#it's just that he's a tangled mess of emotions

[earnest-jumping]

Helloooo so I couldn't help myself and had to write a (semi-small, 2000+ word) fic to go along with this. I hope that is ok!

Fic under the cut:

Mornings in the Wachowski household were a production.

Of course, that wasn’t to say nighttimes weren’t a production. Wrangling three super powered kids to bed was a circus all of its own. 

But mornings? Mornings were their own ballgame. Shadow remembers the first one he’d been a part of. The false sense of security in waking to find Maddie the only other conscious member of the household, busy fixing coffee and eggs. Eyes taking in cups of juice that sat beside plates piled high with bacon and waffles. 

“Might as well get a plate and enjoy the silence,” she’d instructed, gesturing with the spatula she was using to scramble eggs, “while you can.”

His forkful of waffle had been halfway to his mouth when the morning had started with a bang. Knuckles above them, beginning his day by jumping from his bed and doing pushups. Then Tails, loudly complaining the echidna had woken him up-

And Sonic, already a chatterbox from the minute his mind drifted back to consciousness.

But even in the middle of all the chaos, there seemed to be some balance. Tom and Maddie above it all, stern but good-natured. Theatrics that never truly went too far. The easy and almost practiced way in which syrup, salt, and jugs for refilling juice all got passed from hand to hand. 

Easy. 

He should be used to it by now. 

So when Shadow wakes on the trundle bed pulled from beneath Sonic’s racecar bed just for him, an odd fluttery something filling him from the sounds of everyone already up and making a racket downstairs? He doesn’t like it.

He’s grateful the distance from the attic to the kitchen is enough to muffle the noise. He couldn’t imagine immediately waking to whatever was currently taking place at full volume.

I’ll just wait here a little longer, he thinks. Just until it calms down.

—

Twenty minutes go by, and it does not calm down. Shadow heaves a sigh as he pushes himself to sitting up.

The mishmash of blankets and sheets that had tangled around him are rubbing his fur the wrong way, and-

Elmo had fallen off the edge of the bed.

Hands dart out to rescue his red-furred stuffie from the floor next to the trundle. Elmo’d landed face down, a slight squish to his stitched grin. And yeah, maybe he was just stuffing and stitching. But that same fluttery feeling in him has Shadow’s emotions in a muddled mess, and he’d dropped his stuffie, his friend, his first really, truly his possession since his return to some semblance of normal life- on. the. floor.

Sorry. He thinks, smoothing a fist in circles over his chest. Sorry for dropping you. Sorry for being careless.

Elmo says nothing. Just continues looking at him with his ever-patient smile. 

It’s okay. The smile says back. It wasn’t on purpose. Elmo forgives Shadow.

Another raucous laugh drags the hedgehog from his conversation, the clinking of metal on ceramics an adjoining melody to the hollow growl of his stomach. He’s hungry. Sleeping in was nice while it lasted, but he needed food.

Maybe he could snag a bit of the french toast he smells in the air, before it goes soggy. It’s this goal that gets him finally untangling from the mess of fabric he’s lost in, one hand keeping hold of Elmo the entire way down the attic ladder and to the first floor landing.

“-because when he finally, I mean finally got to the end of the doors, he found probably the best and coolest secret in the whole universe!” Tom was narrating, waving an apple in one hand for emphasis. His boys are clustered around, leaning in over their plates to hang on to every word.

“What was it? What treasure did he behold at the end of his quest?” Knuckles urged him, attention nowhere near the open door frame Shadow hovered in. 

Tails’ ear twitched. “It’s got to be really cool if it was behind so many different doors.” 

“Tell us!” Sonic cried, french toast-topped fork flinging little drops of syrup towards his father. 

Tom’s grin took on a sharp edge while he leaned back in his chair. “Well, y’know, you’re not part of the monks, so I can’t tell you.”

“No way!”

“How could you- that story was so long!”

Knuckles threw himself back in his chair, arms crossing. “I admire the adherence to the monk’s code of honor, Father Donut. But I am blindsided by your deceit!”

Shadow watched the way Tom cackled, proud of himself for his long-winded joke. Gloved hands squeezed Elmo to his chest while he shuffled further into the kitchen.

“Oh, man- you only get to tell that joke to someone for the first time once. I can’t believe I forgot to use it until now!”

“I can’t believe you’re still stuck on a joke you heard in your sixth grade science class.” Maddie quipped from her spot leant against the countertops, hands cupping a lopsided, handmade mug painted varying shades of purple and pink.

Sonic groaned while stuffing his mouth with more french toast. The scene is so very homey, so domestic and comforting, but Shadow still can’t shake this squirming in his chest. 

He moves a bit further into the room, and finally eyes find his own. 

“Well, good morning, sleepyhead.” Tom chirps, moving his chair over a bit to make room for Shadow to fit in between him and Sonic. 

Instead of taking it, Shadow looks down at the head of Elmo. That same smile is peeking back at him, reassuring and gentle. 

Already, there are multiple hands trading serving spoons and offering helpings of whatever is on the table to be ladled onto a new plate. Tom is busying himself with pouring a new cup of juice to set at the spot made for him.

Sonic is opening his mouth to speak, hand holding a fork speared through with a new piece of french toast. Then he actually looks over to Shadow, and the ebony hedgehog watches eyes track down his face to land on the vibrant red friend in his arms.

The squirming feeling intensifies for only a moment. Shadow stands in a stalemate, unable to make himself move as he watches flickers of confusion and surprise roll like a wave over his blue counterpart’s features.

Finally, he raises one of Elmo’s paws. His fingers help it to wiggle side to side in a happy wave. 

Elmo says good morning to Shadow’s friends!

The rest of the family continues on their morning routine around them. Sonic’s brows smooth out from their confused furrow, then raise in understanding.

“Good morning, Elmo.” He calls, attention drifting just long enough to place the french toast onto the plate he’s finishing making for Shadow.

That attention turns right back to the two of them, standing in the middle of the kitchen as Shadow’s squirmy feeling settles into a low fuzziness. Sonic’s tail gives a lazy wiggle behind him to match Shadow’s energetic one.

To their credit, the rest of the room only manages a small hiccup in their routine before choruses of Good Morning Elmo! and Hi Elmo follows behind Sonic.

Only then does Shadow’s feet unglue from their spot on the tile, pushed forward by another growl in his tummy and the smiles sent his and Elmo’s way. The chair he settles in is big enough to cross his legs in, so he uses the lap space to sit Elmo in, upright and facing the table.

He turns his head to share a smile with Sonic to his left, who mouths another ‘good morning’ at him.

“We can cut up an apple for Elmo, right, Maddie?” Sonic requests, eyes big and pleading. One of his hands has wiggled its way to holding onto Shadow’s pinky, the touch firm but yielding in case it wasn’t wanted.

“As long as Elmo promises not to waste it or make a mess.” Maddie responds right away, looking to the little stuffie in her son’s friend’s lap with a raised brow. Shadow thinks for only a moment, then motions the monster to nod his head in agreement. 

“One apple in slices, coming right up.” Maddie acquiesces, moving to do just that after dropping a kiss to Tom’s head on her way past.

—

Once bellies have been sufficiently filled, and Tom has done his rounds of good-byes and gone to work, Maddie gets started on the dishes with the explicit instruction for the boys to ‘play nice and give her some space’ until at least ten thirty. With that in mind, the Wachowski boys lead Shadow and Elmo out into the backyard so they can show off their blueprints and plans for a treehouse structure spanning three sycamores. 

The woods behind the house are huge, they explain with enthusiasm, and are perfect for a base of operations for all kinds of mischief.

“And as training grounds for our recruits, eventually.” Knuckles adds, tapping at the space he’d mapped out in marker for a climbing wall and obstacle course.

Shadow gives a nod, unsure where these recruits would come from or what they would even be for. The idea looks interesting, at least.

“Y’know, we can add a space for you, too. Give you a room in one of the treehouses.” Sonic offers, picking up a red marker to do just that. Shadow’s nodding grows more enthusiastic, moving his hand to get Elmo to join in on the action.

“Can I ask-“ Tails begins, voice steady but awkward, “Shadow, why’re you bringing Elmo everywhere today?”

“I am wondering that as well. Could it be related to the vow of silence you have chosen to partake in?” Knuckles joins, hands at his hips. Eyes dart between the hedgehog and the monster he was keeping propped up to look like he was sitting on the picnic table.

Shadow’s stomach fills again with the squirming feeling. He’s ready to slide Elmo off the table and into his lap to cradle, or maybe even put away completely, when Sonic speaks up.

“It’s ‘cause I’m the best gift giver and he can’t contain how much he totally loves it. Plus, who doesn’t like soft and fluffy things? Right, Shadow?”

Yeah? Yeah, maybe that was it. Having Elmo around just kind of helped, today. Like as long as he could keep the fluffy monster at his side, he would be alright. Even not talking was okay, if Elmo could do it for him.

Elmo thinks it’s nice to take some time to be quiet for yourself, every once in a while. The smiling stuffie coos to him. Shadow plays with the soft arms, waving them up and down a few times before making him nod their agreement. 

Tails looks unconvinced, but a single look from Sonic has him bending back over his blueprints with his green marker. “You never got me a super nice present like that.” 

“Nonsense! You were very enthusiastic about the miniature train building device Sonic gifted you for the holiday tradition of gift-giving!” Knuckles argued, “You spent many hours on many days piecing together the delicate metalwork!”

“A stuffed animal would be nice, too.”

“Then perhaps I shall gift you one for your naming day! I will have our matriarch take me on a day when you are not with us, so it will be a surprise!”

Shadow tunes them out after that, content to run his hands over the soft fuzz on Elmo’s back like he was calming an upset child. Elmo didn’t mind. Elmo never minded if he was a little too squished in a hug, or if Shadow needed to squeeze his arm tight when his chest was too warm or his head felt too loud, like now.

“Hey.” 

Sonic’s voice pulls him back, free hand wrapped in his to squeeze him back into his brain. “You know you don’t gotta be embarrassed or anything, right? You can carry Elmo and not talk if you wanna.”

I know. Shadow mouths, squeezing back once before taking his hand back. 

“Good.” Sonic nods in approval, some tension ebbing out of his shoulders. “And Tails and Knuckles didn’t mean to make you feel that way, or get you upset. Sometimes they just let their mouths run ahead of their brains if they’re curious about somethin’.”

Only Tails and Knuckles? 

Shadow quirks a brow, making Sonic duck his head and laugh. “Okay, me too. But trust me, it’s all good.”

Friends that care about each other ask lots of questions to learn more about their friends! Elmo does it all the time.

Shadow brings the stuffed monster to his cheek, letting the threads of his smile brush over the fur there in soft back-and-forth motions. The squirmy feeling finally leaves again, and he settles Elmo back into his lap just as Knuckles and Tails are busy bickering over where they would put the ziplines.

“Do you wanna hear a joke?” Sonic asks, eyes glued to Elmo when Shadow turns his head to look at him.

A joke? Shadow tilts Elmo’s head up, bead eyes looking at his. A joke would be nice. It might be better than sitting listening to treehouse plans that he can’t contribute to.

Elmo loves jokes and laughing!

Both of them turn to Sonic, nodding. The blue hedgehog breaks into a wild grin, body moving on the picnic bench to fully face the two of them. 

“Okay, so there’s this monk place, right? And a guy’s car has broken down there a bunch, and every time he sees these monks going in and out of a secret door-“

The chatter over treehouses grinds to a halt, and twin groans interrupt Sonic’s story.

“You’re not telling it right! And it’s called a monastery-“

“Perhaps we should wait for Father Donut to tell it.” Knuckles offers, though the idea is immediately forgotten, and they all begin an easy trade off of bits and pieces in a story about a man, monks, and a secret behind an alarming number of doors.

 Shadow’s face twitches into a smile as he listens, arms wrapped tight around Elmo as they both settle in to listen.

------

Ahhhh I really hope you liked it! Selectively mute, autistic Shadow is SUCH a relatable character and his attachment to Elmo is such a mood and so cute.

N.E. Ways, tysm for your beautiful art !

Okay, another small thing for Shadow being the biggest Elmo fan.

[emma23]

Stay with me :

Marc spector x reader

The air in your shared apartment was thick with tension. It had started as a petty disagreement—something about Marc forgetting to pick up groceries—but it had spiraled into something bigger. Something that cut deeper than it should have.

“You always do this!” you exclaimed, throwing your hands up as you paced the living room. “You shut me out, you make decisions without me, and I’m just supposed to sit here and deal with it?”

Marc stood near the kitchen counter, arms crossed tightly against his chest, jaw clenched. His eyes—those deep, conflicted brown eyes—followed you as you paced.

“I’m not shutting you out,” he replied, his tone sharp. “I’m trying to protect you, Y/N. There’s a difference.”

“Protect me?” you repeated, stopping in your tracks to face him. “You think I need your protection? From what? You? Khonshu? Or just every bad decision you make without thinking of me?”

The words stung. You could see it in the flicker of pain that crossed his face, but his pride wouldn’t let him back down.

“Maybe if you didn’t always question everything I do, you’d see I’m trying to make this work!” he shot back.

“Oh, so this is my fault now?” You scoffed, shaking your head. “You know what? Forget it. I’m done with this conversation.”

You turned on your heel, heading toward the bedroom, your anger boiling over. But as soon as you moved to leave, you felt a strong hand wrap around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

“Y/N, you aren’t just gonna leave things like that,” Marc said firmly.

His grip wasn’t painful, but it was unyielding. He pulled you closer, his face inches from yours, and for a moment, all you could hear was the sound of both your ragged breaths.

“Let me go, Marc,” you whispered, but there was no strength behind your words.

“No,” he said softly but resolutely. “I’m not letting you walk away from me. Not like this.”

The argument dissolved into silence as you stared at him, your chest rising and falling with the weight of your emotions. His eyes softened, and you could see the guilt swimming in them.

“Y/N…” he began, his voice quieter now. “I know I mess up. I know I make things harder than they need to be. But I’m trying, okay? I’m trying for you.”

The vulnerability in his tone caught you off guard. Marc wasn’t the type to bare his soul easily, but when he did, it was raw and unfiltered.

“Why do you have to make everything so damn hard?” you muttered, feeling your resolve crumbling.

“Because I don’t know how to be anything else,” he admitted. His hand still held your wrist, but now his thumb gently brushed against your skin. “But I know I don’t want to lose you.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, and you hated how easily he could break down your walls.

“Marc…”

He leaned closer, his forehead resting against yours. The tension in the room shifted, replaced by something heavier, more intimate. His other hand came up to cup your cheek, his calloused thumb wiping away a stray tear.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. “For all of it. Just… don’t walk away from me. Please.”

One moment, you were standing there, caught in the storm of his emotions, and the next, his lips were on yours. It wasn’t a gentle kiss—it was desperate and messy, filled with all the words he couldn’t say.

You melted into him, your hands gripping his shirt as if to ground yourself. The world outside disappeared, leaving just the two of you tangled together in a web of love and frustration.

“Y/N,” he murmured against your lips, his voice hoarse. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”

“Good,” you replied breathlessly, pulling him closer. “Because you do the same to me.”

Hours later, you lay tangled together on the couch, your head resting on his chest as his fingers traced lazy circles on your back.

“Marc?” you asked softly.

“Yeah?”

“Next time, maybe don’t wait until we’re screaming at each other to talk to me.”

He let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling in his chest.

“Noted,” he replied. “But in my defense, you’re kinda cute when you’re mad.”

You smacked his chest lightly, but you couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped your lips.

“You’re impossible,” you said, shaking your head.

“And you love me for it,” he countered, his smirk audible in his tone.

“Unfortunately.”

His laugh echoed in the room, and you couldn’t help but join in, the weight of your earlier argument finally lifting.

“You know,” Marc said, grinning, “if we fight like this every time, I might start picking arguments on purpose.”

[airandyeah]

Gimme Gimme Gimme (God!Sukuna X Reader) Pt.6

My Masterlist Series Masterlist Makes me overjoyed that the taglist keeps growing, I love you all and appreciate the support!

The world had been different back then—different in a way that could never be understood by mere mortals. Sukuna’s gaze, as he sat perched upon the throne of his memories, was sharp like a blade, cutting through the fog of time. The weight of his divine nature was not something that could easily be cast aside, and yet, in this strange vessel of flesh he found himself now, it felt like a distant echo.

There had been a time when he had reigned supreme—not just over men, but over the very fabric of existence itself. Time had bent before him, and reality had been his plaything. In those days, the idea of mere “mortals” had been laughable, nothing more than fleeting specks in a vast sea of chaos.

He had been destruction incarnate. He was destruction incarnate.

The memories were coming back now, unbidden. They surged within him like a flood, and in an instant, Sukuna was no longer standing in that familiar room beside you. Instead, he was a towering figure, a god whose presence filled every corner of the universe. The realms, the skies, the seas—all had trembled in his wake.

It was a time before the world had been shaped into its fragile form, before kingdoms rose and fell in the blink of his eye. Back then, destruction had not been a force of nature—it was nature. The very ground beneath his feet had been his canvas, his creations, his undoing.

There had been no concept of time, only the eternal now. The taste of infinite power had been intoxicating, the scent of death and annihilation like the sweetest perfume. Sukuna had reveled in it. With a wave of his hand, mountains would crumble, and with a glance, entire civilizations would cease to exist, their people vanishing in an instant as though they never were.

He could hear the cries of those who had witnessed his fury, feel the reverberations of their terror through the cosmos. They had all begged for mercy—all of them. He had granted none. To him, their screams had been music, their despair a symphony. He was the eternal end, the beginning of every cataclysm. Nothing in the universe was beyond his reach.

But those were the days when he was a god, untouchable and invincible.

A cold wind stirred in the back of Sukuna’s mind, like a ripple in the very fabric of his thoughts. This… this weakness. It had come, creeping into his soul, gnawing at the remnants of his divinity. He had forgotten what it felt like to be small—powerless. The feeble touch of the mortal realm had been a distant memory, yet the sensation of it was becoming more tangible now, more real, with each passing day.

His memories, once vivid and clear, now swirled together like a tangled mess of forgotten ideas. He wasn’t sure what was worse—the degradation of his godly nature or the strange, confusing pull that tethered him to this being—this vessel of humanity.

Was this what he had become? Was this his punishment?

No, Sukuna would not call it a punishment. But there were moments, like now, when his mind wandered. And as much as he loathed to admit it, he found himself drawn back to one thing that had not existed in the abyss of his previous reign: you.

The memories of his past life, when he had been a god of destruction, felt distant compared to the living, breathing reality of his presence now. In his ancient form, everything had felt insignificant next to his power. But now, standing in this world, with its fragile mortals and their trivial emotions, he felt something that resembled... interest.

Sukuna’s lips curled into a bitter smile as he continued to drift through the memories. He saw the destruction he had wrought—the planets cracking under his divine wrath, the skies burning in the aftershocks of his rage. But then, there had been something new. Something strange. A glimmer of light in the chaos. He had not chosen to notice it, yet it was there.

And that was where everything began to change.

He hadn’t noticed at first, not truly. His focus had been on other matters—conquering, destroying, asserting his dominance. But as the threads of time unraveled in his godly mind, he realized: there had been someone among the rubble, standing firm in the face of everything he had obliterated. You. You had been there.

He had forgotten what it meant to be drawn to someone—not for power, not for worship—but for something else. He hadn’t recognized it at first. How could he? His whole existence had been that of a predator. But now, as the memories crept back into his consciousness, he began to understand: it was not your fear that had intrigued him, nor your strength, nor your vulnerability. It was your resistance to him.

Back then, when he was still the God of Destruction, no one had dared defy him. But you—you—had stood before him with fire in your eyes, defying him, mocking him, in ways that should have been impossible. How could a mere mortal carry such audacity?

His fingers clenched as the memories intensified, the weight of them nearly suffocating. He had dismissed you at first—just another mortal to crush under his heel. Yet here, now, in this form, his thoughts constantly returned to you. The touch of your skin, the sound of your voice, the scent of your presence. You had been a spark—a small flame against the inferno of his power.

But even flames could ignite something greater. And even a god like him could be burned.

He paused, his thoughts lingering on you. You were no longer just an amusing diversion to pass the time. No, Sukuna realized with a strange twinge in his chest: You were a challenge. A puzzle he had not yet solved. And that unsettled him in ways that he didn’t care to examine too closely.

The memories began to fade again, slipping back into the shadowed recesses of his mind, but their aftertaste lingered. In the vast, unending expanse of his divinity, one truth remained certain: He would have you.

Whether as a god, as a king of destruction, or as the man he had become—he would have you.

