies of what was to come. Maybe they’d speak to you, confess their reasons for watching, for taking your things. Maybe they’d admit their feelings—feelings you were sure existed, even if you couldn’t yet see them.

And if they didn’t? Well, you’d find out soon enough.

“Come on,” you whispered to the empty room, your voice trembling with a mixture of excitement and desperation. “Don’t keep me waiting too long.”

And with that, you closed your eyes, letting the thrill of anticipation lull you into restless sleep.

You wake up, drowsy and groggy, blinking as you register the faint glow of your camera’s recording light. Your heart skips—not from fear but from a jittery excitement. Did it catch something? Your hands move faster than your thoughts, fumbling to pull up the footage.

Last night had been a blur. You’d tried so hard to stay awake, but the meal you’d eaten earlier had lulled you into a deep, undisturbed sleep. As you scroll through the recording, skipping the mundane moments of you tossing and turning, the feed jumps to him.

The man.

His hair, black with vivid green streaks, is loose, falling in soft waves around his face. The mask he wears obscures most of his features, but his eyes—crimson red on the outer ring with fiery orange at their centers—gleam, focused solely on you. His attire is dark and layered: a black t-shirt over a green-striped long-sleeve, necklaces clinking softly with each of his movements. You even catch a glint of the metallic piercings decorating his ears, the upside-down cross swaying slightly as he leans closer.

And then, he speaks.

“Finally found you, pumpkin,” his voice is soft, smooth, almost reverent. You freeze, your pulse hammering against your ribs. Pumpkin?

“I’m sorry about the window,” he continues, running gloved fingers along the edge of your desk. “But it’s a good thing you didn’t fix it, still.” His tone is teasing, like he’s scolding and praising you all at once.

Your hands hover over the keyboard as he approaches your sleeping form on the screen. He kneels beside you, brushing back a strand of hair from your face with deliberate care. “Hyugo’s pills do work,” he murmurs to himself, chuckling faintly. “They make you sleep so peacefully. I can finally see you at night…”

Then, he leans down. His masked face inches closer to your cheek. You watch, your breath caught, as he plants the softest kiss on your skin.

That explains it. The faint pressure you’d felt in your sleep—the fleeting warmth. Your hand instinctively touches the spot on your cheek, even now, feeling its ghost.

Yet instead of terror, instead of the dread that should’ve consumed you, your heart flutters. A warmth blooms in your chest, spreading, suffocating. You press your clasped hands to your lips, trembling not in fear, but in something else entirely.

The stalker. The man. He…he likes you? Watches you every night, praises you even in your most unguarded moments? It’s wrong. It’s so obviously wrong. The rational part of your mind screams at you to call for help, to fix the window, to run far away.

But instead, you giggle.

The sound bubbles out of you uncontrollably, and you quickly clamp a hand over your mouth. You know this isn’t normal. You know something is terribly broken inside of you. But that knowledge doesn’t stop the twisted elation coursing through your veins.

He’s here. He sees you. He wants you.

You rewind the footage, watching it again. This time, you focus on his words, on the reverent way he speaks to your unconscious self. You note the details: the shine of his hair, the small buckle on his collar-like choker, the way his spider-bite piercings catch the moonlight when he tilts his head. He’s beautiful, like something plucked out of your dreams—or maybe your nightmares.

And now, he’s real.

Your hands shake as you stop the playback, staring blankly at the paused image of him by your bedside. The mask hides so much, but his eyes—they burn into you, even through the screen. You imagine what it would be like to see him without it, to hear his voice unfiltered, to—

You slap your cheeks, shaking your head. Focus, Y/N.

But the truth clings to you, suffocating and intoxicating all at once. You know he’s a stalker. You know this situation is dangerous. Yet the thought of fixing the window, of locking him out for good, feels unbearable. The idea of never seeing him again—of never hearing his voice, his praises—sends a pang of despair through you.

“Delusional,” you whisper to yourself, laughing softly. You curl into yourself, gripping the camera tightly. “I’m so delusional.”

But even as you say it, even as you acknowledge the depths of your spiraling thoughts, you can’t stop the lovesick smile creeping across your face.

You couldn’t shake the image of him—the stalker who had taken such a twisted interest in you. His voice, his praise, the way he watched you with that obsessive focus—it haunted your waking thoughts and danced through your dreams.

You needed to know more about him.

At first, you tried to find clues, anything that could lead you to his identity. You scoured your campus, paying close attention to anyone with black and green-streaked hair, those fiery orange-crimson eyes, or piercings that matched the ones you’d seen on the footage. But nothing. He was a ghost, blending seamlessly into the crowd or watching from somewhere beyond your grasp.

Still, you didn’t give up. Each day, you upped your game. You adjusted your routine to appear natural, but always left subtle traces behind—a scarf forgotten on a bench, a pen dropped intentionally in class. When you circled back, the items were always gone, confirming he was following you even during the day. Good, you thought with a lovesick smile.

Then there was the matter of the food.

You began preparing two batches of every meal—one real and one fake. The fake was the key to your plan. You seasoned it as usual but spiked it with just enough sleeping pills to incapacitate. You made sure to label it with your name, store it visibly in your fridge, and place a half-finished glass of juice beside it. You wanted it to look lived-in, convincing, a perfect trap should he decide to raid your kitchen while you left so he can do be fooled with the fake, food.

Your window remained unfixed, and you started leaving the back door slightly unlocked, just in case. You didn’t want to inconvenience him. He might notice and think you were trying to keep him out, and you couldn’t have that.

Meanwhile, your eyes darted constantly across the campus, scanning crowds for any hint of him. You noted everyone’s schedules, mapped out their movements, even engaged in small talk to see if anyone slipped or seemed overly interested in you. But you were careful, never letting on that you were actively looking for someone.

The high alert you maintained made your classmates think you were just unusually focused. Nobody questioned you, and you made sure to keep up appearances: smiling, laughing when appropriate, pretending you didn’t feel eyes on you during every step you took.

Your awareness sharpened to the point where you could feel even the subtlest shifts in your environment. A shadow lingering a little too long, footsteps trailing you just far enough to seem coincidental, and the faint brush of something in your periphery. It thrilled you.

That night, everything was in place. You prepared your fake dinner, complete with a side of drugged juice, and left it in the kitchen. The back door was left unlocked, the window slightly ajar. You dimmed the lights in your room, slipped into bed, and forced yourself to feign sleep.

Your heart raced as you waited. Will he come tonight?

Time passed, but you stayed still, fighting the urge to peek at the camera feed. If this worked, you would finally get what you wanted—a glimpse of him unguarded, vulnerable.

The plan worked almost too perfectly. The camera, discreetly tucked in a shadowy corner, confirmed what you already suspected—he was breaking in nightly. Sol fell for the fake food every time, drugging it to keep you in a deeper sleep. You couldn’t help but feel a twisted sense of pride. He’s trying so hard for me.

That night, you left everything in place as usual. The drugged fake food was strategically left out, the door slightly ajar, and your performance as a deep sleeper rehearsed to perfection. You even regulated your breathing to mimic the rise and fall of slumber, fully aware he was watching. The excitement bubbled under your skin, but you held it in check. Be still. He can’t suspect.

You felt him enter, the faintest whisper of air as the door creaked open. He moved quietly, though not silently. Every step he took was deliberate, careful not to wake you. You heard the faint sound of him checking the food, his soft hum of satisfaction as he saw it gone!. Good. He thinks I ate it.

The mattress dipped under his weight as he sat down beside you. Your pulse quickened, but you kept your breathing steady, your body relaxed. He leaned close, his breath warm against your neck.

“Pumpkin…” he whispered, the word barely audible, yet it sent a shiver down your spine. His voice was soft, tender, laced with a devotion that felt almost holy in its intensity. “You’re so perfect, you know that? Even when you sleep, you’re beautiful.”

You felt his hand brush against your hair, a soft caress like you were something precious, fragile. He moved closer, the faint scent of his cologne enveloping you. Then, he did something you didn’t expect—he lay down beside you. His arm draped over your waist, pulling you close as though you belonged there, as though this was his right.

He buried his face in your neck, inhaling deeply. “You smell like heaven,” he murmured, his voice barely above a breath. “I’ve waited so long for this. To hold you. To be close to you.”

Your heart clenched. Not in fear or disgust—no, it was something else entirely. He’s… cute? The thought struck you like a lightning bolt, absurd and yet undeniable. There was something endearing about the way he clung to you, his touches reverent, his voice filled with genuine emotion. This is wrong. He’s a stalker. He drugs my food. He breaks into my house… but… You bit the inside of your cheek to suppress a smile.

He continued to whisper sweet nothings, his words blurring into a hazy mix of praise and adoration. “You’re everything to me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” His hand slid up to brush your hair back, his fingers lingering on your cheek. “You’re mine, pumpkin. You’ll always be mine.”

A part of you wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Mine? You were the one trapping him, leading him into this elaborate game of cat and mouse. And yet, his words made your heart flutter. What is wrong with me? you thought, though the answer was glaringly obvious. You were broken, disturbed, a sick and twisted mirror of his obsession.

But you were self-aware, at least. That counted for something, didn’t it? No. No, it doesn’t, you admitted silently, feeling a pang of guilt.

Still, you played your part perfectly. You didn’t stir as he shifted, wrapping his arms around you more tightly. You felt the weight of his head resting against yours, his breath warm and steady.

“You make me feel alive,” he whispered. “Even if you don’t know it, even if you’d hate me if you did… I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. But instead of fear, you felt a sick sense of satisfaction. He needs me.

You clasped your hands together under the blanket, holding them to your mouth as though in prayer. Your lips curved into a soft smile, hidden from his view. This was real. Someone wanted you, needed you, loved you so obsessively it consumed them.

It didn’t matter that it was wrong, that it was dangerous. You weren’t afraid. If anything, you felt secure, wrapped in the warmth of his embrace. How ironic, you thought, giggling softly in your mind. The stalker makes me feel safe.

The hours dragged on, but he didn’t move. He stayed there, holding you as though he was afraid you’d vanish. When his breathing finally evened out, signaling he’d fallen asleep, you dared to open your eyes just a sliver.

You caught a glimpse of his face, partially obscured by the strands of his black-and-green hair. Even in sleep, there was a softness to his features, a vulnerability that made your chest ache.

He’s beautiful.

You closed your eyes again, biting your lip to stifle another giggle. You were a good actor, yes, but deep down, you knew the truth. You weren’t pretending for his sake. You were pretending for yours, to keep up the illusion that you still had control.

Because the reality was, you didn’t.

He had you just as much as you had him.

Each night, you lay in bed, pretending to be under the spell of the fake food laced with sleeping pills. Each night, he came to you, a shadow in the moonlight, and you reveled in his presence.

Your adoration for him grew like an uncontrollable fire, consuming every rational thought. The notebook you’d started was your secret shrine to him. Sketches filled the pages—his face, his hair cascading like a dark waterfall, his intense eyes, the way his lips curled into the faintest smile when he whispered sweet things to your sleeping form. You had to capture it all. Your pencil scratched furiously, your mind replaying his words, his touch, the way he’d caress your face and murmur promises as if you were his most precious treasure.

That night, you prepared everything as usual. The fake food sat on the counter, the door left just barely ajar, your blankets pulled up to mimic serene sleep. You curled into the mattress, feigning slumber, though your heart raced with anticipation.

The familiar sound of the door creaking open sent a thrill down your spine. His footsteps were soft but unmistakable, and you felt the mattress shift as he sat down beside you. Here we go.

“Pumpkin,” he murmured, his voice tinged with a tenderness that made your chest ache. His hand brushed your hair back from your face, and you fought the urge to smile. “Why don’t you ever turn back to look at me? I saw you at class today…”

Your breath hitched ever so slightly. What?! Your mind raced, but you maintained your facade. His voice was soft, almost pleading, and it tugged at something deep inside you.

He sighed, lying down beside you and draping an arm over your waist. His grip was possessive, but his touch was gentle, warm. “I wish you would,” he whispered. “I wish you’d look at me, smile at me, talk to me… God, I’d do anything to make you happy.”

Your heart thudded loudly in your chest. Is this real? His words, his touch, the way he held you—it all felt surreal, like a dream you didn’t want to wake from.

“If anyone bullies you…” he began, his voice low and serious. “They’re done for. I’ll make sure of it.”

Bullies? Your mind latched onto the word. Did he know about the snide remarks, the subtle glances from classmates? Wait… Your heart skipped a beat as realization dawned. Same school?!

