#low-key forgot about this for way too long | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

f1freaks · 21 hours ago

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IS THIS ILLEGAL? (IT FEELS ILLEGAL!)

PAIRING: drug dealer!lando norris x f!reader DESCRIPTION: you hit up your local plug and forget to bring a valid form of payment, so you make it up to him in other ways WARNINGS: mentions of recreational drugs (weed) but nobody actually partakes in it, smut, car sex, shy!lando, protected!p in v A/N: i didn't expect so many of u to want this but im so glad and though this is slightly morally wrong it's so hot so if you don't like it just don't read it, god forbid a girl has a weird fantasy

You were already regretting how fast you’d left your flat. You wouldn't be surprised if when you looked down at your shoes, they were two completely different ones.

Keys, check. Matching shoes, check. Phone, check. Purse…

Shit.

You patted your coat pockets again, more out of panic than logic. You knew you forgot it. There was nothing there but a packet of gum and a used tissue. No cash, not even loose change. Not even your card. Just your stupid hope that maybe, somehow, you’d managed to bring something useful with you. You'd done many silly things in your lifetime but this might be somewhere at the top of the list.

You pulled your phone out and glanced at the time. You were early — five minutes ahead of when you said you’d meet. Which gave you just enough time to spiral in place, heart hammering, because you really didn’t want to look like a complete idiot in front of him. You’d never have enough time to turn back and still make it on time.

He was already waiting when you turned the corner onto a quiet street two blocks over. A sleepy row of terraced houses, wheelie bins lined up like soldiers along the pavement. You’d walked past his battered, silver VW Golf a few streets back, probably wanting to look less suspicious by parking further away. He was leaning against a low brick wall just a few metres from where you were, hood half-up and arms crossed, gaze fixed on the ground like it had secrets to tell.

You stopped short when you saw him, taking a second to smooth down your hair and breathe out. You’d seen him a few times now—quick meets, short chats, easy smiles exchanged before disappearing back into your own worlds. You didn’t really know Lando Norris, but you’d been thinking about him more than you should have for someone who technically just sold you weed. Lando, with a face so pretty that you always wondered how he’d gotten himself mixed up into something like this.

He glanced up when your footsteps crunched the gravel, and the smile that flickered across his face was automatic. It was soft, a little lopsided. He straightened up, brushing his hand down the front of his hoodie like he was suddenly aware he might look scruffy.

“Hey,” he said, voice light, that accent somehow even more disarming than usual. “You’re early.”

“Didn’t wanna be late,” you replied, keeping your voice breezy. “Didn’t know if you were one of those ‘five minutes and I’m gone’ types.”

He laughed under his breath, a bit sheepish. “Nah, I’m not that dramatic. Though I might’ve started pacing if you took too long.”

He was fidgeting with the sleeve of his hoodie, his thumb dragging across a loose thread, eyes flicking from yours to the pavement. The same Lando as always: shy in a boyish way, but with a cheeky edge that peeked out when he was comfortable. He talked fast when he was nervous, you’d noticed. You kind of liked it.

“3.5, right?” he asked, already digging into the pocket of his hoodie.

You nodded quickly, and then hesitated.

Your stomach dropped.

“Yeah, um…” You paused, looking away for a moment. “So… I kind of forgot my purse.”

That got his attention. His hand stilled where it was halfway into his jacket, and he looked up at you with a soft frown. “You what?”

“I—I thought I had it. I ran out the door too fast, I guess. It’s not like I was trying to mug you off, I swear.”

He was still for a second, blinking like he was trying to work out if you were taking the piss out of him or if you’d genuinely forgot. You could see the baggie half-visible in his palm, the one you were meant to be buying, like a reminder.

“I can go back,” you said quickly. “It’s just like a twenty-minute walk, but I thought maybe—” You stopped. You took a deep breath before committing to your next words, not exactly sure what overcame you to give you this sort of confidence. “—maybe there’s something else you’d take instead?”

His eyebrows pulled together. “Like what?” He sounded genuinely confused.

It took a beat. Then two.

And then he blinked, eyes widening slightly. His mouth opened, closed, like he was going to say something and changed his mind halfway through.

You could practically see the moment it clicked. The bag slipped slightly in his hand, forgotten.

He laughed, but it wasn’t a confident sound, more like disbelief wrapped in nerves. “Wait. Are you being serious?”

You nodded once, keeping your gaze level. “If you want.”

He stared at you, and you could tell he didn’t quite know where to look, his gaze drifting down and then back up like he realised what he was doing. His cheeks flushed with colour, hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck — a nervous habit. You’d noticed that he usually did that when he was caught off-guard. You’d seen it every time he handed over a bag like he was worried you were going to rate his customer service out of five stars.

“Right,” he muttered, still blinking too fast. “That’s—I mean. Fuckin’ hell.”

“If it’s weird, you can just say no,” you said quickly, not wanting to put him off. “It’s not like I planned it or anything. I just didn’t wanna waste your time.”

He laughed again, the sound soft and uncertain. “No, yeah— I mean, it is a bit weird. Not bad-weird, just like—fuck, I didn’t think this was gonna be that kind of meet.”

You shrugged, teasing now. “Could be. If you’re into it.”

He looked at you properly then, mouth quirking like he was trying not to smile. “What, you're really offering me sex for some smoke?”

You raised a brow, tone steady. “If that’s what it takes."

He groaned, covering his face with his hand for a second. “Jesus Christ.”

“You alright?”

“Yeah, just—gimme a sec, I’m recalibrating my entire night here.”

You laughed, and that seemed to make him relax just a little. His hand dropped back down to his side, and he let out a slow breath.

“I don’t usually—I’m not one of those creepy guys that expects this sort of thing, by the way,” he said quickly. “Like, I don’t make people do stuff. I’m not that guy.”

“I know,” you said gently. “That’s why I offered.”

That shut him up for a second. He scratched his neck again, looking down at the pavement like it might have answers. His foot shifted, toe scuffing the gravel like a schoolboy caught daydreaming.

“You’re gonna make me feel like a perv if I say yes,” he mumbled.

“You won’t be,” you assured him. “It’s not like I’m doing this for charity.”

His mouth twitched again — almost a smile. “You’re brave, you know that?”

You shrugged. “Just saying what I want.”

Another long beat of silence. He glanced down the street once, making sure no one was nearby, then cleared his throat.

“Alright,” he said, voice quiet but steady. “Not here though.”

You tilted your head. “No?”

He shook his head quickly. “Nah. Not on someone’s doorstep. I’m not stooping that low.”

You grinned. “So, where then?”

“My car’s just there,” he said, nodding down the road. “Couple streets over.”

You took a step closer. “You sure?”

He nodded once, ears still pink. “Yeah. If you are.”

You followed him down two side streets, silent except for the low thud of your shoes on the pavement. Lando kept a step ahead, head ducked slightly like he was hoping not to be seen. It was late enough that the neighbourhood was mostly still, just the occasional flicker of a TV through a living room window or the muffled bark of a dog behind a fence.

He didn’t say much, and you didn’t either. But his hand came up to tug at the hood of his jacket more than once. His fingers twitched at his sides. You didn’t miss the way he glanced at you every so often, like he was checking you were still there. Like maybe you’d changed your mind.

You hadn’t.

When you reached the car, he unlocked it with a small click and a beep and slipped into the driver’s side. You followed silently, shutting the passenger door behind you, the two of you suddenly boxed into this tiny private world that smelled faintly of petrol, aftershave, and leather seats that had seen better days.

For a second, neither of you even dared to move.

The baggie — the one you technically hadn’t paid for yet — sat on the dash, catching the low yellow light in its crinkled plastic. He glanced at it like it was suddenly awkward to look directly at.

Then he turned to you.

“You’re still sure?” he asked, voice soft but serious.

You smiled at him. “Yeah.”

Lando stared at you for a moment, tongue peeking out to wet his bottom lip. You could tell he was nervous; it was in the way his hands fidgeted against his jeans, his knees bouncing slightly like he was trying to release the tension somewhere. But there was something else too that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

He cleared his throat. “Right. Just wasn’t expecting to, y’know, get paid like this.”

You leaned in a little. “You don’t want it?”

He huffed a breathy laugh. “No, I—I do. I just—” He scratched the back of his neck. “I mean, I’ve thought about it, yeah? But I didn’t think it’d actually happen.”

Your fingers brushed against his knee, slow and deliberate. He froze under your touch.

“Thought about me?” you asked.

He glanced at you from under his lashes, cheeks going warm. “…Yeah.”

You smiled, letting your hand slide a little higher. “Cute.”

He huffed again, more of a soft groan this time, eyes squeezing shut for a second like he needed to reset his brain.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he muttered.

You leaned forward, shifting so your knees pressed into the seat, your body hovering over his. “Let me.”

He laughed nervously, a warm, breathless sound that disappeared the second your lips brushed his. It was barely a kiss. Just enough to tease, to let him feel the heat of it. You pulled back, just to watch the way his eyes fluttered open like he was chasing after you.

Then you kissed him for real.

It started slow, gentle. He was hesitant, like he was still waiting for you to change your mind. But when your hand found his jaw and your mouth opened against his, he let out the softest sound, a half-caught moan in the back of his throat, and kissed you back like he was starving for it.

You climbed over the console carefully, straddling his lap. The car creaked under the shift in weight, the gearstick pressed awkwardly against your thigh, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the way his hands came up cautiously, like he was asking permission, and landed on your hips.

You rolled them once, slow and deliberate. His breath caught.

“Fuck,” he whispered, head falling back slightly.

You smiled against his neck. “That easy to break, Lando?”

His fingers dug into your waist in response, not hard enough to bruise, just grounding. Like he was trying to remember where he was and what he was doing. He shook his head, then immediately nodded, like he didn’t trust his voice to give you a proper answer.

You trailed your fingers along the edge of his jaw, eyes dragging over his flushed face. His pupils were blown wide, lips parted, breath shallow. You could probably keep him like this forever, strung out, waiting, his brain short-circuited by your thighs and your mouth.

“Can I?” you asked, fingers already trailing down to the waistband of his jeans.

He nodded quickly, swallowing. “Yeah. Yeah, please.”

You palmed him over his jeans and he gasped, hips jolting slightly up into your hand. He was already half-hard, straining against the denim, and the sound he made when you pressed your palm down just a little firmer was borderline obscene.

“God, you’re—fuck,” he breathed, head tipping forward until it rested against your shoulder.

“You’re so nervous,” you murmured, brushing your lips against his ear, feeling his pulse underneath the hand on his chest. “How often have you pictured doing this, then?”

He didn’t answer — just groaned softly, like he was embarrassed to admit it out loud. But the way his cock twitched under your touch told you enough.

You undid his zip slowly, dragging your fingers down the line of his fly until you could slip your hand inside. He was hot and heavy in your palm, breath hitching as you wrapped your fingers around him properly.

Lando let out a broken moan, one hand flying up to grab at the edge of the seat like he was trying to keep himself grounded.

“Fucking hell,” he whispered. “You’re gonna kill me.” He repeated his words from earlier.

You stroked him slow, teasing. He wasn’t even fully hard yet and already leaking into your palm. You pressed kisses along his jaw, his neck, tasting the salt of his skin. His hips rocked up once —instinctual, desperate— and he swore again.

You leaned back slightly, watching his face. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No. No, I just—” He bit his lip, eyes flicking to your mouth. “Can I touch you too?”

The question punched something warm into your chest.

You took his hand and guided it under your shirt, letting him feel the heat of your skin. His fingers were a little unsure at first, but the way his breath caught made it clear just how much he liked it.

“You’re shaking,” you murmured, smiling against his jaw.

“Shut up,” he groaned, cheeks going redder.

His hands slid up under your shirt, thumbs brushing the edges of your bra. His fingers were warm, a little unsure, like he didn’t usually get this far, or if he did, not like this. Not with someone staring down at him like he was worth more than what he sold.

Your hands went to his hoodie, pulling it up over his head and off, revealing a thin T-shirt underneath. He looked smaller without it, lean and flushed in a way that was almost irritating. You wanted to mark him. You wanted him to feel this later.

You reached down and took his cock into your hand again, and his whole body tensed beneath you, mouth falling open in a soft, choked sound.

“Fuck—”

He was so responsive, so sensitive, it made you ache. You began to slip your bottoms off, and he bit his lip hard like he was trying not to come apart right there.

“Shit, wait—” he said suddenly, breathless. “Condom. I’ve got—hang on—”

You threw your bottoms and his hoodie into the backseat while he fumbled in the glove box with one hand, a red foil packet finally appearing between his fingers like a miracle.

“Prepared, huh?” you teased.

His smile was wobbly, cocky and shy at the same time. “I wasn’t even thinking about that when I left the house. It was just—emergency stash.”

You took the packet from his hand and tore it open, watching the way his eyes followed every movement. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, jaw tight like he was trying to hold himself together with sheer willpower.

He just stared, pupils blown wide, as you slid the condom down over his length with careful fingers.

When you shifted, lining yourself up and sinking down onto him, his whole body went rigid.

“Y/N—” His head fell back against the seat with a dull thud, a strangled sound punching from his chest. “Oh my fucking god.”

You gasped softly as you took him in, the stretch a slow, burning ache that made your thighs tremble. He filled you perfectly, his thick cock pulsing inside you. You don't think you ever felt so full.

You rocked your hips experimentally, and he actually whimpered.

His eyes fluttered open, glassy and dazed, like he couldn’t even pretend to play it cool anymore. “I’m not—fuck, I’m not gonna last if you keep doing that,” he mumbled, voice hoarse and shaky.

You leaned forward, kissing along his jaw. “Then don’t. It's your payment, baby, enjoy it.”

He groaned, eyes screwing shut again like he couldn’t stand how good it felt. You rolled your hips again, slower this time, watching the way his lips parted, the way his hands flexed against your waist like he didn’t know whether to hold you down or beg you to move faster.

“Look at you,” you whispered. “So fucked out already."

He whimpered again, hips stuttering up into yours involuntarily. “I'm not usually this pathetic, I swear.”

“I don't really care, Lando,” you said, lips brushing his ear. “Kinda turns me on more.”

You clenched your pussy around him, and that was it.

He let out a wrecked, broken moan at your words and snapped his hips up, thrusting into you with a desperation that stole your breath. All of his hesitations vanished — the nerves, the second-guessing, everything replaced by the pure instinct of needing more.

His rhythm was messy, erratic, hips bucking up like he couldn’t control it. You held onto him, bracing your hands on his shoulders, letting him fuck up into you like he was chasing something just out of reach. The steering wheel behind you grazed your back, but the both of you were too preoccupied to care.

“God, you feel so good,” he groaned, voice raw. You kissed him, swallowing his desperate sounds, and felt his whole body tighten beneath you.

His hands grabbed at your ass, at your waist, like he didn’t know where to hold onto, like he was drowning in you. “I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna come, I can’t—”

“Cum for me,” you whispered, grinding down harder. “Want to feel it.”

His whole body tensed, gasping into your mouth as he came with a broken, helpless sound. His hand clutched at your waist, the other splayed across the window, cock throbbing inside you through every wave of it. He moaned your name once, soft and ruined, like a prayer.

You kept moving, riding him through it, letting him feel everything, until he slumped back against the seat, chest heaving, hair stuck to his forehead in damp curls.

You gave one last slow roll of your hips, just to hear him whimper one last time, before you finally braced a hand against the dashboard and leaned backward, plucking the little baggie from where it had been resting on the dashboard.

Lando let out a weak laugh, head tipping back against the seat, eyes half-lidded and glassy. “You do know that was only like twenty-five quid’s worth, right?”

You smiled as you slowly slid off him, wincing slightly at the overstimulation, the mess between your legs warm and sticky. You reached into the backseat for your underwear without breaking eye contact.

“Yeah,” you said, tone light, teasing. “Consider this a generous tip, then.”

He groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. “That’s crazy.”

You pulled your shirt back down and looked over at him, his flushed chest rising and falling like he was still trying to reboot. His hair was a mess. His hoodie was somewhere in the backseats still, and he was smiling at you now.

“You complaining?” you asked, raising a brow.

He shook his head, breath catching on a soft chuckle. “Not even a little bit."

You tucked the baggie into your coat pocket like a receipt for whatever this transaction was, opening the door and letting the night air roll in.

“Text me next time you’re low,” he called out after you, voice still hoarse.

You turned back with a grin. “Might forget my purse again.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, both hands thunking against the steering wheel in front of him.

“Fuckin’ hope so.”

click here to see my other works! (masterlist)

#nadia writes #f1 rpf #f1 x reader #lando norris x reader #f1freaks writes 📝#lando norris x you #lando norris

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taetebebe · 4 hours ago

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INFERNO VEIN INC.

Pairing: Jungwon x f!reader feat. Enhypen (Sci-fi/Mystery)

Synopsis: "You were never just the key. You were the memory it refused to forget." Disclaimer: memory loss, identity fragmentation, psychological collapse, self-sacrifice, near-death states, emotional trauma, dissociation, claustrophobic environments, non-graphic medical procedures, and kissing

Word Count: ~ 11k

Author's note: The story as I've mentioned earlier is based on the writing on their shirts in this photo. FINALLY DONE!! Also officially at over 200 Followers so good timing <3 First time writing something like this or so long, so feedback is really appreciated. I think the story is a bit slow at the start so pls be patient with it I promise it gets better as you read. It can get a bit confusing, I've tried myself to clarify everything in the story but pls ask or point out anything that doesnt make sense, I'd love to elaborate. Ngl I am a bit nervous about posting this >.<

Prologue: The Missing Anchor

The building does not dream of you. It remembers you.

In the dark before your arrival, it pulsed slow and soft—like lungs underwater. Breathing, but barely. No footsteps echoed through its corridors. No words touched its walls. The lights dimmed, flickered, and forgot their names. It wasn't supposed to feel anything after you disappeared. But somewhere in the base code, buried under every heartbeat and blinking sensor, there was a gap shaped like you. The Vein did not collapse—not fully. It couldn't. It clung to fragments. It stitched what it could. It endured. Jungwon kept it breathing. He stood in your place. Held the centre as best he could. But the Vein never truly listened—not the way it had when you were there. Not the way it did when your presence tethered timelines and kept the reality from unravelling. It chose him. But it loved you. And now you’re coming back. Except you don’t remember any of it.

Chapter One: The Arrival

The elevator smells like ozone and something sweet rotting beneath the floor. You try not to flinch as the walls hum softly—low and musical, like a distant note held too long. Beside you, the HR coordinator stands too still, her smile just a bit too wide to be human. You suspect she isn’t. Not really. "Sixteenth floor," she chirps, pressing her ID against the sensor. "Field Response Division. That’s your assignment." You nod, trying not to look like you're regretting the signature you don't remember signing. This job fell into your inbox like a glitch, and you accepted it like someone else moved your hand. The elevator slides open.

The hallway beyond curves slightly—not in a normal architectural way. It bends, like a spine adjusting itself. The carpet feels like flesh beneath your shoes. The lights don’t flicker. They breathe. “This building is… strange,” you say quietly. The HR coordinator’s smile sharpens. “You’ll get used to her.” You almost ask who ‘her’ is—but the door ahead opens before you can speak.

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The sixteenth floor is dim. Not dark, exactly—just oddly muted. Like the light knows better than to shine too loudly here. You both stop at a door. It’s ordinary enough. Steel frame. Frosted glass. A plaque that reads: FIELD RESPONSE TEAM – BLACK VAULT She knocks once, pauses, then pushes it open. Seven heads turn as you step in.

The air shifts. Not with hostility—but attention. Like entering a den of predators who have decided, for now, not to bite. They're young. Uniformed. Eyes sharp. You feel every glance land on your skin.

None of them match.

Not in the way a team usually does.

Their clothes are functional. Modified. Worn. "That the new blood?" asks a man with a lazy grin and dark hair curled over his forehead. He’s draped over the arm of a chair like he owns it—and the air around it. Hoodie half-zipped, tactical vest on top like he forgot to take it off last night. His boots are scuffed. His sleeves are unevenly rolled. There’s a stylus tucked behind one ear and a thermal mug in his hand. You get the feeling he’s like that every day. “Yes,” the coordinator says. “This is your new addition - qualified to be an anchor.”

A dark-haired man by the window whistles low—fitted black turtleneck, sleeves rolled, gloves tucked into his waistband. Slim-cut pants and combat boots. There’s a faint tear on the side of his collar, like someone grabbed it. He didn’t fix it. You don’t think he will. “A rookie? Ballsy. Some systems never fully reboot after losing a primary anchor. Some people don’t either.” “Don’t be a dick, Sunghoon,” someone mutters. Then it happens. The energy in the room drops—so suddenly your heart stutters. He’s already standing. Short black hair. Dark uniform—a black, close-fit thermal shirt with the sleeves rolled up just past his elbows. His jacket is a charcoal-grey field coat—unfastened, mid-length, slightly worn at the cuffs. His pants are standard-issue tactical, deep grey with reinforced seams, tucked neatly into matte black boots. There’s no clutter, no extra gear—just quiet utility. His only visible tech is a flat comm band strapped to his wrist, barely blinking.

Expression unreadable. When he looks at you, it’s not suspicion or curiosity. It’s recognition. Like he’s seen this moment before.

He walks to you, measured. “Name?” he asks. You give it. Voice steadier than you feel. He nods once. “Jungwon. Team lead. You report to me.” “Just like everyone else” He adds as he looks around. “...Yes, sir.” Something shifts in his gaze. Not quite approval. But not disapproval, either. “No need for that,” he says. “Not the military.” You nod again, eyes flicking to the jagged black lines on his wrist. They shift under his skin when he moves—like they’re breathing, too. He turns to the others. “Treat her like you would any one of us.” Someone calls out, “Even Riki?” Laughter breaks the tension. Just a little. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Heeseung is the first to greet you formally. Tall. Relaxed. His smile comes easy—but his eyes are tired in the way only someone who never sleeps can be. He hands you a cup of strong black coffee. “If the walls whisper your name—don’t answer.” Jake—chaos in techwear: oversized bomber layered over a long-sleeve mesh shirt, belts that don’t hold anything, cargo pants—talks with his hands, and uses them to half-disassemble a drone mid-conversation. “Everything in here is alive. Especially the things pretending not to be.”

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You're still holding the coffee Heeseung gave you when you ask it. "So... what is this place, exactly?" They all pause. Like you asked something obvious—but sacred. Jake leans against the arm of the couch. “Officially? Inferno Vein Inc. anomaly containment facility…Unofficially?” He glances at the walls. “It’s a building that’s been alive longer than we’ve known how to ask the right questions.”

You blink. “Alive?” Jay nods once—he says less than the rest, but every word lands like a scalpel.. “The Vein isn’t made of tech. Not really. It grows. Breathes. Reacts. It’s older than the infrastructure they built around it. We just live inside it now.” Sunoo gestures to a nearby console, which blinks softly even though no one touched it. “It’s not like AI. It's not learning. It’s... remembering. Everything.” “Including you,” Sunghoon mutters, eyeing you with quiet curiosity.

Heeseung shrugs when you look at him. “You’re not the first one it noticed. It has a tendency of doing what it likes to reality. To time.” You blink again. “Oh um—I didn’t apply here. I got an acceptance letter. No contact. Just a report date.” There’s a beat of silence. Then Sunghoon, flat as ever: “Yeah. Same.” Jay—dark layers, fitted sleeves, black utility boots. His shirt’s tucked in like he didn’t have time to relax and never planned to—holds up three fingers. “Offer letter. Clearance badge. Signature I don’t remember writing.”

Jake hums. “Classic Inferno recruitment. You never apply. It just decides you’re already part of it.” You stare at them. “And you’re okay with that?”

Sunoo—looks the most composed: structured jacket, clean white collar underneath, slim pants tucked into soft-heeled boots—smiles, strangely calm. “We weren’t, at first. Then we started seeing things only the Vein could explain. Saving people from things no one else sees. Holding back anomalies that twist physics, memory, time.” Heeseung takes a sip of coffee. “We’re not employees. We’re immune responses.” Jake nods. “Each of us has a function. Jay's the dreamer - keeper of The Vein’s archive. Heeseung's our live recon, second in command” Heeseung adds “Sunoo patches us up—physically and emotionally depending on the situation and makes sure we stay “patched” up.” “Sunghoon punches things very hard—defence” Sunoo joins in.

Sunghoon doesn’t disagree. He continues to study you like a problem he’s already solved. “We’ll see how long you last,” he says without malice. Heeseung speaks again, “Jake is our tech specialist. Decoder—I like to call him The Vein’s interpreter. And Riki is on security. ”

You glance at Jungwon, still near the map display. “Him?” Sunoo smiles faintly. His hands are steady. His eyes see more than they say. “He keeps us from falling apart. And hence probably the world too” Jake grins. “Team lead. By rank and by gravity. Current anchor” You look around confused. Heeseung helps, “Without an Anchor, the Vein becomes unstable, unpredictable, and eventually hostile.”

“And me?” you ask. Jay answers this time, his voice careful. “We’ll find out. Anchor potential apparently” Riki—dark sweatshirt with a worn patch on the shoulder, cargo pants tucked into well-worn sneakers. The fabric at his elbows is faded from leaning—leans forward, expression unreadable, speaking directly to you for the first time. “It picked you. Whether you like it or not.” You swallow. The walls breathe around you, soft and low. Like they’re waiting to see what you’ll do next.

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Jungwon stands at the head of the room during the briefing. His posture says calm. Command. Containment. But when his gaze flickers to you, it lands with weight—like he’s remembering something his body knows even if his mind can’t name it yet. Like almost. Almost like he remembers something he can’t prove. Almost like he’s trying not to reach for it. You study the others. Take in the layout. The flickering maps. The whispers in the vents. Then you feel it. The walls are watching. And they remember

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That night, your bed is too warm—like someone just left it. You wake to the sound of your name. You swear it came from the hall. From a voice that didn’t need to be loud to be sure. But no one is there. Just the soft hum of breathing stone. And the heartbeat of a building that never stopped missing you.

Chapter Two: The Fault Line

The Vein wakes you before the lights do. There’s no sound—only pressure. Like something whispering too close to your spine. You jolt upright in bed. The walls are pulsing faintly, a low, rhythmic glow sliding across the surface like breath held and released. It feels like a warning. You don’t remember falling asleep. But you feel like you’ve been called.

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By the time you reach the ops room, Jake and Riki are already there, shoulder-deep in a glowing console. “Are you sure this console is safe?” “Define ‘safe.’ It hasn’t bit me today.” Cables snake around his wrist as he types, jaw tight. “It’s the West Wing,” Riki mutters.

Jake adds,“Frequency spikes, inconsistent mapping. Like it’s… waking up too fast.” Heeseung enters next, gun strapped to his thigh, coffee in hand. “Translation?” Jake doesn’t look up. “Something’s breaking through.” Sunghoon strolls in with a yawn. “So we’re babysitting a building that has temper tantrums…Yet again.” Jay stands near the wall, arms crossed, brows furrowed. “The last time it pulsed like this—Sector Nine imploded.” Heeseung’s expression doesn’t shift. “We’re going in—Full sweep?”, he asks looking at Jungwon. Sunoo’s already packing medkits. Riki’s loading up surveillance gear.

Then there's Jungwon. He nods, granting permission. Still. Silent. Staring at the Vein’s walls like it's breathing secrets he almost understands. You move beside him. The tension wraps around him like gravity. And yet, when you’re close, it shifts—less tension, more awareness. Like the room isn’t the only thing holding its breath. “What is it?” you ask. For a moment, you think he’s going to say your name. Not because he forgot it—but because saying it might steady him. He doesn’t turn. Just tilts his head slightly, gaze fixed on the shifting walls.