And when that day came, everything else would burn.

~~~

The moon hung low in the sky, casting a pale light over the room as Sukuna stood at the window, his gaze lost in the distance. The weight of centuries, of lifetimes, pressed upon his shoulders as memories began to surface—memories he had long buried, memories that threatened to unravel the thread of control he had maintained.

The room felt heavier now, thicker with the presence of something he couldn’t quite shake. It was as if the air itself had transformed, aligning with his restless thoughts. Something had awakened. Something familiar, yet foreign. Something that had not stirred in millennia.

His mind traveled back, not to the present, but to a time before the endless cycle of destruction had consumed him entirely.

A time when he was still a god.

He stood tall among the heavens, his power unmatched, his form a terrifying force of nature. Yet, even in the midst of his dominion over chaos and destruction, there was a single thread that had pulled at his heart—a thread that led him to her.

Her name—he had whispered it countless times in the quiet corners of his mind, but it felt like a fragile thing now, something distant, slipping through his fingers with every passing moment.

Y/N.

She was not like the others. No, she was something entirely different—a maiden whose presence calmed the storms in his soul, whose laughter was like a balm to the chaos that churned within him.

He had met her in a time long before humanity's existence, when the gods themselves walked the Earth and their influence was felt by every living being. Her village lay in the heart of the vast, untouched forests, where the world still hummed with the purity of the ancient magic. She was a healer, a woman of unparalleled beauty and kindness, whose very existence seemed to embody the essence of nature itself.

Sukuna had come to her without warning, his interest piqued by the rumors of a human who could tend to the wounds of gods. When he first laid eyes on her, he had been struck by something he had never known—something soft and human that he couldn't explain, yet couldn’t ignore.

Her eyes, large and innocent, had fixed upon him, not with fear, but with something else—curiosity, fascination, perhaps even a trace of wonder. In that moment, something shifted in him, something deep, something he had no name for.

But love? Could a god like him even know love?

He had thought it a fleeting infatuation at first, a mere amusement. But as days turned into weeks and weeks into months, he found himself seeking her out again and again, his visits becoming more frequent, his curiosity growing into something far deeper, far more insistent.

Her touch, so gentle, could heal his wounds, even the ones that ran deep, the ones only time had been able to scar over. She had no idea of his true nature—no understanding of the sheer magnitude of destruction he commanded—but she cared for him anyway. She believed in the man, the god he could be, not the monster he had become.

He had never spoken of his true identity to her, never shared the burden of the darkness that lived within him. And she never asked. Instead, she embraced him as he was, even the parts of him that were destructive, chaotic, and bound by forces beyond his control. She never turned away.

But the gods—those who had walked beside him—were never far from him. They saw the bond that was forming between Sukuna and Y/N, and it terrified them. How could a god, whose very nature was to break and destroy, love a mortal so deeply? How could he possibly keep that love from unraveling everything he had ever known?

One night, they came for her.

It happened swiftly—too swiftly. Sukuna, lost in his emotions for the first time in eternity, was too late to stop them. He had felt it in the air, felt the disturbance in the magic as they stole her away from him. And by the time he reached her village, the flames had already consumed it, the ruins of her home nothing but ashes in the wind.

She was gone. Taken. Torn from his world by forces too powerful to fight.

And in that moment, Sukuna, the god of destruction, had tasted true despair. His power—immeasurable, unchallenged—was useless against the higher forces that dictated the flow of fate. He had been powerless. And so, in his grief and rage, he turned his wrath against those who had taken her from him.

The gods had known that if they left him to his grief, he would unravel their carefully constructed world. They feared him, even then, for in his anger, he was unstoppable. But instead of allowing him to fall apart completely, they bound him to his current form, his power stripped down and chained by the very magic that had once made him their equal.

For centuries, Sukuna had walked the earth, a shadow of the god he had been. Yet, even as he wreaked havoc on the world, there was always something missing. There was always a hole within him, a wound that could not heal, no matter how many lives he destroyed, no matter how many kingdoms he reduced to ash.

It wasn’t until he had seen you—the reincarnation of Y/N—that the memories began to return, like a flood he couldn’t stop. In you, he saw the same warmth, the same quiet strength that had drawn him to her all those years ago. And now, in the present, you were just as oblivious to his true nature as she had been, a mere human, unaware of the legacy you carried. You even carried her same name.

He had been drawn to you from the moment he laid eyes on you. It was as if fate had found a way to weave the threads of his past into this new life. And now, you were caught in the web of his desires and his memories.

Sukuna could feel it—your soul resonated with the one he had loved so long ago. Your very presence reminded him of the softness he had lost, the tenderness that once lived in his chest, a memory that had been buried beneath centuries of destruction.

But now, that memory stirred once more, and with it, a dangerous temptation.

In the silence of the night, Sukuna’s gaze lingered on you as you slept, the faint glow of moonlight highlighting the shape of your face. His fingers itched to reach out and touch you, but he restrained himself.

Y/N, he thought, his heart a storm of longing and torment. I can feel you within her. I can feel you within me.

The cycle of destruction he had been bound to for centuries was at an end. He could sense it now—the moment was coming when he would either break free from the chains of his past or allow them to destroy him once more.

"You’re mine again, little one," Sukuna whispered into the night, a dark smile curving his lips. "And this time, I won’t lose you." ~~~ The moonlight filtered softly through the curtains, casting gentle shadows across the room. You lay still, watching Sukuna from the corner of your eye as he stood at the window, his back rigid, his posture unnatural—too still, too focused, as though he were a man on the edge of some precipice, trying to hold onto something he feared would slip away.

You hadn’t said anything yet, unsure of what to make of it. His moods had always been a bit unpredictable, yes, but this… this was different. There was an intensity to him now that you couldn’t quite place, a heavy silence that clung to him, thick and unshakable. The air between you felt charged, like the calm before a storm.

For weeks now, something had shifted in Sukuna—something subtle but undeniable. He had become more distant, his gaze drifting off into the void as if his thoughts were lost in a time far removed from the present. At first, you’d chalked it up to the nature of his power, his weight of responsibility—after all, he was not a man but something ancient, a being bound by forces beyond understanding. You had given him the space, thinking perhaps he needed it.

But tonight, there was something else. His silence wasn’t the usual cold indifference, it was almost... haunted.

You swallowed, glancing down at your hands, unsure how to break the tension that felt like it was slowly wrapping itself around you. “Sukuna?” you ventured, voice small.

He didn’t respond right away. A long, drawn-out moment passed before his head turned slightly, his eyes catching yours. They were different today—darker, with something buried in them, a weight that hadn’t been there before. You weren't sure why, but the look made your heart skip in unease.

“Is something wrong?” you asked, your voice laced with careful uncertainty.

He stared at you for a heartbeat, and for a moment, you saw it—the flicker of something behind his eyes, something almost... vulnerable? But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, masked by his usual calm.

“No,” he replied, his voice smooth but colder than usual. “Why would anything be wrong?”

You hesitated, mind racing. you had seen this side of him before, the part that seemed to hide beneath the surface, but this felt different. Something had changed in him, and now you couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever it was, it wasn’t something you could ignore any longer.

The silence stretched between you both again, thicker now, laden with unspoken words. Your thoughts whirled as you observed Sukuna's profile, his sharp features set in something like a grimace. You could feel the tension radiating from him. It was as though something—or someone—was pulling at him, and you didn’t know if it was a force of destruction or one of longing, perhaps both.

"Sukuna…" you started again, quieter this time, as though afraid to pry too deeply, but unable to stop yourself. "You've been different. Not like you, I mean. You’re... distant." your words felt clumsy, as if you were walking on eggshells, but you pressed on. “You’re not the same as you were before.”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t react, not really. But there was a sharpness in his gaze now, something that didn’t quite match the stillness of the room.

“You think you know me so well, do you?” His voice was a whisper, but it carried an edge, one you hadn’t heard in days—perhaps weeks. “How very… human of you.”

You blinked, taken aback. There was something in the way he said it that stung, though you couldn’t explain why. You knew he wasn’t exactly one for sharing his feelings, but this... This was different from his usual sarcasm. It was almost as though there was something beneath it—a rawness, an emotion he didn’t know how to contain.

“I only know what I see,” you murmured, hands curling in her lap. "And right now, it’s like you’re not here. Like you’re somewhere else. What’s going on with you?"

For a long moment, he didn’t answer. His eyes flickered to the window again, that far-off look returning to his face. It was as if he were staring into the void, but you could see the way his hands clenched slightly at his sides, the subtle tension in his jaw.

Then, his lips curved into something resembling a smile, though it was dark and empty, like a shadow creeping across his expression. "I’m here.," he said, his tone impossibly soft, yet chilling. "I’m right here."

But even as he said it, something about him felt unreachable. Something that made you wonder if there was a piece of him, buried deep within, that you might never be able to touch. You could feel the pull of whatever haunted him—the storm brewing inside of him that threatened to rise and sweep you both away.

You exhaled, the sense of unease creeping deeper into your bones. You knew something was wrong, but you didn’t know what—or how long you could stand in the eye of the storm before it broke. ~~~ Sukuna invaded your dream once more, but differently this time. He was in his true-form, his body hulking as you sat with him by a flowing stream in the dead of night. It was almost like staring into a memory instead of a dream and you watched as Sukuna turned to you, the hard plains of his face softened as he stared at you, his body relaxed and at peace in your very presence. Like magic the scene changes to a gory one, your own body laying dead on a dirt-road, surrounded by flames and ash. You watched like a ghost of the world as Sukuna appeared and let out the howl of an animal, before his hands lit with flames and his arms hulked, he was ready to destroy. Did... Sukuna kill you?

Taglist: @rinkomei , @sleepycrybbylaiah , @queenmimis , @maellem Taglist is always open for anyone!

[inkformyblood]

long past an expiration (CWFKB25)

Kenobi TV canon, Purge Trooper Cody. same AU setup as this fill from last time~ Helmet Kiss. @codywanfirstkissbingo

The chips weren’t meant to last this long.

It had been a fragment of a report that floated across CC-2224’s tablet, some clunky brick of a thing that would have been better served stuck beneath a wobbling table leg, but it froze on that file for several minutes. The fans whirred in the background as it tried to send the file on its way, a dull mimic of the roar of the ship’s engines that CC-2224 couldn’t hear but could all the same. Just another report from the old regime that had been catalogued and analysed and found to be wanting so it was sent to CC-2224 to be transferred to oblivion like everything else.

The files didn’t scream, at least.

But that report, it had stayed on his tablet as he was stationed outside a defunct meeting room, flashing through the pages as the aging system tried to categorise it. 

‘Assess’ it had beeped at him and CC-2224 is a good soldier, he follows his orders whether spoken from a human mouth, a machine in his hands, or the tangled scratch of his not-his thoughts. He read the report.

He had peeled off his bucket just in time to vomit, spitting colourless bile into the closed archway of the door as he straightened. It had all been there in the strange misaligned text that accompanied all of the Kamimoan’s internal documents: the true purpose of the chips, the orders that had been seeded into them as a perverse just-in-case strategy, why Cody had ordered his brothers to open fire on—

Cody had blinked black into an uneasy existence with a tablet clutched in his bloodless hands and his bucket thrown several feet away. His armour hadn’t been his, too fragile for all it looked similar, like metal constructed from tissue, the pieces just similar enough that he swallowed back bile from the thought of it. He was awake for the first time in years.

Then, the hallucinations started.

Maybe he had been having them for a while before but CC-2224 hadn’t been ordered to record them. The report mentioned that as well, a possible side effect amongst a list that included emotional swings, headaches from mild to intense, and sudden death. 

Cody swings his legs over the side of his bunk, steps over the gently gasping body of another fallen brother — barely more than a shiny, hair still damp with tube media, all regulation cut and shaped — and makes his way to the fresher bolted onto his room. He’s not just CC-2224, clone commander of the 221st Battalion in this bantha shit mess of an Empire; he’s one of Vader’s personal company, barely utilised and left to rot, just like the files that pile into his inbox with a series of chimes. It’s the factory standard noise, no customisation allowed. There’s no end to it, just an endless rolling machine of new reports to push the old out, only to be pushed out themselves at the next cycle. 

Troop movements, resource reports, galactic acquisitions, spy documentation; all skim through Cody’s tablet and slip between the gaps of his rusting thoughts.

There’s a brother’s arms thrown loosely around his shoulders as Cody glances at the cracked mirror leaning against the supports above the sink in the fresher. They’re dissimilar enough now that it takes Cody a moment to make out the similarities between them amongst a squadron of differences. His curls are shot through with silver, clustering heavy against his temples, a patch broad over where the chip would be implanted, and his face is lined with wrinkles his dead brother’s would never wear, a crumpling at the corners of his eyes, the lines of his mouth drawn heavy and defined along with the furrow between his brows. There’s a dark stain beneath his eyes, exhaustion run deep and wild, and a still new smattering of scars over the planes of his face that he can’t remember how he received them. A thumb presses against the harsh divot in his lower lip and Cody turns away from the touch. He grabs his helmet to rest it against his hip, heading outside his quarters and walks the corridors, heading to nowhere. 

Nowhere to go, nowhere to stay, and it shouldn’t be surprising when Obi-Wan falls in step next to him.

“Hello, General,” Cody murmurs, keeping his gaze forward, tipped downwards. If there’s danger in front of him, he doesn’t want to see it. Out of the corner of his eye, Obi-Wan’s steps slow a fraction before returning to their easy rhythm. They’re well-matched like Cody had been created to Obi-Wan’s specifications, the universe sewing them together only to rip the stitches open and leave them loose and fraying. “Wouldn’t have thought that I’d see you here.”

Obi-Wan leans closer, not quite touching but enough that the hem of his robe passes over Cody’s bare knuckles. It’s rougher than he would have expected, a mixture of every stolen glance and accidental touch given form and sensation. A shiver burrows through Cody’s spine, the hair at the nape of his neck, his forearms prickling. 

“Why wouldn’t you see me here, my dear?” Even Obi-Wan sounds changed from how Cody remembers him, stretched thinner than he had ever been during the war, an image passed through too many holonetworks to count and clustered with artifacts. His next words echo from in front of Cody as if the man’s shadow has detached to keep time next to him while he moves ahead. “Don’t you dream of me?”

Cody cuts his gums on his laugh, rusty machinery slowly ticking back to life the longer he walks. “I dream of you every night, of your death, your hand in mine. Why do you think I can’t sleep?”

Obi-Wan’s fingers are cold as they brush against his, a glancing shot at first across the cracked shell of Cody’s bones, but he twists their fingers together, his grip tight enough to bruise. Cody hopes it will, not just the broad shapes of his own fingers splayed across the meat of his thighs, the shallow scrapes of his nails on his cheeks; but something slimmer, sharper. Obi-Wan could crack open Cody’s chest to pluck his heart from his chest, tear through fat and marrow in his quest, and Cody wouldn’t stop him, wouldn’t want to.

“I dream of you too,” the shadow of Obi-Wan at his side murmurs, moving impossibly closer. There’s barely breathing space between them, a line of heat burning down Cody’s side and his fingers grow clumsy on the helmet at his side.

He drops it and the noise tears them apart, Cody reaching for it and Obi-Wan flinching away. 

Cody has lost him all over again. 

His helmet sweeps past his fingers, scooped through the air by the whims of the universe wielded by one man, and lands in Obi-Wan’s outstretched hand. “I can’t stay, my love.” Obi-Wan raises Cody’s helmet, the empty visor facing Obi-Wan, tipping his gaze past it to look at Cody. “And I can’t bring you with me, but I can give you this out of everything I wish I could give you.”

Obi-Wan lowers the helmet to roughly Cody’s height and leans forward, pressing his lips to the bare plastic where the crease between Cody’s brows would sit, lower to the grill over his mouth. He steps forwards carefully, a hesitance marring his usual grace, and Cody looks at him properly, fully. 

He’s older, worn and weathered in a way Cody wouldn’t have expected his mind to create. Silver shoots through Obi-Wan’s hair, condensing at his temples, but it wouldn’t be long before no hint of the red remained. His eyes crinkle at the corners, but not from joy. Sorrow and grief paint Obi-Wan’s features into sharp misery and Cody steps forward to meet him, his hands outstretched. He doesn’t know what he wants to say, a lifetime of what-could-have-been hanging crystalline in the scant space between them.

“Sleep now, love,” Obi-Wan whispers. “Sleep and dream of happy moments.”

Cody is a good soldier. He’ll follow Obi-Wan’s orders, however they’re given, hallucination or not. He’ll follow the other man anywhere. 

He sleeps and dreams of a warm hand in his and a smile that reminds him of strawberries. 

Cody wakes in his bed, the thin blanket tangled around his legs and his helmet clutched to his chest, a lifeline when he’s drowning. There’s a smudge on the brow, another fainter on the mouth.

[natasha-in-space]

Hello Mia! I would really like to read a headcanon with suit saeran where he gets very jealous to see how he would react, please!!

"...I don't like them all ogling you."

Saeran's voice was a strange combination of a growl and a grumble, not nearly as loud and boisterous as you would usually anticipate from him. If you had not been standing just inches away from him, you would have been unable to hear him at all. Not with all the muffled chatter and music flowing throughout the vast ballroom and sneaking its way into your every sense. When you looked over at him, his face was turned away from you, his bangs framing his delicate facial features in a way that highly limited your vision from your current spot. However, the way he crossed his arms tightly over his chest was a clear indicator of his sour mood.

Which was... rather ironic, considering your circumstances.

A ball was not what you would expect to see in this place. Nevertheless, that's the closest term you could come up with to describe the odd event you were obligated to attend. Soft classical music was filling the large space you were all cooped up in. Shiny marble floors so clean you could see your own reflection in them staring back at you with all the confusion and unease that's been plaguing you for the entire duration of this odd get-together. Fancy suits and dresses twirling around the spacious room in an elegant, practiced fashion that looked almost fake to the eye. As if those were just dolls gliding about, under the mere pretense of being fellow human beings. All of it was as beautiful as it was uncomfortable, in a very subtle, anxiety-inducing way. You couldn't quite understand the importance or meaning of it all, but you weren't in the position to ask any questions in the first place.

You definitely wouldn't expect to see a ball, of all things, unfolding in this place. Nevertheless, that's the closest term you could come up with to describe the peculiar event you were obligated to attend. Soft classical music was filling the large space you were all cooped up in. Shiny marble floors so clean, you could see your own reflection in them staring back at you with all the confusion and unease that's been plaguing you for the entire duration of this odd get-together. The fanciest of suits and dresses twirled around the spacious room with elegance and ease that looked almost fake to the eye. As if those were just winded up dolls gliding around, only pretending to be alive human beings. All of it was as beautiful as it was also uncomfortable, in a very subtle, anxiety-inducing way. You couldn't quite understand the importance or meaning of it all, but you weren't in the position to ask any questions in the first place.

Saeran suddenly entered your room a few hours earlier without any warning - not that he would ever give you any - threw some clothing on your face, and demanded that you get dressed right away. He only left you alone for your privacy once you directly expressed the need for it. And you were pretty sure you could see a hint of red flush across his face as he stomped back out into the corridor, grumbling under his breath something about you having some nerve to order him around like that.

This man was a mystery that you still had to solve, it's certain.

It wasn't a surprise that the outfit he gave you was black. Despite this, it was still a noticeable contrast to Ray's undeniable preference for soft, pastel tones that would always complement the pinks and whites scattered all throughout your room. Saeran's choice, on the other hand, was a bold one. Standing out so sharply among the softer shades of your environment, instantly bringing your attention to its deep black hue, pulling you in. Nevertheless, it possessed both a stylish and formal appearance to it. The fabric was both thick and smooth to the touch, and the color gave it a sense of poise and elegance when you slipped into it. It was rather pretty once you did put it on and looked at yourself in the mirror. The outfit fit snuggly around your hips, hugging you in all the right places and exaggerating your figure in a way that left very little to imagination, but still maintained a subtle sense of humility to it nonetheless. Ray's tastes were quite different from this, with soft fabrics flowing freely all around you, almost drowning you in the light frills and lace. Saeran chose the opposite, whether it was intentional on his part or not.

Though, what was rather surprising to you is... the cut. Specifically, in the chest area. It wasn't anything straight out vulgar, but... well, denying that the neckline was of the lower variety would be rather stupid of you. Despite everything, you were very fond of how it looked on you. It fit you perfectly, and you certainly felt quite attractive as you looked over your own reflection thoughtfully. But it still made you think and ponder. The plunging neckline exposed a lot of skin, especially around your collarbones and teasing just the slightest of glances at your chest.

You contemplated whether it was intentional on Saeran's part or not. However, this would be a rather strange outfit for any normal believer. But you doubted you would get any earnest answers from him. And if he did choose this outfit specifically for you, he would never admit that, anyways. Over his own dead body, maybe. Still, the thought made you laugh to yourself.

Either way, Saeran's reaction once he did see you was... rather stilted, surprisingly. So far, he hasn't said anything to you much all throughout the night. It would have been less polarizing for you if he didn't talk your ears off whenever he entered your room to fill his boredom. Saeran was many things, but quiet wasn't one of them. Actually, he barely even looked at you. Besides the initial wide-eyed look he gave you when you first left your room, that is. For the past few hours you have been here, his face has been stubbornly turned away from you. Yet, he refused to let you wander off on your own either, always barking at you to stick close and grabbing at your arm to drag you after him whenever he needed to get somewhere.

It goes without saying that his gruff comment left you feeling rather bewildered. You looked around the ballroom again, trying to determine who specifically was 'ogling' you, as he seemed to say with such certainty. And aside from the occasional glances in your general direction, you didn't catch on to much. And, anyways, isn't it natural for people to look your way sometimes when you're at a party? Then again, Saeran seemed to lack any experience in parties.

"I... don't think anyone is paying much attention to me, Saeran," you acknowledged, peering over at him with a slightly raised brow, attempting to gauge his response. He puffed out his cheeks and tightened his arms around his chest, indicating that he did not really like your answer.

