#have you. never. in your life. been caught out.

[soapcloth]

CW: ghost/referenced ghoap x reader, slight angst, possessive behaviour - dividers -> @/cafekitsune

Being the one to pick up Soap’s wardrobe from a secondhand store— the donation so fresh that the scent hadn’t even had the chance to fade and mingle with the rest of the shop. You’re wearing a dead man’s hoodie and you haven’t got the faintest clue.

You like his overbearingly rugged smell; find yourself lifting up the collar to inhale and wonder what the person who donated it is like. The hoodie is emblazoned with a name— maybe he’ll see you on the street one day in his old clothes and use it as an ice breaker. The thought is nice. You don’t even know.

Soap was a man who liked personlized items; a taste for things that were one of a kind— just like him. Everything he touched had been marked by a man living a full life and was wholly unmistakable to the discerning eye of the shadow who knew him inside out.

So why was ghost, absolutely swamped in grief, forced to see an interloper wearing his boy’s clothes? He just wanted a fucking coffee.

Johnny’s official family funeral had been no more than a month ago and there was already a stranger wearing his stuff. If ghost had the privilege to grab that box of Johnny’s items and run, it would be neatly tucked away in his closet, silently cherished. Not hanging off the frame of some random civilian who could never even begin to fathom the depths of a man like John MacTavish.

It must’ve been the world playing a sick joke on him that you, who didn’t even know the man, would be able to collect Johnny’s stuff before him. Never allowed anything.

Suffice to say, he’s pissed when he spots you. Stands a bit too close to you so Johnny’s scent can catch in his nose. You’re clearly nervous, but manage to smile hopefully when he makes an offhanded comment about liking the garment. You probably think they’re his clothes, don’t you?

Well, for all intents and purposes, they are.

You ask if he’s ‘MacTavish’ and something in him wants to scream at you that the world hated him far too much for that to ever happen— instead he just nods, leering at how happy that makes you. He can’t tell if your response lights up his brain because he wants to bite your head clean off— or because somewhere, deep inside him, seeing someone so excited about ‘finding’ Johnny is nice.

He hatches a plan. Knead away at your apprehension towards his intimidating appearance, bag a quick fuck— god knows he needs one, grab the clothes, and disappear from your life with Johnny’s items finally where they belong. It’s perfect.

Well, it’s perfect until an unavoidable, nagging voice starts to rattle around in the back of his skull that Johnny would have been absolutely smitten with you. You might have been one last parting gift sent from his boy, how could he ever turn that down? The thought of fucking you in Johnny’s clothes, being able to nudge his crooked nose into the fabric and chase the scent that’s starting to entangle with your own— it sends him reeling

Johnny would be so pleased if the scent of their sweet lamb caught. Can vividly picture him absolutely beaming while huffing at the clothes before urging ghost to take a sniff for himself.

He latches onto the notion that maybe, just maybe he could tuck you and the clothes away somewhere safe for his eyes only— teeth already sunken deeper into you than he could ever possibly imagine by the point he finally acknowledges the gnawing revelation.

Johnny would want this for the both of you. This time he’d keep you safe.

[syoddeye]

cygnet, plucked | price x reader | part one part one cw: clothes stealing, forced transformation, coercion, familial abandonment, non-consensual touching/manhandling, restraints, masturbation mention, forced marriage forthcoming cw: dubcon, forced marriage, blood, mild injury a/n: reader is a swan shapeshifter. she retains some feathers as a human. based off this request, obvs influenced by swan-maidens, swan lake.

The first time he touches you, it's your wrist. A firm grip, just below the joint. Testing. Feeling the few feathers that sprout there, thumbing over the delicate, individual rachis.

You don't move. Don't speak. Torn between the instinct to flee and the paralyzing fear that you cannot. You watch his face. The thick brows, the kempt beard. The wrinkles that pull at his forehead when he frowns.

He is older than you—older than you look, at least. His arms are burly, heavy with muscle and hair, his shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows like he means to get his hands dirty at any moment. Willing to. Blue eyes, your favorite color until this second, framed by crow's feet and speak to experience.

He looks at you with expectations you wish you didn't understand.

"Can't leave without this, can you?"

Your dress, spun from feathers and thread, drapes over his shoulder like a pelt. As if it were a thing he hunted, caught, claimed—that he did not simply steal it from the lakeshore when you were distracted. It doesn't belong there. It doesn't belong anywhere but on you.

"Come along. Don't make this harder than it needs to be."

Your sisters are gone. Fled, shrieking into the oncoming sunrise. You do not blame them. But it hurts. 

The lake is still. Empty.

He lets the silence stretch, patient. He has all the time in the world. You don't.

You've watched human men before, from a safe distance, tucked among the reeds with your sisters. You've seen what they do when they think no one is watching. The way their faces shift at the sight of a woman. The way their hands reach, take, ruin.

You are a flightless bird, exposed. Not much of a swan. A sitting duck.

What choice do you have?

You follow.

You learn his name is John. That he has lived in this cabin for almost a year. That he built it himself. That he traps and skins, chops wood, salts fish, keeps a gun out of reach, hidden like your dress.

He tells you these things in pieces, the same way he feeds you. A bowl of soup set down in front of you with no ceremony. A tin cup of well water. A torn hunk of bread.

He talks a little, asks a little.

"Never seen anything like you," he says on the second night while you cower behind his chair by the fire. Where you slept after tearing out of his arms and screaming yourself hoarse. "Wish you'd talk to me. Awfully shy, aren't you?"

It galls you. Shy. As if he is not keeping you here, naked. Vulnerable. You ache for your wings. The sky.

You say nothing.

He exhales through his nose, it sounds like a laugh. "I suppose it's not an easy thing, coming from a life like yours."

You want to ask him what he thinks your life was. But you don't want to know what he would say.

He keeps the dress in a chest under his bed.

You desperately search and find it while he is outside splitting wood. The latch is loose. Stupidly unlocked. You lift the lid and your breath catches. There it is. Your feathers, your escape, the lifeline that made you you.

Your fingers graze the fabric. It should be soft, but it feels wrong, foreign and unfamiliar under your hands. You wonder if it is altered. If it will still fit. If it's too late, tainted by his handling.

"Looking for something?"

You slam the lid shut.

John stands in the doorway, hands on his hips. Forehead slick with sweat. The axe is outside, leaning against the chopping block, but his knife is at his belt.

He'd hurt you if you tried to run, maybe kill you. You are not so sure you want to die.

You don't answer.

He crosses the room. He doesn't look angry. He looks—wry. Pleased. Like he had been waiting for this.

He kneels beside you, one arm resting on his knee, and tilts his head. Reeking of pine and tobacco smoke. "That's not for you anymore, darling."

You swallow. This is the closest you've been since he entrapped you. "It is mine."

He nods, as if conceding the point. "And what would you do with it?" he asks. "Go back? To what?"

He reaches out, wiping away a single, hot tear. The fireplace pops, and you feel the warmth of his skin before you feel the roughness of his fingers. You hate it.

"The lake is still empty. They've not come back."

You think of your sisters. You think of the wind under your wings and streaming over your back, the open sky. You think of the sound of John reviving the hearth in the morning, how he dropped a blanket over you the first night, and said, You'll freeze like that.

Of course, he thinks nothing of the fact that he's the reason why you're naked. Blind to it or willfully ignorant.

"It's just you and me now. I'll take care of you, Shy."

Shy. That isn't your name. But you'll be dead before you give your real one to him. At least something will remain yours.

You look at him. He is a big man. Broad shoulders and palms. Thick, hairy arms and a barrel chest. You've seen the thing between his legs—he's made no efforts to hide himself or alter his routine with you hiding in the corner. He touches himself in the dark when he thinks you're sleeping.

He could break you easily. But he hasn't.

Not yet.

He brushes his knuckles over your cheek.

"Can't believe I found you," he says. "A pretty wife, fished from the lake. Or the sky, I suppose." He smiles, chuckling as if you're both in on the joke. "Mm. Wife." He presses his thumb to your bottom lip. "Yeah, like the sound of that. I'll make you a proper wife."

The way he says it is careful. Thoughtful. It is a promise, or a threat. You cannot tell which. 

You look at the chest.

You look at John.

And you do not answer.

John returns at dusk, the door creaking wide to let in the last slant of daylight, and finds you trussed up where he left you. Your wrists are raw, delicate skin rubbed angry beneath the ropes that tightened with your struggling. 

His shadow spills over you, and a sigh slips from him, edged with disappointment. He crouches. Fingers press into your skin, prodding where the rope bit deepest.

"Damn near hurt yourself, honey," he scolds, massaging the worst of the raw spots. He touches you in the way you've seen him care for his axe. Slow, reverent, making sure nothing is too damaged. Unusable. 

A hand settles over the soft, feathery patch above your rump, fingers carding through it appreciatively, lingering before he unravels the last knot. He ignores your hissing.

The moment you're free, you scramble away, body aching. You tuck yourself behind his chair, peeking out with sharp, distrustful eyes. He lets you go, lets you think you've won some small mercy. 

Then he turns his back, shaking out his coat, unpacking the sack he carried in, setting out each item on the table. Dull, practical offerings—salt, flour, needles, twine. Things for a life you don't want. Things for a home you will never call yours. And last, draped over his forearm, a dress. Mundane. Plain, homespun, the color of stone.

But you are distracted. Staring at the chest.

He only addresses your fixation when he's finished, and hauls it out from under the bed. 

"Take a look."

You do. You don't want to, but you do. Your gaze flicks to him first, wary, waiting for the trap. You open it, and your stomach drops.

Your head snaps up, stuttering, eyes glossing over with hot, helpless rage. 

His smile stretches, knowing. Then, he produces the last item from his trip and draws a bundle from the sack.

He explains it's the reason why he's later than expected. A special order that took hours and a bit of coin, but was well worth it. The seamstress did fine work.

Isn't it pretty?

See the little wing pattern she stitched in?

They're the only wings you'll have now.

He holds it out, delicate feathers and lace draping over his hand, the ruined remnants of your freedom reshaped into something grotesque. A wedding veil.

"Try it on for me, darling," he murmurs, offering it with one hand and adjusting himself with the other. "Let me see my bride."

[toshisdecadence]

What A Woman Wants

PAIRING: dilf!toji fushiguro x rich girl!fem reader

TAGS & WARNINGS: dark content, dubcon, age gap (reader is in college, toji is in his forties), unprotected sex, implied infidelity, slight angst, implied virgin!reader, cherry popping (read: exterminating), manhandling, rough sex, mirror sex, hair pulling, oral sex (f receiving), degradation, choking, spitting, fingering, obscene dirty talk, creampies, dumbification, overstimulation, dacryphilia, marathon sex, size kink, size difference, stomach bulge, cervix mentions, doggy, mating press, missionary, referenced public sex, referenced quickies, referenced phone sex and sexting, smoking, alcohol consumption

WORD COUNT: 15.2k

SUMMARY: You find yourself tangled in an intense affair with the last man you should ever want—Toji Fushiguro, broke, rugged, and utterly irresistible.

© toshisdecadence

Toji Fushiguro—a single dad, financially struggling, with a bare apartment and rugged disposition—seemed to unite some of the worst misfortunes in existence; and had lived nearly 42 years with many things that distressed and vexed him.

His life had been far from ideal, but he tried his best. Well, as good as “best” could be. If it was just him, Toji would’ve just fucked off to some other dump. But he wasn’t. He had Megumi, his only son. A son he was barely a father to, admittedly, but Toji never claimed to be a model parent.

A skill that Toji had picked up from his shitty four decades of living was the ability to read people off the bat. Their body language. Demeanor. Way of speaking. The way they held their gaze. He could tell when a person had never experienced any form of hardship.

You were one such person. Toji could smell it from the moment you emerged behind Megumi’s back, dressed in a pretty white ensemble that no doubt cost one of his paychecks.

You’d shown up to Megumi’s apartment with a practiced ease that screamed entitlement—not the loud, obnoxious kind, but the subtle sort that came from never having to second-guess whether the world would open its doors for you. You carried yourself like someone who’d never been told “no” in a way that actually mattered.

Toji noticed it right away.

It wasn’t just the clothes—though the crisp linen blouse that clung to your figure and understated pearl earrings definitely told a story. It was the way you lingered in the doorway without stepping aside, as if the worn-out carpet and cheap furniture might rub off on you. The slight wrinkle of your nose, almost imperceptible, quickly smoothed over when Megumi introduced you. The polite, pretty smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Yeah, Toji knew your type.

He leaned back against the raggedy, saggy couch, sprawled out in a way that was equal parts lazy and deliberate. He’d learned a long time ago that people like you hated men like him. Men who didn’t clean up well, who didn’t pretend to be better than what they were. He let his gaze drag over you just long enough to make you shift uncomfortably.

“Didn’t know Megumi had friends like you,” Toji said, voice low and rough around the edges.

You arched a perfectly manicured brow, the polished kind of expression that said you weren’t easily rattled. “Like me?”

“Yeah.” He took his time lighting a cigarette, even though Megumi’s annoyed glare told him not to. He liked pushing buttons, liked seeing how far people could bend before they snapped. “The kind who looks out of place here.”

The corner of your mouth twitched, caught somewhere between irritation and amusement. Your voice remained even as you replied, “And what kind is that?”

Toji smirked, slow and mean, the scar running through the corner of his mouth making it almost look like a sneer. He exhaled smoke in your direction, earning a furrow of your brow. “The kind who thinks this shithole’s beneath her.”

“Dad, could you not?” Megumi groaned, intercepting the exchange.

Toji simply shrugged, lazily letting his gaze trail from his son to you.

You stared at him, your expression controlled. If anything, you looked amused.

The tension sat heavy between you, like a tug-of-war where neither side wanted to flinch first. Toji could see the war in your eyes. The same kind he saw in all the women who thought they were too good for him but still couldn’t stop looking.

Before either of you could push further, Megumi came back into the room, breaking the moment. Toji watched the mask slip back into place as easily as it had fallen. Polished, perfect, untouchable.

“Then, excuse me, Mr. Fushiguro,” you said, smiling politely.

He leaned back against the couch, cigarette dangling from his lips, and let his gaze follow you as you walked behind Megumi in tow. Toji appreciated the view. Prissy as he thought you were, you sure are one pretty woman.

And then you looked back over your shoulder, meeting his gaze with an unreadable expression.

Yeah, this was going to be fun.

You spotted him by accident.

The streets of downtown gleamed under the afternoon sun, polished storefronts and valet stations lining the walkways. The sun almost made the pavement shimmer a blinding white. It was your kind of area. Clean, expensive, and carefully curated to keep out the riffraff. Which is why Toji Fushiguro stuck out like a sore thumb.

He was leaning against the faded green truck parked half on the curb, the black sleeves of his sweater rolled up to his forearms, cigarette dangling between his lips as if he had all the time in the world. The smoke curled around him, blending with the faint scent of engine oil and sweat that seemed to follow him.

You almost didn’t recognize him without that thin black t-shirt clinging to the kind of frame belonging to a man in his forties. But the moment he turned and locked eyes with you, the unmistakable scar on his lips twisting as his lips spread into a lazy smirk, you knew exactly who he was.

“Mr. Fushiguro,” you greeted, lips tightening into a strained smile.

Toji raised an eyebrow. “That’s a new one. Didn’t think you’d bother pretending to be polite.”

You stopped a few feet away, your hand gripping the strap of your leather designer bag from sliding down your shoulder. “I’m polite when I need to be.”

“And this is you needing to be polite?” He blew out a puff of smoke, eyes dragging over you appreciatively like he was appraising something valuable—lingering a moment too long on your legs before flicking back up to meet your stern gaze. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“You’re blocking the valet lane,” you said, voice steady.

Toji glanced at the painted curb, then back at you without moving an inch. “Think they’ll survive.”

“Bold of you to assume they won’t tow that thing.”

His grin widened. “Bold of you to assume I’d care.”

The words might have hit harder if his eyes hadn’t been pinned to you the entire time. Steady, calculating, like he was waiting to see whether you’d crack under the weight of his gaze. But you didn’t. You’d dealt with enough men to know how to handle it.

“Well,” you said lightly, your hands loosening around the strap of your bag, “tell Megumi I said hi.”

“Sure,” he said, but he didn’t make a motion to move, the cigarette burning down between his fingers. “You sticking around?”

The question should’ve sounded casual, but it didn’t. It hung there, thick and heavy.

“Just passing through.”

“Figures.” He exhaled slowly, eyes never leaving yours. “Guess I’ll let you get back to swiping that platinum card of yours.”

The corner of your mouth twitched, but you didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, you smiled sweetly, stepping closer just long enough to brush past him and murmur, “Have a good rest of your day, Mr. Fushiguro.”

He took a long drag of his cigarette, eyes roaming over you in a way that felt deliberate—lingering on the contours of your face, your lips, the slope of your bare shoulders—before flicking back to your face.

“Call me Toji.”

“I’ll stick with Mr. Fushiguro.”

Your smile was as sharp as your words, but he didn’t flinch. If anything, his grin deepened, slow and wolfish. With a polite bow of your pretty head, you walked away with your head high and your heels clicking against the pavement.

You didn’t expect Toji to show up.

It was supposed to be a quiet dinner between friends. Just you and Megumi, grabbing food at a spot you introduced him to right after class. Something close enough to the bus stop so Megumi could catch his bus back to his side of town. But instead, Megumi was already sitting at the table when you arrived, arms crossed, scowling like he’d rather be anywhere else. And sitting across from him—half-sprawled in the booth with an elbow placed on the table—was Toji.

You faltered for a split second before slipping into the seat next to Megumi, carefully ignoring the older man’s amused glance as you set your bag down.

You let your expression do the talking, nudging Megumi’s leg under the table.

“I didn’t know,” Megumi muttered in defeat. “He just showed up.”

Toji’s voice cut in before you could respond, smooth and slow as ever. “Relax. I’m just here for the food.”

“Not sure you can afford it,” you said without looking up.

Megumi snorted. Toji didn’t.

“You worried about my finances, princess?”

You finally looked at him, meeting his dark green eyes across the table. “Just imparting financial literacy. That’s all.”

His lips curled, but before he could fire back, the waiter appeared with menus. You ordered first without even looking at the menu—something seasonal with a bottle of sparkling water—while Toji leaned back when it was his turn.

“Burger,” he said. “Fries. Whatever beer you’ve got on draft.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Megumi looked like he wanted to sink into the floor.

Toji didn't care. He let the silence stretch, absently flipping over the silverware while Megumi focused on his phone. And when his gaze eventually slid back to you, it felt deliberate.

“You and Megumi,” he said after a beat. “You two dating or something?”

Megumi groaned, but you were already replying. “No.”

“Sure about that?”

“Certain.”

Toji’s grin was slow, almost predatory. “Good to hear.”

You hated the way your pulse jumped at the implication.

“Dad, don’t start,” Megumi muttered, staring daggers into his father.

“What?” Toji said, feigning innocence. “I’m just curious about who you might or might not be dating.”

“Megumi and I are just friends,” you clarify. 

“Smart girl,” Toji said, leaning back again. He cocked his head to the side, lips curling, that scar through his lip embedding itself in your eyes. “You could do better.”

Your nails dug into your palm under the table.

“You’re one to talk,” Megumi snapped suddenly, cutting through the tension. “You show up out of nowhere, act like you give a shit, and then—”

Toji’s expression shifted. Subtle, but sharp enough that Megumi immediately clamped his mouth shut.

“I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“Barely.”

“Better than nothing,” Toji said.

Megumi’s jaw clenched. You’d never seen him this visibly frustrated before. You knew that he had a dubious relationship with his father, but you didn’t realize it was this bad. Usually, Megumi was the definition of even-tempered. Calm and composed. He never let anyone or anything ruffle him. But Toji clearly had a talent for poking at weak spots.

Your gaze flickered between the two of them. The tension was uncomfortable, like being trapped in a room with a lit fuse.

“This is why we don’t talk,” Megumi said suddenly, pushing his chair back with a sharp scrape.

Toji’s brows lifted slightly, as if the outburst amused him. “Because I showed up to hang with my kid?”

“No,” Megumi snapped. “Because you always do this.”

Toji leaned forward, resting his beefy arms on the table. “Do what?” He asked with a cock of his head.

“Show up when it’s convenient. Then disappear just as fast.”

The words hung in the air for a moment before Megumi stood up, grabbing his phone and bag. “I’m out of here.”

You blinked up at him. “Wait—Megumi—”

“I’ll text you later,” he muttered, already halfway to the door. He didn’t even glance at Toji as he left.

The restaurant door closed behind him, leaving an uncomfortable silence in his wake.

“Well,” Toji leaned back again, looking thoroughly unfazed by the whole ordeal. “Guess it’s just us now.”

You set your glass down carefully, staring coldly into his face. “Apparently.”

Toji’s smirk widened. “You don’t have to look so happy about it.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Why are you still here?”

“Free food,” he said easily.

“You said you came here to hang out with Megumi.”

“Same thing. Besides, that brat left already.”

You exhaled sharply, already regretting letting Megumi drag you into this mess. Toji didn’t seem inclined to leave anytime soon, given his lackadaisical manner, and there was something about the way he looked at you—casual, curious—that made it impossible to relax.

“So,” he said after a moment, eyes flicking down to your glass before dragging back up to your face, “how long have you and Megumi been friends?”

You hesitated, not liking the sudden shift in focus. “A while.”

“Close?”

“As close as anyone can be with him.”

Toji snorted at that, and the sound made your jaw tighten. He wasn’t wrong, but something about his attitude made you bristle.

“Don’t act like you know him,” you said sharply.

That seemed to catch him off guard. For a second, his smirk faltered, replaced by something darker. “And you do?”

“Better than you, apparently.”

Toji leaned in slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “That so?”

You didn’t back down, even as his piercing gaze pinned you in place. “Yeah.”

There was a long pause before Toji laughed—a low, rough sound that grated against your nerves. “You’ve got some nerve, princess.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t know me.”

His wolfish grin returned, sharp and deliberate. “No,” he said, voice lowering. “But I think I’m starting to.”

Your stomach twisted at the implication. You hated how casual he sounded, like he already had you figured out.

You picked up your drink, taking a long sip and finding refuge in the burn of the fizz to bury the mortification burning through your body.

“So,” Toji said after a moment, breaking the silence again. “What do rich girls talk about over dinner? Stocks? Real estate? Or just all the guys who couldn’t impress you?”

You set your glass down with a soft clink. “I don’t waste my time talking about men.”

Toji whistled. “That so?”

“Most of them are disappointing.”

His brows lifted, and for the first time, he looked like he was actually interested. “Disappointing how?”

You leaned back, crossing your arms as if you were completely unfazed. “Let’s see. No ambition. No sense of direction. No emotional intelligence. No general intelligence. No follow-through. Should I go on?”

The corner of his scarred mouth twitched, and something about it made you feel like you’d walked into a trap.

“Sounds like you’ve got high standards,” he said, voice low and smooth. “But what happens when no one meets them?”

You didn’t answer right away, letting the question hang in the air. Toji didn’t look away. He wasn’t like the other men you’d brushed off before—the ones who shrank under your stare or fumbled over their words, trying to impress you. No, Toji looked at you like he wasn’t the least bit intimidated. If anything, it felt like he was the one sizing you up.

“I don’t settle,” you said finally.

“No?”

“No.”

“That’s cute, princess.”

You ignored him, picking up your drink again and taking another slow sip. But the heat prickling your skin didn’t fade. Not with Toji’s green eyes still on you, sharp and dark, like he was waiting for the exact moment you’d falter.

The food arrived soon after, cutting through the tension for a brief moment. You ate slowly, composed, carefully spearing your salad while Toji tore into his burger like he hadn’t eaten in days.

“So, what is it you do?” you asked eventually, letting the question drip with feigned politeness.

Toji glanced up, mouth still half-full. You tried not to let your expression sour at the sight. “Depends,” he said.

“Depends on what?”

“What pays.”

You raised an eyebrow. “No real job, then?”

“Not one you’d approve of,” he said, leaning back and wiping his mouth with a napkin.

“You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who cares about approval,” you said, tilting your head.

“I don’t,” Toji said. “But you do.”

Your fork paused just above your plate.

“You think so?”

“I know so,” he said, voice low and steady. “Girls like you? Everything’s about appearances. Doesn’t matter what’s underneath, as long as it all looks good on the surface.”

“And what about you?” you countered, your voice sharp. “What’s underneath?”

Toji leaned in slightly, his lips curling. “All you had to do was ask if you wanted to see me naked, princess.”

Your breath hitched before you could stop it, but you covered it up with another sip of your drink. The worst part wasn’t the smugness in his expression, or the blatant flirting and teasing—it was the fact that he was right. Everything about him, from his ragged edges to the dark look in his green eyes, was something you should’ve and usually turned your nose up at. And yet, you couldn’t stop staring.

You set your glass down, fixing him with an unimpressed stare.

“Are you seriously flirting with me?”

Toji shrugged. “It’s whatever you think it is, princess.”

The conversation shifted after that—courtesy of you blatantly ignoring the topic altogether—but the tension never fully faded.

By the time the check came, you were more than ready to leave. Toji leaned back and stretched. The waiter approached the table cautiously, clutching the black leather bill folder like it might detonate in his hands. He glanced between the two of you. First at Toji, whose broad frame and casual slouch made him look wildly out of place at the upscale restaurant, then at you, perfectly composed in your crisp linen top and polished jewelry.

You didn’t miss the flicker of hesitation in the waiter’s eyes. He was clearly trying to piece together the dynamic—father and daughter? Boss and employee? Lovers?—before ultimately deciding he didn’t want to guess wrong.

“Whenever you’re ready,” the waiter said, placing the bill carefully in the middle of the table.

Toji reached for it first, but you were faster, sliding it out from under his fingers before he could even lift the cover.

He raised a brow at you. “What? You think I can’t pay?”

You flipped the folder open without looking at him, not bothering to look at the total.

“No,” you said coolly, already pulling your dark brown leather wallet out of your purse. “I know you won’t.”

Toji grinned wolfishly, leaning back like this whole thing amused him. “Smart girl.”

The waiter lingered awkwardly, pretending to straighten the silverware as you pulled out some crisp bills. The metal cards in your wallet glinted under the soft lighting, unmistakable even to someone like Toji.

“Nice card,” he said, voice dripping with something that could’ve been admiration, or mockery.

“Thanks,” you said, snapping the folder shut and handing it back to the waiter. You smiled warmly at the waiter. “Keep the change.”

The waiter blinked at the implied tip, which was generous enough to make up for the strained atmosphere that had hung over the table all night, before he thanked you and quickly excused himself.

Toji whistled low, watching the waiter walk away, before he dragged his gaze back to you. “Big spender, huh?”

You reached for your purse, unfazed. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not to you,” he muttered, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

You paused, but only for a moment. “No,” you agreed softly, letting the word linger before you rose from your seat. “Not to me.”

Toji stayed seated, watching as you gathered your things with practiced ease, smoothing down your skirt and adjusting your jewelry.

“Leaving already?” he asked, sounding far too entertained.

You met his eyes, calm and composed despite the tension still lingering in your chest. “The meal’s settled,” you said simply. “What else is there to stick around for?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let his gaze drag over you, taking in every detail—your immaculate clothes, your careful and upright posture, your perfectly applied lipstick.

Oh, how Toji wanted to smear them.

“Fair point,” he said at last, but there was something in his tone that made it feel less like an agreement and more like a challenge.

The faint thwack of tennis balls echoed across the court as the conversation continued, but you stayed quiet, idly running your fingers through the rim of your racket. Marissa and Chloe were still picking apart the details of dating someone outside their world—outside the carefully curated expectations—and every word struck a chord you didn’t want to acknowledge.

The others were still talking about Chloe’s boyfriend, picking apart his flaws with clinical precision, but you barely heard them anymore. You were too busy dissecting your own ridiculous impulses, the way your body had betrayed you, the way your mind kept circling back to him.

Toji Fushiguro.

You hated even thinking his name, hated how it echoed in your head like a whisper you couldn’t shake. It was absurd. He was absurd. What did he even have to offer besides a handsome face and a body that looked carved out of stone? He didn’t belong anywhere near this world—your world—and he never would.

He wasn’t polished. He wasn’t educated. He wasn’t even financially stable. He was the type of man who looked out of place in restaurants like the one you’d taken him to, and you knew that he hadn’t even cared. Not one bit.

That’s what got under your skin the most.

You’d spent your life perfecting the art of composure, of setting expectations and making sure they were met. Because in your world, expectations mattered. They were everything. But Toji? He didn’t live by expectations. He didn’t even pretend to. He just existed—blunt and crass and unapologetic—and it infuriated you how freeing it seemed.

“He’s sweet,” Chloe repeated defensively, but the words sounded hollow. “He’s just a bit… rough around the edges.”

“Sweet only gets you so far,” Marissa said, adjusting her tennis bracelet. “What happens when you’re hosting a fundraiser or when you’re at dinner with your parents, and he doesn’t even know which fork to use?”

