#my hands are shaking and heart is pounding

[whosashan]

Out of Sight, Out of Mind

The LaDS men x reader

In which - you realise they've been avoiding you and you decide to confront them about it.

Lately, you had noticed a shift—subtle at first, but impossible to ignore. He had grown distant. Plans that once came effortlessly were now met with half-hearted excuses, and more often than not, you found yourself alone, wondering what had changed.

At first, you gave him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was just busy. Maybe it was stress. But as the days stretched on, it became painfully clear—he was avoiding you.

And you had finally had enough.

Determination settled in your chest like a steady flame as you sought him out, your heart pounding with unspoken questions. Whatever was going on, you refused to let it linger in silence any longer.

Xavier

You knocked on your neighbor’s door.

Once. No answer. Twice. Silence.

By the third time, you were seconds away from kicking it down when, at last, the door creaked open.

Xavier stood there, disheveled—his light hair an untamed mess, eyes barely open, their usual sharpness dulled by sleep. He squinted at you, his brows furrowing in groggy confusion.

“Y/N?” His voice was thick with sleep, raspy and low. “What are you doing here?”

There was something in his expression—surprise, yes, but beneath it, something else. Panic?

Your gaze hardened, arms crossing over your chest in silent declaration of your resolve. You weren’t here for small talk.

“I want answers, Xavier.” Your voice was steady, unwavering. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

A tense silence settled between you. He shifted his weight, eyes darting away. The longer he hesitated, the deeper your suspicions grew.

And then, you noticed it—his cheeks. A soft flush of color dusted his skin. Was he blushing?

“I wasn't avoiding you,” he muttered sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as though the motion would ground him. The question seemed to shake off the remnants of sleep, but it didn’t make him any more willing to meet your gaze.

“Don’t lie to me.” You stepped closer, narrowing your eyes. Your finger jabbed against his chest, and instinctively, he took a step back—giving you the perfect opportunity to slip past him and into his apartment.

“Suddenly, you’re always busy or conveniently not home everytime I want to spend time with you.” Your frustration bubbled over, arms flailing as you spoke. “I’m not stupid, Xavier.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Okay. Maybe I have been avoiding you a little.” His voice was more controlled now, but his gaze remained fixed on the floor.

You took another step forward, closing the space between you. “Care to explain why?”

He still didn’t answer, lips parting as if he wanted to speak, yet no words came.

Your shoulders sagged, irritation giving way to something softer—concern. You sighed, tone gentler this time. “Xavier… if I did something to upset you—”

“No.” His reply was immediate, cutting off your words. “You didn’t do anything.”

He finally met your eyes, and the sincerity in his gaze made your breath hitch. “You’re… amazing. And I guess that’s the problem.”

Your pulse quickened.

“I’ve caught myself thinking about you more than I should. Feeling things I shouldn’t be feeling—not for a friend.” His voice was quieter now, laced with something unspoken, something fragile.

For once, it was you who was speechless.

Then, a slow smirk tugged at your lips. “Xavier… is that a confession?”

His eyes flickered with something between exasperation and amusement as he shook his head. “Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath, but he didn’t deny it.

You hesitated for only a second before reaching for his hand, lacing your fingers through his. His skin was warm, his grip hesitant but firm.

“Good thing you’ve been on my mind a lot, too.” Your voice was softer now, sincerity replacing the teasing edge.

But then, the memory of the past few days resurfaced, and you frowned, tightening your hold. “That still doesn’t mean you should’ve avoided me.”

He let out a breathy chuckle, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the back of your hand. “I know… I’m sorry.” He tilted his head slightly, lips curving into a small smile. “I’ll make it up to you?”

“You better.”

And before he could respond, you pulled him into a tight embrace, arms wrapping around him like you never wanted to let go. You felt his chest rise and fall beneath your touch, the warmth of his body seeping into yours.

He didn’t complain. Instead, he melted into you, arms circling around your waist, holding you just as tightly.

And just like that, the distance between you was gone.