You wanted to scream, laugh, cry—every emotion hit you at once. He was there, so close, within reach even during the day. The idea sent a jolt of giddy energy through you. He’s been watching me even then.

He shifted, his lips brushing dangerously close to yours. For a moment, you thought he might kiss you fully, and your heart practically stopped. Instead, he kissed the corner of your lips, lingering just enough to make your stomach churn with a dizzying mix of emotions.

“You’re so perfect,” he whispered. “Good night, pumpkin.”

You waited, your body tense, until you heard the faint click of the door closing behind him. Only then did you sit up, your breaths coming fast and shallow. Same school, your mind repeated, looping the thought like a mantra.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed, your fingers trembling as you opened your notebook. The sketch of him was already half-finished, but now you added the details you hadn’t dared before—the soft smile he wore when he looked at you, the way his hair framed his face like ink spilled on paper. You scribbled furiously, giggling to yourself as your mind replayed his words.

“He’s mine,” you whispered, clutching the notebook to your chest. The idea felt like a delicious secret, one only the two of you shared.

You fell back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, your laughter bubbling up uncontrollably. It was manic, unhinged, and you couldn’t stop. You covered your mouth with your hands, trying to stifle the sound, but it burst out anyway.

He’s at my school. He’s watching me. He wants me.

The thought spiraled in your mind, sending shivers of excitement down your spine. You hugged yourself, the ghost of his embrace still lingering on your skin.

“Ahahaha…” Your laughter echoed in the room, a twisted symphony of delight and madness. This is love, you thought, your smile widening. “He loves me. He loves me so much.”

Dark circles framed your eyes, your energy depleted from balancing your nightly “acting” with day-to-day university life. Every night, after he left, your mind raced with fantasies of him, spinning scenarios that left you restless, yet alive.

Crowe noticed, of course. He always did. His concern showed in the way he glanced at you during lectures, and eventually, he leaned over, whispering, “You look like death. Go to sleep in the next class. I’ll get the notes for you.”

You flashed him a polite smile, brushing off his concern. “I’m fine, really. I was going to head to the library anyway.”

Crowe’s friend Brittney was hard to miss. Tall, striking, and effortlessly commanding, she was the kind of person who drew attention whether she wanted to or not. Her gyaru style made her stand out even more: bold streaks of color in her hair, immaculate nails, and an outfit that balanced daring and chic. Crowe had asked you to at least try to get along with her, but the truth was, you didn’t see yourself fitting into their world. Too weird, too… you.

Still, you played your part well, smiling sweetly when Brittney asked for help organizing papers. “Of course! Thank you for asking,” you replied, your voice the picture of politeness.

As she walked away, Crowe chuckled. “She’s like that. Rough edges, but she means well.”

You tilted your head, smiling faintly. “Everyone hides something under their skin, Crowe.”

The library was a quieter battlefield until one of the bullies decided to play a cruel joke. A mean girl “accidentally” knocked over a shelf Brittney had been working on. Papers and books scattered everywhere, and you could see Brittney’s jaw tighten, her polished exterior cracking.

“F***ing bitch!” Brittney snarled, tackling the girl with surprising ferocity.

It escalated quickly. Books flew, chairs screeched, and the air buzzed with tension. You tried to step in, hands raised in a gesture of peace, but chaos had already broken loose. When one of the girls attempted to strike Brittney from behind, you didn’t hesitate—you shoved her hard, pushing her back into a table.

Pain shot through your wrist as you deflected her, and you realized she’d managed to scratch you with something sharp. Blood welled up, staining your sleeve, but adrenaline drowned out the pain. Brittney’s punches found their target while you held the attacker off.

The fight fizzled when a few bystanders yelled for order, and the bullies slinked away under the librarian’s furious glare. Brittney brushed herself off, her hair askew but her fiery defiance intact. Jess, another of Brittney’s friends, rushed to her side, fretting quietly as she checked her for injuries.

You stood off to the side, cradling your wrist. Jess glanced at you briefly, hesitant, before returning her focus to Brittney. You caught the faintest flicker of concern in her expression. She does care, you thought, but you let it go.

Crowe appeared moments later, taking in the scene with wide eyes. “What the hell happened? You’re hurt—let me take you to the nurse.”

You shook your head, offering him a tired smile. “I’m fine. I can go on my own.”

Crowe didn’t look convinced, but you turned away before he could argue, clutching your injured wrist as you made your way out. It’s nothing, you told yourself. Just another day in your fractured reality, another crack in the mask you wore so well.

The nurse’s office was a quiet reprieve from the chaos of the library. You slipped into the restroom nearby first, taking a moment to breathe and inspect your injured wrist under the fluorescent lights. The skin was raw and red, the gash deeper than you initially thought, but the pain was dulled by the adrenaline still coursing through you. You splashed water on your face, smoothing your features back into a neutral mask before heading into the nurse’s domain.

The hallway seemed endless as you walked, with lingering eyes on you from passing students. Whispers buzzed faintly, but no one dared approach. Good, you thought. You preferred it that way. Once inside, the nurse noticed your bruised state immediately.

“Another bully victim?” she sighed, her tone exasperated but kind. “This school, honestly… I need to file a formal complaint with the principal.” She gestured for you to sit, but you stayed standing, pretending to be fascinated by the various medical supplies lined up on the counter. You didn’t want to stay still. It made you too vulnerable.

As you idly picked at a box of bandages, a voice sliced through the quiet atmosphere.

“Did you have to punch that girl’s boyfriend that hard, Sunny?”

“Yes,” came a familiar, firm reply. “They hurt them. So I did.”

Your heart stopped. That voice—it was him. The one who watched, who whispered. The voice that curled around your mind every night like smoke.

Without thinking, you stumbled backward, finding a corner to hide behind as your gaze sought him out. And there he was.

There was something almost surreal about seeing him in the light of day, his presence no longer confined to the shadowy cocoon of your nights. “Sunny,” as his companion called him—was perched on the nurse’s bed, his plum hair catching the light in a way that made it seem alive, streaked with vibrant green like ivy climbing through ruins. His heterochromatic eyes burned like embers: orange at their core, ringed with a deep crimson that seemed to pulse with restrained intensity. They were a contradiction, much like him—fiery yet haunting, sharp yet soft.

His features were angular, carved with precision, yet softened by the slight pout of his lips and the faint curve of his nose. He radiated a raw, magnetic energy that felt both predatory and tender, like the kind of beauty that ruins you, and yet you crave it. The piercings that adorned his ears gleamed faintly, tiny markers of rebellion etched into his skin. The hoops on his lower lip caught the light every time he spoke, adding a glint of silver to the vibrant palette of his face.

His striped shirt clung to him, black and green lines stretching across his lean frame. The black t-shirt layered beneath was slightly oversized, softening the edge of his appearance, while his necklace dangled lightly with each of his movements—a two-pronged key, dangling with an air of mystery. His jewelry matched his aesthetic perfectly: the buckled choker hugging his throat, the key necklace swaying with each breath, the metal glinting like secrets waiting to be uncovered.

Even seated, he had a presence that demanded attention, though he seemed to wield it effortlessly, unaware of the effect he had on the room.

The blue-haired boy standing next to him was smaller in stature, and despite his exasperated expression, there was a gentle authority in the way he interacted with Sol.

“Isn’t it time to go, Sunny?” he asked, clearly used to Sunny’s antics.

“Nope,” Sunny replied lazily, crossing his arms. “Not until Y/N gets bandaged.”

Your breath hitched. Your name falling from his lips sent a jolt through your chest, like an electric wire connecting directly to your heartbeat. You pressed further into the corner, praying they wouldn’t notice you, but you couldn’t stop watching.

The blue-haired boy—Hyugo, as Sol addressed him—sighed, dragging Sunny off the bed with surprising strength despite their size difference. “Sunny,” he chided, like a parent scolding their child. Sol resisted briefly, pouting, before reluctantly letting himself be led away. His footsteps echoed faintly as they left, and you waited until you were sure the coast was clear before emerging from your hiding spot.

You managed to snap a few discreet photos of Sol. You told yourself it was just for memory’s sake, but when you looked at them again, your stomach fluttered.

Sol, with his chaos and beauty, was so striking, so utterly unique. And he was yours to admire, even if only from a distance.

The nurse’s hurried return interrupted your spiraling thoughts. Her voice pulled you back to reality as she gestured for you to sit on the bed she had prepared. “And what about the other two students?” she asked, glancing toward the hallway.

“They left,” you muttered, your voice neutral as you fought to keep your heart rate under control. The nurse bustled around, grabbing supplies while she filled the silence with small talk.

“They’re such interesting boys,” she said, her voice warm with familiarity. “Hyugo is such a helpful young man. Always looking out for that friend of his. You know, despite his height, Sol is surprisingly sweet—like a friendly giant.“

Your hands tightened around the edge of the bed, nails pressing into the vinyl. Hyugo. That was the blue-haired boy’s name. The nurse’s description of him as Sol’s protector matched perfectly with what you had seen. You forced out a soft giggle, though it escaped as a hiccup, drawing the nurse’s attention. “Are you alright?” she asked.

“Y-Yeah, I’m fine,” you replied quickly, masking your excitement. “It’s just… they seem close. It’s kind of nice.”

“Oh, they are,” she continued, dabbing antiseptic on your wound. “Hyugo’s always been like that. And Solivan…” She paused, as though thinking of the right words. “He’s a bit of a sad case, really. He’s been through a lot, poor thing. But he’s strong—so much stronger than he realizes.”

Your breath hitched. Solivan. Your world tilted as the name settled in your chest like a brand. Solivan Brugmansia. It echoed in your head, sweet and perfect, like a melody only you were meant to hear.

The nurse’s voice faded into a murmur as she continued her work, oblivious to the storm brewing within you. Your heart raced, your mind spinning as you turned the name over and over in your head. When she finished bandaging your hand, you thanked her in a daze and stumbled out of the office.

The hallway was empty, but you didn’t care. You ducked into the restroom, slamming the door shut behind you. The sterile walls seemed to close in as your emotions surged. A giggle bubbled up, spilling out in shaky bursts before escalating into full-blown laughter.

“Solivan Brugmansia,” you whispered, your voice reverent, almost trembling. You repeated it, louder this time, your reflection in the mirror smiling back at you. “Solivan Brugmansia. Solivan. Brugmansia. Sol. Solivan.”

The name felt like magic, a key unlocking something wild and unhinged within you. You chanted it like a prayer, each repetition filling you with a twisted joy. “Solivan Brugmansia, Solivan Brugmansia, Solivan Brugmansia—”

Your giggles turned to shrill laughter, a sound that echoed eerily in the small restroom. You clutched the sink for support, your bandaged hand trembling as your thoughts spiraled further. I know his name. I know his name! The realization was intoxicating, overwhelming, consuming every rational thought you had left.

“He’s perfect,” you whispered to yourself, tears of manic delight prickling at your eyes. “I’ll meet him. I’ll be normal. I’ll be normal. I’ll—”

A sudden knock on the door shattered your reverie, the sound loud and jarring against your fragile composure.

“Could you keep it down in there?” a muffled voice called, annoyance dripping from the tone.

Your laughter cut off abruptly, replaced by a cold, seething anger. Slowly, you turned toward the door, your reflection in the mirror now a twisted, distorted version of yourself.

They dared to interrupt.

You opened the door slowly, your movements deliberate, controlled. The person on the other side—a student, their face vaguely familiar—took a step back, their irritation fading into nervousness as they met your gaze.

“Is there a problem?” you asked, your voice low and dangerous. The edges of your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes, and your tilted head made you look like a predator sizing up its prey.

“N-No, just…” they stammered, their confidence crumbling under your cold stare. “You were, um, being kind of loud—”

Before they could finish, you took a single step forward, and they flinched. The hallway seemed darker now, your presence casting a shadow that felt far too large for one person.

“I’ll keep it down,” you said softly, the sweetness in your tone laced with venom. Then, leaning in just enough for them to catch the glint of something unhinged in your eyes, you whispered, “But you should watch where you stick your nose next time.”

They stumbled back, their mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, before muttering a hurried apology and retreating down the hall.

The sound of their footsteps faded, you turned back into the restroom, closing the door with a quiet click. Your reflection in the mirror greeted you, your smile widening as you touched your lips, imagining them shaping his name again.

