#i use it for writing angst because what the FUCK

[queenendless]

YOU FOUND ME

A/n: THNX U ALL FOR GETTING THIS SIDE BLOG TO OVER 800 FOLLOWERS! ♥︎

Credit to @livviespixels for these graphics. I need banners, art, fanart, fanfics, and MORE for our beloved Shadow Lord PRONTO PEOPLE!

I adore this man. So damn much. But I've been all over the place. GlimmerFics but imma take a break from writing there especially cause I get emotionally crying over Jinwoo for weeks now, moody over ZZZ gacha troubles and now that's P5X. So sorry for being gone for over a month and if this fic ain't that good for my Shadowlord's greatness.

CW: Self awareness AU brief/implied. Personal issues I've dealt with this past month like emotional depression, gut pains, etc. Tickle fluff, a bit of angst, hurt/comfort.

DO NOT STEAL, PLAGARIZE, EDIT, TRANSLATE AND/OR USE FOR AI. Rather reblog, like and follow thnx u very much.

Another insomnia fueled night.

Grinding through the newest hit game that everyone has been raving about.

On your laptop, resting on the kitchen chair, as you lay on your family living room couch, earphones plugged in as you toiled away the dead of night while the rest of your relatives sleep.

Despite having made many friends and some hateful choices along the way, your selfish bias had you pining for one character in particular.

Whether as a horned skulled creature composed of human and animal bones and shadows or as a emo human twink with a passion for the role, you adore this entity. This cool dork. Your beloved Shadow Lord; Skips Shadley.

Besides, the voice sold you on the character. That particular range, richness, versatility, whether gruff and theatrical or gentle and soothing.

Unbeknownst to you, the metas this game has pulled is about to take another big leap. So you thought it was all just a dream, believing you had conked out on the couch in the midst of playing.

Betty was used to your night owl habits so she still missed you sleeping at night with her like the old days. But she appreciated it when you return to her as you sleep through the day.

You could have sought out Farya; the first aid expert might be able to treat your flared up nerve damaged limbs that could involve improving your circulation. But you doubted it, your own personal ailments being incurable.

Gaia was understanding of how you kept coming to the corner of the house most of all to see the evident shadow beneath her stand, but is appreciative of you eventually befriending her, even more because she in a sense kept watch over your favorite house dweller.

Despite the Dateviators technically being on to allow you to be able to interact with these dateable objects and concepts, you didn't feel anything on your face as you were endearingly wrapped up in the familiar cozy darkness. The sight of your chosen lover appears out of the endless dark of his domain, making himself quite visible.

"Welcome back, my dear —!" He cut himself off as he looked at you like he's seeing you for the first time. His charcoal pupils lost in a daze. His glowing yellow blush dusting his face. "You ... you're here."

That's when he noticed the emotional distress on your face as your hands press to your chest and belly, pain evident, snapping him out of it. "Penumbra? What's wrong? What happened?!"

His panic and concern layered with tenderness as he hurries over makes your heart flutter, his misty back length hair sentient as he curtains both sides of you, his moonlight glowing hands carefully raking over your form to find any sorts of physical injuries on you.

"My chest, my stomach, my gut - especially my gut - dull flares of pain! I've been emotionally overwhelmed for weeks now. Am I eating too much? Been drinking coffee a lot too. They say bad sleep can cause gut issues. Or is it just that I'm getting older now? I don't fucking know anymore!" Your blubbering puffy self, wallowing in misery, crumbled apart in Skips' startled, anxious grasp.

"Please don't cry. Pretty please?" Your sniffles smother his chest, his smoky gray scarf he uses to dab your face with, not minding it getting soiled, easily able to clean them out since his attire is composed out of darkness itself. He pat and rubbed your back in gentle circular motions, letting you get out all those pent up emotions, nuzzling his face in your hair, inhaling your scent. "There there, angel~ I've got you."

"I'd rather be a shadow at this rate!" The sudden mood shift created from your moody words had Skips looking downtrodden, his eyes hidden underneath his wispy hair, reminding him of his failed ritual in reconfiguring you. You're the one panicked now. "I'm sorry beloved. I didn't mean to — !"

"Oh really now?" That ominous tone he took gave you goosebumps; that mischievous gleam in his eyes peeking out between his wisps. "Such a particular choice of words there, my dark ally~"

His shadows envelop you as he laid you down on plush comfy padding on his floor. He morphs into his alternate monster form. His towering frame envelops your sensitive teary-eyed self, his gruff rough voice seeped with mischief. "Hmm, perhaps I can remedy this dastardly situation."

The gentle yet thorough examination his giant clawed hands gives your vulnerable body leaves you feeling giddy as you giggle and squirm in his hold. "Nohoho stahahahp~! I'm so ticklihihish~!"

"That's the whole point, love. My punishment for your choice of words is most merciful, most bountiful, and most enjoyable~! Fwa hah haha!" His gravelly, wicked cackling only adds to his tickling more.

Pinned in between his arms, he keeps you caged between the puffy floor and his boney shadow form. Squeezing and pinching your hips, kneading and rubbing both sides of your folded belly, wiggling his lone curled claw along your neck and underneath your chin.

His careful tender touch leaves your heart quaking and your nerves firing. Your upper body quakes and your legs kick out underneath him as your laughs raise a pitch higher.

“That's it, my cute penumbra. Let all your unbridled energies spill out. Become untethered and enter the void~!" His spooky drawl got a watery chortle out of you amidst your squeamish state as his boney snout nuzzles your flushed smiling face.

Despite the predicament you're currently in, you hadn't remembered the last time you laughed. Days came and went in depressing sobbing episodes. It felt so long since you last felt elated. Could that be why he's doing this?

"To bare witness to the sight of you in the flesh ... your adorable real self~ I'm honored." His deep voice rumbles richly, his crinkled eyes sockets bore into your squeezed shut eyelids, his curling grin with boney teeth grows to match your own.

His words are nearly lost on you through the tingling, overwhelming high. All of him gets to you. His attention, his touch, both sides to him, you thrived off it all.

He releases you after a bit longer, letting you breathe, ghostly tickles still racking your curled up form as tired giggles slip out of you. His form reverted back to his human coil, brushing your hair away from your face, cradling your bright warm cheek, doting pecks on the tip of your nose, in between your brows, your forehead.

"I enjoy tickling your heart quite fiercely, my dear human. Especially if it helps you smile again." His shadows returned, this time however, to massage and caress your abdomen, your hips, your chest. Working out the stiff kinks. "To think this is how I'm actually seeing you for the first time."

You finally had your head clear from the ticklish overlay, finally able to ask about it between your pleased sighs and thankful hums. "What are you talking about?"

"I've always seen you on the other side of the screen whenever you play the game. So how ... how are you are here? Then again, lots of weirder shit goes on in this house so this shouldn't be so surprising. But even so," His yellow blushed paired with his lovesick smile made your toes curl and your heart race. "I'm actually meeting you face to face. And you're lovely."

You flush bashfully as he cradles you in his arms now, having you draped over his lap as you play with his scarf and his long shadowy hairlocks tickle your face when you decide to get it all off your chest.

"I'm so tired, Skips. Of feeling all this pain. Of being alone. Of not having anything worth living for back home. I don't want this to be a dream. I don't want to go back either. I want to stay here. I want you. If I have to Realize you to make you human so we can be together, I'll do it." Your rambled words seep with worry, anxiety, hope and need.

"I'm all too familiar with the negative nosedives." His own face nuzzles yours, his arms embrace you, holding onto you, both of you serving as each other's anchor. "You've accepted my true self. You chose me ... all of me. How could I not accept all of you in return?"

His whole being envelop you, submerging you in that tingly cozy warmth that soothes away the cramps, the dull aches within, and the emotional weight that pooled in your mind and your heart. "I'd be honored if you do Realize me. Being human with you, seeing this world for ourselves, or even just staying here in this house together, I want to be with you too, more than anything."

His shadows formed pillows and comfy bedding, laying you down with him joining you, facing you, but keeping you in his arms still. "Until then, you can sleep during the day and I'll watch over you until we can hang out at night. I'll make sure the silverfish don't bother you when you're sleeping."

Your eyes ripple up at him, swelling with hope. "Really?"

He blushed harder, smile dopey like, as his nose brushes yours. "You're a denizen of my realm now. And the Shadow Lord treats his darling penumbra with the most endearment."

You melt in his grasp, taking in his scent, relishing being in his grasp. "Thank you." His darkness made you feel so safe, easing down your sleep anxieties, nuzzling his chest in response to that. "I'll think of you always throughout my days." When you sleep through the daytime, dreaming of seeing him again.

"And I of you, through and beyond my nights." He followed you up, repeating your love lines to each other, humming deeply at how perfect. "Is it alright if I call you by your real name too?" Your sweet nod, your gentle whispering close to his face, made it all the more sweeter when he spoke your name at last with his cute smile. "Y/n L/n. You've made me the happiest I've been in a long time."

"And so have you." Your arms hugged his slim waist, your knees brush his peeking through his ripped tight pants, and your feet brushed his black boots. You just can't get enough of him. He is really truly yours.

"I love you, my beloved dummy."

"I love you too, my angelic dork."

And you're his. You're the Shadow Lord's now. Sharing a kiss or two ... or many pecks and hips and smooches as his shadows keep you both comfy as you two curled up together, intimacy setting the mood.

You'd take his loving darkness over the lonely light, always.

[delilahsturniolo]

— 𝜗ৎ blue . . . m.s

in which . . . you can’t get over how much you still love your ex boyfriend matt, you’re both trying to hold it together for the sake of your daughter

warnings . . . unresolved angst, babydaddy!matt, toxic relationship between matt and reader, arguing.

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

HIT ME HARD AND SOFT WRITING MARATHON . . . fic #10

the door creaks open and there he is, matt. messy hair under a gray hoodie, tattoos peeking out of his sleeves, shadows under his eyes from nights you don’t ask about anymore. “she’s already had her bath,” you mumble, not looking at him. “just needs her book and bed.”

“got it,” he mutters back, brushing past you like it doesn’t still feel like a punch to the chest every time he’s this close. you watch him go down the hall to her room. you shouldn’t. but you do. you hear her laugh. you hear his voice soften in that way it only does for her. it twists something deep in you. they’re your world, both of them. but god, you hate him. you hate how much you still love him.

ten minutes later he walks back into the living room, rubbing the back of his neck. “she’s asleep,” he says. “cool.” silence. not the quiet kind. the thick kind. heavy. waiting to explode. he stands awkwardly for a second, then drops down onto the couch like it’s still his.

“don’t get too comfortable,” you snap, arms crossed, leaning against the wall. “you’re not staying.” his jaw tenses. “i didn’t ask to.” you roll your eyes. “but you’re acting like you live here.” he scoffs. “i used to live here.”

“yeah, well, you threw that away.” and that’s it. he sits up, eyes locked on yours, voice already sharp. “don’t act like you were some perfect angel, like i just walked away for no reason.”

“you did walk away,” you spit. “you left me to raise her while you went out and played house with every other girl that gave you attention.”

“are you serious right now?” he’s already getting loud. “you pushed me away every damn day. made me feel like shit for breathing wrong.”

“because you never tried, matt! you never grew up. you were still trying to live like you were nineteen when we had a whole ass daughter depending on us.” he stands now too, both of you facing each other like you’re about to break something. maybe you already have. “and you never gave me credit for anything,” he growls. “i was working, providing—”

“you were barely around! and when you were, you were either starting fights or sulking around like fatherhood was some punishment.”

“don’t you fucking say that,” he snaps, voice cracking. “don’t act like i don’t love her.” your throat tightens. because you know he does. you know he does. but that’s what makes all of this worse. “then why couldn’t you love her enough to stay?” you whisper. “why couldn’t you love me enough to fix things?”

his eyes flicker. he looks away for a second like he can’t face what’s behind your words. “i did love you,” he says, quiet now. “i still—i don’t know. we’re just… toxic.” you let out a bitter laugh. “wow. that’s easy for you to say when you’re not the one here every day trying to clean up the mess.”

“you think i don’t feel that? you think it doesn’t kill me every time i leave without her?” his voice is raw now, stripped down. “you think i sleep at night knowing she’s growing up thinking her parents hate each other?”

“then do something, matt!” you shout. “stop coming here like this is just some visit. stop acting like we didn’t build a life together before you fucked it all up!” his eyes flash. “you think i don’t regret it every fucking day?” your breathing is shallow. chest rising and falling too fast. his fists are clenched. yours too. the room feels like it’s going to implode.

you both stand there, staring, all the rage and sadness and history between you like smoke you can’t breathe through. and then…quiet. just the hum of the fridge. the ticking clock. the ghost of everything you used to be. “i don’t want her to grow up thinking this is love,” you say, quieter now. “us screaming like this… hurting each other.”

he nods, slowly. his eyes are glassy. “me neither.”you look away. wipe your face before a tear can fall. “just… go,” you whisper. he hesitates, like he wants to say something else. but he doesn’t. he just walks out the door, soft and slow, like he knows he doesn’t belong here anymore.

and when it shuts behind him, it’s quiet again. but not peaceful. you slide down to the floor, bury your face in your hands, and wonder how something that started with so much love could end up like this. and somewhere in the other room, your daughter sleeps, safe. thank god for that. you’ll keep her safe even if it means breaking your own heart over and over again. because that’s what love looks like now. blue. and bleeding, but still showing up.

© delilahsturniolo

💌: BOW BOWWWW 3RD WRITING MARATHON FINISHEDDDD WOOOOHHOOOOOOO!!!!!! loved this one but nothing will ever beat my so close to what marathon in my eyes :3 anyway thank u to everyone who supported me and my writing during thissss i love you all so so much!! now, it’s time for my one year special! :)

[igorluvr]

‘BACKSTAGE | choi su-bong x reader

PAIRING: thanos x reader

CONTENT: maybe enemies to lovers, tiny angst, choking/neck grabbing, dirty talking, spit, fingers in mouth, mouth covering, face grabbing, mirror sex, semi-public, praise & degrading, squirting, orgasm denial, overstimulation

SYNOPSIS: years ago, you and su-bong hooked up briefly— then he vanished. now, he’s suddenly back for a comeback gig, and when your eyes met mid-concert, the tension reignited. sharp, hot, and begging to be resolved.

AUTHORS NOTE: why do i always come up with the NASTIEST smut... anyways written for req by @thanosspills, i hope u enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it !

words: [12.2k]

STARING up at the stage, all you felt was rage— pure, simmering hate. There he was, rapping like nothing happened. Like he hadn’t left you stranded after you laid yourself bare for him years ago.

Sure, you were both young and reckless back then, but even you knew what he did was cruel. No matter how famous you are, it could never excuse vanishing without a word. No goodbye, not even a text.

You weren’t just some groupie. What happened between you was rough, spontaneous, unforgettable— the kind of night people fantasize about when they’re lonely. You thought he felt it too.

But he disappeared, and the silence was louder than anything he’d ever written. You used to idolize him. Now, he made your skin crawl in disgust.

Still, you thought about it constantly. Replayed every second, every breath.

Maybe he didn’t like it.

Maybe he regretted it.

And then, as that night looped once more in your head, he looked right at you—eyes locking like a match to gasoline. The fire in your hearts exploded as you both stared intently.

At first, his eyes locked on you like a magnet, relentless and steady. But suddenly they blew wide as his face turned beet red.

His lips faltered—just for a second. One line dropped short as he stumbled over his lyrics. The mic lowered an inch before he caught himself, dragging his gaze away like it burned to look at you. Like the memory hit him just as hard.

But it was too late— you saw it. The guilt, the lust, the recognition.

Your jaw clenched. You should’ve looked away— should’ve walked off, pretended like you didn’t feel it too. Tried to ignore that ache that sat low in your stomach, sick and pulsing. But you didn’t.

Because fuck, he still looked good. Sure, he was a little older— broader in the shoulders, jaw more defined. But he still had that same face that lured you in, the same lips you used to trace with your tongue. Now those lips were twitching, smirking—like he knew what he was doing to you.

Backstage cleared out fast after the performance. Everyone buzzed about his comeback but you didn’t hear a word of it. Your ears were ringing from adrenaline and unresolved fury. Then suddenly—

“Still mad at me, baby?”

The voice came from behind, low and gravelly, cutting straight through the noisy hum of the hallway. You froze until a hand brushed your side.

Slowly turning around, you were met with the man you hated more than anything on this earth. He stood close, eyes dark with a smirk that made your blood boil.

“Don’t fucking call me that.” You spat, but your voice wavered—you hated it.

He cocked his head, stepping in until your back met the concrete wall. “Why not?” he murmured, voice thick with fake innocence as he inched closer. “You liked it last time. When you were dripping all over me—begging.”

Your eyes snapped up to his, shooting a gaze sharp enough to cut skin. "That was the past, Su-bong. Stop bringing up irrelevant shit, especially in public," you hissed, darting a quick glance around to make sure no one was listening.

"Didn’t seem irrelevant when you were staring like you wanted to rip my clothes off with your teeth,” he shot back, a smirk forming at his lips. “But okay.”

You scoffed, turning away in annoyance. “I never did that.”

He stepped right back into your line of sight, forcing your eyes to his again. “So you’re telling me that when you saw me on stage, you didn’t feel anything?” His voice dropped as his head tilted, watching you close.

Silence.

You wanted to say no— wanted to shut it down and scream that he was delusional, but nothing came out. Because deep down, you knew you wanted him back, and you didn't want to give up the chance to finally have that.

He read it instantly. The twitch in your brow, the breath you held. “Fine, be stubborn.” he muttered, turning on his heel.

Your heart dropped then and there. After all these years, after you finally found him again, there he was— walking away just like before. A pit formed in your stomach as you watched his figure grow smaller with each step.

But then suddenly, he stopped at a nearby table. His eyes flicked down as he picked something up—a lanyard.

Turning slowly, he faced you again, that same smirk from before crawling back onto his face. The distance didn’t matter—you could feel the heat behind his stare like he was inches away.

He made his way back towards you, twirling the lanyard between his fingers as he held eye contact. “If you’re gonna keep lurking backstage like you own the place...” he murmured as he got close again, “might as well make it official.”

Before you could speak, he reached up slowly and slipped the lanyard over your neck. His fingers brushed your collarbone, then your throat. He let them linger, pressed just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Come by later, or don't. It's up to you now.” he said lowly, eyes trailing down your body like he was undressing you with every glance. Then, he turned and walked away—unapologetically, like he already knew you’d follow.

You stared down at the tag on the lanyard, inspecting the design.

'V.I.P' stared back at you like a loaded gun on a table—waiting for you to pull the trigger. You almost laughed. Of course he gave you this. Not a pass— a challenge. A warning disguised as access.

By the time you blinked out of it, the hallway was empty. His presence was gone, but the heat between your legs persisted. You clenched your thighs together, scowling at yourself, but your feet were already moving.

It wasn’t until you were standing outside his dressing room that you realized what you'd done. The door was cracked open like he expected you, like he knew you’d come.

You slipped inside quietly. It was dim, private, thick with tension the moment you crossed the doorframe.

He was seated on the couch, head tipped back, shirt damp and clinging to his chest with sweat. When he heard the door click shut, he didn’t even turn around, just spoke.

“Took you long enough.”

You swallowed hard. “Don’t flatter yourself.” But your voice was breathy, betraying you.

He chuckled deeply, standing up to turn around and face you. His eyes were dark—like he'd been waiting years just to look at you like this again.

