#like look inside yourself to see what will become of you

[biteyoubiteme]

You dont get how excited i was seeing that you posted this fic ive read it like three times and i realized i never reblogged it im sorry ;--;; but i LOVE this fic okay i love it sm you have no idea The engine roars in your ears as you bolt across the finish line, your car skidding and screeching to a halt. The cheers and claps of the crowd rise to an almost deafening crescendo, and you grip the steering wheel tight with furrowed brows, being able to feel how sweaty your forehead had become, adrenaline still surging through your veins as you pant heavily. A quick glance at the leaderboard tells you the result: Second. Fucking. Place. Like just from the start im so hooked- 

“Hardwork, my ass. His daddy got him connections and sponsorships, that’s why. He thinks he can just waltz in with that stupid smile and—oh my god, he’s winking at me. I’m going to fucking kill him.” Sure enough, Beomgyu catches your eye roll and winks your way before saying something to the reporters that makes them hysterically laugh. When i tell you i giggle and love love love love love rivals to lovers so much like the cockieness that can only be reached with rivals just heals something in me and this did just that i love it uuuuuggghhh

Taehyun shrugs, “He grows on you. I guess.” “Yeah, like a nasty mould.” im giggling and kicking my feet over this i love them ><

There is one thing you’ve never told anyone about. Not your teammates, not taehyun, and that is when you, of all people, made out with Choi Beomgyu one awfully unlucky night. Jumping around my room rn you cant see it but believe it- 

What you do remember though was looking at him, really looking at him, in the shifting, almost epileptic lights of the club. How big and brown his eyes were, how long and thick his eyelashes were and how they fluttered like a doll every time he blinked. How plump and pouty his lips were, especially now that he was drunk, he just kept on pouting his lips and his cheeks were flushed all rosy from all the alcohol he’d had. His long wolfcut was messy by now, bangs falling into his eyes. I LOVE HOW YOU WRITE ABOUT HOW PRETTY BEOMGYU IS 

The final lap is chaos, the audience on their feet now. You’re so incredibly angry, but you can’t let that get to you and hinder your focus, you clench your teeth, gripping your steering wheel so tight your knuckles are white, you’re even more determined to win than before. Okay but im on the edge of my seat over this race like its irl and i dont know whats going to happen like i love it sm

"You fucking cheated!" You shout, jabbing a finger at his chest. He blinks innocently, tilting his head in a puppy like way. "Me? Cheat? That’s a very serious accusation to make. I’d never." There’s a slight smugness to him, almost mocking, he’s not even pissed he didn’t win like you’d wanted him to be, just calm and collected and being a bitch. It makes you even more livid with him. THE RIVALS ARE BEING RIVALS AND I LOVE IT ITS MAKING MY BITE MY FIST AND KICK MY FEET BEHIND ME LIKE IM SO SAT AND OBSESSED WITH THEM- 

Something inside you just snaps. It infuriates you how you’re the one who won and yet, you feel small. Why is he the one sneering at you? That should be you! You want to have the upper hand over him, some semblance of control— just like that night again when he was putty in your hands. And so, before you can even register what you yourself are about to do, you grab him by his jacket, smashing your lips against his. He melts almost instantly, kissing you back so fervently and eagerly, as if he’d been waiting this whole time for this to happen. And you can’t lie, it felt almost euphoric to have his soft lips back on yours again. Almost like an addict getting their fix after a long withdrawal. EEEEEEEEEEEEEKKKKKK ><

but there’s a look of almost, somewhat hurt on his face. APOLOGIZE TO HIM AND ME FOR THIS ENDING EVIL!!! (i love this fic sm) 

☆ Drive you mad !

genre: racer au, smut, e2l, rivals , crack

Pairings: sub ! race car driver ! beomgyu x dom ! gn race car driver reader (afab when comes to smut)

Warnings: kinda public sex, bratty beomgyu, sub beomgyu, grinding/palming, edging, creampie, riding, hand job, degrading, sex in a car, clubbing, alcohol, hair pulling, tit sucking, use of names ‘good boy’, ‘whore’

Word count: 4.7k

The engine roars in your ears as you bolt across the finish line, your car skidding and screeching to a halt. The cheers and claps of the crowd rise to an almost deafening crescendo, and you grip the steering wheel tight with furrowed brows, being able to feel how sweaty your forehead had become, adrenaline still surging through your veins as you pant heavily. A quick glance at the leaderboard tells you the result:

Second. Fucking. Place.

You grit your teeth, rather aggressively slamming the door shut, and getting out of the car. Yanking off your helmet, you storm over to where Kang Taehyun, your ever-calm, teammate, was leaning casually against the pit wall, sipping on his water bottle from the last round he had just raced himself. You on the other hand, are seconds away from combusting.

“Fuck him.” You seethe and grumble, arms crossed as both of your gazes switch to focus on Choi Beomgyu in the centre, soaking up the spotlight a few metres away, gesturing animatedly for the cameras with sparkling eyes, a stupid smirk and very satisifed look on his face as he tucked his helmet under one arm. He’s surrounded and swarmed by reporters with god knows how many microphones shoved in his face who hang onto his every single word like he was some goddamn deity.

He basks in it, always loved the attention. You wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to win every race solely for the purpose of being met with cameras and praises at the end. It’s like he got off on that shit. Attention seeker.

“What a fucking nepo baby.” You scoff and taehyun laughs, always amused for your hate towards Choi Beomgyu. But it was true, he was only here because his father was a famous legendary racer back in the day, his racing career practically gift wrapped by him at a young age. Choi Beomgyu had everything handed to him on a silver platter whilst you had to claw your way through to get where you are now. But, it seems to be that you’re the only one who has a problem with him. Everyone else adores him, the 'golden boy'.

“Oh—hehe. Stop it. Thank you! Yeah, honestly it’s all about hard work.” You hear him gush and chuckle in faux shyness and humbleness, waving his hand dismissively, eyes shaped into little crescent moons and running a hand through his long soft brown hair. “But I don’t think I’m that good personally heh.”

You can’t help how hard your eyes roll at that, muttering more insults under your breath only taehyun can hear who's certainly more than entertained. “Hardwork, my ass. His daddy got him connections and sponsorships, that’s why. He thinks he can just waltz in with that stupid smile and—oh my god, he’s winking at me. I’m going to fucking kill him.”

Sure enough, Beomgyu catches your eye roll and winks your way before saying something to the reporters that makes them hysterically laugh. The audacity. You have half the mind of walking over there and strangling him right in front of the cameras. That surely wouldn’t end your career right? Or worse yet, put you in prison.

As the crowd around him finally disperses and fizzles out, Beomgyu confidently saunters over to you and taehyun, helmet still tucked under his arm and still grinning annoyingly.

“Oh no.” Taehyun chuckles, throwing a knowing look your way and nodding to the direction of beomgyu, “Incoming.”

“Fuck my life.” You mutter, taking a big breath in, bracing yourself for the worst.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favourite fan.” Beomgyu’s grin widens as he reaches you, snickering. He ignores your scoff in return, turning to taehyun instead with a smile and clapping his back. “Hey, Tae. Drinks after this? A bunch of us are going.”

“Yeah, I’m in. Congrats on first place today by the way.” Taehyun replies giving him a bro hug. To this day, you still can’t understand how taehyun can stand him. But Beomgyu has a lot of friends, and like you said, you really are the only one who dislikes him.

“How can you even hang out with him?” You make the most disgusted face you can muster towards Beomgyu to show the pure utter hatred you feel to him.

Beomgyu practically puffs out his chest, already expecting to be backed up and stood up against by taehyun.

Taehyun shrugs, “He grows on you. I guess.”

“Yeah, like a nasty mould.”

Beomgyu deflates, taking great offence, mouth hanging open and frowning, pouting at the both of you now laughing and high-fiving each other.

Beomgyu’s intense gaze then returns back to you. Taehyun, addressing the situation, and knowing how both your bantering can escalate, sees it’s best to leave, walking away to leave you alone with the cockroach. “Right, so as entertaining as this has been, I’m going to go now…preferably anywhere else...”

“What about you, y/n? No congratulations?” Beomgyu mocks and sighs boastfully once Taehyun has left. His voice dripping with that sickeningly playful lilt that always makes your blood boil. “No heartfelt speech on how I inspire you to be better? But hey, second place isn’t so bad.”

You narrow your eyes, standing up straight. “You won by, like,” you scoff, “a millisecond at best. Don’t get all cocky. It was just pure luck.”

He laughs, raising an eyebrow at you. “Oh, come on, I didn’t think you were such a sore loser. It’s called strategy.”

“Strategy?” you repeat incredulously, “The only strategy you have is relying on your last name to get you ahead.”

“God, you’re still on that? I feel like you’re just using that as an excuse to use still. Just admit I’m as good as you. Better, even. I’ve won one more race than you now~”

The two of you kept a tally of how many races you both have won, you’ve had the same exact score as him for ages now, obviously, not anymore. But you’ll win next time, just he waits.

He takes a step closer to you, waiting and expecting you to make a snarky comeback at him like you always do as you angrily stare him down and he does the same.

For a second, just one second, your eyes flicker down to his lips and suddenly, you’re brought back to an incident that occurred a few months ago. A memory you’ve tried—and failed—to forget.

There is one thing you’ve never told anyone about. Not your teammates, not taehyun, and that is when you, of all people, made out with Choi Beomgyu one awfully unlucky night.

⸝⸝

THE SAID AWFULLY UNLUCKY NIGHT YOU AND CHOI BEOMGYU MADE OUT:

The nightclub was packed with racers, sponsors, and fans celebrating the after party of a big end of season race, air heavy with the scent of alcohol and sweat. You nursed your drink, leaning against the bar.

Of course, Beomgyu was at the centre of the dance floor, surrounded by a group of admirers, his laughter ringing out over the music. He was never hard to spot, the centre of attention always.

"Ugh," you muttered under your breath, taking another sip of your drink.

“And you’re still staring?” Taehyun had teased, sitting beside you.

"I’m not staring.” You snapped, rolling your eyes. "I’m wondering how he manages to be so insufferable and stupid all the time."

“Sure,” Taehyun stifles a laugh, raising his glass to you. “Just don’t kill each other before the next race.”

You down the last of your drink, slamming it on the bar counter and ordering another, “Can’t promise that.”

The rest of the night is a blur to you. Too many drinks, too many spinning lights, and far too much proximity to Beomgyu.

You’re not one to get shitfaced drunk. You prefer the comfortable state of slight tipsiness and anything other than that is not fun for you, because why would someone want to be so drunk off their ass to the point of throwing up and not being aware of their surroundings? Usually, you’d chastise people like that, wondering how they can’t even manage how much they drink. But on that night, you’d had one too many to count, you were drunk, too drunk. Not the comfortable tipsiness that you’re used to.

You know that at one point, either you or Beomgyu had come up to the other and the normal bickering had ensued. You know he was just as drunk as you so whatever you both were arguing about probably made no sense at all.

What you do remember though was looking at him, really looking at him, in the shifting, almost epileptic lights of the club.

How big and brown his eyes were, how long and thick his eyelashes were and how they fluttered like a doll every time he blinked. How plump and pouty his lips were, especially now that he was drunk, he just kept on pouting his lips and his cheeks were flushed all rosy from all the alcohol he’d had. His long wolfcut was messy by now, bangs falling into his eyes.

He looked different that night, too. Not the usual racing suit and helmet, but a stylish black suit with his shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a silver necklace glinting against his skin.

All in all, beomgyu was a pretty boy. You get why he had a lot of fans.

He was still going on about something to you, slurring his words, probably insulting you, and the only logical solution to shut him up in your inebriated state at that moment, was to kiss his pouty lips. Luckily, you both were at the very corner of the nightclub shrouded in darkness, everyone else too busy dancing and whatnot to see you both.

You remember him gasping when you grabbed the collar of his black shirt, yanking him down and pressing your lips aggressively against his, but he kissed you back almost instantly, without a second thought.

You weren’t very gentle with him, pushing him forcefully against the wall even further and tugging at his necklace. The way you were making out with him was just pouring out all your anger you’ve felt towards him for years. But, he just let you. He let you do anything to him and you were surprised, so different to the cocky and confident beomgyu you knew. And that sheer control he let you have over him for once felt so good, you didn’t want to stop.

That, and the fact Choi Beomgyu was also just really good at kissing, he made it so difficult to pull away at all, lips so soft and plump and addictive, making you want more and more and more.

But, you never spoke an utterance of it afterwards, he never brought it up, neither did you. And honestly, it felt so surreal, making out with the Choi Beomgyu, the one who you no doubtedly hate his guts and him kissing you back so pliantly? You’d believe it more if it was all just a hallucination. You were so drunk you wouldn’t be surprised if you made it all up, dreamt it even. Maybe it was someone else you made out with and you were so drunk you can’t remember. It’d make more sense than Choi Beomgyu.

Although, you do find yourself thinking about the makeout session often times than not, his lips on yours just felt so good. Too good. It was like, the best makeout you’ve had in your life and you curse it for being him. Why he had to be the one whose lips you still thought about? you don’t know. You’re certain he had forgotten and you wish you could have just like he seemed to.

But anyway, fuck that and fuck him.

⸝⸝

"What? Cat got your tongue?" Beomgyu is still sneering at you, awaiting your comeback but you can’t think well at the moment.

Your face heats, and you shove past him. “Go to hell, Choi.”

And his laughter follows behind you as you walk away. Oh, how he infuriates you.

You have one goal: beat Choi Beomgyu. Today is the day you finally get to race against him again. He’d held that last victory over your head, taunting you endlessly, with that invigorating, stupid smirk of his and you’d had more than enough. Today was your chance to shut him up and kick his ass. You’ll put him in his place and win. You’d been waiting for this.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to another thrilling showdown! All eyes are on the two front runners y/n and Choi Beomgyu. These rivals have been neck and neck all season. Beomgyu won the last race but will he win again? Will today decide who’s truly on top?” The commentator’s voices boom over the loudspeakers.

The flagman waves the green flag, you slam on the gas pedal and you’re off, surging forward.

It wasn’t an easy race, beomgyu seemed motivated to win too. He was always either just ahead or just behind, not far enough for it be satisfactory, but nail bitingly tense, as anything could happen any moment. And right now, ahead, just barely, was him, blocking every attempt you made to overtake him.

“Y/n’s looking for an opening,” the commentators shout. “But Beomgyu’s defensive driving is flawless so far. Look at that precision!”

Loud noises of the engines are all you can hear, filling your ears as you manoeuvre around sharp turns, tires screeching against the asphalt. The laps all blur together but you’re nearing the end now.

You managed to get alongside him on the straight, your cars almost touching, crowd going wild as you both enter the next corner side by side, dangerously close.

“Neither driving is moving an inch!”

Suddenly, beomgyu’s car swerves towards yours, bumping and hitting at yours with such force, a dirty, blatant attempt at running you off the track and then he overtakes you. You gasp, fighting to stabilise your car, narrowly avoiding a spin. That was a new low, even for Choi Beomgyu. He’d never cheated like that before and you’re absolutely enraged.

The final lap is chaos, the audience on their feet now. You’re so incredibly angry, but you can’t let that get to you and hinder your focus, you clench your teeth, gripping your steering wheel so tight your knuckles are white, you’re even more determined to win than before.

The last stretch looms ahead and he’s just razor thin ahead of you, in the last second, you see your opening. Beomgyu had oversteered slightly on the turn, just enough for you to slip past him, you speed ahead.

“AND Y/N TAKES THE WIN IN A SPECTACULAR FINISH! THEY’VE DONE IT! WHAT A RACE!”

You crossed the line first. By a hair.

Everyone erupts, but your satisfaction is short-lived. Beomgyu’s cheating had completely soured your victory. The fucking nerve of him.

You barely register the reporters swarming you, bombarding your face with microphones. “Y/n! how does it feel to take first place?!”

“An incredible performance today, what was going through your mind?!”

The post race interview is a haze of forced smiles and generic answers. You’re barely listening as the reporters barrage you with questions. You’re still so pissed off at Beomgyu.

When it’s finally over, you make your way to the garage and that’s where you spot him leaning casually against his car, arms crossed in a nonchalant way. You clench your fists, blood boiling as you storm over to him. He’d crossed the line, well, not literally this time, but definitely fucking figuratively.

"You fucking cheated!" You shout, jabbing a finger at his chest.

He blinks innocently, tilting his head in a puppy like way. "Me? Cheat? That’s a very serious accusation to make. I’d never." There’s a slight smugness to him, almost mocking, he’s not even pissed he didn’t win like you’d wanted him to be, just calm and collected and being a bitch. It makes you even more livid with him.

“You intentionally tried to cause a collision with me. You should have been penalised. I don’t know how you weren’t!”

“Yeah, and you still won. So why are you even mad?” He crosses his arms and shrugs, ridiculing you. “If you can’t handle that maybe you should switch to something lighter like go karting instead.”

"Can’t handle?!" You splutter, looking at him in pure disbelief, your voice rising. "You arrogant, nepotistic, spoilt brat!-” Each insult punctuated with a sharp poke to his chest and, yet he still finds it all funny, bursting out into laughter at you.

Something inside you just snaps. It infuriates you how you’re the one who won and yet, you feel small. Why is he the one sneering at you? That should be you! You want to have the upper hand over him, some semblance of control— just like that night again when he was putty in your hands.

And so, before you can even register what you yourself are about to do, you grab him by his jacket, smashing your lips against his. He melts almost instantly, kissing you back so fervently and eagerly, as if he’d been waiting this whole time for this to happen. And you can’t lie, it felt almost euphoric to have his soft lips back on yours again. Almost like an addict getting their fix after a long withdrawal.

The kissing becomes heated fast, sounds of your mouths smacking filling the echoing garage as he lets you take over his mouth completely, letting you bite and pull at his bottom lip, emitting soft little gasps at this.

Even for the second time, it was disorienting seeing Beomgyu like this, nothing like the beomgyu you knew on the track or in the spotlight, and now with no alcohol in your system, neither of you could even blame whatever was going on right now on that. It’s all too intoxicating. It takes everything in you to pull back for air.

You push him against his car with more force than necessary, and Beomgyu stumbles slightly before sitting down on the top of the hood. His eyes are blown wide, flustered as you stand between his splayed legs, cupping his cheek and kissing him again, him responding immediately. This is how you like him. Your kisses trail down his jaw and the column of his neck, when you suck on his adam’s apple, he lets out a sharp intake and gasp, tilting his head back to give you more access, he already seems worked up from just a few kisses. Was his neck really that sensitive?

When your hand slides down to palm him through his trousers, his breath hitches and his jaw goes slack. “Oh…b-but we’re in public…” his cheeks flush a deep red and he protests weakly, plump lips all swollen and glossy and wet from the intense making out.

You raise a brow. “So you want me to stop?” You keep grinding your palm against his very hard length now, sucking on his neck and he shudders and whines cutely, very clearly enjoying it.

“W-wait no….” So you continue, he’s panting as you palm him, rutting into your hand himself. You pull back just enough to look at him, so dumb and lost in pleasure, lips parted with soft breathy moans and gasps as he chases the small friction you give him, his brows knitting together.

You roll your eyes at the sight of him, “Trying to run me off the track? You’re pathetic, beomgyu.”

“Pathetic?” He scoffs, still having the nerve to act like a brat when it’s all crumbling. “h-hah, if anyone’s pathetic it’s you—s-shit y/n—please. I need more, please.” Completely contradicting himself, because if there was only one word to describe him exactly right now, it would be pathetic.

“Admit it. Say you’re nothing but a dirty cheater first.”

“You wish.”

“Okay. I’ll leave you like this. All hard and horny.”

He hesitates, scowling, debating whether or not to challenge you, but when you stop all contact of palming and kissing his neck, starting to step away, he caves in.

“Wait!” He blurts, grasping at your wrist, eyes wide and pleading. “I’m…fine. Fine! I’m nothing but a dirty a cheater...” His face burns, embarrassed, humiliated, his pride hurt. The admission sends a thrill through you, he’s always been so full of himself, but now he’s just a needy pathetic mess for you. You’re having so much fun.

You grin. “Aw. What a good boy.” You coo sarcastically. The words have an instant effect on him though, whole body tensing and cheeks blooming into an even more impossibly vivid red and he whines, hands clutching at your hips to bring you back as he still sits pliantly on the hood of his car.

You unzip his pants, flushed pretty cock already leaking, slapping at his tummy and you brush your thumb over his sensitive tip, spreading the bead of pre-cum that gathered there slowly, watching his reaction and he looks down at the action himself, drawing out a helpless shudder and whimper from him. He groans, eyes half lidded when you wrap your hand around his cock, moving up and down with a deliberate slowness that makes his breath hitch every few seconds and whine.

“God, you’re so easy, beomgyu. Are you this much of a whore all the time?” You murmur and tease, dragging your teeth over his cute earlobe, ears all red, feeling him shiver.

“Shut”, he whimpers cutely, “up. I-i could…ah…fuck you stupid right now.” He retaliates or attempts to, but his hands grip the edge of the hood like he’s barely holding himself upright.

You laugh. “Oh, really? Because you look pretty wrecked already.” He was so fucked out right now, you wonder if he’d even be able to take it when you actually fuck him.

He’s still trying to keep up the pretense of resistance. “I’m not wrecked. You’re—” You pump his cock at a ruthless pace, jerking him off fast, occasionally toying with the slit on the head of cock and his body goes limp under you touch, moaning out prettily and loudly, eyes squeezing shut and panting, chest heaving. He clings to you now, head buried in your neck, practically drooling, body jerking with every stroke. He still attempts to bite back at you but they come out as dumb babbles and mumbles of nonsense, mewling and gasping, completely at your mercy.

Beomgyu whines and moans deliriously. “F-fuck! Oh—need to cum. C-can’t.” He removes his head from your neck to look up at you with glossy doe eyes, so wrecked and hanging on by a thread. You move your hand up and down his dick unrelentingly and before he’s just about to cum, you pull your hand off him.

The pained, frustrated cry that escapes him is deliciously pathetic. His hips jerk into the air desperately to chase the sensation, but it’s long gone now. He looks at you in shock, eyes wide in utter betrayal and devastation, and now wet with tears of frustration. But then he frowns and scowls, annoyed he didn’t get to cum. “What the fuck was that for?” He pouts.

“I could think of a lot honestly. But, don’t you want to cum inside me?”

His jaw hangs open. “Please. Yes.” Beomgyu breathes out, nodding fervently and looking at you with puppy eyes, pupils dilating and dazed at the thought alone.

Sliding off the hood, beomgyu takes your hand like an obedient puppy, and you open the car door. He sits in his driver’s seat, his flushed face tilted up to watch you as you climb onto his lap. You rid yourself of your own clothes, watching as his gaze drops immediately to your bare tits, breath catching and lips parting as he stares, seemingly captivated. He’s so stupid.

You grab his dick and use the head to rub your clit, making him let out little stuttered gasps, sliding him over your entrance and folds a few times before you sink slowly down completely. The feeling of your warm tight pussy making him go cross eyed as he groans, sucking in air and throwing his head back, grasping at your waist, furrowing his brows and mouth in an ‘o’ shape, you beginning to ride him.

It’s so hot and cramped and sweaty in the car now as you bounce on his dick continuously, being able to hear the obscene slapping and sticky noises so loudly. Beomgyu looks in a state of absolute, pure bliss, moaning like a bitch, mind all fogged up and mushy at the feeling of your pussy, his messy damp bangs falling into his eyes so all you can see is his very glistening round lips, still in that sustained ‘o’ shape, just so dumbed and fucked out.

He’s a gorgeous wreck, thick doll-like lashes fluttering. If only everyone else could see Choi Beomgyu like this right now. It feels so empowering and satisfying after all these years of him being so infuriating. You love how, despite his attempts at being bratty, he’s so docile and such a simple whore.

You tangle your hands in his hair and tug and pull every so often, which he clearly very likes if the high and strained moans are anything to show for this. His hands squeeze at your tits when it feels too good for him. His lips latch onto one of your nipples, tongue flicking over it and sucking and kissing as he looks up at you with his big brown eyes. When you deliberately clamp your pussy tightly around him, he moans out your name in response, muffled from him still sucking your tits needily, body slightly jerking.