“Solivan Brugmansia,” you whispered, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

The encounter had done nothing to dim your obsession. If anything, it only fed it. Soon, you thought, your heart pounding with anticipation.

You started stalking Sol and Hyugo like clockwork. Every day on campus, you trailed after them, your movements as careful as a predator circling its prey. They were always together—Hyugo acting like a makeshift guardian while Sol seemed lost in his own world. Their favorite spot quickly became apparent: the rooftop. It wasn’t technically allowed for students to hang out there, but that didn’t stop them. Sol seemed to loathe the cafeteria, his disdain for its noise and chaos written all over his face whenever someone suggested it.

You made it a habit to reach the rooftop before them, ensuring you’d have the perfect vantage point to watch them. Not creepy at all, you thought with a twisted grin. There was something ethereal about Solivan under the open sky, the sunlight catching on the green streaks in his hair and making his mismatched eyes gleam like fire and blood. He’s so pretty, you sighed internally. Every movement, every glance felt deliberate and perfect, like he was crafted by your own imagination.

Hyugo, the blue-haired “parent” of the duo, was Sol’s grounding force. You watched as he subtly steered Sol’s chaotic thoughts back to reality, his calm voice carrying through the breeze. Sometimes, their conversations drifted your way. One particular exchange made your heart race.

“Have you been taking your sleeping pills, Sol?” Hyugo asked, his tone laced with concern.

Sol nodded, but you knew better. Oh, sweetheart, you’re feeding them to me instead, you thought, biting back a giggle. The very idea thrilled you. He’s lying to his best friend for me—just like I’d lie for him. We’re so alike, Sol. Matchy-matchy. You giggled softly to yourself, clutching your bag as though it held every secret you’d gathered about him.

The rooftop had become your sacred ground. Each day, you made sure to get there first, blending into the background as best you could while Sol and Hyugo came to unwind. It was their haven, where Sol could escape the cafeteria—his disdain for the crowded, noisy space evident in every eye roll and sharp comment he made about it.

You hid yourself carefully, peering around corners or crouching behind vents as the duo talked. It wasn’t hard to piece together their dynamic: Hyugo, the loud and teasing one, always nudging Sol toward some semblance of normalcy, and Sol, the quiet, brooding artist, who seemed eternally annoyed yet tethered to his friend’s chaotic energy.

“Sunny boy, I swear, one day you’re going to crack from all this stalking,” Hyugo teased, leaning against the edge of the rooftop railing. His blue hair caught the sunlight, but your eyes were locked on Sol.

“I’m not stalking anyone,” Sol muttered, his voice as flat and disinterested as ever. He didn’t look up from his sketchbook, where his pencil moved in quick, fluid strokes.

“Uh-huh. And I’m the Pope. Come on, Sunny, you’re practically vibrating whenever Y/N’s around. It’s cute, actually.”

Sol shot him a glare so sharp it could cut glass. “I don’t vibrate.”

“Sure, sure,” Hyugo said with a grin, leaning closer to peek at the sketchbook. “Hey, is that—oh my God, are you drawing them again? Sunny, you’re obsessed!”

“Shut up, Hyugo,” Sol snapped, snapping the book shut with a satisfying thud. A faint flush dusted his cheeks, and you almost swooned at the sight.

Through your relentless watching, you pieced together more and more about Sol’s world. He liked plushies—tiny glimpses of them in his bag or on his desk betrayed a softness he tried to hide. Horses fascinated him, though you’d never seen him near one. The ocean, however, was an object of pure hatred. Even the thought of it seemed to unsettle him. And his neck—oh, how he hated when people noticed it. You didn’t know why, but the way he’d pull his collar up or hide behind his scarf whenever someone’s gaze lingered too long sent shivers of fascination down your spine.

Crowe, though? Sol hated Crowe. Why? You weren’t sure. Did Sol think you liked Crowe? That thought made you laugh—a loud, manic sound that echoed in your mind. No, silly Sol. Crowe’s just a friend. You’re the only one who matters. You giggled to yourself, making a mental note to friendzone Crowe at the next opportunity. No one has to die, right?

Your stalking wasn’t all selfish indulgence, though. You made it your mission to protect Sol from his bullies in secret. Every time someone dared to mess with him, you found ways to make their lives miserable. Pranks, carefully crafted rumors, even well-placed traps—it was your way of showing love, even if he’d never know it was you.

You couldn’t stop yourself, could you? Each time your mind drifted back to Sol, it felt like you were drowning in an ocean of thoughts you couldn’t escape. There was no rational explanation for it, just a need, a yearning to see him, to be close to him. You didn’t know why you liked Sol, and the more you thought about it, the more you felt like something inside you was broken. Messy. Rotten. Ugly. Stupid. The words echoed in your mind like a relentless drumbeat, each one sinking deeper into your consciousness.

But you couldn’t stop. Why couldn’t you stop?

Maybe you were just messed up—maybe this was just who you were now. The idea of obsession wasn’t new to you, but this? This feeling for Sol was different. You were feeding into his own obsession, subtly manipulating his thoughts and actions, just as he unknowingly tugged on your every string. I’m a fucking mess, you thought, crumpling the pages of your journal before tossing it aside. I’m messed up for liking him. I shouldn’t be doing this. Why do I care so much?

Yet, as you thought about it, a darker voice inside your head whispered: But you don’t care. You just want him. You want to keep him. Don’t you?

You looked at your reflection in the glass, disgust rising up in your throat. The self-loathing was overwhelming. You wanted to leave. Run away. Escape from this sick obsession gnawing at you, but you couldn’t. You wouldn’t. What would I even do without him? you thought, the sick realization that he was the only thing that made sense in your otherwise chaotic world.

And then your gaze shifted. Your scrapbook—your treasure trove of Sol. You’d been filling it for weeks, months, maybe. Pictures of him, scribbled notes, little drawings of his face, and the countless things you learned about him. Things you knew he would never notice, things that were yours and yours alone. You smiled, a dark, twisted grin spreading across your face as you flipped through the pages, relishing in the thought that no one else had this.

You reached for your favorite pen, the one that always felt so good in your hand, and began writing. The words flowed out like a twisted confession, something that felt raw and vulnerable, but at the same time, empowering. You wrote:

O, thou shadowed soul whose crimson eyes do stare, Through twilight’s veil, seeking me with ceaseless care. How I know thy step, thy breath, thy tender scheme, The hunter’s heart, woven deep within this dream.

I, Annabel, with whispers darkly sweet, Stand here entranced, ready for the cruel heat, Of trial and gaze, a feverish, whispered jest, To test thy fervor, O stalker, my unrest.

Art thou true, or doth the mask crack wide, When confronted with love that seeks to chide? O Sol, thou art regal, a lost marquis, A figure grander than court’s rich pleas.

Why dost thou flinch at this jeweled yoke, Collared like Marie Antoinette, when spoke Of necks adorned in fate’s decree, Tell me, pretty man, dost thou flee or plea?

Yet, I love thee, this strange, begotten chase, A danse macabre within thy haunted embrace. O, prove thyself, meet the midnight’s dare, For ‘tis love I hold, should thy soul lay bare.

His Annabel…

You laughed quietly to yourself, the sound almost hollow. Oh god, this is so cringy, you thought. The poetry, the confession—it was ridiculous. But it’s what I feel, isn’t it?

You paused, looking at the mess of words you had written, and smiled. It’s okay. I don’t care. You couldn’t help but smile. I’m not normal. I’m not like everyone else. But Sol… Sol gets it, doesn’t he?

The laugh bubbled up again, darker this time, a little more manic. You hugged the scrapbook to your chest, clutching it tightly as though it were a lifeline. The obsession that had once felt foreign was now becoming a part of you, weaving itself into your identity like the very air you breathed.

You were hopeless. But, in a twisted way, you were happy. Because in this world of chaos, Sol was your constant. The only one who could save you.

And so you wrote more. “Fix me, Sol. Fix me, and I’ll love you forever.”

You looked at the words..

Everything was perfect until!

THUD!

Geo had always been a bit of a mystery to everyone, even to those who were close to Crowe. His tall, imposing presence, the sharp eyes that seemed to look straight through you, and his effortless grace with a weapon made him someone no one dared cross. He wasn’t known for being sociable or for revealing much about himself, and despite his wealth, people respected his silence more than they feared his power.

But now, you had been caught.

The way he stood in front of you, arms crossed with that knowing, intimidating gaze locked on you—shit. You hadn’t expected anyone to figure it out. You thought you’d covered your tracks well enough, staying in the shadows, sneaking around just before the rooftop sessions, watching Sol and Hyugo like an obsessive, lovesick ghost. But now, Geo—Geo—was standing in front of you, calling you out.

You forced a smile, a casual, almost innocent grin. "Why do you care?” You giggled, trying to make light of the situation, but the tremor in your voice betrayed you. The amusement didn’t reach your eyes. He knows, doesn’t he?

Geo raised an eyebrow, his aquamarine eyes never leaving yours, sharp and assessing. His posture was relaxed, but the air around him crackled with the intensity of someone who didn’t need to do much to make people feel uncomfortable. “Stalking people isn’t exactly a good look,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Especially not those close to Crowe.” His eyes flickered briefly to your hands, as if he knew you were clutching something—your scrapbook, maybe, the evidence of your obsession. Shit.

You scoffed, trying to push down the anxiety creeping up your spine. “Oh, come on. I’m just… observing.” You laughed, as though it were a joke, hoping that Geo would take it lightly. But you knew he wouldn’t. Geo wasn’t someone who took anything lightly.

“You think I’m stupid?” Geo’s tone hardened, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips. He stepped forward, the movement smooth and deliberate, closing the distance between you. “I know you’re not just observing. You’re obsessing, and you’re messing with them. Do you think I don’t notice? Do you think you’re the only one who sees things?” His words were like daggers, each one hitting harder than the last.

The room felt smaller now, as if the walls were closing in on you. Your heart raced, a mix of fear and excitement. He was onto you. But did he know the extent of it? Did he know you weren’t just watching from afar? Did he understand how deep this fixation went?

Geo’s expression shifted, growing more serious. “You’re playing a dangerous game, you know.” He stepped even closer, his face inches from yours. “And I don’t like people who play games with people I care about. So, if you have something on them… or if you think you can manipulate them into something they don’t want… I’d suggest you think twice.”

You swallowed hard, your mind spinning. The image of Sol, of Hyugo, both so wrapped up in their own worlds, their quiet, innocent lives. You didn’t want to hurt them, not really. But the obsession—the way Sol’s face haunted your thoughts, how he was everything you wanted and more—it made your decisions blur. It made you do things you didn’t even fully understand.

Geo seemed to sense the shift in your demeanor. “Look,” he said, a trace of pity in his voice now, “I don’t want to make things difficult. I just want to make sure you understand the consequences of your actions.” His eyes bored into yours, almost reading your thoughts. “Whatever it is you think you’re doing with them… just stop. I don’t want to see anyone get hurt.”

The way he looked at you now, with a strange mix of concern and cold detachment, made you feel small, exposed. You weren’t used to this. You weren’t used to being vulnerable. He knows. He knows everything.

You bit your lip, trying to keep your composure. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you whispered, but it was clear Geo didn’t believe you.

He sighed, his shoulders relaxing a little. “You’re lucky I don’t want to make this worse. Just… stay away from them, okay?” His voice softened just a fraction. “You don’t want to mess with someone like Sol. And you definitely don’t want to get on Hyugo’s bad side. Trust me and mess with him, you will see me.”

Geo took a step back, eyes still on you, as if waiting for your response. You didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything you could say. He’s right, isn’t he?

Geo turned and walked away, you felt your chest tighten.

You watch Geo from a distance, your heart pounding with excitement and a dash of madness. It wasn’t enough to just observe them anymore. No, you needed more.

With a quick step, you approach Geo, your grin growing wider. His dark eyes flicker with annoyance, and he halts, looking over at you as if you’re a pest he wishes would just disappear. The tension is thick, and you’re only getting more thrilled by it. You call out his full name, “Subaru Oogami,” knowing the effect it would have.

He stops. His expression hardens, and you can almost feel the wave of annoyance radiating off him. “What do you want?” he spits, his voice low, almost like a growl. It’s a response you expected. A warning, a challenge. You savor it.

“Isn’t Hyugo Sugimoto your older brother?” you ask, a playful note lacing your voice. The words are casual, but your eyes glint with mischief. His gaze sharpens even more. You can see the tension rising in his posture.