Making his way to you, Su-bong grabbed something off the cluttered table—a thick black wristband, slightly distressed from use. He rolled it between his fingers as he approached, head tilted, lips curled just barely into that crooked, infuriating smirk.

His eyes grazed over you, slow and unhurried, like he had all night to look. Like he was already tasting you with his eyes.

“You’re really still mad, huh?” he murmured, voice smooth like honey laced with poison. “But you came anyway, that says more than your little attitude ever could.”

He held the wristband up like it was some kind of offering. “Remember this?” he asked. “You wore it that night, kept it on while I fucked you face-down.”

Your stomach flipped and he saw it—how your lips parted just slightly, how your breath caught in your throat.

“Yeah,” he chuckled under his breath, stepping even closer. “But then you left it like it didn't matter."

His hand reached for yours, deliberate and slow. He slid the band over your wrist, tugging it up until it rested snug against your skin.

“Still fits. Still mine,” he said softly, letting his thumb brush across the inside of your wrist. “Even if you pretend you're not.”

Your chest rose with a shaky breath. You hated how calm he was. How in control, like he knew your body was already betraying you.

He leaned in, lips ghosting along the lobe of your ear. “You gonna keep pretending? Or should I remind you what it feels like to spend the night with me?”

His other hand reached up to cup your face—thumb tracing your bottom lip, eyes dark and lustful. A small whimper of desperation escaped your mouth, causing him to smile and step closer. “God, you're loud, I loved that. Always needed my fingers in your mouth just to shut you up.”

You flinched, but didn’t pull away.

“I missed that little choke in your breath,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours. “Missed how you’d pretend to hate me while riding me so deep you couldn’t speak.”

Then finally, he grabbed your jaw fully—fingers gripping, guiding your face to look directly at him.

“You want me to stop?” he asked, tone low and cruel and knowing. “Say the word. Otherwise, I’m taking my time with you tonight."

You swallowed your pride, pushing your hate aside as you were relieved you got the chance to experience him again. "No—Don't stop, please." Your voice came out quiet, breathless, but the second those words slipped past your lips, Su-bong's expression changed.

That smug grin disappeared and got replaced by something darker— hungrier.

“Say it again.” he said, not as a demand, but like he needed to hear it. His grip on your jaw tightened slightly, just enough to make your breath catch again.

Your lips parted shakily. “Don’t stop.”

His thumb slipped into your mouth before you could say anything else, pushing past your teeth slow and deep, pressing down on your tongue. “Mm,” he hummed, eyes flicking down to watch you. “That’s better.”

You sucked instinctively, earning you a sharp inhale through his nose, a low 'fuck' under his breath. Thanos let you take his thumb deeper, spit pooling against your tongue, your cheeks hollowing around him like muscle memory had never faded.

“Still such a pretty little mouth,” he muttered. “Made for me.”

His free hand slid down your stomach, palm dragging slowly down your sternum before stopping at the button of your jeans. He didn’t undo them yet, though. Just rested his hand there—heavy, intentional.

“You know what I thought about all this time?” he asked quietly, pulling his thumb from your mouth and dragging it across your cheek wetly. “How you used to sound when I covered your mouth—how your eyes would roll back when I made you hold your moans in.”

His fingers dipped just beneath your waistband, teasing the skin beneath. He didn't move yet—just watched you squirm.

“You wanna be good for me?” he whispered, forehead pressing to yours again. “Then shut your mouth and keep your eyes on me.”

As he slipped two fingers back into your mouth, the hand at your jeans finally moved. He unbuttoned them slowly, never once breaking eye contact, and slid his hand inside. Not rushed, just deep—knuckles pressed against you through your soaked underwear.

Then as his hand covered your mouth, fingers still inside, he started rubbing just enough to make your thighs tremble.

“Yeah,” he breathed, jaw clenching as he felt the heat between your legs. “There she is.” Teasing you through your wet panties, Thanos dipped down and latched his mouth onto the crook of your neck.

He sucked on your skin mercilessly, like he didn’t care if it left a mark—like that was the point. Growing harder with his mouth, his fingers started moving faster in your pants.

You moaned louder, the lewd sound muffled by his hand. You could feel yourself growing more needy with each growing second, bucking into Su-bong's hand until suddenly, his hand stopped.

“You gotta take what I give you, baby.” His voice was low and cruel, like it turned him on to see you fall apart under his control.

You whimpered beneath his hand, hips stuttering from the sudden lack of friction. His fingers were still pressed there, still warm, but unmoving—and that was worse. The teasing, the denial, the way he stared at you like he owned your need.

“Don’t grind on me like some desperate slut,” he growled against your neck, voice muffled by the skin he’d been sucking raw. “You want more?” You nodded quickly, eyes low, still locked on his like a magnet.

“Use your words.” He pulled his hand from your mouth—wet fingers dragging down your chin and across your throat, slow and filthy. “Come on, let’s hear it.”

“Please,” you breathed. “Please touch me.”

He clicked his tongue, tilting his head with a fake, cocky disappointment. “Already begging? Thought you’d last longer than that.”

Still, his fingers finally moved. He slipped past the soaked fabric, sliding two fingers through your folds with a dizzying slowness. “Fuck,” he hissed, brows twitching. “You’re soaked.”

You bit your lip hard, trying not to cry out as his fingers circled your clit just once before dipping lower again. Teasing, never enough.

“You missed this,” he whispered, mouth brushing your jaw. “Missed how mean I get when you’re this wet. Don’t lie.”

Your hands gripped his shirt, desperate for something to hold onto. He chuckled and leaned in close again, lips brushing yours but never kissing.

“I’m not gonna be gentle with you, baby,” he said softly, cruelly. “Not after the way you looked at me tonight. Not after you showed up with that attitude and those fuck-me eyes like you didn’t want this the whole damn time.”

Then, suddenly, he pulled his hand from your pants and shoved the same fingers back into your mouth—coated in your slick. “Clean it up,” he ordered. “Show me how good you taste.”

Your tongue swirled around his fingers as your eyes fluttered shut. Moaning softly onto him, you swallowed slowly, savoring the moment.

"So sexy." Thanos mumbled, running his hand down your waist as you sucked his fingers relentlessly. “Fuck… just like that.”

You felt his breath on your cheek, his body pressed close behind yours. The air between you burned—hot, heavy, filled with things neither of you were saying.

He slowly took his fingers from your mouth with a wet drag, letting them trail down your chin as he stepped back slightly. “Up,” he said. Quiet, yet firm. “Come here.”

You followed, dazed and aching, as he guided you a few steps across the room. The vanity mirror caught your eye before anything else—the soft light glowing around its edges, your reflection flushed, pupils blown wide. You looked wrecked already, but he wasn’t even close to done.

He stopped you in front of it, hand still at your waist. “Look at you.” he said, voice low in your ear. “See what I do to you?”

His hands ran over your hips before bending you over with practiced ease. Your chest hit the vanity, hands bracing yourself on either side of the mirror as he came up behind you. He kicked your legs open with one knee, just wide enough.

His palm flattened against the small of your back, pressing you down slightly. Not rough, but just enough to make you submit—to let you feel how much stronger he was.

"You know what I missed most?" he asked, voice lower now, almost reverent. "The way you arch for me the second I put you like this. Like your body knows who it belongs to."

You let out a shaky breath, heat crawling up your neck as you looked yourself in the mirror—lips parted, pulse fluttering at your throat. Su-bong bent over you slowly, dragging his lips across the shell of your ear.

“I used to fuck you right here, didn’t I?” he whispered, hips pressing against your ass to let you feel his hard length straining against his jeans. “Right in front of this mirror, made you watch the whole thing, watch as you came undone.”

You whimpered, back arching just a little more as his hands gripped your waistband, tugging your jeans down over your hips, like he wanted to unwrap you inch by inch. He let out a hiss as your panties came into view, soaked and clinging to you.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, trailing his fingers up the inside of your thigh. “You’re already a mess.”

You felt his hand slide up your back again until it wrapped around the back of your neck. It wasn't tight, not yet. Just there.

“I’m gonna ruin you in this mirror,” he whispered. “And you’re gonna watch every last second."

His hand stayed at the back of your neck, thumb grazing the base of your skull as he leaned in, pressing his chest to your back. His other hand reached around, cupping you through your soaked panties—fingers slow, almost lazy, as he dragged them over the damp fabric.

“You feel that?” he murmured. “You’re practically begging and I haven’t even pulled these off yet.”

Your breath hitched, body trembling slightly under his touch. In the mirror, your eyes met his; dark, feral, steady. He was watching you like a man starving, savoring every second of your unraveling.

“I want you to see it.” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “The way you fall apart for me, how your thighs shake before I even stretch you open.”

He tugged your panties down in one smooth motion, letting them fall to your ankles. You stepped out of them blindly, grasping harder against the edge of the vanity. His hand returned between your thighs, now skin-to-skin, fingers gliding through your slick folds with a slow, practiced precision.

“Fuck…” he muttered, jaw tightening as he circled your clit. “You’re dripping for me like you need me to fuck it out of you.” A moan slipped from your lips, hips twitching back against his hand.

“Keep your eyes up,” he ordered, pressing a firm kiss to the side of your neck. “I want you watching when I break you.”

Then, in a snap, he shifted. One arm wrapped around your stomach, pulling your body flush against his. His other hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back so you were forced to meet your own gaze in the mirror.

“Look at that face, look how desperate you are for me.” he growled, the gravel in his voice dropping low and dirty. You could barely breathe. Every word was a match struck against your skin.

And then, without warning, he bent you back over the vanity, one hand pressing firmly between your shoulder blades, the other gripping your hip tight. He slid his fingers between your legs again, but this time, there was no teasing.

He shoved two fingers inside you—deep, fast—drawing a strangled moan from your lips as your legs buckled slightly.

“There she fucking is,” he hissed, hand clamping over your mouth as your cries escaped. “That sweet little cunt I used to wreck.”

He pumped his fingers faster now, the wet sound obscene in the quiet room, hips grinding hard against your ass as his breath grew heavier behind you. You could feel how hard he was, how badly he wanted to lose control—but he didn’t, not yet.

“You're gonna come just like this.” he growled, voice shaking with restraint. “Bent over, drenched around my fingers and staring at yourself like the filthy girl you are.”

You moaned helplessly into his palm, your thighs trembling, the pressure building too fast.

“And when you're done,” he added darkly, removing his hand from your mouth to grab your face and turn it toward him, “I'm gonna fuck you so good you’ll forget anyone else ever touched you.”

His words set off a switch in your body. Suddenly, your orgasm hit you, crashing over your body in hot, blinding waves. You gasped his name, voice shattering and back arching as pleasure surged through you in deep, pulsing shocks.

Su-bong did't stop, though. His fingers kept working you—faster, deeper—drawing out every last spasm like he refused to let you come down just yet. He pressed into your spot again and again, wrist slick, grip unforgiving.

You whined, body shaking, fingers clawing at the vanity for something—anything to hold onto.

“I wanna feel you come until you cry for me, you hear me?" he hissed. Show me how bad you need me.”

You couldn't respond, could barely think. All you could do was feel it—your body helpless under his hands; dripping, sensitive, wrecked. And still, he kept going.

“You look so fucked-out already,” he muttered, staring straight into your reflection. “I haven’t even been inside you yet.”

Finally, his fingers slowed—drawing one last shudder from your overstimulated core before slipping his fingers out of you, wet and glistening.

He held them up between you and the mirror, watching a string of slick stretch between the two as he smirked.

“Filthy,” he whispered. “Just how I like you.” Then he reached down, unbuckled his belt with one sharp pull, and kicked his legs wider behind you.

“Bend back over for me, baby.” He lined himself up, one hand on your hip, the other gripping the back of your neck again, eyes still locked with yours in the mirror.

“Are you okay? You ready?” Su-bong asked, genuine concert shining through his rough exterior as he checked on you.

With a low 'yes', you nodded— a green light for him to keep going, because at this point—it would hurt you more to stop.

Su-bong exhaled sharply, jaw flexing as he adjusted his grip on your hips. His cock dragged against your folds, slick and hard, teasing the entrance with maddening precision.

“Good girl,” he muttered, guiding himself in inch by inch—stretching you open with delicious pressure. His breath caught as he sank deeper, watching every twitch of your face in the mirror, every tiny gasp and flutter of your lashes.

You whimpered, the stretch almost too much after how sensitive you already were—but it was so good, and he knew it.

“Look at you.” he breathed. “Taking me like that… fucking perfect.”

His hips pressed flush against your ass, fully buried now. He stayed there, still for a moment, letting you feel how he filled you completely. His hand smoothed over your back, steadying you.

“I missed this pussy,” he whispered, voice shaky with restraint. Then, he pulled back just slightly, rolling his hips forward again—slow, deep strokes that had your knees threatening to buckle all over again.

Your mouth dropped open in a silent moan, and Su-bong leaned in over you, teeth brushing your ear. “Yeah,” he murmured. “You’re gonna feel this for days.”

Each thrust stayed slow, deliberate, letting you feel every inch. Skin slapping against skin, the wet sound of your bodies meeting echoed through the room like sin.

And then, without warning, he snapped his hips forward—once, hard—pulling a ragged cry from your lips.

“Too much?” he asked, still holding you firm. You shook your head fast, eyes red and glassy in the mirror, lips parted with desperate breath.

That was all he needed. Su-bong growled under his breath, grabbing both hips this time, and slammed into you with a deep, brutal thrust.

You gasped, one hand flying to grip the edge of the vanity. Then he did it again. And again.

His rhythm shifted—no more slow teasing. He pounded into you like he needed to claim every part of you, your name lost in the broken moans falling from your mouth.

“Fuck, baby,” he grunted, teeth clenched, sweat starting to drip from his brow. “You’re milking my cock—fuck—you love this, don’t you?”

You couldn’t answer, could barely breathe.

His hand came up again, wrapped tight around your throat from behind—pulling you back into him with each thrust, forcing your eyes open toward your reflection.

“Don’t look away, I want you to see what I do to you.” he growled, pounding even deeper into your guts.

You practically screamed into his hand as he repeatedly slammed into that dizzying spot deep inside you, each thrust stealing the air from your lungs.

Your vision blurred, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as your body jolted forward from the force of him. But Su-bong didn’t let you fall—his grip on your throat held you steady, keeping you upright and exposed, bound to him, the mirror forcing you to watch every second.

“Look at you,” he growled into your ear, pounding mercilessly into your soaked cunt. “Fucking drooling, legs shaking— you look ruined.”

Your moans had turned into whimpers now, breath caught in your chest as your body slipped further and further out of your control. You were unraveling fast—sweat on your skin, spit on your chin, the burn of overstimulation already morphing into something dangerous.

“You gonna come again?” he hissed, voice cracking. “I can feel it—gripping me so fucking tight.”

You couldn’t even form words. Your entire body was locked up, overwhelmed, your orgasm building violently under the surface. More intense, more urgent than anything you’d felt before.

“Let it out.” Su-bong snarled. “Cream all over my cock—make a fucking mess.”

His hand moved from your throat to your mouth, covering it just as the next thrust hit your spot dead-on—and that was it.

You screamed into his palm as your body snapped. Your climax tore through you like lightning, and this time everything gave out. Your legs, your breath, your restraint. Your whole body felt weak as your orgasm ripped through you.

A hot gush of liquid shot from your core, splashing against his hips, the floor, the vanity, soaking everything.

Su-bong froze for a second.

Then let out a long, guttural, “Fuck…” like he’d just watched something divine. He looked down, still inside you, watching your slick drip down your thighs and pool beneath your trembling knees.

“Shit.” he muttered, pulling you back against him. “You squirted all over me.”

You were shaking, chest heaving, eyes glassy with exhaustion and bliss. But he wasn’t done admiring you. He pulled his soaked cock out just slightly and rubbed your release up your inner thighs, watching you twitch from overstimulation.

“Didn’t even know you could do that,” he said, voice low and awed. “But fuck, baby—you just made a mess for me like a fucking dream.”

Then he leaned down, kissed your shoulder, and whispered: “You've got one more round in you, don't you, baby?”

Panting heavily, you nodded as you leaned on the vanity for stability. Your legs felt like jello—mush under your body as they shook violently.

"So pretty, my girl." His voice was rough silk, full of need and reverence, like he couldn’t believe the sight of you beneath him—wrecked, twitching, completely his.

Your legs were still shaking when he reached down and scooped you into his arms again. He didn’t even ask this time, just carried you across the room and dropped onto the couch with you in his lap, your body folded against his chest.

“You're gonna take me again like this,” Su-bong muttered, flipping you gently so your back hit the cushions. “Staring straight up at me.”

He climbed over you, slotted perfectly between your trembling legs, dragging the thick head of his cock against your soaked entrance. Your breath hitched as your hands gripped the sides of his neck, legs falling open wider.

“Good girl,” he muttered, then pressed in again—slow this time, but heavy, stretching you full with one deep thrust. “Still so fucking tight.”

You moaned, and he caught it with his mouth—his lips messy and rough, kissing you like he needed it to breathe. When he pulled back, his hand gripped your jaw, firm and unforgiving.

“Keep those eyes on me,” he said through clenched teeth. “I wanna watch the exact second you come.”

His thumb traced your bottom lip, then pushed past it, dragging your mouth open wider. You were panting now, barely able to form words. He hovered above you, hips rolling deep and slow, breath hot against your cheek.

“Open your mouth.”

You obeyed, tongue out slightly, lips parted. Suddenly he spat into your mouth, hot and dominant. The warm slick hit your tongue, and your eyes fluttered as you swallowed it down without hesitation.

“God, that’s it,” he hissed. “You’re fucking perfect like this.”

Then his thrusts picked up—deeper, faster. He gripped your face with both hands now, holding you still as his thumbs pressed into your cheeks while his cock slammed into you over and over.

“You feel that stretch?” he growled. “That’s me ruining you from the inside out.”

You whimpered, body starting to jolt under him again, your orgasm rising too fast to fight. Su-bong leaned in, forehead pressed to yours, still gripping your jaw.

“Come for me, baby,” he whispered against your lips. “Come with my spit in your mouth and my cock in your guts. Show me it’s all mine.”

And with a scream, you did. Your walls clamped down hard around him as your nails digged into his back, every part of you tightening as you came undone again.

“F-fuck—” he gasped, and then he was gone too—hips jerking before pulling himself completely out of you and shooting hot ropes of cum onto your stomach with a low, broken moan. Su-bong collapsed onto you, chest right on top of yours as you straddled his body below him.

You stayed like that; pressed together, panting, shaking until your heartbeats finally started to slow. His hand stayed on your face— gentle now.

Thumb stroking your cheek, eyes locked to yours like he couldn’t bear to look away. “Still with me?” he murmured, voice hoarse.

You nodded slowly, dazed and completely spent.

“Good.” He leaned down and kissed you again—slower this time, softer. And for a moment, the whole world disappeared.

Su-bong stayed draped over you for a moment longer, the heat of his skin against yours anchoring you, keeping you in the moment. His breath ghosted along your neck, slow and steady, as his fingers gently threaded through your hair.

Neither of you spoke. There was no need to.

Finally, he lifted himself just enough to look down at you—his hair messy, lips swollen, and brow damp with sweat. His thumb brushed lightly over the corner of your mouth, wiping away a streak of spit from earlier.

His eyes softened, like the fire had dimmed into a slow burn instead of an inferno. “You okay?” he asked again, quieter now.

You nodded, voice barely there. “Yeah… I’m okay.”

He kissed you again—this time not to dominate, not to possess—but slowly, like he was checking you were real. That this hadn’t been another memory he’d left behind.