“Exactly.” Julia, who had been scrolling absentmindedly on her phone, finally looked up. “You can’t spend your whole life trying to fix someone. If he’s not polished enough, he never will be.”

Chloe sighed, slumping back into her seat. “It’s not like I’m trying to marry him,” she muttered.

“Yeah, because your mom and dad would never approve,” Marissa said, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “It’s about being practical, Chloe. If he can’t keep up with you now, he’s not going to suddenly catch up later.”

“It’s not that simple,” Chloe huffed. “He’s not bad, okay? He’s sweet, and he tries, but—”

“But he’s broke,” Marissa finished bluntly.

“Not broke broke. He just doesn’t have family money. He’s still working his way up, and you know how hard it is to find a guy who’s actually attractive and driven.”

“Please.” Marissa snorted. “It’s not that hard. You’re just being sentimental.”

You weren’t paying attention before, but now? Now the words stuck.

You leaned down to retie your shoelace, turning your head sideways to hide the way your jaw tightened.

The hypocrisy of it all gnawed at you.

Because no matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise, you knew the truth. If Toji had been rich—if he’d been sitting in that restaurant in a tailored suit instead of an old raggedy sweater—you wouldn’t have cared about his age or his baggage or the fact that he had a grown son your age. You wouldn’t have even blinked.

And the worst part?

You weren’t any better than Chloe.

“He doesn’t have to be rich,” Chloe argued, drawing your attention back to the conversation. “But he should at least aspire to something, right? I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t bother me when he gets uncomfortable when I try to take him somewhere nicer than a steakhouse.”

“It’s a compatibility thing,” Marissa said. “You can’t force someone to fit into this lifestyle. If he’s not comfortable in it now, he never will be.”

Your stomach twisted.

The words rang in your ears, uncomfortably close to the thoughts that had plagued you since that dinner. Since Toji’s sharp smirk and unbothered stare had somehow left you feeling raw and exposed.

“I mean, what’s the point of all of this?” Chloe gestured vaguely around the pristine tennis courts. “What’s the point of working hard and doing well if we’re just going to settle for guys who can’t keep up? It’s exhausting.”

You almost laughed. Exhausting.

Toji wasn’t exhausted. He wasn’t running himself in circles trying to impress anyone. He didn’t even try to fit into places he didn’t belong. And yet, for all his bluntness, for all his rough edges and the casual way he seemed to exist without apology, he’d felt more solid than anyone you’d met in years.

And that terrified you.

“You’re quiet today,” Marissa said suddenly, pulling you back to the present. “Everything okay?”

“Perfectly fine.” You managed a smile, twirling your racket by its grip. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Nothing important.”

You gripped your racket tighter, nails digging into the synthetic leather.

“Are we playing another set or what?” someone asked.

You forced yourself to stand up, to push him out of your head and focus on the game.

But even as you stepped onto the court and adjusted your stance, you knew it wouldn’t last.

The clock on the wall ticked away lazily, the soft hum of your air conditioning the only sound breaking the silence in your lavish apartment. You were sitting at your kitchen island, flicking through some textbooks as you mentally prepared yourself for the hours of work ahead. Megumi had texted earlier, saying he’d drop off the final details for your project—he’d promised to take care of it when you saw him last. But now, sitting in your pristine apartment with a glass of rosé beside you, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

The soft ping of a text from Megumi interrupted the quiet of your apartment. You glanced down at your phone, fully expecting it to be a message about the project materials. Instead, your eyes widened slightly as you read the sudden shift in plans.

Sorry, there’s an emergency with Kuro so I’m at the vet. I’m sending my dad instead to drop off the stuff you need. Hope that's okay. I’ll catch up with you later.

You exhaled sharply, your fingers momentarily gripping the phone tighter. Toji. The last person you were expecting.

You had half-expected Megumi to be reliable. Sure, his father was... something else, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t follow through. You rubbed your forehead, sighing as you felt the unrelenting weight of the fact that Toji—Megumi’s deadbeat dad, the man with a charm as sharp as his lack of direction in life—was about to show up at your door.

For a moment, you almost texted Megumi back to argue. To suggest he just drop it by tomorrow, that you didn’t need his father showing up like this. But before you could even type out your thoughts, a knock echoed through your apartment.

Your heart skipped a beat—whether from excitement or dread, you couldn't pinpoint. You set your phone down on the countertop, trying to steady your breathing, but your pulse was already racing. You had no business feeling this way. He was an obstacle, a challenge to your composure, but nothing more. This was just another inconvenience, another reminder that you were far above whatever Toji was.

With a reluctant exhale, you made your way to the door, clicking the lock open, and standing there in the frame, Toji’s tall figure filled the doorway. He leaned casually against the frame, holding the folder in his hand, looking every bit the same unbothered, rugged man you’d met before.

You stood there, holding the door open just a little too long as your mind races. Toji’s presence in your apartment felt like a looming storm—heavy, pressing, relentless. Megumi’s absence only amplified the tension, leaving you alone with the one man you know you should not be alone with.

Toji stepped inside, just far enough to clear the doorway, his eyes already scanning the room. His gaze swept over the space with a mixture of appreciation and something darker, something more intense. He’s not just looking at the furniture or the art on the walls. He’s looking at you.

“...Mr. Fushiguro,” you managed.

You closed the door behind him, standing just a little too close, but you can’t exactly tell him to leave. Not when you need the materials, and not when your damn pulse is racing just from being in the same room as him. Your eyes fell to the folder in his hands, trying to distract yourself, trying to stay calm. You don’t want to feel anything.

He gave a small grunt of acknowledgement but didn't immediately hand you the folder. Instead, he set it down on the coffee table, his gaze locking with yours in that way he always does, like he’s studying you.

You felt exposed—your place, your clothes, everything about you right now feels vulnerable. You weren’t expecting this. Toji Fushiguro, your friend’s father, standing in your apartment, staring at you with that heavy, calculating gaze. It’s not the first time he’s looked at you like that, but it’s the first time it’s made you feel this much.

"Nice place," he said, his voice low, his tone appreciative but edged with something more—something that causes your pulse to pick up, just a little. "Definitely fits you. All the right things in all the right places." He’s not talking about the apartment anymore.

You managed a tight smile. "I like to keep it clean." You tried to sound nonchalant, but your hands, now clutched in front of you, betrayed the nervous energy you can’t seem to shake. He’s too close, his presence too powerful.

He stepped closer, examining the space with a casual interest, but it’s all too clear that his eyes are more on you than the apartment. "Yeah. I can see that." His gaze lingered a moment too long before he pulled his focus away to gesture around the room. "All this... it fits you. Perfectly."

You swallowed, your heart picking up its pace. The compliment should feel good, should be flattering. But instead, it twists in your stomach. You don’t need his approval. You don’t need any of this. So why does it make you feel like you’re being torn open, laid bare?

"Thanks," you muttered, the word slipping out easily despite the discomfort tightening in your chest. Toji’s proximity feels suffocating now, his every movement calculated and unnervingly direct.

You glanced down at the folder on the island, the one containing the documents you’d been waiting on, but your mind is somewhere else entirely. His presence overwhelmed you. It was strange how it seemed to fill the room with the kind of pressure that had nothing to do with the space around you.

“And,” you murmured, trying to keep your voice steady as you took the folder from his hand. You can’t help but notice the way his eyes linger on you, that slow scan of his gaze, the way it feels as if he’s undressing you with nothing but a look. “Thanks for bringing this.”

“Don’t mention it, sweetheart.”

Your grip on the folder tightened, but it wasn’t because of the papers inside.

It was him.

Standing there, weight shifted lazily onto one leg, arms crossed over his broad chest like he had all the time in the world. Like he could feel how badly you wanted him gone, but more than that—how badly you wanted him to stay.

He smirked, slow and easy. "You gonna open it, or just stand there clenching it like that?"

You forced a breath through your nose, willing your hands to relax. "I’ll look through it later."

He hummed, unconvinced, stepping closer. "That so?"

You nodded, lips pressing into a thin line as you refused to look up. Because if you did, you’d see the way his dark eyes gleamed with amusement. With certainty.

Toji thrived on this, on the push and pull, on the game you were trying so damn hard not to play.

"You know, you’re real uptight, sweetheart," he murmured, voice dipping just enough to make the hairs on the back of your neck rise. "Always actin’ like you got somethin’ to prove."

Your jaw tensed. "I don’t have to prove anything to you."

That damn smirk deepened.

"Never said you did." His voice was smooth, like velvet laced with something sharp. "Just funny how you keep tellin’ yourself that."

Your fingers curled into your palm, nails pressing into skin. You could feel the heat rising in your chest, something dangerously close to frustration—no, not just frustration.

It was something else you didn’t want to acknowledge.

Because goddamn it, he was right.

Every time Toji was near, it took everything in you not to acknowledge the pull, the way your body betrayed you in his presence. It wasn’t fair. He wasn’t fair.

Toji shifted, and suddenly, he was too close, the scent of him—smoke, leather, and something distinctly masculine—wrapping around you like a noose.

"You always this tense around guys, or is it just me?" His voice was low, teasing, but there was something beneath it. Something pressing.

Your throat felt tight. "Just you."

The words left you before you could stop them.

His smirk vanished, replaced by something heavier, something darker. A beat of silence stretched between you, thick with everything unsaid.

"Yeah?" he murmured.

You swallowed the dryness in your throat.

He didn’t move, but you could feel it—his patience thinning, the careful line he was toeing fraying with every second you stood there, staring up at him like you were waiting for something to happen.

And maybe you were.

Maybe you’d been waiting this whole damn time.

His gaze dipped, lingering on your lips just long enough for your breath to hitch before dragging back up, locking onto yours with an intensity that made your knees weak.

Then—so slight it could’ve been accidental—he reached out, fingertips just barely grazing the back of your wrist.

You should have pulled away.

You didn’t.

The touch was fleeting, gone before you could fully process it, but the damage was done. Your pulse pounded, skin burning where he’d touched you, and Toji knew.

Oh, he fucking knew.

He exhaled a quiet laugh, so low you almost didn’t catch it. "Hate to break it to ya, sweetheart," he murmured, leaning in just enough for his breath to ghost over your cheek, "but I think you like it."

Your stomach dropped.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

And that? That terrified you more than anything.

Your breath came too fast, too shallow.

Toji wasn’t just close—he was looming, his presence swallowing up all the space between you, thick and suffocating. He wasn’t touching you, not really, but it didn’t matter. His heat curled around you, his scent—smoke, steel, something dark—flooding your senses, making it impossible to think.

You needed to stop this. You had to stop this.

"You’re playing a dangerous game," you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

His lips twitched. Amused. Unbothered. "Ain’t playin’."

God, you were shaking. You gripped the folder tighter, knuckles white, but it was useless. You had nothing. No grounding, no control. Just the unbearable weight of his gaze and the way your body—traitorous, desperate—leaned closer when it should have pulled away.

"This—this is a bad idea," you tried, your voice breaking.

Toji hummed, slow, like he was thinking about it, like it was even a question. "Probably."

Your stomach twisted. "Megumi—"

"—ain’t here," he finished smoothly, cutting you off before you could even try to make that excuse stick.

Your stomach twisted, your resolve slipping like sand through your fingers. "You're his dad."

He tilted his head slightly, gaze heavy-lidded, knowing. "That bother you?" 

Yes. No. It should.

Your lips parted, but the words caught in your throat because goddamn it, the way he was looking at you was undoing every carefully built wall you’d spent months constructing.

His hand lifted—slow, deliberate—until his fingertips brushed against your jaw. A barely-there touch, but your whole body reacted, heat blooming under your skin like he’d set you on fire.

"You’re too old for me," you whispered, desperate now, clinging to anything.

Toji huffed a quiet laugh. "That so?" His thumb dragged along the curve of your chin, tilting it up just enough to make you meet his green eyes. "Funny. You don’t feel like you mind."

A shiver ran down your spine. You did mind. You had to mind.

Your breath hitched as he leaned in, close enough that you could see the scar slicing through his lips, close enough that if you so much as swayed, you’d—

"No job," you blurted, grasping at straws now, voice breathless. "You're—you’re broke."

Toji laughed. Laughed. Low and amused, like none of this even fazed him. "That why your heart’s racin’?"

Damn him.

You could hear it—feel it—the thundering pulse in your chest, your body's betrayal laid bare in the space between you.

You had one last defense. One last excuse.

"I—" Your voice wavered. "I don’t want this."

Liar.

Toji’s smirk softened, just barely, but the hunger in his eyes never wavered. His fingers trailed from your jaw to your throat, light, teasing, before settling against the rapid beat of your pulse.

"Lemme hear you say that again."

You opened your mouth—ready, willing yourself to say it—but nothing came out.

Because you couldn’t.

Because it wasn’t true.

And Toji knew it.

Knew it when your breath shuddered, when your lashes fluttered, when your body leaned—just the smallest fraction—toward him instead of away.

His lips barely ghosted over yours, not quite a kiss, but there, teasing, taunting.

"That’s what I thought."

And just like that, the last of your excuses crumbled.

You don’t know how it happens. One moment, you were trying to catch your breath, trying to think—the next, Toji’s crowding you against the counter, his sheer presence suffocating, intoxicating, inevitable.

"Been fightin’ this so hard, huh? Thought you were too good for it?" His voice was nothing but a slow, lazy drawl, but you felt the way his words curl around you, creeping into the deepest, filthiest parts of your mind.

You tried to push at his chest, your palms pressed against the hard muscle—useless. His hand engulfed your wrist with a single squeeze, pinning it beside your head. The other? It slid slowly over your thigh, teasing the hem of your shorts.

"Toji—" your voice was a breathless whisper, but even you don't know if you’re begging him to stop or to keep going.

"Tell me to stop, then." His grip tightened when you squirmed, his thumb pressing just right over your pulse point. "Tell me you don’t want it."

You should. You have to. But your mouth refused to form the words when his fingers dipped lower, grazing the damp fabric of your underwear. A sharp inhale betrayed you, your thighs tensing against his touch.

"Filthy girl," he rasped, the smirk in his voice unmistakable.

With one sharp yank, your shorts are gone, tossed somewhere and forgotten along with the folder Toji had come here to bring. A gasp caught in your throat, embarrassment warring with the unbearable need twisting low in your stomach.

Then—

"Fuck—look at you," Toji groaned, dragging his roughened thumb against your slick folds, heavy and hot. "Gotta stretch you out first, yeah? Can’t even take the tip like this."

The first press of his fingers had you choking on a gasp. Thick, deliberate, his touch was slow as he worked you open, forcing your body to take more, his thumb pressing teasing circles against your puffy clit. You trembled beneath him, whimpering as he curled his fingers inside you, stretching your gummy walls, coaxing out slick with every lazy stroke.

"Mmm, still too tight," he mused, his voice a rough purr against your ear. "Gotta make sure you can handle me, baby. Don’t want you breakin’ on me too fast."

Your body betrayed you, hips rocking into the steady intrusion, your thighs trembling when he scissored his fingers inside you. It’s too much—the sensation, the way he watched you, the way he’s holding back just to make sure you felt every second of this.

“You’re creamin’ all over my fingers, baby,” Toji cooed, fucking in two rough fingers. Your face burned at the sound of squelching. You could hear how wet you were. Could feel it soaking his palm, your ass, and even the kitchen island beneath you. “Do you not touch yourself, hm? Pussy’s so fuckin’ tight.”

You quivered beneath him, thrashing and twisting as his thick fingers fucked into you. You felt tears pricking at your eyes from the sensation. You felt so full. His rough fingertips rubbed against the ribbed walls of your cunt, curling into a spot that rendered you breathless.

Toji relished the sight. “Atta girl,” he rasped, the sound sending heat straight to your pussy. “You can take more f’me, hm?”

Your mind was too cloudy to properly respond, your lips parted in a silent cry, mewls and whimpers escaping your glossy lips.

Toji smiled wolfishly. “‘Course you can, sweetheart.”

Then he pushed a third finger in. Your walls clamped down on him, fluttering like it was panicking from the stretch.

He grunted at that, working his finger in. “So tight. Almost makes me think you’re a fuckin’ virgin.”

Your walls fluttered at that, your body tensing at the words. Toji’s smirk deepened, eyes sharpening as he caught the subtle shift in your reaction. He stilled his movements for just a moment, head tilting slightly as realization dawned on him.

“Oh,” he drawled, voice dropping even lower, thick with something dangerous. “That so, sweetheart?” His fingers flexed inside you, making you jerk. “Fuck, no wonder you’re squeezin’ me like this.” His wolfish grin widened, teeth flashing as he leaned in, voice like a growl against your ear. “Your first time, and it’s gonna be with me? Hah. Ain’t that somethin’?”

Your breath hitched, shame and arousal mixing in a dizzying heat. Toji chuckled darkly, fingers starting to move again, slower, deeper. “Don’t worry, baby,” he murmured, pressing a filthy kiss to your jaw. His scent overwhelms you—cigarettes, musk, and something warm. “I’ll make sure you never forget it.”

You clenched even tighter at that, earning a grunt from Toji who had to work much harder to fuck his fingers into you.

Toji chuckled, voice dripping with amusement. “Oh? That got you clenchin’ up real tight. What is it, baby? The thought of this big cock being your first get you all worked up?” His fingers curled again, stroking that spot inside you deliberately. You choked on a gasp, your hips jerking against the countertop.

His free hand moved to your jaw, gripping it roughly, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Nah, can’t be. Not with a fuckin' pussy like this,” he murmured, his voice dark and amused. “Too fuckin’ sweet. Too fuckin' greedy.” He pried your lips open with his thumb, watching with a glint in his eye as your tongue lolled out on instinct. “See? Good little sluts always open up for me.”

Before you could respond, he spit. The thick warmth of it landed right on your tongue, and you whined, your body betraying you as you swallowed without thinking. He grinned at the sight, fingers still fucking deep inside your cunt.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice thick with approval. “Knew you’d be fuckin' perfect for me.”

His fingers spread inside you, stretching you even wider, and you gasped, hands flying up to clutch at his wrist. His grin only widened.

“Aww, poor thing,” he mocked, leaning in so his lips brushed against the corner of your mouth. “Can’t take my fingers? Then how the fuck you gonna take my cock?”

You couldn’t answer—all you could do was whimper as he fucked his fingers into you harder, knuckles-deep, the wet sounds of your arousal obscene in the quiet of the kitchen.

“Maybe I should make you beg for it first,” he mused, lips ghosting along your jaw. “Make you admit how bad you want me to split this tight little cunt open.”

His fingers finally withdrew, leaving you empty and aching, but before you could complain, Toji was already lowering himself between your thighs. He lifted one of your legs over his broad shoulder, his hands gripping your thighs tight enough to leave bruises.

“Gotta open you up nice and proper, baby,” he murmured, voice dripping with sin. “Can’t have this tiny fuckin’ hole strugglin’ too much, huh?”

His breath was hot against your drenched folds, his dark eyes locked onto your fluttering cunt. Then, without warning, he spit. The thick glob of saliva landed right on your swollen clit, mixing with your arousal, and you gasped at the sensation.

Toji groaned at the sight. “Fuckin’ messy,” he muttered, using two fingers to spread the slickness over your folds. “Bet you’ve never had anyone eat this pretty pussy, huh?”

You barely had time to shake your head before he dove in. His tongue was hot, rough, and unrelenting as he licked a long, slow stripe up your slit before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking. Hard.

Your back arched off the counter, a strangled moan ripping from your throat as Toji devoured you like a man starved. His tongue worked you over, hot and wet, flicking and swirling in ways that had your thighs trembling around his head. He didn’t just eat pussy—he dominated it, owned it, made it his.

His fingers pressed back into you, two thick digits stretching you open while his tongue teased your swollen bundle of nerves. He pumped them slowly at first, letting you feel every ridge of his calloused fingertips rubbing against your slick walls.

“Gotta get this tight little hole ready,” he murmured between licks, his breath hot against your soaked folds. “Can’t have you cryin’ when I stuff you full.”

You whimpered, your hands flying to his dark hair, gripping tight as your hips bucked against his mouth.

Toji growled, pleased by your desperation, and shoved his fingers deeper. “That’s it, baby. Fuckin’ take it.”

His tongue never relented, flicking, sucking, teasing, until the pressure inside you coiled unbearably tight. He could feel it, the way your walls squeezed around his fingers, the way your body trembled beneath him.

“Gonna cum for me, huh?” he rasped, his voice vibrating against your clit. “Go on, then. Fuckin’ soak me.”

A few more ruthless strokes of his tongue, and you shattered.

Your orgasm tore through you, your body locking up as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Toji groaned against your pussy, drinking in every drop of slick that gushed out of you, his fingers still working you through it, milking every last bit of your release.

When you finally came down, breathless and trembling, Toji pulled back just enough to admire his work. Your cunt was puffy, glistening, a mess of his spit and your cum.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice thick with approval. “Now that’s a pretty sight.”

Toji pulled away from your ruined cunt, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his dark eyes full of something primal as he stood to his full height. His cock strained against his sweats, a thick outline pressing against the fabric, and he smirked down at you, chest rising and falling heavily.

“Now,” he drawled, gripping your thighs tighter, his voice a dark promise, “where do you want me to ruin you, baby? Right here on the counter? Bent over that fancy couch of yours?” His smirk deepened as he leaned in, voice dropping to a murmur against your lips. “Or should I stretch you out on that big, empty bed of yours?”

He let the question hang in the air, but the wicked glint in his eyes told you—this wasn’t really your choice.

Toji didn’t wait for an answer. Not that you could give him one—your brain was too fogged with lust, your body too pliant in his grasp. He hauled you up effortlessly, strong arms keeping you locked against him as he carried you through the dimly lit halls of your home. The path to your bedroom felt both too long and too short, every step sending another wave of slick arousal dripping down your thighs.

Your back hit the mattress before you even realized he had thrown you down. The bed dipped under his weight as he crawled over you, eyes dark and hungry as he took in the sight beneath him—your flushed skin, your trembling legs, the way your breath came in short, desperate pants.

“Look at you,” he murmured, running a rough palm up your thigh. “Fuckin’ perfect. Spread out for me like a good little girl.”

His hand gripped the underside of your knee, shoving your legs further apart. The air was thick with the scent of sex, your arousal glistening between your thighs. Toji groaned low in his chest, tapping the heavy weight of his cock against your swollen clit, smearing your slick all over the thick head.

His fingers trailed down your belly, calloused fingertips tracing over your trembling skin before stopping just above your pelvis. "You on the pill, baby?" he asked, voice low, rough—almost like he didn’t really care what the answer was.

You swallowed thickly, nodding. "Y-yeah."

His smirk widened, lazy and dangerous. His palm pressed down against your lower stomach, fingers flexing possessively. "Mm. Not like it would’ve mattered."

Your breath caught in your throat, your stomach tightening at the weight of his words. The realization barely had time to settle before he shifted, spreading your thighs wider, his broad hands gripping the plush of them like he owned every inch.

"Fuck, look at you," he muttered, dragging the fat head of his cock along your slick folds, coating himself in the wetness he had worked you into. "Drippin’ for me like a needy little thing. Bet you’d take it either way, huh?" His tone was mocking, almost pitying. "Doesn’t even matter, baby—I’m gonna fuck you full, gonna stretch this little cunt open till you’re ruined for anyone else."

A pathetic whimper slipped from your lips, and Toji groaned, guiding himself to your entrance, pressing just enough for you to feel the unbearable pressure of his size.

“You ready for me, baby?” His voice was almost mocking, a dark smirk pulling at his lips. He knew the answer. Knew from the way your body trembled, from the way your breath hitched when he pressed the fat head of his cock against your entrance.

Still, he wanted to hear it.

You nodded, gasping as he rubbed slow circles against your clit with his cock. “Y-Yeah.”

“Yeah?” He raised a brow, feigning disinterest. “Dunno, sweetheart. You sure this tiny little pussy can take me?”

You whined, your hips bucking instinctively, desperate for more friction. “Please,” you whimpered, voice barely above a breath.

Toji chuckled darkly. “There’s that pretty beggin’ again.”

He didn’t make you wait any longer.

A sharp gasp left your lips as he pushed in, the thick crown stretching you open in a way his fingers never could. The burn was instant, overwhelming, your walls struggling to take the sheer size of him. Toji groaned, low and guttural, his fingers digging bruises into your thighs as he fought to keep himself from bottoming out too fast.

“Shit,” he ground out, watching the way your tight little hole struggled to take him. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ good, baby.”

Your head tipped back against the pillows, eyes squeezing shut as your walls clenched down on him. It was too much—too big, too thick, too deep already, and he wasn’t even fully inside yet.

“Relax,” he muttered, voice strained with restraint. His thumb found your clit, rubbing slow, taunting circles to ease the tension. “You can take it, sweetheart. You wanted this, didn’t you?”

You nodded frantically, fingers twisting in the sheets as he pushed in another inch. The stretch was unbearable, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but the pleasure was just as intense. You felt so full, so stuffed, your body struggling to accommodate him.

Toji groaned at the sight of your teary, desperate face. “Fuck, look at you. Cryin’ on my cock already.” He pushed in another inch, watching the way your body trembled beneath him. “You wanted this, baby. So take it.”

And then he slammed the rest of the way in.

"Biiig stretch, sweetheart," he rasped, teasing, savoring the way your walls fluttered in panic. "Deep fuckin’ breaths. This pussy’s gotta learn to take me."

A broken cry tore from your throat, your back arching off the mattress as he bottomed out. The sheer fullness of him sent a shudder through your body, your thighs twitching where they were spread wide. Toji stilled, gritting his teeth at the way your walls spasmed around him, struggling to adjust.

“Fuck, you’re squeezin' me so tight.” His voice was wrecked, a guttural groan rumbling from his chest. “Takin' me so fuckin' deep, baby… Look at you, stretched so pretty around me.”

Your fingers dug into his biceps, nails leaving crescent moons in his skin as you tried to ground yourself. Toji's hand found your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

“Breathe,” he rasped, his thumb dragging over your parted lips before pressing down against your tongue. “There you go. Just like that. Lemme in, sweetheart.”

You whimpered around his thumb, dazed, overwhelmed, your mind drowning in the sensation of being so utterly filled. Toji grinned, something dark and satisfied curling in his expression.

“That’s it,” he praised, shifting his hips slightly, letting you feel every inch of him buried inside you. “This pussy was made to take me.”

Then he pulled back, just an inch—before driving his cock back in, harder, deeper.

You choked on a gasp, pleasure ricocheting up your spine as Toji set a brutal rhythm, dragging his length out before slamming it back inside, making sure you felt every ridge, every vein, every inch. Your bed creaked pitifully beneath the force of it, the sound of skin meeting skin obscene in the quiet room.

“So fuckin' good,” Toji groaned, his grip on your thighs tightening. “Makin' a mess all over me, baby. So desperate, so needy for cock.”

Your walls clenched at his words, the filthiness of it only heightening the coil tightening in your stomach. Toji caught it immediately, his grin widening.

“Yeah? You like that? My dirty little girl, gettin' off on being used?”

You couldn’t answer—not when he was fucking you so deep, so hard, the air punched from your lungs with every thrust. All you could do was sob, overwhelmed, delirious with pleasure.

Toji chuckled darkly, leaning in, his breath hot against your ear. “Such a nasty little slut.”

Your stomach twisted, shame and arousal tangling into something unbearable, but Toji didn’t let up.

“What would Megumi think, huh?” he sneered, voice dripping with mockery. “His pretty little friend—so fuckin’ proper, so well-behaved—lettin’ his deadbeat old man fuck her stupid.”

A sob tore from your throat, half-formed, half-pleasure, half-mortification. Toji only laughed, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to look at him.

“That’s right, baby,” he cooed, thrusts growing rougher. “Nothin’ you can say now, huh? Too busy cryin’ on my cock.”

Toji groaned, his pace never faltering. “You’re mine now, sweetheart. Gonna fuck you so full, make sure you never forget who this pussy belongs to.”

His hand slid down between your bodies, pressing against the bulge in your lower stomach, making you feel just how deep he was inside you. “You feel that?” he murmured, voice thick with possession. “That’s me, baby. Right where I fuckin’ belong.”

Your breath hitched, eyes rolling back as his fingers returned to your clit, rubbing in tight, relentless circles. The sensation was too much, your body wound tight, teetering on the edge of something devastating.

“Gonna cum for me?” he taunted, his thrusts turning sharp, bruising. “Gonna cream all over my cock like a needy little thing?”

You sobbed, legs tightening around his waist, nails raking down his back. Toji groaned at the sting, at the way your walls spasmed, clenching down so hard it nearly broke his rhythm.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “That’s it, sweetheart. Give it to me.”

The coil snapped, pleasure washing over you in waves so intense you nearly blacked out. Toji cursed, feeling you tighten around him, his own release barreling down on him as he drove into you with frantic, punishing thrusts.

“Take it,” he gritted out. “Take all of it.”