You giggle, unable to hide the amusement. “Such a bad boy, Subaru, ignoring your own brother like that. It’s so embarrassing, though… all that emo energy for what?” The words spill out of you in a rush, the laughter bubbling up uncontrollably. You know it’s getting under his skin. You can tell by the tightening of his jaw, the slight twitch of his hands.

You step closer, your eyes glinting with something dangerous, something predatory. “You know, I’ve gotten a lot of info from watching you and your brother… but don’t worry. I’m not interested in Hyugo,” you say, voice low and smooth, almost a whisper. You lean in just a bit, the space between you two narrowing. “But… I am interested in Sol.”

His glare feels like it could slice through steel, but you hold his stare, smiling evilly. His eyes narrow into daggers, but you don’t flinch. No one gets in your way. Not anymore.

“Don’t disturb me, and I won’t be after your ass, Subaru,” you say, your voice sweet but laced with the cold bite of a threat.

He looks at you, eyes flashing with fury. There’s a moment of silence where he contemplates your words, the weight of your threat hanging between you two. He looks ready to strike, to put you in your place, but he simply lets out a harsh “tch” and shakes his head.

“You keep quiet, stay out of trouble with me or Hyugo, and we won’t have a problem,” he says, his voice sharp, his glare never leaving you.

You tilt your head, a sly smile still tugging at the corner of your lips.

“Promises,” you murmur, watching as he turns, clearly done with the conversation. You let out a quiet laugh as you watch him walk away, knowing that you’ve made your point.

Geo, Subaru Oogami—whatever you call him—wouldn’t be such a threat anymore.

He left, looking that same death glare at you smiled like a angel who did nothing wrong!

Part 1 over! Pls tell me if I should make part 2…

reuploaded

[buryhny]

One Night Stand ; 44 ⋆.

➥ rundown ; as if the unexpected twist of a one-night stand turning out to be your CEO boss wasn't surreal enough, the situation takes a more challenging turn when both of you discover that you're expecting his child.

→ genre ; enemies to lovers | CEO au | pregnancy trope | slowburn

☆ jungkook x y/n ☆ contains smut, fluff and angst ☆ chapter forty four ; wc | 8.8k

primarily on Wattpad

index ⇢ next chapter

Jungkook comes home looking totally wiped out, his eyes half-closed and barely able to stay open. He starts heading upstairs, probably thinking about a shower to relax. But that's not gonna work for your plan. You rush to stop him, not even sure what you're about to say. Whatever it is, it better not make him suspicious and mess everything up.

"Jungkook!" you yell, maybe a little too loudly-okay, it's more like a scream. He freezes, spinning around with wide eyes, looking genuinely freaked out. "What's wrong?" he asks, his voice full of worry, clearly not expecting you to shout like that.

"Uh..." you blink multiple times, looking around the living room, trying to scramble to find words, your mind racing. "Yeah?" Jungkook prompts, his tone soft and curious, a yawn slipping from his lips as he steps closer to you. "Like... um, I was thinking..." you stammer, your voice faltering as you try to piece together a coherent sentence.

He nods patiently, encouraging you to go on. "Maybe we could spend some time at the pool...?" you finally suggest, a nervous smile spreading across your face as you bite your lip, unsure of how he'll respond. He raises his eyebrows at your question, a soft sigh leaving his lips as he thinks about it. "Baby, I'm... tired, and as much as I'd love to spend t-"

"Pleaseeeee!" you whine. You really, really want this surprise to work, and it's just a matter of 3 hours. You hope you can keep him awake till then. You're gonna give your everything to make this work. Jungkook's eyes roam over your face, noticing how badly you want this-how much you want him to spend time with you. And honestly, he does too. Probably even more than you. But he's so drained, he feels like he could pass out any second.

You grab his hand, giving it a little squeeze, and hit him with your best puppy eyes. He glances at the hazel in them and feels himself softening instantly. With a quiet sigh, he thinks maybe he should give in. Just for a little while. For you. "Alright-" "Yay!" you mutter like a child, and he can't stop smiling at how cute you look and sound when you talk like a kid. "Can we go now, please?" He nods and walks with you as you drag him with his hand in yours.

"What about our clothes?" "We can get them later, come on." You both discard your clothes and place them on the chair. Jungkook gets in first, his body finding relief in the warm water of the pool. He helps you get inside, carefully. You both pick the corner and settle there. "I wish the water was slightly warmer," you say and play around for a bit. "Well... it can be,"

he gets closer to you and gives you a back hug. His warmth radiates to you, and you moan in relief. "Oh my god, how are you always so warm?!" He chuckles at this, placing his head on the crook of your neck, he softly sighs in pleasure. "It's not a good thing, you know? I'm always drenched in sweat." You play with his fingers, humming at his words, lightly tracing your fingers over his.

"I don't care. It's perfect right now," you murmur, leaning back against him. His warmth feels comforting, especially with the extra strain on your body lately. Jungkook's lips brush against your shoulder, not quite a kiss, just a gentle touch that makes you shiver despite the heat radiating from him. "You're always so dramatic," he teases softly, his voice low but playful.

You twist slightly in his arms, careful of your bump as you face him. "Oh, come on. You like it," you shoot back with a small smirk, poking his chest. He grins, his eyes softening as they flicker down to your belly for a moment before meeting yours again. "Yeah, I do," he says, his hand moving to rest over yours where it cradles your bump.

"You and the little one make everything better. Even when I'm dead tired." Your heart clenches, and you blink up at him, warmth flooding through you. "Jungkook..." But before you can say more, he shifts slightly, dipping you both just a bit deeper into the water. You squeal, gripping his shoulders tightly. "Careful! What if-" He laughs, the sound light and carefree, cutting you off.

"Relax. I've got you," he reassures, holding you steady, his other hand instinctively resting protectively over your belly. "Always." You smile and almost blush at his words. You love how he's so protective, even if he barely shows it, you know it's there, and it makes the butterflies inside you flutter around. The bond between him and the baby is just fine, and you know after tonight, it's gonna be better, better than ever and better than what you both have too.

Jungkook has made his mind; he's gonna ask you a few questions today, and he's not gonna back out. He needs answers to them, and he also wants to tell you about the conversation he had with your mother. You've got the right to know, he wants you to tell him your point of view. The night is so nice, calm, and chill. The water is just warm, and having you beside him is everything he needs. It's quiet, and since you're not facing Jungkook,

you don't know what he's doing. You assume he must be asleep since it's been a really long time, and he's too... quiet. But he's not. He's deep in his thoughts while his fingers play with yours. You're worried about the time. Your eyes keep looking at the clock, and time is so fucking slow. Why is it just 11pm? There's an hour more to waste! If Jungkook decides to go to his room and you can't find any excuses, you're just gonna let the surprise begin.

Jungkook thinks that this might be the best time to ask. It's quiet, the both of you are close. Should he speak? On the other hand, you don't want this surprise to be... too much of a surprise. Whatever you have planned can be too much to consume, and even though you're ready for everything, is he? Should you make things easy and slow? "Y/n-"

"Jungkook-" The both of you speak at the exact time, and it's left you both in a giggly mess. Since he's got his hands wrapped around you, your body jiggles when you laugh, and it's goddamn cute when not just your boobs but your bump is bouncing too. "Fine, you go first," he says, and you shake your head, gesturing him to go first. "Ladies first! So you tell me."

You chuckle and nod. You turn to face him, hands wrapping around his neck. He looks so good with his hand down and wet. His arms flex as he wraps them around your waist, while his eyes look at yours and dive in. "I was thinking..." you begin. Your fingers push his hair away from reaching his eyes, and he already feels something. You take a deep breath.

Your eyes don't leave his, and his don't leave yours. It's like you both know what's coming next, and you're anticipating it. "You were thinking...?" He murmurs softly as you bite the inside of your cheek. "I was thinking... maybe we should give ourselves a name?" you say, your voice hesitant. He knows exactly what you mean-he's been waiting to bring it up too. His eyes brighten at your question, and he fights back the urge to grin widely.

"I've been thinking about that too," he admits. "Have you?" you reply, your tone anything but ordinary. It's not direct or loud; instead, it's soft and teasing, each word drawn out with a sensual lilt. Your fingernails lightly graze his skin, and the smile you give him is completely different-teasing, playful, and way too much for him to handle right now.

"So... what are we now?" you ask, your tone making his stomach churn. He feels like he's spiraling. He didn't expect this, not when you're both stuck in the pool, the cold night air biting at his skin, and your touch making him shiver for entirely different reasons. Oh, and he really needs to pee. "This is so bad," he mumbles under his breath. "Bad?" you repeat,

raising an eyebrow, obviously amused by his misery. He tries to focus, forcing himself to meet your gaze. "I mean... aren't we already a lot? Do you really think we're stuck in some teenage hormone kind of thing?" You burst out laughing, and he swears it's both humiliating and endearing at the same time. "Obviously not," you say, shaking your head.

He relaxes-just a little-but the way your eyes soften keeps him on edge. Because you're both definitely not in that giddy, first-love phase anymore, but you're also not in that really old, comfortable stage either. You both still feel the butterflies... a lot.

"I don't think I love the idea of calling you my girlfriend..." This offends you, visibly. Jungkook sees the frown sitting on your forehead when he says it, but he didn't mean it that way. The lines on your forehead deepen, and he swears he wants to hug you and tell you that he's so sorry.

He fucking loves the idea of calling you anything! Girlfriend? It's nothing! You attempt to push him away, which then breaks his avatar, cause he immediately pulls you back to him and gives you a big hug, laughing inside your neck. "Leave me!" "I'm "I'm sorry, baby, that was not what I meant!" "You're mean! Leave-leave me!"

You try to pull away from him, but his grip is too tight that you can't do anything but punch his arms and chest with all your might. "Darling..." He cups your face and looks at you, admiring you. The pout, those eyes, the wet cheeks, and hair. Fuck. His eyes bore into yours, like he's giving his soul to you when he says this,

"The girlfriend tag is too boring for someone as special as you. You're my world. You're the stars that light up my dark sky, the running waves that bring life to my plain oceans, you're the warmth to my coldest nights, the melody to my quiet moments, and the spark that keeps me alive. You're not just a part of my life-you're the reason it all makes sense."

He whispers. Your heart stops-not in the metaphorical sense, but literally. Your breathing deepens, matching his, as though the air itself has grown scarce. It feels like neither of you can breathe on your own, drawing life instead from the soft exhales shared between you.

You thought you could only ever find these words in books and movies, but here you are, standing so close in front of this man, who's uttering each and every word for you, which seems like it's taken out of a Shakespeare poem, and he expects you to... take it in? Heck, you can't even believe your ears. So, Mr. Jeon is not only a CEO, he's also a poet?

"Jungkook-come with me." You don't say anything, you don't give an answer to his words, neither do you recite a poem of your own for him. You tap his shoulder, only saying one thing, "Come with me." He doesn't understand why you didn't give him any reaction. He wanted to kiss you and-just spill everything out, but here he is, helping you out of the pool and getting out himself.

"Towel-" He hands you one and you wrap it around yourself, holding his hand, pulling him with you. He's confused, yet he walks with you, following you like a puppy. After his confession, you don't think you can keep it all to yourself now, whatever the time it is, you're showing him your surprise, you're confessing and doing everything that's planned because you. can. not. wait.

"Y/N, slow down-" He doesn't want you to slip on the stairs, especially with water trailing down your body as you hurry up. You lead him to his room and stop in front of the door. He watches you, puzzled. "There's something I want to show you..."

you say, and he nods, though the crease in his forehead remains as he studies you. Your eyes flick between his, and you keep licking your lips in anticipation-something he definitely notices. His head tilts slightly, skepticism flickering in his dark eyes.

"And I want to tell you... a lot." The crease between his brows deepens, almost ridiculously so, as if he's trying to solve a puzzle only you understand. You inhale, steadying yourself. This is it-you think as you take a deep breath.

"Is everything okay? Are you-" "Shut up..." you whisper under your breath, not wanting him to ruin the moment with worry. You're so nervous, God, you don't want to mess this up. You open the door and walk inside, gesturing for him to wait. The room is dark, the lights haven't been turned on yet as it's waiting for you to do the honors.

"Y/N..." He calls you out as you disappear, then you turn on the light in the count of 1... 2... 3. "Happy birthday... to you..." You walk towards him with a cake in your hands, candles lit up, and there you come, wearing a silky robe in a rich mauve color.