“You remember, don’t you?—at the club?” You ask, although it was probably obvious by now.

Beomgyu pauses for a moment, popping his wet droolly mouth off your boobs, eyes darting away for a moment before returning to look at you, nodding vigorously, “of course I remember…l-liked it.” You cup his cheek again, kissing beomgyu hard, hands still tangled in his hair, tugging, fucking him mercilessly as he moans softly against your lips. “Oh god, m’ sso close. Can I cum?”

You nod, kissing him some more, “Cum for me, beomie.”

“Holyy s-shitt—” Beomgyu’s eyes roll to the back of his head, squeezing one of your tits as if for support, his back arches, his tongue lolling out dumbly, whole body trembling and shaking. You bring one of your hands to your clit, rubbing and riding yourself on him harder. With a choked off scream, he spills so much of his cum inside you, and the gorgeous sight brings you over the edge too, cumming as well.

He doesn’t pull out though, burying his face in your neck, gasping for air, groaning and clinging to you tightly, he’s still shuddering and you can feel little spurts of his cum still dribbling in you, pussy completely milking him.

The two of you sat in the car still afterwards in a slightly awkward silence. Both of you panting, trying to come down from your highs, left to fully take in what had just happened and also how thoughtless it was. Fucking Choi beomgyu in the garage? You’re incredibly lucky no one walked in. It wasn’t even like both of you were trying to be quiet either, none of that running through your mind at that moment. What if someone had heard?

Beomgyu, for once, was quiet, his usual smirk replaced with a dazed expression, so far gone. He leans slowly towards you though, looking as if he was about to kiss you again.

“This…this doesn’t mean anything by the way.” You mutter, beginning to button up your shirt.

Beomgyu scoffs, running a hands through his hair. “Doesn’t feel like nothing.”

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t. At all.” You roll your eyes, trying not to freak out, you open the car door, wanting more than anything to just get out. You walk away, leaving him there, disheveled and barely clothed, still slumped in the driver’s seat. And you don’t see it, but there’s a look of almost, somewhat hurt on his face.

A/n: happy new year !!<3 please give this lots of love it was such a bitch to write idk why but I really struggled with this 😭 also I’m so sorry to all the racing fans if makes no sense, I just made up my own kind of racing competition thing. Also the cars do not look anything like f1 cars 😭 more kind of like the nascar ones so they can actually fuck in it 😭 idk bro. I know no nothing about cars or racing. Also I’m sorry if the smut seems rushed and messy, I haven’t edited it and I was lowkey rushing to get this out

Please actually reblog !!!!!! and leave comments !!!! guys if you like the fic. It’s really appreciated and so nice tysm !<3🙏💕🌷🌷! It’s incredibly discouraging and disappointing when fics have such little reblogs ☹️👎🤨. At least send an anon in the inbox if you don’t want to rb, don’t just like. Feedback is always appreciated it makes writers want to actually write more :)

[snottyped]

Hi! Could you do a story about an incubus coming home after a fight, tired and hungry, and he turns to his roommate or friend for help?

You asked for longer story ideas so if you want that you could start it earlier, show both the sexual tension between characters and his growing stress, and also have some comfort with pov patching up his injuries from the fight.

I would prefer gender/sex neutral reader but whatever you want is fine! I also specifically like when it's just, a world with demons and humans casually, and it's not a whole Thing.

For the sex I think emphasizing the hunger would be really hot. Rough, possessive, pushing the bottom to come again and again...

I know this is a lot, ofc take your liberties, thank you very much!

- @zeal-kitten 🩷

console me

incubus x gn!reader nsfw

The door slams open with a heavy thud. The apartment is barely illuminated by the soft, amber glow of the streetlights outside. A gust of cool air carries the faint scent of fresh rain, but it’s soon replaced by the unmistakable scent of blood, sweat, and frustration.

Dren stumbles inside, breathing heavy, his leather jacket torn in places, his dark eyes wild and burning with unspent rage. His jaw is clenched tight, and his fists are bloody, knuckles swollen from the fight he’d barely managed to escape.

You’re sitting on the couch, scrolling through your phone, when you hear him.

You don’t even need to look up to know it’s him—his energy is electric, charged with the kind of raw intensity that always makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Still, you can’t help the small jolt of concern that shoots through you when you finally glance up and see him.

“Shit,” you mutter, pushing yourself up from the couch. “What happened?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. His gaze sweeps over you, his eyes dark with something dangerous and primal. It takes a moment for his anger to shift into something else—a different kind of hunger, one that makes your pulse spike in response. His lips curl into a smirk, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I lost,” he growls, his voice rough, like sandpaper. “But I’m not here for a lecture.”

Your stomach churns with unease. He’s clearly exhausted.

You approach him cautiously, eyes scanning over his injuries. His shirt is ripped in places, revealing deep, red scratches along his chest, bruises already forming on his neck and arms. Blood drips from his knuckles, and there’s a faint tremble in his posture that he tries to hide.

“Let me help you,” you say softly, your hands instinctively reaching for him.

His lips curl into something darker, predatory. “You want to help me?” His voice drops lower, becoming something almost coaxing. “Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

“Please,” you say, voice almost a whisper. “Just let me clean you up. You’re bleeding.”

The incubus lets out a soft chuckle, a low, almost bitter sound. “You’re too kind,”

he murmurs, letting you gently pull him toward the couch. His body feels cold under your touch, as if his wounds have drained more than just his physical strength. You sit him down, kneeling beside him as you carefully start to inspect the cuts and bruises on his chest.

You’re focused, trying to distract yourself from the way your heart races and the strange pull you feel in your veins. He doesn’t make it easy, though, his scent filling the air, a heady mix of dark spice and something darker. Something dangerous. You can feel his presence pressing down on you, almost like he’s consuming the space around you.

You keep your hands steady, though, carefully wiping away the blood with a cloth, tending to each injury. But there’s something unsettling in the way he watches you—his gaze is fixed on you, hungry and intense, his breath shallow. As you work, you feel a sharp tug of desire snake through your veins. You try to ignore it, focusing on his injuries, but it’s hard when he’s so close, his body radiating an unnatural heat.

“I’m fine,” he finally murmurs after a long, heavy silence. “I’ve had worse.”

You don’t respond, though. You can’t. There’s something in his voice that’s off. His confidence is slipping, his usual arrogance replaced with a desperate hunger. You glance up at him, your fingers still gently tending to his wounds, and you catch the way his eyes flicker between your face and your hands.

“Dren,” you breathe, reaching for him.

“Don’t.” His voice is low, ragged. “Don’t touch me unless you mean it.”

You freeze. That tone—it’s not a warning. It’s desperation in a thin disguise. His pupils are blown wide, almost swallowing the faint red ring of his irises. There’s a tremble in his fingers. Not fear. Need.

“I don’t need patching. I need to fuck.”

Your breath catches.

You’ve lived with Dren long enough to know his kind doesn’t “just” have sex. For an incubus, it’s survival. Sustenance. But he’s never come to you for that. Always respectful, always distant in that maddening way. The tension between you a slow-burning thing, drawn tight over shared meals and sleepless nights, banter edged with something hungrier beneath. You’ve seen him bring others home, watched with a jealousy you didn’t dare name.

But now he’s looking at you like he’ll starve if you say no.

You don’t.

“I’m not a snack,” you say, steady, stepping forward. “If you’re going to take from me, you do it right.”

That’s all he needs.

He’s on you in a blink—pinned against the wall, mouth crushing yours in a kiss that’s more teeth than tongue. The taste of blood, salt and heat, fills your mouth. His hands are everywhere—desperate, greedy, trembling with restraint and breaking past it all the same.

You gasp into him, and he swallows it whole.

“Tell me to stop,” he growls into your neck. “Say it now.”

Instead, you slide your hands under his ruined shirt, feel the ridges of muscle beneath torn flesh. “I said do it right,” you whisper. “Feed.”

He groans like it hurts.

When he lifts you, you wrap your legs around his waist instinctively. He carries you through the apartment like nothing weighs him down. Not your body, not the exhaustion, not the gnawing ache burning through him like wildfire. He needs. That’s all there is.

The bedroom door slams. You land on the bed with a bounce and a gasp—he's already on you, ripping away clothes like they offend him, like they keep him from what he craves.

"You don't know what you're offering," he pants, dragging his mouth down your throat. "It's not just sex, not for me. It's you. It's coming until you can't remember your name. It's needing more even when you're begging me to stop."

"Good," you whisper, already aching.

He freezes.

And then he growls—low, hungry, dark as thunder. “Fuck. You’ll break me.”

The first time he thrusts into you, it’s rough—desperate, unrelenting. You cry out, body arching into his, every nerve alight. He moves like he’s starved, like he’s been holding back forever and the dam has finally burst. You can feel him feeding—not just the way his cock pulses inside you, but how your pleasure floods into him, recharging every part of him. He groans against your skin like your moans are better than food, better than air.

“You’re so fucking good,” he snarls. “So full of light, and it’s all mine.”

He’s not gentle. Not tonight. He fucks you through the mattress, hands fisting in the sheets, mouth everywhere—biting, kissing, tasting. Every time you start to fall, he drags you back, forces you over again. Again. Again.

“Dren—” You’re not sure if it’s a plea or praise.

“Don’t stop. Give it to me. All of it.”

Your body burns, stretched too tight, nerves sparking until you don’t even know if you’re crying or laughing or begging. He takes everything, and still you offer more.

By the fourth climax, your voice is gone. By the fifth, you’re only sobbing into his chest, trembling in his arms. He holds you close now, rocking into you slower, gentler—but still deep, still needy.

“Still with me?” he murmurs, voice cracking with something close to awe.

You nod, unable to speak.

He kisses your forehead, then your cheeks, your mouth—soft now, reverent. “You’re unbelievable. You didn’t just feed me, you healed me.”

You glance down at his chest. The wounds are closing already. Your body still aches, but his power wraps around you now—soothing, warm, sated.

And finally, finally, he collapses beside you, pulling you into the crook of his arm, holding you like a treasure.

“…Don’t think this changes anything,” you murmur sleepily.

He chuckles, low and wrecked. “It changes everything.”

And for once, you let it.

You wake with his hand curled around your thigh.

The room is dim, the sheets tangled. Your body hums with soreness in the best way. He hasn’t moved far—still there, still wrapped around you like he doesn’t quite believe you’re real. His breath is warm against your neck. But beneath the calm, you can feel it again.

His hunger. Not the starving edge from before.

This is something else.

“You’re not done,” you murmur without opening your eyes.

“No,” he whispers, voice like gravel soaked in honey. “But I’m going to take my time this time.”

You open your eyes to find him watching you—his gaze softened but still blazing. Not the same frantic need. This is devotion. Worship. Obsession.

���I should let you rest,” he says, brushing your hair back. “But I can’t stop thinking about you. The way you looked when you came for me. How you gave yourself so easily. I can’t—” He swallows hard. “I’ve never had anyone like you.”

You reach up, touch his jaw. “Then don’t be careful.”

That’s all he needs.

He kisses you like a man drowning—pressing you into the mattress with the weight of his body, his need. But there’s reverence now in the way he touches you. Still rough—his fingers dig into your hips like he’s afraid you’ll disappear—but he slows down just enough to see you. Every arch of your back, every gasp, every plea.

When he pushes inside again, it’s deep. Slow. A grind that makes your toes curl, his forehead pressed to yours, breath mingling.

“I want to own this,” he groans. “Want to make you feel so good you forget anyone else ever touched you.”

“You already have,” you whisper, rocking up to meet him.

He growls low in his throat and starts to move faster. The pace builds again—rough, bruising, his mouth all over your skin, marking you with teeth and tongue and whispered filth.

“So perfect,” he pants. “So fucking mine.”

You cry out as he rolls you over, dragging your hips back. He takes you from behind this time, one hand gripping your throat, the other sneaking down between your thighs.

“Come for me again,” he commands, voice velvet-wrapped steel. “I want to feel it. Want to drink you down.”

You’re already right there, everything too much and not enough.

When you come, it’s like fire—tight and sharp, clenching around him. He curses and pounds into you harder, chasing his own release, but never once letting you fall away from his grasp.

When he follows you over the edge, it’s with your name on his lips—gasped, broken, raw. Not just sex. Not just hunger.

Worship.

Later, he holds you in the aftermath, arms wrapped tight like he’s trying to anchor himself. You run your fingers over his skin, over faint scars and healing wounds.

“You okay?” you ask quietly.

His eyes are closed, but there’s a faint smile on his lips. “I’ve never been fed like this. Not just flesh. You gave me... everything.”

You trace circles on his chest. “You can have it. Just don’t break me.”

He opens his eyes—glowing faintly in the dark.

“Never.”

And when he kisses you again—slow, deep, gentle—it’s not about hunger at all.

It’s about you.

[yuyusbabygirl]

Mistletoes and Animosities

pairing: professor!Yunho x professor!reader

summary: Jeong Yunho had been a thorn in your side ever since you started Hogwarts. Of course that didn't change when you both became professors.

word count: 962

au: Hogwarts AU

genre: fluff, maybe smut in the future

warnings: teasing, kissing, alcohol use mentioned

nets: @newworldnet

A/N: I love the mistletoe trope. I might (don't hold me to this) write more for this

The halls were decorated with tinsel, christmas baubles and snow, the fires in the pillars making the castle feel cozy and warm. Christmas was your favourite season at Hogwarts. You loved the huge tree in the Great Hall, the stockings in the common room, the food at dinner. You were now in your third year as a professor for Charms at Hogwarts but Christmas was still your favourite season. Seeing the students chatter about presents, hearing the other professors talk about the upcoming feast. It made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside but maybe that was the mulled wine. 

You were just walking through the corridors on your way back to your quarters. Headmistress McGonagall sure could hold her liquor. Maybe you should have stopped at the second butterbeer and not had those three goblets of mulled wine with her and the two firewhiskeys because those moving stairs are a bitch to climb when buzzed. finally you made it to the faculty tower when you bumped into a hard yet warm wall. Before you could fall to the ground, two large hands grabbed your hips and steadied you. You looked up and looked into the eyes of professor Jeong Yunho.

Oh fuck no.

He was the last person you wanted to see. Basically ever. You had known Yunho since you were a first year yourself and safe to say, you both disliked each other. Even then he was loud and obnoxious, always laughing in class, trying to distract you. Over the years your dislike of him had only deepened. He grew particularly annoying when he joined the Gryffindor quidditch team in fifth year. That summer he had grown to be about three heads taller than you, his shoulders had widened and his ego had doubled. A typical beater. You had hated going to quidditch games when he joined the team but it's not like you had had a choice. Gryffindor was your house too and you still wanted your house to win. But Merlin, he was a prick. Always flying his broom by your face, winking at you with that shiteating grin when he beat the bludger away. It was like he lived to make you irritated. When you graduated and went into the world to master your charms skills you had thought you were finally rid of Jeong Yunho. Only to be floored when you started your first day as a professor to see that he had become a professor too. So now he was professor Jeong, for Defence Against The Dark Arts. 

You tried to take a step back from him only to realise you couldn't move your feet. It was like they were glued to the floor. 

“Not very observant, are you, darling?” Yunho chuckled. Oh how you hated that nickname ever since he started using it in third year.

“What are you talking about, Jeong?” you glared up at him. He just snickered and pointed up above your heads. 

A fucking mistletoe.

“I'm not kissing you,” you exclaimed and crossed your arms. He simply chuckled at your defiant stance.

“Well, then prepare to stand here the whole night,” he flicked a strand of your hair. You brushed his hand away with a huff. 

“What?” you furrowed your brows. You hated that arrogant handsome smile of his. Shit, maybe you were more drunk than you thought. He leaned closer to you.

“It's an enchanted mistletoe, darling. You and I are stuck here until you pucker up those pretty lips of yours,” Yunho stated, giving you another shit-eating grin.

“Y-you can't be serious,” you sputtered, your cheeks flushing and this time you couldn't blame the alcohol. 

“It's just a little kiss, darling. Or are you too scared?” he teased you, his face close to yours and you could smell his breath. His hand reached up to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. You huffed and weighed your options. You could wait until professor Sprout found you and hopefully knew how to get you out of this. But you did not know when that would be and if she even could. Maybe you should have paid more attention in herbology. Your only other option was to kiss him. Kiss Jeong Yunho. 

“Fine,” you gritted out. But Yunho just shook his head.

“Come on, darling. A bit more enthusiasm,” he quipped. You huffed and glared up at him.

“Yes, you may kiss me,” you managed to get out. 

“Use my name,” he cupped your cheek. You rolled your eyes. Even now he was teasing. He was just infuriating.

“Kiss me, Yunho,” you said, trying to keep the irritation out of your voice.

“Gladly, darling,” he grinned and pulled your face to his.

You expected a quick peck, small but efficient to get you out of this predicament. But when his lips met yours he didn't pull away. His hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck and his lips moved against yours. You let out a small squeak and he immediately took advantage. His tongue pushed past your lips and started exploring your mouth. You could taste butterbeer on him and something that seemed to be just him, heavy, manly and oh so intoxicating. His other hand found your hip and he pulled you closer. You were so distracted, you didn't even notice your feet moving. After a few moments he broke the kiss. He looked down at you, his eyes flickering to your lips. His expression was unreadable for a moment until he went back to his usual smirk.

“That should do the trick. Good night. Professor,” he swiped his thumb over your bottom lip before pulling away and walking to his quarters.

You stood there, trying to catch your breath. 

What was that?

[wqlfstqr]

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ my current boyfriend trend with percy jackson.

You smile at the phone once it starts recording, barely able to hold your laugh while Percy, sitting beside you, has no clue where this is going— he think this is just one of those videos you like to make just for fun.

"Hi guys, today I'll show you the things I got last time I went to the beach with my current boyfriend." you start, pretending you're reaching for the bag of things you bought.

But Percy's reaction is almost immediate. His head whips towards you, his mouth hangs open, and he even sits up a little straighter. "Your what now?"

"Yes, Perce, I told you we would show the things we got on our trip." you reply, smiling with fake innocence.

Percy shakes his head, his sea-green eyes comically wide. "No, that's not what i'm talking about."

You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing, ignoring him as you hold up the necklace he got you. "Okay guys, so first, my current boyfriend got me this cute shell necklace."

"Current?" He cuts in, scandalized. "I'm sorry, current? are you getting another boyfriend soon or what?"

You shrug. "I mean, you are my current boyfriend."

"What? No, I'm not." His voice jumps an octave higher. "I mean, yes I'm currently your boyfriend. But I'll always be. I'm the forever love of your life."

You snort, but he's on a roll.

"Current boyfriend? hell no." He looks genuinely offended. "You're not getting rid of me, love. Only way I'll become your ex-boyfriend is when I become your husband."

You're fully laughing now, but he still looks offended. "Perce–"

"Nope. No. Nuh-uh." He shakes his head again. "You're not allowed to call me current boyfriend. No, love. It's future husband for you."

"I don't see what's wrong with current boyfriend." You shrug again, the amusement clear in your eyes.

His eyebrows raise, his hands coming to gently cup your face. "No, baby. I'm your future husband. Say it."

"Okay okay. My future husband." You finally give in, still giggling.

He lets out a relieved sigh, as if he can finally be at peace. "Thank you. And hell yes, that's me."

mari talks! i've NEVER written a blurb so i'm sorry if this is messy but Percy was the first thing I thought of when I saw this trend. Also I linked the trend in the title just in case someone didn't see it lol.

[ronweasleysgf]

i know you want it | steve harrington ✿

MDNI - 18+ | navigation - m.list 𝜗୧ | REQUEST OPEN !

summary: While your boss is away, You and Steve are alone, Steve convinces you to had sex with him…again.

paring: co-worker!steve x reader

wc: 2k

warnings: smut, pinv, unprotected sex (do this irl AND reader is on birth control) dry humping, fingering, sorta public sex but not really, friend or co-workers with benefits, swearing, reader tries to convince herself she wasn’t want to get dug out by steve

a/n: so this is my first smut so it’s probably really shitty LOL :p, you have any critiques lmk bc i need all the help i can get lol (this was cross posted on ao3 @/freddiebensonsgf) - aydella

NSFW UNDER THE CUT - MINORS DNI </3

“I have to go out of town and get some supplies, i’ll be gone for a couple of hours,” your boss announces as he walks from behind the Scoops Ahoy front counter. “And don’t go fooling around. Tend to our guest please” he demands, with a knowing look, as if he knows exactly what you and Steve do when he's not there. “Aye aye captain!” Steve replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes at your boss's rules.

As soon as your boss is out of your line of vision, you feel the presence of your brunette co-worker right behind you, he is so close you almost feel his broad chest flat against your back. “What do you want, Steve?” you try your best to sound annoyed so maybe he can leave you alone. “Oh, nothing! Just a little bored, I wanna have some fun…what about you?” you can hear the slick smile in his voice, you both know exactly what kind of fun he’s talking about. The kind of fun you had basically every week.

This always happens when it’s just you and Steve working, when Robin and your boss aren't there, you both end up going into the breakroom, ripping each other's clothes off and rutting into each other like you were feral, it was becoming a problem. Every single time you and Steve were in the same room, with no one else around, it’s like a switch flips inside of you.

“C’mon..I know you want it” he purrs, while stroking the back of your forearm, leaving goosebumps across your skin. After all of the time you guys have gotten together, he knows exactly what gets you going. You feel his breath fan across the back of your neck, that feeling in your stomach starts stirring, traveling down into your sex making you wetter and wetter.

“No. I told you the other day, that was the last time, Steven.” you argue, trying to convince yourself you don’t want this. He scoffed at the use of his formal name. He removes his hand from your arm, shifts from behind you, and stands next to you, he looks at you with that sexy, lustful look in his eyes, the look that always makes your skin burn. “You and I both know you don’t mean that.” he laughs, it pisses you off that actually he’s right. You turn to face him fully, you look into his brown eyes, and sigh in defeat. He knows exactly what to do to get you wet, all of your spots, where to touch and what to stay. Maybe it’s not that bad. One more time.

You tip your head down and grab the back of your neck staring at the dirty tile floors you stood on, “Go flip the sign.” you demand while walking into the backroom, you didn't see him but you heard him racing to flip the sign to ”closed” so you can both commit to your weekly “love-making” session. Your boss would be so pissed.

–

You sit down on the dingy couch that sat against the wall in the back room and wait for Steve to follow after you, flopping down right next to you, he immediately gets to the point and grabs your waist and sits you down on the growing bulge in his shorts and you straddle him, he grabs the back of your neck and smashes your lips against yours, you part your mouth so his tongue can dive inside, every inch of your skin was on fire and you needed Steve to cool you down. His swollen, wet lips left yours and met your jaw, trailing down to your neck, leaving kisses and little bites as he made his way to your collarbone.

You drag your throbbing sex across his bulge, you whimpering as you try to grind out the heat that built up inside you, and you feel your cotton covered pussy getting damper. Steve’s hips bucked up, rutted his clothed cock up against you, he left your neck to look up at your face twist up in pleasure, “Fuck, you’re so beautiful” he moaned out. You open your eyes and watch his chest go up and his head throw back into the cushion behind him, this was better than any porno you had ever seen.

You grab his warm hands, and slide them under your shirt, his fingers caressing your soft skin, tracing them over your lacy bra, “Can I…” he asked while stroking your hard nipples that were hidden by your bra, you take your bottom lip in between your teeth and nod. He grabs the hem and gently lifts your shirt off you and throws it to the other side of the couch, his lips part as he scans you, he does almost every time you fuck, but still end up getting bashful.

Steve grabs your waist and flips the two of you over, so that he’s on top, he sits on top of your hips, and reaches for the bottom of his shirt to tug it off, you sit up with your forearms to really take in the view. As much as he is a loser, he’s still so sexy. “What are you staring at?” he teases and tosses his shirt next to yours,“You, i guess,”you flirt. He lowers himself down, and hovers over you “Yea?” he asked seductively, you nod as he starts to kiss you chest, you shiver from the contact, he reaches behind your back and unclasps your bra, slowly peeling the garment off of your perky breasts.