A final thrust, a guttural groan, and he was spilling inside you, filling you up with everything he had. His body shuddered, muscles taut as he rode out his high, keeping himself buried deep, making sure not a single drop was wasted.

He slumped over you, pressing a lazy, filthy kiss against your temple before pulling back slightly, just enough to meet your dazed, ruined gaze.

“Tappin’ out already, sweetheart?” he murmured, faux sympathy in his husky voice. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Your reflection in the vanity mirror was a mess—teary-eyed, mouth open in gasping moans, body trembling from overstimulation. Toji had you bent over the vanity, his rough hands gripping your hips, keeping you steady as he pounded into you from behind. The mirror shook violently with each thrust, the delicate perfume bottles and makeup brushes rattling dangerously close to toppling over.

“Look at you,” Toji rasped against your ear, one large hand sliding up to fist into your hair and yanking your head back, forcing you to watch yourself. "Letting a man like me use you like a cumdump. What would your parents say?" He punctuated his words with a brutal snap of his hips, knocking the air out of you.

A choked sob left your lips, your body jolting forward from the sheer force of it. Your nails scraped against the wooden surface, legs trembling as Toji groaned behind you, his hands tightening on your hips.

“Fuck, you’re still so goddamn tight,” he growled, pulling back just to slam in again, knocking the breath from your lungs. “Thought I broke you in already, but this pussy’s still clingin’ to me like it doesn’t wanna let go.”

Your mouth opened in a silent cry, the stretch unbearable, the pleasure too intense. Toji’s hands slid up your body, one wrapping around your throat, forcing you to lift your head and look at yourself in the mirror.

“Watch yourself,” he ordered, his grip tightening just enough to make your breath hitch. “Wanna see what a filthy fuckin’ mess you are takin’ my cock.”

Your teary eyes locked onto your reflection—onto the way your body jerked with every punishing thrust, onto the way Toji loomed over you like he owned you, his scarred lips curled into a smug smirk. The sight alone had your walls fluttering around him, clenching tight in helpless desperation.

Toji groaned, his free hand twisting in your hair, yanking your head back further. “Tight little thing,” he muttered, his voice low and dangerous. “You like this, don’t you? Bein’ used like this? Letting a man old enough to be your daddy fuck you stupid?”

You whined, barely able to form a response, your cheek smushed against the cool surface of the vanity. The only sounds leaving your lips were broken moans and gasps as he stretched you out, stuffing you full and hitting deep with every ruthless thrust.

"N-not—" you tried to speak, but Toji’s grip tightened in your hair, tugging you up so your back arched further, making his cock slide even deeper inside you. You sobbed at the sensation, thighs trembling from the overwhelming pleasure.

"Not what, sweetheart?" He mocked, his free hand slipping around to wrap around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your head spin. "Not supposed to let me fuck you like this? Too late for that. Look how fuckin’ messy you are for me."

He leaned in, his lips slanting over yours in a sloppy, desperate kiss, tongue plunging into your mouth and swallowing your gasps whole. He kissed like he fucked—hungry, all-consuming, utterly devastating.

The vanity rocked harder, the mirror shaking so violently you thought it might crack. Toji’s pace was relentless, his grunts and growls mixing with the obscene wet sounds of skin slapping against skin. You could barely keep yourself upright, your arms shaking as you tried to brace against the vanity.

"Fu-fuck, Toji—" you mewled, your entire body burning from overstimulation.

"What, baby? Can’t handle it?" He cooed mockingly, a smirk tugging at his lips as he pulled back slightly, only to slam back in with enough force to make the vanity screech against the hardwood floor. "Don’t tap out yet, princess. I’m not finished with you yet."

He wasn’t lying. His hands roamed over your trembling form, one hand gripping your hip in a bruising hold while the other moved to press firmly between your shoulder blades, forcing you deeper into the vanity. The change in angle had you keening, tears welling up in your eyes, body jolting with each harsh thrust. His fat tip was practically making out with your cervix. He was reaching so deep you swore he would somehow rip into you.

"That’s it, take it," he growled, pressing wet kisses along your spine, only to bite down hard enough to make you yelp. You felt his stubble tickling your skin. "Gonna fuck you so good, you won’t be able to think about anything else."

His fingers found your swollen clit, rubbing tight, merciless circles that had your legs shaking violently. The overstimulation was unbearable, but you couldn't stop yourself from clenching down around him, your body betraying you in its desperate need for more.

Toji chuckled darkly, feeling your gummy walls spasm around him. "Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart. Cream all over my cock. Show me just how much you fuckin’ love it."

You let out a choked sob, your release slamming into you with blinding intensity. Your body seized up, pleasure crashing over you in waves so strong it left you breathless.

“Go on, then,” he murmured, voice dripping with filth. “Cum for me, baby. Make a mess of yourself.”

His words shattered whatever restraint you had left. Your body convulsed, pleasure washing over you in waves so intense you nearly blacked out. Your walls spasmed around him, milking him, dragging him deeper. Toji groaned, his pace turning frantic, bruising, his own release barreling down on him.

“Fuck,” he snarled, snapping his hips forward one last time, burying himself deep. “Take it—take every fuckin’ drop.”

He filled you up, his body shuddering against yours, his breath ragged in your ear. His grip loosened on your throat, his other hand sliding down to rub slow, lazy circles against your overstimulated clit, making you jolt with aftershocks.

Your body barely had a second to recover before Toji was moving again, hands gripping your thighs as he dragged you off the vanity and down onto the cold hardwood floor. The shock of the cold floor jolted your warm body, shining with a thin sheen of sweat. Your legs were jelly, trembling from overstimulation, but he handled you like you were weightless, shoving you onto your back and manhandling you into a deep mating press.

Your knees nearly touched your shoulders, folded up so tight you had no control—no escape. Toji loomed over you, his massive frame caging you in completely, dark eyes hooded with hunger as he took in the sight of you laid out beneath him. His fat cock, still slick from your previous release, slapped against your raw, swollen folds, making you whimper.

Pap. Pap. Pap.

“Not done with you yet, sweetheart,” he murmured, rubbing the thick tip against your overstimulated clit, making your whole body jolt. He smirked at your reaction, pressing in just enough to make you gasp. “You can take more, can’t you? Fucked this little pussy open real nice already.”

You moaned, brain too foggy to form words, only able to squirm under him as he teased you. His hands slid down, gripping the backs of your thighs and spreading you even wider, completely exposing you to him. He groaned at the sight, his cock twitching. “Fuckin’ made for this. Just look at you.”

You tried to babble something—maybe a protest, maybe a plea—but Toji didn’t give you the chance. He pushed in with one brutal thrust, bottoming out instantly, punching the air from your lungs. The stretch was unbearable, white-hot pleasure and pain mixing as your walls spasmed around the thick intrusion.

Toji let out a rough groan, rolling his hips to make you feel every inch of him buried inside. “Biiiig stretch, baby,” he grunted. His large hand pressed down on your belly, right where he was nestled deep, and his smirk widened when he felt the outline of his cock there. “Fuckin’ hell,” he rasped, pressing down harder. “Feel that, baby? You’re so fuckin’ full of me.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, body overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of it all. You nodded weakly, a choked sob escaping as he gave an experimental thrust, grinding deeper, making your vision blur.

“Too much—” you whimpered, nails clawing at his biceps, but Toji only chuckled darkly, leaning down until his lips brushed your ear.

“Too bad,” he murmured. “Takin’ it. Every fuckin’ inch.”

And then he started moving.

His thrusts were deep and brutal, slamming you down into the floor with every snap of his hips. The obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin, the wet squelch of your soaked cunt, and Toji’s rough groans filled the room. Your moans were reduced to broken, breathless cries, your legs twitching from the relentless pace.

“Fuck, look at you,” he groaned, voice thick with lust. “This tiny pussy takin’ me so good—look at the mess you’re makin’.”

You barely registered his words, too lost in the stretch, the overwhelming fullness of him splitting you open. Your nails dug into his arms, desperate for something to ground yourself with, but it was useless—he had you trapped, helpless beneath him.

Then, Toji leaned in, capturing your lips in a filthy, desperate kiss. It was messy, all tongue and teeth, his breath hot and heavy against your mouth. He swallowed your whimpers greedily, sucking on your tongue before pulling back just enough to let a thick strand of spit drip into your mouth.

“Swallow,” he ordered, voice dark and commanding.

You obeyed without thinking, your body too far gone to do anything but submit. He grinned, dragging his thumb down to smear your spit-slick lips before diving back in, devouring you in another feverish kiss.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl,” he gritted out, watching the way your body took him. “Lettin’ me break you in like this. Letting a man old like me fuck you stupid on the floor.” He dragged his tongue along your cheek, tasting the salt of your tears. “Pretty princess was pampered all her life, but all she really needs is some good dicking down, huh?”

You could only nod your head weakly, overwhelmed, overstimulated—completely at his mercy.

Toji growled, his grip tightening on your thighs as he drove into you even harder, grinding so deep you could feel him in your stomach. “Good,” he muttered. “’Cause you’re mine now. Ain’t gonna let anyone else have this pretty fuckin’ pussy.”

Your back arched off the floor as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak, your walls clamping down around him, pulling him deeper. Toji cursed under his breath, his thrusts turning sloppy, erratic.

“Gonna fill you up,” he groaned, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles to push you over the edge. “Fuckin’ take it, baby. Wanna see you dripping with me.”

A strangled cry ripped from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you, body convulsing under him. Your walls spasmed, milking his cock, and that was all it took. Toji snarled, burying himself to the hilt as he spilled inside you, his body trembling with the force of his release.

For a long moment, all that filled the room was heavy breathing, the both of you panting against each other, bodies slick with sweat. But Toji wasn’t done.

His dark gaze flickered down to where you were still twitching around him, his cum leaking out in thick dribbles. A slow, lazy smirk stretched across his lips as he rolled his hips once more, making you shudder.

Your legs twitched with overstimulation, your mind blank with pleasure as Toji fucked you through every last wave. He leaned back just slightly, admiring the sight beneath him—your thoroughly ruined form, the way your body trembled, the way his come dripped from your swollen, used pussy, smearing along your inner thighs and pooling beneath you on the floor.

“Messy fuckin’ girl,” he muttered, dragging a thick finger through the creamy slick spilling from your cunt. He pushed it back inside, groaning at the way you clenched around the intrusion. “Still takin’ me so good, even like this. Guess I fucked the fight right outta you.”

He leaned down, pressing a slow, filthy kiss against your parted lips, savoring the taste of you, the heat of your breath against his. Then he pulled back, eyes dark and gleaming with satisfaction.

“Hope you didn’t have plans tomorrow, sweetheart.”

“Hello? Earth to dumbass.”

You blinked, abruptly pulled from your haze by the irritated voice across the table. Megumi was staring at you, brow furrowed, fingers drumming against the chipped ceramic of his coffee cup.

“You’ve been spacing out for the past five minutes,” he said flatly, taking a sip of his drink. “What the hell’s up with you lately?”

Your fingers curled around your own cup, but you barely registered the warmth seeping into your palms. Your mind was still stuck in the days before, still reeling from the way Toji had left you a mess—inside and out.

And then, he’d left his number.

You hadn’t even had time to process it before your phone buzzed later that night, his name—well, a name, since he saved himself as just ‘T’—lighting up your screen. Since then, you have been texting. Constantly. Not just late at night, but throughout the day, his presence worming its way into your routine, his words lingering in your head long after you locked your phone.

And fuck, the things he said.

Your thighs pressed together instinctively under the table, breath hitching as you thought about his last text. About how he described exactly what he wanted to do to you next time, about how he made sure you understood just how ruined you already were. How he had you sending him voice messages late at night, muffling your moans into your pillow while he groaned filth into your ear.

It wasn’t just dirty talk, though. Toji had a way of creeping into your head, teasing you about how you were already addicted to him, how he bet you couldn’t go a single day without thinking about how good he felt. And the worst part? He was right.

You had tried to keep the conversations short, to play it cool, but Toji was relentless. Always saying just enough to get under your skin, to have you squirming with frustration or anticipation. Like when he’d sent you a lazy, taunting text that morning:

Bet your legs are still sore, huh?

Good girl. Meant to do that.

Your stomach twisted just remembering it, the phantom ache between your thighs only proving his point. The way he talked to you—like you were already his, like you belonged to him—made your skin burn, made your breath hitch in a way you couldn’t control.

“You’re doing it again.” Megumi’s voice cut through your daze once more, and you nearly jumped. His gaze was sharper now, scrutinizing. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly, too quickly. You grabbed your coffee, taking a sip to mask your flustered expression, but the heat did little to hide the flush crawling up your neck.

Megumi didn’t buy it. His eyes narrowed slightly. “Bullshit. You’re never this quiet.”

You swallowed, forcing a casual shrug. “Just tired.”

He frowned, clearly unconvinced. “You sure? Because you’ve been acting weird for days now. Spacing out, jumping at your phone like it’s gonna bite you—”

“I do not—”

“You do.” He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “And now you’re acting all weird and fidgety. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were talking to some guy.”

Your stomach twisted violently, fingers tightening around your cup. Megumi said it like a joke, like the idea of you sneaking around with someone was ridiculous. But if only he knew.

If only he knew that you had let his father, of all people, stretch you open on your own bed. That you had been texting him for days, hanging onto every filthy word, every little reminder of how thoroughly he had wrecked you. That even now, in the middle of a café, you could still feel the ghost of Toji’s hands on your skin, still hear the way he groaned your name in your ear.

You let out a nervous laugh, waving a dismissive hand. “Yeah, right.”

Megumi hummed, eyeing you for a long moment before finally sighing and dropping the subject. “Whatever. Just get your shit together for our group project. I’m going to murder Nobara if she keeps ghosting our group chat.”

You nodded, swallowing hard as you forced yourself to focus on the conversation, but your mind was already wandering again—right back to Toji.

It had become a bad habit.

A filthy, reckless, all-consuming bad habit.

You weren’t sure when it officially started—when the first time bled into the second, then the third, until keeping count felt pointless. Maybe it was when he first showed up outside your place late at night, an amused glint in his eye when you opened the door and let him in without question. Maybe it was when you started to leave it unlocked for him, knowing he’d come anyway.

Now, it was routine. Toji slipped into your sheets, into your body, into your life like he had every right to be there. He didn’t wait for an invitation anymore, just took what he wanted, when he wanted, and you let him—every damn time.

And it was never safe. Never careful. Always on the verge of getting caught.

A quick fuck in a restaurant bathroom between lectures. His large hand stuffed over your mouth, teeth sinking into your shoulder to muffle his own grunts as he forced you to stay quiet.

Bent over the hood of your car in an empty parking garage, the metal cool against your burning skin, his palm flat between your shoulders to keep you in place.

His fingers pressing into you under the table at a restaurant, his breath hot against your ear as he murmured filth, his other hand idly stirring his beer like he wasn’t two knuckles deep inside you.

It didn’t matter where, didn’t matter when. If he wanted you, he took you. And you let him.

You were addicted to the danger of it, to the sick thrill of knowing just how easily you could be found out.

And that was the worst part. Because despite knowing how disastrous it would be if anyone—if Megumi—found out, you still didn’t stop.

It was supposed to be just physical.

A bad decision. A reckless indulgence. Something to get out of your system before you went back to your real life—before you found someone appropriate, someone who made sense.

A mistake, then a bad habit, then something you stopped trying to name because there wasn’t a word for what you and Toji had become. It wasn’t love, wasn’t romance. But it wasn’t just fucking, either.

Somewhere between the nights tangled in his sheets and the stolen moments that left you breathless, the lines had blurred. It wasn’t just about the way he touched you anymore, or the way you fell apart under him. It was the way you felt when he looked at you like he knew you—really knew you. Like he saw past the carefully curated version of yourself that the rest of the world expected.

Toji had a way of dragging the real you to the surface, of unraveling you with nothing but a smirk and a well-placed taunt. He didn’t care about appearances, didn’t give a fuck about the prim and proper image you’d spent your entire life maintaining. With him, you didn’t have to be perfect. You could be messy, needy, selfish. You could whimper and beg and take everything he gave you without worrying about how it looked or what it meant.

And he liked that. He liked knowing he was the only one who got to see you like this. He liked reminding you of it, too, voice rough in your ear as he told you no one else could fuck you like he did, that no one else would ever know you like he did.

The worst part was that he was right.

But it wasn’t just him getting under your skin. You’d learned him, too, in ways you weren’t sure anyone else had. Toji wasn’t the type to open up, wasn’t the type to share unless he had something to gain. But you caught the way his expression softened sometimes, the way he listened when you talked, even if he pretended not to care. Like how he always remembered little details about you, things you hadn’t even realized you mentioned. How he never outright said it, but you could tell when he was listening, when he was paying attention. How he poked fun at the life you led but still entertained it in his own way—swiping a sip of your overpriced coffee just to grimace at the taste, picking at the expensive fabric of your clothes like he couldn’t believe people paid so much for something so impractical. He’d tease you about your rich girl problems, mock you for your spoiled habits, but then he’d fix your necklace when the clasp got caught in your hair, or toss his jacket over your shoulders when he thought you looked cold.

It was a push and pull, a delicate game neither of you acknowledged but played all the same. You weren’t sure when it had started feeling like more than a transaction, when the nights you spent together stopped being about lust and started being about something else entirely. Maybe it was the way he never left right away anymore. Maybe it was the way he pulled you against his chest when it was over, tracing lazy circles into your hip like he didn’t want to let go.

Or maybe it was the way you let him.

The air was thick with the lingering scent of cigarette smoke, the low hum of the city outside filtering through the open window. You sat at the edge of the bed, legs crossed, fingers curled into the plush fabric of the sheets. Toji was leaning back against the headboard, shirtless, sweat still cooling on his skin, lazily dragging from a cigarette. The orange ember flared as he inhaled, casting a fleeting glow over his sharp features.

You should’ve gotten dressed. Should’ve left already. But instead, you were here, tracing the seam of the pillowcase, debating how to say what you’d come here to say.

His eyes flicked to you, amused, like he could already tell something was on your mind. “You’re quiet.”

You hesitated. “I have something to tell you.”

Toji exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl toward the ceiling. “That so?”

You nodded, swallowing. Your throat felt tight. “I’m getting engaged soon.”

There was a pause. A beat where all you could hear was the faint hum of the city beyond the window.

Then Toji huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Knew it was comin’.”

Your stomach twisted. There was no shock in his voice. No real reaction at all. Just that same damn smirk, lazy and knowing, like he had been waiting for this moment.

He flicked the cigarette into the ashtray, stretching his arms above his head. His muscles flexed, shifting under his scarred skin. “Guess that means our little arrangement’s gotta end, huh?” He was grinning now, but there was something biting underneath it. “Wouldn’t wanna mess up your perfect little life.”

You swallowed, your gaze searching his. Trying to find something beneath that smug exterior. Something real.

But Toji just smirked wider, eyes half-lidded as he raked a slow glance down your bare skin. “What’s the lucky guy like? Bet he’s got a nice suit, fancy-ass watch. S’what your folks always wanted, huh?”

You said nothing.

He tsked, shaking his head. “What a shame.” Then his hand was on your chin, fingers firm, tilting your face up to his. His grip was possessive, almost cruel. “Hope he knows what he’s gettin’. ‘Cause I sure as hell do.”

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was deep and filthy, like he was branding you—making damn sure you remembered exactly who had you first. His teeth scraped against your lower lip, his tongue claiming your mouth, a cruel mockery of every time he had pulled you under him and ruined you. His grip tightened when you whimpered, and his other hand found your waist, dragging you closer like he didn’t care that you had just told him you belonged to someone else.

Because right now, you still belonged to him.

And he was making sure you never forgot it.

The arrangement dwindled the way all things doomed to end eventually did.

It wasn’t abrupt, wasn’t some dramatic confrontation—it simply faded. A slow decline, a natural withering. The late-night texts became scarce. The stolen moments fewer. The lingering touches reduced to nothing. You got busier, consumed by the responsibilities of graduation, the whirlwind of your engagement, the pressure of stepping into the life that had always been laid out for you.

And Toji let it happen.

He saw it coming. Of course, he did. He always knew this was temporary, a guilty indulgence neither of you should’ve entertained for as long as you did. He didn’t chase, didn’t demand an explanation. His last message had been weeks before the wedding, something teasing, something impersonal—one last echo of the man who had unraveled you so thoroughly.

You hadn’t replied.

The wedding was perfect. A masterpiece of wealth and status, orchestrated down to the finest details. The Italian villa gleamed under the golden afternoon sun, its marble floors reflecting the light of extravagant chandeliers. Crystal glasses chimed in elegant toasts, the air thick with the scent of imported florals, the hum of string instruments weaving seamlessly into murmured conversations.

You were the picture of a bride who had it all. Draped in delicate lace, diamonds glittering at your ears and throat, the weight of expectation settled as effortlessly as the veil cascading down your back. Chloe, Marissa, and Julia—your bridesmaids, your childhood friends, your social equals—stood beside you in gowns carefully chosen to complement your own, their smiles radiant, their laughter effortless.

“Your husband is absolutely smitten,” Chloe teased, adjusting the bracelet on her wrist as she leaned in. “I don’t think he’s taken his eyes off you all evening.”

“He’d be a fool if he did,” Marissa added with a smirk, sipping her champagne. “God, this whole thing looks like something out of a dream. You’ve really outdone yourself.”

Julia sighed wistfully, watching the crowd swirl around the dance floor. “It’s everything we imagined when we were little, isn’t it?”

You smiled—because it was expected, because you knew the right expression, the right words, the right way to nod as if everything was falling into place exactly as it should.

And yet, your mind wandered.

Across the room, Megumi sat among the other honored guests, suited up and polished, the image of the young man he was always meant to be. A quiet presence, sharp-eyed and observant, a reminder of a past that should have been long buried. Your gaze lingered on him too long, searching, tracing the familiar shadows of his father in the angles of his face. The resemblance sent a ripple through you, something unsteady and unshakable.

Toji should not have been in your thoughts today. And yet, he was everywhere. In the phantom sensation of calloused hands gripping your hips, in the echo of a gravelly chuckle against your ear, in the ghost of bruises long faded but never truly gone.

Your husband touched the small of your back, his warmth a contrast to the chill creeping up your spine. “You look beautiful,” he murmured, his voice full of quiet reverence.

You turned to him, offering the practiced softness he deserved. He was good, kind, everything your family had hoped for. Everything you had been raised to want.

So why did you feel like a guest in your own life?

The clinking of glasses signaled another toast, another moment to be captured, another perfect memory being curated for the life you were meant to lead. You lifted your champagne flute, smiled for the cameras, and played your part with practiced grace.

But deep down, you knew.

No matter how beautiful the setting, how flawless the performance, there was a version of you that had been left behind in tangled sheets and rough hands, in whispered taunts and breathless gasps. A version of you that had been ruined long before you ever recited your vows at the altar.

The wedding night only made you remember the gruff man with the scar running through his lip and a pair of poisonous green eyes.

Your new husband held you in his arms, kissed you with a gentleness that should’ve made you feel cherished, safe, loved. He was everything you were supposed to want—handsome, well-mannered, well-bred, the kind of man your parents would be proud of. He looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the world. And yet, you felt nothing.

Not like you did with Toji.

Because with Toji, there had never been any pretending. He had seen you, the real you, in ways no one else ever had. He had stripped you bare—of your clothes, of your composure, of every carefully constructed part of yourself that you wore like armor. And you had let him. You had loved it. Because for once, you weren’t the perfect daughter, the perfect student, the perfect bride-to-be.

You were just his.

And now, lying beside the man you were supposed to spend your life with, you couldn’t stop thinking about the one you had left behind.

The illusion of a picture-perfect marriage was easy to maintain.

You had stepped into the role seamlessly—graceful, poised, the ever-dutiful wife draped in luxury. The townhome was pristine, the social obligations fulfilled without fault, the smiles exchanged between you and your husband warm enough to never invite suspicion.

And yet, beneath the surface, something gnawed at you. A restlessness. A quiet, lingering hunger.

It wasn’t love that was missing; it was something far more visceral, far more ruinous. The kind of fire you had known in secret, in sin, in the hands of a man who had no place in your world but had left his mark so deeply that even months of distance hadn’t erased him.

You weren’t supposed to see him again.

It happened at a gala—a refined, exclusive event, the kind your husband thrived in. Champagne flutes clinked, laughter hummed through the room, and you played your part to perfection, offering effortless smiles, exchanging pleasantries, standing at your husband’s side like a perfectly placed accessory.

And then you saw him.

Toji.

He didn’t belong in a place like this, and yet, there he was—leaning against the bar, broad and imposing in a tailored black suit that fit him too well, the collar slightly loosened as if he refused to be fully tamed. The same lazy smirk, the same sharp green eyes raking over you with a knowing amusement, as if he had been expecting this moment.

He looked the same as he did the last time he held you in his arms all those months ago.

Your breath hitched. Heat coiled low in your stomach, unbidden, unwanted. Your steps slowed to a stop, your left hand clenching around the stem of the perspiring champagne flute.

"Look at you," he drawled, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before setting it down. His eyes dragged to the glittering diamond on your left hand. "All wifed up and still starin' like you want me to bend you over this table."

Your throat went dry.

You should walk away. You should say something dismissive, feign indifference, remind him—and most importantly, yourself—that you had moved on. But the words didn’t come, and Toji stepped closer, his presence cutting through the air like a knife, his scent filling your lungs, something deep and masculine and maddeningly familiar.

Your husband was still in the room, but far enough, engrossed in conversation, unaware. You weren’t in his direct line of sight—only a corner of the grand ballroom, tucked away just enough for shadows to swallow what should never happen.

Toji’s fingers brushed your wrist, barely a touch, and yet your body reacted, betraying you. His hand took your drink from you, setting it down on a nearby end table, his calloused fingers stroking your fingers, the hardness of your wedding ring. His smirk deepened at the way your breath hitched, at the way your lashes fluttered.

"Bet he don’t fuck you the way I did, huh?" His voice was low, rough, dripping with sin. "Bet you still think about it. How I stretched this tight little cunt. How you took it like you were made for me."

A shaky breath escaped you. The world around you blurred, the weight of your choices pressing in from all sides.

You really shouldn’t do this. Shouldn’t even be entertaining those thoughts in your head. But then again, had he really left your head in the first place?

During the nights your husband kissed you, tried to fuck you, you found that there was much left to desire. Sometimes, you had to close your eyes and pretend it was a scarred lip kissing you sloppily, that same embrace that reminded you more of a furnace wrapping around your frame, and a pair of smoldering, dark green eyes boring into your own to even bring you close to cumming.

His knuckles grazed your jaw, thumb dragging along your lower lip, teasing, testing. Your lips parted slightly, betraying you, and Toji hummed, gaze flicking down.

"Still got that pretty little mouth, too," he murmured, voice thick with something darker, heavier. "Miss havin' it all fucked dumb for me."

You swallowed hard, pulse hammering against your ribs.

And then he leaned in, lips barely grazing your ear, his breath warm and deliberate. "Be honest, sweetheart. You miss me?"

Your silence was answer enough.

The fire had never gone out. It had only been waiting to be reignited.

[f1fantasys]

Thought you were mine all along, guess I was wrong - Part 2.

Summary - What happens when you meet Lando again? So, this was supposed to be angst only, but ya girl can't post anything without smut, so, enjoy!

Warnings - 18+ minors DNI, smut, p in v sex, dirty talk, creampie, angst.

Part 1

The next two weeks following that morning had whizzed by in a blur. Both you and Lando had extremely busy schedules and took every free second you got to text or call each other.

It wasn't easy with the time differences, but the cyber sex was honestly the best you'd had since the start of your 'relationship...' It was intense, mind blowing phone sex, leaving you both desperate and eager to see each other, although you'd have to wait a whole extra week because Lando had some media obligations in America. So that meant it was a whole two more weeks before you could get your hands on one another.

On one particular day, you'd texted Lando in the wee hours of the morning, knowing it was late night where he was, and since he'd said he planned to spend the night in, you were expecting a quick response from him.

You didn't get one.

But you thought nothing of it, not even worrying the slightest bit, and eventually, you got on with your day. It wasn't until evening when you saw that there was still no response for him, though you could see he had been online.

You tried to call him, it just rang and rang.

Still, you didn't think much of it. Maybe he just needed space, and you were happy to oblige.

The next few days as well passed with radio silence from him. You could see from social media that he was out and about, doing whatever media he had to do, getting on with it all, except you it seems, though you willed yourself not to let it affect you.

Newsflash it did.

Deciding it was best to throw yourself into work, you were now working ungodly hours overtime, getting as much done to try and block out the fact that Lando was clearly avoiding you by now. It had only been a week of absolutely no contact, but it definitely felt much longer than that. You missed his goofy laugh, his adorable dimples, his banter, and you missed the orgasms he gave you...you missed his dick.

It was now past 8pm, and after a long day of grinding you stopped at the shops to get some food that you could just throw in he microwave to get hot. Busy scrolling the aisles at your local store then you stopped in your tracks. You'd never miss those god damn perfect curls, even in a sea of a million people.