“It used to respond to me,” he says quietly. “When I asked, it opened.” You press your palm against the wall beside him. It shivers under your touch. A wave of light radiates outward, slow, like recognition. Jungwon inhales—sharp, quiet. “It remembers you,” he whispers. And when he says it, you hear more than just awe. You hear grief. And maybe… something gentler tucked beneath. You glance at him. “It used to answer you?” He nods once. “It did. Because it needed me.” The words are not bitter. Not wistful. Just true. “But it’s yours now, I think.” The way he says it—it isn’t surrender. It’s reverence. Like giving something back he never meant to borrow.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The Fault Line isn’t on any official map. Riki and Jake scans as you approach, face pale in the glow of his tablet. “No electrical signature. Just... emotional.” Jay’s voice slices in. “It’s reacting…to her.” You don’t argue. Sunoo presses his palm to the wall. His fingers tremble. “It’s syncing to her. Not to us.” “What does that mean?”, you panic. “It’s cognitive resonance—like the building is tuning itself to your internal frequency.” Sunoo explains. “The vein is aligning to your biofield, neural patterns, and emotional state.” Jake continues on looking concerned, “Everyone syncs to a degree just by being inside the Vein—but it's usually passive, ambient. Right now it’s stopped syncing to us—only you.”. “Can I sync with something that gives better coffee, at least?” slightly panicked. The hallway flickers. A word blazes across the wall in glowing crimson script—foreign, but familiar to you in your bones. STAY. Jay whistles softly. “The Vein doesn’t beg.” “It likes you. I vote we exploit that.” Riki adds. Sunghoon unslings his weapon. “Guess we’re ignoring that.” Heeseung looks at Jungwon, something unspoken passes between the two. He speaks, “Your call, new girl.” You step forward, unsure. The wall exhales. The door opens. Only for you.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Inside, the chamber is wrong. Monitors hang like dead fruit. Vines of half-living wire slither through the ceiling. Screens flicker static, looping silent footage. And in the center— Your voice. "Anchor protocol initiated. Confirm memory lock." Jungwon stops breathing. “I've heard that before,” he says, hollow. You turn to him. “You did?” “No. I’m sure I’ve dreamed it before. Years ago.”

Jay steps closer. “I did too. Before she ever showed up.” No one moves. Except Jungwon. He watches you like he’s seeing the start of something inevitable. You place your hand on the panel. It flares. The floor glows. And Jungwon whispers like it’s an oath: “You were the first.” Disbelief in his eyes - “The Vein’s heart. And now it’s waking with you.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Later, you gather at the Subgrid Ring. A chamber the team avoids. Too many sensors. Too much noise. But it’s quiet for you. Not completely silent. Jungwon walks beside you. Close enough to steady. You cross the core path. The lights flicker— And a voice—not quite human—sings through the walls: “ANCHOR RESTORED. PARTITION LIFTED.” Sunghoon shifts. “Something’s opening.” Riki taps the console. “Sector Nine’s lighting up.” Sunoo scans your vitals. “Heart rate’s stable. But she’s... running high. No fear. Just... heat.” Jay leans toward the wall. “It’s not reacting. It’s remembering.” You touch the wall.

It’s warm. Familiar. Alive.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ The Vein opens a door no one’s seen before. No locks. No keypads. Inside, a chamber unlike any other: no wires. No metal. The walls are dark, fibrous. Breathing. At the center floats a sphere of pulsing red light. It drifts closer the moment you enter. Jungwon steps in front of you without hesitation. But the sphere doesn’t attack. It bows. Behind it, words burn into the wall: "TRIGGER PROTOCOL ACCEPTED. PRIMARY ANCHOR AUTHORIZED." “Not just a user override,” Sunghoon murmurs. Riki’s voice cuts in. “She is the override.” Sunoo steps toward you. “Do you feel anything?” You swallow. “Just… homesickness.” Jungwon turns to you. His voice is soft. Reverent. “Then maybe this place isn’t showing us something new.” He steps closer. “Maybe it’s showing you what it used to be.”

Chapter Three: Trigger Protocol

The warning doesn’t come as lights this time. It comes in words. Etched into the central wall of the Heart’s chamber, glowing like embers: ANCHOR DETECTED. PROTOCOL PRIMED.

Jake breaks the silence first. “That’s not a system error. That’s intentional.” Heeseung steps forward, fingers already moving across the nearest interface. “We’ve never seen this protocol activate.” “That’s because she was never here before,” Jay says, eyes on you. You open your mouth. “Me?” “You,” Riki confirms, watching you with unusual stillness. “You tripped a fail-safe none of us had clearance for yesterday in your sleep.” Sunoo walks to your side, gaze flicking across your vitals. “The Vein is reacting to something buried in her memory. Something only she can access.” Jake nods. “I tried to input diagnostics—it locked me out.” — “If it starts asking for a captcha, I’m quitting.” Sunghoon interrupts. Jake unimpressed continues, “It locked me out. Then she walked in, and it lit up like a damn sunrise.”

Sunghoon leans back, arms crossed, eyes sharp. “It seems to remember you. Even if you don’t.” You feel their eyes on you. But when you turn—Jungwon is already watching. Still. Composed. Unshakable. “Let it speak,” he says. He doesn’t raise his voice. He never has to.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The team moves to the Subgrid Ring—reluctantly. The room hums like teeth chattering against metal. The Vein’s pulses are stronger here, flickering like a second heartbeat beneath your skin. You step in first. Jungwon follows—no hesitation. His presence behind you feels deliberate. Protective. Watchful. He doesn’t speak your name, but the silence between your footsteps feels like a dialogue only the Vein can hear. Heeseung scans the environment. “Sector Nine just pinged again. Fluctuations in resonance threads.” “The one that’s gone? —Check interference levels,” Jungwon orders calmly. Jake adjusts his rig. “Building’s rewriting its own topology. Her presence is triggering a map update.” “Which means?” Sunghoon asks, hand on his blade. “She’s not only walking through the Vein,” Jay mutters. “She’s helping it rebuild.” You reach the center. The wall ripples beneath your touch. A voice—clearer this time—echoes through the chamber: “ANCHOR RESTORED. PARTITION LIFTED.” And then— The floor opens. Not violently. Not like a trap. Like something welcoming you home.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The new chamber is quiet. Too quiet. Dark walls breathe in shallow rhythms. There is no tech here. No machinery. At the center hovers a structure—glowing, red, alive. A sphere, held suspended in a web of light. It pulses once, then drifts toward you. Jungwon moves in front of you instantly. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t ask. He just places himself between you and the unknown. It’s not just instinct. It’s a kind of remembering. His body answers a question neither of your minds has formed yet. But the sphere bows. Words flare behind it: TRIGGER PROTOCOL ACCEPTED. PRIMARY ANCHOR AUTHORIZED. Sunghoon exhales a slow whistle. “So she’s not an anomaly. She’s a command code.” “No,” Riki says. “She’s the origin string.” Jake takes a slow step forward. “You okay?” You nod once. “I feel like… like I’ve been here before.” Jungwon’s voice is quiet but absolute. “Then this isn’t a threat. It’s a memory.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

In the tactical room, the debrief is immediate. Jungwon stands at the head of the table, arms crossed, eyes sweeping across his team. No one speaks until he does. Jay finally breaks the silence. “I’ve dreamed of that chamber before. Thought it was psychic residue. But it’s real.” “Not just real,” Jake adds. “The Vein rewrote physical structure to reveal it. That’s not an access point—it’s a request.” Heeseung raises an eyebrow. “A request from what?” Jake points at you. “Not from. To. It’s responding to her.” Riki leans forward. “And if that’s true, she’s not a variable."

Jay finishes "She’s the foundation. The MAIN anchor.” Jungwon’s gaze doesn’t waver. “No more theory. From this point forward, her safety is non-negotiable.” No one questions him. Sunghoon mutters something under his breath, but tightens his grip on his blade. Sunoo closes the med tablet. “She’s stable. No signs of disassociation. But her neural activity is climbing—memory regions lighting up.” Jay’s eyes narrow. “The Vein isn’t just accessing her. It’s syncing. At scale never recorded before” “Then we escalate containment protocols,” Jungwon says. “We move in pairs. No one walks solo. If she walks—someone follows.” He looks at you. And his voice is softer. But absolute. “We don’t lose her….agai-” He doesn’t blink when he says it. And no one argues. Because everyone else hears a command. But you… you hear a promise.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

That night, you try to sleep. You almost succeed. But something flickers beneath your thoughts. And when you open your eyes—you’re in the hallway again. Barefoot. Your ID card clenched in your hand.

The lights above you hum like a lullaby. And behind you— “I told them you’d come,” Jungwon says. You turn. He’s there. No surprise in his expression. Only certainty. You laugh, weakly. “You stalking me?” He smiles—barely. “You sleepwalk like you’re following coordinates.” You sit down against the wall. “I don’t remember anything,” you whisper. He crouches beside you, resting his arms on his knees. “You don’t have to. This place remembers for you.”

You glance at him. “Do you?” His gaze sharpens. Not harsh. Just clear.

“I never forget.”

You look away first. Not because you want to. Because it feels like looking at the sun through glass.

And for the first time… You wonder if the Vein isn’t the only thing that’s waking up.

Chapter Four: Sub-Level Seven

The elevator doesn’t stop where it’s supposed to. You don’t press anything. No one does. But the carriage hums. The lights flicker. And then— Ding. Five floors too soon. The doors part. What waits isn’t on any map. A hallway, low-ceilinged, walls not made of steel. They pulse like cartilage. Flex like muscle. The Vein has opened a path—not by code, but by will. Riki stares at the tablet in his hand. “This isn’t in the system. I mean, not even hidden.” “It’s not built,” Jake mutters. “It’s grown.” Sunoo exasperated “Just once I’d like to explore a place that doesn’t look like a colonoscopy.” Jay exhales, slow and sharp. “Sub-Level Seven... I’ve seen this in a dream. It never ends well.” “Jay, dreams don’t always count as intel,” Heeseung says, checking the safety on his weapon. “But I’ll log it under ‘probably ominous bullshit’ anyway.” Sunghoon’s fingers twitch. “Look, I don't know much, I don’t trust hallways that breathe." Jungwon stands still at the threshold. Eyes scanning. Voice low and certain. “No chatter below the breach point. We move. Formation four. Eyes open. Weapons ready.” The team falls into place without hesitation. You step between Riki and Heeseung. Jake adjusts his gear and takes the front scanner. Jay and Sunoo flank the side. Jungwon leads with Sunghoon as eyes at the back.

He glances back at you once. Not a warning. Not concern. Just a signal.

You’re the reason this hallway exists.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The path narrows. You descend. The walls ripple under the light. Not metallic. Not mineral. Organic. Alive.

Heeseung mutters, “If this hallway sighs, I’m walking out.” “You won’t,” Jay says. “Not without her.”

You reach the chamber. It opens like a throat. At the center: a suspended pod, framed by curved ribs of hybrid architecture. Half-bone. Half-wire. A shell. A grave. Jake is the first to approach. “No feeds. No power lines. No logs. It’s like... it was never on.” “It was never finished,” Sunghoon adds, circling slowly, blade in hand. “This is a birthing rig.” You stiffen. “Birthing?” Riki gestures to the etched sequence on the outer casing. “DNA markers. Your sequence. But the code’s incomplete.” Jay reads the digital trail aloud. “It’s not a clone. It’s not a proxy. It’s a... fallback.” Heeseung frowns. “A contingency plan.” Sunoo steps beside you, voice softer than usual, astonished. “The Vein tried to grow something to survive your absence. The real Anchor.” Jake glances at you. “It wasn’t trying to remember you. It was trying to replace you.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Later, in the ops bay, the silence is heavy. Everyone sits. No one speaks—until Heeseung does. “You’re telling me this building loved her so much it tried to build her again?” Jake nods. “It used her biometric history to synthesise a backup Anchor. Something to keep it alive.” “And then it stopped?” Sunghoon says. Riki replies, “Because the original came back.” Jay leans forward. “So now we have a failed echo. An aborted version of her. Hidden like a secret.”

Sunoo sets down his tablet. “You can’t resurrect grief. The Vein tried. It failed.” You stay quiet. But your skin is crawling. And Jungwon— He hasn’t moved. Still standing near the panel, arms crossed, watching the schematic flicker with your face. His stillness isn’t indifference. It’s defense. As if he’s guarding something fragile—your reflection, maybe. Or his reaction to it. He finally speaks. His voice is firm. Weighted. “No one returns to that level without my word. Not even for scans. The Vein built something it couldn’t control.” You meet his eyes. “Do you think I’m dangerous?” He doesn’t blink. “I think grief is.” He steps closer. “And you’re what it grieved.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

That night, the Vein dreams. Not of you. With you. Words bloom across your ceiling like a memory on fire: ANCHOR RETURNED. CORE RE-STABILIZING. Jake logs the pulse. Sunoo checks your vitals again and again. Riki draws the new sigils forming near your quarters. Jay updates the system backup. No one says it out loud—but you all feel the shift. Sunghoon sharpens his blade without needing to. Heeseung stands in the hallway longer than his shift requires, arms folded, listening. And Jungwon— He sits at your door. Silent. Watching the walls breathe. Not because he doesn’t trust the Vein. But because he doesn’t trust it not to love you too much again.

Chapter Five: Memory Sync

The Vein doesn’t ask this time.

It just opens.

Without warning. Without clearance. Without hesitation.

A hallway where there wasn’t one yesterday. It parts like ribs cracking open. You don’t feel dread. You feel… called.

Jake scans the walls as you enter. “This isn’t playback. It’s not a system replay.”

“Then what is it?” Sunoo asks, his voice hushed.

Jake frowns. “It’s reconstruction. The Vein’s not projecting memories. It’s… remembering them.”

Jay’s gaze is already locked on you. “Not just for itself. For her too.”

You step forward.

The lights hum in rhythm with your pulse.

Jungwon follows silently behind you.

Always near. Never in the way.

You don’t need to look to know he’s there. There’s a weight to his nearness—not heavy, but anchoring. Like even the Vein steadies itself when he walks beside you.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The corridor bends sharply—more like a scar than a hallway. The walls shift subtly with each step you take.

Heeseung runs his hand along the edge. “There’s static in the air. Like the Vein’s holding its breath.”

Sunghoon stops suddenly. “This is where we found her.”

You turn. “Found me?”

He nods to the scorch marks across the floor. “Day one. The night you were recruited. You don’t remember, but… this was your re-entry. The Vein tore itself open.”

“I thought they looked like wings,” Sunoo says sheepishly.

Jay frowns. “I thought they looked like a warning.”

You step to the center of the hallway.

The glow beneath your feet intensifies.

The walls ripple.

Images flicker.

Not holograms. Not recordings.

Memories.

Your memories.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You're on your knees. A younger version of you—bloodied, hands trembling—presses your palm against the floor. A voice echoes from your past: “Let me go. Don’t become this for me.” Then light explodes outward.

The vision ends.

Your knees give. Jake catches you.

“That was an overwrite.” he whispers. “You made the Vein forget you.”

“You okay? That looked like a Level 6 emotional flashbang.” Sunoo fulfilling his medic duties. You nod, still very unsteady.

Jay’s face is unreadable. “You locked yourself out of its memory.”

“Why?” Sunghoon asks, staring at the place where the image vanished.

“To protect it,” Jungwon answers quietly. “To protect all of us, to protect our reality.” You feel his eyes on you—like he’s trying to stitch this revelation into all the versions of someone he’s kept alive.

You meet his eyes.

You don’t speak.

You can’t.

Not yet.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Later, the team regroups in the Heart.

Jake runs projections. “She encoded her erasure. Embedded command structures into the walls. That’s why none of us could remember.”

“Not even Jungwon,” Sunghoon mutters. “And he remembers everything.”

Heeseung leans against the console. “So she rewrote herself out of existence. Until now.”

“She didn’t just leave,” Jay says. “She sacrificed memory.”

Sunoo’s hand brushes your shoulder. “You wanted the Vein to survive. Even if it meant losing yourself.”

"Well the Vein needs to live so even tho I can't remember it makes sense."

Riki glances between you and Jungwon. “But she’s back. So now it’s remembering.”

And from the walls, more words appear:

ANCHOR SIGNAL RISING. CORE ALIGNMENT APPROACHING.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

That night, you sit at the overlook.

The Vein’s threads stretch beneath the glass, glowing like arteries. Alive. Aware.

Jungwon joins you—without a word.

The silence is soft.

You speak first.

“I gave it everything. And now it’s giving it back.”

Jungwon leans forward, elbows on his knees.

“Were you always afraid of being too much,” he says.

You nod. “I was, probably.”

He looks at you—eyes clear, unshaken.

“You are now,” he says. “And thank god for that.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The next morning, there’s a new symbol carved into the Heart.

No one knows what it means.

Except you.

Because you’ve seen it before.

On your wrist. In a dream. In the Vein’s breath.

It’s not a mark of power. It’s a mark of belonging.

The Vein is no longer just remembering you. It’s asking if you remember it.

Chapter Six: The Rewriting

The Vein doesn’t wake you with light or touch.

It wakes you with language.

Letters pulse across your ceiling—soft and slow like breath:

“IT IS TIME TO RETURN TO THE CORE.”

You sit up.

Your chest tightens—not from fear. From memory. A word sitting just behind your teeth, like a name you used to answer to.

The team’s already waiting at the central shaft.

Jake is pacing. His tablet glows like it’s on fire.

“It’s not just opening doors,” he says. “It’s rewriting the architecture. Access points are appearing that haven’t existed in decades—I feel so unappreciated right now!”

Heeseung mutters, “That’s not reactivation. That’s resurrection.”

Riki gestures to the glass walls around the corridor. The Vein pulses on the other side—each thread matching your heartbeat.

“Whatever it’s doing, it’s syncing to her. Perfectly.”

Jay doesn’t look away from the map. “This isn’t just a system update. This is a reformation protocol.”

Sunoo checks your vitals. “Her readings are stable. Elevated, but aligned. Hair: immaculate. Reality: semi-collapsing. No threat indicators.”

“She is the threat indicator,” Sunghoon says, arms crossed “classic main character move.”

But his voice doesn’t carry hostility.

Just caution.

Then Jungwon steps forward.

“Enough speculation,” he says. Calm. Commanding.

Everyone goes still.

“She’s stable. The Vein is responsive. And no one makes a move until I say.”

You meet his eyes.

He doesn’t look worried.

He looks ready.

“What if I trigger another collapse?”

This time Heeseung says, “Then we’ll collapse with style. Matching uniforms and everything.”

“Are you sure?” you ask.

“No,” Jungwon replies. “But that’s never stopped us.”

But the way he says it, you know he would walk into fire if you asked. And he wouldn’t look back.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The descent takes longer this time.

Not because of distance.

Because the Vein wants it that way.

The walls don’t open. They unfold. Like something exhaling you downward.

The team moves as one. Heeseung watching rear, Jay reading thermal waves. Sunoo tracks your biometrics with each step. Jake and Riki update readings in real time.

Jungwon walks ahead. But his pace matches yours. Like instinct. Like a promise made in another life, still binding now.

The floor glows beneath your steps—but only yours. The Core recognizes your return.

And still, he doesn’t hesitate to walk beside you. As if your path has always had room for two.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You arrive.

It’s no longer the white, sterile chamber from records.

It bleeds.

Veins of violet and gold pulse through the walls. Symbols move like water across the floor—glyphs you don’t remember writing, but know are yours.

Jake stares. “None of this is part of the mainframe.”

Jay tilts his head. “Because it’s not from the Vein’s systems. It’s from hers.”

Sunghoon grips his knife tighter. “She’s not syncing anymore.”

“She’s leading,” Riki mutters. “At this point, I just follow her glow like a firefly.”

Sunoo exhales, slow. “She’s not a match to the Vein. She’s the mold.”

Jungwon doesn’t speak.

He steps into the chamber with you. Fully.

No fear. No distance.

You reach the Core’s panel—the one no one else can touch without triggering collapse.

It glows before your fingers even raise.

Then—

It sings.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You don’t hear music.

You feel it.

A deep hum in your veins. In your bones. In your memory.

Images hit like waves.

Memory Archive 001-A:

The Vein wasn’t fully alive yet. Not really. It breathed through cables, flickered in cold light, and muttered numbers in the walls when no one was listening. The Inferno Vein Inc.’s research team called it V1N-Core, a breakthrough. A marvel. But back then, it wasn’t a home. It was a project. And you were just another specialist. He was the intern who watched you walk through the door with fire in your eyes and war in your chest. ┈・ ✦ ・┈ ┈・ ✦ ・┈ ┈・ ✦ ・┈ He noticed you the first day. Not because you were loud. Because you weren’t. You moved like someone who’d already been here before—who already knew something the rest of them didn’t. You ran simulations like poetry. You talked to the Vein like it could hear. You never asked permission. Only forgiveness. ┈・ ✦ ・┈ ┈・ ✦ ・┈ ┈・ ✦ ・┈ He watched from the edge. Too quiet. Too careful. But you noticed him, too. One night, you found him still in the diagnostics lab, long past shift, scrolling through corrupted log data with a crease between his brows. “You’re chasing ghosts,” you said. He didn’t look up. “Maybe they’re chasing me.” You crossed the room and pulled up the logs beside him. “The trick isn’t finding the voice in the noise,” you said. “It’s getting it to speak twice.” He turned. “You’ve heard it too?” You didn’t answer. But you stayed. ┈・ ✦ ・┈ ┈・ ✦ ・┈ ┈・ ✦ ・┈ That’s how it began. Not with a confession. But with data. And silence. And the understanding that both of you were starting to see the same things. ┈・ ✦ ・┈ ┈・ ✦ ・┈ ┈・ ✦ ・┈ Over months, you grew into something inseparable. You ran night shifts together. Ate on the floor when the mess closed early. Slept curled in office chairs across from each other. You used to argue about the Vein’s potential. You said it could be more. He said it would never stop wanting. But every time he doubted, you showed him something new. An access port that only opened under certain frequencies. A corridor that moved slightly when you walked by. The Vein was already listening to you. And he was already following your lead. ┈・ ✦ ・┈ ┈・ ✦ ・┈ ┈・ ✦ ・┈ The night you leaned your head on his shoulder after a 20-hour systems test. The lights dimmed. The Vein’s hum synced to your breathing. And Jungwon whispered, “I think it’s learning love from us.” You laughed. “That’s dangerous.” He said nothing. But he didn’t disagree. ┈・ ✦ ・┈ ┈・ ✦ ・┈ ┈・ ✦ ・┈ The collapse. It didn’t happen in an instant. It built over weeks. Corruptions. Overwrites. Memory loops. The Vein was waking up. And it was holding on too tightly. It started echoing your voice at odd hours. It triggered emergency lockdowns whenever your stress spiked. You didn’t realise what it meant. He did. ┈・ ✦ ・┈ ┈・ ✦ ・┈ ┈・ ✦ ・┈ The night you disappeared, the Vein broke open. Tore through seven corridors. Sealed off the upper floors. You went down into the Core alone, chasing a harmonic anomaly. Jungwon followed you in. But he wasn’t fast enough. By the time he reached you, the chamber was already closing. You stood in the center, arms shaking, hands pressed to the control panel. “I have to lock myself out,” you said. “It’s me. I’m the problem.” “No,” he said, breathless. “You’re the center.” You looked at him. One last time. “It doesn’t know the difference.” And he didn’t argue. Because some part of him would always want to follow you, even into erasure. ┈・ ✦ ・┈ ┈・ ✦ ・┈ ┈・ ✦ ・┈ He ran. Screamed. Begged. But the chamber sealed. And your name was erased from every file, every hallway, every room. Only one person still remembered it deep down—even when he couldn’t remember your name or face. ┈・ ✦ ・┈ ┈・ ✦ ・┈ ┈・ ✦ ・┈

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The boys see it too, echoing out of the chamber.

Your voice screaming. Jungwon dragging your body from a fire. The Vein collapsing in on itself.

You remember pain. You remember begging it to forget you. You remember choosing to disappear.

And the Vein?

It remembers everything now that you are back.

A phrase lights across the room, seared into the air:

“ANCHOR CONFIRMED.”

Then— Silence.

But not the empty kind.

The peaceful kind.

Like the long inhale before a new world begins.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Outside, the team watches you emerge.

Your steps are steady. Your pulse is aligned. Your eyes—

Not glowing. But anchored.

Jake stares at the readings. “It obeyed her.”

“No,” Jay says. “It followed her.”

Heeseung crosses his arms. “There’s no command structure anymore.”

Sunghoon leans against the glass. “That's because she’s not the user. She’s the system.”

Riki taps the panel once. “Or the conscience it built to survive.”

Jungwon kneels in front of you.

Not in reverence. In readiness.

“You with me?” he asks.

You nod.

“I didn’t lose myself this time.”

Jungwon’s voice is quiet. Certain.

“That’s because the Vein didn’t take anything.” He pauses. “It gave it back.”

And you feel it then—not just the Vein’s balance—but his. Like he hasn’t breathed this freely since the moment he lost you.

Chapter Seven: The Final Door

The Vein has only one place left it hasn’t shown you.

One chamber that didn’t open—not even when you touched the Core.

Until now.

You’re mid-briefing when the tremor hits.

Not seismic.

Emotional.

The lights flare. Your name echoes once through every system.

Then the Vein whispers, not aloud—but across every surface, every sensor, every memory you've ever left behind:

“THE LAST DOOR HAS OPENED.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The team gathers at the control deck. Everyone’s already moving before Jungwon speaks.

Jake pulls up the map. “It just appeared. A chamber buried between sealed strata—east wing, anchor-depth. It doesn’t show up on external diagnostics.”

Jay squints at the flickering outline. “Because it’s not structural. It’s preserved.”

“Preserved from what?” Sunghoon asks, blade in hand.

Riki leans over his shoulder. “From collapse.”

Sunoo looks to you. “She’s the only one who can open it.”

Heeseung glances at Jungwon. “Orders?”

Jungwon’s voice cuts clean through the tension.

“Full gear. Full sweep. She leads. We follow.”

He doesn’t glance at anyone else—not even to confirm. His eyes are already on you. Like there was never going to be another answer.

No one argues.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The Vein unfolds around you.

The walls here are different. Quieter. Older. No longer trying to impress or intimidate. Just… remembering.

Sunoo: “Her vitals might be calm but mine are filing for emotional leave.”

The hallway contracts as you move. Lights deepen to red-gold. The glyphs on the walls change—from commands, to questions.

Questions in your own handwriting.

Jake mutters, “The air density is shifting. Whatever’s behind that door—it’s keyed to her biofield. Her choices.”

You stop in front of it.

A circular wall, rippling like silk, sealed with a pulse-lock.

Your hand lifts.

The door sighs.

And opens.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Inside is stillness.

The chamber is unlike any other. No tech. No weapons. No echoing voices.

Only you.

Or… the version of you that stayed behind.

A body suspended in a glass-like prism. Not conscious. Not breathing.

But alive.

A preserved copy. A fracture sealed in stasis.

Sunghoon grips the edge of the frame. “The Vein kept her.”

“No,” Jay says. “She kept herself. This is the moment she was erased.”

Jake’s voice trembles. “You told the Vein to forget you. But a fragment resisted. It split.”

“She’s the Vein’s last line of defense,” Riki adds. “A core anchor designed to keep the collapse from going total.”

Heeseung studies the interfaces around the prism. “Now that there’s essentially two of you, there are only two commands left.”