His eyes darkened with lust, he grabs you right boob and starts kneading it softly dragging his thumb across your nipple and his hot, warm tongue licks a stripe across your left one, that move right there earned a sweet whimper from your lips, arching your back against him as he played with your chest. His pretty mouth sucking on your hardened nipples, circling his finger around them, “P-Please, Steve, oh fuck,” you almost scream out. He gives you the most smug look on face as he sits up from the work he was doing on your breasts, and hooks the elastic band of your shorts with his fingers and tugs them down.

He grabs your knees and spreads your legs open to get himself comfortable between them, so he can rub his fingers against the wetness that seeped through your white panties, his lips gap as he strokes your clit through your underwear, you’re about to cover your mouth with your shaking hand to muffle your moans, but he grabs your hand “Don’t cover your mouth, I wanna hear you,”

He slides your panties down your thighs and watches the wet patch peel off of your soaking wet cunt, his looks absolutely transfixed by your evident arousal. He grabs your panties and tucks them in his pocket as he uses his other hand to open your legs so he can get a nice view of your leaking pussy, you head falls back to the cushion, panting in preparation

He places his soft lips onto the skin of inner of your thighs, peppering kisses across your delicate skin, He licks his bottom lip and dives into you, licking a long, warm stripe against your pussy lips, your hips lift as you mewl out, but Steve pushes them back into the couch, lifting his finger to plays in the wetness seeping from your cunt, “That’s so hot..” he sighs out, circling his thumb around your swollen clit, and two of his fingers slowly in your hole, pumping them in and out.

You rasp out a little moan as he goes in for more and laps your sensitive pussy, you grab a handful of his beautiful hair and pull his head down, rocking against his face uncontrollably, that feeling in your stomach got bigger and your hips start to stutter, your legs are shaking, he whimpers against you from the pressure of your tugging his hair, that noise sent you over the edge, bucking his hips up into his face, whimpering out his name “Yes, yes, yes- Oh fuck-“ you scream out as your climax hits like a fucking tsunami.

You remove your hands from his hair and flop back onto the couch and sigh, panting from the biggest oragasm you've had in a while, Steve takes his fingers out of your pussy, sits up and looks at you in absolute awe, ”That was the most sexiest thing that’s ever happened to me” he says, his flushed red face is practically dripping from your arousal. You smile at him, then notice the rock hard bulge in his pants, that's begging for a release.

“Take off your shorts,” you say lazily, tapping his thigh, he nods vigorously, and takes off his blue sailor bottoms as fast a possible, add them to the pile of clothes at sat beside you guys, you almost drool at the sight of the outline of his big cock poking through his boxers. He got down and situated himself back in between your legs, hovering over you.

You reach out your hand to rub his raging hard on through the fabric of his boxers. Closing his eyes, he gasps softly as he bucks his hips into your fingers. You dip your hand into his boxers and grab his wet, hard dick, dragging your pointer finger across the slit of his leaking tip, he whimpers out a quiet “Fuck-“ as he ruts into your hand faster, gasping for air.

Pulling his dick fully out, and pumping your fist, gliding it up and with his sticky hot pre-cum, he’s biting his bottom lip, trying to hold back his pretty whimpers. He slides closer to you, settling his cock between your still wet pussy lips, you gasp from the contact, breath heavy and shaking, drowning in pleasure. You whine as Steve starts teasing your cunt, sliding his dick against you.

You grab his arms and pull him closer, your sweaty chests pressed up against each other, panting. He tucks his head into the nape of your neck and groans softly into your ear. You feel his fingers slowly pressing his cock in your pussy, as wet as you are, you still gasp at the feeling of his big dick stretching you out. You hear his breath hitch as he pushes himself deeper and deeper into your cunt, “Ah,” he gasps “You’re so- Fuck- tight” he sputters out, grabbing your hips and slowly starts rocking into you.

You lock your legs around his hips, as his pace starts to speed up, all you could hear in the room was skin slapping against each other, wet gushing noise, and loud moans pouring from your mouths. Steve sits up slightly and presses your hips down into the couch so he could get the angle to hit that spongy spot deep inside you, making you moan even louder.

Steves finger found your clit and began to rub circles around it, earning him a loud moan from your sweet lips, and you started to get that feeling twist up in your stomach, and you could tell he was about to come to by the way his thrusts get sloppy and sloppier, his pants and whimpers are louder, his hair is sticking to his forehead, as he shoves his hips against yours.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop- I’m almost there,” you gasp, lifting your hips to meet him, “Shit, me too,” he pants out, he pounds into harder, the couch is creaking underneath you. You back arched up into Steve as he fucks the living daylight out of you, rubbing your sensitive clit even harder, he starts to baffle out your name, little gasp and fucks, groaning into your neck. His hips start to stutter as you both cum, you start seeing stars and grasping on to each other.

Steve slowly fucks out the high, as you whine underneath him. He lies down on top of you, while you both come down from the insanely hot sex you had. You sigh and mutter our lazily “Ok, that was the last time.” Steve laughs into chest, “Yea, right.”

dividers: @bbyg4rlhelps % @hyuneskkami do not copy my work for anything without my permission.

[blue-armadillo]

your nerd!boyfriend gets horny when you're reading ♡ (18+ mdni)

you're perched up on your bed, reading a novel.

but your nerd!boyfriend is getting way too needy. the poor guy.

is it even his fault, though?

your elbows are unintentionally squishing your tits together. and every time you flip a page, your tits bounce ever so slightly, your nipples peeking through the thin tank top you're wearing.

your thighs are folded up towards your chest, and he can swear he sees a bit of your panties through your loose shorts every time you change your reading position.

and gosh. you're reading. that's the hottest thing he's ever seen you do.

the way your eyes scan each page. the subtle shift in your expression every once in a while.

he's leaking. literally. his cock is so hard that it's almost humiliating how horny he's getting just from watching you read. he can feel the pre-cum drenching his underwear.

you're still reading, oblivious to his predicamental situation, when all of a sudden, you hear a whimper.

your eyes shoot to him. and then you see it.

the giant wet spot on the front of his sweatpants. the silhouette of his fat, hard cock glaring at you through the grey fabric.

the tips of his ears turn a bright pink, colour rapidly spreading to the rest of his face.

'"uh- i- i'm just- i didn't mean to-" he stutters in a fit of embarrassment.

"do you enjoy watching me read?" you question him with a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips.

his eyes frantically search the room for a way out of this direct interrogation.

"i- no, n-no, it's not that, i-"

your book falls onto the bed with a soft thud as you lean forward to grab a hold of his twitching dick.

he whimpers.

you flash him an evil smile as you tighten your grip on his shaft, squeezing it in your palm.

the whole of his body shudders and a needy moan escapes his flushed lips, his eyelids shut tightly against each other. more pre-cum oozes out of his tip, imprinting itself onto the fabric of his pants.

"are you sure about that, baby?"

he gives in to your torture.

"i- y-yes, i'm sorry, y- you-re just so sexy when you read. so smart. i c-can't help it. it makes me so h-horny."

and the way he looks at you with such innocence. such helplessness.

gosh, you were gonna have so much fun with him.

"what else? go on."

you begin stroking his shaft through his sweatpants, squeezing it in your palm tighter by the second.

"ahn! f-fuuuuuck, i- i just couldn't stop thinking about y-you riding my c-cock and letting me cum in your p-pussy-"

your pace grows more rapid, your own wetness becoming evident to you.

"yeah? you wanna cum in mommy's pussy? wanna see my tits bounce while i fuck this beautiful cock?"

"y-yes. very, i-"

clearly, your dirty talking is enough to make him finish. his cum spurts out of his clothed cock, making the whole of his sweatpants milky and wet. his body convulses sporadically as he lets out a series of high-pitched moans.

you tut dramatically.

"tsk, tsk, tsk... look how much you came. is that how badly you wanna be inside me?"

he nods rapidly, his chest heaving and his heart pounding relentlessly.

"aww... well, here's the issue. you interrupted me right when things were getting interesting in my book." you do a fake pout. "and, well, i need to know what happens next." you whisper hotly into his ear.

"but i don't want to leave you like this. you're just so cute."

you pin your index finger into his still heaving chest, using the minimum force to push him flat onto the bed. and then you slide his pants down just enough for the whole of his lengthy cock to spring free. some of the dripping cum splashes onto your fingers.

"so, here's what's gonna happen." you say as you slip off your own shorts and situate yourself on top of his waist, hovering barely a few centimetres away from his erect dick.

he trembles beneath you, the closeness of literal paradise - your pussy - sending him off the edge.

"you're gonna read to me. loud and clear."

you hand him the book.

"meanwhile, i'll ride your cock. have i made myself clear?"

his timid hand grabs a hold of the novel while he lies there dazed, completely drunk in anticipation.

"page 269." you enunciate slowly.

and then you slide down onto his quivering dick.

a loud gasp escapes his lips. his breathing quickens and he shuts his eyes, desperately trying to stop himself from cumming so soon.

you're sitting smack on his fat cock now, your hands resting on his abs. your pussy juices slowly dribble down his thighs and you roll your head back at the full feeling.

"page 269. read. or i'm not fucking you."

"y-yes mommy, i- i will read."

he shuffles - more like struggles - to find the right page.

he begins reading. slowly.

and just as slowly, you raise yourself on his cock, until just the tip is teasing your clit. then you sit back down on him with a gentle 'smack'.

his eyes shut tight and his words become frenzied until they sound like mere gibberish to you.

you force him out of his breathy stupor by roughly grabbing his balls. you give them a squeeze.

"read. properly. i need to be able to understand it. read loud and clear for me."

he nods in submission and resumes.

he's still having a hard time but at least he's trying. and are you actually paying attention to what he's reading? maybe. maybe not.

you're just getting off on the way his voice keeps shuddering and trembling. his sudden gasps. his incoherent bumbles. his soft moans. the high-pitched noises.

and his cock. his perfect cock that stretched you out oh so well. his tip kisses your cervix, turning your stomach into a knot.

as you grind on him, you lift your thin tank top to reveal your plump breasts bouncing in tandem with your hips. you scrunch up the top there, leaving your tits on full display for him.

his eyes look away from the book - that he was trying to mumble as a prayer - and his whole body tremors. his words turn into voiceless gasps.

you smirk and play with your breasts, squishing them and pressing them together. and then you have the audacity to increase your pace on his cock.

you're now full-on bouncing on him, your tits jumping in the air vigorously before him.

'i am not letting you cum if you don't read for me."

"y-yes! i'm sorry- i- i'm reading, i'm reading. just p-please let me cum. please-"

"good boy. you like what you see? you like it when i squish my boobs like this?"

he nods vigorously, trying to focus on the stupid words of the book at the same time. but lord oh lord, he is miserably failing.

you can feel his cock twitching inside you. he's close. and so are you.

"and you like it when mommy bounces on your cock like this?" you go even faster now. the sounds of skin slapping skin - a rhythmic 'smack, smack, smack' - reverberating through the room along with your boyfriend's incoherent, strangled words.

"y-yes, i love it. i love it when you ride me- ohh fuuuuccckk, please let me cum!"

"not if you stop reading." you gasp frantically.

he's gonna cry. and he almost does. tears prick at the corners of his eyes because you're being so mean to him. making him read that stupid book when you're bouncing on his dick like the goddess that you are.

but he wants to cum so bad. and so he somehow finds it in himself to keep uttering the words he's barely able to comprehend anymore.

you ride him even faster now. your eyes are rolling back into your sockets, your grip on his chest harsher. the bed creaks below the weight of your combined bodies, and you come.

you moan loud and deep. "fuck! cum in me right now. cum in my pussy! oh, fuck!"

and oh he does. thick ropes of cum shoot into your warm cunt, kissing your clenched walls. his whole body quakes and he lets out a series of anguished moans, his fingers digging into your thighs.

some of the white goo oozes out of your hole, onto the base of his cock. and he lies there, spent and grateful.

you raise yourself off of him ever so slightly.

and when you bend forward, pressing your tits into his face, blood rushes to his crotch. again.

you smirk at him devilishly.

"oh, we're not done yet. want you to fill me up even more."

this time, you sit on him reverse cowgirl style so that he can see exactly what's happening. the way your bodies connect. how your hungry pussy engulfs the whole of his length.

before beginning your sweet torture, you look back at him, smilingly.

"oh, and- continue reading where you left off, yeah?"

he is a dead man.

[biteyoubiteme]

EEEEEKKKK im so excited to start this fic after you had told me about it because great minds think alike and soobin is so eternal sunshine coded like i dont know how to explain it and i just needed to sink my teeth into this and like im so ready to cry i feel like im going to cry after this and i already have my sleeve ready to catch my tears lol <333

How shattered must your heart be, to long for oblivion over a name once uttered like a prayer? Yeah so what the fuck raya- FIRST LINE???? WHY WOULD YOU ALREADY START THE HURT NOT EVEN AN EASE INTO IT a suckerpunch kinda line that i love it really does just hook you in at first read like im on the edge of my seat just gagged wtf- 

"It's a crime to be this pretty when you just woke up, don't you think?" he teases, his nose bumping against yours before he gives your lips a quick peck. Yeah i feel a world of hurt already coming like i love them already this is so unfair- 

You let yourself watch him—watch the way his eyes soften, the way he always waits for you, the way his love sits so effortlessly in the space between you. Oh im about to never forgive you after reading this raya- youre going to hurt me and you cant take it back and ill be here loving soobin and your writing forever but you have to pay the price of me bringing this up all the time because it already HURTS

you notice Soobin’s slippers still neatly tucked by the door. He didn’t wear them? But the floor is cold. Shaking the thought away, you straighten up. "I'm having breakfast with Soobin. We made extra, by the way. You can eat with us." Silence. Wonyoung just looks at you, her expression unreadable, her lips parting slightly before closing again. There’s hesitation—pain, even—as if she’s searching for the right words. "What's wrong—?" i fucking knew it the second the slippers got mentioned i was so like no no no no no this cant be but IT DID AND YOURE EVIL AND I LVOE THIS 

Forgetting is terrifying. Yet, as you sit there, clipping your nailbeds, lost in thought, forgetting made you see him. You saw him this morning, standing there, just as he always had. And without thinking, you breathe. For that fleeting moment, he’s here. Because you forget that he’s gone. CRYING CRYING CRYING 

"You don't understand, Mom." Your voice trembles as tears well in your eyes. Crying has become second nature—easier than eating, easier than sleeping, easier than existing without him. "How am I supposed to act? I'm trying, I promise I am." "Y/N." Your mom wipes her own tears, her breath unsteady. "It’s hard for me too. He was my son." You drop your gaze, staring at the table, at the empty space in front of you, anywhere but at her. "It haunts me," she whispers, "how deeply he loved you. He’s always here. Always with you. Always worrying about you." The words steal the air from your lungs. Your chest tightens, the room tilts. "But do you really think," she continues, voice breaking, "that he wouldn’t understand? That, of all people, he wouldn’t want you to keep going?" WHAT THE FUCK RAYA when i tell you the pain i feel is real and in my chest rn i mean it like tears in my eyes and brimming to spill as i type this out you evil girl why whY WHY- i love it so much like you dont get it and your writing style- 

"He loved you more than his own life," she says softly. "Do you really think it wouldn’t break his heart to see you like this?" yeah im never recovering- 

Two years had passed, and Yeonjun never touched a thing. Dust had settled, time had moved forward, but this room remained frozen—trapped in the moment before everything shattered. They had been roommates for years, but after Soobin died, Yeonjun never found the will to replace him. Never found the strength to erase the evidence that he had once been here, that he had once been real. No one was ever allowed inside. No one but you. THIS IS SO EVIL TO THROW YEONJUN IN THE MIX WTF- YOU WANT ME TO SOB SOB and to have his room frozen in time- no nope no and to only let reader in because reader knows- reader gets it- NO NO NO IM HURT- 

You crossed the threshold like a sinner entering a church, hands trembling, breath unsteady. And when you sat down on the left side of the bed—his side—your chest caved in as you sob. This was where he always slept. Where he curled into you on restless nights. Where he pressed sleepy kisses to your temple, murmuring half-formed dreams against your skin. The sheets no longer smelled like him. Time had stolen that, too. But the ceiling above was the same one you woke up to with him beside you, and if you closed your eyes, you could pretend. Pretend that if you reached out, you’d feel his warmth. Pretend that if you called his name, he’d answer. Pretend that you weren’t alone. But pretending could only take you so far. ‘YOU CROSSED THE THRESHOLD LIKE A SINNER ENTERING A CHURCH-’ RAYA pls have mercy on me i love your way with words im sitting here reading this and just gushing over the way its making me feel even if its sadness over whats happened because your writing makes up for it like wtf the lines and emotion omfg- 

“What the fuck are you doing?” The words tear from his throat again, raw and panicked. The bags slip from his grasp, hitting the floor with a muffled thud, but he doesn’t care. He’s already rushing toward you, dropping to his knees, reaching for your wrist with hands that won’t stop shaking. Sobbing i cannot- 

"Soobin always bawled his eyes out here," you whispered, voice trembling. You laughed, but it cracked in the middle. "Like a baby." Yeonjun exhaled shakily, his own throat tightening. "It makes me wonder how such a tall man could cry that easily." You nodded, wiping at your face as tears slipped free. "He’s a loser." Your sob broke through before you could stop it. "He’s my loser." Yeonjun pressed his lips together, but it was useless. His own tears fell before he could even blink them away. "Fuck," he muttered, voice thick. AND HES CRYING GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT I CANT THINK ABOUT THIS OMFG-  the memories shared is just so heartbreaking like teasing him even while gone and just being hit with the realization that he is gone is just so- nope nope nope- 

Yeonjun exhales sharply, his hands clenching into fists. "I feel like he's going to haunt me any day now for letting you stay like this, and he'd probably call me an idiot for not shaking some sense into you sooner." he half-jokes, but it’s bitter. It’s pained. The two of you laugh, but it doesn’t reach your eyes, dies as quickly as it comes. No i love this sm you dont get it like you know its just eating at yeonjun who wants to care for reader in place of soobin because he one knows how much reader meant to him but also knows what its like to have lost him and its like he lost the both of them in one swoop like ;-; no no no i cant i love this- 

You shake your head, barely able to breathe between the sobs. "I can't let him go." Yeonjun swallows hard, his hands trembling as they reach for yours. "You’re not letting him go," he whispers. "He's already gone." And then, softer, like he’s begging, "And I know, if he were here… to talk to you one last time, he would beg you to keep living." WHAT IF I WAS CRYING RN BC ITS HAPPENING- RAYA I HATE THE WAY YOURE MAKING ME FEEL (i love it a lot actually)

It took him two years to say it, but Yeonjun cried with you that day, his own grief spilling over as you sobbed into the worn-out cushions of the sofa. Because he, too, was once afraid—to let go, to move forward. But he knows now, knows in the deepest part of himself, that Soobin, the kindest soul he had ever met, the person who loved you deeply, would understand. Yeonjun will spend his lifetime visiting Soobin’s grave, honouring him in the quiet ways he can. For Soobin. For you. HE WOULD UNDERSTAND- stop im actually crying like its not funny anymore this hurts like wtf- like honouring soobin would in turn be to help reader like please im so sad rn- 

In the first month after Soobin was gone, his mother stayed by your side. She held you as you cried, made sure you ate, whispered that she understood, because she had lost him too. In the following months, she kept visiting, kept checking in. But as time passed, she began to pull away. Subtly, at first. The visits became less frequent, the calls shorter. And then, one day, they stopped altogether. Your messages, your calls—they went unanswered. His family, the people you once thought of as your own, had slowly closed their doors to you. Except for his sister. I feel so bad for reader stop stop stop- she is just a girl like- 

"How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?" OH! Stop id actually leave and be so sad like wtf- like i get how seeing reader would hurt them and i think even more so like seeing her hold on so tight to soobin if they are finding new ways to deal with his lost because of the passing time and she is still stuck as if he just died the day before and that would hurt them to see her but damn- 

the dent in the couch where he used to sit. No no no why does this line hurt sm- 

You don’t hold back. You collapse into her, sobs wracking through your body as she holds you like she used to. As if you were still hers. As if you always would be. No im crying real tears over this like wtf- ‘as if you were still hers. As if you always would be.” LIKE WTF why would you do this to me raya i thought we were cool?///

And I’ve been so afraid, afraid that his love, instead of saving you would destroy you." She cries, "I prayed for you every single day. That you would find the courage. That you would choose to keep going." STTOOOPPPPPPP

You knew you would never see them again. I couldn't imagine knowing you were going to forget someone that you love and saying goodbye like mourning them even if knowing they will be alive but like gone from your mind you know like that's so wild to think 

"God, I cry so easily now. You’d tease me for it, wouldn’t you?" A broken laugh escapes your lips, but it fades as quickly as it came. "I’m nothing like the person you knew. I'm not that woman anymore. I’ve changed." You take a shuddering breath. "All because you left me." i hope you know the bill im going to send you for putting me through this pain is going to be hefty okay you won't be able to financially recover from the pain you inflicted on me 

"Does it have to be today, Mom?" Your voice wavers, barely above a whisper. "I mean… can we, can we just—" The words die in your throat. You swallow hard. You promised him. This is so evil why do you have me crying-

The first item is pulled free, and the moment your eyes land on it, something inside you crumbles. "Wa-wait," A sob rips through you, raw and unrestrained, your whole body trembling. The nurse kneels beside you, her eyes unbearably soft, understanding. "It will be much easier after this," she murmurs. NO YOURE GOIGN TO DO EACH ONE OMFG IM TOO WEAK FOR THAT HUH-

A single tear slips free, tracing a path down your cheek, and despite the agony twisting in your chest, you manage the smallest, most broken smile because you see his face. I love your writing sm omfg 

ten-year-old eyes THE MET AT 10 YEARS OLD THIS IS SO FUCKING SICK AND TWISTED WTF- 

Some whispered bets under their breath, stifling laughs as you and Soobin yapped at each other like two kids fighting over the last piece of candy. Me saying ive been crying this whole time but like fr bc they are just ten and giggling and talking like you cannot take that away from me thats so sad thats not cool raya (i love it sm) 

That day, for the first time, you let someone else use your glitter pen. Im not well- 

Soobin shrugs, scratching the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at you. "You wouldn’t shut up about it," he mumbles. "Figured it’d be easier to just get you one instead of listening to you whine forever." Your throat tightens, something warm spreading through your chest.  You can't stop yourself from hugging him. His hands stilling on his sides.  "Shut up," you whisper. "And thank you." If you weren’t pressed against him, your face buried in the fabric of his hoodie, the hoodie you gifted him, you would’ve seen the deep flush creeping up his neck, turning his cheeks a fierce shade of red. No no no no no no no no no i love them sm AND I KNOW HE DIES LIEK NO THEY ARE JUST LITTLE AND IN LOVE OR LIKE LIKE WITH EACH OTHER AND UGH NO NO NO NO NO NO

And so, you played. You laughed until your stomach hurt, cursed loud enough that Soobin’s sister pounded on the door, yelling at you both to shut up. But it didn’t matter. Nothing outside that room ever really did when it was just the two of you. Raya sleep with one eye open you are HURTING ME

Please let forever be like this. No its not funny face reveal to show you i have real tears like i cannot see the keys rn like im not kidding this si so not funny wtf RAYA I HAVE IT OUT FOR YOU WHHHHHYYYY THIS HURTS MY WEAK HEART THIS IS A SHOT RIGHT AT IT AND YOU AIM SO TRUE WTF- 

"It's a crime to be this pretty when you just woke up, don't you think?" RAYA @ USER DAWNGYU I NEED YOU TO HAND WRITE ME A LETTER OF APOLOGY WHY WHY WHY WOULD YOU CONNECT TO THE START OF THE FIC LIKE A MONSTER AND RIP MY HEART OUT, STILL BEATING, FOR NOTHING MORE THAN A GALLON OF MY TEARS??? YOURE SO EVIL

"But the truth is, nothing makes me happier than waking up beside you. Nothing feels more right than this—just us, here, like this. So I chose this moment, this place… because I want it forever." His voice trembles, his hands unfolding the box before you. The silver ring with a single diamond sitting atop. "So please," he whispers, his throat tight, his eyes searching yours. "Could you—will you—marry me?" FUCK 

