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svtiddiess · 2 days ago

Text

Show 'Em How It's Done

Synopsis: Everyone assumes Mingyu is the submissive one when it comes to bedroom activities, so he proves them wrong.

Pairing: non-idol!Mingyu x afab!reader

Genre: smut, oneshot, established relationship, non-idol au

Rating: mature

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: penetrative sex, unprotected sex (don't do this!), creampie, semi-public sex, exhibitionism? (they're in a different room but can still be heard), dom!Mingyu, big dick!Mingyu, lemme know if I missed anything!

Note: This was requested! I hope you enjoy it!

Thank you so much to @seokgyuu and @okiedokrie for beta reading!

Click here to join my taglist!

Read on ao3

Reblogs are appreciated ♡

.ᐟMinors/blank/no age indicator blogs will be blocked.ᐟ

Your eyes light up as you see the cabin you're staying for the weekend come into view. Mingyu, your boyfriend, had planned this trip with his friend group—a much-needed escape to the woods. Thanks to Seungcheol's generous use of his credit card, they managed to rent a spacious and stunning cabin tucked away in nature.

At first, you assumed Mingyu wanted a boys-only weekend, but to your surprise, he was adamant that you join them. Despite your repeated refusals, he insisted this was the perfect chance for you to finally meet and get to know his closest friends. He also claimed that he'd be extremely sad and lonely if he spent an entire two days without you, a reason that made you snort. Eventually, you gave in, and Mingyu’s excitement over your agreement was downright infectious.

After a gruelling four-hour drive, you sigh and stretch, glad to finally move your stiff limbs. Your gaze shifts to Mingyu, who’s focused on reverse parking with one hand resting on the back of your seat. Your cheeks heat up—it’s ridiculous how even after six months together, he still makes your heart flutter over something so simple. But really, who could blame you? It's not your fault your boyfriend is so hot.

"Thanks for driving, my Mingoo," you say with a smile, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek.

"You missed," he pouts, tapping his lips with his finger.

Laughing, you lean in for a quick peck, but before you can pull away, Mingyu places a hand on the back of your head and deepens the kiss. A surprised squeak escapes you, followed by soft giggles against his lips.

"Did you really think I’d let you off the hook with that weak excuse of a kiss?" He teases, his grin playful.

"You’re such a baby," you huff, rolling your eyes.

"Your baby," he counters smugly.

Still chuckling, you climb out of the car and stretch again as Mingyu unloads your luggage. Your jaw drops as you take in the sight of the large cabin before you. It’s impressive—definitely worth thanking Seungcheol for later.

"Looks like some of them are already here," Mingyu says, nodding toward the other cars parked nearby.

Suddenly, the realisation hits that you’ll be meeting most of his friends for the first time, and nerves start to bubble up. You’ve met Seungcheol and Wonwoo before, but this will be your first encounter with the entire group. Mingyu has been close with them since high school, and despite going their separate ways for college and work, their bond has remained rock-solid.

Sensing your unease, Mingyu sets down the bags and walks over to you. He takes your hand, his touch steady and comforting, and flashes you a reassuring smile.

"Don’t stress, babe. They’re going to love you. I promise," he says softly.

"But what if I embarrass myself? What if the first impression I give them is of me being a total idiot?" you groan, your palms growing clammy.

Mingyu chuckles, shaking his head. "Babe, trust me. You can’t out-dumbass them. They’re the biggest idiots I know," he says with a laugh. "So relax, okay? You’ve got nothing to worry about."

His words, paired with the kiss he plants on your forehead, manage to soothe your nerves a little. You sigh, nodding reluctantly. Mingyu squeezes your hand one last time before returning to the luggage. Taking a deep breath, you follow him inside, determined to make the best of the weekend.

Getting to know Mingyu’s friend group has been…an experience, to say the least. He wasn’t kidding when he said they were idiots but in the best possible way. They’re warm, welcoming, and a little chaotic—a combination that instantly makes you feel at ease. In fact, Soonyoung, Seungkwan, and Seokmin even "initiated" you into their inner circle. You’ve officially become one of the boys.

Right now, the entire group is sprawled across the living room, all varying levels of drunk, playing games. You’re sitting on the floor between Mingyu and Vernon, caught up in a lively game of Truth or Dare. Currently, Jeonghan has dared Joshua to get slapped in the face with kimchi, and to everyone’s delight, Joshua actually went through with it.

You’re doubled over, clutching your stomach in laughter, tears streaming down your face as Joshua wipes kimchi off his cheek with an exasperated expression. Jeonghan, of course, looks beyond pleased with himself.

It’s Soonyoung’s turn next, and judging by the mischievous glint in his eyes and his unsteady giggles, the alcohol is fully in charge now. He spins toward Mingyu with a maniacal grin.

"So, Gyu. Truth or dare?" he asks, practically bouncing in place.

Mingyu, who’s only slightly tipsy, shakes his head with a laugh. "Truth. I’m not risking anything."

"Boo!" Soonyoung pouts dramatically, earning exaggerated groans of disappointment from the rest of the group.

"Buzzkill!" Seokmin calls out from the couch.

"I’d rather not get kimchi-slapped by Jeonghan," Mingyu quips, casting a wary glance at Jeonghan.

"Hey, it’s an enlightening experience," Joshua deadpans, still dabbing his face with a tissue. Jeonghan simply laughs.

Soonyoung suddenly gasps, his eyes wide as if he’s just discovered the secret to the universe. "Oh my God, I got it!" he shouts, his grin downright unhinged. "Gyu, is it true that you’re the submissive one in the bedroom?!"

Your jaw drops. The room instantly explodes with laughter.

"W-What?!" Mingyu stammers, his brows furrowing in shock.

"You heard me!" Soonyoung giggles. "You’re the submissive one, aren’t you?"

Mingyu scoffs, shaking his head. "I’m not."

"Aw, come on, Gyu. Don’t be shy about it," Jeonghan teases, his grin only fueling the chaos. The laughter around you grows louder.

Your face burns as the conversation continues, the guys piling on the teasing with no mercy.

"Guys, seriously, can we not?" Mingyu whines, clearly flustered.

"Not until you admit it!" Seungcheol grins, leaning forward with mock intensity.

"It’s true, right, Y/N? Mingyu’s the submissive one in the bedroom, isn’t he?" Seungkwan chimes in, his laughter contagious.

Your cheeks heat up even more, and you hide your face in your hands, which only makes them laugh harder.

"No need to be shy, Y/N. We all know Gyu’s a massive simp for you—in and out of the bedroom," Joshua says with a wink.

You giggle softly, finally giving in. "Well…he is a huge simp for me."

The room erupts into chaos, everyone howling with laughter.

"She admitted it!" Soonyoung screams, practically rolling on the floor.

"So it’s true! He is submissive!" Jun adds, laughing so hard he has to wipe his eyes.

"I knew it!" Chan chimes in, grinning from ear to ear.

Mingyu groans, his face buried in his hands. "Babe~," he whines, looking at you with a pout.

You offer him an apologetic smile and lean in to kiss his cheek. "Sorry," you murmur, trying to stifle a laugh.

Mingyu grumbles and pouts as the rest of the boys continue to roar with laughter.

The game carries on, but you notice your beer is empty. Announcing to the group that you’re heading to the kitchen to grab more, you stand up and make your way into the next room, separated from the living area by a wall.

You open the fridge and grab a bottle, then reach for the kitchen drawer to find a bottle opener—only to discover it’s missing. With a quiet grumble, you crouch down to check the lower drawers, rummaging through them in hopes of finding what you need.

That’s when you feel it—a presence behind you, someone pressing up against your back. You gasp softly and straighten up quickly, attempting to turn around, but the person behind you cages you in, their arms trapping you against the counter.

"So… it’s true, huh? That I’m the submissive one?" Mingyu’s voice is low as he whispers in your ear.

Relief washes over you when you realise it’s just your boyfriend. Letting out a soft laugh, you shake your head. "Gyu, they were just messing with you," you say, amused at how hung up he still is on the topic.

"But you didn’t deny it," he murmurs, his voice tinged with mock offence. "You told them I’m a simp for you."

"That’s because you are a simp for me," you tease, glancing at him over your shoulder.

"I am," he admits, his tone unashamed as he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. His face nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. "But I’m definitely not the submissive one."

Before you can respond, Mingyu rolls his hips against you, his movement deliberate. The sudden sensation draws a surprised gasp from your lips.

"Right, babe?" he teases, and you can feel the smug grin spreading across his face as he continues his little game.

You bite your bottom lip, your body warming under his touch as he grinds against you, the growing pressure unmistakable. "Gyu, not here," you mumble, your voice barely above a whisper. "They’ll hear us."

"That’s the whole point, sweetheart," he purrs, his voice dripping with mischief.

"Fuck, Gyu," a soft whimper escapes your lips at a particularly hard grind, causing Mingyu to chuckle.

"What if I just bend you over and fuck you right here? You would like that, wouldn't you, sweetheart?" He chuckles.

"Gyu, I-" A loud moan escapes your lips, and you quickly bite your lip to prevent any more sounds from escaping.

Grabbing your hips, Mingyu starts guiding your hips against his, pushing your ass against his hard cock. You feel your mind start to get fuzzy as you feel how hard he has become.

"Beg for it, sweetheart. Beg for me to ruin you with my cock," he purrs in your ear.

"Gyu, please… I need it," you whisper, your cheeks flushing with heat.

"Need what, babe?" he asks, his tone playful, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. Your soft whine only makes his grin widen.

"Need you to ruin me with your cock," you mumble.

"Good girl," he whispers before placing a kiss on the shell of your ear.

Without warning, he bends you over the kitchen counter; a yelp escapes your lips as your cheeks make contact with the cold marble. A slow, teasing hand runs down your back, leaving goosebumps in its trail; you can't help but let out a small whine of frustration, eliciting a chuckle from Mingyu.

"So impatient," he smirks as he slaps your ass, drawing a gasp from you.

He unbuckles your pants, and you help him shimmy it off of you, shivering as the cold air nips at your bare legs. He hums as he rubs a finger on your panty-clad pussy, making you whimper.

"So wet already?" he teases with a low chuckle, his tone dripping with mockery.

"Gyu, please," you plead, your voice trembling with desperation, unable to endure his relentless teasing any longer.

"Admit it," he growls softly, his lips brushing against your ear. "Admit that you're the submissive one in bed."

"I'm the submissive one in bed," you cry out, your cheeks burning. "Now, please, just fuck me already!"

Laughing at your impatience, Mingyu slaps your pussy, making you mewl as a sharp wave of pain and pleasure wash over you.

"Such a good girl. My good girl," he growls before unbuckling his pants and slipping out his cock.

Moving your panties to the side, he teases you by rubbing his dick against your folds, coating the tip with your juices. Desperate to feel him, you arch your hips back, seeking more, but Mingyu firmly holds you in place, pressing you tightly against the counter with ease. You let out a frustrated whine, wiggling your hips in a futile attempt to gain some control, but Mingyu’s strength easily overpowers you. Helpless under his grip, you surrender, letting him take the lead like the good girl he knows you are.

He spits on his cock, using it as lube, and gives it a few pumps before slowly inserting it into your tight hole. Your eyes roll back, and your mouth goes agape as you finally feel his cock inside you; his cock stretching you out deliciously. Mingyu's big, the biggest you've ever had, so every time he fucks you, it feels like the first.

Grunts escape his lips as he tries to restrain himself from slamming into you; you feel so good wrapped around him. A choked whimper escapes your lips when you feel his tip kiss your cervix. He pulls out halfway before slamming back into you, stealing the breath from your lungs.

Without hesitation, Mingyu picks up the pace; each thrust rough and relentless. Broken moans and soft whimpers spill from your lips, your mind too clouded with pleasure to focus on anything but the way he fills you so perfectly.

"That's right, sweetheart," he purrs against your ear, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. "Be loud. Let everyone know how good I’m making you feel."

"G-Gyu," you manage to moan, your voice trembling. "S-so good… feels so good."

"Only I can make you feel this good, isn’t that right, sweetheart?" he growls, his voice rough with possession. One hand moves to grip your neck, holding you firmly in place, while the other steadies your hips.

"Yes! You—only you!" you cry out, your voice shaky as the overwhelming pleasure pushes you closer to the edge.

"Gyu, I'm so close! Please—please, please!" you beg, your words tumbling out in desperate sobs as you plead for release.

The hand holding your hips shifts to circle your clit with precision, and you scream out his name. The knot in your stomach finally unravels, and your vision blurs as a wave of euphoria crashes over you. Pleasure ripples through your body, leaving you breathless as you chant his name like a prayer. Mingyu doesn't let up, his movements steady as he thrusts into you, guiding you through the intensity of your release. After a few more thrusts, he cums inside you, filling you up; your fluids mixing together.

You both take a moment to catch your breath, the room filled with nothing but the sound of your heavy breathing. Slowly, he slides out, a soft whimper escaping your lips at the sensation. Pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder, he adjusts your panties back into place. You cringe slightly, feeling the fabric cling uncomfortably to your skin.

"Keep my cum in you; I'll make sure to fuck it back into you later," he purrs, making you blush.

He helps you stand and gently guides you back into your pants before slipping into his own clothes. Running his fingers through your messy hair, he smooths it down before wiping away any drool and sweat from your face. Then, he leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips. You smile into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. When he pulls back, he nuzzles your nose with his, drawing a soft giggle from you.

"Ready to head back?" he murmurs, his voice low and affectionate.

You nod, grabbing your now lukewarm beer before following him back into the living room.

"Did we miss anything?" Mingyu asks casually as he takes a seat, acting as if he didn't just fuck your brains out a few minutes before.

"N-Nothing, you missed nothing," Soonyoung stammers, awkwardly clearing his throat as he tries to hide his very obvious boner.

Your gaze sweeps across the room, and you realise the rest of them are just as flustered, each one failing miserably to hide their boners. You burst into laughter at their awkward state, and Mingyu joins in, clearly enjoying the moment.

With a smug grin, Mingyu looks around at his friends before cupping your face and pulling you in for a deep, possessive kiss. The room fills with groans and exaggerated complaints.

"Get a room!" someone yells, earning more laughter from the both of you.

You giggle into the kiss, relishing the playful teasing, while Mingyu smirks against your lips, clearly pleased to have proven their earlier jabs entirely wrong.

Taglist: @tinyelfperson @gyuguys @stay-tiny-things @tomodachiii @unlikelysublimekryptonite @miyx-amour @iamawkwardandshy @codeinebelle @brownbunnyb @do-you-remember-summer-127 @sclovreina @theidontknowmehn @toplinehyunjin @gyuhao365 @mysticfairies @cherrylovescheol @cookiearmy @4shypotato @lxnnrobin @aliiikareed @jennwonwoo

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wendichester · 2 days ago

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Can I request cute Dean fluff of him realising he’s in love with you when you take care or save Sam from something bc we all know that man would know he’s found the one when she cares just as much for Sam as he does

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆ 🩹｡˚ aftercare,

summary. taking care of sam is also taking care of dean ‹𝟹

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 782

notes. the softest boy sigh

You’re kneeling next to Sam, your hands moving quickly as you press a clean rag against the gash on his arm. The hunt had gone sideways—too many moving parts, too many variables—but you’d managed to keep it from going completely off the rails. Now, the three of you are holed up in a shabby motel room, the faint smell of antiseptic mixing with the metallic tang of blood.

Dean stands a few feet away, his hands gripping the back of a chair, watching as you work. He should be helping, should be doing something, but all he can do is stare. There’s a look of determination on your face, tempered by the kind of gentle care that makes his chest ache.

“Hold still, Sam,” you murmur, your voice soft but firm. “I know it hurts, but this needs to be cleaned.”

Sam winces but doesn’t argue. “I’m fine. It’s not that bad.”

You glance up at him, arching an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Because you’re bleeding all over my jeans.”

Sam chuckles weakly, the sound turning into a hiss of pain as you dab at the wound. “Okay, maybe it’s a little bad.”

Dean’s lips twitch at the corners, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s too busy trying to process the strange, overwhelming warmth blooming in his chest. It’s not like he hasn’t seen you take care of someone before—you’ve patched him up more times than he can count—but this feels different. Watching you with Sam, seeing the way you’re willing to get your hands dirty to keep his brother safe... it does something to him.

“You’re gonna need stitches,” you say, your tone matter-of-fact as you reach for the first aid kit. “Dean, can you grab me the thread and needle?”

He snaps out of his daze, nodding quickly. “Yeah, yeah. Got it.” He rummages through the kit, pulling out the supplies and handing them to you. His fingers brush yours, and for a second, he forgets how to breathe.

You don’t notice—or maybe you do, but you don’t say anything. Instead, you focus on threading the needle, your hands steady despite the tension in the room. “This is gonna sting,” you warn Sam, your voice gentle.

“Just do it,” Sam mutters, bracing himself.

Dean watches as you work, your movements precise but careful. You talk to Sam the whole time, distracting him with small jokes and reassurances, and Dean can see the way his brother relaxes under your touch. It’s like you’ve got this magic about you, this ability to make even the worst situations feel manageable.

When you finally finish, tying off the last stitch, you sit back on your heels and let out a sigh. “There. You’re all patched up. Try not to rip it open again, okay?”

Sam gives you a small smile. “Thanks. You didn’t have to do all that.”

You roll your eyes. “Of course I did. What kind of person would I be if I let you bleed out in a crappy motel room?”

Dean’s heart stumbles in his chest. He can’t remember the last time someone cared about Sam like that—someone who wasn’t him. And it’s not just the act of taking care of him; it’s the way you do it like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like Sam’s life is just as important to you as it is to him.

You stand up, brushing off your hands, and glance at Dean. “He’ll be fine, but he needs rest. And food. I’m guessing you haven’t eaten since this morning?”

Dean blinks, caught off guard. “Uh... no. Not really.”

You sigh, shaking your head. “Alright, I’ll order something. You two sit tight.”

As you step into the adjoining room to make the call, Dean looks over at Sam. His brother’s eyes are already closing, exhaustion pulling him under, but there’s a faint smile on his face.

When you come back, carrying your phone and rattling off a list of takeout options, Dean feels it hit him like a freight train. This is it. This is love. It’s not just about how he feels when you’re around—it’s about how you make everything better. How you make him better. How you’d do anything for Sam, the way he would.

You catch him staring and raise an eyebrow. “What?”

Dean shakes his head, a slow, disbelieving smile spreading across his face. “Nothing,” he says, his voice warm. “Just... thanks. For everything.”

Your expression softens, and you give him a small smile in return. “Always.”

Dean watches you for a moment longer, the realization settling deep in his bones. He’s in love with you. And if he’s honest, he doesn’t think he ever stood a chance.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fic #supernatural #.docx #.req

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steveslevis · 2 days ago

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let’s make it cinematic!

azriel x OF!reader (modern au) - part 1 of ?

summary: azriel and his girl are looking for new ways to make ends meet when their friends suggest something that neither of them would’ve ever thought to try…something neither of them would’ve ever thought they’d enjoy so much.

warnings: drinking, smoking (weed-adjacent aka mirthroot), sex tapes/filming sexual acts, dom!azriel x sub!reader, smut!!! so much smut, fingering, oral (m receiving), p in v sex, rough sex, degradation AND praise kinks, (light) choking, dirty talk, shadow play, size kink (simply bc az is HUGE), creampie (wrap it up yall!!!), az is a protective dom & king of aftercare, mentions of exhibitionism and a foursome

word count: 7.5k

a/n: it's FINALLY here!!!! shoutout to @bookishbishhh for the amazing idea, sorry this took forever...i hope everyone enjoys part 1 of who knows how many <333

Thick smoke hangs in the air around the apartment, the sound of laughter likely carrying through the entire complex as Azriel, Cassian and Rhys sit on the couch, talking about nothing in particular.

It’s a weekly ritual at this point for them to get together on a Friday night, just three so-called brothers laughing about senseless stories and reminiscing on their years spent together while passing mirthroot and sharing a bottle of whiskey. This week was no different from any other, aside from the distance in Azriel’s hazel eyes as the other two laugh about something Cassian did at a party the weekend before.

Rhys nudges the quiet male, offering him the lit mirthroot between his fingers to grab his attention. Azriel grunts in response, taking it before placing it between his lips and inhaling sharply.

“What’s on your mind, brother?” Rhys questions.

Azriel is hesitant to share, squeezing his eyes shut as he holds the smoke in for a moment. He knows Rhys specifically won’t understand his situation, considering he’s never had to deal with financial hardship in his life. But he knows there’s never been judgment from either of them when discussing money, so he pushes his hesitancy down despite the hollow feeling in his chest.

“Things have just been tough lately,” he sighs, finally exhaling the smoke he was holding in before passing the mirthroot to Cassian. “We have no fucking money and I hate that Y/N has to work pretty much any time she’s not studying or in class. She’s stuck at that damn restaurant every night until fucking midnight and I hate seeing her so exhausted every night but it’s not like she can just quit right now.”

There’s a beat of silence in the room as both Cassian and Rhys nod in understanding, before Cassian exhales his smoke and suggests something Azriel would’ve never expected.

“Have you thought about OnlyFaes?”

“Shut the fuck up Cass–”

“I’m not fucking around!” Cassian interjects, “I mean, don’t get all shitty and possessive on me, but your girlfriend is hot as fuck, and horny as fuck might I add. So why not get paid to fuck her? Me and Nes have had the best time doing it.”

It was no secret that Nesta had her own OnlyFaes and that Cassian was featured on it more times than not, he loves showing her off on their page and showing everyone how hot his girl that nobody else will ever have a chance to touch is.

“You can’t be serious,” Azriel nearly snarls, shaking his head sharply, “I am not gonna even ask her to do that. Y/N would never.”

Rhys chuckles while pouring himself some more whiskey, making Azriel snap his gaze in that direction, “What?” he insists, eyes narrowed on Rhys, “What’s so funny about that?”

“I think you don’t know your girlfriend if you think she wouldn’t be willing to try that,” Rhys says smoothly with a smirk, “Considering all the times you’ve had an audience–accidentally or not–I think she might be more than okay with doing it on camera, as long as you’re the one doing it.”

Azriel’s jaw twitches at his words, mind racing with thoughts of how good you look when he fucks you, how he can’t get enough of the noises you make when you cum, how well it would probably do in a video. There’s conflicting voices in his mind, one telling him to never share you and one telling him that the two of you could be so successful and never have to worry about how you were gonna pay rent again.

“I mean, don’t you think it’s worth a shot, Az?” Cassian questions. “I think she’d be into it.”

As Azriel opens his mouth to reply, the sound of a key sliding into the front door lock stops him in his tracks. His shadows skitter towards the door and swirl around the handle, excited to greet their favorite person.

The door opens a moment later, and you’re on the other side looking exhausted from a long day of class and work. You give your boyfriend a weak smile, mumbling a quick hello to the other two males in the room while closing the door and throwing your bag down. You look up from where you throw your bag down and halfway frown, cursing yourself silently for forgetting that it’s Friday and you wouldn’t be able to spend the rest of the night cuddling in bed with Az.

“Long night?” Cassian is the first to break the silence, furrowing his brow as he takes in your disheveled appearance. You nod and he grimaces sympathetically, holding up the bottle in his hand as he does. “Want a shot?”

Azriel elbows Cassian roughly, shooting a glare in his direction before standing up to walk over to you. His eyes fall on you and you nearly melt, leaning into his grasp as he reaches for your cheek. Azriel’s large wings raise behind him, as if he’s trying to shield you from the two males on the couch behind him as he and his shadows greet you.

“Ignore him, I think he’s had too much mirthroot tonight and is going crazy.” he mumbles, stroking his thumb across your cheek, “did you have a good shift?”

You sigh before shaking your head, rolling your eyes at the thought of the draining night you just had. Working in Prythian’s finest dining room came with its perks, mainly being the somewhat generous tips, but that didn’t mean that people weren’t assholes to you throughout every single shift, and tonight was no different.

You had gotten stuck waitressing for a large party of businessmen, who all decided it would be a great idea to flirt with you all night and make crude comments under their breath in your direction any time you passed their seats. So no, you hadn’t had a good shift at all.

“Don’t really wanna talk about it,” you retort tiredly, frowning up at Azriel while reaching up to cup his cheek. “I’m just gonna go to bed, I think. Don’t wanna bring down the fun.”

A frown crosses Azriel’s face for a moment but he nods, noting the darkness underneath your eyes as you stare up at him, “we’ll try not to be too loud and keep you up.”

The other males bid you goodnight from the couch as Azriel kisses your cheek gently. You give him a tired smile before trudging towards the bedroom.

You shrug out of your black slacks and polo, changing into pajamas before curling up under the covers. It doesn’t take you more than five minutes to fall asleep, exhaustion raking over your whole body as soon as your head meets the pillow.

________________________________________

The bed is empty and cold when you wake, making you frown at the absence of your favorite person. Before you can sulk too much, your phone buzzes from the bedside table. You turn over in the bed to grab for it, a small smile crossing your face as you read Azriel’s name on the screen. You look at the clock in the corner of the screen, realizing you slept in until 12:30 in the afternoon after utter exhaustion took you in the night before. There are three texts from the male, all over the last six hours.

Azzy <3 - 6:15 am: Forgot to tell you that I was taking an extra shift at the shop this morning, I’ll be home around 1. Love you.

Azzy <3 - 8:52 am: Can’t wait to spend the rest of the day cuddling in bed…wish I could’ve been there to wake you up the proper way this morning ;)

Azzy <3 - 12:28 pm: Don’t even know if you’re awake yet, but I’ll be home in less than five minutes. Finished up the car I was working on early, see you soon, love.

You smile to yourself as you read his semi-formal texts. He’s never been keen on texting since he’d rather just call you, but he’s gotten more chatty over text since the two of you barely get to see each other when you’re busy with work and school all the time. You start to type a message in reply, but he’s true to his word and you hear the front door unlocking only four minutes after he sent his last text.

You wait patiently in the bed, sitting up as you watch the bedroom door intently. It only takes a few seconds for him to open the door quietly, eyes widening in half-shock when he sees that you’re actually awake. You smile over at him sleepily, noting how his oil-stained coveralls are draped over his arm and his hands are surprisingly clean, as if he cleaned himself up before coming home.

“Well, good morning, sleeping beauty.” he teases, striding over to your side of the bed to give you a quick kiss.

“Hi,” you mumble tiredly, reaching up to cup his cheek gently. “Did you have a good morning?”

He hums in agreement, quickly tossing his work clothes into their designated laundry basket before slipping under the covers next to you. You slide as close to him as possible, wrapping your arms around his waist while burying your face in his neck. Azriel’s arms snake around your shoulders, planting a kiss on the top of your head. The two of you lay in comfortable silence, happy to sit in each other’s arms and enjoy the moment for a while.

When you do finally pull away to look up at him, Azriel’s brow is furrowed and he’s staring at the opposite wall, deep in thought. You trail your hand along his chest to break him from his trance, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt to get his attention.

“What’s on your mind?” you question when he finally looks down at you.

“Oh, just something Cass said last night,” he sighs, giving you a wry smile. You raise your brow at him, waiting for him to continue. “We were talking about how it’s been hard for us, with you being in school and working and with me having to pick up extra shifts at the shop. And–And he suggested a way for us to make more money. I was just thinking about it.”

“Well, what was it?” you urge.

“He suggested that we try OnlyFaes.” he says bluntly, watching you intently to gauge your reaction.

“O–Oh.” you say, a blush spreading across your cheeks as you mull over his words.

“Yeah, I–I thought it was insane at first.” he begins, shadows slithering around his wings as he looks at you with nervous eyes. “But then I got to thinking about it. Would it really be so bad? I–I mean, we already fuck all the time, and you’re insatiable as is,” he says with a small smirk, “What’s the difference between doing it alone versus in front of a camera? It’ll just be us still.”

Your mind races as you think about his suggestion. In all honesty, it seems less and less insane the more you think about it. You’ve heard of people making so much money on OnlyFaes, so what’s the real harm in it?

Before you can come up with a reply, Azriel takes your face in his hands, thumbs caressing your cheeks gently.

“I don’t want you to say yes right now. I don’t want to force you to do something you’re not interested in, love.” he says quietly, searching your gaze for any signs of offense. “It might not be for us, we don’t even have to attempt it if you don’t feel comfortable with it. It’s just something to think about, okay?”

Something roils in your gut as he peers down at you lovingly, a strange feeling of lust mixed with sin.

“Yeah–Yeah, I’ll think about it.”

________________________________________

Laughter and playful banter fill the living room of Nesta and Cassian’s apartment as you sit on the velvet couch with Nesta. She insisted you come over on your night off for a girl’s night, one filled with gossip, talk about all of your favorite smutty books, and plenty of wine. The conversation flowed naturally, and you eventually brought up the conversation you had with Azriel a few nights prior, the one you hadn’t been able to shake for the last few days.

“Can you believe that?” you giggle, swirling the red liquid in your glass, “Az actually suggested that I should start an OnlyFaes. Me, of all people! Like I would make any money.”

Nesta smirks at you, shaking her head at your feigned outrage while sipping her own wine.

“I can believe it, actually.” she retorts, making you stop dead in your tracks. “I know you could make plenty of money. I make plenty on there and I’m sure you could make even more than I do, especially if you let Az fuck you–”

“Wait, wait–” you interject, brow furrowed as you sit up abruptly as she speaks. “You do OnlyFaes?”

“Of course I do, you didn’t know?” Nesta says casually, raising an eyebrow as you stare at her wide-eyed. “Me and Cass are so horny that we’re on each other almost all the time, might as well make some money while we’re going at it, you know?”

“Are you fucking with me right now, Nes?” you question, unable to read her facial expression as she watches with amusement as you obsess over this revelation.

“No, Y/N. I’m not fucking with you.” she laughs dryly.

“And–And you actually make money by doing this?” you continue, still skeptical.

Nesta nods, reaching for her phone, “Would me showing you my profile and my last payment from the site make you stop asking so many questions?”

You’re silent as you nod in reply, waiting impatiently as she pulls up the page on her phone. Nesta hands her phone to you, a small chuckle escaping her lips again as you go wide-eyed as you scroll. There were dozens of videos on her profile, some with Cassian, some with just her, along with countless photos of her in positions you truly weren’t sure were possible before seeing them with your own eyes.

“Oh, quit blushing like a schoolgirl,” Nesta’s voice makes you jump as she leans over to you, pressing a few buttons on her phone as you hold it, “it’s not like you and Azriel are vanilla saints in the bedroom who just stick to missionary. I’ve seen the two of you fuck before, remember?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mumble under your breath, blush deepening as you recall the time Cassian and Nesta walked in on Azriel fucking you ruthlessly into the couch of their old shared apartment and didn’t stop once he noticed them.

“Uh huh, I’m sure you don’t,” she retorts, clicking one final button on her phone before letting go, revealing her last paycheck from the account, “Here’s the proof that I actually make some money.”

Some money was the understatement of the century if you were being honest. Last week alone Nesta had made $1200, and $1400 the week before, and some weeks she made up to $2000. The thought of making that much money in a month, let alone one week, was something you never thought you’d be able to do.

“I really think you should go for it,” Nesta urges genuinely as she watches you stare in wonder at her paychecks, “I think you’ll enjoy this a hell of a lot more than your shitty ass waitressing job.”

“Yeah–Yeah, I probably would,” you say sheepishly, handing the phone back to her as your mind races with the possibilities. “I’ll think about it.”

________________________________________

Perched on top of the kitchen counter, you admire the shirtless male in front of you as he finishes preparing a simple dinner for the two of you. It’s not uncommon for Azriel to make dinner, as you’re usually too tired to think about making anything by the time you get home from work. He plates the pasta with tomato sauce, adding some cheese on top before pouring two glasses of your favorite–but cheap–red wine.

