#it was unbearable i felt like i was choking on air when they were close to each other

[m4rv3l-girl]

Hi! I was wondering if you could maybe do a smut with Bucky where the reader has like a choking kink?😅😂 I got the idea based off the song "if you think I'm pretty" by Artemas. Thank you! Great writing btw!

Say please

Warnings: Choking kink. Allusions to sex. Language.

The tension between them had always been a tangible thing, a charged current crackling in the air whenever they shared the same space.

Y/N had met Bucky Barnes under less-than-friendly circumstances—both thrown together on a mission that neither had wanted. She thought he was insufferable. He thought she was reckless. Every interaction since had been a verbal sparring match, each word laced with challenge, each glance a test of dominance.

It was a game they played. A slow, infuriating, addictive game.

And now? Now she was stuck with him in a safe house, the both of them nursing the wounds of a mission gone wrong, tension thick as the smoke still clinging to their clothes.

"You really don't know when to quit, do you?" Bucky muttered, pressing a rag to the cut on his temple.

Y/N snorted, peeling off her tactical vest. "Says the guy who threw himself in front of a grenade instead of just letting me handle it."

"Yeah? And you'd be dead if I hadn't."

"Please." She rolled her eyes, shoving past him toward the kitchen, but his hand shot out, gripping her wrist just enough to halt her steps.

That was the thing about Bucky—about them. He never let her get the last word.

"You got a death wish, sweetheart?" he murmured, voice dipping low, almost thoughtful. His fingers flexed around her wrist, not painful, just… firm. Daring.

Y/N felt a slow, simmering heat curl down her spine. "And if I do?" she countered, voice just as soft, just as dangerous.

Something flickered in his blue eyes, something dark and assessing. His gaze dropped to her throat for the briefest second before snapping back to her eyes.

He let her go.

Y/N ignored the way her pulse spiked.

The hours crawled by, the safe house suffocating with its too-small walls and the charged silence between them. Y/N spent most of it patching herself up, avoiding Bucky’s gaze when she caught him watching her.

She swore she could still feel his hand on her wrist. The ghost of his grip lingered, a brand against her skin, making her pulse jump every time she thought about it. She hated it. Hated that she was still thinking about it.

Y/N wasn’t the type to get rattled, especially not over something as stupid as Bucky Barnes and his unbearable, insufferable, way-too-steady presence. But tonight, there was something different. Something brewing under the surface, coiling tighter each time their eyes met.

And he kept watching her.

Every time she moved, every time she stretched an aching muscle or adjusted the hem of her torn tactical shirt, his gaze followed. Calculated, unreadable. He wasn’t being subtle, and it was starting to get under her skin.

"You got a problem?" she snapped, finally breaking the silence, not bothering to look up as she wiped the blood off her forearm.

"Yeah," Bucky drawled from the other side of the room. "You're bad at first aid."

Y/N huffed, rolling her eyes. "Thanks for the expert medical advice, Sergeant."

"Seriously," he continued, pushing off the wall and crossing the room toward her, those damn heavy boots making his approach feel deliberate. "You're gonna get an infection."

She scoffed, but before she could brush him off, he crouched beside her, his flesh fingers taking her arm—not rough, not soft, just assertive. He pulled her hand away from the half-cleaned gash on her forearm, inspecting it with a furrowed brow.

Y/N stiffened. She wasn’t used to him touching her this much. Hell, they were usually too busy arguing to ever be this close.

His grip was warm, solid, and it sent an unwilling shiver down her spine.

"I'm fine," she muttered, trying to pull away, but his fingers tightened—not hard, just enough to remind her that he was stronger.

"Hold still," he ordered, reaching for the antiseptic. "Or don’t. Doesn’t bother me if it stings more."

Y/N glared at him, but it didn’t have the usual bite. It was hard to be properly pissed off when his hands were on her, when his scent was all leather and sweat and something unmistakably him, wrapping around her and making it harder to breathe.

He dabbed the antiseptic over the wound with frustrating gentleness, like he wasn’t the same man who had spent the last six months infuriating her at every turn.

She clenched her jaw. Why is this so fucking tense?

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She and Bucky weren’t like this. They fought. They bickered. They threw punches on the sparring mat when words weren’t enough. But this? This slow, suffocating heat curling between them—this was new.

His vibranium fingers trailed up her arm absentmindedly, like he wasn’t even thinking about it.

She was.

Y/N’s stomach clenched, her heart hammering against her ribs. His thumb brushed over the inside of her wrist, right over her pulse, and she knew he could feel it. Knew he could tell exactly what he was doing to her.

Bucky’s lips twitched, but he didn’t say anything. Just finished tending to her wound with that irritating smirk still playing at the corner of his mouth.

When he finally let go, her skin burned where his fingers had been.

"There," he murmured, voice lower now, almost teasing. "All better."

Y/N flexed her fingers, pretending like she wasn’t trying to shake off the feeling of his touch.

"Great," she deadpanned, standing too fast. "Now go be insufferable somewhere else."

Bucky chuckled, slow and knowing, but he didn’t argue. He just sat back against the wall, stretching his legs out, arms folded across his chest. Watching her again.

Y/N turned away, trying to ignore the heat creeping up her neck.

She didn’t succeed.

By the time night fell, exhaustion weighed on her, but sleep wouldn't come—not with the heat still lingering beneath her skin, not with the ghost of his touch still burning on her wrist.

She shifted restlessly in the cot, the mattress squeaking.

A sigh sounded from the other side of the room. "You keep moving like that, you're gonna drive me insane."

Y/N turned her head, finding Bucky sitting in the shadows, arms crossed, his vibranium fingers tapping against his bicep. His stare was steady, unreadable.

"You already are insane," she shot back, but it came out breathier than she intended.

Bucky's lips quirked.

Then he stood, moving with slow, deliberate steps until he loomed over her, forcing her to tip her head back to meet his gaze.

"You like pushing me, don't you?" His voice was smooth, but there was an edge to it, something razor-sharp and knowing.

Y/N swallowed, pulse hammering. "You make it easy."

Bucky hummed. He reached out—not fast, not hesitant, just inevitable—and brushed his knuckles along her throat. A whisper of a touch. Testing.

Y/N's breath caught.

His smirk deepened.

"Thought so," he murmured.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She said, nothing more than a mere squeak.

He just hummed, looking at her deeply as if contemplating.

“You’re into choking. I guessed.”

And then his hand wrapped around her throat.

Not squeezing, not yet. Just holding. A tease, a promise, a warning.

Y/N's fingers curled into the sheets, heat flooding through her veins, something low and needy twisting in her stomach.

Bucky leaned down, his breath warm against her lips, his thumb tracing a slow, taunting line along her pulse.

"Say please."

But she didn’t.

Instead, she rolled onto her side, facing away from him, her back a silent wall that she hoped would keep him at bay. Her heart was battering at her sternum.

Bucky's hand hovered for a moment, as if surprised by her lack of response. Then it dropped away. "Sorry." he murmured quietly, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through the quiet room.

Y/N tensed, the word echoing through her like a gunshot. It was the last thing she expected from him.

He took a step back, his boots scraping against the floor, and she felt the space between them grow wider than the room could ever be. "I shouldn't have—"

"It's fine," she interrupted, her voice tight. "Just don't—do that again."

He nodded, his silhouette stark against the moonlit window. "Won't."

The quiet stretched between them, thick as tar. Y/N could almost feel the thunder rolling in, could almost taste the electricity in the way his eyes never left her, even as he turned away.

The silence was a living thing, wrapping around them, tightening until she couldn't breathe.

And then she did it.

Y/N rolled onto her back, meeting his gaze with a challenge she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in.

"Please," she whispered, the word barely a breath, but it seemed to fill the room, to echo in the shadows.

Bucky's eyes widened, the shock in them almost comical if she wasn’t so deadly serious. He searched her face for some sign that she was joking, that this was just another round in their never-ending bout of one-upmanship. But she didn't flinch, didn't back down.

Slowly, with a gravity that made the air in the room thicken, he leaned in again, his hand reaching out to cup her cheek. The calloused pad of his thumb brushed over her cheekbone, sending a shiver through her that she didn’t bother to hide.

Y/N’s breath stuttered as his thumb continued to trace the line of her jaw, the warmth of his palm a stark contrast to the coolness of the room. Her heart was racing, and she could feel the blood pulsing beneath his touch.

His gaze dropped to her mouth, and she knew he was thinking the same thing she was. The anticipation was almost unbearable, a silent question hanging in the air.

Then, with a soft growl, he leaned in, his hand sliding around to the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair. The touch was firm but gentle, a promise of what was to come.

Bucky's thumb pressed against her jaw, guiding her to tilt her head back, exposing her throat. His eyes never left hers, the blue depths filled with something that looked a lot like hunger.

Y/N's breathing grew shallow, her pulse racing as she waited for it, the moment when he'd finally close the distance, when he'd finally give in to whatever this was that had been building between them for so long.

And then it happened. His hand tightened, not painfully, but enough to make her aware of his strength. He bent closer, his breath warm against her skin, and she felt the pressure of his palm against her throat, the tips of his fingers just grazing her pulse.

He didn't squeeze. Not really. It was more of a gentle hold, a silent declaration that he could if he wanted to, but he didn't. It was a heady feeling, a mix of fear and desire that made her knees weak.

For a heartbeat, they remained that way, locked in a silent dance of power and submission.

And then, just as suddenly, he let go, his hand falling away like a lead weight.

Y/N gasped, her heart hammering, the sudden release leaving her dizzy. She reached up, her own hand trembling as she touched the spot where he'd held her, as if to reassure herself she was still in control.

Bucky stepped back, his eyes on her like he was waiting for a reaction, for her to push him away or to demand more. But she just lay there, watching him, breathless, the air around them charged.

The silence was a living, pulsing entity, wrapping them in anticipation.

Then, she sat up, her eyes never leaving his, and reached for the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head in one swift motion. The fabric whispered against her skin, and the room grew hotter. She tossed it aside, leaving her in a bra that barely contained the fullness of her breasts.

Bucky's eyes flickered to the expanse of her exposed skin, his breath hitching slightly. The hand that had been at her throat curled into a fist at his side, as if fighting the urge to reach out again.

"What are you doing?" he rasped, the question laced with a warning, with the thirst of a man who'd seen too much war and hadn't tasted peace in a very long time.

Y/N met his gaze, her own eyes dark with a challenge that mirrored his. "What does it look like?"

He took a step back, his boots echoing in the stillness of the safe house. "We can't," he said, the words coming out forced, as if he didn’t quite believe them himself.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, the challenge in her eyes unmistakable. "Why not?"

Bucky's jaw tightened, the muscles in his neck standing out like cables. "Because—" He paused, his voice gruff. "Because you're my teammate, and this—" He gestured between them, at the air that seemed to crackle and pop. "This isn't a good idea."

"Why?"

The word hung between them, a simple question that seemed to hold the weight of the world. Y/N could feel the tension coil tighter around her chest, a strange mix of desire and frustration.

"Because it complicates things," Bucky said finally, his voice tight. "Because we're in the middle of a war, and we can't afford distractions."

"Isn't that a little…hypocritical?" she whispered, her voice low, a siren's call in the darkness. "Given that you're the one who started this?"

He didn’t answer right away, his eyes flickering over her, lingering on the swell of her chest above the lacy black bra. "Maybe," he conceded, his voice gruff. "But it's for the best."

Y/N stood, closing the distance between them until she could feel the heat of his body, until she could almost taste the denial on his lips.

"Is it?" she murmured, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw with her fingertips. "Or are you just afraid of what might happen if we do this?"

Bucky's eyes narrowed, his expression tightening, but she could see the war playing out in the depths of his gaze—desire fighting duty, need battling restraint.

"What might happen?" he echoed, his voice hoarse.

Y/N's fingertips danced over the scar that bisected his lip, the one that she happened to know was from a knife fight in some forgotten corner of the world. "We might find out we're more than just good at fighting together," she whispered, her breath a soft caress against his skin.

Bucky's eyes flared, his pupils dilating until they swallowed the blue of his irises. His hand shot up to capture hers, his grip firm, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in a silent question.

Y/N leaned into him, her breath hitching as his hand slid down her arm, his touch setting her nerves alight. She didn’t pull away, didn’t break the spell. Instead, she stepped closer, her body brushing against his.

Bucky’s breath was warm against her neck, his sighs mixing with hers. His hand found the small of her back, his fingertips pressing gently into the taut muscles. It was a gesture that spoke volumes, a silent declaration that he wanted more.

Y/N's pulse hammered, her body leaning into his touch. "Bucky," she whimpered, his name a plea and a warning all rolled into one.

"Fuck it," Bucky murmured, his voice gravelly. "We're gonna try."

——————————————————————————————————

So. What did we think? Part 2? 🤔

[00valentina-writes00]

✞⛧ Falling Away ✞⛧

Warnings: suicidal thoughts/actions, panic, emotional distress, anxiety, physical injury, angst, panic-driven actions

Word count: 1.2k

You stood at the edge of the building, the wind biting at your skin, the city sprawled below you like a jagged, lifeless landscape. The lights from the streets seemed to pulse and blur as your thoughts collided in a storm of confusion and emptiness. You couldn’t shake the weight in your chest, the overwhelming sense of everything being too much, too unbearable. The sky above was dark, clouds swirling in a somber dance, and for a moment, it almost felt like the world was just as broken as you were. The distance between you and the ground felt like a chasm too vast to bridge, and you thought maybe, just maybe, if you let go, you’d finally find peace. A steady breath left your lips, and you took another step closer to the edge, your heart pounding in your chest, the decision creeping up to consume you.

Behind you, you heard the faint sound of footsteps on the rooftop. You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was—Ellie. She had always had a way of finding you when you felt lost, a magnet for your fractured heart. But tonight, you didn’t want her here. You didn’t want anyone here. You didn’t want to be seen, especially by someone who deserved so much more than the mess you’d become. Yet, you could feel her presence before she spoke, the warmth of her breath hitting your back like a slow burn. “Hey,” she said softly, her voice thick with concern, “You don’t have to do this.”

Ellie’s footsteps were slow, deliberate, the sound of her boots against the gravel rooftop grounding you in a strange, painful way. Her figure came into your peripheral vision, and for a moment, you couldn’t look at her—couldn’t bear to see the hurt in her eyes, knowing you were the cause. She was close now, so close you could almost feel the heat radiating from her, her body tense but her voice steady, as if she were trying to maintain control over the fear that you knew must be rising in her chest. “Please, just turn around,” she whispered, her words gentle but firm, almost pleading.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight, and slowly, you turned to face her. The sight of Ellie was like a slap to your senses. She was standing there, her wild brown hair falling in messy waves around her face, her green eyes wide with concern, her freckled face pale in the dim light. Her jacket was worn, the sleeves pushed up to reveal the faint outline of a tattoo on her forearm. She had that same rugged, effortlessly cool aura about her, but now, there was something vulnerable in her stance, something raw that made your chest ache even more. She always seemed so strong, so sure of herself, but in that moment, she looked just as fragile as you felt.

“Ellie, you don’t get it,” you managed to choke out, your voice breaking. “Everything’s falling apart. I don’t know how to keep going.” You took a hesitant step back toward the edge, your feet aching to take another step, to just disappear into the nothingness. “I’m not worth saving.”

Ellie’s expression softened, but her eyes never left you. She took a step closer, closing the distance between you both, her hands trembling slightly at her sides. She reached out slowly, her fingers brushing the sleeve of your shirt, a tentative touch that was as much for her as it was for you. “I don’t know what’s going on in your head right now,” she said, her voice so gentle that it almost felt like a balm to your pain. “But I do know this: you matter. To me. To everyone who loves you.” She paused, her gaze flicking briefly to the ground before meeting yours again. “I’m not letting you go, okay?”

Her words hung in the air between you, thick with the weight of unspoken truth. You could feel her presence like a lifeline, a rope thrown in the storm of your mind, but you couldn’t grasp it. Your chest was tight with the suffocating pressure of your emotions, and everything Ellie said seemed to melt into the background of your thoughts. You couldn’t hear her anymore, couldn’t feel the warmth of her hand just inches away. You took another step toward the edge, the city’s lights below you twinkling like the last desperate flashes of hope, fading as your focus wavered.

“Ellie…” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the rush of the wind. “I can’t… I don’t know how to fix this.”