Then he stood up, tucking himself back into his pants quickly, and grabbed a pack of tissues from a nearby shelf. Wordlessly, he crouched between your legs again, his touch tender now as he carefully wiped your stomach clean, murmuring a soft 'sorry' when you flinched at the sensitivity.

You couldn’t help but watch him—this man who had just wrecked you beyond belief, now wiping you down like he was afraid to hurt you. “You didn’t have to,” you whispered, smiling down at him.

“Yeah,” he said, tossing the tissues aside. “I did.”

He helped you sit up slowly, then reached down and grabbed your panties and jeans from the floor, holding them out to you. “Can I?” he asked, fingers grazing your thigh.

You nodded.

He helped you step back into them carefully, hands steady, gaze respectful. He didn’t rush it or say anything cocky, just took care of you.

Once you were decent again, he sank onto the couch beside you. For a long moment, he just looked at you. Like he didn’t know what to say. Like maybe he didn’t want this to end with silence this time.

“You were all I thought about” he said quietly, eyes dropping to his lap. “After I left—after I fucked it up.”

You turned toward him, heart still pounding—but this time, not from lust. “You didn’t just fuck it up, Su-bong. You disappeared.”

He winced slightly, then nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

Silence stretched between you again. But now it was heavy with everything unsaid—everything both of you had buried for years.

Finally, he looked up again, voice raw. “Can I see you again? Not like this. I mean… can we talk?”

Your breath caught, throat tight with emotion. You weren’t sure what came next. But for the first time in a long time, you weren’t just remembering him. He was here.

And maybe—this time—he meant to stay.

[diamondsinterlude]

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐝

chapter one

pairing: Sammie Moore x OC (Robin Welkins)

word count — 2,345

summary — 𝘚𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘊𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘨𝘰. 𝘐𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 1933 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 1932.

warnings — period appropriate racism, violence, trauma, use of N-word, angst, depression, ptsd, talks of sex, (idk if I’ll write smut yet but if a chapter includes it there will be a warning) pro has spell or grammar errors

authors note — please bare with me I’m not the best writer. There isn’t a lot of preacher boy/sammie fanfics and the idea just came to me one day! Please give me your thoughts, I take constructive criticism (don’t be mean please) reblog if you like it!

“You will taste the sweet taste of death, we will make beautiful music together.”

Sammie wakes up feeling like there isn’t enough breath in his lungs. These dreams are taking over his brain. The dreams about that night, the night that went from the best of his life to the worst.

Keep thinking about how in the span of a day his life completely changed. Hell all the people in the towns life had changed. He didn’t have his cousins no more. They were basically his big brothers, both being there for him in different ways despite being older than him.

Stack pushing him to do his music not just cause of the profit he would make off Sammie but because he knew the boy loved music. Convincing Smoke to give Sammie their dad’s guitar, even if the one who played it before him was evil. He knew Sammie had something special even before he opened his mouth and sung for him in that car. Smoke was an asshole especially for hitting him in the nose with that gun. But Sammie knew after all they went through that he just wanted him to have a better life than the brothers. Not just being happy but being safe most importantly. Making him think the opening night would be his last time preforming. Pushed him to not go to Chicago cause of what they experienced down there.

The people of the town didn’t have the Chows grocery stores to go to anymore, so they probably had to go to Mr. Cartwright’s store instead. Expensive ass groceries that he knows most of the black folks in town can’t even afford. Little Lisa didn’t have her parents anymore.

They didn’t have Annie for those who didn’t believe her practice was of the devil and her work helped. No remedies to help when you were sick, no lady with sweet eyes that understood that you didn’t have all the money to pay her back yet because you still had to feed your kids. Nobody to change that bottle of milk at her and Smokes babies grave anymore.

Therese had to give birth to her baby without her husband being there. All she had was her sister and her mom there. She thinks if only she hadn’t told her husband to just take the job offer Stack had for him. But she was thinking about their baby. Nobody blamed her for telling Cornbread to do it but she blamed herself.

Pearline’s husband had been asking around if anyone seen her. He thought she left him, not even knowing she went to the juke that night. Maybe if he wasn’t fucking a prostitute on the other side of town he would’ve know where she went. Her sister came down to clarksdale with her husband and kids to get her things from her house. It’s not like the bastard would treat the things she left behind good. Better someone that loved her take them. They don’t have a body to bury for the funeral.

Mary was never seen again. Her husband was going to make a trip down to Clarksdale in the couple weeks after she never came home that day. Only to be found in pieces in his own home by a family member of his when they hadn’t seen him or Mary for a while. They say it look like he was mauled an animal.

Delta Slim wasn’t playing his harmonica at the train station no more. Or even at that other juke any more. He taught Sammie that the blues was something sacred to black folks and to know the blues you have to also feel it. It’s also a way to connect back with our past and work through that hurt. He knows all about hurt now.

When the police went to the old mill to look for the group of men that had went there the morning the day before to handle the new owners of the mill. But their bodies were scattered on the outside of the building. Not knowing who murdered them.

Of course because of the murders and disappearances tensions were high in town. Those with skin pale as paper and European features believing that black people in town did it. Blaming random black people for the murder of their family members. While the black people in the town realize that getting justice for their missing family members would give them the same fate as them they realized the only thing they could do was grieve.

Maybe it was a good thing Sammie left. imagine what would happen if certain people knew he was at the juke joint the night before and was the only one around after.

Sammie doesn’t think he could stay there anyways after leaving that church. He knows his mother would open the door for him, he just knew his father would close the door before she could tell him he could come in. It’s hard to keep faith after seeing what he saw that night and the dreams he has every other night makes him think about it all over again. When he wakes up from the dreams he almost always wakes up just before Remmick bites him. Still feeling that sting in his scar from the initial scratch. With that feeling he gets up and starts getting ready for work.

It took a while to get settled in Chicago for Sammie. Working odd jobs before working at a steel mill 30 minutes from where he lived at always taking multiple buses to work. Did he make a lot of money? No not at all but he made enough to pay his room he was renting out.

He stayed with a family of 5 in a Chicago apartment. Well not even a room really an old folding bed in a room he had to share with the families oldest son. Bobby, 12 years old not the best company coming when your coming home from a late night shift and you have a kid ranting to you about how he’s sick of being a babysitter, he thinks his mom is pregnant again because she was being more grouchy today(she was having a bad day) or that he’s tired of thing in this small ass apartment.

‘You and me, too kid.’ Sammie always thought. But usually when Bobby would go on his tangents, he would hope him acting sleep would get him to stop talking…he wouldn’t. He wish he could afford his own place even though the James family were nice people..mostly.

Sammie doesn’t think Mr.James likes him very much. But living with five other people is a lot. He should be used to it though with him and his many siblings living with him and his parents in their small house back at home. He had hoped he would be abled to afford his own place but with how much he was making he would have to work for years before seeing a pay increase.

So he gets up every morning at 5. No later than 5:20 though. if he’s not in the bathroom washing up before Doris from down the hall gets there, she takes 30-40 minutes in the bathroom. he will be completely off schedule, And if he’s completely off schedule he’s late for the bus if he’s late for the bus he’s late for work most likely.

After getting up for the day and thankfully beating Doris to the bathroom Mrs.James is usually awake by then. Making coffee and toast for both of them, she’s an early morning riser. Only quiet she can get with three kids and another on the way, she found out just the other day. She doesn’t mind Sammie being up with her because he’s usually quiet too this early.

“I guess Bobby was right this time around.” Sammie said with a look of surprise after she had told him during their morning routine. After he finished eating and drinking his coffee he would head to the bus stop up the street to catch the bus coming at 5:45 am.

Waiting for the bus the humidity was already making you sweat. With people standing at the stop with him fanning their selves. While it is hot especially for almost 6 in the morning, to Sammie he knows these people will always take Chicago summer heat over Mississippi heat any day. The south in the summer is always a lot.

Getting on the bus and taking his seat in the very back row after getting on he usually always just leans against the window before getting off at the stop he knows he needs to get off at before walking to the other.

One or two stops into the bus ride a sound has him pulling his head up from the window. A beautiful sound. Looking up he looks around the bus trying to figure out where that sound is coming from. After two seconds he finds what’s making it or who is making that sound. He sees a woman with brown skin and brown hair slicked in a bun looking ready for work.

Can’t make out what’s she’s humming but she sounds nice. The little bit of humming draws his attention while bringing comfort. Almost like she knew he was studying her while she was looking out the window she turns looking around the bus before locking eyes on him. They stare at each other for a second before he looks away. Feeling a little embarrassed for getting caught staring at her so hard she could feel it. But she keeps looking at him while he tries to turn back to the window in his seat acting like he couldn’t see her.

‘Cmon Sammie just three more stops before you have to get off.’ He said to himself in his head.

The bus stopped at another stop again with people getting on the bus. as people are finding their seats she gives hers up to a older woman walking further into the bus and sits in the first open seat she finds. which happens to be next to him.

As the bus movies again she stares at the side of his face. Now she was the one who started to study him.

“Were you watching me a couple minutes ago?” She wasn’t mad about it he could tell by her tone just asking a question.

“Yes ma’am I was, only because I heard you.”

“You heard me, huh?”

“Yeah, sounded nice”

“Nice? I wasn’t even singing lyrics”

“Doesn’t mean you didn’t sound nice.” A smile comes up and off his face before you could see it if you weren’t looking at him. But she saw it.

“Was I loud?” She says turning her head to the side to try and see his face fully to gage his reaction. But he still has his head turned against the window

“No ma’am I think it’s just when you hear something on a quiet bus you usually look for who’s making the sound.” Sammie shrugs

The woman nods her head before responding again

“What’s your name?” She fully turns to him in her seat, her knee hitting his in her turn. Pulling her hand out for him to shake with a smile on her face.

“Preacher Boy.” He responded staying in his same position but nodding his head to her.

“Well Preacher Boy last time I checked it was poor manners to not look at someone in the eyes when they greet you with a hand shake.”

With this Sammie turns to look at her fully. She was even prettier up close, could see her pretty wide brown eyes and full lips. For the few seconds looking at her he noticed how her brown eyes widened a bit at his face. With this she could fully see the scar left on him from that night. Not feeling the best when people stare at his scar too long he gives her hand a nice shake quick before turning back to the window.

Realizing she made him uncomfortable with her stare. the lady with no name so far tries to make him comfortable again.

“I’m sorry for staring so hard that wasn’t nice of me.” She winces

“It’s okay”

“It’s obviously not so I’m gonna apologize.”

Still turned his way she says “At least you’re still handsome with that scar on your face.”

This makes Sammie turn back to her with raised eyebrows. She looks back at him with a smile. Her smile had her lips turn up and pushed her cheeks up making her eyes a little smaller. He snorts then gives her a smile back.

Leaning back in the seat, feeling more comfortable with talking to her again “So you think I’m handsome.

“ Don’t get cocky now!” She says after giggling, looking at him with an smile that was bigger than the last smile..

“ You on your way to work also?”

“Yeah I’m covering for my friend, came down with a fever. Don’t think this heat and having an old white woman bitch about how you didn’t clean her couch good enough is good for making her feel better.”

“Makes sense”

They talk for a while, enjoying the conversation between each other. He liked talking to her, she had this pretty voice where you would’ve thought she would start singing at any second. He’s sure she could sing just on how she sounded humming when he originally heard her. She brought up his voice saying he sounded like a much older man, than he looked.

“How old are ya? He asked

“Didn’t your mother teach you to never ask a lady her age?” She replies with a raised brow.

“Just answer the question.”

“Fine I’m turning 21 this year.”

“So am I, like you said we are the same age. With me being 20 right now, I’ll have to voice of a grown man. Because that’s what I am”

“You just have a baby face though!”

“So do you.”

After the conversation goes on for a while longer she looks out the window. “ Oh this is my stop coming up.” She says while gathering her stuff up before pausing raising her hand again.

“ it was nice meeting you preacher boy, I hope I’ll see you around!” This time he shakes her raised hand with a slower handshake almost like he wants it to last. Much better than the quick one he gave her before.

“It was nice meeting you too.” He admires her beauty one last time before the bus comes to a stop and she grabs her bag once more and starts to get off the bus with the two other people getting off.

As she’s getting off Sammie realizes something

“Hey-“ when he goes to say something, she takes her foot off the bus and starts walking in the opposite direction of the bus.

He forgot to ask her for her name..

author’s note — thank you @dangerslutx for helping me with some ideas with writing this! see you next chapter! It’s not letting me tag everyone so let me know if I just didn’t spell your name right. I’m gonna try to figure the issue out. Also let me know if you wanna join the taglist. 🫶🏽

divided by strangergraphics-archive

taglist:

@massiv3tr33p3rsona @heyyimmisunderstood @notmilescaton @whysoceerious @ber-21 @cosmicautomatonshark @lollIxzzz @thesolenicole

[rainandsentences]

Hello, I really like your chef Luca work. I was wondering if you you write something where Luca is protective of the reader in their day to day life, and when she gets into a car accident in the middle of service on a Friday night, she asks EMS to call the restaurant instead of Luca because she doesn’t want him to leave service for her (he can get kinda mad not really about it later). Richie is the one who answers the phone and has some type of protective reaction as well (Richie being Richie), whether or not he tells Luca during or after service is up to you. And maybe for the extra angst reader is in surgery by the time Luca gets to the hospital?

i appreciate your request and i loved the idea. (ily richie) here you go, gumpy! xo

Call the Restaurant

Luca x f!reader

synopsis: You’ve always been the type to downplay your needs — especially during a rush. Even dating Luca doesn’t change that.

rating: 16+

word count:1k

a/n: love the idea! (ps. sorry for taking so long)

——————————————————————————

You’re the kind of person who brushes things off.

Spilled coffee? No big deal.

Snide comment? Whatever.

Twisted ankle on the way to work? You’ll limp your way through prep.

So when the SUV runs the red light — when you feel the jolt of impact in your ribs, when your face hits the window — your first thought isn’t pain. It’s panic.

Not only because you’re hurt.

Because it’s Friday night and it was Luca’s special day of pastries, and he probably was in the middle of service.

He was excited all week trying new recipes to present to the restaurant, he couldn't sleep well and you were the one who calmed him down.

So when the paramedics find your phone and ask, “Do you want us to call someone?”

You shake your head and mutter, “Call the restaurant i work in... please."

“Ma'am, is there someone more accesible? A family member?"

“No. Just the restaurant. Please.” You say softly before passing out.

⸻

Richie’s the one who picks up. Of course he is.

“Beef, what?” he snaps, barely audible over the noise. There’s shouting in the background — tickets flying, pans hitting steel, someone cursing in Spanish.

“This is EMS. We’re calling from University Hospital. One of your employees was in a car accident.”

He goes quiet. Fast.

“Who?”

“She didn’t want us to call her emergency contact. She said to call here instead.”

“What happened?”

“She’s stable, but it was a T-bone impact. She lost consciousness for a moment, so they’re taking her into surgery —”

Richie cuts him off. “Wait. Surgery?!”

“Her arm is broken so we have to —”

“I’m coming. Don’t — fuck, okay, hang on.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then, under his breath:

“ I know she’s gonna kill me if I tell him.” He watched as Luca is stirring a mixture in a bowl

Luca doesn’t find out until after service.

Richie’s pacing by the lockers, jacket already on, but not leaving. He looks up when he sees Luca.

“Hey.”

Luca frowns. “What?”

Richie runs a hand over his face, clearly wrestling with something. Then he mutters, “She got into an accident.”

Luca freezes.

“She’s in the hospital. They called during service. I was gonna— I was gonna tell you but—”

“Where is she?”

“University.”

Luca’s already moving.

Richie follows, yelling after him, “She told the EMTs not to call you directly, bro! She didn’t want you to leave service—”

Luca stops in the middle of the alley and turns.

And for once, his voice is sharp. Not loud. But sharp.

“She’s in surgery, Richie.”

“I know.”

“She didn’t call me.”

“I know.”

They stare at each other.

“She didn’t want you to worry,” Richie says finally. “You know how she is.”

Luca swears under his breath. His hands are already shaking. Not with anger just fear.

You’re not awake when he gets there.

The waiting room is beige and far too quiet. Luca checks in, finds your name, gets the room number — but they won’t let him in yet.

“She’s still in surgery,” the nurse says gently. “You can wait here.”

So he does.

For thirty-six minutes, he stares at a blank wall. He thinks about your laugh. Your bare feet on the kitchen floor in the morning. How you hum under your breath when you think no one’s listening.

He thinks about the fact that you didn’t call him.

And he gets it — he gets it — but he hates it too.

Because you’re his.

And you didn’t give him the chance to show up.

You wake up sometime after midnight.

Groggy. Sore. Eyes bleary with pain meds.

Luca’s sitting beside your bed. Elbows on his knees, hands clasped like he’s praying. His coat is still on. There’s a cup of vending machine coffee on the floor, untouched.

You stir.

He looks up instantly.

“Hey,” you rasp, voice thin.

He’s quiet. Just stares at you. Eyes tired. Shoulders tense.

“Hi,” you say again, softer.

He nods once. Then leans back in his chair.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

You blink. Not because you’re surprised by the question — but because you were hoping he’d pretend.

You shift slightly, wincing at the ache. “Didn’t want to ruin your night.”

He exhales through his nose.

“Didn’t want you to leave service,” you mumble.

“That’s what you think I’d care about?”

You glance away.

He runs a hand over his face. Sits forward. Voice quieter now.

“You were in a fucking accident. You’re in a hospital bed. You really think I’d be mad about service?”

You don’t answer so he leans closer.

“I don’t care if it’s two hours before doors open or during a ten-top with influencers. I don’t care if I’m plating the final course of a Michelin inspection.”

His voice softens.

“If you need me — I go. That’s it. I go.”

You look at him then. Really look at him.

He’s not mad because you got hurt. He’s mad because you didn’t let him be there. Because he was scared.

And because he loves you.

You try to speak, but your throat closes. So instead, you whisper:

“I didn’t want to be the reason you got distracted.”

He exhales sharply. Almost laughs — but not with humor.

“You are distracting,” he says. “You always are. That’s what being in love with someone means.”

Your breath catches.

He squeezes your hand gently. Not tightly. Just enough that you feel him.

“Don’t do that again,” he murmurs.

You nod. Eyes burning.

“I promise.”

⸻

The doctor clears you a few days later. They tell you to rest.

Luca doesn’t leave your side.

He stocks your fridge. Adjusts your pillows. Doesn’t let you carry anything. Even sits on the floor next to your couch when you fall asleep midday with your head propped on the armrest.

One night, you wake up to find him asleep in the chair next to your bed. Arms folded, chin tucked, the kind of deep sleep that only happens when someone’s completely worn out.

You reach for him.

And this time — you don’t hesitate.

You whisper his name.

And when he stirs, and sees you awake, you smile softly.

“I’m glad you came.”

He blinks. Then nods.

“Me too.”

[stlllle]

"The Reluctant Protector "

Pairing: Choi Su-bong (Thanos) x Reader

Word Count:~10k words

Genre: Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Tragic Romance

Warnings: Violence, character death, pregnancy in danger, emotional distress, strong language, canon divergence, hurt/comfort, implied blood/gore, protective male character, sacrificial death, grief

🖤 Author’s Note:

I honestly don’t know what I wanted with this one. Like… I won’t say I liked it because I think it’s pretty average… but here it is.

(If it’s bad, please forgive me — it’s 3AM here in Brazil and my brain is not very sane right now.)

But I did enjoy writing it 😛 hope you guys like it too.