Azriel tending to you–in any manner–is truly your favorite sight, the way he makes sure you’re always happy and cared for always makes your heart sing, and your core ache.

You take in every inch of him as he focuses on the glasses in front of him, eyes trailing from his half-wet hair from taking a shower a few minutes ago, down to his bare chest, over his tattooed shoulders to his muscular back and the wings–gods, those wings–between his shoulder blades. The bat-like wings behind him always make you damn near feral, loving the way they flare and twitch when you touch them, the way they make the already large Illyrian male seem even larger and more intimidating than he already is.

“Dinner, my love.” he says, finally breaking you from your trance as he turns to face you. Your cheeks are flushed red when he turns to you and he smirks, knowing he just caught you staring.

Before he can make any playful jabs at you for gawking, you let what’s been on your chest for the last day finally come out.

“I wanna do it.” you start, looking at him with fire and lust in your gaze.

“I mean, you always wanna do it–” he teases casually as he slides the plates onto the small table in between the kitchen and living room, “but can’t that wait? You need to eat, sweetheart.”

“No, no.” you shake your head at him, brow furrowing in frustration as you’re unsure how to word your next sentence. But fuck it, you’re just gonna say it, “I wanna try OnlyFaes.”

“Oh,” he says and you swear his voice drops an octave when he speaks, “you wanna do that, huh?”

He moves in one quick stride to stand between your spread thighs, trapping you on the countertop by bracketing his large hands on either side of you. You peer up at him with wide eyes, nodding wordlessly as his shadows flicker around the two of you.

“Are you sure?” he questions, his hazel eyes going dark as his mind races to impossibly inappropriate places.

“Yes,” you say confidently, reaching one hand up to tug through his dark hair, “I want you to fuck me on camera, Az. Wanna show the world how good I can be for you, Sir.”

The tension in the air is palpable as you draw out that last word, looking up at him with lust-filled eyes as he towers over you.

“I told you not to call me that unless you can handle finishing what you’re starting,” he nearly growls, hands coming up to grip your hips tightly, “and right now, you need to eat, not start this teasing shit.”

You hum in response, a glint of mischief in your eyes as your hand trails from his hair and down to the back of his neck, pulling him down and into a passionate kiss. He groans against your mouth, pressing your body against his by tugging your ass to the edge of the counter and making you wrap your legs around his waist.

“What if I’m not hungry and I wanna finish what I’m starting?” you tease, angling your hips up to meet his, only the thin fabric of your underwear and his sweatpants between you two, as you’re only wearing one of his t-shirts and a pair of underwear.

Azriel doesn’t have time to make any remarks before you pull him back in for another searing kiss. He keeps his lips on yours as one hand finds its way between your thighs, making you whine against his lips as his fingers hover over your core. Your hips buck into his hand as his index finger swirls over your clothed clit, making him groan as you nearly melt under his touch.

“Gods, thinking about me fucking you in front of a camera turns you on this much?” he teases, kissing down the side of your neck as you nod enthusiastically at him. He only chuckles and pushes the cloth of your panties to the side, slipping a thick finger into you without warning. “Such a good little whore for me, aren’t you?”

“Yes, yes, Az.” you nearly plead, continuing to nod as he pumps the finger in and out a few more times before adding another. “I’m your little slut, wanna show everyone how good you make me feel.”

He hums in approval as you grind against his fingers, which drive into you quickly as you grip onto his shoulders to keep balance on the counter. His shadows travel beneath his shirt that you’re wearing, teasing your nipples as he focuses on your dripping cunt and swollen clit. You’re almost completely lost in the pleasure, that familiar knot forming in your stomach at a rapid pace while you whimper against his neck.

Just as you’re about to reach that sweet release, all stimulation from the male and his shadows stops, his hands back against the counter as he leans in to give you a chaste kiss on the cheek. You stare at him with wide eyes, mouth opening and closing as if you’re a fish out of water as you look at him in disbelief.

“You need to eat and you’re not cumming until you do.” he says in a warning tone against your cheek before pulling away completely, motioning for you to follow him to the dining table after he smooths down your shirt and places your underwear back over your core.

“Az,” you plead, trudging along behind the male towards the table, “what if I told you that I ate a little bit, like, two hours ago?”

The male turns to look at you with narrowed eyes as he sits at the table, he definitely doesn’t believe a word you’re saying.

“Some asshole asked for a salad and then sent it back at least five times because none of them were right, so Omar let me have one of the remakes because of all the trouble the ass put me through,” you explain, ignoring the chair Azriel pulled out for you to sit in, opting to shift onto your knees in front of the male, “I’m not even hungry.”

That was a lie, you were hungry, but only for him.

He stares down at you, his face showing only cool composure as you crawl a bit closer to him on your knees, hands coming up to rest on his thighs as you sit between them. There’s a noticeable tent in his sweats in front of you, which you eye hungrily as one hand comes up to palm it through the thin fabric. You hesitate for a moment as he looks down at you with an unreadable look in his eyes, but continue when he doesn’t stop you.

It only takes one tug on the waistband of his sweats to free his large cock, letting it spring back in front of your face before grabbing the length. You’ll honestly never get used to how big it is, how your hand barely reaches around the entire girth when you stroke it, how it fills you up to the brim every time it’s in your mouth or in your cunt.

You stare up at him as he leans back in the chair, trying to keep his composure as you reach to kitten-lick and kiss the red, angry tip of his cock before attempting to take it into your mouth. He grunts as the tip hits the back of your warm throat, your tongue sliding over the underside as you fist the rest of his length that you can’t fit into your mouth. He looks down at you then, noticing the way your free hand snakes between your thighs and you rut your hips against your palm, desperately trying anything to cure the ache that he left between your thighs.

It’s then that he decides he’s not hungry–for anything except for you–anymore.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” Azriel whimpers finally, tugging at your hair to pull you off his length. You look up to him with a furrowed brow, glassy eyes and a frown, disappointed in his denial. “You’re such a little needy cockslut, aren’t you?”

Before you can reply, you’re tugged from the ground and thrown over the male’s shoulder, making you squeal in surprise. He pushes the chair out of his way before turning on his heels to walk towards your shared bedroom.

“C’mon, love.” he murmurs as he kisses the outside of your upper thigh that’s nearest to his head, “let’s go practice for the camera.”

________________________________________

In all honesty, you never thought the two of you would actually follow through with this, but here you are, kneeling on your bed in the apartment you share with Azriel, wearing a new white silk slip over a matching lace thong while he sets up the camera facing where you’re sitting on the bed.

“Are you sure about this?” Azriel asks for probably the fifth time in the last ten minutes, searching your gaze for any signs of doubt before he turns the camera on.

“Az, I’m fine.” you assure him once more, pushing your nerves down as you stare at your beautiful boyfriend from across the room. “Now let’s get this shit started before I’m not horny anymore.”

He raises a brow at you and chuckles, toying with the buttons on the camera you borrowed from Nesta once more.

“Ready?”

You nod, watching Azriel closely as he clicks the button to turn the video on.

“Sit up straight and look pretty for me, sweetheart.” he says while taking a step towards the bed, “wanna see how beautiful you look before you get all fucked out on my cock, even though I love how cute you look then, too.”

You’re amazed at how quickly he switches into his usual sultry and serious tone, you immediately obey his command by straightening out your back, peering up at him through your lashes. You’re glad he’s acting like he normally does in the bedroom and is trying to make it seem as though it’s just the two of you as much as possible, like he’d promised the night before.

He takes another swift step and he’s at the foot of the bed, thigh brushing against your knee as he presses against the mattress. Your eyes rove over his body, taking in his bare, sculpted chest littered with swirling tattoos, his wings flared behind his shoulders, the silver chain adorning his neck, his black boxers hiding his best assets, all making your heart–and core–flutter. He reaches for your chin, gripping it lightly to force your gaze to meet his lust-filled eyes. He smirks down at you, taking in every inch of you.

“Hi love,” he nearly purrs, one hand falling to the strap of your slip, toying with the silk between his thumb and pointer finger, “I like this little outfit, is this all for me?”

“All for you, Sir.” you respond sweetly, fighting the urge to reach up and pull his lips down to yours by pressing your palms firmly against your bare thighs.

“Such a sweet girl,” he coos, fingers trailing through your hair towards the nape of your neck, tugging at the locks to make you whine. “You’ve been such a good girl for me, sitting pretty while you wait for me to set up. I think you deserve a reward, don’t you?”

Your eyes light up at his words, nodding quickly as he chuckles at your enthusiasm. At this point, you’ve almost forgotten about the camera pointing at you, your brain nearly turned to mush just because of Azriel’s sweet yet domineering demeanor, just like you always do when he takes control.

“What kind of reward do you want tonight, love?” he says, watching you fidget excitedly under his touch.

“Wanna cum for you, Sir.” you say shyly, a blush creeping onto your cheeks as you stare up at him, “Wanna cum on your fingers, a–and your cock.”

“So greedy,” he teases, one hand roaming toward the swell of your breasts, “But since you’ve been such a patient girl for me, I think I can make that work.”

You nod excitedly in response, grinning as Azriel leans down to pull your lips into a swift kiss. He pulls away as quickly as he pulled you in, moving to sit behind you on the bed instead of standing in front of you. He situates you between his spread legs, adjusting to where you’re leaning against his chest with your knees bent and your thighs spread, putting you on full display.

He makes quick work of exploring your body, one hand kneading your right breast while the other pushes the hem of your slip up. You crane your neck to look up at him, a pout forming on your lips to silently beg for a kiss. Azriel obliges, releasing your breast to grip your neck, squeezing slightly as he pulls you in for a kiss.

His other hand continues to roam along your spread thighs, massaging the soft skin with touches teasingly close to your core. You whine into the kiss, canting your hips against his hand to gain more friction as he teases you. His fingers brush against your clit once before pulling the lace thong down your legs to throw it on the ground, exposing your glistening core to him and the camera.

“Gods, you’re so wet.” he mutters against your cheek, one finger sliding into your heat with ease as you whine. “That’s it, such a good girl.”

Your head falls against his shoulder as you bite back a moan and snap your eyes shut, grinding your hips against his hand as he slowly pumps the digit in and out. His hand squeezes your throat then, a low disapproving growl falling from his lips making your eyes fly open to look up at him.

“Eyes on me, baby.” he warns, thumb reaching up to circle your clit as he adds a second finger, your mouth falling open in a silent whine as he does. “And don’t bite back those moans, I wanna hear you.”

You nod up at him with wide, glassy eyes as his fingers increase in speed, making a crude noise as they drive into your dripping cunt. Azriel groans above you, cock hardening against your back as you squirm and moan. His fingers are unforgiving, allowing you no time to adjust as he brings you closer and closer to your peak. He looks away from you for only a moment, taking the chance to look at the two of you in the viewfinder next to the camera. The screen shows you sprawled out in front of him, staring up at him with glassy eyes as his shadows swirl around your waist and arms to keep you firmly against him. You look so fucked out already, desperate for more as his fingers pound into you.

“Look at you,” he chuckles, turning back to actually look down at you, eyes trailing along your form. “Does that feel good, sweetheart?”

You nod quickly, a moan falling from your lips as you grip his large thigh, squeezing it firmly to keep yourself in place.

“Already so fucked out that you can’t even speak, huh?” he teases while tightening his grip on your throat to elicit a squeak of pleasure from your lips. “I haven’t even given you my cock yet, and you’re already a dumb little cockslut?”

“Y–Yes, yes, yes” you whimper, the words nearly a chant on your lips as you feel that familiar warmth winding up at your core. “I’m your dumb little cockslut, Sir. Just–Just wanna be your good girl and–and cum for you.”

It always amazes Azriel how easily you fall under a spell when he touches you, how easily you trust him with your pleasure like this. He smirks down at you, but can’t hide the adoration shining in his eyes as kisses your cheek gently, a stark contrast to his rough fingers in your heat and his skittering shadows holding you in place.

“So good for me, sweetheart.” he mumbles against your skin, nodding at you. “Go ahead, baby. Be a good girl and cum on my fingers.”

His words are your undoing, making you fall apart almost instantly. Your body shakes as you cum, and you feel nothing but white hot pleasure as he continues his assault on your core. You can barely hear him over the ringing in your ears as you tighten around his fingers, but you know Azriel is murmuring words of praise in your ear as he watches you writhe under his touch. He doesn’t relent when you come down from your high, fingers still pumping into you while his thumb circles your clit as you attempt to squirm away from him, but fail as his hand on your throat along with his shadows hold you in place.

“P–Please, I–I can’t.” you cry out, eyes wide as you plead with the male and twist in his arms. “I–I wanna cum on your cock now, n–not your fingers, Sir. Please.”

Azriel smirks as you beg, but finally slows his fingers to a halt and releases your throat.

“Since you were so good for me, I guess I can give you what you want.” he teases, repositioning you to sit in the middle of the bed once more, kneeling behind you this time. He kisses your shoulder as he tugs his boxers off, pulling at the silk strap of your slip. “Why don’t you take this off for me, sweet girl.”

You nod mindlessly as your eyes wander towards the viewfinder, remembering that you’re not exactly alone in this scenario. A deep blush spreads across your cheek as you pull the slip over your head, catching a glimpse of your bare body on the screen.

“So sexy,” you hear Azriel rasp out behind you, bringing you back to reality as he reaches for your hips, pushing your knees apart as he kneels between yours and presses your ass against his painfully hard cock. “You want my cock now, sweetheart?”

“Yes, please.” you plead, craning your neck to look back at him again.

He hums in approval as he kisses up your neck, stopping at your ear. His breath fans against your skin as his teeth graze your earlobe, sending a shiver down your spine as you wait for his instruction.

“Go ahead and bend over for me,” he orders, watching you with lust-filled eyes as you bend at the waist, pressing your chest to the bed with your ass still pressed against his cock.

Azriel’s shadows flick out then, tugging your hands to bind them behind your back, leaving you defenseless against the male behind you. He lets out a low groan as he takes you in, one hand kneading the fat of your ass as the other fists his length, teasing it between your folds slowly. You whine in response, craning your neck to look up at him with wide, needy eyes. The sight behind you is enough to make you fold immediately, enough to make you bend at any whim that he has. He’s staring at his cock with heavy-lidded eyes, arm and chest muscles flexed as he holds back the urge to slam into you right then. His wings droop slightly, but you can’t help but notice the way they twitch as his hips roll against yours. A moment later, he looks forward to meet your gaze, silently searching your eyes for any signs of hesitation, but finding none.

“You gonna be a good girl and take what I give you?” he questions, raising a brow at you as your hips rock back against his once, twice.

“Yes, Sir.” you reply quickly, eager to see how he wants you.

“Good girl.” he nearly purrs, voice low as he finally slams into you, cock filling you to the brim as you let out a small moan. “Fuck, always so tight.”

Azriel’s vice grip on your hips is the only thing holding you up as he fills you to the hilt, tip rubbing against your cervix with brutal force when he bottoms out. You can only cry out and take what he gives you as he picks up speed, just like he wanted. He smirks down at you, mind spinning as he takes you in; takes in how your ass bounces against his hips with each thrust, how your bound fists squeeze tightly behind your back, how your eyes brim with tears as you cry out in pleasure as he pounds into you.

“Gods, it feels like your cunt was made for my cock,” he remarks, squeezing his eyes shut to push off a premature orgasm. “You love when I fuck you like this, don’t you? You love being at my mercy and going dumb on my dick, don’t you?”

“Yes, yes, I–I love it!” you nearly yell followed by a string of moans falling from your lips as a rogue shadow snakes around to toy with your clit. “F–Fuck, you’re so big, s–so full.”

“I know, sweetheart. You’re taking it so well, though.” he praises, continuing his punishing pace. “I know you can give me another orgasm, wanna see you fall apart on my cock.”

“I–I’m already close, Sir.” you admit, blushing as you peer back at him. “N–Need to cum, please.”

“That’s okay, baby.” he says gently, slamming his hips into you again as he slaps your ass lightly once. “You can do it, you can cum for me, baby.” he urges while his shadows press into your clit even more, “Cum on my cock, make a mess on my cock and I’ll reward you with my cum.”

The thought of him cumming in you spurs you on more than it should and before you know it, you’re cumming on his length, walls spasming around him feverishly as you cry out. Azriel curses under his breath as you do, only moments before he reaches his own climax, release coating your heat as his hips falter.

You swear you almost black out as you come down from your high, a whirlwind of emotions and sensations flooding your body as Azriel slows behind you. Once he stills, you relax, a small whimper falling from your lips as his shadows retreat from your body and your hands fall to your side once more as the rest of your body relaxes. You don’t know how long the two of you stay there, and barely notice Azriel pulling out of you and sliding off the bed, quickly moving to turn the camera off before returning to your side. He sits down next to you, peering down at you lovingly as you blink at him slowly.

“Hi, love.” he says gently, reaching over to push your hair out of your face.

“Hi, Az.” you reply tiredly, rolling over onto your side once you’ve caught your breath.

“You did so good for me, baby.” he coos before turning to the bedside table to grab the glass of water and washcloth he’d set out before you began earlier. “Take a drink for me.”

You sit up slowly, taking the glass to take a long sip as Azriel runs the washcloth over you legs and core, cleaning the slick from your thighs. Your heart flutters as he takes care of you, falling more and more in love with the male with every second he spends focused on you. He looks up as you finish off the glass of water, taking it from your hand before kissing your forehead lovingly.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, genuine concern shining in his eyes, trying to decide if he missed any signs of your discomfort during the scene.

“I’m great, Az.” you say with a veritable smile, cupping his cheek to pull him in for a quick kiss. “That was amazing, you’re amazing.”

You swear you see a blush pass across his cheeks at your compliment, a smile gracing his lips as he nods at you. “How about you get changed into something comfortable while I order us some Thai takeout, yeah? We can eat on the couch and watch your favorite movie, and I’ll even give you a massage if you want.” he suggests, leaning down to kiss you again.

Your eyes light up at his suggestion, giggling happily at him, “You always spoil me,” you reply against his lips.

“Only because you always deserve it.”

________________________________________

It took you a few days to get the courage to finally post the video to your page, but you finally did. Nesta convinced you that she would help you edit the video. She even went as far as offering to ‘shout you out’ on her page, which entailed you posing with her in a pair of skimpy lingerie to post on her feed. Azriel wasn’t happy about that at first, but didn’t try to stop you from doing it, knowing it would only boost your page and get more engagement for your video thanks to Nesta’s established following.

You posted the video three days ago and essentially avoided opening the OnlyFaes app after that, scared to see the results of your scandalous endeavor.

So, when you returned from your evening class, you didn’t expect to find Nesta and Cassian lounging on your couch with Azriel, seemingly celebrating something with a bottle of champagne.

“There she is!” Cassian cheers when you walk in, grinning widely at you while reaching for a glass of champagne to hand to you.

“What’s this for?” you question, hesitantly taking the glass as you take the seat on the couch next to Azriel, who leans over to press a kiss to your forehead in greeting.

“We’re celebrating,” Azriel murmurs against your skin, a half-amused smirk on his lips as he looks down at you when you furrow your brow, “Celebrating our success. The champagne was entirely Cassian’s idea.”

“Your video was a hit,” Cassian laughs, wiggling his eyebrows at you mischievously. “We just wanted to come say congrats.”

“Oh, it was?” you say, eyes widening as you reach for your phone quickly.

“It seems everyone loved both you and Azriel.” Nesta interjects, watching you with a smirk as you navigate to your OnlyFaes app.

You quickly open the app, noticing how the Notifications tab has a red bubble above it that says 99+ before clicking on your profile. Last time you checked, you only had one subscriber–Nesta’s account–and now you have over two thousand. You scroll down to the video, clicking on the thumbnail. The sight of 302,000 views makes your eyes widen once more, wondering how you missed all of the notifications from the apparently semi-viral video. Before exiting out of the video, the amount of comments catch your eye, urging you to scroll to see them.

faebae12: GODS he’s soooooo hot…and the way he looks at her!!! I need a male like this in my life.

daycourtbabygirl: his mouth is so fucking dirty and she’s SO sexy i need more of them ASAP

biggestwingspan9: came so fast. need someone to go dumb on my cock like this

subslut1000: what i would give to be between them…so fucking good

sizequeen75: ohhhh my gods his cock is so big i need to be tied down with shadows and fucked like that

The sound of laughter finally pulls you from your trance as you sort through the endless comments talking about how much they love the two of you, you finally look up to see Nesta and Cassian staring at you expectantly.

“I–I really didn’t expect this to happen.” you say sheepishly, blushing deeply as they continue to stare you down.

“You need to have more faith in yourself,” Nesta chides, raising a brow at you, “This is just the beginning, and you’re already doing so well. You were so hot.”

“You–You actually watched it?” you stammer.

“Of course I did,” she chuckles, and Cassian nods next to her while elbowing Azriel encouragingly. “I think you look like a great time, and who knows, maybe we could collaborate someday when you’re more comfortable. I would love to do some more dom work alongside these two,”

Cassian smirks at Nesta in agreement and you expect Azriel to tense beside you, but he doesn’t. You look to him then, and he smirks down at you as well before kissing your cheek.

“What do you think, love?” Azriel says, raising a brow at you, “Should we keep doing this and see where it takes us?”

Your mind races as you take in the whole situation, letting the fact that you were actually successful with this escapade finally settle in. A smile crosses your face then, core heating at the thought of continuing to let Azriel fuck you on camera. It sounds insane, but you truly don’t care anymore, especially since you both enjoyed it so fucking much.

“Yeah.” you say with a wide grin, “Yeah, I think we should keep going.”

tag list (add yourself here!): @dreamloud4610 @angelbunny222 @bookishbishhh @fanficscuziranout @buckingforbuckybarnes @thefandomplace @feyretopia @mad-hatters-lover @kissesfromnovalie @mulledwinetea @saltedcoffeescotch @mrsjna @chillymountsjess @azriels-human @messageforthesmallestman @delphinefour04 @kbear8863 @secretsicanthideanymore @randomgurl2326 @shushsstuff @caitm1 @eeniemeenie

#acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel smut #azriel x you #azriel fanfic

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chrissv4mp · 3 days ago

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♱ pass the salt . . .

all the chatter in the packed diner was merely background noise as everyone listened to the old stories your mom was telling billie about you. your father smiled in amusement beside her, and you just slumped in your chair, blush creeping up onto your cheeks.

you nudged billie's shoulder whenever she laughed, shaking your head softly as you groaned in both embarrassment and faux annoyance. but, underneath that, you loved whenever she laughed—even if it was caused by the embarrassing things you'd done when you were younger.

"okay, mom," you interrupt, sitting up straighter in your chair as you lean over the table to grab a glass of water.

your mom only shrugged, offering you a smile before giggling quietly to your dad about how cute the two of you were. when you glanced up, a waitress held a tray filled with the different dishes your group ordered. you gave the woman a smile, quiet, 'thank you's' being passed around as she set down the plates.

as soon as you got your food, you began to pick at it with your fork, cutting it up with the knife in your other hand. when you finally finished cutting it all, you brought a piece up to your mouth and quickly realized that it was missing something.

raising your head, you search for the salt from your seat, the opposite side of the table from your mom's. you nod your head in the direction of the salt before you speak, "daddy, could you pass me the salt?"

your tone wasn't sexual, it wasn't even sultry in the slightest. yet, billie extended her arm just as your dad did, both of their hands reaching for the salt. but when billie realizes that the question was directed toward your father, she quickly retracts her hand, her entire face flushing red.

"oh," she murmurs, biting on the inside of her cheek as she locks eyes with your dad.

your own cheeks flush a deep shade of pink as your mom's eyes drift to you, her lips curling into a small, awkward smile. your dad, however, cocks and eyebrow and tilts his head as he stares at your girlfriend.

billie offers him a bashful smile, hands tugging at the hem of her polo shirt underneath the table, "honest mistake?" her voice is an octave higher, very clearly showcasing her nervousness. her words do absolutely nothing to lighten the situation.

"yeah." your father's tone is dry, montone like he really can't stand to look at billie anymore. but when he speaks again, you let out a breath you hadn't even known you'd been holding, "i'll let it pass since i like you."

your girlfriend smiles brightly, her embarrassment washing away at his words, "thank you," she mutters, voice shaky despite the smile on her pretty lips.

a quiet chuckle is heard from your mom, and it only makes your embarrassment worse. you shoot a death glare in billie's direction, to which she just shrugs and laughs quietly before going back to eating her food.

by the time your dad passes you the salt, you don't even want it anymore. instead, you just let it sit beside your plate while you eat your food, your heart beating rapidly as you feel your dad glance at you from time to time.

"you're callin' her 'daddy'?" your father asks, a hint of amusement laced within his voice.

"dad!"

LETTERS. here's this little blurb because i have no motivation for anything else at the moment 💔💔 ily alll!!!

TAGS. @mseilishmwah @sophloveswomen @mxqdii @livvydunneness @vyntagess @afteraftercare @wiidfi0wer33 @loving1dsworld @tan1shere @fallingforfalll2 @cierraonline @dandelions4us @scarlittt @ifwdominicfike @slxtarchive @stonerfromlesbos @bilsdillldough @47lake @hopingforgoodblogs @karaeilishh @mybluebossanova @sturnsmia @moralesluvr @justtr @greenbttrflyy @billsbaby @hopelessfawn @zayluvss @meliciousmel13

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cheralith · 1 day ago

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PLEASE MORE OF CHILDHOOD BEST FRIEND KAISER 🙏🙏

childhood bestfriend!kaiser who, at age nine, manages to find a spare coin on the ground and decides, for the fun of it, to use it on a nearby capsule machine as he waits for you to finish up inside the convenience store. it contains mini capsules of what seems to be cheap jewelry, and though kaiser cannot be bothered to wear any himself, he decides for the fun of it to just give it a spin since the other machines don't seem worth his money.

he ends up with what looks like a cheap nickel ring with a plastic deep blue gem glued onto its little divot. it's... actually not bad for something so cheap, but it's still cheap enough to notice some flawed intricacies and some irregularities in its pattern surrounding the band of the ring. he attempts to try it on some of his fingers, but it refuses to budge past half of most of them.

you manage to finally finish up paying for your stuff at the register, meeting him outside where you find him squatting down in front of a couple of capsule machines arranging from some quick candy to disposable toys. he holds something shiny between his two fingers as he examines it closely, his concentration on the item making you giggle lightly. that's when he notices you and you ask him what he's holding as you shuffle up next to him.

"a ring," he states simply, letting you hold it between your fingers to let you analyze the toy. "i think it's a little small for me though."

you hum lightly before gently trying it on your left ring finger. to yours and kaiser's mild surprise, it fits quite snugly. "hey, look at that!"

you show off your hand to him, where the ocean blue gem glimmers along the silver band. kaiser stares at it for a minute, taking a liking to how well it goes together with your hand—like it's meant to be there.

he tucks his head away from you, the tips of his ears blushing a light pink. quietly, he mumbles, "... you can have it, then... if you want."

"really?!" you exclaim, clearly delighted. you grin widely, clenching and unclenching your fist when he nods shyly again in affirmation.

he watches you from the corner of his eye, witnessing you glimmer in admiration at the cheap ring, as if it was an actually well-crafted piece made with love and care and thought and not some mass-produced, cheap toy that would most likely break in a couple of days.

so it's surprising how long the little toy has lasted after all these years. there eventually came an age where it could no longer fit any of your fingers without it getting stuck, so you had opted for creating it into a necklace with a matching silver chain. when you had proudly showed off your creation to kaiser at age twelve, his lips purse in bashfulness fronted as confusion. he knew you had worn it for quite a while after he gave it to you, given how he always would steal a glance at your hand to see if you were still wearing it, but to see you go to a length to preserve such a small gift made kaiser feel like he was on top of the world.

you wore the simple necklace for a long time—essentially every day and never took it off unless you were showering or going to bed. even despite the strict "no jewelry" rule at your school, you always had tucked it inside your shirt in secret, feeling like you were carrying a piece of kaiser every where you went since you and him went to different schools (what institution he went to, you didn't know. every time you asked him what school to see if it sounded familiar, he'd just simply reply, "school.")

so when kaiser disappeared from your life for three years, after he had gotten arrested at thirteen for apparently robbing a store (you would shout at the others who rumored about the subject that he'd do no such thing), the piece of metal felt heavier around your neck at times. it felt sore at times, but you still insisted on wearing it every day in hopes that he'd still be somewhere nearby, waiting for you to hand him spare pieces of your dad's bread rolls behind his bakery.

you'd fiddle with it at times while waiting at his bus stop, while you waited on the swings at the nearby park, while you sat on the stairs of your father's bakery... just waiting in hopes of seeing a familiar blonde to hopefully appear before you. you don't know how much time you had wasted in the first year and a half attempting to continue a routine that you didn't know ended without your knowledge... just simply waiting and staring into the open distance while your fingers fiddled with the toy ring strung around your neck.

you stopped waiting for the figment of someone you used to know after the seventeenth month. winter was upon you now and you knew it was getting harder to withstand the chilled air as you waited, waited, and waited. as you swung lightly on the swings that you and kaiser used to eat too much candy with bought with your dad's spare cash, you eventually let the sugar dissolve on your tongue one last time before heading home as the snow began to fall.

you were eighteen, visiting home from the big city on a holiday weekend when you saw him for the first time in years. just shy of the end of your first semester at university, you saw a familiar head of blonde (with now blue tips) hair descending down to the shared tunnel of the subway, face just barely visible from the scarf he wore. you were on the opposite side and had just gotten off at the same platform, and the whiplash you had given yourself at the moment to double check if the person wrapped in a dark blue scarf was actually someone that had disappeared from your life years ago was truly there could've snapped your neck.

suitcase trailing behind you, you had forgotten all about your connecting train and swiftly trailed down the stairs in desperation to see a familiar face you yearned to see for the past few years. you probably looked like a psychopath, but you didn't care, not when you spotted the familiar choppy locks of white gold just a few meters away.

when you called out his name, you proved yourself right given how the figure in front of you freezes when you shout his last name.

kaiser remembers stiffening up at the sound of a melody all too familiar to him just before he transferred through the turnstile to the other station. he slowly turned around to see a face he had spent a good portion of the beginning of his life around, a face that unlike most people in his life, he didn't dread to see with a flow of contempt. but he still felt the apprehension fill his nerves, similar in the way that it did just before a big match.

and it felt nearly impossible to control such a feeling—especially when he spots the shrewd ring still hanging around your neck on a thin, silver chain, its dark plastic gem still glistening at him with a knowing wink in its glimmer.

a/n ; some more of childhood bestfriend!kaiser here, here, and here (yandere warning for the last one). comments and reblogs always noticed and endlessly appreciated :]

#blue lock #bllk #michael kaiser #kaiser #michael kaiser x reader #kaiser x reader #michael kaiser x you #kaiser x you #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock fluff #bllk fluff #blue lock ; michael kaiser #mini-series ; cbf!kaiser

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pleaseinsertwittyurl · 3 days ago

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IWTV Characters as:

Toasters!

Anonymous request!

Lestat:

Insane. Does it work well? No. But who cares when it looks like that? She hasn't toasted a piece of bread in years but she will sit prominently on your counter nonetheless.

Louis:

Fun to look at but confusing to operate. Needs 3 different adapters to function. If you can figure it out it makes perfect toast every time. This toaster heats up immediately and takes hours to cool down.

Armand:

Petite and adorable but looks can be deceiving. Keeps toast in a cage while it cooks. Passed down from your great aunt. This toaster is a fire hazard and should be handled with caution.

Claudia:

Equal parts cute and effective. Tries to look complicated but really just wants to toast bread, and a lot of it. Can cook at two different temperatures simultaneously. The devil works hard, but this toaster works harder.