Zayne

Of course, Zayne was never the overly affectionate type, but even then you could tell he was deliberately avoiding you.

At first, you chalked it up to his demanding schedule—after all, he was saving lives. But even that excuse couldn’t justify his abrupt change in behavior.

Whenever you did manage to catch him in passing, he kept conversations brief, his responses clipped and impersonal. The once effortless exchanges between you had turned into distant formalities, as though you were nothing more than another name on his patient roster.

And frankly, you’d had enough.

Determined, you made your way to his office, having learned from Grayson that Zayne was on break. You knocked sharply on his door, only to be met with a detached “Come in.”

As you stepped inside, you caught the briefest flicker of something in his expression—surprise? Guilt? Whatever it was, it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual impassive demeanor.

“It’s not time for your monthly check-up yet,” he remarked, barely sparing you a glance as he returned his attention to his computer screen.

That made your blood boil. He was acting as if you were just another patient, as if the past weeks of tension between you didn’t exist.

“I’m not here for a check-up.” You sat down across from him, eyes fixed on his face, watching for any reaction. “I want to have lunch with you.”

His fingers paused momentarily over his keyboard before resuming their rhythm.

“Grayson told me you’re on break, so don’t even try to claim you’re busy.” You crossed your arms, already anticipating whatever excuse he was about to fabricate.

Zayne exhaled slowly, as if contemplating his next move.

“I need to prepare for surgery—”

“No, you don’t.” You leaned forward, resting your elbows on his desk, dangerously close to his face.

“Tell me, Dr. Zayne… this isn’t how a gentleman treats a lady, is it?” Your voice took on a teasing lilt, though there was an unmistakable edge to it.

He sighed, removing his glasses for a moment to pinch the bridge of his nose before sliding them back into place.

“You are no lady,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You are the devil incarnate.”

You laughed, the sound light and amused.

“Why are you avoiding me?” You dropped the playful tone, cutting straight to the point.

Zayne was silent for a long moment, then finally, he lifted his gaze to meet yours. With an air of finality, he stood from his chair, rounding the desk until he was standing directly in front of you.

“So, even after all my efforts, you still insist on tormenting me at work.” His voice was its usual measured calm, but there was something else beneath it, something unreadable.

“I suppose there’s no point in attempting to hide it any longer.” His gaze darkened, intense enough to send an involuntary shiver down your spine. “Avoiding you didn’t change anything. It didn’t stop my thoughts from straying to you, didn’t stop my eyes from seeking you out the moment you enter a room. You are peculiar, infuriatingly so… and yet, I find myself drawn to you in ways I cannot ignore.”

Your breath hitched slightly at his words, but you weren’t the only one affected. Though his face remained unreadable, the faintest hint of color dusted the tips of his ears.

“Do you…” You hesitated, swallowing the sudden nervousness rising in your throat. “Do you really feel that way about me?”

Zayne regarded you for a moment before giving a single, deliberate nod.

A slow smile crept onto your lips, the boldness you’d arrived with now tinged with a shy excitement. “Well then… how about we have lunch and talk about this?”

Something in his expression softened, and though he didn’t say it outright, his silence was answer enough.

Rafayel

There had always been a game between you and Rafayel—a never-ending dance of teasing and flirtation that neither of you ever seemed to tire of. It was effortless, a constant, something you had come to expect from him.

So when he suddenly became quiet, retreating from that familiar dynamic, it took you by surprise. It was unlike him—so unlike him. Instead of returning your playful remarks with an even more shamelessly flirtatious response, he simply looked away. Instead of seeking you out like he always had, he started keeping his distance. At first, you thought maybe he had met someone, that perhaps the easy banter had lost its charm for him. But then he didn’t just stop flirting—he started avoiding you altogether.

That was what finally pushed you to action.