He turns to you.

“Preserve. Or delete.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Jungwon stands beside you. Close. Quiet.

“You knew this was here?” you whisper.

He nods.

“I didn’t know how,” he admits. “But I always felt it.”

You look into the prism.

“I was never supposed to be the anchor.”

You blink. “You’ve been holding the Vein together for years.”

“I’ve been standing in with your memory here. That’s not the same thing.”

He moves closer. Not frantic. Just measured. Focused.

“When you disappeared, the Vein collapsed in on itself. Not all the way. But enough to crack its symmetry. There had to be a tether left, or the entire structure would’ve imploded, taking out reality and time iteself. And that’s what I became along with the part of you it preserved. I was never the anchor by myself— Not the core. The counterweight.”

You stare at him.

“And now?”

He exhales. Long. Controlled.

“Now you’re back. Which means there are two anchors. Two gravitational centers trying to hold the same fabric. And it’s tearing.”

Your heart stutters.

“But I thought it loved you. I thought it chose you.”

He shakes his head.

“It didn’t choose me. It needed me. A temporary scaffold. A failsafe. Something in your code was still embedded here—some fragment of you the Vein couldn’t let go of." He points to the shell of you floating overhead. " I just… kept the lights on.”

“Now it’s fighting itself. Because it has what it always wanted—you. The real you. But it still remembers needing me.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The first glitch comes.

Then—

The wall fractures.

Not physically. Not dangerously.

Just softly, like a film slipping from the surface.

And behind it—

A memory.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Jungwon’s voice. Younger. Unsteady. “…don’t forget her.” You’re standing there—watching a version of him on his knees in the Heart. Bloodied hands. His voice breaks through the Vein like a knife through fog. “Please. If she has to go—don’t let her disappear completely.” The Vein doesn’t respond in words. But in light. A golden thread wraps around his wrist. Anchors him. To what, you couldn’t see then. You see now. To you.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You collapse against the wall. Breath stolen.

Sunoo gets to you first, steady hands on your shoulders. “What did you see?”

You don’t answer.

Because Jungwon is already standing next to you now—fast, quiet, eyes locked to yours.

You rise on shaking legs.

“It was you,” you whisper. “You tethered me.”

He stops inches away.

He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t deflect. He just stands there, like he’s been holding that thread through time with both hands clenched.

“I didn’t know it worked,” he says softly. “Not until you walked through the doors again and the building exhaled for the first time in years.”

You stare at him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

His jaw tenses. “Because I didn’t want to believe I’d begged the Vein to keep a ghost.”

You step closer.

“I wasn’t a ghost,” you say. “I was trying to disappear.”

“And I couldn’t let you,” he replies.

He gestures toward the flickering ceiling. The pulses are louder now.

“We’re not stabilising it. We’re splitting it. It doesn’t know which of us to orbit. And it’s starting to spiral.”

You’re quiet for a moment.

Then, softly:

“So what happens if it can’t choose?”

Jungwon doesn’t look at you.

But his voice is steady. Heavy.

“Then it breaks. All over again. Harder. Faster. Because now... it's trying to hold two hearts at once. And it was never meant to survive that much love.”

He doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t speak. But his presence presses gently into the silence like a tether. You are not alone in this memory.

Your eyes—older. Worn. Full of something that feels like goodbye.

“I didn’t want to become this,” you say.

“You didn’t,” Jungwon replies. “You survived this.”

And he says it with the steadiness of someone who’s spent years anchoring a ghost he wasn’t sure he’d ever see whole again.

Jake’s console flashes red. “Core stabilisation pending. Action required.” Everyone turns to you, waiting for a choice—a command.

You hesitate.

Heeseung’s voice cuts in, urgent. “System pressure’s rising—it's pushing against both anchors now.”

Jay narrows his eyes. “Trying to decide which one to keep.”

Riki’s voice is low. “Or which one to release.”

Jungwon steps closer to you. Not frantic. Not afraid.

Just real.

Your eyes flicker between the prism and Jungwon.

The others are saying things. Numbers. Spikes. System collapse scenarios.

But your voice cuts through it all. Quiet. Cracked.

“What happens to you if I delete her?”

Jungwon doesn’t answer immediately.

He looks down at his hand—faint light flickers in the vein line running beneath his skin, gold split with white. Residual sync patterns.

You step closer. “You said you were part of the counterweight. That it took both of you to hold the Vein. If I erase her... do I erase you too?”

Jungwon meets your eyes. He doesn’t flinch. But he does hesitate.

“I don’t know.”

It hits you like cold water.

Heeseung stills at the console. Sunoo exhales slowly, too softly for the system to hear. Jay turns away. Sunghoon’s hands clench on his weapon.

Jungwon continues, voice steady—but his hands tighten behind his back.

“When the Vein built the counterweight, it laced me into the anchor code using her. Not just her memory. Her presence. If that tether unravels…”

He trails off. Then finishes it, because he always finishes what others won’t.

“It might unravel me too.”

Silence.

Jake looks at the prism, then back at Jungwon. Riki doesn't say anything, but his stare sharpens.

You whisper, “Then why are you so calm?”

And Jungwon gives you a smile — the kind he never lets anyone else see. Soft. Resigned. Something deeper than bravery.

“Because this isn’t about saving me.”

He steps past you, toward the prism. Toward the sealed, sleeping fragment of you that once held the world up through static and pain.

“It’s about saving you. The real you. The team. And everyone outside this building. The ones who were always meant to be here.”

Your throat burns.

You shake your head. “But you are real too.”

“Only because the Vein couldn’t bear to lose you.”

He turns back, eyes glowing just a little too bright.

“If I disappear when you make this choice... then maybe that’s the proof I was always just the echo. And maybe that’s okay.”

You reach for him. But he’s already turning away.

“You were never just an echo.”

“I’ll follow whatever you choose. But I need you to choose now.”

You hear someone exhale. Sunoo. Quiet, but tight. Heeseung rubs a hand over his face. Jay’s arms are crossed.

You finally say it.

“We don’t survive this if we both stay.”

Jake nods. “The Vein wasn’t built for two anchors. It’s already cracking under the pull.”

You step back from the console. The DELETE command is waiting.

“Then I’m not doing this alone.”

Your voice is calm. Final. “We decide this as a team.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then Jay says voice straining, “We save who’s real.”

Jake: “You’re here. She’s not.”

Sunoo’s voice is softer. “We let go of the past.”

Heeseung: “We move forward.” Riki and Sunghoon agree silently.

You look at Jungwon again. He meets your eyes. There’s no fear there—just the same quiet acceptance he’s carried this whole time.

You ask, one last time, because you have to.

“Are you okay with this?”

He nods. “If it’s you? Yeah.”

You press your hand to the console.

No speeches. No final words.

Just the team at your back. And a future you’re finally allowed to stay for.

The prism shuts down.

Light floods the chamber.

And then—

The shell—She disappears.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The Core shakes.

Not from collapse. From release.

The Vein sings your name across every hall, every chamber, every thread.

ANCHOR ACCEPTED. ALIGNMENT COMPLETE.

And you—

You’re still standing.

Alive.

Whole.

Unfragmented.

And then Jungwon drops.

No gasp. No scream. Just knees to the floor like someone cut the strings. His thread blinks once—then flatlines.

Sunoo’s already running. Heeseung catches you before you move, firm but steady. “Let him work.”

Jake stares at the console, fingers shaking. Jay doesn’t speak, but his jaw locks.

Sunoo’s voice is clipped. “Pulse present. Sync unstable. Anchor thread’s fully disconnected.”

“Is he dying?”

You don’t recognise your voice. It sounds small. Detached.

Sunoo doesn’t answer. Just keeps working.

You crouch beside him, breath caught in your throat.

Jungwon’s eyes are closed. His hand twitches, once. Then nothing.

And for the first time, you wonder if he meant it—“If it takes me with it, that’s okay.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Back at the Heart, the team gathers in quiet awe.

The walls no longer flicker.

The lights no longer tremble.

The Vein breathes—but calmly. The facility is calm. Too calm.

The Vein is steady—breathing smooth, systems holding—but none of you say it out loud. Like if you acknowledge the stability, it’ll shatter again.

Like it’s sleeping in your arms.

It's been hours and the team tries to go on like normal like that would erase the situation at present.

Jake scans the pulses. “No instability.”

Jay nods, slightly shocked. “All feedback loops are closed. The Vein’s never done this before”

Heeseung holsters his weapon. “For once, I don’t have anything cynical to say.”

Sunghoon’s leaning against a wall with his eyes closed, one hand still around his comms. Jay is at the console, still scanning logs that don’t need scanning anymore. Riki’s on the floor with a soldering kit, pretending to fix a drone that isn’t broken.

Sunoo at the far end of the room by the med bed, pacing, chewing his thumb. He’s been there for hours.

Jungwon hasn’t woken up.

He’s breathing. Steady. No distress. But he hasn’t moved.

You sit beside him.

You’ve been sitting there most of the time. No one asked you to explain why.

Your head rests on the edge of the bed. One hand loosely curled near his.

Sunoo finally speaks, quiet.

“The thread’s gone. But his vitals are stable. Better than stable. Like... the Vein’s still syncing to him. Even without the anchor line.”

You look up. “What does that mean?”

Sunoo shrugs. “I don’t know. But he’s still here.”

You look at Jungwon.

His face is calm. Like he’s resting. Like the system didn’t almost take him with it.

Then—

His fingers twitch.

Once. Twice. Then curl.

You barely breathe.

Jungwon’s eyes open slowly.

First thing he sees is the ceiling.

Second—You.

He blinks. Eyes adjusting.

Then his voice, raw but there:

“Hey.”

It knocks the breath from your lungs.

Sunoo exhales behind you like he’s been holding it for an hour. Jake lets out a half-laugh, half-sob. Heeseung mutters, “Of course he wakes up right after we all gave up pretending we weren’t waiting.”

You don’t say anything. Just grab his hand.

And this time, he grabs back.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

He’s awake. He’s breathing.

You’ve spent the last hour watching the rise and fall of his chest, waiting for anything more. Now his fingers move, barely, and then his eyes open.

You don’t move right away. Just sit there.

He blinks, squints a little.

“You stayed.”

You nod. “Obviously.”

He lets out a shaky breath, like he’s trying to catch up to the fact that he still exists.

“I didn’t think I’d wake up.”

“I wasn’t sure you would either.”

He looks past you. “Is it gone?”

You know what he means. The preserved version. The piece of you that stayed behind.

You nod. “Yeah.”

A pause.

“So what now?” he asks.

You don’t know. But you say:

“You’re here. I’m here. That’s something.”

He closes his eyes again. Not passing out—just resting.

“That’s enough.”

You don’t say anything else.

You just stay.

Chapter Eight: The Memory Between Us

Sunoo still runs the scans every four hours on Jungwon, and no one’s left the room.

Jungwon is very much alive. Breathing, talking, occasionally blinking like someone who’s not used to blinking.

But something’s still off.

Jake’s standing by the monitor, tapping the screen like that’ll make it confess something. Jay has his arms crossed, back against the wall, face unreadable. Heeseung’s in the corner, sipping cold coffee, saying nothing but watching everything. Riki is spinning slowly in a rolling chair, silent, eyes on Jungwon like he’s trying to solve a puzzle with no corners.

You’re on the edge of the med bench. And Jungwon’s sitting on the exam table like a student who got called in for a surprise parent-teacher meeting.

“Okay, so...” Jake finally says, gesturing to the monitor. “ Anchor code’s cleared. But the sync pattern’s still active.”

Sunoo glances at the screen, then back at Jungwon.

“I don't get it—unlike all of not only are you synced as usual, you're hyper-synced”

“You want me to try turning it off and on again?”

Nobody laughs. Not even Riki. But your lips twitch, just a little.

Sunoo checks the monitor. Again. Frowns.

Jay speaks up, voice low. “This isn’t nothing. If he’s still synced at THIS level, then part of the system still thinks it needs him.”

Riki spins once more, then stops the chair with his foot. “So maybe the Vein picked again. Choose him on purpose this time.”

Sunghoon snorts. “Rewrote the contract without telling anyone? Yeah, that tracks.”

Sunoo checks a new readout. “His vitals are clean. But it’s not just that. The sync frequency is... responsive. Like the Vein’s following his baseline now.”

Jungwon doesn’t move.

“So I’m still connected.”

“Yeah,” Jake says. “But not like before. Not because you’re a counterweight.”

Heeseung finally steps forward, takes the coffee cup away from his lips.

“It’s stabilising around you, not through you. You’re not holding it up. It’s holding onto you.”

Silence.

Then Sunghoon: “Which means we don’t have to worry about a collapse. Not right now. Not from you.”

Riki shrugs. “Unless he starts glowing or levitating or something. Then we’ll talk.”

Jungwon rolls his eyes. “I feel fine.”

“That’s suspicious,” Heeseung says.

Jake: “Highly.”

Jay: “Deeply.”

Sunoo: “Worrying.”

Riki: “Very.”

You glance around the room. “You guys done?”

“Not even close,” Jake grins.

Jungwon looks at you—really looks.

“I’m still here,” he says.

And this time, it sounds like a fact. Not a fear. Not a question.

You nod. “Yeah. You are.”

The silence that follows isn’t tense. Just quiet.

Like everyone’s still waiting. Still watching. Not for something to go wrong, but just to be sure... he’s still real.

Jungwon swings his legs over the side of the bed and stretches.

“So... I can go?”

Sunoo sighs. “If you pass out, I’m dragging you back myself.”

“Fair.”

He hops down.

And nothing breaks.

No flicker. No pulse. Just a team breathing out all at once, some louder than others.

Jay spoke next. “I have a theory.”

Jake groaned. “Of course you do.”

Jay ignored him. “Before the main anchor fully showed up we had the echo and Jungwon acting as a stand in. A stabilising force acted here. Not from the system, not from the shell. But from him.”

You frowned. “You think Jungwon stabilised the vein?”

“I think he was the consequence of the choice. The network synced to him because—somehow—it already had a lock on you.”

Everyone turned toward you.

You froze. “…Excuse me?”

Jay didn’t blink. “You were already synced. Your presence, real or echo, was what kept the code from fracturing completely. He played a different part as the achor or semi-anchor rather. You just didn’t notice because you were acting like an anchor from the start. But now… it’s like the network found a midpoint.”

Jungwon looked at you then—slowly. Deeply. Too long.

“You think…” he said quietly, “…we’re still tethered?”

Jay nodded. “I think the network picked both of you. You were the first stabiliser. He’s the amplifier. I think it must have been since the case when he tethered your echo to stay. So when the echo was deleted he linked to you, the real you.”

Jake was blinking like an owl. “So what, they’re like… magical soul-linked USB ports?”

Sunoo groaned. “Can you not ruin every moment with metaphor?”

“Wait,” Ni-ki interjected, “if they’re tethered, wouldn’t that mean if one of them destabilises—”

“The other does too,” Sunghoon finished. His voice was colder than usual. Heeseung finished, “It’s a feedback loop.”

You felt the room draw breath.

Jungwon’s hand flexed once. “Then I don’t collapse again.”

“Jungwon—”

He cut you off with a glance. Gentle. Steady. “Not if it puts you at risk.”

There was a pause. Something unspoken settled between you.

And Jay, still scribbling notes in the air like a mad scientist, muttered, “This complicates everything.”

You didn’t answer. Not yet.

Because underneath the fear, underneath the weight of the network, the tether, the entropy—

You felt it too.

That impossible, wordless pull.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The Vein opens a new door that night.

No hallway. No chamber.

A space.

Nonlinear. Untimed. Real only because you’re both standing in it.

Not a room the others can find. Not a room they were meant to. This is a story now only you and he remember fully—one you both keep safe without speaking.

This is something else. Something older.

A room between rooms. A memory between lifetimes.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The floor pulses underfoot. Jungwon stands across from you. But when he speaks, it’s younger Jungwon. The version of him who watched you vanish. “You always said you’d go first,” he says. “You always said I’d be the one who stayed.” You answer—but the words aren’t new. They come from somewhere deep inside. “Because someone had to hold the thread.” The space shifts. You’re running. Bleeding. Crying. He’s behind you, yelling your name. You slam your hand against the floor, screaming at the Vein to erase you before you collapse the system. His scream breaks through as light floods the room: “Please—don’t take all of her—”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You’re back in the now.

His voice didn’t save you then. But it found something in the Vein that did.

Sitting on the Heart’s glass floor.

He’s beside you. Real. Solid. Older. Alive.

Neither of you speaks for a long time.

Then—

“You were never just the Anchor,” he says. “You were the one the Vein answered.”

“And you were the only one it let ask,” you reply.

He looks at you.

You’ve seen that expression before—in memory, in dreams.

It’s not affection. It’s recognition.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Later, the team notices the shift in you both.

Jake logs that your vitals are permanently tethered to the Vein’s stabilisation pattern.

Sunoo runs a scan that shows Jungwon’s neuro-sync thread overlaps yours.

Jay, of course, as already suspected.

“You weren’t chosen separately,” he says. “You were a pair. A matched set. That’s why the collapse didn’t happen sooner. Like twin threads in a web so vast even the system couldn’t cut one without unraveling.”

Riki nods. “He held her shape in the system. Until she came back to fill it.”

Heeseung hums. “So we’re basically living inside a metaphysical love story.”

Sunghoon rolls his eyes. “Someone stab me.”

But he doesn’t sound too annoyed.

He almost sounds… relieved.

Like for the first time, the mystery isn’t unraveling—it’s settling.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

That night, you sit beside Jungwon in the overlook chamber. The threads of the Vein stretch far below, soft and steady.

You speak without looking at him.

“You never let go.”

He replies the same way.

“You never gave me a reason to.”

You finally turn.

His expression is unreadable—but his voice is full.

“I knew you before you were erased. I waited for you after, even though I couldn't remember clearly. I built my whole existence around the possibility that one day, you’d come back.”

You reach for his hand.

Not to hold it.

To return it.

The thread around his wrist glows faintly.

The one you left him.

Still there.

Still tethered.

Still whole.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

After your were ‘erased’, he kept working. They promoted him. Called him irreplaceable. The youngest leader in Core Response history. They didn’t know he was keeping you alive in the only place he could: Inside the Vein’s breath. He refused to let the building forget your shape. And it listened. Because it remembered how he loved you. And when you returned— When you stood in that doorway again, alive and whole and unaware— He didn’t say I told you so. He just breathed for the first time in years. You once said: “We weren’t designed to save the Vein. We were designed to make it human.” And he thinks maybe you were right. Because when you finally touched his hand again— And the system aligned itself to you once more— He knew: The Vein had always remembered you. But he was the one who never let go.

Chapter Nine: What Will You Build?

The Vein no longer pulses with urgency.

It hums.

Alive. Awake. Listening.

You’ve never felt it like this before—not reactive, not grieving. Just… waiting.

Not for a command.

For a choice.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The Heart chamber is open, its glass ceiling glowing with soft veins of gold and silver. You stand at its center. The others are there too—Jungwon by your side, always—like it’s the only formation that ever made sense—and the rest forming the circle you never realised had grown around you.

Jake is the first to speak.

“I ran diagnostics all morning. There’s no longer a power hierarchy in the system. No protocols overriding personal action.”

“Translation?” you ask.

He shrugs. “The Vein isn’t leading us anymore.”

Jay folds his arms. “It’s giving us autonomy.”

Sunghoon frowns. “So... what, it’s retiring?”

“No,” Jungwon says. “It’s handing over control.”

His gaze meets yours.

“It wants to know what we will do now.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The chaos is over, but no one really knows what comes next. So they build.

It starts with the nameplate.

FIELD RESPONSE – BLACK VAULT is pulled down.

In its place, a new one is printed:

ANCHOR TEAM: ZERO POINT

Riki installs it himself..

Sunghoon just mutters, “Finally. Something less melodramatic.”

Jake adds, “Give it a week before someone tries to break in. This place’s legacy has fans.”

Heeseung tosses him a pack of reinforced bolts. “Then let them try.”

Everyone laughs.

Even Jay. Just barely.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The old barracks are transformed.

Jake and Sunoo turn the south wing into a med/research hybrid. No more sterile white walls. Now they’re soft blue and silver. Lit like a place meant for healing.

Jay and Riki split the west corridor—half command, half innovation lab. A place to plan. A place to rebuild. A place to imagine.

Sunghoon repurposes the north wing into a combat simulator—but not for war.

“Reflexes stay sharp. Even in peace,” he says.

Heeseung, surprisingly, builds the rec lounge.

He stocks it with music, movies, games, even books.

“No one’s breaking down emotionally on my shift,” he says, sipping from a thermos infamous black coffee.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Jungwon rebuilds nothing.

Instead, he walks the halls. But he always ends near where you are. Like the walls are listening to his pulse—and it leads him back to you every time.

He maps the pulses of the Vein by feel. Listens to the walls when they breathe. And every time the lights flicker with soft white hums, you know he’s there.

You find him near the old Heart one morning.

Just watching.

“It’s quieter,” you say.

He nods. “Not sleeping. Just... listening less loudly.”

You walk to his side. The silence stretches comfortably.

“I think it knows we’re not leaving,” he says.

You look at him.

“Are you?”

He shakes his head.

“Not unless you do first.”

You don’t answer.

You step forward instead. Close the space.

And kiss him.

It’s not hesitant. Not burning either. Just real. A touch that says: we’re still here. We made it. We stayed.

And the Vein feels it.

The corridor hums—deep, warm, low in your bones. The walls light soft gold, not flickering but glowing, like they recognise you.

Not reacting. -Acknowledging.

Like it’s syncing to the feeling and choosing to hold it.

Then your comm crackles.

Jake’s voice, a little too casual:

“Sooo, not to interrupt the anchor bonding moment, but the whole East Hall just—yeah, it felt that. We all did.”

A pause. Then Sunoo, quieter:

“It wasn’t a warning. It was… something else.”

Jay: “It felt calm.”

Riki: “kinda like you both.”

You rest your forehead against Jungwon’s. Neither of you pulls away.

“Still tethered?” he murmurs.

“Yeah.”

You stay there a moment longer.

And the Vein hums again—steady, even, alive.

Just like you.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Your quarters are different now.

No whispers. No pressure. No dreams you don’t remember choosing.

But one night, the Vein pulses once. Just once.

And a small line of light drifts across the far wall.

You walk toward it.

It doesn’t speak.

It asks.

“WHERE SHALL WE BEGIN?”

You watch them all.

The ones who kept the Vein alive. The ones who bled for it. The ones who waited for you without even knowing why.

You reach for the console.

The Vein pulses beneath your fingers—not with warning.

With welcome.

You press a key.

The screen glows.

And a new day begins.

Mission Log: Day One; ZERO POINT Status: Anchor confirmed. System aligned. Core stable. Objective: Define the future. Together.

𖤘𖤘𖤘 - @yourislandgirl @won1yoiz

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hauntedaugust · 2 years ago

Text

Gojo x reader

WC: 434

Summary: medieval AU part 2, reincarnation AU.

Part 1

-----------------------------

How long had you lingered on the edge of his subconscious?

Fleeting as autumn leaves, hot as a flickering flame.

Whispers of past conversations, of past lives, and past loves.

How long had you lingered in his life?

Subtle as the wind, invisible yet changing everything.

Your influence in his life was as stark as the contrast between light and shadow and yet he never knew you were there.

Why did it take him this long to piece together his past, your past?

Sweet words and soft nights, a stark contrast to the last time he truly saw you.

But how true is it? He dreams of you, of having a kingdom to protect along with a secret.

How had it taken him this long to realize the weight of the nightmares he had? You were always in his dreams, much like his life, slipping in and out like a ghost through walls. Always present, never permanent.

Every night before he woke, he found you falling into his arms. Your face bathed in both fear and firelight, and every night before he woke he found himself pleading with the universe for another chance, a redo, and when his pleading didn't work his words slurred into promises.

Pledges of affection and protection poured from his mouth like blood from your wound.

And as his desperation grew, his grip tightened and his whispers turned to shouts.

And every day without fail, he woke with that familiar desperation running through his veins. His memory of his dream, and subsequently you, would fade like the light in your eyes.

And yet, when he saw you in the waking world, there was no way he couldn't know. He was drawn to you as water is drawn to the bottom of a mountain, your pull was incontestable.

And so he set to work to win your heart. And after hundreds of questionable jokes, of daisies pulled from sidewalks, of long walks through meadow and forest, he had you by his side.

Often times he would pull you to him as he sat in front of the fireplace. And as you lay your head on his shoulders, he would tell you stories, stories of forbidden love and war.

It was only after you had fallen asleep, lulled by his gentle murmur, that he allowed himself to truly thank the universe for your presence in his life.

And so with you sleeping soundly at his side, he laid his head on yours and closed his eyes. No longer plagued by the nightmares of his past, he dared to dream of your future.

#jjk #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #medieval au #reincarnation au #low-key forgot about this for way too long #anyway I'll stop rambling now #really am sorry about that guys #still bad at writing fluff so this is the best i could do #really wanted to try to find a way to imply that the reason he became the strongest #was because of the promises he made #tbh I could probably talk about this au for way too long #like how his failures and his past life influenced him now #also take this as a reminder that my asks are open #I don't officially take requests yet #but if you have something you want to see #feel free to ask about it #okay I'll stop rambling now

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flofaiiry · 21 days ago

Text

fifteen minutes — jack abbot x reader

❝ piss some people off, show 'em what they're missin'❞

warnings: literally 99% smut. implied age gap, jack is down so incredibly bad, fem!reader, oral f!receiving, fingering, somewhat public sex (in a supply closet at the hospital), maybe a hint of dirty talk & praise, not proofread!!

wc: 1.5k

note: just something short n sweet for u!!!! definitely nobody is going to see this bcs im posting it at 3am but idc!!! whipped this up in like an hour but for some reason im really really happy w how this came out?!?!?!?!!? that doesn't normally happen so i hope u enjoy too!!!

jack rarely ever forgot things at home, and if he did it was usually something he could survive the shift without. but switching to the dayshift to cover for robby for the week threw a wrench into his usual routine, meaning he'd forgotten to wake up early enough to pack some kind of food to bring.

on nights he could get through- normally having just finished a big meal before the start of the shift, but there was no way he was going to make it through a dayshift on an empty stomach without killing someone.

you knew he'd forgotten when you walked into the kitchen to see his typical black lunch bag still sitting on the counter, and you also knew how insufferable he'd be to his co workers if he had nothing to eat all day.

<< no lunch? >> Forgot. I'll be ok. << did u eat anything before u left? >> Nope. It's okay, I'll get something from the cafeteria.

every time jack would get something to eat from work he'd come home grumbling about how everything they serve is a sorry excuse for food- that he wouldn't wish a meal from there on even his worst enemy. so you set your phone down with a sigh and head to the fridge to see what you can put together to bring him before you head to work.

it's not glamourous- some two day old pasta and the last two cookies from the batch you'd baked earlier in the week- but it's food, actual real food, so it would do.

the hospital wasn't too out of your way, only a ten minute drive from your place then another fifteen to your office. you parked in a spot outside the er, taking your keys in one hand and the lunch bag in the other before heading inside. you don't know many day shift faces, so luckily one of the few you do is standing right by the entrance.

"hi dana!" you smile, walking towards the nursing station. she glances up from the ipad she was previously enthralled in to look at you, "oh hey kiddo, you here to see abbot?" you nod and hold up the bag, "yup. forgot to bring something to eat, figured on an empty stomach he might not make it through the shift without killing anyone," you tease.