"Happy... birthday to you..." you whisper-sing as you walk closer to him. The curved gold candles and the black icing covering the heart-shaped cake are so close to him right now. He's standing right in front of it, his eyes don't believe what he sees, his face carries no expressions.

You hold his hand and bring him inside the room that has been decorated in red, rose petals sitting on the bed, the floor, and every couch of the room. He had never thought he would come home to this someday. "Make a wish..." you mumble, biting hard on the insides of your cheeks because you can see how taken aback Jungkook is.

He looks like he's going to cry, and you love that. He looks at the cake, closes his eyes, and makes a wish before he blows on the candles, and the fire vanishes away.

"This cake is no ordinary birthday cake..." you begin.

"This has something really special inside." Jungkook swallows a lump in his throat as he listens to you, he can feel it in his veins, he knows what it is...

"Here... cut it." You set the cake down on the petal-covered ground, your fingers trembling slightly as you reach for Jungkook's hand, guiding him to sit beside you. The mix of anxiety and excitement is nearly overwhelming, but you force yourself to stay composed. The silence between you is thick, heavy, and it unsettles you-because the last thing you want is for him to cry.

"Go on-" you begin, but he cuts you off.

"We do this together," he murmurs, pushing the knife aside. Instead, he reaches for the two glasses on the counter. You watch as he picks them up, his movements deliberate. Of course, you can't drink whiskey, so you made sure to have a bottle of soda just to match the mood. And now, here he is, bringing both drinks over so you can cut the cake together, side by side.

He takes a deep breath as he looks at you, his eyes flicker to your bump, then the cake. The goosebumps on his skin rise and he can't word this, but he's so over the moon to know what's inside the cake. You both squeeze each other's hands tight, shutting your eyes as you flip the glasses upside down and press them into the black-iced cake.

The glass slides in so easily, sinking all the way down. Your breaths are heavy, the moment thick with anticipation-until a small giggle slips from you. And then, his does too. Slowly, you pull the glasses out.

"Ready..." you whisper. "Yeah," he mumbles, and you both open your eyes. But before you even get a good look at the color, you hear the glass slip from his hands, crashing onto the floor. Then, in the blink of an eye, Jungkook throws himself at you, arms wrapping around you so tight you almost topple over. He's crying. No-he's full-on sobbing, holding you like he never wants to let go.

"Oh my god-oh my god-" he keeps chanting, voice all wobbly and breathless. You laugh, confused as hell. "Jungkook, wait-let me see the color! I didn't even-"

"It's a girl!" he practically yells. "It's a fucking girl! Oh my god-I think I'm gonna pass out-" His grip on you tightens, face buried in your shoulder as he shakes with emotion.

You blink, still processing, because out of all the reactions you expected from him... this was definitely not one of them. He's crying, a river. He's unable to breathe, his nose and ears are red, his cheeks are so pink, the tears flow down so much, it's... it's overwhelming.

They don't just fall-they pour, soaking his cheeks, dripping onto your skin, his breaths coming out in these choked, uneven gasps like he can't even get enough air. His nose is red, his ears too, and his cheeks are flushed such a deep pink that it almost looks like he's feverish. He's crying a river. An ocean. A storm that won't stop.

You feel his fingers digging into your back, clutching at you like he's afraid you'll slip away. His whole body is shaking, his chest heaving against yours as he tries-fails-to catch his breath.

"I-" He tries to speak, but his voice breaks apart, shattering into another sob. He pulls back just enough to look at you, and god-his eyes. They're glistening, glassy, completely drowned in tears, but they're also filled with something so raw, so devastatingly pure, that it steals the breath from your lungs.

Your eyes search his face, unable to grasp his reaction because it's just not what you expected. You laugh at his reaction because it's too emotional to handle.

"You-" He swallows hard, his lips trembling, his entire face contorted with emotion. "You don't get it... you don't even get it," he chokes out, shaking his head, his fingers tightening against you like you're the only thing keeping him grounded.

You cup his face, wiping at his tears, but they don't stop. They won't. "Jungkook," you whisper, feeling your own throat tighten, your own eyes sting. He lets out this wet, broken laugh, his forehead falling against your shoulder as he grips you even harder. "She's real," he whispers against your skin, voice trembling, words barely even there.

"She's real, and she's ours." And just like that, your own tears spill over.

You nod at his words, his palms hold yours that cup his face, as he leans to place a kiss on it.

"She's ours..."

You whisper and place your forehead on his. Both of your tears mix as they fall on your bump. She's real, she's yours, and she's his. She's everything you both didn't want to, owning the two of your worlds.

Jungkook places his palm on your tummy, rubbing it, feeling it. He just can't believe you're carrying his little girl, his child, his baby, his family. You wipe away his tears, admiring his rosy face. He looks adorable—you could kiss and cuddle him all night long, but you've planned something else. And as much as you would love to talk about the little girl all night long, you don't want to forget about his birthday gift.

"Jungkook..." you call his name, and he looks at you like a lost pup. "Don't you want your birthday gift?" "I thought this was—" "This is one of them. The real one's... right there." You present yourself to him, and his lips part before he cracks up into laughter.

"No, you're not—" "I am the gift, it's me!" The both of you laugh together. "But aren't you tired—" "Jungkook..." Your tone shifts, the playfulness fading, and he sees it immediately. His smile falters just slightly, his eyes scanning your face. "Don't worry about me. I just want to give you the best birthday I could, and... I really wanna do this for you. I think I can feel it. As I'm getting closer to the due date, I can feel it being different now and—"

"We don't have to—" "I want to do this!" You cut him off, your voice soft but firm. "I'm just telling you that since it might get difficult later, I want to have all the sex I can tonight, and the best excuse is it being your birthday." you chuckle, and the sound is light, playful, easing the tension. He laughs too, shaking his head, the weight of the moment softened by the humor between you.

"You're crazy, you know that?" But there's warmth in his eyes, a kind of understanding that goes beyond the words, as if he knows exactly what you mean. "Tell me something I don't know, honey?"

You brush your fingers under his chin, pulling him for a kiss with stupid smiles on each other's faces. Jungkook cups your cheeks as he pulls you into a deeper kiss, your hands wrapping themselves around his neck. You're so glad no one apart from the two of you lives in this house—the messy, sloppy sounds of the kissing are far too loud, and if someone heard you two, they would surely think you're on a mission to unalive the other with a makeout.

Jungkook taps on your thigh, gesturing for you to climb on his lap, and you do. He very carefully pulls you up and lifts you off the ground, taking you to the bed. "Hey—are you good?" he questions in between the kiss, asking if you're comfortable as he lays you down.

You're quick to nod, then get back to kissing him.

Jungkook takes a moment to look at you. You look so gorgeous, he can't take his eyes off you. And that silk mauve robe—you look divine, angelic, and he wishes you'd wear that every single night. Not only does it look comfortable, but it complements your skin tone and makes the bump look sexy too. He thinks he might need some help right now.

You look at him while he admires you with a smirk on his face. "Whatcha looking at?" you ask, and his eyes flicker to yours before focusing on your body again. "You did this on purpose, didn't you?" he questions, his eyes dark as he watches you raise your eyebrows. "Of course I did. I had to look tastier than the cake."

This breaks his character of being a serious, horny guy. He chuckles, but you don't. You're so in character—which he loves. You're just so confident. God, he didn't know he loved girls like you. "And you do. The cake isn't as delicious as you look." "Okay, stop! That damn cake is delicious, you just didn't try it yet!" "Baby, let me take a taste of you first."

He unties the knot of your robe, letting the silk glide effortlessly down your body. He had seen you earlier at the pool, but now, with him hovering over you in the dim lighting, the bed adorned with rose petals, and red helium balloons floating against the ceiling, the atmosphere feels entirely different—intimate, enchanting, and undeniably seductive.

His voice is raspy, and those eyes... those eyes... you're so excited, you know you're already a wet mess. But Jungkook is such a tease—the way he lets his lips place soft kisses on your skin, trailing down your body.

"Oh my god, Jungkook, stop teasing and get into it." He chuckles. You're so impatient. You've always been, and it's kind of a bummer because he really wants this to go the whole damn night—no rush, just slow, so you both can feel it, feel it real good.

"Baby... my birthday gift, yeah?" A brow raised at you as he asks you this very obvious question. You heave a sigh, rolling your eyes at him. "Yeah, yeah, birthday boy."

"Then do this boy a favor and listen to him.... give him the best gift ever... mm?"

He gives you a pout and widens his eyes. "Fine, take your time." You give up, and that was all Jungkook ever wanted. He gently strips the wet black clothing off your body. It's sticking too much to your milk skin, and he wants to get it off you right now. You push yourself off the mattress so he slides the garments from your body.

You're naked under his gaze. You're raw, and you feel so comfortable. You love how you can be yourself with him—there's nothing to hide, nothing to feel insecure about. Because Jungkook doesn't see you the way others have—like just another woman.

He looks at you as if you truly matter, as if you're someone irreplaceable. And you love that look—the way his eyes hold you like a muse, a siren, a fawn. He's so deeply in love with you, and tonight, he knows it's time. He's ready to confess, to lay everything bare—to tell you, to show you exactly what you mean to him.

Jungkook presses his lips to your own, your jaw, your neck, your collarbones, your breasts—and that, that's something else. He'd never really been a boobs guy—always more into ass—but God, you're perfect. Fuller, rounder, fitting so effortlessly into his large hands like they were made to be there.

He's in awe, completely wrecked by the sight of you. He thinks—no, he knows—you're the sexiest you've ever been. Sure, back then, when he first laid eyes on you, you were a total model, the kind of woman who made the world feel like it revolved around you. You had him hooked from the start.

But now? Now, you're something else entirely. Better. The best.

His hands feel like they're on fire just touching you, every inch of you radiating something almost too powerful to handle. Pregnancy has done something to you, something he never could've imagined—but damn, he's never wanted you more.

He places a wet kiss on the top of your boob first, then made his way down to your nipple, just to place one there, but he couldn't resist. He can't control his crazy male hormones when you're just right there, those nipples so erect and just staring back at him, waiting to be suckled on.

So he does. He sucks on them while his hand works on the right boob, making sure to pinch gently, even though you want him to just wreck you.

"Mmf." The moans the both of you make are loud. Jungkook doesn't even hear you moan because he's so focused on sucking you out. He feels a sort of milky taste on his tongue, which he pushes away, but when the taste gets so prominent on his taste buds, he realizes you're lactating. This makes him pull away, taking a moment to check on you.

"Hey... I thin-" "It happens, I give birth later this month, remember?" He frowns, yet his fingers momentarily move their way to your buds. "But I thought it only happens after you give birth?"

"Women are a wonder," you say, and the two of you giggle. He gets back to doing his thing, making his way now to your bump—your very, very grown bump. He places a kiss there, visualizing an image of himself placing a kiss on the top of her head. Her. Oh god, his child is a daughter. He pushes this away because if he thinks about it one more time, he could possibly ruin a very sexually heated moment with a crying outbreak.

Jungkook makes his way down to get between your legs, placing a kiss right at your inner thighs, then at your entrance.

"Jungkoo-"

"Yes, baby, I'm getting there," he murmurs as he slows his further kissing and decides to take some action. He places two fingers at your clit, scooping up the wet liquid that runs down to the bedsheet, leaving a beautiful stain.

"So wet," he mumbles under his breath as he coats his fingers just enough to allow him to slide in effortlessly. You're disgustingly wet, and it shows because you're swallowing his fingers whole, clenching for more.

"More... please."

"On it, baby."

He carefully allows his other fingers to join the party. You're so good at taking him that he has all of them inside you in no time. Maybe this is good practice for you, he thinks. Your lovely mewls and moans fill the room, and it has just started. There's so much he's got to do—god, you can't even imagine.

Jungkook pushes his fingers inside, curving them in a come-hither motion, rubbing against the perfect spot that brings out all the sweet whines and cries. Jungkook's towel is long gone; he's left in his very wet boxers that don't help because the air conditioner doesn't just make his neck hair stand—it's so cold that it makes his boner shudder too. Not that he didn't get one because of you, of course, it's you, but the cold environment isn't helping. He's shivering and is in need of warmth. He wants to be inside of you so badly, yet he makes himself suffer just because he wants to.

He looks at you very carefully with his dark eyes. He notices each movement, each sound, and every change in expression as he moves. He just knows what he has to do, where he has to hit, how long, how fast, and how deep. Jungkook puts all his effort in. This isn't just sex to him; this is a whole procedure of love and care for you. He wants to treat you right, and most importantly, he wants to keep you happy.