If you do, my requests are open if you wanna ask me something (just read my rules first pls).

Masterlist — [link]

---

📖 Summary:

You and Choi Su-bong were a couple before the games. You entered secretly, six months pregnant, desperate to save your future. What he didn't know was how far you'd gone. When he finds you inside the game, fury turns into overwhelming fear of losing you — and his unborn child. Now, in the final game, the only way to protect you… is to sacrifice himself.

---

The Reunion

The metallic smell of that place made you nauseous. Not just because of the pregnancy, but because something about that atmosphere felt rotten. Like hope itself had died there long before any of you arrived.

You knew it was a terrible idea.

But desperation made you dial the numbers, sign the papers, and accept that damned offer. If you survived, the money would fix everything. The debts. The loan sharks. The overdue rent. And most of all… it would secure a future for the child growing inside you.

What you didn’t expect was to see him there.

The first time you spotted Choi Su-bong’s face in that massive dormitory, your blood ran cold. He looked exactly the same: hardened face, broad shoulders, fists clenched like the whole world was ready to catch his wrath.

And when his eyes found yours…

Everything stopped.

Shock, fury, and desperation.

He moved fast, storming toward you with heavy steps. You tried to look away, to vanish into the background, but it was too late. He grabbed your arm and dragged you to a dark corner, far from the other players.

His hand trembled as he held you.

— What the fuck did you do? — he hissed, voice low but filled with a kind of terror you’d never heard from him before. — What the fuck did you do to us?

You swallowed hard.

There was no excuse.

But it was too late to back out.

— I… I had to… — you began, but he shoved you lightly against the wall.

Not to hurt you.

But to make it clear how badly he was falling apart inside.

— You’re fucking pregnant, goddamn it! — the whisper hit like a punch to your gut. — Why, ____? Why?

Tears threatened to spill, but you took a deep breath, trying to stay calm.

— I didn’t have a choice. We were drowning out there. I thought… — your voice cracked.

He dragged a hand down his face, exasperated, battling the urge to scream. His eyes fell to your stomach, now visibly rounded beneath your loose shirt. For a moment, the fury in his face crumbled.

And in its place — pure fear.

— You’re not making it out of here alive. Neither you, nor… — he couldn’t finish the sentence.

You reached out, touching his arm gently.

— I just… I had to try.

His eyes squeezed shut.

A harsh breath left his chest.

And when he opened them again, the man you loved was gone — replaced by stone-cold survival.

— From now on, don’t talk to me. Don’t look at me. Don’t come near me. You wanna die? Then die alone. — his voice was a knife.

You swallowed the ache rising in your throat.

Watched him storm off.

But even then, you saw it — his hand trembling.

---

Hours Later

The tension in the dorm was suffocating. Masked guards watched from the shadows, and the players formed little clusters of suspicion. You tried to make yourself invisible, sitting against a wall, one hand protectively on your stomach.

The baby kicked.

You bit your lip, blinking back tears.

And when you dared look across the room — there he was.

Su-bong.

Staring at you.

His face unreadable, severe.

But beneath it… worry.

When some skinny bastard started approaching you with a filthy grin, it was Su-bong who stormed past and shoved the guy brutally aside.

— Get the fuck outta my way, bitch. You’re annoying. — he spat.

But in the hurried whisper as he passed, you caught it:

— Stick to the wall. Now.

You obeyed.

Seconds later, a fight broke out across the room. Shouts, fists flying, everyone’s attention shifting.

You understood.

He created the distraction.

---

That Night

The cold gnawed at your skin. The thin mattresses didn’t do shit, and the fear of being attacked while you slept hung heavy in the air.

You trembled, trying to hide your stomach beneath the thin blanket.

And then something landed on you.

Another blanket.

You looked discreetly to the side.

Su-bong lay on his own mattress, back to you, pretending not to notice anything.

You clutched the extra blanket to your chest, heart aching.

Later, deep into the night, the baby moved again. A sharp, uncomfortable flutter that made you wince.

Before you could panic, you felt a firm hand cover yours.

You turned.

He was crouched at your side, face shadowed by the dim light.

— Breathe. It’ll pass. — he whispered.

And for the first time in days, the tears finally fell.

Su-bong didn’t pull away. He left his hand there, feeling the tiny movement beneath your skin. His expression cracked.

Something old and familiar appeared — tenderness.

His other hand brushed sweaty strands of hair from your face.

— You always were a stubborn idiot. — his voice trembled. — I should hate you for this, but…

Your eyes fluttered shut.

And then his lips pressed to your forehead — slow, lingering.

— We’re getting out of here. Even if it kills me.

Silent Protection

The days inside that hell dragged on like time itself had decided to rot. Each game, every death, every suspicious glance. The tension weighed as heavy as the suffocating air in that filthy dorm.

You’d learned to make yourself invisible.

Always sticking to the walls, far from the dangerous groups. But still, you felt eyes on you sometimes.

And they weren’t kind.

They were the eyes of predators.

Because any sign of weakness in that place was an open invitation to die.

And he knew it.

Choi Su-bong hadn’t spoken a word to you since that night. Not a glance, not a whisper. But his actions screamed in the silence.

During Red Light, Green Light, he positioned himself carefully in front of you. Every time the doll turned, he braced his body, steady as stone — and you realized, if you slipped, his broad frame would shield your movement.

You knew it.

He knew it.

By the final round, your breathing was uneven. A sharp pain — a contraction — tightened in your stomach and you bit your lip until you tasted blood.

But then, discreetly, he reached a hand behind his body and brushed your arm.

A signal.

“Stay calm. Almost done.”

And when the doll called the final ‘green light,’ he moved before anyone else — grabbing your wrist and dragging you over the line.

No one else noticed.

But you did.

And so did the baby, because it kicked the moment his hand touched you.

---

Later That Night — Dormitory

The lights went out.

Tension thickened.

It was the phase where players started killing each other in their sleep.

You stayed quiet, huddled in your corner, pulling the thin blanket over yourself, trying to flatten the curve of your stomach.

When the first scream tore through the darkness, your throat tightened. A player — tall, unshaven, eyes wild — started toward you.

You froze.

But before he could reach you, a colossal shadow stepped in.

Choi Su-bong.

He grabbed the guy by the collar and hurled him into the metal bars with a force that echoed. The others, startled, turned toward the commotion, giving you both cover.

— If anyone fucking touches this bitch again, I’ll slit your throat myself! — Su-bong roared, voice venomous.

And then, spinning on his heel, he glared at you.

For a single second, his eyes locked on yours.

Fury.

Terror.

And something deeper.

He knelt beside you, close enough for only you to hear.

— You need to get out of this place alive. Understand? Pretend you hate me. Act like I hurt you. Stay the fuck away from everyone else.

Before you could answer, he gave your shoulder a rough push — part of the act.

---

Small Mercies

After that night, you started noticing little things.

An extra piece of stale bread near your sleeping spot.

A scrap of water smuggled before a game.

A frayed blanket you hadn’t had before.

You knew it was him.

One night, deep into the early hours, you felt a presence and fought the urge to flinch.

It was him.

Su-bong knelt beside you, the shadows hiding half his face. His calloused hand rested carefully against your belly, feeling the faint movement of life inside.

— Stubborn little bastard, just like your mother. — he murmured.

Your heart clenched.

Your throat ached.

— I’m sorry, ____. I should’ve taken better care of you. I should’ve found a way… — his voice cracked. — But I’m getting you out. I swear it.

You couldn’t fake sleep anymore.

Tears slipped silently down your face.

And before you could say anything, he leaned down — his lips crashing onto yours in a desperate, rough, trembling kiss.

It wasn’t tender.

It wasn’t soft.

It was regret.

It was a promise.

It was goodbye.

The Final Sacrifice

The following days were worse.

The baby was weighing heavy inside you. You could barely sleep, barely breathe between games.

And Su-bong noticed.

Even from a distance, he saw how you kept your hand on your belly, how your steps slowed.

And he knew — there wasn’t much time left.

The next game would be decisive.

And she wouldn’t last much longer.

---

The Final Game

The room where the next game would happen felt crueler than usual.

Simple rules: two against two. The losing team would die.

When your name appeared on the panel next to a random player, and Su-bong’s name with another, your stomach dropped.

But before the guards could call you, he moved.

He punched his partner so hard the man dropped unconscious.

Then he yelled:

— Switch. I want to play against her.

The guard hesitated. But in that chaos, no one asked too many questions.

You felt the cold wash over your skin.

He wanted to face you?

After everything?

When the game began, Su-bong approached you.

The cold lights, the sound of the countdown.

Just the two of you.

— Hit me. — he whispered.

You didn’t understand.

He closed his hand around yours, placing the small stone in your palm — the one meant for attacking your opponent.

— Now. Hit me. Make me bleed. Make it look real.

— Su-bong…

— If I lose, you win. You get out. You and him. Got it? — his eyes glassy, voice cracking. — Let me do one thing right. Just this once.

You shook your head, tears already streaming down your face.

— I don’t want to lose you.

He gave a small, sad smile.

— You never will. A part of me’s right there. — his rough hand pressed against your belly. — Promise me you’ll live. For me. For him.

You sobbed.

— Promise me, ____.

— I promise. — barely more than a broken whisper.

He stepped back.

And before you could hesitate, you did what he asked.

You threw the stone.

It hit the side of his head.

Blood trickled down his temple.

The whistle blew.

You’d won.

But the pain didn’t hit your body.

It hit your soul.

When Su-bong dropped to his knees, he still found your gaze. One last breath. One last “I love you” in his eyes.

And then the shot rang out.

He fell.

You screamed.

Before the guards could drag you away, you rushed to his side, collapsing next to his lifeless body.

You held his face in your hands.

— I’ll live. I swear it. For us. For him.

You kissed his forehead, tasting blood and sweat, and said goodbye.

---

Epilogue

You survived.

For him.

For both of you.

Years later, every time you looked into your son’s eyes, you saw Su-bong’s.

And the tattoo on your arm — the same one he had — remained there, a scar and a memory.

Because love like that doesn’t die.

You carry it in your skin.

And your soul.

The End.

[gigiii1sblog]

IN THE GLOW OF HIS WINDOW 003

Warning: contains sexual content, angst, tension, fluff, dirty talk, unprotected sex.

Chapter Three: The Morning After and the Things Left Unsaid.

Y/N POV:

The first thing I notice is the quiet.

Not the still kind, the kind that presses in on your ribs and fills the space where someone used to be. The kind that buzzes, faint and electric, like the hum of a light that’s just been turned off.

The second thing I notice is the cold.

The space beside me is empty.

No warmth. No breath.

Just wrinkled sheets and the ghost of his body.

I blink into the morning light.

It’s early, too early. Pale gold bleeding through my curtains, casting shadows on the wall. My legs are tangled in the blanket. My throat dry. My chest… hollow.

For a second, I wonder if I dreamed it.

If I imagined his hands. His mouth. The way he whispered my name like a secret he didn’t want anyone else to have.

But I shift, and my body aches.

Between my legs, I still feel him.

And I know it was real.

All of it.

I sit up slowly.

Everything is soft and sore, like I’m still unraveling. Like part of me is still in last night. My fingers skim the bedsheet where he lay, searching for leftover heat.

But its gone.

No note. No message.

Just the window cracked open, the wind kissing the curtains like it knows what happened here.

My stomach turns.

I don’t know what I expected.

Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.

But I didn’t expect this.

The emptiness.

The quiet.

The way his absence feels heavier than his body ever did.

I curl my knees into my chest. Rest my chin there.

Stare at the floor like maybe his shadow is still there.

The room smells like him.

My skin still smells like him.

But he’s gone.

He left through the same window he came in.

Like it meant nothing.

Like I meant nothing.

A knot forms in my throat.

Not a sob. Not yet.

Just… a weight.

Because I let him touch me.

All of me.

And he left without saying a word.

And maybe that’s who he is.

Maybe I always knew that.

But it still hurts.

I stay in bed for a little longer.

Not crying. Not moving.

Just remembering.

The way he kissed me.

The way he said my name.

The way I pulled him back in.

And for a moment, it meant something.

Didn’t it?

My phone buzzes once.

Not him.

I don’t have his number.

So i don’t check it.

I just lie back, close my eyes, and let the ache settle deep into my bones.

Because last night, I gave something I can’t take back.

And this morning, I woke up with nothing but his silence.

Y/N POV:

I don’t see him all morning.

Not in the hall.

Not on the balcony.

Not where he’s supposed to be.

And yet, I feel him everywhere.

In the ache between my legs.

In the stretch of silence wrapped around my bed.

In the way I jump at every sound, hoping it’s the door. Hoping it’s him.

It never will be.

I shower slow.

Dress slower.

Avoid the mirror.

Avoid the questions that start with:

What did you expect?

By the time I leave my apartment, it’s nearly noon. The building feels like it’s holding its breath. I pass neighbors. Say nothing. Pretend I’m normal.

But I’m not.

I don’t feel like me.

I feel like the version of myself I only write about—

The girl who did something wild. Something reckless.

The girl who let a boy crawl through her window and into her everything.

CHRIS POV:

She’s gone before I even open my window.

I know because I waited.

Stood there, hoodie half-on, half-off, heart in my fucking throat, listening for her steps. Hoping for a glimpse. A sound. Something.

But all I get is silence.

I think about knocking on her window.

Saying something.

Anything.

But what do you say to a girl after you touch her like that and disappear before sunrise?

Sorry I left?

Sorry I can’t be what you probably think I am now?

She doesn’t even know me.

And if she did…

She wouldn’t have let me in.

CHRIS POV: Later That Day

I see her again.

Balcony.

She’s sitting in the sun, book in her lap, sunglasses on. Legs crossed. Calm.

Her foot is bouncing.

Her fingers twitch every time she flips a page.

She hasn’t read a single damn sentence.

I lean against the railing, a joint burning between my fingers, and pretend like I don’t feel her everywhere.

She doesn’t look at me.

Not once.

Not even when I exhale slow, smoke curling toward her like a secret I want her to notice.

And that hurts more than it should.

Y/N POV:

He’s there.

Of course he is.

Leaning on his railing, smoke in hand, hoodie up even though it’s hot.

And I feel it, that ridiculous, awful pull.

The same one that dragged me to the window last night.

That stripped me bare and quiet and aching beneath him.

I want to scream.

Or cry.

Or say something cruel enough to scratch that blank expression off his face.

But I don’t.

Because then he wins.

Because then it means I care.

So I keep my sunglasses on.

Flip the page I haven’t read.

And pretend like he’s not standing six feet away, smelling like my skin and staring like he still wants me.

CHRIS POV:

I almost say her name.

Almost toss the cigarette and cross the balcony like it’s nothing.

Like we didn’t already cross every line.

But then she flips her page without looking up.

And I get it.

She’s hurt.

She should be.

I left.

I always do.

But for once, I kind of want to stay.

Y/N POV:

I’m half asleep when I hear it.

A faint shift in the air.

A creak.

The whisper of a screen being moved.

I sit up slowly, heart already pounding in my chest.

And there he is.

Chris.

Half in shadow, half in moonlight.

Climbing through my window like this is some twisted ritual now.

Same smell. Same goddamn silence.

“What the hell are you doing?” I whisper, sharp, voice cracking with sleep.

He doesn’t answer right away. Just stands there.

Hands in his pockets.

Eyes everywhere but me.

“You can’t just—”

“I know.”

“Then why are you here?”

He exhales hard, like the answer’s too heavy to say out loud.

His jaw tightens. His eyes finally meet mine.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

That’s all he says.

Like it explains everything.

Maybe it does.

I sit up straighter, crossing my arms over my chest even though I’m fully clothed.

“You left,” I say. Quiet now. Too quiet. “And now you just… show up?”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Yes, you did.” My voice doesn’t rise, but it cuts.

His lips part like he’s going to argue, but he doesn’t.

He just runs a hand through his curls and mutters, “Yeah. I did.”

Silence swells between us.

Outside, a car passes. Somewhere down the hall, someone laughs.

But here, in this room—

it’s just the echo of what we did and the silence that followed.

“Do you regret it?” I ask.

His eyes snap to mine.

“No.”

Not even a beat.

“Then why’d you leave?”

He shrugs, but it’s forced. Like his body’s tired of pretending.

“I don’t stay,” he says. “That’s not… something I do.”

I blink. “And this—whatever this is, you think I can just pretend it didn’t matter?”

Chris swallows. Hard.

He steps forward. Not close, but closer.

Voice low. Words softer than I expected.

“I don’t want you to pretend.”

“Then what do you want?”

He hesitates.

Then, “I don’t know. I just… I keep thinking about you. About that night.”

His voice drops. “About how you looked. How you sounded. How you trusted me.”

He’s standing at the edge of the bed now.

Not asking to touch me.

Not expecting anything.

Just standing there. Hands clenched. Breathing heavy.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” he says.

“And that’s why you came back?” I ask, quieter now.

He nods.“But you still won’t stay,” I say, a statement this time, not a question.

He looks away. “I don’t know how.”

Something in me softens. Just slightly.

Because I don’t think he’s lying.

I think he really doesn’t know.

How to stay.

How to care.

How to not fuck up.

And maybe that should be a reason to shut the window.

Lock the door.

Forget the way his mouth felt on mine.

But instead, I shift back under the covers.

Not saying yes.

Not saying no.

Just… making space.

He sees it.

Doesn’t move right away.

Then slowly, like he’s afraid the moment will break,he steps out of his shoes, shrugs off the hoodie, and slides into the bed beside me.

No words.

No touching.

Just the heat of him at my back. The weight of him in the bed.

And the quiet confession of presence.

I don’t fall asleep for a long time.

But when I do—

He’s still there.

CHRIS POV:

I can’t sleep.

Not with her beside me.

Not with the weight of what I did sitting heavy in my chest like smoke that won’t clear.

She’s turned away, back to me.

Her breathing is soft, even.

But I know she’s not really sleeping yet either.

She let me back in.

Again.

No yelling. No tears. Just… space.

An open blanket. A silent invitation.

And that hurts worse than if she’d screamed.

Because she still wants me here.

Even after I left.

Even after I proved what kind of person I am.

I stare at the ceiling.

The fan turns above us, slow and steady, like it doesn’t give a shit what we’ve done. Like it’s seen a thousand nights like this.

But I haven’t.

This is new.

This is her.

I remember the way she looked last night, when I touched her, when I kissed her, when I was inside her. The way her breath caught. The way she tried to stay quiet but couldn’t.

She trusted me with that part of her.

And what did I do?

I slipped out before the sun came up.

Like a fucking coward.

I want to reach for her.

I don’t.

My hand twitches against the sheet. I close my eyes.

But the memory of her plea, of her skin?

It’s not leaving me anytime soon.

I was never supposed to come back.

I don’t do this.

Not the staying.

Not the softness.

Not the “what does this mean” mornings.

But with her…

I want to.

And that scares the shit out of me.

She shifts slightly.

Not toward me, but not away either.

I swear I hear her inhale deeper. Like she knows I’m awake.

She doesn’t speak.

Neither do I.

The space between us is only inches.

But it feels like a thousand things unsaid.

I don’t know what I’m doing.

But I know this:

I’ve never stayed before.

And I’m still here.

That has to mean something.

Even if I don’t know how to say it yet.

Y/N POV:

The light comes in soft.

Filtered through my curtains, gold and slow like it doesn’t want to wake us. For a second, I don’t open my eyes.

Because he’s still here.