Daniel:

Still looks and works great despite being an antique. Only has two settings: burnt and more burnt. A strong exterior that can take a beating. This toaster is fine being a single slice machine, two slices are overrated.

Santiago:

A bastard creation with a cursed aura. Makes everyone uncomfortable and yet nobody can look away. Only looks like this to upstage the microwave. This toaster lives to make you uneasy.

Last one for the night (it's 5:30am help). I love doing these so please submit requests for characters/objects you'd like my take on!

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luvether · 2 days ago

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BURNT SUN-KISSED POPPIES. mydei

summary, to be the childhood sweetheart of Kremnos‘ heir came the times where he sought comfort in you for all his tragedies.

mydei x gn!reader. fluff content. childhood to adulthood. secret pinings. puppy love. yearning. teasing. quality time. princess treatment. hurt with comfort. historical!au not canon compliant to amphoreus lore. written before version 3.0. [3.6k wc]

What are the chances you get to visit Castrum Kremnos during your father’s many business trips?

By the Gods above, luck was in your favor that day.

Because visiting Castrum Kremnos meant being able to see their renowned young crown prince Mydeimos, rumored to be one of the future heroes of Okhema city and the lion of Kremnos—and in secrecy to you, also the receiver of your affections for as long as you remember.

You aren’t certain when this unimaginable pull happened, was it the way you first saw the dawn captured red upon his braided hair? Or was it his big eyes that furnaced and melted into gold ingots with flicks of honey?

Your heart flutters at the thought of simply just encountering him, your fingers bunching up your fabrics as your carriage arrives at the city gates.

With a table full of wine, goat cheese and fruits—it was easy to slip away from your father. He was too busy settling jovial talks about the kingdoms’ flourish with Kremnos’ leaders to realize your absence. The unfamiliar palace is bigger than you expected, grandeur even, completely different from your home city. When your eyes trace the intricate patterns upon their pillars you can immediately seize out the lion from its marble carvings. But despite its size, it was no challenge to locate the prince.

The sound of clashing wooden swords would indicate where he was since you are aware of his duties to fight—and it is said that crown prince Mydeimos is usually seen spending his leisure on swordsmanship practice with young lord Phainon.

At times, you envy how often Lord Phainon is mentioned around the prince.

They both seem really close.

When the harsh clacks of wood on wood floats around your ears, your hurried paces falter into quiet footsteps. You find yourself sneaking under an olive tree and peeking through the shrubs, eyes landing on two boys on the garden with cobblestone beneath their leather boots—they seem entirely engrossed in their sparring. Under the honeyed heat your lips purse, watching Mydeimos dance around Phainon, wooden swords blurring your vision, swishing and parrying in front of them as each boy exchange light blows with one another.

An exhausted rasp of a chuckle comes spilling down Mydei’s lips, he angles his sword to block when Phainon leans forward, cutting down hard in his direction. You’ve noticed their manner in fighting and can weed out the difference in an instant. Lord Phainon is calculated with his movements, there’s stability in his balance, reassurance woven into the sinews of his back beneath his white tunic. Prince Mydeimos on the other hand is more fluid, he makes use of his dynamics and his footwork is unpredictable, but there’s grace captured in it—like he’s dancing—lunging forward in strict confidence then sidestepping, bouncing back then spinning.

Mydei smiles—a boyish grin that crinkles his eyes—seemingly setting the whole place an inch brighter than before and you’re blinded by the setting sun. You tilt your head more, unable to deny the warm flush from the pillows of your cheeks when you see the hint of dimples on his face, dimples.

The prince is truly astonishing.

Years you were under the tutelage of different priests, learning about prophetic dreams and imagery and clairvoyance—but maybe you were too dizzy watching the boys zip around the gardens, or maybe you were too into your daydreams you didn’t notice how they had hastened their attacks. Mydei was now attacking Phainon in quick succession, seemingly drunk under the thrill to notice Phainon’s stuttering words of take a break or slow down your highness. You were too distracted to notice how the prince swipes up, cutting the atmosphere—the lord’s wooden sword flies out his grasp and comes spinning in your direction.

Oh.

You feel the solid plank crash against your forehead—barely registering the shock that jolts through the two boys when you stumble onto the marble floor, holding your face that seems to quickly heat at both the pain and the embarrassment.

Oh.

“Oh, lord what have you done—“

“Me?” Phainon panics. “You were the one that didn’t stop attacking, I told you numerous times how I prefer a great sword than a simple one. I’m unfamiliar with the weight.”

“Well, I—“

“Ow…”

Their attention snaps back to you. Mydei tosses his wooden sword onto the cobblestone uncaringly and along with Phainon, comes to your aid.

“Hey, are you okay?” Both holding out their hands when they ease you back to your feet. Phainon leans down to brush the crumbs of dirt from your attire, checking to see if you have other injuries whilst Mydei winces at your reddening face.

“I—truly, I apologize.” You can hear the sincerity and guilt in the young prince’s tone. “I didn’t mean…”

“No, I—“ you were quick to speak up as well. Your face furnacing even more when his concerned honey eyes latch with your own—to think your first interaction with each other would be this, how humiliating.

“I was the one who intruded.” You murmur, leaning down to bow. “I apologize for getting in the way, young lords i didn’t want to disturb—“

“Oh gods.” Phainon curses.

You lift your head, confused, until you feel something hot trickling down your nose. Both your hand and Mydei’s fly up to your face, barely containing the blood that rolls down your chin.

“Prince, I think we are in trouble.”

“Stop saying nonsense, Phainon. Tell a servant to fetch us a cloth and a basin of water immediately.”

He didn’t need to be told twice and he was swift, his feet tapping along the marble as he sprinted down the hallway and now you were left alone with Kremnos’ young heir.

You can feel your heart pounding in your chest.

Luck was definitely not on your side today.

“Hey, uhm…” Mydei trails off. You see the cogs in his head turning before he gently lets go of your face, you feel a soft pressure at the back of your skull instead as the prince beckons you to lean down towards him.

“Here, press your nose on my tunic. It would be a problem if we don’t add pressure to stop the bleeding—“

Your eyes widen, cheeks hot as coals. You find yourself shaking your head fervently, using the young prince’s shirt to help your nosebleed? if your reputation hadn’t sunk to the bottom of a seabed, it had now. How could you, and to Prince Mydeimos of all people?

But Mydei is persistent, somehow unaware that your flushed face is more likely due to the shame you felt than your injury.

“Please.” He pushes gently. “I insist.”

His palm on the back of your head is steady, fingers rubbing the hair there, his other hand pinch his fabric shirt and tugs it up to press against your bleeding nose. ”Lord Phainon will be back soon, so rest assured. I truly apologize for my lack of manners today.”

It felt like a whole minute with you in close proximity with the Prince, then after that, when a servant came to tend to you—both prince Mydei and lord Phainon received an earful from the adults, to dare bring harm upon a young guest clergy from Janusopolis is an act of slander, they said to the young boys.

And you are no different as your father shakes his head at you, “you’re very lucky that they practiced with wooden swords, what were to happen if they were using actual weapons, what if it was a spear?”

You turn away, “I’m sorry, father—“

“That’s enough child. I should’ve known this would happen, especially with that curiosity of yours. I’ve told you time and time again to steer clear from training grounds, you are not fit for combat.” He pats your shoulder softly. “Come now, let’s not dawdle. We still have to visit the other cities.”

But father, it’s not mere curiosity. You wanted to combat but decide against it.

When you tag along with your father with flushed pink nose and defeated shoulders, you dare slip a glance from behind. Watching the young prince and the lord getting scolded.

But what you didn’t expect was Prince Mydeimos’ honey eyes already on you.

You turned away quickly and never looked back.

A week passes and your shame does not settle nor fade.

“Looks like you had quite a delightful time.” A throwaway comment from Anaxa, you don’t respond and he doesn’t even bother to look in your direction, flipping another scroll and perusing the text casually.

“What do I do, Anaxa, Hyacine?”

“What must you do?” Anaxa shoots you a puzzled look. “Bumping into Prince Mydeimos in Okhema is one in a million, and I am certain your father won’t take you back to Castrum Kremnos after that troubling incident.

“This is so unfair.” You bury your face onto your arms.

Your younger companion heartens over your shoulder, “Cheer up. I’m sure you’ll stumble into him eventually.” Hyacine smiles at you. “After all, Okhema is celebrating a festival. You never know.”

Your eyes gloss over the open window, from the distance you hear the alluring instruments hither thither in gracious waves, the warm winds gossip, the furors of the crowd echo, the clinking of wine and your companions’ soft murmurs from behind you. You lean your cheek against your arm, watching the sky like a meadow of blues.

Distracted, you don’t notice someone approaching until you see a hand come over your vision.

Your eyes flutter, tracing the calloused palm down the arm before meeting the face.

Honey eyes greet you back.

You jolt, Prince Mydeimos.

He sees the recognition spark in your eyes and he smiles, “So it was you.” He lowers his hand, tugging his cloak. “I thought I recognized someone familiar on the window, it’s nice to see you again!”

“Prin…Prince Mydeimos.” You've straightened now. “What are you doing here?”

Your heart seizes when you watch him lean close to you, his dimples are prominent from here, like an intentional dip on a carved marble. He presses a finger to his lips, his boyish grin almost contagious.

“I sneaked away.” He rasps. “It’s a little stiff to have servants follow you around in Okhema’s festival.”

“Oh, I see.” Your eyes fleet. It seems like it has caught the attention of your companions, for the young priestess and sage are now leaning against the wall beside the window, out of view from Mydeimos.

The prince places a hand on the windowsill. “Do you want to come with me?”

Your lips part. “Come with you?”

“Yes. I uhm.” Mydei turns away, then looks back at you. “I want to make it up to you, for what happened last week.”

“There’s no need for that, prince. I’m perfectly okay now and it’s my fault you and the lord got into trouble.” Despite your incessant shakes, he combats it with stubbornness.

“I understand. But I still feel responsible for what has happened.” He tells you. “Then, if not to make up for it, just keep me company?”

“I’m not supposed to…” You hesitate.

But then you felt a foot tap your ankle. Your eyes flicker briefly towards Anaxa and Hyacine—one giving you an encouraging nod and the other had apathy in the face, but he tilts his head on the window as if beckoning you to go. You crack a smile then turn to Mydei and nod.

His smile widens, then he hoists you out of the window frame, strong arms around your torso. Your cheeks darken at his actions.

When the two of you walk down the street, you are splashed with the joyful spirit weaving through the festival. You don’t usually participate whenever these festivals happen, you have no one to go with you. You never wanted to bother your father with your trivial requests, and you had your own duties to finish that you don’t have time for leisure.

The prince tries to match your pace, shoulders barely touching but it wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable. In fact, Mydeimos has been kind to you which was far from the confident boy who held a spear in the arena.

He treats you as if you are something to him—you immediately shake such thoughts from your head.

Mydei taps your shoulder, pulling you out of your daydreams. “Are you hungry?”

In the young prince’s hands were two figs. You graciously took one from him. “Thank you, Prince Mydeimos.”

The honeycomb in his eyes softened. “Please just call me Mydei.” The fruit is brought to his lips, a crunch resounds when he takes a big bite.

During that time, under the golden festival hue—Mydeimos appeared like a brilliant child, the spirit still flickering a candle in his eyes and the looks he gave you, they were so undeniably soft. You both stopped at small stands, lingered at performances and smiled at the musicians playing instruments—all the while the prince made sure you were entertained and satiated with food; soft bread, cakes, olives. He even goes on a tangent when you had said you never tried specific meat before—those that were exclusive to the high and wealthy.

The prince would take each meat from the table, cupping a hand beneath your chin when you take a bite out of his portion.

You perk up. “It’s good.”

“Right?” Mydei laughs. “This one’s my favorite. We usually only have these in Kremnos during—“

“Are you eloping, my dear prince?”

Your attention is dragged to the owner of the quip. Lord Phainon appears from the thick of the crowd, and his teasing tone brings heat to your cheeks. Mydei scowls at his companion, “why are you here?”

Phainon greets you by ruffling your hair, “have you even an inkling of remorse for your pitiful servants?” His ocean blue eyes aren’t laughing despite his smile. “They’ve been looking for you for an hour or two, to the point it’s starting to spin into a commotion on the festival streets.”

This prompts Mydei to sigh. “Those fellows…”

A flute and strings draws their attention. Suddenly the crowd erupts into cheers, some step forth, dancing on the streets. You can feel Mydei’s eyes on you, then flickering to Phainon.

Maybe it was the expression on the prince’s face that Phainon let out a heavy sigh. “I’ll deal with your servants. You have an hour.”

“That’s all that I need.” Mydei smiles when Phainon turns on his heel to leave. “I owe you, my friend.”

“It’s nothing.” Phainon’s eyes flutter over to you, and his gentle smile returns, mouthing a take care of him before tugging on his hood and disappearing. At that time, you didn’t really know what the young lord meant with that.

And you didn’t have time to ponder, Mydei’s large hand is inching over yours, his fingertips brushing your skin. You look over to him and he asks, “do you know how to dance?”

You barely remembered what you responded back. The prince’s hands have captured your own, more of a soft caress than a hold before slowly pulling you onto the streets and the flurry of dancing citizens. The outside lights careens into the expression on his face when he tells you to dance with him.

You both circle each other and you watch his footwork—sidestepping, bouncing back then spinning—Mydei’s hand is not far from yours, and he pulls you into his dance, a palm seeking refuge on your torso and the other securing your hand, he spins you around and you cannot help the bubble of a laugh from slipping from your lips.

Between the flurries and the crowds there was nothing but you and the prince, everyone else was barely a splotch of watercolor on canvas.

An hour burns through quickly when you’re having fun. The sky began to dim and the festival had hushed, when his servants finally found him and he got in the carriage, he pops his head out the window, calling your name before you can leave.

You seek the honey in his eyes once again, and he leans into his open palm, “visit Castrum Kremnos sometimes.” Mydei grins. “It's a bore to always spend time sparring with Phainon and he’s not a great dancer like you are.

You mirror his grin with your own. “If this is what my prince wants, then I’ll obey.”

The brightened smile that Mydei gave you felt like he had shaved a piece of the sun and reflected it on his own expression. “See you.”

“Goodbye, Kremnos’ prince.”

That expression of his had engraved into your membrane as years shuffle and roll, it’s the exact same face he shows you when you finally visit him—not as a clergy guest of the city but Prince Mydeimos’ guest.

So it's very hard for you to believe in those rumours, rumours that stated that Castrum Kremnos’ hero had gone manic—the same as when the heretical black tide came and made the titans mad. It’s just difficult.

You’re aware that war and battles change a person. It came to make their blooming heart wither into a wasteland, but you know Mydeimos for so long.

You knew him as his childhood friend, as someone who had admired him and his heart for years on end—you never believed rumours about him and if it were true, you wanted to make your own judgement and witness it for yourself.

So when talks of Mydei’s arrival from the battlefield reached your ears, you did not hesitate to start packing for the trip.

Your journey to Kremnos was hasty. You had ignored the rebuttals your father threw at you and got on the carriage. As years passed, so did Castrum Kremnos. It did not beguile a glow like it used to, but your mind’s a raging storm. Your pace is impatient as you run down the corridors of the familiar city.

The sound of the steel sword would indicate where he was since you are aware of his duties to fight—and it is said that crown prince Mydeimos is usually seen spending his leisure on swordsmanship, alone.

Your hand is pressed against the olive tree bark, heaving heavy breaths as your eyes land on Mydeimos’ back, his muscles and sinews are hardened under the reddish hue of sunset, flexing as he moves his sword to cut the air. You barely notice the look on his eyes as well, gone were his large honey pupils and chub on his cheeks, now his gaze has sharpened into resin, narrowed with furrowed brows. He’s no longer as talkative or carefree as back then.

You take a step closer and flinch when Mydeimos turns to your direction, the sword lands heavy above your shoulders, almost grazing your cheek and ears.

The air hangs heavy with tension.

“It’s me, Mydei.”

At the sound of your voice, the prince wavers. The sword is immediately retracted and his heavy heaves are all that fills the air between you two.

“You…” Mydei runs his fingers through his wet hair. “You really do have the habit of just wandering into the practice grounds like this.”

You look away. “I’ll try not to next time.” You were just a little worried about him today.

When you feel a fingertip running down your jaw, you turn back to him.

Mydeimos’ eyes land on something on your face, his frown deepening. “There’s a cut.” He tells you. is there?

You cannot help the slight sting or wince when he presses the wound. At your reaction, he tries to pull away but your hands are quick to capture it, placing his calloused palms back on your cheeks.

“It’s okay.” You tell him but he’s noiseless.

Instead he tilts your head sideways, then leans down. His rough lips on your cheek is all you feel and you’re engulfed in Mydei’s scent of bonfire and wood and smoke.

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs, pressing another kiss to your other cheek and you told him it was fine. His head lands heavy on your shoulder so you don’t dare ask him how he’s been or how the battlefield was—you doubt he’d want to answer it right now.

“Will you stay for a bit?” He’d ask you and in response you’d embrace him.

“For as long as you wish.”

He pushes a bit. “Will you be by my side then?”

“If you command it, I will.”

Silence.

“Stay with me today?” Mydei adds. “Please?”

For a moment, Phainon’s words are on your ears: take care of him.

You tug him back and hold his cheeks on your palms, your eyes dissect his every fold and dip in expression, the downcasted frown and tired eyes. You give him a bright smile—a smile that flickers a glow on his honey pupils—then rest your forehead against his own.

“I’m here for as long as I live.” You murmur sweetly. “Even if it’s just us left, I’ll be with you.” because I love you, Mydei. For everything that I have.

You don’t announce it, but Mydei’s expression seems to shift when he gazes into your eyes, like he’d read the words written in them.

And holding him like this, you prayed to yourself—to wish nothing but endless glory and victory to Mydeimos for all the tragedies he’d witnessed.

You are not skilled in combat, but you’d hope your support and embraces can heal his wounds just as much. But when Mydei leans forward and presses another kiss on your forehead and two cheeks, your skin is matted and sun-kissed at the trail of his lips. It’s as if he’s telling you that yes, you’re healing him, you’re making him happy.

And you smile at the manner.

#mydei x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr mydei #amphoreus #⋆ ࣪. 🪐 kou works.#—stellaronhvnters.

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alsofoundinpeas · 1 day ago

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The View from Here

Summary: After a few chance encounters, Spencer finds himself developing a crush on Y/N. When he discovers she lives across from him, he spends countless hours admiring her from a distance, too nervous to make the first move. But when her package is mistakenly delivered to his door, it sparks the beginning of something more than just a crush and stolen glances through the window.

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. This could be considered dubcon (Spencer watches reader through her window but doesn't realize that she actually wants him to) so please be aware of that! Masturbation (both m and f). Use of a sex toy/penetrative use of a sex toy (f!receiving). Perv!Spencer (he means well truly, but alas he is a man) but also a hint of Perv!Reader (since she's intentionally doing things to grab his attention?? I'm not quite sure how to label that I'm sorry!!) Themes of voyeurism/exhibitionism (they both watch each other get off). Sub!Spencer (gotta squint for it now but it'll be more prevalent in part two). Both fluffy and smutty

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader/afab!reader

A/N: This was started to fill a request for sub!Spencer but I got carried away forgive me LMAO but part two is almost complete and will be out soon :') I wrote this with season two Reid in mind before the writers (further) traumatized the absolute fuck out of him. This is a bit different from my usual writing, so I truly hope you guys enjoy it! As always, please let me know what you guys think and if you do enjoy it then please like, reblog, and share it with your friends. <3 I truly do appreciate each and every single one of you and the feedback I get from you guys, I promise :') <3 Thank you and I love you all!! :)

The door slammed behind him as Spencer stormed into his apartment, tossing his satchel onto the couch with an angry groan. The stress of work had been wearing him down for weeks, but today had pushed him over the edge.

He’d just wrapped up the reports for their latest case and was on his way to deliver them to Hotch when an oblivious agent from the sex crimes unit collided with him. The force sent the cup of scalding coffee in her hands flying, drenching him and his case files. Instead of responding to her blubbered apologies, he had just stomped off to the bathroom to clean himself and calm down. Not only was it painful and humiliating, but it also destroyed all of his hard work. Work he'd now have to redo tomorrow.

Spencer exhaled sharply, fingers raking through his hair as he trudged toward the bedroom. All he wanted was to strip off his coffee-stained clothes and lose himself in the pages of his new book, anything to escape the tension of the day. Once inside, he moved to close the curtains but stopped short, his eyes landing on something unexpected just before he pulled them shut. His body went rigid, his heart racing as an unfamiliar warmth spread through him. He blinked, barely able to believe what he was seeing.

There, in the apartment directly across from his bedroom window, was Y/N.

Spencer had bumped into her a handful of times—their first meeting happening at the library just down the street when they'd both reached for the same book, then a few chance encounters after that at his favorite coffee shop, and the most recent interaction being one of the most mortifying moments of his life.

He’d stumbled over the sidewalk on his way to work, and he’d never wanted to disappear into the ground more than in that moment. But she had been there, her smile warm and gracious as she helped him gather the scattered books and case files that had spilled from his satchel, her kindness leaving him flustered and breathless. He’d been captivated by her the first time they met, but it was that moment that truly cemented his fascination with her.

Spencer’s breath caught in his throat when he realized how wrong it was to be watching her through her bedroom window. But despite the guilt creeping in, he couldn’t bring himself to look away. It was as if he were under some kind of spell, captivated by the sight of her spinning around her room, carefree and radiant.

She wore a loose t-shirt that slipped off one shoulder and the tiniest pair of shorts he’d ever seen, completely at ease in her own space. She held something in her hand, singing into it like a microphone, completely lost in the music. Spencer didn’t realize when it happened, but a smile tugged at his lips, the stress of the day forgotten as he watched her. Her joy was so genuine and infectious that it pulled at him in ways he hadn’t expected, leaving him momentarily breathless.

His thoughts were interrupted when Y/N twirled around, singing as she faced her window. Spencer released a startled yelp, frantically yanking the curtains shut before she could catch him staring. His heart raced in his chest as he dared a quick peek through the fabric, anxious to see if she had noticed. Thankfully, she seemed oblivious, still happily dancing around her room, unaware of his presence.

"Oh my God," Spencer muttered, a wave of relief washing over him as he realized he hadn’t been caught staring like a complete weirdo at the woman he’d developed a crush on, despite having barely exchanged five sentences with her.

He was sure she didn't even remember his name. Why would she? All he'd managed to do during their brief interactions (besides busting his ass on the concrete the one time) was stutter out barely audible attempts at conversation before hastily retreating, his face scarlet and slacks uncomfortably tight.

Spencer had assumed Y/N lived nearby, but he hadn’t realized she was this close.

The day's weight melted away as Spencer peeled off his work clothes and slipped into his pajamas. He grabbed his book from the nightstand and sank back into his pillows, propping himself up against the headboard. But as he tried to focus on the pages, the image of Y/N dancing in her room kept invading his thoughts. His mind refused to settle, consumed with ideas of how he might run into her again now that he knew that not only was she just a building away—she was right across from him.

As the weeks passed, Spencer’s routine began to mirror Y/N’s more and more as he grew increasingly familiar with her schedule.

He began waking up earlier, noticing that she typically left her apartment an hour before he needed to head to work. With the extra time, Spencer found himself watching her with quiet awe each morning while she got ready, fascinated by how the soft light from the window seemed to illuminate her features as she did her hair and makeup. He also started visiting his favorite coffee shop daily instead of just once a week, hoping for a chance encounter before his workday began.

Night after night Spencer found his gaze inevitably drawn to her window, the soft glow of her bedroom lighting luring him in like a moth to a flame. He would trace her movements, pretending to read his book as it shielded his face, should he need to feign innocence. Something was alluring about her, even in the simplest moments—whether she was folding laundry or typing away on her computer, she was impossible to look away from.

Spencer couldn’t shake his curiosity about Y/N’s habit of leaving her curtains open.

Did she know he could see her? Was it intentional? Their apartments, situated at the ends of the buildings on the top floors, offered a level of privacy that made him feel certain (or at least, he desperately hoped) that no one else could be watching. Perhaps she’d noticed his frequent absences and simply stopped caring about keeping them shut.

The first case away from D.C. after Spencer learned Y/N was so close was more difficult than he expected. As he lay awake in his hotel room, his thoughts kept drifting to her, and the longing grew with each passing hour. He missed her. The only thing driving him was the need to finish the case quickly so he could return to the familiar comfort of his bed, where he could silently admire her from a distance.

The longer he thought about her, the tighter his boxers got. Spencer huffed out a pitiful whine, his hands clenching and unclenching beside himself as he tried to fight his shameful thoughts. This wasn't the first time he'd had these thoughts about her since meeting her, no. But it is the first time he's had the mental image of her undressing to go along with his fantasies.

The first time it happened, Spencer had all but thrown himself off his bed in his haste to close his curtains. His heart had pounded so hard his chest ached as he'd squeezed his eyes shut, willing the sight of her raising her shirt over her head and tossing it carelessly to the ground out of his mind. The second time, he took a little more time to slink over to his window and draw his curtains, his pulse racing at the sight of her bare back and the smallest glimpse of lacy panties as she began to shimmy out of her pants. The third time, he had crouched by his window, peeking out despite having pulled his curtains closed, and watched as she stripped completely before heading into her conjoined bathroom.

That was the first and (so far) only time he'd touched himself to what he'd seen.

The moment her bathroom door had clicked shut, Spencer sprang to his feet and hurried into his own bathroom, tearing his clothes off before stepping underneath the stream of hot water. One of his palms smacked the wall while his other hand frantically pumped his aching cock, whimpers and groans flowing freely from his lips as he imagined Y/N's hand around him instead of his own. It didn't take long for him to spill into his hand, and unfortunately, it took even less time for the guilt to slam into him at the realization of what he'd done.

After that night, Spencer had vowed to himself that he wouldn't let it happen again, knowing just how inherently wrong it was to jerk off to the sight of his neighbor (the woman he secretly admired) getting undressed when she had no idea she had even been watched.

But tonight, alone and frustrated in his hotel room, he was struggling to stick to that vow.

After another hour of tossing and turning in bed, Spencer released a resigned sigh. "Just this once," he murmured to himself, swallowing hard. He let his hand slip underneath the waistband of his boxers to push them down his thighs before spitting in his palm, hissing at the contact as his hand wrapped around his arousal. His eyes fluttered shut as his imagination began to take over, his hand slowly increasing its pace as images of Y/N and her lacy panties raced through his mind.

Spencer's mouth hung open as his thumb swiped over the swollen tip of his cock, a bead of precum oozing out and aiding his movements. He pictured her hovering above him, her gaze teasing as she stroked him faster and faster. He imagined how she'd sound as she talked him through it, her sweet voice luring him closer and closer to the edge. His hips bucked into his hand as his climax took hold of him, a choked moan of Y/N's name ripping its way from his throat as he painted his heaving chest with his cum.

With shaky hands, he cleaned himself, still dizzy from the aftershocks of his orgasm. After wiping himself off, he collapsed onto the bed, surrendering to the exhaustion that weighed him down. That night, his dreams were filled with Y/N—her radiant smile, her captivating voice, and the tenderness in her eyes whenever they met his. When he woke the next morning, breathless and murmuring her name, he realized he was in deep.

What Spencer didn’t know was that Y/N had known exactly what she was doing all along.

From the moment she reached for the same book as him—an act carefully planned to give her an excuse to talk to him—she’d been captivated by the stuttering genius. New to the neighborhood, she had noticed him a few times before finally gathering the courage to make her move. All it took was his flustered "Oh! I-I’m so sorry, here—" paired with furrowed brows and those wide, innocent eyes, and she was utterly entranced.

When Y/N discovered that Spencer lived right across from her, it felt like she’d hit the jackpot.

After their previous encounters, she’d quickly noticed the effect she had on him, and from that moment, she devised a plan to capture his attention. She began with subtle moves, leaving her curtains open one night so he’d realize she was the one across from him. She chose an outfit she was sure would draw his gaze, and when he nearly ripped his curtain rod off the wall, convinced she’d caught him looking, she knew she’d succeeded.

When Y/N noticed he was waking up earlier, watching her get ready with curious eyes over what he clearly thought was a cleverly placed book (which, in reality, did nothing to hide his attention), she decided it was time to raise the stakes.

The first time she undressed with the curtains open, she sank to her knees cackling at how quickly Spencer had scrambled out of bed to shut his own. The second time, she relished in how he hesitated before shutting his curtains so he could catch a glimpse of her lacy panties (ones she’d chosen with him in mind), but it still wasn't enough. By the third time, she was done teasing. She’d stripped down completely bare in her room, grinning smugly as she turned to walk into her bathroom because she’d seen Spencer not-so-subtly peeking through his curtains.

When Spencer still didn’t make a move after that, Y/N decided she was done waiting.

With him away on a case for the past three days, she saw the perfect opportunity to set her new plan in motion. After work one evening, she made her way to his building, quickly locating his apartment number—a detail that, to her surprise, matched hers. Smiling to herself, she placed her order and waited for him to return, ready for the next phase of her plan to unfold.

After nearly twelve grueling days away, Spencer finally returned late Friday night, aching for the comfort of home—and, more importantly, the sight of Y/N. Exhausted, he stumbled up the stairs to his apartment, eager to collapse into bed and wake up to her face rather than the grim case photos that had dominated his thoughts. His eyes half-lidded with fatigue, he fumbled with the key, unlocking the door before shoving it open.

“Oh! What the-“

Spencer cursed under his breath as he stumbled, his eyes dropping to the package at his feet. Frowning, he bent down slowly to inspect it. He hadn’t ordered anything, and there was no reason to expect anything from his mom. So... what was this?

The package was a light pink, medium-sized bag. Spencer nudged it onto its other side to check the sender, and his breath caught. It was addressed to Y/N, though she’d written the wrong number in the street address, causing it to end up at his door. He instantly recognized the name of the online boutique, having (unfortunately) heard Emily, JJ, and Penelope brazenly talk about ordering sex toys and such from this place.

What could Y/N have possibly ordered from there?

Spencer was wide awake now, his pulse quickening as he grabbed the package, slammed the door shut, and locked it. He carried it into the kitchen, turning on the light as he went. There was no way he’d open it—he knew that would be both illegal and downright creepy. But his curiosity got the best of him, and he couldn’t resist running his hands over the package, trying to guess what was inside.

His tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth as he carefully handled the package, giving it a slight squeeze. He could feel the soft outline of fabric inside a smaller plastic bag, his mind spinning with possibilities about what kind of set Y/N might have ordered. A small, involuntary gasp escaped him as his fingers brushed against something hard, separately wrapped from the lingerie. Was that… a dildo? Vibrator, maybe?

A quick glance at the clock told him it was far too late to return her package now. He swallowed, setting the bag down on the table with a mental note to take it to her first thing in the morning. He had the weekend off, and he knew she didn’t work weekends, so it wouldn't be a problem bringing it over. The only problem was going to be looking her in the eyes without turning into a complete mess.

Spencer rushed to his room, his excitement growing as he headed to bed, knowing he’d finally see Y/N tomorrow—in person, not just through her window.

The morning arrived quicker than he had expected, but for the first time, he was happy to hear his alarm. It was 9:30 a.m., giving him enough time to shower and get dressed before making the short walk to Y/N's apartment. More importantly, it would give her a chance to wake up before he just showed up at her door with her package in hand and rambling like a nervous mess.

Spencer’s nerves began to take over as he finished his shower and started getting dressed, his hands trembling as he pulled on his sweater. The last time they'd spoken was when he'd all but face-planted into concrete in front of her and then practically bolted off once she'd helped him gather his things (after a lengthy, awkward apology of course). What if she thought he was a freak?