"Jungkook—please."

"Please what, bear?"

You're squirming under his hold and crying. You're about to cum, and it hurts—hurts so good. He knows it's time. He feels the tight clenching around his hand, he knows exactly what he needs to do—to hit you right there again and again. His right hand isn't just laying around; it's working too, on your little bud, making this climax just another level of heaven.

"I'm gonna cum," you mumble, and he nods, his hand leaving your clit for a second to give you an encouraging pat on your thigh.

"You can do this, baby. Come on, cum," he mutters, which is totally the opposite of the magic his hands do. They're going at a monster's speed, yet his voice is like he's baby-talking to you.

"Come on," he comforts you as you feel the gush on your lower belly form. Your eyes shut at the feeling of pressure, with him hitting that spot and circling around your bundle. The pressure stops, and the pleasure takes over. You let out a groan, your body shivering at the feeling of heaven. Jungkook pulls his hand out of you and gives you reassuring rubs to your hips.

"You okay, baby?" he whispers, and you nod with a smile. "I'll get you a gl-" "I need you right now, or I'll go crazy," you mutter. Jungkook looks at you with a soft smile, but you're not having it. "Fuck me right now!" you say louder, which makes him laugh. "Calm down now, we don't fuck, okay? That's not what we do."

"What do we do then?" He gets closer to you, carefully hovering over you, admiring the features on your face. "You and I..." he starts. His sticky index finger points at your chest, then at his own. "We... don't fuck," he whispers. "We make love. And that will always be what this... is about." He shakes his fingers back and forth. "You and me, we make love. No fuck and all that bullshit. That's not... for you. God, not you,"

he murmurs, his voice carrying this seriousness as he speaks. Like he's telling you he's not playing these games. The 'fuck me' times are gone. Him and you are different. It's not a game. You're not anyone else, and whatever you both have is not casual.

You look up at him, his eyes sparkling with love. "Understood?" You nod, at which he smiles and places a kiss on your lips, then your cheek. "I'll get the condom-" "No..." You hold his hand, not wanting him to go. "No condom, please," you pout, and he sighs, thinking about it.

"What? Your load has already given us a child. There's no need for a stupid plastic that didn't even work the first time," you say, rolling your eyes, making him chuckle. True that, though, the flimsy plastic didn't work anyway. Here you both are, though... glad that it tore.

Jungkook laughs and gets back on the bed. Plus, he loves it raw, so win-win.

He sits between your feet first, prepping his member by stroking it. You would love to do it for him with your own hands, but you don't want to move an inch—you're tired and lazy. When it's erect and perfect to slide in, he hovers over you carefully, trying the missionary position because he can't just hover over you right now when that damn belly is super huge. He doesn't reach your face like he usually would, and he hates it, but this will work... for now.

He places it at your entrance, sliding his finger inside and prepping you too. "Go in, Jungkook." "I'm doing it," he says, putting his shaft inside, allowing a slow moan to leave his lips. You're so wet that he slides through easily, even though you're tight.

"Fuck..." you moan, gripping the silk sheets tight since you can't hold his arms. Jungkook is careful—he slides in and out slowly. He knows you like it faster, but he's scared. "F-Faster, please," you mutter, and he adjusts his speed. But somehow, he isn't hitting you right, and you can't break his heart, but you need to tell him.

When he doesn't hear from you, he asks, "All good, baby?" "Jeon—stop."

You need to tell him that this isn't working. You feel good but not too good—not the way you want it. And you both are open, right? Open to talk? So you tell him. "It's not working," you say, and he immediately pulls out. "No—that's not what I meant," you soon say, because you know that his first thought was that he's hurting you.

He examines your face, trying to find more words because, clearly, you should've told him at the beginning. "What is it, darling?" He comes closer to you, cupping your cheek to check on you.

He's worried, and you find it cute.

"Did I hurt you, or was I—" "You were fine..." you calm him down, his face flushed red. "I just... want to try a different position? This... wasn't it."

You whisper, and he nods fast. "Sur—sure! Of course! What do you want to try? We can do anything. You wanna... maybe um? I don't know—what's the best pregnancy sex position? Let me check Cosmopoli—"

He's freaking out, trying to find his phone, which, by the way, is all the way downstairs. You just want to kiss him right now, so you do—pulling him in for a chaste kiss that makes him confused. "Calm down, babe." He sighs as he looks at your palm that sits on his chest.

"I just... want you to enjoy." "And I want you to enjoy more. The birthday boy deserves a treat, sooo..." You slowly sit against the headboard, placing a pillow before moving to the center of the bed. "I want you to sit right there and let me ride you."

He frowns, surprised at your instructions but also excited as you're dominating him now. he's always loved how you can just control him. "Go on," you say, pushing him to sit where you were, and he does. You part his thighs, and almost instantly, his softened length begins to harden, which makes you bite back a giggle. His boner is so hard at this one action, he's embarrassed—his face flushes crimson.

You crawl to his lap, and Jungkook helps you sit carefully. "Hold me here." He guides your hands to his shoulders, as if you need direction. You scoff, tilting your head.

"I'm a pro rider, don't teach me, Jeon."

"Well yeah, pardon me for caring," he mutters, making you chuckle. You hold his length, placing it right at your center. He's begging for attention—so red and hard, he's waiting to be swallowed by you. And you don't hesitate.

You don't even bother to make him beg because you're way too impatient. Jungkook grips your waist, steadying you in place.

A deep groan rumbles from his chest as you sink down, and the moan that escapes your lips is so raw, so deep—his length hitting that spot so perfectly, you nearly come on the spot. Jungkook did not expect this to be so damn good, and he loves it because you're in control and whatever you do not only feels good for him but yourself too, and that's what he wants the most.

He can't even look at you because he feels so good that he drops his head back to the bedhead and moans. He's not just vocal but loud in bed too, and that's such a turn-on; it shows that the man is enjoying it, and you love that about Jungkook. You loved that the very first night too. His grip on you tightens, and you're sure it would leave marks, but you don't care.

He places his head on your chest, sucking and kissing on your open collarbones that stare at him to be marked. Jungkook has always been one to mark territories, and he's never done them before, you know? Like marking random women, he does that because he likes how it looks, but he's never had the intention to 'mark'—he'd only ever done that to women he liked or found to be... something. He'd done it to you too, the first night.

He likes to think that he leaves imprints on hot women so people know that they'd been played with, only that you never allowed him to leave open hickies, so he only ever did it on your boobs the first time, but right now... there's no need to mark, there's only need to love, and these aren't hickies anymore, they're love bites now, and he doesn't suck the shit out like he used to, even though the rougher the better.

He's now sucking, kissing, and making sure that you wake up with beautiful art on your skin, like he'd left his paint on your empty canvas, like a lover's ink so you know he's always with you. Even if the ink fades away, he's gonna keep it alive, not just on your skin but your soul too.

The both of you are breathing so heavily, the room is so cold, yet here you two are, poured in each other's sweat, love, and sex. You're going so fast, you're hopping. If he wasn't so deep in the mood, he would've called you a bunny. You're so into this, you don't even realize Jungkook crying in pleasure.

The both of you are waiting to release, and he knows just how good this is gonna be that he does not even stop you. Your breasts move along the sloppy, messy beats, it's so attractive, this body that you own. See how he thinks, 'you own,' because he doesn't think he owns you. Sure, he loves to think that you're his, so what's yours is his too, but he can't 'own' you.

You're not a doll, you're not his toy, and he loves that he sticks to his feelings whenever he thinks about you. He loves how he feels differently for you because when he fucks some other woman, he loves to say "I own you this night," but with you... truly, you own him.

Not just his body, his heart, his soul, his breaths, and not just today or tonight, every day, every hour, and every minute and second. If anything, it's you who own him. Never the other way around.

"Jungkook—" "Baby, let me cum." "Cum all you want—" "Inside you?" "Fuck yes."

Your grip on his shoulders has surely created bloodstains, and his grip on your waist—purple. "Fu-fuck!"

The two of you cum at the same second. You can't breathe, neither can he. His head lays on your chest, and you place your chin on his head. The two of you take your time to breathe in the oxygen, instead of each other's sex and moans.

Jungkook hugs your waist, although... it's slightly difficult to hold you completely. He hears your heart beating so loudly, it soothes him; he could sleep any minute, but he doesn't. Not until he says what he's been holding on to for the longest time.

"Baby..." he whispers, to which you hum. "Baby, I wanna—" "It feels weird when you're all soft inside me." You cut him off, which makes him chuckle, but he doesn't pull out or move.

"Baby...." "Yes, Jungkook... I'm listening, tell me." You let your fingers play with his hair while he mumbles his words, even though it's kind of incoherent because his face is glued to your chest. "Baby..." "That's the fourth baby in a row—" "Y/n—"

"Baby is fine." You say it, and he laughs immediately, the sound filling the air. You can't help but giggle too, your chest rumbling with the soft vibrations. Your fingers scratch his head, soothing him to fall asleep, even though it's quite sticky down there, and he really needs to clean you up so you don't feel sick. It's cold too, and you're naked. He doesn't want you to catch a cold or anything.

"Baby..."

"Yes, babe." You know he's gonna doze off any moment because he sounds raspy, he sounds like he's drunk, he'll pass out any second.

"Baby... I—"

"I love you~"

You say, cutting him off completely as you whisper the three crazy words. Jungkook stills, he stiffens, his heart stops, his breathing slows down, and he visibly freezes. You don't... your fingers keep moving through his hair like you didn't say anything, but inside you're dying. The silence fills the room.

Jungkook does not know what to say because you said it before him. He pulls away from you; he meets your smile, not your eyes, because they look down, like you're nervous, like you've said something you weren't supposed to, and it slipped out. Jungkook frowns, he looks at you, stares, waiting for you to look up at him and... do something, but you don't. You just play with your fingers, looking down. He then tilts his head down. The words in his mouth are stuck; he doesn't know what to say either.

"What?" he whispers... he couldn't even hear himself speak. You gulp as you keep looking down. You don't even know why you're acting like this. Jungkook tilts your chin when he figures you won't look at him. You glance at him and look away when he settles your face right at his.

"Baby... what did you say?" he asks, but you're suddenly shy... you've become someone you don't even recognize.

"Y/n... did you really say it?" he can't believe what you uttered, only because you did it without a warning. Maybe you figured he was gonna say it—that can't be possible.

"Y/n—"

"I said I love you, okay? I love you so much, and I can't keep it to myself anymore. I keep delaying it, waiting for the perfect moment, and I think this was it. I can't hold it in any longer. I love you, and I want you to know that, and I don't want you to say it back because I just did so... please don't do that." You mutter all in one breath, releasing what you had been caging in for weeks.

Jungkook is awestruck, he does not know what to do because you just told him not to say it back, and of course, he wouldn't say it back just because you did, because that's not the case. In fact, he was gonna say it before you, but you blurted it out so randomly without preparing him, which made it come out as a shocker. He can't contain his happiness, but he's so damn taken aback that he doesn't know what to do. So, he just looks at you without blinking while you pout, looking away from him.

"Don't—don't look at me like that..."

"Like what?"

"Like you want to marry me..."

You whisper as a joke, and that damn word breaks his entire self. He doesn't even know what to reply to that. He's lost all his words. All of them. So, he smiles, the one that shows off his little dimples. Yeah—that one. He scoffs, then looks down at your bump, watching it for some time. He... so badly wants to say it too, the three magical words, but so much has happened this night. He thinks he'll save it for another day, besides, you told him not to say it. He might make you mad by doing so, that's why he opts for it.

Jungkook nods his head, then caresses your thigh.

"Shall we shower? Together?" he asks, and you nod. Carefully and slowly, you move from his lap, and he holds you as he gets out of bed and helps you get to the shower. He tells you to sit on the toilet lid until he fills the bathtub so the bath could be relaxing. It's already quite late, and Jungkook decides to take the day off. He's gonna make the most out of his birthday.

Until the bathtub fills, he wraps you up with a towel and wears his boxers, cleaning the mess on the bed so you both can walk out of the shower and jump right on and sleep. When the water is warm enough and the bubbles have been made, he sits down inside and gently makes you sit between his feet. You moan at the feeling of the warm water, resting your head on his chest and closing your eyes.

"That good?" he asks, and you nod. You both just stay there for some time. He caresses your arms as he presses his cheek on your head and looks at the walls.