STOP THE NEXT LINE WAS ALSO FUCK AND I LAUGHED EVEN WHILE CRYING CAUSE I DIDNT SEE IT TILL I WENT BACK TO THE FIC LMAO 

Your heart seizes. The box? What else was in the box? You try to remember, but your mind is a blur of static, you can't. You can't remember now. “No,” you sob, curling around it, pressing it to your lips, your chest, anywhere that might keep it safe. “Please. Not this." get this fic away from me i cant look at it anymore or i fear i wont be able to recover i love it sb 

“How many babies would you want?” AND THE PAIN GETS WORSE WTF 

Your heart flutters. “We don’t even have a wedding date yet.” Another red light. Another kiss against your hand. “I know,” he says, voice softer now. “It just crossed my mind. Last night, I dreamt of a little girl… she looked just like you.” He pauses, his thumb brushing against your skin. “She was so beautiful. Like you. And I—” His words are cut off by the violent, shattering force of metal colliding with metal. The world twists—spins—flips. A scream rips from your throat as the car is thrown into chaos, gravity shifting, glass cracking, the deafening sound of impact swallowing everything. In the middle of it all, his hand finds yours. Instinctive. Desperate. Then—stillness. Dont talk to me DONT EVER TALK TO ME ABOUT THIS UNLESS YOU WANT ME TO BE A BLUBBERING MESS WTF- this also reminds me of the vow i was so obsessed with that movie in middle school lmao but IT KILLS ME 

Then his fingers find your face. No no no no no no no no nonono  onononononono this is actually not okay raya youre so mean! This is so mean! This is evil work EVIL im like real crying its not funny anynmore it was never funny but its like devastating like omfg-  HE REACHED FOR HER RAYA HER FACE WTF BLOODY AND ALL 

“It doesn’t hurt when you’re looking at me. We’re gonna get help soon. You're gonna get help soon, okay?” never talk to me again 

but for a brief moment, your fingers drift to your neck, expecting something to be there. But it’s bare.  No no no no no

You're about to step outside when someone walks in. A bouquet of white roses in their arms. Your breath catches, feet falter. Your head turns instinctively, eyes following the flowers, something deep in your chest stirring, something you can’t name. Your mother notices. "What is it?" You blink, exhaling softly. "Nothing." You force a small smile, eyes lingering on the roses. "Those flowers… it’s beautiful." STOP reader still remembering but not at the same time is so evil

“You’re a fan of Inuyasha?” The voice beside you is warm, curious. You turn, finding a tall boy with black specs watching you, his hands tucked into his pockets. He shifts slightly when you meet his gaze, and after a beat, he offers you a small, hesitant smile. It’s barely there, just a quirk of his lips. And yet… his dimples poke through anyway. He’s cute. “It’s my favourite,” you reply, tearing your eyes away from the painting. He nods, a quiet hum escaping him. “Mine too.” Then, after a pause, “Kikyo or Kagome?” You blink at him. He stares at you, and something in your chest stirs. Not deja vu—no, it’s not that fleeting, ghostly sense of repetition. This is different. Deeper. It feels like a memory you never knew you had, something tucked away in the quiet corners of your mind. Like a song, you don’t remember learning but somehow know all the words to. Like a book misplaced on a shelf, rediscovered years later—its pages worn, its story intact, as if it had been waiting for you to return.It feels like something preserved, sealed in the vault of you.  Something... archived. "What's your name?" i know i just put a whole ass block of text but like i cannot i really do love this fic i love when things circle back to other things and this just hits so fucking hard TEN YEAR OLD THEM TO THIS  no im not okay like this hurts but like in a way that is like oh i think i needed it but like i didnt know i did like i dont know how to explain it but like i loved this fic i loved this i love raya but if i think about this while giggling with you i might but stop mid giggle and side eye you remembering what you put me through because omfg i cried sm like its not funny but UGH  thank you for this fic raya youre such a good writer i love love love love love it sm also how does it feel to now have made an enemy out of me??? Huuum raya??? Are you happy to have made me cry and feel things??? Hummm you like hurting us??? Huuummm??? Anyways i LOVED THSI SO FUCKING MYCH YOU DONT GET IT I LOVED IT AND CRIED TO IT AND JUST UGH 

THE ARCHIVE

pairing: choi soobin x reader

"Here. Please read each clause carefully dear."

The papers were handed in your hands, making your heart pound, each beat a hammer striking painfully inside your ribs. Your fingers tremble against the pen, gripping it so tightly your knuckles ache, but the pressure doesn’t help you—nothing ever will. Your eyes trace the final lines, the words smudging under the sting in your eyes.

You have given extensive thought behind your decision and give "Brighter Days Inc." the exclusive permission to remove this person completely from your memory:

☐ Yes ☐ No

warnings: reader discretion is advised. neuro-science fiction au, set in the year 2125, romance, angst, psychological drama, character!death, depression!, anxiety!, stages of grief, flashbacks, self-destructive!reader, self!harm, accidents, everything written is a work of fiction. if any of the warnings above might be triggering for you, please step back. let me know if I missed anything.

wc: 13k — playlist.

notes: inspired by parts of ariana’s we can’t be friends music video aka eternal sunshine of the spotless mind... concept is there, but the plot itself will take a different path. oh, and buckle up.

a big thank you to my beta reader.

How shattered must your heart be, to long for oblivion over a name once uttered like a prayer?

"Sweetheart."

Warm hands find your waist, circling you with a gentle pull, long fingers tracing slow, reverent patterns across your bare skin. A soft squeeze follows, then, warm—featherlight kisses trail from your neck to your ear, each one taking time to settle on your skin. Your name slips from his lips, barely more than a breath, before he tucks himself closer, body melting into yours.

"Wake up, sleepyhead."

You laugh softly when you feel him press another kiss behind your ear. He always wakes you up like this—unhurried, endlessly affectionate. And no matter how much you loathe early mornings, he somehow makes them worth waking up for.

Turning over, you’re met with his familiar smirk, eyes already tracing every inch of your face like it’s the first time he’s seeing you. His hands find your cheeks, cradling them gently—like he always does. As if he hasn’t held you a thousand times before. As if you haven’t been his to hold since high school.

"It's a crime to be this pretty when you just woke up, don't you think?" he teases, his nose bumping against yours before he gives your lips a quick peck.

"It's too early for your silly jokes, Soobin," you mumble, voice still heavy with sleep as you reach for him, burying your face against his shoulder blades. His warmth is familiar, comforting. Your eyes slip shut again, and he hums softly, his hand tracing slow, soothing patterns on your back.

"I'm not joking," he murmurs.

"Okay," you whisper back, not quite awake but not quite asleep either.

A beat of silence. Then—

"Are you sleeping again?"

"No."

"You’re going to be late."

"Uh-huh."

He exhales a quiet laugh, shifting beside you, and when you finally lift your head, his face is already turned toward you, bathed in the gentle glow of morning. His dimples appear with a smile—one he always saves for you, like tiny craters in the universe of his face. You reach out, pressing a finger into the tiny hollow of his cheek, and his grin only widens.

How does he never grow tired of looking at you like this?

"Come on, let’s eat, yeah?" he coaxes, pinching your cheeks.

You let yourself watch him—watch the way his eyes soften, the way he always waits for you, the way his love sits so effortlessly in the space between you.

"I love you," you whisper.

His fingers brush your cheek, his smile turning impossibly fonder.

"I love you more."

He somehow managed to pull you out of bed, though not without a few sleepy complaints. You lazily threw your hair into a ponytail—an attempt at looking somewhat awake. The moment he caught sight of it, though, laughter spilled from his lips, his dimples deepening with amusement.

“What is this?” he teased, reaching out to play with the loose strands. "A masterpiece of chaos?"

"It's ugly, isn't it?" You pouted, lips jutting out just enough to make his teasing falter. Panic flashed across his face before he quickly cupped your cheeks, his thumbs brushing over your skin as he pressed frantic kisses all over.

“No. You’re beautiful,” he murmured between each kiss. “Always beautiful.”

You let him win that small battle, if only because the warmth of his touch made surrendering easy.

It's always easy with him.

"Put some butter and milk in it," Soobin says, watching you whisk eggs in a bowl. He’s perched at the kitchen table, chin resting in his hand, his gaze fixed on you as you move around the kitchen. The pancakes on the stove have just started to sizzle.

"You like them better that way," he adds.

"Oh, right!" You laugh, hurrying to grab the missing ingredients from the fridge. You mix them in just the way he likes, and when the pancakes are golden and ready, you set the plates down in front of both of you, fetching the utensils.

"Thank you, love," he hums, cutting into his pancake as you take your first bite. A satisfied groan leaves your lips as the warmth of the food soothes your hunger.

"Nothing beats pancakes for breakfast," you sigh. "You and your obsession with them."

He chuckles, watching you with amusement, his elbow propped on the table and his chin resting in his palm. "Good job, chef."

You roll your eyes, dramatically bowing. "You're welcome."

He grins before his expression softens. "You have plans later, right? Be careful out there, okay?"

"Yes, sir."

"And—"

Before he can finish, the sound of the doorbell cuts through the moment.

"I’ll get it," you say, pushing your chair back.

He nods at you with a smile, watching as you disappear toward the door.

You step toward the door of your apartment, fingers curling around the handle before pulling it open.

"Wonyoung, good morning!" you greet with a soft smile, but the way her eyes widen—just for a fraction of a second—doesn’t go unnoticed. She hides it quickly, clearing her throat as she shifts the bags in her hands.

"Morning," she says, stepping inside, her gaze immediately scanning you.

Her gaze sweeps over you, taking in the messy hair, the oversized shirt that’s swallowed you whole—the same one she saw you wearing last time. The deep shadows under your eyes, the pale exhaustion etched into your skin.

"Are you okay?" she asks, careful, cautious.

"Yeah, I am," you answer without hesitation, as if saying it fast enough will make it true. You turn to grab the house slippers meant for her, but your fingers hesitate when you notice Soobin’s slippers still neatly tucked by the door.

He didn’t wear them? But the floor is cold.

Shaking the thought away, you straighten up. "I'm having breakfast with Soobin. We made extra, by the way. You can eat with us."

Silence.

Wonyoung just looks at you, her expression unreadable, her lips parting slightly before closing again. There’s hesitation—pain, even—as if she’s searching for the right words.

"What's wrong—?"

You don’t get to finish.

The bags slip from her hands, hitting the floor with a dull thud as she strides toward you. Before you can react, her arms wrap around you, pulling you in tight. The force of it makes you stumble slightly, but she doesn’t let go. Her grip is desperate, as if she’s holding onto something fragile, something already breaking.

You feel her take a deep, shaking breath before she whispers, voice barely above a whisper.

"Y/N… Soobin’s been gone for two years now."

Panic grips you as your breath catches in your throat. Your head snaps toward the table—the very spot where you left him—only to find it empty—a plate of untouched food, sitting there like a ghost.

Everyone in the world fears something—even those who swear they don’t. And at the core of it all, there’s death. It is inevitable and final. It’s like spending years studying, only to fail every job interview. Like working yourself to the bone for months, only to walk away empty-handed. Like pouring your heart into a meal, only to take a bite and realise it tastes terrible.

But for you, fear isn’t just about endings. It isn’t just about pain. What haunts you more than death itself is the thought of being forgotten—or worse, forgetting.

Forgetting is terrifying. Yet, as you sit there, clipping your nailbeds, lost in thought, forgetting made you see him. You saw him this morning, standing there, just as he always had. And without thinking, you breathe.

For that fleeting moment, he’s here. Because you forget that he’s gone.

"Y/N."

You look up from the table, your fingers stiff against the wood. Your mom's eyes are swollen, glassy with unshed tears, rimmed red from exhaustion. She looks at you with so much pity it makes your stomach churn. "Are you even listening to me?"

"I am, Mom."

She exhales sharply, dragging a hand down her face. "I said we should go back to Dr. Park for another check-up. And maybe… maybe we should finally consider what she’s been recommending—"

"No." Your voice is firm, cutting through the air. "It’s just a waste of money—"

"That’s why I’m working two jobs, dear." Her voice shakes as she reaches for your hands. You flinch, but she doesn’t let go. Her grip is warm, trembling.

"You’ve been hallucinating again." She swallows hard. "I thought time would make it better. I really did." Her breath hitches. "But it’s been two years now. Your dad... he’s sick. He can't even get up on the bed, and—"

"You don't understand, Mom." Your voice trembles as tears well in your eyes. Crying has become second nature—easier than eating, easier than sleeping, easier than existing without him. "How am I supposed to act? I'm trying, I promise I am."

"Y/N." Your mom wipes her own tears, her breath unsteady. "It’s hard for me too. He was my son."

You drop your gaze, staring at the table, at the empty space in front of you, anywhere but at her.

"It haunts me," she whispers, "how deeply he loved you. He’s always here. Always with you. Always worrying about you."

The words steal the air from your lungs. Your chest tightens, the room tilts.

"But do you really think," she continues, voice breaking, "that he wouldn’t understand? That, of all people, he wouldn’t want you to keep going?"

The chair screeches against the floor as you stand abruptly. Your mother flinches at the sound. You turn to leave, but her voice stops you just before you step away.

"He loved you more than his own life," she says softly. "Do you really think it wouldn’t break his heart to see you like this?"

You bite your lip as you step out of your parents' house. Wonyoung had dropped you off earlier, she didn’t trust leaving you alone. No one does anymore. Everywhere you go, people watch you with that same look—pity, like you’re a glass figure they’re waiting to see shatter.

Like you’ll be the next one to disappear.

Your chest tightens as tears prick the corners of your eyes, blurring the edges of the world. A hiccup escapes, sharp and unexpected, and you clamp a hand over your mouth as if that might keep everything else from spilling out. You fumble with the car door, your fingers trembling against the handle. It’s only been three months since you managed to get behind the wheel again, but even now, the familiarity of it feels like a fragile lifeline—something that says I’m still here. I’m still trying.

Two years. Two years since his funeral. Two years since you last stepped into your office. Two years of nights that felt endless, of mornings that felt pointless. Two years of watching the people around you crumble under the weight of your grief, their hearts breaking because yours refuses to heal.

And for two years, the doctors have been whispering the same thing, their voices clinical, detached.

The procedure of erasing him from your memory completely.

Your knuckles whiten around the steering wheel as you pull out of the driveway, heart pounding harder than the engine. Every turn, every streetlight, every crack in the pavement feels like it carries his shadow. But there’s only one place where it feels bearable—one place where you can almost convince yourself he’s still there.

Choi Yeonjun’s eyes swept across your face, taking in the tear-streaked cheeks, the vacant gaze, the way you trembled just standing there. He didn’t say anything, just stepped aside and pushed the door open a little wider. You walked past him, your steps sure, like you were following an invisible thread pulling you toward the one place you needed.

"Do you need anything?" You shook your head. Because what you need isn't here anymore.

And then you slipped inside. His room.

Two years had passed, and Yeonjun never touched a thing. Dust had settled, time had moved forward, but this room remained frozen—trapped in the moment before everything shattered. They had been roommates for years, but after Soobin died, Yeonjun never found the will to replace him. Never found the strength to erase the evidence that he had once been here, that he had once been real.

No one was ever allowed inside.

No one but you.

You crossed the threshold like a sinner entering a church, hands trembling, breath unsteady. And when you sat down on the left side of the bed—his side—your chest caved in as you sob.

This was where he always slept. Where he curled into you on restless nights. Where he pressed sleepy kisses to your temple, murmuring half-formed dreams against your skin. The sheets no longer smelled like him. Time had stolen that, too. But the ceiling above was the same one you woke up to with him beside you, and if you closed your eyes, you could pretend.

Pretend that if you reached out, you’d feel his warmth. Pretend that if you called his name, he’d answer. Pretend that you weren’t alone.

But pretending could only take you so far.

You never found the strength to open the door again. You curled into yourself, gripping the blanket like it could hold you together. And when sleep finally came, it was with his name spilling from your lips.

A name that no longer had a future.

The knocking pulled you from the depths of sleep, insistent. You groaned, the sound barely more than a rasp, your throat raw from last night’s tears. Your eyelids felt swollen, heavy, reluctant to open. "Yeah?"

"It's afternoon," Yeonjun said through the door. His tone was careful, but you could hear the quiet concern woven between the words. "You’ve been sleeping for over twelve hours."

Shit.

You knew that wasn’t normal. But then again, nothing about you had been normal for a long time. Some nights, sleep was a stranger you couldn’t reach no matter how exhausted you were. Other days, it swallowed you whole, dragging you under until the hours blurred into nothingness. Staying in bed felt easier.

"I'm sorry," you murmured, "I'll come out in a minute."

Yeonjun hesitated. You knew he wanted to say something—to tell you that you didn’t have to apologize, that he understood, that he wasn’t judging you. But in the end, he just sighed. "Okay."

You listened as his footsteps retreated down the hall.

With a heavy heart, you forced yourself to move, peeling the blanket away like it weighed a thousand pounds. Every part of you ached—not just physically, but in a way that settled deep into your bones, into the spaces between your ribs. The bathroom mirror reflected a version of you that you barely recognized. Hollow eyes, a face drawn thin by grief, lips pressed into something that was neither a frown nor a smile—just existence. Surviving.

You turned on the faucet, splashing cold water onto your face, letting the chill bite into your skin. Your fingers gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles white, as you sucked in a breath.

And then you saw them. On the shelf behind you; Soobin’s shelf.

Your hairbands.

The sight of them made you waver. Because it was proof, wasn’t it? Proof that once, you had a place here. That once, he was here to tease you about leaving them everywhere, to slip them onto his own wrist absentmindedly, to hand them back to you with a laugh.

"You always lose your hairbands, baby."

Soobin's voice was soft and teasing as he pressed lazy kisses along your cheek, your temple, anywhere he could reach. You tried to ignore him, focused on brushing your teeth, but he never made it easy. His hands slipped under your shirt, palms warm against your bare skin, tracing absentminded patterns over your stomach. He always did that—always found some excuse to touch you.

"So," he murmured, grinning against your jaw as he pressed your cheeks to his. "I bought a whole stack of them."

You paused, raising an eyebrow at his reflection in the mirror. "A whole stack?"

"Mhm." His fingers tightened slightly, possessive. "So now you have one less excuse to leave—and one more reason to come back."

Your hairbands. Like you, were waiting for someone who was never coming back. You shake your head, snapping yourself out of it. Then you heard knocking again. "Yeonjun. I said I’ll be out in a minute."

A pause. Then, softer this time—

"It’s been an hour since you last said that. Are you okay?"

You exhale, the breath shaky, uneven. Time has slipped through your fingers again, and you hadn’t even noticed. But that’s nothing new.

It happens more often than not.

You sit with a book in your lap, determined to do what they say might help—immerse yourself in another world, let fiction be a temporary escape. But you blink, and somehow hours have passed, and you’re still stuck on the same page, the words forgotten.

You eat lunch, fork moving mechanically between your plate and your mouth, only to glance outside and realize the sky has darkened, the day gone without your permission.

You tell yourself you’ll go out, that today, you’ll meet Wonyoung like you promised. You put on your shoes, even grab your coat. But then the door never opens. And before you know it, she’s the one standing there, knocking, asking why you didn’t come—why you never showed up.

You know it’s getting worse. And the worst part? You don’t know how to stop it. You don’t want to stop it.

Because it means moving on.

Moving on has always felt like erasing him. Like accepting a world where Soobin is nothing more than a memory—left behind.

And the thought that one day, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday—everyone, even you, will stop mourning him?

That terrifies you more than anything.

You eat slowly, each bite feeling heavier than the last. Yeonjun had made you bacon and eggs—simple, warm, something that should’ve felt like comfort. But the food is cold now, left waiting for you just like he was. He eats in silence, but you feel it—his eyes keep flickering toward your wrist, checking. He doesn’t say anything.

It yanks you straight back to those first few months after Soobin’s death.

"Y/N?" Yeonjun’s face is sharp with concern as he pushes open the door. He had knocked—once, twice—but you hadn’t answered. That alone was enough to send his heart into a spiral.

"I brought you some food—" His words cut off the moment his eyes land on you. You’re sitting at the edge of the bed, shoulders curled inward, your body eerily still. But then he sees it—your wrist, the red staining your fingers, spilling onto the white sheets like ink bleeding through paper.

His breath catches. And then—

“What the fuck are you doing?” The words tear from his throat again, raw and panicked. The bags slip from his grasp, hitting the floor with a muffled thud, but he doesn’t care. He’s already rushing toward you, dropping to his knees, reaching for your wrist with hands that won’t stop shaking.

“What are you doing?!” He shouts—not out of anger, not at you—but because he’s terrified.

It scares him. God, it scares him. What would his best friend say?

"I—I don’t know," you sob, voice wrecked. Your body trembles under his hold, and the words spill out between uneven breaths. You just saw it and you couldn't stop yourself. "I don’t know what to do anymore."

Yeonjun clenches his jaw, his own tears burning behind his eyes. "You must not do this," He’s trying to be strong for you, but his hands betray him, quivering as they hold onto you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away completely. Because you might. Because you want to. "Please, Y/N. Please."

You were so beautiful in Soobin’s love, and now it clings to you like a disease.

"I know it’s hard," he chokes out, pulling you into his arms. "Fuck, I know. But think of his face." He pleads. "Whenever you see your wrist, whenever you look at your skin—think of him. Do you ever want to hurt him?"

"Jjunie." Yeonjun's eyes lift to meet yours. "You don’t have to keep looking at my wrists anymore,"

A breath leaves him, slow and measured, as if he’s been waiting to hear that. He tries for a smile, small. "It worked like a miracle, didn’t it?"

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. "He always is." The smile that flickers across your lips feels foreign, like something borrowed from a version of yourself that no longer exists.

"My dad…" you hesitate, fingers curling into the fabric of your sweater. "I—I need to go back to work."

Yeonjun watches you carefully, as if afraid you’ll change your mind. He nods. "It’s only about time, Y/N."

Silence stretches between you before he speaks again, voice careful, "Are you considering the treatment?"

You don’t answer.

Yeonjun didn’t kick you out. He never would.

In the afternoon, the two of you sat on the couch—long enough to fit three, but only occupied by two. And yet, without thinking, without speaking, you both left a space between you. A space for him.

Infinity War played on the screen, a movie you’d both seen more times than you could count. It was muscle memory at this point—the dialogue, the fight scenes, the inevitable heartbreak.

The credits rolled, and the room felt heavier.

"Soobin always bawled his eyes out here," you whispered, voice trembling. You laughed, but it cracked in the middle. "Like a baby."

Yeonjun exhaled shakily, his own throat tightening. "It makes me wonder how such a tall man could cry that easily."

You nodded, wiping at your face as tears slipped free. "He’s a loser." Your sob broke through before you could stop it. "He’s my loser."

Yeonjun pressed his lips together, but it was useless. His own tears fell before he could even blink them away. "Fuck," he muttered, voice thick.

Neither of you moved.

Because some absences can never be replaced.

"It's time for you to move on," Yeonjun says, his voice steady but careful. "You tried going back to work, but you can’t. You should be out there, living your life."

A fresh wave of grief crashes over you. "It feels like I'm betraying him, Jun." Your voice breaks, and before you know it, you're fully sobbing, the weight of it pressing down on your chest like it might crush you.

Yeonjun exhales sharply, his hands clenching into fists. "I feel like he's going to haunt me any day now for letting you stay like this, and he'd probably call me an idiot for not shaking some sense into you sooner." he half-jokes, but it’s bitter. It’s pained. The two of you laugh, but it doesn’t reach your eyes, dies as quickly as it comes.

"But if you're worried about him—about who will take care of his… grave," Yeonjun hesitates as if the word itself could break you. "I promise, I’ll do that. His family will, too. He won’t be forgotten, Y/N. Ever." You hate it. Hate that he’s making sense. Hate that every word he says feels like it's prying you away from Soobin, piece by piece.

"Your father, your mother, your siblings... they need you back," he presses on, his voice gentler now. "And you… you need to go on with your life. That treatment, it’s the only thing that can help you now."

You shake your head, barely able to breathe between the sobs. "I can't let him go."

Yeonjun swallows hard, his hands trembling as they reach for yours. "You’re not letting him go," he whispers. "He's already gone."

And then, softer, like he’s begging, "And I know, if he were here… to talk to you one last time, he would beg you to keep living."