Before he could talk himself out of it, Spencer took a deep breath, grabbed the package, summoned the last of his courage, and walked out the door.

A hesitant knock at her front door had Y/N grinning smugly as she rose from the couch and headed toward the door. She’d been waiting for this since she’d seen Spencer’s light come on late the night before. Her package was finally here.

The door opened to reveal a nervous Spencer, his eyes lighting up when they landed on her. He instinctively adjusted his glasses, his nose twitching as a small, shy smile appeared on his face.

"Spencer! Hey! What brings you by?" Y/N beamed, stepping aside to let him in. She had to suppress a giggle at her innocent act—she knew exactly why he was here.

Spencer blinked in surprise, both at her invitation and the fact that she remembered his name, pausing briefly before stepping into her apartment. His gaze wandered around, taking in the cozy surroundings with quiet admiration. When he realized she was waiting for him to speak, he cleared his throat, his face flushing as he held up the package.

"I, uh… I just wanted to return this," Spencer stammered, his words tripping over each other. "You had one number wrong on the street address, and, funny enough, we have the same apartment number, so it ended up at my door. I thought the least I could do was bring it over, especially after you helped me when I… well, fell." He offered a shy smile, his nerves still running rampant.

Y/N accepted the package with a smile, her fingers brushing lightly against his before he quickly pulled his hand back. "I could’ve sworn I got the address right this time," she said with a teasing laugh. "You’d think after a few months here I’d have it down by now, I'm sorry."

Spencer quickly shook his head, trying to ignore the rapid beating of his heart and the lingering sensation of her touch as he waved it off. "You don’t need to apologize, Y/N. It happens," he said sincerely, his fingers nervously twisting the ends of his sleeves now that the package was no longer in his hands. "Honestly, I wouldn’t mind bringing your mail by anytime. I just hate the thought of it sitting at my door or in my mailbox while I’m away," he chuckled, his eyes crinkling as he gave her a warm smile.

"Well, aren't you quite the gentleman?"

Y/N placed the package on her coffee table and then headed toward the kitchen, gesturing for Spencer to follow. He blushed profusely, swallowing hard as he willed away the dirty thoughts that were caused by that simple comment before trailing after her. She turned to look at him over her shoulder as she reached into her cabinet for two mugs, smirking to herself as she noticed him quickly avert his gaze from where it had landed on her ass.

Y/N placed the mugs on the counter, then turned to Spencer with a genuine smile. "Thanks for bringing it to me instead of just sending it back like most people would," she said. "How about a cup of coffee as a small token of my appreciation?"

Spencer nodded, thanking her as she fixed them both a cup. She raised an eyebrow, watching him add enough sugar to send a horse into cardiac arrest, but she kept quiet. Once they’d both prepared their cups to their liking, they headed back to the living room, Y/N sitting close enough that Spencer could feel the warmth of her body radiating toward him.

"So... did you take a peek inside of it?"

Spencer coughed violently, choking on the sip he’d just taken, his face turning a deep shade of scarlet as he frantically shook his head. Y/N’s expression shifted to concern as she patted his back, gently rubbing in soothing circles to help him catch his breath.

"What? N-no, I would never! That's literally illegal and so invasive—" Spencer sputtered, his eyes wide as he stared at her, clearly taken aback.

Y/N's brows furrowed briefly before she erupted into laughter, her head tilting back as she laughed loudly. Leaning in, she rested a hand on his thigh, her tone softening. "Spencer, sweetheart, I was just joking," she said, wiping a tear of laughter from her eye.

He relaxed immediately, fighting the urge to lean into her touch as her hand lingered on his leg. "Thanks for that," Spencer said with a playful roll of his eyes. "Just what I needed this morning—choking on my drink and desperately hoping you knew the Heimlich maneuver." His cheeks were still flushed, a mix of embarrassment from her teasing and the aftereffects of his coughing fit.

After a pot of coffee and hours of conversation, Spencer left with a grin so wide his cheeks ached and Y/N’s number saved in his phone "just in case any more of her mail ended up at his door." He silently thanked whatever force had kept him from backing out earlier that day, grateful for the time he’d gotten to spend with her because of it. He’d found himself falling even harder for her, already yearning for her company despite having just left her place.

That night, as Spencer climbed into bed, something caught his eye from his window. He frowned in confusion as he noticed Y/N’s curtains were open even though they’d been closed just an hour ago. He’d assumed she’d already gone to bed, but apparently, he was mistaken.

He craned his neck, searching for her. She wasn’t in her room, as she usually was when the curtains were open. Where could she be? His jaw nearly hit the floor when she finally appeared, his eyes widening in awe at the sight of her.

Y/N walked into her room from the bathroom, wearing the most stunning lingerie set Spencer had ever seen. The lilac fabric complemented her skin in a way that had him almost drooling on himself, and the thin lace left little to the imagination (though he'd already seen what was underneath it once before and knew exactly how incredibly sexy her body was bare). The sight had his cock stiffening in his boxers, and his teeth dug into his lower lip in anticipation as he watched her.

Spencer nearly toppled out of bed as he watched her crouch down to grab her torn-open package, her hand reaching inside to pull out a light-blue rabbit vibrator. He knew he should get up, close the curtains, look away—do something. But he couldn’t bring himself to move.

Instead, he watched in an almost trance-like state as Y/N crawled onto her bed, swallowing hard as she settled back against her pillows. His hand wandered down his body, palming at his erection over his boxers as a whimper slipped from his lips while he watched her legs spread slowly open, propped up and giving him the perfect view of her clothed pussy. He felt overwhelming guilt, especially after the morning they'd shared, but he was powerless against the pull she had on him.

The close proximity of the buildings had always annoyed Spencer, the narrow space between them so tight he swore he could reach out and touch the other building if he tried. But now, he couldn’t have been more grateful. His bed was on the opposite side of the room that Y/N’s was, leaving her perfectly positioned for him to see her from his spot.

Y/N dragged the tip of the vibrator up and down her inner thigh, teasing herself as the fabric of the lace dampened with her arousal. Her head lolled back against the pillows, and her chest rose and fell with a sigh as she finally placed the vibrator against her clit through her panties. Her back arched at the touch, and her lips opened around a moan he desperately wanted to hear.

Spencer considered himself a sane man (for the most part). But he had never been more tempted in his life to leap through a window than he was right now. If it meant landing in her room so he could at least have the chance to beg for a taste of her, he'd happily do it.

His hand halted its movement, instead moving to his waistband so he could wriggle out of the constricting fabric. He kicked his boxers to the floor like they'd scorned him before his hand wrapped around his cock once more. He leaned forward, letting saliva dribble from his lips to coat himself before stroking himself slowly, teasing himself the way Y/N was right across from him in her room.

When Y/N dipped the vibrator into her panties, Spencer's breath hitched in his throat. He watched in rapt fascination as she paused her movements, her free hand shoving the lace down her thighs before she continued. With the fabric now out of the way, Y/N began to run the tip of the vibrator up and down her slit, collecting her arousal and spreading it around before she slowly eased the toy into herself.

An obscene moan ripped its way from Spencer's throat at the sight, and his hand sped up while his eyes struggled to stay open. He watched through hooded lids as she began to fuck herself in earnest now, her hips rocking into the toy and her eyes squeezed shut in pleasure as she brought herself to the edge. Spencer whimpered as his body began to writhe against his sheets, sparks of pleasure zinging up and down his spine as he worked himself toward his climax.

All it took to send him over the edge was the sight of Y/N's legs thrashing as she came around the toy, a sight that left him both so aroused he couldn't breathe and so jealous of a toy he debated just how truly sane he considered himself to be after this. With a swipe of his thumb over his flushed head, Spencer came in spurts across his tummy, his hand pumping gently through the aftershocks until he was trembling and gasping Y/N's name like it was a mantra.

Once Spencer could finally open his eyes, he looked over at Y/N's window and saw she was no longer in bed, the soft light spilling from under her bathroom door the only sign of where she was. He rolled out of his bed to indulge in what was now becoming a routine walk of shame to his bathroom to clean himself off, his head spinning from what he'd just seen. He knew the shame of his actions would catch up with him in the morning, but for now, exhaustion and elation kept him from caring.

Spencer stumbled back into his room, half-asleep and ready to crash when his phone buzzed. Crawling into bed, he reached for it, curious about who would be contacting him at this hour. His heart stuttered in his chest, eyes widening in shock as he read the message on the screen.

Glad to see that you enjoyed the show, sweetheart. Next time, just come over. <3

Continued A/N's: AHHH I truly hope you guys enjoyed that! The next part gets FILTHYYYY and I can't wait to finish it hahahaaaa. Please let me know what you think because I'm thinking of doing more in the future that would be similar but of course I want to make content you guys will actually enjoy as well <3

REMINDER: I do not give permission for my work to be re-uploaded to any other platforms (c.ai, Tiktok, ao3, etc.) under any circumstances. If you'd like to translate my work, then please just ask me before doing so. I know it sounds whiny, but I (as well as many other fanfic writers) spend so much time on these and it's genuinely not okay to take credit for work that isn't yours. It's insulting and completely unnecessary. If I do see my work uploaded anywhere without explicit permission, I WILL say something.

#Spencer Reid smut #Spencer Reid fanfiction #Perv!Spencer #Sub!Spencer #Spencer Reid x reader #Spencer Reid x self insert #Spencer Reid x fem!reader #Spencer Reid x you #Spencer Reid x y/n #Spencer Reid fanfic

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angelseraphines · 2 days ago

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ೃ⁀➷ swan song ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ cho sang-woo x player!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header! please be sure to check out their profile for squid game fanfictions, they have helped me with my works and their writing is perfection! 🤍

˚ ༘♡ the rain cascaded in a relentless downpour, burying the world in its somber rhythm. you stood motionless, soaked to the bone, your tattered black satin gown clinging to your pallid skin, pearls glinting faintly in the dim moonlight. across from you stood cho sang-woo, his tailored suit stained with smears of blood that had long since dried, a stark contrast to the high-class reputation he once upheld. there had been a time when the sight of him would have filled you with affection, a time when you had imagined him as your husband, the man you would spent all of eternity with.

˚ ༘♡ the man before you now bore no resemblance to the one you had loved so deeply. where once there had been kindness, there was now a malicious cruelty. the charm that had drawn you in, the quiet strength and righteous honesty, had been nothing more than a facade. before the games, your lives had seemed perfect, lavish dinners at exclusive steakhouses, extravagant shopping trips, the allure of wealth. yet it was never the riches that held your heart. you had loved him for the moments of vulnerability, the whispered dreams during midnight strolls, the promises of a future built on trust. now, those memories felt like lies, twisted shadows of a man who no longer existed.

˚ ༘♡ his grip on the knife was steady, the same blade he had used to take sae-byeok’s life. you could still see her fragile form laid on the ground, blood swarming under her stiff body as her she weakly murmured her little brother’s name. she had begged for another chance to see him again, her eyes glazed with fear and dread, only to be silenced in a merciless slashing. that moment was etched into your soul, an infested wound that refused to heal. you had pleaded with gi-hun to spare sang-woo when the opportunity arose, your love for him, a ghost of what it once was, still clinging to the hope that he could be saved. however, sparing him had been a mistake.

˚ ༘♡ sang-woo had demonstrated no remorse. he had turned his blade on gi-hun after being confronted for sae-byeok’s murder, killing his childhood best friend with little hesitation, leaving you as the only two left to face the end. now, as the rain fell in endless torrents, you stood in the storm’s heart, the past unraveling between you. the love you had once cherished lay shattered at your feet, replaced by a chasm of betrayal and regret.

˚ ༘♡ “sang-woo,” you called out, your voice steady despite the quivering in your limbs. your gaze locked onto his, and slowly, deliberately, you let the knife slip from your grasp. it landed in the rain-soaked sand with a muted thud, quickly swallowed by the muck. droplets cascaded down your face, obscuring your vision, but you didn’t look away. “you’ve killed so many,” you said, your voice carrying over the storm, though faint and muffled. “innocent strangers, people who trusted you, those who loved you. i’m no different.”

˚ ༘♡ his jaw clenched as his face contorted with rage. “pick up the damn knife!” he shouted, his voice raw and jagged. his body shook, a mix of fury and something more fragile, a deep, unspoken torment etched into his expression. his eyes betrayed him, scorned and sorrowful.

˚ ༘♡ “i will not,” you replied softly, your soaked hair sticking to your melancholic face. “i won’t fight you. i can’t.” your breathing troubled as you continued, words tumbling out between the harsh pouring of the rain. “even if i won… what would it matter? what’s left for me to go back to? the money won’t mend this. it can’t rid what’s been done, the people we’ve lost, the pieces of ourselves we’ll never get back.”

˚ ༘♡ for a split second, his grip on the knife loosened, his fingers moving as though fighting an internal war, but just as quickly, they tightened. blood trailed down the cut across his face, mingling with the rain, streaking his skin with crimson. “for fuck’s sake!” he barked, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. “stop being so difficult and come here! let’s finish this!”

˚ ༘♡ “no, sang-woo,” you said firmly, taking a step toward him, unarmed, your hands open at your sides. “if the money is all you care about, if you’re so desperate to go back and see your mother, to undo all your mistakes, to lead the life you desire, to have a beautiful home, a loving wife, good children, then kill me. go ahead. take the knife and end the game.”

˚ ༘♡ tears burned your eyes, falling hot and salty down your face before the rain could wash them away. you moved closer, mere inches from him now, your voice low and steady, almost a whisper. “do it,” you murmured. “you’ll have to, or neither of us gets anything, and i won’t hurt you, sang-woo.”

˚ ༘♡ his arm lifted, the knife angled toward your chest. his jaw tightened, his breathing ragged, but he didn’t strike. the blade hovered between you, shaking ever so slightly. “i… i can’t kill you,” he said, his voice breaking as the words escaped him.

˚ ༘♡ “but you could kill sae-byeok?” you asked, voice hoarse, choking on your words, your lips curving downward in a frown. “you could kill gi-hun? their lives meant less than mine? sae-byeok had her little brother waiting for her, and gi-hun has a daughter who will never understand why her father didn’t come back.” your voice grew softer, mellowed by despair. “their lives were important, sang-woo. their lives held no less value than yours or mine.”

˚ ༘♡ his face became grim, a flash of anguish breaking through his hardened mask. “don’t you think i understand that?” he shouted, his voice catching on the words. his free hand pressed against his chest as though the pain inside was physical, unbearable. “i didn’t do it because i wanted to! you think i enjoyed it? you think i’m a sadist?” his voice cracked, his desperation bleeding into every word. “everything i’ve done… i had no choice! i have to fix this. i have to make it right. otherwise, what was all of this for? the sacrifices, the suffering, it will mean nothing!”

˚ ༘♡ the rain fell harder, drowning out the quietude, as his words hung in the air, each one more bitter than the last. you could see it, the guilt embedded into his aged face, the torment tearing him apart, but it didn’t undo the blood on his hands.

˚ ༘♡ your fingers wrapped around his trembling hand, guiding the blade to your throat. the cold metal kissed your skin, and your voice was composed despite the tears falling freely down your face. “go home, sang-woo,” you said softly, your grip strengthened to keep his hand close to you.

˚ ༘♡ his face was streaked with rain and tears now, his composure unraveling. his breathing was uneven, his chest heaving as he tried to pull the knife away. “i won’t do it,” he choked out, his voice hoarse, trembling with something between anguish and resolve. his fingers curled tighter around the hilt, but not to push forward, only to keep it from you. “i won’t kill you.”

˚ ༘♡ the silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the rain pounding against the earth. your gaze shifted to the stormy horizon, staring blankly at the void ahead. “sang-woo,” you whispered, your tone solemn, distant. “do you remember that night you stayed over at my place? you said you liked my cooking, even though we both knew it was awful. and i laughed at all your ridiculous, outdated jokes and listened to your business jargon, even when i didn’t know half the terms you used, i liked being the woman you spent your days with.” a faint, bittersweet smile tugged at your lips, though it was short-lived, disappearing as quickly as it came. “that’s the day i remember the most. not the gifts, not the trips, not the money. none of it mattered to me. only mattered. i wanted you, nothing else.”

˚ ༘♡ his breath snagged, his lips parting to speak, but no words came. you turned your tear-streaked face toward him, meeting his tormented gaze. “it will never be like that again,” you said, your voice breaking. “we can’t go back, sang-woo. not after everything.”

˚ ༘♡ before he could react, you wrenched the knife from his hand with a sudden, sharp motion. his eyes widened, panic flashing across his face as he reached for you. but it was too far too late. the blade pierced your throat with brutal precision, and the warmth of your blood poured over your trembling hands. you staggered, the world moving and fading around you, your legs giving out beneath you as you collapsed.

˚ ༘♡ “sang-woo…” you murmured, your voice barely audible as you crumpled to the wet sand. scarlet-red ichor spilled out in thick rivers, melding with the rain-soaked earth.

˚ ༘♡ “no!” he screamed, his voice raw and broken, as he fell to his knees beside you. quivering hands reached for you, lifting your head from the wet sand as rain pelted down in icy sheets. his tears mingled with the blood streaking your face, his sobs shaking his entire body. “please, no… don’t do this,” he choked out, desperation lacing every word. “stay with me, please.”

˚ ༘♡ you opened your mouth to speak, but the words came weak, barely audible over the thunderous rain. “my… my family,” you sputtered, your voice thick with the blood flooding your throat. each breath was a struggle, your chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. “tell them… tell them i won’t be there anymore, okay?” your fingers, trembling and cold, lifted to brush against his bloodied cheek. your touch was feather-light, tender despite your waning strength. “sang-woo… please, don’t forget me, okay?”

˚ ༘♡ his face was agonized, tears streaming past the injuries that marred his angular features, it was rare to see him so emotional, so delirious with grief. “i won’t,” he swore, his voice cracking beneath the strain of his grief. “i won’t forget you. i’ll never…” he stopped, his words caught in his throat as he pressed his hands to the gaping wound on your neck, desperate to stop the flow of blood. it was a futile effort, the red blood spilled through his fingers, staining the sand beneath you. “please, stay with me,” he whispered, his voice shatterred into a sob. “don’t leave me. please. i can’t live without you.”

˚ ༘♡ his desperate efforts were all in vain. the life was draining from your body, the world dimming around you. your breaths came slower, softer, each one feeling close to your last. his frantic cries grew distant, muffled as if you were slipping underwater. your vision blurred, the storm above fading into oblivion. and yet, through it all, his face remained clear as could be, the pain in his dark eyes burned into your thoughts.

˚ ༘♡ the last sound you heard was not his voice, but something colder, emptier. an emotionless voice echoed through the air, chilling and robotic, void of anything human.

˚ ༘♡ “player 177, eliminated.”

˚ ༘♡ you exhaled one final breath, your hand falling limply from sang-woo’s bloodied face as the darkness consumed you.

a/n: another cho sang-woo fanfiction!! he’s my favorite character so there will definitely be more for him!!! please let me know you if any requests and your thoughts on this story! 🤍

213 notes · View notes

tsukisrants · 3 days ago

Text

Prod. By Bangchan

bangchan x reader

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Genre: smut, fluff

Word Count: 12.200

Warnings: Dom/Sub undertones, Rough sex, Oral sex, Fingering, Name Calling, Humiliation, Degradation, Praise, Spit, Breeding Kink, Overstimulation, Choking, Breath Play, Squirting, Daddy Kink (cmon, it’s a bangchan fic), Aftercare, Jealousy, Feelings, Lots of feelings, ecc…

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He’s busy, and you miss him. So much. Too much.

He misses you too, and wants to show you just how much. You let him, cause- cause there’s nothing you wouldn’t let him do to you. You’re his, after all.

Your lips meet, and it’s pretty messy: teeth and tongues clashing against one another, moans morphing into one sound as you both abandon yourselves to each other.

“I love you.”

You don’t known whose voice it was. Yours. His. Both. Neither: who cares.

It’s right, no matter who said it.

smut under the cut<3

(pls leave comments and let me know your thoughts on this,,^^)

You're starting to feel a dull ache in your back after hours hunched over your iPad, studying and taking notes. It’s clear that it’s time to stretch your legs a bit. You push the chair back and lift yourself slowly, each joint protesting more than you expected. A soft groan escapes your lips—a blend of discomfort and relief. You roll your neck from side to side, trying to ease the pressure that has settled there like a heavy weight.

Glancing out the window, you notice the sky has turned dark. Night has descended, fierce and enveloping, pierced only by the gentle glow of the moon casting a silvery light across the room, a soft yet almost aggressive presence. Curious about the time, you lean toward your phone, tapping its dark screen and realizing it's already past eight. He should have returned by now, but you’re not surprised he hasn’t crossed the threshold of your room yet.

“What am I going to do with you?” you mutter to yourself as you step away from the desk and move toward the mirror to your right.

The reflection that greets you reveals a woman who looks somewhat tired and worn, yet you’re relieved to see you don’t appear as disheveled as you feared. Your hair still holds its cleanliness, cascading softly over your shoulders and down your back. The bangs and layered strands frame your face, adding a hint of youthful charm despite the fatigue etched in your features.

You quickly adjust your appearance, slipping on a soft hoodie—one of his, infused with his intoxicating scent. You bury your nose in the fabric, inhaling deeply as if drawing him closer. It feels comforting, a reminder of his presence even in his absence. The shorts you’ve chosen cling gently to your body, flattering your curves, while the socks pulled high on your ankles give you an unexpected sense of height. You slide your feet into your well-worn Air Forces, grounding yourself in familiarity.

As you tuck your hands into your pockets, you catch a fleeting glimpse of the stillness around you. The room feels heavy with unspoken words and unfinished thoughts. You hesitate for a moment, wondering if you should wait for him or venture out into the cool night.

With a decisive breath, you turn away from the mirror, the weight of anticipation stirring within you. Tonight feels different, charged with a sense of possibility. You open the door and step into the hallway.

Wandering through the long, echoing corridors of the dormitory, a sudden craving strikes you. You pull out your phone and decide to place an order: two pizzas, a Coke Zero, and a slice of chocolate cake. It’s the same familiar order that the app has memorized so well it requires no further input from you. With a few taps, you select “repeat order” and send it off, sliding your phone back into the soft pocket of your hoodie.

As you walk, the vibrant sounds of voices and laughter spill from the rooms around you, wrapping around you like a warm blanket. Each giggle and cheer feels like a gentle caress, filling the air with a sense of community that comforts you deeply. You can’t help but smile, relishing this little slice of life that you wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.

The world outside may be chaotic, but here, among these walls, you find a sanctuary of laughter, connection, love, and family.

To reach your destination, you step out of the dormitory and walk a few meters toward the entrance of the building across the way. The cold night breeze grazes the exposed skin of your legs, sending tiny, prickling shivers racing up your spine. You quicken your pace, eager to escape the chill. The entrance looms closer, and as you punch in the code to get inside, a deep sigh of relief escapes your lips. The moment you step through the door, you’re enveloped by warmth that feels almost like a hug, a stark contrast to the crisp night air outside.

A familiar face greets you just inside, and a smile spreads across both your faces. It’s Jaewon, one of the staff members from the recording studio. He leans casually against the wall, radiating an easy confidence that instantly puts you at ease.

“Make sure to bring him back home,” he says with a playful glint in his eye.

“Oh, a simple task,” you reply, shaking your head with mock seriousness as you pull down the hood of your hoodie, letting him see your full expression. “I’ll do my best.” His laughter is infectious, filling the air with a bright note.

“If anyone can do it, it’s you!” he exclaims as you start to move away, your laughter echoing through the empty entrance hall.

You pause for a moment, taking in the space around you. The studio has an almost sacred quality, the walls adorned with soundproofing panels and framed photos of artists who’ve passed through. Each image tells a story, and you can almost hear the echoes of creativity that resonate within these walls.

“Are you staying late tonight?” you ask, genuinely curious, as he glances at the clock behind him.

“Just for a bit. We have a session scheduled,” he replies, a hint of excitement in his voice.

“Good luck with your work, then,” you say, waving him goodbye.

“Ah, good luck to you, he’s in a sour mood!” he says, and you smile at him.

You had imagined it would come to this; you sensed that things weren’t going smoothly. Even when he’s late, he always makes a point to let you know, yet today the last message you received was hours ago, lingering in the silence between you like an unanswered question. You can’t help but speculate that, much like you, he’s become so absorbed in his work that he’s lost all sense of time. You picture him still hunched over his desk, surrounded by scattered sheets of music and the faint glow of his computer screen, laboring over a melody, fine-tuning the recordings from the day.

The thought brings a bittersweet smile to your lips. You know the thrill of those late-night sessions, when inspiration strikes and time slips away. Yet, a pang of worry lingers in the back of your mind. You wonder if he’s okay, if the weight of his creative ambitions is becoming too heavy.

You glance out the window, the night deepening beyond the glass, the city lights twinkling like distant stars. There’s a certain beauty in this moment, in the quiet anticipation of what he might create. Still, you can’t shake the feeling that you should reach out, to bridge the gap between you, to remind him that he’s not alone in this.

As long as you exist, he will never, ever be alone. That’s a promise you made and intend to honor, no matter the circumstances.

After a few more steps, you arrive at the large black door that separates him from you. You don’t need to knock; instead, you quickly enter the code, which just so happens to be the date of your anniversary. Yes, it’s a cliché, and yes, the guys have teased him endlessly about it—especially Seungmin—but you know they secretly find it charming and romantic, just like you do.

As you step into the studio, you blink several times to adjust to the dim light—or rather, the near absence of it. The room is illuminated only by the soft glow of computer screens, casting an eerie yet oddly comforting ambiance. You can’t help but shake your head in concern at the conditions in which you always find him working.

He’s there, seated in one of those plush gaming chairs—a thoughtful gift from Felix, meant to help him endure the long hours he spends in this space (which is practically every night).

He hasn’t noticed your presence, and you seize the moment to linger for a heartbeat longer, watching him lost in his world. Even from this distance, you can see the dark circles under his beautiful eyes, remnants of sleepless nights fueled by passion and dedication. You bite your lower lip, feeling a pang of concern as you observe the way the muscles in his arms flex and relax, navigating through sheets of music and tapping rhythmically at the keyboard. There’s something mesmerizing about this scene—the intensity on his face, the way he seems to dance with his work, each keystroke a note in an unseen symphony. It’s both inspiring and heartbreaking, knowing he often sacrifices his well-being for his art. You wish you could ease the weight pressing down on him, to remind him to take a break and breathe.

But as you stand there, a silent observer, you feel a rush of affection and longing, a desire to connect. You want to interrupt this beautiful yet solitary moment, to pull him away from the screen and into the warmth of your embrace. Gathering your courage, you take a step forward, letting the door close softly behind you. The click of the door breaks the stillness, and his head snaps up, his eyes widening as he finally notices you. A mix of surprise and warmth floods his features, and you can’t help but smile, feeling the tension dissolve between you.

“Hey,” you say softly, your voice breaking the silence that had enveloped him. “I brought dinner. Well, ordered it. It’ll be here in half an hour, maybe something more.” Just as you finish, he says, “I’m so sorry, baby,” clearly realizing it’s gotten way too late.

You shake your head almost immediately, hushing his protests and offering a soft smile instead.

“Shut up: no apologies. Just hug me, Chris,” you mutter, taking a few more steps toward him.

When you finally reach him, he turns the chair just enough to allow you to drop onto his strong legs. Instantly, his arms wrap around you, and you feel small, protected, safe—truly at home.

“You’re wearing my hoodie,” he murmurs, burying his face against the sensitive skin of your neck. He inhales deeply, drawing in the perfect blend of your scents, which now seem to intertwine like an intimate melody.

“Yes, I missed you so much,” you confess, grasping the drawstring of his hoodie and twirling it around your finger. You shift slightly on his lap, settling in more comfortably, the warmth of his strong, muscular frame enveloping you like a cocoon.

“Little one,” he whispers, his soft lips brushing against your forehead, lingering in a gentle, comforting kiss. It sends a ripple of warmth through you, grounding you in this moment.

“I missed you too, so much it hurt.”

There’s a pause as you hold each other, the world outside fading away, replaced by the soft hum of the studio and the rhythm of your hearts. You take a moment to absorb the feeling of being here with him, the weight of the day dissolving in his embrace.

“Did you eat?” he asks, pulling back slightly to look into your eyes, concern etched across his features.

“I was waiting for you,” you reply with a small smile, brushing a stray hair from your face.

“Always the caretaker,” he teases lightly, but there’s an underlying tenderness in his voice. “Let’s eat together. You deserve a break too.”

You feel Chris’s body moving against yours, and you immediately understand that he intends to get up, perhaps to move both of you to the little couch in the corner of the studio, the place where you usually sprawl out when you stay with him while he works. A small, faint whimper of protest escapes your lips without you being able to stop it, and you feel him stiffen slightly as he halts his movements.

"What's wrong?" he asks, his warm voice intoxicating you and making your thoughts even more confused.

"Chan..." you whisper, your hands resting on the solid grip of his shoulder, feeling the muscular structure and sensing the strength hidden beneath his sweatshirt.

"What is it, little one? Talk to me," he encourages, his face tilted slightly, an eyebrow raised—a curious, mischievous expression. It’s the look of someone who knows everything but decides to pretend not to know anything.

"I- I want..." You try to speak, to express what is in your mind, to make your desires more tangible and real, but his hands resting on your hips, gripping your flesh with severity, are enough to send your mind into total and incoherent turmoil.

Bangchan smiles, a mix of sweetness and satisfaction adorning his face that borders on perfection.

You see him push his tongue into his cheek, in one of those expressions he often reserves for the most intense moments of his performances, and just witnessing such a scene up close, no matter how many times You’ve seen it before, makes your legs tremble.

"Use your words, sweetheart. I know you can do it. What do you want? I can't give it to you unless you ask nicely like the well-mannered girl I know you are.”

You experience a shiver, your breath becoming shallow and your heart racing as anticipation and desire intensify within you. Your body feels weak and pliable beneath his touch, as if it were composed of clay. Chris patiently awaits your response, his eyes deepening in intensity with each passing moment, rendering his gaze increasingly difficult to endure.

You find yourself no longer surprised by this. Instead, you accept the situation, surrendering to him and allowing him to take control of your body. You take pleasure in the sense of liberation that arises from the unwavering certainty that he will care for you at all costs, and that he possesses the knowledge to do so in the most effective manner.

“Please, C-Chris. Jaewon mentioned that you’re feeling nervous, and I really want to help you feel better,” you confess, the words slipping from your lips as if they had a mind of their own.

There’s a softness in your tone, an earnestness that surprises even you. The dim light of the room casts gentle shadows, and for a moment, the weight of your own vulnerability hangs in the air.

You try to move closer to him, the distance between you two charged with an unspoken understanding. “I know how overwhelming things can get,” you add, your heart racing slightly as you gauge his reaction, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he’ll let you in.

His reaction ends up surprising you, as you notice his jaw locking and his eyes get even darker.

His eyes are now crossed by something indecipherable to you, a tempest of emotions swirling just beneath the surface. You can’t help but wonder what could have provoked such a reaction, what shadows lurk in the depths of his gaze.

His hands grip your waist tightly, almost painfully, and a pained sigh escapes his lips, filling the room with an electric tension. Chris seems to be engaged in a fierce battle within himself, each breath heavier than the last.

Jaewon—he's the source of this turmoil. Chris’s jealousy is palpable, simmering like a flame ready to ignite. It doesn’t surprise you; despite the fact that sometimes you can be a little too naive, it’s clear that Jaewon has at least a flicker of affection for you. Not that it matters much to you. Your heart belongs to the man standing before you, the one now consumed by his own insecurities and rage.