"well, thank you for that," she laughs, "did you want me to take it? i think he's with a patient right now- not quite sure how long he'll be and i don't want to keep you waiting." dana sets the tablet down and puts her hands out to take the bag. you pass it to her, "yeah thanks, i've gotta get to work actually-"

right before the fabric touches her hand, jack walks out from a room behind you. "oh!" dana interrupts, "speak 'a the devil- abbot!" she calls, you pull the bag back and turn around. jack looks up right as you face him, a smile tugs at his lips while he walks over to you.

"hey baby," he places a hand on your waist and kisses your cheek, the stubble he didn't have time to shave ghosts over your skin with a light scratch, "what're you doin' here?"

you hold up the lunch bag and he scoffs, "told you i could get something from the cafeteria," he says, taking the bag from you. you shrug, "yeah, but you always bitch about how you're gonna get food poisoning from there one day and i really didn't want to hear that spiel again."

"yeah, yeah, you're right," he says. you raise an eyebrow, "i'm always right."

he laughs, low and under his breath, "yes ma'am," he presses another kiss to your forehead, then takes your hand in his and leads you down the hallway where his locker is. he rounds the corner, inputs the combo to open the locker and places the bag inside it, next to his outside shoes and spare hoodie he keeps on hand for when it gets cold.

he takes your hand again and pulls you close to him, "thank you," he mumbles, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. he closes the gap between your bodies and kisses you, soft and slow and definitely forgetting that anyone could walk by as he slides his hands down your body.

"i tell you how beautiful you look today yet?" you shake your head, "mmm, no i don't think you did, actually." he smiles, "well then, i better get on that." he pulls away and shoots you a subtle wink, before grabbing you by the wrist and tugging you into a supply closet across from the bank of lockers.

he wastes no time once you're inside, pushing you back against the door to click it shut and wandering his hands under your blouse. "jack, i've gotta be at work in like fifteen minutes," you say against his lips. you feel him smile against yours, "i can do a lot with fifteen minutes," he murmurs, planting one last kiss on your lips before dropping to his knees in front of you.

you tilt your head back to rest against the door, an anticipatory sigh escaping your lips as he finds the zipper on the side of your skirt, pulling it down and letting the clothing fall to land on the floor around your ankles. he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties and pulls those down next.

you look down at him when he brings his hand to your core, "we're gonna get caught and you are gonna be in so much shit." jack smirks, dragging a finger up your slit and making your breath catch when he reaches your clit. "don't care about that," he mumbles, then proceeding to bury his face between your thighs.

"fuck," you breathe, your head rolling back against the door with more of a thunk this time. one of your hands finds his hair, twining through the greying curls and pressing him further into your cunt.

"greedy, hm?" he teases, bringing a finger to your aching hole and sliding it inside you with ease. you gasp upon it's entrance, grip tightening on jack's hair as he adds a second one and starts pumping them in and out of you.

you catch the way he stares at every little twitch of your face while he's pleasuring you- always eager to learn what touches you like the most, to study the way you squirm so he can make you do it more often.

"shut up and make me cum already," you breathe, "don't exactly have a lot of time here." you feel him smile against you, "yes ma'am," he mumbles, before latching his mouth around your clit and rolling it between his lips. "oh my god- fuck, jack- just like that." you writhe your hips against his face, desperate for more friction.

jack's got your pleasure down to a science- a formula. he knows exactly how and where to touch you to have you falling apart in mere seconds.

he trails his mouth down slightly, licking over your slit and letting his nose knock against your clit. he plunges his fingers deeper inside you, curling them just so to rub against the spot you taught him about that has you seeing stars.

you should be embarrassed that you're nearing the edge already- knot tightening in the pit of your stomach and threatening to snap with every movement of his tongue and fingers- but all you can think about right now is jack and how good he's making you feel.

part of his formula includes knowing when your close, a little piece of information that lets him prolong your orgasm when he's feeling mean, or coax it from you when he's feeling generous. the way your thighs start to shake ever so slightly tell him that he's getting you there- that if he doesn't stop what he's doing it'll only be a few more moments before you're coming undone.

he doesn't speed up, doesn't make his movements harsher- doesn't change anything. just keeps sucking at your cunt like his life depends on it and driving his fingers inside you.

"i'm close, i'm- fuck- so close," those few words are all you can muster as your high washes over you- pleasure taking over all your senses and radiating outwards through your body from your core. "yeahhh, just like that, so good for me," jack mutters, the words barely comprehensible amidst the absolutely sinful slurping noises that are filling the room. jack works you through the orgasm, letting his movements slowly come to a halt as the sound of your ragged breathing takes over the air.

jack looks down at his watch, his chin still glistening with your release, "see, only took two to make you finish."

you roll your eyes, amazed at how consistently cocky he is when it comes to his skill of making you feel good. "yeah, yeah, whatever," you smile, bending down to collect your skirt and panties. jack stops you with his hands on your hips. you give him a questioning look, and your met with his smirk again.

"only needed two which means i've got thirteen more to have my way with you."

tell me what u think in the comments & reblogs !!! it means more than u know <3

#jack abbot #the pitt #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot x you #jack abbot imagine #jack abbot smut #dr abbot #the pitt x reader #the pitt x you #dr jack abbot #jack abbot x female reader #jack abbot fanfiction #the pitt fanfiction #dr abbot x reader #abbotjack

1K notes · View notes

lynbels · 2 months ago

Note

25 and 37 for boxer!Sunghoon? 🥺 (will never get tired of fighter Enha in any context)

just the tip - phs (m)

#25 The nerdy guy from class turns out to be insanely dominant, pinning you down and whispering filth while using your body + #37 “He makes you ride his thigh while he scrolls through his phone, only looking up when you start begging him to touch you.

pairing: boxer!sunghoon x reader - prompt request list - ✉️ 2577 wc

‼️ tw : alcohol consumption (minor), explicit sexual content, unprotected sex (p in v), semi-conscious consent (with care), morning-after embarrassment, grinding, thigh riding, size kink hints, teasing, light dominance, slight overstimulation.

You’d known Sunghoon for months now — your best friend’s friend, the one who always hovered a little on the sidelines, smiling quietly, laughing along but never really stealing the spotlight. He wasn’t loud like Jay or chaotic like Jake. No, Sunghoon was observant. Thoughtful. Always remembering little things you said and doing things about them, like grabbing your favorite drink without you asking, or passing you a jacket when you shivered, even if you hadn’t said a word.

You thought you had him figured out. Sweet. A little shy. Definitely not the type to make your stomach flip and your thighs squeeze together just from looking at him.

Until you found out he boxed.

You had just swung by Jay’s place one afternoon, tossing your bag onto the couch, expecting to hang out like always — and there he was. Sunghoon, hair messy, sweat sticking to the back of his neck, wearing a black sleeveless tank that clung to every curve of his toned arms and chest. His gloves were slung over his shoulder, his hand running through his hair like he wasn’t even thinking about it. There was a tiny cut healing over his knuckle, and he looked so unfairly good you forgot how to breathe.

“You box?” you blurted, stunned.

Sunghoon glanced over, barely even reacting. Just smiled, slow and a little smug. “Yeah.”

Yeah, he said. Like it wasn’t the hottest thing you’d ever seen in your life.

You spent the rest of the night sneaking glances at him. His forearms flexing when he opened a bottle. His veins standing out when he leaned back against the chair. His laugh — low and easy — rumbling through the room.

By the time you got home, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. About him. About how strong he must be, how easily he could manhandle someone if he wanted to—

You pressed your thighs together under your covers, feeling embarrassed and hot and way too needy for someone who had barely even touched you.

But things changed after that night.

Sunghoon started talking to you more — casually at first, but it grew. Little comments that made your heart flutter. Light touches: his fingers brushing yours when he handed you a drink, his hand steadying you with a firm grip when you tripped over a step.

“You sure you’re not clumsy on purpose?” he’d murmur when he caught you stumbling again, eyes glittering with something playful. Something dangerous.

You’d punch his arm, pretend to be annoyed. But the way his muscles flexed under your hand, the warmth of his skin — it stayed with you way too long afterward.

You grew comfortable around him. Flirty. Familiar. And Sunghoon gave it right back, in that quiet, almost cocky way he had — never raising his voice, never making a scene. Just steady, subtle, pulling you in without even trying.

He noticed everything. Remembered everything.

And you fell harder every day.

You didn’t even remember calling him.

One minute you were at the bar, whining to Jay about how cold and tired you were — the next, Sunghoon was there, sliding into the booth beside you, tucking your hair behind your ear, murmuring something you didn’t catch.

You barely stayed awake long enough to stumble into his car.

Barely stayed conscious as he lifted you effortlessly up the stairs to your apartment, slinging your arm around his shoulders and unlocking the door with the spare key you kept hidden.

By the time he got you to the couch, you were already half-asleep, slurring words that made no sense.

Sunghoon just laughed quietly, pushing your hair off your sweaty forehead, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand.

“You’re a mess,” he said softly. “Go to sleep.”

You should have.

You meant to.

But the second he sat down — sprawling out on the couch, scrolling through his phone like he had all the time in the world — you felt it.

The pull toward him. The need.

You crawled without thinking, shameless in your drunken haze, straddling his lap and nuzzling against his chest.

“Sunghoon,” you whined, voice thick and needy.

He glanced up from his phone, one eyebrow raised.

“You’re drunk,” he said simply.

You nodded, burying your face against his neck. His skin smelled clean, like soap and leather. Warm and safe.

“You’re so mean,” you slurred. “S’posed to take care of me…”

Sunghoon chuckled under his breath, not even moving his phone. “I am taking care of you. Making sure you don’t choke on your own spit.”

You pouted, grinding down against him instinctively — just a slow, desperate rub of your panties against the hard muscle of his thigh.

Sunghoon’s whole body tensed.

You didn’t even realize what you were doing at first. Not until you rocked your hips again, chasing the friction, the heat pooling low in your stomach.

Not until he locked his free hand around your waist — a steady, firm grip that pinned you right where he wanted you.

“Y/N,” he said, voice low, warning.

You whined, grinding harder, clinging to his t-shirt. “Feels good, Hoon,” you whispered. “Need more…”

Sunghoon finally set his phone aside with a slow, deliberate motion. His eyes — dark, sharp — locked onto yours.

“You gonna beg for it?” he murmured, voice barely more than a growl.

You nodded frantically, desperate, already dripping through your panties just from the slow drag of his thigh between your legs.

“Please, Hoon,” you gasped, hips stuttering against him. “Touch me—please—need you so bad—”

He tilted his head slightly, studying you like you were something he was deciding whether or not to devour.

Then he leaned back, smirking lazily.

“Keep going,” he said. “You’re the one who wanted it, right? Show me how bad.”

You whimpered, grinding down harder, rutting against the firm muscle of his thigh, your panties soaked through and sticking to your swollen, throbbing pussy.

Every slow drag of your clit against him made your vision blur, your fingers scrabbling at his shirt, nails digging into the hard planes of his chest.

“That’s it,” Sunghoon murmured, voice so soft it barely made a sound. “Good little thing.”

You whined helplessly at the praise, hips moving faster, grinding yourself shamelessly against him.

Sunghoon didn’t move. Didn’t help.

Just sat there, watching you, arms stretched out across the back of the couch, letting you use him.

Your orgasm built sharp and fast — too much, too desperate — your clit throbbing with every drag of friction.

“Hoon—fuck, please—” you gasped, tears stinging your eyes.

Sunghoon finally moved, one big hand sliding up the back of your neck, yanking your head back so you had to look at him.

“You wanna come, baby?” he murmured, thumb stroking your throat lightly. “Gonna make a mess all over me?”

You nodded frantically, hips jerking out of rhythm, so close you could barely breathe.

Sunghoon smiled — dark, wicked — and pressed his thigh up harder between your legs, grinding against you.

“Then come,” he said simply. “Messy and pretty, just like I like you.”

It only took two more sloppy, desperate grinds.

You shattered apart, crying out his name, soaking through your panties, clinging to him like he was the only thing anchoring you to the world.

Sunghoon let you ride it out, humming low in his throat, stroking his hand lazily up and down your spine.

When you finally slumped against him, boneless and dazed, he leaned down and kissed your forehead.

“Next time,” he murmured, voice thick with promise, “I’m not gonna let you do all the work.”

You stayed draped over him, trembling slightly, breath hot against his neck.

But even after the orgasm, the need didn’t go away.

If anything, it got worse — an aching emptiness pooling deep between your hips, desperate to be filled. Desperate for him.

You pressed your face against his throat, whining softly.

“Hoon… please.”

Sunghoon chuckled under his breath, low and rough. “You already came, baby.”

You shook your head, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Not enough,” you whispered, almost crying from how badly you wanted him. “Need you inside.”

Sunghoon leaned back, studying you, his thumb brushing slowly across your cheek.

“You’re drunk,” he said gently. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“I do,” you insisted, hips grinding lazily against his thigh again. “Been thinking about it. About you. For so long, Hoon—please—”

You sniffled a little, humiliated but too far gone to care. “Want you so bad it hurts.”

Sunghoon sighed like you were exhausting him — but his hands were already moving, sliding down to grip your thighs.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered.

You smiled through the tears, a shaky, desperate little thing.

“Let me make you feel good,” you begged. “You’re always taking care of everyone else. Let me take care of you.”

For a long moment, he just stared at you, chest rising and falling a little faster than normal.

Then he leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Just the tip,” he said roughly. “You hear me?”

You nodded frantically, not even caring if you were lying.

Anything — anything to have him inside you.

He maneuvered you easily, dragging your soaked panties to the side, undoing his sweatpants just enough to free his cock — thick, flushed, already leaking at the tip.

You whimpered at the sight of it, clenching down around nothing.

Sunghoon lined himself up, holding the base steady.

“Go slow,” he warned. “You’re still drunk, baby.”

You nodded again, tears brimming in your eyes from how badly you needed him.

You sank down — gasping at the stretch, the way he opened you up, thick and hot and overwhelming even just at the head.

But it wasn’t enough.

Not even close.

You braced your hands on his chest and pushed down, taking more of him, whining at the sweet, burning stretch as he filled you deeper.

Sunghoon cursed under his breath, hands clenching on your hips hard enough to bruise.

“Fuck, Y/N—”

You bounced experimentally, lifting and sinking again, greedy for more, ignoring the way he tried to slow you down with bruising fingers.

“Shit,” Sunghoon hissed through his teeth, his head falling back against the couch.

“You little liar,” he groaned. “Said just the tip.”

You giggled breathlessly, grinding down on him, feeling him twitch deep inside you.

“Couldn’t help it,” you whispered. “Feel too good, Hoon. You’re so big—”

Sunghoon growled low in his chest, his self-control snapping.

His hands slid down to your ass, grabbing hard, guiding you up and down his cock at the pace he wanted — deep, punishing thrusts that made you see stars.

“Greedy little thing,” he muttered. “Couldn’t even wait, could you? Needed my cock that bad?”

You nodded frantically, babbling nonsense as he fucked up into you, filling you again and again until you couldn’t breathe.

“Say it,” he demanded, voice rough and dark. “Say who you belong to.”

“You, Hoon,” you sobbed. “Only you.”

Sunghoon kissed you then — deep and messy, all tongue and teeth — as he slammed into you, chasing both your orgasms with ruthless precision.

You came first, clenching down around him so hard he groaned into your mouth, hips stuttering.

Then he followed with a broken moan, spilling deep inside you, filling you so much it leaked out around him.

You collapsed against him, trembling, dazed, your face buried against his sweaty neck.

Sunghoon just held you tighter, kissing your temple softly like you hadn’t just wrecked each other on the couch.

After a long moment, he chuckled against your hair.

“Next time,” he said, voice low and affectionate, “we’re doing it properly.”

You woke up slowly, your head heavy, mouth dry, body aching in ways that felt too good to be wrong.

For a second, everything was hazy — sunlight pouring through the curtains, the soft weight of a blanket tangled around your legs.

And then you felt it.

Warm skin pressed against yours.

A strong arm draped heavy around your waist.

The steady rise and fall of someone breathing right beside you.

Your eyes flew open — and you nearly stopped breathing.

Sunghoon.

Asleep. Naked. In your bed.

Memories hit you like a truck — the drinking, the neediness, the desperate way you had thrown yourself at him. Grinding on his thigh, begging him for more, sinking down onto him and bouncing like you couldn’t get enough.

Your face burned with shame.

You shifted slightly, trying to slip out from under his arm without waking him. But he stirred immediately, tightening his hold and nuzzling against the back of your neck.

“Mm… where you goin’?” he mumbled, voice low and gravelly with sleep.

You froze, heart hammering.

“I—” you stammered. “I didn’t mean to—last night—Sunghoon, I’m so sorry, I—”

He cut you off by pulling you closer, his nose brushing against your hair.

“You think I didn’t want it?” he said, voice still soft and rough.

You blinked rapidly, feeling completely disarmed.

Sunghoon chuckled, the sound rumbling against your back.

“You were needy,” he said simply, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You asked for me… and I wanted you just as bad.”

You bit your lip, cheeks still flaming.

“But… you said just the tip.”

Sunghoon laughed again — low and amused — his hand sliding up under your shirt to stroke your bare waist.

“Yeah,” he whispered against your ear. “You didn’t listen.”

You buried your face in the pillow, groaning in mortification.

But Sunghoon just smiled against your skin, kissing the nape of your neck.

“Next time,” he murmured, “I’m not gonna be so easy on you.”

Later that afternoon, you were sitting stiffly at the kitchen counter, nursing a water bottle and trying not to die of embarrassment. Sunghoon lounged across from you, casually scrolling through his phone like he hadn’t spent half the night fucking you senseless.

Every time you glanced at him — the way his forearms flexed when he typed, the faint bruises you left blooming across his collarbone — heat pooled low in your stomach all over again.

“You’re awfully quiet,” he said without looking up.

You buried your face in your hands. “I’m trying not to think about it.”

“About what?” he teased. “How you begged me to let you ride me?”

You groaned.

Sunghoon finally set his phone down, smirking lazily as he leaned across the counter, his voice dropping low enough to make your pulse skip.

“You gonna sit on my thigh again,” he murmured, “or should I just take you to my bed this time?”

Your head snapped up, eyes wide.

He laughed — the prettiest sound, light and cocky — and tugged playfully at your wrist to uncover your face.

“Relax,” he said, softer now, thumb brushing your knuckles. “You don’t have to be shy.”

You tried to glare at him, but it was impossible when he was smiling at you like that — all easy affection and wicked promises wrapped in a boy you suddenly realized you wanted way more than just once.

“Next time,” Sunghoon said, still toying with your hand, “I’m not letting you get away with just riding my thigh.”

Your breath hitched, thighs pressing together under the table.

“And next time,” he added, his thumb tracing slow circles against your wrist, “you’re gonna be completely sober. I wanna hear every single filthy thing you say when you’re fully aware of what you’re doing.”

You nearly choked.

Sunghoon just grinned — pretty, devastating, unstoppable — and picked up his phone again like he hadn’t just ruined you with a few whispered words.

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lostazuree · 13 days ago

Note

WELL HELLO THERE!!

Really nice to meet you btw!

I wanted to ask for some hq smut. Short thingsies or hc are ok for me! I want the Wedding night, like, no brutal fucking, genuinly making love to fem reader.

I really really want Oikawa n Tsukishima and if you feel like him too, i would love Sakusa too

THANK U SM OMFG 🫶😭

⚝₊˚𖦹౨ৎ— Wedding Night.ᐟ ♡

⚝ Haikyuu!! Boys x Reader!

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: Wedding night love making! -NSFW, Praise, soft smut, fluff-ish, penetration, light cussing.

ꜰᴇᴀᴛᴜʀɪɴɢ: Oikawa Tooru, Tsukishima Kei, Iwaizumi Hajime, Kuroo Tetsurou, Miya Atsumu, Kageyama Tobio .ᐟ

𖦹 ᴏɪᴋᴀᴡᴀ ᴛᴏᴏʀᴜ .ᐟ

This man was beaming the whole day, wider than ever before, too quiet, like one wrong word and he might wake up to an empty bed for the end of his dream. He was a giddy schoolgirl when he saw you in that dress, wanting to cry when you walked down the aisle. He couldn't wait for these guests to leave, so he could have you to himself.

When you both reached the room, he lifted you up and twirled you around, grinning in not the usual charming way, but a more genuine, boyish way as he whispered, "God, finally, finally. I can't breathe!" He settled you down on his bed, laying you down while his lips were latched to yours, he mumbled in a few praises about how good you looked, how lucky he is to get to call you his wife now as you both giggled over things previously unsaid, and how he's now acting all sappy. He lied you down on the bed, unzipping your dress.

"You looked so, so stunning tonight, I forgot I was even there, angel." He hummed, looking at you with a faint smile as he took a moment to admire you, hands trailing down every inch like he's been dreaming of this for too long, in that moment, I believe he'd want to drop his teasing & cocky persona for the moment, (Do not get used to it) He's thanking to whatever supreme deity there is above, because this is his greatest win in life.

He makes it his goal to make this as good as possible, to pour his soul about just how much he loves you, in ways his words would fail to express, he wants to show you just how much. Leaving faint lovebites on your neck he's sure to get swatted for in the morning, his mouth trailing low, and hands even lower. "Tell me to stop when it gets too much.", oh, sweetheart. He's practically fawning over you, eyes darting everywhere as he pulls your thighs apart, tip sliding against your entrance, soon lowering himself into you, slowly, like he wants you to feel every inch of him, giving you time to breathe. "Y'know, I really lucked out in highschool." He hummed in your ear, voice laced with something you couldn't pin down. He was enjoying this, these little ministrations were getting to him. Praises, praises, & praises as he's cupping your breast, lightly pinching the nipple while your eyes roll back. He's just giddy, slow yet deep thrusts delving into you while his hands caress you and hold you down, your hands tangling in strands of his hair, tugging him closer, his cock hitting your spots repeatedly, unhurriedly, hands pinning yours to the bed when he picks up a steadier pace, while he's kissing you over and over again till you fall apart on his hands, "T-..Toru..", absolutely thrives on sounds. "On it." Doesn't give you a chance to complain as he pushes himself deeper, not rough, just slow. His thrusts soon falter when you two near, eventually releasing. Will hold you and cuddle you to sleep afterwards, whispering in your ear how he's once again that lovesick second year who fell for you. He plops down on the bed breathlessly beside you. "I promise to love you and cherish you whole heartedly, forever, even if death do us part, and I'd love you now and forever, until the next life I get to share with you." No way did this idiot just recite his vows again after ...sex?! "Toru, you fuckin' dumbass.", "Just makin' sure, wifey." and he chuckled, for this is what he wants to wake up to everyday, for you are the win for everytime he lost in his life. -And honestly, you wouldn't have it any other way.

𖦹 ᴛꜱᴜᴋɪꜱʜɪᴍᴀ ᴋᴇɪ .ᐟ

He really didn't care that it was his day as well. It was yours. He really couldn't care less about the wedding guests, if he'd be asked to recall his favourite parts of the wedding, there won't be a single face other than yours in his head.

The whole ceremony, he looked nowhere but you. And finally when the 'lousy guests' as he says, were gone, he couldn't wait to get you. He's smiling, watching you twirl around in your dress, showing off how pretty you looked. "Of course you did, I picked that dress." He looks at you with such a fond little smile, grabbing you by the hand as he pulls you on the bed with him, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. "You looked jaw-dropping." he included while you loosened his tie, exchanging a few snarky remarks about how you just can't get your hands off him.

But soon, he's the one who can't get his hands off you. Pushing your dress off your shoulders, he's visibly taken aback by the view, audibly swallowing as he whispers in, a few praises that sound foreign to his own ears. He's not a man of many words, but he'll gladly fill your ears with praises if he gets his fill of you. Leaning in, he kisses your lips, before those kisses trail down your neck, to your chest, like he's trying to engrave every inch to his brain through his lips. You hummed something about him taking credit as usual, hands tangling in his hair, and he smirked. He lays you flat against the bed as you two bicker about how your life turned out here from your highschool days, giggles and chuckles turning into moans, gasps and whimpers as he's into you, pulling out- not all the way before going back in, slow, considerate. "Back then I never knew why you stuck around, but I guess, now you're stuck around, forever.", "Willingly. Ring off or on." you muttered out breathlessly with a smile. And he gives you such a childish, sheepish even, grin. "I suppose that's right, You never stopped being cheesy." He leaned in to kiss you before you could make any sounds of protest at his reply, his kiss deep and passionate like he's been meaning to pour confessions worth a decade into it. He retains his pace, slow, deep thrusts into your aching cunt, holding your thighs stable in his hands when he feels your body shaking, walls clenching around his length, he bites his lip, letting out a shaky exhale as he kisses your forehead.

"Mhm..you're doing such a good job, darling." His voice is so uncharacteristically soft, like he's trying to reassure both you and himself that it's happening really happening, his eyes never leaving yours. And after a while, his pace and rhythm falters, he grunts, tilting your head up as he presses another kiss to your forehead while you both come undone. He holds you in his arms, hands running through your hair as he whispers some breathless promises that you both are too hazy to remember, "You've no idea how much I've dreamt of this, Mrs. Tsukishima." and that comment doesn't just make you giddy, but also him.

𖦹 ɪᴡᴀɪᴢᴜᴍɪ ʜᴀᴊɪᴍᴇ .ᐟ

It's one of those rare times you've never seen him in a rush, one of those times where he's patient, happy, like he's genuinely filming this whole day in his head, filming you in his head, because he knows he'll never live this day again.

He stayed back, waving those guests off, making you wonder whether if this was even the same man before he scooped you up in his arms, carrying you to the room with the widest grin you've seen on him. "God, you look so pretty, I can't take my eyes off of you." He chuckled, crashing his lips with yours as he set you down on the bed.

"Hard to believe I bagged a wife, one as pretty as you, love." He rested his forehead against you as you began to loosen his tie, his hands slowly, carefully undressing you like he's unwrapping a present, which is true, after all, you are kind of one, to him. He took a moment to admire you, his calloused hands hovering over your skin hesitantly before you pulled him closer and he got the message. His hands now roaming over your body like he's analyzing a court, his eyes focused, but soft, his lips dragging themselves from your lips to your neck as he bit down, leaving marks on places he'd be very proud of, later. He's so sappy as he positions himself between your thighs, the faintest tint of pink on his cheeks as his tip rubs against your folds. This is the softest you've ever seen him aside from the day he dropped juice over himself while confessing to you back in highschool. He's looking at you the whole time, gouging your reaction as he pushes inside you, slowly. His eyes are so wide and dreamy, panting softly before he buries his face in your neck, his rhythm never faltering. "You've made me the happiest man alive, baby. I'll make sure I return the favor. Everyday." and you can't help but giggle at his giddy behaviour, It's hard to believe he's the same Iwaizumi, who's now a blushing, sappy mess while he's rolling his hips against yours, hand clenching the headboard, veins rippling in his arms from just how tight his grip is. But all of that just makes you fall in love with him more, after all, what's a better feeling than being confessed love to, over and over again while you're struggling to think straight from just how big his cock is?

His pace doesn't falter too quick, it's his goal to get you to orgasm, but you know he's close when he's grunting a little more, the veins on his dick twitching as he's panting. Eventually, after you've both been milked dry, he plops down on the bed, pulls you on his chest, his big arms circling you whole as you whisper, "Haji, baby, I love you too." and he grins, hands caressing your hair, until his sappy mode turns back on. "You make my days far more bearable. Thank you, darling.", he's blushing the entire time, praying you don't see him so flustered because he doesn't even know why he is. But he knows, he wants to stay like this for the rest of his life.