What was his deal today?

"Uh-huh. Sure," Now he sounded downright sarcastic and even a bit angry. This man's mood swings were incredible, that's for sure. He gave you a quick glance that seemed almost offended. Thus, only confusing you further, "I'm sure you are just ecstatic to finally get out of your room and have everyone staring you down like the prince/ss you are. Makes you feel all high and mighty to get all the attention, doesn't it? So much better than dealing with me, is it not?"

Well, now he has completely lost you. He was annoyed, that was clear, but why or what exactly did you have to do with it was way beyond your understanding. It's not like you even came here on your own volition. He was the one who dragged you out here without as much as asking you or informing you of anything beforehand. And now he's being all petty and even insulting you for that?

"With all due respect, Saeran, I have no idea what you are talking about. No one is staring at me, and it's not like I even had a choice on whether or not I should attend... whatever this is," you gesture around the ballroom briefly, your eyes squinting slightly because of the bright lights coming down from the shiny chandeliers above. Frankly, if you had a choice, you would rather stay in your room. Being around this many people you didn't know made you far too nervous for your liking. So him acting so accusatory with you for nothing did get on your nerves a bit.

After all, you may be patient and on the quieter side of things, but that doesn't mean you would let him unfairly disrespect you like that. If it came to it, you could stand up for yourself just fine, and he wouldn't get any confrontational response from you, either.

In a way, it almost felt like dealing with a needlessly snarling cat.

A low grumble rumbled deep in his throat, almost like a growl of sorts, but it seemed like he was much more subdued in his behavior at this event. It's possible that he didn't want to create a scene in front of everyone. Or, in front of someone specific in particular. Either way, the cold glare he shot your way could probably turn you into stone if he had the ability to do so. You remained calm and quiet despite his unspoken threat, meeting his stare with a calm and quiet demeanor. You weren't about to get angry and petty with him in return, but entertaining his blatant disrespect that seemed more like he was just dumping his sour mood onto you was not something you would just shut up and take, either.

You had respect for both Saeran and yourself.

For a long time, the two of you just stared into each other's eyes without moving or speaking. A scene that probably looked rather bizarre from an outsider's perspective, now that you thought about it. Especially with how increasingly irritated Saeran looked, wordlessly seething at your refusal to back down under his intimidating presence. While also not giving him a chance to lash out at you fairly, since you weren't doing anything hostile or outright disrespectful. From time to time, you seriously contemplated whether he actually wanted you to snap back at him for any reason or another. Well, whatever that reason may be, you were not about to satisfy those desires of his.

Eventually, his gaze lowered before yours does, traveling down your body, and you realized that he was, in fact, now staring at your chest. A notion that felt both bizarre and flustering in a way that made your heart skip a beat and your cheeks heat up significantly. But, you remained still. Mostly out of pride. Or maybe you had a deep sense of curiosity, wanting to see where this will lead you. It was Saeran who first backed off, which was unusual. You saw his throat bob up and down as he swallowed and took a step back from you, once again, turning away from you. For the countless time today.

You began to think that he was intentionally doing this.

"...You could have put on a jacket with that, you know," he muttered rapidly in your general direction without actually focusing on you. Then, he cleared his throat awkwardly, his hand tugging at his collar a bit, in a way that looked like he was merely adjusting it for more comfort. Only, you never saw him fiddling with his collar like that before. No matter how much of a tight fit on him it was.

That was when it dawned on you.

You glanced down at yourself, examining your outfit from your own perspective. Certainly, it was quite revealing. But definitely nothing extreme. However, it was, undeniably, the most amount of skin you've shown in front of him so far.

...Was he embarrassed, perhaps?

The idea seemed amusing to you. And, for some reason, his more reserved demeanor tonight gave you a small boost of confidence you don't usually possess around him.

"-Why? You told me to put it on, so I did as you asked. I figured you wouldn't like me putting my own spin on it," you smiled, leaning slightly closer to him, in a way that would let you lightly touch his arm. And the small shiver his body gave out in response to your action was one that did not escape your watchful eye, "You did say I have bad taste in clothes. Doesn't it satisfy you to see me following your orders with no issue?"

He tightened his jaw, giving you another pointed glare. He was even more furious than before when you called him out like that: "Don't put words into my mouth, toy."

Despite it sounding like a warning, it was a warning you intentionally ignored.

"I thought you wanted an obedient toy, no?"

Your jab seemed to be causing him to snap. He grabbed your elbow and started to drag you away from the bright lights and happy chatter you were bothered by beforehand, without giving you a chance to react. All you could do was yeep from surprise and stumble after him, though you did not try to put up a fight regardless. In fact, you found yourself... grinning ever so slightly as you followed him along, the flutter in your chest increasing in its intensity and making your legs feel lighter with every step you took. In a way, you obtained what you desired. A break from all the randevu you were desperate to escape from.

And maybe you were really a bit weird.

Suddenly, you're in a dimly lit hallway, your back pressing against the wall, and Saeran's breath warming up your cheeks from his hypnotic proximity. The party's muffled sounds reach you just over the door, but they feel like they're so far away at the same time. The party is the last thing you thought about when those cat-like mint irises of his were boring into yours inches away from you, making you want to drown in their alluring hue without a second thought.

"-Oh, so now you're suddenly all quiet," Saeran's words reached your ears with much delay, and your head went blank as you felt the intensity of his presence so close to you, clouding your every sense with him and him alone. He seemed to enjoy your frazzled state of mind, though, judging by the cocky smile on his lips that he gave you.

You gulped. Then, you found yourself saying the very first thing that came to mind without even thinking twice about it: "...Just enjoying the view, is all."

There was another pause where you two just stared at each other's eyes. This time, he seemed to be baffled as he blinked at you repeatedly and didn't have an immediate response to your little quip. You couldn't help but think of how pretty his long lashes looked as he did that.

He got you to act stupid for him exactly as he wanted, and he didn't even realize it.

"Don't be coy with me," Saeran eventually hissed out, seemingly deciding to take a head-on approach to try and hide his puzzlement with your behavior. He leaned even further into you, his chest now brushing over yours from his proximity, and some of his hair fell onto your forehead, tickling the skin with every tiny brush. A strong scent of his cologne filled your nostrils, making it impossible to focus on anything but him. He took up your every sense. Vision, hearing, scent, touch. He was filling all of it.

It wasn't as bothersome to you as he seemed to think.

"That kind of trick may have worked on Ray, but it will not fool me. So don't even try charming your way out of this, you brat," he carried on with his tirade, completely disregarding the impact he was having on you.

"-You seemed rather interested in my chest earlier, though."

You were clueless about what you were doing, God. It seemed like all the sense of fear and apprehension had disappeared. And while your mind did comprehend that you were probably getting too bold for your own good, you just... didn't really care at all.

Saeran's dumbfounded wide-eyed look was a sight to behold. Part of you had the urge to pull him even closer and kiss that look off of his face.

Maybe then he would finally understand how much you liked him, not just Ray.

"I- You-" The way he stumbled over his own words was almost endearing. You definitely surprised him with that one. But you did not push it any further, nor did you tease him about it. Instead you just watched him closely. Your figure was almost subconsciously glanced at again, and then his face flushed dark crimson and he pulled away abruptly, covering the lower half of his face with his palm and looking away. His reaction was so typical that it was almost cute in some strange way, "Y-You've got some nerve! What is there to look at, anyway!? It's just some skin. You must be very arrogant to think so highly on yourself."

The denial has arrived.

Surprisingly, you did not oppose it. You merely shrugged and gave him a small coy smile: "It's okay, Saeran. I would find myself staring, too, if I could see some of your collarbones peeking out. It's natural."

"-Don't be gross. And I know you're lying, anyways," he frowned at that, giving a look that seemed almost offended, in a way. He huffed, crossed his arms over his chest, and looked away from you again, seemingly not wanting to meet your gaze for whatever reason. You couldn't help but think that his posture looked less threatening and more closed off this time around, "I'm not like you. And I don't need you to pretend to fawn over me, either."

That caused you to frown a little.

Did he... not think that he could be attractive to you? That thought caused you to feel sad. Before you could think about it, you took a small step towards him and reached out with your hand.

"You are very beautiful, Saeran. I'm not lying," you said, your fingertips brushing over his tie just a slight bit. It's likely that he wouldn't even notice that touch beneath all that fabric of his suit. But it's the gesture that counted.

He stared at you again, for the countless time today. However, it didn't last long. With a small huff, he grabbed at your wrist and pulled your hand away from his chest. His touch was far gentler now, though, his fingers just slightly squeezing around your skin.

"You are an idiot," you heard him mumble, followed by a rustle of fabric as he let go of you completely. Before you could voice your rebuttal, a dark form flew into your face, making you squeak from surprise.

It's soon apparent that the mysterious form was not a ghost, but rather Saeran's suit jacket that was flung carelessly over your head. As you pulled the clothing down, you heard him grumble again, though this time in a more commanding tone: "Put that on. And I want you to wear it on you for the rest of the night, you hear me?"

As he got closer to you, his finger abruptly pressed into the center of your chest, making you slightly gasp.

"-That," throughout it all, he maintained direct eye contact with you while muttering, "-is only for me to see. Got it?"

You nodded without hesitation, feeling your heart beating in your chest like a million horses galloping down the race track: "Yes."

"That's a good prince/ss."

That smirk he gave you as he pulled away made you feel as weak in the knees as it frustrated you. You were planning to get him back for that. Your momentary obedience did not mean you were going to be some perfect doll for him. You were merely enamored by the brief but undeniable spark of connection between the two of you. He may have been a tough guy to crack, but you were persistent.

Though, as you went through the remainder of the night, you couldn't but ponder...

...Was that the first time he called you 'prince/ss', without it being a mockery of Ray's pet name for you?

[vampiricsheep]

head's been full of bran-lily images lately. first proper date. bran always flustered and lily perpetually amused. I don't know what they have but it's good

[thingswhatareawesome]

¨

[rainrot4me]

Ticci Toby General Headcannons

Summary: Basic, SFW, and NSFW head-cannons. My personal thoughts, feelings, and opinions about Toby as a character.

TW: NSFW below the cut, minors dni! Above the cut is sfw!

Words: 1.6k

A/N: NSFW is reader with female anatomy.

Basic:

- Even though he is socially awkward and tense, he’s a master at people watching. Can read a room and know more details about a person within seconds of watching them interact.

- Likes his alone time.

- He would probably say Tim and Brian are his closest friends, the same can’t be said about Masky and Hoodie, however.

- A pro at zoning out. Takes you waving your hand in his face before he snaps back.

- Bipolar? More-so emotional switch. Tends to be soft-spoken and awkward, trying his best to keep conversation while fidgeting his hands, looking anywhere but at your face. Otherwise, he’s an in-your-face, aggressive, no emotional resistance when that flip is switched. Lots of teeth gritting and yelling, swings his ax around like it’s a toy to intimidate. It takes a lot for him to get to that point, but it takes double the time for him to come back down from it.

- Not easily scared. Will throw himself into a fight and come out victorious somehow.

- Sleeper build. Wears lots of baggy clothing and layers so you can’t tell, but secretly he’s jacked. He may look scrawny, but don’t be fooled. Really strong shoulder and chest muscles from dually swinging his ax and dragging bodies around. He doesn’t think it’s all that impressive. Wishes he was bigger.

- The worst posture you’ve ever seen.

- Let his facial hair grow out from time to time. Thinks it makes him look too mature, but appreciates the compliments he gets.

- Has a secret hobby of playing a guitar he found on a mission. His tics mess him up a lot, but it’s worth the trip out deeper into the woods where no one can hear to practice a little.

- A little shit.

- Hates the heat. Would rather freeze to death than spend one moment in the too hot sun. Favorite season is late fall, around the first snowfall time.

- Big on territory. Never had privacy or respect as a kid so he values having his own things and belongs that nobody else can touch.

- Definitely shy, but not in the “UwU” way, in the “Can you get this from the gas station for me? The girl in there looks mean.”

- Bites his nails, the skin around his nails, and his cuticles LIKE A MF.

- Very light sleeper. Unless he’s absolutely dead beat exhausted, he’ll wake up from just the floorboards creaking. Has to be physically exhausted to actually rest.

- When listening to music, he needs it as loud and close as possible. Headphones are a must and they must be at max. He wants to feel that bass.

- A stray animal lover, feels similar to them in a way.

- Breaks down a lot. Hard to console or even talk to in those moments but some time alone in his room will do the trick.

- Has the education level of a middle schooler.

- Enjoys Gorillaz, Rainbow Kitten Surprise, and surprisingly, older country artists like Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson. “Outlaw shit.”

Dating Him/SFW:

- “Love” “Y/N…” “Baby”

- Loves when he touches you and you don’t pull away. Like when his knee accidentally rests against yours or his elbow bumps your arm while sitting on the couch and you don’t tug away, just sitting there letting him rest. He gets all giddy.

- Playing with your hair. Currently trying to learn how to braid.

- “Wait. O- Okay, so, right th- then left? No? F- Fuck, okay…”

- Favorite sleeping position is with you wrapping around each other, legs and arms tangled together as he hooks his chin onto the top of your head, rubbing your back. Even though you both get extremely hot and sweaty after a while, Toby enjoys the moment before you eventually shove him off.

- Likes to feel your body weight on him, whether it’s laying or sitting, he just likes the pressure and warmth you give.

- Big on physical touch, could really care less if he’s mad or not, just needs to have some part of his body touching yours.

- You could wear or look like absolutely anything and he’d still think you’re the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen.

- Loves how you smell after getting out of the shower, can’t get enough of it while he kisses your warm, damp skin.

- Loves the way it feels when you comb through his hair with your fingers, practically purrs as he melts into your warmth, angling his head so you have better access.

- An admirer for sure, stares even when you catch on, studying every freckle or sunspot on your cheek.

- Self conscious about being your boyfriend. In reality, he’s an amazing lover, but he’s been conditioned his whole life that he’s not good enough and that ideal carries over.

- Tried to lick you through the hole in his cheek once, you both freaked out.

- Sensitive to high stress situations or loud noises so constantly reaches for your hand or crams himself into your side to block out the panic he can feel oncoming. You really help.

- Slasher movie date nights are always a bust because he’ll describe just how inaccurate that blood splatter was, followed by what would actually happen in detail.

- “If he c- cut the arm like that, it wou- wouldn’t spray out that far. This g- guy doesn’t even l- look like he’s ever even he- held an ax before.”

- Didn’t have a favorite color until you told him yours. Says his is the same, just cause it’s your favorite.

- Very immature in the sense of relationship problems. He thinks everything can be solved if he just avoids it, and that includes you. It takes a lot of bickering and patience, but he’ll eventually get over himself and force a solution.

- Doesn’t open up about anything ever. You’ve gotta fight tooth and nail for him to even mention his mother’s name. Will tell you all about his latest mission, however, whether you want to hear or not.

- Throws things or hits you playfully just to turn around and go “Who did that??”

Dating Him/NSFW:

- Boobs. Tits. Breasts. He needs them in his palms immediately.

- A big biter. Will never bite hard enough to draw blood but gets so turned on at seeing his teeth marks in your skin. Big territory thing.

- “Mine. See, I m- marked ‘ya. You’re mine.”

- His dream is to fuck your tits, too shy to ask though.

- Always been a “jerk off as fast as you can” kind of guy, fisting his cock fast to just get off. So when you slowly slide down his cock for the first time, taking your time to adjust and grind your hips at a steady pace, he nearly cums on the spot from how overwhelming it is.

- Bisexual, definitely.

- Starts at a fast pace at first, thrusting and grinding until both of your hips hurt, but then slowly his pace changes, more intentional movements and sinking deeper, more focused on stretching you out then getting deep. Just wants to get you dizzy before he gives you the good stuff lol.

- “Th- That feel good? You’re sq- squeezin’ so tight, ah-”

- His fingernail imprints all over your skin from how hard he holds you.

- Pervert but not in a creepy way. Pervert as in gets a boner from just watching your ass as you walk across the room. Has to clench his fists every time you bend over or raise your shirt up. Can barely breathe if you’re showing too much skin.

- Not big on degradation, but is very big on affirmation, loves to be told he’s doing good.

- Secretly, sooooo secretly loves the idea of anal. For both you and him. He wants to be buried in your ass, your back laid into his chest as he shoves his fingers into your cunt, panting into your neck. But at the same time, wishes you would just read his mind and push your fingers into his, fisting his cock as you stretched him so well.

- Surprisingly, very flexible. Whatever position you’re in he can easily contort to get the best angle to sink his cock in.

- Jealousy sex. Another resident of the mansion catches your glance for too long and suddenly you’re shoved into the bathroom, pants at your ankles as the brunette swipes the pads of his fingers against your clit, biting against your shoulder as he ruts into your ass.

- “Mine, mine, m- mine, nobody els- else makes you feel this good. Right? R- Right? Yeah?”

- A WHINER. Grade A pro at burying his face into your neck/pillow/chest and just sobbing his pleasure through tears and moans. He’s so loud, obnoxiously groaning and huffing as you slap your hand over his mouth. It doesn’t help though, as soon as your hand pushes down his tongue is already out and licking your palms.

- You in his hoodie? Yeah, it’s the only thing you’re wearing while he snaps his hips, pushing your knees back as far as they’ll go to get even deeper, mewling about how good you look.

- Loves to sit back and watch you suck his cock, his fingers pushing strands of hair out of your face as you try to take it all in, eyes twitching the further down you get. He’s not insanely big, just lengthy enough to make you choke and reach all the best parts. Likes to put his goggles on your forehead and watch them dangle as you bob up and down.

- Cumming in you? No. Cumming on you? Every single time. Goes absolutely crazy when he sees his seed shot across your stomach or thighs, your flushed skin and post-orgasm twitches getting him so turned on he can’t focus.

- “You ju- just look so good… Couldn’t he- help myself, okay? Sorry… Can we, u- uh… Can we go ag- again?”

Thank you for reading!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　SAFEWORD

matt sturniolo x reader

SUMMARY: Where Matt comes home angry after a stressful day and takes it out on Y/N, making her use her safeword.

WARNING: SMUT ‼️ explicit language, p in v, Mean!Matt, rough sex, slight dumbification/degradation, pet names, hair pulling, use of safeword, crying.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by anon.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

"Matt- please, I can't-" Y/N's body trembled under Matt's relentless touch, her breath hitching in her throat as waves of pleasure and pain intertwined in a cruel dance that had been going on for hours.

Matt had been different tonight; more intense, more demanding, more relentless. But beneath the surface, Y/N could sense the weight of something darker, something that had driven him to this edge.

He had returned from his day full of meetings with tension radiating from every pore, his usual warmth replaced with an icy determination that made Y/N’s heart race with equal parts fear and excitement.

She couldn't lie and say that she didn't loved how he pushed her, how he could make her body sing in ways no one else ever had, but tonight, he was pushing her beyond her limits. His hands were rougher, his words sharper, filled with a biting edge of degradation that made her cheeks flush with shame and arousal.

"Fuck, you’re such a dirty little slut." Matt growled, his voice rough, almost feral as he pressed her face into the mattress, his grip on her hips tight enough to bruise. "Look at you, so fucking needy. Is this all you’re good for? Spreading your legs and taking my cock?"

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, the sting of his words cutting deep. They had always enjoyed playing on the edge of roughness, pushing each other to the brink, but at that moment there was an edge to Matt’s tone that was darker, more vicious, and it scared her as much as it turned her on.

"Matt-" She gasped loudly, feeling his tip brushing against her most sensitive spot.

"Yeah, baby? You like being used like this, don’t you?" Matt continued, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that sent a shiver down her spine. "Such a fucking whore, taking everything I give you, begging for more."

Tears pricked at the corners of Y/N’s eyes, her body barely keeping up with the intensity of his thrusts, each one sending shockwaves through her body, pushing her further and further into a headspace where all she could feel was him; his roughness, his anger, his need.

Her mind was a chaotic mess of conflicting emotions. She adored the way Matt had the power to dominate her, the way he could take control and make her feel small, vulnerable, but safe.

But now, there was no safety net, no gentle undertone to his words, no soft looks, or tender touches to remind her that this was just play. It felt real - too real - and it terrified her. She was on the verge of tears, her body betraying her as it responded to his cruel words and rough touch with mindless, desperate arousal.

"Answer me." Matt snarled, his hand fisting in her hair and yanking her head back, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark, burning with an intensity that made her stomach twist with a mixture of fear and need. "Tell me what you are. Tell me how much you fucking love this."

"I-I love it." Y/N stammered, her voice shaky, barely audible as she tried to keep up with the relentless pace he had set, shuddering. "I love being your s-slut, Matt. Please..."

"Please, what?" He demanded, interrupting her, his lips curling into a cruel smirk as he watched her struggle beneath him. "Please fuck you harder? Is this not enough?"

Her mind was spinning, her thoughts tangled in the web of humiliation and desire he had woven around her. She had always trusted Matt, trusted that he knew her limits. But in that moment, she could see no sign of the man who held her after, who whispered sweet words of love and reassurance.

"You’re so fucking pathetic, doll." Matt muttered in a mockery tone, his hand traveling around her stomach, feeling a small bulge below his palm. A smirk stretched acros his lips before he pressed his hand down on her lower abdomen, making her gasp as the sensation of his cock filling her completely overwhelmed her. "Look at that, dove. You’re so fucking full of me, you can see it, yeah?"

Y/N couldn’t stop the tears that slipped down her cheeks, a whimper escaping from her throat and her body trembling with a mixture of pleasure and pain, her mind reeling from the intensity of it all. She could feel herself breaking, her mind teetering on the edge of something dark and terrifying. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take.

Her lower body tried to react for itself, moving relentlessly while trying to move away from his hands, away from his touch. But Matt didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. He was lost in his own world, driven by something darker than either of them had ever encountered in their time together.

"Hmm, making me feel s'good, 'were only made for that... you’re not even good for anything else, are you? Just a tight little cunt for me to fuck until I’m so satisfied and-"

"Red." She gasped out, interrupting his sentence abruptly, her voice breaking as the safe word slipped past her lips. "Red, Matt. Please... stop. Please-"