Before she could react, you lost your balance. One second, your feet were planted firmly on the rooftop; the next, you were stumbling forward, the world tipping, spinning, and then… falling. Time slowed, your heart skipped a beat, and all you could hear was the sound of your breath, the frantic beat of your pulse, and the wind rushing past you as gravity took hold.

“NO!” Ellie screamed, her voice cracking with panic. You could hear her footfalls, the sharp, desperate rush of her running toward you, but it was too late. You felt the sharp jolt of the fall, the horrifying weightlessness, and then the sickening thud of your body hitting the ground.

The world was a blur, spinning out of focus, your body aching, your limbs numb from the impact. You could taste blood in your mouth, the metallic tang mingling with the faint tang of sweat and dirt. The sounds of the city, the muffled screams of passersby, the distant honking of cars—all of it seemed so far away, like you were drowning in the space between the world you once knew and the one that had swallowed you whole.

Through the haze, you could make out a figure moving toward you. Ellie. Her face was streaked with tears, her breaths shallow and rapid as she knelt beside you, her hands trembling as she gently cupped your face, her green eyes wide with horror. “Stay with me, please, just stay with me,” she begged, her voice desperate, hoarse. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. You’re gonna be okay.”

You tried to speak, but your mouth wouldn’t obey. Your body refused to move, the pain so intense that it made everything feel like a bad dream. You could feel Ellie’s hands on your skin, her touch so warm and familiar, but it was fading, the world around you darkening.

“Please, please don’t leave me,” Ellie whispered, her voice breaking with the weight of her fear. She pressed her forehead to yours, her hands never leaving your body as if she could will you to be okay. “I can’t lose you. Not like this. I love you. Please fight for me.”

Ellie’s words blurred with the darkness creeping into your vision. You wanted to reach out to her, to tell her you loved her too, to apologize for what you’d almost done, but your body wouldn’t respond. You could feel yourself slipping, the last bits of consciousness pulling away as you fought to hold onto the one thing that mattered most: Ellie’s voice, her warmth, her love. It was the only thing that seemed to anchor you to this world.

[cozycryptidcorner]

Yeah okay actually. Here is an unfinished story I uploaded onto Patreon back in 2021. I think I hit the same notes but better with Lullaby for Lambs, let me know if it's salvageable at all.

Reader x Unknown non-human. 8000-ish words.

You only tried escaping once.

It was just after you woke up  within a cave formation, head aching and lungs burning. Everything hazed  over in an aura of fanaticism, your vision blurry and mind unhinged.  You became a being of only instinct, the all-encompassing need to  protect and flee becoming your sole goal, all semblance of thought  beyond bite, maim, kill no longer keeping your morals in check. You screamed and you flailed, scratching at the beings immediately perceived as threats, blood and scales caking beneath your fingernails.

You  didn’t make it very far, running and crying and shrieking at anyone  brave enough to approach, cracking a porcelain vase for a makeshift  shiv. The hallways in the system are long, but at the moment, you felt  like you were wandering a maze for a short eternity. The light didn’t  seem right, flowing and filtering through the air as though its only  source was a couple of shoddy projectors. Even as you stumbled through  the strangely curving hallways, hostage in the crook of your arm, you  couldn’t seem to make your eyes focus on any singular object.

Everything  hurt, your teeth, your chest, your feet, the air so cold your jaw  quaked despite how hard you clenched it. You barely even remembered who  you were, just that this was wrong and these people were enemies and you needed to escape, go, run, leave.

“Let  me out,” you half screamed, half choked, to anyone within earshot.  Tears, blood, and snot dripped down your face, droplets of the ungodly  mixture landing atop your bare feet.

Your hostage said something  you could barely understand, in a voice far more calm and soothing than  someone in his position. His words echoed and pulsed in your ears,  equally far and somehow unbearably close at the same time.

“Let me out,” you said again, chest heaving and voice warbling with sobs.

“I  can’t do that,” he was saying, hand reaching up to the hand that you  hold your shard of ceramic in. Even as you pressed it dangerously deeper  into his throat, he petted your arm in soft, gentle gestures.

“Someone else can,” you meant it as a threat, but it sounded more like a whimpering plea.

“They  really can’t.” The only sign of distress he showed was a soft wheeze of  breath when you pushed the shiv further into his skin. “But you’re  going to be okay.”

“Fuck yo-” just when you felt like your focus  was finally sharpening, your surroundings finally in full view,  everything exploded with black. It was a blow too fast and furious for  you to track, right within your blind spot.

Your captors wanted to kill you, apparently.

For  the spectacle of your attempt, that is. Most humans immediately try to  escape, apparently, but your captors weren’t adequately prepared for  someone with your grit and tenacity. These assholes wanted to let you  out, just like you wanted, into the crushing pressure of the deep sea,  to watch your bones crack and crumble. As an example for anyone else  trying to leave, to burn fear into their hearts and keep your people  docile.

They should have.

“You were scared,” your hostage  said, no longer threatened by your shiv, with an infuriatingly gentle  expression on his face, “I forgive you.”

You wanted to jump over the table and strangle him because you aren’t fucking sorry, but you bore the humiliation with stony silence.

“That’s  why I want to help you have a second chance,” he said, seemingly  completely unaware of your bloodlust. A small cut on his neck taunted  you with how close you almost got to killing him. “So you will be my  wife.”

At first, the final part of the statement didn’t even  register. You blink. It hits. And… you couldn’t help but scoff, a loud,  angry snort escaping your body before you could tamper it back down. But  the statement and the way he said it so calmly and absolutely was absurd, you lost control of your own body for a moment. Be his wife, is he insane?

With a single gesture, he stops his guards from striking you without even glancing at them. His entire focus was on you.

“You’re very strong,” he said, “and I admire that.”

You didn’t respond.

“I  need you to be strong for me,” he continued, as though soothing a wild  animal. “This place and my station aren’t one for the weak, but you’ve  shown me that you are more than capable of handling brutality.”

“You like how I almost killed you?” You asked, voice strained and completely devoid of any restraint.

The edges of his mouth curve up into an almost-smile, his teeth sharpened and numerous. “You will thrive here, dearest.”

Jaime,  he asked you to call him. Tall and wiry, head of black hair, and skin  tinged oddly green even when he plays human. You already know that he’s  not; you’ve seen him before, covered in scales with claws sharp enough  to kill a man. That’s why he was so impossibly relaxed during  your initial rampage; the self-assuredness of his own strength  counteracted the fear you had so desperately tried to instil in him.

He comes to visit you more often than you would like, especially during the days leading up to your wedding. He wants you involved, as though that somehow makes everything better, despite the fact it’s  essentially a brightly decorated band-aid on a gaping wound.

“Colors?” The wedding planner asked again, louder, and Jamie gently taps at your hand.

You blink back into existence, trying to anchor your disassociating soul on the samples of fabric on the table. “For what?”

No one dares misbehave while he is present, so the planner puts up a facade of understanding. “For the wedding dress, my lady.”

It takes you a moment to process what she says, the word wedding falling meaninglessly onto your ears. Instead, you try to focus on the word dress, pulling yourself back to reality by pretending to look at… like a prom,  or maybe a ball dress. Some kind of college formal to celebrate a  long-sought-after degree. You swallow tightly and run your fingers over  the materials to see what they would feel like.

“This one,” you decide, hoping it would at least look good against your very human skin.

No  disapproving clicks, no shaking head of disappointment, only absolute  subjugation. The design came a lot smoother; you picked a shape you  remember seeing on Pinterest once, on an infographic about what dress  designs best suit different body types. Then you curl up into yourself,  trying to steady your anxious blood by planning.

You won’t be able  to escape the traditional way, so to speak. After the snide remarks of  some kind of attendant, you know you’re too deep within a body of water  to swim up on your own with no special equipment. That means you have to  figure out how you got here and then how you can get out. There has to  be something like a submarine, or some kind of gear… or even magic, you  suppose.

“The delegates from the neighboring realms already agreed  to come,” the wedding planner says, ignoring how you pinch the bridge  of your nose and stare blankly at the windows. “With the number of  people wanting to come to witness the ceremony, I estimate a few  thousand to attend the reception.”

You choke.

Jaime looks you over with concern.

“Can  I talk to you? Privately?” You feel yourself wake up again, like from a  nightmare. Everything goes from blurry to sharp, your body’s need to  protect itself shoving adrenaline through your bloodstream. Already you  feel like this will be a physical altercation, even though Jaime never  once raised his hand at you.

In that infuriatingly calm tone, he  dismisses the staff. You hate how everyone jumps at his beck and call,  how they scurry off and hide with the faintest flick of his hand, only  to return the moment he calls. As though they wait just outside the  door, always listening despite the illusion of being alone.

“I can’t do a big wedding,” you say, “I actually can’t do a wedding at all.”

Jaime sighs, then rubs his hair. “This has to be a bit of a spectacle.”

“Why?” You cross your arms and try to bite back the bile building in the back of your throat.

He  opens his mouth but quickly closes it, allowing any frustrations he has  to flow off him like a rock in a river. That’s one of the things you’ve  come to hate about him the most- how fucking patient with you he  is. Even now, when you put up as much resistance to every little thing  you can be mentally present for, he goes with whatever direction you  take him and ignores what he can’t change.

“You know I’m important,” he says, a conversation the both of you have had before.

“I  can’t do crowds.” You mean it, too; the idea of performing like a  lovey-dovey baby in front of the thousands promised by the planner makes  you feel nauseous.

He looks you over again, deep in thought, mouth in a thin, straight line. “I don’t think my family will like this.”

“Will  your family prefer to deal with someone kicking and screaming?” You  ask, crossing your arms stubbornly. “Because I’ll fight. I will fight  you all the way up the aisle, all the way through whatever kind of  ceremony you have. I will kick, and I will scream and give people  something to talk about.”

He lets out a sigh, like you’re nothing more than a tantruming child. “We’ve talked about this-”

“You’ve  talked, I’ve listened, but I never agreed to anything.” You feel anger  rising up through your veins. “You think you can control me? You think  you can keep me locked up like an animal, that I’ll bend to your every  whim?”

Jaime watches you for a moment, then shakes his head.

“A  smaller ceremony.” You lean back in your chair. “As little people as  possible, I don’t want to deal with more than… a dozen or two of you  people.”

“Our people,” Jaime says, almost exasperated but still without a trace of anger. “Our people, now.”

You ignore the last part. “Here’s the deal: we have a smaller ceremony, and I pinky swear not to cause any trouble.”

“Pinky swear?” He sounds more baffled than annoyed.

“Super  fucking serious promise,” you say, entirely over having to explain  every minute detail of your life previous to being kidnapped. You hold  out your hand, pinky up, trying not to look murderous. “No screaming, no  running, no… having sex with your best friend the night before. Or  whatever.”

Slowly, he mimics the action, placing his elbow on the  table. You wrap your pinky around his, holding it there for a moment,  then pull your hand back like the physical contact burned.

And you  keep that promise. You even manage to participate in the rest of the  planning for the day, pinching yourself beneath the table to stay  present in the moment. At dinner, you refrain from making any stabbing  attempts, picking at your food with barely any appetite. A partial  victory, one you shouldn’t be too proud of, but still. You can’t help  but feel like you just gained an inch, leaving you open to take a mile.

Your  hair has grown out, and with all sharp objects prohibited, you can’t  play with the style out of boredom. You tug and pull at the strands,  trying to keep track of time based on how long it’s become. Two inches per month, you remember reading, using your fingers as a makeshift measurement. Thumbs are typically two inches, right? You bite the skin of your lip until you taste blood, pick at the skin around your fingernails until they’re raw and red.

Not  one of the attendants are brave enough to take care of you the same way  you witness them coddle other captives. Jaime is the one who rubs  cooling salves on your fingers, dares to dab your lips with thick fat.  He sits with you, sometimes, looking over some kind of holographic  tablet, reading words you can’t comprehend. These are the times when you  start building a scope of just how much trouble you’re really in.

“How  many other humans do you take?” The first and most important question  answers how many friends you might have in the future.

He looks you over as though gauging your mental state before answering. “Not many.”

“What the hell is not many?” You’re already losing your temper, and you’ve barely spat out more than six words. “Like five? Thirty? A hundred?”

“Every  few generations,” he says, clearly thinking over how best to answer  without setting you off further, “the gene pool needs to be replenished,  so introducing new people helps keep this nation strong.”

You can’t even believe what you’re hearing. Who- what… the fuck? It takes every ounce of self-control you hold in your body not to jump  up and tackle him. Deep breaths. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

He looks back down at his work. “Forty-six.”

“That’s specific,” you narrow your eyes, “how do you know the number?”

Even  though you are trying your best to exasperate him, he remains unfazed.  “Because I saw...” he seems to ponder his wording very meticulously,  “the lists.”

“The lists,” you echo.

“We don’t like to use the word abduction,” he says, ignoring your dangerous tone, “I was allowed to have second…  preference over the replanted people, and that’s when I saw the count.”

“And you liked my genetics?” You scoff, cracking your knuckles with one hand.

He  pauses for a moment, then shakes his head. “I wasn’t going to choose  you, truth be told. But then you tried to kill me, and I found that fire  preferable to quaking fear.”

You stand, and to his credit, he  doesn’t even flinch. He even motions for the guard at the door to lower  his weapon as you grind out, “do you think this is cute? Am I some kind of challenge for you?”

“Cute?” He laughs. Laughs at the notion, you would feel insulted by the blatant disregard of the  personality trait if it were anyone else. “No. I don’t think you’re  cute, or someone easy to control. That’s why I want you, because you’re  not to be manipulated by false promises and glamour.

You remain  silent, biting at your lower lips again, trying to figure him out.  Manipulation? Really? Even though you furrow your brows and think about  it hard, you don’t remember Jaime pulling any off, creepy gestures  though. So you try to settle back and figure him out.

“Have I lied to you?” He asks, sensing an opening.

“Not that I know of,” you are chagrin to admit, feeling your breathing tighten.

“But  think about it for a moment,” he continues, easy as can be, “wouldn’t  it be easier for me to lie to you? To tell you that you can go back home  after a little while?”

Would you have believed him if he tried?  Maybe. Maybe you would have sniffed out the lie long before it even  becomes obvious you wouldn’t be returned.

Jaime seems to sense  your silence as compliance. “That’s what most of the males do, by the  way, to make their human wife’s settle in and be docile. Lie until their  tongues bleed and the hope dies from their eyes. I could have done the  same, but I won’t do you the disrespect.”

He wants you to ask him,  but the prideful part of you wants to let him drown in silence. The  curious part of you wins, though, and you finally grit out, “so why  didn’t you?”

“Because I want you to trust me.” He pushes the two sides of the holographic pad together until it collapses in a crisp snap. “And for there to be trust, a foundation of honesty must be laid.”

“Am  I supposed to think that I’m special?” You sneer, rage and anger  filling your blood. “That I somehow won the spousal lottery in the  kidnapping sex slave industry? Thank you so much for doing the bare  minimum a relationship calls for, your grace. I deeply appreciate it.”

No  anger, how does he do it? If you were in his position, you would have  smashed your own face in with an ashtray by now. But Jaime maintains a  cool and calm composer, his voice not even raising a single decibel.  “Think about it. I’m trying to establish you as an equal, dear. I want  you to rule with me, not against me.”

Rule? The notion of  you being in charge of anything is so ludicrous you almost scream with  frustration and laughter. Still, he remains serious, refusing to break  eye contact, his posture infinitely more relaxed than yours. Despite the  fact you’re pretty sure to be the source of his dark, pronounced  circles beneath his eyes, everything else about him is pristine. His  black uniform is trimmed and fitted to the point you can trace his body  through his clothes, combat boots so shiny you can see your haggard  reflection through them. At the moment, he is everything you are not,  clean, clipped, and beautiful, well-groomed to the point it hurts to  look at him. Surely he’s joking.

“I’m not an equal, though,” you  spit out, crossing your arms harder over your chest. “The power  imbalance is so gaping we might as well be separated by a chasm.”

“Power  imbalance?” He asks, as though tasting the way the words in his tone.  Not like he doesn’t believe you, but more like he also thinks he might  have a chance to convince you otherwise.