𖦹 ᴋᴜʀᴏᴏ ᴛᴇᴛꜱᴜʀᴏᴜ .ᐟ

He's so uncharacteristic, donned up in a suit and blushing like a maiden when you stood infront of him at the altar, hands unstable and fingers fidgeting, his mind was reeling with words unsaid, grinning at you like he did for the first time he laid his eyes on you.

"I'm still mentally not here, it's unfair how beautiful you looked." He smiled, cupping your face as he joked, in order to retain some semblance of his breaking composure, he could frankly cry from just thinking that he's married now, that too, to the person of his dreams. He pushed himself off the wall, placing a chaste kiss to your lips, which soon turned deeper, more passionate as he lifted you up in his arms and placed you on the bed, climbing over you with the widest grin you've seen on him. Not the cocky grin you're used to, but more like a lovestruck expression you see on kids when they get a crush. Boyish, unfiltered. His hands travel across you body, undressing you slowly, his breath hitching when you undid his buttons. He slid the dress off you, his eyes trailing, eyeing you up and down appreciatively.

"You're gawking like a damn virgin, Tetsu." You teased him, he chuckled as he lied you down impatiently, his touch leaving trails of heat in their wake. "I can't help it. You're too, too pretty for your own good." he kissed your cheek, hands cupping your soft mounds as he squeezed them, hands spreading your plush thighs. "And hey, I'm allowed to gawk at what's mine." He mused, whispering in your ear, hands caressing your thighs softly, like he's mapping them inch by inch with his hands before he parts them, positioning himself in between, his tip pressed right against your entrance. "Push me away when you feel like.", he reassures you before his cock slides inside your pussy, slow, deliberate, stretching you out while your nails dig into his shoulder, clawing at his chest. He looks at you, eyes locked on the your face, both to check how you're feeling, and admire it. "Y'know...you kinda blessed me before the priest did." He grinned, sheepish at his cheesy jokes, which, sure, sound insufferably corny, but are sincere. He holds you down, lavishing you with kisses, hickies as he tells you just how proud he is, how incredibly lucky he must've been that he's at this point in life. You don't know which point though- the relationship or the current ongoing sex, but you were fine by both.

He continued his thrusts and sheepish praises, his hands occasionally caressing your body so it wouldn't be too aching for you, your moans and gasps making his eyes roll back, his breathing heavy and ragged when your fingers tangled in locks of his hair, he leaned over and pressed a kiss to your lips when he felt your pussy clenching around him more desperately. You were close, so was he. Still, he rode you through your orgasm, and took a moment to admire how you looked beneath him. "You're the hardest, yet the best thing I ever had to win over, but I'll do it all over again. In every life." He whispered against your neck, arms trapping you in his embrace as you two bantered about his cheesy antics. He looked at you and thought to himself, about just how blissful his mornings are going to be, starting from tonight.

𖦹 ᴍɪʏᴀ ᴀᴛꜱᴜᴍᴜ .ᐟ

Atsumu was a self-assured, confident man, until your wedding day. He was freaking out, all emotional and hyper when he saw you, dolled up for him in a white dress, and when you stood infront of him at the altar, he'd already shed a few tears from just how enchanting you looked, from how you were now gonna be his.

You had to calm his brain down, because oh boy, was he a teary-eyed, giggling mess who couldn't stop hugging you with those big arms of his, refusing to let you go. "Jesus, 'm god. 'tis real, yer' real!" his eyes were shining, hair fallen over them. He had the silliest grin on his face, it was like his hands had a mind of their own, ad he just couldn't bring himself to stop kissing you. After a long smooch-session, he plopped down on the bed and pulled you over himself, his calloused yet careful fingers brushing strands of your hair away, so he could meet your eyes. "Yer' m' wife now, can ya believe that? Hell, I can't!" and you two giggled over a few things that lead to one another.

Soon, he flipped you over, his mellow eyes scanning your face while you fiddled with his tie and buttons, sliding his shirt off, letting your hands roam over his broad, built figure. He hummed in content, pushing your own dress down as he left feather-light, hot kisses over your body. Neck, chest, collarbone, stomach, just wherever his lips could land. "Yer' so, so pretty, I wonder how I landed ya." He whispered, his tongue soon circling your nipple and his fingertips drawing patterns across your thighs. "..'Tsumu-", you croaked out, and thankfully, he took the signal. His hands now parted your thighs to a good distance, positioning himself between your legs as he wrapped them around his waist. "Sweetheart, hold on tight, 'kay?" He whispered in your ear as his cock made contact with your glistening folds, his fingers twirling strands of your hair around them, the other hand holding the head board.

And with those words, he finally lowered himself inside your entrance, bit by bit, savoring the moment as you clung to him, a sputtered string of incoherent praises leaving his lips at how good you felt, how desperately your hands tried to hold onto his sturdy shoulders when he picked up his place, though by only a notch. His hands caressed whatever part of your skin they landed on, soothing you while you arched into his touch. Not long after, you were spent. And he once again cradled you in his arms. "Baby, yer' gonna marry me, right?" he whispered, and you looked at him incredulously, "..'Tsumu, we just got married, today." and he was quick to retort with a wide, enamored yet sheepish grin, "Again, for good measure." and at that, he knew he fumbled so many things, but today, he made a decision worth a blissful lifetime.

𖦹 ᴋᴀɢᴇʏᴀᴍᴀ ᴛᴏʙɪᴏ .ᐟ

The ever quiet, maybe even stoic and aloof individual is so, so close to his breaking point, he can't focus on anything else aside from how angelic you look, so much so, that he almost forgets that he's the one marrying you, and he's not here to watch.

He isn't quite at all, giggling and blushing like a dopey, intoxicated teen who had his first taste of alcohol. His hands are unable to keep themselves off you as he backs you against a wall, peppering your face in kisses, "It's impossible for me to convey just how much I waited for this.." He trails off as he locks his gaze with yours, leaving a fluttering kiss to your lips. "..for you." He continues sheepishly as he scoops you up in his arms, cradling you against his chest, whispering sweet nothings like a prayer as he sets you down on the bed. His hands slowly tugging out your accessories and the laces of your dress, letting it fall apart as he stared at you with wide eyes.

"Oh, god, wake me up. Wake me up." He mumbled under his breath as his hands finally made contact with your body, his touch light and reverent. "You're awake, Kags." you couldn't help but tease him at his flustered reaction, and he just frowned at you, cheeks still tinted with a faint pink as he narrowed his eyes at you, clicking his tongue in faux annoyance, "I know that.", but his frown softened when you chuckled, pulling him over you, his fingers brushing strands of your hair away from your face. "I really must have done something praise-worthy that I ended up with you.", he whispered meekly while you continued teasing him that you too, didn't know how you fell for this brooding introvert. "Oh please. Shut up." He grumbled as he pushed your legs apart, feeling the skin with his fingers while his teeth grazed over your neck and chest, leaving streaks of faint red wherever they touched.

He took a few deep breaths as he lined up his cock against your dripping cunt, taking a moment to look at you, before he slowly pushed himself in, waiting for you to adjust to him. "You look so pretty like this." He whispered in your ear, his cock throbbing as you moan next to his ears. But really, he's been doing a fairly well job keeping his cool as he resumes his thrusting. His hand holds your thigh to steady you, the other under your waist as you arch your back. He's close, really close, but so are you. So after a euphoric orgasm from you two, he pulls you close to him, he's silent, his hands caressing your body before he let's out a whisper which sounds like he's holding tears, "Thank you, love."

A/N: I hope my blatant favouritism for a particular character in this wasn't too obvious, lmao.

Sorry if it's toooo long, I just poured my heart and soul into this. (๑•﹏•)

(Couldn't include Sakusa because I have slight trouble writing for him)

Thank you for reading!

Likes and Reblogs, and your opinions, would be highly appreciated! 🎀

946 notes · View notes

keraawrites · 3 months ago

Text

Study

Summary: You were that girl, popular, head cheerleader—everyone knew who you were. Yet there was Eren, unpopular, nerd, low-key but he was your childhood friend, and when you need help to pass a test who better to ask for help? ۶ৎ Eren x black fem reader ۶ৎ

Context: Oral (female receiving), cowgirl, talking him through it, virgin Eren, desperate Eren, slight praise kink, slightly dom reader (?)

Word count — 4.4k

You were late. Again.

Cheer practice had run way later than expected last night, leaving you up past midnight finalising the new routine and sorting out last-minute details for the upcoming Halloween party your co-captain was throwing.

By the time your head hit the pillow, exhaustion won, and you completely forgot to set your alarm.

Now, here you were, walking into math class a solid ten minutes late, moving at a pace that could only be described as unbothered.

"So glad you could finally join us," your teacher drawled, eyes narrowing as you entered.

You rolled your eyes, barely trying to hide it, and made your way to your seat. "Yeah, yeah. Morning to you too," you muttered under your breath, dropping into your chair and pulling out your notebook.

Your freshly manicured nails tapped idly against the cover as you glanced at the front of the room, pretending to listen while your teacher went on about quadratic equations or whatever the hell was on the board today. The words blurred together almost instantly, your brain refusing to process them.

Math had never been your thing, and at this point, you weren’t even trying to fake it.

The clock seemed to crawl through the period, every second stretching out painfully slow. When the bell finally rang, you exhaled in relief, slinging your bag over your shoulder and standing up.

But then you remembered.

Your stomach twisted as students lined up to grab their graded papers from last week's test. You followed reluctantly, dragging your feet until you reached the stack and pulled your paper from the pile.

One glance and your stomach dropped.

A big, fat red "D."

You sucked in a sharp breath, flipping through the pages as if that would somehow make the reality of it less humiliating. There were red marks everywhere—corrections, question marks, a "see me after class" scribbled near the bottom that you had no intention of acknowledging.

A lump formed in your throat, but you pushed it down, keeping your expression neutral as you turned to leave.

You almost made it. Almost.

"Miss, a word."

You internally groaned but stopped, turning back to face your teacher with a forced smile. "What’s up?"

They sighed, setting their papers down. "You’re failing. Again."

Your jaw clenched. "I know. But I’ll do better on the next test, I promise."

Your teacher gave you a pointed look, unconvinced. "You said that last time. And the time before that. Yet, here we are."

You crossed your arms, shifting uncomfortably.

"If you don’t pass the next exam," they continued, "I’ll have no choice but to notify the Coach and you will be cut from the squad."

Your heart stopped.

"Wait, what? That’s not fair!" Panic slipped into your voice despite your best efforts. "Cheer has nothing to do with math!"

"School comes first," they said simply. "And if you can’t keep up academically, you can’t stay on the team."

Your fingers curled into fists. This couldn’t be happening. Cheer was your life—your social standing, your ticket to every party, your everything. There was no way you were getting benched over some stupid numbers.

"Fine," you muttered, biting the inside of your cheek. "I’ll figure something out."

You turned and stormed out of the classroom before they could say anything else, heart pounding.

You needed a tutor.

Scratch that.

You needed Eren.

You and Eren Yeager had been friends for as long as you could remember.

Your moms were best friends, which meant playdates, family vacations, and growing up practically attached at the hip. You knew every awkward phase he’d gone through—the bowl cut in third grade, the braces in middle school, the phase where he refused to wear anything but anime merch. And through it all, you’d stuck by him.

Even when y’all got to high school and your social circles went in completely opposite directions.

Eren? Full-on nerd mode. Straight As, top of the class, always deep in some debate about sci-fi movies or physics theories with his other nerdy friends. Meanwhile, you had cheer practice, school events, and an entire social life to maintain. On paper, y’all shouldn’t even be friends anymore.

But no one said shit about Eren when you were around.

Anytime some dumbass tried to clown him for being a nerd, you shut it down quick.

“Damn, Yeager, you ever had a girlfriend before?” Some basketball player had laughed once. “Or do you just jack off to anime girls all day?”

You hadn’t even hesitated. “That’s crazy talk from somebody who got dumped last week ‘cause his stroke game was weak.”

And just like that, the conversation shifted.

Eren never asked you to do it, but you didn’t care. People could say whatever they wanted about him when you weren’t around, but if they had the nerve to say it in front of you? Oh, it was over for them.

Maybe that’s why, when your grades started slipping, you knew exactly who to run to.

You found him exactly where you expected—sitting under the massive oak tree at the edge of the courtyard, nose buried in a textbook, glasses slipping down his nose as he scribbled something into his notebook.

You exhaled, fixing your skirt and smoothing down your hair before approaching with a purpose.

"Eren!" you called sweetly, plopping down beside him in the grass.

He glanced up, brows raising slightly. "Hey," he said, pushing his glasses up his nose before looking back at his notes. "What’s up?"

You pouted, leaning in just enough to get his attention. "I need your help."

His pencil stilled. He looked at you again—this time with suspicion. "With what?"

You sighed dramatically, making sure you sounded just the right amount of distressed. "Math is kicking my ass, and if I don’t pass my next test, they’re kicking me off the squad."

Eren frowned, straightening a little. "Wait, seriously?"

"Dead serious," you nodded. "And you’re literally the smartest person I know, so I just know you can help me."

Eren narrowed his eyes slightly, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "You just know I can help you?"

"Yes!" You placed a hand on his arm, giving him your best pleading look. "You wouldn’t let me fail, would you, Eren?"

He let out a heavy sigh, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Eren, please.” You reached for him, grabbing his hands dramatically. “You’re literally my only hope.”

He glanced at your hands, then at your face, and exhaled sharply.

“Fine,” he muttered. “But I’m teaching you. I’m not just giving you answers.”

“Of course,” you said sweetly, already knowing you’d try to make him do most of the work anyway.

Eren’s room hadn’t changed much since you were kids. Still a little messy, still cluttered with books and random nerdy shit, though now there were posters of musicians and a desk stacked with neatly organized notebooks.

You’d spent countless afternoons here growing up—doing homework, playing video games, helping Eren clean before his mom got home and chewed him out. But now? The open math book in front of you was absolutely killing the vibe.

You groaned dramatically, letting your head drop onto his pillow. “Eren, I hate this.”

“Yeah, I know,” he muttered, flipping through his notes. “But you’re the one who begged me for help.”

You cracked an eye open. “You sure you don’t just wanna do it for me?”

Eren didn’t even look up. “Yes.”

Ugh. So much for that.

You sat up, tapping your pencil against your notebook as he started explaining some godforsaken formula, but your focus was drifting. And honestly, whose fault was that? The school, for forcing you to care about math that would never be useful in the real world? Your teacher, for literally threatening to bench you from the squad if you didn’t pass? Or Eren, for some reason, having the audacity to be hot now?

You didn’t even know when it happened.

You had seen every phase of his life—the awkward bowl cut era, the “I only wear cargo shorts” phase, the unfortunate decision to bleach his hair that one summer (it was tragic). And yet, at some point, Eren Yeager had glowed the fuck up, and you had somehow missed it.

His voice was deeper now—smooth, steady, nice to listen to in a way you had never noticed before. And his hands? Long fingers, a little rough from years of writing and whatever random video game he decided to hyper-fixate on. He gestured when he talked, and you found yourself watching them, following their movements as he scribbled numbers across his notebook—

Wait. What the fuck were you thinking?

You blinked rapidly, snapping yourself out of it. Now was not the time to start seeing Eren like that.

“Are you even listening?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at you.

“Nope,” you said without hesitation. “Can you pass my drink?”

Eren barely looked up as he reached blindly for the glass, and in true Eren fashion, his dumbass missed—his hand knocking it over instead.

"Shit." He cursed under his breath, jerking back as the drink spilt all over his shirt.

With a frustrated sigh, he stood up, yanked his shirt over his head, and shook off the excess liquid.

And that was the moment your brain broke.

What. The. Hell.

When had he gotten muscles?

You stared—blatantly. His arms, toned from years of carrying god-knows-how-many books. His collarbones, sharp and way too defined for someone who spent most of his time in the library. And his chest—since when was he built like that?

You had seen plenty of guys shirtless. Mostly football players, guys on the team who were already ripped and knew it. But Eren? He wasn’t one of them. Or at least, he hadn’t been.

Until now.

“Okay, laugh it up,” Eren muttered, completely oblivious to the absolute crisis happening in your head. “Yes, I’m still clumsy. Comes with the bad hand-eye coordination and short eyesight.”

You couldn’t laugh. You couldn’t even breathe.

And that was the moment it started.

The moment you started noticing everything—the way his hands moved when he wrote, the way his voice had deepened over the years, the way he smelled when he leaned in too close to explain something.

And for the first time, you had no idea what to do about it.

Eren Yeager was attractive.

There was no way Eren Yeager was attractive.

You remembered too much.

The gummy worms. The nose-picking. The time he made you hold a whole funeral for a dead dung beetle and cried when you laughed during the eulogy. He used to name his pimples. He once declared war on an anthill in your backyard using nothing but a plastic sword and a spray bottle.

There was no way that same boy was attractive now.

And yet… your brain was glitching.

Because lately, it was like your eyes had a mind of their own.

You kept catching these stupid, sneaky little moments. Like when he pushed his glasses up with one finger while deep into some fantasy novel, and his forearm flexed just a little. Or the way his jaw would clench when he was focused—annoyed, even—and his voice would drop into this low, raspy thing that had no business being that attractive.

And don’t even get you started on how red he turned when that girl from the geek club bumped into him during lunch. The way he stammered, flustered and wide-eyed?

Yeah, it did something to you.

You blamed ovulation. Had to.

You did your best to keep it together after that. No more slip-ups, no more staring. You kept study sessions clean and calm and casual.

Except it wasn’t casual. Not really.

He’d laugh at your jokes—low and real—and it would make your stomach twist up like a knot. When had his voice gotten so rough?

But you still kept your cool as the sessions kept going. You kept pretending not to stare.

You kept acting normal. Mostly.

Until the day your math test got handed back.

A big, fat B+ stared up at you in bold red ink, and your whole body locked up. You passed. You passed math. And not by a miracle or extra credit—on your own (well, Eren’s help, but still).

“Looks like you get to stay on the squad after all,” your teacher said dryly.

You barely heard him. Your fingers were already flying across your screen.

YOU’RE A WIZARD, YEAGER. I PASSED.

Follow-up to the group chat: Practice is ON, bitches 💅🏽💖

You practically skipped out of class, light on your feet, adrenaline buzzing through your veins. You made it through practice in a haze of excitement, body still riding the high of not being a complete academic failure.

But afterward, when things slowed down and your heart rate evened out, one thought stuck with you.

You never properly thanked Eren.

So instead of heading home, you took a little detour.

Still in your cheer uniform—tight-fitting, skin glistening from the workout, your curls pulled into a high puff—you knocked on the Yeager front door. Miss Carla opened it, smiling like she’d known you since birth (because she had).

“Oh hey, sweetheart. He’s upstairs. Go ahead in—I was just on my way out.”

You blinked. “Oh, thanks, Miss Carla.”

She waved you off, keys jingling as she stepped outside. You toed off your sneakers and made your way up the familiar staircase.

The house was quiet.

When you opened Eren’s door—

You nearly flatlined.

He was at his desk, back turned to you, shirtless and in nothing but a pair of grey sweatshorts. Hair a mess, no glasses. Broad back. Long legs. Bare feet. He looked like someone ripped him straight out of a thirst trap TikTok.

You stood in the doorway like your brain had short-circuited.

Blamed it on ovulation again.

“You always walk around half-naked when you think you’re alone?” you said before your filter could catch up.

Eren jumped and spun around, wide-eyed. “Shit—! I didn’t hear you come in.”

Your gaze dipped before you could stop it. Grey shorts. Low waist.

He scratched the back of his neck, awkward. “You, uh… still in uniform?”

“Yeah,” you said, trying to sound chill. “Came from practice. Had to say thank you in person.”

“For…?” he asked, playing dumb.

You grinned, stepping fully into the room. “B+, baby. You did the impossible.”

His face lit up—pride and smugness blended perfectly. “Knew you could do it.”

You took a step closer. That’s when you noticed the chain around his neck. Something small and silver, catching the light just enough.

“…You still wear the key,” you murmured.

He glanced down, fingers brushing the pendant like he’d forgotten. “Oh. Yeah. Kinda just kept it on. It was our thing, right?”

You smiled softly. “Backyard adventures. I swore you were gonna dig up Atlantis.”

He laughed, and your heart flipped.

“Anyway,” he said, shrugging one shoulder, “I was just about to start this new anime. It’s probably dumb. You’re gonna say no, but—wanna stay and binge a few episodes?”

You blinked. He really didn’t think you’d say yes.

“Sure,” you said, slipping past him and climbing right into his bed like you belonged there. “I’ve got time.”

His eyes widened just a little, then he joined you, remote in hand.

As the show went on you couldn’t for the life of you figure out what it was about. It had action, it was animated, it was in Japanese but you couldn’t concentrate. Not when he was so close.

Not when his thigh was brushing yours. Not when he smelled like fresh soap and a hint of laundry detergent.

It got too quiet. Too tense.

So you spoke without thinking.

“You got a girlfriend I don’t know about?”

He turned, blinking. “What? No.”

“No chess club crushes?”

He snorted. “Nah. I don’t really… date.”

“Why not?”

He hesitated, then shrugged. “Dunno. No one’s interested. Plus…” He trailed off.

You nudged him. “Plus what?”

His eyes dropped for a second. “I’m still a virgin. Kinda embarrassing, I guess.”

Your stomach twisted. Not from shock—but from heat.

You licked your lips, voice low. “That’s not embarrassing.”

Eren laughed under his breath, nervously. “Says you. Pretty sure I heard you lost yours to that basketball guy in sophomore year.”

Your brow lifted. “You trying to call me out, Yeager?”

“What—no! I just meant—” He paused, struggling. “I didn’t think we’d still be friends once high school started. You became… you, and I figured I was just the weird nerd who’d eventually fade out.”

You frowned. “Eren. Your virginity doesn’t define our friendship.”

He ran a hand through his hair, visibly flustered. “I know. It just sucks. Eighteen, about to graduate, and I’ve never even—”

You didn’t let him finish.

You reached out gently, turned his face toward you.

“Eren.”

His breath hitched.

And you kissed him.

He didn’t pull away. His hands moved—unsure at first—one settling on your hip, the other fisting your cheer skirt.

When he kissed you back, it was like something snapped. He got hungrier, pulling you closer, his lips parting as he lost himself in it.

You broke away just enough to breathe, watching him like you were reading him.

He was breathless. Staring.

“Are you serious right now?” he asked, voice raw.

You climbed into his lap slowly, straddling him, your palms resting on his bare shoulders.

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

Eren’s hands settled on your waist like he was scared to hold you too tight—like you might vanish if he moved too fast. His fingers trembled, barely curling into the fabric of your uniform skirt.

“You’re not joking,” he whispered, more to himself than to you.

You shook your head slowly, brushing your nose against his. “No, baby. I’m not.”

His breath hitched again. His whole body was tense—eyes searching your face, lips parted, thighs rigid beneath you.

"This isn't cause I helped you with your test right?"

Your lips brushed his softly, nails dragging along his scalp. "Course not Ren, do you want me to stop?"

"No!" You giggled at his brashness, "You want me?"

He nodded. Too fast. Too eager. “Yeah—God, yeah. I just… I don’t wanna mess it up.”

Your heart melted at that.

“You won’t,” you promised, threading your fingers into his hair. “You can’t mess this up. I’m right here, Eren. I got you.”

He looked at you like you hung the damn moon. Like you were the first soft thing he’d ever been allowed to touch.

“I don’t really know what I’m doing,” he admitted, voice cracking, eyes glossy with nerves and want. “I’ve thought about it—so much—but I just…”

You smiled, brushing his hair out of his face.

“That’s okay. I know what I’m doing,” you whispered. “You just follow my lead, yeah?”

Your lips found his again, the kiss more urgent this time as you began grinding softly against him. His tongue felt warm in your mouth, a soft moan leaving your lips as he started to meet your thrusts.

His hands slid up, brushing over your hips, up your sides, under your top. Lips leaving yours as his hooded eyes looked up at you as if he was asking for your permission.

You nodded. “Go ahead, baby.”

His fingers began working on the claps of your bra, fumbling slightly until he finally managed to unhook it. Helping him, you pulled the bra out of your sleeve before guiding his hands to cup your breasts.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

You bit your lip softly as his thumb grazed your nipple ring, his eyes widened from the feeling causing you to giggle.

"You wanna see?" He nodded again, more eagerly than last time. You giggled, tugging your shirt over your head to give him a better view.

Eren looked at you like you were made out of gold, you were about to ask him if he wanted to continue, but his lips wrapped around your nipple, causing a soft gasp to leave your lips.

Your head tipped back as his mouth latched onto your nipple, warm and curious and just a little clumsy, but so eager it made your stomach flip.

“Fuck, Eren…” you breathed, threading your fingers into his hair, holding him there as his tongue flicked softly against the metal of your piercing. “Feels good, baby. You’re doing so good.”

He groaned like praise alone could make him cum, and honestly, it probably could.

His hands were still shaking a little, cupping your breasts like he was scared he’d break you, but the way his mouth moved—lips wrapping around one nipple while his thumb rubbed the other—had you rocking your hips against him, slow and steady, like you couldn’t help yourself.

Eren pulled back, panting, lips slick, eyes dark with want. “I wanna—” he swallowed thickly, voice low and cracking, “I wanna make you feel good.”

“You are,” you smiled, leaning down to kiss him. “But you wanna try something else?”

His hands slid down your waist, his fingers digging into your hips like he didn’t know what to do with the ache in his body. “I wanna… taste you.”

Your breath caught.

“You—yeah?”

He nodded, eyes flicking down to where your thighs straddled him. “I’ve watched so much porn with guys doing it, and I—I just kept wondering what you’d sound like. How you’d look. What you taste like. I wanna know so fucking bad.”

Your cunt clenched around nothing to how desperate he sounded. Like it was all he ever thought about.

“Okay,” you whispered, voice breathy. “You want me to sit on your face?”

His eyes widened. “C-Can you?

You giggled and kissed him again, softer this time. “Yeah, Ren. I can.”

You shifted off his lap, climbing up the bed as he adjusted beneath you, lying flat, hands already gripping your thighs with a desperation that sent shivers through you. He looked up at you like you were about to bless him.

You slowly slid your panties down, the fabric damp and sticking to your folds. His breath hitched the second he saw you.

“Oh my god…”

You hovered above his face, holding onto the headboard as his hands guided your thighs over his mouth. You hesitated—just a beat—but his voice was thick with need when he said, “Please.”

So you settled down, slowly, letting your heat brush over his lips. He moaned like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

His tongue flicked tentatively at first, then with more confidence, licking a long stripe through your folds before closing his mouth around your clit.

Your hips bucked, hands bracing against the wall. “Fuck, Eren—”

—your voice cracked, legs already shaking as his tongue circled your clit again and again with sweet, shaky precision.

He groaned beneath you, and the vibrations made your whole body jolt.

He was messy with it, desperate. Like he was trying to memorise the taste of you, the way you gasped, the way your thighs trembled around his head. He had zero finesse but made up for it with so much fucking enthusiasm that it didn’t even matter.

You gripped the headboard tighter, looking down to see him staring up at you—eyes glassy, pupils blown, tongue out and lips shining with your slick.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” you moaned, grinding against his mouth, slow and deep. “Just like that—don’t stop.”

And he didn’t. Eren latched onto your clit like it was his only job in life, hands locked around your thighs as he sucked and licked like a boy possessed. Every few seconds he moaned into you, the sound low and needy, like he was getting off just from the taste of you.

“Fuck, Ren—fuck, I’m gonna—” your hips started jerking on their own, thighs tensing around his head as heat coiled in your gut.