I feel him before I even move, his body behind mine, his breath against my shoulder. One leg tangled lightly with mine beneath the covers. One arm somewhere between cautious and comfortable.

He stayed.

That realization blooms in my chest like something dangerous.

He stayed.

I shift slightly.

Not enough to pull away, just enough to feel his skin brush mine under the blanket.

A breath catches behind me.

He’s awake.

We stay like that for a long time.

No words.

Just quiet.

Just the weight of what we did, and the heat of what we haven’t said.

Then—

I feel it.

His hand.

Sliding down.

Slow. Barely-there.

Fingertips trailing over my stomach, settling against my thigh.

I tense, just a little.

Not because I don’t want it.

Because I do.

Because this moment feels fragile. Too good.

Like maybe he’s changed his mind.

“Morning,” he murmurs.

His voice is low and husky and too close to everything I’ve ever wanted.

I try to smile. “You stayed.”

He’s quiet for a second too long.

“Yeah.”

Just that. No warmth behind it. No real explanation.

And suddenly that flicker in my chest? That stupid hope?

It starts to dim.

He shifts behind me.

His hand slips away. The bed creaks lightly as he moves.

Then comes the sentence I already saw coming:

“I should head out.”

I stay still.

“I promised Matt I’d help him run some errands,” he adds.

An excuse. A weak one.

And we both know it.

I nod against the pillow. “Right.”

Neither of us moves.

Then he swings his legs off the bed.

The cold air hits my skin the second he pulls away.

And just like that, the space he filled last night turns into emptiness again.

He dresses quietly.

Pulls his hoodie back over his curls. Runs a hand through his hair like this is just another day.

I stay in bed. I don’t ask him to stay.

Because this time, I know better.

He pauses at the window.

“I’ll see you,” he says, not quite looking at me.

Not goodbye.

Just… that.

“I’ll see you.”

I nod once. Bite my lip. Say nothing.

And then he’s gone.

The silence comes back stronger this time.

Like it knows what we did.

Like it watched me let him in, twice now, only for him to slip out before I could ask him to mean it.

I stare at the pillow where his head used to be.

And I wonder if he ever meant to stay at all.

Anyway

Y/N POV: Later that day

“I’m not going,” I tell Nick for the third time.

Nick throws himself on my bed like he’s auditioning for a drama series.

“Oh my God, yes you are. You’ve been moping around for days. Your vibe is, like, tragic poet with a heartbreak playlist and no will to live.”

“I’m busy,” I mumble, not even trying to sound convincing.

Matt leans against my doorway, quiet as usual, but even he raises an eyebrow. “You literally just closed your laptop and sighed at your screen for five minutes.”

“I was writing.”

“You were playing with the cursor.”

Nick groans dramatically. “Come on. It’s just one party. One night. You need to let some stupid frat boy fade out of your bloodstream.”

That catches me off guard.

He doesn’t know. Neither of them do.

I don’t think they do.

I haven’t told them what happened. What Chris did. What I let him do.

It’s mine. Mine to carry. Mine to try and forget.

But the silence is eating me alive.

And maybe Nick’s right.

Maybe I do need to get out of my head.

I say yes.

I wear black.

Not a dress. Just jeans that fit me too well, and a top that says I didn’t try but I could ruin you anyway.

Hair a little messy.

Gloss on my mouth.

The kind of perfume you only wear when you want to be smelled after you leave.

We get there around ten.

House already buzzing. Music too loud. Lights low. People packed like they’re trying to forget themselves.

It feels like stepping into a fever.

I tell myself I don’t care.

I tell myself he won’t be here.

Then I look up—

And he’s the first person I see.

Chris.

Back against the wall, red solo cup in his hand, jacket unzipped just enough to tease the curve of his collarbone.

Head tilted, hair messy, shadows under his eyes.

He sees me before I can pretend not to see him.

Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away.

Just watches.

And then—

His mouth curves.

That lazy, half-wrecked smile I hate that I love.

“What are you doing here, poet?”

I blink. His voice cuts through the music like it’s meant for me.

Nick and Matt are distracted already, deep in conversation across the room.

I stare at Chris.

“You don’t get to call me that,” I say.

His smile fades.

But he doesn’t drop my eyes. Doesn’t step back. Doesn’t apologize.

“Didn’t think you’d come,” he says after a second. Quiet. Almost unreadable.

“Yeah, well,” I say, lifting my chin, “I got tired of waiting around for people who leave before sunrise.”

That lands.

His jaw clenches. His gaze flicks down my body, slow, like he doesn’t want to, but can’t stop.

“You look different,” he says.

“I feel different.”

I walk past him without another word.

But I feel his stare burning into my back.

And it almost makes me turn around.

Almost.

⸻

It doesn’t take long.

The music gets louder. The drinks get stronger.

The lights dim just enough to make everything feel possible.

I’m standing by the kitchen, sipping something red in a plastic cup I didn’t pour myself, when he appears.

He’s tall. Cute in that clean, maybe-too-perfect way.

Brown eyes.Dark hair. Sharp jaw. Confident smile.

Wearing a Celtics jersey like he wants people to know he’s from here.

“Didn’t expect to see a face like yours in this house,” he says, leaning casually against the counter.

I arch a brow. “What kind of face?”

“Not drunk. Not fake. Not bored out of your mind.”

He grins. “Or maybe just bored enough.”

I laugh. It’s soft, but real. And it surprises me.

Because for a second, I forget.

Forget him.

Forget the boy who left.

Forget the way Chris looked at me when I walked in, like I was something he wasn’t allowed to touch again.

This guy, Luca, he says is easy to talk to.

He asks where I’m from. What I study. What I’m drinking. He tells me I have a nice smile, that I seem “too put together to be here,” whatever that means.

I play along.

Because it feels good.

To be seen.

To be wanted.

To be spoken to in the light.

He leans in slightly, voice low and warm.

“You here with anyone?”

I start to answer, something vague and uncommitted—

when I feel it.

That shift.

That pressure.

The burn of a stare across the room.

I glance up.

Chris.

Still in the same spot. Same hoodie.

But now he’s not relaxed.

He’s watching.

Mouth set.

Jaw tight.

Cup in hand but untouched.

His stare is cutting through the crowd like it’s trying to reach me.

Like it’s daring me to keep going.

And I do.

I turn back to Luca.

Smile.

Tilt my head.

Let my fingers brush lightly over his arm.

And even though I’m not thinking about Luca, I feel Chris flinch from across the room.

CHRIS POV:

She laughs.

With him.

Some guy with clean sneakers and too many teeth and a face that doesn’t look like it’s ever known how to hurt someone.

I watch her laugh.

Watch her touch his arm.

Watch her lean in like it’s easy.

Like it didn’t take everything in her not to fall apart when I left her that morning.

And I hate it.

I hate the way her eyes sparkle.

I hate how she looks in that top.

I hate that she’s not looking at me.

But more than that—

I hate that this is what I do.

What I always do.

I disappear, and she gets pretty.

And someone else gets to taste the version of her I ruined.

I crush the empty cup in my hand.

And I swear—

If he touches her again…

Y/N POV:

Luca leans in a little more, smiling at something I barely heard.

It’s warm in here. Loud. Blurred around the edges.

His cologne is light. His voice is easy.

And then—

“Didn’t think you were into guys like that, poet.”

My blood turns cold.

I turn around slowly.

Chris.

Standing behind me.

Too close.

Voice low. Calm. Sharp like a blade hidden under velvet.

He’s looking at Luca like he’s something he could break.

Like he already did.

“Excuse me?” I ask, jaw tight.

He doesn’t even look at me.

Just takes a lazy step forward, eyeing Luca with that bored, dangerous stare of his.

“Didn’t realize this was your type,” he adds, gaze flicking down. “Clean. Smiling too much. Probably says please when he asks to kiss you.”

Luca straightens. “Do we have a problem bro?”

Chris smirks, tilting his head. “Not at all, man. Just surprised she moved on so fast.”

That’s when it happens.

That word.

“Moved on.”

Like I was his to begin with.

Like I wasn’t the one left with cold sheets and silence.

My hand is already moving before I think twice—

Pressing flat against Chris’s chest. Not soft.

“Back off,” I say. “Now.”

His smirk falters.

But before he can fire back—

“Chris.”

Matt’s voice.

Low. Serious.

I turn and there they are Matt and Nick, both behind him. And neither of them looks surprised.

Nick’s arms are crossed, mouth pursed. “Dude. What the hell.”

Matt’s quieter, but his stare is pointed. “You can’t do that.”

“Do what?” Chris shrugs, but the cool is cracking. “I’m just talking.”

Nick steps between us, eyes hard now. “No, you’re marking. Like she’s yours. But you’re not even brave enough to say hi to her.”

I suck in a breath.

Chris says nothing.

For once, he has nothing.

Matt turns to me gently. “You okay?”

I nod once. Just barely.

But the damage is done.

Luca clears his throat. “I should probably go.”

I don’t stop him.

He disappears into the crowd.

And I’m left standing in a room full of music that suddenly feels too loud.

Chris is still there.

Still staring.

I don’t even wait for him to speak.

I just walk away.

CHRIS POV:

She’s walking away.

After that look she gave me.

After that guy put his hand on her.

After I said what I said like it wouldn’t slice her open.

And now she’s walking away, and I can’t take it.

“Yeah?” I call out, loud enough to punch through the bass. “Because he would’ve stayed the night?”

Her steps stop.

The room stills.

Matt and Nick turn around in sync.

The air shifts like gravity just changed.

YN doesn’t face me.

Not yet.

But I can feel it, her spine straightens, her shoulders tighten, her silence louder than any shout.

Nick blinks. “What?”

Matt looks between us. “What the hell are you talking about?”

I don’t even know why I said it.

Maybe I wanted her to hurt like it also hurts me to walk away every fucking time.

Maybe I wanted someone to finally know.

Or maybe I just couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“She let me in,” I say.

Everyone goes still.

I stop.

Run a hand through my curls. My chest is heaving. “You wanna know what I’m jealous of? I’m jealous of someone else getting to touch her when I already did.”

Y/N POV:

The room is spinning.

But I’m not drunk.

I turn slowly, the noise around us fuzzing out like we’re under water.

He said it.

He said it out loud.

Nick is staring at me, jaw slack.

Matt looks like the floor just opened up beneath him.

And me?

I’m frozen.

Exposed.

Humiliated.

It’s not just what he said.

It’s the way he said it, like I was some secret he finally got tired of keeping.

Like he couldn’t wait to throw it in their faces.

“I cannot believe you,” I whisper.

Chris looks at me.

His face changes.

He realizes it.

He knows.

“I didn’t mean—”

“No. You did.” My voice cracks. “You didn’t want me until someone else looked at me. You used me and left. Then came back. Then left again. And now this?”

I swallow hard. I feel Nick’s hand gently touch my elbow, but I shake it off.

“Yes, I let you in,” I say, softer now. “You were the first. And you treat me like this?”

Chris doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

Good.

I don’t want his words anymore.

I walk out of the party without looking back.

And this time—

I don’t hope he follows.

CHRIS POV:

I’m still at the party.

But it doesn’t feel like a party anymore.

The music is distant. The lights too bright. The people too loud. My skin itches like I don’t belong in it anymore.

I shouldn’t have said it.

Not like that.

Not there.

I told the truth.

But I told it like it was ammunition.

And I watched her shatter.

“Chris.”

I hear Nick’s voice behind me, sharp and pissed.

I turn.

He’s storming toward me, face twisted in disbelief.

“You’re a real piece of shit, you know that?”

I don’t respond.

What can I say?

Nick doesn’t wait.

“You let her sleep with you. Then left her. Came back. Left again. And then embarrassed her in front of everyone?”

“She was flirting with some guy like nothing happened,” I mutter, jaw tight.

“Because you disappeared,” Nick spits. “You left her feeling like it meant nothing. And now you’re mad someone else wanted to treat her like it did?”

His voice rises. People are watching. I don’t care.

“You don’t get to ruin people and then be jealous they’re still lovable.”

That one hits.

I look down.

Nick shakes his head. “She told me nothing, Chris. Nothing. Do you know how hard that is for her? How private she is? How careful?”

“I didn’t know how to stay,” I say quietly.

“You didn’t even try.”

Matt is standing behind him now.

He’s not yelling.

Not pacing.

Just staring at me. Still.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Matt asks.

His voice is quiet. Honest. Worse than Nick’s anger.

“We all grew up next to her. She’s not some stranger you picked up at a bar. She’s Y/N.”

I meet his eyes. There’s disappointment in them I can’t stand to see.

“She didn’t deserve that,” he adds. “And you know it.”

I nod once.

It’s the only thing I can do.

But Matt? He just turns away.

And Nick?

He doesn’t even look back.

hope you guys enjoy this long messy chaotic chapter.

@izzylovesmatt @riggysworld @amiraisafreakokaysorry @ansteeze @pair-of-pantaloons @kitty-meow-meow44 @sturnslux3

@kalel2005 @sarahsturnn

@teheabrams @needchrissturniolobad

@my-world-is-poetry @sturniszn

@slutforchrissturniolo2

@alinagrace11 @beardedbernard

@matthewswifeyy @blindedheartp

@crypticallycruelwarden

@jaybirdie34

@courta13 @chriss-slutt

@chrissturniolobendmeovernow

[berryispunk]

Borrowed Time

pairing: Frankie Morales x f! reader

notes: Just a quick heads-up—this fic includes themes of infidelity, which I don’t usually write. It fit the emotional chaos of this particular story, but please take care while reading. The angst queen is back babyyy 👸

tags: no physical description of reader, heartbreak, smut with feelings, a lot of angst, we love pathetic man, drunk! Frankie, drugs mention, infidelity, exes to???, hate sex (kind of), hurt and no comfort

summary: He begged her to come over, and she did—but only to remind him what losing her really felt like.

word count: 2,6 k

He tried every band-aid under the sun.

Cocaine, whiskey, warm bodies in colder beds. Waking up in cities he didn’t remember flying to. Friends who stopped checking in, family who didn’t ask anymore. He tried pretending. He tried forgetting. He tried fucking it out of his system, but no one ever looked at him the way she did—like even his ruins were worth loving.

And none of it worked.

Now, he sat slouched against his kitchen cabinets, back to the cold linoleum, a bottle of something cheap and sharp between his legs. His head hung heavy, curls damp from sweat or the shower he took an hour ago. Maybe yesterday. Time didn’t work right anymore.

His phone blinked beside him. One percent. A last gasp.

He’d already tried calling. Twice, maybe three times. He wasn’t counting anymore. Counting made it real. But he was drunk enough not to care. Or maybe just drunk enough to finally say the things he kept locked behind his teeth.

His thumbs hovered, then tapped out another text. Sloppy, desperate, misspelled.  

He stared at the screen, watched it shift from “Delivered” to “Read.”

Nothing after that.

The silence pressed in around him, thick and suffocating. The kind that echoed. He should’ve smashed the phone. Should’ve thrown it across the room like it could hurt less if it shattered. Instead, he sat in it. In the wreckage of what used to be a life. In the echoes of her voice that wouldn’t shut the fuck up inside his head.

He wanted her out of his system like poison but she’d fused into his blood.

Somewhere between the fourth and fifth swig, his head tipped back. The ceiling spun, his throat burned.

She wasn’t coming, he knew that. Knew it deep. Knew it in the way she hadn’t looked back that last time. In the way she let him fall and didn’t try to catch him.

He didn’t blame her. Hell, he wouldn’t come back for him either.

The room pulsed with a dull hum, fridge buzzing, a loose window tapping in the breeze. His phone finally died with a quiet sigh.

Frankie closed his eyes.

Maybe this time, he’d sleep through the ache.

Knock.

His eyes snapped open.

Another knock. Firmer this time, measured.

He blinked, stared at the door in disbelief. No fucking way.

His legs didn’t work right when he tried to stand. The bottle clattered. He reached the door, heartbeat somewhere in his throat, hands trembling—not from the alcohol.

He opened it and there she was.

Hair a mess, hoodie zipped up to her chin. Her eyes glassy and tired and so goddamn her. She didn’t say anything, neither did he.

Because for a second, the whole world stopped and for the first time in months, the void quieted.

—

She didn’t say his name.

Didn’t even look him in the eye at first—just stared past him, jaw tight, mouth pulled into something sharp. Her arms were crossed like armor, and he felt it—like a punch right in the ribs.

Not a hug.

Not Frankie, are you okay?

Not even pity.

Just ice.

And fuck, he deserved it.

But he still drank her in like she was the first hit after days of withdrawal. He couldn’t help it. The slope of her shoulders. The way her hair curled from the damp night air. The smell of her shampoo cutting through the stench of his apartment like a memory he’d tried to drown a hundred times.

He wanted to bury his face in her neck, press his cheek to her stomach.

He wanted to beg.

Instead, she stepped inside and slammed the door behind her.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

Her voice cracked—just a little—but she held steady. Like he hadn’t dragged her here through guilt and ghosted memories. Like he wasn’t falling apart just from the sound of her voice.

“I—” His throat closed around the words. Nothing came out but a dry rasp. “I didn’t think. I just—”

“Exactly.” She spun around to face him. “You didn’t think. You never think when you get like this, Francisco. And now I’m here, again, picking through the wreckage you made of yourself.”

He flinched. Couldn’t even look at her—not when she stood there so alive, so steady, even in her fury. God, he’d always loved that fire, even if it burned him. Not when he knew exactly what it felt like to fall asleep with her heartbeat against his back and wake up to sunlight in her laugh.

“I didn’t know who else to call,” he mumbled, ashamed of how small his voice sounded.

She laughed, bitter and hollow. “You shouldn’t have called me at all.”

She walked past him, brushing his arm. He inhaled like it might be the last time he ever caught her scent. His knees buckled under the weight of it—her presence, her anger, the absence of warmth.

She looked around the apartment like it disgusted her. The half-eaten takeout, the spilled pills on the counter, the whiskey bottle on its side. Her eyes lingered on his knuckles, red and cracked. Then she looked at him, really looked at him.

“You need help, Frankie. You need someone. But it can’t be me.”

He nodded. He fucking nodded because what else was he supposed to do? Say no, it has to be you? That he’s tried the world and none of it feels like home unless her hand is on the back of his neck and her breath is in his lungs?

Instead, he said, “I know.”

But she didn’t move. She stood there, breathing hard, arms still crossed. Her body pointed toward the door but her eyes stayed locked on him like she was still looking for the man she used to love in the ruins he’d become.

“I hate that you did this,” she whispered.

He took a shaky step forward. “But you came.”

She closed her eyes. For just a second,he saw it—her shaking. That softness she used to give him. That crack in the wall she built.

“Don’t do this,” she said. “Don’t use that voice on me. Don’t look at me like I’m the only thing keeping you alive.”

“I’m not using anything,” he breathed. “I just… I don’t know how to stop missing you.”

She turned her face away, but she didn’t leave. Frankie stepped closer. Just one step, but it felt like crossing a minefield. Her breath hitched. He saw it—felt it—and he latched onto it like a drowning man finding driftwood.

“You’re with someone else.”

His voice was low, raw. Almost reverent. “But you still came.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” she snapped, but it cracked at the end.

“It does to me.”

She turned, fast, fury blazing in her eyes. “You think this is what I wanted, Frankie? To find you on the edge again? To get dragged back into your mess when I’ve been clawing my way out of it?”

“I didn’t mean to—” he started, but she was already stepping into his space, shoving her hands into his chest.

“Didn’t mean to?” she laughed, breathless and wild. “You never mean to. But it’s always me who gets the call when you’re breaking. Always me who has to fucking care, even when you stopped giving a shit a long time ago.”