He had his back to you, and before you mind could make a decision on whether to leave or talk to him, he turned around, bit his bottom lip when he saw you.

It was no surprise that Lando was a handsome man. His physique alone was hot. And so seeing him stand in front of you - in the flesh, already had a wetness pooling through your cunt.

Quickly, you out those thoughts to the back of your mind as he approached you.

''Didn't know you were back'' you said breaking the silence. You were curious to hear what his answer would be, because you were always the first person he'd call the second he was back in Monaco.

''Yeah, just been caught up..'' he trailed, letting out a breath, bringing his hand up to massage the back of his thick neck.

Caught up enough to toss me to the side... you thought to yourself.

It was awkward. Awkward as fuck. The both of you standing there, not knowing what to say to one another. Really, it was a first.

Until...

It wasn't 10 minutes later and you were riding Lando in his McLaren.

Your panty thrown somewhere in the back seat.

You should have known better, should have stopped yourselves, but clearly your pussy, and his dick, had a mind of their own.

You rode him like your life depended on it, watching with hooded eyes as your nipples disappeared into Lando's mouth, his teeth grazing and biting down hard before using his tongue to sooth over your bud.

''Fuck, Lando, yes..ri-right there, please'' you begged as even in the small of his sports car, he was lifting his hips to meet your half way, thrusting in and out of you pussy relentlessly, letting out a series of guttural moans and grunts.

It wasn't even a few minutes until you felt your orgasm nearing, your walls clenching almost painfully around Lando's cock as he bought his hand down to flick a thumb at your clit.

''So tight, fuck..need to stretch you out some more'' he murmured before capturing your lips in a heated kiss.

''I'm close'' you barely managed to say between nips and licks, your body was shuddering, shaking uncontrollably as Lando has two tasks at hand - one, keeping your body in control, two, chase his own orgasm.

And not two minutes later Lando was emptying his load into you, sheets of warm cum filling you up to the brink while lewd grunts left his mouth, his dick twitching as you rode him through it.

You finally stilled your bodies, chests heaving trying to catch your breaths as you leaned back and put your weight on his steering wheel behind you.

''Fucking hell'' he said, panting as his eyes stayed trained on the state you were in - disheveled hair, boobs slipped out of your bra and dress, looking red and bruised.

There was an unspoken tension filling up the car, and you could feel him softening inside you, the both of you looking down to the place you were still joined, almost as if you were avoiding looking at each other.

You watched as Lando gently pulled himself out, gasping when he saw a mixture of both your cum oozing out of your cunt, the both of you moaning at the sight, and then suddenly his eyes were trained on yours, as he very quickly pushed his dick back into you, pushing the cum back in.

''Fuck'' he whispered as you let out another moan, your walls clenching tightly around him.

''Lan..'' you murmured, closing your eyes and trying to etch the feeling of his dick inside you to your brain, because something told you this wouldn't happen again, though you prayed you were wrong.

He was suddenly hard again, no surprise to him because just the sight you all fucked out and dripping with his cum got him all excited again. Call it his good stamina.

''Come here'' he softly said, pulling you forward again, your boobs in his face as he lifted you ass up slightly before slamming you down in one hard thrust.

You braced your hands on his shoulders again, leaning down to lock lips with him for the first time since you last saw him.

It was sloppy and dirty, tongue and teeth clashing, almost as if you were just licking each other where possible - not properly kissing, all the while Lando bounced you up and down his dick, each thrust getting harder than each.

You pulled back for air, Lando stuffing his face back into your boobs, letting a series of staggered breaths and groans leave your mouth, feeling your orgasm approaching fast.

''Lando, I- fuck, I can't. Too much'' you were barely able to say. He was being ruthless and as much as you wanted it, your body was overly sensitive today.

''You can baby, one more for me, yeah? Fuck please'' he sounded like he was begging, and how could you refuse him?

You couldn't form any words by now, so all you did was nod your head, while his hand raked down to pinch at your clit.

''That's it baby. Please just be a slut for me. You're already doing so fucking good, letting me fuck you so good. Fuck'' he grunted, through gritted teeth, knowing his dirty words would send you over the edge.

And he was right, within seconds your cum was coating his dick again, your body quivering in his arms again, feeling like jelly, releasing pornographic moans into the confinement of the car.

And Lando - as soon as he felt you walls closing up on him, his own release spluttering his cum through your pussy, warm and sticky as he slowed his movements and eventually came to a standstill.

''Ah, fuck y/n'' he mumbled, causing you to giggle because yeah, ''fuck'' was the word of the day.

You stayed close together, breathing in each others air as your bodies shivered with cool air on your sweat, Lando busying his hands by combing your hair back through his fingers.

This time, he pulled out, and he stayed out, using his fingers instead to gently push the cum back up your pussy before bringing them up to his lips and licking them clean.

And this time, your eyes didn't avoid each other.

Lando kept opening and closing his mouth, wanting to say something though falling short every time.

You didn't miss how his body language changed all of a sudden, how he stiffened underneath you, and suddenly you felt cautious.

It was awkward as fuck - you sitting on his naked thighs, dress bunched up you stomach, pussy bare and leaking, while his jeans and boxers were pushed halfway down his legs, cock soft and twitchy resting against your stomach.

Finally, he cleared his throat. His words knocking all the air out of his lungs.

''I...I'm seeing someone..Magui. I mean. I'm gonna start seeing Magui. So this - he gestured between the two of you - can't happen again.''

Your breath hitched, you could feel the color draining from you face as your own body now stiffened.

He said it so casually, like what you just did meant nothing. Like the last 6 months have been nothing, just tossed off to the side.

''Say something..'' he whispered.

You were sure your words would get stuck in your throat, already feeling your cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the whole situation.

Lando was done with you. He basically 'dumped' you while you were both naked in the smallest space possible.

You cleared your throat and leaned over to his passenger seat to grab a tissue, your mind racing as fast as his cars go. Some many thoughts overwhelming you as you willed yourself not to let tears spill out your eyes.

This is it. He's not yours. He's back with her, an ex fling. He's leaving you for her.

''Y/N'' he said your name softly, gauging your reaction.

You sniffled, concentrating on cleaning your cunt - that was still on full display, before you finally pulled your dress down and looked up at him.

Gone was that look that was reserved just for you, and you heart broke at the cold eyes staring at you.

''So that's why you've been avoiding me..? Too busy fucking someone else? Why did we just do this if you're with her? You've just used me to basically cheat on her....thought you'd have more respect for the both of us...'' you questioned, almost whispering the last part, and wincing at your words because you didn't want to know the answer.

Lando coughed, shifting underneath you as he slyly tucked his dick back into his boxers.

''Not seeing her yet...but yeah I guess there are unresolved feelings so we're gonna give it a shot'' he said. ''As for us... guess this was a moment of weakness. But I'm done. We're done.'' he said matter of factly.

You suddenly felt like you couldn't breathe, needing to get out of this space asap because the man in front of you wasn't the Lando you knew.

Not 10 minutes ago was he calling you baby...swallowing a mix of your cum, and now he's done with you.

You're heart clenched not just at the fact that you were losing your fuckbuddy, but Lando as your best friend. From the way he was talking, it was clear that the friendship part of your relationship was also done with.

You needed to get out of here before you broke down in front of him. He didn't deserve to see you vulnerable like this.

So you took one last longing look at him, memorizing each and every freckle and line on his face as you body tingled from the warmth of him.

Surely he could see the hurt on your face, right? He knew you better than most. But still, his eyes didn't soften, nor did his words.

''You should go..now..forget the last few months...'' he said, already moving to open the door for you to climb out of his lap.

You cleared your throat for the umpteenth time today, mind fuzzed when your body finally lost contact with his, and with one last look at him, you turned on your heels, shamefully walking to your car, and not a few seconds later, he was zooming out of the car park.

The next few days were spent wallowing in bed, avoiding any events in town with the fear of running into them.

So George's girlfriend Carmen took up residency at your apartment to keep your mind busy.

You needed to heal, and move on from something that was nothing to even begin with.

A whole week later as you were scrolling Instagram, the photo slapped you in the face.

There he was, with his tongue down her throat, hands groping her ass.

You had no right to be mad, sad, angry, whatever emotions that were over taking your senses. Lando wasn't yours. Not anymore at least. There was never any label between you.

But the more you thought about it, you were more so longing the guy with whom you could talk about anything, truly be yourself around and not get judged for silly things.

The universe had other plans for you though...because in just two weeks time, you were to host an event in London for McLaren. Oh, what could go wrong......

A/N - hope you all enjoyed this...side tracked part! Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

Taglist - @somanyfandomsbruh @lanf1an @annimausi @ernegren @plotpal @hurtblossom @rbv3rstappen @tylerstacobell @wanderingreigns @bowielovesyou @alexanderachillesisgay @sarx164

[ughbrie]

converging threads | zayne

⤜ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ- “And I know what that loneliness feels like.” His voice was rough, raw. “Because when I had nightmares of his life… he dreamt of mine.”

A chill ran through you.

“He dreamt of Linkon. Of Akso. Of—” He swallowed hard, his grip on you unyielding. “You.”

The word hung between you, heavy and fragile at the same time.

“Now, he’s clawing his way into my thoughts, trying to make sense of a life that isn’t his to have.” Zayne’s hands curled into the fabric of your clothes, as if anchoring himself to something tangible. “And every time I look at you—” His voice cracked, his hands shaking as he clutched you. “He’s reaching for you. And I don’t know if it’s me who wants you or if it’s him bleeding through.”

(Or… after the events of Chansia City, Zayne had started to avoid you. More than a week later, in the dead of night, he's outside of your door, struggling with his sense of self—blurring between two worlds.)

⤜ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ- zayne x female reader

⤜ ɢᴇɴʀᴇ- angst, smut, & fluff

⤜ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ- 8k

⤜ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ- nsfw, mdni, softdom!zayne, references to zayne's third anecdote (still in the dark), spoilers to zayne's main story branch (thorns under the moon) and four star memory (fragmented dreams), mentions of childhood trauma and violence, too much angst, oral sex (blowjob), dirty talk, penetration (p in v), clothed sex, riding, breast play, emotional sex, unprotected sex, and creampie.

⤜ ɴᴏᴛᴇ- As a dedicated Zayne main, I've always had a soft spot for Dawnbreaker!Zayne, I just want to give him the biggest hug! While he never explicitly took control of main story Zayne’s body, their connection through dreams and nightmares allowed them to see into each other’s lives. And so, I wanted to explore what it would be like if that connection blurred even further after the events of Chansia City, and how Zayne would react to it. I hope you enjoy reading!

The knock at your door was soft, barely audible over the hum of Linkon City outside. You might have missed it had you not been awake, staring at the ceiling, unable to shake the restlessness clawing at your chest. Something felt wrong.

Hesitating for a moment, you peeled the blankets away and stepped towards the door. When you opened it, Zayne stood there, still as a statue. The warm glow from your apartment barely touched him; he lingered in the shadows of the hallway, his expression unreadable, like he was caught between two worlds—one where he stood before you and another far beyond, too distant to reach.

“Zayne?” Your voice was uncertain, your fingers tightening around the doorframe. He looked normal—his crisp shirt unwrinkled, his coat still shielding him from the cold. But his posture was rigid, like he was torn between memories, caught between the man you knew and something far more elusive, far darker. His breath came slow, controlled, but his fingers twitched at his sides, as if holding onto something unseen, something slipping away from his grasp.

It had been more than a week since you last saw him—more than a week since you clawed your way out of his dreamscape, fighting against the twisted phantoms of his nightmares and the suffocating pull of his uncontrollable evol. More than a week since he began avoiding you, and you couldn’t understand why.

You had searched for him—at Akso Hospital. 

You pushed open the door to Akso Hospital, the sterile scent of antiseptic filling your nose as you made your way down the familiar corridors. The sight of the bustling staff, the low murmur of nurses giving reports—it should have been comforting. But it wasn’t. Every step you took felt heavier, the weight of worry pressing down on your chest.

You were looking for Zayne. It had been a week since you’d seen him, and the silence between you was suffocating. You had tried calling, texting, but there was no sign of him.

You found Greyson near the nurses’ station, chatting with a few other doctors. He noticed you first, a flicker of surprise in his eyes before his usual, easy smile appeared.

“Hey,” he greeted, his tone too casual. Too… practiced. “What brings you by?”

“I was hoping to see Dr. Zayne. Is he around?” You tried to keep your voice even, but the question felt like a weight in your chest.

Greyson shifted on his feet, glancing toward the hallway where Dr. Zayne’s office was. “Oh, you know how it is,” he said with a shrug. “He’s been buried in surgeries lately. Really busy.”

You frowned. “Busy? He hasn’t been answering my calls. I’ve tried everything.”

At the sound of your words, Greyson’s gaze flickered uncomfortably, and before he could answer, Yvonne appeared beside him, her bright smile almost too wide.

“Hey, I didn’t expect to see you here today!” Yvonne chirped, her voice all sweetness, but there was a subtle edge to it. “Greyson’s right. Dr. Zayne’s probably just deep in work. You know how he gets, don’t you?”

You nodded, but the unease in your chest grew. “But… I haven’t been able to reach him. And he’s been avoiding me. I’m starting to get worried.”

There was a beat of silence before Yvonne glanced at Greyson, then back at you. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the motion almost too practiced. “Oh, you know Dr. Zayne,” she said, her voice a little too smooth. “He’s a bit of a workaholic. And, well, he’s been dealing with some… personal things lately. I’m sure he’ll be in touch when he’s ready.”

Greyson cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m sure he’s just focused on… other things right now.”

You felt a knot form in your stomach. Something wasn’t right. Both of them were too evasive, too careful with their words.

“So he’s just been… avoiding me because he’s busy?” You asked, your voice thick with skepticism.

Yvonne’s smile didn’t waver, but her eyes shifted just a little. “Exactly! He’ll reach out when he’s ready. Don’t worry.”

But you weren’t convinced. You couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something they weren’t telling you. Before you could press further, Yvonne’s phone rang, and she quickly excused herself with a bright, almost rehearsed smile.

Greyson rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I wouldn’t worry too much, Zayne’s just… well, Zayne. He’ll be back to his usual self soon enough.”

The words felt hollow, like a lie wrapped in a smile.

You turned to leave, the knot in your stomach tightening. Something wasn’t right, and you were more determined than ever to find out what was going on.

You even went to his home not two days after. You had been patient, given him space, but the silence between you was gnawing at you, and you couldn’t ignore it anymore.

You arrived at his place and paused outside the gate, your heart sinking. The house sat dark and still, as though no one had been home for hours. The front door was locked, the quiet expanse of the yard untouched. No sign of Zayne’s car in the driveway. No movement behind the windows.

Frowning, you reached for your phone, calling him once more. It rang, and rang… and rang. But there was no answer. No familiar voice on the other end. You tried again, and again—each unanswered call tightening the knot of anxiety in your chest. It was unlike him. Even when he was busy at work, he always answered your calls. You thought things had changed between you—gone beyond just childhood friends, past the barriers you once had.

You hadn’t been able to ignore the way things had shifted between the two of you, how you’d shared more, laughed more, and even kissed—moments that felt like stepping into something real, something undeniable. And yet now, in the silence, you felt that connection fraying, slipping out of your grasp.

You reached for the gate, testing it, but it was locked tight. The metal was cold beneath your fingers, the weight of it pressing down on you in a way you couldn’t quite shake. You knocked gently on the gate, your hand hesitant against the metal, but there was no answer. No sound from inside. No footsteps echoing in the distance. Just more silence.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the door, wondering if you were missing something, if you were just being paranoid. But there was no denying the gnawing sense that you were being shut out.

Yet now, here he stood, unannounced, uninvited. The sight of him should have brought relief, but something was off, like he was a mere shadow of the man you knew.

“You should’ve let me in sooner,” he murmured, a wry attempt at a smile barely forming before fading just as quickly. His voice was softer than usual, almost exhausted, like the fight had been taken out of him. You stepped aside instinctively, letting him in. He didn’t move right away. Instead, his gaze lingered on you—as if memorizing every detail, confirming that you were real, that this wasn’t just another one of his nightmares.

Then, finally, he stepped through. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing the two of you in the silence of your small apartment. He exhaled, but this time it was unsteady—as if releasing a breath he’d been holding for far too long. His hands trembled, and he shoved them into his coat pockets, a feeble attempt to mask the unease rolling off him in waves.

“Zayne, where have you been?” The question came out before you could stop it. His avoidance had gnawed at you, making every second of silence between you feel like it stretched on forever.

He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor for a brief moment, like he was trying to find the right words. Then, finally, his voice broke through, hoarse and fragile, as if he’d been swallowing down too many words for too long. “Every time I close my eyes, I see a world where you don’t exist.”

The confession hit like thunder in your chest. Your breath caught, eyes wide with confusion, but something else too—fear, a strange sense of loss, creeping in. You stared at him, unable to comprehend, yet knowing there was so much more buried beneath the surface.

“It’s not just nightmares anymore,” he whispered, voice barely audible. His eyes flickered with something raw and unfamiliar—something you hadn’t seen in him before. “It’s bleeding into the day. I can’t… separate it. Separate me.”

You frowned, confusion tightening around your thoughts, heart pounding. “Separate what? Zayne, what are you talking about?”

He stiffened, jaw tightening as if he’d realized he’d said too much. He shook his head, dismissing the words before they could fully escape. “Ignore what I said.” he muttered, but the tension in his voice betrayed him.

“Zayne…” You stepped closer, cautious but firm. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

A bitter chuckle escaped him, but there was no humor in it. His hand drifted to his temple, pressing hard as if trying to force something out of his mind. “I don’t know how to explain it.” His voice wavered slightly, a rare crack in his composure. “I don’t even know if it’s mine to explain.”

Your stomach twisted at his words. Zayne was rarely uncertain. But now, he looked lost, like he was trying to hold onto something slipping through his fingers. The man who had always been in control, who always had an answer, was unraveling in front of you.

“Then let me help,” you said softly, reaching for him.

He exhaled sharply, his hands clenching into fists before loosening just as quickly, as if even that took too much effort. “I don’t think you can,” he muttered, barely above a whisper.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his sleeve. He tensed, but didn’t pull away. The warmth of his body under your touch should have felt familiar, comforting, but there was something cold in the air around him that you couldn’t ignore.

“I’m here,” you reminded him gently, voice steady despite the knot in your stomach. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His shoulders sagged just slightly, his resolve faltering under the weight of something neither of you could name. 

You guided Zayne to the couch with a soft insistence, his steps heavy, like each one was taking him further away from something he couldn’t quite grasp. He didn’t resist, but his hesitation was palpable. You noticed the subtle tremor in his shoulders as he sat down, his back stiff, as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him.

You sat next to him, your fingers brushing the fabric of his coat as you settled yourself. The space between you both felt charged, yet strained, like two magnets unwillingly attracted but refusing to align.

Your hand hovered near his arm, unsure, but you couldn’t ignore the impulse to reach out. The last few days—weeks—had felt like a slow, suffocating crawl through a fog. Seeing him like this, so unguarded, was both a relief and a deepening worry.

“Zayne…” You started, your voice low, soft. You weren’t sure how to approach him anymore. He had been pulling away, emotionally distant, and now, even his presence seemed fractured.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his sleeve.

At the first touch, his body flinched. Not an outward movement, but a sharp intake of breath, like a quiet shudder that ran through him. His hazel-green eyes were blown wide, pupils dark and dilated, swallowing the soft color until only a thin ring of green remained. For a brief moment, he looked at you—through you—like he was caught between two realities, struggling to tether himself to the one in front of him.

Then, just as quickly, his gaze flickered away, his throat working around a breath that sounded too controlled, too measured. As if he was holding something back. The air between you thickened, the weight of his restraint pressing into the space between your fingers. His jaw tensed, a sharp line of tension beneath his skin, and yet—he didn’t move away.

With a careful breath, you let your hand rest against his arm, your fingers curling gently around the fabric of his coat. You felt him tense beneath your touch, but it wasn’t from discomfort. No, it was something else. Something deeper. His body shuddered again, more pronounced this time, and you could feel his muscles ripple under the strain of holding back.

“Zayne…” You said his name again, this time softer, as though you were speaking to someone who was slipping away. You moved a little closer, hoping that your proximity would ground him somehow, though you weren’t entirely sure how.

His voice cracked when he spoke, low and hoarse, like a man speaking to a ghost. “Every time you touch me… it’s like… I feel like I’m being pulled in two directions.”

You blinked, your heart skipping a beat as you tried to make sense of his words. “What do you mean?” you asked, your hand still resting on his arm, waiting, watching him closely.

Zayne exhaled slowly, his fingers twitching at his sides as if struggling to find an anchor. “I’ve always suffered from nightmares,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “The same ones I’ve always had since I was young. But after what happened at Chansia City…” His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “It didn’t stop when I woke up.”

Your heart clenched at his words. You knew Zayne had always been plagued by restless nights, but this—this was different. You thought back to that moment at Akso Hospital, when you had found him slumped over his desk.

His brow was creased with the weight of exhaustion. His breathing had been uneven, his hands gripping the fabric of his coat as if he were bracing himself against something unseen. You had hesitated before stepping closer, unsure if you should wake him. But the quiet distress on his face made the decision for you.

“Zayne…” you had whispered, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

The moment your fingers made contact, he jolted awake with a sharp breath, his eyes wild with something you couldn’t name. For a split second, it was as if he didn’t recognize you, as if he were somewhere else entirely.

But then, his gaze softened, reality bleeding back into him. His breathing was still heavy, his shoulders tense, but when you knelt beside him, concern written all over your face, he didn’t pull away.

Without thinking, you had reached out again, brushing his hair back in a quiet attempt to soothe him. His body sagged under your touch, the tension in his shoulders melting just enough for him to lean forward. And before you could react, he rested his forehead against your chest, his breaths uneven as if the simple act of being close to you was the only thing keeping him grounded.

You had stilled at first, heat creeping up your neck, but you didn’t push him away. Instead, you let him stay there, your fingers threading through his hair in slow, absentminded strokes. You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, the sound of his breathing evening out against you, his body losing some of its rigidness.

When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse, barely audible. “Just… let me stay like this for a while.”

And you had. Because for the first time, you realized how deeply tired he was.At the time, you thought he was just tired physically, but now you realized he was tired in a way that ran so much deeper as you watched him sitting on your couch, that same exhaustion clung to him like a shadow, only now it was accompanied by something far worse. He wasn’t just tired. He was unraveling.

“I thought I could ignore it,” he continued, pulling you back to the present. “I thought it would fade eventually. But it’s not stopping.” His fingers curled into the fabric of his coat as if trying to ground himself. “It’s getting worse.”

You swallowed hard. “The nightmares?”

“They’re not just nightmares anymore.” He exhaled sharply, his hands clenching before loosening again. “They’re memories of a life that isn’t mine.” His jaw tightened, his entire body tense with something unreadable. “And the worst part?” His eyes flickered to yours, dark and conflicted. “I feel like I’m walking on air, seeing things that aren’t there, feeling emotions that aren’t mine.”

You frowned. “Zayne, what are you talking about?”

His throat worked around a response, but for a moment, he said nothing, only looking at you with something close to desperation. He shook his head as if trying to shake off the words before they could leave his mouth.

“It doesn’t matter,” he muttered, but you weren’t about to let it go.

“It does matter,” you said firmly, stepping closer. “You’ve been avoiding me for more than a week. You look like you’re about to fall apart, and now you’re telling me ‘it doesn’t matter’? What’s happening to you?”

He let out a bitter chuckle, but there was no humor in it. “I don’t even know if I can explain it. It’s… there’s another version of me. One I can’t escape. And he—” Zayne cut himself off abruptly, dragging a hand over his face. “He’s ruining everything.”

The conflict in his expression made your stomach twist. You had never seen him like this—so lost, so tangled in something that seemed beyond even his understanding. And when you reached for him again, your fingers brushing past his sleeve against his skin, you saw the way he shuddered.

At first, you thought his reactions stemmed from discomfort—that every shudder, every tensed muscle was his way of pulling away. But then you saw it. The way his breath hitched. The way his lashes fluttered shut for the briefest second, as if savoring the warmth of your touch. As if he had been starving for it. 

It wasn’t rejection. It was restraint.

Your heart pounded. “Zayne…”

His fingers twitched at his sides before he finally spoke, his voice raw. “Every time you touch me…” He exhaled sharply, as if the words themselves were dangerous. “It’s like my world’s losing its sense of direction.”

His confession stole the air from your lungs.

“But it’s not just me that wants this,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “And that’s what scares me.”

Your fingers curled slightly around his wrist, grounding both of you in the silence between words. Zayne’s breath was uneven, his body strung taut beneath your touch. You could see it—the war waging within him, the push and pull of something he refused to name. His fingers curled at his sides, clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He was holding himself back.

But from what? From who?

The question burned at the edges of your mind, but you didn’t voice it. Instead, you did the only thing you could think of. You moved.

Slowly, you climbed onto the couch, onto him, your knees settling on either side of his thighs as you straddled his lap. His entire body went rigid beneath you, his breath stalling in his throat.

“You—” His voice broke, a warning tangled in desperation. His hands shot up, as if to push you away—but the moment his palms met your waist, he froze.

A violent shudder ran through him, his grip faltering but never leaving you. He barely held together, his fingers twitched against your sides, his body caught in an unbearable tension. 

“You shouldn’t…” he rasped, but even as he said it, his hands pulled.

Pulled you closer.

Pulled you flush against him, until there was no space left to retreat.

You gasped softly at the sudden contact, at the warmth of him, the way his body molded against yours like he had been starving for this. For you.

His head dipped forward, his forehead pressing against your shoulder as his breath came out in a harsh, unsteady exhale. His grip on your waist tightened, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you feel how badly he was struggling.

“Zayne…” You whispered his name, hands lifting to cradle his face, to guide him to look at you. He didn’t resist, but the moment your fingers brushed against his jaw, his eyes fluttered shut—his entire body reacting as if your touch was something he had been craving but forbidden from having.

“Every time you touch me…” He repeated, his voice was raw, nearly fractured. “I feel like I’m slipping deeper.”

Your fingers trembled slightly against his skin. “Slipping into what?”

His jaw clenched. His hands trembled against your waist, caught between pulling you closer and pushing you away.

“Him.”

The word sent a chill down your spine.

Zayne’s eyes finally opened, and what you saw there made your breath hitch.

Something was breaking inside him.

Something was bleeding through.

Like the fragile moment before dawn—when night still clung to the sky, desperate to remain, yet the light pressed forward, inevitable. A battle between darkness and the coming sun, neither willing to yield.

You didn’t know who he was, or why Zayne was fighting so hard to keep him at bay, but you could feel it—how much hewas longing for you. How much Zayne himself was afraid of that longing.

Your hands slid from his face to his shoulders, steadying him, grounding him. “You’re still you,” you murmured. “No one else.”

His fingers flexed against your waist, his breath ragged. “Then why does it feel like every time you touch me… I’m losing control of myself?”

He was slipping, unraveling, caught between two selves—one who had you, and one who had only ever ached for you.

And for the first time, Zayne wasn’t sure which one he wanted to be.

You sighed, your fingers curled against his shoulders, gripping him just a little tighter. His body was warm beneath your touch, but the tension in him never eased. If anything, it worsened.

“Zayne,” you whispered, searching his face. “Help me ease your mind, tell me everything. Tell me about him.”

His expression darkened instantly. His hands, still gripping your waist, stiffened before pushing you back—just slightly, just enough to put distance between you.

“No.”

The refusal was sharp, final.

But you didn’t let go. “Zayne, please.”

His jaw locked, his breath coming out in harsh exhales as he tried to rein himself in. But you had already seen it—the flicker of something raw in his gaze, the weight pressing down on him like it was crushing him from the inside.

He turned his head away, his grip tightening before he forced himself to let go. “I don’t want to tell you.” His voice was quieter now, but no less strained. “Because if I do…” His throat bobbed, his hands clenching into fists. “What if you look at me differently?”

Your chest ached. “Zayne—”

“He’s not me,” Zayne bit out, his voice lower now, edged with something close to rage. His fingers dug into the fabric of your clothes as if anchoring himself. “I don’t care what I see, what I feel—he is not me.”

You frowned, your heart pounding. “I didn’t say he was—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he snapped, his fingers digging into you much harder before he wrenched them away, as if touching you made it worse. “It shouldn’t matter. Because whatever he is—whatever he’s done—I am not him.”

His voice cracked at the end, his composure slipping, and it hurt more than anything. Not because of what he wasn’t telling you, but because he was carrying it alone, letting it eat away at him like he deserved it.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. “Zayne, I don’t care what you think this means. I don’t care what’s bleeding through or what memories aren’t yours.” Your voice wavered, but you pushed through. “What hurts me isn’t who you were or weren’t—it’s this.” You gestured between the two of you, the distance he was trying to wedge between you. “It’s you shutting me out, punishing yourself like you have to carry this alone.”