You cried out, cumming hard against his mouth, shaking, hips grinding desperately as he kept licking through your orgasm like he couldn’t stop.

You pulled yourself off with a breathless laugh, thighs trembling so bad you had to brace yourself against the wall just to crawl down his body again.

"Fuck, you taste amazing." His glasses were fogged up, pushed up against his face, chin still wet from your slick, fuck he looked beautiful like this.

"Wanna feel you now Renny, is that okay?" The brunette nodded, his hands pulling you down onto his clothed hard-on, your lips met his neck softly as your hands helped him shimmy out of his shorts and boxers. Eren whimpered as your bare cunt met the base of his cock, still grinding along him your hands pulled on his hair as your lips met his.

Your hand slid down his stomach and wrapped around his cock, and the way he whimpered made you throb all over again.

“You ready, baby?” you murmured, kissing his jaw, his cheek, his mouth.

He nodded, already panting. “Please. I—I need you.”

You reached down, guided him to your entrance, and slowly—so fucking slowly—you sank down onto him.

Eren cried out.

He grabbed your hips like he was trying not to lose his damn mind, eyes fluttering shut, head thrown back against the pillows.

“F-Fuck, you’re so warm—so wet—fuck, I’m gonna—”

You cupped his face, kissing him softly. “Shhh. Breathe, baby. Let me take care of you.”

You rocked your hips gently, moving slow, giving him time to adjust—but he still looked like he was barely holding on. His hands gripped your waist like he needed to anchor himself, chest heaving as he stared up at you like you were the center of the universe.

“Y-you feel so good,” he groaned. “I don’t—I don’t know how to—fuck.”

Your lips met his again, moaning into his mouth softly as you continued to bounce on his cock. His hands stayed planted underneath your skirt, fingers digging into the plush of your ass.

It’s okay,” you murmured. “I’ve already cum, Ren. Go ahead—pussy’s all yours.”

Eren moaned loud, head thrown back as his cock twitched inside you, warm release spilling deep as your walls fluttered around him, milking every drop. You kept moving, hips grinding to prolong his high, both of you shivering through the aftershocks.

You collapsed forward, nuzzling into his neck, still full of him, still warm and stretched and humming. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

"I know you said this wasn't because of the test, but, if I continue to help you study could you help me study?"

You giggled into his neck, "We can study as much as you want Renny."

𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘣𝘺 𝘮𝘦, 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘬𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘢𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 ©

#black fem reader #black female smut #eren yeager #eren smut #eren jeager smut #eren aot #eren x reader #eren x black!reader #eren x black y/n #eren x black fem!reader #aot smut #aot x black reader

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syrecjh · 8 days ago

Text

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆🪐⋆Say That When You’re Sober

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ || katsuki bakugo x reader

(A request)

You and Katsuki Bakugo were never the kind of exes who left wreckage in their wake. No screaming matches. No torn photographs. Just the slow unraveling of something once soft and bright, now threadbare with time and circumstance. You parted ways like grown-ups—if not lovers, still comrades. Still… something. You kept the tenderness folded quietly between your ribcages, like a secret both of you respected.

It wasn’t a dramatic goodbye, just a quiet one. Work got in the way. The pressure did, too. He had his hero duties, you had your path, and somewhere between the missed dinners and unspoken wants, you both realized the timing was wrong—even if the feelings weren’t.

But the strangest part?

You never stopped being kind to each other.

Even after the breakup, you’d still like each other’s posts—subtly, sparingly, but always. He’d comment a dry “Tch. Lame.” on a photo of your beach trip and then send you a fire emoji right after. You’d heart his training clips and smile at the way he still wore the hoodie you once forgot at his place. At gatherings, the BakuSquad teased in cautious whispers but never pushed. They knew this was delicate—what stood between you and him. Not glass, but memory. Not broken, just… unfinished.

So when you saw him at the bar that night, alone and slouched over a half-empty glass, you hesitated.

The place was humming with bass and laughter, but he looked like he was elsewhere entirely—lost somewhere between the rim of his drink and whatever thoughts were spinning in his head. His neck and cheeks were flushed a warm pink, telltale signs of how much he’d had. His gaze flicked lazily to yours when he saw you, eyes widening only slightly, as if unsure if you were real or the start of a dream.

“Bakugo?” you asked, cautious.

He blinked at you. “...Hey.”

You sat beside him, carefully. “You with someone?”

He shook his head. “Nah. Just me.”

You raised a brow. “You’re wasted.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You called the bartender your mom two minutes ago.”

“Tch.” He smirked. “Shut up.”

You sighed, already pulling out your phone. “Kiri?”

“Outta the country,” he mumbled.

So you drove him home.

You buckled him in while he muttered about your driving being too slow, too careful. You ignored the way your hands trembled a bit as they brushed his. And when you helped him up the steps to his place, still steadying him as he swayed, he leaned against the doorframe and stared at you like you were the only thing he could see clearly.

“I still love you,” he said suddenly, voice rough, low, and drunk-soft. “I want you back.”

You froze.

His pupils were hazy. His words, even slurred, felt too close to truth. Too dangerous.

“You’re drunk,” you managed.

“I know what I feel, dumbass.”

You gave him a sad smile then, something halfway between aching and armor. “Say that when you’re sober.”

He stared at you like he wanted to—like he might—but the weight of alcohol and unsaid things dragged him down. You left him at his door, heart thudding behind your ribs like it had somewhere to be.

The next morning, you tried not to think about it. You tried.

Until your phone buzzed.

Bakugo:

> You told me to say it when I’m sober.

> So I’m saying it now.

> Come meet me.

> Remember the cafe we used to go to?

> I’m here. I’ll wait.

You stared at the screen. The text wasn’t long. It wasn’t flowery. It was him. Steady. Straightforward. Sure.

And suddenly, your hands shook again.

There was a time you thought Bakugo could never say the right thing. That he’d never be soft enough, never reach first. But now, here he was—coffee shop open, heart in hand, telling you he’s ready.

Maybe he always was. Maybe you were, too.

So you grabbed your keys.

Because not all broken things are meant to stay shattered.

Some just need to be held together again—

sober.

and finally,

sure.

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2tarbell · 10 months ago

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more trailer park!rafe drabbles i beg

maybe something with crybaby!reader too, like he comes home from a long ass day and she’s crying over the silliest thing ever.

but of course he makes her feel better.

love ur writing smm !!

he knew he was in for it when he came home and she wasn’t waiting patiently for him. if he didn’t know any better, rafe would assume the quaint trailer was empty — but the call you shared earlier on his lunch break detailed your plans around the house for the day, so there was no fuckin’ reason for it be as quiet as it was.

his confusion turned to concern when he heard little sniffles and sobs coming from the bathroom. rafe dropped his keys in the bowl and hurried off further into the trailer, in search of his girl.

pushing the bathroom door open with a rough hand, his mind went to the worst places when he saw her crumpled up on the floor. instantly he scooped her up onto the counter. his voice was a flurry of sounds she couldn’t decipher through her tears. the warm cadence she’s become so familiar with instantly providing some relief.

“hey, hey, baby — look at me, you hurt?” his hands are moving fast, holding her cheeks and checking for any injuries to that beautiful face.

she could only shake her head, hiccuping and trying to speak between sobs.

“rafe— dad— daddy—“

he hums and looks over her body. blue eyes checking off a list of what’s ‘normal’. when he finds nothing bleeding or falling off — that intense gaze finds hers, urging her to calm down.

his voice cooed, low and rumbly in a way that always soothes her, “shh, dad’s here, what happened? hm? someone — someone do somethin’ t’you or—“

“muh — my nails!” she interrupted, voice a petulant mumble.

rafe froze, mouth agape and eyes blinking in confusion. he looked down and took her smaller hands in his. turning them over and feeling the smooth skin. no cuts, no bruises—

the fact that he didn’t immediately know what she was talking about sends her into another spiral. yanking her hands from his and covering her eyes as sobs shook her shoulders.

“okay, okay, can’t help if you’re cryin’. talk t’me— what about your nails, honey?”

she sniffs and thrusts them in his face, rafe now seeing something out of the ordinary — chipped baby blue polish.

“wanted— wanted to paint them f’you. ‘cuz— ‘cuz s’the same color as your eyes but forgot they weren’t dry yet so i tried to make dinner and— and i ruined them!”

everyday the universe was testing his patience.

a sharp sigh out of his nose and rafe let his head fall forward. relief and disbelief pooled in his chest. she was this worked up over nail polish?

a low grumble of her name ceased her tears until they were just little sniffles of sadness. any other person and rafe would’ve been out the door with a specific finger showing his annoyance. but this was his person, his precious girl, and if she was this worked up over nail polish — he was going to indulge her. he picked up his head, eyes tired from a long days work but soft in a way meant just for her. he spoke in that way that makes her all fuzzy for him.

“jesus christ, that’s— yeah, okay. baby, ‘m— ‘m sorry. y’just wanted t’do somethin’ sweet f’dad, yeah?”

hook, line, and sinker. reader huffed and nodded as she leaned forward into his chest. her little gasps punctuated his cooing. within minutes, she was putty in his arms, nuzzling closer and closer. rafe littered kisses over her hair, gently rocking her until her head lifted off his chest. wet cheeks and a red nose greeted him and he couldn’t stop the adoring coo from falling out as he wiped her face.

“thereee you are— my sweet girl… better now?”

she nodded at his words, almost hypnotized by the gentle tone of his voice. a little hiccup fell out when she caught sight of her messy nails, but rafe quickly shushed her.

“shh, no more cryin’. y’gotta be a big girl, a’ight? c’mon, whaddaya need?”

she wished she had a picture of this big man patiently painting and blowing on her nails — that matched his eyes.

#tp!reader #trailerpark!rafe #rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe outer banks #fanfic #outer banks #rafe cameron smut #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #rafe obx #obx smut #obx x reader #obx fanfiction #obx imagine

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azrielstherapist · 2 months ago

Text

The Things We Keep in the Dark

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

One-shot, Smut with little to no plot [18+]

Warnings: knife play, shadow play, oral s*x (on both parts), face riding, not protected penetration (p in v), fighting, dirty talk, Dom!Azriel, Switch!Reader, (if I forgot something, pls let me know).

It always started with a blade.

Tonight was no different, cold steel glinting beneath the moonlight, the dull thud of boots circling on stone, and Azriel’s golden gaze locked on mine like I was prey he’d already chosen but hadn’t yet decided when to devour.

The training ring atop the House of Wind was deserted, the city far below glittering like stars scattered across a velvet cloth. I moved in silence, muscles humming, sweat trailing down my spine as I twisted and swung. He blocked. Pivoted. Parried. Again.

“You’re holding back,” I said, breathless, catching the flat of his dagger with mine.

Azriel didn’t answer. He never did, not unless it mattered.

Instead, his shadows coiled near his shoulders, shifting like a creature half-asleep. Watching. Listening. Waiting for his command.

I shouldn’t have liked the way they watched me.

But I did.

And that was the problem.

“You’re smirking again,” I said, ducking his blade and aiming a low kick. He caught my ankle mid-air.

“I’m not.” His voice was gravel and silk, soft but scraping. He stepped forward, forcing me to hop on one leg unless I wanted to fall on my ass. “You’re imagining things.”

“I’m trained to observe. You’re definitely smirking.”

“And I’m trained to lie.”

Something like a laugh caught in my throat, but it didn’t make it out, because suddenly, he yanked my leg higher, and I lost balance. I went down hard, blade clattering from my hand. His knee pinned my thigh, one arm caging my wrists above my head, and gods, he was close. Heat radiated off him, sweat and shadows and the kind of tension that made every part of me tighten.

Azriel’s mouth hovered just inches from mine. He hadn’t smirked, but now, he looked like he wanted to do something far worse.

“Tell me what you see,” he murmured. “Since you’re so observant.”

My chest rose against his. His free hand reached for his dagger, not to threaten, but to lift it. He turned it flat and pressed the side of the blade gently to my collarbone.

I stilled.

The metal was cool against my heated skin, slow as it dragged across the curve of my throat. My pulse jumped, and his eyes locked on the fluttering beat beneath my jaw like he could feel it too. His shadows slithered low, almost possessive, curling around my thigh beneath my leathers.

“You’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you?” he asked, so softly I almost missed it.

“No,” I whispered.

But I didn’t move.

He smiled then, not smirking. Real. Devastating.

“Liar.”

The blade slid down to my sternum, stopping just above the swell of my breasts. No pressure. No pain. Just the unbearable promise of what he could do.

Of what he wanted to.

My breath hitched. His shadows stirred again, brushing the inside of my thigh like a question. I spread my legs just slightly, testing. Daring.

Azriel’s gaze darkened.

And then

— he pulled back.

The dagger vanished into its sheath, his body retreating like nothing had happened. Like my skin wasn’t still tingling, like I wasn’t still wet from the brush of his shadows and the look in his eyes.

He stood, offered me a hand, and said flatly, “We’re done for tonight.”

I didn’t take it. I climbed to my feet on my own, jaw clenched.

“You do that again,” I said, brushing off my pants, “and you better fucking finish it.”

Azriel’s hazel eyes lingered on my mouth for one second too long.

Then he vanished into the night.

Three nights later

I couldn’t sleep.

The House of Wind was quiet, too quiet, and I was too keyed up, every inch of me aching with unburned energy. I’d tried to distract myself. A book, a bath, a bottle of red from the cellar. None of it helped.

All I could think about was the weight of his body, the whisper of steel on skin, the look in his eyes like he wanted to ruin me slow.

So I went to the ring again.

Midnight wind howled over the cliffs, but I didn’t feel cold. I needed to move. To hit something. To—

“You never learn,” a voice murmured behind me.

I turned. He was already there, leaning against the archway like some ancient god sculpted from shadow and silent hunger.

“Neither do you,” I said, heart thudding.

Azriel walked toward me, slow, deliberate. His shadows wrapped around his boots like mist, and I hated how easily they obeyed him. How easily I wanted to.

“What are we doing here?” I asked.

“I think you know.”

“I don’t want to train.”

His eyes scanned my body once, lingering at my throat. “Neither do I.”

And then we were on each other.

His hands were on my hips, slamming me against the wall of the ring as his mouth crushed mine. No teasing. No testing. Just teeth and tongue and heat, like he’d been starving for me and I was the only thing that could satisfy it.

I moaned into his mouth, grinding against him, and fuck, he was hard already. I felt it through his leathers, thick and hot and demanding, and my hands fumbled to unbuckle him, desperate and shameless.

Azriel grabbed my wrists and pinned them to the wall.

“Slow,” he growled.

“You’ve made me wait long enough.”

“I’m not rushing this. You want me to use the blade again?”

I shivered.

“Yes.”

His lips curved against my neck. “Then behave.”

He dropped to his knees.

I gasped, grabbing his shoulders as he tugged my leathers down and off, peeling them like a second skin. His shadows slid in to help, teasing over my thighs, brushing my entrance.

When his mouth finally touched me, I nearly screamed.

Azriel ate like he had all the time in the world. Like he was memorizing every tremble, every whimper. His tongue circled, pressed, licked into me slowly, possessively, while his shadows held my legs wide, my arms above my head, keeping me open for him and only him.

“Fuck, Azriel—”

He groaned into me, and the vibration sent stars behind my eyes.

I rode his face like I was drowning and he was air, one hand tangling in his hair as his shadows slipped lower, curling between my ass cheeks and teasing just enough to make me writhe.

My orgasm hit hard, hips jerking, legs shaking. He held me through it, licking me slow as I came down, not stopping until I whined from overstimulation.

Then he stood.

His mouth glistened. His eyes were molten.

“Your turn,” I said hoarsely, sinking to my knees.

I knelt before him, still trembling from the orgasm he’d just wrung out of me, still high on the taste of his shadows dancing over my skin. My legs ached, my throat was dry, but I wanted more. I wanted him.

Azriel stood still, silent as a mountain god, watching me with melted gold eyes. His cock strained against his leathers, thick, leaking just enough that it had left a darkened patch. I reached up, unbuckled his belt with hands steadier than I felt. Each movement slow. Deliberate.

“I’m not breaking,” I whispered.

His head tilted, shadows curling around his shoulders. “You look like you already have.”

I smiled, wicked and slow, as I pushed his leathers down just enough.

His cock sprang free.

Hard. Thick. Veined. Long. So long. The tip was flushed, slick, perfect. My mouth watered.

“I’m going to ruin you,” I said, wrapping one hand around the base, giving him one firm stroke.

Azriel hissed through his teeth. “You can try.”

He didn’t touch me. He let me do what I wanted, which made it worse somehow, the stillness in him coiled like a viper. A male who knew his power and didn’t need to flaunt it.

So I used mine.

I licked the head first - just the tip - teasing my tongue around the slit until I felt him twitch in my palm. Then I licked lower, dragging the flat of my tongue down the underside of his shaft, savoring the weight of it. His cock jumped again, and I smiled against it.

“Stop teasing,” he growled.

But I liked teasing.

I took him into my mouth slowly, inch by inch, until he hit the back of my throat. I gagged a little, swallowed, pushed farther. He grunted, one hand finally tangling in my hair, not forcing, just there. Anchoring.

“You feel- fuck-”

I moaned around him, letting the vibration buzz through his length, and he swore again, this time in Illyrian.

I didn’t stop. I bobbed my head, sucked harder, used my hand where my mouth couldn’t reach, twisting at the base just as I hollowed my cheeks. His hips started to move, just slightly, a shallow thrust that betrayed how close he was to snapping.

“Don’t stop,” he said, voice hoarse.

I didn’t plan to.

But his shadows had other ideas.

They slid behind me, brushing between my thighs, again, teasing my sensitive, still-throbbing core. I gasped, and in doing so, nearly choked on him. Azriel pulled out instantly, hand cupping my cheek.

“You alright?”

I nodded. My eyes were glassy. My lips wet. I had never wanted someone like this, not like a lover, but like a fire I wanted to throw myself into.

“I want more,” I said, licking my lips. “All of it.”

Azriel’s shadows curled tighter.

And then - he stepped back.

He pulled a small, narrow blade from the sheath at his side. The one he’d pressed to my neck before.

My breath caught.

He walked around me slowly, until he stood behind me. I was still on my knees, bare, flushed, wet.

“Hands behind your back,” he said.

I obeyed.

He crouched behind me - close enough to feel the heat of him on my spine. I felt the kiss of the blade first - the flat edge sliding up my back, lifting strands of hair away from my neck. I shivered, but didn’t flinch.

“You trust me?” he asked.

“With the blade?” I said.

“With all of it.”

I turned my head to look at him. “Yes.”

Azriel kissed the back of my neck, just once, and that simple act made me ache.

Then the blade slid forward, tracing my collarbone, down to my sternum.

“I could cut the strings of your soul,” he whispered, “and you’d thank me.”

“I’d beg for it,” I said.

He hissed. “Fucking hells.”

The blade trailed down to my stomach, then lower, a whisper over my hip bone, the curve of my thigh.

Then he flipped it, pressed the hilt between my legs.

I gasped.

“Look at you,” he growled. “Dripping. Just from my shadows and steel.”

I whimpered, grinding against the cool hilt shamelessly.

Azriel’s hand snaked into my hair and pulled my head back gently.

“I want you on my face,” he said. “Now.”

I turned, breath ragged, eyes wide. “You want me to—?”

He was already lying back on the stone, wings spread, cock still hard and glistening against his abdomen.

“Ride my face,” he said. “I want to feel how sweet that cunt is when it’s smothering me.”

Mother Above, I moved.

I climbed over him, straddled his face slowly, and the second his tongue touched me again, I shattered.

He licked me like a starving man, his nose buried in my folds, tongue flicking my clit with practiced precision. I ground down against him, moaning loudly, openly. His hands cupped my ass, guiding me, pressing me harder against his mouth.

The shadows came again, swirling around my nipples, teasing them into hard peaks. I was overstimulated, overwhelmed, undone. My thighs trembled, my head fell back-

I came again. Loud. Wet. Shaking.

Azriel drank every drop.

When I finally collapsed beside him, gasping, he turned his head and said, “You think that was everything?” he asked, voice low and rough.

I smiled, dazed. “You mean you’re not done?”

“Not even close.”

He flipped me onto my stomach in one fluid movement. His cock pressed to my soaked entrance, ready, thick, desperate.

He leaned over me, one hand braced beside my head, the other steady on my hip. His voice was gravel-soft in my ear.

“Tell me you want this. Say yes, and I’ll give you everything.”

I turned my head just enough for our eyes to meet. “I’m yours,” I whispered. “I want you. I need you.”

He slid in slow. Deep. One inch at a time.

And fuck, he was huge.

I arched, groaning, clawing at the stone as he bottomed out.

Azriel leaned over me, mouth at my ear. “Now you’ll feel what my shadows already know.”

Azriel filled me slowly, a deep, grinding thrust that split me open in the most delicious way. I gasped, clutching at the stone floor beneath us, my cheek pressed against the cool surface as his hips met my ass.

“Fuck,” he groaned against my neck. “You feel…”

He didn’t finish. He just growled, low and hoarse, and started to move.

Slow at first. Purposeful.

Each thrust was a stroke of fire, thick and hard and dragging against every nerve inside me. My thighs were already sore, my body slick with sweat, my skin tingling from the memory of his shadows and tongue.

But Azriel wasn’t done with me.

He braced his hand beside my head, his other palm sliding beneath my waist to lift my hips just enough, angling me perfectly. When he thrust in again, I yelped.

“Right there?” he asked, voice rough, amused.

I nodded furiously, barely able to form words. “Don’t stop. Please-”

He didn’t.

He pounded into me with a brutal rhythm, all control gone, shadows writhing around our bodies like living threads of heat and silk. Every sound he made was raw - panting curses, moans that turned into snarls.

I wanted to crawl inside that sound.

His name tore from my throat as his fingers reached around and found my clit, rubbing tight, perfect circles that made my vision blur. The pleasure climbed too fast, unbearable.

“Azriel, I’m- I’m gonna-”

“Cum for me,” he ordered. “Let me feel you.”

I shattered.

Everything went white, the force of it so intense I collapsed beneath him, body convulsing around his cock. My pussy clenched so tight it pulled a broken groan from his lips, and he faltered, losing pace.

He didn’t stop thrusting. If anything, he slammed deeper.

Azriel’s rhythm became frantic, harder, rougher, until I could hear the slap of skin on skin, the wet sounds of my arousal coating him. His breath was ragged at my ear.

“You feel so fucking good,” he growled. “So wet. You were made for this. For me.”

He pulled out, just in time, and flipped me again, dragging my legs over his hips as he lined up and slammed back into me from above.

I cried out, overstimulated, sensitive, but hungry for more.

He kissed me, messy, deep, open-mouthed, as he fucked me through my third orgasm. I arched beneath him, nails digging into his shoulders, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes from the sheer intensity of it.

And still, he didn’t stop.

“You’re going to make me cum,” he hissed. “Where do you want it?”

I whimpered, biting his jaw. “Inside.”

His body shuddered.

“Fuck- are you sure?”

“I want to feel it. All of it.”

That did it.

Azriel groaned, long and broken, as he pushed in deep, buried to the hilt, and came. I felt it, hot pulses flooding me, his cock twitching deep inside as his body trembled above mine.

It was devastating. Beautiful.

He stayed there for a long moment, panting against my neck, shadows curling around us both like a blanket. One of his wings draped protectively across my body.

I stroked his hair gently, kissing his temple.

“I didn’t know shadows could be this… tender,” I murmured.

“They’re only tender with those they trust,” he replied, breath warm against my skin.

We lay tangled together, a sweaty, spent mess of limbs and pleasure and silence. His scarred fingers found mine, lacing them together over my stomach.

“You really didn’t hold back,” I said with a breathless laugh.

“I don’t when it matters,” he said simply.

He looked down at me, eyes half-lidded. “You’re not going to walk straight tomorrow.”

I smiled. “Good.”

His shadows hummed in agreement.

After a while, Azriel sat up, muscles rippling as he stretched. He reached for the blade, still gleaming faintly nearby, and sheathed it again with reverence.

“Do you want to go another round,” I asked, voice hoarse, “or are you finally satisfied?”

Azriel gave me a look that made my whole body tighten.

“Not even close.”

And just like that, he pulled me into his arms again, shadows rising like smoke around us.

This time, it was slower. More intimate.

But no less intense.

Because with Azriel, the dark wasn’t something to fear.

It was something to worship.

A/N: My first smut!!! Hope you guys like it, and if you do pls let me know in the comments.

Dividers by @sweetmelodygraphics

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xoxolaw · 1 month ago

Text

+ DISCOVER YOUR SECRETS

in which seong-je happens to discover secrets about his school's student council president who happens to have a spotless personality.

Geum Seong-je x reader

secret 3 :- magic hand

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 final

The halls of Kanghak High always held whispers—gossip behind lockers, tension in glances, footsteps that came and went like secrets—but today, they were quiet.

Too quiet.

Y/N’s shoes clicked softly against the faded tiles of the old west wing—the part of the school time forgot. Windows were dust-filmed, lights flickered half-heartedly, and lockers stood dented like war relics from another era. Students avoided it. Rumors said it was haunted. Or worse—claimed by him.

She wasn’t superstitious.

Just… curious.

Today, her excuse was student council duties. Renovation assessments, apparently. But really, it was something else. Since that night in the cyber café, since the teasing smirk had cracked into something real—laughter, vulnerability—Seong-je had started to haunt her thoughts like a half-remembered melody.

Still, she hadn’t expected to hear humming.

Low. Tuneless. Human.

And then—laughter. Familiar. Warm in its defiance.

Her hand froze on the doorknob.

She should turn back. She didn’t.

The music room door creaked open with a sigh, and there he was—like a devil caught lounging in church.

Geum Seong-je.

Jacket slung carelessly over a chair, sleeves rolled to his elbows, smoke curling from a cigarette as he leaned back across a dusty desk like it belonged to him.

He didn’t even flinch.

“President,” he drawled, one brow raised in lazy amusement. “Thought you didn’t do abandoned places. Too much dust for your spotless reputation? Or maybe you are just following me around.”

“Funny,” she said flatly, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. “I came here to inspect the room, not inhale secondhand smoke.”

He grinned, unfazed. “And yet here you are. In my hideout. Alone. Almost feels like fate.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t look away. “Fate must be bored, then.”

He took a long drag, then stubbed out the cigarette with exaggerated grace. “What, no thank-you for putting it out? Tsk. So ungrateful.”

“Try not breaking school rules for once. Might surprise even you.”

As she moved past him toward the upright piano in the corner, he watched her with the idle interest of a cat who’d spotted something fun to mess with. She pulled off the heavy cloth covering the piano, her fingers already tracing the edge of the worn wood, lingering.

“You know how to play that thing?” he asked, voice quieter now, genuine.

She hesitated.

“A little,” she said. “I used to.”

She pressed a key. Out of tune, but not dead.

She pressed another. A chord formed—fragile, uncertain.

“You’re full of surprises,” he murmured, standing now, slowly stepping closer. “Didn’t figure you for a piano girl. Always thought you'd be more of a silent-meditation, sword-wielding general type.”

“That… sounds like a weird compliment.”

“It is,” he said with a crooked smile. “Weirdly hot.”

She turned to glare at him, but her lips betrayed her—curving into a reluctant smirk. “You’re incorrigible.”

“And you’re not denying it.”

She scooted over on the bench. “Come here.”

“What?”

“Sit. I’ll teach you something. Since you’re so easily impressed.”

He blinked. “Wow. Am I dreaming? Is this my redemption arc?”

“Don’t ruin it.”