"You know... when you said that, I... froze," he says, being open about what he felt that moment.

"I know, I felt it... that's why I—got awkward, I guess."

"No, my love. You don't ever have to be..." His hands gently cup your breasts as he speaks. "That moment was so special to me that... I just wanted to grasp it in, you get me? I wanted to take it into my mind, heart, and I just wanted to hear it echo in my head."

You smile at that. He's such a poet, you never thought he could say such stuff so easily, like he's written a book of words, and he's by hearted them and is using it on you.

"I don't want you to think that you could've waited longer or that this moment wasn't perfect enough. Because whatever moment you chose to say it, it becomes perfect already. Every moment is special and perfect to me when you're there.... you just have to be there," he murmurs, as he places a kiss on the top of your head.

You feel so loved right now. You can't even say it in words. It's like he's created this new emotion for you, like a Kookie flutter or some shit. Because you don't even know what you're experiencing right now. Happiness? Excitement? Love? That's all cliché, lame shit. You've experienced these with him every day, but today? Tonight? It's something else. Just look at the way he's talking to you right now? That's unreal.

"You talk so well..." He giggles at this. You tilt your face to look at him. "Just know that I've never spoken to anyone the way I do with you." "You're a poet."

"Guess love changes people,"

he mumbles yet another sentence that takes away your heartbeats. "Don't make me hop on you in this bathtub." He laughs. "Turn around, let me clean your back." "Shampoo my hair too—" "No, you're gonna get sick," he says firmly, knowing you can get stubborn about silly things. You pout and play with the bubbles floating on the water.

"I'll wash your hair in the morning, okay?" he asks, placing a kiss on your shoulder, though it was soapy. The shower was lovely and relaxing; you needed it for the longest time, and he gave it. You spend extra time, just staying in the water with your back meeting his chest.

"I think I want a home delivery."

"Takeout? Sure we c—"

"No..." you laugh at him. "I meant birth, I want a home birth," you tell him. This has been in your mind for a long time, and with some research done, you think this would be the best option for you, even with its risk. You want this.

He frowns at your words and looks at you. "How?" Confused, he doesn't really know what that means. All he's ever known is you give birth at the hospital, and that's it.

"Water birth... but I don't really know if it's safe enough. I liked that option more than the hospital." You've read about it, and it sounds nice; even the procedure doesn't scare you like the ones at the hospital do. As a matter of fact, you've obviously been feeling nervous about delivery, and if an option makes you feel comfortable and less anxious, you might want to go ahead with it.

"You think so?" He asks, "Yeah, but we have to talk about it with the doc and... the expenses and all—" "That's not your worry. If everything is safe and you want to do that, we'll do it. I'll make arrangements for it. Just... let's discuss this when we both are fresh," he tells you, and you nod. Jungkook places his arms protectively around your bump, feeling it. "She's good?"

"She's great. Feel her, she's right there." You place his hand on the side of your belly, a hump-like thing, strong, sitting on the edge, almost popping out. "That's her head, it's quite heavy on this side. She's probably sleeping, been a good girl the whole night."

"Well, she knew it was her dad's birthday—" You soon turn to look at him. "You wanna be called dad?" He hums, closing his lips tight, thinking about it. "Haven't really thought about it, I just said it... depends, what do you wanna be called?" "I'm confused between mama or mommy."

"If you choose mama, then I'm papa, and if you choose mommy, then I'm daddy." "But you should choose what you wanna be called." You whine that he's choosing this according to you and not his own liking. This makes him giggle, his palms rubbing your bump softly under the water.

"Then I think Appa... I just— I like papa too, but also maybe Appa?" Your features soften at his words. Of course, he would want his baby to call him by his native language. The way he hesitates, stumbling over his own emotions, makes your chest tighten. He's trying—trying so hard to hold onto the parts of himself that feel like home, to pass them down to the little life growing between you. Even though he has never had a home before and hadn't had someone to call Appa.

You swallow past the lump in your throat and reach for his hand, placing yours on top of his. "Appa, then," you whisper, watching the way his eyes flicker to you. "She'll call you Appa."

He smiles like a silly teenager. "Come on, let's get out of here, you need some sleep." He gets out of the bathtub, wraps a towel around his torso, and helps you get out too, wrapping a towel around you gently. He helps you wear your underwear and puts a camisole on for you. You look silly because camisoles looked very sexy on your pre-pregnant body and now... the beautiful bump sits.

"You look so cute," he mumbles when he catches you looking at yourself a little bit too long. You giggle and jump on the bed with him. He pulls up the fresh blankets to you and slips in. "Where's the personal space?" you joke when he gets close to you, spooning you and kissing your neck. "Down the drain," he mutters, making you laugh.

"God, I'm tired," he whispers under his breath as you draw circles on his palm that cups your breasts. "Good night, Jungkook..." "Night night," he whispers as his eyes close. The cold air, the fresh sheets, and of course, the cuddly you lull him to sleep.

"Happy birthday, baby," you whisper, making him smile as he places a kiss on your shoulder and snuggles further into you.

"Best birthday ever, god i just love you~"

next chapter ⇢

hey guys!! i hope you enjoyed reading this chap, i was super nervous about the smut but i hope it's fine...? anyways lemme know! and i post on wattpad way earlier than tumblr because wp is my primary platform so i apologise if this update took time to be posted here.

want to be on my taglist - click this post !!

ִ ࣪𖤐 taglist ; @spreadmysushi . @jiminismine4ever . @jungshaking . @jkoooooooookie . @juikmon . @naurnonope . @melslear-blog . @rpwprpwprpwprw . @nemelkawar . @blueberriesm . @jennelle . @mintedagustd . @majesticjung-97

[atangledfate]

Jewel Watched the others closely to gauge there reactions as she knew Lanolin had effectively been in command thus far. She didn't know what more she could add. but, she just had to get everyone motivated and on point. Her first major priority was to get Surge in a room alone so she could could make a confession recording. This would be important as GUN wouldn't be able to manipulate it how they pleased. It would be vital in the future if they ever expected to get her story in to the public eye.

" Miss Surge i understand you probably have alot on your mind right now. But i also know you want to keep Kitsunami safe... we need your full confession on tap for that. Plus... you two likely have alot to discuss..."

She placed the recorder down in front of Surge and Kitsunami and motioned to a room off to one side.

" You can have all the privacy you like... when you both are ready, just record what you remember, your feelings... emotions... your story. Alot people don't know about either of you... and i want this to be your chance to speak your mind--- To tell the world your side of things. You ... might not get another chance... "

Jewel turned around to Belle fluttering over to her so she could address her directly. She thought about it but, that was highly invasive in her eyes. Belle had been a valued member of her organization and, she had PLENTY of evidence of her good nature and desire to do right by everyone!

" No Belle that would be like... a Truth Serum to us. Even worse then that in reality... we have lots of people who can vouch for you... and not just sonic and tails either. Good people you worked with every day...plenty of hard working individuals who will stand beside you. I have no intention of handing you over... come what may i will personally use all my political sway to push back on any attempt to take you "

Tails shifted his head at Blaze as this was new information, and it wasn't good information. If Starline had some method of survival, it could be similar to what Surge and Kit had, or something else. A robotic double? Eggman used that trick lots. The bigger fear was that there were still more like Surge and Kitsunami out there. Other projects yet uncovered.

" Its always been a possibility... Guys like Starline always have a backup plan. I'm more worried what he'd do with your genetic data if he got ahold of it...it could explain some of Surge's abilities but... just as likely he used it for who knows what else. "

He sighed and his eyes shifted to Surge and Kit who he doubted would take this information well. That the man who tortured and cut them up was alive or worse made another like them.

" Either way... its probably best we worry about that after this crisis is over... no point dwelling on it now..."

The sheep sighed and stepped forward gripping the railing as she looked down at Miles and the others. It would be important to ask now especially with Surge in the room. Especially with how important this would be to her specifically.

" Blaze believes it might be prudent to inform GUN of this... or even use it as a bargaining chip or a sign of good faith. I'm not so sure about that... so we need to get everyone's feelings on this...should we involve GUN? or take care of this possibility on our own..."

Her eyes landed on Surge as she wondered how this information was going to effect her especially.

" Since its a very personal topic for you two.. i thought it important to ask now... before we go any further... "

"I for one personally thing messing with time isn't a great idea, though it does seem Silver always has an idea of what to do somehow." Belle hadn't actually met Silver so was going off mostly stories, though it from what she's heard he always came to the past knowing a specific problem to fix. This had made the tinkerer wonder what the hedgehog was here to fix this time, though hoped it wasn't because of something G.U.N will do.

"Don't feel like it," Surge said while keeping her focus on Drippy. Wasn't going to be easy talking down the fennec to letting them take her, though she can pull it off. That said, the tenrec found it hard to ignore the fact he was fidgeting so just put a hand on top of his head. It seemed to calm him down, though he clearly had his thinking face on. Of course he wasn't fully believing that she'd turn herself in.

===========================================================

"I wouldn't be too sure. After all, there could still be a difference of opinions when we bring this news up. Though I suppose having Jewel's input is a wise choice." Blaze wasn't sure how easy of a decision this would actually be given everyone in the room, though supposed there was only one way to find out. Hopefully things don't get out of hand.

===========================================================

"My story is I fucked up the city and tried to ice Sonic and Tails on my own. That's the truth, and I intend to stick with it." Surge didn't see a point in saying what everyone already knew. "And if I'm being honest, I sorta blacked out at one point." The tenrec remembered who she was fighting thanks to Drippy explain it, though at one point everything was a blur. Maybe because that device was putting her brain on overdrive.

"I also have thought of an idea for dispelling G.U.N's fears about my programming. Perhaps we could offer one of their tech specialist to check my code and programming, supervised of course. I may not be fully comfortable with the idea, though if they want to push the subject it would be a smart way." Belle knew that was the main reason for targeting her, though hopefully seeing that her program rejects the Eggnet might put them at ease.

"There is another matter to talk about, though it's a bit of a delicate matter," Blaze said, taking a moment to make sure she knew how she wanted to say this. "So, I myself was attacked by this Starline fellow. I believe it was before what he did to Surge and Kitsunami. However, I thought I had ended him. Seems I was mistaken, so with that said he could've survived his battle with Eggman."

[hotgeniusreid]

Do you really wanna be my friend?

Spencer Reid x F! Reader

!!!NSFW/ MINORS DNI!!!

Mentions of: oral (m and f receiving), fingering, p in v (don’t be like these two, wrap it before you tap it pls), stomach bulge (size kink go brr), Dom!Spence

Authors note: I have never written for Criminal Minds and I am certainly not a great writer, but I had a thought and I put this together in less than an hour, I’m opening requests for Criminal Minds, please feel free to request blurbs or fics! ❤️🖤

Based off of this song!!

Girl, do you really wanna be my friend?

Or do you really wanna be my lover?

Moans and heavy panting were all that could be heard inside Spencer’s apartment, the sight before him was nothing short of angelic despite how wrong it was. His coworker who he had been secretly hooking up with, was on her knees, his fat cock in down her throat as she looked up at him with teary and lidded eyes. Spencer was not a lustful man by any means, but after the first time they slept together he became addicted, addicted to her.

Tangling his fingers in her hair, he threw his head back, a groan leaving his mouth at the feeling of her taking more of his cock down her throat, she let go of a moan around him, the vibrations making him hiss at the feeling. “Fuck Y/N, taking my cock so well.” Spencer pulled her off of him, ducking his head down to press his lips to hers, a whimper leaving her at the feeling of his tongue in her mouth. Pulling away she panted breathlessly. “Spence, we gotta stop doing this.” She mumbled.

I just don’t know what it is

That makes me so insane, girl

“Let’s not worry about that now pretty girl, gotta take care of you now yeah?” Spencer said, changing the subject. They had been friends for three years, ever since she joined the BAU, the hookups started one night a few months back, she had showed up to his apartment after a bad date, rambling on about how the sex was boring and the guy couldn’t make her cum. That night he ended up taking her to his room and making her cum on his cock.