You turn to the guard,  eyeing him up and down. The fact you managed to get the upper hand in  your initial fight through the base seemed to make whoever assigns  stations be extra cautious. The creature- thing, fish-man, whatever they  want to call themselves, is fucking enormous. Thick, juicy arms,  muscles and bone prime for crushing rebellious little twits. He even  towers over Jaime, a foreboding and memorable presence that has stuck  to your side every moment of every day, hand falling onto his baton if  you so much as scratch your ass unexpectedly. Almost too easily, he can  lift you up, which he typically does by the scruff of your neckline  whenever he finds you lingering too long in one area.

“Please leave,” you say, trying to keep your voice even.

The guard doesn’t move, remaining stoic.

You turn back to Jaime, gesturing towards the door with exasperated movement.

He  thinks for a moment, hands tapping at his bottom lip, then nods at the  guard, who hesitates before leaving the room. Once the two of you are  alone, Jaime prods, “satisfied?”

“Absolutely not,” you refrain  from snapping, though, because it’s still a step in the right direction.  “He’s not going to listen to me when you’re not present, so that still  doesn’t count.”

Jaime leans back, arm stretched out over the  couch, green eyes narrow in thought. After a few moments, he sighs,  waving his hand towards the ceiling as though something can’t be helped. “He’s for your own safety as well.”

“But mostly for babysitting me, like I’m a problematic toddler.”

“No,” Jaime definitely speaks to you like you’re one, though, “just as someone who tried to assassinate a prince.”

You glare.

He’s  unmoving for a moment, then sighs. “I’ll tell him not to follow you  into your room if you swear not to try to kill me again.”

“You’d deserve it, though,” you say under your breath.

“Swear, love,” he prods, “maybe another one of those pinky ones.”

You wait for a beat, unsure of how to react to a grown adult referring to the pinky swear with utmost seriousness. Eventually, though, you raise your right hand,  rolling your eyes. “I pinky swear not to try to kill you… unless you  try to kill me first. Then it’s fuck-all and survival of the fittest.”

He  listens to your wording, head cocked, but seems to accept it without  any argument. Scooching forward just enough to wrap his pinky around  yours, he says, “I’ll tell Rodrick to keep his distance.”

“Good.”

He waits, clearly expecting something.

You  hate how he acts like you have to thank him for any decibel of freedom  he offers, so you lean back and offer nothing. A few moments tick by,  with nothing but the heating system gently whirring against the floor.

“We should have dinner together,” he says, as though the thought has never occurred to him.

“We’ve  had dinner together before,” you say, remembering all the times you’ve  had to be restrained from harming him. It was still early on when you  saw nothing but red and heard thunderous screaming in your ears.

“Not in public,” he responds, “not officially. I haven’t introduced you to society yet.”

“I doubt your society is ready for me,” you say, with absolutely no intention of behaving.

“We are in agreement on that,” he says, completely solemnly, “but I believe we are thinking of different reasons as to why.”

You bite your tongue down to keep from asking why, you don’t fancy it when he can manipulate the conversation in his own favor. Flattery, unfortunately, works regardless if you like the speaking party or not. You need to be  careful not to get too comfortable. Instead, you try to close in on  yourself, shutting the door on him. “If you’re thinking about hosting  some kind of party where I’m the center of attention, fuck off.”

“I’m  thinking about a simple dinner, just you and me, maybe in a public  restaurant.” He cocks his head slightly, opening his tablet again. “Not  necessarily in a crowded area, though, I can make sure we have some  privacy.”

“Without Rodrick?” You prod, refusing to relax even though the guard is no longer present.

“I can’t promise that,” he assents, “but so long as you refrain from any violence, it will be like he isn’t present at all.”

You think about it, completely unsure.

“I  pinky swear,” Jaime remains entirely solemn, “to make the dinner as  pleasant and quick as you wish it to be. My only purpose is to slowly  integrate you back into public spheres.”

Integrate, like  you’re some kind of wild animal he has been slowly taming. The sentence  and the weak-ass promises are what really bother you, so fucking sure of  himself and his so-called methods. But it’s okay, you also can play the  long game. You can’t hurt him today, tomorrow, or even a year from now,  but you can wait until the opportunity arises. Strike when he least  expects it. So you reach your pinky finger out once more, wrapping it  around his blue-tinged skin and nod in agreement.

“I don’t want to be out for too long,” you say, the idea of being scrutinized is too sickening to think about.

“Done.”  He says. “I’ll have someone tailor a cocktail dress for you. I will  instruct your guard to stay out of your room if you request it, but that  hinges on the fact you will not be a danger to yourself or the  seamstress.”

Again, the child-like treatment. “Okay.”

He waits for a beat, like he wants you to say something else, but gives up. “Goodnight.”

“Bye.”

__________________________

True to Jaime’s word, Rodrick stays out of sight, but not out of  mind. You’re well aware that you’re being monitored somehow, either  through cameras or just really well-hidden servants. Now that you at  least have the illusion of privacy, you allow yourself to fidget a lot  more than previously, pacing across the large, clear window that looks  out to the churning sea. While your room is large and spacious, it’s  just that; empty, and you have been exercising just from walking laps  against the walls. After counting your steps once out of boredom, you’re  sure that it’s almost four times larger than your first studio  apartment.

When the seamstress comes, she brings a foldable screen  for you to hide behind when you change, which is more than welcome.  Every single day you’ve been poked at and prodded and scrutinized until  you want to scream blood; this small gesture almost causes you to cry  with relief. But you don’t; you decide that looking strong in front of  strangers will at least ingratiate yourself to Jaime.

Arms  outstretched, allowing the seamstress to preen and fold and sew while  you scheme. You don’t want Jaime to like you because you believe in some  sickening happy ending, but you understand a fundamental thing about  people, fish-like or not. When you love someone, you want the best for  them, which for you would be on the surface. It’s not a guarantee that  he might bend like that, but a fallback plan that sits with many others.

Still, tactful manipulation might be what saves your life in this instance.

Once the seamstress is gone and you’ve picked at your cuticles until the skin around your nails is a bloody mess, Jaime returns.

“I’ve  heard you had a good day today,” he says, taking a strip of gauze and  begins the task of bandaging your wounds. When you don’t answer, he  continues. “I also had a good day. Everything at work went smoothly, and  there haven’t been any issues with the wedding plans thus far. It  probably helps that the wedding is so small.”

You squint at him. “Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because you need to be involved,” he dips your fingers in a bowl of water, “and that means I should tell you about my day.”

You scrunch up your nose but say nothing.

“You’ll  meet my secretary, Leelah soon enough,” he continues, opening the jar  of sweet-smelling salve, “but she’s exceptionally skilled at her job.  Makes running things smoother.”

“Running the underwater nation,” you clarify, leaning back in your chair with your hands flat on the table.

“Yes,” he says, “the underwater nation you are now a member of.”

“I got that part,” you snap, then take a deep, calming breath. “I’m trying to show interest in what you do.”

“Oh,”  his eyes lighten up marginally, and he squares his shoulders. “Well,  today I was in a meeting discussing the distribution of funds across  public necessities.”

Already you feel your eyes twitching to roll, but you manage to squeeze out an, “oh really? How did that go?”

He  frowns as though trying to spot some kind of underhanded trick up your  sleeve. You have none, though, other than making him comfortable enough  so you can have some breathing room. “It was uneventful.”

“Okay,”  you say, crossing your arms and retreating yourself. The rest of the  hour is spent in dead silence; you don’t even offer any goodbyes when he  leaves like that single conversation took everything out of you.

When  he says goodbye, he places a hand on the back of your head, fingers  slowly working through the steadily growing strands. You try your best  not to recoil.

The planned dinner date, unfortunately, turns out not to be atrocious.

Your  dress fits you like a glove, your waist tight and your breasts  prominent. As you scratch at your arms and play with your hair, Jaime  zips you up, careful to pull the dress away from your skin as he does  so. You don’t take the arm he offers when you leave, but instead, stick  as closely as you can without touching him.

You get stares, but  most of them look away the moment you glare back for more than a few  seconds. You wonder if it’s your outfit. The unfamiliar hairstyle. The  uncomfortable aura pulsating out from your body. So many people are  giving you sideways glances when not outright gawking, but you realize  after hopping into a glass tube that they’re essentially looking through you, directly to Jaime.

You  stare out the window at the sea, mostly seeing your reflection lit up  against the glass. The sand is black, you realize, chewing on the bottom  of your lip as the tube thunks</> out of its station. Your  body jolts forward at the pressure of speed applies, but you brace your  feet to the floor and sit back, so you don’t fall.

Below your feet, a city rushes by, lights and towers  buried beneath another layer of glass and water. You can see through the  distortion a collective of other tubes, a train running adjacent with  your ride until there’s a sharp right turn.

Eyes glued to the transparent floor, you ask, “Is this how you people typically get around?”

He seems to bristle at the use of you people, but doesn’t try to correct it anymore. “The private chambers are for higher ranking officers and emergency trips.”

The  restaurant is mostly empty, and you are instantly relieved. You allow  Jaime to lead you through the dome, the floor a sparkling crystal, and  the walls only sporting a few narrow windows. You can’t tell where the  light comes from, the floors? Ceiling? Walls? There seems to be a dull  glow permeating the smooth transitions between the atrium and dining  area, and as a waiter leads you to a quiet, secluded corner, and you  settle in, no mean words, no snide comments, no stabbing incidents.

Slowly,  you look over your shoulder, noticing through your blind rage that the  waitress looked… like Jaime. As in, not human. Humanoid, yes, but with  the kind of rippling, scaled skin that shimmers in the light. Perplexed,  you turn over to Jaime, “why don’t you try knocking up the ladies  already here?”

He glances over at the long-haired, graceful creature, then turns back to you. “She can’t have children.”

You arch your eyebrows. “That’s a large thing to accuse someone of.”

“It’s  true,” he says, shrugging, “all the women of our kind can no longer  reproduce with us. It will only take three generations removed from  their human mother before your descendants will be the same.”

You gawk. Gawk, at both the expectation for you to have his grandchildren, paired with the tragedy of mass infertility on a scale you can barely comprehend. “But the men can reproduce just fine?”

“Yes,” he says, though the tone of the obviousness of the answer is thick in his voice.

Can’t you fix it, you don’t ask, knowing full well that someone somewhere probably worked  themselves to death over this. You don’t want to ask about the men of  your kind- you don’t remember seeing any when you woke up. You pick up  the menu, a thin film of plastic that shimmers and glitches as if alive  between your fingers. At first, you only see a mishmash of what looks  like thick gibberish, but the words quickly rearrange themselves into a  readable script.

Seafood, all of it, with words and species of  fish and mollusks you don’t even recognize. You squint, trying to suss  out the other ingredients to figure out what the dish might be like.  Sweet? Savory? Spicy? You try to extrapolate what you might be in the  mood based on the words you can actually read. A part of you wants to  give up and let Jaime order, but you’re far too stubborn to lean on him  for anything more at this point.

When the waitress comes back, you  manage to force your voice to speak, almost like you have to strain the  air from your lungs to communicate. Everything is filled with a thick  haze, and you can’t even look her in the eye when you almost mumble what  you want, pointing to the menu in case she can’t understand what you  are sure is barely a wispy breath.

When she leaves, you slump back  into the chair, almost completely exhausted from that single encounter  with a stranger. Your fingers are pale and clammy, mouth twitching  uncontrollably; you have to do your breathing exercises for the first  time in a long while before your body shifts from flight or flight.

“Are you feeling overwhelmed?” Jaime has the audacity to ask.

But  it’s okay, you’re zen. You are one hundred percent filled with inner  peace right now, so while that might have annoyed you twenty minutes  ago, now you are definitely not thinking about reaching over and  slamming his face down onto the table. The spirit within your chest is  filled with so much zen that you are overflowing with the stuff.

“I’m fine,” you say, trying to get your chakras or whatever to pass some more of that zen stuff around.

“You’re doing good,” he says, as though his words of encouragement mean anything to you.

You  cross your arms, legs spread in the dress, in the most unladylike way  you possibly can. That doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest,  though, despite the fact his very posture emulates that of a pretty  princess. His back is straight, even when he leans over slightly to rest  his chin on his hand. Even when he does that, though, his fingers are  poised in a way that screams nothing but elegance.

He clears his throat, glancing up at the ornaments surrounding the ceiling. “What did you think of the selections?”

“I didn’t understand half of it,” you mutter, tracing the odd tableware with your eyes.

His brow furrowed in confusion, eyes narrowing slightly. “Did it not translate to your native tongue?”

“Most of it, but what the fuck is a- uh-” you try to remember the most prominent word, “ashtaroff?”

He  blinks, slowly, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “A fish that grows in  the upper section of the ocean, nearer to the surface.”

“Never heard of it,” you say, wishing you could lean back in your chair just a little bit more.

“Odd,”  he says, “well, we are in a dangerous area where the surface currents  are volatile. Fishing boats likely would not wish to risk the dangers.”

That  makes a bit of sense, but something about how he behaves towards the  question raises a red flag. You don’t know what exactly it could mean,  yet… but just to be safe? “You aren’t feeding me human beings, are you?”

He  balks at that, mouth opening and then shutting like he has no idea what  to even say to that accusation. He even has to take a moment, fingers  pinching at his nose, before answering. “No, we are not feeding you  human flesh.”

It’s a simple, sweet answer, but you can see a part  of him wants to throttle you for even asking, so you dig in your heels a  little further. “Well, you could be, as like, a threat or something. Honestly wouldn’t put cannibalism past you people.”

He closes his eyes, almost like a blink, but far too long to be one, then opens them again. “We are not cannibals.”

“Honestly,  wouldn’t be surprised if you were,” you lift up a fork between your  fingers and pick at a prong, listening to the slight reverb. “Kidnap  women and eat the ones who are not cooperative.”

“If that were the case,” Jaime says, generously, “you would have been the first to go.”

“I don’t think so,” you say, “because you’re somehow fond of me.”

He arches his eyebrows, wordlessly gesturing for an elaboration on the statement.

“Well~”  you sit up, picking up a long spoon, “the servants told me that the  ones in charge of the little sex ring you have going on wanted to flush  me out of an entrance chamber or whatever, but you’re the ones who  stopped them. I don’t know what about me you found hot- probably the  part where I almost ripped your throat open, but I digress.”

Instead of protesting, or even acting coy or unbothered, he seems a bit tenser than he was prior. “Who told you that?”

“Which part?” You ask for the sake of being difficult.

“Who told you about the execution?” He leans forward in his chair, face tight with concern and anger.

“Oh,  so that was true?” You feel a bit ill in your stomach, but brush it off  like nothing is the matter. “I thought they were just saying that  because most of them don’t like me.”

He seems equal parts perplexed and pissed. “Your servants don’t like you.”

It  wasn’t a question, more of an echoing statement, but you shrug. “Dunno.  Guess some people can’t handle me snapping up the fishperson’s most  eligible bachelor with my sexy, feminine wiles.”

He doesn’t seem  to comprehend the joke, his eyes darting to just over your shoulder,  stony silent. It’s just the waitress, though, and the mask of polite  society immediately slipping off the moment she steps away.

“You should have told me,” he says as you start picking at the colorful arrangement on your plate.

“And  what? I figured you’re the ones who assigned them, so like,” you take a  bite, not bothering to offer up the high manners he does, “I wouldn’t  be too comfortable or anything.”

“You thought I would give you disloyal servants,” he says, voice hard like a stone, jaw clenched.

“Don’t act like that’s not a semi-accurate read,” you decide that you’re not a fan of the green pile of steamed something to the right of the plate. “What with the whole kidnapping brides deal,  am I supposed to just assume that you aren’t also capable of bullying  us into absolute submission? I thought it was like a hazing ritual or  something.”

His mouth tightens, and his shoulders tense. For a  long, almost scary moment, he’s staring at you, eyes tracing down the  length of your face, as though looking for any signs of abuse. His eyes  are dark, and his expression of one barely restraining themselves from  rage, but you don’t know if it’s directed at you or not. After a moment,  he turns to his food. “I apologize for their conduct. It was never my  intention to put you in any harm’s way.”

The apology slides so  easily off his tongue that you immediately search for signs of  falsehoods, but he at least seems sincere. You also have a feeling that  he wouldn’t even act this oddly if his intent was to scare you into submission, because for all the weird kidnapping stuff, Jaime is not a liar.

That you know of.

You  try to shrug it off, poking at the unfamiliar cuisine with almost no  interest. A part of you doesn’t want to give him any sort of positive  attention over the apology, but the other, more strategic part is trying  to figure out how to use this to your benefit. You don’t… have to do  any sort of kissing ass, but just thinking about being nice to him feels  like a mouth full of ash. Luckily for you, though, he seems to take the  cue to talk.