It took him two years to say it, but Yeonjun cried with you that day, his own grief spilling over as you sobbed into the worn-out cushions of the sofa. Because he, too, was once afraid—to let go, to move forward. But he knows now, knows in the deepest part of himself, that Soobin, the kindest soul he had ever met, the person who loved you deeply, would understand.

Yeonjun will spend his lifetime visiting Soobin’s grave, honouring him in the quiet ways he can. For Soobin. For you.

Even if he has a family of his own one day. Even if his hair turns grey, and his legs grow too weak to stand. Even then, he will still go. And he’ll pass that promise down to his children, to his grandchildren, so that Soobin’s name is never forgotten.

But if he lets you waste away like this, there will be no future to carry on. And the guilt would eat him alive because Yeonjun knows—more than anyone—what Soobin would have wanted.

It’s cruel, cruel that he had to pull the names of your family into this, had to remind you of the people who are still waiting for you to come home. But it’s the truth. And if you can’t find the strength to fight for yourself, then at least let them be the reason you try.

You step out of the car, your breath hitching as your eyes sweep over the familiar neighbourhood—the one you used to visit so often, the one that once felt like a second home. Now, after two years, it feels like stepping into a past life.

"Y/N!"

You barely have time to react before Soobin’s older sister is pulling you into her arms, her laugh warm, her embrace familiar. It nearly unravels you.

"I missed you," she murmurs.

You swallow the lump in your throat. "I missed you too, unnie."

And then your eyes land on the small boy in her arms—the baby who was just two the last time you saw him. Now four, grown but still soft with childhood. His wobbly cheeks, the way his dimples deepen when he shifts shyly under your gaze—

It’s too much.

"Hi," you say, voice barely above a whisper.

"Hi," he replies, eyes wide, cheeks flushing as he clings closer to his mother.

You look away. Because he looks too much like him. Because for a second, your mind plays cruel tricks, and you almost convince yourself that if you just turn your head, Soobin will be right there, smiling at you like he used to.

But he's not. He never will be.

"Come inside," his sister says gently, as if she understands the storm inside you. "Mom knows you’re here." And you nod, forcing your feet to move, even as your heart screams for you to turn back.

In the first month after Soobin was gone, his mother stayed by your side. She held you as you cried, made sure you ate, whispered that she understood, because she had lost him too.

In the following months, she kept visiting, kept checking in. But as time passed, she began to pull away. Subtly, at first. The visits became less frequent, the calls shorter. And then, one day, they stopped altogether. Your messages, your calls—they went unanswered. His family, the people you once thought of as your own, had slowly closed their doors to you.

Except for his sister.

She leads you inside, her expression unreadable as she gestures toward the dining table.

And there she is. The woman you once called mother.

"Mother," you bow, the word slipping from your lips before you can stop it.

She doesn’t even turn to look at you. "How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?" Her voice is clipped, distant. "And why are you here?"

You swallow, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you. "Because I wanted to see you. I wanted to talk to you."

Finally, she rises from her chair, her gaze locking onto yours. And it is nothing like before. It is cold. Empty. Unforgiving.

“Get out, Y/N,” she says, her voice devoid of warmth. “Don’t come here anymore.” Your chest tightens. You don’t even realize your hands have started shaking.

"Mom, don't be like this," Soobin's sister cuts in, her voice soft but firm.

And for just a moment—a brief, moment—you see it. The way her lips press together. The way her shoulders tense. The way her eyes, for just a second, glisten as though they, too, are on the verge of breaking. She blinks the tears away before they can fall, turning away from you, like it’s the only way she can keep standing. She walks away without any second glance.

“I’m sorry,” Soobin’s sister whispers.

You force yourself to smile, though it trembles on your lips. “It’s okay,” you murmur. “I just… I just really need to talk to her.”

You spent the hour with Soobin’s sister, unraveling everything you had kept inside. Every dark thought, every ounce of guilt, every desperate attempt to hold onto him. And she listened. She held your hand, pulled you into her arms.

But time moves forward, even when you don’t want it to.

You check the clock, exhaling. “I’m going to try talking to her again. I have plans after this, too.” She doesn’t stop you. But the way she squeezes your hand before letting go, it’s as if she knows how much this is going to hurt.

As you walk through the house, memories seep into every corner. His presence is everywhere. The framed pictures lined the walls, the dent in the couch where he used to sit. It’s overwhelming. It steals the breath from your lungs, forcing you to press a hand to your chest just to steady yourself.

You don’t belong here anymore. And yet, you can’t bring yourself to leave.

The kitchen light is on. The soft rhythm of a knife against the cutting board fills the silence.

She’s there.

Soobin’s mother stands at the counter, slicing vegetables with practised precision. You swallow, stepping forward, trying to find your voice. She doesn’t look up.

“Didn’t I tell you to leave?”

"Mom, I missed you." Your voice trembles, barely above a whisper, and for a moment, her hands still. The steady chopping ceases, but she doesn’t turn. She keeps her back to you, her shoulders rising and falling with each controlled breath. "I came here because… I wanted to let you know that I think it’s time. I’m going to get the treatment."

Your own arms wrap around yourself, as if bracing against the cold creeping into your bones. "It will alter my memory. There’s big a chance I’ll forget you, too."

The words shatter something inside you. "But I wanted to say it—just one last time. Thank you. For everything. For giving birth to Soobin. For raising him into someone who could love me so deeply, who made me feel safe, who made me feel like I belonged here. Thank you for accepting me, for loving me. And I love you. I always will. I just… I just hope you can forgive me for what I’m about to do."

At your last words, she turns. And for the first time in a year, you see it—the grief she’s buried, the pain she’s carried alone. Her eyes, red and wet, spill over as she closes the space between you, pulling you into her arms.

You don’t hold back. You collapse into her, sobs wracking through your body as she holds you like she used to. As if you were still hers. As if you always would be.

Her hands run soothingly over your back, her voice breaking. "My daughter… I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you had to go through this."

She clutches you tighter. "I thought… if I pushed you away, if I kept my distance, maybe you’d find a way to stand on your own. I thought if I pushed you away, maybe it would force you to move forward. Maybe it would break whatever was keeping you trapped in the past. It felt like it was my fault you couldn’t move on. Our fault. That the love my son left behind has been anchoring you instead of lifting you. And I’ve been so afraid, afraid that his love, instead of saving you would destroy you." She cries, "I prayed for you every single day. That you would find the courage. That you would choose to keep going."

You shake your head against her shoulder, your grip on her tightening. "I understand. I do. I just—" Your breath hitches. "I’m scared. I’m scared to forget him."

She exhales shakily, her lips pressing against your hair. "Forgetting… it’s easier than suffering for the rest of your life." Her hands cup your face, her thumbs brushing the tears away even as her own continue to fall.

"You won’t lose him. Not really. Whatever Soobin left in this world, it’s you." Your breath shudders as she presses a kiss to your forehead.

"I want you to live, sweetheart. To build a life that he would be proud of. A new one, filled with love, with hope. And maybe, one day, we’ll meet again—whether you remember me or not. And even then, I will love you. Always. Just like he did."

It was a hard goodbye—one that clung to your skin like the scent of home you’d never return to. Their arms around you had been warm, their voices soft, their smiles trembling. And as you drove away, watching Soobin’s family grow smaller in the rearview mirror, you forced yourself to smile, to wave back.

But the moment they faded from sight, the mask crumbled.

Your hands tightened around the wheel as your breath hitched, but it was useless. You pulled over, burying your face in your palms, sobs wracking your body.

You knew you would never see them again.

A shuddering breath escaped you as you wiped your tears with shaking fingers, swallowing against the grief clawing at your throat. You couldn’t fall apart now. Not yet.

Because there was still one more goodbye to say.One more person waiting for you. One who had left but never truly rested. Because for two years, you hadn’t found the courage to let go.

To free him.

You don’t know how you managed to bring yourself here. Your legs felt heavy the whole way, like they knew what your heart refused to accept—that every step forward was another step closer to goodbye.

The grave is pristine, not a speck of dust in sight. Someone else had been here. Someone else still comes. And for a moment, a tiny splinter of relief wedges itself into your grief. He’s being cared for, even without you.

You stand there, your throat tightening, your lips parting—then closing again. The words are trapped somewhere deep inside you, tangled between the memories and the pain. What do you even say? How do you speak when just looking at his name carved into stone is enough to make your chest cave in? How do you even start? What do you say to someone who can’t answer back?

And then your eyes fall to the base of the headstone. White roses. Fresh. Untouched.

Your breath stumbles.

White roses—his favourite. The same ones he gave you that night, trembling fingers offering a bouquet, his eyes filled with so much hope. Now, they sit beside his grave, a brutal echo of the past.

And you wonder—when did forever become something so short?

You swallow hard. "Hey," you whisper. Just one word, and already, you feel yourself crying. "Are you somewhere nice?"

"I really… I really hope you are," your voice trembles, your vision blurring. "God, I cry so easily now. You’d tease me for it, wouldn’t you?" A broken laugh escapes your lips, but it fades as quickly as it came. "I’m nothing like the person you knew. I'm not that woman anymore. I’ve changed." You take a shuddering breath. "All because you left me."

The confession spills out before you can stop it, "You left me here alone, and I didn’t know what to do. Because you were my world, and our plans—" Your voice cracks. You squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head. "No. No, Soobin. I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean any of it. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry."

Your knees buckle, and you let them. You fold into yourself, pressing your palms against your face as the sobs finally come, wrenching their way out of you. "I’m weak," you choke out. "I’ve been nothing but weak without you."

Time slips away. You don’t know how long you sit there, trembling, letting everything have its way with you. At some point, people come and go, visiting the graves nearby. They stay for a while, whispering prayers, placing flowers, saying their goodbyes. And then, one by one, they leave.

But you don’t.

Because you know—this is the last time you’ll ever be here.

What does it truly mean to forget?

Is it letting go of the bad memories, even if it means losing the lessons they left behind? Erasing the trauma, even if it forged the strength that kept you standing? Wiping away the heartbreak, even if it unmade the love that once felt endless? If forgetting means unravelling the version of yourself shaped by every moment... then is it really freedom? Or is it just another kind of loss?

And if you don’t forget—who carries the weight of those memories with you? The nights spent in quiet conversation, the laughter that once echoed in familiar streets, the warmth of his hand in yours. Does one painful ending justify the erasure of everything that came before?

It doesn’t. Because memories do not vanish. They are not erased like ink wiped clean from a page.

The streets still remember the way you walked together. The wind still hums with the echoes of his voice. The people who once saw your love still hold its remnants, even in passing glances. And perhaps, this is the only way to keep it beautiful. Your memories, deserve to be left as they are. You should not taint it any further.

"I decided to do it," you whisper, your voice barely carrying over the wind. "I’m finally doing it, love. It took me so long, but… I will."

"I don't want you to think that I'll forget you. Because you're my life." A shaky breath escapes your lips, your fingers tracing the edge of cold stone as if it were his hand, warm and real, just one last time. "But you don’t have to worry about me anymore," you murmur. "You can rest now."

Your eyes lift, meeting the name carved into eternity—Choi Soobin. A tear slips down your cheek, catching on your lips as you whisper, broken and raw—

"I love you. And I’m sorry."

Sorry that it took this long. Sorry that you held on when you should have let go. Sorry that no matter how much time passes, some wounds never really heal.

Your wounds will never heal.

The overhead lights burn against your swollen eyes. You blink, but it only makes the sting worse. You thought they would’ve dried by now. That at some point, your body would just refuse to keep grieving.

Do people have a limit? Is there a point where you simply run out? Or does the body just keep producing sorrow, as long as there’s pain to feed it? Has anyone in history ever cried so much that their body just… gave up?

Maybe not.

Or maybe, if you stay like this long enough, you’ll be the first. Because this is all you know how to do now.

Cry. Cry for him. Cry for yourself.

Cry because it’s the only thing that makes the weight in your chest feel even a little less suffocating. Because if you stop, even for a moment, you’re terrified you’ll realise just how empty the world is without him in it.

You're not strong enough.

"Are you sure you don’t want me to come in?" Your mother’s hand is warm as she pats your back, enough for you to let out a breath you were holding.

"Yeah," you whisper. "You can wait for me in the waiting area." Your eyes flicker toward the entrance as another person steps in. She carries a box, full of things and when your gaze meets hers, you swear you see your own reflection staring back.

Haunted.

Your own box grows heavier in your hands.

"I’m a big girl, you know," you murmur, forcing the words out as if saying them makes them true.

Your mother gives you a small smile before kissing your cheek. "I’ll be here," she says softly. "After all of this, I’ll be here to pick you up."

Something tightens in your chest. Such simple words, so ordinary, yet they make your throat close up. One less worry, a hundred more to carry.

But she’ll be here after.

No matter what happens behind those doors, no matter how much of you is left when it’s over—your mother will be here, waiting on the other side.

And that should be enough, right?

You take a step. Then another. Three steps before something in you falters, pulling you back. You turn around, and your mother, standing right where you left her. Her eyes meet yours, and one of them glistens now, like she’s holding something back. She’s trying to be strong for you.

"Does it have to be today, Mom?" Your voice wavers, barely above a whisper. "I mean… can we, can we just—" The words die in your throat. You swallow hard. You promised him.

You promised.

And if you don’t do it today… you might never do it at all.

“Honey, we can always come back.” Your mother’s voice is soft. She’s in front of you now, hands warm on your shoulders. “We can reschedule, and—”

“It’s fine.” You shake your head, refusing to meet her eyes. If you look at her, if you see the way she’s looking at you, you might shatter right here, in front of her. So you turn away. The door is just a few steps ahead. White. Sterile. All you have to do is cross it. You can do it. You have to do it. Because—

You promised him.

"Miss Y/N?" The sound of your name barely registers. You don’t even remember sitting down. One moment, you were outside and now—now you’re here. In this cold, sterile waiting room, surrounded by people clutching their own silent burdens. Boxes. Everyone has one. Resting on their laps. Some are dressed in stiff work clothes, like they came straight from their jobs. Others wear the softness of home... sweatshirts, slippers, a kind of exhaustion that no amount of rest could ever fix.

No one speaks.

No one looks at each other for too long.

It doesn’t matter where you came from. It doesn’t matter who you were before this moment.

You’re all here for the same reason.

"You need to sign the waiver. Please read each clause carefully dear. The nurse will call you once it's your turn." The papers were handed in your hands, making your heart pound, each beat a hammer striking painfully inside your ribs. The relentless ticking of the clock thumps in your ears, a fierce reminder of the gravity of what you’re about to do. Your fingers tremble against the pen, gripping it so tightly your knuckles ache, but the pressure doesn’t help you—nothing ever will.

You sigh, biting your lip so hard you taste a bit of blood. Your stare drifts ahead, settling on a woman a few seats away. Her eyes are red, swollen. She isn’t crying anymore, but she looks like she hasn’t stopped in days.

You follow her stare, down to the box in her lap. It’s small. Too small. A bib, baby rattles, tiny clothes meant for someone who never even saw their first birthday. Your throat tightens. You force yourself to look away. Swallowing hard, you check your own papers. Your box sits beside you, shut tight. Your mother had suggested covering it with a cloth—to make it easier, to keep you from looking at it. And it worked. Because if you had to see what was inside…

You don’t know if you’d still be here.

Your hands tremble as you stare down at the waiver, the words blurring in and out of focus. You read the clauses again. And again. And again. Your eyes trace the final lines, the words smudging under the sting in your eyes.

You have given extensive thought behind your decision and give "Brighter Days Inc." the exclusive permission to remove this person completely from your memory:

☐ Yes ☐ No

You shakily checked what you knew... he'd want for you. You need to think this is what he would've wanted.

“Y/N?” The nurse’s voice is gentle, but it still makes you flinch. She stands in the doorway, dressed in white, looking at you. You wipe away a tear, but another one slips free before you can stop it. “You can come inside now.”

“Okay,” Your legs barely carry you as you stand. Your trembling hands clutch the box, holding it so tightly.

Inside, the room is cold, sterile. Three people wait—one dressed in blue, one who looks like the doctor, and the nurse who fetched you. The chair in the middle looms, surrounded by wires, screens filled with numbers and statistics you don’t understand. But the moment your eyes land on the headrest, on the equipment waiting there—your stomach drops. Your body moves before you can think. A step back, then another, until a hand gently stops you.

The nurse reaches for your box. Your fingers twitch as they slip away from it, “Let’s get you on the chair,” she says softly. You nod. You don’t trust yourself to speak. You started crying again. Not with sound, not with sobs... just endless, silent tears slipping down your face, one after the other.

No one tells you to stop crying. No one even reacts. You wonder how many people they’ve seen like this.

How many they’ve seen as wrecked as you.

Her hands are warm against your shaking ones, steadying you just enough to guide you down into the chair. You let her. You don’t have the strength to resist. The doctor moves quickly, securing straps around you—across your wrists, your chest. Another band wraps around your finger, likely for your heartbeat. It’s already racing. You don’t need a machine to tell you that. The person in blue starts placing wires against your temple, the cold press of metal settling on the right side of your head. It sends a shiver through you, but you don’t move.

You barely breathe.

“Okay, so now—” The doctor’s voice is calm, clinical. “As you’ve read, you’ll need to recall the moments tied to the things you brought. We asked you to choose items that hold the strongest memories because only then can they be altered. These machines will help bring them to the surface. You don’t have to force it—we’ll go slow, one step at a time.” A pause. “Are you ready?”

Your throat closes. Your hands curl into weak fists against the armrests. All you can do is nod.

The man in blue moves quietly. You barely notice him at first, lost in the weight pressing down on your chest—until he reaches for your box. The cloth is lifted. Your breath catches.

The first item is pulled free, and the moment your eyes land on it, something inside you crumbles. "Wa-wait," A sob rips through you, raw and unrestrained, your whole body trembling. The nurse kneels beside you, her eyes unbearably soft, understanding. "It will be much easier after this," she murmurs.

You swallow back another sob, hiccupping through shallow, gasping breaths. It's ridiculous, isn’t it? That at your weakest, you're placing your trust in strangers. That you can't even find the strength to speak. But this isn’t for you.

For him. For your family.

For him.

Your nails dig into the synthetic material on the armrest. You close your eyes, surrendering to their instructions, to the machines humming around you. A sharp beep echoes in the room, signalling the process to begin. A single tear slips free, tracing a path down your cheek, and despite the agony twisting in your chest, you manage the smallest, most broken smile because you see his face.

Memories. It all flashes.

THE PEN

"Let's take a 30-minute break, and then we'll go over the discussion again, okay?" Your ten-year-old eyes lock onto your homeroom teacher, a sigh slipping past your lips. Math has never been kind to you. Numbers blur together, equations twist into impossible knots in your head. If you had it your way, subjects like this wouldn’t even exist. You’d much rather read—preferably a hundred books. Or better yet, a hundred manga.

You reach for your bag, already deciding that a "break" means exactly that. No memorizing. No thinking about numbers. Your brain deserves rest. With a small pout, you pull out your current manga, flipping through the worn pages with practiced ease.

Your friends prefer watching anime, gathering around their phones or talking about the latest episodes. But your mom—she's strict about screen time. Too much of it, she says, will rot your brain. So, you stick to reading. At first, it was just a substitute, a way to keep up with your friends. But over time, it grew on you.

You're barely on the second page when a shadow falls over your desk.

"Uh, Y/N? Do you have, uh… an extra pen?"

You glance up, mildly irritated at the interruption, only to be met with the tallest boy in your class—Choi Soobin. A transfer student. You’ve only been classmates for a few months, and until now, you’ve barely spoken.

"I don’t," you reply flatly.

His eyes dart to your open pencil case, where at least five pens sit in plain sight. "But… you have so many," he points out, looking almost betrayed. "Please? I swear I’ll give it back!"

You sigh, flipping another page of your manga, already regretting this conversation. "Fine."

He grins, reaching straight for the glitter pen.

"Not that one—" Your head snaps up. "That’s off-limits, it’s my favourit—"

"Wait, is that Inuyasha?!" His voice practically jumps an octave, eyes wide with excitement as he plops down in the seat beside you without a second thought. "I love this series! I read them all the time!"

Your annoyance falters, replaced by something close to surprise. You glance at him, then at your manga, then back at him. "It’s my favourite," you say, flipping the page. "I have all the volumes."

His eyes widen. "Whoa. Lend me some?"

You raise a brow. "And what do I get in return?"

"Uh… strawberry milk?"

"I hate strawberries."

"Hand massages?"

You pretend to consider it, tapping your chin. "I’ll think about it."

He nods eagerly, leaning in a little. "Okay, but—serious question. Kikyo or Kagome?"

"Kagome," you answer without hesitation. "I pity her." At that, he studies your face.

"But Kikyo…" he murmurs, gaze dropping for a second. "I pity her more." His voice is softer now, "Because she doesn’t get to be with Inuyasha anymore. And I think… that’s sad."

For ten whole minutes, the two of you went back and forth—voices overlapping, hands flying in exasperation—until your classmates abandoned all pretence of studying just to watch. Some whispered bets under their breath, stifling laughs as you and Soobin yapped at each other like two kids fighting over the last piece of candy.

And then, finally, Soobin sighed, slumping in defeat. "But at the end of the day," he muttered, rubbing his temple, "Kikyo is Kagome, right?"

You scoff, shaking your head. "That’s not how it works." You roll your eyes, turning back to your manga. "Loser,"

And then—he laughs. Not just a chuckle. A real laugh, the kind that makes his eyes scrunch up until they almost disappear, deep crinkles forming at the corners. His dimples dig so deep it’s like someone pressed a pencil into a soft dough, and his cheeks, full and round, look annoyingly pinchable. You catch yourself staring, warmth crawls up your neck, spreading to your ears.

That day, for the first time, you let someone else use your glitter pen.

THE POLAROID CAMERA

Your feet dangle lazily in the air as you scribble in your notebook, your laptop propped open in front of you. You scroll through pages, searching for answers, when a notification pops up.

Meet me at the playground?

You sigh, fingers hovering over the keyboard. But I’m doing homework…

I’ll let you copy mine.

Your lips twitch. Okay. Be there in 10 minutes.

Excitement bubbles in your chest as you throw on a hoodie and a pair of shorts, not even bothering to check if they match. You bound down the stairs, brushing past your mom just as she calls after you. "Be careful—!"

"I’m meeting Binnie, Mom!" you shout over your shoulder. Her resolve crumbles instantly. She sighs, but there’s a small smile in her voice as she mutters, “Be home before dark!”

The walk to the playground is short. When you arrive, you spot Soobin awkwardly lingering by the swings, kicking at the dirt with the toe of his shoe.

"Soobin!" His head snaps up, and the moment he sees you, a grin spreads across his face.

It’s been three years since you first met, three years of him becoming your best friend. Everyone at school knows it. High school doesn’t feel as scary because he’s always there—hovering, teasing, sticking by your side like it’s the most natural thing in the world. People assume you’re together, which is ridiculous. He’s your best friend. Sure, he goes everywhere with you, sure, you’ve fallen asleep on the same couch during sleepovers, sure, his family adores you, and your mom—well, sometimes it feels like she likes him more than she likes you. But again, he's your best friend.

You slow your pace, tilting your head playfully. "What’s up? Finally giving in and letting me copy your homework?" You wiggle your eyebrows, smirking as you catch the faint pink dusting his cheeks—something that happens more and more these days.

But instead of rolling his eyes or firing back with a sarcastic remark, he just exhales. "Happy birthday," he says. "Happy 13th birthday."

Before you can react, he holds out a neatly wrapped box. Confused, you take it, fingers fumbling with the ribbon before you lift the lid. Inside, is a brand-new Polaroid camera. The exact one you’ve been rambling about for weeks. You gape at him. "No way."

Soobin shrugs, scratching the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at you. "You wouldn’t shut up about it," he mumbles. "Figured it’d be easier to just get you one instead of listening to you whine forever."

Your throat tightens, something warm spreading through your chest. You can't stop yourself from hugging him. His hands stilling on his sides. "Shut up," you whisper. "And thank you."

If you weren’t pressed against him, your face buried in the fabric of his hoodie, the hoodie you gifted him, you would’ve seen the deep flush creeping up his neck, turning his cheeks a fierce shade of red.