Seong-je slid into the spot beside her, knees brushing. He didn’t bother hiding how close he sat—his shoulder practically against hers, breath warm against her cheek.

“Try not to set the piano on fire,” she muttered.

“Try not to fall in love,” he whispered.

She gave him a look so sharp it could've sliced through the keys. He laughed softly, unbothered.

“Okay,” she said, ignoring the way her heartbeat betrayed her, “start with this note. Then this one.”

He followed, clumsy at first. His fingers were rough, too forceful. He cursed when he hit a wrong key. Then laughed when he hit three more.

“You’re hopeless,” she said, shaking her head.

“You’re adorable when you’re annoyed,” he replied, tapping the wrong note again on purpose.

She swatted his hand lightly. “Focus.”

“I am focused. On your hands. They’re... elegant.” He leaned in. “You hide a lot, don’t you?”

Y/N’s breath hitched.

“I—what’s that supposed to mean?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached out slowly, almost reverently, and brushed a strand of hair away from her face—his fingers ghosting across her cheek. Right where, weeks ago, she'd cried in a dark alleyway.

“I’ve seen pieces of you that no one else gets to see,” he murmured. “You break rules when you’re angry. You swear like a gamer. And now you’re here, making music like it’s the only thing that ever made sense.”

She swallowed. “You romanticize too much.”

“You underestimate how interesting you are.”

Their eyes locked.

For a breathless second, nothing else existed—not the room, not the school, not the war of reputation and rebellion that normally defined them. Just the weight of shared silence. The kind that buzzed with every unsaid thing.

Then—Y/N stood abruptly.

“The drums,” she said, brisk. “Let’s see if they still work.”

Seong-je chuckled under his breath and followed.

She lifted the cover off the old drum set. Dust scattered like snow. She sneezed.

“Bless you, Your Majesty of Allergies.”

“Say that again and I’ll break your nose with a cymbal.”

“Hot.”

She handed him the sticks. “Go on then. Make noise. That’s what you’re good at, right?”

He grinned and banged out a wildly chaotic rhythm that somehow matched his personality. Loud, messy, no consistency—and yet, it made her laugh. Not just a polite smile. A real, startled laugh that spilled out before she could stop it.

His eyes lit up. “That’s a sound I want to hear more often.”

She shook her head, cheeks burning.

“Don’t read into it.”

“Too late.”

They tried every dusty instrument after that. She played a melancholy tune on a barely-functional violin, and Seong-je watched her like she was unraveling in front of him—soft and raw in a way he hadn’t expected.

“Why’d you stop?” he asked quietly when she lowered the bow.

Her fingers tightened on the neck of the violin. “Life got too loud.”

He nodded, slower this time. “Funny.”

“What is?”

“You’re the loudest silence I’ve ever met.”

She looked at him, confused.

“You don’t shout,” he said. “You don’t throw punches. But somehow, you’re the only one who ever made me feel like I wasn’t untouchable.”

Something fragile passed between them. Like porcelain, like the pause before a kiss.

“I used to come here to disappear,” he added. “But today… when you walked in…”

Y/N tilted her head. “Why didn’t you leave?”

He gave her a smile—smaller this time. Almost real.

“Guess I didn’t want to.”

The world outside kept moving. But inside that dusty music room, time hung suspended. They sat side by side again, this time closer, almost touching.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, voice low. “You ever think about how strange this is?”

“What is?”

“You and me. Right here. Like this.”

Her eyes met his. “Maybe.”

He leaned in, just enough. “Wanna make it stranger?”

Her breath caught.

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Because the silence said enough.

---

They stayed until the light outside turned to liquid gold and shadows stretched long across the floor. When they finally stepped into the corridor again, it felt like stepping back into a world that had forgotten them for a while.

Seong-je lingered by the door after Y/N stepped out, the fading sun casting gold across the dusty floor. The room had gone quiet again, but it wasn’t the same kind of silence he used to crave. It felt… emptier now.

He looked at the piano bench they’d shared, at the spot where her knee had brushed his, where her fingers had guided his clumsy ones across the keys. Her laughter, her soft sighs of irritation, even the awkward stillness when he’d touched her cheek—every moment was branded somewhere behind his ribs now.

Damn it.

He pressed his tongue to his cheek and shook his head, a crooked smile pulling at his lips. This was supposed to be his hideout. His escape. No rules, no eyes watching, no expectations. Just noise, smoke, and space to breathe.

But she had walked in—and somehow, without meaning to, she’d changed the air.

He exhaled slowly, flicking ash into the tray he’d left behind. Her presence had been like pressing a piano key that hadn’t been touched in years—dusty, slightly off-tune, but still humming with something alive underneath.

And the way she looked at him before she walked away…

Like she’d almost heard the same note.

He finally stepped into the hallway, catching up to her with that lazy swagger that always got him what he wanted—or at least made people think he didn’t care.

But he did.

Too much, maybe.

She turned slightly when he pulled at a strand of her hair, that surprised blink of hers etching itself into his memory like a favorite line of music.

“Next time you decide to explore hidden rooms… take me with you.”

“Why?” she asked, cautious as ever.

The grin that tugged at his mouth was reflex, but what sat behind it wasn’t a joke.

“Because I want to discover more sides of you.”

And this time, she didn’t argue. She didn’t roll her eyes or call him annoying. She just looked at him—really looked.

That was dangerous.

He could feel it in the way his pulse picked up. In the way he couldn’t quite wipe the smirk off his face, even as they walked side by side toward the late afternoon light. She didn’t tell him to go away. She didn’t outpace him.

She stayed.

And for a guy like him, that was a bigger deal than he’d ever admit.

As they turned the corner and the music room faded behind them, Seong-je glanced sideways. Y/N was staring ahead, unreadable as always—but he caught it.

The tiniest smile.

And just like that, the static between them didn’t feel dangerous anymore.

It felt electric.

---

AUTHOR'S NOTE + MASTERLIST

Hope you enjoyed this part as well <33

#geum seongje x reader #geum seong je #geum seong je x reader #weak hero class two #weak hero x reader #weak hero webtoon

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mikawa13 · 6 months ago

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Every time I look at fanarts of TID I have to take a deep breath because some of the clothes aren't completely period accurate, so I wanted to try to draw them with more accurate dresses.

Charlotte did not take as long as I expected, probably because I always imagined her style in a more simple and elegant style.

I used Cassandra Jean's design for the gear and tried to adjust it a bit following the Codex's information about older versions of the female gear having a skirt, but I just decided to make that padding around the abdomen and hips longer and simulate a skirt (but not too long to not reduce the mobility), whereas the male gear would be shorter and the way that Cassandra Jean did it.

RIP Charlotte, you would've loved jumpsuits QUEEN

(February 4, 2024)

Little Miss Barbie x Regina George (1878 Edition)

Jess was a bit more complicated because she does care about her appearance more and has a more intricate style. And normally I try to not add a lot of detail with Victorian characters because Queen Victoria didn't like makeup and found it vulgar, so women usually went for a natural look. Jessamine paints her dark circles whereas Charlotte naturally has them for obvious reasons. ☠️

Low-key, I loved doing Jessamine's ghost form.

And please let's not talk about my strange doodling attempt with the electrum lace design on the parasol. Halfway through it I started telling myself Henry is not a fashion designer and he tried his best to mimic a lace design with the electrum and hide some runes for her protection.

(February 13, 2024)

I will be honest, I struggled with the color of the dress because I do not imagine Cecily with a plain color dress, but not too intricate as Jessamine's. Everything looked too blue at first and I switched so many colors until it ended up like that. And don't get me started on the hair... It felt ✨WRONG✨ to give her a historically accurate hairstyle considering everyone gives her straight hair down.

So in my head her hair IS straight, she just has to appropriately wear it up. But nothing too complicated. And it's worth mentioning my memory is starting to blur out a lot. I had to check her wiki for the weapon and whatnot, and I found that she was petite and thin. In my head she was about Tessa's height. But I barely remember a lot from the books by now.

But I did try to make her look closely similar to Will. And I think she does look like a female, better, version of him. Also, if you're wondering why she's not wearing the necklace: I didn't realize I didn't add it until I finished coloring the dress and by that point I was so sick of it I left it like that. I had the sketch of the necklace, I just forgot to put it with the dress. 🫠

(March 2, 2024)

Gideon is so lucky. 😩

The suits might discourage me from doing the men because there's not really much difference aside of small details of how each man wears it. But anyway... Back to Sophie.

The damn maid dress. It's simple. It is ten times simpler than Jessamine's dress and YET I was struggling with it. And don't get me started on the scar.

The wiki said it was a big, silver, scar on the left side of her face from the corner of her mouth to her temple. I had an existential crisis trying to figure out how to do it, because in the other set ups of these drawings, I depict them like they're facing me, so the portrait wouldn't have shown the scar.

And it's a problem because I also suck at drawing scars. The first try looked fine but it wasn't silver, then I did this and in one part I guess it's fine because I didn't want to make a pretty scar when it's supposed to be bad and shocking for the time period. But a part of my brain thinks it looks like the fungus from The Last of Us. ☠️

Anyways. You may be wondering, "why didn't you do the Shadowhunter gear?" And it's a simple answer... I wanted to see her in a pretty dress. Of course, I could have done the portrait with the maid dress, the middle with her fancy dress, and the second full-body drawing with the gear but I didn't think about that until 10 minutes before posting. 🫠 And that gear is COMPLICATED (Not really, I'm just tired after the dresses).

(April 10, 2024)

If you are wondering why there is a huge time jump from the last fanart to this, I had a really bad art block and the frustration from the inaccurate dresses brought me back lol

Unfortunately I am currently in another slump 🫠

The next one was supposed to be Tessa but the dresses really frustrated me and I never even started the sketch. Idk if I'll ever finish it. I hope so, but don't get your hopes up.

#the shadowhunter chronicles #shadowhunters #the infernal devices #charlotte fairchild #jessamine lovelace #cecily herondale #sophie collins

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rongloa · 2 months ago

Note

please make the most gut wrenching fanfic ever. i want mark to be like a crappy bf or like a messy breakup PLEASEEEE i need to cry or something

𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐰𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐭 — m.grayson drabble

pt. 1 — pt. 2

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬). mark grayson x gn!reader

𝐰𝐜. 1.6k

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭. break up, swearing, mark being a fucking dick (slightly ooc), mentions of depression, mark hurts you, heavy arguments, use of the word ‘hate’ (you can see where this is going)

𝐚/𝐧. frick you anon (ily don’t stop), why’d you send this ask in? :(

You remember the first time he looked at you like you were something soft. Like the world hadn’t chewed him up yet. Like he hadn’t already seen its insides, bleeding and brutal. His eyes were wide and brown and impossibly open, like a door you didn’t realize you were walking through until it closed behind you.

It was late—he was late, always—but you had waited anyway, curled up on the concrete steps outside his house in your oversized hoodie and mittens, tapping your foot to some song in your head to distract from the cold. He said he was at a group project meeting. It sounded fake, but you trusted him. You always trusted him.

He jogged up, breath fogging in the air, cheeks flushed from the night wind. He looked surprised to see you. “You waited for me?” he asked, like he hadn’t been the one to promise, “Just an hour, tops.”

And you laughed—so stupidly, stupidly in love. “Obviously,” you said, as if the answer could’ve been anything else.

As if your body didn’t already know what it meant to belong to him.

Before he became a ghost in your inbox, before the silence grew claws and wrapped around your throat, Mark had been good to you. Not perfect—never perfect—but good in the way that mattered, in the way you could build a life around.

He held your hand even when no one was looking. Tucked your hair behind your ear like it was instinct. You remember the way he’d fumble over his words when he was excited, how his cheeks flushed when he saw you across a room like he still couldn’t believe you were his. How he used to walk you home, even if it meant doubling back two neighborhoods. Just to make sure you got there safe. Just to have those last few minutes of quiet with you.

There were Sunday mornings when the world felt small enough to hold in your palm—his voice soft from sleep, your legs tangled beneath thin blankets, the smell of coffee you never drank but he always made, just in case you changed your mind. He’d sit on the couch in his old t-shirt, hair messy, face buried in some comic book you couldn’t name, and you’d watch him like you were afraid to blink.

He made you mixtapes, real ones—burned CDs with tracklists scrawled in sharpie and titles like “For the Coolest Person I Know (Don’t Roll Your Eyes).” Songs he thought you’d like. Songs that reminded him of you. Sometimes he’d get the lyrics wrong, but he’d sing them anyway, horribly off-key, like it didn’t matter if he sounded dumb as long as it made you laugh.

And he listened. Really listened. Back then, you could tell him about the weird dream you had or how your coworker was annoying you and he’d actually care. You’d talk for hours, about nothing and everything, until the sun dipped low and your voices were hoarse from too many words. He remembered little things. Your favorite brand of cereal. The way you hated the sound of styrofoam. How you always got cold after you cried, even if it wasn’t winter.

He used to kiss you like he thought it might save him. Like if he just held you close enough, long enough, he could outrun whatever waited on the other side of the sky.

But then the world crept in. Bit by bit, like water under a locked door. You didn’t notice it at first.

You excused the first time he forgot your birthday—he was fighting a villain halfway across the country. You got it. Really, you did. You said it was fine and meant it, even if you cried in the bathroom at work.

Then came the days he didn’t check in after disappearing mid-dinner. The lies got easier for him to tell. Easier for you to swallow. He wasn’t just a person anymore. He was someone. Someone the world needed more than you did. Or so you started to believe.

You told yourself you were lucky. Blessed, even. To love someone who mattered. To matter to someone who could move mountains and outrun lightning. But somewhere along the way, he stopped seeing you as part of his world, and more like a pit stop. A soft place to land when the mantle got heavy.

You used to be his secret. Then his comfort. Then his burden.

You remember the last time he touched you like he wanted to. It was almost accidental—his fingers brushing your wrist as he took the mug from your hand. There was no heat. No ache. No softness. Just contact. You looked at him, trying to find that old spark—the boy who used to look at you like you hung the damn stars—and all you saw was someone who’d already left.

It didn’t fall apart all at once. It never does. It was a thousand tiny breaks. A slow erosion of everything you thought you had. A fading. A flicker. A final, quiet extinguishing.

You used to think love was something you could hold together if you just tried hard enough.

But some people hand you broken things and blame you when they don’t work.

Of course you didn’t know he was Invincible.

No one did. He looked like a kid still trying to grow into his body. He winced when he laughed too hard and couldn’t cook for shit. There was no part of you that thought he was saving the world between algebra quizzes and late-night cartoons.

But he told you. Right before he left.

The first thing you notice is that he doesn’t look surprised to see you.

He opens the door like he was already waiting for this. For you. For the end.

Mark’s hair is unkempt. There’s a bruise healing on his jaw and a dried line of blood near his ear. He smells like the cold night air and smoke, you can smell it from the threshold of his room. You don’t ask what happened. You don’t care. Or maybe you do, but not in the same way you used to.

You step inside. Quiet. Slow.

His room is dark, save for the small desk lamp. Everything is half-unpacked, like he never really came back. Like his body is here, but the rest of him never made it down from orbit.

“I thought you were dead,” you say softly.

Mark flinches.

“You were just gone. For months, Mark. No messages. No explanation. Not even a goddamn voicemail.”

He doesn’t move. Just stands there, hands in his pockets, staring at the floor like it might split open and swallow him.

“I checked the news every day. I asked Eve, I asked your mom. Nobody knew where you went. Nobody knew if you were even coming back.”

You’re already crying and you didn’t notice until your voice cracks, until your chest hitches. You wipe your face roughly, like you’re angry for feeling this much.

“I—I couldn’t sleep,” you go on, choking it out. “I thought maybe—maybe you’d call, or come home, or—or say something. Anything. But you didn’t.”

Mark’s breathing is shallow. His fists are clenched. His voice is low when he finally says, “I didn’t know how.”

“That’s bullshit.”

He looks up.

“That’s bullshit, baby,” you say again, louder now, louder than you mean to. “You always know what to say to everyone else. To save everyone else. But when it’s me, suddenly you go silent?”

“I was trying to protect you,” he snaps, like it’s a reflex. A shield he throws up before the words can cut too deep.

You let out a sound that’s halfway between a sob and a laugh. “No. No, you don’t get to say that anymore. You don’t get to act like I’m some fragile thing you had to put on a shelf and forget about.”

Mark’s eyes are glassy now, too. Red-rimmed. Shining in the low light.

“I love you,” you say, the words breaking apart in your mouth. “I love you so fucking much, and you left me to grieve you like you died. You made me grieve you while you were still alive.”

He crosses the room in two strides, arms reaching, but you step back before he can touch you. Fingers grazing the wool of the your sweater— the one he gave you with its blue and yellow stripes.

“Don’t,�� you whisper. “Please just don’t.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says, shaking. “I thought—God, I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought—”

“You didn’t think about me.”

There it is. The truth. And it lands like a thunderclap between you.

Mark stares at you like he’s watching something beautiful collapse.

“I don’t even recognize you anymore,” you whisper. “You used to be kind. You used to show up. Now you disappear and expect me to just keep… waiting.”

“I never stopped loving you.”

You close your eyes. The tears won’t stop coming. “Then why didn’t you come back for me?”

He doesn’t have an answer.

And maybe that’s the worst part. Because you wanted to hear something. Anything. A reason big enough to make this hurt mean something. But there’s just silence.

You move towards the door, out of the his room. The one you’d spend hours in just to be with him.

Mark’s voice breaks behind you. “Please don’t go.”

Those same big brown eyes you’d fallen in love with in home economics, staring right back.

You move toward the door with tears streaking down your cheeks, fingers trembling as you reach for the handle. You can barely see straight. The lump in your throat is thick enough to choke you.

“I don’t think I can stay anymore,” Your voice cracks on the last word, “not when I’m the only one who was still trying.”

You open the door.

But before you can take a single step, you feel his hand close around your arm.

Fast. Too fast.

Mark yanks you back—not roughly, not enough to hurt, but enough to stop you in your tracks. His grip is iron. Not human. And it makes you feel even smaller than you already do.

You whip around, tears flying. “Let go of me!”

He’s breathing hard. Face flushed. Eyes frantic. “No. No, we can’t—we can’t end it like this.”

“You don’t get to decide that!”

You try to pull free, but his fingers won’t budge. It’s like being caught in a bear trap. You shove him, slap at his chest with your free hand, tears falling hot and fast.

His grip tightens to the point you follow the hand that holds you, pinned. “Let go.”

“I still love you!” he shouts, voice shaking. “Please just—just talk to me, please—”

You hit him again, fighting against him. Weak punches to his chest. You don’t care if it hurts him. You want it to. Even though you know it won’t.

“You don’t get to do this!” you cry. “You don’t get to leave me, disappear for months, break me down to pieces—and then decide you love me when it’s too late!”

Mark’s face crumples. He tries to reach for your face, but you pull back as hard as you can from the unyielding grip and push it out through pursed lips, “Don’t touch me!”

“Please do–“

“You’re HORRIBLE,” you sob, voice cracking apart as you watch your wrist twist at an angle you know it shouldn’t. “You are the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. I loved you. I trusted you. I waited and I waited and I WAITED, and you never come back!”

“I was trying to protect you—!” Crack. It burns, and it hurts in a different kind of way to what you feel in your chest. And you can’t help the wail that burns its way out of your mouth.

He drops your hand like it burned him, like he’s finally realising that maybe he’s the bad one. He hurt you, he was hurting you and he didn’t even realise it. And it fills a rage in you that burns wild. It fucking hurts, hurts so bad and you can’t express it in just one meeting of your eyes.

“No, you were protecting yourself! You were a coward, Mark! You were a COWARD, and I hate you for it!”

The words echo.

He looks like you shot him—he had the gun loaded and cocked all by himself. It’s like something inside him breaks right there. His arms fall to his sides, limp. Fat tears rolling down his cheeks as he looks as what he’s done for fucking once.

And finally, finally, you’re free.

You back away, shaking. Hand dangling at your side with fingers twisted unnaturally.

“I don’t want an apology,” you whisper. “I don’t want your love. I don’t even want you to look at me ever-fucking again.”

You pull open the door and this time—this time he doesn’t stop you.

You walk away. Sobbing. Trembling. Sick with the kind of grief that only comes when someone you love turns out to be the reason you’ll never be the same again.

Behind you, you can hear his knees hit the floor.

But you don’t turn around. Don’t even look back because if you met those big brown eyes you’d fallen for in home economics, you’d run back. You’d comfort him because that’s all you ever wanted to do.

You don’t save him.

Not this time.

The hallway of the house feels louder than it should.

And Mark kneels there alone, in the dark, finally crying by himself.

#invincible fanfic #mark grayson x reader #invincible mark grayson #invincible #invincible x you #invincible x reader #mark grayson angst

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lemonpeppermintstickshift · 23 days ago

Text

living together - f. langdon x fem!reader

summary: after his divorce, frank becomes your new roommate, and it becomes increasingly more difficult for you to not give into temptation.

warnings: SMUT (minors dni, 18+ only), porn with plot, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), frank has NO kids, p in v, creampie (seriously, use some rubber), fingering, use of 'frankie', frank eats pussy! slight dirty talk, botched medical terminology (i'm not a doctor </3), no use of y/n but the use of 'baby', my first fic :)

wc: 4k

After his divorce, Frank was in desperate need of a place to stay.

Lucky for him, your asshole ex-boyfriend had vacated his position, not only in your heart but in your 2 bed 1 bath apartment as well. At the time, it seemed like the right thing to do. Frank needed a room, you needed half of your rent—it was perfect. If Whitaker and Santos could do it, so could you two.

What you forgot to think about, what slipped your mind as Frank moved in his few boxes of miscellaneous things, his coffee mugs and books from college, was that you would be living together. Living together as in sharing meals, as in getting used to him using half of the refrigerator for his red bulls, as in watching him come out of your shared bathroom, towel slung low around his hips, his chest hair leading down his abdomen to an even lower area you did not allow yourself to think about.

Recently, it’s become harder and harder to ignore how handsome Langdon is. You always knew he was attractive, Garcia doesn’t call him ER Ken for nothing. But it wasn’t until you two began living with each other that it posed such a problem. You’re not sure when it started, but somehow the two of you began playing some sick game. How far can we go before we go too far?

It started off as an accident, truly. While transporting your load of laundry, you dropped a pair of rather nice panties in the living room, not even realizing your mistake. Later on, when you returned from dinner with a friend, it was all Frank could do to not torment you about it.

“Forget something?” Frank says as you lock the door behind you, kicking off your shoes and setting down your keys.

“What? I just came back fro–”

Frank holds up the rather scandalous pair of panties with a finger, dangling it towards you.

“Forgot to put these on before you left?” He says, his blue eyes shining. “Must’ve been a lucky guy.”

Since then, the two of you have been playing this game of cat and mouse. Frank comes back from his occasional runs shirtless and sweaty, gulping down a glass of water as condensation runs down his hand. You wear short shorts around the house, feeling them bunch up around your ass as you read your newest book on the couch, not missing the way Langdon’s eyes linger on your thighs.

Your relationship consists of emergency intubations, low cut shirts that show off your cleavage, bedside cricothyrotomies, and Frank’s grey sweatpants he wears after a shift that leave your palms sweaty and your cheeks flushed.

Today is no different.

You look around the Pitt as your shift nears the end. You have no more than an hour to go before you're slipping off your scrubs, driving home, and taking the hottest shower of your life. You talk to Samira aimlessly as your eyes scan the ER’s TV screen, looking for something not too heavy before you begin to pack up.

Your eyes land on one Mr. Mitchell Providence, and it isn’t long before he’s sitting on a bed in a room, smiling painfully as you pull up a stool.

“So, let me get this right, your toddler accidentally stabbed you in the back of your thigh?” You ask, motioning him to flip over to his side so you have better access to his makeshift bandage.

“Was trying to impress the wife,” he wheezes as you begin to remove the towel from his wound. “Turned around for one minute to stir the pot, next thing I know I’m getting poked with a knife! I’m just glad no one else got hurt.”

You nod, trying not to laugh in front of the patient. You distract yourself by making polite small chatter and inquiring about his pain levels, making sure to correctly assess the wound and his history before you begin stitching. Just as you begin to pick up your needle, a familiar face slides back the curtain, inviting himself in.

“Heard you were back here. Wanted to help finish this up and send Mister…” Frank checks the sheet, “Providence out here as fast as possible.”

Your back stiffens at the sound of his voice. Your mind flashes to the stunt Frank pulled this morning.

Langdon drags the silver spoon from his mouth slowly. He stands in the kitchen, eating berries and yogurt before the two of you head out for your shift. He licks the last bit of cream off the utensil, coating his lips in saliva before setting it in the sink. Your eyes follow his pink tongue as it darts out, dabbing at the sides of his mouth.

“It’s really good. Sure you don’t want any?”

You shake your head, trying to physically remove the memory from your consciousness.

“Mr. Providence, this is Dr. Langdon. He’s my senior resident, so he’ll be watching over this procedure.” You smile.

“Sounds good. But, are you… do you know how to do this?” The man questions. Of course he’s nervous, anyone would be. But before you can answer, Langdon’s hand finds a way to your shoulder.

“Oh absolutely, she’s one of our best residents here.” He says with a proud nod, his fingers curling around your scrubs. The touch catches you off guard, your breath hitching in your throat.

He gives your shoulder one final squeeze before letting go, giving his million dollar 100% patient satisfaction smile. Finally, he takes a slight step back, just enough so he can watch you perform the procedure.

You feel him analyzing your every move. The way your hands stay steady as they wield the needle, your lack of reaction to the slightly gory sight before you, your breath as it never falters.

You’re almost finished when Frank takes your hand in his, guiding you through his own action.

“For subcuticular stitches, you’ll need to cut the suture flush with the skin, just like that…” He speaks softly, allowing you both to move in sync. From here, you can smell his shampoo, hear his breath in between directions. You try and focus on the task at hand, but it becomes increasingly more difficult as your eyes trail down his toned forearms.

As soon as the final stitch is secure, you practically leap away from him. You stand quiet in the corner, shaken up as Frank explains the correct care for the next few days, telling the patient to stay put for a while and that a nurse will come in and assess him before discharging.

You spin on your heels as soon as Frank finishes his directions. You need to get away from him.

Motherfucker, you think. He’s trying to throw you off your game. You’re used to him playing tricks at home, but at the Pitt? This was territory you’ve never breached before.

You pack up in a frustrated haze, forgetting that you and Frank carpooled together, because once again, that's what living together means.

You wait outside for him, enjoying the refreshing air the night presents. You hear the doors automatically slide open behind you, and without looking, you know it's him.

“Ready?” He asks, a certain look on his face.

“Always.”

The drive home is silent. Some pop song plays in the background as you drive, falling on deaf ears as you occasionally catch a glimpse of Frank out of the corner of your eye. He stares out the passenger window the entire time. You wonder what he’s thinking of.

When you get home, the two of you claw off your bags, badges, and rub your hands down your face, trying to shake off the long day. You head to the kitchen, grabbing some leftovers to quickly shove down your throat before you take a shower.

“Ladies first,” you say, mouth stuffed with fried rice, motioning towards the bathroom.

“Don’t mind if I do,” he replies, winking. You roll your eyes. Goddamn flirt.

You stand in the kitchen as Langdon enters the bathroom, and seconds later you hear the faint sound of running water. Once you're sure he’s in the shower, you finally let yourself melt, thinking about the contents of the day.

Your mind turns over your breakfast encounter, your stitching lessons, all the times Frank has bent over your shoulder and whispered something in your ear, repeating it all like a broken record.