Zayne let out a sharp breath, his fingers curling into fists against the curve of your waist. His grip was tense, hesitant—like he was still fighting himself.

You watched him carefully, the weight of his silence pressing against your chest. He had been resisting, keeping himself locked away behind walls you couldn’t breach. But this time… this time, something shifted.

And then you realized it.

It wasn’t your persistence that made him falter. It wasn’t even the promise that you would accept him, no matter what. It was the fact that you told him it hurt you too. That his silence, his self-inflicted suffering, didn’t just wound him—it wounded you.

Zayne’s throat bobbed, his gaze flickering, as if weighing the consequences of speaking the truth. His fingers flexed against you, his breath uneven.

Finally, he asked, “Do you know why I became a doctor?”

You hesitated. “Because you wanted to save people.”

“Partly,” He let out a bitter laugh. “But mostly because I spent my entire childhood dreaming of a man butchering them.” His hands raked through his hair, gripping at the strands.

“It started when I was twelve.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “I didn’t understand it then. I just knew that every night, I saw his hands, covered in blood. I heard the screams, felt the cold metal of a blade I never held.” His fingers flexed against your waist. “And every morning, I woke up terrified that I’d become him.”

You sucked in a quiet breath.

“That’s why I became a doctor,” Zayne muttered, his voice barely audible now. “To erase him. To bury him. Every life I saved was another step away from him.” His gaze snapped back to you, and there was something close to desperation in it.

He paused, and his gaze softened just slightly as it met yours, though there was still that edge of desperation.

“And… I wanted to help you, too. Since the first time I saw you struggling with your heart… I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you, not like that.”

Your heart pounded. “Zayne…”

“But now?” His gaze locked onto yours, and you almost flinched at the intensity in his eyes. “Now it’s not just nightmares. After Chansia City… it’s like something cracked. Like I bled through him.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

His fingers flexed against your skin, then curled into a fist, as if the words physically hurt to say. “I used to only see flashes. His world, his sins—they were nothing more than fragments. But now? I see his everyday life.” His voice dropped lower, as if saying it out loud made it more real. “I see him waking up in an empty apartment, walking through streets that no longer have names. I see him looking for something—someone—who was never there.”

Your chest tightened. “Zayne—”

“And I know what that loneliness feels like.” His voice was rough, raw. “Because when I had nightmares of his life… he dreamt of mine.”

A chill ran through you.

“He dreamt of Linkon. Of Akso. Of—” He swallowed hard, his grip on you unyielding. “You.”

The word hung between you, heavy and fragile at the same time.

“Now, he’s clawing his way into my thoughts, trying to make sense of a life that isn’t his to have.” Zayne’s hands curled into the fabric of your clothes, as if anchoring himself to something tangible. “And every time I look at you—” His voice cracked, his hands shaking as he clutched you. “He’s reaching for you. And I don’t know if it’s me who wants you or if it’s him bleeding through.”

Your heart pounded.

His pain was something you could see, something you could feel in the way he held you too tightly, in the way he refused to look away, as if afraid you’d vanish if he did.

“Does it change anything?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Zayne’s breath stilled.

“No, it doesn’t,” he admitted, his voice hoarse. “I want you. I do. I’ve never denied that.” His fingers curled against your skin, holding you closer. “But this… it’s never felt like this before.”

His gaze darkened, his brows drawing together. “Like I can’t go a second without feeling you, without needing you right here. And I don’t know if it’s just me—if it’s always been me—or if it’s him. But it doesn’t matter.” His voice dropped lower, rough with something unspoken. “Because either way… I still want you.”

You reached up, cupping his cheek, forcing him to meet your gaze. “You’re here, right now. Whatever he feels, whatever he wants—this moment belongs to you.”

His throat bobbed, the conflict in his gaze raw and unfiltered. His fingers twitched where they held you, as if he wanted to push you away and pull you closer all at once.

And then—finally—he whispered, “I don’t know if I can separate us anymore.”

Zayne’s breath hitched, his hands still gripping your waist like a man on the verge of breaking. His body was rigid beneath yours, every muscle coiled tight with restraint. His stormy eyes flickered between your lips and your gaze, warring with something unseen.

You could feel it—the way he was holding himself back, the way his fingers twitched against your skin like he was fighting the instinct to pull you in.

And then, just when you thought he might push you away—he moved.

His lips crashed against yours, the kiss rough, almost desperate. A sharp inhale left him as his fingers tightened at your sides, pressing you flush against him. It wasn’t careful, wasn’t measured like everything else about him. It was hurried, hungry, as if he had been drowning for far too long and you were the only thing keeping him afloat.

Yet even in his desperation, there was hesitation—a tremor in his touch, a battle within him. His grip faltered, his breathing unsteady, as if his own emotions were overwhelming him.

For a moment, he slowed, his lips ghosting over yours, softer now—less frantic, more reverent. His fingers traced up your back, like he was memorizing every inch of you, terrified you might disappear.

But then when you surged forward to deepen the kiss, something in him snapped.

His restraint shattered as his hand cupped the back of your head, pulling you deeper into the kiss. His other hand dug into your waist, as if grounding himself in the feeling of you. He let out a quiet, shuddering breath against your lips, his body trembling beneath your touch.

It wasn’t just desire—it was longing. A desperate, aching need that had been simmering beneath his skin for far too long.

And still, it wasn’t enough.

He kissed you harder, as if trying to chase away the ghosts of a world where you didn’t exist—where he had spent endless nights reaching for something that was never there.

Zayne’s breathing was ragged as he suddenly tore himself away from you, his forehead pressing against yours, his grip on your waist still firm but trembling. His chest rose and fell in unsteady heaves, as if he had just surfaced from deep waters.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he rasped, his voice thick with something raw and desperate. His fingers flexed against your waist before slowly dragging up your sides, his touch both grounding and possessive. “But I need to feel—” His words cut off, a quiet ‘fuck’ slipping from his lips as he clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stop.

You could see it—feel it. The battle raging within him. The desperate need to claim this moment as his own, to separate himself, to make sure that this—this longing, this ache, this hunger—was his, and not something bleeding over from the nightmares that haunted him.

His fingers ghosted over your arms before gripping your wrists, guiding them up to rest against his chest. You could feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palms, erratic and heavy, proof of his struggle. His eyes searched yours, dark with emotion, pleading for something he couldn’t voice.

“I need to know it’s me,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not him. Not the dreams. Just… me. But I don’t trust myself enough not to hurt you.”

His fingers brushed your skin, hesitant, reverent—like he was afraid of his own hands.

“But I trust you.”

The words felt heavier than anything else he had said tonight, laced with the weight of every nightmare, every fear, every ghost of a life that wasn’t his. He swallowed hard, his gaze flickering to your lips, then back to your eyes.

“I need you to take control,” he murmured, each syllable careful, deliberate. “I need to know this is real—that you’re real—that I’m real.” His hands curled into fists before he forced them to relax against you. “Because if I let go now… I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.”

There was no mistaking what he meant. No mistaking the conflict in his gaze—the desperation tangled with restraint, the need warring with self-loathing.

Your hands slid up from his chest to cup his face, fingertips brushing against the sharp angles of his jaw. 

“It’s you, Zayne,” you whispered, your voice steady, certain. “You.”

You tilted his face up, brushing your lips against his—a whisper of a touch, just enough to tether him to the present, to this moment with you. He shuddered beneath your touch, his hands tightening at your waist as if anchoring himself.

“I’m here,” you continued, pressing another soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, then another along the line of his jaw. “This is real. We’re real.”

A sharp exhale left him, his resolve breaking little by little as you pressed against him. His grip on your waist faltered, then returned, stronger—desperate.

“Let me take care of you,” you murmured against his skin.

He shuddered at your words, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he wrestled with the warring emotions inside him. When they opened again, the desperation had intensified, the dark gray irises nearly swallowed by the black of his pupils.

“Show me,” he rasped, his voice low and rough with barely restrained desire. “Make me believe it.”

You took your time, trailing kisses along his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt as your lips travelled down. You wanted to savor this moment, to make sure he knew it was him, that this was real.

As you sank to your knees before him, you looked up at Zayne through your lashes. The raw vulnerability in his expression made your heart ache. You wanted to erase every nightmare, every fear, every shadow that haunted him.

“You’re real,” you murmured, your breath ghosting over his cloth-covered arousal. “This is real.”

With a steadying breath, you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the bulge straining against his zipper. You could feel the heat of him, the throbbing need, and it made your own body ache in response.

You worked slowly, unzipping him with deliberate care, letting your fingers brush against his arousal as you did. He was already hard, the thick length of him stretching the fabric of his boxers. 

You haven’t seen him naked before, and crossing this line made your thighs clench. Glancing up at him, you caught his gaze, holding it as you hooked your fingers in the waistband of his boxers and tugged them down. His cock sprang free, long and thick and perfect, the swollen head already glistening with need.

“Beautiful,” you whispered, wrapping your hand around the thick base of Zayne’s cock, giving him a firm squeeze as you gazed up at him with hooded eyes. “You’re beautiful, Zayne.”

Slowly, teasingly, you started to stroke him, your soft palm gliding along his hard length. You could feel every throbbing vein and ridge, committing the shape of him to memory.

Leaning in, you breathed over his swollen cock head, then, with a deliberate slowness that was almost torturous, you dragged the flat of your tongue along the underside of his shaft, tracing the thick vein that ran from base to tip. You lingered at the sensitive spot just below the head, swirling your tongue around it before giving it a firm press.

Zayne shuddered and groaned, his fingers flexing in your hair as you dragged your tongue back down to the base, your hand following the same path. When you reached the bottom, you dipped your tongue into the neat little slit at the tip, tasting the first salty drops of his arousal.

Savoring his flavor, you wrapped your lips around the swollen head, your soft mouth stretching around his impressive girth. You suckled gently, your cheeks hollowing as you began to take him deeper, inch by hard inch.

“Your mouth… it feels so g-good…” he groaned.

The praise that escaped his lips made the flush on your face more evident. As your lips moved slowly down his shaft, encasing him in the slick heat of your mouth, your tongue undulated along the thick vein on the underside as you took him deeper, until the head of his cock bumped the back of your throat.

You held yourself there for a long moment, relishing the heavy, throbbing weight of him, the musky scent of his arousal flooding your senses. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, you began to bob your head, taking him deeper into your throat with each downward motion.

Your hand worked in tandem with your mouth, stroking and squeezing as you sucked him. You could feel him growing harder, the thick length of him pulsing against your tongue as you pleasured him.

“Fuck… just like that…”

You couldn’t help but moan around his cock at his groans, your brain committing the sounds to memory. You doubled your efforts when you felt he was close, sucking harder, stroking faster, your tongue never still as it lapped and swirled and caressed every hard, throbbing inch of him.

His grip on your hair tightened, his hips starting to piston forward, fucking your mouth as you sucked him with wild abandon. You could feel his body tensing, his breath coming in harsh pants and groans. 

“I can’t… I can’t hold back much longer…”

And then, with a roar that was nearly feral in its intensity, he came. His cock jerked and throbbed as it erupted, shooting hot, thick ropes of cum down your eager throat.

You swallowed it all, working your throat to milk every last drop from his pulsing length. The taste of him was intense, the salty-sweet flavor of his essence exploding on your tongue.

As the waves of his release began to ebb, you slowly pulled back, letting his still hard cock slip from your lips with a lewd pop. You licked your lips, savoring the lingering taste of him as you gazed up at Zayne with a look of pure, sated desire.

“Zayne,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “It’s you. This is you. You’re real.”

You placed a soft, lingering kiss on the tip of his cock before nuzzling your cheek against his thigh, looking up at him with a smile that was pure tenderness mixed with deep, abiding lust.

As the last tremors of his intense orgasm faded, Zayne reached down and gently but firmly pulled you up by your arms, urging you back into his lap. You went willingly, straddling his hips as you sat facing him.

His hands slid around to your back, one resting high on the curve of your shoulder blades, the other splayed across the small of your back, pulling you flush against his strong chest. You could feel the heat radiating off his skin, the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palms.

Gazing into your eyes, Zayne leaned in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that steals your breath. It was a kiss filled with gratitude, with hunger, with a desperate need to claim you, to make you his.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, your fingers tangling in his hair as you arched into him, pressing your soft curves against the hard planes of his body. His tongue delved into your mouth, stroking along yours, tasting himself on your lips and tongue.

As you both lost yourselves in the kiss, you could feel Zayne’s cock, still semi-erect and slick with your saliva, nudging against your core. The friction sent sparks of pleasure shooting through you, making you ache with a renewed desire.

Almost unconsciously, your hips began to move, grinding against his in a slow, sensual rhythm. You could feel the heat building between your thighs, the dampness of your arousal soaking through your panties.

Zayne groaned into your mouth, his grip on your waist tightening as he felt your hips rolling against his. His cock twitched and began to harden further, growing thicker and longer with each passing second.

Breaking the kiss, Zayne trailed his lips down the column of your throat, his teeth grazing your racing pulse. “Ride me,” he growled against your skin, his voice low and rough with renewed desire. “I need to feel you, all of you, surrounding me, consuming me, making me forget everything but your name.”

You shuddered at his words, at the raw, primal need in his voice. Reaching down, you pushed your panties aside, baring your slick, needy sex to the cool air and his heated gaze. You could feel your own arousal dripping down your thighs, a testament to how much you wanted him, needed him.

With a roll of your hips, you positioned yourself over his hardening length, feeling the thick head nudging against your entrance, you slowly sank down. You were so wet, so ready for him, that he slid inside you with a single, smooth thrust.

You both groaned at the sensation, your inner walls fluttering and clenching around his thickness as he stretched and filled you completely. You could feel every ridge and vein of his cock as it brushed against your sensitive flesh, igniting nerve endings you didn’t know you had.

Zayne’s hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements as you began to ride him. You started slowly, rising up until just the tip of his cock remained inside you, before sinking back down, taking him to the hilt.

“You feel so good, love.” he murmured, his lips parted open.

With each downward motion, you could feel the pleasure building, the coil of tension in your core winding tighter and tighter. 

You arched your back and Zayne leaned forward, freeing your breasts from the confines of your shirt as he lifted it by the hem. He captured one straining nipple in his mouth, suckling and nipping at the sensitive bud. His free hand slid from your hip to the juncture between your thighs, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing the swollen nub in tight, fast circles.

You cried out, your head falling back as the sensations overwhelmed you. Your hips moved faster, rising and falling in a frantic rhythm as you chased your pleasure. The wet, obscene sounds of your coupling filled the room, spurring you both on.

His other hand inch upward, holding your head firmly, his fingers tangling in your hair, Zayne tilted your chin up to gently force your gaze to meet his intense, hazel-eyed stare. He let out a strangled moan, “Say my name, love. Come on…”

Zayne’s grip on your hips tightened, his fingertips digging into the soft flesh as he guided your increasingly desperate movements. His own hips surged up to meet yours, driving his thick length deeper, harder, faster into your clutching heat.

“Zayne,” you breathed, “You’re the only one I want, the only one I need.”

His breathing grew ragged, each exhale escaping through gritted teeth as he lost himself in the slick slide of your bodies joining again and again. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room, mixing with the staccato cries spilling from your lips.

Zayne’s hand moved from your clit to your breast, squeezing the soft mound roughly as he pinched and rolled the stiff peak between his fingers. He leaned down, his hair falling forward as he dragged his tongue over your collarbone, tasting the salt of your skin.

“Fuck, just like that…” he growled against your neck, his voice strained. “S-Say my name again—please…”

His words sent shivers down your spine, making your inner muscles clench around him. You could feel every ridge and vein of his cock as it stretched you, filled you, owned you.

“Z-Zayne…!” you moaned.

Zayne’s thrusts became more erratic, more desperate at the cry from your lips. The hand on your hip slid around to the small of your back, pressing you flush against him as he pounded up into you. The couch creaking with each surge of his hips, the sound mingling with your cries and his grunts.

You could feel the tension building in your core, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter as you climbed towards your peak. Your nails raked down Zayne’s nape as you held on for dear life.

With a harsh curse, Zayne slammed up into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt as his release overtook him. His cock jerked and pulsed inside you, painting your insides with his hot release.

The sensation of his release pushed you over the edge, your own climax crashing through you like a tidal wave. Your body convulsed, melting into him as your inner muscles clamped down around him while you came apart in his arms.

You collapsed against his chest, both of you gasping for air as the aftershocks of your release rippled through you. Zayne’s arms tightened around you, drawing you in close, his heartbeat steady beneath his damp shirt, grounding you in the moment.

In the quiet aftermath, as your breath began to steady, Zayne placed a gentle kiss against your temple, his lips lingering there as if memorizing the moment. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice raw and heavy with emotion. “For this. For everything.”

You gently cupped his face, guiding him to look at you. “You have me, Zayne,” you said softly, your words steady and sure. “No matter who you are, no matter who you become—I’ll never walk away.”

He paused as his fingers brushed gently across your damp cheek.

He spoke, his voice was soft, almost hesitant. “All I know now is that… the only thing I’m sure of,” he began, his forehead resting against yours once more, “is you.” He swallowed, his grip around you tightening as if trying to ground himself in the present.

You thought that would be the end of it, but he exhaled, a shudder racking through him.

“I never believed in fate,” he added, his voice low, but without any trace of bitterness—only a quiet acceptance. “But now, I do. Because no matter where I am, or who I am… you’re the constant. The one thing that’s always been real.”

He paused, his words heavy with an ache that tightened your chest. “And I think… I think I’m meant to love you in every life, in every timeline. I’m meant to be with you. And no matter how complicated it gets, no matter what happens, I’ll always end up finding you.”

His grip on you tightened further, pulling you closer, as if to make sure you were really there. “Now… I can’t help but feel… bad for him.”

A heavy sigh escaped him, thick with weight and regret. “He doesn’t have you. He doesn’t get to have this—this connection.” His voice wavered, raw with something unspoken. “And I think that’s what hurts the most. No matter how much I try to separate myself from him, I can’t shake the feeling that a version of me is still reaching for you. That somewhere… in every universe, in every life, even if you don’t exist in it—it will always be you.”

likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated <3 if you want to check out more of my writings, head on to here — masterlist.

[camandemstudios]

🥂 Cam&Em Studios Presents...

Cam [@highvern] and Em [@gyuswhore] invite you to share your love life woes at Seventeen's Lonely Hearts Cafe. The best chefs in all of Caratland will be serving you 26 proven ways to nurse a lonely heart. Lay out those napkins for a night of fine dining and emotional shenanigans!

Wanna make a reservation ⁉�� Sign up for the taglist here with a visible age indicator on your blog [important].

🍷 Oops, some of those menus are for 18+ patrons. Remember to check those NSFW warnings before placing your order!

🥂 Chef Special: the one where the stranger you fake date turns out to be your childhood friend by @bitchlessdino

🍴Main Course: Choi Seungcheol x Reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: In a world where relationships mattered just as much as money or status did, Seungcheol found himself wrapped up with a person from twenty years ago. He didn't know how you remembered him, and frankly he didn't know how he remembered you, but the way you've reentered his life, like a gust of wind, he didn't think he'll ever forget you now.

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🥂 Chef Special: The Pursuit Of Love by @tusswrites

🍴Main Course: Choi Seungcheol x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: A heart’s relentless quest for love, fueled by the perfect visions of romance etched into the world around you, woven through the bittersweet tapestry of rejections, heartbreaks, and long-buried secrets. Along the way, you uncover that perhaps the love you've been chasing has been quietly waiting, right beneath your nose all this time.

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🥂 Chef Special: don’t you want me, baby? by @seungkw1

🍴Main Course: Yoon Jeonghan x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: Jeonghan has been nothing more than your annoying classmate your whole life, so everyone is surprised when you get romantically involved with him senior year of high school. The relationship doesn’t last, and life moves on. You graduate, go your separate ways to different colleges, never to see each other again. Or so you thought - but a chance encounter years later just might change everything.

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🥂 Chef Special: ride down the memory lane by @multi-kpop-fanfics

🍴Main Course: Yoon Jeonghan x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: one thing you will never forget from your childhood is the bicycle races around your neighborhood against a certain boy who always lost to you. fifteen years later and in the big city, that same boy isn't a boy anymore and he knows how to ride more than a child's bicycle.

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🥂 Chef Special: all the petty things & all the pretty scenes by @starlightkyeom

🍴Main Course: Joshua Hong x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: when your best friend suggests a trip away for valentine's, you think it's the perfect opportunity to get away from all the happy couples on a holiday while you're single. that is, until you realize that he also invited his new roommate. everyone seems to love joshua and you just don't get it. how are you going to survive a long weekend with him?

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🥂 Chef Special: caught up in you by @hannieween

🍴Main Course: Joshua Hong x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: It all started with a little, harmless lie. After telling your mother that you would bring your boyfriend to her obnoxiously high-society birthday party, you had to improvise. With no actual options to ask, you turned to your dear friend, Joshua Hong. Caught up in this lie, you could only hope that real feelings wouldn’t start to bloom… right?

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🥂 Chef Special: My Girlfriend Faked Her Amnesia by @miabebe

🍴Main Course: Wen Junhui x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: It wasn’t always that life gave one the chance to hit reset, but now that Jun had gotten one, he didn’t have long before time ran out - 10 days to valentine's day which meant 10 chances to make his amnesiac girlfriend remember him again. But it wasn’t going to be a cakewalk - afterall, how could one be reminded of the past if they were only pretending to forget?

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🥂 Chef Special: in limine by @eoieopda

🍴Main Course: Wen Junhui x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: you think that by remaining single this year, you’ve found a loophole in your string of shitty valentine’s days. the universe thinks you should lose your only paralegal on the eve of a major trial and see if you wouldn’t rather have all of those untimely breakups and missed dates instead.

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🥂 Chef Special: the accidental one-night stand by @fxstpace

🍴Main Course: Jeon Wonwoo x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: the consequences of sleeping with your best friend while drunk include waking up with no memory of how you ended up in his bed and the awkward realisation that your friendship is irreparably damaged. but avoiding it only works for so long—especially when feelings you’ve both been hiding begin to bubble to the surface.

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🥂 Chef Special: A Comprehensive List of Why You Can’t Stand Jeon Wonwoo by @tomodachiii

🍴Main Course: Jeon Wonwoo x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: You had no idea when or what started your mutual hatred with Jeon Wonwoo. And if anyone were to ask why you hate him, you could give them a comprehensive list of everything you can’t stand about Jeon Wonwoo. But as the saying goes: there’s a fine line between love and hate.

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🥂 Chef Special: crash course in romance by @etherealyoungk

🍴Main Course: Kwon Soonyoung x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: meet kwon soonyoung, he’s the ultimate goofball— sweet and chaotic but clueless when it comes to romance. so when you ask him to be your fake boyfriend even though you barely know him, he says yes, even though he's never dated before and has no idea what to do. as you show him the ropes and coach him on how to be the perfect boyfriend and slowly get to know him, soonyoung finds himself slowly falling for you. and maybe, just maybe, you're falling for him too.

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🥂 Chef Special: The Fine Print Of Fake Dating by @c-oupsie

🍴Main Course: Kwon Soonyoung x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: Two broke college best friends enter a Valentine’s ‘Hottest Couple’ contest to win a semester of free tuition. The plan? Ace the romantic challenges without anyone realizing they’re faking it. The problem? The fine print never mentioned what to do when fake dating starts to feel all too real.

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🥂 Chef Special: Found You First by @bluehoodiewoozi

🍴Main Course: Lee Jihoon x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: For years you’ve hated Valentine’s day, convinced you’d never find a love worth celebrating. Maybe this year you’ll see that what you needed has been right in front of you all along.

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🥂 Chef Special: smarter, and yours. by @vitaminkyeom

🍴Main Course: Lee Jihoon x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: Jihoon, school's no. 1 (or no. 2), was nothing but a pain in the ass for you. Sure he was better than you in some subjects but so were you. The two of you were equally good enough for the first place so to increase the competition, he decided to suggest the most scandalous thing you had heard: the two of you of you tutor each other.

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🥂 Chef Special: Don't Run Away by @lovetaroandtaemin

🍴Main Course: Lee Seokmin x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: When unexpected circumstances lead to you sharing an apartment with your best friend's older brother, the transition from acquaintances to roommates is anything but smooth. Over time, however, you two realize that you truly care about each other. Will a drunk confession bring the two of you together, or will you continue to run away from your feelings?

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🥂 Chef Special: the subtle art of stirring the pot by @miniseokminnies

🍴Main Course: Lee Seokmin x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: [STIRRING THE POT] definition: To make a situation more difficult or to deliberately provoke conflict. The kitchen at Quartz and Serenity in New York City runs like a well oiled machine.Then comes Lee Seokmin, the new sous chef, breezing in with a carefree attitude that disrupts your routine. All you've known for the last few years is studying, sleeping, and this kitchen. You try your best to work with the new addition to the chaos but what happens when the pot gets stirred?

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🥂 Chef Special: Cinnamon by @daechwitatamic

🍴Main Course: Kim Mingyu x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: You finally decide to try and move on after years of waiting for Mingyu to return your feelings. But when you start bringing your new boyfriend around more often, things with Mingyu get... difficult.

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🥂 Chef Special: Dessert First by @highvern

🍴Main Course: Kim Mingyu x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: You've got a great life. Your wedding planning business is booming, your clients are great, and you're finally over your ex-boyfriend after years of pining. Or you are, until the universe decides to test if those three things are actually true.

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🥂 Chef Special: muddled hearts by @haologram

🍴Main Course: Xu Minghao x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: things take a turn for the better when you finally find a roommate to escape your incredibly overpriced apartment, but you don’t expect to ruin the only relationship that matters to you in the process.

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🥂 Chef Special: hit replay by @starlightkyeom

🍴Main Course: Xu Minghao x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: everything in your life is going well. too well, probably, in hindsight. when the empty unit on your floor gets filled by none other than your ex that broke your heart, you feel like you shouldn't be surprised. but you can avoid with the best of them. especially when someone seems to be taking care of paying for your coffee every day on the way into work.

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🥂 Chef Special: Just One Chance by @soo0hee

🍴Main Course: Boo Seungkwan x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: while for some valentines day was a day spend filled with love, compassion and roses, for you it was a total disaster. Alone and dissapointed you return home after what was suppossed to be the saving grace for your relationship where you were met with your best friend and roommate Boo Seungkwan. Maybe your night wouldn't end with total catastrophe...

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🥂 Chef Special: Fake it Til You Make it by @diamonddaze01

🍴Main Course: Boo Seungkwan x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: You could honestly throttle Seokmin right now. Of all the half-baked, caffeine-fueled ideas he’s ever had, convincing the entire office that you and Seungkwan—your sworn nemesis and parking spot thief—are madly in love might just take the cake.

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🥂 Chef Special: On the Clock by @sailorsoons

🍴Main Course: Chwe Hansol x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: Modern problems call for modern solutions, including naming a random stranger at the book store as your boyfriend to avoid an embarrassing encounter with your ex. The problem? The stranger is Vernon and he’s not supposed to be a stranger at all - he’s your coworker, and now everyone at the office - including your ex- thinks you’re dating.

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🥂 Chef Special: stupid cupid by @beomcoups

🍴Main Course: Chwe Hansol x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: you are madly in love with your best friend and it's eating you alive. one day you will tell him how you feel, but you have to deal with his girlfriend first.

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🥂 Chef Special: Soundproof by @gyuswhore

🍴Main Course: Lee Chan x reader, Neighbours to Lovers

🔥 Flavour Profile: Noise has followed Lee Chan his entire life, at least that what it feels like to you since the day his family moved in next door. It goes from his yells and screams to his midday guitar riffs and drum solos, all somehow ending up in your parents garage for his audacious band practices. Noise has followed Lee Chan his entire life, but at some point, you fell in line too.

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🥂 Chef Special: paging dr. heartthrob by @wheeboo

🍴Main Course: Lee Chan x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: You can’t afford to be burnt out, especially during a crucial era of your life: being in medical school. Enter your best friend—a boy with a tough-looking exterior, a skateboard that’s seen better days, and a heart softer than his beat-up converse—Lee Chan, with his backpack full of snacks, and an uncanny ability to show up exactly when you need him most. He may not be a doctor, nor exactly your therapist, but he certainly is a heartthrob, and your heart can’t help but always page him.

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[erysser]

Can i request thanos x reader where the reader sacrifice herself for thanos in the bathroom scene

A GUT FEELING

-> pairings : Choi Su Bong [Thanos] x reader

-> a/n : Thank you so much for requesting!! This is my first time writing and I hope you enjoy anon <3

The third vote had just ended with a tie. Your eyes stare at the scoreboard, unsure of what it would display tomorrow when the voting was redone. Truly, you wanted to vote for X, you had a life out there, but with Thanos' pleading eyes as he promised you one more game... how could you say no?

Besides you, Thanos and Nam-gyu were whispering amongst themselves about something together, their eyes glaring at Min-su who was standing awkwardly in the middle of the X team. Pity engulfs you as you see the boy's nervous expression. You didn't blame him for voting X.