As Y/N's shout registered inside his mind, Matt’s entire world ground to a halt. The haze of anger and lust that had clouded his mind evaporated in an instant, leaving him feeling cold and hollow. He stilled immediately, his breath catching in his throat as he processed what she had just said. The safeword; the one word they had agreed upon to stop everything if it ever became too much. And she had used it.

A wave of dread washed over him as he realized what he had done. He had pushed her too far, been too rough, and now she was lying beneath him, trembling, with tears streaming down her angel face. The guilt was immediate and overwhelming, threatening to choke him as he remained still inside her, his body frozen in place.

"Fuck." Matt whispered, his voice shaking with a mixture of fear and remorse.

He wanted to pull out immediately, to give her the space she needed, but he knew that would only cause her more pain. Instead, he took a deep, shaky breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging inside him, and began to gently caress her body, his hands trembling as they moved over her tense and sore muscles.

"Shh, baby, I’m here." He murmured, his voice cracking as he started to stroke her back and shoulders, feeling the tight knots of tension beneath his fingertips.

He could see how red and irritated her skin was, the marks left by his rough hands and relentless pace, and it made him feel like the worst kind of monster. He wanted to cry, the weight of what he had done crushing him, but he held it together for her. She needed him to be strong now, to take care of her, and that was the least he could do after everything.

"I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N." Matt whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he continued to gently rub her sides, his hands gliding over her warm, tender skin. He pressed soft, apologetic kisses to her shoulder, feeling the salt of her sweat mingling with his lips. "I didn’t mean to hurt you, dove. I never wanted to push you this far. Please forgive me. I’m so, so sorry."

Y/N’s body was still trembling, her breath coming in shaky gasps as she tried to come down from the intense high he had forced her into. The feel of his hands on her, so gentle now, so careful, was a stark contrast to the brutal pace he had set before, and it was both soothing and heartbreaking at the same time. She could hear the pain in his voice, the guilt that was eating away at him, and despite everything, she wanted to reassure him that she was okay, that they were okay.

Matt’s hands continued their slow, tender exploration of her body, trying to soothe the aches and pains he had caused. He traced the lines of her muscles, feeling the tension slowly start to ebb away as she relaxed under his touch, though her body still quivered with the aftershocks. His heart ached as he observed her state, and he couldn’t stop the endless stream of apologies that flowed from his lips nonstop.

"I’m gonna slip out now, okay?" He whispered, his voice trembling as he pressed another soft kiss to her temple. He waited for her response, needing her to give him the okay before he made a move.

When she finally nodded, her eyes still closed, he took a deep breath and began to withdraw from her, moving as slowly and gently as possible. Despite his care, Y/N hissed in pain as he pulled out, her body still too sensitive, too raw from the hours of overstimulation. The sound made his heart shatter all over again, and he felt a fresh wave of guilt crash over him, his stomach twisting with self-loathing.

"Shit, I know, I know... I’m sorry, dove." He choked out, his voice barely above a whisper as he finally freed himself from her body, feeling the absence of her warmth immediately. "I’m so fucking sorry."

"It's alright. Just... Can you hold me? Please?" Her voice sounded so vulnerable, so small.

"Of course! Of course, sweetheart." Matt rushed his answer, laying by her side. He reached for her, pulling her into his arms and holding her close, his heart breaking at the way she winced as she shifted against him.

Y/N nestled into his chest, her body still trembling but beginning to calm as she felt his arms around her, his strong embrace a comfort after the storm. She could hear his heartbeat, fast and erratic beneath her ear, and she knew he was just as shaken as she was. Her own tears had slowed, though her eyes still burned with the remnants of the emotions he had dragged out of her.

"It’s okay." She whispered, her voice hoarse from the intensity of their session. "It’s okay, Matt."

But it wasn’t okay, not for Matt. He didn't know how she could say that when he, himself, couldn’t forgive himself for pushing her to the point where she had to use their safe word, where he had hurt her so badly that she had to stop him. The guilt gnawed at him, and he held her even tighter, as if he could somehow make up for the damage he had done by never letting go.

"I don't deserve you." He whispered again, his voice breaking as he buried his face in her hair, his body shaking with the force of his feelings. "I never wanted to hurt you, baby. Please, please, can you forgive me, angel?"

Y/N could feel the weight of his guilt pressing down on him, the way his body trembled with the effort to hold back his own tears, and it broke her heart. She knew he hadn’t meant to hurt her, knew that he had lost control in the heat of the moment, but she also knew that she needed to help him understand that she didn’t hate him for it; that she still loved him, and that they could get through this together.

"I forgive you." She whispered, her voice soft but firm as she lifted her head to look at him, her hand coming up to cup his cheek as if he was her most precious thing. "I know you didn’t mean it, Matt. We are okay. I’m okay. I promise."

Matt looked down at her, his eyes glassy with unshed tears, and he could see the truth in her gaze. She wasn’t angry with him, wasn’t pulling away from him. She was still here, still in his arms, and that was enough to start mending the cracks that had formed in his heart.

"Thank you." He whispered, his voice full of gratitude and love as he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, his hands stroking her hair, her back, anything he could touch to reassure himself that she was still with him. "I love you so fucking much, Y/N. I’ll never let it get like that again, I promise."

"I know you won’t." Y/N whispered back, her voice full of conviction as she curled into him, seeking the comfort and safety of his embrace. "I trust you, Matt. With my life."

He held her like that for what felt like hours, the two of them wrapped up in each other as the intensity of the night slowly began to fade, leaving only the love they shared.

Matt continued to murmur soft apologies and words of love, his hands never stopping their soothing motions as he tried to make up for the pain he had caused. And gradually, as the night wore on and the exhaustion of their emotional and physical ordeal set in, Y/N’s eyes began to drift closed, her body finally relaxing completely in his arms.

Matt felt her breathing even out, her body going limp against him as sleep claimed her, and only then did he allow himself to relax, the tension he had been holding onto finally slipping away. He pressed a final, tender kiss to her forehead, his heart swelling with love for the woman in his arms, and whispered one last apology before he too succumbed to the pull of sleep, his arms wrapped protectively around her as they drifted off together.

[miihho]

can do headcannons for Myung-gi? Thank you 😭😭

THE KIND OF GUY

(squid game edition boys) sfw

Myung-gi / Player 333

—HE'S THE KIND OF GUY who found himself in fights more often than he’d like to admit. His past was a tangled mess of mistakes and choices that led him down this path. Most times, when he was beaten down, no one cared enough to stop. They’d walk by, eyes averted, pretending not to see him lying there, bruised and exhausted. The pain was familiar, but it was something he had learned to endure alone. So when he found himself on the ground once again, bloodied and sore, he didn’t expect anything to change. He didn’t expect someone to stop and help.

But then, through the blur of his vision, he saw you. Standing there, glowing like something out of a dream, your eyes full of concern. “Are you alright?” you asked, your voice soft, but it was filled with genuine concern. He blinked, shaking his head as if to clear the daze.

“Yeah…” he muttered, wincing slightly as he grabbed your hand and tried to stand. “It didn’t hurt that much.” He forced a weak smile, brushing the dust off his clothes, but his body was screaming from the blows he’d taken. You didn’t look convinced, your eyes scanning him with a frown. “You have bruises everywhere,” you said softly, taking in the sight of his battered form. “You need help, can i treat you?"

He wanted to refuse. He wanted to push you away and tell you it wasn’t worth it, that he was just someone who always ended up in situations like this. But your steady gaze stopped him. He nodded, letting you lead him away from the scene, knowing this would probably be the first time someone would care enough to make sure he wasn’t left to bleed out in a corner.He didn’t expect much—just a quick fix for the bruises. But as you carefully cleaned his cuts and bruises, your touch gentle and your voice soft, something inside him shifted.

The way you didn’t rush, the way you took your time, treating him with more care than anyone ever had, started to break down the walls he’d built around himself. His body still ached, but there was a warmth in his chest, a quiet comfort he hadn’t felt in years. He wasn’t falling in love with you right away. But in that moment, as you tended to his wounds and your eyes met his, something began to grow, slowly and quietly—an unfamiliar feeling, one that made him want to stay just a little longer.

—He’s the type of guy who keeps a distance from everyone, always a little cold, a little aloof, because it’s easier that way. He’s learned to build walls around himself, to guard his emotions, keeping people at arm’s length so he won’t get hurt. It’s become second nature—familiar and safe. But when it comes to you, everything shifts. You become the exception to the rules, the one who manages to break through the armor he’s so carefully crafted.

In your presence, the ice that’s kept him safe for so long begins to melt. The walls that once seemed impenetrable start to crumble, piece by piece, as he finds himself opening up in ways he never thought possible. It’s a vulnerability he’s not used to, one that both terrifies and comforts him in equal measure. For the first time, he doesn’t have to pretend. With you, he can just be. And it’s that warmth, that quiet shift in his soul, that makes him realize—maybe letting you in wasn’t as frightening as he once thought.

—He's type of guy who’d get nervous around you, never having interacted with a girl properly before. This whole thing was new to him. He would rehearse a simple greeting in front of the mirror, repeatedly stumbling over his words.

"Hello, nice to meet you again," he'd say, practicing until it felt right.

But the moment he saw you, standing there, his mind went blank. Flustered, he blurted out, "Meet hello again."

His face flushed red with embarrassment, and without a word, he quickly walked off, leaving you laughing softly at his awkward charm.

—Hes the kind of guy who would drop to his knees with tear-streaked cheeks, begging for another chance. The kind of guy who would plead, his voice trembling with desperation, asking you to take him back.

— He’s the kind of guy who melts under your touch, leaning into the soft strokes of your fingers as they weave through his hair. With you perched on his lap, his arms wrapped securely around your waist, he looks up at you as if you’re the only thing that matters in the world. His eyes, brimming with warmth, trace every feature of your face, and his smile—soft, tender, overflowing with affection—speaks the words his heart can’t contain. To him, this moment is everything: your closeness, your comfort, the quiet intimacy of being held by the one he loves.

—He’s the kind of guy who would drop everything at a moment’s notice just to make you happy. If you told him you wanted your favorite food, he wouldn’t just order it—he’d make sure it came from the best place, double-checking the details so it’s exactly how you like it. If you said you wanted something more, he’d move mountains to find it, his every action steeped in quiet devotion.

—He’s the kind of guy who would hold your bag without hesitation, tie your shoelaces if they came undone, and memorize all the little things that make you smile. If you said you were cold, he’d wrap his jacket around you without a second thought, even if he ended up freezing. If you called him in the middle of the night, needing someone to talk to, he’d show up at your door, no matter how far or inconvenient it was. If you mentioned something you like, he’d make a mental note and surprise you with it later, just to see the joy in your eyes. He’d stay up late if you needed him, wake up early to make your mornings easier, and cancel his own plans just to be there when you need him most.

For him, your happiness is worth everything. He doesn’t just listen to your words—he treasures them, acting on them like they’re his life’s purpose, because loving you isn’t a chore; it’s his greatest joy.

—He’s the kind of guy who pays attention to the tiniest details about you. Like the songs you hum when you’re happy, the exact shade of your favorite color. He remembers your birthday without needing a reminder, but he also knows the little anniversaries you don’t expect him to, like the day you first met or the first time you smiled at him in that special way.

He’d go out of his way to buy you things that match your favorite color—not just big gifts but the little ones, like a keychain he spotted at the store or a pen because he remembered you needed one. He’d surprise you with your favorite snacks on bad days and bring you flowers that match the hues you love, just to see your face light up.

—He’s the kind of guy who listens intently when you talk, even if it’s about something small, and he brings it up later to let you know he was paying attention. He’d notice when you’re feeling off, even if you try to hide it, and he’d do whatever it takes to make you feel better—whether it’s running to get your comfort food, wrapping you in a blanket, or just holding you until the world feels a little less overwhelming.

To him, it’s the small things that matter most because those details are what make you you, and he wants to love every single one of them.

—He's the kind of guy who stumbles over his words when you get too close, as if your presence is too much for him to handle. You don't realize how his heart races, a frantic rhythm he can't control, every beat echoing the weight of your nearness. He tries to pull away, but it's impossible—you're the only thing that makes him feel alive.

—He's kind of guy who would stay away from you for months, not because he wanted to, but because he believed it was for your safety. He worried endlessly that if anyone saw you with him, they’d make you a target—hurt you just to get to him. The thought of putting you in danger was unbearable, so he chose the distance, even if it tore him apart inside.

—Myung gi is the kind of guy who’d make you believe he has pure intentions, but the truth is far darker. He wants you all to himself—every moment of every day, your laughter, your smile, your touch. It's all his in his mind. The thought of anyone else having even a fraction of you fills him with jealousy, and he’ll do anything to keep it that way. You’re his everything, and in his eyes, no one else deserves a piece of you.

—He’s the kind if guy who secretly craves being treated like a precious little one, wanting to be praised for being good, his heart swelling at every word of affection you give him. When you look at him with that soft, loving gaze, calling him "baby" and showering him with overly sweet pet names, something inside him melts. It's not just the words, it's the way you care for him—like he's fragile, like he’s yours to protect. He acts tough on the outside, but deep down, he’s soft for you. Your attention, your affection—it’s everything to him, and he’s more than willing to be the one who melts under your love. He’d give anything to hear you speak to him like that forever.

(he's so IWBWIWHWIWJ😭😭☹️👊🏻)

[gilbertscurls]

Taste ➵ Matt Sturniolo

warnings: SMUT, virgin!matt, softdom!reader, unprotected p in v, heavy on praise and consent, oral!f!receiving, can't tell if it's cringe or not lmao

synopsis: on their first anniversary, y/n and matt finally decide to go all the way.

“I can't believe it's been a year already.” You let out a quiet sigh.

Matt nodded, the thought of their year together bringing a smile to his lips.

“Yeah. It feels like just yesterday we had our first date,” he said, his voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia.

He remembered every detail of that day, the way you looked, the way he'd been so nervous he felt like he might throw up. But he'd found the courage to ask you out, and you'd said yes. It felt like a dream come true.

Matt's gaze drifted from your face to the room around them. The soft, warm light of the lamp by the bed was casting shadows on the walls, the room cozy and intimate. The silence between them was comfortable, broken only by their soft breathing. Matt couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment, a feeling of being right where he belonged.

“I can't believe how lucky I am,” he murmured, his voice low. “To have you, I mean.”

“I'm the lucky one,” you whispered.

Matt chuckled softly at your words, his fingers still tangled in your hair.

“Oh, please,” he said, a hint of a smile in his voice. “I'm the one who gets to hold you like this, to call you mine. I think I won the lottery.”

You giggled, a sound that always made Matt's heart skip a beat.

“I can't argue with that,” you conceded. You snuggled closer to him, resting your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “But I get to hold you back, so we're even.”

Matt's hand moved to your back, gently tracing circles on your skin. The feel of you against him, the sound of your voice, was comforting and soothing, but it also stirred a different kind of feeling in him. A feeling of desire and longing.

“Yeah, I guess we are,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion.

He tightened his arm around you, pulling you even closer, his fingers tracing your spine. Matt's heart thrummed with anticipation. The fact that you've never done more than kiss had been on his mind a lot lately. He wanted you, more than he could say. And tonight felt different, special. It was their anniversary, a milestone in their relationship. A part of him ached to take things further, to show you how much he loved you. But his insecurities and anxieties held him back. What if he wasn't good enough? What if he disappointed you? The thought was terrifying.

“Baby,” he finally said, breaking the silence between them. He swallowed hard, his heart beating a little faster. “Can I ask you something?” His voice was nervous, and he was suddenly regretting asking you anything at all.

At his anxious tone, you knitted your brows and turned to face him. “Of course. What is it?”

Matt looked down at you, his thoughts a swirling mess of anxiety and desire. He took a deep breath, steeling himself. “It's… It's our anniversary,” he started, his voice a little shaky. “And I was wondering…”

He trailed off, the words failing him. He felt like a complete idiot. He'd never been good with expressing his desires, especially when it came to physical intimacy.

You gazed at him with a mixture of concern and curiosity. You could tell he was nervous, and it made you worry. You reached up, gently caressing his cheek. “Yes?” you prompted, your voice gentle and encouraging.

Matt's heart fluttered at your touch, and he took another deep breath, summoning his courage. “I was just… I was thinking…” he mumbled, his words barely more than a whisper. “Tonight, I was hoping we could… Take things further.”

He felt a blush rising up his cheeks, and he quickly looked away, suddenly unable to meet your gaze.

“Oh,” you said quietly. “Are you sure? Like, 100% sure?”

Matt nodded quickly, his heart hammering in his chest. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice trembling slightly. “I'm sure. I've been thinking about it for a while now. I… I want you, baby.”

Saying the words out loud sent a shockwave of adrenaline through him. It was exhilarating, terrifying, and wonderful all at once. But he knew he needed to be honest, to lay it all out on the table.

“I'm just... nervous,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “I've never done anything more than kissing, and I don't… I don't know if I'll be any good.”

“It's okay,” you whispered, reaching up to caress his cheek. “But are you sure? I don't want you to do anything you'll regret.”

Matt leaned into your touch, the warmth and tenderness of your hand calming him down a little. But your words also made him pause. Was he sure? He desperately wanted this, wanted you. But his insecurities were still looming, a dark cloud in the back of his mind.

“I'm sure,” he replied, his eyes searching yours. “I want this. With you.”

“All right.” You nodded. “How… How far are we talking?”

Matt felt his cheeks flush even more, but he forced himself to keep eye contact with you. He appreciated your directness, and your willingness to talk about this openly.

“I, uh…” he began, his voice still a little shaky. “Everything, I guess. If you want that.”

He swallowed hard, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He hoped he wasn't pressuring you or coming on too strong.

You felt your heart skipping a beat and heat already pooling in your lower abdomen. “I do,” you said softly. “But I want to make sure you're completely comfortable.”

Hearing your confirmation sent a pang of excitement through Matt. He felt a mix of emotions, desire, affection, and a hint of fear. But overruling it all was a deep sense of trust. Your words, your reassurance, it was all he needed.

“I am,” he said, his voice a little steadier now. “I trust you, baby. Completely.”

A small, tender smile crept onto your face. “Okay.” Your voice was so soft, so sweet, so kind. “Do you… Want me to take the lead?”

Matt's heart leaped at your question, a mix of relief and desire coursing through him. The idea of you taking control was both frightening and exciting. He hesitated for a moment, but then he nodded, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Yes,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. “I… I want you to take the lead.”

You put one of your hands on his cheek before slowly and gently pressing your lips against his.

Matt's heart skipped a beat at the feel of your lips on his. He'd kissed you countless times before, but this kiss felt different, more intimate. He let out a soft sigh against your mouth, all his anxieties and worries melting away as your touch filled his senses. He brought his own hands up to cup your face, his fingers gently tracing your jaw, his touch soft and reverent.

The kiss deepened, their mouths moving against each other in a slow, languorous dance. Matt could feel the heat pooling in his stomach, the desire for you growing with every passing second. The fear was still there, but it was muffled by the overwhelming sensation of pleasure. He pulled you closer, his hands moving to your hips, his fingers pressing into your skin.

Not stopping the kiss, You moved to straddle his lap, your knees on both sides of his thighs.

Matt felt a shiver run down his spine as you straddled him, your body suddenly so close and so warm. His hands moved to your waist, pulling you even closer, their bodies now pressed together in a way you’ve never been before. The feeling of your weight on his lap ignited a new wave of desire in him, his kisses growing even more intense. He wanted you, desperately.

“You okay?” you mumbled into his lips.

Matt's breath caught in his throat as you spoke, the feeling of your words more like breath than a sound. He couldn't even form a response, his mind completely consumed by your touch and the taste of your lips. He managed a nod, a weak yes whispered against your mouth. He was more than okay. He was on fire.

Matt groaned involuntarily at the feel of your tongue against his lip, the sound more a mixture of pleasure and need than anything else. He immediately parted his lips, granting you access without a second thought. His hands moved to your thighs, his fingers gripping your flesh as he opened his mouth to her.

The kiss grew hungrier, more urgent. Their tongues tangled together, exploring each other without restraint. Matt was lost in the sensation, in the feeling of you in his lap, your body pressed against him. He could hardly think straight, his mind clouded by desire and need. His hips involuntarily bucked slightly, seeking more contact.

“Impatient, huh?” You teased softly, pulling away a little.

Matt let out a low growl of frustration as you pulled away, a mix of desire and irritation in his expression. He was getting so lost in the moment, he was aching for more. Your words, your tease only heightened his need.

“Baby…” he breathed, his voice a mixture of pleading and impatience. “Don't tease me.”

You smiled tenderly before grabbing his both hands and sliding them under your crop top, urging him to take it off.

Matt let out a sharp breath at the feel of your skin under his hands, your top soft and warm. Without hesitation, he moved his hands slowly up your stomach, his fingers exploring the planes of your skin as he helped you pull off your crop top. It fell to the floor, forgotten. His eyes went wide at the sight of your half-naked upper body, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Oh God,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire.

Matt couldn't have looked away even if he'd wanted to. His eyes were drawn to your chest, his breath hitching at the sight. It was as if his brain was shorting out, his desire for you overwhelming everything else. He felt a mix of awe, arousal, and a hint of nervousness. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly very dry.

“You're… You're so beautiful,” he managed to whisper, his voice thick with want.

You smiled softly, your fingertips tracing his shoulders over the t-shirt. “Can I take it off, baby?”

Matt's muscles twitched under your touch, your words sending a shudder down his spine.

“Yes,” he breathed, his voice a little shaky. “Please.”

He wanted to feel your skin on his, the touch of your fingers on his bare chest. He raised his arms to help you as you tugged his t-shirt over his head, discarding it to the side.

Matt's muscles twitched under your touch, your words sending a shudder down his spine. “Yes,” he breathed, his voice a little shaky. “Please.”

He wanted to feel your skin on his, the touch of your fingers on his bare chest. He raised his arms to help you as you tugged his t-shirt over his head, discarding it to the side.