THE TEDDY BEAR

“Stop staring.” You nudge his foot under the table, twirling the lollipop in your mouth—the strawberry ones. You used to hate the flavour, the fruit too, but it was impossible to keep up when it’s his favourite. “Am I ugly or something?”

Soobin hasn’t stopped looking at you since you showed up at his house. Not the kind of stare that lingers, but the kind that keeps sneaking glances every five minutes, like he can’t help it.

You cut your hair. The long strands that used to reach your back now barely brush your shoulders. Because I’m turning 18 tomorrow, you told him earlier. And of course, he laughed.

“Okay, okay,” he finally says, chuckling. You’re sprawled out on his bed now, while he’s still at his desk, spinning a pen between his fingers. “Do you wanna sleep over tonight?”

You freeze. Hands dropping from your face, you stare at him. “Why?” you ask, voice laced with suspicion. “Seriously? I’ve spent the midnight of my birthday with you for almost… five years now?”

“Four years.” — “What?”

“It’s four, not five.” He pushes up his reading glasses—the ones that somehow make him look even more handsome. Not that you’d ever admit it. He leans back in his chair, casual as ever. “Stay over, okay? Let’s play League.”

You scoff. “So you can bully me the whole time? Yeah, no thanks.”

“I’ll go easy on you.”

You grab a pillow and chuck it at him. He catches it effortlessly, smirking. “That’s worse!”

You stayed. One pout from him, and you caved. You acted annoyed, but in truth, you just didn’t want him to know how easily he could sway you. You will do anything to hide the fact that he had you wrapped around his finger, whether he knew it or not.

And so, you played. You laughed until your stomach hurt, cursed loud enough that Soobin’s sister pounded on the door, yelling at you both to shut up. But it didn’t matter. Nothing outside that room ever really did when it was just the two of you.

Your birthdays used to be simple, just another day with family, another year passing by. But ever since Soobin came along, they became something special. Something that felt irreplaceable. And the thought of him not being there, of waking up to a birthday where he wasn’t the first person you saw, made your throat tighten in a way you couldn’t explain.

Maybe you didn’t want to explain it. Maybe you were scared to.

"Let's go out to the balcony," he says, shutting off his computer with a final click. You glance at the clock—11:45 PM. Fifteen minutes till you turn eighteen.

"Why?"

"Just because." He nudges you forward, hands settling on your shoulders, his touch impossibly light. No matter how much taller or broader he’s gotten over the years, he never holds you too tightly. It’s always careful. And that’s why your heart stutters in your chest every time.

You step outside, the night air crisp against your skin. The trees sway below, dark silhouettes against the dim glow of the streetlights. You wrap your arms around yourself, glancing at him. "So… are we spending my birthday just standing here?" you tease. "Shouldn't we be doing something? Eating ice cream, maybe?"

He smiles, "We’ll do that after," he says, already stepping back inside. "Wait here."

You're confused as he leaves you outside. Through the thin curtain, you see his shadow moving; shuffling, hesitating. "Soobin, don’t tell me you got me a cake or something," you call out, teasing. He doesn’t answer right away, and that alone makes you smirk. "So you did get me a cake."

"Sh—no. Yes. Ugh, I hate you," he groans, but when he steps out, there it is, a cake in his hands, eighteen candles flickering in the night breeze. He clears his throat, awkwardly starting, "Happy birthday to you…" His voice is unsure, barely above a murmur, but it’s enough. You smile, and as cheesy as it sounds, your heart clenches in your chest. You close your eyes, letting the warmth of the moment settle over you.

Please let forever be like this.

You blow out the candles, and when you open your eyes, he’s grinning. "I baked this, by the way."

"Wow, looks amazing," you breathe, taking the cake from him. The effort, the slightly uneven letters of your name written on top—it makes your throat tighten. You don’t say anything, just sit down beside him, forks in hand, digging straight into the cake. The wind picks up slightly, ruffling your hair, but neither of you cares. You talk, laugh, and steal bites from each other’s sides, like time doesn’t exist.

"Y/N," he says, your name rolling off his tongue softer than usual. His gaze lingers, watching as you hug the big white teddy bear he got you. Your fingers clutch the plush fur, cheeks pressed against it, lips curled into a quiet, content smile.

His chest tightens.

"Eight years... For eight years, I, I've been," He falters, blinking, momentarily losing himself in the way your eyes widen at him. God. You’re beautiful.

"Hmm?"

He exhales sharply, fingers twitching at his sides. His heartbeat stumbles over itself, but before he can think, before he can think of the script he rehearsed over and over, before he can convince himself to hold back—

"Could I please be your boyfriend?"

THE SILVER METAL BAND

"Sweetheart."

Warm hands find your waist, circling you with a gentle pull, long fingers tracing slow, reverent patterns across your bare skin. A soft squeeze follows, then, warm—featherlight kisses trail from your neck to your ear, each one taking time to settle on your skin. Your name slips from his lips, barely more than a breath, before he tucks himself closer, body melting into yours. "Wake up, sleepyhead. It's almost midnight,"

You laugh softly when you feel him press another kiss behind your ear. Turning over, you’re met with his familiar smirk, eyes already tracing every inch of your face like it’s the first time he’s seeing you. His hands find your cheeks, cradling them gently—like he always does. As if he hasn’t held you a thousand times before. As if you haven’t been his to hold since high school.

"It's a crime to be this pretty when you just woke up, don't you think?" he teases, his nose bumping against yours before he gives your lips a quick peck. "I love looking at you,"

"We're seriously keeping up with the tradition?" you mumble, voice still heavy with sleep as you reach for him, burying your face against his shoulder blades. Your eyes slip shut again, and he hums softly, his hand tracing slow, soothing patterns on your back.

"Happy 25th birthday, baby," he murmurs. Then, softer—like he’s letting the words settle between you before he dares breathe again, "I love you." His voice pulls you from the edges of sleep, and when your eyes flutter open, you find him already watching you.

Is there anything in this world more beautiful than love? More sacred than being loved?

"Thank you," you reply, smiling. He sits up beside you, and you chuckle softly as he fumbles for something on the floor beside the bed. "What did you get me this time?"

But then your breath stumbles. White roses. A small black box in his hands. Your heart clenches. "Soobin,"

"I’ve been thinking about how I should do this," he starts, chuckling nervously, though his fingers tighten around the box as if anchoring himself. "I thought about renting a place, throwing a party, taking you to some fancy dinner, or even an overseas trip." His gaze finds yours, earnest. "But the truth is, nothing makes me happier than waking up beside you. Nothing feels more right than this—just us, here, like this. So I chose this moment, this place… because I want it forever."

His voice trembles, his hands unfolding the box before you. The silver ring with a single diamond sitting atop. "So please," he whispers, his throat tight, his eyes searching yours. "Could you—will you—marry me?"

“Fuck.” The word rips from your throat as reality slams into you. The room is chaos—voices rising, bodies moving, the cold bite of metal and plastic pressing against your skin. The doctor’s hands fly across his keyboard, adjusting something you don’t understand, while the nurse grips your shoulders like she’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You’re crying.

You don’t remember when it started, but the tears won’t stop. Your breath comes in sharp, panicked gasps as your hands scramble to your chest, fingers clutching desperately at the thin chain around your neck. The ring is warm against your skin, pressed into your palm, solid and real. His ring. The one he slid onto your finger with shaking hands.

“Please,” your voice cracks, “please—just let me keep this.”

The nurse exchanges a glance with the doctor. Their hesitation is suffocating. “We need to take it,” someone says—calm, detached. Like this is just another part of the process. Like it doesn’t matter. “It goes with the rest of your belongings.”

Your heart seizes. The box? What else was in the box? You try to remember, but your mind is a blur of static, you can't. You can't remember now. “No,” you sob, curling around it, pressing it to your lips, your chest, anywhere that might keep it safe. “Please. Not this."

The nurse looks at you with something that almost feels like pity. A softness in her eyes that only makes your chest ache more. “You’re almost done, honey,” she murmurs, her voice gentle, coaxing. “A little more. You can do this. Just close your eyes. You just have to close your eyes.” Your hands won’t stop shaking. The tremors run up your arms, through your ribs, settling somewhere deep in your throat. You feel the prick of a needle, the slow push of something cold into your veins. It soothes the sharp edges, dulls the panic—but not enough. Not enough to stop the tears from slipping down your cheeks. “Close your eyes,” she whispers again.

You do.

Your hands are in his. The car hums beneath you, the city lights flashing by in a blur, but all you can focus on is him. He drives with one hand, the other wrapped around yours, bringing it to his lips every time you hit a red light. Soft, lingering kisses against your knuckles, “How many babies would you want?”

You nearly choke on your drink, coughing as you turn to him. “What?”

He laughs, eyes flicking toward you for just a second before focusing back on the road. “I mean… I’d love as many as we can have. But of course, it’s your body, baby. You get to tell me.”

Your heart flutters. “We don’t even have a wedding date yet.” Another red light. Another kiss against your hand.

“I know,” he says, voice softer now. “It just crossed my mind. Last night, I dreamt of a little girl… she looked just like you.” He pauses, his thumb brushing against your skin. “She was so beautiful. Like you. And I—”

His words are cut off by the violent, shattering force of metal colliding with metal. The world twists—spins—flips. A scream rips from your throat as the car is thrown into chaos, gravity shifting, glass cracking, the deafening sound of impact swallowing everything.

In the middle of it all, his hand finds yours. Instinctive. Desperate.

Then—stillness.

A ringing in your ears. The distant sound of voices, footsteps pounding against the pavement. Shadows moving outside the wreck. Someone is calling, you think it's for an ambulance. Your chest heaves as you groan, the taste of blood thick on your tongue. Pain radiates from everywhere, your head throbbing as you press trembling fingers against your scalp. Everything hurts.

You turn, breath shaky, searching. Soobin.

You look to your right and he’s already looking at your face. Pale, dazed, blinking too slowly. "Y/N, are you okay?" His voice is hoarse, weak, but when you nod, he exhales a shaky, "Thank fuck."

His grip tightens around your hand. You can barely feel it, your body is numb, adrenaline rushing through your veins. But you squeeze back. Hold on. You breathe. It’s going to be okay. The ambulance is coming.

Then your eyes drop. And your stomach lurches. "Soobin?"

A jagged piece of debris—large, sharp, too deep—juts from his stomach, trailing up his chest. Blood blooms around it, staining his shirt, spilling over his hands where he grips it like he’s not sure whether to pull or hold on.

Your world tilts again. This is just a dream. "Soobin, what—what—how the—"

There’s so much blood. Too much. Your hands press against the wound trembling, trying to keep it from spilling out, but it’s everywhere—warm and sticky between your fingers, staining your skin, pooling beneath him. You’re sobbing, whispering frantic words that don’t make sense, but you can’t even hear yourself. The panic is eating your face, roaring in your ears as you struggle to breathe. “How should I—”

Then his fingers find your face.

His touch is weak but certain, cradling your cheeks, forcing your wild, tear-filled eyes to meet his. His voice is hoarse when he speaks, but stronger than it should be. “Look at me.” His grip tightens, thumbs brushing your tears away. “Baby, shhh, look at me.”

You shake your head, choking on a sob. “Soobin—”

“I don’t wanna see you cry.”

You’re unravelling. He’s bleeding out beneath you, and you can’t do a damn thing to stop it. “Help! Please, someone help us!” you scream, voice cracking. There are people—so many people—but no one can touch him.

His breath stutters, but he still holds onto you. “Y/N.” Your eyes blur with tears as you grip his hand, pressing his palm tighter against your cheek. “Look at me, yeah?” His lips tremble, but he’s still here, still fighting to keep you calm. “Just keep looking at me. Please.” His forehead rests against yours. “It doesn’t hurt when you’re looking at me. We’re gonna get help soon. You're gonna get help soon, okay?”

The last memory crashes over you, pulling you under. Your chest feels heavy, unbearably so, but then… slowly… it gives. The weight that has kept you drowning eases, just enough for you to take a breath. The sound of machines hums beside you. A final tear slips down your cheek.

It feels like the end.

You close your eyes, just for a moment, just to see him one last time—the Soobin you knew like the back of your hand. And then, you see his face. That soft, lopsided grin that always made your heart stumble. His voice is a whisper, just a breath against your skin.

“I’m proud of you.” Your lip trembles. “You’ll be okay.”

"Congratulations, it's successful."

The doctor shakes your hand, his grip firm, reassuring. You smile, nodding along. The nurse beside him looks at you with warmth, and before she can react, you throw your arms around her. She lets out a small gasp before melting into the hug.

You feel light. Weightless.

They tell you the treatment worked. They tell you your mother is waiting outside. You nod again, absorbing their words, but for a brief moment, your fingers drift to your neck, expecting something to be there. But it’s bare.

You push the thought away as you step outside. The air feels fresh against your skin, and then you see her. Your mother. She looks thinner than you remember, her cheeks a little sunken, her eyes holding something you can’t quite place. Had she lost weight?

"Hi, Mom," you say, smiling. She looks at you—really looks at you—and her lips part. She smiles back.

"Oh, honey," she breathes, pulling you into her arms.

You giggle, warmth spreading through your chest. "What’s wrong?"

She pulls back just enough to cup your face, shaking her head. "Let’s go home, okay?" You nod, letting her guide you toward the entrance. Everything feels new, yet oddly familiar, like a dream you barely remember but somehow miss.

You're about to step outside when someone walks in. A bouquet of white roses in their arms. Your breath catches, feet falter. Your head turns instinctively, eyes following the flowers, something deep in your chest stirring, something you can’t name.

Your mother notices. "What is it?"

You blink, exhaling softly. "Nothing." You force a small smile, eyes lingering on the roses. "Those flowers… it’s beautiful."

"Yeah, I'll go home after class, Mom," you say, balancing your phone between your shoulder and ear as you adjust your bag. "Plus, I'm nineteen. An adult now. I can take care of myself."

Your mom chuckles on the other end, the kind of laugh that says she doesn’t quite believe you but won’t argue. "Alright, alright. Just don’t stay out too late."

"I won’t." She sighs, but you can hear the smile in her voice as she bids you goodbye.

The campus is buzzing with energy, students milling about for the event. It’s a collaboration between three schools—art students showcasing their work, others just here to admire. Beside you, Wonyoung loops her arm through yours, eyes scanning the crowd. "Girl, I’m getting us drinks," she announces. "Wait for me here."

You roll your eyes with a laugh. "Okay, okay. Don’t take forever." She winks before disappearing into the crowd, leaving you standing in the middle of it all.

Your eyes drift over the canvases, taking in the strokes of colour, the textures, the stories woven into the art. And then, you stop. Something about this one halts you mid-step. Oh. It’s a painting of—

“You’re a fan of Inuyasha?”

The voice beside you is warm, curious. You turn, finding a tall boy with black specs watching you, his hands tucked into his pockets. He shifts slightly when you meet his gaze, and after a beat, he offers you a small, hesitant smile. It’s barely there, just a quirk of his lips. And yet… his dimples poke through anyway.

He’s cute.

“It’s my favourite,” you reply, tearing your eyes away from the painting.

He nods, a quiet hum escaping him. “Mine too.” Then, after a pause, “Kikyo or Kagome?”

You blink at him. He stares at you, and something in your chest stirs.

Not deja vu—no, it’s not that fleeting, ghostly sense of repetition. This is different. Deeper. It feels like a memory you never knew you had, something tucked away in the quiet corners of your mind. Like a song, you don’t remember learning but somehow know all the words to. Like a book misplaced on a shelf, rediscovered years later—its pages worn, its story intact, as if it had been waiting for you to return.

It feels like something preserved, sealed in the vault of you.

Something... archived.

"What's your name?"

taglist: I love you @.beombunni @.lovingbeomgyudayone @.virtaideen @.hyukascampfire @.fancypeacepersona @.bamgeutori @.lilbrorufr @.beomieeeeeeeeeeees @.xylatox @.yunverie @.imlonelydontsendhelp @.moagyuu @.soobinbunnie5 @.usuallyunlikelyfox @.txtzyallinme @.younbeanz @.fatbixchwithanopinion @.bakudon @.readinmidnight @.flowzel @.zaynspidey @.joieouioui @.kiyof @.tubasmiracle @.bamgyuuuri @.heechwe @.takimakiiiii @.whatblop @.frankghgr @.lostgirlysstuff @.philijack

[revelboo]

ngl Ratbat kindaaa??

Wonder why there's so little content for him, is he like...? just not used as much in the comics? I'm so clueless.

Would you perhaps have any ideas in that glorious brain for him? If not it's cool (⁠◡⁠ ⁠ω⁠ ⁠◡⁠)

Ah, in IDW, he was a senator and behind automating the mine Megatron worked in while trying to make a profit, and accidentally set Megatron on the path to become the leader of the Decepticons.

Soundwave pretty much yoinks his spark and shoves it into a cassette frame (why he’s so salty in Everything Is Alright)

He’s lovely, but such a manipulative dick lol

🔞 Mass displaced mech 🌶️

Pet

Ratbat x Reader

• “Go,” he growls, lifting a hand dismissively as he strides past Soundwave. “Find me something new. An opportunity.” Because dealing with the other senators has him in a mood. Ancient, backwards thinking fools. Unable to see beyond their rules and laws. To understand that their word is law. That they already hold the power, they just have to use it. Letting himself into his opulent habsuite, his optics slide around the space until he finds his little pet. Aggravation shifting to need.

• He’s back. And in a mood. Body heating as those yellow optics lock on you, hearing him snarl a command at you. While you can’t understand anything the massive alien says, you do understand what he’s demanding. It had been your idea to barter yourself, your body, to him in exchange for food, shelter, and the pampered life of a glorified pet. You’d just happened to luck out and find yourself in the care of an alien with a massive xenophilia kink. Slipping the sheer, loose garment from your shoulders, you sprawl on your belly on that cushioned bit of furniture he’d had made for you that puts your hips up at the angle he likes.

• “Such a good pet,” he snarls, mass displacing and joining you, a hand sliding up your spine. What would those old bastards think of him fragging an organic? That he has a little, pet frag toy? They’d probably blow a fuse. Freeing his spike, he slides his length against you, pleased to find you slick. Always so ready and eager for him. And those alien noises you make as he buries himself inside you? They sound so obscene, just like the wet sound of you taking his spike. Remembers Soundwave finding you and bringing you to him as a curiosity and he’d been so close to telling the other mech to discard you. So glad he changed his mind now.

• Clinging to the cushion as he stretches you and snarls, moving against you in hard drives of his hips, you whimper. A part of you aware that you really should try to get him to understand you, to try to learn each other’s languages. But you’re enjoying being pampered and fussed over. You’re pretty sure he just sees you as a plaything, but he’s constantly giving you gifts and crooning at you. And the sex? Mind blowing and addictive. Body coiling, you whimper and push back to meet his thrusts. “Please,” you whimper, nails digging into cushion. “Harder.”

• Hips snapping against you, he hears your breath catch before you cry out, chirping urgently in your alien nonsense as you fist his spike. And he keeps rutting against you, denta clenched as he lets the feel of your slick heat milking his spike tip him into his own overload. Servos digging into the cushion under you, his hips pump as he fills you. And your head turns to look up at him, chirping sweetly. “That’s right. You’re so good, aren’t you?” He croons, mouth brushing against your shoulder. And so easy to train. Hips rocking against you, he smiles when you moan, eyes closing. “Feel like you’re made just to take my spike.”

Soundwave being practical and getting a bit of revenge

[lheslie]

Mark Variants Vs Mirko Reader

"I live every day as if I'm not gonna see another one. That way, I'll have no regrets when I die." - Mirko from My hero academia.

- Main Mark

Other than his father, you were his favorite superhero. He loved your strong conviction.

He deeply admired your strength and skills, he loves your enthusiastic energy when fighting.

When you started to team up with him, he loved talking to you everyday asking for advices on how to become a better fighter.

Sparring with you is the best time for him as he kept seeing you smile as you fight with him, trying to keep up with him.

He loved your confidence being able to fight full on, even after being injured you're able to immediately stand right back up.

Handling multiple enemies, even you're alone.

You're not even afraid facing them head on, even if you know they're stronger than you.

"If there's a will, there's a way " You spoke as you found an enemy weakness, using it to your advantage.

As you were quite reckless, he's quite worried, you didn't even stayed a week inside the hospital, after regaining conscious, you sprung up back into action on the battlefield.

You were always in the frontlines, and he makes sure that he's always beside you to guard you against enemies behind your back.

He especially loves your supersuit, he sometimes gets distracted admiring it.

"Oi! Are you underestimating me? Fight with everything you've got!" You shouted gaining his full attention.

"S-sorry my bad." As he started to spar again with you.

- Omni Mark

He liked your enthusiasm and confidence, you know yourself very well, strength and limitations and yet, even though he already threw you to a building, normal heroes would be dead or knocked unconscious but instead you stood up again, ready for another round.

You adjusted your dislocated bones, relocating them to the right position,  stretching again.

"You fight well, yet you waste your time, saving people who isn't even greatful for what you do." He spoke, approaching you.

"I live every day as if I'm not gonna see another one. That way, I'll have no regrets when I die." You said licking blood fixing your hair, getting ready for another fight.

"Very well, then I'll give you a proper fight to the death." He stated.

- Target Mark

"IS THERE NO ONE WORTHY HERE?" He screamed as he kept killing heroes.

"Then fight someone who is." You spoke as you surprised him with a kick from the back hitting his back bone.

He immediately fell vomitting blood on the ground.

He stood up to take revenge, but you kept kicking him down making sure he doesn't get anytime to stand up.

"Go to sleep." You said, trying to kick his temple, but he caught your ankle, throwing you to the wall.

He got back up flying, looks on your direction to punch you again, but you were able to regain your senses and avoiding his punch, standing up.

"Where have you been all this time?" He questioned you.

"Beating your other variant's asses, you should say hi to them in death." throwing another punch at him.

"Those were entirely weaker versions of me, they don't deserve to be called by the same name as me." He snorted

"Well either way you're dead, so stop talking." You yelled.

- Viltrum Mark

"I can see you've come back for more." He monotonously spoke as he looked at you with your newly ampuated body parts.

"You thought by taking off my limbs would stop me right there? You have to kill me before you actually defeat me." You declared, flipping him off.

Viltrum Mark clenched his teeth in anger as he replied. "Very well then, you shall die."

"I ain't that weak." You huffed.

"GET DOWN FROM THERE AND GIVE ME A FAIR FIGHT THEN." You yelled, at him.

- Shiesty Mark

"Fuck, this is no fun. Everyone's so weak." He complained, as you took out a street light that collapsed on the ground hitting him with it.

"Well here's fun! How about you go and die!" You smiled.

He flew off but quickly gained momentum.

"Ugh, fuck. I'm gonna make sure you don't have an easy death." He spoke angrily.

"Hmph, and who said I'm dying?" You kicked him with your luna fall, making him fall to the ground.

"You think that's enough to defeat me? Motherfucker!" He cursed at you.

"Well there's more where that came from, just wait you evil fiend." You laughed, lunging at him.

- Sinister Mark

"You put up a fight." He said as he was floating above you, as you stood up again, wiping blood from your face.

"You underestimate me, I haven't shown you everything I've got." You laughed as you run at him, trying to kick him again with your full power, but he caught your leg.

"You've got strong legs, I wonder how you'll react when I slowly crush your bones." He said smiling with bloodlust, he started to slowly strengthen his grip on your leg, trying to crack your bone.

Instead of wincing in pain your smile still preservered, and kicking him with your other leg.

You jumped with one of your healthly leg, retreating to the shadows, putting a bandage on it.

"Look's like bunbun got scared." He chuckled trying to find you under the rubbles.

"Come out little bunny." He slowly meancingly chuckled.

After stopping the blood gushing out of your leg, you tied the bandage tightly.

You went out again to kick him down.

"I thought you've ran away, I would've been really disappointed." He stated punching you to the wall.

"And make you happy? Never." You stated as you punched him to the other pavement.

- Prisoner Mark

"Give up, you have no chance against me, I've killed thousands, just submit." He said as you stood up again.

"Hahaha! Never." You said standing up again, licking the blood off your lips.