“Besides your servants, is everything else to your satisfaction?”

You glare up from your plate.

“Besides  not being able to return home,” he says, almost as though it’s generous  of him to even acknowledge your kidnapping as it is.

You shrug. “It’s boring.”

“Boring?”

“Not a lot to do besides count each and every crack in the walls.”

He cocks his head to the side. “And what can I do to remedy that?”

You pause, because you weren’t expecting him to kind of rollover and offer a solution, you were prepared to drag your feet a lot. “Stuff, I guess. You have mentioned that you’ve been at this for  awhile- shouldn’t you know that most humans like being stimulated in  some way, and there really isn’t anything I can do by myself.” Besides masturbation, but you don’t say that part out loud.

“So you would like projects,” he says, almost as though he expected this day to come.

“I  mean-” you try to think in further detail, “yes, I guess, but like  maybe also some entertainment to go along with it? Do you have  fishpeople tv dramas?”

He cocks his head to the side, observing  you as though some kind of withered anthropologist tackling his new  study. “Of course, I will immediately arrange something after our  dinner.”

You cringe, spending the rest of the meal in silence  despite Jaime’s immediate moves to slightly placate your concerns.  Everyone about him thus far has been an enigma- or maybe not, and you’re  reading too far into the relationship. You don’t even know any other  human wife/fish husband duo to compare it to, but the way Jaime holds  himself when in the presence of others, you think it must be unusual.

Or  maybe making the angry human think they’re somehow special for their  tenacity is a part of some bigger, more well-thought-out scheme, and  you’re so out of depth that they can probably predict your next fart.  You don’t know their capacity for knowledge about you yet, so you have  to assume they know everything. Even if you aren’t an open book  on social media, surely a group of people who have been kidnapping women  for centuries (?) would figure out how to get a simple FBI profile or  something if needed.

While you might not directly say you inhaled the food, you end up scarfing it down much quicker than you intended.  Still, though, watching Jaime eat is almost like a spectacle sport. His  table manners are impeccable, and if this was in any situation less  violating than this, you might be embarrassed over your complete  disregard of etiquette. But you’re done talking, and he looks done  trying to wheedle conversation out of you.

He doesn’t pay, you  notice, when he ushers you out of the restaurant when finished. The  waitress gives him what you assume is like a salute- a hand over her  chest and a soft nod, almost like a partial bow- as the both of you  leave. You suppose that since he’s one of the big guns, he’s just one of  those people who has a secretary or something to take care of costs  when he’s not in the mood to take care of it himself.

The trip  back is more effortless on your part, where you try to note little  landmarks that would lead you right back. As you lean back into the pod,  watching your reflection ripple back and forth against the water, you  realize something.

“Is this a capitalist society?” You ask.

Jaime blinks once, and that’s all that signifies you caught him off guard. “A what?”

“A society that bases itself on the ideas of capitalism? If you don’t know what that is, then the answer’s no, probably.”

“I  know what it is,” Jaime responds, voice as testy as strawberry La Croix  tastes like strawberries. “The entire structure isn’t correct for our  society; our needs and future endeavors are not focused on the success  of an individual, but rather the continuation of a species as a whole.”

That makes sense. “So you didn’t pay for me?”

He looks at you strangely, the tube coming to a stop. “I did not. The system is based on merit, not wealth.”

“But as a prince, you theoretically have both.” You pick at the hem of your dress.

“I  also have done many things to keep this city running,” Jaime says,  standing. “It may seem to you that my station has played a role in your  captivity, but if it weren’t me, it would be someone else.”

“So I should thank you.” There it is again, a reason to be annoyed at him. You were almost tired of digging.

He  walks you down the hallway slowly, hands behind his back, face straight  ahead, and refusing eye contact. Then, in a way that would only be  reckless for him, he says, “maybe you should.”

Oh, you’re  going to eat him alive. “I’m so sorry that I’m not bending over for you  to fuck over the table on account of me being your glorified baby  incubator.”

“Sex doesn’t have to be part of the process-”

“Oh, because being artificially insemination is somehow less invasive?”

He’s  silent for a moment more, and you’re so angry you can barely contain  yourself. In the corner of your eye, though, you see the guard poke his  head into view, drawn to the ruckus of your anger. You shut your mouth,  knowing full well that you’re three angry words away from getting slung  over the guard’s shoulder and carried back to your room.

“Dear,” Jaime says, and you hate it when he calls you that, “this is not ideal for you. I understand. But  I’d rather you try to look at the positives of this situation, rather  than trying to claw your way back to a life that you will never be able  to return to.”

You bite down on your tongue, hard, and then you say something you instantly regret. “You try to stop me.”

Inwardly,  you cringe, regretting the admittance of your escape plans, but Jaime  doesn’t immediately react. Instead, his gaze sticks straight ahead, deep  in thought, mouth twisting in a thin line. Despite the sudden silence,  he’s still walking, though more slowly than before.

Before you even have time to maybe cuss him out, or really let him have it, he turns around. “A project for you,” he says, “I have  an idea for that. I will also try to arrange for various mindless  entertainment.”

You’re still so mad that you can’t do anything but seethe in response.

“Dinner with you was…” he searches for an adjective, “surprisingly competitive. Your rhetoric is sharp as always.”

I’ll give you something sharp, imagining him sliced to ribbons only marginally helps your headspace.

“Goodnight,” he says, the door to your cage opening. “I’m sorry to leave you on such a sour note.”

“Shove your apology up your ass,” you say, stepping through the threshold.

[minimoniii]

and they’re boyfriends

[jungwnies]

F1 GRID | it was never meant to be (1/2)

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, franco colapinto ୨ৎ : synopsis : your f1 boyfriend's publicist suggests he should date someone with more status in front of the camera, he agrees to it, but what happens to your relationship when his "fake relationship" with her blossoms into something more.

୨ৎ : genre : heartbreak, angst, sad themes ୨ৎ : tws : arguing, break-up, cheating ୨ৎ : word count : 2703

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

୨ৎ part two (carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri) ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : got this idea from my sister, she lowkey cooked.

ʚ・max verstappen

the hotel room felt colder than usual, despite the late spring air outside. you sat on the edge of the bed, your hands trembling slightly as max paced in front of you, his movements restless, his eyes fixed on the floor.

“you promised me,” you said, your voice quiet but filled with an unmistakable tremor of pain. “you promised me it was just an act.”

max froze, his back to you, his broad shoulders rising and falling with a shaky exhale. he didn’t turn around.

“what happened?” you pressed, your voice breaking as tears welled in your eyes. “what changed?”

his silence was louder than any answer he could have given.

you stood, the ache in your chest unbearable as you closed the space between you. “look at me, max,” you demanded, your voice sharp now, desperate. “say it. tell me it wasn’t real. tell me you didn’t—”

“i can’t,” he interrupted, his voice hoarse, raw. he finally turned to face you, his blue eyes filled with guilt and something else you couldn’t quite name. regret? pain? relief?

your breath hitched, and the room spun for a moment as the truth settled like lead in your stomach. “you fell in love with her,” you whispered, the words barely audible.

he didn’t deny it.

“how could you?” you choked out, tears spilling freely now. “you swore to me, max. you swore it was just for the cameras, that it was me you loved. how could you let this happen?”

“i didn’t mean to,” he said, his voice breaking as he ran a hand through his hair. “it wasn’t supposed to happen. i thought i could do it—i thought i could keep it separate. but… things changed.”

“things changed?” you repeated, your voice rising with anger. “what about us? what about everything we’ve been through? you don’t just fall out of love with someone, max! you don’t just replace them like—like they’re nothing!”

“you’re not nothing,” he said quickly, stepping closer, but you recoiled, the hurt too fresh, too raw. “i didn’t want this to happen. i didn’t plan it.”

“but it did,” you said bitterly, shaking your head. “you let it happen. you chose her. all those nights you spent with her, all those events, all those ‘pretend’ moments—somewhere along the way, you stopped pretending, didn’t you?”

he looked down, unable to meet your eyes.

you laughed bitterly, the sound hollow and empty. “i gave everything to you, max. i stood by you through everything—through the wins, the losses, the endless travel, the pressure. i loved you when you couldn’t even love yourself. and now you’re telling me that wasn’t enough?”

“it’s not about enough,” he said softly, his voice trembling. “you were everything, but… i changed. i don’t know how to explain it. i just… i’m not the same person i was when we started this. and maybe that’s why—”

“don’t you dare blame this on change,” you snapped, your hands balling into fists. “this isn’t about change, max. this is about you breaking every promise you ever made to me. it’s about you deciding that what we had wasn’t worth fighting for.”

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“sorry?” you repeated, your voice shaking with disbelief. “you’re sorry? do you even realize what you’ve done to me? to us? you’ve destroyed everything, max. everything.”

he didn’t respond. he just stood there, his shoulders slumped, his eyes glistening with tears he refused to let fall.

he tried to step closer, his hand reaching for you, but you shook your head. “i hope she was worth it,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the pain. “because you’ve lost me.”

with that, you turned and walked out, leaving him standing there, the echo of your words hanging in the air.

ʚ・lewis hamilton

the evening was quiet, save for the soft hum of the london skyline beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of lewis’s penthouse. he stood by the counter, his back to you, shoulders tense as he gripped the edge of the marble. you could feel the weight of the silence between you, a chasm that had only grown wider these past months.

“just say it, lewis,” you said, your voice soft but trembling. “i deserve that much.”

he exhaled, long and shaky, before finally turning to face you. his brown eyes, usually so warm and full of life, now held only guilt and a sadness that cut deep.

“it wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” he said, his voice barely audible.

your chest tightened, and you blinked back the tears that threatened to spill. “what wasn’t supposed to happen, lewis? you falling for her?”

he winced at your words, his jaw clenching as he looked away. “you know it started as a pr thing,” he said, almost defensively. “the team thought it would be good for my image—me and someone high-profile. someone who fit the brand.”

“and you agreed,” you said bitterly. “you promised me it was just for the cameras. you swore to me, lewis.”

“i thought it would be,” he said, his voice breaking. “i thought i could keep it separate. that it wouldn’t mean anything. but…”

“but what?” you snapped, taking a step closer, anger overtaking the ache in your chest. “you spent so much time pretending that you forgot it wasn’t real?”

his silence was deafening.

“i gave up so much for us,” you said, your voice trembling with emotion. “the constant travel, the scrutiny, always being second to your career. i did it because i loved you, lewis. because i believed in us. and now you’re telling me you fell out of love with me because you fell for her?”

“it’s not that simple,” he said, his voice rising slightly, though there was no anger behind it—only desperation. “you don’t understand what it’s like, the pressure, the expectations—”

“don’t you dare make this about your career,” you interrupted, shaking your head. “i stood by you through all of it, lewis. i was there when no one else was. and now you’re throwing it all away because someone ‘fit the brand’ better than i did?”

“that’s not what this is,” he said, his tone pleading. “i didn’t plan for this to happen. i didn’t want to hurt you.”

“but you did,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “you already did.”

he looked at you then, tears glistening in his eyes, and for a moment, you saw the man you fell in love with—the man who promised you the world, who told you that love was the only thing that mattered. but that man had made a choice, and it wasn’t you.

“i’m sorry,” he said, the words trembling as they left his lips.

you let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head as tears streamed down your face. “sorry?” you echoed, your voice cracking. “sorry doesn’t fix this, lewis. sorry doesn’t erase the nights i stayed up worrying about you, the times i put you first, or the pieces of myself i gave up to love you.”

he flinched but didn’t say a word, his silence cutting deeper than anything else.

you took a shaky step back, your breath hitching. “i hope she gives you everything i couldn’t,” you said, your voice trembling with heartbreak. “but just know—you didn’t lose me, lewis. you gave me up.”

with that, you turned on your heel, walking toward the door with as much strength as you could muster. the tears blurred your vision as they fell, but you didn’t stop. you couldn’t stop. not for him. not anymore.

ʚ・george russell

the door creaked as you stepped into the flat, soaked from the rain, your coat dripping onto the floor. george stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, a mug of tea untouched in his hand. he turned as you entered, but the usual warmth in his expression was gone.

you closed the door behind you, hanging your coat on the rack with deliberate slowness, trying to steel yourself for what you knew was coming. “you texted me to come home early,” you said, your voice careful. “what’s going on?”

he set the mug down and ran a hand through his hair, the strands disheveled as though he’d been doing it all evening. “we need to talk,” he said, his voice soft, almost too soft.

you froze, your heart sinking. “george…”

he met your gaze, guilt etched deeply in his features. “i don’t know how to say this,” he began, his voice shaking slightly, “but i have to be honest with you.”

your chest tightened as you stepped closer. “honest about what?” you asked, though the dread pooling in your stomach already told you.

he exhaled shakily, his hands gripping the edge of the counter. “i’ve been trying to keep things together, to keep this… us. but i can’t lie anymore.” he looked at you, his blue eyes clouded with regret. “i don’t feel the same way i used to.”

the air left your lungs. “what?” you whispered. “what are you saying, george?”

he hesitated, but the words came anyway, cutting through you like a knife. “i’ve fallen for her,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “the girl i was set up to date for the press. it wasn’t supposed to happen, but it did.”

you stared at him, disbelief washing over you in waves. “you promised me,” you said, your voice trembling. “you promised it was all fake, that it was just for appearances.”

“i thought it would be,” he said, his tone desperate. “i thought i could keep it separate, that it wouldn’t mean anything. but somewhere along the way… it stopped feeling like an act.”

your head shook as tears welled in your eyes. “and what about me, george? what about us? do i mean nothing to you now?”

“you mean everything to me,” he said quickly, stepping forward, but you backed away, the distance between you growing. “you were there for me when no one else was, when i needed someone who believed in me. but…” his voice broke, and his shoulders sagged. “it’s not fair to you if my heart’s not in it anymore.”

“not fair to me?” you snapped, the anger bubbling to the surface. “what’s unfair is that i stood by you through everything—your career, the pressure, the public eye—only for you to fall for someone else because she ‘fits the narrative’ better.”

his silence was deafening, his expression pained but offering no defense.

“i gave you everything,” you said, your voice breaking. “and you’re throwing it away like it’s nothing. for what, george? for someone who plays the part better than i do?”

“it’s not like that,” he pleaded, but you raised a hand, stopping him.

“no,” you said firmly, tears now streaming down your face. “you don’t get to justify this. you don’t get to pretend this is about anything but your choices.”

he reached out, but you stepped back, shaking your head. “i hope she makes you happy,” you said bitterly, your voice steadying despite the pain. “because you just lost the one person who loved you for who you really are—not the perfect image the world expects you to be.”

the words hung in the air as you turned and walked out, the door closing softly behind you.

… weeks later

the flat was empty now, your things gone, and george sat alone in the quiet, staring at the spot where you used to sit on the couch with your legs tucked under you, reading or laughing at something he said.

his phone buzzed, a text from her lighting up the screen. he stared at it for a long moment, but he didn’t reply.

because the truth was, she might’ve been the perfect fit for his career, his brand—but she wasn’t you. and now, as the weight of his choices settled over him, he realized what he had lost wasn’t just love. it was you. and no pr stunt could ever fix that.

ʚ・franco colapinto

the sound of the rain tapping against the window was the only thing that filled the space between you and franco as he sat across from you, his hands clenched into fists on the table. you’d been waiting for this moment for weeks, months, really. deep down, you had known it would come sooner or later. you had known that the pressure, the expectations, the image—none of it could last. but even when you anticipated it, even when you braced yourself, hearing it from him felt like a punch to the gut.

“i never wanted to hurt you,” franco said, his voice low, his eyes avoiding yours as he spoke.

“then why are you doing this?” you asked, your voice steady, but your heart a mess of emotions. “why now?”

his gaze finally met yours, and there was guilt there, but there was also something else—a sadness that wasn’t enough to change what was happening. “i thought i could keep things separate. that it wouldn’t change anything between us.” he paused, letting out a shaky breath. “but it did.”

you swallowed hard, the words you had prepared for this moment now stuck in your throat. “you fell for her, didn’t you?” you said, the bitterness in your voice more evident than you wanted it to be.

franco’s silence was all the confirmation you needed.

a small, dry laugh escaped you as you wiped your eyes, the tears threatening to spill. “i knew it would happen,” you whispered, the ache in your chest growing with each passing second. “i knew you’d choose her. you always had to. it was never about us, was it? it was about the image, the brand, the plan.”