As Chris’s grip tightens, you catch a glimpse of the vulnerability beneath his bravado. The way his jaw clenches and his brows furrow reveals a deeper struggle: the fear of losing something he never fully claimed.

It stirs something within you—a desire to reassure him, to bridge the chasm of jealousy that threatens to pull you both apart. “Why do you let him get to you, baby?” you whisper, hoping to break through the storm raging inside him. Chris’s eyes momentarily glimmer with a softness, a fleeting reminder of the sweetness that lies beneath his tumultuous exterior. In that instant, as he realizes how adeptly you’ve read his soul, the warmth washes over him. But you know all too well that this tenderness will soon give way to shadows, and that gentle spark serves as a poignant reminder of why you love him so fiercely.

“Why, you ask?” he scoffs, his voice laced with a mix of heat and frustration, a humorless laugh escaping his lips. “Because you’re mine, that’s why. That kid seems to forget it all too often. Where the hell is the respect, huh? You’re mine, and he knows it. Yet he keeps asking about you—about when you’ll come to the studio. He even dares to talk to you when I’m not around.”

You can see the tension coiling within him, a storm brewing just beneath the surface. The protective intensity in his gaze sends a thrill through you, even as you sense the underlying fear that accompanies his jealousy. It’s a double-edged sword: this fierce devotion is intoxicating, but it also makes you wonder about the depths of his insecurities. You want to reassure him, to bridge the gap between his fears and your unwavering loyalty, but the words feel stuck in your throat, tangled in the complexity of the moment.

And- selfishly enough, you want him to feel this: you want him to be jealous of you enough to feel the unbearable need to prove you who you belong to. You can feel his frustration pulsating in the air, a raw energy that seems to crackle between you. It’s as if he’s standing on the edge of a precipice, yearning to let go, to release the weight of his emotions without the burden of overthinking them.

You long for him to embrace that instinct, to surrender to the chaos swirling within him.

In that moment, you wish for him to truly let go—to spill every ounce of his frustration into the open, to share the shadows that haunt him. It’s not just an act of catharsis; it’s a plea for connection.

You want him to unleash everything—the anger, the disappointment, even the fear—because deep down, you know that after the storm, he’ll be the one there to pick up the pieces. You need him to take it out on you: to possess and own you, to give you his pain and rage and to make sure that you take it all.

You yearn for him to trust you enough to confide in you, to see you not just as a refuge but as a safe harbor where he can unload his burdens. You crave that intimacy, the kind that comes from vulnerability.

And you know that once he releases those pent-up feelings, he will find solace in your presence, gathering the fragments and piecing them back together, stronger than before.

“I'm yours, Chan, I'm only yours,” you whisper, your voice trembling like the rest of your body, a delicate confession that hangs in the air between you.

The admission is enough to draw a heavy sigh from Chan, his expression transforming into one of deep contentment. It’s as if your words are music to him, the sweetest melody that resonates in his heart. The warmth in his eyes reflects a profound satisfaction, as if he’s just heard the final notes of a symphony composed solely for him. He leans in closer, the space between you shrinking until you can feel the warmth radiating from his skin. “You have no idea what that means to me,” he murmurs, his voice low and rich, laced with emotion.

The sincerity in his gaze sends a shiver down your spine, igniting a warmth that spreads through your entire being. In this moment, wrapped in his arms, the world outside fades away, leaving only the two of you and the unspoken promises lingering in the air. You can almost hear the gentle rhythm of your hearts syncing together, a quiet testament to the bond you share.

“Let me show you just how much I cherish you,” he says, his tone shifting to something more playful yet tender. The air crackles with anticipation, and you can’t help but smile, feeling the weight of his affection envelop you like a warm embrace. In this sacred space, you realize that it’s not just about belonging to each other; it’s about the beautiful journey you’re on together, filled with shared dreams and whispered secrets. You are his, and he is yours—an undeniable truth that fills your heart with an overwhelming sense of belonging.

“S-Show me, show me how you own me,” you say, daring to challenge him and daring to push his buttons just a little more, just enough for you to finally get what you want, what you need.

“Manners, pretty girl,” he reminds you, eyes gentle yet stern, authoritative enough to make your heart skip a beat as you feel warmth pooling at your belly, spreading down your body and making you wiggle around on his lap, your body flushed against his as you start to feel him harden under you. “Say please?” he adds, and that’s enough for you to lose every ounce of self control you had left.

“Please, please, Chan, please…” you beg, hands moving to grip at the soft texture of his hoodie, in a desperate attempt to grounded yourself, you hips starting to move without you being able to control them as you look for any kind of friction, your legs trembling and wetness spreading over the pretty panties you’re wearing.

“Please, what?” He growls, and one of his hands finds its rightful place against the sensitive skin of your neck.

He grips at it like it’s what he’s supposed to do. And he is.

He takes your oxygen away from you, your face turning the most delicious shade of pink as you try to breathe. Your mind is foggy, and his hand controls your airways as his whole presence controls your soul.

“F-fuck, Chan,” you whisper, your hands shaking as you place them over his forearms- not to pull him away, no. To keep him close, to keep him there, to tell him how much you love it when he chokes you like that without having to say it out loud.

With him, words are pretty much useless sometimes.

You guys can communicate without them, and it’s always been like that.

“Use your fucking words, or else,” he groans, his hand now closing more tightly over your neck.

“Or else what?” you say back, a smirk threatening to spread over your features as you decide to give him the brattiest version of yourself.

You don’t do it too often- not because you don’t like it, but because Chris makes it hard.

He’s sweet, yet he knows you fucking owns you. He knows exactly what to say to make you bend over, to make you cry, to make you obey. Actually, he’s usually able to turn you into a pliant little doll just by looking at you.

But tonight- tonight you need this. He needs this.

And ever so caring, you give it to him. Cause there’s fucking nothing in the world you wouldn’t give him. He knows. It’s clear that he does, because his eyes flash with- with understanding. With desire, and frustration. With possession.

“I see how it is,” he murmurs, his voice soft and sweet. Too much. Too threatening.

He leaves your neck, and air floods your lungs all at once as you gasp and breathe heavily. His hand trails the soft, reddened skin of your neck, caressing it as he admires the handprint he left behind.

Then, Chan’s hand grabs your chin and forces your face closer to his.

“Wanna be a brat? Is that it? You’re so fucking desperate for cock that you decide to be stupid enough to challenge me?”

There it is: the side of him that you so desperately wanted to bring out.

His most stern, dangerous, controlling side.

He hates it, or at least he used to. Nowadays, things have changed, and despite the fact that you’d like for him to take some credit, deep down you know pretty well that it’s all thanks to you. Thanks to your trust and love, thanks to the fact that you’ve always showed him that even when his darkness takes the lead, he’s still full of love and care. He’s still him. He has learned - or more like, he’s still learning - to let go, and to love himself a little more.

And what of himself he still can’t love, you’ll love for him.

“Are you gonna talk or are you gonna fuck me? Because I’m pretty sure that if you old man can’t get it up someone else wi-,” your words are cut off as his hand collides with your cheek, your face turning to the side and more of his marks showing up on your skin. After reassuring him that he’s the only one for you, you know that you can more safely play with his jealousy. And he loves it, cause it gives him a free go at showing you that he’s the only one that can ever own you.

“Pain slut,” he comments, as your reaction to getting hit on the face is, as usual, a loud moan.

He cruelly laughs, watching as you blush and wiggle on his lap. But he doesn’t let you move much, and actually stills you by grabbing your waist, and he pushes his hips upwards, his bulge rubbing viciously against your core, the friction ever so sweet and torturous.

Bangchan lets out a deep groan, and it slips out before he can stop it. The sound hits you hard, sending a rush through your body that makes you want to squeeze your legs together to ease the tension building up inside you. You love him to madness when he lets himself go like this: you love to see him lose his composure, and even more, you love to hear him. Hearing his voice, the way it trembles and how it badly hides all the desire he has for you.

It's one of the most arousing things in the world.

“Wanna get fucked, baby? Huh? Want to get the pussy filled up?”

You can’t help but nod, and you know that you’re practically making a fool out of yourself: to be honest, you really couldn’t care less. Bangchan mocks you as he imitates the pathetic sound you let out and the way you didn't even think to hesitate before nodding along his words and trying to rub against his cock more insistently.

You hear him click his tongue against the roof of his mouth, the sharp sound echoing in the room in a way that almost makes you jump.

“M-mean, you’re mean,” you whisper, your hands tracing his body and resting on his big, strong arms.

His muscles tense under your touch, and you can feel the way he clenches them and flexes them for you, since he know damn well how much you love to feel them- to feel his strength and now how much power he has over you, both physically and mentally.

Bangchan's astonished laughter reverberates through the studio, a sound so jarring that it seems to vibrate through your bones. The humiliation that follows is sharp, disorienting, enough to make your head spin. And yet, in that moment, you realize you love him more than ever.

There’s something intoxicating about how he mocks you, his teasing a strange sort of intimacy. You find comfort in the knowledge that his words hold no real malice, that there's never any truth behind the jabs. You know, deep down, that he loves you—protects you—though his love comes with a sharp edge. He loves you enough to humiliate you, enough to hurt you, because that’s the way he knows how to show it. In his cruel kindness, you find something that both wounds and heals, a paradox you can never quite escape.

“Mean, huh? That’s funny, isn’t it? Since you’re such a pathetic slut for it. Since you beg me with those pretty eyes to be meaner and meaner. Since I know that that pussy is getting wetter by the second.”

It’s the truth: he knows it, and you know it. You both know it, and that truth—the weight of it—only deepens the intoxication. There’s no escaping him, not really. Not now, not ever. And the strange thing is, you don’t want to. Because in that exposure, in that raw vulnerability, there’s a strange kind of safety. You feel naked, completely laid bare, and yet, somehow, protected. You know what’s coming. He will tear you apart, rip through the layers you've so carefully built. But you also know, with an unsettling certainty, that he will always put you back together—because he always does.

And each time, as he pieces you back, it’s as if you’re being remade. There’s a tenderness in his destruction, a care in his cruelty, and with every unraveling, you find yourself a little more whole, a little more yourself. Even if it means surrendering everything, every time, to a love that demands it all.

The relentless stillness of the moment is shattered by his actions: Bangchan grips your hair, his hold firm and unyielding, forceful enough to sting. You let out a pained moan, your eyebrows knitting together in a small grimace. Heat floods your body as he moves you like a mere rag doll.

He lifts you up, pushes you away: you are no longer cradled in his arms but standing before him, who is poised to lift you right after. His eyes scan your body, looking at you as no one ever has, as if you are the only one in the entire world.

You meet his gaze. It’s just him: Bangchan, Chris. Only him, and your desperate need to have him.

“What-“ you try to stay, yet you are unable to finish your sentence as he shushes you.

“Shut the fuck up,” he growls- or well, he orders you.

Your words die in your throat as he grabs your wrist into his hand, forcing you to follow him around the studio. And follow him you do, looking like a dumb, lost puppy who’s wiggling his tail at his owner.

Which isn’t that far from the reality of things, if you were to be honest with yourself. You tremble as you feel the weight of anticipation growing inside you, the excitement looming over your body and clouding your mind. You can't think of anything else but the fact that you want to have him, here and now.

“Strip,” he commands you, casually letting himself fall onto the small couch where you usually nap when you come to keep him company while he works on his songs.

The spectacle before you is unparalleled: him, in all his magnificence, exuding power and control, sitting with his legs wide apart on the couch, his gaze rigid and the front of his pants bulging, poorly concealing the excitement he is also feeling.

You already feel exposed, stripped of everything. Yet, after taking a deep breath, with trembling hands covered by a thin layer of sweat from nervousness and excitement, you carry out the order he gave you.

You undress under his attentive and eager eyes, allowing him to observe every smallest movement of yours.

His hand finds its place on his groin, and you watch him touch himself while you remove one piece of clothing after another. Your clothes fall forgotten to the ground until you are left with only your panties on, now damp and wet with your arousal. You’ll probably have to throw them away after this, but it’s a sacrifice you’re more than willing to make.

“Take those off too, show me that pretty pussy,” he says, his witty tongue escaping his even more dirty mouth to wet his plump lips.

He keeps on touching himself, rubbing vigorously against his dick. He’s still too clothed, and you find yourself whining pathetically as you slide the panties you have on off from your body.

“Not fair,” you say, and he arches his brow in response as he tilts his head to the side.

“What?” he asks, hips moving to meet his own hand, as it’s clear to you that even though he hides it better, he’s as needy as you are.

“Wanna see you- wanna see your cock,” you plea, as a little moan escapes your lips as air comes in contact with your now exposed cunt. “This cock?” he asks, basically gripping at his own hard dick right before your eyes.

A wave of longing stirs within you, as if the mere sight of the scene before you is enough to make your senses tingle with hunger. And there, at the center of it all, he sits right in front of you—an embodiment of temptation, the perfect image of sin itself. His presence is the precise manifestation of every secret desire you've ever harbored, a temptation so vivid, so impossible to resist, that it feels as though the very air around you crackles with the promise of what is going to happen.

“Yes, please, wanna see it- wanna suck it, please, daddy,” you beg, and you can’t seem to be able to stop yourself.

You can see it in his eyes: the way he revels in seeing you like this, feeling you like this—utterly, completely his, a possession he claims with every touch, every glance. There's a possessiveness to him, something primal and unrelenting, as though your very existence belongs to him. You feel his breath falter in his throat when the words leave your lips, the weight of them pulling him deeper into that ownership. You know the effect it has on him, how it makes his mind spin, how it makes him want to pull you even closer, to mark you further as his.

And in that moment, perhaps his head spins as much as yours does. You, his possession, his obsession.

“Then get on your fucking knees.”

As soon as those words leave his lips, your legs give out and you found yourself kneeling in front of him, as you fall on your knees with a soft tud. It hurts, but you don’t mind. Actually, you love the feeling of it, the burn so delicious that it almost makes your eyes roll back.

“Such a good girl for daddy,” he praises you, his eyes locked on your naked body.

Without ever taking his eyes off you, Bangchan slightly lifts his back, and you watch, mesmerized, as he grips the edges of his t-shirt before pulling it up and completely sliding it off his body. He tosses it carelessly onto one of the armrests of the sofa, and you feel your mouth water at the sight of his perfectly sculpted body: muscles defined, imposing, strong, moving in a hypnotic dance as they follow his every motion.

“You’re so hot,” you say, as he finally starts to work on his pants.

He chuckles, shaking his head as he lowers both his pants and boxers down, kicking off his shoes in the process. “Want you to fuck me so bad.”

The air is heavy around the both of you, and you can’t stop yourself from trying to make him- do something.

You look at him through your lashes, you bite your bottom lip, you spread your knees a little wider. And he knows, obviously he does. He knows how you work, and all your little tricks. It’s hard to make him fall for them nowadays.

“Fuck,” he hisses, as his cock is finally freed from his clothes. Every time you see it, it’s like the first time: it’s so big. Big and veiny, strong like the rest of him. The tip is swollen and red, leaking the tiniest drop of his pre-cum, and the sight of it makes you salivate and feel- hungry. Yeah, that’s the word.

“Suck it,” he says, hand sliding up and down the length right in front of your face, “suck my cock, baby. Daddy’s gonna make you choke on it, c’mon.”

You move so quickly you almost fall over, yet you manage to get closer to him and place your hands on his strong thighs. He chuckles at the sight of your utter desperation, but you don’t mind. Actually, the more he laughs at you, the wetter you become.

“Thank you, t-thank you,” you whisper, before placing your hands on his cock. Both of them, since it’s just so fucking big. You grip it at the base, and with eyes full of lust, you stick your tongue out before slapping his dick against your face. It’s heavy, and it kind of hurts a little bit, just how you like it. The smell of it- of him, fills your senses. It’s salty and so so him. You breathe in deeply and nuzzle your face against the skin of his thighs, hand moving over his cock.

“Someday i’ll have you cockwarm me here at the studio. Make you stay on your knees all fucking day, I swear.”

You nod almost immediately, because there’s no chance you’d ever say no to something like that. Or to anything he’d ask from you, but that’s another thing. Chris looks at you like you’re his prey, and he’s- the big bad wolf. Pun intended, of course.

“Didn’t you say you were gonna make me choke on it, daddy? Are you a liar?” you tease, and right after that you slide your tongue all over his cock, from base to tip, focusing on the little slit to taste as much of his juicy as you possibly can.

“You little bitch,” he curses, shaking his head as his hands find their rightful place into your hair, grabbing at it and pulling at it and- hurting you so sweetly. “Gonna fucking stuff you full, see if that shuts you up.”

His cock finds its place into your mouth, and he shoves your head down the length of it so forcefully that you can’t help but cough at the intrusion, your throat hurting as spams overcome it.

“That’s it,” he groans, hips pushing up to thrust inside your mouth, the tip of his cock pushing against the back of your throat as his dick slides over your tongue. “This is all you’re good for.”

You agree, because how could you not? His words burn and rub at your skin the same way his cock rubs at the softness of your tongue. You nod wordlessly over his length, and his moans make the air around of you thicker, as if you could just move your arms and touch it.

You obviously can’t, couldn’t, but the thought is enough to make your spiral: he has so much power over you it’s insane, but comforting. You don’t have to think abut anything other than keeping your mouth open and jaw slack as he forces his cock deep inside your tight little throat.

His precum is salty and spit trails from your mouth all the way down your chin, making it sloppy and messy and wet, just how you both like it.

“Such a tight mouth, a warm little hole,” he groans as his hips buck up against your face, the muscles of his strong thighs tensing as his body is shaking with the pleasure you’re giving him. Tears spill from your eyes as he holds your head down, forcing his dick all the way down your throat, the muscles of it spasming without control as you fight the need to breathe.

“Choke. Shut the fuck up and choke for me, good fucking girl.”

You do live for his praise, for the feeling you get when you’re so lucky to obtain his approval.

You’d do anything to get that feeling, even though he basically praises you just for the fact that you exist. Still, you love that sometimes he makes you work for it, because it makes it way more intense at the end of the day. It’s- it’s like drowning. You’re gasping for air, and you fight with all your strength to keep on being alive. When you’re free to breathe, it changes the perspective of being alive: you understand it’s worth. Life’s worth.

Same thing goes with what he has to give you. You want it, you need it. And after waiting and begging for it… it’s just overwhelming. It gives your entire life a purpose.

“Please,” you mouth at the tip of his cock, tongue playing with the red, wet slit to try and gather as much as possible of his thick salty juice. “Wanna get fucked, please, please, fuck me,” you beg, because it’s what you’re supposed to do. It’s what you both crave.

Chan snickers, he rubs his cock over your swollen lips, over and over again, staining them with a glossy, creamy finish.

“What if I didn’t? What if I just fucked this hole and got off like this?”

You almost cry, yet you don’t try to object. You nod, and he chuckles at the sight.

“W-whatever daddy wants, whatever you want, please.”

And it’s the right answer.

Exactly what Bangchan wanted to hear, and it's as if in your head you can hear a small chime ringing, signaling that you've chosen the best option, and that you can move forward, go ahead, continue. He runs a hand through his hair: a thin layer of sweat makes his forehead shine and glisten, and his cheeks are tinged with the juiciest shade of red.

The tension in his muscles betrays him—the rigid set of his jaw, the way his eyes burn into yours, frantic, pleading, but he won’t say it. He doesn’t need to.

You feel it, all of it—the weight of his desperation pressing in, thick and suffocating. You feel powerful because if he looks like this now, it’s only and solely thanks to you. It's your merit.

He’s- he’s in charge, but you still have so much power. Over him. Over his entire being.

He’s yours just as much as you’re his.

You’re all naked and vulnerable, kneeling at the feet of your boyfriend. Your body is screaming at you, yelling with the need to be relieved, but you can’t do anything other than ignore it, cause that’s not up to you: your own satisfaction isn’t in your hands, but in his.

“Finally learnt your place, haven’t you? Or maybe it’s just that you’re so fucking needy that your dumb brain can’t even handle fighting me off anymore, huh?” he pets your cheek, thumb rubbing at the flushed skin with a faux tenderness, “whatever. Get up. Sit on the couch and spread your pretty legs. Gonna fill that pussy up, I need to fuck you.”

You move with such urgency, such speed, that it almost feels like you’re losing touch with your own body, as if the world around you is slipping into a blur while you stay anchored in this moment, in this need. Your knees burn, the sensation sharp and raw. Sweet, too. The roughness of the carpet scrapes against your skin, the friction almost making you lose feeling, but you don’t stop, not even for a second. You wouldn’t be able to even if you wanted. And you don’t.

You really, really don’t.

In fact, you barely notice the pain. The ache in your legs is something distant, unimportant in comparison to the heat building inside you. Your body knows its purpose here, and that’s all that matters.

Bangchan’s eyes are locked on you, unblinking, intense, yet there's something almost amused in his gaze, something quiet, like he's watching a game unfold before him. Like you’re his little toy to play with.

You are. He doesn't need to say a word; his stare is enough. Every movement of yours is like a story quickly unfolding, and he is savoring every page like a starved man. And that’s all you need. His attention, his focus, it fills you in ways nothing else can. It’s enough. Yet you need more. And more. And more. With your legs still tingling, an electric buzz coursing through them, you turn and let yourself fall onto the couch just like he told you to: legs spread wide open and body exposed for him: the soft cushion swallowing you momentarily, offering a fleeting relief.

As you collapse, he rises to his feet in a single, smooth motion. There’s no hesitation.

“Look at you. I haven’t touched you yet and that pussy is dripping with it. Fuck, baby, spread it open for me, will you?” he orders, and his words are so filthy that they make your head spin with how intensely they crush on you.

“Spread those folds, little one. Show me that tiny hole.”

When your fingers reach your own pussy, the moan you let out is basically pornographic.

His, too. It mirrors yours: it’s lower and more dominating, yet sweet.

Sometimes you feel like you could touch his voice if you really wanted to. Which is a crazy thought, but it makes sense for you. Cause everything about him defies the laws of this universe: it goes way beyond.

“F-fuck, look at you,” he groans, as you play with yourself under his hungry gaze. You know your body well, so it takes just a few flicks of your wrists to make your own legs tremble for him. He’s jacking off, and you whine and whine, so desperate to have him inside of you.

“Gimme, gimme…” you beg, tears starting to pool at your eyes. “Begging me so fucking nicely.”

He gets closer.

He grabs your legs, and then bends over. It happens pretty quickly: Chan finds his rightful place between your legs and forces them even more open than they were.

His hard dick rubs against your wet, needy folds, coating his length with your unstopping juices. You both moan, especially considering how long it has been since he’s been inside of you. Which is- well, four days, but for the two of you is kind of a record, to be honest. You just can’t keep your hands off of each other.

And looking at him, at the way sweat dribbles down his forehead, at the way his eyes shine with the light of a thousand stars… who could really blame you? You guys were fucking made for each other. You were made for him. And he? He was fucking made for you. Only you.

“Want your cock so bad.”

Bangchan laughs, before bending over to mouth at the soft skin of your breasts. His tongue slides over the sensitive skin of one of your nipples, while his fingers rub the other.

“Think you can take it? Daddy’s gonna open up that pussy first. Or do you want me to rip it, huh? Leave it gaping for me?”

As he talks, you feel his other hand trace down your whole body. Up until he reaches his goal: the growing wetness in between your legs. His fingers find their place immediately, and your eyes roll at the back of your head as his thumb moves over your swollen clit.

“C-Chan! Please!”

Harder. He rubs it harder, and while he does that his teeth nip at your hardened nipple, sending both pleasure and pain running through your defenseless body.

“It’s empty, isn’t it? I can feel it pulse under my fingers, you dirty fucking whore.”

He pushes two of his thick fingers all the way inside your wet hole. Air gets sucked out of your lungs, and you tilt your head back as your hands find their place in his scalp, grabbing his hair and pulling harshly at it.

“So tight, baby. This pussy is tight and yet it’s been fucked so many times. Made for me, weren’t you? Fucking molded over my cock.”

You nod, over and over again. You tell him that yes, he’s right, you were made for him.

“Aren’t you pathetic?” he mumbles, and that’s another thing you nod for. His fingers fill you up perfectly, even though it’s nearly not enough for you to get off the way you want. Need.

The sound is obscene: your juices slide down his fingers and almost get to his wrist, and you find yourself trying to spread your legs further to get him deeper.

“Kiss me,” you ask, tone whiny and demanding, hands tracing his scalp and neck and shoulders as he detaches himself from your now swollen tits.

Red marks cover your skin, and you can’t wait to see them turn the richest shade of purple in a few hours. He’s always had a thing for marking you up. Your lips meet, and it’s pretty messy: teeth and tongues clashing against one another, moans morphing into one sound as you both abandon yourselves to each other.

“I love you.”

You don’t known whose voice it was. Yours. His. Both. Neither: who cares.

It’s right, no matter who said it.

He rubs himself against your thigh, spreading his pleasure over your flushed skin. As you feel the weight of his dick you can’t help but keep on trembling and begging for him to finally fill you up. You glance down at where his fingers disappear inside of your body, and the sight is one to lose sleep over.

His arm is as strong as ever: veins showing up for the effort he’s putting on finger fucking you, muscles tensing and moving hypnotically, and his thick fingers getting swallowed in by your hungry cunt

“Can’t wait anymore. I need to be inside of you. Now.”

Finally.

He removes his fingers from your body harshly, leaving you gasping for air and crying out as you feel the emptiness hunt you down. He looks- looks at the way you’re gaping for him, hole abused and red and swollen begging him to get filled up. You can’t even think about feeling ashamed. There would be no point. Not right now. And most importantly, not with him.

His eyes shift. He’s no longer focused on your pussy, but he’s rather looking at your face. Make up running over it, making it messy just how he likes it. Chan brings his fingers to his mouth. They’re still coated with your juices, and you look carefully as he wraps those sinful lips of his around his wet digits. His eyelashes flutter and his throat lets out a trembling groan.

“So sweet. Sweet little pussy,” he moans around his own fingers, before switching it up and forcing them inside your mouth, making you taste what was left of your own pleasure and the thickness of is saliva.

You suck, immediately. You rub your tongue over the sensitive skin of his digit just as he takes ahold of his dick.

The tip of it, all red and swollen, gets rubbed against your equally abused cunt.

“Fuck me with it, daddy. C’mon. I need it so bad, please, please…”

It always works. Chan is a sucker for your begging. Always has been.

His hips move sinfully as he pushes his dick all the way inside your pussy in one precise motion. You almost scream, head tilting to the side and tongue lolling out of your mouth.

He keeps on rubbing his fingers over your tongue, over your lips: he does it carelessly, and you live for the feeling of getting treated like a fucking sex toy. His groans are to die for: low and sweet, caring and uncaring.

You love listening to him when he lets himself go, when he sheds all restraint and takes what he desires without hesitation or apology. There’s a kind of raw beauty in his selfishness, in the way he reaches out for everything he wants, heedless of the wreckage he might leave behind.

It’s rare, to get him like this. He thinks too much all the fucking time- but now? Now he’s free. He doesn’t care about what he’s breaking or losing, not in these moments. All that matters is the taking, the consuming, the claiming of whatever satisfies his boiling hunger.

And yet, you can’t stop giving. To him, you offer yourself again and again, without question, without limit.

He takes from you with an intensity that leaves you breathless, with a greed that seems insatiable. Every part of you—your time, your energy, your love—he consumes without hesitation. Even the things you didn’t think you could give, those pieces you didn’t even know existed, the pieces of yourself you thought were untouchable, he somehow reaches. He doesn’t just take what you offer willingly; he finds ways to take more, to claim even the things you didn’t know were his for the taking. And still, you let him. Because there’s something in the way he demands, the way he consumes, that makes you feel both hollowed out and completely alive.

Empty, but with a purpose. Filled up. A metaphor, yes. Also something tangible.

“You’re mine. This, this,” he groans, hands coming down to slap your thighs and breast and forcefully grab them into his strong hands, “this is all fucking mine.”

“M’yours, fuck, right there, harder,” you moan, hips bucking up to meet his thrusts. It’s never fucking enough. No matter what, you always crave more of Bangchan. Of the light of your life.

You’re insatiable. Both of you.

“Harder, baby? Look at me, look at me in the eyes when you ask for something, you fucking brat.”

He grabs your chin, forces your eyes to meet. Your mouth is wide open, moans escaping your lips incessantly, voice getting higher by the second.

You have a fight with yourself as you try to do as he says and keep your eyes open. You wanna be obedient.

You feel it deep in your core, an overwhelming certainty that if you cannot give him exactly what he wants, you’ll cease to exist. It’s absurd, you know this—impossible even. You won’t die if you fail to please him, and yet the thought claws at your mind, making every breath feel shallow and incomplete without his approval. Somehow, it feels real, undeniable, like a truth written into the fabric of your very being. And worse, it feels right.

The idea of losing yourself entirely for him, of offering up your life if that’s what it would take, doesn’t just seem acceptable—it feels like destiny.

So… your next words don’t surprise you. And- well, they don’t surprise him neither. He knows you too fucking well.

“Choke me.”

His hand is on your neck almost immediately.

You feel it as if it were your own—a brief, stuttering halt in the rhythm of his heart, a mirrored echo of the one that shakes through your chest. You watch as his eyes deepen, the light fading into the richest, most intense shade of darkness you’ve ever seen. It’s a darkness that beckons, that promises to consume you whole, and you can’t look away.

Then his hand moves, tightening around your neck with a deliberate, unyielding strength. The world narrows to the press of his fingers, to the way your breath falters and slips away. It’s no longer yours—your breath, your control, your very will have all become his, claimed in an instant. And you let him take it all, offering no resistance. Even if the fatigue is screaming at you, telling you to let go and close your eyes- you don’t. You can’t, couldn’t. Ever.

The burn in your lungs spreads, delicious and sharp, a physical reminder of your surrender. Your chest rises and falls in shallow, uneven gasps, each one precious and entirely at his mercy. The edges of your vision blur, softening into a haze, but you don’t care. In fact, you find yourself welcoming it. It’s intoxicating, this loss of control.

“S-so big. Feel so big inside my pussy…” you cry out. By now, tears stream freely from your weary eyes, and Bangchan can’t resist. He leans down toward you, his tongue darting quickly across your burning skin.

He licks away your tears with a mix of hunger and intent, savoring each drop as if they belong to him, as if they’re his to take. Slowly, he consumes you—not just your tears, but every fiber of your being, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left untouched by him. The saltiness of your tears coats his tongue, and you can see how it makes his eyes flutter and thrust get more erratic.

His pace is punishing, on the verge of being painful.

The sweetest paradox.

Bangchan fucks you over and over again. Pushes his aching cock deep inside your desperate cunt, making it pulse over his length as you try to get him to bury himself deeper with each thrust.

“Look at you. You can’t even breathe, huh? All you can do is get fucked, am I right?”

You want to respond—desperately, with everything inside you. But you can’t. The words stay trapped deep in your chest, locked behind the absence of breath. There’s no air left to give them life, no way to shape them into sound. And yet, you refuse to disappoint him. You won’t. You can’t. Your body reacts instinctively, head dipping in a shaky nod as your vision wavers at the edges. Even without words, you find a way to obey, because you always will. No matter how much it costs you, no matter how far you’re pushed, obedience is instinctive when it comes to him. It’s like second nature to you.

He notices, of course. He always notices. A glint of satisfaction flickers in his eyes, subtle but unmistakable, like a reward in itself. But it isn’t enough—not for him, not for this moment. He leans in closer, the intensity in his expression sharpening like a blade. Then, slowly, deliberately, he lifts his other hand, placing it around your neck to join the first. Now, both hands hold you, his fingers pressing into your skin with an unrelenting firmness. The weight of his touch is calculated, deliberate, and impossibly precise. The pressure is just enough to make you burn, to send a sharp jolt of pain coursing through you, but not so much that it overwhelms. He knows your limits—intimately, perfectly—and he dances along that edge with a mastery that leaves you reeling.