Once the shirt was off, his chest was now bare, exposed to your touch and gaze. Matt felt a mixture of vulnerability and excitement, his heart beating fast in his chest. He could feel your eyes on him, your fingers tracing soft patterns on his skin. He wanted you, all of you.

“Baby,” he murmured, his voice ragged with need. “Touch me.”

Obediently, You ran your fingertips through his shoulders, to his arms, to his chest. “God, you're so beautiful,” you whispered breathlessly.

Matt's breath caught in his throat as your fingers glided over his skin, your touch leaving trails of fire in its wake. He shivered under your touch, a small moan escaping his lips. Your words, your voice, your touch — it was all almost too much to bear.

“No, you are,” he breathed, his own hands moving to your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh. "So beautiful. So perfect."

You were doing everything so slowly and gently, knowing that he'd never done anything like that before. You wanted to make it so good for him. Matt was both grateful and frustrated by your slow and gentle pace. Grateful that you were so patient, and so understanding, but frustrated because he just wanted more. He wanted to be consumed by you, to lose himself in your touch. But he knew you were doing it for his sake, to make it easier for him, and that only made him love you more.

“Baby,” he gasped, his voice pleading. “Please. More. I need more.”

You smirked before leaning a little closer to his face. “You want more?”

Matt looked at you, his eyes dark with desire, his expression a mixture of need and pleading.

“Yes,” he whispered, his voice a little breathless. “I want more. I want all of you.”

He reached up to you, his hands skimming up your sides, his touch firm and possessive. He wanted to touch you, to feel you, to lose himself in you.

“Please,” he added, his voice a low, desperate plea.

You held his face as you kissed him once again, the kiss sweet and full of emotion.

Matt returned the kiss hungrily, his lips moving against yours with a mix of desperation and affection. He couldn't get close enough to you, his hands roaming over your bare skin, wanting to feel you, to touch you everywhere. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth with a new, more urgent fervor. He could feel his desire for you growing, overpowering everything else.

“Baby…” he breathed into your mouth. “Please, I… I need you.”

Matt swore, his head falling back on the pillow as you ground your hips with his. The feel of you grinding against him, the friction, the heat, and the pressure — it was almost too much. He gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh, trying to pull you closer, to increase the contact. A low moan escaped his lips, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Oh God,” he panted, his eyes squeezed shut. “Baby… That feels… That feels so good.”

“You sound so pretty,” you praised breathlessly.

Matt blushed at your words, his heart fluttering at your praise. He let out another soft moan as you rode against him, his body responding instinctively. He was completely lost in the sensation, the feel of your body against his driving him mindless. He tried to form words, to respond, but all that came out was another low groan.

“God… Baby,” he breathed, his hands still holding onto your hips. “Don't… Don't stop.”

His body was on fire, his every nerve alive with desire. He could feel his own hardness growing beneath you, a testament to how much he needed you. His hips canted upward, seeking more contact, wanting to be closer, closer, closer. He opened his eyes, looking up at you, his gaze filled with a mix of want and awe.

“Sweetheart… I… I don't know how much… How much longer I can last,” he whispered, his voice thick with need.

“It's okay, baby,” you cooed, halting your movements.

Matt let out a small, involuntarily whine as you stopped moving, his body protesting the lack of sensation. He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire and frustration, but also with a hint of relief. He was so close to the edge, he didn't know how much longer he could hold on.

“I… I thought you would keep going,” he breathed, his voice a combination of disappointment and need.

“Patience, sweetheart,” you teased, your hand running down his chest, from his shoulder to his happy trail, before finally resting on the buckle of his belt.

Matt's breath hitched at your touch, your hand igniting a trail of fire on his skin. He watched as your hand moved down his chest, down his stomach, to the buckle of his belt. A wave of heat washed over him, making his entire body shiver with anticipation.

“Patience,” he echoed, his voice a rough whisper. “You're… You're killing me.”

You gently hooked your finger under the belt. “Can I?”

Matt nodded, his eyes locked on yours, his breathing shallow and ragged. He trusted you completely and wanted you to take whatever you needed from him. “Yes,” he whispered, his voice thick with need. “Do whatever you want. I'm all yours.”

“So good for me,” you praised before expertly unbuckling his belt and tugging his jeans down.

Matt's heart leaped at your praise, a sense of pride and satisfaction filling him. He lifted his hips slightly, helping you pull his jeans down. He was now only in his boxer briefs, the material doing little to conceal his arousal. He was completely exposed, both physically and emotionally, and he could do nothing but lay there and look up at you, his desire for you burning in his gaze.

“Only for you,” he whispered, his voice a quiet admission.

“Already so worked up for me, huh?” you asked breathlessly, a small smile on your face.

Matt blushed at your comment, the heat spreading across his cheeks. He could feel the evidence of his arousal straining against the fabric of his boxer briefs. He was so worked up, so needy, so desperate for your touch. He swallowed hard, his voice husky and raw.

“Yeah,” he breathed, his eyes fixed on yours. “Only for you. I want you so badly, sweetheart.”

You sat back on his lap, caressing his cheek. “You want to try to take off my bra, baby?”

Matt's eyes widened at your suggestion, a mix of excitement and anxiety washing over him. He'd never taken off a bra before, and he was suddenly unsure of himself. He swallowed hard, his throat dry.

“Yes,” he rasped, his voice betraying his nervousness. “I… I want to try.”

His hands moved to your back, his fingers trembling slightly as he reached for the clasp of your bra. He tried to steady his breathing, but his heart was racing, his mind a jumble of thoughts and feelings.

“I… I'll probably be bad at this,” he admitted, his voice a hesitant whisper.

“It's okay,” you assured him softly. “I don't mind.”

Matt nodded, taking a deep breath to calm himself. He fumbled with the clasp for a few seconds, his fingers feeling both clumsy and inadequate. But finally, with a soft click, the bra came undone. The cups fell loose, revealing your bare chest to him. He stared at you for a moment, his eyes wide, his breath caught in his throat.

“Oh… Wow,” he whispered, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and desire.

You smiled a little sheepishly.

Matt's eyes drank you in, every inch of your beautiful skin, every curve and contour. His hands were itching to touch you, to feel your flesh under his fingertips.

“You are… You are so exquisite,” he breathed, his voice filled with a mixture of wonder and admiration. “You take my breath away.”

Noticing his hands twitching, your smile softened. “You can touch me.”

Matt couldn't believe you were actually giving him permission to touch you, to touch this beautiful woman who was willingly sitting on his lap, your body bare for him. He lifted his hands, his fingers hovering slightly above your skin.

“I… I want to,” he breathed, his voice a shaky whisper. He wanted to feel you so badly, but he was also afraid of doing something wrong, of upsetting you in some way. “Are you… Are you sure it's okay?”

“I am. Don't think so much. Just… Feel.”

Matt took a deep breath, allowing the words to sink in. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting go of the nagging thoughts and doubts in his mind. When he opened them again, his gaze was clear, his expression relaxed.

And then he touched you.

His fingers skimmed lightly over your skin, slowly, delicately, exploring the soft planes of your chest. A shiver ran through him as he felt the heat of your flesh, the suppleness of your skin.

“God, you're so soft,” he whispered.

Sensing that he was still holding back, You smiled softly and grabbed his hand, putting it directly on your breast, and gently squeezing his fingers.

Matt gasped, his breath hitching in his throat as your hand guided his. The feeling of your flesh, your breast, under his palm was almost too much. It was so soft, so warm. He could feel your heart beating rapidly under his fingers. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Oh God,” he breathed, his voice hoarse. “This… This feels… Incredible.”

His fingers traced a slow, tentative path over your breast, his touch firm but gentle. He could feel your own heart hammering against his palm, a perfect rhythm. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and full of desire.

“Is… Is this okay?” he breathed, his voice a low, raspy whisper. “I don't want to hurt you.”

“It's okay,” you assured him softly. “I'll tell you if anything. Just… Touch me.”

Matt nodded tightly, the lump in his throat suddenly replaced by a wave of desire and need. He took your words to heart, letting go of any lingering doubt or fear. He allowed himself to really touch you, to move his fingers over your skin, to feel the contours of your body.

His other hand moved up to your other breast, gently kneading it in his palm. “Is… Is this good?” he whispered, his voice almost inaudible over the sound of his own heartbeat. “You feel… So perfect, so soft.”

You let out a shaky breath. “So good.”

Matt felt a sense of power and satisfaction wash over him, emboldening him. He could feel your breath catching in your chest, hear the hitch in your voice. He knew he was doing something right, something that made you feel good. He continued to caress you, his touch becoming more confident, more sure of itself.

His breath felt hot and heavy, his heart hammering against his ribcage. “Can I… Can I kiss these, too?” he asked, his voice thick with desire.

You felt a sudden rush of so much love for this boy. “Of course. Anything you want.”

Matt's heart soared at your permission, at the way you were giving yourself to him so completely. You were so wonderful, so understanding. He leaned forward, his lips coming to rest on your breast, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. He was gentle at first, his touch light and tentative. But then he began to kiss you more firmly, more hungrily.

And then, a moan of his name escaped your lips.

Matt's heart leaped at the sound of your moan, the way you said his name. It was like music to his ears. He pulled back slightly, looking up at you with a mixture of awe and desire.

“Did… Did I do something right?” he asked, his voice breathless and shaky. “The way you said my name… It sounded… It sounded like it felt good, like you liked it.”

“You're doing… Incredible,” you whispered breathlessly.

Matt felt a surge of pride and satisfaction coursing through him. He couldn't believe this was actually happening, that he was pleasuring this incredible woman, making you feel this way. But the knowledge that he was pleasing you, making you moan and breathless, only fueled his own desire, his own need for you.

He continued to kiss you, his mouth moving across your chest, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. “More,” he murmured, his voice low and ragged. “Can I… Can I do more?”

“Anything.”

Matt felt a wave of heat and adrenaline wash over him at your word, your permission. Anything? The possibilities, the desires, raced through his mind. He wanted to explore you, to touch you, to make you feel things you'd never felt before.

His mouth moved down your body, his tongue tracing a path down your sternum, his lips leaving a trail of kisses along your stomach. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and full of need. “Can I… Can I taste you?”

You pulled yourself up on your elbows to look at him. He looked so pretty, looking up at you from between your thighs. But it was his first time, and you wanted to make it special do him. “Are you sure? I want it to be about you. You don't have to…”

Matt paused, looking up at you. Your concern for him, your consideration, made his heart swell. He could feel your gaze on him, warm and gentle. He knew you would never force him to do something he wasn't ready for. But he could also feel his own desire burning beneath the surface.

He nodded, his voice steady and sure. “I'm sure,” he whispered, his eyes never leaving yours. “I… I want to. I want to taste you. I want to please you… If you're okay with that.”

You nodded shakily, before bunching up the fabric of your skirt in your hands, pulling it down and revealing your little lacy panties.

Matt's eyes widened at the sight before him. Your panties were a beautiful lace, delicate and feminine. He could feel his mouth go dry, his heart quickening in his chest. He looked up at you, his eyes filled with an almost reverent awe.

His hands tentatively moved up from your thighs, tracing gentle patterns on your bare skin as they crept closer to your panties. “You're so beautiful,” he breathed, his voice laced with need and desire.

He leaned forward, his breath hot and heavy against your skin. His hands were still tracing feather-light patterns on your thighs, but he was now just millimeters away from your underwear. His heart was hammering, his mind a cacophony of emotions and sensations. “May I… May I touch you there?” he asked, his voice thick with desire.

“Please,” you whispered breathlessly, your chest already heaving.

Matt didn't need to be told twice. With a mixture of nerves and confidence, he let his fingers graze across the fabric of your panties, just touching the soft material. He could feel the heat radiating from you, the moisture already seeping through. He swallowed hard, his own body responding to the feel of you.

His gaze flicked up to your eyes momentarily, seeking reassurance, before returning to his task. “Is… Is this right?” he whispered, his voice a little shaky.

“Yes,” you whispered breathlessly. “Perfect.”

Matt felt a rush of relief and satisfaction at your words. He was doing well, making you feel good. He continued to touch you, to move his fingers across the fabric of your panties, feeling the heat and the dampness beneath.

As his touch grew more confident, more assured, he found himself getting more and more excited. His own breathing grew shaky, his heart racing. “Can… Can I do more?” he breathed, his voice slightly hoarse.

“Whatever you want,” you mewled. “I'll tell you if anything.”

Matt's heart fluttered at your response. The trust, the permission, it was almost too good to be true. He looked up at you, his eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation. But all he found was love, desire, and a willingness to explore.

He took a breath, trying to steady himself. “Okay,” he whispered, his voice a little shaky. He moved his fingers down to the edge of your panties, toying with the thin strip of fabric. “I… I want to touch you without these in the way…”

He paused, waiting for your permission. He was already so close, already feeling the heat and dampness of your through the thin fabric, but he wouldn't do anything you weren’t comfortable with. He looked up at you, his eyes filled with desire but laced with the need for your approval.

You nodded. “Do whatever you want.”

Matt felt a shudder run through him at your words. Your permission, your trust in him, it was like fuel for the fire that was burning within him. He gently pulled at your panties, guiding them down your legs, discarding them on the floor.

The sight of you, bare and fully exposed to him, was almost too much. His breath caught in his throat, and he had to force himself to swallow the lump that had suddenly formed. His fingers itched to touch you, to feel the smoothness and heat of your skin, but he waited, looking up for your nod of approval.

When you gave it, he moved quickly. His fingers traced a path up your thighs, moving closer and closer to your core. His own breathing was ragged, his heart pounding in his chest, and he struggled to keep his hands from shaking as they got closer and closer to the most intimate part.

His fingers grazed over your skin, feeling the heat radiating off of you. He could feel the wetness there, the evidence of your arousal, and he couldn't help but shudder. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and hungry, his tongue flicking out to moisten his suddenly dry lips.

“You're… You're so wet,” he whispered, the words barely escaping his lips.

Your breath hitched. “Only for you.”

His heart leaped at hearing your words, at the idea that he was the only cause of your arousal. He could feel the power and the responsibility that came with it, and it only stoked the fire within him.

His fingers were now tracing gentle circles around your entrance, his touch light and tentative. He couldn't believe he was doing this, touching you this way. “Can… Can I… Can I put a finger inside?” he asked, his voice shaky.

“Yeah,” you whispered shakily. “Please.”

Matt could feel his breath catch in his chest at your words, at the desire in your voice. His whole body was trembling, almost overwhelmed by the enormity of the moment. He nodded, swallowing hard, his eyes fixed on you.

He gently, carefully, eased a single finger inside, a choked gasp escaping his lips as he felt your warmth and wetness around him. As he moved his finger, You suddenly let out a gasp.

Matt was instantly worried, his finger freezing in place. “Did… Did I hurt you?” he asked, his voice full of concern. He looked up at you, his eyes searching your face for any sign of discomfort.

“N-No, it's just…” Your face flushed. “Your fingers are longer than what I'm used to.”

Matt felt a sudden rush of pride at your words, his chest swelling. He had to admit, he'd always been a bit self-conscious about his long thin fingers. But the idea that they were causing her pleasure, that they were giving her a feeling you weren’t used to, that felt incredible.

He curled his finger slightly, exploring your depth. “Is… Is this okay…?”

Your breath hitched as he reached that one spot, and you almost screamed out loud. “Oh my…”

Matt was surprised by your reaction, the sound you made nearly sending him over the edge. But he was determined to make you feel good, to make you feel better than you'd ever felt before.

He kept his finger where it was, gently applying pressure to that one spot, a smirk on his face. “Is this the right spot, hm?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Matt,” you mumbled in pleasure.

Matt couldn't help but smile at your reaction, at the way you responded to his touch. He couldn't believe he was doing this to you, causing you to feel these things. And he couldn't resist the urge to tease you a little bit.

“Is that a yes?” he asked, his voice low and dripping with barely restrained desire.

“Add a second finger,” you instructed him softly. “And try to move them, curling them to hit that spot.”

At your instructions, Matt felt another wave of arousal wash over him. You were telling him what to do. You were guiding him, showing him how to please you. It was a new experience, but one he was more than happy to explore.

He obeyed, slowly adding a second finger to the first. The feeling was tighter, but also warmer. He began to move his fingers, just as you'd told him to.

The angle was a little clumsy at first, but then he felt that one spot, and he applied gentle pressure, curling his fingers at just the right angle. “Like…” he started, his voice a little breathless. “… like this?”

“Oh fuck…” you moaned, your back arching a little in pleasure.

Matt found himself breathing harder at the sight of you arching your back, at the way you were responding to his touch. He knew he was doing something right, and it only fueled his desire to please you more, to make you feel even better.

“Is… Is this good?” he asked, his voice a little shaky. “Does this feel good?”

“So good, fuck, so good…”

Matt's heart was racing, his breath coming in heavy pants. He loved hearing your praise, and the way you reacted to his touch. It was something he'd never felt before, and he wanted more, wanted to make you feel even better.

He kept his fingers moving and applying pressure, his gaze darting up to your face, watching your expressions. “I want you… I want you to feel… To feel so good,” he murmured, his voice a mixture of breathless and earnest.

Your noises of pleasure, your arches, and your moans, it was all driving him wild. He wanted to make you fall apart, to make you forget everything but him and whatever he was doing to you.

“You… You want to try to use your mouth?” you asked breathlessly in between the moans.

Matt's heart quickened at your request. He'd wanted to do that, too, but he hadn't been sure if you'd be okay with it. But now that you'd asked, he was more than happy to comply.

“Yes,” he responded, his voice hoarse with desire. “I… I want to. I want to taste you, too.”

He gently withdrew his fingers and slowly moved further down your body, his heart thudding in his chest. He settled between your legs, looking up at you as his breath came in hot, uneven pants against you.

As he tasted you, as he felt you against his lips, his tongue, his mind was overwhelmed. He hadn't expected this, but it was better than he'd ever imagined. You tasted sweet and tangy, and it only spurred him on.

He forgot about feeling out of his depth, he forgot about potential mistakes or awkward moments. All he wanted to do was pleasure you, to make you feel good. His tongue moved and explored, and his eyes fluttered up at you. He'd never seen you so undone, so lost in pleasure, and the knowledge that he was causing it only deepened his desire to please you more.

“God, you're so good at that,” you breathed out shakily.

Matt felt a wave of pride and pleasure wash over him at your words. He continued, his tongue moving over you, his lips applying gentle suction. Hearing your approval, feeling you respond beneath him, was intoxicating. But he was relentless, determined to bring you to the brink, to make you lose control completely.

His hands moved up, gently caressing your thighs and stomach, seeking to give you even more pleasure. He wanted you to feel good, to feel loved, to feel worshipped.

And eventually, your moans got even louder as you released on his mouth, his name on your lips like a prayer. Matt could feel your body shaking, could hear your voice as you cried out his name. It was a moment he knew he'd never forget, a moment that would be ingrained in his memory forever.

He slowly withdrew, crawling back up beside you. He couldn't seem to find his voice, his heart still hammering in his chest.

He was a little amazed at himself, too, he had to admit. He hadn't been entirely sure what he was doing, but he'd just seemed to know. He'd found a way to bring you pleasure, to send you over the edge, to make you sing his name like a song.

He found his voice again, his voice low, rough. “Was that… Was that good for you? Was I okay?” His heart was still beating fast, his body thrumming with a mix of adrenaline and pleasure.

“God, you're… You're unreal,” you panted out.

Matt couldn't help but smile at your words, the praise fueling his ego. “I… I am?” he asked, unable to hide the slight tone of smugness in his voice. He knew he should feel more humbled, but he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride.

He reached out, gently tracing random patterns on your bare stomach as you caught your breath. “I just… I wanted to make you feel good,” he said softly.

When you came down from your high, you sat up to rest their foreheads against each other. “Are you sure you're ready?”

Matt's heart raced as you asked the question, his mind suddenly flooded with thoughts and worries. Was he ready? He had wanted this, more than anything, but now that the moment was here, he felt a twinge of fear.

He looked into your eyes, searching for reassurance. But all he saw was love, desire, and a willingness to wait if he wasn't ready yet.

He nodded, taking a shaky breath. “Yes,” he murmured. “I'm ready.”

In response, you locked their lips in a passionate kiss, one full of love.

Matt responded eagerly, his body pressing against yours as their mouths met in a passionate kiss. Every thought, every fear, was pushed aside in that moment. All that mattered was you, your breath, your lips, your bodies.

His hands found their way into your hair, tangling in the soft strands, holding you close. He poured all of his feelings, all of his desires into the kiss, his heart hammering in his chest.

Matt's breath caught in his throat as he felt your fingers slide under the waistband of his boxers, the sensation causing a shudder to run through his body. He'd been on edge ever since you'd started, his desire already at a fever pitch. But your touch, your gentle caress, only served to drive him wild.

He pulled back from the kiss to murmur against your mouth. “Please…” he whispered, his voice ragged and pleading. “Please, don't tease me anymore. I can't take it.”

You let out a shaky groan before pulling his boxers down, seeing him fully exposed for the first time. You took a moment to really take him in, your eyes full of awe and love.

Matt's cheeks burned under your gaze, feeling suddenly very exposed and vulnerable. He'd never been looked at this way before, never felt this vulnerable. But he also felt a wave of affection at the awe and love he saw in your eyes.

He met your gaze, his own eyes full of a mixture of desire and trepidation. “Is… Is it okay?” he asked softly, his voice betraying a hint of insecurity.

“You're so beautiful,” you praised breathlessly. “So perfect.”

Matt felt his heart soar at your words, the insecurities fading away and being replaced with a wave of intense love. No one had ever called him beautiful before, and certainly not perfect. He'd always felt a bit too thin, too gangly, too nerdy. But to you, he was beautiful, perfect.

He drew in a shaky breath, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “So are you,” he murmured. “Perfect, I mean.”

You reached to gently caress his cheek. “Sit up against the headboard for me.”

At your request, Matt obeyed, sitting up and leaning back against the headboard. He felt bare and exposed, but he trusted you and knew that you wouldn't do anything to make him feel uncomfortable.

His gaze met yours, his heart beating fast in his chest. “Like this?” he asked, his voice a little breathless.

“Perfect,” you praised before straddling his lap once again.

Matt's breath caught in his throat as you straddled him, your body pressing against his in all the right places. His hands found your hips, his fingers gently gripping them, as if he needed something to anchor himself.