"Then you shall meet your fate." He said punching your guts, making you fly again to the wall again.

You slowly stood up again, for another fight.

"You're not giving up are you?" He muttered.

- Mohawk Mark

Mohawk Mark chuckles to himself proud causing havoc.

"Halt, Evil Mark!." You shouted gaining his attention.

He looked around trying to find where that sound might be, while you took the opportunity to kick him in the face.

He fell down, from the sky.

"How did you jump that high." He laughs amused as blood oozes out of his face, he wiped it off.

He started to fly again and rushed at you, jumping again you kicked him in the face again, making him fall back into the ground.

He stood up again, breathing heavily but still smiling.

"You have really strong legs right there, I wonder how you'll react when I slowly break them." He looked at you smiling agressively.

"Let's see if you can." You smiled challange him.

- No goggles Mark

"Oooh! I never fought you in my dimension." He spoke as you repeatedly hit him, not giving him any time to finish his speech.

"Wow, that's so cool." He kept smiling at the sensations of your kicks, he grabbed your ankle trying to slam you down.

"Well there's more where that came from!!" You yelled kicking him with your other foot, freeing yourself from his grasp.

"You're my favorite." He smiles.

"Hah! You haven't had enough of me yet." You smiled charging at him.

"Bring it on!!" He yelled charging to you as well.

You both started exchanging blows, equal blows to each others.

"Are you single? Will you marry me?" He asks you out of nowhere.

"Not interested in a mass murderer." You replied throwing another blow through his liver, causing major pain.

He collapsed, as he grabbed on his aching liver.

"Oh, I just love you." he declared as he passes out.

"Who doesn't love me?" You left out a chuckle.

[mrsfudd]

Toxic Paige and Azzi HCs

Toxic Paige and Azzi HCs

Smut warning

- They get very jealous of each other and make sure you feel guilty about it.

"Why did I see you give Paige a hug today? You must only wanna be seen with her huh"

"So you think its cute to let Azzi rub all up on you knowing I was standing right there?"

-They are both very aggressive in bed, they love belittling you.

“Look at her az, dumb slut” Paige chuckled to Azzi while ruining your insides.

“Nobody can fuck you like we can, remember that shit baby” Azzi told you as she watched you fall apart.

-They are very controlling, especially in your outfit choices.

Paige sat on the couch while Azzi was in the kitchen, they both were waiting for you, tonight was date night. Paige saw you first, you wore a dress that sat right above your knees with spaghetti straps, assuming nothing would be wrong with it.

“Yo Azzi, get your bitch bro. Fucking look at her, shes dressed like an attention whore” Paige snapped watching you walk out the bathroom.

Azzi snapped her head around to see what Paige was talking about, you could see the anger on her face. “See this is why we dont take you anywhere, go fucking change, nah actually me and Paige going out your staying in the fucking house”.

-After yall fight, they have very unhealthy ways of reassuring you.

“We didnt mean to make you cry mama, i just needed you to understand how it makes us feel when you say hi to people like that. You only need us dont forget that okay baby? Paige told you.

“I know, Im sorry i forgot how sensitive you are, just dont do that dumb shit again alright? You wont like what would happen.” Azzi cooed

- When things get really bad, they love texting you whenever you walk out on them.

Paige: So you done with us or what?

Azzi: We all know your gonna be back so just save us the wait alright?

-They are very friendly with other girls, when you feel some type of way about it they become extremely defensive.

“Oh my god Y/N, do you hear yourself? Why would I flirt with her? Sounds like you were saving herself for yourself”. Paige screamed.

“Your fucking crazy Y/N. I would never do no shit like that. You must be deflecting.” Azzi said with no passion in her voice.

-They never really apologize, just buy you things.

“You like it baby? Yeah I know you do. So you forgive me right??” Azzi said handing you a new Chanel purse.

“I know its nice right. Still think I was fucking with that girl?” Paige asked while you showed her the dress she got.

Sorry to whoever requested this, i 100% lost it but enjoy 🙏 Sorry for typos ik this is short.

[evansdmitri]

The Warmth in Winter

My Headcanon after what happened at the cemetery Contain Spoiler. Zayne x MC. Hurt / Comfort My Masterlist

“If I had really hurt you, it would have been the biggest regret of my life.”

When the words ended, you couldn’t ease the nausea and coldness that settled in your stomach and back. It wasn’t because of the cold cemetery—it came from the person standing in front of you. Your heart beat so fast, you couldn’t tell whether it came from your chest or your soul.

So... this is goodbye? you thought to yourself, your feet frozen to the ground as snowflakes trickled down. You took a step forward, trying to reach him—the person who had always been there for you, your safe space, no matter where you were.

But his gaze was cold, unwavering, despite the softness of his voice. You gritted your teeth as tears flooded your vision. You grabbed your pants and shook your head.

“No.”

“No? What do you mean?” His voice betrayed him. You knew he didn’t want this, just as much as you didn’t.

Seeing your body tremble from the cold and the storm of emotions inside you, Zayne took a step forward. He couldn’t leave you like this. No. He couldn’t.

He grabbed your hand and led you to his car. Warmth. His hand was so warm. Hope, you thought. A flicker of hope.

The drive to your apartment was silent. Zayne kept his eyes on the road while you held his hand—never letting go, as if the moment you did, he would vanish.

You both walked to your apartment. Once he typed in your passcode, the door opened and you stepped inside. In a heartbeat, you pushed him against the door and slammed your hand beside him.

“NO.” Your voice thundered through the silent apartment, followed by a tear slipping down your cheek as you gazed lovingly at his face. “No, I will not let you leave me. Not again!” Your voice trembled like a plea.

Zayne returned your gaze with sadness. He stroked your cheek with the back of his fingers, holding in emotions that had long been buried.

“I don’t want to hurt you again.” His voice was both a balm and a poison to your wound.

“And you think leaving me like this won’t hurt me?!” You dropped your head against his chest, grounding yourself in the fact that he was still here—with you. His hand rested on the back of your head, stroking your hair the way you liked it.

“This is hard for me too. I don’t want to leave you.”

“Then don’t! Zayne... please...” You looked up at him, tears already streaming.

“What if what happened today repeats in the future? Seeing you hurt—and knowing I caused it?”

One of Zayne’s hands cradled your head while the other held your waist, pulling you close. He leaned his head against the door behind him, his eyes wandering around the apartment. His cardigan on the hanger. The mugs you both bought—the ones you always used after long, stressful days. The kalimba. All the memories you created here, now flashing before him. But instead of laughter, only your hiccup-filled sobs echoed through the room as you clung to his chest.

“I’ll be stronger. I’ll sharpen my reflexes so it won’t ever happen again,” you whispered, desperate to change his mind. “Maybe you think you're saving me from future pain, but I know I won’t survive... not without you.”

Zayne took a deep breath and carried you like you weighed nothing to your bedroom—the place that had, over the past months, become his own refuge. His home.

“How did you find me?”

“When I woke up at Akso and found out you resigned, I ran. I ran to your home, to the bakery and the café we used to visit—but you weren’t there. So I went back to your place and asked Shiqi for help. He led me to the cemetery.”

You told him everything as he knelt in front of you, gently checking the wound he had caused. Zayne pressed his face to your stomach. Your bodies were so different in size, it almost looked unreal. That’s when you felt it—a warm drop on your thigh, followed by another. Zayne was crying in front of you, whispering apologies.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

You closed your eyes, hugging his head and resting your chin on him.

“It’s not your fault. None of it is your fault. Whether it’s William, the Alterums, or what happened to me—it was never your fault. I’m begging you, stop blaming yourself for something you didn’t do.”

Zayne's hands clutched your waist as he nodded silently. You exhaled in relief and kissed the top of his head.

Your bedroom filled with quiet sobs as the snowstorm outside slowly calmed.

[itoshiierae]

Shidou Ryusei x Therapist!Reader 😳😳🥵💳💳💳💳

PLEASE TELL ME YOU’RE SEEING THE VISIONNN TOO 😧😮‍💨🙏🏻

shidou ryusei x therapist!reader

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

ᡣ𐭩 notes: OHHH I AM SEEING THE VISION ALRIGHT 💀🥵 this was supposed to be a slowburn but then he showed up dripping wet and everything went downhill from there.. therapist!reader has absolutely no self-control, shidou is the embodiment of chaos, and professionalism is just a myth at this point.

ᡣ𐭩 cw: mdni! 🔞, nsfw, smut, therapist/patient dynamic, f!reader, power imbalance, office setting, dirty talk, shidou calls you ‘doc’, emotional tension, unprofessional conduct, obsession/possessiveness, desk sex, forbidden relationship themes

shidou ryusei. he was late — again.

and now he stood in your doorway, soaked to the bone, dripping chaos onto your tile like it was a gift. he’s dripping — rainwater trailing down his collarbones, outlining every lean muscle and scar like a confession he didn’t mean to show. it’s the kind of sight that makes your clipboard feel useless and your ethics paper-thin. he steps inside like the room belongs to him, each wet footprint dragging disorder across the sterile calm you’ve spent years trying to protect.

and you?

you made the mistake of looking up.

“missed me, doc?”

his voice hits low — smirking around the edges, that same drawl he uses when he wants to test your patience. but today, something about it is different, less teasing and more… dangerous.

you should ask about his week. steer the conversation somewhere safe. reach for your clipboard, anchor the moment in protocol. remind yourself of the boundaries etched into your license, the title behind your name, the rules meant to keep the lines from blurring. you should remember why he’s here — and everything he was never supposed to become.

but instead, you say the words that will ruin you both:

“so… what are you afraid of, Ryusei?”

he blinks — then grins like a man who’s just found your softest spot before answering,

“being this close to you and…. not fucking you senseless.”

you freeze.

but he doesn’t.

he rises slowly, crossing the space between you with that same predator grace that should’ve had you recoiling — and instead, he sinks to his knees beneath your desk, gaze locked on yours like he’s daring you to stop him.

“…you’re shaking,” he murmurs, lifting your calf like it’s sacred, trailing his lips along the curve of your thigh. “that means no? …or does that mean you want me just as badly???”

you should’ve stopped him — but when his hands trail beneath your skirt, warm palms grazing your bare thighs and his gaze locked on yours like a dare, you only spread your legs wider for him as he tugs your panties down like they’ve personally offended him, eyes fixed on your cunt like it’s a masterpiece he’s been waiting to defile.

“…so wet already,” he says, voice low.

“what would they think, huh??? all those patients who would come in after me? …if they knew you’re leaking onto your chair for the guy they think you’re fixing?”

you don’t answer — or maybe you can’t, not with his tongue dragging over your cunt like he’s been starved for it, each lick laced with heat and filth, reverent like prayer but ruthless like sin. he devours you with the desperation of a man convinced that your ruin is the only thing that could ever satisfy him.

his fingers dig into your thighs as he licks you through your first orgasm — no warning, no slow unravel, just devastation. and when you cry out, spine arching off the chair, hand clamping over your mouth like you can muffle the ruin? he moans into your pussy like he’s the one being blessed.

“you taste like sin, doc.”

he stands abruptly, hands already at his zipper, like the only thing he came here for was to bury himself inside you. he takes you on the very desk where you once held sessions — bends you backward like your profession was just a costume he’s stripped away, then fucks you until his name only sounds right when gasped through your parted lips or moaned around him with tears in your eyes.

“you like this, don’t you?” he grunts, driving into you so hard the clipboard slips from your desk, papers scattering like broken rules — every thrust rewriting what you were never supposed to want.

“getting fucked by your patient like a desperate little whore.”

© itoshiierae 2025 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ please do not modify or repost my content onto any other platforms.

[thehothcast]

imposter

pairing: dean winchester x reader

synopsis: a call from an old friend leads to hunting a supernatural being with his older brother. as time passes, you find yourself becoming closer to dean than anticipated. a very strange encounter with an shapeshifter finally pushes him to tell you how he feels.

word count: 4.2k

warnings: none

message from the authors: for the shy girlies in a world of confident reader dean fics!! this plot was created with one of my best friends in mind, i won't say her name but you know who you are. this is for u, i love u!!! - rosa

--

The warehouse loomed against the night sky, jagged edges of broken windows against the misty darkness. Sam's breath clouded in the cold air as he checked his phone for the third time, the glow lighting up the tight line of his mouth.

"She should be here by now," he muttered, glancing around the crumbling lot.

Dean, standing a few paces away with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket, shot him a sideways look. "She?" he echoed, raising an eyebrow. "You calling in backup now, Sammy? Didn't know we were handing out invites."

Sam ignored the jab, eyes flickering back toward the road. "Just trust me, alright? She's good."

Before Dean could retort, the sound of approaching footsteps crunched over the gravel. Both brothers turned, flashlights catching the figure approaching, a woman, bundled in a worn jacket, a satchel slung over her shoulder. She moved with purpose but hesitated just slightly as she drew closer, her eyes finding Sam first, and softening into a small, relieved smile.

"Hey, Sam," you said, your voice a little shy but steady.

Sam stepped forward, offering a quick, familiar hug. "Glad you made it," he said warmly, pulling back to gesture towards the man stood next to him. "This is my brother, Dean."

You nodded, offering a polite smile. "Nice to meet you."

Sam turned to Dean, “We met back at Stanford.”

Dean’s arms stayed crossed, but he gave a short nod, his gaze sharp and assessing. "So," he drawled, a half-smirk tugging at his mouth, "you’re the brain Sammy’s been singing songs about."

You flushed, ducking your head a little. "Just tried to keep him out of too much trouble."

Dean huffed out a laugh and for a second, something shifted between you, the air tightening just slightly.

"Come on," Sam said, cutting through the moment. "We’ve got files set up inside. Could use your eyes."

You followed them inside the warehouse, the chill sinking into your bones. In the makeshift ‘base’ they’d set up a battered table with scattered papers, news articles, and maps. You leaned in, scanning the information. Patterns leapt out at you almost immediately.

"It’s not random," you said, almost without thinking. "Look. The disappearances form a rough line, following the river. Whoever or whatever it is, it's moving upstream."

Dean leaned over your shoulder to see what you were pointing at, his breath ghosting close enough to raise goosebumps along your skin.

He let out a low whistle. "Well, look at that. A fresh pair of eyes is actually worth something."

You shot him a glance, and he met it head-on, something unreadable sparking in his gaze before Sam, oblivious, cleared his throat and started laying out a new map.

You turned back to the work, pretending not to feel Dean’s eyes linger for just a second longer than necessary.

–

The motel room was quiet, apart from the faint hum of the heater struggling against the night chill. Sam was out cold, a lump under the covers, but you sat cross-legged at the tiny, battered table, papers spread out before you like the pieces of some impossible puzzle.

Your pen tapped absently against your notebook as you squinted at the evidence. There was a thread here,  you could feel it, but it kept slipping just out of reach.

The soft creak of a floorboard snapped you from your thoughts. You looked up, startled, as Dean emerged from the shadows of the other bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

He froze when he saw you. "You’re still up?" he asked, voice low and rough with sleep.

You gave a sheepish shrug. "Just... trying to make sense of all this."

Dean wandered over, peering down at the mess of papers like they might suddenly rearrange themselves into something understandable. He scratched the back of his neck, clearly lost.

"Yeah, uh..." he muttered, squinting. "Research ain’t really my thing. I'm more of a 'shoot first, ask questions never' kinda guy."

You laughed under your breath, the sound slipping out before you could stop it. Dean caught it, his mouth twitching into a grin.

"But," he said, pulling out the chair opposite you and dropping into it with a dramatic sigh, "I’m a hell of a paperweight if you need one."

You smiled, a soft, genuine thing you didn’t bother hiding. "Thanks," you said, voice barely above a whisper.

For a while, you worked in companionable silence. You scribbling notes, Dean pretending not to fall asleep sitting upright. Every now and then, you’d explain something out loud, and he’d grunt in agreement even if he didn't totally get it.

And maybe it was the late hour, or the way the lamplight caught the easy crinkle of his smile, but something warm and steady started to settle between you.

–

Over the next few days, things felt almost normal.

You, Sam, and Dean moved from one case to the next with a rhythm you hadn’t expected. Even though you were quieter than the two of them, you’d found a place between them. You started to feel like part of the team, even if you stayed a little more in the background than Sam and Dean.

Sam noticed the change before you did. He caught the way Dean always made a point to sit just a little closer to you during dinner or hand you a cup of coffee without a word. And while you were still the quiet one, there was an ease to it now. You weren’t shy so much as content in your own space with them. The moments between you and Dean felt lighter now, no longer full of awkward silences, but small, quiet exchanges you didn’t have to force.

It wasn’t the loud banter or the sarcastic comments that kept you grounded with him. It was the way he always showed up when you needed him, even without you asking. The subtle ways he’d make sure you were alright when you stayed up late, the rare moments where his usual smirk would soften just enough to show he cared.

You didn’t speak much to each other and you weren’t sure either of you had the words to describe what was happening but there was a quiet, unspoken understanding that felt like it was pulling you closer with each passing day. You didn’t have to be chatty to share the space. Sometimes, it was just the way he’d catch your eye across the room, or how you’d both share a laugh over something only the two of you seemed to find funny. 

The connection between you was deeper than words.

–

The night air was thick with tension, the usual quiet of the woods disturbed only by the distant rustle of leaves and the occasional snap of a twig. You and Dean had tracked the creature through the forest, hoping to end this hunt before it went any further. But things had taken a turn.

You were in the thick of it now, wrestling with the shapeshifter, each of you trying to get the upper hand. Dean was shouting from a distance, but you could barely hear him over the rush of adrenaline in your ears.

"Watch out!" Dean called again, but you didn’t have time to respond. You twisted, fighting to keep control, your body moving faster than your mind could catch up. The creature was quick, stronger than expected, and when it slammed you into the ground, you felt the wind knock out of your lungs.

Then, in a blur, it was over.

You barely registered the glint of metal before the pain hit.

Dean’s voice cut through the fog. “Sweetheart!”

His footsteps were frantic, you heard him shouting your name, but everything felt muffled, distant. Like you were underwater.

“No-”

You tried to move, to push yourself up, but the strength drained out of you as quickly as it had come. Everything was spinning. Your hands were slick with blood, and you couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. It was too much.

Dean was by your side in an instant. His eyes were wide, his expression torn between fury and fear. 

“Sweetheart! Get up! Please!” His voice was cracking, desperation choking his words as he lifted your head into his lap, shaking you gently. “Stay with me!”

But you couldn’t answer. You couldn’t find the strength. Your vision was fading, the world dimming at the edges as you drifted into unconsciousness.

Dean’s breath was ragged as he pressed his hand to your wound, his hands trembling. His voice came again, quieter now, but just as desperate. “Please... don’t leave me.”

You didn’t hear him anymore. The last thing you felt was the warmth of his hand, the last thing you saw was his face. The one that had been a constant presence in your life over the past few weeks, the one that had grown into something you couldn't ignore. The one that was breaking now, because of you.

–

The white hum of hospital machines was the first thing you registered. Then, the sterile scent and the dull ache in your abdomen.

Your eyes blinked open slowly, lashes fluttering against too-bright lights as you took in the quiet, unfamiliar room. It wasn’t the motel. Not the forest. You were alive, that much you could gather, but only just.

Your head turned slightly, and that’s when you saw him.

Dean was slouched in a chair beside your bed, arms folded tightly across his chest, chin resting against his shoulder. He looked uncomfortable as hell, like he’d passed out mid-guard duty, but still, there he was. Sitting right next to you, like he’d never left.

A moment passed before the door creaked open and Sam slipped in, holding two paper cups of coffee. He froze when he saw your eyes open.

“Hey,” he whispered, eyebrows lifting as he set the drinks down and crossed the room quickly. “You’re awake.”

You managed a faint nod. Your throat felt like sandpaper.

Sam’s smile was warm and tired. “Don’t talk yet. Just rest.” He glanced over at his brother, then leaned in. “He hasn’t left since they brought you in. Wouldn’t even let the nurses move him. This is the first time he’s properly slept.”

You looked back at Dean. There were dark circles under his eyes, his jaw unshaven, his flannel rumpled. Even unconscious, he looked like he was still on edge.

“He was… scared,” Sam added softly, almost like it hurt him to admit it. “Didn’t say it, obviously. But he didn’t stop pacing until he passed out.”

As if on cue, Dean stirred, brow twitching and nose scrunching slightly before his eyes blinked open. He straightened instantly, rubbing a hand over his face before glancing over at you.

And when he saw your eyes open, really open, a flicker of something raw and wordless passed across his face; relief, disbelief, something deeper. His lips parted like he might actually say something meaningful.

But then the walls went right back up.

“You’re awake,” he said gruffly, standing abruptly like sitting too long had made his skin itch. “Good. That’s… good. We kinda need you.”

You blinked.

“Hunt’s still going,” Dean muttered, voice flat but tight around the edges. “Can’t get rid of us that easily.”

And then, without another glance, he turned and left the room.

You exhaled slowly, not sure whether you wanted to laugh or cry.

Sam sat down beside you, shaking his head with a small smile. “That’s Dean for ‘I was scared out of my mind and I’m glad you’re okay.’”

You didn’t respond and you didn’t need to. That second of real emotion before he slammed the door shut again said more than his words ever could.

–

It had been a week since the hospital.

You were healing, physically, anyway. The stitches in your side still pulled with every breath, but you could handle that. What hurt more was Dean.

He barely spoke to you now.

He didn’t ask if you were okay. Didn’t sit beside you like he used to. If you joined a conversation, he found a reason to walk away. If you caught his eye, he looked past you. The warmth from those early nights, the quiet connection you’d built over lore books and tired glances, had gone cold.

And the worst part was, you didn’t know why.

One afternoon, while you and Sam were holed up in the motel researching lore, you couldn’t take it anymore. You closed your book slowly, heart thudding.

“Has Dean said something?”

Sam glanced over from his laptop. “Said something?”

“About me,” you clarified, keeping your eyes on the notebook in your lap. “He’s… different. I thought maybe he said something to you.”

There was a pause. A heavy one.

“So you noticed he’s ignoring you,” Sam said gently.

You looked up, surprised by how casually he said it, like it was obvious.

Sam offered a small, sympathetic smile. “No. He hasn’t said a word. Which is exactly the problem.”

–

It was later that evening when Sam found Dean leaning against the Impala outside, arms crossed, a bottle cap flipping between his fingers.

“You’re avoiding her,” Sam said, straight to the point.

Dean didn’t even look at him. “No, I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are.”

“She’s fine now,” Dean muttered. “Alive. Breathing. That’s what matters.”

“That’s not the point.”

Dean scoffed. “Jesus, Sam. Can we not do this?”

“No,” Sam snapped. “You sat at her hospital bed for three days, Dean. You didn’t sleep. You barely ate. And now she’s awake and you’re acting like she doesn’t exist.”

Dean’s jaw clenched, bottle cap stilling in his palm.

“She asked me if you’d said anything,” Sam added, voice lower now. “She knows something’s off.”

Dean looked away.

“You care about her. You don’t have to say it, but it’s written all over your face.”

“She almost died,” Dean said finally, voice sharp, like a defence mechanism firing on instinct. “She nearly bled out because of us.”

“She nearly bled out doing her job. Same as us.”

Dean’s silence spoke volumes.

Sam softened just enough to let the words land. “You don’t get to care about someone and then shut them out because it’s easier for you. That’s not fair to her. Talk to her, Dean. Before you lose the chance.”

–

You were sitting on the edge of your motel bed, fingers absently tracing the folded crease of a lore book you’d read three times already without absorbing a single word. 

A quiet knock on the doorframe made you glance up.

Dean stood there.

His hands were in his pockets, shoulders tense, like he was one step away from bolting. His eyes met yours, hesitant. Guarded.

“Hey,” he said, voice low. “Can I come in?”

You nodded, heart giving a traitorous little skip.

He stepped in slowly, shutting the door behind him but not coming too close. You waited, not trusting yourself to speak first.

“I, uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes dropping to the floor. “I’ve been a dick.”

You blinked. Not what you expected.

Dean exhaled, finally lifting his gaze to yours. “You almost died. And I didn’t know what to do with that. So I shut you out. It wasn’t fair to you.”

The words hung between you, heavy but honest.