He knows you better than you’ll ever know yourself.

Even now, in this moment of utter control, his care for you is evident. The way his hands move, the way he keeps you balanced between agony and safety, speaks volumes. He’s pushing you, yes, testing how far you’re willing to go for him, but never recklessly. Never without thought. Protecting you, even as he consumes you, is always at the forefront of his mind. You’re his, completely and utterly, and he would never risk breaking what belongs to him.

He guides you—a watchful, loving presence, both stern and compassionate. He leads you to the edge, to the point of no return, bringing you so close to losing consciousness, to surrendering completely to the void—to him, to his desires.

Just as you’re about to be swallowed by the emptiness, just as you’re on the verge of spiraling uncontrollably into the abyss of pleasure, his hands leave your neck.

The release is sudden, and air floods your lungs with such force that the world around you spins, tilting wildly as you gasp for breath. The rush is dizzying, overwhelming, and the sheer intensity of it makes everything else disappear, leaving only the two of you in the storm of sensation. You don’t even recognize it at first- the orgasm way too intense to be given a name. Your pussy aches and pulses and gushes out streams of your pleasure over and over again, tightening around his cock, making it harder for him to move freely.

Your body is overtaken by uncontrollable tremors, and a thin layer of sweat coats your skin, marked by bites—by the imprints of his touch. You don’t even know if you said anything, really. You can only feel and hear the way your blood runs through your blood, ears pulsing with the intensity of the sensations you just experienced.

“Good girl,” he praises, watching you as you struggle to breathe normally again. And even then, he doesn’t stop fucking you. Everything is more intense now- it’s enhanced by the way your orgasm hasn’t actually ceased. It’s ongoing, ravenous.

“Came over my fucking cock, wasn’t even touching your dumb little clit, fuck! Y-you fucking squirted for me, baby. Such a good little hole, I’m so proud of you.”

It’s practically enough to send you over the edge again: one orgasm morphing into another as you rub at your abused clit. Bangchan lets you, cause you’ve more than earned it. Even if usually- your pleasure is his. This time, though, he lets you have it. And you’re so fucking grateful for it.

“W-want you to come, too. Please, C-Channie, inside of me, please? Want all of your cum inside my pussy, want you to breed me, please…”

He loves it. He lives for it, and yet often enough he doesn’t allow himself to indulge into it.

You’ll have none of it though, especially today. Today- it’s for him. Only him.

“Babygirl- you’re fucking playing with fire now.”

It’s a warning—a subtle, almost imperceptible sign that you’ve grown all too familiar with, one that you’ve learned to disregard without a second thought. There was a time when it might have made you hesitate, made you question, but no longer. The only thing that matters is the way his eyes flicker—just for a moment—before they roll back, losing themselves in the feeling of your pussy gripping his cock like a vice.

The sight of him, consumed, his control slipping away, it makes your pulse quicken. That’s what counts. Nothing else.

Now, it’s his turn.

You watch as his body trembles with the effort, each breath coming harder than the last. His skin is alive with a tremor of its own, covered in shivers that tell you just how much he’s enjoying this. It’s rough beneath your touch, heated, and flushed from the monumental physical effort he’s putting in. Sweat clings to his hair, dripping and curling the way you find so irresistible, a stark contrast to the taut lines of muscle across his chest, now straining with each movement. His arms are firm, powerful, holding you in place with a force that leaves no room for escape. You’re helpless, defenseless.

But it’s his hands that draw your attention—his fingers digging into your thighs with a strength that borders on brutal, marking you as his, pulling you closer, tighter, until there’s no space left between you. You can’t go anywhere. You can feel every inch of his tension, every subtle flex of his muscles as they ripple beneath your touch, the weight of his need pressing against you with a force you can’t ignore.

“Gimme your cum, daddy. Make me swollen with it, please. I need it, need it.”

It’s a good feeling.

He spits, and it lands on your face. It’s messy, a little bit of it goes inside your eye- it makes it harder to blink. But you don’t care, cause it’s fucking worth it. He humiliates you, makes you feel small and useless. He uses his hand to rub his spit on your skin, marking you as his property.

“Gonna fucking breed you, baby. Gonna cum so deep inside of you you’re gonna stain your panties for days- fuck. Gonna make you walk out of here with my cum dripping out of you- and I hope he sees it. Hope that fucker sees that you’re my slut- my fucking cum dump.”

Jaewon. Fuck, you’ll bake the dude a batch of cookies for having made Chan lose his temper like this. It’s the best feeling ever.

“Yes! Yes! Please, please, I’m your cum dump, j-just a toy, daddy, please!”

He leans forward.

Bangchan’s forehead rests against yours, and your gazes lock, fitting together like pieces of a puzzle that were always meant to find each other. The connection is undeniable, unshakable, as if something far greater than either of you is pulling you together. The sensation is intense, almost primal in its depth. It roots itself in the very core of your being, leaving you breathless and overwhelmed. You know, instinctively, that no words could ever do it justice. No description, no matter how vivid, could capture the raw, visceral power of this moment.

So you let go.

You surrender to the feeling, trembling as it washes over you, and you give yourself to him completely—mind, body, and soul. The tip of his cock rubs at the perfect place- it makes you see stars. You feel it all the way to your stomach, which is probably bulging with the intensity of his thrusts.

Your folds are aching, your clit keeps on pulsing and you know damn well that you’re gonna cum again- as soon as he does. Because for you nothing is more important and valuable than his pleasure. Enough to make you cum all over again, no matter what.

“Mine. Mine, my pussy, my baby, all mine,” he says. It’s- disconnected. Messy. He’s just saying things, calling you name and promising you that you’re gonna get bred. You pet his hair, you pull at it.

You stick your tongue out and look at him with hunger in your eyes as he forces his cock inside your hole a few last times.

“You look like a fucking whore,” he comments, groaning deeply before letting himself go.

He succumbs, falling into the abyss of desire alongside you. He lets himself go completely, his body seized by violent, overwhelming spasms that ripple through him with unrelenting force. And you, calm and yielding, accept it all, embracing him as he shatters in your arms.

He buries his cock all the way inside of your body, and you feel it pulse with every sprout of cum that he lets out. Over and over again. You feel it- warm and thick and dense. You cum with him, because of course you do. And you do it more for him than for yourself. You do it cause your pussy tightens up for him and makes his orgasm way more intense. He says so, too.

“Take it. Good fucking girl. All my cum baby, daddy’s cum is breeding you.”

It is, or at least you hope so.

It would be a waste otherwise. You want it to take, and you know it’s crazy, but you don’t care. You’ll give him anything, everything.

“So good, daddy. I feel so full, t-thank you.”

He kisses your forehead. Sweet, despite being still buried to the hilt inside your gaping cunt.

Despite the fact that cum is dripping from your hole and sliding down his cock- all the way to his balls. Messy. Messy. Messy.

“So polite, baby. You’re my princess, right? I love you so much.”

His words carry the taste of a smile, warm and intoxicating, and you can’t get enough of it. It’s as if each syllable wraps itself around you, pulling you closer, filling every corner of your being with an insatiable need for more. You bite your lip, the gesture both instinctive and deliberate, as your fingers trace the strong lines of his shoulders. The touch is soft, almost reverent, as though grounding yourself in the reality of him.

“I love you too,” you whisper, your voice low but unwavering. “More than anything else.”

The words fall between you like a promise, heavy with truth, with an undefined purpose, and the way he looks at you in return makes you feel as though the whole world could fall away, disappear in a fleeting instant, and you wouldn’t care. It wouldn’t matter.

“Thank you,” he adds. You know why he’s thanking you, but you shush him anyways.

“Don’t. Don’t thank me, baby. There’s no need.”

He scoffs, placing soft, gentle kisses on your cheek and down your neck.

“I know. Wanna do it anyways, so please let me, okay?” He smiles, rubbing his cheek against yours before sliding his nose over your skin, trying to touch you in any way possible.

“Okay. Just this once.”

He’s satisfied with your response, and you let him take a moment to recover—truthfully, this moment of tenderness is as much for you as it is for him.

He’s putting you back together. Piece by jagged piece, he’s gathering the fragments of you, reshaping them, giving them new form and color. His touch is gentle, reverent. He caresses you, his fingers tracing soothing patterns along your skin, and his lips find yours in soft, lingering kisses. You return the gestures, mirroring his care, your hands and lips speaking the language of gratitude and love without the need for words.

His fingers tease along your side, the touch light and playful, and you respond with a mischievous grin, sinking your teeth into his shoulder in a playful bite. It’s a small act of rebellion, an answer to his teasing, and the way he chuckles softly in response fills the air between you with warmth.

“Mean puppy,” he reprimands you, and you wiggle your eyebrows, “wasn’t I a cat?” you ask, and he shrugs his shoulders.

“A hybrid? Wasn’t that something you were reading the other day?”

You blush, but you’re kinda happy he remembers everything you tell him despite how busy his life is.

“Yeah, but I’m not one. You are. Wolf hybrid.”

He howls. Of course he does. He’s- he’s the love of your life for a fucking reason, after all.

And you wouldn’t change what you just have for a thing in the whole world.

You both get dressed slowly, taking your time, and he helps you clean up. With a soft smile, he reaches for the brush you keep here at the studio and gently untangles your messy hair. You always leave a small bag with a few of your things here—essentials for the long hours you spend keeping him company. It was his idea, of course. He bought everything you might need, insisting that you leave it here.

It’s one of the countless ways he shows you he loves you, small gestures that speak volumes.

“Damn it! The pizza!” you exclaim suddenly, just as you’re pulling on your hoodie.

Bangchan laughs, the sound light and carefree, as he checks his phone, which had been sitting on the table nearby. It’s much later than you’d realized, and you probably missed the call when your phone rang.

“It’s fine, baby,” he reassures you, slipping his jacket on with ease. “I’ll just run to the shop across the street and grab something, okay?”

You pout a little, feeling disappointed because you’d wanted everything to be perfect. But he’s quick to notice, and even quicker to fix it. He steps close, his hands warm on your face as he kisses that pout away, effortlessly melting your frustration in the way only he can.

Then, with that familiar cheeky grin, he tousles your freshly brushed hair, undoing his work on purpose. The playful act earns him a sharp glare from you, but his laughter in response is worth every second of your mock indignation.

“Be quick? Please? I’m hungry. Starving. I’ll probably die if I don’t eat, actually.”

He shakes his head, shoving his wallet inside the pocket of his pants. “You’re not gonna die, baby. I promise.”

He opens the door of the studio, ready to leave.

Fortunately, you spot the obstacle before he has the chance to trip over it.

“Channie, watch out!” you exclaim, pointing at the floor.

His expression shifts to one of confusion, his eyes widening slightly as he follows the direction of your finger. On the ground, two pizza boxes lie in an awkward heap, a small note resting on top of them. With a sigh, you drop onto the couch, crossing your legs as you settle into a comfortable position, content to watch how this unfolds.

He crouches down, gathering the boxes to his chest, his brow furrowing as he grabs the note. You study his face while he reads it carefully, his lips moving faintly as he takes in the words.

“I tried knocking, but I figured it was better to leave. Hope it doesn’t get cold. —Jaewon.”

You feel heat rush to your face, a wave of embarrassment washing over you as the situation sinks in. But he just smiles—a smug, satisfied sort of smile that only adds to your growing mortification. Shaking your head, you try to hide your amusement as he crumples the note in his hand and, with a casual flick of his wrist, tosses it over his shoulder. Somehow, it lands perfectly in the trash can.

“Show-off,” you mutter under your breath, though you let it slide this time.

“Pizza!” he exclaims, his voice triumphant and brimming with energy, as though he’s just won a hard-fought victory. With the heel of his foot, he kicks the door closed behind him, the soft thud signaling the end of the brief interruption.

A smile lingers in the air between you—yours, his, what difference does it make? It belongs to both of you, in a moment that feels perfectly, unmistakably yours.

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f1girliefics · 1 day ago

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Charles Leclerc and His Mystery Love: A Quiet Romance in the Spotlight

In the glamorous world of Formula 1, where speed, fame, and luxury crash, it’s rare to find a love story that feels real.

Yet, Charles Leclerc, Ferrari’s golden boy, seems to have found exactly that.

Leclerc, known for his calm demeanour and fierce talent in racing, surprised fans earlier this week when photos of him walking hand-in-hand with a woman outside a small café in Monte Carlo began circulating online.

Unlike the supermodels Charles has been seen with in the past, the mystery woman appears to be not a supermodel.

A Simple Start to an Extraordinary Romance

According to sources close to the couple, the two met in a quick encounter months ago.

“It wasn’t anything dramatic,” a friend of the pair shared. “They met at a local grocery store. She paid for his items when he forgot his wallet, and that’s how it all started. Charles couldn’t stop thinking about her after that.”

The mystery woman, whose identity remains private for now, isn’t from the world of motorsports or celebrity circles.

She’s described as someone with a quiet life, working a regular job in Monaco.

“She’s not into the limelight,” another insider noted. “She genuinely cares for Charles, not his fame.”

A Rare Public Appearance

Their public outing sparked immediate curiosity.

Dressed casually in a light sundress and sneakers, she appeared at ease beside Leclerc, who sported a relaxed look in jeans and a white shirt.

The two were seen laughing and sharing quiet moments over coffee before strolling down the streets, oblivious to the attention around them.

Fans quickly took to social media, expressing admiration for Leclerc’s choice.

“I love how real she looks. It’s refreshing to see a celebrity dating someone who isn’t a model or influencer,” one fan tweeted.

Others speculated on how the relationship might affect Leclerc’s performance on the track.

A Love Beyond the Spotlight

Despite being one of the most famous drivers on the grid, Leclerc has always maintained a level of privacy about his personal life.

However, those close to him say that his new relationship has brought a noticeable change.

“He’s happier, more relaxed,” a Ferrari team member revealed. “She grounds him in a way that’s hard to explain. He’s found someone who sees him for who he is, not what he does. I believe everyone needs someone like that.”

When asked about the photos during a recent press conference, Leclerc smiled but remained secretive.

“I prefer to keep my private life… private,” he said, though the sparkle in his eyes betrayed his feelings.

What’s Next for the Couple?

With the Formula 1 season in full swing, it’s unclear how often the pair will be able to spend time together.

However, those who know Leclerc well believe that this relationship is different.

“Charles is serious about her,” one insider claimed.

As for his mystery girlfriend, she seems content staying in the background, supporting Leclerc quietly.

Whether or not she’ll appear more frequently at races remains to be seen, but one thing is clear.

Charles Leclerc has found someone special, and the racing world can’t stop talking about it.

In a sport dominated by high speeds and high stakes, it’s nice to see that, sometimes, the most significant victories happen off the track.

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phoebepheebsphibs · 1 day ago

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OOH THIS IS INTERESTING…

My first (and current) fav superhero is Spider-Man. I loved how genuinely real he felt, how he was the only superhero (that I knew of) who would crack jokes mid battle. While most superheroes were portrayed as depressed or dark or overly serious or filthy rich, he was a broke high school kid and that was relatable (despite the fact that I discovered him when I was like 4 years old).

My fav turtle depends on the iteration. I’ve only really seen Rise and those two live action films from like 2014, though I’ve seen some of the 2012 series. Across the board, Donnie’s always been my fave — not just because of purple, but he was the only one who was actually concerned with the plot and he wasn’t completely incompetent lol. But Rise Mikey stole my heart instantly, which was a shock since usually he was my least favourite. Rise Donnie is my second fav tho.

Mm. Relax. What’s that?? (Not exactly joking, but I guess writing stories would be my relaxer. Or watching Agatha Christie murder mysteries like Poirot or Marple!)

I. Love. Platypuses.

Reading’s always been tough for me (undiagnosed ADHD), but my fav book series is definitely PJO. Currently my mom and I are watching Marple together each night!

I am an introvert. People exhaust me.

Fav thing in my room… apart from my bed and laptop…? Maybe my art board, or — oh, oh! I know! I have a giant post-it that has notes from old college friends and coworkers.

Uh…. I’ve never had cider and I’m not a fan of hot chocolate. I’ve been told I make the best coco, tho! Which is weird, considering I won’t drink it…

Fav dog breed would be my dog, Coulson. He’s a mixed breed, but we think he’s tiger-pitbull boxer mix with some beagle in him.

I do not know my zodiac, and I do not care. No offense to anyone, but astrology is not my thing.

And NOW FOR YOU UNFORTUNATE SOULS —

Name a core memory? (My first trip to Disney World and watching the fireworks on my father’s shoulders. ��)

Sweet or sour pickles? (Sour. Sweet pickles should not exist.)

What colour would you assign your soul? (I think like… purple or even a tealish blue for me.)

Dream job? (Animator/content creator.)

What’s a word you can’t pronounce no matter what? (I said “par-meeshian” instead of parmesan once. I have yet to live it down.)

A story — book or fanfic — you’d like to recommend? (I read “The Humans” for college and always recommend it for grown ups. It was a COLLEGE BOOK, so there are some moments that aren’t great for kids. Plus a lot of swearing. But overall an engaging and interesting story that I loved.)

Name a fictional character you would fight on sight? (Krang Prime. I’ve never wanted to annihilate a character so much.)

A message you’d want to give your younger self? (You aren’t a freak, you’re just programmed differently than other humans and that’s okay. Also, don’t hold yourself to achievements or standards that you feel make you important. You’ll be okay.)

A song you are OBSESSED WITH? (Creating Monsters by Set It Off)

Breakfast, lunch, or dinner? Or, the forbidden choice, POST MIDNIGHT SNACK??? (Lunch or post-midnight lol)

@boots-with-the-fur-club @daboyau @littlemissartemisia @truths33k3r4 @cheetochild989 @exhaustedwriterartist @psychologicalwarclaire

Ten questions to ask a mutual

Instructions: prev asks ten questions and you answer them, then ask ten new ones and tag ten people to keep the chain going! I’ll go first

What is the weirdest thing you’ve eaten? (For me it’s the time I accidentally drank ants)

do you like purple or green more? (For me it’s a 50/50 I love them both)

what is your favorite two color color combo? (For me it’s purple and gold)

are you a cat or dog person? (Dogs 100%)

what is your favorite painting (Miranda by John William Waterhouse)

Mountains or beaches? (Mountains)

what’s your favorite dessert? (Lemon bars)

are you right or left handed? (Right but I used to be left handed)

salty or sweet? (Sweet)

summer or winter? (Winter)

I’m tagging 11 people but it’s whatever

@wra1th-k1ng

@bladevoyager

@tragedyanddust

@kindred-spirit-93

@urfavgreekmythnerd

@sickneurotic

@ry-diggity

@we-are-but-dead-stars

@thestarryfalls

@tamaruaart

@hermesmoly

#tag game

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chaoticallywriting · 2 days ago

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Beastly ⋋Prologue⋌

A/N: Shoutout to @blitzs-largest-horsiest-dildo for proofreading this! They are amazing and so incredibly helpful!

Pairing: Silco x Reader (eventual/slow burn), Viktor x reader (past/ex's)

Summary: Heartbroken and disgraced from your lifelong dream coming to a halt and the only person you've ever loved abandoning your scientific pursuit. You decide to turn towards a newfound Kingpin in the city you once called your home in hopes of making your dreams come true.

Warnings: Classism, arguing, police brutality, destruction of property, mentions of nausea

WC: 2.3K

"This will be for the greater good! You simply are not looking at the bigger picture!" He sweeps a hand across the chalk board, displaying the equations that somehow seem to jumble themselves across the board. Perhaps its your fit of anger causing your vision to swirl, or perhaps it's this unshakable bout of nausea you've been struggling with lately.

The Enforcers grip on your arms is bruising as they wrangle you through the streets of Piltover. The midnight stars and full moon shine down on your soaked form as cold rain continues its torrential downpour. You shouldn't be shocked, their kind hate your kind.

Despite having worked your ass off for years to be seen as something more than trencher trash, the second they are asked to remove you from a room it suddenly becomes removing you from the premises instead. If it were daytime you wouldn't thrash against them like you're currently doing. You'd keep some dignity and simply keep your head high. But no one else but other Enforcers are present and the rage settling into your bones has this deathly grip against your sanity and reason. When one mutters about how you should have never been granted access to Piltover you yell, snarl and thrash against their hold.

How dare they. Privileged scum who have no clue how far you've dragged yourself to get this point. On your hands and knees, nails scratched down to the nub as you had meticulously and cleverly scammed your way into some sort of temporary freedom. But that was then, with your partner. This is now, where you have no one.

There's a burn that's spreading through your palms from slamming them onto the desk so aggressively. He's never seen such a feral look in your eyes, not since you were kids, when you broke that bully's nose for picking on his limp.

"So we push back our plans for the Undercity, for your health all so he can maybe turn that glowing bullshit into some transportation device! So Piltover can make more money?" Ever since two weeks ago this has been all you've argued about, he'd mentioned adding an additional project to his schedule. How he had met the most brilliant man with such a fascinating idea. That's why he was never home, that's why he was missing hours upon hours of work from your own project.

Finally they shoved you onto the smooth cobble stone streets and dust their gloved hands, as if your pristine work clothes were filthy, simply by virtue of being on your body. Your knees scrape against the ground, hands beginning to ache not only from the earlier mistreatment but now from the impact of falling. One of them, the burlier one who kept muttering about how inconvenient you were, has the gall to spit at you.

He kicks at your hands as you begin to pull yourself up and suddenly your smacking back onto the pavement. Face scraping against it. Something sharp stabs into your tongue and you realize you've bitten it as the familiar taste of blood overloads your senses. You aren't shocked. Not with what this day has wrought. Not as your now shaking arms try to lift yourself up once more and this time a different set of boots kick you down. So you stay down as something heavy presses in between your shoulder blades, as the pavement scratches against your cheek. Water mixes with blood and you just take it.

The other one mentions some kind of bar, suddenly they are far more intrigued with that than by being assholes to you. Soon the weight of a boot vanishes and you watch through your blurry vision as they walk away. From down below it looks like their laughing about something, the stouter one claps his hand on his collegeau's shoulder and the burlier asshole tilts his head back. You can hear his obnoxious laughter, it pierces your ears and takes over the ringing in them. Finally they vanish from your sight and your anguished eyes roam over the sight of the academy. Lit only by street lamps and moonlight, the rain adding a sort of hazy glow to it.

The first time you'd seen it all those years ago, the sight alone of it's grandiose structure made your chest ache with an indescribable pang. All you could think of was the aluminum shack you once called your childhood home and how it had fallen apart when you were only fourteen. How you couldn't afford anything else, how you had to have your only friend let you share his rickety and tiny bed.

Now you see it and you think of the rich, drowning themselves in such frivolous things, money wasted on Noxian wine and a brand new dress for the eighth gala of the month. How they'd never be tossed out like this. The money used to fund their lifestyles, to maintain the integrity of this grand structure, could be used to feed all of the Lanes. Could make sturdier homes, ones not infested with mold. Homes that would keep families warm during winter.

"If you just accept the position you'll still have a job and with our three brillia-"

"As an assistant?! How dare you allow them to pull the funding on our research and then humiliate me by offering me such a lowly position!"

"It's all I could manage to get from them, we are on a very tight budget and technically do not have a high enough ranking for an assistant yet! Professor Hei-"

"Fuck you!"

"So you'd rather stay a bookkeeper at some lousy shop than take this opportunity?!"

The walk back to your apartment is a haze, you find yourself aimlessly wandering the empty streets. In the Undercity the evening is for partying away your woes; Streets are filled with inebriated idiots and pick pockets looking to make money off the weak and stupid. Here there is no one, just the sounds of your flats squelching against the smooth streets. Yours and Viktors apartment, a tiny place above a bakery, comes into view. It took months of saving while living in a boarding house for you to afford such a space.

The stairs to your place are narrow and creak with each step. Your hands shake as you dig around in both pockets for your keys, for a second you worry about having dropped them back at the academy. But finally, somehow, the gods grant you this one respite as your fingers brush against the cool metal in your left pocket. Quickly you jam the key in and practically fall into your home.

The sight of your shared apartment makes your stomach churn. A puddle has formed underneath you as the water drip, drip, drips onto the scratched hardwood floor. All you could afford was a small studio but it was perfect. At least before today it was perfect. You had managed to snag secondhand bookshelves that lined one wall with a small bed pressed against a portion of them.

It was always easy for you to push the mattress back if you needed to snag a book that had been blocked. Trinkets, mementos, and photos lined every surface. The place was cluttered, as it always was due to your once busy schedule, no time to clean when you barely have time to eat or sleep. Spending your days bookkeeping and evenings at the lab hadn't offered you much time here. A flash of lightning lit up the apartment through the kitchen window, snapping you out of your stupor.

A small part of you worried about running into Viktor, but you knew he was to prideful to return so soon after a fight. Yet you still find yourself still rushing to shove all your necessities into a fraying backpack. Clothes, a tooth brush, three of your most important notebooks detailing your research and suddenly you're stopping as you go to grab your favorite book. Beside it is a metal paperweight, the first model of your purifier. It obviously wasn't to scale, simply a crude idea of what your first prototype would look would have looked liked.

He's given up on it, on the dream, on you. So you snatch it without a second thought, the metal digging into your skin due to the tightness of your grip. Finally you turn around and survey the place you once called home. The air felt different, stifling and yet so cold. Like it was devoid of genuine life within it and it'd suffocate you with that knowledge. Throw it in your face and say 'Look! Look! It's over, It's over, this place isn't a home now!'

"We had a dream, Viktor." The words are choked as your fingers curl inwards, nails dragging against the wood, causing splinters in their wake. Painful in a way that might be concerning if you weren't so far gone with your hurt and your anger and the sharp feeling of betrayal.

"We can achieve more with this my Jiskra, just think of the future Hextech will give us!" He's rounding the desk to get closer and suddenly you're scrambling back. You don't fear him, you never could. Viktor would never physically hurt you, that is an indisputable fact, something that is unshakable in it's constitution. He pauses, his frown deepening in a way you didn't know possible. But this is Viktor, anything is possible with him. Even such indescribable aching. "If you just put aside your pride."

As you're rushing towards the door, the boots you'd changed your soaked flats for (the only thing you changed about your previous attire) almost slip from the little puddles you've left on the damaged floors, that adrenaline from earlier kicks back into high gear. Your body is shivering, fingers shaking but all you can think is 'Go, Go, Go!" Stopping and changing your entire outfit seems to impossible of a task. So you grip the cold metal of the knob and yank the door open. You don't even bother shutting it as you let it gently sway before coming to a slow halt, leaving it ajar. You rush out into the biting rain once more. Boots splash against puddles as you race down the streets, lungs burning and yet you can't bring yourself to care. Just like with the splinters there's a sick delight in the ache you feel against your side.

"I hope this all blows up in your face," you spit out. He halts, cane roughly clicking against the polished floors as his brows shoot up. "I hope you come to regret what you've done, that this Hextech bullshit is all some hoax that you've stupidly fallen for."

He gasps, "you don't mean that." Yet you do mean it. In an attempt to make him feel your own hurt you storm over to the table holding all the shiny new equipment your research never got. Suddenly you're picking up a crisp new glass beaker and throwing it against a nearby wall. In an instant Viktor's rushing for you, his cane falling to the ground as his arms come to tightly wrap around you.

He's got your arms trapped against your sides and suddenly your thrashing like a rapid animal as this position makes you feel suffocated. Viktor may claim to want you in on this project, he may offer you a lowly position but you know he's simply keeping you for the sake of not hurting you. This horrid feeling in your chest just keeps growing and all you want to do is scream. This betrayal, this humiliation. Why doesn't he see what he's done? He used to know what you were thinking just by the look in your eyes. Now he's squeezing you and your sobs fill the laboratory.

"Jiskra, please."

"You don't get to call me that! Not after everything you've just thrown away!" You jab your elbow into his side and he hunches over, gasping for air and you're grabbing more expensive things. As a child he loved being around you not only for your brilliant mind but because of the way you expressed yourself. You never held back from telling other kids to back off and as you got older you got creative with the insults you threw their way. He'd watched you push off a stumbling drunk or two, fist connecting with their nose or jaw. You were the embodiment of the Undercity to him.

All you can hear is the sound of your heart pounding in your ears mixing with the shattering of the equipment when suddenly two strong and unforgiving hands yank on either arm, pulling you away from the half empty box and dragging you out of the room. All you make out when you look over your shoulder is Viktors hunched form and his new partner rubbing his back. But Jayce is glaring at you as he soothes the only person you've loved, it's the kind of look you give a wild animal. Because all you'll ever be to those Piltover schmucks is just that, an untamable and disgusting beast.

Your boots slap against the wet cobblestones, the harsh lights of the bridge shining down on you as you pass two Enforcers standing on either side of the bridge. They glance at you, take you in, and must make out by your lack of. . . Shininess that you belong where you're going. You never fit in up here, never quite got with the status quo or figured out how to pretend to like Piltover bullshit. Your hair isn't shiny like the other ladies, your eyes have bags under them and your body has an assortment of scars from having a rough childhood. You aren't silky smooth, but rough and sharp. They see it because they pay you no mind. You know they see it because they don't warn you as you've seen them warn others.

You're an animal to them, always have and always will be.

#viktor arcane #arcane #silco x reader #arcane silco #silco #jayce talis #silco x you #silco x oc #arcane x reader

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killerelysia · 2 days ago

Text

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐲 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞!- 𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐧 𝐁𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐚 𝐱 𝐆.𝐍 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

The kid at the back is a 18+ visual novel Minors don't interact!

Words: 12820 (Late special for 300!)

Genre: G.N Reader (Fluff, Angst!) (MIta! Reader!) (This entire oneshot sucks)

Summary: No Witnesses, Took you away. He ran that day and it was maybe god wanted to give you back to him.

"you" bring Sol into a game-like world where you claim to have created a device to reunite with him. The environment is surreal, with glitches and red room occurrences hinting at a darker truth. "You" behave lovingly but possessively, showing a mix of adoration and control. Sol is confused but gradually accepts being with "you" despite unsettling events, like the mention of his real body and mysterious occurrences around the house and farm.

( Reader is a g.n!)-

Trigger Warning: This content contains themes of

This conversation contains themes that may be disturbing or triggering for some audiences. Please read the following content warnings:

Psychological Abuse: Manipulation, obsession, control, and emotional distress are central themes in the conversation.

Violence and Gore: Descriptions of physical harm, violent imagery, and mentions of dangerous substances.

Emotional Manipulation: Themes of dependency, emotional manipulation, and gaslighting appear, particularly in the dynamics between characters.

Disturbing Imagery: Glitching visuals, unsettling transformations, and eerie scenarios are present throughout.

Mental Health Themes: Issues surrounding trauma, confusion, self-doubt, and identity crisis.

Themes of Death and Resurrection: Exploration of death, the afterlife, and the resurrection of characters in unnatural circumstances.

Unhealthy Relationships: Dysfunctional relationships with obsessive and possessive tendencies, as well as the emotional consequences of these behaviors.

Body Horror: Disturbing changes in the characters' appearance, avatars, and environments.

If any of these topics are distressing, I recommend proceeding with caution or avoiding this conversation.

Solivan Brugmanisa

Violence, Blood

EXTRA: He's a character from a game named The kid at the back!! Note, But! Mita is from Miside! I love this game lately and got a ask for it in a different account So Hehe Also! This doesn't follow the exact aftermath of no witness end so plz! don't get confused

You gasp, the taste of iron flooding your mouth as blood spills past your lips. Your trembling hand brushes the warmth spreading from your chest, and that’s when you see it— a gleaming blade buried deep, piercing through flesh and bone.