The guards call out to the players like clock-work, instructing people who wanted to go to the bathroom to go now. You lean back on your bed, back against the wall, the feeling of wanting to relieve yourself not making itself present yet.

Thanos climbs up into your bed beside you, a wild grin on his face as he talks, "Hey senorita, me and Nam-gyu are going to the toilet to have a small chat with Min-su."

You furrow your eyebrows at him, shaking your head lightly at his plan.

"I don't think that's a good idea," you start, your voice soft and persuasive, "a fight could break out and..."

Thanos laughs at your hanging sentence, "Don't worry about me, flower! I'm Thanos, I can deal with whatever they throw at me! You probably have to worry about Nam-gyu over there though."

His voice was dripping with boisterous confidence as he reassured you, Nam-gyu rolling his eyes at his statement before hurrying the purple-haired man up.

Your chest constricted, something felt wrong about this and as Thanos moved away from you, your hand caught hold of his wrist. He stops his movement, his gaze meeting your eyes. His eyes were full of unfiltered confidence, like there was no fear behind them. He never seem to have fear in him. After and during every single game, he smiled and joked like his life was not on the line.

"Be careful," you whisper softly to him, turning to Nam-gyu and repeating the same words as you pulled your hand off.

Nam-gyu scoffs as he hears the words, but gives an irritated nod as he moves to walk away towards the door. Thanos looks at you and winks, giving you a thumbs up and a flying kiss as he and Nam-gyu excitedly walk off to the bathroom area.

☆

You weren't sure how long it had been. 5— No— 10 minutes, maybe since Thanos and Nam-gyu had left for the bathroom. A sinking feeling was slowly taking over you as your mind lingered on it longer; why were they taking so long?

With a huff, you stood up from your bed, moving towards the door where the guards were, announcing to them that you needed to relieve yourself. Thankfully, as the allocated time wasn't up, they let you through.

Your footsteps echo throughout the long winding hallway until they finally stood in front of the two doors leading to the male and female toilet. Your heart beat quickens, hearing the shouting and arguing from within the male bathroom. Eyes widening, you quickly realise what was happening inside.

You look at the guards who stood outside. They stood as still as a statue, their heads looking in-front, as no emotion or feeling exuded from their faceless bodies as they stood guard.

"Aren't you going to do anything?!" You shout at them, your face scrunching up as confusion and frustration laces your voice.

You knew they wanted you dead. You knew they didn't care about the people who died, but you thought they would at least have the decency to let the players die in the games and not in a dingy bathroom!

You groan as no response came out of the triangle-masked guards. You didn't care. You stomped towards the door as they make no moves to stop you.

You heaved slightly as you move to push the door open, chest tightening as you see the scene unfold in front of you.

Men stood, fighting with each other. Some of them were on the floor, rolling around in who knows who's blood. Disgust fills you as today's dinner threatens to come up. What the hell was happening here? Your eyes scan the room, searching for the man with the bright purple hair in the middle of this brawl.

It didn't take you long to spot him. He sat on top of player 333, hand around his neck as he moves to choke him. You stood frozen, staring as you watch. Your eyes drink the image up. He didn't notice you, his whole focus on eliminating player 333. He didn't notice player 333's right arm moving and raising to stab him with the fork they had give you all for dinner.

Before your mind could even process what was happening, you move towards them, pulling Thanos off with a clean tug as player 333 swung his fork into air, barely missing Thanos' neck.

Thanos looks at you, wide-eyed and confused but before you could even answer his unasked questions, player 333 lunges for him again. You push Thanos away, trying your best to restrain him as you topple onto the floor with him, hitting your back onto to the cold tile floor. You gripped onto player 333's hand, trying to disarm him but his grip was tighter. His arm was stronger. He was stronger.

In the last few seconds, you catch Thanos's panicked gaze. Funny, that was the first time you had ever seen him panic. You give him a soft smile as you feel a sharp pain through your neck. Your neck heats up as you let go of player 333's hand, subconsciously trying to stop the blood from leaving your body.

Thanos tries to pull him off but it was no use as you continue to bleed out. Player 333's falls back, shocking painting his facw as his eyes stare at your face as you heaved, trying to breathe.

"Nonononono, c'mon y/n, you can't do this to me," Thanos says, immediately going to hold your head. He lifts you up slightly, holding you close to him as he takes his jacket off, trying to stop the bleeding. He wraps the green fabric across your neck, desperately trying to block the blood.

You could barely muster a goodbye, your vision fading slowly as it all turned into a haze, you could make out his purple tufts of hair as he stared at you.

"C'mon, that was real stupid of you y/n! You're Thanos' star, my star you can't die on me! You promised me one more game! I- I promised to take you out after we get out of this shithole." His voice was rapid, fast and breathless. Cracking and breaking slightly but stable enough to understand. No wonder he was a rapper. The thought amused you as you move to touch his face but your arms felt limp. You couldn't even move to touch him.

It wasn't long before you're heart stopped beating. The heart that once rapidly beat in Thanos' presence stopped at the moment he was closest to it.

Thanos could feel your soul leave your body. His mind reeled as he watches your eyes glaze over, your mouth slightly ajar as a satisfied look shrouded your face.

You were dead.

He couldn't believe it. It couldn't be true. His mind replayed your last moments as his hands that held your lifeless body shook. You were alive right? This was all some sort of sick nightmare, but as you laid unresponsive to his words. He was forced to deal with the truth.

He puts you down neatly on the tile floor, hands shaking as he opened the locket where he stored his drugs. Slowly, he popped one in, eyes roaming across the room until they see the man who had taken your life. He stood up, knuckles whitening as he rushes in front to put that man in his place.

It should've been him. It should've been Thanos. It should've been anyone but you.

He was a second away from pummeling the man's head in when the guards finally entered, tearing Thanos away from him.

They were all escorted into the main room, bloodied and battered. Thanos' mind kept replaying the scene, the drug seeming to have no effect in keeping those thoughts at bay. Beside him, Nam-gyu walks quietly, unsure of what to say.

Anger enveloped Thanos' mind as they announced the eliminated players, your number being called out last. His eyes look over to the X side, immediately catching player 333's gaze.

He had taken his money and had now stolen the person Thanos cared about the most.

Whatever the next game was, Thanos was going to make sure that player 333 gets eliminated.

[mxnaceoo]

"𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐀, 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐀."

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆;; Platonic!fatherly?Ddajki man x younger!gn!reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Growing up in an abusive household and with parents that are too selfish and drunk to look out for you leads you to chase love in the wrong people.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓/𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒::: possibly yandere!platonic!father salesman and DARKK!!!! mentions of abuse, y/n is mentioned here, reader is in 4th year highschool and grew up in an abusive household, stalking, murder, violence, abduction?, reader develops stockholm syndrome shortly--, A fight going on but HE came to resolve their problems "without" violence, ooc ig, small swearing, starvation, bruises, father gambles and mother is a cheater and an alcoholic, always arguing about bs, mentions of forced marriage, bottles, also hints in the fic that he's been stalking reader for a long time, picturing w/o consent, small mentions of sx trafficking & p3dophilia, mother giving you away to someone you weren't familiar with, he frames your mother of murder of her boyfriend and your father

a/n: ending is quickly written bc I was literally running out of time HAHAHAHA ----sorry for bad writing just got back to it BAHSHAAHABABA anywaysssss (EDIT: I think I took too long --- sorryyyyy 😭)

word count; 3,535 words.....

enjoyyy :))

-If disappointed, leave instead of sending hate comments.

________________________________________

"You look hungry, little one."

A male, older voice startled you out of thoughts, looking up at the man who approached you whilst he stared down at you with a gaze that made you feel eerie about him. But the feeling faded away when a soft and gentle smile appeared on his face. Or atleast that's what you thought.

He was good looking, clean, and probably looked way more older than you...maybe in his mid 30s, you thought...

The silence of both you and the man was killing, silence breaking when you spoke up.

"Do I know you, sir?" You asked, your tone laced with caution, holding your bag to your chest. Not used to some scenarios in your days that strangers would approach you and ask some questions like that because you think they don't care, know this is your first approach with a stranger you already think you're getting abducted now.

Well, not yet.

The man gives you a reassuring grin, and shakes his head.

"Oh no, it's just that your thin state caught my eye. Almost thought you haven't ate for awhile.."

You think, he cares...he cares? Yet you never met this good looking man in your life. You were about to say that you weren't hungry so that you wouldn't appear greedy to someone who looked wealthy, then he unexpectedly hands you..bread?

You stared at the bread, thinking if he was testing you or actually offering you bread generously...

"What? Never ate bread before?" The man interrupted your thoughts, the hand that held the bread never moving away from you and stayed in the same position.

You shook your head, "Sorry, uhm..." You were at loss for words, not knowing how to respond to a stranger giving you something. Like bread.

Feeling your stomach grumble, you shyly took the bread softly giving the man a "thank you, sir." With an shy but thankful smile at the man, in which he smiled back and replied with a "Your welcome, little one..have a good day."

He disappeared just in milliseconds, didn't bother to ask for your name...but neither did you. But you were thankful to have something to eat, it's like an angel answered your prayer.

After the man, disappeared from your sight. You then looked down at the bread given by him, it looks good and untouched. You carefully teared open the wrapper like it's an expensive gift before taking the bread out of its wrapper.

But you didn't eat it right away, you wanted to know first if the bread isn't expired, poisoned or like filled with anything that could kill you. Cautiously looking at the expiration date of the wrapper which is in two years from now, smelt the bread for any scent that isn't supposed to be in a good bread. After making sure the bread was completely untouched, you look a small bite..the taste of the bread hitting your taste buds, you began to eat more of the bread until you finished it. Happy that you have something to fill your stomach after your careless mother 'forgot' to prepare your lunch and didn't bother to give you any lunch money so you just sat in your classroom and starved while your classmates had something to eat.

You finally reached home, after waiting for a friend to walk home with you which their home is a few blocks away from yours. You both said their goodbyes and a "see you tomorrow!" Before going both your ways. Usually getting an eerie and strange feeling everytime and always, and you didn't know what it meant or how to deal with the feeling...the feeling of being watched and stalked.

Sometimes, when you're brain is feeling active you could hear a faint shutter in a very distance then you would turn around and find the origin of the sound coming from...only to find none.

Somewhere in the school garden, school gates, internet cafes. You rarely hear it at home.

Or so you thought.

You reached home, usually the quiet, melancholic home..the smell of alcohol filling your nostrils making you gag, passing the living room you saw your mother watching an adult movie with a stranger, probably her 100th boyfriend whilst both shared a feast of drinking a bottle of alcohol and no cups. You ignored it and walked to your room.

You were used to this lifestyle since childhood, thought it was normal until you shared that childhood of yours to your friends around your first year in highschool which they warned you its not normal and you should talk to a teacher or an officer. And you told one teacher about it because...who would believe a little kid? You which you never did, when you were second year in highschool and did nothing about it.

"Y/n? Is that you?" Your mother called out from the living room, using that cold and neutral tone as usual with you as she looks back from the television to you. Stopping in your tracks, you replied to your mother.

"Its me, mom" You replied back, your mother didn't say anything else and looked back at the television while being all lovey dovey with a stranger beside her and whose arm was wrapped around her shoulder. Of course your mother wouldn't ask anything else about your day, she doesn't care like.

Did she love you when you were born? You don't know.

You were always destined to be born, you were just born in the hands of the wrong family and society.

You always wondered why your parents are like this, they're husband and wife.. they're supposed to love each other right? Why would they even marry if they wouldn't be faithful and love each other later on?

Despite all those, your friends still understand you and never left you out. Though they would make some rumors that maybe it's a forced marriage and either one of them threatened to shoot if you don't agree to marry but you refused to live your so 'miserable' life in those rumors. If you've knew your relatives in both your parent's side of family, you'd probably knew why. Though you never met them and never asked them about it.

Why? Because you're scared of them, scared of your mother cursing you and threatening to throw a bottle at you and could've if her boyfriend didn't visit. Your mother's boyfriend was a nice man obviously, your literal savior before your mom could hurt you more physically than mentally, your father...? He's almost always absent in your life and if he's back home, he would give you a cold and strict look finding an argument with your mom until he leaves the house again in the middle of the night. You grown up to survive these real life loveless households, it's still affected you in any way. Hell, you don't even know what's father's day, mother's day, family day.

You finally reached your room, dropping your bag on the door before plopping on the bed you arranged this morning. You hated going back home everytime, it's the worst part of your school days..you wished you could stay at the school where you make friends, spend time and have mini picnics with your friends at the school cafeteria. Going home to your loveless and abusive mother with a stranger that you never knew or saw in your life.

Just two more school years to go, then you can graduate to college, get yourself a dorm near your college and move out from that hell of a household. You just need to wait for the right time, if you can still handle their neglect and abuse of course.

An eerie feeling hits you, similarly to the one you felt earlier..you felt..watched. You never knew what it means of yours, your parents barely teach you anything...you never knew anything of manners, but of course you still remained nice because of the kind people you meet outside your family life.

You thought about the man who offered you a loaf of bread earlier when your stomach growled, you didn't bring lunch because your mother who never had a job and relies heavily on your father's money in which he often looses it through gambling. Your mother wouldn't even give you lunch money even if she had earned money for going on dates with men through dating app.

Maybe the Gods heard your prayers, gave you a lucky day and something to fill your stomach. It's like sending a guardian angel to protect to you to protect you.

Not knowing what else to do in your room, you took out your phone and decided to watch some movies and play some games to feed your boredom.

Feeling like you need dinner, you went out of your room, heading to the kitchen to get some food passing by your mother and her boyfriend now with the television still on and your mother now seems to be sleeping on his shoulder while his head lays on hers. You'd feel jealous of these men your mother keeps bringing home and being all sweet with them, they are literally strangers and not her blood. But chooses to be that way with them than to be sweet with her descendant.

You opened the fridge, half the food inside the fridge now consumed and as usual the shelf is stored with soju bottles, some already finished and some were drank but half was left, very little of them were still untouched.

Seeing that there's only some cold rice there, you took it with you along with chopsticks to eat.

For the whole night as usual, you ate, watch movies from the television you bought with your saved money from either stealing some of your mother's money or from a loving aunt next door, doodle on unused papers and lay on your bed thinking about life and its actual purpose.

And when the clock hits 10:00 in the nighttime, you finally prepare to go to bed..brushing your teeth, check, changing to something comfy, check, daily hoping a time you'll get out of the household from hell? Check.

Then you finally close your eyes, shutting your eyes to sleep to the dark world around you as you hug your plush under your blankets.

.

.

.

.

As usual, you waited by the school gate for a friend..this time with your circle of friends, you all had a quiz by the next day so you all decided to study and pass together for the next day..discussing that you'll study at one of your friends house and walk each other home.

As you laughed with your friends by the school gate, the same faint shutter reached your ears. You learned to ignore it, but it usually gets concerning sometimes. You took a quick glance behind you to see any suspicious people or someone holding a camera to confirm your suspicions

At this time, you forgot to contact your mother that you'll be home late because you had to study with your friends at their place. You knew if you're gonna be home late without a reason, there's no other punishment other than to slap you harshly on the face and lock you in your room without having any food leaving you starving for a night.

You we're starving while studying at a friend's place, good thing their mother was kind enough make food for her child's friends.

Unlike your mother.

When you wave your goodbyes with your friends after walking each other home, you finally reached your "home".

Oh you were in for a bigg surprise. Or maybe that's what you think...for the moment.

When you thought you're gonna get dragged inside and get slapped and cursed by your mother for going home late, usually you'd see your mother by the doorway but it's unusually empty.

You stepped inside, peeking through the living room to see your mother and her boyfriend passed out on the couch, a few bottles on the floor whilst the television was still playing. The usual routine she does, drinking, dating and watching television.

Is that all that makes her happy? You asked yourself as you quietly went to the kitchen, to get snacks and reached your bedroom. Taking your backpack off your shoulders as you change into pajamas to relax for the night, tomorrow was finally the weekends. Acads have been putting a weight over your shoulders for a while.

You finally took your phone from your bag, hopped onto your bed to scroll through social media, chat your friends and watch videos to cure your boredom. You don't really do much in your room other than doodling and using your cellphone even on weekends.

Your friends messaged you if you could come to an outing with them and if your mother would allow you, you messaged them back that you can anytime, not like your mother cares.

After a while of using your cellphone distracted, a slam of the front door startles you out-of your thoughts. A familiar masculine voice echoing throughout the house even reaching your room.

You could literally hear the drunken tone of your gambling father as he yells at your mother and her boyfriend.

"Who is this again? Didn't I tell you no damn boyfriends in my house you slut?!" Your father shouts, sounds of glass bottles breaking and throwing could be heard as your mother is also yelling back at your father.

"Why not? Not like you come back home every single damn day!"

You hated hearing this, it leaves wounds on your heart everytime. Even when you were still in elementary, you never get used to your parents arguing.

You hear sounds of punching, throwing, and shouts from your mother, your father and her boyfriend. More glass throwing and breaking. Even one was hit at your door making you jump at the sound.

You knew the next day when you wake up, you're gonna broken glass bottles, a living room and kitchen that will look like a whole war zone and maybe possible blood.

Not able to bear the sounds. You turned off your cellphone and forced yourself to sleep with a pillow on the side of your head...not wanting to hear it, you silently teared.

You, exhausted much. You were able to slowly fall asleep despite the blood being shed outside of your comfort space.

The fight continued and continued.

On the brink of falling asleep, you could hear what once was anger, now surprise and confusion.

"Who are you to get intrude into my house?! This is my house you just intruded!!"

You could faintly hear the unfamiliar voice's respond to that, but you knew it was another masculine voice.

Do you recognize that voice? You don't know because you were about to fall asleep.

Maybe you could worry about that tomorrow....

A thud.

A thud, woke you up, you checked your phone from the nightstand to see what time it is. It was 1:29 AM, pretty early, it's unusual to hear some thud in the middle of night.

You could hear a faint voice talking outside your room, it wasn't your mother, father, or her boyfriend talking. It was someone else. Now curious as to what happened earlier? You were actually curious as to what happened after that nasty fight, you finally got up and stood up from your bed to reach for the door.

But you don't open it immediately, you press your ear to the door trying to pick up the sound of someone else's voice outside. You could only pick up the faint voice but can't pick up the words they say.

You finally opened the door, open enough to peek your eye to see what's going on. It was dark. But you can finally hear the voices clearly, probably from the dining room. You opened the door completely and stepped out, cautiously heading to the dining room only to see the aftermath of the chaos that happened last earlier, when you peeked more into the dining room your toes hit...a body.

You saw your mother's boyfriend laying dead, a bad gash on his head with blood pooling his head. Luckily you didn't step on the blood.

"I would shoot you like I did to your precious boyfriend and your husband, but I'm not that kind of man."

HELP I LIKE TO THINK HE NEVER SHOOTS OR HIT WOMEN TOO HARSHLY BEAR IT WITH ME / You hear, eyebrows furrowing as your brain tells you the voice isn't unfamiliar and you probably have met that voice before. You can't pick up where you met that man with that voice.

"I have a teenager, in her room--" Your mother shakily talks.

How did she know you were in your room?Why are you being mentioned now?

"Please spare me...do anything you want with them, just don't-- sniff shoot me like you did with my husband--" You could hear your mother tear up, Is she giving you away to someone? You were glad you came there to hear that your mother is giving you away for the sake of her own life.

Little do you know though, you didn't see him stepping back to check on the hallways to your room.

Now a bit afraid, you immediately stepped back and was about to go to your room when...

"Oh, they're awake."

You finally froze in your tracks, turning to face the man. It was that man.

From two days ago...

"Ma...what are you doing?" You lowly spoke, your tone slowly getting defensive as you take a step back.

"Get your things."

Your mother coldly speaks, you can see bruis3s on her face, especially on her left eye. The fight must've been bad earlier.

"Ma--"

"Don't 'Ma' me, brat. When I say you get your things, you get them."

And with that, you only went back to your room to get your things. That man told you didn't need your school bag or your things for school, he didn't tell you why unfortunately...you only took that brings you comfort and your clothes and essentials.

You didn't know, why you just suddenly gave in the idea that your mother is giving you away to someone you're still unfamiliar with. Honestly you don't know how to say no much, but the thought of living a life outside of abuse and a loveless family.

He isn't a pedophile, right? Not a sex trafficker?...

Would this still happen if you're family was the opposite of abusive and loveless? Maybe the gods thought you were born at the wrong place and so they sent someone to be your new parent.

Someone who will give you the love you craved and love, who will teach you things about family that you never were taught about.

"Aren't you the man who gave me the bread the other day, sir...?"

You quietly asked the man who walked you out of that house, leaving your father who was shot in the head, her boyfriend, and your mother laying like a dead body on the floor. And onto the streets.

"Appa, call me appa."

He immediately replies right after you asked, but he didn't reply to your question but only corrected how you address this man now.

You felt anxious, but at the same time freed. Was this child protective services that's taking you away from an abusive household in the middle of the night?

A part of you thinks this is wrong and he could be a bad guy, but another part of you thinks otherwise, you were told to call him appa. So maybe you thought, he's gonna be your new parent...

For a long time, he's seen himself when he sees you. As he looks at your photos from afar, he feels... paternal, why? You're not his blood, hell you're from a complete different bloodline other than his.

News eventually broke out that your mother was arrested for domestic abuse and the murder of your father and her boyfriend after an anonymous call reached to the police that they witnessed your mother attacking her boyfriend and shooting her husband but never catch sight of you. You were nowhere to be found and after doing a little search and putting missing papers around the town they eventually closed the case and considered your disappearance a runaway because your things were also missing when you were given away to someone else.

You missed your school and your friends, but you mostly didn't want to go back to the pain you endured for a long time. Atleast he leaves freshly cooked breakfast on the stove before his leave for 'work'.

You didn't know him, and he never told you about himself. You wonder what you're future will be here..but he reassures you:

He can be a better parent than them.

____________________________________

The ending part is pretty rushed, I know but I wanted to finish this before afternoon :(( I just got back to writing, I'll do better I promisee--

taglist :: @5cookiekitty @chunkzdeluluwife @deepmiraclearcade @murderofravens @betty-boop-lips-05 @menabuser16 @skibidirizzlerrrr @emmynotawards @creativerambling @chrisstyle @donnaaurelia @ilovethe141 @louismae @ennvfv @4inchfae

If anyone wrongly tagged above this note, lmk!!

[inkedinshadows]

Helloooo hope you’re doing well 💝💗

I was wondering if you can write for azriel ( from the prompt list) 2 and 4? I think it would be such a cute idea, and you would write it so well (love u)

thanks for ur time!! 💝💝

Life's Bright Side

Pairing: Azriel x f!reader

A/N: I love u too anon, I'm doing well and I hope you are too 🫶🏻 I had so much fun writing this one and it didn't even take me that long bc one thing about me is that I'm a sucker for slice of life 🤭

Prompts: "Baby, I love you, but please go to bed."* + "You're always so cheerful... it's kind of adorable."

Warnings: none, just fluff

Word count: 1.1k

*had to change it to "go to sleep", hope you don't mind <3

Azriel had never understood how you did it.

Your day had been a long one. He hated the Court of Nightmares, but more than that, he loathed seeing you in such a place. His bubbly, chirpy mate didn't belong among those cruel, scheming people.

Yet you never let the occasional visits bother you. While he returned from the Hewn City brooding and in a foul mood, you were the opposite.

He watched as you danced through the room, the dim light catching on the sparkly black dress you were still wearing. You were softly humming a melody to yourself, a simple tune you had picked up yesterday while strolling along the Sidra with him.

A small smile tugged at Azriel’s lips. Even without trying, you always managed to lift his spirits. His shadows were already swaying in time with your song.

He remained silent as he undressed, listening as your humming turned into quiet singing—whispered words he couldn't quite make out, but he was fairly sure you were making them up as you went.

When he looked back up after pulling on his sleeping clothes, your dress had been exchanged for a nightgown and you were perched at the vanity table to remove your makeup. One leg crossed over the other, your foot bounced in time with your tune.

“How do you do that?” he asked, unable to stop himself.

Your eyes met his in the mirror, a small smile forming as you wiped the cotton pad over one eye. “Do what?”

Azriel shrugged, stepping up behind you just as you stood. He wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his chin on the top of your head.

“You’re always so cheerful,” he murmured, meeting your gaze in the mirror again. His lips quirked. “It’s kind of adorable.”

You chuckled before turning in his arms. “Life's too short to be grumpy and pessimistic.” Pressing a kiss to his lips, you added, “You should try it sometimes, my love.”

Azriel huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. He leaned down to stop your teasing with another kiss, but you slipped out of his grasp and padded toward the bathroom.

“Baby, you're immortal,” he pointed out, following you to lean against the doorframe while you washed your face. “How is life too short?”

“Well, it's not,” you conceded, turning off the faucet. Azriel waited patiently as you dried your face before you continued. “But maybe tomorrow a vase will fall from a balcony while I'm walking underneath it, hit me in the head, and kill me instantly.”

Azriel raised a brow.

“What?” you said with a smile. “You never know. Just because it's unlikely doesn't mean it's impossible.”

He shook his head, but he couldn't stop the slow smile forming on his face. “I'm beginning to think you're crazy. Not cheerful, just straight-up crazy.”

“And it took you this long to figure that out?” You grinned, patting his arm as you tried to slip past him.

Tried, because Azriel caught you before you could, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you flush against him. A sound that was both a laugh and a yelp escaped you as he lifted you without warning.

“Listen,” you tried to defend yourself, though it was hard to speak between fits of laughter. “All I'm saying is that everything has a bright side. We just have to look for it.”

Azriel carried you to the bed, his expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. Gently, he lowered you onto the mattress and leaned over you.

“Oh yeah?” he mused. “So what's the bright side of a vase falling on your head?”

You shoot him an incredulous look. “It made you laugh,” you said simply. “You picked me up and carried me to bed. And now you're on top of me. It’s my favorite position, I'll remind you.”

Azriel’s low chuckle skittered along your skin. “This is not your favorite position, my love.”

You grinned. “You know me so well.”

With a shake of his head, he shifted off you and lay beside you, pulling the blankets over you both as you reached to turn off the lights.

In the dark, you nestled close to him. Your back pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped snugly around you, and you reached down to intertwine your fingers with his. Your thumb traced slow, idle circles over the back of his hand.

“Did it work though?” you whispered into the quiet. “Did I get your mind off the Hewn City?”

Azriel breathed in the delicate scent of your shampoo as he brushed a kiss to your shoulder. “You did. Thank you, my love.”

“I could always give you something else to think about if you need it,” you suggested.

He didn't, actually. But something in your tone—the slight note of amusement, perhaps—made him question what you were up to.

“Is it going to be another one of your ridiculous questions?”

He could picture your smile as you replied, “Maybe. Do you want to hear it?”

Azriel took a deep breath, knowing he would regret it but still curious to find out what you'd come up with this time. “Let's hear it.”

You didn't answer right away. He felt you squirm slightly in his arms and realized you were trying to stifle your giggles. When you finally settled enough to speak, your voice was so pensive that Azriel braced himself.

“If you wake up tomorrow,” you began, “and find out I've been turned into a giant spider, what would you do?”

Azriel sighed. This was his fault, after all. He had encouraged you.

“That's even worse than the last one,” he muttered.

“You said I would make a lovely worm.” You hummed. “But what about a huge spider? Or wait, even better, a Middengard Wyrm?”

His arms tightened around you, pulling you even closer. “Baby, I love you, but please go to sleep,” he murmured, though his lips betrayed him with a faint smile.

Your soft laugh echoed in the silence. “Alright, alright,” you conceded. Azriel thought that was it, until you added, “The question is trickier and you need to think about it. I get it. You can tell me the answer in the morning.”

Azriel rolled his eyes, but his smile was now impossible to hide. You felt it against your skin as he kissed the nape of your neck.

If entertaining your nonsense questions before falling asleep was the price he had to pay to be with you, then he'd gladly endure them again and again just to spend another night by your side.

It was just like you'd said. Everything had a bright side if only he looked for it.