His eyes roamed over your body, appreciating every curve and contour, before coming back up to meet your gaze. “You… You look amazing,” he breathed, his voice a little huskier than usual.

The corner of your lips went up as you rested your forehead against his, just looking into his eyes for a few moments. You were so close now, the heat and electricity between them palpable. Matt found himself getting lost in your eyes, feeling a sense of calm and understanding wash over him. He could feel your breath against his lips, your body pressed against his, and it was almost too much to bear.

He reached up a hand, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers feather-light against your skin. “I… I love you,” he whispered, the words coming out almost involuntarily.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, and your eyes reflected just how much.

Matt felt your words wash over him, the depth and sincerity of your love sending a shiver down his spine. He'd always known you loved him, but hearing you say it, seeing it in your eyes… It was as if all his fears and doubts vanished completely.

He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the words sink in, letting himself bask in your love. Then, his eyes opened again, his gaze intense, and he wrapped his arms more securely around your waist. “Show me,” he whispered. “Show me how much you love me.”

“You ready?” you made sure quietly.

Matt felt a flutter of nerves mix with the desire he was feeling, but he nodded, his hands gripping your hips a little tighter. “Yes,” he breathed in response, his voice a little shaky. “I… I'm ready.”

“If anything… Just tell me, and we can stop,” you promised.

Matt nodded again, appreciating your thoughtfulness. “I will,” he assured you. “But please… Please don't stop unless I say so.”

He drew you closer, his hands sliding up to your back, gently tracing the line of your spine. “I… I want this. I want you,” he murmured, his voice a low, earnest plea.

Matt shivered slightly as your hand moved over his chest, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His heart was beating hard, his breath coming in shaky gasps. He'd never felt this alive before, this on edge, this desperate for your touch.

His eyes tracked your hand as it moved, a small, helpless noise escaping his lips. He knew what was coming, and he was aching for it.

Finally, your hand wrapped around him, giving him a few slow pumps. Your touch was like a spark to a flame, igniting a fire within him that he hadn't known was possible. He groaned, his head falling back against the headboard, his eyes squeezing shut as the sensations washed over him.

His hips involuntarily arched into your touch, his hands gripping your hips a little tighter.

“Oh… Oh God, that feels…” he gasped, his voice choked. “That feels so good,” he managed to stutter out, his words a raw expression of pleasure.

The feeling of your hand on him was overwhelming, unlike anything he'd ever experienced. He could feel his body tensing and relaxing instinctively.

You positioned yourself above him, and you looked him in the eyes as if to ask for one last permission.

Matt's heart thudded in his chest as he looked into your eyes. He knew what was about to happen, and he wanted it, more than anything. He didn't want you to stop, he wanted you, all of you.

He nodded, his voice unsteady as he spoke. “Please,” he whispered, his breath ragged. “Please, don't stop.”

And then, you slowly started to sink down. The sensation was almost too much for Matt. It was like a wave of pleasure and heat overwhelming his entire body. He let out a low, guttural moan as you slowly sank down, inch by agonizing inch.

He clung to you, his hands gripping your hips with an almost bruising force. His eyes were squeezed shut, his lips parted as he panted for breath. “Oh… Oh God,” he managed to say, the words a messy, incoherent jumble.

His mind was reeling, every thought driven out by the sheer intensity of the feeling. It was like nothing he'd ever experienced before, like nothing he could have imagined. You were warm, tight, and completely surrounding him, and it was everything.

He knew he was probably being too rough, too loud, but he couldn't help it. He was utterly lost in the sensations, losing himself in you. He was yours, totally and completely, and he loved every moment.

As you bottomed out, you rested your hands on his shoulders for support. “You okay, baby?”

Matt was trying to form words, to give some sort of response, but all he could manage was a series of ragged breaths and a nod. He was trying to ground himself, to stay in control, but it was nearly impossible.

He managed to open his eyes, his gaze meeting yours. “I… I'm… I'm okay,” he gasped out, his voice thick with pleasure. “Just… Just give me a second, please.”

You felt incredible around him, almost too good. He needed a moment to adjust, to find some sort of equilibrium, or he knew he'd lose himself completely.

He forced himself to take a few deep breaths, his heart hammering in his chest as he tried to steady himself. “You… You feel so… So good," he managed to get out between ragged breaths. He was struggling to find his voice, to express how he was feeling. “Just… Just give me a moment, please…”

“Of course. Take all the time you need,” you whispered, your hand gently caressing his cheek.

Your touch was like a soothing balm on his over-stimulated body. He closed his eyes and leaned into your hand, drawing in a shaky breath. He focused on the feeling of your fingers on his skin, your body surrounding him, anchoring himself to you. Slowly, the overwhelming sensations began to recede, replaced by a calmer, more controlled sense of pleasure.

He opened his eyes again, his gaze meeting yours. “I'm… I'm okay now,” he murmured. “You can... you can move now.”

You leaned in to press your lips against his before slowly starting to move your hips.

The feeling of your lips on his was like a jolt through his system, reigniting the fire that had been momentarily banked. He responded eagerly, his mouth moving against yours, his tongue caressing yours with an urgent need.

And then there was the movement of your hips. It was a gentle, careful circling motion, bringing him closer and closer to oblivion. Matt let out a guttural moan, his hands gripping your hips even tighter.

It was all too much, but he couldn't get enough of it. He felt like he was drowning in you, lost in the sensations of your body, your touch, your scent. He knew he was being loud, almost embarrassingly so, but he couldn't help it. He was completely yours, completely lost in you.

“Does that feel good, baby?” You asked breathlessly.

Matt could barely respond, too lost in the pleasure to string coherent words together. All he could do was nod, his voice choked off by a moan that tore its way from his throat.

He tried to form words, to tell you how good it felt, how incredible you were, but all that came out was a ragged gasp. “Y-yeah,” he managed to stutter out eventually, his voice hoarse. “Feels… Feels so good…”

You pressed their foreheads together before starting to move a little faster, moans escaping your own lips.

The change in speed made Matt's head spin. He felt like he was on the edge of an abyss, his body tensing and coiling with each move of your hips. He was a tangle of sensations, pleasure, need, and love, all swirling together.

He kept his eyes open, locking them with yours. Your moans, your ragged breaths, only amplified the sensations. He knew he was close, too close, but he didn't want it to end.

His hands left your hips, moving up to cradle your face in his hands. He needed to touch you, to feel your skin under his fingers, to hold onto you as he rode the wave of pleasure higher and higher.

“I… I'm close… I'm gonna… Oh God, I'm…”

You understood exactly what he meant, the urgency in his tone clear. Your movements became faster and more purposeful, pushing them both closer to the edge.

“I know, baby,” you whispered, your breath hot against his ear. “I know. Just let go. I've got you.”

Your words sent a shiver down his spine, the mixture of love and reassurance hitting him right in the chest. He wanted to hold on, to make this last as long as possible, but he knew it was impossible. He was on the edge, teetering on the brink of ecstasy.

“Baby…” he gasped, his voice thin and needy. “I… I'm… Oh God, I'm… I'm…”

He couldn't say the words, couldn't form the warning. All he could do was shiver as his body went rigid, waves of pleasure washing over him. He held onto you, his fingers digging into your flesh, as he rode out the aftershocks.

At the sensation of him releasing deep inside of you, you reached your climax as well, your back arching, and you let out a loud cry of his name. He felt you clenching around him, your own release as you cried out his name, and it was too much. He felt like he was being lifted into ecstasy, drowning in the sensations that swamped his body.

His hands moved to wrap around you, holding you close, feeling the tremors run through your body. He buried his face in the curve of your neck, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. “Oh God… Oh God…” he managed to say.

“I… I've never… That was…”

He couldn't complete a sentence, his mind reeling from the intensity of it all. He held onto you, feeling the rapid throb of your heartbeat against his chest, the heat of your skin against his, and the sweat that had gathered on both their bodies.

After You finally caught your breath, you looked at him, still straddling him, as you ran your hand through his hair. “Are you okay, baby?”

Matt was still reeling, his body trembling slightly from the force of his orgasm. He leaned into your touch, his eyes meeting yours.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse and raw. “I'm… I'm okay. I just… I need a minute. That was… Wow.”

“You were perfect,” you said softly before lifting yourself from him and falling onto the bed next to him.

He chuckled weakly, still struggling to catch his breath. “Perfect, huh? I'm pretty sure I yelled louder than you did. I think the whole neighborhood heard me,” he teased, half-joking and half-not.

You chuckled breathlessly. Matt, however, could only stare in wonder at how his seed was leaking out of you.

Matt couldn't tear his gaze away, his eyes fixed on the sight in front of him. He had never seen anything so intimate, so erotic. Without thinking, he reached out, his fingers tracing the trail of his release dribbling down your skin.

“God, you're so beautiful,” he whispered. “And I… I made a mess of you.”

Your breath hitched as he touched you, still oversensitive, but you didn't protest. He touched you delicately, his touch light and hesitant, as if he was scared to break the fragile moment. His gaze was filled with a mixture of awe and desire, staring at the evidence of what you have just shared.

“You… You look even more beautiful like this,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. “Like I've marked you as mine.”

“I am yours,” you whispered.

The words sent a wave of possessiveness through him. “Mine,” he repeated, his voice almost a possessive growl. “All mine.”

He leaned in, pressing feather-light kisses along your jawline, his hands tracing aimless patterns on your skin. “I don't want anyone else seeing you like this," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. “I don't want anyone else touching you like I do. You're mine.”

He continued to mark your skin with kisses, his mouth moving along the length of your neck and down to your collarbone. He wanted to keep you like this forever, covered in his marks, in his scent. He knew he was being selfish, but he didn't care. You were his, and he wanted the world to know it.

You let out a soft sigh, your fingers tangling into his hair.

The feel of your fingers in his hair only served to make him more possessive. He continued to kiss and nip at your skin, leaving a trail of love bites down your neck and chest.

“Mine,” he repeated, his voice almost a mantra. He wanted to keep saying it, as if by repeating it, he could make it more true. “All mine.”

“So… I take that I made your first time good?” you asked, a little jokingly.

Matt chuckled huskily, leaning back just enough to look into your eyes. “Good is an understatement,” he said, his voice still rough with desire. “That was… Mind-blowing. Life-changing.”

He paused, his gaze roaming over your body again, taking in the sight of you covered in his marks. “I think you ruined me for anyone else.”

“Well, I sure hope so,” you murmured before kissing him again.

He responded immediately, his mouth moving against yours with a desperate, needy hunger. He rolled you onto your back, pinning you beneath him, continuing the kiss with a fervor. He didn't want this moment to end, he wanted to revel in the feeling of your body under his, the taste of your mouth, the scent of your skin.

Between kisses, he managed to mutter, “You're the only one. The only one I'll ever need.”

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re

[lemonsdietcoke]

Parting Gift - Player 230

Dark!Thanos/Choi Su-bong x Fem!Reader

This is part 2 of my mini series love ridden (you don’t have to read part 1 but it helps you get a deeper understanding of their relationship)

Warnings: Toxic relationship,Emotional manipulation and gaslighting, DUBCON/implied sexual misconduct, power imbalances and coercion,mentions of substance abuse,threats of self-harm, mentions of bruising, vomiting, unreliable memory

Summary: “It ended bad, but I love what we started.” A night out, was supposed to be a distraction, a step to moving on. Instead it leaves you questioning everything. Loosely inspired by Parting gift-Fiona apple

MINORS DNI!

A/n: ahhhh here it is! This is very much a wild ride so be prepared and get comfortable lol. Lmk if yall fw. I love feedback. Lmk what you think!!

……………………..

“Two years.”

It echoes in your head as you stare at your phone. The screen blinks, illuminating the dark, quiet apartment, and your reflection stares back at you. Hollow eyes. Lifeless skin.

You don’t even recognize yourself anymore.

Two years of late nights.

Two years of broken promises.

Two years of fights that always ended the same way — with you apologizing for things you hadn’t even done.

Two years of Su-bong.

The notifications keep coming.

Messages. Missed calls. Voicemails.

You blocked him a week ago. You had to.

Before that, you let the calls go unanswered. You left his texts on read. But after that voicemail, you couldn’t take it anymore.

It wasn’t just the things he said.

It was the way he sounded.

Drunk. High out of his mind. Slurring his words like he could barely get them out.

You’d heard him like that before, of course. Countless times. But this was different.

The shaking breath at the beginning of the message.

The muffled sound of a bottle cap hitting the floor.

The distinct rattle of a pill bottle.

And then his voice —

Low. Rough. Desperate.

“You know, if you don’t fucking answer me…”

There was a pause. You could hear him breathing.

“Maybe I should just end it all.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

The sound of pills being shaken in his hand.

“It’s in your hands now.”

You remember sitting on the floor of your new apartment, the phone clutched in your hands, shaking so hard you thought you might drop it.

That was the breaking point.

You blocked him.

It was hard. Very hard.

What if he was serious?!

What if he did it and it was your fault?!

But it didn’t stop the nightmares.

It’s been a month since the breakup, and you haven’t left your apartment in days.

The dishes are piled up in the sink. Your laundry is overflowing.

You haven’t brushed your hair in three days.

The weight of it all feels suffocating.

You thought leaving him would make you feel free.

Instead, you feel empty.

When your phone buzzes again, you ignore it.

It’s probably Ji-hye.

She’s been trying to get you to go out for weeks.

“You need to live a little,” she said last time you saw her.

But you don’t feel like living.

Still, when your phone buzzes again, you pick it up.

Ji-hye ★ˎˊ˗ (9:17 PM): Come out with us tonight. Please?

Ji-hye ★ˎˊ˗ (9:18 PM): There’s a new club opening in Itaewon. It’ll be fun.

Ji-hye ★ˎˊ˗ (9:19 PM): I’m not taking no for an answer.

You stare at the messages for a long time.

The thought of going to a club makes your stomach turn.

You haven’t been out in two years.

You haven’t been you in two years.

But the apartment feels too small.

Too quiet.

Too empty.

Fuck it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The shower burns your skin.

You scrub until you feel raw, as if you can wash away the last two years.

But no amount of scrubbing erases the bruises —

The ones he left on your heart.

When you step out, you wipe the fogged mirror and stare at your reflection.

Your hair is a tangled mess.

Your eyes are rimmed with dark circles.

You look like someone who’s been barely holding it together.

This isn’t who I am, you tell yourself.

You plug in your hair straightener. You do your makeup.

By the time you’re done, you almost feel like yourself again.

You rifle through your closet, pulling out a black dress you haven’t worn in years. It still fits — snug and short, hugging your body in a way that feels foreign after months of oversized hoodies and leggings.

When you step into your heels, you wobble for a second.

It’s been so long since you’ve worn anything but sneakers.

But when you look in the mirror again —

You see her.

The girl you used to be.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ji-hye and her friends are already tipsy when you meet them outside the club.

She squeals when she sees you.

“Look at you! You look amazing!”

You try to smile, but it feels forced.

The club is packed.

Neon lights pulse to the beat of the music.

Bodies move together on the dance floor.

Ji-hye hands you a shot as soon as you walk in.

“Drink up!”

You down it quickly, the burn making you wince.

“Another?”

Why not?

By the time you lose count, you’ve had at least six shots.

Maybe more.

You stopped counting after the first round of tequila.

The room spins slightly, but you feel good.

Better than you’ve felt in weeks.

You laugh with Ji-hye.

You dance with strangers.

For the first time in a long time, you feel free.

And then you see him.

At first, you think your eyes are playing tricks on you.

But when you blink, he’s still there.

Su-bong.

He’s standing near the bar, his eyes locked on you.

His hair is messy, his shirt unbuttoned at the top.

He looks the same as he always does —

Rough around the edges, disheveled in that careless way that made you fall for him in the first place.

But there’s something in his eyes —

Something dark.

Your stomach twists.

The room feels too hot.

You grab Ji-hye’s arm.

“Ji-hye. Is he…?”

Her eyes widen.

“Oh shit.”

“What the fuck is he doing here?”

She bites her lip, looking guilty.

“I didn’t know. I swear. But he’s friends with Seung-ho.”

She nods toward one of the guys in their group — a guy you don’t know well.

Of course.

Of fucking course.

Your heart pounds in your chest, a wild, frantic beat.

You down another shot, your hands shaking slightly.

Maybe if you ignore him, he’ll go away.

But he doesn’t.

When you look up again, he’s moving toward you.

You see him before he speaks.

The way he weaves through the crowd, his gaze locked on you like he’s on a mission.

You look away.

You try to pretend you didn’t see him.

But it’s too late.

He’s right there.

“Hey.”

His voice cuts through the noise, low and rough.

You don’t turn around.

You keep your eyes on your drink, your knuckles white as you grip the glass.

“I didn’t know you came here.”

He leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear.

Your whole body goes stiff.

“Fuck off, Su-bong.”

Your voice is steady, but your heart is pounding.

He doesn’t move.

Instead, he slides into the seat next to you.

Like he belongs there.

Like nothing happened.

“Come on,” he says, his tone light, almost teasing. “You’re really not even going to say hi?”

You turn to him, your eyes flashing.

“Why would I?”

He shrugs, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Because you missed me.”

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it.

“Missed you?”

You set your drink down, leaning closer.

“You left me voicemails threatening to fucking kill yourself. Do you know how fucked up that is?”

His expression doesn’t change.

He doesn’t flinch.

Instead, he tilts his head, studying you.

“Did it scare you?”

Your blood runs cold.

“What?”

“Did it scare you?” he repeats, his voice soft.

“Did you think I was going to do it?”

You stare at him, horrified.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

His lips twitch into something that might be a smile — but there’s no warmth in it.

“I just wanted to talk to you,” he says, his tone almost casual.

“And you wouldn’t answer. You wouldn’t talk to me.”

“So you thought threatening to kill yourself was the way to get my attention?”

Your voice is shaking now, anger and fear mixing in your chest.

He doesn’t answer.

Instead, he reaches for your hand.

And you’re too stunned to pull away.

“I missed you,” he says softly.

“I don’t know what to do without you.”

You rip your hand away, standing up so fast your chair scrapes against the floor.

“Don’t fucking do that.”

Your voice is loud now, cutting through the music.

“Don’t pretend you’re some fucking victim.”

His expression hardens.

“I’m not pretending.”

“You are.”

You step closer, your chest heaving.

“You always do this. You always make it about you. Like your fucking pain is the only thing that matters.”

He stands up slowly, towering over you.

“I’m in pain because of you.”

You scoff, shaking your head.

“That’s bullshit.”

“Don’t lie to yourself.”

His voice is low now. Dangerous.

“You love me.”

Your hands tremble at your sides.

“I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

He steps closer.

“I know you do. You wouldn’t be this angry if you didn’t.”

You hate how he gets in your head.

How he twists your words.

“I don’t love you,” you say again, but it sounds weaker this time.

He leans in, his breath brushing against your cheek.

“Then why haven’t you moved on?”

The question hits you like a punch to the gut.

And you don’t have an answer.

“Let’s go outside,” he says.

His voice is softer now, coaxing.

“It’s too loud in here.”

You hesitate.

“Please.”

He reaches for your hand again, and this time, you don’t pull away.

“Just talk to me.”

Your heart is pounding.

Your mind is spinning.

And against your better judgment —

You follow him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The alleyway outside the club smells like cigarette smoke and spilled beer.

You cross your arms over your chest, shivering slightly. The night air feels too cold against your skin, cutting through the warmth of the alcohol.

Su-bong lights a cigarette, his hands shaking slightly as he brings it to his lips.

For a moment, neither of you speak.

Then —

“What do you want from me?”

Your voice cuts through the quiet, sharp and strained.

He exhales a cloud of smoke, his gaze steady on you.

“I just want you.”

You laugh, bitter and harsh.

“Do you even hear yourself? You had me, Su-bong. You had me for two fucking years, and you—”

Your voice cracks.

“You fucking broke me.”

His jaw tightens.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

“But you did.”

Your chest heaves, your breath fogging in the cold air.

“Over and over again.”

“I know.”

He takes a step closer.

“And I’m sorry.”

It’s the softness in his voice that undoes you.

That fucking softness.

Because for a split second —

You almost believe him.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

His words hang in the air between you, soft and deliberate, like he’s trying to carve them into your skin. And you hate how much they make your chest ache.

You hate that it’s him standing here, saying these things. Again.

“You say that like it fucking matters.” Your voice comes out steadier than you feel. “Like it changes anything.”

He exhales smoke, eyes never leaving yours. “It does matter.”

“No, it doesn’t.” You shake your head, your arms tightening around yourself like it’s the only thing holding you together. “You’ve hurt me too many times for it to matter.”

A pause.

A flicker of something in his eyes.

And then, softly —

“I couldn’t stop.”

The words hit you harder than you want them to.

Your chest tightens, your mind flashing back to the nights he stumbled through the door, high and out of it, mumbling half-assed apologies through the haze.

“I don’t know how to stop,” he continues, his voice quiet. “Not without you.”

You close your eyes, willing the tears to stay put.

“You can’t keep doing this,” you whisper. “You can’t keep blaming me for your fucking choices.”

“I’m not.”

“Then what the fuck is this?” You gesture between the two of you, your voice rising. “What do you think you’re doing right now?”

“I’m trying to fix it.”

Your laugh is sharp, bitter. “Fix it? You can’t fix this, Su-bong. You can’t.”

He flinches at the way your voice cracks.

But he doesn’t back down.

“I can try.”

You shake your head, the weight of it all pressing down on you. The months of pain, the sleepless nights, the voicemail that still echoes in your mind.

“You’re fucking selfish.”

His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t deny it.

“You don’t love me,” you say, and it feels like you’re ripping your own heart out. “You love what I do for you. You love having someone to pick up the pieces when you fall apart. Someone to save you.”

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” Your chest heaves. “You only ever show up when you’re desperate. When you need something. And I’m fucking done being that person for you.”

He takes a step closer, the cigarette forgotten between his fingers, burning down to the filter.

“I don’t want anyone else.”

You hate the way your heart twists.

“I want you.”

You shake your head again, but it’s weaker this time.

“I love you.”

And there it is.

Those three fucking words.

The words that used to make your heart explode. The words that used to make you believe in him, in a future that never existed.

“I can’t do this without you,” he says, and his voice breaks, just a little. “I’ve tried, Y/N. I’ve tried to be better, but I’m fucking lost without you.”

Your hands tremble at your sides.

“You’re only lost because you never tried to find yourself,” you whisper. “You’ve always expected me to do it for you.”

His eyes soften, that familiar vulnerability creeping in.

“I’m trying now.”

“No, you’re not.” You take a step back. “You’re trying to pull me back in. That’s all you ever do.”

A beat of silence.

Then —

“I miss you.”

The words cut through the night, soft and raw.

And you feel yourself wavering.

Fuck.

You press your palms to your face, trying to breathe, trying to steady yourself.

“You don’t get it,” you whisper. “You don’t get what you did to me.”

He takes another step closer, so close now that you can feel the heat of his body.

“I never stopped loving you.”

Your chest heaves, your heart pounding.

“I don’t want to hear that.”

“You need to.”