“no, it wasn’t like that,” franco said quickly, his voice desperate as he reached for your hand, but you pulled away. “i didn’t want this. i thought i could just go along with it, make it through for the sake of everything. but… it’s not just a plan anymore. i care about her.”

the words felt like they were suffocating you. “i tried to pretend i was fine with it,” you said bitterly. “i convinced myself i was okay with the idea of this being temporary, that it would all go back to normal. but hearing you say it out loud… hearing you admit it… it makes it real. and that hurts more than i thought it would.”

he opened his mouth to say something, but you held up a hand. “don’t,” you whispered. “don’t try to explain it. i don’t need the explanation.”

“i never meant for this to happen,” he said again, his voice faltering. “you have to believe me.”

“i do,” you said, your voice quiet, the tears now falling freely. “i do believe you. but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

you stood up, your legs feeling weak beneath you, the reality of it all settling in. you had known this was coming, had prepared yourself for the moment he would look at you and admit the truth. but somehow, hearing it—hearing it from him—made it feel like a wound that had just been freshly opened, a wound that had been bleeding for far too long and was finally exposed.

“i thought i was enough for you,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him, your hands shaking as you wiped away your tears. “but i guess i was never going to be enough for what you really needed.”

franco stood up then, stepping toward you, but you shook your head, unable to meet his eyes. “don’t.” your voice cracked as you spoke. “you’ve already made your choice.”

for a long moment, neither of you moved. the weight of everything hung heavily in the room, suffocating the air around you both. finally, he took a step back, his shoulders slumping. “i’m sorry,” he said quietly. “i never wanted to hurt you.”

“i know,” you said softly, the words barely escaping your lips. “but sometimes… sometimes it’s the things we don’t want to happen the most that hurt the most when they finally do.”

and with that, you turned and walked out of the room, the door clicking shut behind you with a finality that echoed in your bones.

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[luveline]

heyy! ━ im not sure if you requests currently because its totally fine if you dont.

but how about hot bombshell bau!reader where she looks extra fine today [like its warm and she wears a dress] and spencer cant info dump like he usually does? ━ feel free to add anything to the story!

love your writing and page, <3

ty for requesting ♡ fem!reader

Texas gets hot. Unbearable, suffocating heat, arid air that feels as though it's baking you alive paired with the unforgiving beat of the sun on your shoulders. Sorry, Hotch, but you have to wear a dress. 

It's a little black thing with respectable sleeves and a less respectable hemline. There's no cleavage on show. Honestly, you could wear it to the courthouse if you needed to, and that's what counts. 

"Well, hi, mama," Morgan greets as you drift into the hotel lobby. 

"Unprofessional?" you ask, holding the hem in your two hands and pulling it down a touch. 

"On you? Absolutely." Morgan's wearing his usual attitude, but even he had the sense to wear a light grey shirt. "Where've you been hiding that one?" 

"I'm prepared for anything, Derek, you know that." 

Hotch raises his eyebrows when he sees you. 

"Too much?" you ask cautiously. 

"No. You look nice, Y/N. It's not you I'm thinking about." He suffers in his suit jacket, but you can't imagine he'll wear it much longer. He's a stickler for formality but he's not insane. "Speaking of, where's Reid?" 

"We're here!" JJ assures, leading the rest of your team from the breakfast hall. "We were following the air-conditioning. Hey, nice dress. I wish I packed something cooler." 

"It has to be hitting one ten," Emily whines. 

Spencer follows behind her, not quite looking at you as he begins, "It's an even one hundred farenheit today, it just feels hot because the aridity of the air is…" 

Spencer stares at you, his voice fading thin as the edge of a flower petal. He makes a very gentlemanly and extremely entertaining attempt to restrain himself, but his eyes pitch downward to your thighs, your legs as a whole, pupils dragging and catching on the slopes of them. 

His gaze shoots back to your eyes. "The air?" you ask softly. 

You can feel Hotch's disapproval in the same way you could predict today's heat. Spencer glances at him, and, because he isn't totally socially unable, he steadies himself and says, "You look nice." 

"Spencer!" you cheer, your happiness nearly smothering a mixture of sighs and laughs. "Thank you so much, that's so sweet!" You close the distance between you to clasp his arm gently. "You look nice too. I see you've foregone a sweater in the heat. Have you ever thought about wearing a v-neck shirt like Morgan does? You'd look really good, especially your arms." 

Speechless, Spencer shakes his head. You pat his shoulder as Hotch shepherd's you out of the hotel and into the sunshine, the agony of a land without air-conditioning distracting your audience. With slightly more privacy, you lean into Spencer's side. 

"I know it's not quite right to wear to work but my pencil skirts are all too tight after the last wash. Do you think it's alright?" 

A bead of sweat collects at his hairline. "I think it's fine." 

"Yeah? I just couldn't stand to be hot again like we were yesterday, even my knee caps felt sweaty. If it gets any hotter I'll have to solve the case in my underwear." 

Spencer makes a quiet, strange sound, like a pant or a gasp being choked on. You'd love to say you attribute it to the heat, but you're not that humble. 

"We'd still get the job done, wouldn't we?" you ask. 

"I don't know what to tell you," Spencer says. 

Hotch puts you and Spencer in separate SUVs.

[greengoblinswifey]

I would def love another Nicholas, Cooper and reader story. Maybe it takes place at a party or club and the reader is vibing dancing until nick and cooper take special notice of her 👀

pairing— nicholas chavez x cooper koch x actress!reader

warnings— grinding/dry humping, oral(m&f receiving), slight degradation, praise kink, unprotected sex, double penetration, choking, anal, double creampie, aftercare.

a/n— apologies for the long wait, enjoy <33

The music pulsed through the club, vibrating through your chest as you swayed to the beat, lost in the moment. Tonight was about letting go, about celebrating, you’d just wrapped filming on your latest project, and the energy of the crowd was fueling.

But as you spun lightly on your heels, you froze for a moment, your gaze locking onto two familiar faces at the bar. Nicholas Chavez and Cooper Koch. Actors whose work you admired, whose talent you’d occasionally gushed about in interviews. They were here, laughing and looking like they owned the room, and for some reason, their attention was suddenly on you.

Nicholas was the first to move, his brown eyes glinting under the neon lights as he crossed the room. You could feel his gaze as he approached, slipping behind you, the warmth of his presence igniting something electric down your spine.

“Mind if I dance with you?” His voice was low, barely audible over the thumping bass.

“Not at all,” you said, breath hitching, but you nodded, leaning slightly into him.

Nicholas placed his hands lightly on your hips, his movements syncing perfectly with yours as you danced. He was confident but not overbearing, his touch firm but respectful. You let yourself melt into him, the proximity making your heart race.

Then your eyes flicked over to Cooper, who had been watching with a smirk. Feeling bold, you extended a hand, beckoning him closer. He didn’t hesitate, slipping into place in front of you, his hands gently on your hips as the three of you danced together.

“You’re stealing the attention of two guys tonight,” Cooper teased, his lips close enough to your ear to send a shiver down your neck.

“Maybe I’m just that good,” you replied, smirking.

“She knows her power,” Nicholas said, chuckling behind you.

It was playful at first, but the sexual tension built quickly. Cooper leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a soft, exploratory kiss. You responded instinctively, your fingers curling into the front of his shirt as the kiss deepened. Then you tilted your head, your lips finding Nicholas’ next. His kiss was different, slower and deeper, his hands holding you securely as though he wanted to take his time with you.

Nicholas pulled back to meet your gaze. His voice was a low murmur against your lips. “Want to get out of here? Our hotel isn’t far.”

Your answer was a simple nod, your heart hammering in your chest.

The car ride back was filled with heat and hands. Nicholas sat to your left, his fingers tracing slow circles on your thigh, while Cooper’s hand rested on your other leg, his thumb brushing against your knee. Every touch felt intentional, the promise of more hanging in the air.

When you finally arrived at the hotel, the anticipation was almost unbearable. Nicholas opened the door for you, offering you a sly smile. “After you, beautiful.” You slowly walked in, hips swaying.

Without hesitation, Nicholas stepped forward, his hands finding the tie of your dress, tugging it free with a pull. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, as the fabric slipped off your shoulders and pooled at your feet.

Cooper was just as eager, his lips brushing along your neck while his hands traced your sides. “We’ve been waiting all night for this,” he added.

Before you could even catch your breath, their clothes joined your dress on the floor. Nicholas’ hands found your waist as Cooper dropped to his knees, his eyes meeting yours for a moment before he leaned forward. His lips pressed against your pussy, soft and wet, then leaving a trail of kisses down your inner thigh.

“Relax for us,” Nicholas coaxed, his fingers brushing your chin to tilt your head up to meet his gaze. His lips ghosted over yours as his hand slid into your braids, anchoring you in place. “You deserve this.”

Your response was lost in the moan that escaped your lips when Cooper’s mouth worked against your wetness. The precision of his tongue sent waves of pleasure through your body, and you couldn’t stop the way your hands clutched at Nicholas’ muscular forearms for balance.

“That’s it,” Nicholas praised. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart.”

The combination of Cooper’s relentless tongue and Nicholas’ reassuring praises left you breathless. When the flick of his tongue became overwhelming, you reached for Nicholas, your fingers unbuttoning his pants and sliding them down. You didn’t have to ask for guidance, he stepped forward, his hand resting at the back of your head as you took his big, hard cock into your mouth.

“Perfect little cock sucker,” Nicholas murmured, his voice faltering slightly as your head bobbed. His hand tightened in your braids, a low moan escaping him. “So good, baby. You’re making it hard to not cum.”

Cooper’s tongue became more purposeful, his grip on your thighs firm as he brought you closer to the edge. The sensation was intoxicating, overwhelming, and it wasn’t long before your body tensed, the pleasure hitting you like a tidal wave.

The moment your pussy squirted, Nicholas followed suit, his voice hoarse as he murmured your name, his grip on you tightening for a brief second before his load shot down your throat. You leaned back swallowing it, your breaths ragged as the room spun slightly. Nicholas pulled you up gently, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he smiled down at you. “You’re fucking amazing,” he said softly.

Cooper rose to his feet, his lips curving into a satisfied grin as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “You’re shaking baby,” he observed. “Nervous? Or just needy?”

“I’m fine,” you said softly, but your tone betrayed you.

“Oh, I think it’s both,” Nicholas said, tilting your chin up with his fingers. “Look at her. So desperate, she doesn’t even know what to do with herself.”

You blinked up at him, his gaze pinning you in place. “I’m not desperate,” you replied, trying to sound confident, but your voice wavered slightly.

“Sure, baby,” Cooper chimed in from behind, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “That’s why you’re standing there like you’re about to beg us to fuck you.”

“Maybe I am,” you admitted, the boldness surprising even you, “fuck, I need the both of you.”

Nicholas chuckled darkly, his hand trailing down your arm as he leaned in close. “Good girl,” he murmured. “Then let us give you what you want.”

Cooper shifted back on the bed, gesturing for you to climb into his lap. You hesitated for only a moment before crawling onto the mattress, settling back against his chest as his arms encircled your waist. Nicholas moved to kneel in front of you both, his fingers spreading open your wet pussy as he smirked up at you.

“You look so pretty like this,” Nicholas said, his voice low and taunting. “Your holes are ours, aren’t they?”

You nodded, your heart hammering as his words sank in. Cooper’s hands roamed over your waist, his touch firm but measured. His veiny cock circled your hole before he slowly sank inside. At the same time, Nicholas collected your juices on the tip of his cock before inching inside at the same pace Cooper went. “You’re doing good,” Cooper whispered into your ear, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine. “But don’t think we’re going to go easy on a slut like you.”

Nicholas hands slid higher, his grip going around your neck as his smirk deepened. “She doesn’t want easy,” he said. “Do you?”

“No, I don’t, fuck me hard,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s what I thought” Nicholas murmured, his tone almost mocking as he leaned closer. “Now be good for us, sweetheart, and we’ll make sure you feel exactly what you’ve been begging for.”

Nicholas and Cooper maintained a steady, their cocks in your holes were perfectly synchronized, your orgasm approaching with each passing moment. Nicholas’ hand rested tighter around your throat, his fingers curling ever so slightly to exert just enough pressure to keep your focus entirely on the pleasure.

“You’re doing so well for us,” he murmured. “Look at you, so perfect, just like this.”

Behind you, Cooper’s hands were everywhere, groping you, holding your hips and guiding you on their cocks. One hand drifted lower, his touch soft as he rubbed your clit, drawing moans and gasps from you that you couldn’t contain.

“Those pretty moans,” Cooper whispered.

Your breaths came in short gasps, and your body trembled as the pleasure built. Nicholas leaned down, his lips brushing against your collarbone before trailing lower to press a gentle kiss to your tits. “I can feel how close you are,” he whispered. “Don’t hold back, baby. Cum for us.”

Your head tipped back, overwhelmed by the sensations. “I— I’m about to—”you stammered, your voice shaking.

“It’s okay baby,” Cooper reassured you, his lips brushing against your neck. “Cum for us. Be a good girl.”

Nicholas tightened his grip on your throat, his eyes locked on yours. “Come on, sweetheart,” he coaxed. “Show us how good of a whore you can be.”

With their words urging you on, everything came crashing down at once. Your body shook, the sensation overwhelming as you lost yourself, the release leaving you breathless and weightless all at once as you squirted all over their cocks. Cooper pressed soft kisses to your neck, murmuring praises in your ear.

“That’s our girl,” he said. “So good for us.”

Nicholas slowed, his hand slipping from your throat to brush against your cheek. “You were incredible,” he murmured, his voice softer now.

You barely registered the moment they followed, their thrusts stilling as they came inside your holes. Cooper’s hands held you close as Nicholas’ forehead rested against yours briefly, grounding you both.

The room was quiet for a moment, save for the sound of your shared breaths. Nicholas pulled away first, his hands gentle as he helped you adjust. Cooper slipped out from behind you, moving quickly to grab a warm towel.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Cooper said, his tone soft and affectionate.

Nicholas stayed by your side, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You did so well,” he said. “We’re so proud of you.”

Cooper returned, dabbing your skin with the towel as Nicholas helped you lie back against the pillows. They both climbed into bed with you, pulling you close between them.

“How are you feeling?” Nicholas asked, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back.

“Perfect,” you smiled.

Cooper kissed your forehead, pulling the blankets up around all three of you. “Good,” he said. “Because you deserve nothing less.”

Tags: @blackynsupremacy @hoffmansgirl @nicholaschavezslut69 @rain-likes-purple

[marypaol]

Cold Heart

Draco x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Aftermath of a fight, soft angst, that’s all :)

Summary: Reader and Draco have a fight over something they can’t even remember and they sleep in separate beds. But all that changes when Reader has a nightmare.

Note: I don’t use Y/N, if that’s okay :)

***

The feelings inside her chest were unbearable. It was a feeling of loneliness and hurt settling in her chest making her feel uneasy. The tension between them was thick yet awkward at the same time, so thick she didn’t know what to say next. Like if she tried to say something the air would drown out her words and they would be faded before they even reached his ears.

The so called fight was horrible. They both said things they didn’t mean, and called each other names they didn’t really think each other were. Their actions were foolish, getting upset over something that wasn’t important enough to affect their relationship. The thing neither of them would admit is that they didn’t even remember how it started. That was the thing about arguments. Once they start they keep adding up until it explodes, but no one knows what set it of in the first place.

The girl felt small under his sharp gaze, the once soft eyes that looked at her were now hard and stern. The sudden cold air made her shiver but of course he had no reaction. He just stood there, staring her down, making her more uncomfortable by the minute.

She swallowed her regret and pain for the night, deciding to deal with it the next day. “I’ll sleep in the guest room.” She mumbled oh so quietly, not even sure he heard her and slowly made her way to the bedroom, her feet softly padding on the floor the only sound in the room besides Draco’s breathing.