He didn’t stop her. Didn’t even flinch when her hands hit his chest again, harder this time—because underneath the anger, her fingers curled into his shirt, clutching, trembling with emotions too big and too tangled for this fleeting moment to hold.

“Why?” she whispered, voice cracking. “Why do you keep doing this to me?”

He stared at her—messy and furious and beautiful in a way that made his heart split in two—and whispered back, “Because I don’t know how to breathe without you.”

Her mouth opened, but no sound came.

And then she kissed him.

No warning. No lead-up. Just months of silence and ache erupting between their mouths like a spark to gasoline. It wasn’t gentle. It was teeth and salt and need, his back hitting the wall, her hands tangling in his curls like she hated how much she missed the feel of them.

Frankie gasped against her lips. “Fuck—”

“Don’t,” she hissed, yanking his shirt up, eyes burning. “Don’t say my name. Don’t make this anything.”

“You’re the one who came,” he choked out, helping her tug it over his head, her nails dragging down his chest. “You’re the one who kissed me.”

“And I’ll be the one who leaves,” she said, eyes locking on his like a dare. “So don’t get it twisted.”

But he didn’t fucking care.

Because she was here. She was touching him like her hands remembered the map of his body better than her heart ever wanted to. Like she hated how right it still felt. And when he picked her up, stumbled with her toward the bedroom, she didn’t stop him.

Clothes hit the floor in a trail of regret. Her hoodie, his sweats. She cursed. Shoved him back onto the bed. Climbed onto him like she was trying to erase every second they’d spent apart.

“I hate you for this,” she whispered, breath shaking, guiding him into her like a drug she’d sworn off but couldn’t quit. “I hate that I still want you.”

His hands slid up her thighs, all rough palms against soft skin. “Then don’t say my name when you come.”

She did anyway, more than once.

Her hips rolled slow at first—taunting, punishing—and Frankie gasped like her body was the first real thing he’d felt in months. His hands gripped her thighs like lifelines, eyes wide, chest heaving. She wasn’t soft tonight. She wasn’t his. But she was here, and god, she felt like home in all the worst ways.

“You still fit me like you were made for me,” he rasped, voice thick with reverence and filth, jaw tight beneath her.

“Don’t,” she snapped, but her nails dug into his chest like she didn’t mean it. Like she needed to hurt him just enough to stop herself from falling back in.

“You want this too,” he breathed, one hand sliding up her waist, slow, shaking, reverent. “Tell me you don’t.”

She didn’t because they both knew it would be a lie.

Instead, she leaned forward, hair falling over her face, and tugged at his curls—sharp and mean—and he groaned deep, eyes fluttering shut like the pain was worship. But he didn’t look away for long. When he opened them again, she was right there—all fury and fire and heat, riding him like she was punishing them both.

“Open your eyes,” she hissed, yanking his head back just enough. “You don’t get to pretend I’m someone else.”

Frankie moaned, chest arching into hers, hips lifting to meet her pace. “I could never. No one feels like you.”

Her lip curled. She hated how fast that got to her. “You don’t get to say that,” she whispered, broken now, her voice cracked from holding back everything else. “You had me. And you lost me.”

“I know,” he breathed, hand at the back of her neck, pulling her down until their foreheads touched. “I know, baby, I know. But I still dream about you. I still wake up reaching for you.”

“Shut up.”

Her hips snapped harder. “Shut the fuck up, Frankie.”

He did at her command, but the look in his eyes didn’t. It wrecked her—how he looked at her like she was salvation and sin at once. Like he was memorizing her face for the last time.

He didn’t beg now, not with words. He begged with his body, with the way he let her take control and clung to every inch of her like it was already slipping away. And when she leaned in to kiss him again—open-mouthed, desperate, teeth scraping his bottom lip—he whimpered into it like she’d touched something sacred.

She broke the kiss first, panting, pupils blown wide. “This doesn’t fix anything.”

“I don’t want to fix it,” he murmured, thumbing the corner of her mouth. “I just wanna feel you.”

She pulled his hand away, held it pinned to the mattress.

“Then feel it,” she spat. “Feel every fucking second of what you lost.”

And she moved harder, faster. Her anger blooming into heat, her want tangled in guilt, her breath catching every time he moaned her name like a prayer. Chasing relief.

Frankie’s hands were shaking now, trying to hold on, trying not to come too soon like a teenager overwhelmed by the gravity of her. “I’m not gonna last,” he gritted, forehead pressed to her collarbone, helpless.

“Don’t,” she dared. “Not until I say.”

He choked on a groan, fists balled into the sheets, trying so fucking hard to obey even as his body trembled from restraint.

And when she finally whispered his name—no venom, no fire, just raw, ruined softness—he broke too. Right beneath her where he always had.

—

The room was quiet now.

No moans, no gasps, no breathless curses. Just the sound of their breathing slowly leveling out—hers steady, his still shaking. Frankie lay flat on his back, spent, sweat clinging to his chest, heartbeat loud in his ears.

She stayed on top of him for a moment longer, thighs trembling around his hips, her head bowed like she was praying or trying to hold something in.

He didn’t dare to speak because even now, even with her body still wrapped around him, he felt the weight of her slipping away. Like this was all borrowed time.

Then—softly, like muscle memory—her hand lifted.

Fingers threaded through his curls, slow, tender. Just once. A single drag from his hairline back, the way she used to do when he couldn’t sleep. When she’d lie with him in the dark, calming the war in his head with nothing but her touch.

He closed his eyes.

Don’t do this, he begged silently. Don’t make this harder.

But god, it felt like coming home. Like a lullaby only she knew.

And then she said it. Quiet into the dark, almost fragile.

“I thought about you last week.”

Frankie’s eyes flew open.

She wasn’t looking at him, just staring somewhere past the wall like the confession hurt more than the sex ever did.

“I was at this lake house with him,” she continued, voice barely a breath. “It was quiet. Too quiet. And I started thinking about the way you talk in your sleep. The way you always pulled me close, even when you were dead tired. I thought about how safe I used to feel, even when everything else was falling apart.”

Frankie didn’t move, he didn’t even breathe.

“I hate you for making me miss that,” she whispered.

He turned his face toward her. “Then stay.”

She met his eyes and—for a second, just a second—he thought maybe she would. Maybe she’d at least consider it. But then she shifted off of him without a word, the loss of her body sending a cold shiver down his spine—harder, sharper than any fall after a high. She found her hoodie on the floor and pulled it on without looking at him.

“Don’t ask me again,” she said as she bent down for her shoes.

“I won’t,” he lied.

She walked to the door, fingers tightening around the knob. Her back to him.

He sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist, the bed still warm where she’d been. “Did you mean it? What you said about thinking of me?”

She hesitated but then gave the smallest nod and walked out, the door clicking shut behind her. Finality.

Frankie sat in the silence, the sweat on his skin turning cold, the sheets still tangled from where they collided like lightning and loss.The bed smelled like her, it would for days. And he’d lie in it, in that scent dying a thousand quiet deaths in the ghost of her warmth. Drowning in the echo of what could’ve been, what once was, what he’d just lost all over again.

thanks for reading 💌

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[formulafanfics13]

Hi Evie, love you’re work could you write something with Lando when you two dated for nearly 5 years and you two ended up having an very public Break up as Both of you stand in the Spotlight with him being an F1 driver and you an successful actress it got ugly very quickly in the end it was You’re decision to end it. When you attend the Oscars two weeks later you just wanted too have an nice time even if you ended up winning nothing You’re goals were too Drink and Dance but when you get seated next too an very charming Blue eyed blond actor you forget You’re Ex partner it feels good having someone too take interest in you and you laugh so much Like you havent in a Long time why does it feel Like someone you know mere Hours undertstands you better then someone you spend the last half decade with? You know exactly that there are Paparazzis and Cameras everywhere and that there will pictures and Headlines in every god damn online Magazine but you dont care let everyone think what They want and You Hope that Lando sees them and turns blue from anger and envy and when Return back to You’re Hotel room with You’re new found love interest Kissing and you just kicked the door shut You’re Phone gets off and when you see that its Lando you cant help but think that you should have blocked him. I wish you an amazing Holiday😁

I hope this fits what you wanted!! and thank you!🫶🏼

Let Him Choke On the Headlines - LN4

Masterlist

Summary Two weeks after a messy public breakup with Lando Norris, the reader shows up at the Oscars in a killer black dress, determined to reclaim herself. Seated beside a charming American actor, she flirts, laughs, and eventually leaves with him — all under the watchful eye of a press still obsessed with her past. When Lando texts mid-hookup, she doesn’t stop. She lets herself be worshipped by someone new, because Lando had his chance — and he blew it.

Warnings implied sexual themes, public breakup aftermath, alcohol use, emotional manipulation, self-reclamation, Lando/reader past relationship, new male OC (actor), power and revenge dynamic, slight angst, celebrity fame pressures, mention of drugs (brief).

The dress fit too well for you to give a fuck. It was tight, black, sculpted like liquid midnight. The kind of gown people whisper about, the kind that made stylists weep and photographers trip over themselves. You’d only picked it because it felt like armour. Sharp neckline, a slit high enough to make headlines, and fabric that clung like memory. Hair slicked back. Diamonds like knives. Eyes like war.

It had only been two weeks since the public breakup. Since every gossip outlet tore your five-year relationship apart like it was their job, which it was, technically. Five years of red carpets, Monaco summers, stolen pitlane kisses and late-night “I’m proud of you”s. Five years of hiding and loving and fucking and forgiving. Then it went nuclear. Ugly. Loud. Final.

You’d left him. No tears, no final speech. Just a hotel room key on the kitchen counter and a driver waiting downstairs. Because at the end of it all, after all the chaos and passion and deep, obsessive devotion, it turned out love wasn’t enough to survive fame. Especially not when he stopped fighting for you.

The Oscars weren’t supposed to be a rebound. You told yourself that as the driver pulled up to the red carpet. You told yourself that again as you walked into the Dolby Theatre with your head held high, cameras flashing, the whispers already starting.

But then you were seated next to him. Blonde. Blue-eyed. American. Trouble. He turned when you sat down and smiled like it was instinct. “You look dangerous.”

Your lips twitched. “That’s because I am.”

He introduced himself, one of those indie-darling actors who had just stepped into blockbuster territory. Golden boy. Everyone’s favourite. But he had this glint in his eye like he knew how to get in trouble. Like he might enjoy it. He leaned in close when he spoke. He laughed like he meant it. And by the time the second award had been announced, he already had you smiling.

It was the first time you’d smiled like that in weeks.

No one said his name out loud. But you could feel Lando’s shadow in every glance from the press. Every pap flash. Every headline being written in real-time. Actress steps out post-breakup with mystery man. Who’s the blonde with the heartbreak muse? She’s smiling again, and it’s not for Lando.

You sipped champagne through the ceremony. He made you laugh so hard at one point you had to cover your mouth with your clutch. And even though you didn’t win anything, you didn’t care. You weren’t there to collect gold. You were there to drink and dance and forget the last half-decade of your life.

Which is exactly what you did.

The afterparty was chaos. Hollywood glitter and egos, cocaine in bathrooms and publicists pretending to be friends. He stayed close all night. Bought your drinks, touched your lower back, made you laugh like a teenager on prom night. And the longer you talked, the more you realised something that should’ve gutted you but instead made you feel free. He got you.

Not the version of you that smiled beside a race car. Not the version that sat in McLaren garages, pretending to be neutral when Lando didn’t podium. Not the version Lando knew and claimed to love but never really saw.

This man had known you for hours and already understood that your laugh meant you were avoiding pain. That when you reached for your glass too often, it wasn’t because you were drunk, it was because you were bored. That when you leaned in and lowered your voice, you were giving a piece of your truth to someone you weren’t sure deserved it yet.

And unlike Lando, he paid attention.

Back at the hotel, the hallway was too quiet. The adrenaline was still in your bloodstream. You reached your door before either of you said a word. Then he kissed you.

Hard. Fucking hot. Hands in your hair. Your back hit the suite door with a thud. You laughed into his mouth, kicking it shut behind you. Clothes already being tugged, buttons undone, hearts racing.

Your phone buzzed on the coffee table.

You didn’t check it. Not right away. Not until he was kissing down your neck, and you were gasping his name, and your heel caught on the carpet as you stumbled towards the bed. But when your eyes flicked to the phone, it was like someone poured ice water down your spine.

Lando.

Just that name. No preview of the message. No context. Just him. Because of course. Of course he saw the photos. Of course he saw the Twitter trending page. The headlines. The footage of you on the carpet laughing like a woman in love. The wide shot of you and your new golden boy whispering into each other’s ears like you were already planning the honeymoon. Of course he saw it all. And of course he couldn’t stand it.

“You okay?” Blondie asked, pulling your attention back to the room. His voice was low, concerned. His hands still gentle on your hips.

You stared at the phone. Then back at him. Then smiled. “I’m more than okay.”

You didn’t block Lando. Not yet. Not because you wanted him back. Not because you had regrets. But because he needed to see. Really see. What he lost. What he let walk out of his life because he was too scared to meet you halfway. Too proud to fight. Too caught up in being adored to realise when you were exhausted from giving everything and getting half in return.

So no, you didn’t delete the message. You just turned the phone over and let it face down on the floor.

Then you let someone else take what he once thought was his forever. And fuck, it felt good.

[sturnixblogger]

fucked me there 1st ||sturniolos x bestie||

summary: you went to go surprise your boyfriend on his birthday to walk in on him fucking another girl. Cheating in you. He didn’t stop he just continued. But you were fucked there first.

Warning: mentions of sex, angst, emotional,fluff

You were excited to surprise your boyfriend for his birthday. You live with the triplets because your boyfriend said that his roommate Mia is super flirty. You respected that, and it was fine because you liked living with your best friends.

You got your boyfriend a birthday gift basket with candy and other really sweet things to fill up the basket. You obviously didn’t tell your boyfriend you were coming over because it was a surprise, but the triplets knew you were going to surprise him because they helped you pick out stuff to put in the basket.

As you’re driving to his apartment, you couldn’t contain your excitement to surprise him because you haven’t seen him in a couple days, since he said he had “work business” to deal with.

You arrived at his apartment ten minutes later. You grabbed the basket from the passenger seat and got out of the car. You were smiling so hard as you quickly walked into the building. When you arrived at his apartment room, you heard muffled noises but didn’t think much of it. You quietly unlocked the door and opened it.

But the scene behind the door was not something you ever thought in a million years would happen.

Your boyfriend was hovering over a girl. His roommate.

He quickly snapped his head toward you, his face showing a surprised look. But he didn’t stop.

Why didn’t he stop?

Your heart dropped. The basket was slipping out of your hands, and you felt tears swell in your eyes. You dropped the basket and ran out of the apartment, sobbing. You ran outside to your car but didn’t leave. You were too worked up to even drive. So you just sat there for a minute, replaying the thought of your boyfriend fucking another girl. The girl that was the reason you couldn’t live with him. The girl who was in the way of all the plans you wanted to do with your boyfriend.

You couldn’t stay there anymore, so you started to drive, still sobbing and screaming “why.” All you could think about was: how long was he fucking her? And how didn’t I know? Why did I trust him?

Once you arrived home, you speed-walked into the house, looking down to avoid conversation and eye contact with the triplets. But they immediately knew something was wrong.

“Y/n?” Matt says as they all watch you speed through the house, eventually starting to run. They all give each other worried and confused looks, and they decide to go check on you, trying to figure out what’s wrong.

When they reach your room, they knock on the door, but there’s no answer. Just the sound of papers ripping. You were in the room ripping pictures of you and him and the letters he used to write you. Chris hesitates but opens the door, and they’re all greeted with the sight of you sitting on the floor, sobbing while ripping papers.

“Sweetheart? What happened?” Nick says, immediately dropping beside you. You look up at all of them, eyes puffy and red.

“Can we go into the living room?” you ask. They all nod.

Once you’re all settled on the couch, with Chris and Nick sitting next to you, Chris speaks.

“Okay. What happened?”

You take a deep breath before trying to even speak.

“Carson cheated on me,” you say, as tears swell up in your eyes. You try not to let them fall.

It goes silent. Chris’s jaw clenches at the sound of hurt in your voice.

“Wanna tell us about it?” Nick says, rubbing your back.

You sigh, hesitating, but you nod.

“I walked into the apartment to see him hovered over a girl.” You squeeze your eyes shut, trying not to picture it in your mind again.

“It’s okay. Take your time,” Matt says reassuringly.

“The girl was his roommate. The girl he told me not to worry about. The girl that was the reason I couldn’t live with him or do much with him. And not to mention they were in the same spot and position he fucked me in last,” you say, rambling, forgetting to keep it TMI.

Fuck. Why did I say that?

Chris’s face drops at the last sentence you said.

“Sorry,” you say, looking down, embarrassed.

“Hey, it’s okay. You can talk about it,” Nick says as he squeezes you from the side.

“I’d rather only talk about that with you, Nick,” you say, not wanting to talk about your sex life in front of everyone.

“It’s fine. I don’t mind. I want to hear you, even if it’s TMI. Right, Matt?” Chris says with a slight smile, also waiting for Matt to answer.

“Oh… yeah, yeah,” Matt says, kind of uncomfortable, but wanting to let you get it off your chest.

You sigh, hesitating, but you really can’t keep it in.

“Okay, well…” You continue to ramble on about how it hurt. But it also hurt because that was how you and Carson did it. How he always whispered you were his only girl while y’all did stuff

Getting that off your chest made you feel better. You lost the urge to cry every second, though it still hurt. He was your boy. Seeing him doing the same things he did to you to another girl felt like a knife to the throat.

That wasn’t even the worst part, but it was the last thing you saw, so you wanted to talk about it the most before you started to cry about all the other sweet things he used to do… and was probably going to do for her now.

💌a/n: got bored and i have like five drafts don’t feel like doing those though rn. Yall likeeee??

taglist: @Kitty-meow-meow44 @courta13 @whore4chris @gayguycolorado @strxn- 2 @sturniolo-szn 2

divider by: @bernardsbendystraws

[imagines-random]

Beg for it

Pairings/Characters: Vi x reader

Summary: Nursing her after she got hurt in a fight.

Warnings: A bit of angst, some fluff and well… some light sprinkle of smut (Maybe bad writing and grammar lol. English isn’t my first language!)

Song: Hurricane by Halsey

A/n: first time writing smut kinda nervous

Vi sat on the edge of the bed, wincing as you pressed the warm towel mixed with cleaning alcohol on the wounds that adorned her face.

She had gotten into another fight with some dude that pissed her off, resulting in you cleaning and bandaging her wounds.

“I’m fine, Doll face. I’ve been in far worse, Ya’ know. I'm used to it.” She mumbled, Looking at you for a split second, setting her bloody hand on your knee.

“You are still hurt vi” you say not looking at her in the eyes.

Vi looked up at you, the corners of her lips turning into a soft smile. This side of Vi only you got to catch a glimpse of, the soft side of her.

She didn’t like worrying you, But she wasn’t going to lie. She was still in pain.

“ I know.. I’m fine. Don’t worry, sweetheart.“ She replied, as her hand slightly squeezed your knee.

As you look up at her you can’t help but think how beautiful she looks even when she is beaten up.

“You are so stupid.” You say with a sad frown and look away.

Vi’s hand gently tilted your chin, guiding your gaze to meet hers. Her eyes were filled with concern and regret. But she couldn’t deny the fact that she didn’t want you to be worried about her.