The party was buzzing with music and laughter, the air thick with the scent of alcohol and expensive cologne. The warm glow of string lights cast flickering shadows across the walls, but you only had eyes for one person—the man who had been actively dodging you. Fueled by a mix of frustration and liquid courage, you found him lingering near the balcony, his back turned to you. Without hesitation, you strode over and cornered him against the wall, planting both hands beside him, effectively caging him in.

"Tell me, Raf," you demanded, voice slightly slurred but unwavering. "What have I done to make you avoid me?"

He blinked, clearly startled by your sudden boldness. For a moment, he was speechless, his gaze flickering across your face as if searching for something. Then, in a desperate attempt to regain his composure, he let out a low chuckle, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Now, cutie," he drawled, tilting his head with feigned nonchalance, "why would you think I’m avoiding you?"

You narrowed your eyes, unwilling to let him weasel his way out of this. "Is it because you met someone?" you pressed, frustration laced with something dangerously close to vulnerability. "You don’t have to avoid me, Raf. We don’t have to ‘joke around’ anymore, just… don’t act like I don’t exist."

The words felt heavier as they left your mouth, laced with an ache you hadn't meant to reveal.

Rafayel’s smirk faded. A quiet sigh escaped him before he reached up, his fingers grazing your cheek with uncharacteristic tenderness. The usual mischief in his eyes was gone, replaced by something softer—something real.

"You really are dense," he murmured, thumb tracing slow, soothing circles against your skin. "I tried to put space between us because it stopped being just flirting for me. It wasn’t just a game anymore." His voice was quieter now, steadier. "I was falling for you."

Your breath hitched. For a moment, all you could do was stare, his words settling over you, sinking in, unraveling everything you had assumed.

And then you acted on instinct.

Without a word, you leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. It was brief, but it said everything—everything you hadn't been able to say before. When you pulled away, his expression was unreadable for half a second, and then a slow, almost disbelieving smile curved his lips.

"You’re a big, big dummy," you murmured, grinning up at him, finally feeling like you had him back.

And this time, he didn’t pull away.

Sylus

Oh, you were furious.

You had always known the kind of man Sylus was—disappearing without a word, leaving messages unanswered, slipping in and out of your life as if bound by no one’s rules but his own. But never, not once, had his absence stretched beyond two days.

Now, an entire week had passed.

You had called, concern gnawing at your chest, only to be met with silence. But when you saw the twins posting nonchalantly on moments, realization settled over you like a cold weight.

You were being ignored.

And you hated how much it affected you.

Was his absence truly taking such a toll on you? Was the lack of his attention enough to make your world feel unsteady? The thought alone was infuriating.

Enough was enough.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you were already standing in front of his house, storming inside like you belonged there, your every step heavy with emotion.

"Where’s Sylus?" you demanded the moment you entered the kitchen, finding Luke and Kieran lost in quiet laughter over some inside joke.

They startled at your sudden entrance, but it was the scowl on your face that wiped the amusement from their expressions. Without hesitation, they told you exactly where to find their boss.

You didn’t bother knocking.

The door to Sylus’ study swung open, revealing him lounging in a chair, a glass of red wine in hand, his robe—also red, because of course it was—hanging loosely off his frame, exposing far too much skin. The dim lighting cast golden shadows across the sharp angles of his face, only adding to the effortless air of danger that always seemed to follow him.

But you refused to be distracted.

"You moron," you spat, striding toward him.

Sylus arched a dark brow, his lips curling in amusement.

"It’s wonderful to see you too, sweet thing," he drawled, his voice smooth and indulgent, like honeyed wine. He took another unbothered sip.

The nonchalance of it all only fueled your anger. You grabbed the glass from his hand and set it down—none too gently—on the nearby table.

"Don’t ‘sweet thing’ me right now. I thought you were dead!" Your voice wavered between frustration and something dangerously close to hurt.

He exhaled a soft chuckle, entirely unfazed. "Is it my fault you assume I can be taken down so easily?" His tone was rich with amusement, a teasing lilt behind every syllable.

"Oh, you’re about to be taken down if you don’t start explaining yourself," you shot back, eyes burning with a challenge.