The blade vanishes in one smooth motion, leaving a gaping wound in its wake. A slick sound follows as it’s withdrawn, and you’re shoved backward. Your knees buckle. The cold, rough ground welcomes you, cradling your broken body as crimson pools beneath you.

A pair of hands turn you over roughly, sending a fresh wave of agony through your frame. The pain feels distant now, a dull throb drowned beneath the haze clouding your mind. You barely register the dirty wooden planks of the shed’s ceiling above, shadowed in fading light as your vision darkens.

From the corner of your eye, a figure kneels, barely discernible against the blur. The voice, raw and trembling, pierces through your growing oblivion.

"Y/N... please, stay with me... don’t go..."

Their hands tremble as they press against your wound, desperate, frantic—but it’s useless. Every word is drowned in the rising silence in your ears. Your world collapses into nothingness, their pleas fading with it.

No witnesses. No mercy. Just the silence of the condemned.

The tension in the room was suffocating. Sol's golden eyes burned with fury, his chest heaving with unspent rage. Hyugo stood his ground, his face carved into a cold, disdainful mask. The two had always been at odds, but tonight, something had snapped in Sol—a desperation that neither anger nor logic could contain.

"You don't understand," Sol growled, the blade in his hand trembling as much as he was. His voice cracked with an anguish that betrayed his rage. "I can't... I won't live without them!"

Hyugo’s gaze hardened, his lips curling in disgust. "And you think this will fix it? Killing me? You're a fool, Sol."

The room seemed to shrink as the two stared each other down, the air crackling with the weight of Sol's decision. His grip on the blade tightened, but his hand shook violently. Hyugo wasn't just an enemy; he was his friend—someone who had stood by him, even when things fell apart.

Sol took a step forward, his breathing ragged, his mind clouded with grief and desperation. But then... he froze. The blade trembled in his hand as he looked into Hyugo’s eyes, seeing not hatred, but something deeper—understanding, pity, and shared sorrow.

The weapon fell to the floor with a clatter, and Sol staggered back, clutching his head. he choked out, tears streaming down his face.

He turned on his heel and bolted, his sobs echoing in the cold, empty night. His heart felt like it was tearing apart with every step.

Because you were gone. And no amount of bloodshed would bring you back.

The realization hit him like a freight train as he stumbled into the darkness, collapsing to his knees. "You're dead... It's over," he whispered, his voice breaking as he buried his face in his hands.

It had been weeks—months, maybe—since Sol last saw the sun. The world outside had become a distant memory, a life he no longer deserved to touch. His room was a tomb now, suffocating him with its silence, with the ghosts of his mistakes.

At school, people whispered his name like a bad omen, a ghost story to scare the weak-hearted. To them, he was dead—a shadow that had disappeared the same day you and Crowe did.

The news had been merciless. Two gone. No traces. No hope. Sol didn’t need the details to fill in the blanks. Hyugo had cleaned up the mess, hadn’t he? Made sure there were no loose ends, no inconvenient truths to unravel. Just two names, reduced to cold headlines and fleeting gossip.

But no one knew the truth—not like he did. Not like he felt it.

It clawed at his mind day and night, tearing at the fragile threads keeping him together. You were gone because of him. You died.

You died.

The words echoed like a twisted mantra, each repetition a knife plunging deeper into his soul.

Your body, cold and blood-soaked, flashed in his mind—your eyes empty, staring up at nothing, lips parted as if caught mid-scream. He imagined your hands reaching for help that never came, clutching at the air, at the wound, at life. He saw your blood, thick and black, spilling in rivers over the floor. He heard the wet, sickening gurgle of your last breath.

You died.

You were rotting now. The skin he once touched, peeling back like paper, bloated and crawling with decay. Flesh once warm, once alive, was now meat for the worms. Your beautiful face, your voice, your soul—all swallowed by the earth.

You died.

He rocked back and forth on the floor, pulling at his hair until strands came away in his hands. "No, no, no," he muttered, a useless chant against the horror consuming him. "You're dead, you're dead, you're DEAD."

He wanted to scream, to tear the world apart, to bring you back—to undo it all. But the truth was louder than anything he could muster.

You died.

And it was his fault. The blood on your hands should’ve been his. The life snuffed out should’ve been his. Every single second you suffered, should have been his.

You were dead.

And he’d never get to say goodbye.

Sol sat hunched over in the dim glow of his computer screen, the stale air around him heavy with the weight of his torment. His hair, once carefully styled, now hung in unruly strands around his gaunt face, the green streaks dulled and lifeless. His bangs stuck to his clammy forehead, framing hollow eyes that stared endlessly at the monitor.

There you were—there you always were.

The photos filled the screen, each one stolen in secret during his obsessive stalking. Some were candid: you laughing with friends, your head turned just slightly, the sunlight catching your features in a way that seemed almost ethereal. Others were darker, grainy shots taken at night through your window, the soft glow of your bedroom light illuminating you in stolen intimacy.

His Central Heterochromia eyes—once captivating and fiery—were now bloodshot and void of life, framed by heavy bags that seemed to drag his whole face down. The faint orange and crimson rings of his irises reflected dimly against the screen, their vibrancy eclipsed by the shadows of sleepless nights and relentless guilt.

Sol’s striped black-and-green long-sleeve clung loosely to his frame now, his once vibrant figure reduced to something skeletal. The collar-like choker around his neck felt suffocating, but he didn’t remove it—it felt like the only piece of control he still had, even as it dug into his skin. His jewelry clinked faintly as he shifted, the sound drowned beneath the low hum of the computer.

He leaned closer to the screen, his trembling fingers ghosting over the image of you. The bright, joyful smile in the photo burned into his mind like a brand, a cruel reminder of what he’d destroyed. His dry, cracked lips parted, a whisper escaping them like a dying breath:

“I’m sorry...”

The words fell flat, hollow. They meant nothing. How could they, when the only person they were meant for could never hear them?

The cursor hovered over your face, his hand shaking violently as he dragged the mouse down. His chest rose and fell erratically, every breath a struggle beneath the crushing weight of his regret.

“It’s my fault. I—I shouldn’t have—” His voice broke into a raw sob, his forehead colliding with the desk in front of him.

Tears pooled under his eyes, rolling down to stain the photos scattered across the table—the same pictures he’d printed to keep close, despite the agony they brought him now. You were gone. No amount of staring, no amount of grieving would bring you back.

“You died,” he choked out, his voice raw and trembling. His hands gripped the sides of the desk, knuckles white as he rocked back and forth. “You died because of me.”

His entire body trembled with the weight of his grief. Every moment without you felt like an eternity, an unrelenting reminder of what he could never undo.

The screen blinked, switching to a different image—a close-up, one of the last he’d taken. You were smiling, completely unaware of his presence as he snapped the photo from afar. That smile burned like acid, searing into his soul.

Sol’s trembling finger hovered over the photo, his gaze locked on your frozen smile. His lips quivered as he whispered your name again, broken and desperate. But then—he froze.

The picture shifted.

At first, he thought it was a trick of his mind—an illusion brought on by his exhaustion. But no, the change was real. Your eyes moved, flickering toward him with an unnatural sharpness. The grin in the photo softened, your lips parting as though you were about to speak.

"Sol..."

He flinched, his heart lurching painfully in his chest. The voice wasn’t in his head—it was real. It came from the screen, from you.

"Sol, I understand you," you said softly, your tone disarming, almost... forgiving. Your eyes, so full of life in the photograph, now seemed to gaze directly into his shattered soul.

His hand shot up, trembling as he pressed his palm against the screen, directly over yours. The warmth of his tears smeared against the glass. “Y-you... understand?” he whispered, his voice breaking with hope and disbelief.

But then the screen flickered.

The warm glow of your presence twisted and warped, the image of you glitching violently. Your eyes rolled upward, your face contorting into something grotesque. The smile vanished, replaced by a jagged, gaping maw that screamed out with a sound like tearing metal.

”YOU KILLED ME!!!”

The voice was no longer soft, no longer yours. It roared with a wrath that made the air feel heavy and unbreathable. The screen cracked violently as static buzzed around him, the edges of your image bleeding into darkness.

”YOU KILLED ME!!! YOU KILLED MEEEE!!!”

The words echoed in the room, in his mind, like a relentless chant. Sol screamed, stumbling back from the desk. His chair toppled over with a crash as he hit the floor, his hands clutching his head.

“I’m sorry!” he shrieked, his voice hoarse and ragged. “I’m sorry! Please—stop!”

But the screen only glitched further, the distorted image of you now lunging toward him through the crackling void. The static swirled, consuming everything, until the entire room seemed alive with the sound of your anguish.

”YOU KILLED ME! YOU TOOK EVERYTHING!”

Sol scrambled backward, his breaths shallow and panicked, his back hitting the cold wall behind him. The photo of you burned itself into his retinas, no longer a memory, but a nightmare made real.

“I didn’t mean to—I didn’t mean to!” he cried, his voice dissolving into sobs. But the void didn’t care. The void didn’t forgive.

The screen flashed one final time, your distorted face pressing against it as though trying to break free. Then, everything went black.

The room remained eerily silent, the darkness from the blank screen suffocating him. Sol's breaths came in uneven gasps, his entire body trembling as his wide, tear-filled eyes stayed glued to the lifeless monitor. But then—just when he thought it was over—the screen flickered back to life.

Your face reappeared, but this time, it was no longer soft, no longer kind. Your expression was cold, twisted into something unrecognizable. Your eyes bore into him with a cruel glint, your lips curling into a venomous smile that made his blood run cold.

"Sol..." your voice purred, mocking now, dripping with malice. "I only ever loved Crowe."

The words hit him like a physical blow, knocking the air from his lungs. "No," he whispered, shaking his head violently. "No, that’s not true. You----"

But the figure on the screen only laughed—a sharp, bitter sound that echoed like nails scraping against his skull.

"Crowe did what you never could," you continued, your voice cutting through him like a knife. "He did good, Sol. He did what was right. He wad for me. We are reunited now."

Sol’s heart stopped, his breath hitching as the weight of your words sank in. "Reunited...?" he croaked, his voice barely audible.

"In heaven," you hissed, your eyes narrowing with cruel delight. "He brought us together where you could never follow. And you know what, Sol? It’s peaceful. It’s beautiful. Everything you ruined is perfect now... without you."

The static crackled around your voice, each word like shards of glass digging into his brain. Sol shook his head, clutching at his temples as his knees buckled beneath him.

“Stop it!” he screamed, his voice breaking into a desperate sob. “Stop lying! You’re lying! I didn’t mean to—I didn’t mean—”

The screen glitched violently, your face distorting further, your laughter growing louder and more twisted.

"Heaven doesn’t want you, Sol," your voice snarled, sharp and venomous. "You don’t belong there. You belong here. In this misery, in this emptiness. You deserve it."

“STOOOOPPP!” Sol screamed, his voice raw, his hands clawing at the floor as he writhed in agony.

The screen flashed, the static turning deafening as your voice overlapped with itself, chanting, "You killed me. You killed me. YOU KILLED ME."

The lights in the room flickered violently, his vision blurring as the world around him seemed to close in. He screamed and screamed, his voice tearing through the air, but nothing drowned out your voice, your accusations, your laughter.

And then, just as suddenly as it began, everything stopped.

The screen went black, the static faded, and the room fell deathly silent. Sol was left crumpled on the floor, his body shaking with silent sobs, his voice long gone. His wide, tear-streaked eyes stared blankly at the lifeless monitor, the echoes of your words still ringing in his ears.

He was alone.

Alone in a world where you were gone. Alone in the hell he’d built for himself.

Sol sat on the floor, his chest heaving with ragged breaths, his body trembling as though the air itself pressed against him. His eyes darted back to the screen, now lifeless and black. He hated how empty it looked—how empty he felt.

Maybe... maybe if he could see you again, just in some way that didn’t twist and contort into a nightmare, he could breathe. He could think.

His shaking hands reached out for his tablet and pen, the tools he hadn’t touched since before—before everything fell apart. His fingers brushed the smooth surface of the stylus, his mind screaming at him to stop, but he ignored it.

"I’ll just... draw you," he whispered to himself, his voice hoarse and barely audible. "If I draw you, I can—" His words caught in his throat as his hands trembled harder, the thought of seeing your face again both soothing and agonizing.

Before he could start, his laptop chimed, breaking the heavy silence of the room. A notification popped up in the corner of the screen.

At first, he thought it might be something mundane—an update or a message from some long-forgotten group chat. But when he squinted at the screen, his breath caught.

An unfamiliar program was downloading.

“What the hell?” he muttered, his voice shaky as he dragged himself off the floor. His fingers flew to the keyboard, his tired eyes scanning the screen. The download bar filled quickly, almost unnaturally fast, as though it was bypassing every block he had in place.

"No, no, no," he hissed, cursing under his breath as he opened his antivirus software. He navigated to the downloads folder, trying to halt the process, but the program wouldn’t respond. The screen flickered ominously.

The download finished with a dull ding.

The program’s name appeared on his desktop in bold, jagged letters:

"REUNION.EXE."

Sol’s heart pounded in his chest. He swallowed hard, his fingers hovering over the touchpad as his mind screamed at him to delete it, to get rid of it before it could do anything else.

But his hand refused to move. His eyes locked onto the file, and a chill ran down his spine.

"...Reunion," he whispered, his voice barely a breath. The word felt heavy on his tongue, like a taunt, a lure he couldn’t resist.

Just as he was about to force himself to delete it, the screen flickered again, and a message box popped up:

“Ready to see them again?”

His blood ran cold.

"No," he muttered, shaking his head violently, but the cursor moved on its own, hovering over the YES button.

"Stop it!" he screamed, slamming his hands onto the keyboard, but nothing worked. His commands, his attempts to close the program, were ignored.

With an ominous click, the button pressed itself. The screen went black for a moment before an eerie loading screen appeared—a grainy, distorted version of your face staring back at him.

Sol staggered back, his breathing ragged as he clutched the edge of the desk for support.

"What... the hell is this?" he whispered, his voice trembling as the game loaded, pulling him into something far darker than he could have ever imagi

The moment Sol clicked on the "REUNION.EXE" file, his screen began to glitch violently. Static crackled through the speakers, and distorted colors rippled across the screen like a digital storm. At first, he thought it was just another virus messing with him—but then the image stabilized.

What he saw froze the blood in his veins.

It was his bedroom.

Not a simulation or an artist’s rendition—his bedroom, rendered perfectly, down to the smallest detail: the unmade bed shoved into the corner, the cluttered desk, the peeling paint on the walls. The screen displayed a point-of-view perspective from where he was sitting, staring directly at him.

He blinked, his heart pounding in his ears. The image on the screen blinked too.

"What the—"

Before he could finish the thought, the scene repeated. The screen went black for a split second, then the same image reappeared. His room. Him sitting there. Watching himself.

Over and over again.

The loop accelerated, each flicker faster than the last until it felt like time itself was breaking down. Then, out of nowhere, the loop slowed to a crawl, and something changed.

There was you.

You were sitting on the desk chair in the display, your body turned toward the monitor with a smile stretched across your face—a smile too wide, too sharp, with teeth that gleamed unnaturally. Your eyes locked onto his, following his every move as though you could see him through the screen.

Sol’s breath hitched, his body frozen in place. "No... no, no, no..."

Your grin widened.

The screen went black.

The silence that followed was deafening. His laptop powered down entirely, the glow of the screen fading to nothingness. Sol sat in his chair, trembling, his thoughts racing.

And then it happened.

A hand—slender, pale, and eerily familiar—slipped out from the monitor’s edge. It gripped the desk, pulling the rest of the body with it. Sol’s stomach churned as he watched the impossible unfold.

The figure crawled out slowly, unnaturally, like a marionette on strings. Your form was twisted, your movements jerky, your limbs bending at angles that defied reason. But as you pulled yourself free, you began to stand, straightening into a form so familiar it made his heart ache.

It was you.

"Y-you... you can’t be—" Sol stammered, stumbling to his feet, his back hitting the wall as you fully emerged from the monitor.

You smiled at him again—wide, haunting, and dripping with malice. Your head tilted slightly as you took one deliberate step toward him, then another. Each step was unnaturally silent, your body gliding across the floor like a shadow.

Sol’s knees buckled. "No... this isn’t real. This isn’t real!"

You didn’t stop. Your grin didn’t falter.

When you were close enough, you reached out and shoved him backward, forcing him onto the bed. He grunted in surprise, his face flushing as his back hit the mattress.

"Wh-what are you—"

You crawled onto the bed, your movements slow and deliberate. Your hands pressed against the sheets on either side of him, trapping him in place as you loomed over him. His heart pounded wildly, his face burning as you slid onto his lap.

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Your eyes locked onto his, wide and unblinking, brimming with something too intense to name. The eerie grin melted away, replaced by a look of overwhelming adoration that made his chest tighten.

"Stay with me," you whispered, your voice soft yet heavy with emotion.

Sol’s lips parted to speak, but no words came out. His throat was dry, his mind spinning as your hands cupped his face.

"Stay," you repeated, your voice trembling as if the thought of him leaving was unbearable. Your thumbs brushed against his cheeks, and your gaze softened, though the edges of that eerie smile remained.

You leaned closer, your breath ghosting against his skin. "Don’t leave me again."

His heart stuttered in his chest as you raised one hand and gently placed it over his eyes, blocking out his vision.

The darkness consumed him, your touch the only sensation grounding him to reality. His body trembled beneath you, his breath coming in shallow gasps as your other hand slid down to press against his chest, right over his heart.

"You’re mine now," you murmured, your voice dripping with a mixture of love and possession. "Forever."

He felt your weight shift, your lips brushing against his ear. "Even if I have to drag you back with me..."

Suddenly, the darkness behind his closed eyes pulsed, and a cold, sharp sensation spread through his chest. It felt like ice piercing through his very soul.

He gasped, his body jerking as your hand slid away from his face. His vision returned, but the room was no longer the same. The walls were warped, the air thick and suffocating, and you—you—looked more monstrous than human..

Sol’s eyes shot open, his chest heaving as if he had been underwater and gasping for air. The room was dim, illuminated only by the faint glow of his laptop, which had powered itself back on. His heart pounded as he hesitantly approached the desk, his trembling hand brushing the mousepad.

On the screen was an unfamiliar logo—a jagged, swirling symbol in hues of green and black, pulsating faintly as if alive. Below it was the name: M¡ѕidε. The strange, broken letters seemed to ripple like water, defying the static nature of the display.

“What the hell...?” he muttered under his breath, his brows furrowed.

Before he could process the title, the screen flickered, and your face appeared.

"Hi, Sol," you greeted sweetly, your expression soft and welcoming. The background music, light and whimsical at first, carried an undercurrent of something off—a distorted undertone that set his teeth on edge.

You winked, the animated model of you shifting slightly to the beat of the music, your head tilting as if you could see him through the screen.

The screen zoomed out slightly, revealing the title screen in full.

Sol’s mouth went dry. His instincts screamed at him to shut the computer off, but his body wouldn’t obey.

"This isn’t real," he whispered to himself. But no matter how many times he blinked, you were still there, smiling and swaying as the music looped endlessly.

His cursor hovered over your animated form, unsure of what to do. The vibrant, digital version of you seemed so... alive. Every now and then, you’d glance at the screen and wave, your fingers wiggling like a playful tease.

Compelled by morbid curiosity—or sheer disbelief—Sol clicked on your face.

The moment he did, your model twitched violently, your features glitching for a fraction of a second. Your eyes rolled to the side unnaturally, your head lolling as if his action had physically struck you.

"Ow," you said with a mock pout, your voice slightly distorted. Your animated body jerked unnervingly before snapping back into place, resuming its cheerful, swaying motion.

Sol froze, his blood running cold. He moved the cursor to another part of the screen and hesitated, then clicked your face again.

This time, the reaction was more pronounced. Your smile faltered, your head snapping to face him with a sharp, unsettling motion.

"Stop that," you said, your voice carrying a sharper edge.

His breath hitched. His hands hovered over the keyboard, trembling.

“What the f—”

Before he could finish, your model twitched again, this time leaning closer to the screen. The animation zoomed in unnaturally, your face taking up the entire display.

"Do you want to start?" you asked sweetly, your tone syrupy yet underlined with something darker. "Or are you just here to poke me like a child?"

The cursor jumped away from your face on its own, dragging toward the menu options as if the system had wrested control from him. Sol’s palms grew clammy as the words Start Game pulsed on the screen.

He swallowed hard, his finger hesitating over the mouse. His gaze flicked back to your face, still locked on him, your head tilting as if to dare him.

Sol’s hands shook as he guided the cursor toward the Exit button on the screen. The glowing text seemed like salvation—a way to end whatever nightmare he’d stumbled into. But just as his finger hovered over the mouse, the Exit button began to drift.

At first, it moved slowly, sliding an inch to the side as if teasing him. His brow furrowed, frustration building as he dragged the cursor after it, only for the button to dart to another corner of the screen. It wasn’t random, though. The more it evaded him, the more he noticed.

Your eyes.

The animated model of you on the screen wasn’t static. Your gaze shifted with every movement of the Exit button, tracking it like a predator. When the cursor got close, your eyes darted to it, and the button leapt away as if you were controlling it. The grin on your face never wavered, but there was something behind it now—something that made Sol’s chest tighten with unease.

Click.

He missed.

Click.

The button danced out of reach, zipping across the screen. Sol’s breaths grew shallow, panic clawing at his throat. He slammed his hand down on the mouse, dragging the cursor faster, more erratically, but the button always stayed just out of reach. His heart pounded in his ears as the cursor flailed across the screen in a futile chase.

Finally, with a growl of frustration, Sol snapped the laptop shut. The screen went black, the eerie glow extinguished in an instant. He let out a shaky breath, his pulse hammering in his ears.

But the silence in the room wasn’t comforting. It pressed in on him, suffocating, as if the very air had turned hostile.

He waited. A minute passed. Then two. Slowly, hesitantly, he reopened the laptop.

The screen flickered to life, but the strange program was gone. His desktop looked normal—plain, mundane, exactly as it should have been. Sol exhaled a sigh of relief, his shoulders sagging as tension drained from his body.

But something gnawed at him.

The game.

That cursed title screen, the strange glitching figure—it all seemed like a bad dream now, too surreal to be real. And yet, his fingers moved almost on their own, searching through his files. It wasn’t there. Not in the downloads, not in the program list. The game had vanished.

His relief was short-lived.

A soft hiss escaped him as his fingers brushed against the mousepad again. The cursor, trembling ever so slightly, hovered over a single icon. It hadn’t been there before—a jagged symbol of green and black, pulsing faintly against the neutral desktop background.

Sol’s stomach churned as he double-clicked.

The game reopened instantly, the logo flickering to life with a crackle of distorted audio. The screen was the same, but not quite. This time, the colors were wrong—sickly reds and oranges pulsed where pinks and greens had been before. The background music looped, distorted and grating, its cheerful melody twisted into something menacing.

Your model was there again, but it was... different.

Your once playful grin had warped into something grotesque, teeth slightly too sharp and lips stretched just a little too wide. The soft blush on your cheeks was gone, replaced by shadowy hollows that made your face look skeletal. Your eyes gleamed with an unnatural light, the whites stained red and unblinking.

You stood at the edge of the title screen, swaying to the corrupted melody. But this time, you weren’t just swaying. You were twitching.

Every so often, your head would jerk to the side with a sharp crack, or your shoulders would shudder as if your frame couldn’t quite hold itself together. Despite this, you kept smiling—an empty, predatory smile that seemed to pierce through the screen.

Sol’s throat tightened as his gaze drifted to the title: M¡ѕidε.

The jagged letters bled red this time, their edges flickering like dying embers. His eyes snapped to the Exit button, but it wasn’t there. Only the Play button remained, glowing brighter than before, pulsing as if alive.

Sol didn’t want to move, but his eyes betrayed him, flickering back to your model.

You stared straight at him, head cocked to the side. Then your eyes shifted. Slowly, deliberately, they rolled downward to the Play button.

Mocking him.

The screen glitched, a brief burst of static obscuring your face, and when it cleared, your gaze was back on him. The grin widened, impossibly so, as if daring him.

His chest ached with the effort of holding his breath. He forced his shaking hand to the mouse, dragging the cursor across the screen. He didn’t want to play. He wanted out. But the Exit button wasn’t just gone—it was erased, as if it had never existed.

His fingers trembled as he hovered the cursor near the Play button, but he couldn’t bring himself to click.

Your model twitched again, your head snapping forward as you leaned closer to the screen. The distortion grew worse, the music crackling and skipping as the screen flickered like a failing light.

And yet, you kept smiling.

Sol’s breaths came in short, ragged gasps. The cursor lingered near the Play button, his hesitation eating at him.

The game loaded slowly, the screen flickering with static before the familiar warped melody filled the room. Sol's palms were damp against the mouse, his heart racing as the title screen faded into darkness. He braced himself, dreading what might come next.

Then, your model appeared.

"Hello!" you chirped, your voice unnervingly bright. The distortion from earlier was gone, replaced by a cheery tone that sent chills down his spine. Your character smiled sweetly, tilting its head in an endearing way. "I'm Y/N L/N. How are you? Nice to meet you, Sol!"

His stomach dropped.

He hadn’t entered his name.

Sol froze, his hand tightening around the mouse. How? How did the game know his name? He leaned back, staring at the screen as if distance might make it less real. But your model kept smiling, undeterred by his silence.

The background shifted, transitioning to a small, pixelated house with pastel tones. The scene was almost comforting, a stark contrast to the eerie introduction. Your chibi-like figure stood in the middle of the room, hands on your hips as you struck a playful thinking pose.

"Hmm," you hummed, tapping your chin. "This place is such a mess! Sol, will you help me tidy up?"

Sol blinked, his mind struggling to catch up. The juxtaposition of your cheerful demeanor and the creeping unease in his chest made his skin crawl. Still, his hand moved on its own, guiding the cursor toward your tiny figure.

Click.

He tapped on you experimentally, and a burst of pixelated hearts erupted from your model. You giggled, the sound high-pitched and sugary.

"Yay! Thank you!" you beamed, spinning in place.

Sol’s breath hitched. It was… surreal. Your mannerisms, your voice—it was as if you were alive again. As if the person he’d lost had somehow been resurrected in this twisted game.

He shook his head, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. His cursor hovered over a pile of pixelated clothes scattered across the room. With a hesitant click, he picked them up and moved them to a nearby hamper.

"Good job!" your character cheered, clapping its tiny hands.

Sol swallowed hard, the praise stirring something uncomfortable in his chest. He continued cleaning, clicking on more items—papers, books, dishes—and watching as the room slowly transformed into a tidy, cozy space.

hE worked, a small notification popped up in the corner of the screen: Gift unlocked!

Sol hesitated before clicking on it. A menu appeared, offering a selection of items: flowers, jewelry, a stuffed animal. He selected the bouquet of flowers, feeling a strange knot in his stomach as he watched your model light up with joy. "Sunflowers"

"Wow, thank you so much!" you exclaimed, holding the flowers close. "You're so thoughtful, Sol!"

He froze, his face burning. The way you smiled, the way you thanked him—it felt… personal. Real.

It was like you weren’t dead.

The knot in his stomach twisted tighter as he stared at the screen, his chest aching with a mix of emotions he couldn’t untangle. He knew this wasn’t right. He knew you were gone. But for a moment, just a moment, he let himself believe.

You weren’t dead.

The screen flickered gently as your model finished placing the last pixelated object in its proper place. The room in the game looked pristine, warm, and inviting. Sol leaned back, exhausted but unable to tear his eyes away. His breathing was shallow, the air around him heavy with an unshakable tension.

Your model clasped its hands together, tilting its head with a warm, adoring smile.

"You're so thoughtful, Sol," your voice chimed, soft and sweet. "I wish I could meet you in person. You're perfect, you know? You’ve never made a single mistake in your life. Except maybe…"

The pause hung in the air like a taut string. Sol’s pulse pounded in his ears as he leaned closer, his grip on the mouse tightening.

"Except loving me," you finished, your voice carrying an edge of bittersweet fondness.

His chest constricted painfully. A lump rose in his throat, but he couldn’t stop staring at your model. You looked so… alive. So full of life.

Your character twirled playfully before stopping to gesture toward the screen, your expression softening.

"I want to give you something," you said.

The camera panned down to a pixelated table in the game. Resting atop it was a chain with a delicate key dangling from the end. Sol blinked, his brows furrowing. He glanced to the side, and his stomach dropped.

There, on his own desk, was the very same chain.

It hadn’t been there before.

He froze, his mind racing to make sense of it. His trembling hand reached out, his fingers brushing against the cool metal. The chain felt real—too real. The key glinted under the dim light of his room, catching his reflection in its polished surface.

On the screen, your model smiled warmly, tilting its head as if urging him on.

"Put it on," your voice cooed softly, almost like a whisper in his ear.

Sol’s heart pounded violently against his ribs. His vision blurred with unshed tears as he picked up the chain. It felt heavier than he expected, the key cool against his palm. With trembling hands, he raised it to his neck and clasped it tightly around his throat.

Tighter.

The metal pressed against his skin, cold and unyielding. He adjusted the clasp, pulling it snugger, as if ensuring it would never come loose.

Tighter.

His fingers shook, his breaths shallow as the tears finally spilled over. He couldn’t stop them, couldn’t stop the overwhelming wave of emotion crashing down on him. It wasn’t right, wasn’t real—but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

The chain dug into his neck now, but he didn’t loosen it. His eyes flicked back to the screen, and there you were, still smiling at him.

It was the same smile you used to give him.

The same smile he thought he’d never see again.

He laughed softly, the sound breaking into a choked sob. The tears streamed freely now, his vision a watery haze as he stared at the screen.

You were here.

You were with him.

The screen blinked one last time, the room around him darkening as the last remnants of the distorted game faded from view. Sol’s heartbeat thundered in his chest as the eerie, lingering image of your smiling model slowly melted into the background. But the room wasn’t the dimly lit, pixelated environment of his cluttered bedroom anymore.

No.

It was different. Bright, unnervingly neat, and unmistakably familiar.

Sol blinked, disbelief sweeping over him. The room around him looked... real, almost too real. His eyes scanned it, each detail sharp and vivid. The pink walls with their delicate white patterns of diamonds and clouds seemed to close in around him. The soft, fluffy bedspread in front of him, the delicate furniture, and the perfect symmetry of the room—everything screamed a kind of unnatural perfection.

The room was beautifully curated, almost like a dollhouse, with meticulously arranged furniture and an overwhelming sense of order. Pink accents, the soft hues of white, and delicate touches of pastel everywhere. The chandelier-like pendant lights hung low from the ceiling, casting a soft glow on the polished brown hardwood floor. Every inch of space was filled with something, but it all looked so... well, unreal.

From the white nightstand with its pink-and-white lamp, to the desk with its matching keyboard, mouse, and headphones—everything was unnervingly spotless. There were books stacked neatly on shelves, decorative figurines perched carefully on pedestals, and vibrant, eye-catching art on the walls.

And the smell…

Sol could smell the faint scent of flowers. Was it lavender? He couldn’t place it. It was all too perfect, too serene. He had to be dreaming. There was no other explanation. He had to be lost in some twisted nightmare where reality and the digital world collided.

But then he turned his attention to the window. The soft pink curtains hung gently by the side, just enough to reveal the dull light of an afternoon outside. His stomach twisted. The window… It was just like the one in your game. The same pink accents, the same delicate feel.

His hands gripped the edge of the bed. This wasn’t possible. Was he still in the game? He glanced at the desk again—his own computer was there, nestled perfectly into the corner, a small pink rug beneath it. The chair, too, was immaculately placed, positioned just right as though someone had painstakingly designed this entire room down to the last detail.