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh127 @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon

1k taglist: @onebadassunicorn @thegoddessofnothingness

[melercies]

imagine this...

pairing(s): nam-gyu x pinkguard!reader (specifically triangle) x thanos imagine

warning(s): gender-neutral reader(!!), slightly suggestive at the end. Read at your own risk, intended use of lowercase. my best interpretation of these two characters.

author's note: I PULLED UP BOTH OF THEIR WIKIS TO READ AND TRY GET THEIR CHARACTERS FROM THEIR PERSONALITY. i remembered that i had request this as an anon towards someone's blog (specifically midnite-c6; heavily inspired by their incredible writing), and figured to emphasize it with some ideas of my own. i'm grateful for them for writing it. I did give a subtle background for the reader too. :) Please let me know if I missed anything. Likes, Reblogs and Comments are highly appreciated!

you were simply just like any other ordinary pink guard, managing, upkeeping, and enforcing the rules of this horrendous game under the order of the Front Man. since you were given the opportunity to work as a soldier in the games due to the hopeless situation you were in before becoming a pink solider. desperate times calls for desperate measures you suppose.

all you had to do was follow the rules; never remove your masks to reveal your identity, no questioning of any command given or initiate any friendships to gain any forms of attachment. just eliminate players and make sure none of the contestants broke any of the game's guidelines. simple enough, right?

wrong. there were two particular contestants that had caught your attention. you shouldn't have been intrigued by them, you mentally scolded yourself. But it was hard not to be. they were literally acting as if these death games were the same as a children's playground. it was absurd. but it was amusing...to say the least.

after watching the purple-haired contestant who seems to go by the name, thanos, who was skipping around, killing players and having the time of his life in red light, green light along with nam-gyu following around, and partaking within the tense conflict between player 333, thanos and himself, you've made your choice.

of course, you were cautious and careful about the decisions you've made. you were as subtly as possible, if you were caught, dire consequences were to be delivered your way or, to save the effort and time, kill you.

you've made sure to ensure their safety for now, wanting to keep them alive to draw out the possibilities as to what they could do next to entertain you. even if it meant to kill other contestants unfairly as you kept a sharp eye towards their direction.

you've given them small advantages sneakily here and there, managing to slip by without a singular witness or anyone catching what you were doing. going from preventing conflicts that could get both of them killed to giving them extra food within their meals given in comparison to other players' meals.

of course, it didn't take long til one of them took notice before informing the other. the only question lingering within their minds, why? they knew you were one of the guards who were tasked to eliminate those who lose within the games, so why are you...helping them?

despite the triangular mask you wore to conceal your identity, they plan to find out who you were and confront to you. both keeping a rather particular eye on you. they knew which guard you were, often catching you taking a slight subtle glance towards their direction or they could just sense it, they just fucking knew it was you.

especially when it came to meal times, you would stand there with one hand that held a drink and the other that held the given sustenance (if you could even call it a proper nourishment for the players...) giving each player their limited ration, ignoring their complaints and noises of disbelief until it came to them.

the main dormitory was noisy, filled with the atmosphere of weary players who had just endured another brutal round. the smell of the tasteless food wafted through the air, mixing with the lingering fear and tension that never seemed to fade in this place. the players grumbled and complained about their meager rations, their voices filled with frustration, but you, as always, stood motionless behind the food station, handing out the same bland meal to each one of them.

the mask you wore, that stark triangular symbol, was meant to hide everything; your face, your emotions, your identity. to blend in with the other guards, to remain invisible. but it was becoming harder. they were starting to notice you.

as you handed out the meal to the next few contestants, you couldn't help, but feel their eyes on you. nam-gyu's calculating gaze lingered for a moment longer than necessary, though he remained silent. thanos, however, was blatant. both of them trying to figure you out despite the appearance you kept up was hard enough to get a read from.

when thanos had appeared next in line, you could feel the tension between you, thick and almost palpable. thanos was grinning, his usual cocky self, but this time there was something behind that grin, something more calculated in the way he sized you up. nam-gyu stood behind him, calm as ever, but you could see the flicker of something behind his eyes. an awareness that wasn't there before.

you moved to hand thanos his ration, a carton of milk and bread wrapped in plastic. you handed it to him with your usual blank expression, but before you could pull your hand away, you subtly slide an extra piece of bread, quickly and barely for anyone to notice.

thanos didn't flinch, didn't make any overt sign that he saw it. he simply took the rations with a slow, deliberate motion, his eyes not leaving you for a second. he stared at the food in his hands, looking back at you with a sly, knowing smile before turning around and heading back to his bunk. nam-gyu, on the other hand, stepped forward, an undeniable intensity within his eyes. he knew. they both knew. the question now was what they'd do with this knowledge.

without saying another word, you turned and moved to hand nam-gyu his rations, finding your own heart racing, but maintained the same calm demeanor as you slipped an extra piece of bread. just the same thing you've done for thanos, feeling nam-gyu's gaze on your form, sharper than ever.

his fingers had brushed against yours for moment, and you felt a brief shiver at the subtle touch before he politely thanked you. he took his rations and headed where thanos was sitting. you knew that thanos and nam-gyu would be conversing upon it, no one noticing that they were getting these advantages when the other contestants were too busy conversing upon what could possibly be ahead for them or the food in front of them.

you handed out the last of the rations with a quick, controlled motion, ignoring the lingering eyes of thanos and nam-gyu. "enjoy your meal," you stated, your voice cool, almost disinterested. then, without another word, you turned and moved away, the weight of their scrutiny following you.

it was risky. you knew it was, and yet, you still continued on. both of them were still alive. because of you.

there was at one point, where thanos had tried offering you the small pills inside his cross necklace which you were questioning as to how it managed to get within the game itself with no detection. which you declined, shaking your head while nam-gyu was poking your body, and touching your mask. you didn't know if he was doing this out of curiosity or simply for his own enjoyment, but each touch caused you to flinch and when he was about to pull your mask off, you didn't hesistate to lift your gun and point it directly at him as a warning. obviously, they backed off from that, not wanting to get killed.

questions would tend to spur towards you between both of them, but you never answered a singular question of theirs. and it certainly didn't take long til a confrontation occured during your shift of covering the bathrooms, making sure no one is causing trouble. one of your shifts would be where things would certainly take a turn for you.

the dimly lit corridor of the bathroom hallway felt strangely still, a quiet echo of the chaos that always surrounded the players. you stood with you back pressed against the cold wall, your triangular mask in place, you eyes scanning the hallway within an unblinking focus. the task was simple, stand guard, make sure no players caused trouble, and ensure no one broke the rules. as long as you kept your distance, it was easy to blend in.

but tonight was different. the air felt charged, a tense electricity crackling around you as you stood. you had a feeling something was coming, and when thanos and nam-gyu appeared, you knew the storm was finally here.

thanos strutted toward the bathroom door with his usual carefree swagger, his purple hair messy and wild. but his eyes, those sharp, calculating eyes, flicked toward you for a split second, and you could feel the weight of his gaze. he had already started to sense something.

behind him, nam-gyu walked more slowly, his posture calm, but there was a sharpness in his steps. he had always been more observant, and it didn't take long for his eyes to lock on you as well. you did your best to keep still, not giving anything away, but they were too good. they knew.

"you," thanos's voice broke the silence, teasing but with an edge of something darker. he stopped in front of you, his lips curling into a smirk as he looked you over, then glanced to nam-gyu. "i knew it was you. always watching, always giving us just enough. don't think i didn't notice, guard."

"you've been helping us," nam-gyu said, his voice low, almost cold. "extra food, extra attention...you're not just doing your job. you're playing a different game, hmm?"

thanos's grin widened, sensing the opportunity. he leaned in, close enough that his breath fanned against your triangular mask. the one thing that separated both you and him, and you somehow found yourself gripping the firearm in your hands tighter. "what's your angle, guard? what are you getting out of this? you've been pretty... generous to us, haven't you?" his voice dripped with amusement, but there was something more dangerous in the way he spoke now.

you stood there, frozen for a moment, your heart pounding under the mask. you have been careful. you have bee subtle. but here you were, both of them were standing in front of you, catching onto your quiet acts of defiance. the games weren't just about survival for them; they were about control, about manipulation and right now, they were flipping that dynamic onto you.

before you could respond or move away, thanos's hand shot out, grabbing your wrist with a sudden force that left no room for protest. "you're not going anywhere," he said, his voice low and insistent, a playful glint in his eyes as he pulled you towards a door that lead to the men's bathroom. "we've got some questions for you, guard." nam-gyu didn't need to speak; the message was clear. you weren't going to get away without giving proper answers.

the door to the men's bathroom slammed shut behind you as thanos pushed you inside, dragging you further into the dimly lit room. it was empty; just you, thanos, and nam-gyu.

thanos leaned in, his breath hot against your mask as he whispered, "you thought you could sneak by, didn't you? you thought you could just help us without anyone noticing." he took a step back, his grin growing wider, more dangerous.

nam-gyu moved closer, his movements deliberate, but a quiet power was evident in his eyes that sent a shiver through you. "you've been careful, but not careful enough," he said, his voice mockingly soft yet piercing. "we know what you've been doing. and now you're doing to explain it to us, right?"

you took a slow step back, but thanos was faster, his hand shooting out to block your retreat. his fingers brushed against you as he leaned in once more. "you've been playing both sides, haven't you? helping us, getting close. do you like it? do you like being close to us?"

the tension between the three of you was thick, the silence hanging in the air, broken only by your steady breaths underneath the mask. you had never been this close to them before, and now the weight of their scruntiny was more suffocating than you had anticipated.

thanos stepped forward, his face inches from yours, his smirk never wavering. it almost felt he and nam-gyu could see through your mask. "you're not so good at hiding, are you? i can feel it. you want something more from us, don't you?" his voice was suddenly soft, almost teasing though, as if he were savoring the moment. "maybe you just want to be seen."

nam-gyu didn't speak immediately as you felt nam-gyu suddenly holding onto your mask, almost as if he was about to lift it and reveal your identity towards them. his other hand holding onto your shoulder in a grip, rubbing it slightly. you didn't stop him, remaining completely still. "you're playing a dangerous game, y'know?" nam-gyu murmured close.

the words hung in the air, thick with tension, and just as you thought they might let you go, thanos leaned in, a final whisper of threat in his voice. "i think you like this. being caught. being trapped between us." his hand grazed your arm as he spoke, his grip tightening slightly on your wrist.

nam-gyu's eyes traced over you, intense and unwavering, his gaze heavy with unspoken meaning. a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he took a step closer. his voice was low, almost a whisper. "you'll figure it out soon enough," he murmured. "what it really means to play with us...and what happens when you finally stop pretending you're not interested." his hand then lifted up your mask.

[zorosangell]

I NEED pit pt2 ! GIVE ZORO HIS GIRL BACK!!! 😤😔

⛥ﾟ・。 boxers

synopsis: part two of pit -- zoro saves your life (ish) and finally finds the courage to win you back

cw: fluffy fluff with a dash of angst, comfort, ZORO IS DOWN BAD, kinda grovels ig, but like as he should, reader kinda stands on business (not really tho).

a/n: been a minute y'all <3 happy to see you guys again

"For fuck's sake," Zoro groaned, throwing his forearm over his eyes as the loud, frenzied moans of Nami's booty call slithered through the walls.

Was she fucking killing him?

Audibly, the man was shoved against the headboard, letting out a surprised string of groans as the navigator continued her assault, doing whatever it was she did that had men begging her not to leave whatever island they were docked at.

Of course, she never obliged; but that never stopped her from robbing them blind, each and every one practically handing over their valuables at the sight of her shy smile.

It was almost laughable.

Zoro couldn't wrap his head around the poor bastards who found themselves so besotted so easily.

She was just a woman.

Hell, she was just a person.

No different from any other stranger you'd pass on the road.

...Right?

With an annoyed sigh, the swordsman dragged a calloused hand over his face, staring at the ceiling of his dark room with a knowing look.

Then again, it was just a woman that had made the last month of his life a living hell.

Or rather... her absence.

Swinging his legs over the edge of the inn bed, he glanced over at the nightstand, snatching up his day-old glass of water and taking a large swig.

By the severe lack of light flowing in through the window, he could tell it was still the wee hours of the morning, despite the fact he felt he'd been up for years.

But lately, that was how every night went.

'Cut it out.'

Without hesitation, Zoro dropped to the ground, completely ignoring the empty cup on the floor as he caught himself in a plank, starting up his push-ups.

He could do this.

He could work through this.

He just had to give himself a little more time.

With a grunt of discomfort, his lips tightened into a taut line, ignoring how the weight felt off without a certain someone sitting on his back, and how his count felt too correct without a familiar voice chatting his ear off.

Shaking his head, the swordsman trained his gaze on the floor below him, brows cinching slightly with frustration.

'Cut. It. Out.'

In retaliation, images of your smiling face flashed through his mind, so sudden that it early made him drop himself.

God, if this wasn't pathetic, he didn't know what was.

Your big breakup with the ship's first mate was a little over a month ago, and despite Zoro's fervent efforts to forget, your words had plagued him from the moment you stepped off the deck.

"IT'S WHAT YOU DON'T DO, ZORO!"

"Every time I look at you, I feel more alone."

"Am I... just that forgettable?"

His chest ached at the broken tone of your voice, just as painful as when he first heard it.

All that time he had spent fighting off danger, working to keep you as far away from it as possible, it turned out he was the one that had been hurting you he most.

That fucked with him more than he cared to admit.

How could he have not seen the signs?

How could he have not seen how much he was hurting you?

How could he have ever forgotten anything about you?

"Am I... just that forgettable?"

"Am I... just that forgettable?"

"Am I... just that forgettable?"

Suddenly, Zoro's nose scrunched, a harsh stench snatching him from his self-loathing thoughts.

It smelled like... smoke.

In an instant, the swordsman's eye snapped open, darting around the room to see greyish-black fumes billowing in from under the door.

Sifting through his you-induced haze, he forced his brain to sort through all the pieces.

Early morning.

Smoke.

And shouting that had finally managed to bleed through the walls.

'(y/n)!'

Frantically, Zoro scrambled to his feet, still in his boxers and nothing else as he snatched up his swords and practically ripped the door open.

And the moment he did, he was met with utter chaos.

Inn workers rushed past carrying large buckets of water while other patrons shouted over the dark clouds of smoke, rushing down the hallway in frantic attempts of escape.

"Zoro, the building's on fire!" Chopper exclaimed from Robin's shoulder, arms wrapped around her neck as she tried to follow the crowd toward the stairs.

"We need to leave! Quickly!" the woman added, expression slightly tainted by worry.

"I don't know why you waste your time with these assholes, Nami-swan," Sanji grumbled, one hand holding hers while the other dragged the bastard she was robbing by the scruff of his neck, his face severely bruised. "The hell you standing around for, mosshead?! We gotta move!"

"Luffy and the others went on ahead! So come on!" Nami barked through her cloth mouth-covering.

"Where's (y/n)?!" Zoro asked, frantically.

The four froze in their tracks, the color instantly draining from their faces.

"She's not with you?!"

You had been avoiding the swordsman like the plague after the incident.

If he was honest, he doubted you would ever even look in his direction again, much less come to his side in a crisis.

Those days were over...

'SHIT!'

"Head outside! I'm goin' back for her!" he barked, roughly pushing through the sea of people to get to your room.

"Zoro, wait!" Chopper exclaimed.

"That half of the building completely ablaze!" Robin called. "Be careful!"

"I don't care if you burn to death trying, you better bring her back safely, moss for brains!" Sanji spat, Nami quickly moving to drag him toward the staircase.

Their noise went in one ear and out the other as he charged down the hall, expression wild with worry as he attempted to reign in his thoughts from your burning corpse to just you.

From the flow of the smoke, he could tell it was coming from the direction of your room, though he wasn't sure where.

But the thought only quickened his pace.

The further he trekked, the thicker the smoke got, and the harder it became to breath, his nose in the crook of his elbow doing little to shield his lungs.

"(y/n)!" he shouted over the distant, roaring flames. "C'mon, (y/n), sound off! (y/n)!"

His heart felt like it was in his ass, bile tearing at his throat like a raging river.

If something happened to you...

If you died with the terms you two left on...

If you died without allowing him to say all the things on his mind...

He'd never forgive himself.

"Fuck! (y/n)!" Zoro shouted, a cold shiver running down his spine despite the rising heat. "(y/n)!"

After what felt like a millennia, he finally reached the door to your room, frantically jiggling the handle only to find it was locked.

Blood rushed through his ears at the thought of you inside, so much so that he didn't even register the singeing burn of the metal against the palm of his hand.

"(y/n)! (y/n), open the door!"

And then he hears it.

Your small, faint voice, thick with exhaustion and fatigue.

"Zo... ro!"

"I'm comin', baby! Move out the way!"

Without hesitation, he drew his sword, winding up with practiced ease.

"Zoro, no!"

"108 Caliber Phoenix!"

In an instant, the door was gone, but the swordsman was more concerned with the familiar face running toward him.

Your silhouette emerged from the smokey air, clad in nothing but the thinnest tank top known to man, and a small pair of Nami's shorts.

Utterly relieved, you collided with his solid frame, arms wrapping around him like a vice as if he'd disappear if you let him go.

"(y/n)," he huffed into your ear, his arms find home around your waist like two puzzle pieces finally coming together. "You came back in here? The hell were you thinkin'?"

His words were angry, but tone so soft as his hand traveled to the back of your head to pull you further into him.

Smoothly, his free hand hooked under your thighs, effortlessly scooping you up and carrying out the building as it burned to the ground.

Finally outside, the two of you stood with each other, silently, as Robin conversed with the inn keeper about the start of the blaze.

The both of you were quite a sight.

Zoro, covered in soot, hair mussed from tossing and turning, in nothing but his black boxers.

You, covered in soot, hair wild from tossing and turning, in nothing but a thin shirt and tiny shorts.

Though you, in particular, seemed to be what the male population outside were more fond of.

And, of course, your swordsman took notice almost instantly.

"You guys need somethin'?" the words spilled from his lips like venom, his grip on his scabbard tightening ever so slightly as he shifted his stance to shield you from the eyes of a nearby group of men.

They were standing not too far away, gawking at you as if you were some sort of attraction at a fair.

And under the infamous glare of the pirate hunter, they all scurried away like startled deer, earning an annoyed scoff from the mosshead before he returned his gaze straight—all while still taking his mandatory glance at you every minute or so.

Somehow, you looked even prettier than the last time he saw you, the ginormous bonfire sitting in front of you painting your face with beautiful red and orange light.

Maybe it was relief.

Maybe it was his guilt.

He wasn't sure.

But what he was sure of was that he needed to get off what was on his chest before it was too late.

"That was stupid," he started, curtly, as he turned to you. "Comin' back in for me like that. You could've gotten hurt... or worse."

You exhaled sharply out of your nose, slowly shifting to face him.

"I was already out here when the others told me you'd stayed behind to go look for me. I couldn't let you do that 'cause God knows you wouldn't have come out unless you dragged me from the flames with you."

"You're damn right, I wouldn't have," he replied, sharply, though without an ounce of malice in his voice. "But the difference between you and me is that I can take it."

"Oh, that's the difference? I can't take it?" your brow arched, harshly, as you poked his bare chest. "I'm not some delicate flower, Zoro. I can take care of myself. You forfeited all right to do that for me a few weeks ago."

"You know I don't give a damn about rights, (y/n)," Zoro scoffed, shifting his weight on his feet. "I give a damn about you not burning to death."

"Little late for that..." you mumbled under your breath, though Zoro had heard loud and clear.

And he didn't like it one bit.

"Hey," he started, pointedly, grabbing onto your arm with a soft yet firm touch. "Look, I know I'm an asshole, but no matter how much you refuse to believe it... I care about you. I care a whole damn lot."

He sighed, taking a deep breath.

"I know I didn't show it well when we were together, but that's not something that's gonna change 'cause of where we're at right now."

Your eyes widened slightly, surprised by the sudden, vulnerable confession.

It was completely out of character for him, and the way he raked an anxious hand through his green hair let you know that he knew it, too.

"(y/n), I... you..." he stumbled, tone rising with frustration toward himself. "I fucked up... I fucked up a lot. I took a good thing for granted and didn't know it until you were gone."

His eyes found yours, the sheer sincerity and regret in his iris nearly knocking you over.

The sudden urge to hug the swordsman overtook your hands, your fingers twitching to reach out to him.

But you knew better, and given the circumstances it was almost laughable that he'd be the one needing comfort.

"(y/n)... you mean the world to me... and more than anything, I want you to be happy... even if that happiness is because I'm gone," Zoro stated, not a single waver in his voice as his calloused hand carefully slid into yours, caressing your skin with such a reverence you'd think you were fine china.

It forced a swell of warmth to radiate through your stomach, spreading all the way down to your toes.

His touch felt like coming home, a feeling that scared you to no end, but granted you immense solace nonetheless.

Not a day went by without you missing him, missing what you both used to be, and not a night without you wishing he was still by your side.

"I don't expect forgiveness. And I refuse to ask it of you," he continued, glancing down at your conjoined hands with a wistful look. "But if there's anything I want you to know... it's that I'm sorry... and that I love you."

A small gasp left your lips, his words nearly striking you dumb.

You were almost certain the word "sorry" wasn't in his vocabulary...

"And no matter where you go... or who else you may turn to... know that I'll always be here for you whenever you need me."

At that, he released your hand, the sudden coldness burning more than any flame could.

This wasn't what you wanted.

Hell, none of this was.

You knew what you wanted.

You'd known this whole time.

And now it had finally said the words you'd been waiting for it to say for over a month.

Feeling dismissed by your stunned silence, Zoro's expression turned emotionless, and he turned to go take a walk, or find some sake bottle to drown his sorrows in—whichever came first.

But before he could step away, you quickly grabbed his arm, spinning him back around before futility slamming your fists on his chest, not fazing him in the slightest.

"Damn it! I don't want to turn to anyone else!" you huffed, looking up at him with glassy eyes. "I want you, you asshole! ...But you just can't seem to get it through that thick head of yours."

Without warning, you flicked him harshly on the forehead, earning a sharp wince.

"OW! The hell was that for?!"

"You're stupid... arrogant... and rude. You have no manners, the mouth of a sailor, and the blood-lust of a demon from hell," you listed, your hand coming up to tenderly cup his cheek in your palm, the man leaning into your touch almost instantly.

You felt so soft...

And your words only brought back memories of playful nights bickering.

God, how could he have gone a month without this?

"But I love you... so much... and I can't imagine anyone else by my side... not even if I tried."

Zoro's eyes widened slightly at your confession, but in them laid a small flicker of hope.

One you faintly recognized.

"Zoro... if we do this again... it can't be the same..." you warned, resting your hands on his chest. "I can't go through all that another time, and I won't. 'Cause at the first sign, I'm walking away."

"You have my word," he promised, as if it was an irrefutable fact, resting his firm hand over your soft one, which sat above his heart. "If you ever do, you have full permission to kill me."

"Cute you think I need permission for that," you chuckled, playfully raising your brow. "You should be more worried about who gets to you first: me or Nami?"

The man shivered at the thought, cracking a small smile at your amused expression.

Leaning down, he pressed a firm kiss on your forehead, deciding against the option of your lips in favor of taking things slow.

He didn't want to overwhelm you.

"Point taken."

Effortlessly, he scooped you up, relishing in your tiny squeak, as well as the feeling of your arms snaking around his neck.

For the first time in thirty-six days, the world felt right, and his chest felt whole.

The hold you had on the swordsman was almost terrifying; but, he'd be damned if he let anything loosen it ever again, himself included.

So, he started the trek back to the Sunny, fighting off the grin threatening to break onto his face as you rested your head against his chest.

"Now... let's get you into somethin' a little warmer. Gonna get sick like this."

"Zoro, you're in your underwear..."

"And?"

"I—y'know what? ...Nevermind."

[eitaababe]

Could I request a Jj x reader angst but with a happy ending ? Reader and Jj get into a fight and he says nasty things to her and they don’t speak for days until he sees her at a party where someone is flirting with her and they talk it out ?

TALK IT OUT.

jj maybank x kook! reader.

[ a/n ; this took entirely way too long for me to finish but lol hope you enjoy! ]

—

"JJ?" you called out softly, hearing the familiar onset of knocks at your bedroom window.

You could spot him through the glass– wearing a new bruise on his cheek. Sleepiness long forgotten, you jumped out of bed, quickly opening your window and ushering him in.

"Hey, Princess." He grinned the same toothy smile, as if his left cheek wasn't currently throbbing. Complying with your fussy movements, he sat at the edge of the bed, watching you rummage quietly around for a first aid kit.

You huffed, heading to your bathroom before coming back, the small bag in hand. "Jesus, what happened?" You muttered, more of a hypothetical question than anything else.

"You should see the other guy." He lightly jokes, avoiding the question altogether. It was like this every time– he'd show up, beaten and bruised, refusing to acknowledge the seriousness of the situation. And you knew it was coming from home, but JJ never let you catch onto more than that.

"JJ." You finally sighed out, tone stern.

"Y/n." He responded, grinning like a fool.

"I'm serious," you huffed. "You gotta tell me what's going on. This- this isn't healthy-"

"What, you want me to stop coming over here? I don't got anywhere else to go!" He scoffed, suddenly defensive.

"I want you to be honest with me!" You pleaded, still sitting at the edge of the bed, looking up as he paced throughout your room. "I know there's something going on at home, and I want to help, JJ-"

"You want me to be honest?" He breathed out, tongue poking at his cheek before he spoke up again. "Alright. Yeah, here's honesty- you live such a perfect life, princess. Nice house, nice family, living on figure 8. And you're what- hanging out with me? Some dirt bag from the cut? You wouldn't get what my life's like- alright? You can't understand."

"But I want to understand," you breathed out, standing and trying to meet his eyes. "If you'd just let me-"

"God, Y/n, I'm not some charity case! What, you gonna call CPS on me? Try and fix me? I'm already fucked up, I get that. But I don't need your fake pity. This- I don't know what you thought this was," he scoffs, each word digging further into your chest like a blade, "But this isn't a relationship, princess. It was just fun, okay? So stop tryin' to get all sappy-feely on me."

You recoiled at his words, going quiet. Your mind raced through all your times together, the pillow talks, late night rendezvous at the beach, or even the small and intimate moments where he'd come over, relying on you to patch him up and inevitably staying the night in your bed.

"Right," you agreed softly, missing the subtle regret on his face. "Sorry."

"Princess-"

"No, no, you're right," you shook your head, breathing out. "It's just casual. I shouldn't have overstepped," you cleared your throat, nodding towards the window. "You should go."

He went quiet, mouth opening and closing as if he tried to think of what to say in response. But he settled for a quick nod, crawling back out the window.

You don't reach out the next couple of days, ignoring JJ's attempts of trying to make small talk. But you'd caught yourself sulking in bed, deciding you needed to make a change. Sarah had coaxed you out of bed, deciding that a party with the kooks would be the best way to let loose.

You had your doubts, but she wouldn't take no for an answer.

So there you stood, next to the bonfire with a beer in hand. The night had been completely uneventful, until you were approached by some other party goer. You knew of the boy, his name has started with an E. Ethan? Evan? You racked your brain, plastering on a polite smile as he greeted you.

"Hey, Y/n," he grinned, nodding your way. "Having fun?"

"Hey, E..." you trailed off, a shy, slightly bashful smile on your face.

"Eden." He finished for you, chuckling. "Where's your bodyguard?"

You furrowed a brow, confused before it clicked. You and JJ always ended up at parties together, many aware of the unofficial official relationship you two had. It was another cruel reminder of his absence, but you pulled yourself out of it.

"Maybank? He's not- we're not really.."

"So you're available?" Eden grinned, his once boyish grin morphing into something that could only cause discomfort. You glanced around, hoping for an outlet out of the conversation.

"Okay, even if I was-" you scoffed, eyes widening when he took a step closer, the alcohol all consuming from his breath.

"Nah, cmon, let's go-"

"Hey, dickwad!"

You'd never been so happy to hear the familiar voice, turning and relaxing at the sight of his messy locks. JJ's arms were immediately on you, wrapping over your shoulder. "Tryin' to steal my girl?"

"Woah, she told me-"

"Get lost," JJ cut him off, grinning and waving him off with a gesture. Once he was out of sight, the blonde turned back to you, expression softening with concern. "You alright, baby? He didn't try anything, did-"

"I'm fine." You muttered, pulling back from his hold. You didn't meet his eye, your cold tone causing his shoulders to droop.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" He sighed, looking down at you. He paused, trying to collect his scattered thoughts. "I just- I've never really done anything more than hookups-"

"That's not an excuse-"

"Let me finish, woman," he huffed, pressing a finger over your lips to shut you up, suppressing a grin at the cute pout on your face. "I know it's not an excuse. But I got scared, and I didn't mean it, okay? It's just- you're perfect. You're from this great, rich, and nice family and I'm just- I'm just me. I'm broke, I have a dad who beats me, dirt poor-"

"You don't have to berate yourself so much, it's making me start to feel bad." You grumbled out, looking down at the space between you two.

"So you're sayin' it's working?" He grinned, lowering his head to meet your eyes. As the corners of your mouth quirked up, he pushed further. "Cmon, princess, y'know I'm sorry. Won't happen again."

You huffed at the promise, rolling your eyes. "Promise?"

"Scout's honor." JJ teased, eyes twinkling as he pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

Any cold facade you'd put on melted at that, as you leaned in, head burying into his chest. "Asshole."

"I know." He laughed, playfully tickling your side. "And 'm sorry. Promise I'll talk with you about all that stuff."

"Good," you nodded, smiling softly up at him.

"Great," JJ added, grinning back. "Now can we please go back to the party so we can watch a drunk Kie yell about saving those damn turtles?"