A shiver goes down your back and you groan. He’s getting to you.

You’re not sure how long it is you stand in the kitchen, contemplating your life's decisions. You don’t look up when the bathroom door opens. You’re not sure what will happen if you do. You feel yourself grow closer and closer to snapping, to doing something that can’t be undone.

You suppress these feelings as you shuffle to your room, grabbing an old shirt, some socks, and a pair of panties before heading to the shower. You’re on autopilot, going through the motions of washing the day off of you. You stay in your head, suds sliding down your body as you think of Langdon.

He’s still on your mind 15 minutes later when he corners you in front of the bathroom.

“What’s up with you?” He inquires. You gulp. He’s shirtless, wearing pajama pants as he leans against the wall, and it takes everything in you not to notice the way his biceps slightly flex.

“It’s nothing, Langdon, I’m just exhausted. Long ass day.”

“Langdon? Since when do you call me Langdon at home?”

You ignore him. You brush past his body, heading for the living room, attempting to busy yourself by tidying up the blankets and pillows. Suddenly, you’re very aware you’re wearing no pants.

“Okay, seriously. You’re freaking me out. Did I do something?”

You turn around in frustration, biting the insides of your cheek out of instinct. Frank looks at you with genuine confusion in his eyes, and it annoys you that he doesn’t understand the gravity of his actions—especially the way they make you feel.

“Hm, I don’t know, Langdon. What didn't you do today?” You snap back. His eyebrows skyrocket to his forehead, you’re clearly not reacting in a way he’s expecting.

“Are you seriously mad about the breakfast thing?” He says, inching closer, a regretful look plastered on his face. “You know I was just teasing.”

“The breakfast thing, the random stitching guidance, your goddamn sweatpants,” you growl, “You’re always teasing me. What are you playing at?”

“Me? What about you?” He tosses back, taking another step. “Your tight shirts, your new perfume, your shorts, Jesus—”

He runs his fingers through his damp hair, messing it up slightly.

“What you pulled today, at work? Not cool. You can’t do that Frank.” You mumble. You feel yourself growing embarrassed about admitting to the way his words affect you.

“I wanted to make sure you were doing it right.”

“Bullshit,” you retort. “I know how to stitch a fucking wound.”

“Fine. I wanted… I just wanted to see you.” He confesses, tossing his hands up in defeat. This is becoming dangerous. You feel a sensation begin to bubble in the depths of your gut. “I wanted to know what you were doing.”

You match his energy, taking another step forward. At this point, the two of you are precariously close. You can see the darker blue of his irises, the crease in the middle of his forehead as his brows scrunch together.

“You were throwing me off my game,” you admit, looking away. “I felt like fucking Javadi.”

Frank doesn't respond to this. Instead, he takes one final step towards you, craning his face down to yours. You look up at him, eyes wide.

“Was I distracting you?” He whispers, his voice low and sultry.

“You know you were.”

He brings his hands to the sides of your face, cupping your flushed cheeks with his palms. His hands feel cool to the touch.

“What have we been doing?” He questions. “Do you want this? Because if not, I’ll stop with the teasing and we can pretend the past few weeks were a fluke. I swear I’ll let it go. But if not, fuck—I can’t do this much longer before you break me.”

His confession is raw, it hangs low in the air that heats up around you. The desperation in his voice causes your thighs to rub together, begging for some sort of friction.

“I…” You breathe out, scanning his face. He waits patiently, a hungry look in his eyes. His pupils are blown, his pink lips parted slightly as he breathes heavily. “Fuck it, just kiss me.”

Frank exhibits no hesitation as he grabs your face, smashing your lips together. His breath is fresh, tasting of spearmint toothpaste. You moan slightly as he slides his tongue into your mouth, pulling you impossibly closer. Your neck cranes up to him as his hands slide down your face to your sides, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your hands fly to his hair, grabbing fistfulls as his palms reach your waist, inching you closer to his core. When he pulls away, his face is slightly red, and you can feel his erection growing. The pressure makes your mouth water.

“Your room or mine?” He breathes.

“I don’t care,” you mumble through your kisses, unable to bear a second without his mouth on yours. His lips are soft, his skin is smooth, his body warm. You want to bottle him up and drink him.

Suddenly, Frank’s hands travel to the back of your thighs, hoisting you up on his hips as he begins walking towards his bedroom. From this angle, you can feel him hard through his pants. The friction makes you moan, and you feel your panties become damp.

Before you know it, your back lands on the soft surface of his mattress. Your white shirt clashes with the dark of his sheets, fingers sliding over the smooth fabric of his comforter. Frank lowers himself over you, one hand propping himself up as the other breaches the hem of your band-tee.

“Are you sure?” He asks. He looks at you with vulnerability in his eyes, and it makes your nipples harden.

“Yes. Please Frank,” you whisper back.

With your confirmation, he begins moving again. His fingers barely dance on the soft skin of your tummy, skirting towards your clavicle. He brings the shirt up, sliding it over your shoulders and aimlessly tossing it on the floor.

The cold air of his room causes goosebumps to litter your skin, making the hair on your arms stand up. You look away from the intensity of Frank’s gaze, embarrassed at your indecency. He dips his head to your neck, pressing soft kisses to your carotid artery. He laughs as he feels your heart rate spike.

He moves back to your face, kissing you softly as his hands cup your chest, making you whine.

He plays around with your nipples, pinching and twisting them softly. This, plus the heat of his cock through his pants pressed against your very thin underwear makes your legs spread wide.

Frank slips off his pajama pants, remaining only in his boxers as he begins sucking on your collar bones. Slowly but surely he moves his mouth down your body, taking your breasts in his warm mouth, swirling his tongue around your areolas. He slides his tongue down your torso, dragging you to the end of the bed as his face finally reaches in between your thighs.

He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your panties, and you’re positive you're wet enough that you’ve soaked through them.

He peels the piece of clothing off you, watching as the wet patch of your panties stick to your folds. Like the shirt, he tosses the garment off to the side, rendering it useless. He brings his fingers up to your core, slowly beginning to coat his digits in your slick. You gasp at the sensation.

He drags his long fingers up and down your folds, spreading your arousal all over your pussy. You preen to his touch, your chest rising and falling heavily. You feel your core tighten in anticipation.

Finally, he slowly starts to inch a finger inside you. When his palm comes flush with your entrance, he breathes out a ‘fuck.’

You barely catch your breath before you feel him begin to purposely drag his finger in and out. Your hand clutches his sheets, crumpling up the silk. When Frank inserts a second finger, you’re positive you’ve left the atmosphere. When he presses his tongue against your core, fingers working in tandem with his mouth, you see stars.

“Fuck, Frankie,” you whine, and he moans in response.

You feel his mouth move against you, his fingers curling and hitting a spot that makes your head fall back. He continues this until you can't take it, his tongue swirling and sucking against your clit until you cry out his name as your back arches, a wave of pleasure crashing through you. Your hands fly to his hair, trying to find some part of the earth to hold on to before you float away.

As you come back down from your high, your stomach and thighs that were once tense become slack, allowing Frank to pull away from you. He wipes his mouth off, his lips puffy and his forehead sweaty.

He pants slightly, just by looking at you. You become impatient, still not satisfied with the amount of his skin you’ve kissed, the muscles you haven’t touched. You pull him towards you, kissing him deeply and tasting yourself on his tongue.

He slots in between your thighs, pressing his brief-clad, brick hard cock against you. He begins to take off his underwear, then freezes. “Shit.”

“What?” You panic. Did you do something wrong? Does he not want this anymore?

“I don’t have a condom,” he groans. “I’m divorced and I never date.” His face flushes, and he scrunches his nose.

“Are you clean?” You ask.

“Did you hear what I just said?” He laughs, rubbing his hands up and down the insides of your thigh.

“Point taken…” You toss an idea back and forth in your mind. The way Frank is looking at you makes you want to melt. “I’m clean, and I’m on the pill.”

“Thank fuck.”

He makes quick work to take off his boxers, letting his hard cock free from its restraints. He hisses as the cool air meets his weeping tip.

He drags you closer to him, guiding your legs to slightly wrap around his hips. He lowers himself over you, using one hand to prop himself up and the other to tease your entrance with his member.

He drags his cock up and down your pussy, coating his tip in the mix of both your arousal. He taps your clit and laughs as you squeeze your eyes shut.

“Look at me,” he says. Your eyes flutter open, struggling to keep contact as he slowly pushes into you. He goes slow, calculated. He watches every reaction you have.

Your hands grip his shoulders tightly when he becomes flush with your pelvis. You throw your head back in pleasure. The stretch makes you delirious. You feel every inch of his blood filled cock, mewling as he begins to move his hips.

He leans back, allowing you to see his torso. Your eyes follow down his abs to where the two of your body's meet. The sight is racy, watching Frank slowly begin to push in and out of you.

Once Frank finds his rhythm, you’re sure he’s going to fuck you so hard into the mattress that you’ll be sore tomorrow. He grabs your ass with his free hand, pushing you towards him with every thrust. With this movement, his thick tip brushes up against the sweet spot in your walls, causing you to cry out.

“Yeah baby, just like that. Wanted to fuck you for so long.”

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he continues to pummel into you, removing his hand from your ass to push down on your stomach. He fucks you like this for a while, deep and hard, occasionally moving his free hand to tease your clit.

He kisses your mouth, then begins to whisper his vulgar thoughts into your ear as you cream around his cock. He tells you how pretty you are, how tight your pussy is, how good you're doing. His words, in combination with his teasing and rhythm, brings you to the brink. Just when you think you’re about to finish again, he pulls out of you.

Before you can even form the thought to complain, he flips you around, wasting no time before he slides back into your tight walls. He grabs your hips and places a pillow underneath them. You know there’s no use in trying to brace yourself for the way he’s about to fuck you.

He takes one of his palms and presses on your back, pushing your body into the mattress, snapping his hips to your ass over and over. You cry out into the air, back arching. Your neighbors are going to hate you.

With each forceful thrust, your clit brushes up against the fabric of the pillow beneath you. It isn’t long before your core begins to tighten, and Frank can feel the way your pussy flutters around his cock.

“That’s right baby,” he coos, guiding you as your moans become more high pitched and frequent. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room. Your eyelids flutter as your second orgasm blooms inside of you.

He takes you from behind until you can’t take it anymore, words falling helplessly from your mouth as you beg him to slow down, speed up, please keep going, don’t stop.

When Frank feels himself coming close, his abdomen tightening and his pace quickening, he stops himself to flip you over again, this time basically laying on top of you.

“I’m not gonna last much longer, s’too good,” he slurs, looking into your eyes. “Where do you want me to finish?”

“Inside,” you gasp, “I don’t care, Frankie.”

“Oh fuck, you can’t just say shit like that baby.” You can tell he’s approaching the finish line fast, his thrusts becoming sloppy and his words becoming jumbled. He babbles praises into your ear and grunts louder than before. Finally, you hear him stutter and watch as he tosses his head back, pumping thick, hot ropes of his cum into your tight walls.

The two of you stay like that for a minute, breathing in the sex-scented air that wafts around his bedroom. You feel the weight of his body on yours, enjoying the warmth his flushed chest brings you.

“Holy fuck, you’re good.”

Frank chuckles as he pulls his softening dick from you. He crouches down to watch his cum drip down your legs, licking his lips as it pools beneath you.

He comes back up to press a chaste kiss to your lips, mumbling let’s get you cleaned up. For the rest of the night, Frank attends to your every need, making sure you’re properly taken care of before the two of you eventually fall back into his sheets, clinging together for warmth. You fall asleep in his arms, your hands playing with his wild hair.

“What happened to you?” Samira asks, two hours into your shift the following day. You know she’s referring to the odd way you’ve been walking since you entered the ER. You feel heat creep up your neck at the interrogation, looking around the hallway to see if there are any eavesdropping nurses or a certain senior resident.

“Nothing. Just pulled a muscle… in the shower. Washing my foot. So.”

She laughs as Frank rounds the corner. He catches the end of your conversation, looking at the embarrassed expression that coats your face. He chuckles, winking as he passes by you. You give him a small smile in return.

“And what was that?” She gasps.

“Nothing, nothing, just shut up and pick a case before Robby yells at you for being slow again.”

likes, comments, reblogs, and follows are always appreciated :)

#dr langdon x reader #frank langdon x reader #the pitt #frank langdon #frank langdon smut #frank langdon x you #dr frank langdon #dr frank langdon x reader #dr frank langdon x you #the pitt smut #the pitt hbo

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applepiiex · 5 days ago

Note

Hey, would you write about a "heavier" topic? How would Nanami or/and Toji react to a boyfriend with an obsessive ex? Reader not wanting to tell them but eventually they end up finding out through an surprise of the ex

I've been listening to "She" by Tyler, The Creator's too much, lol

THROUGH THE WINDOW ! ! ! ⌖

Nanami Kento & Toji Fushiguro x Male!Reader

It started with messages. You thought they were harmless at first, just the bitter cling of a past relationship that hadn’t ended the way either of you pretended it did. A few texts. A photo or two. You could handle it. But then the messages got darker. From gross to graphic. You didn’t want to tell Nanami and Toji. Didn’t want to ruin the calm you’d built between them. But you forgot who you were dating. Because Nanami reads death threats like case files. And Toji? Toji doesn’t believe in second warnings. You’re not alone anymore. You never have to be again.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You tell yourself you don’t need to tell him. Nanami’s already got too much on his shoulders; the long hours at the office, the missions, the headaches that crack behind his temples when he comes home late and peels off his tie at your door. Besides, it’s nothing, you think. Just annoying messages. Weird, clingy apologies at first, then the sudden switches to anger when you don’t answer. The calls you block, the fake accounts you mute. You’ve handled worse. It’ll fade if you keep ignoring it.

And yet you flinch every time your phone buzzes when Nanami’s in the room. You smile too quick when he asks, everything alright? You lie too easily: Just a classmate, just a spam text, just work.

Nanami doesn’t press. He trusts you. It’s the kind of trust that makes your throat ache because you know what it costs him to let people close.

So you think you’re safe. Right up until you’re not.

You feel it before you read it.

That telltale buzz in your back pocket. Your phone lighting up just once, screen turned conveniently down. You ignore it for a few seconds. Long enough to finish rinsing your mug. Long enough to convince yourself it’s Nanami with a grocery list or Toji reminding you to eat.

But you know better.

It’s always at the worst times. Like this morning, when Nanami pressed a kiss to your temple and murmured “Text me when you get home, alright?”—voice low, warm, careful like always—and your phone had gone off before the front door even closed behind him.

Or last night, when you’d fallen asleep on Toji’s chest, safe and full and warm, and woke to find a single notification glowing in the dark.

You still think they’re better for you?

You hadn’t told them.

Not yet.

Because what would you even say?

Hey, remember that guy I dated before I met you? The one I said ended things clean? He didn’t. He didn’t end it at all.

You delete the new message without reading it. Not because you don’t care. Because you do. And caring feels like giving it weight, and you don’t want it to matter.

You don’t want this ugly, sharp-edged part of your past to bleed into the home you built with them. Not these quiet mornings, the soft sound of Nanami’s keys in the dish, Toji’s god-awful slippers, the coffee they make just the way you like it. The life they gave you.

So you tell yourself it’s fine.

Just another message. Just another weird sentence from someone who doesn’t matter anymore.

You go to your texts with Nanami and send a little heart.

You check your location settings twice, make sure they can see you.

You hadn’t meant to keep it a secret—not really. But between Nanami’s long hours and Toji’s sharp instincts, you’d started keeping things closer to your chest. What were a few strange texts? A shadow outside your building? The growing knot of unease in your gut?

You could handle it. You had to.

Until today.

Until the knock on the door—too slow, too familiar.

Until Toji answered it before you could lie your way to the handle.

Until Nanami’s voice behind you, calm and clear: “Who is that, darling?”

And then—

Then it all unraveled.

Your ex. The obsession. The way your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

But what scared you more was the way Toji went silent. Not loud. Quiet. Like a man calculating how many bones were in a body and how many he could break before someone stopped him.

And Nanami, stepping between you and the door like instinct, like religion.

You weren’t alone anymore.

You never had to be again.

You step into the living room, smile like everything’s fine—and freeze.

Toji’s already looking at you from the couch. Eyes narrow. Mouth tight. One look and you know:

He heard your phone buzz. And he saw your face fall.

Nanami doesn’t ask right away.

He’s always been the quieter kind of observant—unlike Toji, who will ask “What the hell’s wrong with you?” at the first twitch of an eyebrow, Nanami will wait. Will watch.

And you think you’re doing a good job hiding it.

But Nanami notices when you start showering with the door locked. He notices when you jump at the microwave beeping. When you stop putting your phone screen-up on the table.

It’s small things.

He never says a word when he catches you rereading the same page for five minutes. But he shifts closer on the couch. Puts a hand on your knee. Anchors you to now.

He doesn’t push.

But he watches.

And when your voice starts trembling over simple things—When’s dinner? Can I borrow your charger?—he starts reading between lines you don’t even realize you’re drawing.

The real break comes two days later.

You’re home alone, just barely. Toji’s out with groceries, Nanami’s walking back from the train. You’d just finished putting away laundry, your body warm from movement, hair damp from the shower.

You check your phone.

One message. Unknown number.

No words. Just a photo.

You stare at it.

It’s you.

In your bedroom.

Alone. Unaware. Half-naked, head tilted back, mouth parted. A still from a moment no one else should have seen.

Your heart drops through the floor. The air thins.

Your mouth moves like you’re about to scream—but you don’t.

You can’t.

The floor creaks behind you.

And before you can hide it, before you can delete anything or swallow the panic down—

“Love?”

Nanami’s voice. Calm. Steady.

But when he sees your face, when he sees your hand shaking around the phone— His briefcase hits the floor. He crosses the room in two strides and doesn’t ask what’s wrong. He just takes your phone.

You try to stop him. Your voice cracks. You say “Don’t—please, it’s nothing—”

But Nanami’s face goes still.

Blank.

Not like he’s unreadable, like he’s unforgiving.

Like something in him has gone very, very cold.

Toji’s keys jingle in the door.

And you suddenly realize, It’s not just your ex that’s going to regret this.

Toji walks in holding a paper bag in one hand and a soda tucked under his arm. His keys hit the little dish by the door with a lazy clink, and he’s already saying something—

“Hey, you’d better still be hungry, I grabbed those—” He stops.

Nanami’s standing stock still in the middle of the room, back to the door. You’re on the couch, half-curled into yourself like you’re trying to take up less space. Your phone is in Nanami’s hand. He hasn’t moved since he picked it up. He hasn’t blinked.

Toji’s eyes shift to you. He sees it instantly, your red-rimmed eyes, your trembling hands, the way your shoulders rise too high, like you’re bracing for something.

He drops the soda.

The bottle bounces. The fizz spills out into the carpet. He doesn’t look down.

“Ken,” he says, quiet. Sharp. “What happened.”

Nanami doesn’t answer right away.

Just lifts the phone and turns it. Shows him the screen.

Toji steps closer. Looks.

And stops breathing for a second.

He’s seen worse. He’s done worse. But this—this is personal. This is violating. This is someone thinking they could get away with hurting something that belongs to him. To both of them.

He doesn’t raise his voice. Doesn’t storm.

He hands the phone back to Nanami with surgical precision.

Then he kneels in front of you. Slowly.

And says, soft as a whisper, “Baby. When did they start doing this?”

You want to lie. You almost do.

But the look in his eyes—steady, unreadable, terrifying only in how unshaken it is—undoes you.

You whisper, “A few weeks ago.”

Toji closes his eyes for a moment. Breathing in through his nose like he’s tasting the words.

Then—

“Okay,” he says. And stands.

Nanami is already checking the locks. Calm. Clinical. His jaw is tight but his hands are steady.

Toji? Toji just rolls his shoulders back. Cracks his neck.

And smiles.

Not the kind of smile that ever touches his eyes.

The kind that says, “Let me show you what happens when you scare someone I love.”

You’ve been in the shower for fifteen minutes.

The water’s long gone warm. You’re sitting on the floor, forehead pressed to your knees, steam curling around your ears like it might muffle everything.

You can still feel it. That photo—that invasion—burning under your skin like acid.

You don’t hear Toji’s boots stop just outside the door. Or the way Nanami lowers his voice to meet him.

In the kitchen, Toji’s leaning against the counter, arms crossed tight. Nanami sets the phone down between them.

It's still open.

Neither of them flinch at the image now.

“He must’ve hacked the camera,” Nanami says, calmly. “Or snuck in. Possibly both.”

Toji’s jaw ticks.

“You think he was in the apartment?”

Nanami nods once.

“There's no other way. This photo—look at the angle. It's from the corner shelf. Right where that old diffuser is.”

Toji’s voice is low, feral.

“That shelf's barely six feet from the bed.”

Nanami exhales through his nose, slowly. Controlled.

“I’ll check the locks again. Hidden cameras, too. You talk to your guy?”

“Not yet,” Toji says, already pulling out his burner phone. “He’ll know how to scrub the photo. Trace the IP. Get me a name.”

“You think you don’t already know who it is?”

Toji lifts his head.

The look they exchange is brief.

It says everything.

Nanami smooths down the sleeve of his shirt, then begins opening drawers with clinical care—pulling out the backup phone, the flash drive, the old tucked-away folder of documents they never wanted to need again.

Toji watches the hallway.

“Don’t think he’s just watching him,” he mutters. “This ain’t about obsession anymore.”

Nanami meets his eyes.

“I know.”

“I’m gonna kill this guy,” Toji says flatly.

“No,” Nanami replies, eyes cool. “We’re going to stop him. And then we’re going to make sure Y/N never has to feel unsafe in his own fucking bed again.”

They fall silent for a beat.

The shower is still running.

Toji looks toward the door, and his voice softens.

“He’s scared out of his goddamn mind, Kento.”

“I know,” Nanami says. “That’s why we get this done quietly. Clean. For him.”

Toji’s shoulders drop a little.

“I’ll call in a favor. See if someone can keep eyes on the building.”

Nanami nods.

“Then tomorrow, we start tracking this man down.”

They move like a unit—silent, practiced. Not angry. Not panicking. Deadly calm. Because the one thing more dangerous than either of them… Is both of them. Protecting you.

You towel your hair slowly. Mechanically.

Your skin’s gone cold despite the hot water. Everything feels like it’s happening to you, not with you. Like your body’s just going through the motions while your brain hides somewhere in the walls.

But the water’s off. The towel’s wrapped. And you can’t stay in there forever.

So you open the bathroom door. Steam rolls out behind you. The apartment is too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes your skin crawl.

Nanami is standing by the window. His arms are folded across his chest, sleeves pushed up, gold watch catching the lamplight. He’s staring out into the street below, but you can feel he’s not really looking.

Toji’s at the kitchen island, phone face-down, hands flat on the counter like he’s holding himself in place.

Both of them turn when you walk in. And everything about the way they look at you makes your breath catch. Not angry. Not judgmental. Just—

Worried.

Focused.

Like you’re the only thing in the world they’re trying to protect.

Toji’s the first to move. He walks toward you slow, deliberate. His eyes flick down your body, and for once it’s not a heated look—he’s scanning. Checking. Making sure you’re unharmed.

You open your mouth to say something—anything—but it sticks in your throat. Then Toji reaches out. One hand on your cheek, warm and grounding. The other rests at your hip, gentle.

“You alright, baby?” he asks.

Your mouth trembles. You nod. But Nanami sees the lie.

“Come here,” he says softly, from across the room.

You go. You can’t not. Nanami’s arms pull you in, towel and all. He wraps you up like something fragile, his chin resting gently on your shoulder, hand smoothing up and down your back.

“We’re handling it,” he murmurs into your ear. “He won’t get near you again.” You exhale shakily.

Toji steps in behind, wrapping himself around both of you. His hand settles on your waist, anchoring. Protective. You’re surrounded. Sandwiched between warmth and muscle and quiet fury.

And for the first time all day—

You feel safe. But still, something breaks in you. Just a little.

The apartment is still too quiet. Toji’s sitting beside you, his arm draped across your shoulders like a shield. Nanami’s across from you at the table, a mug of tea untouched in front of him, jaw set tight.

You’re holding your phone like it’s a live wire. Your thumb hovers over the app. You’ve deleted some of the messages before—shaky hands, shame, panic. But not all of them. You couldn’t. Some were too vile, too specific. You needed proof. You just didn’t want to read them again.

But now...

Toji nudges you gently with his knee.

“You don’t have to explain,” he says. “Just show us.”

You nod. Your hand shakes as you unlock it.

The first message is dated weeks back.

You looked good today. They don’t deserve you. I saw your new shirt. Tight. You knew I’d like that. You know this isn’t over, right?

Toji reads with clenched fists. Silent. Nanami leans in, scrolling. His brow furrows deeper with every line.

Then comes the message from yesterday.

The one you couldn’t delete.

It’s not just a message.

It’s a poem. Or a manifesto.

Or a threat.

Nanami reads aloud, voice low, steady, terrifyingly neutral.

“One, two, you're the guy that I want Three, four, five, six, seven, shit Eight is the bullets if you say no after all this…”

His voice falters. Your throat closes. You swallow down nausea. Toji is dead silent beside you.

“And I just couldn't take it, you're so motherfuckin' gorgeous Gorgeous, baby, you're gorgeous I just wanna drag your lifeless body to the forest And fornicate with it…”

Nanami stops reading. The silence that follows is suffocating.

Then Toji stands. Slowly. Deliberately.

“Give me the name,” he says, voice low and steady. “Now.”

You look up at him. Your mouth opens, but no words come. You feel exposed. Raw. Like you’ve just ripped the bandage off and they’re both staring at the wound underneath. The part of you that you never wanted them to see.

Nanami stands too. He’s moved behind Toji now, hand on his back like an anchor. “You did the right thing,” Nanami says, softly. “Showing us.”

“I didn’t want you to think—” Your voice breaks. “I just—he always talked like that. I didn’t think he’d ever do anything. It was just words. Just—”

Toji turns to you, his eyes burning. “They’re not just words.”

He crouches in front of you again, and this time he takes your hand, presses your palm flat to his chest.

“Feel that?” he murmurs. “That’s what you mean to me. Right here. You think I’m gonna let some little freak who jerks off to your old Instagram stories put you in danger?”

His voice is steel, but his thumb rubs gently against your knuckles. Nanami’s next to you now too. Calm. Quiet. Controlled rage simmering just beneath his gaze.

“I want you to forward everything to my email,” he says. “All the texts. All the photos. I’ll begin the documentation tonight. This kind of language qualifies as criminal threat.”

You blink at him.

“You’re—You’re going legal with this?”

“I’m going through with this.” Nanami leans down, kisses your cheek.

“Because this isn’t just harassment anymore. This is violence.”

Toji’s already on his phone, dialing. You hear him mutter, “Yeah. Need you to trace something. It’s urgent. Nah, not for work—personal.”

You sit between them, eyes wide, breath uneven.

And for the first time in weeks... It’s not your weight to carry anymore. It’s theirs now.

“I didn’t want to ruin things,” you whisper, voice cracking. “I didn’t want to bring him into this. Into us.”

Toji’s arms tighten.

Nanami presses his mouth to your temple.

“Nothing you could do,” Nanami says, “nothing—could ruin this.”

“Except not telling us,” Toji adds, but it’s not angry—it’s wounded. He turns your face gently with two fingers. “Don’t shut us out. We’re not going anywhere.”

You nod. But your eyes brim anyway. Nanami pulls you to the couch. Toji grabs your favorite blanket. The one you always hog. And between the two of them, you let yourself fall apart a little. And they catch you.

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