Draco didn’t do anything to stop her, not even changing his body language as a sign he wanted her to stay. It was almost like he wanted her to leave, wanted her to sleep in a separate bed just because they couldn’t act like mature adults properly solving out their relationship problems. So he stood there watching her leave and still watched as door closed, leaving him with the wood staring at him. The man sighed, running a rough pale hand through his even paler hair, tugging at the strands until it hurt. His hand went to his chest next, tugging harshly at the tie that was tied at the collar, something that seemed to be getting tighter each minute. He felt like he was being choked. He untied it and threw it hardly on the ground, the fabric making a sharp slapping noise. He himself was cold, the unexplained breeze sending shivers up his arms as he traveled to their bedroom, totally expecting her sleeping figure to be there, soft skin laying on the silk sheets, eyelashes tangled together as her eyes fluttered from time to time. But he know that even when that happened she wouldn’t wake, for that was a sign she was in deep slumber, not planning on getting out of it any time soon. But once he walked in he found the temperature even colder; the absence of the girl seeming to have an effect on the atmosphere itself. The bed was empty and the sight was unsettling to his chest, almost like her in the bed was something that needed to happen in order for him to feel content.

Sadly the feeling of discomfort didn’t go away even when he decided to sleep on her side of the bed, her scent evolving him like a quilt, the warmth of the smell almost overwhelming. The goosebumps on his skin seemed to go away just by smelling her, like just a piece of her could fix his smallest problems.

Draco slept restlessly that night, his eyes fluttering open every couple hours until he finally found himself falling back asleep again, only to do the same thing a couple hours later.

It wasn’t until he felt another presence in the room, someone’s eyes on him as he slept that his eyes finally decided to stay open for more than five minutes. He glanced at the doorway, the darkness seeming to spread as he focused on one spot. He heard heavy breathing, the person obviously trying to stop it so it wouldn’t wake him up. Little did they know he woke up because he felt her in his presence, not heard it. Almost like he couldn’t just feel her when he’s awake but also when he’s asleep.

“Hey,” he grumbled, his arm coming out of beneath the pillow, the pillow being almost permanently bent because of his arm squeezing it. The girl in the doorway shifted her weight on each foot, her body rocking back and forth as she did so.

“Come here,” he requested, rolling over so she could reclaim her spot. She hesitantly walked over to the bed, stopping when she was next to her side, hands fiddling with her-his- shirt. His hand reached out to her, fingers connecting to her arms, stroking the skin there. Her skin was still warm from the bed sheets, telling him that she wasn’t standing there for long before he woke up.

Silence wrapped around them for a while as his fingers continued to massage her skin, warm against warm. He knew she found comfort in it since she was practically melting into his touch. He wrapped his slender fingers around her wrist softly and lightly tugged as a signal he wanted her to join him in the silky bed sheets.

“Come here,” he grumbled again, fingers going down her wrist to connect his hand with hers. She stepped closer at the repeated request, like she convinced herself that the first one was a misheard, and that she needed reassurance. Her knee stepped up on the bed, arms reaching out to him for a seek of comfort. His arms settled on her hips, guiding her as she settled into bed with him.

She chose to lay on her back, eyes settled on the ceiling but her arm was still touching his. He only noticed then that her cheeks were damp and eyelashes wet.

“Hey,” he said comfortingly, fingers going up to her hair to stroke it out of her face; continuing to do so even after it was out of the way. “No tears, alright love? No tears,”

She sniffed, eyes glazing over but nothing escaping. Her lips parted and she breathed through her mouth for a couple seconds before she spoke.

“I had a nightmare,”

Draco sighed as a sign to say he felt bad, hand moving to her ear so he could stroke it carefully.

“I’m sorry, loves.” He said softly. “I wish I was there when you woke up.”

“I was scared you would still be mad.” She stated anxiously. He shook his head before she could finish speaking, lips leaning forward so he could peck at her cheeks, kissing the tears away one by one. He then backed up but still stayed close by, her right hand coming up to wrap around his neck. His silver orbs met her glossy ones, eyes searching for any emotion in her eyes. “Listen darling, I would never stay mad at you for coming to me for comfort,” he started, rubbing their noses together softly before looking into her eyes again. “You are mine, and if you need anything I’m here to give it to you.”

She smiled ever so softly, fingers stroking at his hair on the back of his neck. “All I need is you, and you already gave that to me. There isn’t anything else I need more.”

[luvzshy]

I Am Home

Pairing: Poly!Alice Cullen x Jasper Hale x Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: Your battle with anxiety feels endless until you find your true home in Alice and Jasper, whose deep soulmate bond with you brings the peace you desperately need.

Notes: Reader has anxiety, Alice and Jasper help calm her down with sweet words and affection. There’s angst leading to a fluffy, intimate ending. Deep emotional connection, slow-burn vibes with a soul-tie dynamic.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been standing there, pressed against the cold wall of the school library, the world blurring around you. It felt like everything was closing in—the fluorescent lights too bright, the voices too loud, even though they were distant now. Your heart was racing, every beat loud in your ears, as if it was trying to escape the cage of your chest.

It wasn’t the first time you’d felt like this—trapped inside your own mind, your thoughts spiraling out of control—but this time, it felt worse. It was like being underwater, gasping for breath, but unable to break through the surface.

The anxiety was suffocating, a familiar but unwelcome visitor, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that this time, it was too much. Your hands trembled, your knees weak, and you were so close to sinking into that abyss. You pressed your back harder against the wall, as if it might ground you, but nothing seemed to help.

Then you felt it—a gentle touch on your arm, soft but steady. Alice.

Her presence was so light and comforting, like a whisper of calm amidst the chaos. Even without looking, you knew it was her. You could always feel her before you saw her, as if the air shifted when she was near, carrying with it the promise of safety.

“Hey,” Alice’s voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the fog of your panic like a lifeline. “Breathe with me.”

You struggled to meet her gaze, your vision blurred by the tears you hadn’t even realized were there. But when your eyes finally locked onto hers, you saw nothing but love. Her dark eyes, deep and unwavering, told you everything you needed to know—she was here. She always would be.

But even as her words washed over you, the panic didn’t release its grip. Your breath hitched in your throat, too shallow, too fast, and your hands shook uncontrollably. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to force the feeling away, but it only made it worse.

Another touch—this time, steady and warm on your shoulder. Jasper.

Where Alice’s energy was light, Jasper’s was grounding, a quiet strength that enveloped you like a protective shield. His voice was low, soothing, the kind of voice that made you feel safe no matter how lost you were. “I’m here,” he said, his words vibrating through your body like a soft hum. “We’re not leaving you.”

Your chest tightened painfully, your breath coming in short gasps. “I… I can’t,” you managed to choke out between ragged breaths. “I can’t breathe.”

“You’re okay,” Jasper whispered, his hand gently rubbing your back in slow, calming circles. His power flickered, not forcing calm on you, but offering it like a hand reaching out, waiting for you to take it. “I’m right here. You’re safe with us.”

Alice was still holding your hand, her thumb brushing over your knuckles in rhythmic strokes. “You’re not alone,” she whispered, her voice filled with so much tenderness that it made your chest ache in a different way. “We’ve got you.”

You wanted to believe them, but the panic was still there, gnawing at the edges of your mind, telling you that nothing was okay. The pressure in your chest built until it felt unbearable, your vision narrowing, black spots dancing at the edges.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice cracking, ashamed that they had to see you like this—broken, fragile. “I’m sorry, I—”

Alice shook her head quickly, her grip on your hand tightening, but still gentle. “No. Don’t apologize, love. You don’t ever have to apologize for feeling this way.”

Jasper’s hand moved up to cup the back of your neck, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. “You don’t have to be strong right now,” he murmured, his golden eyes warm and steady, locking onto yours. “That’s what we’re here for. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Their words were like a balm on your soul, slowly easing the weight pressing down on your chest. You could still feel the panic, but now there was something else—a warmth, a tether pulling you back, grounding you. Alice’s presence, light and hopeful, and Jasper’s calm, steady energy—both of them holding you, not just physically, but emotionally, wrapping you in their love.

“You’re so strong,” Alice whispered, her forehead resting gently against yours. “Even when you don’t feel like it. And we’ll remind you of that every single day if we have to.”

Jasper’s hand slid down to rest over your heart, his touch firm but comforting, as if he were holding all the pieces of you together. “We’re connected,” he said, his voice deep and resonant, like a promise etched into your soul. “You, me, Alice—we’re tied to each other. You’re never alone in this.”

The words “soulmates” echoed between them, not spoken aloud, but felt in the way they held you, the way they anchored you to them. You could feel it in the way their emotions wrapped around yours—Alice’s unwavering optimism, Jasper’s steady calm. It was more than just love. It was something deeper, something that transcended words.

Slowly, so slowly, the tightness in your chest began to ease. Your breath came easier, the trembling in your hands lessening as you focused on them—on the warmth of Alice’s hand, the steady pulse of Jasper’s presence.

You let out a shaky breath, tears slipping down your cheeks, but this time they weren’t from panic. They were from the overwhelming love you felt in that moment, the certainty that no matter how lost you were, they would always find you.

Alice wiped the tears away with gentle fingers, her smile soft, eyes shining with pride. “There you are,” she whispered, her voice full of love. “You did it.”

Jasper’s fingers interlaced with yours, his touch solid and reassuring. “We’re always going to be here,” he said, his voice steady and unwavering. “No matter how dark it gets, we’ll be your light.”

In that moment, you realized how deeply you were tied to them—not just in this life, but in every way that mattered. Soulmates. The word wasn’t big enough to capture what the three of you had, but it was the closest thing to describing the connection that bound you to Alice and Jasper. You belonged to each other, in a way that made everything else seem insignificant.

As you rested between them, your panic finally fading, you felt the weight of their love settle around you like a protective shield. You weren’t alone. You never would be.

Alice kissed your forehead softly, her touch full of tenderness. “We love you,” she whispered, her voice like a lullaby.

Jasper rested his forehead against yours, his breath steady, grounding you. “Always,” he murmured.

You closed your eyes, breathing them in, feeling the warmth of their love wrap around you like a blanket. In their arms, you were home.

And for the first time that day, the world didn’t feel so heavy.

[intoanotherworld23]

Good Girl For Oliver

Pairing: Reader x Oliver Quick

Warnings: NSFW 18+ MDNI, there is smut in this loads of it, there is lots of oral female receiving, minor fingering, smidge of choking, bondage, and unprotected sex

Word count: 1407 words

Summary: Oliver Quick has got you right where he wants you

Long time no read everyone!! I know I’ve been absent for a hot minute but I am back and ready to write again! Thanks everyone so much for kind words and being supportive to me all this time, I appreciate all my followers I really do. So I recently watched Saltburn and like every thirsty horny person out there I had to write something for it! I hope you guys enjoy this one and let me know if you’d like to read more! Love you all so much! Don’t forget to reblog cause reblogging saves writers lives! XOXO

"Oh god."

The heat between your legs was becoming almost unbearable at this moment. It was like an ache you couldn't get rid of, and it was starting to get to you.

Fingers gripping onto the hand rails behind your head as the silk fabric started to cut into your skin.

Back arching off the bed as your toes became entangled in the cold sheets. It was like you were being tortured, and you loved every minute of it.

Your legs were numb to feeling as they were constantly shaking, and thick hands were gripping your soft flesh.

A wet tongue lapping relentlessly at your raw core. Running circles around your dripping opening like you were his last meal. The sounds of your slickness like music to his ears. He could keep you like this all day, and you knew he would too.

“Mhhhm. More Ollie.” Whispering just enough for him to hear.

“You want more?” Tongue sucking onto your clit making your cry out.

Diving his tongue right in as his fingers spread your lips apart getting easier access. Nuzzling his face so close his nose was brushing against your clit. His tongue massaging your inner walls as his hands rubbed soothing circles on your outer knees.

Rotating your hips against his face wanting more, but unable to open your mouth and say the words. His tongue literally had you speechless right now.

“Something wrong sweetheart?” His tone condescending as he smirked up at you. “Did you need something?”

Pushing two fingers inside of you admiring how tight you were. Biting your bottom lip so harshly you thought you might draw blood. His fingers felt so delicious inside of you.

Your limbs felt so heavy but relaxed at the same time. Whining down at Oliver to go faster, and he responded with a light chuckle.

“Can’t wait to fuck that little cunt of yours.” He says biting his bottom lip.

His thick fingers continued to slowly thrust and curl inside of you. Waiting for your response as you gasped when he sharply pushed his digits all the way up into your cervix. He was in complete control over you, and had you right where he wanted you.

“Cat got your tongue?” He teased when you weren’t responding.

Watching intensely as your mouth hung open, and only little squeaks came out. Kissing up your stomach as he nuzzled your hot skin loving how vulnerable you were for him. Really pulling against your restraints hoping he would untie you.

“Such a poor little thing aren’t you.” Oliver coos into your ear. “So desperate to cum.”

“Ollie.” Mewling desperate to grip onto his locks or just something.

Instead of responding he just pulls apart your thighs even more. The slight burn radiating all the way down to your calves. Meanwhile he just stared between your legs licking his lips noticing just how wet and raw you looked.

“Fuck just look at you.” Shaking his head in almost disbelief you were all his. “Look so fucking beautiful.”

Watching as he lowers one of his hands to grip onto his very erect cock. Stroking himself groaning in pain from how sensitive he was. All he wanted right now was to bury himself deep inside of you.

Even though it was a very simple motion it was still the hottest thing you had ever seen. Grinding your hips into the air wanting him to touch you or something. Of course Oliver saw what you were doing and grinned down at you.

“What do you want darling?” Reaching out to grip softly onto your neck with the same hand that gripped his cock just seconds ago.

“Oliver.” Whining up at him just hoping he would give it to you.

“No no.” He shakes his head at you. “My sweet girl I want to hear you say it.”

His hand tightening around your neck just slightly. Feeling the pressure of his fingers against your throat. Smoothly running his hand down past your collarbone, and in between your breasts. Feeling just how heavily your were breathing.

Oliver was known for pushing you past your comfort zone. He wanted you to always give in to what he wanted when it came to sex. He wanted you and nobody else.

Just to tease you even more he places the tip of his cock at your entrance. Gathering your juices and rubbing it up and down. Twisting your hips to get more, but he just grabbed your hips to keep you still.

“Tell me like the good little girl you are.” His tip barely just entering you.

“Please fuck me Oliver.” Finally able to say the words. “Just fuck me so hard I want your cock so badly.”

Smiling down at you as he leaned forward to attach his lips to yours. His mouth moving along yours in such a sensual manner you felt so many sparks of fireworks. Feeling the outline of his cock pressed against your cunt.

Pushing his tongue inside your mouth at the same time he pushed his length inside of you. Swallowing your moans as his hips were pressed into your pelvis. Staying there for just a few seconds so you could adjust. Savoring the moment your walls enclosed around him like little suckers.

“Such a tight delicious cunt for me.” He groaned as he pulled out and pushing back in. “Gonna have to fuck you more often sweetheart.”

He begins to pound into your cunt with no mercy. The sounds of his hips slapping against yours. Moving the bed and slamming the headboard into the wall. His little grunts echoing in your ear and he moved relentlessly inside of you.

Feeling the fabric rubbing against your skin even harder creating a burning sensation. Typically the pain would have brought tears to your eyes, but right now it was only heightening the pleasure even more intensely.

“Look at me sweet girl.” Commanding you noticing your shut eyes. “Look into my eyes as you cum around my cock.”

Noticing how his jaw clenched as he grit his teeth staring deep into your eyes. Feeling your cheeks begin to become hot with such an intimate interaction. It was just you and him in this moment, and he wanted you to become lost in each other.

“That’s my good girl.” He praised you. “Always such a good sweet girl for me.”

Wrapping your legs tightly around his waist as you began to feel that intense feeling building inside your stomach. Breasts bouncing back and forth with the motion of his rocking. His eyes looking down at them with lust. Unable to bear it anymore as he attached your left breast into his mouth.

“Oh my god.” Crying out throwing your head back.

Oliver could tell you were right there with each squeeze around his cock. He wanted to cum at the same time that you did. Holding himself back from spilling his seed inside of you too soon. Sweating so heavily he felt like he would almost pass out.

Lifting his head to look down at where you two are connected. Noticing as each time his cock pulls out a white creamy like substance strings along his length. The image drives him absolutely feral. Moving in and out of you so harshly your afraid he might actually break your body.

Your pathetic whimpers and moans are what keep him motivated. His eyes staying concentrated on your completely blissed out face. Your pupils are so dilated from being high off of each other.

“Cum for me sweetheart.” He begs you unable to hold back any longer. “I’m right there.”

One of his hands reached down between you two to rub circles against your bundle of nerves. That was enough to send you spiraling. Your toes curling as your whole body shook with such an intense orgasm. Legs trembling against Oliver’s hips as he held onto you.