[valacre]

: ̗̀➛ Touch Her Soft Lips and Part

Optimus Prime x Reader - transformers prime

Tyres rolled silently despite the weight they carried; the packed snow did much to muffle him as he neared your home. The sky was a deep blue, and it reflected upon the crystalised snow around him, casting the world in an ethereal glow you’d told him was called ‘the blue hour’. It was beautiful, yet Optimus couldn’t admire it just yet, not until he reached your house.

Winter tyres had never crossed his mind. He hadn’t need for them in Jasper, and rarely did he ever have to drive on snowy or icy roads but coming over to visit you after days apart had been important as he’d grown worried for you. It wasn’t often you stayed away for so long, and if you did then you’d usually give them a call to tell them of your schedule.

The radio silence had gnawed at him, so now, after nearly accidentally sliding off the road as the ice and snow had taken him by surprise, he slowly transformed as your house came into view. The windows appeared mostly dark at first, but upon further inspection, Optimus could see a soft, warm light coming from within the entryway. A light you usually kept on whenever you went outside so you wouldn’t be plunged into darkness should you come home late.

In other words, you were not at home.

Optimus looked around, trying to see possible tracks of your car leading away, but the snow laid out from your garage was undisturbed. Looking closer, he found partially snowed-over footprints leading away from your home and out towards a narrow path leading into the forest. Relieved to see proof of life, he’d yet to set his concerns aside as the footprints were clearly a few hours old. There wasn’t a single cloud upon the darkening sky, and you must have been gone for quite a while.

Trying not to rush, Optimus slowly follows the path, pedes finding unsteady ground as he holds his servos out to push away looming branches on both tall and smaller trees. A few moments where he almost stumbles have him mumbling a few small words in Cybertronian. Not swearing, but merely frustrated by his predicament and slowness. For all that he knew, you could be hurt and freezing in the snow, and here he is stumbling like a young sparkling trying to take its first steps.

The path grants him mercy the further he proceeds as trees grow farther apart and the land opens, revealing a fully open expanse. Optimus takes in the sight that Earth offers him. A great lake stands frozen, stretching far out and over to the great mountain on the other side, its giant peak standing like a hook towards the sky. All had yet to release its hold of the blue hour, though it was the lake whose blue tint stood out the most, the thick ice full of cracks, and it sang as the temperature dropped with the approaching night; ice growing thicker still.

And there, far out in the middle of it, was you.

Moving swiftly and with the grace of one of Earth’s swans, Optimus watched as you spun and slid across the ice. Feeling confused as to how you managed to move so quickly and easily, he tried to look closer as you unknowingly came a little closer, and beneath your feet were blades, gliding effortlessly across the frozen lake.

Yet again feeling amazed by the creativity of humanity, Optimus watched in silence for a while, appreciating and admiring the sight of you. A long, white woollen coat keeps you warm, a flowing blue scarf adorns your elegant neck, and a woollen hat hangs far down along your back, a puffy, woollen ball dangling at the end of it. It looks handmade. It must be made by you, crafty as you are. He smiles, admiring you even more.

“Optimus!” you shout, startled at the sight of him as the light of his optics caught in your peripheral. You’re still far away from him, but your voice echoes and he hears you clearly. He’s sorry for startling you but the warmth that flows through him at the sound of you has him forgetting it almost immediately.

He doesn’t reply but merely watches as you come towards him, a precious flower not made for him yet still seeking his presence and touch. His digits twitch and his optics are soft, never releasing your form as nearer and nearer you come. He sits down on one knee, ice cracking beneath him but no water comes out; all turned solid so close to shore.

“What are you doing out here?” you ask, slightly out of breath as you come to a halt. Your cheeks and nose are rosy from the cold, breath is visible in the air, and Optimus takes a moment to admire the sight. Admiring the life that spreads warmth throughout your small body.

“We had not heard from you in many days. I began to worry something was amiss,” said he, still watching you. Some of your hair was hanging out, framing your face. The dwindling blue light cast you in a lovely glow, your eyes glittering along with the snow and ice surrounding you; perfectly made for the land you’d been born to. Unknowingly, he reached out a servo, and you took it without thought, shocking him and making his spark jitter as you suddenly kissed him, cold but soft lips touching the outer part of his index digit.

“I’m sorry. There was a snowstorm five days ago and I’ve had little to no cell service. I sent messages to Miko, Jack, and Rafael in hopes that they would reach you, but it seems that it was faulty,” said you, smiling regrettably up at him. “I didn’t mean to make you worry, Optimus.”

“You need not apologise, y/n,” said he, intakes deep as his frame threatened to overheat despite the coldness surrounding him, the touch of your lips warming him from within and out. “You did what you could to reach us. I should have attempted to contact you sooner. Forgive me for my lateness,” he said, and your face split as a fond smile stretched across your mouth and eyes, and softly you chuckled as, once more, you kissed his digit, and this time Optimus’s cooling fans kicked in as his spark melted.

“You are now and forevermore forgiven, Optimus,” said you, chuckling still and resting your cheek against his servo as he reached around to hold you. Your feet slid across the ice, and he glanced down.

“These… shoes you wear on your feet. They are adorned with blades."

“Ice skates,” you said, sliding your feet back and forth with ease. “We use them to better travel across the ice, or to perform, or to just play,” you said, shrugging your shoulders as a light shudder passed through you. Being still seemed to give the cold a chance to sink its claws into you, but you resisted when he attempted to lift you up and instead shot him a hopeful smile. “Hey, won’t you join me out on the ice?”

Optimus glanced out over the lake. “Will it hold me?”

“Yes,” you said, sounding certain. “It will. I know it.” And with that, you snuck out from his hold and far too easily slid out further onto the lake, and Optimus felt the need to reach out and grab you again, already missing your softness and warmth.

It took him a few careful steps to test the ice as well as finding how slippery it was, but one step after another he gained more confidence. It didn’t take him long to reach you in the middle of the lake, his optics trained on you as slowly but surely you were cast in a bright green light. Your eyes looked upwards to gaze upon the arrival of the northern lights, and your mouth opened slightly; awestruck.

“Oh, Optimus, look how beautiful it is,” you whispered, unable to look away from the dancing light above you. Likewise, Optimus could cast his optics away from the living painting before him. You, standing amid thick, cracked ice cast in a green glow from above, yet none of it drowned you out. Instead, you were like the stars upon the night sky, glowing bright with life.

“You are beautiful,” said he; unconsciously. Speaking from his spark.

You turned to look at him, startled by his words and frozen still by his intense stare. His optics, so bright and blue, were warm and lovestruck as he bore a tender smile upon his face plate, and your heart fluttered at the sight as your breath caught in your throat. And still, even as the flush of your cheeks was now a mixture of cold and heat, you smiled back at him, admiring the way the light above danced across his frame.

Words were thrown to the wind as eyes and optics stayed locked in silent whispers, and bladed feet hung in the air as warmth engulfed chilled skin, cradling it close and protectively as metal touched soft lips, locked in a moment of ancient and new affection; fragile, but deeply burning love intertwining.

Music: Scott Buckley - Hymn To The Dawn & Celestial

[to-the-stars8]

The Waynes' Nanny

Batfamily and Reader/ Bruce Wayne x Reader Chapters Ao3

Master & Servant

You either had become too comfortable in your position or you’d gotten too used to scolding the kids; either way, Bruce suddenly found himself at the end of your lectures. As the boss, he should have nipped it in the bud, but, truthfully, he liked it. He enjoyed the way you reigned him in when he got a bit too silly or arrogant—Even Alfred had come to appreciate his behavior a bit more afterward (especially when your reprimands pertained to Alfred doing work a man his age shouldn’t have been doing).

The kids had gone to school, and Bruce, after a night of festive activities, decided it would be best to stay home. He was in the middle of signing some documents when you knocked on the door to his study before entering with a cool expression on your face. Bruce didn’t bother to look up as you crossed the room to his desk, thinking you were there to cure a bit of your boredom. When a lacy pair of red panties slid in front of his paperwork he had to look up at you. 

“What’re you doing?” He said, pushing his chair away from his desk. Were you coming onto him?

You were quick to reach across and pull him back close to you. “Not so fast there, hon’. We have to talk.”

“I’m starting to think we do if this is how you seduce me,” Bruce said as he threw the underwear back toward you. 

You sighed before saying, “These—” You waved around the little piece of fabric. “—Were from your date last night.”

Bruce only managed out an, “Oh.”

“Oh. Would you like to know where I found them?” You spat out. No, he wouldn’t, but he wasn’t about to start answering rhetorical questions. “In the kids' playroom.” 

“Shit,” Bruce seethed out. He had been to a gala earlier in the evening, and, to keep the reporters at bay, decided to bring a pretty lady home. The sex was to relieve some stress, and, usually, he would be careful about where he had his intimate relations. But, he was so pent up that he must have been a bit reckless. That wasn’t like him at all, and he would ensure that it never happened again.

“Don’t leave things like this in there again, please,” You gritted out, tone stern and curt. “It’s incredibly irresponsible. Especially around young children, Mr. Wayne!”

“I know, you don’t need to tell me.” Bruce felt a lightness in his chest, almost fluttering. 

You threw the underwear in his lap. “Apparently I do! Imagine if Duke or Damian found that?”

Bruce was mortified at the thought, but mumbled, “We could always say it was yours.”

If looks could kill Bruce would be dead. You were not in the slightest bit amused and told him as much. You mentioned that the underwear wasn’t even the tip of the iceberg of the issue at hand. 

“You can fuck wherever you want, Bruce, but don’t do it around my kids. They don’t need to get caught up in your fucked up sex life!”

He knew it would be a bad time to point out that they were actually his kids. Overall, he agreed and promised you to never do it again. That seemed to pacify you, more so when he apologized for suggesting that they could pass off the panties as yours. 

 You expressed in a more calming tone, “I know you love the kids, but they’re already having a hard time coping with the rumors about you in the media. Don’t make it any worse by bringing it off the pages into their safe spaces.”

This is what Bruce liked about your reprimands, they brought reality back to him when lost it. You seemed done giving him a rightfully deserved scolding and began to take your leave. 

He called out to you, though, beckoning you back. When you approached, Bruce rounded his desk to get a bit closer to you. “Thank you for…being blunt with me.”

“Someone needs to,” You were quick to say. “Though, I’m starting to wonder who's the boss.”

Bruce smiled and chuckled, agreeing that the line had been blurred in moments like these. Looking down at the underwear in his hands, he finally got the courage to ask, “How’d you know they were my dates?” 

You smirked and laughed a little as you began to leave. “I don’t wear cheap panties. Do you need a lesson on that, too?”

[lostintransist]

The Real Problem With The Trolley

Coffee Shop Meet Cute | Part 4

Part 1 here. AO3

Kyle wormed his way into your life with the skill of an abuser isolating you but inversed; mint spreading from the single pot on the porch only to be found halfway across the yard two weeks later. When you finally allowed him to add you on Snapchat, months and months into texting about, well, everything, you saw the women who rolled through his days home. None looked like you. Conventionally attractive, makeup never out of place or sweated off from work, all of it confirmed what you thought. Platonic, philosophical conversations were all this friendship would allow.

He had met some of your friends after they asked to meet him. You spoke about him often enough that your bestie would no longer be satisfied with stalking his Snapchat when you hung out.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“What?” Her question pulled you from the overabundance of videos she had sent you to work through. “What’s wrong with who?”

You were both lounging on her couch the quiet sounds from your phones only interrupted by the purring of her cat between you.

“Your Kyle,” she flipped her phone around showing you a picture she had taken from her phone of his recent snap.

Sitting up you fight back the panic that hits like a hammer to the back of your ribs.

“He’s not my anything. And I don’t like you insisting that he is.”

“I have never seen a man as attentive to you as he was when we all went out for a drink,” she counters as if Kyle’s normal behavior was some grand scheme to get close to you.

It wasn’t. Couldn’t be. You saw him in person less than once a month and had never once expressed interest in him or caught a whiff of him sniffing your direction. Focusing down on Fiona, the cat, you lift her into your lap and begin loving on her as a way to prolong responding. Memories flooded through you.

Your friends all raved, still, about how he walked them all to their cars and made you laugh. You grumbled that it wasn’t hard to make you laugh, but made a point to bite back the laughter Kyle caused over text and in person. If he noticed he didn’t say anything.

The most he had shared with you was that he worked in the military and would randomly be unreachable for long stretches. You would have thought it a bald-faced lie if you hadn’t first met him with his team. Those men reeked of queen and country. He would tell you about his mum though, and how his sister was going through a divorce. Replying in kind you find interesting ways to gloss over the issues you had with your family. It sounded so trivial and petty compared to the depth of love and compassion he held for his.

You had only picked up his call after ten pm once.

His snaps had been full of long nails and beautiful skin flush with his on a park bench that day. You rolled your eyes and sighed when you saw them, ignoring the buzz in your chest that wished it had been, could be, you.

Tucked into bed scrolling your phone you dropped it with a squeak when his face appeared on it. It buzzed twice more before you swiped to answer.

“Hey, sorry. Did I wake you?” Tears roughed up his voice, confirmed by the sniff at the end of his question.

“No. What’s up?”

Talking on the phone whispered of danger—like the sailors of old failing to fill their ears with beeswax. The smooth cadence of his accent could convince you to wreck on the rocks. It might be more enticing if you cared to swim.

A slam of a door in the background had you wincing as it assaulted your ears.

He coughed, wet and ragged.

“Long night is all.” You had never heard him defeated before and it pricked at your compassion.

“Wanna talk about it?”

The offer is met with a small laugh and you imagine him wiping his face with the heel of his hand.

“Not really. Tell me about your day instead?”

“My day?” Your day had been shitty, interview bombed, work riddled with Karens and the awful manager had been on shift today. “It fucking sucked. Still wanna hear about it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

So you tell him, all the gritty bits and the silly things that you do to make it through the day. He is laughing before long, sounding calmer than when the call had started.

“Ready to tell me what the door slamming was all about?”

Kyle’s teeth clicking together tells you he might skirt the issue like he does with work conversations.

Counting in your head you read forty-seven when he speaks.

“I am not a good man.” He pauses so you take your turn.

“Uh-huh.”

“What do you mean uh huh?” His tone sharp in your ears.

“Kyle, you don’t talk about work. So either you can’t or you won’t. Doesn’t really matter which. You are a soldier. A soldier who can’t talk about what he does can’t be doing good things and no one comes out of those situations without stains. So, following that train of thought, since you keep coming home you must not be a good man.” You lay the facts out, the thoughts neatly lined up in your mind. “Am I wrong?”

He takes til fifteen to reply this time.

“You’re not.”

His eyes would be boring into you if this were an in-person chat or a video call, thank god you were in bed and wouldn’t answer a video call without a bra on.

“Why do you keep talking to me then?” His question fires like a bullet through a silencer.

He expects you to end the conversation and your association with him. That happening with the woman from the snaps today would make sense.

“Do you hurt people for fun?”

“No.” His answer is swift and alarmed.

“Take things too far on purpose?” Dragging a hand over your blanket you focus on the texture.

He is slower to respond this time.

“Not…not on purpose.”

“Mmm. So you are asking me why I still talk to a man who does bad things in a world that requires bad choices for safety, is that right?” Folding one arm across your chest you hold onto your bicep that holds the phone up to your ear still.

“I guess?”

“They say when someone shows you who they are to believe them. Kyle, you have shown me honesty, compassion, intellect. Yes, you do bad things in places worlds away and that does make you a bad man. But,” continuing carefully you voice your thoughts, “you aren’t evil and until you show me something repugnant, I enjoy having you as a friend.”

“Repugnant huh? Gonna have to run that word by Soap.” He sniffs and swallows his candor and confidence coming back online.

“Soap is the scary one or the one with a hat?”

That startled a laugh out of him.

“Neither, he was Scot with the mohawk and the loud voice.”

“Aah, okay. So what’s the scary one’s name?” Unable to fathom what odd collection of sounds would make his name.

“Ghost.”

The laugh you let out startled you into slapping your hand over your mouth.

“You can’t be serious,” you whispered once you caught hold of your laughter. “What do you call the hat guy?”

“Price,” Kyle’s smile clear in your ears.

“Okay, that’s it. Your teammates have the oddest collections of names. I can’t. I have to go to bed.” A breathless laugh and a shake of your head before you can continue, “I’m glad you’re feeling better, Kyle.”

“Thanks for taking my call, I know it’s late. Sleep well.”

“Thanks, you too.”

You had ended the call, the smile slipping from your face. You dealt with the whiplash of self-flagellation. No more late-night calls, too dangerous. After nine your phone had to go on do not disturb. Chats with Kyle after the sun dipped would leave you dreaming, and dreams like that don’t come true for people like you.

“Hey,” bestie is prodding you with her foot in your thigh. “With me again?”

Pinching the tip of your tongue between your sharpest teeth you nod.

“Sorry.” With face contorting and sighing breaths, it took you an uncomfortable amount of time to respond to her raised brow. “I…can’t let myself think of him like that.”

“Why not? He sounds into you.”

Leave it to your best friend to hold duality. Woman knew how to hype you up without understanding that you had no chance.

Running your hands down Fiona’s back with deliberate gentleness you peel yourself apart.

“You are gorgeous.” She opens her mouth in your side vision. “Do not argue with me, we are both aware of this fact.”

The mulish look she sends you tells you she will argue the point, but later.

“I am not. No. Do not start with me,” you point hard at her. “I am not pretty, I am interesting and better off for it. Kyle can’t be interested in me. You’ve seen the women he pulls; I refuse to put myself through the hurt of rejection and losing a friend over one foolish decision.”

The sadness that colors your best friend’s face is painted with the years that stretch between you. Fiona stands. Her small paw pads press to the bone as she arches in a stretch and saunters away to her feed bowl. Watching her lets you avoid the sadness you etched in your friend.

“But what about love?”

“What about it? Love is a chemical reaction and a choice, and it’s more choice than anything. If he isn’t attracted to me no amount of choosing will change that.” The stretching burn in your throat is your reminder to not cry over men but also to not let your heart reach for the impossible.

The tears come when she takes your hand.

“I love you and I’m sorry I brought it up.”

Squeezing her hard you give a small watery laugh.

“I love you too, wanna watch trashy TV for a bit?”

“With you? Watching a lecture on finance would be interesting.”

She holds your hand, head resting on yours where it touches her shoulder until you drag yourself home. The ache in your chest stays.

Coffee Masterlist | Masterlist

@soldierservant @demothers-empty-blog

[lyvhie]

okay hi haechan anon again!! im back with another request! so I'm missing my taeyong a lot (hashtag military wife..) and I was listening to 2 baddies as any baddie would and. the line "now you wanna ride these wheels" had my legs FOLDED 🥴 those wheels aren't the only thing I wanna ride.

and that brings me to my request. riding tyongie pretty pretty please???

── .✦ everybody makes mistakes

ex-bf!lee taeyong x fem!reader

𓂃 ࣪˖ summary: You were going through a busy time in your life, and going to a party was supposed to help you relax a little and... Well, your ex certainly turned out to be a good distraction. 𓂃 ࣪˖ cw: smut, riding, car sex, unprotected sex, creampie because why not 😞, pet names. 𓂃 ࣪˖ a/n: HIIII, ANOOOON!!! GLAD YOU'RE STILL HERE 😚😚 i get you... i feel like we are 12949 years without tyong, we need him back ASAP, i can't have a happy life if taeyong isn't here PLEASE. ANYWAYS, I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS ONE!

This was definitely not part of the plan. It was supposed to be a fun night at your friend's party—a chance to unwind and forget about the chaos that had taken over your life lately. Honestly, you hadn’t even planned on coming, but your friends had insisted, saying some fresh air would do you good. You finally caved, figuring what was the harm?

Wrong decision.

If you had known your ex-boyfriend would be there, you’d have stayed home.

You thought you were over him, it had been months since the breakup, after all. There was no reason to panic, you told yourself. Besides, he hadn’t even seemed to notice you were there. You could enjoy the night without a care. Or so you thought.

Your eyes kept drifting to him, as if drawn by some invisible force. Watching how he moved through the crowd, laughing, leaning in to whisper things in people’s ears, flashing that smile that used to make your heart race. The same smile he was now directing at others.

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to tear your gaze away from him. Focus on your drink. Your friends. Literally anything else, you told yourself, desperate to ignore the annoying tightness in your chest every time you caught sight of him leaning in close to someone else. But it was no use.

You didn’t even need to look. You could feel it. His eyes were on you, burning with that same intensity you’d once found irresistible. Against your better judgment, you glanced over and instantly regretted it.

There he was, lips curling into a smirk, that infuriating, knowing expression that only made your stomach twist further. And then, as if the universe itself was playing a cruel joke, he started walking toward you.

Your heart skipped, and you quickly looked away, pretending to be engrossed in whatever your friends were laughing about. You even forced out a chuckle, hoping it sounded convincing.

Taeyong, of course, wasn’t fooled. He thought it was cute, how bad you were at subtlety, how transparent you always were when you tried to act cool, just as he remembered. If anything, it made him want to reach you faster.

From the moment he approached you and murmured a soft “hey,” everything became a haze, your senses drowning in the intensity of his presence. You remembered the way he leaned in, his lips so close to your ear that his warm breath sent shivers down your spine. His voice was low and familiar, dripping with charm as he told you how much he missed you, how surprised he was to see you there when he knew this wasn’t your usual scene.

His hand had found its way to your waist, his touch firm but not forceful, as if asking for permission rather than demanding it. You hadn’t stopped him. The heat of his body pressed against yours was both comforting and electric, stirring something in you that you thought had long been buried.

Every subtle gesture—a thumb tracing lazy circles on your hip, the way his fingers lingered just a moment too long as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, the way his gaze never wavered from yours—pulled you deeper into the gravity of his orbit. You knew you should step back, but instead, you let yourself lean into the closeness, into him, even though you both knew exactly where this would lead.

And all of it led to a kiss, slow, as if to test the waters, then deepening with the kind of urgency that only old lovers can share. That kiss led to lovely whispers and stolen touches, and before you knew it, you were in the parking lot, your heart pounding as he opened the door to the backseat of his car.

The air between you was thick with tension, your breaths mingling as he pulled you close, his hands finding your waist like they never forgot the shape of you. It was reckless and impulsive, the kind of decision that you knew you’d question later—but right now, with his lips on yours and the heat of his body pressed against you, it felt like the only decision to make.

His hands gripped the soft flesh of your thighs, his fingers pressing firmly into your skin as he held you down against him. His mouth was relentless, his tongue exploring yours with a fervor that made your breath hitch. Your hips began to move instinctively, a slow grind against him that drew a deep groan from his lips. The confined space of the car only heightened the heat between you, every movement feeling more intense, more urgent in the close quarters.

You felt his hands slip to the hem of your shirt, ready to pull it over your head, but you stopped him just in time, pulling away from the kiss, both of you panting softly.

"This is a bad idea," you whispered, though your body leaned into his, contradicting your words.

"Maybe," he murmured, his lips brushing against your neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses that made your resolve waver. You tilted your head slightly, giving him more access.

"We really shouldn't be doing this," you tried to reason, though your hands remained on him, your touch lingering.

“You can blame the alcohol if it helps," he suggested, his lips tracing a path up to your jaw before capturing your mouth again. You didn't resist, kissing him back.

"I didn't drink that much," you argued softly.

"Then blame me," his hand drifting lower, inching toward the space between your legs, sending a wave of anticipation through you. "You're always good at that."

"Shut up," you retorted, nipping at his lower lip, earning a hiss and a soft chuckle from him. “Tell me to stop," he said, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his lips hovering just above yours. "And I will, pretty.”

Yes, you just needed to say the word and get out of his car. Of course, that would be the right thing to do, but... you were already this far.

You would blame him.

"Fuck, I'm gonna regret this," you muttered before crashing your lips against his again, kissing him more fervently than before, grinding against him harder, his bulge applying just the right amount of pressure against your core.

Your hands fumbled with the button of his pants, a mix of nerves and anticipation guiding your movements. He was quick to undo yours in return, his desperation evident as he helped you, pulling his pants down just enough while you slipped out of yours along with your panties, leaving no barriers between you.

His hands gripped your hips, guiding you over him, one of your hands rested on his shoulder for balance while the other slid down, wrapping around his hard cock. It throbbed under your touch, and he let out a soft moan at the slightest contact. You stroked him slowly, savoring the way he responded, before lowering yourself just enough to let the tip brush along your slick slit.

He groaned, his fingers tightening on your hips, urging you to stop teasing. "Don't play with me," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. You smiled faintly, enjoying the rare moment of control you had over him, but your own need was overwhelming.

With a soft exhale, you slowly sank down onto him, both of you gasping as he stretched you, filling you completely. Fuck, how he missed this—the feeling of your warm heat enveloping him, just as tight as he remembered. He buried his face in your neck, inhaling your intoxicating scent, his breath hot against your skin.

“You feel so good," he murmured, his voice muffled against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. You missed this feeling too, the delicious stretch of him inside you, your walls fluttering around him, as if your body was echoing the same sentiment. He bit your neck to muffle a moan, the sound vibrating through you.

And for a few seconds, you both stayed like that, motionless, just reveling in the feeling of him taking up all the space in your pussy. Then, slowly, you began to move, rolling your hips over him before lifting yourself just enough and sinking back down, drawing moans from both of you. His hands slid down to cup your ass, fingers digging in as he followed your movements, his head falling back against the seat with a deep groan.

Your movements were slow at first, teasing, but you quickly found your rhythm, pressing down on him, the sensation sending waves of heat through your body. The heat between you was unbearable, the cramped space of the car amplifying every sound—the wet glide of your bodies, the breathless moans, the creak of the leather seat beneath you.

His hands moved back to your waist and his grip on you tightened, fingers pressing into your flesh as he urged you to move faster. You picked up speed, setting a pace that felt good for you, making him gasp with each roll of your hips.

"That's it, baby," he groaned, lifting his head to watch where your bodies met, eyes dark with hunger. "Just like that... take me deeper."

You bit your lip, trying to stifle a whimper as you obeyed, bouncing harder, grinding down to feel every inch of him. The pleasure was dizzying, overwhelming, stealing what little self-control you had left. His hands left your hips, moving up your body, dragging your shirt up to expose more of your skin.

“Fuck, look at you," he murmured, leaning in to capture one of your nipples in his mouth, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud. The sensation sent a shockwave through your body, making you clench around him.

A deep, guttural moan tore from his throat as he thrust up into you slightly, meeting your movements. "Shit—keep that up, and I won't last," he warned, voice strained. But you didn't stop. You couldn't. You were too close, too lost in the way he filled you perfectly, the way his body fit against yours like he was made for you.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer to kiss you, the heat between you both intensifying. Just as he had said, he wouldn’t last much longer. It wasn't just because it felt incredible, but because it was you.

“Don’t stop,” he murmured, almost a plea, his thighs tensing beneath you. His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, every little sound he made pushing you closer to the edge too, but you weren’t there yet.

You didn’t need to say anything; your body said enough. The way you moved, the way you squeezed him with every roll of your hips—it was too much. His grip on you tightened as he groaned deep, his body shuddering beneath you as he came, his release spilling inside you as you kept moving, letting him ride it out.

But he didn’t stop there—you still needed to finish too, and now it was his turn to take care of you. His arms wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he buried his face in your neck. Even with his body still trembling from his own release, he started moving again, thrusting up into you with deep, desperate strokes.

A shaky whine escaped his lips as the overstimulation hit him, but he didn’t let up, his grip on you firm, determined. “Gotta make you feel good too,” he murmured against your skin, his voice strained, breathless.

Each thrust sent waves of pleasure crashing through you, your walls fluttering around him, dragging him deeper despite the sensitivity. His name spilled from your lips, hands fisting in his hair as he held you close, chasing your release like it was the only thing that mattered.

His breath was hot against your neck, his movements growing sloppier, more desperate, but he didn’t stop—not until he had you right where he wanted. His fingers slid down between your bodies, finding your most sensitive spot, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that made your thighs tremble around him.

"Come on, baby," he coaxed, voice hoarse, lips brushing your ear. Your grip on him tightened as pleasure coiled low in your stomach, the pressure building with every stroke, every thrust. His name tumbled from your lips, breathless and needy, and he groaned at how good you sounded.

And then, with one more deep, well-angled thrust, pleasure crashed over you. Your body tensed before melting into his, a broken moan leaving your lips as your release washed through you. He groaned at the feeling of you tightening around him, his arms holding you steady as you rode out your high.

Even as your body sagged against his, he pressed a lingering kiss to your shoulder, his breaths ragged, shaky. “That’s my girl,” he whispered, tracing slow circles on your back as he helped you come down.

It wasn’t the smartest decision, you knew that. But, in that moment, you felt... satisfied.

You pulled away slightly to meet his eyes. Your friends had been right, maybe you did need to let go of the weight on your shoulders and relax a little.

"Wanna come home?"

↝ taglist: @yizhrt, @sinisxtea, @peterm4rker.