Your throat felt tight. “Yeah,” you said softly. “It hurt.”

“I know,” he murmured. “I just- It’s easier to push people away than feel like that again. But you didn’t deserve that.”

You didn’t speak, just looked at him.

There was something in his expression. Something raw. Unarmoured.

Dean took a small step closer.

You could feel the shift in the air between you. Like the world had gone quiet. His eyes searched yours, lingering, dropping for a split second to your lips before flicking back up.

You felt frozen in place. 

Then-

Click.

The door swung open.

Sam walked in, holding a folder. “Hey, I found something on-”

He stopped mid-step, sensing the tension instantly.

You and Dean shot apart like magnets reversed. He cleared his throat, stepping back.

You glanced down at your lap, suddenly very interested in the lore book again.

Sam raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

“Everything okay?” he asked carefully.

Dean gave a short, gruff nod. “Peachy.”

Sam looked like he wanted to say something else but didn’t. Instead, he sat at the table and opened the folder, the moment gone, like a dream interrupted.

But your heart was still racing.

–

The town was quiet, the kind of quiet that made your hunter instincts twitch.

Sam stayed behind in the motel with a stack of lore books and newspaper clippings, but you and Dean were sent to talk to a local who claimed to have seen something off. To get the guy talking, you needed a cover and apparently, "newlyweds just moved into the neighbourhood" was the chosen angle.

Dean didn’t stop smirking the whole walk up the driveway.

“Wipe that look off your face.” you uttered.

“What look?” he said, all mock innocence. “I’m just a man in love with his new wife. Can’t help the glow, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes.

Once inside the house, the plan was simple: charm, probe, and get intel. Dean let you do most of the talking, but his hand found the small of your back more than once. His thumb traced slow circles there, subtle, but not for you.

You could feel his gaze on you even when you weren’t looking.

The man you were interviewing seemed friendly, a little nervous. The moment you mentioned hearing odd noises at night, he tensed, eyes darting and voice faltering.

Dean clocked it immediately.

“Mind if I use your bathroom before we go?” he asked casually.

The man nodded and gestured to the hall.

Dean took your hand the second you were out of sight and pulled you with him.

“Back room,” he whispered. “Guy hesitated when you brought up noises. Whatever he knows, it’s in there.”

You barely had time to nod before the door behind you creaked.

Footsteps.

Dean reacted fast, hands on your waist, spinning you into him, lips crashing onto yours as your back hit the bookshelf.

You barely had time to gasp.

It was intense, all heat, pressure, the scent of leather and aftershave lingering. His hand cradled the side of your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as if he couldn’t help it.

A cough broke the spell.

The man stood in the doorway, blushing furiously. “Oh, I- I didn’t realise, sorry. Newlyweds, of course. I remember those days.”

Dean pulled back just enough to breathe, still close.

The man gave an awkward smile and quickly left the room, muttering something about “giving you some privacy.”

Dean stepped back slowly, clearing his throat. “Sorry. I didn’t have time to ask.”

You swallowed hard. “It’s okay. It was smart.”

There was a beat. A loaded one.

Neither of you moved.

Then Dean blinked, stepped away, and nodded toward the desk. “Let’s grab the files and get outta here.”

You nodded, ignoring how warm your face felt, or the fact that your lips still tingled.

You regrouped back at the motel. Maps, scribbled notes, and Sam’s laptop forming a battlefield of lore and theories. The lead from the guy you'd visited had paid off: signs of a shifter. Classic behaviour. Now you just needed to corner it.

You sat close to Sam, discussing the route, piecing the pattern together. Dean watched quietly from the other side of the room, pretending to be focused on cleaning his weapon. Every now and then, your gaze flicked to him. Lingering. Unspoken things hanging in the air between you.

No one mentioned the kiss.

–

The plan split the three of you up, covering more ground but keeping in contact via radio. Dean swept the east wing of the abandoned building while you and Sam took the west.

Until he heard it.

“Dean!”

Your voice, panicked and breathless, echoing down the dark corridor.

He spun around, grip tightening on the shotgun. “Sweetheart?”

You emerged from the shadows, eyes wide.

“I got split up from Sam,” you said, rushing toward him. “I couldn’t reach you. I thought something had happened.”

Your arms wrapped around his torso. He stiffened, caught off guard.

“It’s okay,” he muttered, resting a hand on your back. “I’m here.”

You looked up at him, face flushed with relief. Something about it felt off to him. But then you cupped his face, eyes shimmering, and kissed him.

His breath caught.

It was warm. Soft. Familiar.

But wrong.

Too eager. Too sudden.

You wouldn’t kiss him like this. Not here. Not now. Not while Sam could be in danger. Not without saying something first. A joke, a deflection, anything that resembled you.

He froze.

Then pulled back, squinting.

“…You’re not her.”

The imposter barely had time to snarl before Dean jammed a silver blade straight into its chest, allowing it to drop.

You and Sam had barely made it through the hallway when the sound of a struggle echoed from the east wing. A loud thud, a grunt, and silence.

Sam raised his gun, eyes meeting yours. “That’s Dean.”

You nodded, heart hammering. The two of you bolted down the corridor, footsteps echoing off the cold concrete walls. You rounded the corner just in time to see Dean standing over a pile of burning flesh, disintegrating under the heat, silver blade still clutched in his hand.

“It looked like you,” he muttered looking your way, but never once meeting your eyes, “I burnt the body so you didn’t have to see it.”

You froze, breath caught in your throat. Sam’s jaw dropped as he lowered his gun slowly, eyes flicking between the two of you.

“Dean…” Sam said cautiously. “How did you- how did you know it wasn’t her?”

Dean’s eyes didn’t leave the shapeshifter’s body. He didn’t speak right away but then finally looked up. Not at Sam, but at you.

“I just did,” he said. “Trust me.”

You swallowed hard, a chill running down your spine. 

He had known. Somehow, without question, he’d known the thing that kissed him wasn’t you.

–

The next morning, the motel felt unusually quiet. You packed your things with a heavy heart, the events of the night before still swirling in your mind.

Sam was already up, waiting by the door. You gave him a small smile and a quick hug. “Thanks for everything, Sam.”

He nodded, his usual calm reassurance grounding you. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

You stepped outside, and the cool morning air hit your skin as Dean pulled up in the Impala, engine rumbling softly. You slid into the passenger seat without much fuss, but as you neared the train station, something about your goodbye was different this time.

You paused by the car door, hesitating. A flicker of uncertainty in your eyes that Dean hadn’t seen when you said goodbye to Sam.

He swallowed hard, watching you walk away toward the entrance of the station. His chest tightened.

Then, like a sudden spark, he pushed the door open and took off after you.

“Sweetheart!”

Your head whipped around, eyes wide and confused.

“Dean?” you asked, breathless.

He closed the distance between you in a heartbeat, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek as his lips crashed against yours. The kiss was fierce and desperate, like he was trying to make up for every second you might slip away. 

For a moment, you froze, stunned by the intensity, but then you melted into him, fingers curling into the back of his jacket as the world fell away. His other hand tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, and the warmth of him grounded you.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. His eyes were raw and vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before.

“I don’t want you to go.”

The fight left your eyes, replaced by something softer, something hopeful.

You nodded, and together, you walked back to the Impala, leaving the station, and the goodbye behind.

–

EPILOGUE

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the rumpled sheets where you and Dean lay tangled together. 

Dean’s fingers tightened gently around your waist, and he broke the silence first.

“You know,” he said, voice low, “the first time I saw you... I didn’t know what to make of you. You were calm, collected, like you’d been through everything and still stood your ground.”

You looked up, curiosity shining in your eyes.

“I wasn’t sure if I could keep up with you,” he admitted with a soft smile. “But you never backed down, and that got to me.”

You smiled back, warmth spreading through your chest.

After a moment, you hesitated, then asked the question that had been lingering in your mind for days.

“How did you know that the shapeshifter wasn’t really me?”

Dean’s eyes softened, a quiet certainty in his voice.

“When it kissed me, something was off. It didn’t feel right. It was a copy, but not you.”

“It kissed you?” you laughed, eyes wide.

“Yeah yeah, not my proudest moment,” Dean chuckled, “But in all fairness at first I thought it was you. I pulled away when I realised it wasn’t.”

You smiled softly. “So you just knew.”

“I know you,” he said simply, pulling you closer until your foreheads touched. “Better than anyone else ever could.”

You smiled, heart full and warm, and settled in against him.

All the pieces fell perfectly into place.

[madwomansapologist]

YOU LOVE BLOOD TOO MUCH (BUT NOT LIKE I DO)

★彡 synopsis: awakened in a new era, sukuna found endless opportunities to hurt and maim others. he also found you, a sorcerer with an ever-expading soul bonded to oaths of pacifism and self-control. allured by the strength you decided to hide, sukuna realized this era could be far more fascinating.

chapter seven: name your guilt or the one babies were cursed.

warnings: negligence and violence towards babies.

word count: [1K]

Crying is the most important thing a baby can do. In this gelid world, tears are the closest they have from asking for help and relying on others is a permanent state for those unable to survive on their own. Inertia is a dangerous thing, especially when you don’t have any other choice.

Over time it becomes easier to understand a baby’s cry. There’s instinct behind it. Close your eyes: are they hungry, hurt, filthy? Experience can find the answer, too. Feel the rumble on their breakable torso, hear the phlegm sawing in the back of the throat, watch the skin change as they stop breathing.

She inspected the watercolor eyes of her baby. He stared back at her, head limp on top of her pillow as his fat arms swing in the air. Her long hair fell around his body, black curtains preventing moonlight from touching his skin. He pulled it hard, she didn’t react.

Kneeled on the bed, chubby feet tossing against her nightgown, she inhaled. She recited the prayer forged by her late husband into the silver dagger. Calamity Cessation. Blade piercing his stomach, her sacrifice was done.

Her hand fell from her wrist, blood bathing the wooden floor. Her screams fitted with his, both feverish and suffocating. Hers ended sooner. With a tourniquet made of a scarlet nightgown around her arm, she stared through her tears at the sin born from her womb.

“Brother’s slayer, one-body twin”, energy burned inside the shaman’s throat. Healing her hand, she accepted the duty to name her guilt. The legend of Hida’s demon has come true. “Ryomen Sukuna”, she cursed him.

Red was a color he never saw before. Ryomen Sukuna was a meaningless name as all of them are to a newborn. And a baby’s laughter is always pure.

--

Yuji rolled the dices, luck for once sided with him. Squinting, too dark for him to see where to place a tiny penguin across the board, Yuji smiled to himself. Sat on the mountain of blankets you put on the balcony, he reached out to you with the dices in hand.

You took a drag of your cigarette and watched the dices’ unfortunate results. You groaned, moving your piece a few houses back on the board. Yuji tried not to laugh—emphasis on tried. You threw a pillow at him.

He finished this turn, you both aware of his victory. You tilted your head back on the couch and watched him toy with the penguin. Without energy or candles, the moon was your only source of light. It invaded this spare home through the open window, making Yuji’s hair look blonde at the right angle.

You finished the cigarette, putting it out in the ashtray.

“For how long I’ll play dead, sensei?” Yuji organized everything, getting another game for you two to pass the time. “I need to get stronger before looking at them.”

Since his near-death experience, you allowed Yuji to stay at one of your clan’s houses until Satoru figured out what to do. It’s been a couple of days now. Once the elders are used to Yuji’s death, his return will force them to assume nothing can kill the boy. A good idea, as his usually are.

“Satoru will be here tomorrow”, you said. “He’ll teach you the basics of cursed energy. Ask questions and demonstrations, engage with whatever insanity he comes up with. You’re a good fighter. Now learn how to use your brain.”

His stomach grumbled. “When did you start training? How long did it get you to be on this level?”

“Don’t compare yourself to me. If you need an inspiration, then wait until you meet Nanami or Todo but comparing yourself to a Special Gra…”, you stopped. The last thing Yuji needs to hear is that you’re at a level he’ll never reach. “You are a promise for the future, Yuji. The three of you. One thing people don’t say about talented people is that at the start they tend to seem completely worthless.”

“Then I better get stronger now”, Yuji whispered. “I would suck to keep on losing until my execution.”

“Anyone can say that your existence is dangerous but no matter what happens being alive is never wrong.” You sighed and, for good measure so this lesson could stick, you slapped his neck. “You’re a kid, Yuji. Do what kids do: rebel against what’s unfair. Sulking is for adults that couldn’t fulfill the promises they once were.”

Yuji murmured, neck burning. He followed your gaze and admired the full moon, rubbing his sore neck and trying not to show how it hurts. A nightingale sang. Trees shook with the wind, a few leaves falling inside the living room. The air smelled like rain.

“It feels good”, Yuji said. “Being alive.”

You faced him, seeing a scarlet eye beneath his own. You smiled. “I know.”

--

Crying is useless when no one is coming to help you. The baby suffered in silence, diaper full and staining the thin sheet beneath her. Her tears were invisible in this gelid world.

Her mom was watching, though. In silence, her attention was divided between a book and those warm tears rolling down her daughter’s face. The baby’s colorless face brought a smile to her face.

The door for the nursery was taken down. “Get away from her!” Pushing her mom away, she took the baby in her arms and almost threw up at the sight of her sister dirty and hungry. “How long has it been this time? Were you here, thriving in her torture?”

Putting blankets over her sister, Mitsuha Minamoto shouted for a maid to prepare a warm bath. She was cold, so cold it makes no sense she’s still breathing.

“You can name her if you wish”, Noriyori Minamoto went back to reading her book. “It won’t matter once she turns into sea foam.”

TAGLIST: @snowsilver2000 @mysteriouslysweatynight

all rights reserved to © madwomansapologist

[ambwosialive]

on gabe: ghosts, grief, and wants.

before i get started: this is all my opinion! i've been into n2n since 2010 so i've had a lot of time to think about this (thank you dunmar warehouse thank you) the thing that those who are pro-poltergeist/demon/ghost/etc gabe don't consider, i think, is that i'm alive tells us everything that we need to know.

he is not just want diana wants him to be. he's what natalie wants him to be, he's what dan wants him to be, he's even what dr. madden wants him to be.

one of the reasons why he takes the melody in superboy and the invisible girl is (aside from the absolute juiciness narratively of her brother that she's singing about overshadowing her in her own song about him overshadows her) because natalie in that moment wants to feel validated, like she's correct in assuming that gabe Is More Acknowledged Than Her and in fact Is An Asshole, which is why he's smiling and bragging so much. (in my opinion!!!)

he isn't able to be seen by dan for most of the show, because that's exactly what he wants him to be: invisible. not there. the reason why he sees him at the end (other than the acknowledgement of grief as a larger symbol and made into a tangible form) is because some part deep inside of him wants someone at that moment; diana is gone, natalie is too. he wants to feel held, so he gets held. (in my opinion!!!)

dr. madden knows him as a baby who died, which is why in make up your mind / catch me i'm falling he's cradling himself in his mother's lap, why his voice becomes more childlike. (in my opinion!!!)

the problem is we are trying to define an abstract concept in simple terms, which is just not possible. not only is gabe a symbol of grief, he very much is a hallucination of diana's, and tends to side with her for that reason. (in just another day, diana is talking about how beautiful the day is, and the only one who agrees with her is gabe- "birds are singing, things are growing", etc.)

and then, of course:

guys, that's the point.

poltergeist? ghost? hallucination? symbol of grief? abstract? that's the point. we aren't supposed to know what gabe is. it's paradoxical. "what you want me to be / your worst fear", "i'll hurt you / i'll heal you", "your wish, your dream come true / your darkest nightmare too". that's how grief is. you don't know exactly what it is. is it love without a place to go? is it anger for losing them? anger at yourself for letting them be lost? gabe can be more than one thing.

especially with theatre! every gabe is going to be different! aaron's gabe is different than jack's gabe is different than kyle dean massey's gabe is different than a community theatre somewhere's gabe! that's the point! some gabes may play him as the all american football throwing jock, some may play him as an evil poltergeist, some may play him as a whiny child who needs his mom. that's the point! the interpretation means what it means to you and how you see it! he means what he means to you! we can discuss all day long about what is the objectively correct opinion on who or what gabe is (i am guilty of this. look at the previous paragraphs), but at the end of the day…

he is what YOU want him to be.

[kyoslf]

୨# at your window

chapter 9; you don't deserve to hate yourself

— in yn’s room

currently queued: double take - dhruv

yn was sat at his desk, a complete mess—as a matter of fact, his entire room was a complete mess. outfits and clothes laid out everywhere, the exact outfit he wore to chaewon’s party laid out on his couch, stacks of books all over the floor. his desk was somehow worse—packets of classwork and homework all over the desk, pages in them with sporadic writings in pencil and red pen, his calculator sitting on top of the mess of papers that somehow spat out the wrong answer three times in a row.

a playlist of soppy-love songs that yn definitely did not relate to were blasting from his phone, turning what should be an intense lock-in session into a half-productive study session with a bit of karaoke and spilled emotions that nobody asked for.

yn was probably on the verge of tears—half because of his extreme obsession with being academically smart was slowly dwindling at the fact that he was also slowly becoming a failure and half because of the music bringing back all of the memories from that weekend. studying was like a release from yn’s general pains: parental issues, poor social life, tiredness, anything. however, now, studying for this test only served as a reminder of the impending doom he would feel when he walked into calc the next day and sat next to the one person he doesn’t want to see right now.

it’s funny, though, does yn really not want to see juyeon? of course, that wasn’t true. more than anything, yn wanted to see juyeon—god knows he wanted to do so much more than just see him. but, regardless, he didn’t want to see juyeon or be in his presence to begin with because he knew it’d be awkward. the only reason juyeon and yn weren’t talking to begin with was because yn specifically told him to—yn knew that stupid phrase was a mistake and should’ve never been said. he knew that more than anything he wanted to make things up with juyeon. but, of course, like any other insane loser, yn was never gonna admit that he was wrong or that he shouldn’t have said something. instead, yn chose to wait—wait for something that would never happen, and leave what could have possibly been between yn and juyeon a blissful ignora—

yn turned around to his window, a soft couple of knocks scaring the shit out of him. yn’s phone buzzed—several times, in fact.

“what the fuck?” yn began, slightly confused, slightly scared, and ever so slightly annoyed. why? who knows.

“yn,” a muffled voice spoke from behind the glass and curtains. “yn are you there?”

thank god yn lived alone. lord knows if elihu didn’t have dorms and yn had been living with his parents—yn and juyeon both would be dead that night. at least yn would’ve been buried with him maybe, just like he wanted.

anyways—yn was frozen in fear. he was still sat at his desk, looking completely fucked up at 10 at night in glasses, an elihu hoodie, and thin elihu embroidered sleeping pants. repping the school at all times might not have been intentional or beneficial here.

yn slowly pushed himself up from his desk, slowly approaching the window. he placed a hand on each side of the curtain, breathed in shakily, and drew back the curtains.

juyeon, completely soaked from the rain, had his head maybe inches away from the glass, his hand connecting his forehead to the glass to stop his eyes from filling with rain. “yn please,” juyeon said, probably because he was actively getting stormed on.

yn’s eyes dilated even further, off-put by the sight. but, like the people-pleaser he is, he quickly unlocked the locks on the window-sill, pulling it up and grabbing juyeon by his shoulder and pulling him inside. yn closed the window, re-locking it as a little bit of water began to settle on the window sill.

juyeon stood there behind yn awkwardly, slightly shivering from the cold. he looked down at yn, his eyebrows slightly furrowed in nervousness as he knew what was to come. his right arm hugged his left shoulder.

“let me get you a towel,” yn said, running into his bathroom and pulling out a red bath towel from the cabinet under the sink.

yn unfolded it, holding it horizontally as he wrapped it around juyeon’s.

juyeon held onto the ends of the towel, still shaking. “thank you, yn.” juyeon stood still, not knowing what to say or what to do despite making this bold move to basically break into his future-boyfriend’s dorm in the middle of a storming night. yet, all of that awkwardness aside, juyeon felt cared for still, even though from his perspective, yn wanted nothing to do with him. obviously, while a guy like juyeon had been with girls before, he never experienced being the one cared for—it was usually him on the giving end of these types of gestures.

“so,” yn began, slowly. “why did you come here?”

“i couldn’t just not talk to you, yn. i know you said you didn’t want to talk to me again and i’m sorry i came here, i just couldn’t think… i didn’t… i didn’t think i could just not speak to you again.” juyeon shook, unwrapping the towel and trying to dry himself off just so he could stop getting water all over the floor. really it was just to not make eye contact with yn.

“what do you need me for?”

“i’m sure you know by now but everyone kind of is bullying the shit out of me—”

“good.”

“yn please, let me finish—”

“i don’t know, juyeon, it kinda seems like you finished already.”

“yn please. i don’t know how much renjun told you already but i swear, i did not want to kiss that guy. i’m not here to get pity out of you because people are making fun of me. that i don’t really care about. but between that, the football team finding out, and this fuck ass test tomorrow i don’t know if they’re gonna keep me on the football team.”

although it definitely sounded like yn was kind of being used a bit right now, he did technically have to tutor juyeon at the request of his own teacher. and besides, there was a little bit of benefit for yn. if he doesn’t help juyeon, then how would he ever see him play football ever again?

“juyeon,” yn began, choking up. “i don’t trust you.

no matter what yn said, he knew he couldn’t make any more mistakes. he wouldn’t want something like this to ever happen again. and even though he really wanted to say it, he knew he could never bring himself to say that he hated juyeon or didn’t like him. in fact, he still did have feelings for juyeon. feelings that just wouldn’t go away.

“yn,” juyeon moved towards a crying yn, pulling him into a hug.

while juyeon was still damp, it felt comforting to yn, knowing that somebody still cared for him. despite all of yn’s attempts to convince himself he was a strong person that could be as mad as he wanted to and could hold a grudge, he knew deep down that he couldn’t.

“yn, its okay. i’m sorry for everything. you don’t have to trust me right now. you don’t have to ever trust me. but i know that i care for you still. and i don’t want that to ever change.”

yn continued to sob in his arms, unmoving. juyeon didn’t pull away.

“i wish i could, juyeon. i really hate myself for this. i hate everything about this and everything i told you—everything i said about you, i didn’t mean it i swear,” yn said, admitting everything.

“yn stop it,” juyeon said sternly, pulling away slightly to look yn in the eyes. “don’t say that. i know you didn’t mean it, you don’t have to apologize. don’t say you hate yourself, yn. how could you hate yourself? do you see yourself? do you see who you are and what you’ve become? yn i barely know you but i’m so proud of you. whether you believe me or not is up to you, but please know that people care about you. you don’t deserve to hate yourself—nobody does. tell me you know that, yn.”

yn stared into juyeon’s eyes, the words he spoke still processing slowly. yn’s breathing was still sharp, a paralyzing feeling that he couldn’t shake. “juyeon i…”

without thinking, yn reached for juyeon’s face, holding and pulling him in.

juyeon’s eyes widened for a second, realizing what yn just did. but, after a moment, his eyelids fell heavy and the entire world seemed to stop. the music continued to play through their kiss, the rain pitter-pattering on the window non-stop.

yn pulled away softly, opening his eyes and looking back at juyeon. “let me help you—”

as yn nervously scrambled away to dig through his piles of papers on his desk and textbooks scattered across the room to work through with juyeon, juyeon finally felt like he could feel peace. even though he knew that the rest of the school was probably going to be at his throat the next day and that yn still didn’t completely trust him, he at least knew that he had a chance to redeem himself with yn.

and just then, somehow, all of the other problems that juyeon had seemed to dwindle away.

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synopsis ⊹ ࣪ ˖ academic weapon lee yn picks up his phone mid study session late one night to a message from football player lee juyeon, elihu international’s current wide receiver. juyeon says he’s at yn’s window, mere seconds before yn hears a light knocking. like the absolute genius he is, yn lets juyeon in; little do either of them know it wouldn’t be the last time.

(open) current taglist! @pedifero @bbibbiiu @unintentionalbee @naelvze @academiq @haoeffect

author's note! holy crap this chapter made me want to just end it with the way juyeon treated yn oh my god my heart hurts 💔 im so excited to write more of this trust me it'll get better and better (and then come crashing down) BUT IT'LL BE OKAY

masterlist! — back! — next!