Spilling his own seed inside of you his cock twitching a couple of times as he drained the last of his fluid. Laying against you feeling absolutely tired but relaxed.

“Was that okay?” He asked timidly as he reached up to untie your sore wrists. Your limbs falling straight down. “I didn’t hurt you did I?”

“No.” Responding out of breath eyes fluttering. “No Ollie it was perfect.”

“Good.” He smiled up at you snuggling against your sweaty body his head on your chest. “Cause I’m not done with you yet.”

[leftoverpages]

Shadows of Loss

Pairing ✦ Qimir x Sith!reader

Tags ✦ angst, character death

Notes: There’s so little fics about him I just had to take it into my own hands

Wordcount ✦ 805

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

The sky above burned with the fires of battle. Explosions lit up the horizon as the clashing forces fought for dominance. Among the chaos, Qimir's red saber cut through the air with lethal precision. He had fought countless battles, faced innumerable foes, but today felt different. Today, the stakes were painfully personal.

You stood by his side, a beacon of defiance amidst the encroaching darkness. Your own saber was a blur of light, defending against the relentless onslaught of enemies. Your eyes met Qimir's across the battlefield, sharing a moment of unspoken understanding and fierce determination.

You had trained, fought, and survived side by side, and over time, your bond had deepened into something more profound, something that transcended the dark side itself.

But fate can be cruel.

A sudden surge of Jedi reinforcements broke through the defensive lines. You were separated from Qimir, forced into a desperate fight for survival. He tried to reach you, but the tide of battle swept him further away.

His heart pounded with fear, a rare emotion for a seasoned warrior like him. He cut down enemy after enemy, each step bringing him closer to you. But as he fought, he saw you surrounded, your movements growing slower, more labored.

"Y/N!" he shouted, his voice drowned out by the cacophony of war. He pushed harder, fueled by desperation. But he was too far, and you were too surrounded.

A lightsaber struck you in the side, and you stumbled. Qimir's breath caught in his throat as he saw you fall to your knees. He unleashed a furious barrage of attacks, breaking through the enemy lines with sheer force of will.

By the time he reached you, you were on the ground, struggling to breathe. He dropped to his knees beside you, cradling you in his arms.

"Stay with me," he begged, his voice trembling. "Please, Y/N, stay with me."

Your eyes fluttered open, and you managed a weak smile. "Qimir...," you whispered, reaching up to touch his face. "I... I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," he said, tears streaming down his face. "I’m going to get you out of here. You're going to be fine."

But you both knew the truth. Your breathing was shallow, your body growing colder. "I... love you," you said, your voice barely audible.

"I love you too," Qimir choked out, holding you closer. "More than anything."

You smiled again, a sad, beautiful smile. "Fight... for us," you murmured.

And then, your hand slipped from his face, falling limp. The light in your eyes faded, leaving Qimir alone in the darkness.

He held you close, his heart breaking. The battle raged on around him, but in that moment, all he felt was an unbearable emptiness. He had lost you.

With a final kiss to your forehead, he gently laid you down. Rising to his feet, he ignited his saber once more. The fire in his heart had not dimmed—it had transformed into a burning resolve.

For you, he would fight. For you, he would never give up. They would pay for their cruelty, and the power you had sought together would be achieved.

As he charged back into the fray, he carried your memory with him, a guiding star in the darkest of times. And though the path of the Sith was fraught with pain and loss, he would carve out a legacy in your name, ensuring that your sacrifice would never be forgotten.

Weeks turned into months, and Qimir's reputation grew. The stories of his ferocity in battle spread through the galaxy, a Sith warrior driven by a singular purpose. He became known for his ruthlessness, his strategic brilliance, and an almost palpable sense of sorrow that seemed to fuel his every action.

Yet, every night, when the battles subsided and silence enveloped him, Qimir found himself haunted by memories of you. The dreams were vivid and cruel, replaying the moments you shared, the plans you made, and the future you had envisioned together. Each morning, he awoke more determined, the pain sharpening his resolve.

On the anniversary of your death, Qimir stood on the edge of a cliff overlooking the battlefield where you had fallen. The wind whipped around him, carrying with it the echoes of past battles. He closed his eyes, letting the memories wash over him.

"I will honor you," he whispered to the wind. "In every victory, in every moment of triumph, your name will be remembered."

He raised his saber, the crimson blade casting a red glow in the dim light. It was a promise, a vow made to the only person who had ever truly understood him.

And as he descended into the chaos of yet another battle, Qimir fought not just for the dark side, but for the memory of a love lost, and a future that could have been.

[rachalixie]

a/n: @cosmic-railwayxo mentioned that minho is sweet nothing by taylor swift coded and then send me a bunch of soft shit so i had no choice

you’re tired.

it’s the kind of bone-deep tiredness that only comes with weeks of exhaustion, countless interactions with people you never wanted to see again, work that seemed endless despite the pile you had accomplished, rainy days and windy nights that were equally unbearable. demands and demands of your time and attention and energy that you felt used up and thrown out.

and you had to go home and make dinner for yourself, having maxed out your take-out funds for the third week in a row. living on your own was it’s own haven in a way, but there were times where you dreamed of coming home to a warm, candle scented living room and a personal chef waiting with your favorite meal cooked and warm for you. 

your hands feel like lead as you open your door, your body sags against the wall as you kick off your shoes, your mind feels so muddled that you don’t even notice the soft melody fading out from the kitchen until you’re stepping into it. 

the room fades out, as do all the senses in your body except for the ones that sense him. minho, wearing your silly frilly apron, bent over a bit as he takes something that smells divine out of the oven. there’s a small smile on his face, closed lips humming a tune that you’ve heard time and time again - the one he sings to his cats, the one he sings to his mom, the one he sings to you when he thinks that you’re asleep. the one that has no real rhythm, the one that doesn’t make sense, the one that’s just so him that you feel tears pricking at your eyes just hearing it. 

he looks up at you after he places the baking dish on the stovetop, all crinkly eyed and scrunched nose and it feels like you’re hit with a physical wave of affection. he looks like he belongs there, safe and sound in your kitchen as if it is his home too. the room lights up, soft glowing waves bouncing off the walls centered around him, and you move towards him like a firefly towards a glow. 

“long day?” he says, soft voice twirling through the air. he presses a smooth palm to your cheek in a caress, letting his thumb run across the bone there. “i let myself in and made dinner.”

“you didn’t have to,” you choke out a bit, leaning into his touch. you glance at the dish he made - not your favorite, but you’re thankful for that. it grounds you, reminds you that this is not a dream and that he is actually real. actually this thoughtful. “thank you.”

he just hums in response, resting his chin on your head as he wraps his arms around you fully, pressing you into his body. he makes you feel so small in a way you never expected to love so much, you feel protected and cared for and he never asks for anything in return. his love for you is unconditional, as unwavering as the sun in the sky or the mountains painting the earth. 

and though he had stopped, his song was still playing in your head.

outside, they're push and shoving

you're in the kitchen humming

all that you ever wanted from me was nothing

[badasoneandonly]

𝘍𝘖𝘙𝘞𝘈𝘙𝘋𝘚 𝘉𝘌𝘊𝘒𝘖𝘕 𝘙𝘌𝘉𝘖𝘜𝘕𝘋

Summary:

Hwang In-Ho’s world shatters when he finds Y/N, the woman who tethered him to humanity, dead after jumping from their apartment building. Cradling her lifeless body, he’s consumed by grief and guilt, realizing too late the depth of her pain.

𝘎𝘌𝘕𝘙𝘌: ANGST, SUICIDAL, SAD LOVE,

A/n: this is my first time writing a fanfic so pls let me know what you guys think ^_^, and i recommend to listen to the music to get urself into the mood ^_^

The whiskey sat untouched on the table, its amber liquid reflecting the dim, flickering light of the room. Hwang In-Ho slouched in his chair, staring blankly at his phone. Y/N’s name flashed at the top of his screen—a message sent hours ago, its words haunting him.

“Goodbye, In-Ho. I hope you find peace one day.”

He should have called her. Replied. Anything. But what could he say? How could he pull her back from the same abyss he was barely surviving himself?

The sound of sirens shattered his thoughts.

Red and blue lights illuminated the room, casting eerie patterns on the walls. In-Ho’s brow furrowed as he moved to the window, peering down at the commotion below. A crowd was gathering outside the apartment complex across the street. Paramedics hurriedly unloaded a stretcher while police cordoned off the area.

Something in his chest tightened—a premonition he couldn’t shake.

He grabbed his coat and rushed out the door.

---

The air outside was cold and sharp, biting at his skin as he pushed through the crowd. Whispers reached his ears, fragmented and chilling.

“Someone jumped.”

“From the top floor…”

“She didn’t even scream.”

In-Ho’s heart pounded in his chest, a sickening dread spreading through him. He pushed forward, his breath catching when he saw the scene unfold.

A lifeless body lay on the pavement, surrounded by medics and officers. The sheet covering it was already stained with blood.

And he knew.

He knew before his eyes even registered the familiar outline of her figure, the dark hair spilling from beneath the fabric.

“Y/N.”

The word left his lips as a broken whisper. His legs moved on their own, carrying him toward her despite the voices shouting for him to stop.

He fell to his knees beside her, his hands trembling as he lifted the sheet.

Her face was pale, her eyes closed as though she were merely sleeping. But the stillness of her chest, the absence of her warmth—it struck him like a blade.

“No,” he choked, his voice cracking. “No, no, no.”

He gathered her in his arms, cradling her broken body against his chest. Tears streamed down his face, falling onto her hair as he rocked back and forth, his sobs echoing in the cold night air.

“You promised me,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “You promised you’d fight. That you wouldn’t give up.”

His grip tightened, his forehead resting against hers. “Why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t you let me help you?”

But he already knew the answer. He had seen the pain in her eyes, the way it had consumed her like a fire. He had felt it himself, the weight of a world that demanded too much and gave nothing in return.

“Somewhere along the line, I lost my way…”

The lyrics played in his mind, a cruel reminder of the song they had once listened to together. Her favorite song. A melody that now felt like a requiem.

The crowd around them blurred, their murmurs fading into white noise. All that remained was the broken girl in his arms and the unbearable ache in his chest.

“Baby,” he whispered, his voice cracking, “both arms cradle you now". He whispers the lyrics in your ear providing comfort to your now dead body rocking it back and forth.

His tears fell freely as he held her, rocking her gently, as though he could lull her back to life. But the warmth never returned.

And in the cold, empty night, Hwang In-Ho broke completely.

Tags: @warlabels @kimeungun114 @xcinnamonmalfoyx

[ghoulishneeds]

𖥔✦Double Feature ✦𖥔

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✧𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: Cooper Howard x F!Reader

✧𝒞𝒲: dubcon, violence ig, uh blood, piv, skullfucking, restraints, knife (briefly), choking, hair pulling

✧𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: You’ve been picked up by Cooper and he intends to sell you for a bounty. (Plot if you squint)

✧𝒲𝒞: 2.6k+

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Ask: can you do something for cooper being rough

((Oh boy can I.))

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——————————————————————

You squint against the sun, raising a hand to shield your eyes from it. Pain thrumming in your right shoulder. Your eyes adjust in time to catch the brown leather of his boot before it collides with your jaw.

——————————————————————

You’d been running your mouth all day.

Every time he’d fuckin moved, you’d had something to say about it. You weren’t sure if it was the constant, close proximity to each other, the unforgiving heat, or the knowledge he was about to sell you for a bounty, but everything was getting under your skin. You hated the desert. Hated him. You hated his cocky, fuck-em all attitude. Hated that the way he looked at you set your fucking blood on fire.

He’d barely spoken the entire journey, yet any time he did, you couldn’t swallow back some shitty little retort you’d had ready.

Up till this point, you’d maintained some level of feigned compliance. To a point, a part of you liked pissing him off. But, you knew who he was. The Ghoul. A fucking legend in the Wasteland. A killer.

But today you had felt braver. Or maybe the heat had just baked off the rest of your common sense.

He’d already told you to shut up once. And you had, for a small while. But his pace was slowing down, and the wheezing cough, signifying it was time for his next Rad-away dose, echoed back off the crumbling building along the roadway.

You had watched him fumble through his bag and had found it almost amusing. The most dangerous man in the Wasteland was one missed dose away from falling apart. It was ironically humanizing.

You watched him desperately consume the Rad-away and he stood straight again. You made it all of five steps before you found yourself laughing. When it echoed back to you it sounded hollow and mean in your own ears.

He’d stopped so suddenly you collided with him. Bracing your hands against his back for stability.

Your heart rate jumped. You could quite literally feel the mistake settling over you. When you looked up at him, he was glaring at you over his shoulder, eyes whiskey brown in the sun.

You hesitated before the step back, pulling your hands away from him. “I-“

Cooper turned to face you. The tension in the air was making it hard for you to breathe. You took another step back.

“Darlin’ I’ve told you once to shut your fuckin mouth haven’t I?” His voice was low and honeyed. Your pulse jumped again. He stepped in closer, eyes burning into yours. Your mouth was impossibly dry, chest rising and falling rapidly.

He looked at you expectantly. Was he waiting for a response? “…yes” You dropped your eyes.

“And here you are, still runnin that fuckin mouth.” He clicked his tongue and shook his head in exaggerated disappointment.

He’d hit you fast and hard, knocking you off your feet, your shoulder collided with the ground painfully.

——————————————————————

Your head is reeling after the kick, you struggle to focus your eyes again. He’s crouching over you, hands resting on his knees. He watches you with this intense, heated look while you push yourself up onto your elbows. As you try to catch your breath, you can feel the heat radiating off of him, making the air around you almost unbearable. You look up at him, your heart racing in your chest, and suddenly realizing the gravity of the situation. You were lucky he hadn't killed you yet.

"I don't like repeatin myself sweetheart." He says it almost sweetly. "If you can't keep that pretty mouth shut, how bout I keep it busy."

You swallow hard, feeling the words settle around you. His gaze is intense, like a branding iron searing into you. You know you have to say something, but your mind goes blank. “I-“

You know what he's implying, you're not stupid. The tension between the two of you had been building for too long, and this had been the boiling point.

Your eyes follow him as he stands up. He grabs you by the elbow and half drags you up into a kneeling position. When you try to fully stand, he presses his hand into your sore shoulder and pushes you back down. You look up at him, shame rolling over you. Your cunt is throbbing in time with your aching head now. He smirks down at you, unhitching the lasso from his hip. You watch as he loops it around his hand, the leather of his glove creaking slightly as he tightens it.

He steps in behind you, roughly pulling your arms behind your back. He pulls your wrists tight together, putting strain on your shoulders, and loops the rope around them. The rough rope burns against your tender skin, but you can't help the wave of arousal that rolls through you.

You feel him step back, releasing the pressure on your wrists. You try to pull your arms free, but they're tied tightly together. You can feel his eyes on you, burning into your skin. You turn your head slightly, looking over your shoulder at him.

He staring down at you, a hungry predatory look in his eyes. You swallow hard. A different kind of heat settling in your core. He steps back around, in front of you. "You ain't got anything to say now honey?" He asks, voice dripping with sarcasm. You meet his eyes indignantly.

Your heart is racing as you spit at him. Panic and arousal mixing into something primal in your blood.

He laughs, not bothering to wipe the spit away. Grabbing your face tight enough to make your jaw ache, he pulls you towards his crotch, his other hand fisting in the hair above your neck. "Can't tell if you're brave or stupid." He holds your gaze for a moment. “But I'd lay money on stupid."

He lets go of your face and undoes his belt, briefly fumbling one-handedly with the buckle. He audibly groans when his cock springs free. He's already hard, shiny pre-cum smearing the tip. Saliva floods your mouth and you look up at him again.

His expression is almost unreadable, aside from the fire in his eyes. He moves his free hand to his hip and unsheathes a jagged hunting knife. Your pulse quickens to a panicked rate, breath coming in sharp pants. “See this here sugar, is a serrated blade.” His voice is low and rough. “It doesn’t just slice,” he presses the blade against your cheek “it tears.”

Hot panic almost makes you drool as you watch him resheath it. “I’m tellin you once, don’t you go thinkin about biting.”

Your eyes meet his again. “Yes sir.” You don’t recognize your own voice, strained and rough. He smirks, clearly pleased with your submission. “Atta girl.”