And then it hit him. His eyes darted to the corner, to the large oval-shaped portal. The portal. He hadn’t seen it before, but it was unmistakable now. The faint glowing lines pulsed with an eerie light, and something about it felt... familiar.

He leaned closer, trembling. The wall surrounding the portal was decorated with soft paintings of your in-game character, a picture-perfect representation of you in two different poses. Above the paintings hung a soft, steady blue clock, ticking rhythmically. He couldn’t look away. His hands felt clammy against the bedspread as he let out a slow, shaky breath. What had happened? Where was he? What was happening?

The portal stood silently in front of him like a beckoning invitation, its glow inviting him to cross the threshold, to understand whatever nightmare had been woven around him. Slowly, Sol stood, his body feeling heavier with each step. He felt sick, like his stomach had dropped into his feet.

His pulse raced as he walked closer to the portal. He tried to stop himself, tried to snap out of it, but his feet betrayed him. Something was drawing him in.

Sol stumbled forward, his feet heavy, and his head spinning. He had fallen, just like before, as if the floor had given way under him and pulled him deeper into this bizarre world. The lights flickered, then abruptly shut off, plunging him into darkness. His breath quickened, and panic surged through his chest. Was this it? Was he trapped here forever? What was happening to him?

A soft whirring sound broke through the silence, and Sol squinted into the dark, disoriented. He instinctively moved toward the noise, his hand grazing the walls until it found the switch. The generator hummed to life, filling the room with a faint glow. The familiar soft pink lighting returned, but it did little to calm his nerves. The room felt more like a prison with every passing second, and his mind raced for a way out. He had to be in a game. There was no other explanation.

With shaky hands, Sol moved toward the kitchen, hoping to ground himself in some mundane task, anything to make sense of his surroundings. The refrigerator door greeted him with a soft click as he opened it, and there it was—the mundane, the normal. He exhaled slowly, the cold air from the fridge almost soothing.

But then his eyes caught sight of something odd.

The magnet on the fridge—spelling out L O V E—had fallen off. Sol stared at it, his eyes blinking in disbelief. Why did this small thing feel so... wrong? He carefully picked it up, his fingers trembling, and placed it back in its place on the fridge, straightening it as if that would somehow put everything back in order. But nothing felt right. Everything was wrong. He wanted to scream. He wanted to break free.

He turned away from the fridge, his mind clouded with confusion. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. This game—if that was even what it was—felt so real. His surroundings, the details, the way his hands shook, it all made him question everything he knew. He was trapped in here, and he had no way out.

With nothing left to do, Sol stumbled back toward the portal, eyes scanning the room in search of any escape. He moved in slow, deliberate steps, every part of him screaming for answers, for relief. And then, like an instinct he couldn’t control, he reached out and touched the portal again, willing it to take him somewhere—anywhere—but this place.

The screen blinked, and the world shifted once more.

Sol gasped, his breath caught in his throat as he found himself back in the same bedroom, the same unnerving perfection that surrounded him. The pink walls, the pristine furniture, the soft, almost too-perfect lighting. But something was different this time. Something had changed. His vision wavered, like a glitch in the game itself, the edges of his sight flickering in and out.

He turned, and there you were.

Standing right in front of him, smiling that haunting, all-too-real smile.

You greeted him, and for a moment, Sol forgot to breathe. “Hi, Sol,” you said, your voice sweet and soft, too sweet to be real. “We finally meet! I’m so excited!”

Sol's chest tightened, and before he could process the words, the tears started to fall. Without thinking, he rushed toward you, throwing his arms around you, pulling you into a desperate, uncontrollable hug.

The sobs came hard and fast, wracking his body as his tears soaked through your clothes. He couldn’t stop himself, his body shaking violently as he clung to you, his mind reeling with disbelief. He wasn’t sure what was real anymore. His vision blurred with every sob, every breath coming out in strained gasps.

“A-Ah...” Sol screamed, his voice breaking. “You’re... you’re alive! You’re... alive!” His words came out between sobs, his body trembling in your arms. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks—he wasn’t alone anymore. You were here, with him, in this strange, impossible place.

But you... you weren’t just a digital character anymore. You were real. You were alive.

He couldn’t make sense of it. He didn’t understand how this was happening, how you were here.

And yet, there you were, holding him, comforting him, your presence grounding him in the chaos swirling around him.

“What’s wrong, Sol?” you whispered, your voice full of concern, as if you were speaking to someone who was hurting deeply. You gently petted his head, your touch soft and reassuring.

Sol cried harder, his chest tightening with the weight of everything he couldn’t process. He wanted to ask questions, wanted to scream at you to explain how this was possible, why you were here. But all that came out were sobs, each one louder than the last. He couldn’t think straight. His thoughts were scattered, a mess of fear and longing and confusion. All he knew was that you were real. You were here, with him.

“You’re... you’re so real,” he whispered through his tears, barely able to speak, barely able to comprehend the gravity of the situation.

You smiled, your expression softening, and your eyes shimmered with something close to warmth. “

Sol pulled back slightly, his eyes still red from the tears, but confusion clouded his face. He wiped his eyes roughly, shaking his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. He looked at you, disbelief written across every inch of his features.

“How... How are you alive?” His voice was shaking, and the words felt strange coming out of his mouth. “You’re... joking, right? What is this? What is going on?!”

His voice rose, panic creeping in again as the reality of the situation seemed more and more impossible. He stepped back, his hands trembling. “Who... who are you really?” The words spilled out in a jumble, a mixture of frustration and fear. “Are you some kind of... program? What’s happening? Why... why am I here with you? Why—”

He paused mid-sentence, realizing he was rambling, his mind overloaded. “Never mind... just... tell me what’s going on. Please,” he said, his tone softer now, desperation seeping in.

You watched him with a soft smile, understanding in your eyes, but also a certain excitement that made your heart flutter. You knew this moment would come—the moment he would ask. The moment when he would finally understand.

You took a deep breath, your eyes locking onto his with an intensity that spoke of everything you had been through to get to this point. You took a small step closer to him, and your voice was steady, yet filled with the giddy joy of finally sharing the truth.

“I built this portal, Sol,” you said, your voice warm but firm, the words slowly sinking in. “This device... I created it to bring you here. To my side.” You let the words hang in the air for a moment, giving him time to process. “I’m so happy it worked.”

Sol's eyes widened further as you continued, his expression unreadable. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it again, still not fully grasping what you were saying. He tried to process it, his brain racing to make sense of it.

“You built this?” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. "This is all because of you?"

You nodded enthusiastically, not waiting for him to absorb everything. “Yes! I built it specially just for you,” you explained, your voice a mixture of pride and joy. “I spent so long perfecting it. I needed to bring you to this place, to me... where we could finally be together. But... it wasn’t perfect. It had glitches. The version of you that came went to a different one, ” You sighed, shaking your head in mild frustration. “But it didn’t matter. You escaped. You made it to this version. And now—now you’re here.”

Sol stood there, frozen, staring at you as if he was trying to absorb everything. His thoughts were racing, bouncing from one impossible idea to the next. He had no idea how to process what you were saying, but there was something in your eyes—something that made him hesitate before questioning you further.

“You built a portal... just to bring me here? To this... place?” His voice cracked again as he gestured around, his hands shaking. “This whole place... none of this is real?”

You shook your head slowly, your smile softening as you stepped a little closer. “It’s real now, Sol. You’re real now. Everything you see, everything you feel... it’s real. Just because it’s a game doesn’t mean it’s not real. I created this world so that you and I could exist in it together. I wanted you with me... "

His eyes scanned the room again, still processing the absurdity of it all. But there was a flicker of understanding, a hint of something beyond confusion and fear, as if he was finally beginning to grasp the truth of what you had just said.

“And... this is where I’m supposed to be?” His voice was quiet, unsure, as he turned to face you. “With you?”

You nodded once more, this time with a sense of finality. “Yes, Sol. I’m so happy you’re here. I’ve been waiting for so long to see you, to have you here. I’ve built this world just for us, so we can be together. Forever.”

His heart pounded in his chest as your words sunk in. He had no idea how any of this was possible, how you could be so sure of everything, but there was something in the way you spoke—something so sincere and filled with affection—that he couldn’t help but believe you.

Sol's eyes widened again, his confusion mounting as he stepped back slightly, glancing from you to the room, as if trying to figure out how everything had turned so unreal. He blinked rapidly, his fingers nervously running through his hair. “Wait, so... you’re... Y/N L/N?” His voice held a mix of disbelief and something else—almost like he was testing you, as if to confirm whether you were really who you seemed to be.

You nodded, your expression warm, but there was a hint of playful teasing in your smile. “Yes, that’s me. What’s with that? You’ve been acting so weird, like I’m some stranger.”

Sol’s face flushed slightly, and he ran a hand through his hair, turning his gaze away. “I just... I can’t believe this, alright?” he muttered, shaking his head, still struggling to piece everything together. “You’re real... and you built all this? But... you look... like a ghost or something.” He frowned, eyes scanning you up and down, his gaze lingering for a moment on the faint translucent glow that seemed to follow you. “You’re not exactly... normal. I mean, everything about this is messed up.”

You chuckled softly, stepping closer to him with a teasing glint in your eye. “Oh, come on, Sol. I’m real, just like you. I built this world, I made sure you were brought here—if that makes me a ghost, then you’re my favorite haunting.” You gave him a playful wink, making light of the situation, though there was an underlying sincerity in your words. “This place may be... different, but it’s still true. Everything here is real, just in its own way.”

His confusion only deepened, but as you spoke, he was beginning to realize that nothing about this made any sense, and yet it somehow felt more right than anything he had known before. He opened his mouth to say something more but was cut off by your voice again, soft and coaxing.

“Anyway,” you continued, moving toward the closet, “I’ve set you up with a wardrobe here. You should check it out and change into something comfortable. I’m sure you’re tired of wearing the same thing over and over in that game version of you.” You gestured toward the closet with a kind smile.

Sol, still looking lost, walked over to the closet, his movements slow and hesitant. He opened the door, revealing the neatly organized clothing inside. As his eyes scanned the racks, his breath caught for a moment, his brows furrowing.

There, hanging on the rack, was a long-sleeve, striped shirt of black and green—the exact same colors as his hair. It was topped by a black t-shirt, and beneath it, a pair of green jeans. His heart skipped a beat as he realized something unsettling. “Wait... these... these are my clothes. The exact same ones.” He frowned deeply, his mind racing. “What... what is this?”

You smiled as you stepped closer, as if this was the most natural thing in the world. “Oh, don’t worry about it. We’re in a game, silly. Of course, you have the same clothes every day. That’s just how it works here.” You shrugged lightly, as if the answer was self-evident. “It’s like that for everyone, I guess. Just part of the simulation.”

Sol shook his head, looking at the clothes in disbelief. “This doesn’t make sense. How can this be real if we’re... if we’re in a game? How are you real, and how am I real? I just don’t get it.”

You moved closer, placing a hand on his shoulder gently, your voice soft but firm as you looked him in the eye. “You’re real, Sol. And I’m real. Just because this is a game doesn’t mean it’s not true. You’re here, you’re with me, and that’s what matters. You may wear the same clothes every day, but that doesn’t make you any less real. You’re here with me. That’s all that matters.”

Sol’s breath caught again, his heart pounding in his chest. He turned back to the clothes, his fingers lightly grazing the fabric, as though testing if it was really there. The black and green shirt, the jeans, the exact outfit he had worn in the game... it felt like a cruel joke, but the weight of your words made him hesitate.

“Okay,” he muttered, still processing. “Okay... fine. But why does it feel like everything’s... repeating? Why can’t I just leave? Why is it always the same?”

You smiled softly, that same teasing, almost comforting tone in your voice. “Because, Sol, we’re in the game. The rules are set, and there’s no escaping it, not now. But that doesn’t mean we’re trapped. It just means we get to live here, with me. You’re free to be yourself. And I’ll be right by your side. Doesn’t that sound like a good thing?”

You smile at Sol as he hesitates near the doorway to the kitchen. “Let’s explore the house, shall we? Or do you want to start with the kitchen?” you suggest, teasingly motioning towards it.

He shuffles nervously and mumbles, “I should probably change first.”

With a flick of your fingers, the lights in the room go out, plunging you both into darkness. “There you go! You can change now,” you chirp, your voice filled with playful enthusiasm.

Sol freezes for a second, then sighs, grateful for the privacy. After a moment of shuffling and the rustling of fabric, he clears his throat, though he hasn’t said a word to signal he’s done. Suddenly, with another snap of your fingers, the lights flick back on.

He jumps slightly, his eyes wide as they lock onto yours. “H-how did you know I was done? I didn’t even say anything.”

You lean in slightly, your mischievous grin widening. “Oh, Sol... I can see in the dark,” you say with a playful lilt to your voice, leaning just a bit closer.

His cheeks immediately flush a deep red, and he turns his face away, his hands awkwardly tugging at the hem of his shirt. “Y-you could have just told me that beforehand!” he stammers, his flustered tone giving away how much the thought embarrassed him.

You laugh softly, the sound light and teasing, before nudging him gently toward the hallway. “Alright, alright. Let’s go explore the house! Don’t get too hung up on it.”

As the two of you walk toward the living room, Sol’s steps slow as he catches sight of the TV. He points at it, tilting his head. “How many channels does this thing have?”

You grin knowingly, moving over to the TV and tapping the side of it like you’re letting him in on a secret. “It doesn’t work that way,” you explain, your voice calm yet playful. “It’s connected to the network. Let me show you.”

With a quick flick, the screen lights up, flooding the room with a series of ads. Sol blinks at the overload of bright, colorful images, his brows furrowing slightly. Suddenly, a familiar ad flashes across the screen: Monster Energy. You grin widely as you reach toward the TV, your hand sliding into the screen and emerging with a chilled can of Monster Energy. You hand it to Sol triumphantly.

His eyes widen as he stares at the drink, then at you. “Wait... you just... you took that out of the TV?” he mutters, still processing what he saw.

You smirk and point at the can. “Look at that, Sol! Your hair and Monster Energy’s colors? Total twins! It’s a match made in heaven.”

He glances between the drink and his green-and-black hair, a faint blush creeping back onto his face as he mumbles, “It’s just a coincidence.”

But you don’t let up, leaning in close with a teasing glint in your eyes. “So, Sol... do you drink this to stay awake at night? You know, so you can stalk me?”

The poor guy nearly chokes, spluttering as he takes a sip of the energy drink. “W-what?!” he exclaims, coughing mid-sentence. His face turns an even deeper shade of red as he tries to regain his composure.

You laugh softly, your amusement clear as you lean in and plant a soft kiss on his forehead, your voice dropping to a soothing, affectionate tone. “Easy there, Sol. Are you okay?” you ask gently, brushing your hand through his hair as he freezes under your touch.

“I—I’m fine,” he mutters, his voice quiet and strained as he fights to keep his cool.

“And you’re adorable,” you counter with a wink, stepping back to let him catch his breath. “Now, come on. There’s still so much more of the house to explore!”

Sol lets out a small sigh, shaking his head as he follows you toward the next room, still clutching the Monster Energy drink

You and Sol continue exploring the house, his eyes catch sight of something familiar sitting on the coffee table—a phone. His phone. He walks over, picks it up, and stares at it like it’s some kind of puzzle. “Wait… how is my phone here? I didn’t bring it…”

Before he can think too much about it, you snatch the phone out of his hand with a cheeky grin. “Oh, who cares? It’s here, so let’s make use of it!” You lean in close, holding the phone up to take a selfie with him. Sol looks completely flustered but doesn’t pull away, his expression caught between confusion and a hint of embarrassment as the camera clicks.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he mutters, frowning slightly as you hand the phone back to him. “How is it even here?”

You wave off his concern like it’s nothing, your playful smile widening. “It’s not important. Now, come on! The kitchen’s waiting for us!”

The two of you step into the kitchen, Sol’s eyes wander over the space. It’s cozy yet surreal, everything somehow too perfect, like it’s been pulled straight from a design catalog. He moves cautiously, running his fingers over the countertops, the polished surface cool under his touch. When he glances behind him, he spots you peeking around the doorway, watching him with an amused look.

“Are you… stalking me now?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

You giggle and step fully into the room. “I was just curious! You looked so serious. Come inside, Sol.”

Suddenly, the soft sound of frying fills the room. Sol tenses slightly and turns, his eyes narrowing at the sight of a pot of curry bubbling gently on the stove. He glances back at you, his brows furrowing in confusion. “Wait… how is that cooking? We didn’t even—”

“Oh, are you hungry?” you interrupt with a grin, ignoring his question entirely. “I can make more!”

He points at the pot, his tone incredulous. “How did that even get there?”

You shrug, your playful demeanor not faltering. “We’re in a game, silly! Things don’t always need an explanation.”

Before he can respond, you grab a cutting board and set it down in front of him. You hand him a carrot and a knife, grinning mischievously. “Here, help me cut this! Oh, and no drugging the food, Sol,” you add with a teasing laugh.

Sol freezes for a moment, his expression blank as he processes what you just said. “What… ” he mutters under his breath before reluctantly taking the knife. He begins slicing the carrot with surprising precision and speed, his movements practiced and smooth.

You watch him, wide-eyed and impressed. “Wow, look at you go! You’re so fast in the kitchen, Sol! Do you cook often?”

He shrugs, not looking up from his task. “Sometimes. I like it… it’s calming.”

Your smile softens as you watch him work, the faintest hint of pride in his demeanor as he quickly finishes cutting the carrot. You lean in closer, resting your chin in your hands. “You’re really good at this. Maybe I should let you take over the kitchen completely.”

“That's fine, I would love to cook for you...” he mutters, though there’s the faintest twitch of a smile on his lips as he sets the knife down and glances at you.

Sol finishes slicing the carrot, you clap your hands together. "Great job! Now, could you grab the scissors from that drawer over there? I made a special sauce for the curry."

He nods reluctantly and heads to the drawer. While he’s gone, the kitchen suddenly shifts—the unfinished curry vanishes, replaced by a beautifully set table. Plates of food appear, accompanied by a glass of freshly poured orange juice. Everything looks perfect, like it’s been pulled straight from a five-star restaurant.

When Sol returns with the scissors, he freezes, staring at the setup with wide eyes. “How… when did this happen?” he asks, bewildered.

You wave your hand dismissively, gesturing for him to sit. “Don’t worry about it! Just sit down and eat. Here, use the scissors to open the sauce packet.”

He does as you ask, cutting the packet open. He pauses for a moment, squinting at the label. “What kind of sauce is this?” he asks.

Before you can answer, the game glitches violently. The world flickers as static invades the air, and the label on the packet warps into something horrifying. It reads in jagged, blood-red letters: THE SH*T HE USED TO DRUG YOU.

The lights dim, and when Sol glances up, your face is distorted, twisted into something grotesque and unnatural. The atmosphere grows heavy, and he stumbles back slightly, clutching the scissors tightly in his hand. “What the hell—”

Then, just as quickly as it started, the glitch vanishes. The kitchen returns to normal, your face serene and cheerful as if nothing happened. You tilt your head, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “What’s wrong, Sol? Are you okay?”

He stares at you, his breathing uneven. “What… what just happened?”

“Oh, nothing!” you reply sweetly, waving off his concern. You gesture to the sauce in his hands. “That’s love sauce! It’s good, I promise. Go ahead and try it!”

Despite his hesitation, Sol pours the sauce over his curry. Once finished, he silently hands the scissors back to you, watching as you take them and cut open a packet for yourself. You hum happily as you add the same sauce to your plate, completely unfazed by his stunned silence.

Sitting across from him, you prop your elbows on the table, smiling brightly. “So, do you have any questions?”

He stares at you for a long moment before sighing and shaking his head. “…Thank you for the meal,” he mutters, picking up his fork.

You laugh lightly, your eyes twinkling with amusement. “Thank you for the meal, too, Sol!”

As you both begin eating, he glances at you from time to time, his mind swirling with questions and doubts. But as he takes a bite

Sol finishes cutting the carrots, you clap your hands together cheerfully. “Perfect! Now, can you grab the scissors from that drawer over there? There’s a special sauce I made that needs to be opened.”

Sol nods, walking over to the drawer and retrieving the scissors. When he turns back, the kitchen table is suddenly completely set. Orange juice, steaming curry, bowls, utensils—it’s all there, perfectly arranged like it appeared out of nowhere. He pauses in the doorway, staring in disbelief.

“...When did you do all this?” he asks, his voice low and wary.

You smile innocently, gesturing for him to sit down. “Does it matter? Everything’s ready! Now come on, eat up!”

Still hesitant, Sol walks over to the table, taking a seat as he pulls out the packet of sauce you’d mentioned. Using the scissors, he carefully snips the top and examines the contents. “What kind of sauce is this?” he asks, his tone cautious.

Before you can answer, the room glitches. For a split second, the light flickers, your face warps into something grotesque, and a distorted voice rasps from nowhere: “It’s the shit You used to drug ME.” Sol’s heart stops for a moment as the room feels unnervingly still, his eyes darting toward you.

But the glitch vanishes as quickly as it appeared, and everything is normal again. You look at him with your usual playful smile, tilting your head. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Sol hesitates, his throat tightening as he processes what just happened. Finally, he shakes his head slightly. “...It’s nothing. What sauce is this?” he asks again, his voice more steady now.

You grin, leaning closer as you chirp, “It’s love sauce! It’s really good—you should try it!”

Still skeptical but unwilling to make a scene, Sol pours the sauce over his curry. The rich aroma fills the air, and despite himself, he can’t help but admit it smells good. He quietly hands the scissors back to you, watching as you cut open your own packet of sauce and use it as well.

You sit down across from him, you prop your chin in your hands and smile. “So, do you have any questions? About anything?”

Sol glances at you, his expression guarded for a moment before softening slightly. Instead of addressing what he saw, he simply bows his head a little. “...Thank you for the meal.”

You burst out laughing, delighted by his formality. “Thank you for the meal, too! Now dig in!”

He does, cautiously at first, but with each bite, he finds himself relaxing. The curry is delicious, the flavors comforting despite the strange and surreal circumstances.

Sol finishes his meal, he stands to put his plate in the sink. But as he moves, his vision glitches violently—he stumbles, clutching at the counter for balance, but the world around him is warping. Hearts of various shapes and sizes fill his view, pulsating like living things. The vibrant reds and pinks are disorienting, almost overwhelming.

“Sol!” you call out, rushing to his side as he collapses to his knees. “Hey, hey, what’s going on? What do you see?”

His voice is strained, almost panicked. “It’s… hearts everywhere. The whole world is—” His words break off as another violent glitch shakes his vision.

You grab his hand firmly, your tone reassuring but urgent. “I think I know what’s happening. Come with me!”

Guiding him carefully, you lead him to the bathroom. He’s barely able to keep his footing, the glitching visuals disorienting him further. Once inside, you sit him down gently and hand him a small bottle of pills from the cabinet.

“Take these and close your eyes,” you instruct. “Your avatar is loading. It’s… not a pretty process, so it’s better if you don’t see it. Just trust me.”

Despite his hesitation, Sol sees the concern in your eyes and nods. Swallowing the pills, he closes his eyes as you’d asked. The world around him feels strange—like he’s floating, suspended between reality and something else entirely. The sensations are unsettling but not painful, and your comforting presence keeps him grounded.

After what feels like an eternity, Sol opens his eyes. He finds himself standing alone in the bathroom. There’s no sign of you, and everything feels eerily still. Confused and slightly alarmed, he steps out into the hallway, calling your name. “Y/N? Where are you?”

He finds you in the living room, casually sitting on the couch and scrolling through a book as if nothing happened. You glance up with a warm smile. “Oh, you’re awake! Welcome back.”

“What… what just happened?” Sol asks, his voice filled with unease. “I was in the bathroom, and now I’m here. Did I… pass out?”

You shake your head, setting the book aside. “No, not exactly. You froze. Your avatar needed to reload, and I didn’t want you to see the process—it’s pretty terrifying, trust me. So I left for a bit while you finished rebooting.”

He blinks at you, still piecing together everything you’ve said. “Rebooting…? Like a computer?”

“Exactly!” you say with a cheerful nod. “It’s all part of being in this world. Sometimes things glitch, but don’t worry—I’ll always make sure you’re okay.”

Sol rubs the back of his neck, the explanation both fascinating and unnerving. “So… all of this, including me…"

You tilt your head, giving him a soft, enigmatic smile. “You’re more than just a part of it, Sol. You’re special here. Trust me—you’ll see soon enough.”

You clap your hands together, smiling brightly. “Alright, Sol! We’ve got a few options. We can stay inside and play some games, go outside and check out the farm, or…” You pause, giving him a teasing look. “There’s a beach option, but something tells me you wouldn’t be into that.”

Sol quirks a brow at you, his voice dry but curious. “What makes you say that?”

You lean closer, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “You don’t strike me as the sand-between-your-toes type. Plus, your hair would probably clash with the water.” You laugh lightly, tugging his arm before he can retort. “C’mon, let’s stay here and play a console game. Trust me, you’ll like this one.”

You pull him to the couch, handing him a controller and booting up a game called Art Design. The objective is simple: draw whatever the game prompts, and the better the drawing, the higher the score. The first challenge appears: “Draw your partner.”

You grin and grab the stylus, diving into the task. “Okay, Sol. Get ready to be immortalized.”

He snorts but starts sketching without hesitation, his movements surprisingly fluid and precise. Minutes pass in focused silence until the timer runs out. The game announces the winner: Sol.

“WHAT?!” you shout, leaning over to see his drawing. It’s a near-perfect sketch of you, down to the smallest details. Even the way he captured your expression feels uncanny. Meanwhile, your drawing of him is… abstract, to say the least.

You gape at the screen in mock shock. “You’re amazing! It’s like you’ve drawn me a thousand times before.”

Sol rubs the back of his neck, looking almost bashful. “It’s just… practice, I guess.” He doesn’t elaborate, but you catch a faint blush dusting his cheeks.

Before you can tease him more, the screen glitches, the cheerful music replaced by an eerie hum. The bright colors of the game are swallowed by deep red tones, and a single question appears on the screen: “When will you sketch MY death face?”

Sol freezes, his grip tightening on the controller as a chill runs down his spine. He glances at you, but your expression is calm, as if you didn’t notice the change.

“Sol?” you ask, tilting your head. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He quickly shakes his head, forcing a small smile. “I’m fine."

You laugh, nudging him playfully. “Well, duh. You’re incredible. I might have to keep you around just to draw me more.”

You lead Sol outside, the crisp air of the farm greeting you both as you step into the vast, open space. The sight of the barn and the animals brings a sense of calm, and you smile, glad for the peaceful moment. You hand Sol an axe and grab a nearby basket for the carrots you plan to harvest.

"Let's get to work," you say, tossing him a glance. "Help me with the carrots, and after that, we can check on the horses."

Sol looks down at the axe in his hand, his expression neutral, but he doesn't say anything. He simply nods and starts to help you dig up the vegetables from the ground, his movements smooth and efficient. You can't help but notice how well he fits into the rhythm of the task, almost as if he belongs here.

"Do you like horses?" you ask casually, watching him for his reaction.

He doesn’t immediately answer, but when he meets your eyes, there's a subtle warmth there, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I don’t mind them," he replies simply.

You grin and tease, "You’re like a horse, you know."

His smile broadens at your comment, and you notice how his gaze softens. "Is that so?" he says in a low, teasing tone, as if your words are a challenge. You share a moment of silent understanding, a quiet connection that makes your heart flutter.

But then, the silence is shattered by a sudden sound. A sharp, unsettling crack—like the snap of a neck—comes from the broken shed in the distance. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and you immediately stiffen, your instincts screaming that something’s wrong.

Without thinking, you reach out and grab his arm. "Don’t go over there," you say urgently. "It’s just the wind or something, no need to check."

Sol doesn’t say anything at first, his eyes narrowing as he scans the broken shed. "There’s something there," he murmurs, his voice low. "I’ll go check."

"No!" you shout, your voice rising in panic. "You don’t need to check, Sol. Trust me, there's nothing there."

It’s that place—the one where you and your soulmate died. Your soul aches with the unbearable weight of it, and a cold chill wraps around your body..........

Sol blinks in confusion, his eyes darting to you, but the fear doesn’t show in his expression. "What’s happening?" he asks quietly, his voice tense, but you can hear the worry in it.

"Sol, don’t look," you warn, your voice shaky. "It’s not what you think. I—"

Before you can finish, he takes a step toward the shed, his curiosity too much to resist. You rush forward, grabbing his arm and pushing him aside forcefully. "No! You don’t need to see it!" You cry, panicked. "There’s nothing there, it’s broken and dangerous, and you can’t see what’s inside."

He stops in his tracks, his gaze fixed on the shed, now more determined than ever. "Just a look," he says quietly, his voice filled with urgency. "I need to see it. Please."

"Why won’t you just believe me?!" you shout, the frustration rising in your chest. "You can’t look, Sol. You have to trust me! Please!"

You stand there, heart pounding, trying to hold back the panic, the overwhelming feeling that everything is slipping out of control. Sol’s eyes remain fixed on you, his face filled with a mixture of confusion, concern, and something else... something you can’t quite place. His hands tremble slightly, but he holds your gaze, searching for answers.

"What are you doing wrong, Sol?" you ask softly, your voice barely a whisper, filled with frustration and desperation. "What I want is for you to be with me. That’s all. Don’t look at the shed. Just stay here, with me."

His expression falters, and you see the confusion etched across his face. The red room glitches in the background, the distorted memories threatening to break through, but you fight them off, focusing solely on Sol, on the promise you’re making.

"Don’t look at what you did, Sol!" you plead. "Please! It’s not what you think. Just stay here with me."

Sol shakes his head, his gaze not leaving yours. The tension in the air thickens, and his eyes—those familiar, strange eyes—seem to soften as he looks at you, something so vulnerable in them.

"Won’t you stay with me?" you ask again, almost breathless, your voice trembling with emotion.

His response is a simple, quiet "Yes," but it’s filled with something that makes your heart soar. He’s agreed. He’s agreed to stay.

Your mind races as the shock slowly wears off, the red room’s glitch becoming more pronounced, but you push it aside. "Wait, what!? You wanna stay, Sol?!" Your voice cracks with disbelief, but his smile—brighter than the sun, pure and radiant—melts all the fear in your chest.

He nods, his smile never faltering, and his eyes glisten with tears, tears of joy, of relief. "I... I want to be with you. I always have."

You blink back the tears, still trying to comprehend what’s happening. "You... you really want to be with me?" You ask, as if this could somehow still be a dream.

His smile widens, and then—finally—he breaks down, the tears spilling over as he laughs in disbelief. "Yes! This is all I’ve ever wanted. To be with you. You’re all I need."

Your heart feels like it’s about to burst as you move closer to him, your hand reaching up to touch his face. "I’m confused too," you admit, your voice barely a whisper. "But it’s okay. We’re going to be together. Forever."

You snap your fingers, and suddenly, a chibi model of Sol appears in front of you. His form is small, adorable, and utterly perfect. Sol blinks, looking at his tiny self in awe, and then back at you. He’s not questioning it. Not anymore.

You lead him toward the television, walking past the glitching red room, past everything that doesn’t make sense. "Let’s keep the news on," you say casually, as if everything is perfectly normal.

The screen flickers for a moment before a news broadcast begins. A 23-year-old man, they say, with black hair streaked with green. His hair styled in a half-up-half-down do, bangs cascading down his face, and eyes that gleam with central heterochromia, the inner ring orange and the outer crimson red. His name is Solivan Brugmansia, and the image of him fills the screen, the same face that you know so well.

Sol watches the screen, his face unreadable for a moment. But then he turns to you, a warmth spreading through his chest. His smile returns, softer now, but still filled with love. "I’m alive... here with you, pumpkin" he says, his voice thick with emotion. "And that’s all that matters."

Dead or alive..?

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