“No, I fucking don’t.” Your voice cracks, tears burning at the edges of your eyes. “What I need is to move on.”

His hand reaches out, tentative, trembling.

But when his fingers brush against your arm-

You flinch.

It’s instinctive.

A reaction you couldn’t stop if you tried.

And the look on his face?

It’s devastating.

He pulls his hand back slowly, like he’s been burned.

“I’m not him anymore.”

The words are quiet, almost desperate.

“I’m not the guy who fucked up. I’m not the guy who hurt you.”

“You are.” Your voice is soft, but firm. “You’ll always be that guy, Su-bong.”

His gaze drops to the ground, and for a moment, you think he’s going to give up.

But then he looks up again.

“I just want to talk,” he says. “Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”

You hesitate.

The rational part of you — the part that’s spent the last month piecing yourself back together — is screaming at you to walk away.

But your heart?

Your heart is still caught in the web he’s spun around you.

“ we’re already talking…” you slightly slur your words, the alcohol taking full effect.

“Five minutes,” he says again, softer this time. “At my place. Please.”

And against your better judgment —

You nod.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wake to the sensation of weight.

Heavy. Suffocating.

An arm draped over your waist. A body pressed too close, warm breath against the back of your neck.

And for one blissful second, you’re still half asleep. Still caught in that hazy space between dreams and reality, your mind fogged over with sleep, soft and pliant.

But then your eyes open.

And everything sharpens.

The bedroom is dark — curtains drawn, faint slivers of morning light sneaking through the cracks. The air is stale, tinged with cigarette smoke and something faintly metallic. It smells familiar.

And the weight around your waist?

It’s Su-bong.

Your stomach lurches.

No. No, no, no.

You squeeze your eyes shut, your heart pounding in your chest, the dull ache between your temples throbbing harder with each beat. Your mind scrambles to piece together how the fuck you ended up here. The last thing you remember clearly is the club — Ji-hye pulling you onto the dance floor, shots of tequila burning your throat, the neon lights swirling around you.

And then —

His voice.

His hands.

And now you’re here. In his bed.

You hold your breath, every muscle in your body going rigid. His arm is still heavy across your waist, his hand curled loosely against your hip, fingers twitching like he’s dreaming.

Carefully — so carefully — you think maybe you can slip out from under him.

Carefully, you reach for his wrist, your fingers trembling as you try to lift his arm off you. The sheet rustles softly, the sound too loud in the suffocating silence. You freeze, your breath hitching.

He stirs.

A small, unconscious noise slips from his throat, his fingers curling slightly against your hip.

Your heart slams against your ribs.

Please don’t wake up.

You stay frozen, your body stiff, your breath shallow. His arm feels impossibly heavy against your waist, like it’s anchoring you to the mattress. Slowly — so slowly — you ease it off you, inch by inch, until it finally falls to the bed.

He murmurs something in his sleep, low and unintelligible.

You freeze again, your pulse roaring in your ears.

He doesn’t wake.

You let out a shaky breath, the sound barely audible, and sit up as quietly as you can. The room tilts slightly as you do, your head pounding with a dull, persistent ache. You press a hand to your temple, blinking against the dizziness.

The sheets are tangled around your legs, the fabric twisted and damp with sweat. You untangle yourself carefully, your fingers trembling, your movements slow and deliberate.

His body shifts slightly behind you, his breathing deepening for a moment before settling back into a steady rhythm.

Move.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, the floor cold against your bare feet. The hem of your dress rides up as you stand, the fabric wrinkled and twisted, clinging to your skin.

You glance back at him, your chest tight.

He’s still asleep.

But his face is turned toward you now, his hair falling into his eyes, his lips parted slightly. He looks softer like this, his usual sharp edges dulled by sleep.

It makes your stomach turn.

Focus.

You force your gaze away, scanning the room for your things.

Your phone.

Your purse.

Where the fuck are they?

The panic sets in slowly, creeping up your spine like cold water, inch by inch. You scan the room, searching for your things, but the room looks almost exactly the same as when you left a month ago.

Cluttered. Messy. The ashtray on the nightstand is overflowing. Empty bottles litter the floor. The same crumpled blankets. The same cigarette burns in the carpet.

Like time stood still.

Like he hasn’t moved on.

Your stomach twists painfully, nausea creeping in at the edges. You stand, your legs unsteady, your head pounding. The ache in your body — between your thighs, in the muscles of your legs — is impossible to ignore.

You take a step toward the bathroom, your hands trembling as you reach for the door handle. You need a moment to breathe. To think.

To figure out what the fuck happened.

The bathroom is as grim as you remember. The light flickers when you turn it on, casting everything in a sickly yellow glow. The mirror is streaked with water stains, the sink cluttered with half-used toiletries.

You close the door behind you, locking it with a shaky hand.

And then you catch your reflection.

Your lipstick is barely there anymore, smudged at the edges. Your mascara streaked under your eyes. Your hair is a tangled mess, the carefully straightened strands now knotted and frizzy.

But it’s the rest of you that makes your breath catch.

The dress you wore last night is twisted around your waist, the hem wrinkled and pulled too high. Your thighs are bare. You pull at the fabric, tugging it down, but your hands freeze when you see the faint bruises.

Finger-shaped bruises.

They’re light, barely there, but you know what they are.

Your stomach drops.

You lift the hem of your dress higher, revealing more bruises along your inner thighs. Some small, faint smudges of blue and purple. Some darker.

You press your fingers to them, your skin flinching under your own touch.

Did I fall?

Did I—

Your mind races, scrambling for an explanation, for anything that makes sense.

And then your eyes flicker lower.

Your underwear is backward.

You stare for a long moment, your brain struggling to catch up with what you’re seeing. The waistband digs awkwardly into your hips, the tag twisted around to the front.

You blink.

Once.

Twice.

Your stomach churns violently.

You lift the toilet lid, falling to your knees as you retch. There’s nothing in your stomach but bile, burning its way up your throat.

When you’re done, you sit back on your heels, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. The bathroom spins around you, your head pounding, your chest heaving with shallow breaths.

You reach for the sink, pulling yourself up slowly, your hands gripping the edge so tightly your knuckles turn white.

Your eyes flicker back to your reflection.

The bruises.

The backward underwear.

The ache between your legs.

Did we—

No.

No, no, no.

You grip the sink harder, your nails digging into the porcelain.

‘I don’t remember.’

That’s the worst part.

You don’t remember anything.

You remember seeing him at the club. You remember yelling at him, calling him out for the voicemail. You remember him pulling you outside, the alley reeking of cigarette smoke and beer.

And then it’s all a blur.

Flashes of his voice. His hand on your arm. The way he looked at you — dark, desperate.

But nothing else.

Your chest tightens painfully.

You want to leave.

You need to leave.

You unlock the bathroom door with shaking hands, your heart pounding in your chest as you step back into the bedroom.

But when you step inside —

He’s awake.

Su-bong is sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers tangled in his hair. He looks up when he hears you, his gaze locking on yours.

And the first thing you notice?

He’s sober.

There’s no haze in his eyes. No slurred speech. No unsteady hands.

He’s completely sober.

Your stomach twists painfully.

“Morning.”

His voice is soft, tentative.

Like he’s testing the waters.

You don’t say anything.

You take a step toward the nightstand, searching for your phone. Your purse. Anything.

But he stands up slowly, blocking your path.

“Hey.”

His voice is softer now, coaxing.

“You don’t have to run.”

Your hands tremble at your sides.

“I don’t remember anything,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “I don’t—”

“I know.” His eyes soften, his brows pulling together in that familiar expression of concern. “You were really drunk.”

Your heart sinks.

“What happened?”

He exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. “You saw me at the club. You… you wanted to come back here.”

You shake your head, your stomach churning.

“I don’t remember that.”

You must’ve been really drunk because from what you remember you weren’t exactly happy too see him. How did you go from fighting with him to begging to be back at his apartment?

“You were drunk,” he says again, like it’s the answer to everything. “It’s okay. I took care of you.”

Your chest tightens painfully.

The bruises.

The backward underwear.

The ache.

“What do you mean, you took care of me?”

His gaze flickers away for a moment, his jaw tightening.

“You wanted to come back,” he says softly. “You told me you missed me. That you wanted to… you know. Talk. Figure things out.”

Your mind spins, scrambling to fill in the blanks.

“I don’t remember,” you whisper again, your voice shaking.

“I know.” He steps closer, his voice low, soothing. “It’s okay. I missed you too.”

He reaches for your hand, his fingers brushing yours.

You flinch.

But he doesn’t pull back.

“I missed you,” he says again, his voice softening. “I love you.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. They only hurt so bad because he was saying them now. After everything.

And for a moment —

You don’t know what to believe.

“You were wasted, Y/N.”

His words come soft, careful, like he’s tiptoeing around something fragile. His body language matches it — slouched shoulders, a furrowed brow, the faintest slump in his posture like he’s weighed down by concern.

Your stomach churns.

“I… I wasn’t that drunk.” The words feel hollow as they leave your mouth. A lie to yourself, as much as to him. You’d lost count at six shots. At least six. Maybe more.

His lips press into a thin line, a faint shake of his head following. “You could barely stand.”

Your hands curl into fists at your sides, knuckles trembling.

“I don’t remember…” You force the words out, hating how small they sound, how they let the power tip toward him.

He exhales slowly, running a hand down his face.

“I don’t know what you want me to say. You were crying. Saying you missed me. That you needed me.” He pauses, eyes meeting yours, steady and unwavering. “What was I supposed to do, huh? Just leave you there?”

The breath punches out of you. Crying? Saying you missed him? Needed him?

That couldn’t be true. That can’t be true.

But your mind betrays you. A flash of his hands steadying you on the dance floor. His voice coaxing you into the alley. The warmth of his hand brushing yours.

Pieces fall together, but the picture is fractured, missing the crucial moments. And that’s what he’s counting on.

“I don’t…” Your voice cracks, a fresh wave of panic rolling through you. “I wouldn’t—”

“You did,” he says firmly. Not loud, but firm enough that it cuts through your protest. “You were falling apart, Y/N. I couldn’t just—” He stops, dragging his hand through his hair like he’s trying to collect himself. “I had to help you.”

Help you.

The bruises on your thighs burn like a brand.

“By bringing me here?” you snap, your voice rising. “By—by—” You stop yourself before the question comes tumbling out: Did you touch me?

His face hardens just slightly, enough to send a shiver skittering down your spine. “I wasn’t going to let you go home alone. Not like that. You don’t even know what could’ve happened.”

“What do you mean what could’ve happened?” Your voice cracks, pitching higher, panic seeping in. “What did happen?”

He holds your gaze, and for a moment, his expression softens again. “Nothing happened.”

The words should feel like a relief. They don’t.

“Nothing?” Your voice is small, but there’s a sharp edge to it.

“Nothing,” he repeats, stepping closer. Too close. “You needed me, Y/N. And I was there for you. Like I always have been.”

Always.

Your mind spirals, reaching for anything concrete, any moment from last night that you can grab onto. But it’s all a haze, smothered by the tequila and the smoke and him.

“I don’t…” You press a hand to your temple, the ache blooming there sharp and relentless. “I don’t remember asking to come back here.”

His hand reaches out, brushing against your arm, and you flinch without meaning to.

His eyes darken at that. “You’re scared of me now?”

You want to say yes. But the word lodges itself in your throat, too big to swallow, too dangerous to spit out.

“I’m not scared of you,” you lie.

“Then why are you acting like this?” His voice is soft, low, almost tender. “I didn’t do anything wrong, Y/N. I just—” He stops, his jaw clenching. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. And now you’re looking at me like I’m a fucking monster.”

He steps closer. You step back. The space between you feels like it’s shrinking, suffocating.

“Why am I here, Su-bong?” Your voice is stronger now, the edge of panic sharpening it. “Why the fuck was I in your bed?”

He tilts his head slightly, his brows knitting together like you’ve just said something unreasonable. “You wanted to be here.”

“No.” You shake your head, your chest tightening. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t—” Your voice cracks, the words tangling in your throat. “I don’t even remember coming back with you.”

His expression doesn’t shift. “You were drunk,” he says simply. “You don’t have to make this a big deal.”

You laugh — bitter, sharp. “Not a big deal?” The words tumble out before you can stop them. “Not a big fucking deal? I don’t even know what happened, Su-bong. I don’t—” Your breath hitches, your stomach twisting violently. The next words catch in your throat, almost too heavy to force out. “Did we—”

You can’t say it. You can barely think it.

“Did we have sex?”

He doesn’t react right away. Not outwardly. But you catch it — the faint flicker of tension in his jaw, the way his gaze shifts to the side before finding yours again.

“Why would you ask me that?” His voice is steady, but there’s something too measured about it, like he’s rehearsed this answer in his head a thousand times.

“Because I don’t fucking know,” you snap, your hands trembling. They curl into fists at your sides, shaking with every ragged breath. “My underwear’s on backwards, Su-bong. I have bruises. And you’re acting—” You stop yourself, your throat tightening painfully. “You’re acting like you did something.”

His jaw tightens again, and this time his tongue darts out, wetting his lips. He exhales slowly, dragging his hand through his hair.

“I didn’t do anything you didn’t want,” he says finally, his tone low but clipped.

It’s not an answer.

It’s not a fucking answer.

“What does that mean?” Your voice rises, panic flaring again. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means you wanted to come back with me,” he says, sharper now, a flash of frustration cutting through the veneer of calm. “You were all over me at the club, Y/N. I told you we shouldn’t—” He cuts himself off abruptly, his fingers raking through his hair again, the strands spiking in every direction. “But you wouldn’t let it go.”

Your stomach twists painfully, the nausea creeping back in full force.

“I wouldn’t let it go?” Your voice cracks, disbelief bleeding into every syllable. “You’re blaming me? You’re saying I—”

“I’m not blaming you.” He exhales sharply, his voice softening just slightly, like he’s trying to rein himself back in. “I’m saying you wanted this. You made that clear.”

“I don’t even remember!” Your voice breaks now, raw and jagged, splintering through the room. “How can I want something I can’t fucking remember?”

He steps closer, and this time you’re too stunned, too frozen, to move.

“Y/N.” His voice drops lower, almost pleading, his hand twitching at his side like he wants to reach for you. “You were drunk, yeah. But you weren’t—” He hesitates, his gaze flickering over your face. “You weren’t out of it. You knew what you were doing.”

The words settle over you like a lead weight, pressing down on your chest until it feels impossible to breathe. Your mind scrambles to piece together the night before, to fill in the blanks, but it’s all fog. Hazy flashes of neon lights and pounding music and his hand on your arm.

“I don’t—” Your voice falters, cracking under the weight in your chest. “I don’t know what to believe.”

His expression softens slightly, his shoulders lowering as he steps closer again, closing the gap between you.

“You don’t have to decide anything right now,” he says, his voice coaxing, soothing. He reaches for your hand, brushing his fingers against yours.

You flinch.

The motion is small, instinctive. But he catches it, his gaze darkening for a fraction of a second before he carefully, deliberately pulls his hand back.

“I don’t know what else to say to you,” he murmurs, his tone taking on a faint edge of frustration again. “I tried to do the right thing, Y/N. I could’ve left you at the club. I could’ve let you go home alone. But I didn’t.”

He looks at you, his eyes steady and unwavering, and you hate how much they make your stomach twist.

“I stayed.” He takes another step forward, close enough now that you can smell the faint trace of his cologne, mingling with the smoke and stale alcohol lingering in the room. “Because you needed me.”

You press your back against the wall, your hands gripping the hem of your dress so tightly it crumples in your fists.

“I don’t remember needing you,” you say, your voice small but sharp, each word cutting through the thick tension in the room.

His gaze drops to the floor for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. When he looks up again, there’s something different in his eyes. Something dark.

“Then maybe you should ask yourself why you’re here.”

The question hits like a punch to the gut, stealing the breath from your lungs.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

And in the silence that follows, he steps back, his expression shifting to something softer, more familiar.

“I missed you,” he says, his voice low, almost tender. “And I know you missed me too.”

“Just… stay.”

The word hangs in the air between you, heavy and suffocating.

Stay.

You want to run. You want to grab your things and get out of this apartment, out of this nightmare, and never look back. But your legs won’t move. Your feet feel glued to the floor, weighed down by doubt and fear and something else—something softer, something that aches when he looks at you like this.

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” you whisper.

His jaw tightens, his hands curling into fists at his sides. But when he speaks, his voice is soft. Vulnerable.

“I know.” His gaze drops to the floor for a moment, then back to you. “I don’t blame you for feeling that way. But I’m not the guy I was before, Y/N. I’m trying. I’m trying to be better.”

You hate how much those words hurt. How much you want to believe them.

“You shouldn’t have brought me here,” you say, your voice trembling. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“You did,” he says firmly. “Maybe you don’t remember, but you did.”

The words cut through you like a blade, sharp and cold. You don’t believe him. You don’t want to believe him.

But the tequila haze clouds everything, blurring the edges of the truth.

“Just give me a chance,” he says, stepping closer again. “Let me prove it to you. Let me—” He stops himself, his voice catching. “Let me fix this.”

Your throat tightens, the weight of his words pressing down on you, crushing.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you whisper.

He reaches for your hand again, and this time, you don’t pull away. His fingers are warm, steady, wrapping around yours like they belong there. Like they always have.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” he says again. His voice is so soft, so careful. “Just stay. Please.”

Your chest heaves, your breath shallow and uneven.

And then—

Your phone buzzes.

The sound cuts through the tension like a knife, sharp and jarring. You jerk your hand away from his, your heart leaping into your throat as you spin toward the nightstand.

Your phone is lying there, screen glowing faintly in the dim light. Ji-hye’s name flashes across the screen.

Your stomach twists violently.

Su-bong doesn’t move. He stands frozen in place, his gaze fixed on you. You don’t look at him. You don’t want to see whatever’s written on his face.

You grab the phone, your fingers trembling as you swipe to open the message.

Ji-hye ★ˎˊ˗(9:04 AM): You good? Please tell me you didn’t go home with him.

Your breath catches, your chest tightening painfully.

“Who is it?” Su-bong’s voice cuts through the silence, low and steady, but there’s an edge to it now.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Instead, you take a shaky step back, clutching the phone like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality.

“Y/N.” His voice is softer now, coaxing, but there’s a sharpness beneath it, something dark and unyielding. “Who was it?”

“Ji-hye.” The name barely makes it out of your mouth, your voice cracking on the second syllable.

He hums, low and quiet. “What did she say?”

You glance down at the screen again, the words burning into your retinas. You good? Please tell me you didn’t go home with him.

You don’t know what to say.

What can you say?

“Y/N,” he says again, stepping closer. His voice drops lower, quieter, like he’s trying to keep you from bolting. “Talk to me.”

Your chest heaves, your breath coming faster now. “I need to go.”

The words feel weak, hollow, and you hate how they tremble as they leave your lips.

“Go where?” His question is quiet, but there’s a weight to it that makes your stomach turn.

“Away from here.”

The second the words are out, his expression shifts. The softness in his gaze hardens, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“If you walk out that door…” He trails off, his voice cutting off like he’s biting down on the rest of the sentence.

Your heart races, panic rising in your chest. “What?”

His jaw clenches, the muscles in his neck tightening. “If you walk out that door, you’ll never see me again.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from your lungs.

There’s a finality to them, an edge that cuts too deep. You don’t know what he means — if he’s talking about leaving your life or leaving altogether — but it doesn’t matter.

It scares you.

And he knows it.

His gaze stays locked on yours, unflinching, unwavering. “I’m serious, Y/N.”

Your phone buzzes again in your hand, the sound startling you. You glance down at the screen.

Ji-hye ★ˎˊ˗(9:06 AM): If you’re with him, just leave. I’ll come get you.

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you.

Su-bong takes another step closer. “You don’t have to leave.” His voice drops lower, almost a whisper. “We can talk. We can figure this out. But if you walk away now…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t have to. The threat lingers in the air between you, heavy and suffocating.

Your fingers tighten around your phone, Ji-hye’s message flashing like a lifeline in your palm.

“Y/N.” His voice is softer now, pleading. “Stay.”

You look up at him, your chest heaving, your mind spinning.

And in that moment, you don’t know what scares you more; the thought of staying, or the thought of leaving.

[blaire-apricity]

Grief

ʟᴀᴅs ʙᴏʏs x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᯓ❅ ┆ 𝘴𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴 ┆ : 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘓𝘈𝘋𝘚 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴?

ᯓ❅ ┆ 𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 ┆ : 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, & 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘖𝘖𝘊

─────────────── ˗ˏˋ ❅｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽ ˎˊ˗ ────────────────

𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫

Xavier is unraveling. He refuses to accept the brutal reality of your absence, his mind rejecting the notion that you’re gone. Every day he clings to the desperate hope of finding you, even if it means chasing an illusion. Jeremiah pleads with him to let go, to find rest, but Xavier hasn’t slept a single night since you disappeared. The world insists you’re gone forever, but he can’t believe that. Somewhere, he convinces himself, you must still exist. He’s willing to turn the world upside down to see you again, despite the gnawing certainty deep inside him that you’re lost to him forever. He will never stop, not until his body collapses from exhaustion. Losing you once was unbearable; he won’t let it happen again, no matter the cost.

𝐙𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞

Zayne appears composed, his emotions meticulously controlled, his expression unchanged. But the mere mention of your name sends ripples through his calm facade. When alone in his office, the dam breaks. Tears fall freely as memories of your smile flood his mind, shattering his composure. Your disappearance haunts him, and he blames himself for not protecting you, for not being there when you needed him. It takes years for him to begin moving on, and even then, the wound never truly heals. He will always carry the pain of losing the one person who mattered most to him, a scar that time can never erase.

𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐥

Rafayel descends into despair, his mind a tangled mess, his heart shattered beyond repair. The thought of you forgetting him pales in comparison to the agony of losing you completely. He was content just being near you, even if you couldn’t remember. Now, faced with a life without you, he breaks down, collapsing to the ground as sobs wrack his body. He retreats from the world, locking himself away in his studio, which becomes a prison of his own making. What good is anything if it’s only half? That’s how his heart feels—torn without you, the other half of his soul.

𝐒𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬

Sylus explodes with rage. Always the controlled one, he now finds himself consumed by a fury he can’t contain. You were his unexpected source of gentleness and warmth, and now you’re gone, ripped away from him. The news of your disappearance drives him to violent outbursts. He flips tables, shatters glass, and destroys furniture, his shouts of frustration echoing through the mansion. Luke and Kieran keep their distance, knowing better than to approach him in this state. The loss of you makes him question everything. What’s the point of keeping the peace, of holding back? If he’s lost his world, he might as well set fire to the entire world in his grief and anger.