Cooper’s hand tightens in your hair again, maneuvering you closer to his cock.

“Don't make me tell you what to do darlin’." His voice is a low growl above you. You swallow once and open your mouth obediently.

His fingers sift through your hair, guiding your mouth closer to his cock. As you lower your head, his tip grazes against your lips. You steal a glance at him, he's watching you with a heated gaze. You lean forward, feeling the hot, heavy head of his cock pressing against your tongue. Your eyes widen as you taste the pre-cum on his tip. You slowly start to take him into your mouth, your tongue sliding over the shaft. Coop watches you intently, his eyes darkening as you take him deeper into your mouth. You can feel his fingers tighten in your hair, urging you on. You wrap your lips around him, sucking lightly as you begin to bob your head.

He's been as patient as he's capable of being. He places his free hand alongside the other, on the back of your head. Stepping in closer, he pushes himself further down your throat. You gag, pulling against your bindings. His head drops back and he groans. You try to relax, willing yourself to take more of him. He grips your head and withdraws his cock slowly, before sliding it back down your throat. He quickly sets a rhythm, fucking himself down your throat.

As he continues to thrust his hips, his cock slides in and out of your mouth. You try to keep up with the pace, gagging occasionally but unable to pull away. You can feel the saliva dripping from your chin, mixing with his pre-cum. You can tell he’s close. His thrusts are sharper, shallower. You try to swallow around him and the constriction makes him groan. You can’t ignore the throbbing between your legs.

Your hips keen forward, against nothing while he buries himself in your throat. You feel him tense up as he nears his climax. His grip in your hair tightens, and he growls low in his throat. He pulls you forward, pushing himself as far as he can down your throat. He's so far down your throat, you don't taste it when he cums.

He hesitates for a moment before he withdraws his cock and you cough as he takes a step back, throat feeling raw and used.

He lets out a low whistle. "That mouth is good for somethin after all huh." He's smiling. You're panting and staring up at him. The taste of him lingers in your mouth, making you feel uncomfortably aroused. You glance away, trying to find some semblance of control. Cooper chuckles, a dark sound that makes your pussy ache. Your hips push forward again, almost subconsciously. The motion doesn't go unnoticed.

He smirks and tuts "My my, I must say I almost think you're due some kinda reward for that darlin." He leans forward smiling again, and presses the toe of his boot against your crotch.

You whine, a high pitched, pathetic sound. He chuckles again. "Oh I like that sound a whole lot better."

You feel a wave of shame wash over you, but you can't help the response to his touch. He leans down, his lips close to your ear.

"You know what? I think I'll make it a double feature for you today."

He licks a long stripe from your collarbone to just below your jaw. He bites you, hard. You aren't expecting it and the pain is shocking. But fuck it feels kind of good? You gasp, grinding yourself against his boot. He runs his tongue over the now broken skin and growls. It's a low animalistic noise that brings on a new wave of need.

He abruptly stands, grabbing ahold of your bound wrists and roughly turning you away from him. He briefly pulls you back to him, rutting his cock against you. His breath is hot against your ear. "Gunna be good for me?" His voice is rough against your ear and your back arches. He slides his hand around your throat, establishing a good grip. "Hm?" It was almost a purr. After several laborious breaths you whimper out a "Yes sir."

He smirks, pleased with your response. "Good girl." He shoves you down, pressing your face against the sand. He hooks an arm under your stomach, heaving you onto your knees. After a moment he, albeit somewhat awkwardly, gets your pants off.

You almost sigh as the cooler air hits your burning core. "Whew. Look. At. That." He punctuates each word with a smack to your wet pussy. You're not sure when he took his gloves off but the rough texture of his hand swatting your cunt makes you gasp and jerk away from him. He laughs and drags you back towards him by your wrists.

He slides a finger through your wet folds and exhales roughly. You’re embarrassingly wet. Slick gathering at your entrance and threatening to run down your thigh. “Downright sloppy.” You can hear the smirk in his voice and your face burns with embarrassment.

Teasing your clit briefly, before pushing two fingers into you. He exhales between his teeth, almost a hiss. The ghoul withdraws his fingers and quickly lines himself up at your entrance. He slides himself through your folds, rubbing the head of his cock over your clit before he thrusts himself into you.

He wastes no time in setting a brutal pace, allowing you no time to adjust to the size of him. A strained whine escapes you, your hands twitching in the grip he has on your wrists. His hand cracks down on your ass cheek, you bite back a whine.

You feel his hand squeeze your ass, and he leans down, pressing his weight over you. "That's it, darlin. Take it. Take what I got for you." His voice is like honey, coating your senses and making you feel weak in the knees. You hold back the moan threatening to peel its way out of you at his words.

He’s getting frustrated with your borderline silence. “Now sweetheart, you were so ready to run your mouth earlier.” He grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks you back against him.

“Let me hear somethin.” You gasp as he pulls you back, the sting in your scalp making your eyes water. You try to swallow past the lump in your throat, but the words won't come. He growls low in his throat, a mix of frustration and desire. He continues to thrust into you, his hips slamming against you in a brutal rhythm.

You grit your teeth, trying to ignore the stinging pain in your scalp and the burn of his thrusts. His other hand comes to rest on your cheek, pushing your head to the side so he can bite down on your neck.

The noise you make is something between a moan and a scream. His thrusts slow into a grinding roll that makes your eyes roll back. He moves to the other side of your neck and repeats the action and elicits a similar sound. "Mm that's my girl." Your back arches at his words.

He pulls back and picks his pace back up. His thrusts are becoming jerky and faster. Cooper leans over you, snaking an arm around you. His fingers find your clit and he slips his fingers over it in fast circles. You moan and try to push yourself back against him. You feel him slam into you, his hips driving against you in quick, hard thrusts. The feeling of his rough hands on your body mixed with the brutal pounding is overwhelming. You gasp for air, trying to ignore the sting of his bites as they mix with the ache in your body.

.

Your eyes roll back as the pleasure becomes almost overwhelming. You're close. His fingers pick up pace on your clit and he dotes a few particularly hard thrusts on you.

Heat floods your mind as your orgasm hits you, walls spasming around his cock. "Ha, fuck, that's it darlin'."

His pace stutters, his thrusts becoming sporadic and almost frantic.

"Fuck, gunna-" is the only warning you get before he cums, pulling you back against him hard.You feel the hot rush of him filling you up and groan.

His weight presses down on you, his breathing ragged as he tries to catch his breath. Struggling to catch your own, you note that you're still tied up. Cooper leans back, still almost panting, and pulls the knife out again. He cuts the rope loose and stands up.

As you lie there, taking in deep breaths, trying to recover from all of that, Cooper sheaths his knife and gives you a smug, satisified look.

You eventually get to your feet and redress yourself.

"Better get some rest darlin, we've got quite a bit of ground to cover tomorrow."

You look at him questioningly.

He smirks, a look of dark amusement settling in his eyes. "What? You didn't think you was off the hook for bein a good fuck?" He laughs, it sounds similar to your own, earlier laugh.

"Man's gotta make a livin sweetheart."

The sinking realization that you’re still being sold for a bounty hits you.

Maybe you’ll be able to get your way out of it.

[tszkrx]

helpless victim | ethan landry x reader

The hum of the kitchen lights was the only sound as I sat at Ethan’s kitchen table, tapping my pen on my notebook. The economics project had barely progressed, but my mind refused to focus on anything besides the overwhelming feeling of discomfort in the room.

Ethan was at the sink, washing his dishes, his back turned to me. I could see the muscles in his shoulders tightening as he moved, as if something inside him was wound up just a little too tight. The silence between us stretched on, making it harder to ignore the strange shift in his mood.

I glanced around the room, eyes drifting aimlessly, when I saw it.

The laundry basket in the corner, partially hidden behind the door. It didn’t look unusual at first, just a heap of clothes tossed in, but there—half visible—was something black, something so familiar it made my stomach flip.

A mask. A cheap black polyester mask.

My heart stuttered in my chest. It wasn’t just any mask. I recognized it. It was the one that had been all over the news lately. The one tied to the series of attacks happening in town.

I turned my eyes away quickly, hoping to erase the image, pretending like I hadn’t seen it. But the pit in my stomach only deepened.

"Ethan," I started, trying to keep my voice steady. He didn’t answer, still focused on his dishes.

I hesitated. Should I say something? Should I confront him about it? But I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer.

I stole another glance at the basket, trying not to be obvious, but my mind kept racing. Why was it here? What was it doing in his house?

My hands were suddenly clammy as I fought to control the urge to panic.

But Ethan must have noticed my shift in focus. His movements paused for a moment. The silence stretched, and then, finally, he turned around, wiping his hands on a towel. His eyes met mine, and for the first time, I noticed the way his expression had hardened.

“You good?” His voice was casual, too casual, but there was a sharpness to it that made me freeze.

“Yeah,” I forced out, trying to keep my tone neutral. “Just—just tired.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. His eyes flicked toward the laundry basket, the mask still half-hidden inside it. Then, almost imperceptibly, he took a step closer to me, closing the distance.

The air between us felt thicker, heavier.

“You sure you’re okay?” he repeated, his voice still too calm, like he was testing something.

I nodded, but my pulse quickened. He was watching me too closely. He had noticed. I could tell.

I couldn’t bring myself to say anything more. The words were caught in my throat, choking me.

Ethan leaned against the counter, folding his arms casually as though the mask, the costume—everything—was no big deal. "You know, Y/N," he said slowly, his voice smooth and deceptively soft. "I don’t think you’re as clueless as you let on."

The words made my stomach drop. I didn’t say anything, but I felt myself go rigid.

“Is that why you’ve been so quiet?” he continued, his voice low, almost like a whisper. “You saw it, didn’t you?”

My heart hammered in my chest, but I forced myself to look him in the eye. He knew. He knew that I had seen it. There was no denying it now.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, my voice barely a whisper, but I couldn’t stop my hands from trembling on the table.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took a step closer, his eyes never leaving mine. He moved like he had all the time in the world, and the closer he got, the more I felt the unease grow into something deeper—something darker.

“You don’t have to pretend,” he said, his voice now barely above a murmur, like it was a secret between us. “I’m not stupid. I saw you looking at it.”

I swallowed hard, unable to pull my eyes away from his. Something in the air was shifting. The tension was unbearable.

“I— I didn’t mean to,” I muttered, not sure what I was trying to say or why I even bothered. “I wasn’t... I didn’t...”

Ethan leaned in, his breath warm against my skin as he spoke, too close for comfort. His smile was small, cruel in a way that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “It’s fine,” he said quietly, his fingers brushing the back of my hand for just a second, making my skin crawl. “It’s not like you can do anything about it now.”

I wanted to pull away, to stand up, to run, but I couldn’t. It was like my feet were glued to the floor, my body frozen in place.

His eyes darkened slightly as he straightened, pulling back and giving me a once-over. "You’re smart, Y/N. You’ve already figured it out, haven’t you?"

I didn’t respond, but the look in his eyes told me everything. He was daring me to confront him, daring me to say something—anything—to break the silence.

But I didn’t have the words.

And I didn’t know what would happen if I did.

“You should go,” he said suddenly, his voice flat now, as if the conversation was over. “You’re probably getting tired.”

I stared at him, disoriented by how easily he could flip the switch, how casually he dismissed everything. Everything I had seen, everything I was starting to understand, meant nothing to him.

Without another word, he turned back to the sink, dismissing me as though nothing had happened. As if I hadn’t just stumbled upon the truth that chilled my very bones.

I stood there, my chest tightening, my legs barely able to carry me.

Ethan Landry had no remorse.

He hadn’t cared then, and he didn’t care now.

[hyunjiiniw]

*ੈ✩ (현진)

FLOWERS?

after your ex cheated on you and you cried to your friend hyunjin,there were flowers at your door when you hang up.

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✩ friend!hyunjin fem!reader ONESHOT,open-ending,just friends,cute,comforting,fluff,teasing and confessing.

✩ hyunjiniw’s note decided to not put a label on what they finally ended up to be or will be,it’s all up to your imagination considering it’s oneshot,i got mad at myself too when i wrote this and let it end like that,not doing a closed-ending,but i hope you’ll enjoy!

✩ happy reading to you <3

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the moment my phone slipped from my trembling hands, i crumbled onto my bed. the weight of my chest felt unbearable, as though every ounce of air had been sucked from the room.

my cheeks were streaked with tears, and my throat was raw from sobbing.

i couldn't believe it.

i’ve seen the proof-clear, undeniable proof. messages i was never supposed to see. pictures i couldn't unsee. my boyfriend of two years had cheated on me.

and now, all i felt was hollow.

the first person i thought to call wasn't my family or even my closest girl friend. it was hyunjin.

hyunjin, who'd been my friend since high school. hyunjin, who always had a way of making me feel seen. hyunjin, who i’d once sworn to myself that i’d never fall for. i couldn't ruin what i had with him, no matter how many times my heart betrayed me.

i hadn't told him about the cheating yet,i only managed to choke out the words "i need you." and, like always, hyunjin came through.

the screen lit up, signaling his incoming call. i swiped to answer, my voice barely above a whisper.

"hey," he said gently. "talk to me. what's going on?"

my voice cracked on the first word. "he-" i sucked in a shaky breath. "he cheated on me,hyun. i saw the messages. the pictures. it’s over."

silence.

not the awkward kind, but the kind that felt heavy, like he was trying to process what i’d just told him.

"y/n," he said softly, and his voice broke something in me. "i’m so sorry."

the sincerity in his tone undid me. i started crying again, the sobs shaking my entire body.

"i don't get it," i hiccupped. "was i not enough? was i... too much? how could he do this to me,hyun? after everything—after everything—“

"hey, no," he interrupted, his voice firm but still comforting. "don't do that. don't you dare blame yourself for his garbage decisions. you're incredible,y/n. if he couldn't see that, it's his loss."

i sniffled, trying to catch my breath. "it doesn't feel like his loss. it feels like mine."

"you haven't lost anything," hyunjin said, and the conviction in his words made me pause. "if anything, you've gotten rid of someone who didn't deserve you. and now, you have space for someone who does."

his words felt like a balm on my wounded heart, but the ache still lingered. "you really think so?"

"i know so," he said without hesitation. "you’re one of the most amazing people i know,y/n. anyone would be lucky to have you."

i tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. "you’re just saying that because you're my friend."

"no,i’m saying it because it's true."

i didn't know what to say to that, so i let the silence stretch between us. it wasn't uncomfortable-just... quiet.

after a while, hyunjin spoke again, his voice softer this time. "i wish i could be there with you right now."

"me too," i admitted, fresh tears prickling at the corners of my eyes.

"tell you what," he said, his tone lightening. "put on your favorite show, grab a blanket, and pretend i’m sitting next to you, making sarcastic comments about everything"

a laugh bubbled up despite myself. "that actually sounds nice."

"good. because you deserve nice things,y/n. don’t forget that, okay?"

"i’ll try," i said, my voice barely above a whisper.

"you’re gonna be okay," he promised. "i’ll check in tomorrow, yeah?"

"yeah," i agreed, feeling the faintest spark of hope.

when i hung up, the weight in my chest felt a little lighter. but the emptiness still lingered.

i hadn't expected much for the rest of the evening-just the quiet comfort of my blankets and the distraction of my favorite show. so,when the doorbell rang not fifteen minutes later, i froze.

cautiously, i made my way to the door, wiping my cheeks to look somewhat presentable. when i opened it, my breath caught in my throat.

sitting on my doorstep was a bouquet of flowers.

not just any flowers.they were my favorites-soft, pastel blooms wrapped in crisp white paper, tied with a delicate ribbon. my hands trembled as i picked them up, noticing the small card tucked inside.

i unfolded it, my heart pounding as i read the familiar, neat handwriting.

"because you deserve beautiful things, even on the ugliest days. -hyunjin"

my knees nearly gave out.

clutching the flowers to my chest, i sank onto the floor, tears streaming down my face. but these weren't tears of sadness. they were something else entirely-gratitude, warmth, something, that felt achingly close to love.

hyunjin had always been there for me. through every heartbreak, every failure, every joy.but this... this was different.

it was a reminder that even in my darkest moments, someone saw me . someone cared enough to remind me of my worth.

i stared at the flowers for what felt like forever, the petals soft and vibrant against my fingertips. the scent was delicate and sweet, wrapping around me like a gentle hug.

for the first time that night, i felt something other than heartbreak.

i felt hope.