“Don’t give me that look. I’m fine, Doll.“ She spoke quietly, her thumb subconsciously rubbing against your chin.

“You could’ve gotten seriously hurt. Those dudes are not fucking around”

Vi let out a soft huff, her gaze softened as she looked into your eyes. She slowly shook her head, knowing you were most likely right.

”I’m built like a damn tank, sweetheart. Like hell I’d get that hurt from a little fight with those idiots.“She tried to reassure you, squeezing your knee again. Trying to pull a smirk on her face.

“I’m not laughing vi.” You say looking at her with a very serious expression.

Vi’s face fell, the forced smirk immediately wiped off of her face. She took a deep breath as she looked into your eyes once more.

“I know you aren’t, Doll.“ She said quietly, Her hand dropping down from your chin. Her gaze fell, looking at the blood on her knuckles.

“I was so worried-“

Vi’s heart ached as she heard the worry tone in your voice, and the words you whispered.

She reached out and gently took your hand into hers, intertwining them together.

“I’m here.“ She spoke softly, her thumb gently tracing against the back of your hand.

“Now. What about the next time you throw yourself into trouble? Hm? What then?“

Vi let out a soft sigh in response, her ears practically drooping at your stern question.

She didn’t have an answer. She didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t just stop fighting crime. It’s who she was. But at the same time, she didn’t want you to worry.

”… I-i.. I don’t know…“She mumbled quietly in response, her eyes darting away from yours.

You hated that answer but you knew she couldn’t stop, she couldn’t change this. This was her life. This is was her way of surviving but it still made you worry.

Vi’s face fell even more, feeling the disappointment and anger within you. She hated her response too.

But she didn’t know what to say, because she couldn’t promise you that she would be fine the next time.

She slowly let go of your hand, crossing her arms over her chest, avoiding looking at you.

“Stop that” you pull her hands away from her chest. “you don’t get to act like that”

Vi’s face was flushed with guilt, her eyes refusing to meet yours. She hated this. She hated making you worry like this. But she couldn’t help but feel guilty and ashamed for being unable to give you the answer you wanted.

”Doll- I, I promise…“She began to speak, but the words she tried to say got stuck in her throat.

You stop her mumbling by hugging her.

Vi’s heart skipped a beat as you pulled her into a hug, her eyes falling closed instinctively. At that moment, the guilt and shame she felt vanished, replaced by a sense of relief and comfort.

Her arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer to her as she buried her face in the crook of your neck.

“… I’m sorry, Doll...“

She mumbled softly, her voice slightly muffled against your skin.

“It’s okay. I get it. I’m just worried vi.”

Vi held you tightly against her, tightening her grip around you. She could hear the worry and fear in your voice, and it broke her heart.

She gently pressed her lips against your neck, her warm breath brushing against your skin as she spoke once more.

”I know.. I know.” Her grip on you tightened even more, as if she was afraid of letting you go, afraid of letting you out of her sight for a single moment.

”I’m sorry.. I’m sorry I made you worried..“

You look up at her. Vi slowly pulled back enough so she could look at you. Her eyes were filled with a mixture of guilt and softness, her expression filled with regret.

She gently cupped your cheek with her bruised hand, her fingers gently tracing against your skin.

”I didn’t mean to worry you.“ She spoke softly, her voice slightly cracking. She hated making you worried about her like this.

You kiss her “it’s okay”

Vi was caught by surprise at the sudden kiss, but melted into it immediately, pulling you closer to her. Her arms wrapped around your waist as she returned your kiss, the warmth and softness of your lips against hers sending waves of comfort throughout her body.

She gently pushed you back, laying you down on the bed, as she hovered over you, her fingers tracing against your cheek.

” I.. I’ll be more careful, okay?..“

You smile “Why can’t I stay mad at you?”

Vi chuckled softly, a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

”’cause you love me, That's why.“ She teased, moving to gently press kisses against your neck and jawline.

“I don’t” You stick your tongue out at her

Vi chuckled against your neck, her warm breath brushing against your skin.

”Oh yeah?“ She replied, moving to plant more kisses against your collarbone, her hands slowly snaking down your sides.

You let out a shaky breath at the contact.

Vi’s smile only grew wider upon hearing your moan, taking that as a cue to continue.

Her lips began to trail along your jawline, then slowly down to your collarbone, peppering your skin with soft kisses and gentle nips. Her hands slowly traveled down your sides, gently massaging the sides of your hips.

“You are still hurt-“

Vi pulled away from your neck, slightly panting, then let out a soft huff.

”I’m fine.“ She grumbled, then began to press more kisses and nips against your skin.

”I’d rather focus on you right now.“

Vi’s hands slowly began to push your shirt up, revealing more of your skin to her. Her lips and teeth gently ran along the newly exposed skin, leaving a trail of kisses and soft nips.

”You’re so damn beautiful..“ She mumbled against your skin.

Her words make you blush and smile softly. Vi chuckled against your skin, enjoying the way you reacted. She loved seeing the way your skin reddened at her compliments, it always amused her, and made her want to tease you even more.

Her lips continued to trail down your skin, her hands gently pulling your shirt up even more, revealing more of your torso to her. Her lips gently nipped and kissed at the exposed skin, slowly making their way down to your stomach.

Your eyes widen and your hands go to her hair. Vi’s breath hitched slightly as your hands tangled in her hair, her movements slightly stuttering for a moment.

She leaned into your touch, letting out a soft, content sigh. She loved the way your hands felt laced in her hair, it gave her a sense of comfort and belonging.

Her lips continued to trail lower, slowly making their way to your hips, leaving behind a trail of soft kisses and nips as they went.

“Please please vi”

Vi chuckled slightly, a soft smirk tugged at her lips as she heard the pleading tone in your voice. She loved teasing you, but she couldn’t deny that she loved hearing you beg like that.

Her lips gently nipped and kissed along the skin on your hip, her hands slowly pushed your shirt up even higher.

”You want something, Doll?” She teased, her voice low and slightly sultry.

“You” Vi’s smirk only widened at your simple response, her eyes darkening with desire.

”You want me? You already have me, sweetcheeks.“ She teased, leaning down to press a kiss against the exposed skin on your stomach. Her hands slowly slid up your sides, gently caressing your skin.

“Please vi“ Vi chuckled again, enjoying the way you were practically begging for her.

She moved to hover over you, her gaze darkened with desire, almost feral. She slowly leaned down, her lips a mere millimeter from your ear.

”Beg for it.“ She whispered lowly, her voice thick with hunger.

“W-what?”

Vi chuckled softly, enjoying how innocent your reaction was. She gently buried her face in the crook of your neck, nipping and kissing at the skin there.

"You heard me, sweetcheeks. Beg.“ She repeated lowly, her hands slowly tracing down your sides again.

a moan slipped out of your mouth

Vi smirked against your skin, her breath gently brushing against your ear.

”Come on, Doll. You can do better than that. Beg for me.” Her hands slightly squeezed your hips, pressing you against the mattress, as she continued to press kisses against your neck.

“No” Vi let out a huff of amusement, amused at your stubborn behavior.

She pulled away from your neck, looking down at you with a smirk on her face. Her hands moved to gently hold your wrists, pinning them down against the bedding, as she hovered over you.

”You're cute, Doll. But ‘please’ isn’t enough.“ She teased, pressing her knee in between your legs, gently spreading them apart.

“Fuck vi-“

Vi chuckled, loving your reaction as her knee pressed closer between your legs.

"That's better. Much better." She spoke, her voice dropping, growing slightly huskier.

"Now. Beg me to take you."

you pull her hair slightly “vi please” Vi closed her eyes, a soft groan escaping her lips as you tugged on her hair, the slight pain only adding to the pleasure.

"Mmm, that's better. But I still don't hear any real begging, sweetcheeks." She spoke, holding your wrists down onto the mattress more, as she slowly leaned down, her lips hovering near your ear again.

“I’m not begging. Your ego is already high enough”

Vi raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk playing at her lips.

"Is that a challenge, love?" She spoke lowly before leaning down, nipping at your earlobe while her free hand moved back to your hip, gently squeezing it.

"I bet I can make you beg."

“You can’t”

Vi’s smirk grew into a wicked grin at your words.

"Oh really?" She spoke, her grip on your wrists tightening slightly, as she hovered over you

"You’re gonna swallow those words, darling." She chuckled, her knee slowly pushed closer between your legs, slightly rubbing up against you.

Vi chuckled again, enjoying the moans and reactions that escaped your lips.

Her knee pressed closer between your legs, pushing against you, as she leaned her head down next to your ear, her breath gently brushing against your skin.

"See, Doll. I'm already making you moan and whine. It won't be long until you start begging for me to take you, right here, right now."

Your hand pulling more of her hair

This time, a much louder moan left her lips as you pulled at her hair, the sensation sending a shiver through her entire body.

"M-mhh.. careful, darling. You know I'm sensitive." She managed to grumble out, her knee against you, causing a small stutter within her sentence, as she tried to keep her composure.

Her hand still held your wrists down against the bedding, her eyes darkened further with need.

"But I suppose you're right. I've already made a mess of you. Look at how whiny and desperate you are, and I've barely even touched you." She spoke softly, her voice filled with pleasure, her knee slowly rubbing against you again.

a whine escapes your mouth

Vi chuckled in response, clearly loving the way you were whining and moaning.

"See? You're already such a mess, and all I’ve done is tease you a bit. Imagine how you'll be when I actually touch you.." She spoke lowly, her breath gently brushing against your neck. Her knee continued to press and rub against you, her hold on your wrists tightening slightly.

“Touch me now vi or I swear-“ Vi’s breath hitched as your words sunk in, and she let out a soft chuckle, her eyes darkening further with need.

"Feisty. But I can't just give you what you want, can I? That would be too easy. I love seeing you squirm, I love seeing you fall apart just from my touch alone" She spoke lowly, her knee slowly pressed more into you, as she leaned down, her lips gently pressed against your ear.

“Fuck this. Please vi-“

"Mmm, you're so desperate to feel me touch you, aren’t you? I can see it in your face, I can hear it in those cute little whines that come from your mouth. And I love it." She spoke softly, her knee still pressed between your legs, her breath gently brushing against your neck.

"But I'm going to make you wait a bit longer, darling. You’re such a mess already, I want to see how far I can push you before you finally beg me to touch you."

[maroonmused]

i need everyone to know that The Frost by Mitski is,, without a shadow of a doubt, a parksborn song

[fatedroses]

Back when the Black Wolf and White Lion were nothing more than freshbloods recently saved from an overtaken encampment, a string of nightly mishaps leads to yet another fateful encounter with the garlean princes. (They're in the tent next to them, and Titus will always demand his beauty sleep when he can get it at this age)

[stlllle]

Where Do We Go After This?

Fandom: Squid Game

Pairing: Nam-Gyu x Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Drama, Romance, Kissing, Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Implied violence, mention of death, oppressive environment, heavy emotional content

💌Author’s Note:

Hiiiiiii, I don’t know if this counts as a request but I guess it does (my sister found my blog and asked for this 😔).

Did I write this sad? YES. But honestly, I kinda liked it too, because life isn’t all about smut (though I did want at least something slightly soft from him).

That’s it really 🙂.

If you liked this and wanna request something, my requests are open (please read my rules before sending anything though!).

Masterlist — [link]

---

Where Do We Go After This?

The smell of that place was unbearable.

Rusty metal, sweat, blood, and that sour stench of fear in the air. It was like every breath got heavier, like each inhale stole a little more of whatever hope was left inside those walls.

Nam-Gyu was leaning against the cold wall, arms crossed, face locked in that pissed-off scowl he always wore. That constant look of distrust, eyes sharp and ready to break the nose of anyone who got too close.

But you knew better.

You knew that behind that mask of anger, he was just… Nam-Gyu. The same asshole who used to steal your cigarettes and complain about the taste. The same idiot who claimed not to care but would show up at your place at two in the morning, standing by your window in silence, a cigarette between his lips.

And it was that same Nam-Gyu looking at you now.

When no one else was around.

It was night — or whatever counted as night in that godforsaken place. Most of the makeshift beds were empty, the rest of the players too exhausted to pick fights, too rattled by the last game to do anything but breathe.

You moved closer, sitting beside him on the cold floor. His shoulders were tense, fists clenched, but loosened a little when you rested your head against his shoulder.

For a while, only the sound of your breathing filled the space.

— You should stay away from me, — he muttered, but didn’t move.

— Shut up, Nam-Gyu, — you murmured, your voice rough from exhaustion.

He let out a tiny laugh — barely there.

— Still bossing me around, huh? — he teased softly, leaning his head against yours.

You stayed like that for a while. His body warm against yours in that freezing, heartless room. You both knew you weren’t supposed to do this. Couldn’t afford to be this close. It was dangerous. Nam-Gyu couldn’t be seen as weak. Couldn’t be seen caring about anyone.

But in the shadows, in the corners where no one else was watching — it was different.

He reached out, brushing his rough fingers against yours and holding your hand. His skin was torn up, knuckles bruised and raw. You turned his palm upward, both of you staring at the scars, the marks. Your eyes met his.

Without a word, you tugged his sleeve up, revealing the tattoo on his forearm. That simple, careless mark you’d both gotten years ago on a fucked up night, drunk and laughing like nothing could touch you.

And there it was, on your arm too — a mirror of his.

Neither of you ever talked about what it meant. You didn’t have to.

Nam-Gyu traced a fingertip over the ink on your arm, eyes focused on the lines.

— I thought… — he started, his voice breaking a little.

You lifted your head, seeing his face soften. His eyes dropped, his mouth tight.

— I thought we’d get out of this, — he went on. — I thought… I don’t know. That we’d get fucked over together but still breathing.

You gave him a sad smile, pressing your forehead against his.

— I still want that.

He let out a shaky breath, closing his eyes.

— We can’t, ____. You know we can’t. Only one of us makes it out. And it sure as hell won’t be me.

— I don’t care about that, — you whispered, voice cracking.

Nam-Gyu pulled you closer, both hands on your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone.

— Yeah, you do. You’ve always been smarter than me. Always alive. I’m just… — he shook his head, frustrated with his own words. — I’m a fuck-up. Always have been.

You grabbed his face in both hands, forcing him to look at you.

— You’re mine.

His breathing stuttered, his eyes glassy. And before either of you could say anything else, he kissed you.

It was desperate. Messy. Like it might be the last chance either of you had to do it.

His mouth on yours, rough and needy, so painfully familiar. You whimpered into the kiss, your hands tangled in his hair as he pulled you into his lap like he needed you there to stay breathing.

— I don’t wanna lose you, — he mumbled against your lips, kissing your jaw, your neck, any bit of skin he could reach.

— Then don’t.

And you stayed like that, kissing and clinging to each other, his hands trembling against your hips, yours cradling his face, like you could keep the world from crumbling around you just by holding on.

When your breathing finally steadied, you rested against his shoulder again. His arm snaked around your back, holding you tight.

— If… if something happens… — he started.

— Shut up, Nam-Gyu.

— Just listen to me, damn it. — He sighed, voice shaking. — If it happens… you get out. You leave this hell and you live. And you remember me. The way I was. That day at the beach. The broken-down car. The tattoo.

You squeezed your eyes shut, the burn of unshed tears stinging.

— I’ll remember.

He kissed the top of your head, his scent surrounding you.

— Promise me.

— I promise.

Silence again. Just the sound of your racing hearts, the warmth of your bodies pressed together in the cold.

And for a second, it didn’t seem so bad.

For a second, it was still you and him.

He lifted his hand, tracing the ink on your arm again.

— Where do we go after this? — he whispered.

You looked up at him, and though you wanted to, you didn’t have an answer.

— Wherever you are. — you replied, kissing him one more time.

And in that moment, it was enough.

[gigiii1sblog]

IN THE GLOW OF HIS WINDOW 004

Warning: contains sexual content, angst, tension, fluff, dirty talk, unprotected sex.

Chapter Four: More Than What The River Could Wash Away.

CHRIS POV:

It didn’t start in her bed.

Or the balcony.

Or the night she let me crawl through her window like I belonged there.

It started before that.

Way before.

Back when we were just kids on the same apartment complex.

Back when my brothers were loud and easy and open—

And I was already the quiet one.

She used to ride a pink bike.

Little streamers on the handles. Hair in braids. Always looking back when she rode past our window like she was hoping someone was watching.

I never waved.

But I saw her.

Every time.

She was friends with Matt and Nick. Always around.

Always close, but never with me.

She never tried.

Not like the other girls.

She’d look at me like I was made of glass and rain. Like I’d disappear if she stared too long.

And part of me wanted to.

Part of me didn’t know what to do with a girl who looked at me like I was more than what I gave.

Then we got older.

She stopped riding bikes.

Started reading instead.

Started dancing in her room at night.

Started leaving her window open, just a crack.

And I started watching.

I told myself it didn’t mean anything.

That I was just bored. Curious. Fucked up.

But I noticed things.

The way she underlined quotes in her notebook.

The way she tilted her head when she thought too hard.

The way she looked at the world like it hurt her and amazed her at the same time.

And worse—

I knew she watched me, too.

She thought I didn’t see it.

But I did.

When I smoked on the balcony? She looked.

When I passed her in the hall, hoodie up, earbuds in? She looked.

She tried to pretend she didn’t. But her eyes always gave her away.

Like she was memorizing me without permission.

And part of me let her.

The night I really felt it?

It was late. I was playing music loud, door open, hoodie half-off, pacing my room.

I looked up, and her light was on.

She was just sitting there, cross-legged on her bed, notebook open.

But she wasn’t writing.

She was watching me.

Not in some creepy way. Not bold.

Just quiet.

Like she was trying to figure me out.

And I remember thinking—

God, if she ever touched me, I’d burn for her.

I just never thought she actually would.

And now?

I got everything I wanted.

Her mouth. Her body. Her trust.

And I ruined it.

I left her raw and real in her bed, twice then spit her name into the air like a challenge in a room full of strangers.

And I deserve the silence she gave me.

Because she’s been watching me her whole life.

And I didn’t even see her until it was too late.

Y/N POV:

It’s been four days since the party.

Four days since he said it out loud.

Four days since I walked out and didn’t look back.

But his voice still rings in my head like it left an echo behind.

“She let me in.”

God. He said it like I was something he let happen.

Like I was the mistake he didn’t know how to hold quietly.

I’ve replayed every moment. Every word.

The way he looked at me across the room.

The way he touched my thigh like it meant something.

The way he crawled out of my life the same way he crawled in, quiet and unannounced.

And I’ve told myself: That was it.

No more windows open.

No more waiting.

I won’t be his halfway home anymore.

Still—

I can’t help it.

I glance at the balcony sometimes.

Not because I want him there.

Just because it’s where he was.

Like a phantom limb.

Missing. Still aching.

⸻

It’s the fifth night when I find it.

The moon is not fully up yet. The sky is soft and dark blue-colored.

I open my curtains. Push open the glass door.

And it’s there, on the floor of my balcony:

A single white Tulip.

A small, folded piece of paper.

A book of poetry I’ve never seen before. The title reads:

“Loving Someone Who’s Learning How.”

I stare at it.

I don’t touch it at first.

It feels too delicate. Too deliberate.

But my hands move before my heart can stop them.

I unfold the paper.

handwriting.

Messy. Rushed. Real.

“I’m sorry. Can we talk?” —Chris

I sit down slowly.

Fingers trace the worn edges of the book.

There are pages dog-eared. Passages highlighted.

He read this.

He read this for me.

And that does something awful and beautiful to my chest.