·❆　　　❆　❅　　　　•　　　　.　　　　　❆❆• 　·　.　　　❅

𝐴𝑢𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑟'𝑠 𝑁𝑜𝑡𝑒: 𝑊ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑠𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑦 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑎-𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑘𝑖𝑚 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑐𝑘 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑙 𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑟𝑠, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑠𝑎𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑠; "𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑣𝑒 𝑝𝑢𝑡 𝑎 𝑙𝑜𝑡 𝑜𝑛 𝑒𝑓𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑋𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑆𝑦𝑙𝑢𝑠." 𝐼𝑇 𝑊𝐴𝑆𝑁'𝑇 𝐸𝑉𝐸𝑁 𝐼𝑁𝑇𝐸𝑁𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁𝐴𝐿, 𝐼 𝑆𝑊𝐸𝐴𝑅 𝐴𝑆𝐾𝐷𝐻𝐾𝐴𝑆.

[vaguely-concerned]

the more I play the more I think lucanis basically knows it's illario who betrayed him right from the beginning (he's had a year in the ossuary to think. not that many people knew where he was going. when you ask him 'did Illario know you'd be on that ship' his only answer is the hardest flattest 'yes' you ever heard). so it's not so much about figuring out who the traitor is (because that's ludicrous. we all know. immediately. they didn't really bother to hide it lmao) as about methodically closing off every single avenue of denial lucanis has clung to that whole time with as much or little gentleness as you might prefer until he has no choice but to admit it. because the moment he has to admit it, he'll have to do something -- feel something -- about it. and that's such a catastrophic event in lucanis' inner landscape (he has had TWO people in this whole entire world up until now and will do anything to hold on to them with a heartbreaking child-like desperation, even at and especially through the detriment of his own self) that he'd rather just. not. what if we quite simply. didn't. what if we just stayed here in the emptiness where we can both pretend you didn't hurt me in a way I should never forgive. I have so much practice in that with caterina already it's always worked out great for everyone so far. (press x to fucking doubt but that's trauma logic for you lol)

after everything illario did, so much of the storm of lucanis' emotions around it is 'what the FUCK did you get yourself tangled up in this time and how do I get you out of this mess safely'. what's worse: the fact that your brother murdered you, or that he put himself in horrible danger doing so and thus exposed you to the risk of losing him forever. lucanis' heart certainly has an opinion here and it's fucking unhinged (affectionate)

the themes of dissociation in lucanis' character in general makes me feel nuts. allllll these contradictory messy things he needs to cut off from each other because they can't coexist or be easily reconciled inside him. but all remain stubbornly true separately anyway and will have their due one day. love and resentment. tenderness and fear and rage. terror and longing. love and freedom don't coexist. the burned out golden child anthem is playing in the background. he was always caterina's favourite and he has to keep striving to deserve that dubious honour with every breath he takes and then, presumably, mercifully, some day he will die and be excused and can rest. and until now he's suppressed all the -- natural, healthy, protective! -- negative feelings that threaten the few attachment relationships he actually has, at the cost of ever actually having his needs for connection and safety met and leaving his core self imprisoned and compromised. and spite goes 'what. no. that's dumb fuck that' (*spite voice* I do not understand that and even if I did I would not respect it) and does not allow him to fall back into that, which I think is what saves his life, ultimately. it took being possessed by a demon for lucanis to even contemplate telling anyone he loves 'no' in any way, but hey. whatever gets you there right lol

lucanis is dealing with the freeze response allll the way down baby. and he was even before the ossuary, that just turbo powered it and brought it to a breaking point way before it could happen naturally. but something was going to break eventually no matter what, and I'm just glad that in the end, through the power of friendship and also pure spite, it doesn't have to be him

[morverenmaybewrites]

Jason Todd | Jealousy and Insecurity Headcanons 

“How do they handle jealousy or insecurity?”

I think it’s fair to say at any point post-torture, Jason is just a tangled mess of emotions, and because of his trauma, he often neglects (or refuses) to be introspective with his own feelings. Self-reflection is hard, and it’s even harder when your own psyche is a minefield of terrible memories. 

He can look at a slice of chocolate cake and feel bile rise in the back of his throat, and he’ll jolt away before he could even start to remember that it’s because Joker had served him rotten cake on his birthday 

(If he looks closely, in his mind’s eye, he can see it with startling clarity: the worms wriggling underneath the pale light, so white they looked like shards of bone bone)

(He doesn’t want to remember how, at that time, he had been so hungry that he nearly asked for a bite because nothing could be worse than the empty, gnawing feeling in his belly. He doesn’t want to remember how his mouth nearly watered at the sight.)

And so–just like his reflection–Jason makes a habit of not looking at his own emotions too closely. It’s part of the reason why things like jealousy, envy, insecurity tend to manifest as the emotions he’s most familiar with: anger, disgust, self-loathing.

So, for example, pre-relationship, someone walks into the diner.

(Someone scarless, someone with an easy smile, someone whose past is not so heavy that it feels like a weight on their shoulders.) 

Maybe they flirt with you, maybe they don’t. It doesn’t even have to be anything big to set his teeth on edge because I feel like Jason is, on a fundamental level, jealous of the people around him.

(Jealous of their normal lives, their horror-free past, jealous of their unbranded faces.)

It’s highly likely that he wouldn’t even recognize the emotion for what it is, instead, it will manifest as anger–

(Because anger is familiar, anger is easy, and it is almost as natural as breathing, he’ll accept it without even a second thought.)

It will manifest as self-loathing 

(Because a stranger can make you smile so easily, because a stranger wouldn’t have to deal with his dangerous life, because a simple stranger who walked into the diner is a better fit for you than he ever will be.). 

And because he doesn’t know how to process it, he’ll let his emotions simmer for days, bubbling just underneath his skin. He’ll be quicker to anger, perhaps a little more reckless during patrols. 

(Knuckles cracked and bleeding after a brutal scuffle, lips split where it had smashed against his teeth, and he can’t help but think to himself that this is all he’d ever known, all he’d ever deserve.) 

(Certainly, he doesn’t deserve someone like you.)  

And it will take someone like Dick or Barbara piecing together what’s happening and sitting him down. Maybe Dick, ever cheerful and ever willing to help, who is practically ecstatic at being able to do the Big Brother talk of Talking About Girls with Jason.

Only to be met with an awkward silence, a blank stare. 

“What the hell are you talking about?”

And it will sink in, the knowledge burning like acid in his stomach.

Jason doesn’t even know. 

He doesn’t even know that he’s jealous, doesn’t know the reason for his sudden aggression, his bursts of recklessness. 

So used is Jason to burying what he feels and what he thinks that he couldn’t even identify why he felt so angry, why bile rises up in his throat at the sight of you speaking with someone else.

And Dick would feel a sudden pain lance across his forehead. 

And maybe he’d sigh.

Because it’s going to be a long night. 

[daycourtofficial]

Tell me I’m the only, only, only, only one - part four

Pairing: Eris x reader x Azriel | WC: 3.3k | warnings: general angst, nudity, horniness

Summary: despite the disastrous turn last night took, life continues on. Maybe, just maybe Eris’s treatment of you has Azriel reconsidering things.

Author’s note: happy birthday to me! I’m giving you all angst. Your anguish is the best present I could ask for 🫶🏻 (ps eventually things will be shifting, I promise the angst train has an end in sight)

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The rest of the night had been terrible. After retiring to your room, you bathed quite angrily, splashing water all over the room, uncaring at the mess you made. Even the calming atmosphere of your bathroom did little to improve your mood. You wanted to be more destructive, wanted to throw the bottles of product that lined your bathtub. You added smelling salts and bubbles, lit candles, did everything to calm yourself. In spite of it, adrenaline and jealousy kept pumping through your veins.

It wasn’t just anger and jealousy threatening to tear you apart - the emptiness you felt in your chest made you contemplate sticking your head beneath the water. The once strong mating bond that consumed your every thought was silent, the spot it occupied in your chest feeling like it would collapse in on itself at any moment. Even during your week of avoiding Azriel, some primal part of you still relished in the feeling of him in your chest, at least just knowing he was there.

But now he wasn’t and the bath felt more alone.

Your vexation carried you from the bath to your bed, making it impossible to even read Azriel’s latest journal. You were angry and worried, stuck staring at your ceiling all night, begging for the goddess of sleep to take you under.

She must have taken pity on you at some point, but your sleep still hadn’t been enough. Your eyes were heavy when you woke, head pounding as you went about your day. Most of it was spent with Madja, brewing potions and salves to drop off to patients at the end of the day. The healer had a few appointments with longtime patients, so you spent the afternoon alone finishing drafts and brews. The silence didn’t bother you as much today - your anger long gone, its departure making ample room for the growing hole in your chest.

Overthinking and doubt kept your mind occupied as you went through the motions of bottling and labeling. Would you see Azriel today? His sudden departure last night left your skin burning from his withdrawn touch.

The mating bond was still silent as you worked, a first in the months since the bond had made itself known to you. You passed, a thought overtaking you.

Azriel had seemed startled to know about it, but had he been feeling you inside of his chest since he found out the truth? Or was his chest a tangle of yours and Eris’s emotions? Presently they were likely the same emotions, if Eris’s anger at seeing you was anything to go off of.

You couldn’t drag out the bottling forever, eventually reaching the end with many more thoughts to untangle and work through. A sigh escaped from your lips, but you checked all the vials, ensuring every fae you were supposed to see today had a matching vial. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath, trying to center yourself. The deliveries wouldn’t be too difficult, only a moment of interaction with each patient, but the turmoil you felt made the simple task seem monumental.

How were you supposed to chat with these fae and pretend everything was fine when you had a mate out there who was betrothed to another?

The breath helped you feel slightly better, but it was more difficult than you’d like to admit to take that step out into the sun, the brightness nearly blinding after your night of solitude and sadness.

It wasn’t nearly as bad as you expected. You ran all around Velaris, your feet more sore with each delivery, the pain a new thing to fixate on. The bright sun had made the throbbing in your head worse, the bright reflections off of windows making you squint as you walked the streets.

Your lack of sleep did little to help your mood, but you tried to put on a happy front for the fae you saw semi-regularly. Sleeping tonics, tonics to prevent chills or locking joints, even energy boosting tonics rattled about in your pouch as your boots hit the cobbled streets.

At some point the sun had become hidden by clouds, making the journey a little less intense.

The last potion had been dropped off, just in time for a light snow to begin to fall. You huffed out a breath, watching the air in front of your face steam up from the heat. You smiled, thinking of the tales from childhood of dragons fanning out breaths of fire.

Your chest opened up, the subtle feeling that was Azriel crept back inside, nestling deep within you. His presence in your chest was comforting, a gentle reminder that you weren’t alone.

You turned your attention back to the path ahead only to find the shadowsinger himself where you were headed, his large wings tucked in behind himself, a polite smile on his face. Gone was the anger that dropped your hand and coated the silence, replaced now with as much joy as Azriel puts on display when out in public.

Seeing Azriel at the end of the road once more was a welcome surprise. Every day that you worked he waited for you there before flying the two of you back to the House of Wind. At first you had apologized profusely each time he came, worried he found it tedious and would resent you for it. After the routine of it fell into place, you had stopped apologizing.

Once Azriel had been away, unable to collect you, he sent Cassian in his stead. His brother was not nearly as gentle as he was during the flight, your face more green once you landed at the House.

The next day Azriel had been waiting for you, a box of pastries in apology. The taste of powdered sugar filled your mouth as you remembered him flying you to a park, sharing with him the sugary sweets.

When you had left for work this morning, you thought he would have forgotten to do it, hiding himself away once more. Maybe the Mother made you two mates because she found the two most avoidant fae and thought it would be funny to stick them together, her favorite form of entertainment watching the two of you find one reason or another to avoid each other.

Once you got close enough, you smiled up at him, a weight of worry about him sliding from your shoulders into the thin patch of snow.

“Hi Az.”

He smiled in return, not a trace of the previous day on him. It felt almost like a dream the way he had pushed you aside so quickly.

“How was your day?”

“My feet hurt. I’ve been every which way in Velaris today dropping off restocks.” You don’t mention the previous day, your lost sleep, your being locked out of your bond, or your resolution to beat Eris for Azriel’s affections. You stuck to a safe topic. “I think my boots lost their conformity to my feet in the week I took off.”

He chuckled, wings shaking slightly. The smile made him so beautiful against the snowy backdrop, his black wings and dark skin against the glistening snow making him more radiant. His shadows trailed lazily in the cracks of the cobblestone around you, several of them lingering in your shadow. One bold shadow lingered behind you, swirling where the shadow of your lips laid.

“May I escort you back to the house? Unless there was something else you needed in town.”

You paused, pretending to mull over his question. Had something happened since you saw him almost twenty four hours ago? Had he discovered how terrible Eris truly was by now? You pursed your lips, trying to stop the smile on your face at the thought. A small part of you hoped that wasn’t the case - you were prepared to go to the ends of the earth to compete with Eris Vanserra, ready to prove your worth as a mate to Azriel. Gloating to the redhead was the ultimate goal.

A forfeit from the Autumn heir seemed almost in poor spirit.

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

Stepping forward, his shadows began curling around you, pulling you to their master. You strained your ears, certain you could almost hear a tiny voice cooing mine, mine, mine. Azriel’s warm hand pressed against your back as he lifted you with ease, pressing you tighter to his chest than normal. You were still upset, toeing that line of wanting to mention it. You looked up to find him already looking at you, his eyes shining with adoration, knocking any ill feelings from you.

“Ready?” His smooth voice was quiet, just for you. Just like he should be.

You nodded, your nose rubbing against his neck for warmth. The mating bond pulled at your chest, urging every part of you to touch him. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he took off, fresh fallen snow flying once more as he flapped his wings.

You spent the entire flight focused on his face, watching the snow pile in his dark hair. His heat caused some of the snow to melt, water droplets moving down his neck to beneath his leathers. Your hands were ice without your gloves, a forgotten part of your wardrobe in your tired decision making this morning. You huddled your hands closer to him, pressing them where his chest met your body, desperate for warmth to bring life back to them.

“Almost there.” His arm tightened around you, and you felt his hand reaching out, trying and failing to reach your cold hands.

The House of Wind looked resplendent in the snow, something out of a fairytale. His wings glided through the sky, the snow sliding across the membrane. Azriel landed with practiced ease, a gentleness that kept surprising you. Instead of setting you down like he normally did, he moved forward, his steps gentle. You looked around, confused why you were still in his arms as he stepped inside the house.

“Az, what are you doing?”

“Carrying you.” You sighed as his mouth turned up slightly into a smile, clearly proud of himself for his joke. The flight had already made him shed the public persona he adopts, even in the streets of Velaris.

“I can see that, but why?” Your tone held a touch of faux irritation, only causing his smile to widen.

“Your feet hurt.”

Those words stopped all protests on your tongue. He was caring for you. For you. The thought had heat creeping up your cheeks.

Maybe he felt the same way you had about Eris. That things with you could be easy. That Eris was hard to love, hard to keep secret. But you - you were kind, his family would be much happier with your mateship than his with Eris.

He led the two of you right before your door, a shadow creeping up to twist the handle. Flurries of black slithered the floor beneath your bathroom, the sound of running water making its way beneath the door.

Azriel sat you down in a chair. He kneeled before you before he began unlacing your boots. He looked beautiful, the sight of him before you sent heat through your body.

A little moan escaped as he removed your boot, rotating your ankle to help sooth the dull ache. He started working on the other shoe until that one came off as well. He took his time, scarred hands massaging your calves, his fingers moving in soft circles.

His ministrations slowly took the day off your feet, the ache duller with each passing second until he slowly tapered off, his hands lingering for a moment on your calves.

“I think you can do the rest of this.” He gestured to your clothes, and it took everything not to ask what if I want you to do it?

You were quiet instead as he stood up, dusting off his pants. Your eyes moved to his thighs, trailing to find the imprint of his cock stretching his pants. You curled your hand into a fist, trying to keep your own arousal to a minimum.

Patience.

“I’ll be in the library again, if you wish to sit with me after your bath.”

Your hand reached out, wrapping around his wrist. One word floated through your mind.

“Stay. Please.”

Azriel’s cheeks flushed a brilliant shade that made him so endearing in the moonlight.

“I have books you could read or you could bring your work in here.” He was starting to consider it, hesitation clear in his face. “I’d like the company.��

His shadows danced around him as he sat on the bed, waiting patiently. You stared back at him, slightly surprised it actually worked. Getting Azriel to change his mind was a feat worthy of a trophy. He was the most stubborn of his brothers, an insane feat considering your fight with Cassian over raisins months ago that he still brought up on occasion. Pushing yourself out of the chair, you kept your eyes on him.

“You could sit in the bathroom with me.”

His body stiffened, and doubt crept up your throat. Had you gone too far?

“Do you have any books to suggest?”

You couldn’t stop the smile from spreading before bounding over to your bookshelf, fingers gliding across spines you had abandoned these past few weeks in favor of Azriel’s journals. You quickly find one you know he’d enjoy - a tale of deceit and lies that see two spies falling in love despite their mistruths.

You thrusted the book into his hands, your fingers meeting his before slowly peeling your hands away and turning to the bathroom. A few shadows curled around your ankles as you went, their cool caresses sending heat through your body.

You tossed your hair on top of your head quickly, leaving your outer clothes in a pile on the floor before sliding into the warm water. The comfort the bath provided began instantly, your muscles relaxing.

A shadow squeezed between the door and floor, its entrance dramatic and impossible to miss. You peered over the bathtub as it approached you, reaching your hand out to pet it.

“He can come in.” The shadow hesitated, staying in your proximity, lavishing in your praise as you kept stroking along it. It felt cool and like a contained breeze. You had touched Azriel’s shadows before and they generally had two states - a more solid form like now, where it feels like you’re touching it, and a more loose form, where your hand would pass right through it.

The shadow stretched out like a cat, black wispiness elongating before it finally moved back beneath the door. A moment passed before Azriel walked through the bathroom, his boots loud on the tile. He passed quickly, finding the wall opposite where you faced, sitting and leaning his back against it. A smile crossed his lips as he met your eye before opening the book, sinking slightly further into the floor.

It felt so domestic to be in the tub while he read. The slight musk of his arousal clung to you, the intoxicating scent driving you wild. It wasn’t inherently sexual to be naked in the bath while he sat a few feet away.

Thoughts raced as you thought of the daily routine this could become - the way his hands would trail down your body, helping you with buttons and laces, your own fingers working to undo the intricacies of his leathers. He could be in the tub with you right now, his strong chest behind you as you two read or gossiped about the day.

There’d be a lull, a domestic quiet that say Azriel’s hands moving beneath the bath water, stroking up your thigh, closer and closer to right where you needed him.

You were sure this present version of Azriel could smell you in the room and you weren’t sure if you were disappointed or not he hadn’t mentioned it. His eyes stayed focused on the book in front of him, flipping pages on occasion.

The water stayed warm, but you were tired of Azriel’s focus never making its way to you. A shadow curled around his ear as you reached out of the tub, your towel just a bit past arm’s reach. Azriel’s hand wrapped around the towel, gently unfolding it and holding it out, waiting for you to step into it. You looked up at him, the red tips of his ears the only hint at the effect this has on him.

He looked away as you stood up, his eyes fixated on the ceiling as the water splashed in the tub.

You reached your hands out, using his arms for balance as you stepped out, guiding his hands to wrap the towel around you.

Azriel finally looked back down, his hazel eyes almost black as they met yours. Your hand met his chest, needing his sturdiness to keep your legs from giving out. The low light of the bathroom cast shadows throughout his face, the darkness an endless part of him.

Scarred hands reached up and held your face with such delicacy you almost melted. The water was still in the tub behind you, no sound to be heard save for the anticipation drumming your heart rate.

His lips were so close to yours, one lone shadow moving between your shared breaths, exacerbating the distance between you two. You prepared yourself - breathing in and out, about to push forward, make the leap, when a sharp inhale stopped you.

“I can’t.” Azriel didn’t move, his eyes pained with turmoil. Somewhere deep in your chest your heart shattered, the pieces falling to your stomach. “I can’t cross that line. Not without Eris.”

“Eris?” You said his name as if it was a deadly plague.

Him?

If Eris was still in the picture, why had Azriel come to find you? Why had he been so kind? Why had he treated you with a tenderness you’ve only experienced from lovers?

“I can’t betray him like this. Not after everything.” His hands gripped your waist tighter, as if by sheer force he could change the circumstances.

“I don’t understand, Az. I’m your mate too.”

“Yes, but I haven’t made any promises to you.”

The shattered pieces of your heart were splintering, the pain radiating through your torso, the string around your heart squeezing so tight it was threatening to kill you.

“So I’m once again punished for not being first in line with the mating bond.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” You had to look away from him, unable to look at the pleading in his eyes any longer. What he wanted - you to leave, you to stay, for all of this to be different - you didn’t know.

“It’s certainly what I’m hearing. If you can’t be with me because of Eris, why did you seek me out?”

“It wasn’t intentional.”

“When was it not intentional? You brought me home, you made me a bath. You helped me out of my clothes, Azriel! That’s not something I’d let Cassian do!”

The soft growl Azriel let out at his brother’s name gave you pause.

“I didn’t do that out of friendship.”

“Then what was it out of?”

He stared at you, his mouth opening and closing, indecision laying on his tongue. A shadow nudged his back in encouragement, something he didn’t find. He was grasping, searching for something that never came.

Each beat of your heart caused you to sink further and further into despair.

“Well, if you don’t even know why you’re here, maybe you should leave.”

A wing twitched over his shoulder, but no other part of him moved for a whole minute. The silence was almost painful, his shadows floating in the still air until they were disturbed by their master turning his grip loose on you, leaving you alone once more.

Divider by @tsunami-of-tears 🫶🏻

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