Laying Y/N on the bed, he looked at her, splayed out on the bed, he planted himself in between her legs, and looking down he saw just how wet she was, her slick dripping down onto the bed, she was breathtaking. He leaned down, trailing kisses from her jaw, down to her breasts, pressing a kiss in the middle of them before cupping her breast and swirling his tongue around her already hard nipple. A meal escaped her as he teased her. He continued kissing down her body, laying down in between her legs, he pressed a soft kiss to her inner thighs. “Your so beautiful honey, so wet from just sucking my cock.” He said before pressing a kiss to her clit, Y/N gasped at the feeling, his name coming out of her mouth, he took it as a sign to continue, he licked one broad stripe up her folds, letting out a groan at the taste of her slick. This time it was her turn to tangle her fingers through his hair, her hips bucking up at the sensation of Spencer eating her pussy.

Maybe you should have my kids

‘Cause then I’d see you forever

Spencer looked up from his place between her thighs, her eyes were closed, her face contorted in pleasure and her eyebrow furrowed. Her mouth was open in the shape of an ‘o’. Spencer brought his mouth back to her clit, sucking on her bud, and bringing a finger to her entrance. Pushing in he groaned at how tight she was around his finger. He brought his finger out and added a second, a choked moan escaping her as he stuffed her cunt with his two fingers. Y/N had confessed to him once that she liked his hands and how long his fingers were, she had also confessed that when he was skimming through pages and reading, she would become so hypnotized by his fingers moving down the pages.

“Spence feels so good, so close.” She babbled, the telltale signs of her impending orgasm coming, she felt the coil in her stomach tightening. Spencer continued fingering her, hitting that special spot that had Y/N seeing stars, she let out a gasp as he suckled on her clit once more, his fingers increasing their speed but never relenting on that spot. “A-Ah Spence please, fuck your tongue feels so good!” She whimpered, a few more thrusts of his fingers and she was cumming, clenching around Spencer’s fingers and gushing, slick dripping down his fingers and onto the bed, a wet patch forming on his white sheets.

If we depart tonight

Then please just hold me tight

Spencer rose from the position he was to his knees, parting her legs to make room for him, his cock slipping through her folds and bumping her already sensitive clit, a whine escaped her, and she bucked her hips at the feeling, he leaned down, pressing a kiss to her lips, “You got one more in you, right baby? Gonna let me fuck you now?” Y/N nodded, “Yes, fuck me please, need your cock.” She slurred, her eyes glassy and lidded. Grabbing her legs, and pushing them to her chest, he slipped his cock into her hole. A moan escaped both of them at the feeling. As he continued to push his cock in, Spencer moaned at the feeling, he could never get used to how tight her pussy was. He continued pushing forward until his hips were flush against hers, she released a mewl at the feeling of how deep he was, Spencer looked down, relishing in the sight of a bulge from how deep he was. “Look at that baby, so deep inside you, your tummy’s bulging.” He pressed down on the bulge, a moan fought its way out of her mouth at the feeling of him pressing down, “S-Spencer please.” She pleaded.

He pulled out and slammed back in, watching her breasts bounce at the force of his thrust, he set a fast pace, watching her face contort in pleasure, knowing she was still sensitive from her earlier orgasm from him eating her cunt. The position had Spencer hitting her g-spot perfectly, loud moans and mewls coming from her, “Gimme kiss please, wanna kiss you.” She gasped, he brought his head down, pressing his lips to hers, slipping his tongue in, the feeling of being so deep in her cunt had him spiraling.

I hope you know I feel a way about you

I can’t doubt you no

Spencer brought his hand down to her clit, rubbing tight circles on it, Y/N clenched down on his cock at the stimulation on her clit, she was close and he could tell, she was getting louder, and it only spurred him on more, his thrusts became more frenzied, sloppier, chasing his high which was coming closer, he felt his cock stiffening inside of her tight wet cunt. “I-I’m gonna cum again, a-ah Spencer please make me cum!” She moaned, the coil once again winding up tightly in her stomach. “Yea? Are you gonna come for me, pretty girl? Be a good girl a come for me.” He said as he continued thrusting into her while simultaneously rubbing her clit, the coil snapping as her orgasm washed over her once more, clenching tightly around his cock, triggering his release, spurts of hot cum painting her insides white, he slowed down, both of them panting heavily as they came down from their highs, he pressed soft kisses to her face, small murmurs of “you did so well” and “such a good girl for me” as he pulled out, Y/N let out a whine at the feeling of Spencer pulling out.

Spencer pulled Y/N into an embrace, a sigh leaving his lips, that’s when he heard it, a small broken whimper and a sniffle, he placed his hand under Y/N’s chin, tilting her head to make her look at him. Tears were flowing, and her lips were in a pout. He wiped her tears, “What’s wrong pretty girl? Was I too rough?” She shook her head, “No Spencer, it’s not that, it felt good. But I-I don’t think we should do this anymore, I can’t keep doing this.” She explained he looked at her confused, “What do you mean Y/N? Talk to me, what’s going on?” She sighed, “Spencer, we agreed that we would do this no strings attached, how am I supposed to continue like this, pretending like I’m not in love with you?”

Her confession had shocked him, truth be told, he had suppressed his feelings for her since they agreed to keep it strictly ‘no strings attached’, but he couldn’t deny how he was attracted to her, how smart she was, how kind, and how dedicated she was to her job at the BAU, Spencer couldn’t help but let out a chuckle, “Here I was thinking I was the only one struggling here, sweet girl I am so in love with you, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell you because I didn’t want this to end.” At his confession, a fresh set of tears trickled down Y/N’s face, the heavy weight lifted off her shoulders at the fact that Spencer ‘pretty boy’ Reid had been in love with her, she pressed her lips to his, relishing in the fact that her feelings were reciprocated.

“No more hiding around the others?” She asked, he laughed softly, “No I suppose not, though I think Morgan might know we’ve been sneaking around behind their backs.” She giggled softly. Later on, the next day, when Spencer announced their relationship to the team, everyone congratulated you two, Morgan slipped a twenty dollar bill to Hotch, “I can’t believe you were right Hotch.” Hotch smirked, “I know my team, besides, Spencer can’t keep his eyes off of her for more than 2 minutes, he’s got it bad.”

Yeah, Spencer Reid was in love with Y/N, and she was just as in love with him.

[naehoonx]

" First Kiss " - caleb [ oneshot ]

→ SUMMARY: since you met caleb again in skyhaven many things had changed. why was your heart beating so fast whenever you were near him? why were your hands getting sweaty whenever he got closer? and why did it bother you so much that he never wanted to make the first move?

→ GENRE: fluff; awkward; innocent; shoujo like love.

→ RATING: 15+

→ NOTE: i started playing LADS last year in december while i was suffering a bad writing block. first i fell deeply in love with zayne but the moment caleb was released .. i resonated with him more? i love the childhood friends to lovers trope + the angst the both of them embodied. the losing and finding each other while still keeping secrets from another. i hope you enjoy it!

♡.°₊ˎ SONG FOR THIS ONESHOT

it was another normal day in skyhaven for you. caleb and you were fighting again, over the most dumb thing, like always. maybe that was a perk of being childhood friends for so long but it was really draining at the same time. you didnt even knew what triggered it this time. the only words which left your mouth were " maybe you shouldnt come with me to this mission." yeah, thinking back to those words, you needed to admit that it was dumb to speak them out loud. considering how caleb could be whenever it concerned your safety. another huff left his lips as he leaned against the kitchen counter, not understanding why you're not wanting him by your side. without him every mission posed as a threat to your safety in caleb's eyes and somehow it irritated you. why was he so overprotective of you and why did it bother you so much that he never spoke it out loud. is it so hard to tell you that he's worried about you?

"you act like a damn child caleb. i can take care of my own and you know that!" your voice was already strained from all the arguing as you looked over at him.

caleb wasnt facing you, instead he was staring at the kitchen counter as he clutched his hand against the smooth surface. you noticed early on that this was some kind of habit of him.

"i know that you can take care of yourself but thats not the issue here" "then what is the issue here? Caleb you never tell me whats wrong, im always .. left with some weird puzzle pieces whenever we fight"

another frustrated huff left his lips as you could see how his fingernails dig into the flesh of his palm. he would hurt himself like this again but at the same time you remembered that he really cant. thanks to that mechanical arm of his, he cant feel anything beside immense pain. so digging his nails inside his palm wont do much damage to his body.

"caleb please" another try to press him to be honest with you and still, he kept looking away from you. carefully you took a step towards him before he finally turned his head into your direction. that was the first time you could see the colour red creeping up his cheeks. was he that angry with you?

"what do you want to hear from me Y/N? Tell me? I already told you that i wont let you go alone there!" "but why not! you never give me a reason!"

frustrated you lifted your arms over your head before you turned around on your heel. before you could take one step forward, into the living room, someones arm wrapped around your waist; pushing you back. it didnt took you long until you realized that caleb stood right behind you, his broad chest pressing against your back. for a moment your breath hitched at the same time your heart nearly bursts inside your chest.

"what do you want to hear Y/N ... tell me" caleb's voice was low as he leaned down to whisper against your ear. his grip tightening more around your waist. making it impossible to escape. your body suddenly starts to mold perfectly against his own. its like the two of you were made for each other. "tell me" goosebumps appeared on your arms as calebs lips nearly brushed against your ear. your whole body freezed on the spot as his hand over from your waist to your stomach. what was happening right now?

"i- ... i just want that you are being honest with me.. you always tell me i shouldnt fight alone and that i should rely on you more but .. why? You know im strong .. " another strong tuck forced your back against his chest. you didnt knew that being this close would be even possible. carefully you put your hand on calebs arm, the arm which held you firm ... the same arm which cant feel any warmth anymore.

now you heard calebs breath hitch. what were you two doing here? once there was a time when the two of you got along well and rarely fought with each other. now the both of you sometimes didnt even knew how to behave around each other. one month ago you suddenly became hyper aware of caleb as a man. suddenly you didnt saw him as some kind of childhood friend anymore .. there was something more whenever you looked at him or stole glanzes while he was working. deep down you had hoped that caleb feels the same way but he still kept treating you like the little girl he once took care of.

as you were deep inside your thoughts, caleb spun you around so you were looking up at him now. his ears were red too now, it looked really adorable. there it was again, that look in his eyes you couldnt put a name on it. Caleb looked helpless as he just kept staring at you, his lips parting just slightly as he wanted to say something. you knew better, he was holding back. probably all the things he wanted to tell you or something else. slowly your hand reached out to touch his cheek. his skin felt hot underneath your fingertips as you slid down to his chin.

"caleb please .. we cant keep fighting like this .. tell me already why you're so scared to let me go alone" pleading was seen in your eyes and maybe thats the reason why he finally broke his silence.

for a short moment caleb closed his eyes as your fingertips still lingered on his chin.

"its hard to put all the things i feel into words .. I- i want you to rely on me more because if you doesnt .. i feel like you will let go of me and walk away ... at the same time i dont want to lock you up here ... knowing damn well you are your own person. dont look at me like that Y/N ... i know you are strong and probably dont need me for anything but .. whenever i think about it .. you not needing me it feels like .. a knife pierces through my heart and i- "

before he could continue with his rambling you put a finger against his lips. all those words were enough for you. he literally opened his heart for you even if it was just a tiny little bit. caleb needed you, he was scared of losing you .. so it was fine to hope right?

biting down on your lip you put both hands against his cheeks. the confused look in his eyes was something you learned to adore. caleb always looked so cute whenever he didnt knew what you were up to now. slowly you got on your tip toes just to be a bit closer to him. your noses nearly touched as caleb took another shaky breath but he didnt dared to speak. if he was too scared to take the next step in your relationship you would do it. even if your heart is nearly bursting at the moment.

another hitched breath as your lips finally got in contact with his own, from that moment on everything was just a blurr. calebs arms wrapped tightly around your body as he captured your lips in a desperate manner. it felt like he was starving all those years and finally got to eat something again. from time to time he broke the kiss for a short moment, just to look at you with those eyes. eyes which were full of yearning, yes yearning. all those years he had looked at you like this and you never noticed it before. the world around you two didnt mattered anymore as caleb, once more, pressed his lips against yours. his own breathing was shaky as his body forced you near the sofa. even if you were stumbling a bit his strong arms were ready to catch you.

the moment the back of your knees touched the sofa, your butt fell onto the soft fabric. this time you got a better look at calebs face as he was hovering over you. one of his arms was placed beside your head against the sofa, so he wouldnt crash on top of you.

"who thought .. you could be this bold y/n .. "

a smirk formed on your face as you wrapped both arms around his neck, pulling him closer again "well ... you took too long caleb. a hunter wont wait forever for its prey."

the last thing you saw was a smiling caleb before he dived back in to capture your lips. this time in a much softer and tender kiss.