Because he has never said the right thing.

He barely said anything at all.

But this?

This is him trying.

Not barging in. Not climbing through the window.

Just asking.

Quietly.

Gently.

Like maybe this time… he means to stay.

I don’t know what I’ll say yet.

But I hold the flower to my lips.

⸻

I’ve had the book in my hands for twenty minutes.

Still on page twelve.

Not because I’m slow.

Because I keep rereading the same line.

It’s one he underlined, twice, actually.

A faded, jagged underline like he couldn’t help himself.

“Some people don’t say ‘I love you.’ They say, ‘I didn’t sleep. I was thinking about you.’”

They say, ‘I’m sorry I disappeared.’

I stare at it until the words blur.

Because suddenly it’s not poetry.

It’s him.

⸻

The knock comes just after midnight.

Not loud. Not desperate.

Soft. Knuckle-to-glass.

I don’t need to look to know it’s him.

But I do.

And there he is.

Christopher.

Hands in his hoodie pocket. Hair messy like he ran it through too many times. That same look on his face, the one that says he’s trying to build a sentence without knocking something over inside himself.

I slide the window open an inch.

He doesn’t speak right away.

Just says, “You read it?”

I nod once. “Yeah.”

He exhales. Like that mattered more than I’ll ever know.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he says quietly. “I just..look, we don’t even know each other. Not really.”

That stings more than it should.

But then he adds, “That’s my fault.”

And my heart settles again.

“I’m not good at this. I mean, you know that,” he smirks weakly. “You probably knew it before I did.”

I wait.

He looks up. Eyes blue and honest.

“But I meant it. Every page I gave you. Every word. I’m sorry I made you feel like a secret. You were the opposite of that.”

There’s a pause.

Then he leans a little closer to the window, voice almost nervous.

“Come with me.”

I blink. “Where?”

He shrugs. “Somewhere not here. You like cotton candy?”

My laugh surprises me. “Are you taking me to a fair?”

“Maybe,” he says, that little crooked smile starting to rise. “Maybe I’m trying to do something right for once.”

I hesitate.

Then—

I grab a hoodie.

Climb out the window.

Land softly beside him on the pavement.

Our arms don’t touch.

But the air between us is warmer now.

And for the first time in days, I don’t feel like something broken.

I feel like something beginning. The fair smells like sugar and summer.

Lights blink in every direction, pinks, golds, electric blues.

Kids scream from rides. Music spills from booths.

Everything is loud, chaotic, alive.

And somehow, he found the quiet inside it.

Chris walks beside me, not touching, not talking much.

Just here.

Present.

Hoodie sleeves pushed up. His curls ruffled from wind.

His expression softer than I’ve ever seen it.

I don’t say anything either.

We just walk. Past glowing stands and sticky hands and couples holding prizes.

Until we stop at a booth.

“I’m gonna win you something,” he says, eyeing the ring toss like he’s about to rob it.

I snort. “You think I’m that easy?”

“I think you’re impossible,” he mutters, glancing at me. “But I’m trying.”

And something in my chest folds a little.

He misses the first few.

Then he lands one. Dead center.

The bored carnie shrugs and hands him a plush black cat with crooked whiskers and button eyes.

He holds it out to me. Doesn’t say a word. I take it.

Because of course I do.

Later, we share a paper cone of cotton candy.

Not romantic. Not perfect.

It gets stuck to my fingers and I pretend I hate it.

But he watches me like it’s the first real color he’s seen in months.

Like I’m the most fascinating thing at this entire fair.

When we reach the ferris wheel, the line is short.

He hesitates.

“You good with heights?” he asks.

“I’m good with pretending I am,” I say.

He laughs. It’s real. Warm.

And I realize I haven’t heard it before.

Not like that.

The wheel lifts us up slow.

The wind presses my hoodie to my skin.

Chris is quiet beside me, fingers laced in his lap, gaze fixed on the ground below.

I glance sideways.

He’s not breathing like he’s scared.

He’s breathing like this is the first time he’s been still.

“Why did you come back?” I ask.

My voice is soft. The wind carries it like a secret.

He doesn’t answer right away.

“Because I kept seeing you in everything.”

He looks at me.

“Books. Music. Windows. Fucking dreams. You wouldn’t leave.”

“I didn’t want you to,” he says.

My breath catches.

And then, slowly, he lifts his hand.

Not to touch my face.

Just to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear.

Like it’s sacred.

Like it’s something he doesn’t deserve, but hopes to earn.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “For all of it. For how I touched you like you mattered and left like you didn’t. That was never the truth.”

I blink hard.

Say nothing.

And then he leans in.

Not to kiss me.

But to press his lips, gently, right to the center of my forehead.

Like a promise.

Like a wound he’s trying to close.

When the ride stops, neither of us moves for a second.

We just sit there, above the world.

Somewhere between what we were and whatever comes next.

⸻

It’s almost 2 a.m. when we walk back through our neighborhood.

The streets are mostly empty, except for a raccoon that scurries across someone’s yard and a sprinkler that won’t stop ticking.

Chris is quiet beside me, his hands deep in his hoodie pockets.

Our arms brush sometimes. Neither of us moves away.

He doesn’t look at me. Not until we reach my window.

Then he stops.

I do too.

The silence hums around us.

And then—

“I’m sorry. For the party.”

His voice is low. But honest.

I glance up.

He’s looking at the ground like it might forgive him before I do.

“I shouldn’t have said what I did. I was angry. Stupid. Jealous. Doesn’t matter.”

“I said it to hurt you. And that’s the part I keep replaying.”

I stare at him.

Because I know it’s the truth.

Not just the words.

But the guilt. The regret.

It’s stitched into the way his shoulders are hunched, the way his jaw is clenched like he’s mad at himself.

I take a breath.

“It’s okay,” I say quietly.

He looks at me like I just said something he doesn’t deserve.

But I’m not finished.

“It wasn’t okay when it happened,” I add. “But… tonight made up for some of it.”

A slow smile twitches at the corner of his mouth.

“You had fun?”

I nod. “I did.”

“Even when I missed four ring tosses in a row?”

I smirk. “Especially then.”

“Even with my hoodie smelling like cotton candy and regret?”

“Very on-brand,” I whisper.

He chuckles.

And for a moment—

Just a moment.

It feels like we’ve stepped into something new. Something not built on pain or tension.

Just… us.

Two kids under porchlight shadows.

Trying.

He looks up at my window.

“You want me to climb through like old times?” he says, half-teasing, half-serious.

I shake my head. “Not tonight.”

He nods. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t push.

Just accepts it.

“Goodnight, poet,” he murmurs.

And as he turns to go—

I say it back.

“Goodnight, Chris.”

CHRIS POV:

My phone buzzes at 10:47 a.m.

It’s not a call. Not a long text.

Just a message from a number I don’t know but already know.

“You busy?”

“Bring water and don’t wear black.”

“Trust me.”

No name.

No explanation.

Just coordinates she dropped like breadcrumbs.

And me?

I’m already pulling on a shirt and grabbing my keys.

The spot is thirty minutes outside the city.

Woods and brush lining a narrow road that most people forget exists.

There’s no gate. No sign.

Just a little path worn into the grass, leading toward sound—

the soft rush of water.

I follow it.

And then I see her.

She’s sitting cross-legged near the riverbank, back against a sloped tree trunk, hair up in a lazy clip, sunglasses pushed into her curls.

There’s a book in her lap and an unopened bottle of lemonade next to her ankle.

She doesn’t hear me at first.

Or maybe she does.

Maybe she just likes making me wait.

When I step on a branch, she glances up.

“You made it.”

Like she didn’t know I would.

She scoots over wordlessly. I sit beside her.

We both stare at the water.

It’s not loud.

Not deep.

But it moves steady, like it knows where it’s going.

“You come here a lot?” I ask, voice low.

She nods. “Since I was twelve.”

“Why here?”

She shrugs. “Because no one else does.”

I glance at her.

She’s already reading again, legs tucked under her. She’s calm here in a way I’ve never seen—

like the river matches her rhythm.

It makes something quiet bloom in my chest.

“Why’d you bring me?”

She closes her book.

Looks at me.

“Because I wanted to see if you’d fit in a place I love.”

And fuck.

That does something to me.

We sit in silence for a while.

The kind that doesn’t itch.

She offers me the book eventually.

Flips it to a page.

It’s another poem. Of course.

“The ones we let in quietly are the ones who teach us the loudest things.”

I read it again.

And again.

She doesn’t say what she means.

She doesn’t have to.

Before we leave, she stands and stretches, then slips off her shoes and steps ankle-deep into the river.

“Come on,” she says, looking back at me.

“You serious?”

“What’s the point of feeling everything if you never do anything?”

She splashes me.

Fully splashes me.

I stare.

Then follow her in.

And we laugh.

We really laugh.

Water to our hips.

Sun warming the back of my neck.

And for the first time since I can remember—

I’m not thinking about how to run.

I’m thinking about staying.

Y/N POV:

The river is cold at first.

But it’s the kind of cold that wakes you up.

That makes your blood fizz and your pulse race just from being alive.

I’m ankle-deep, laughing, flicking water toward him.

Chris is watching me.

Not smiling.

Just watching.

His hoodie’s still on, but his eyes haven’t left me since I stepped in.

Like he’s trying to memorize something he knows he’ll never deserve.

“You coming in or what?”

He doesn’t answer.

Just pulls the hoodie off.

His shirt clings to his chest in the heat, hair damp with sweat.

He steps forward, slow, like the river is glass and I’m standing in the middle of it.

When the water reaches his thighs, he exhales hard through his nose.

“Jesus. It’s freezing.”

“Told you not to wear black.”

“You didn’t say anything about hypothermia.”

I smile, but it slips when he gets close.

Too close.

The river moves around us, soft and steady.

But the air between us?

It’s crackling.

His hands are at his sides.

Mine are still dripping.

I don’t touch him.

But I feel him.

The way his eyes drop to my mouth.

The way his breath hitches when I push a wet curl off my forehead.

“You always look at me like that?” I whisper.

He steps closer. Water ripples between us.

“Only when you’re not looking.”

Then his hand is on my jaw.

His thumb brushes under my cheekbone. His fingers press behind my ear.

And his forehead touches mine, wet hair, hot breath, heartbeat in sync with mine.

“Say stop,” he whispers.

I don’t.

I don’t even blink.

Then he kisses me.

And it’s not soft.

It’s not delicate or slow.

It’s months of tension.

Of windows and whispers and wrong timing and too much silence.

It’s a moan caught in the back of my throat when his hand moves down to my waist, pulling me closer, water sloshing between our bodies.

It’s his other hand in my hair, tugging gently, guiding my mouth back to his when I try to breathe.

“Fuck—” he mutters into my neck, “you taste like honey and heat, I swear to God.”

My hands slip under his wet shirt, nails dragging down his stomach, and he groans, head tilting back, jaw clenched like he’s losing himself.

“Here?” I whisper, stunned at myself.

“Unless you want me to stop.”

I shake my head.

“Then come here.”

He lifts me.

Hands under my thighs, lips crashing into mine again as he walks us toward the deeper edge.

I wrap around him like I was meant to.

The cold is gone.

All that’s left is his breath in my mouth, my name on his tongue, the water rocking around us while he presses into me, slow and hard and desperate.

“You feel like everything I’ve been avoiding,” he gasps.

“Then don’t avoid me.”

I swear I see something flicker behind his eyes at that.

Something soft and wild and scared.

But it vanishes when I roll my hips and he rolls his eyes cursing under his breath like he’s praying with it.

We lose time in the water.

Lose words.

Lose reason.

The world is just hands and breath and aching, soaking want.

His mouth on my neck.

My fingers in his hair.

His hips locked to mine like he’s afraid I’ll float away.

When we finally pull apart, chests heaving, legs trembling, lips swollen.

We’re still in the river.

Still holding onto each other.

But the look in his eyes isn’t just lust.

It’s longing.

It’s real.

And I think, maybe—

So is this.

⸻

The car smells like wet cotton and river moss and something warmer, something him.

I’m in the passenger seat, legs curled under me, water still clinging to the ends of my hair.

Chris is quiet as he drives.

One hand on the wheel. One resting on his thigh.

Neither of us speaks.

But it’s not uncomfortable.

It’s just… still.

Like our bodies are still trying to come down from the way we touched.

The way he said my name.

The way we didn’t even pretend to take it slow.

I glance at him.

His jaw’s tight, eyes fixed ahead.

But every few seconds, he looks at me.

Then back at the road.

Like he’s checking that I’m still here.

That I haven’t vanished with the current.

“You good?” he asks eventually, his voice low.

I nod. “Yeah. You?”

“Working on it.”

We both laugh softly.

And it feels like air returning to my lungs.

When he pulls into the driveway, the sun’s starting to dip.

Our neighborhood looks the same, quiet, safe, familiar.

But everything in me feels different.

I’m about to thank him when the front door opens.

And out steps—

“You’re kidding me,” Nick says, arms crossed, staring at us like he’s caught us sneaking out of hell.

“Why are you wet?”

Chris sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose. “Really?”

“Why. Are you wet.” Nick repeats, grinning now. “And why is she wet too? Should I call Mom? Should I—”

“Nick,” I say, voice warning but half-laughing.

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs. “This looks suspiciously like the plot of a very bad Wattpad story.”

Chris grabs his hoodie from the back, slings it over one shoulder.

He doesn’t even try to explain.

Nick’s eyebrows rise.

“So no denial? Damn, okay.”

Chris just walks past him.

But before he goes inside, he glances back at me.

Eyes holding something warm.

Something almost tender.

“Text me when you dry off.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

Nick turns to me slowly.

“Girl.”

“What.”

“What did the river ever do to you,” he says, dramatically. “Because you clearly took it personally.”

I shove his arm, laughing as I head for the door.

“Let me shower.”

“Oh no. Not before you tell me everything.”

“Nick—”

“Everything, Y/N.”

⸻

I’m fresh out of the shower, hair damp and skin flushed, towel wrapped like armor.

My bedroom smells like vanilla and riverwater.

Nick throws my door open with zero shame.

“Okay. Spill. Start from the second he texted you to the second you climbed back through that window.”

“Do you ever knock?”

“Do you ever not look like a girl who just got ruined and reborn in the same afternoon?”

I groan, throwing on a shirt and shorts.

Nick flops dramatically across my bed like he owns it.

“So? You and Chris. What’s going on?”

I sit at the edge of the bed, exhaling slow.

“We kissed.”

Nick raises an eyebrow. “That’s a cute summary. Try again.”

I pause.

Then I tell him everything.

“He left a flower on my balcony. A note. And this book ‘Loving Someone Who’s Learning How.’”

Nick’s face softens instantly. “No. He didn’t.”

“He did. He underlined this line—‘Some people don’t say I love you. They say I didn’t sleep. I was thinking about you.’”

Nick’s hand flies to his chest. “My God. That boy writes in italics.”

I laugh. But there’s something quiet under it.

“And then… he knocked on my window and took me to the fair.”

Nick sits up straighter. “What kind of date-level are we talking here?”

“He won me this ugly cat plush. Let me eat all the cotton candy. Took me on the ferris wheel.”

Nick is already screaming into a pillow.

“And then?” he muffles. “What happened after?”

“We walked home. He apologized. For the party. For everything.”

“And?”

“And then today,” I say softly, “I took him to the river.”

Nick blinks. “Your reading spot?”

I nod.

“And we got in the water. And then it got… kind of intense.”

His mouth drops open. “You didn’t.”

“We did.”

“IN THE RIVER?!”

“Nick—”

“THE ACTUAL BODY OF WATER?!”

“NICK.”

“I’m not judging!” he says, hands up. “I’m celebrating. That’s like folklore-core. That’s nymph behavior.”

I collapse into laughter. And then quiet.

He sees it.

“Hey,” he says gently, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say. “It just… it wasn’t like it sounds.”

“How did it feel?”

I chew my lip. Think of the way Chris looked at me, forehead to mine, breathless.

“Like something we both didn’t know we needed.”

⸻

Later, when he leaves to go grab snacks, I grab my phone.

[Y/N – 10:42 p.m.]

hey, i dried off

[Chris – 10:43 p.m.]

good

did Nick grill you lmaooo

[YN – 10:44 p.m.]

he knows everything

even about the book

and the flower

and the cat you won me

and the river

so basically, we’re exposed😭

[Chris – 10:45 p.m.]

that sounds about right

you didn’t tell him about the poem, did you?😣

[YN – 10:45 p.m.]

i did…

i told him how you underlined it

how you picked a book you thought i’d love

[Chris – 10:46 p.m.]

fuck

you’re gonna ruin me 😓

My heart flutters.

So I write back:

[YN – 10:47 p.m.]

you ruined me first.

but in a good way.

There’s a long pause.

Then—

[Chris – 10:49 p.m.]

you’re the only thing i’ve ever wanted to get right.

⸻

Nick pokes his head back into the room.

“You good?”

I nod.

Still staring at the screen.

Still smiling.

“Yeah. I really, really am.”

CHRIS POV:

The controller’s on my lap.

The game’s still playing, but I’m not.

Matt’s sitting across from me, scrolling his phone, AirPods in.

He hasn’t looked at me once.

But I know he knows.

It’s like that with him, he doesn’t need to ask to feel it.

I clear my throat.

He glances up.

“You busy?”

He shrugs. “Nah.”

I sit up, rub the back of my neck.

The room smells like In N Out and cologne and whatever candle Nick lit earlier.

The air’s heavy.

“I need to tell you something,” I say.

He pauses the music.

Doesn’t blink.

Just says:

“It’s about Y/N”

I look at him.

He already knows.

Of course he does.

I nod.

“We’re… I don’t know. It’s not casual. Not just—”

I stop. “It’s not nothing.”

Matt looks at me for a long moment.

Then sets his phone down.

“Since when?”

“Since a couple days after the party”

“The one where you made a scene?”

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t react.

Doesn’t laugh.

Just leans back on his hands.

“Did she start it?”

I hesitate.

“No. I did. She just, let me.”

Matt studies me.

“Did she know what she was walking into?”

That lands heavier than I expected.

“No,” I admit. “But neither did I.”

There’s a long silence.

Then Matt sighs.

“Chris. You don’t do things halfway. You never have.”

I say nothing.

“And she’s not just some girl. You know that, right?”

“I know.”

“So don’t do that thing where you pull her in, then push her away the second it feels real.”

I nod, jaw tight.

“Because I like her,” Matt adds. “And I don’t want to have to choose between being your brother and her friend.”

That hits.

Hard.

“You won’t,” I say quietly.

“Don’t make me.”

Matt’s voice isn’t angry.

It’s calm.

Firm.

Protective.

Of her.

Of me.

Of what we could ruin if we’re not careful.

He stands to leave.

Pauses at the door.

“Does she make you better?”

I blink.

“Yeah.”

He nods once.

“Then don’t fuck it up.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

Leaving me in the dark, heart pounding, trying to be the kind of person she already thinks I am.

@izzylovesmatt @riggysworld @amiraisafreakokaysorry @ansteeze @pair-of-pantaloons @kitty-meow-meow44 @sturnslux3

@kalel2005 @sarahsturnn

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@alinagrace11 @beardedbernard

@matthewswifeyy @blindedheartp

@crypticallycruelwarden

@jaybirdie34

@courta13 @chriss-slutt

@chrissturniolobendmeovernow

[mcybree]

man I wanna get in fh related fandom discourse but in like a quiet way where we all go around and directly share notes with one another. maybe a power point presentation is involved