That, at least, seemed to amuse him less.

"Explain what, exactly?" he asked, tilting his head slightly, though his gaze remained sharp. "Be specific, darling."

You scoffed, crossing your arms. "Explain why you’ve been ignoring me all week."

Silence.

It lasted only a moment, but in that pause, something in the air shifted.

When he finally spoke, his voice had lost its teasing edge. "What do you expect me to say? That every time I was near you, I was overwhelmed by emotions I have no business feeling? That you make me reckless? That I—" He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark hair. "I shouldn’t let myself feel this way. It makes me weak."

Your breath hitched.

His voice, once laced with quiet amusement, now carried something else entirely—something raw, something unguarded.

"And now," he continued, stepping closer, his voice quieter but no less intense, "I’ve said it out loud. There’s no going back. You have the upper hand, sweet thing. You’ve wrapped me around your little finger."

His proximity made heat rise to your cheeks, but you held your ground.

"So, what now?" His voice was softer now, laced with the barest hint of vulnerability. "Is your curiosity satisfied?"

You glanced away, unsure of how to answer, but he was quick to lift your chin with a single finger, forcing your eyes to meet his.

There, in the depths of his gaze, was something undeniable—something entirely, devastatingly real.

"Instead of a weakness," you murmured, your hand covering his, "why not let it be your strength?"

For a moment, Sylus said nothing. Then, slowly, his fingers curled around yours.

And for the first time in his life, love didn’t feel like a liability. It felt like power.

Caleb

Your normally talkative, bubbly best friend had become a shadow of himself—distant, reserved, and frustratingly unreadable.

At first, you tried to ignore it, convincing yourself that maybe he just needed space. Everyone had their moments, after all. But when he started canceling plans—your plans—that was what truly hurt. He shut you out without explanation, leaving you to wonder what had changed.

And you hated not knowing.

So when you finally managed to get him alone, seated beside you on the couch in the familiar comfort of your living room, you weren’t about to waste the opportunity. You wanted answers, and this time, you weren’t leaving without them.

The air was thick with unspoken words as you turned to face him. The dim glow of the lamp cast warm shadows across his features, highlighting the tension in his jaw, the slight crease between his brows. He had been unusually quiet all evening, and you had reached your limit.

"What’s with the long face, Caleb?" you asked, your voice softer than you intended, laced with quiet concern. "Tell me what’s wrong."

Your eyes searched his, willing him to let you in. His moods always affected you, but this… this silence was unbearable.

Caleb looked momentarily caught off guard, as if he hadn’t expected you to confront him so directly. He parted his lips to speak—probably to brush it off, to tell you it was nothing—but then he hesitated.

And instead of words, he took your hand.

Gently, he pressed your palm against his chest, right over his heart. You could feel it, the rapid beat beneath your fingertips.

"Did I do something wrong?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "You've been so distant lately…"

His grip on your hand tightened slightly. "Pipsqueak," he murmured, the nickname rolling off his tongue with quiet fondness. "You could never upset me."

There was something unreadable in his gaze—something raw.

"I've just been… confused," he admitted, his voice lower now, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to say the words aloud.

"Confused about what?" You instinctively moved closer, barely noticing the way your knees touched.

Caleb exhaled slowly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "It’s becoming harder to hide," he finally said. "To pretend I don’t feel something I’ve been trying to ignore for far longer than I should have."

Then, in a move so tender it sent a shiver down your spine, he lifted your hand to his cheek, closing his eyes for just a moment as he nuzzled against your palm.

Your breath caught in your throat.

"Caleb…" Your voice wavered, warmth creeping up your face. His touch was intoxicating, his puppy-eyed gaze making your heart weak. "What are you saying?"

His lips curled into the faintest smile, as if the answer had been obvious all along.

"What I’m saying," he murmured, eyes locked onto yours, "is that I’m hopelessly in love with you."

Your heart stuttered, warmth blooming in your chest like sunlight breaking through a storm.

And in that moment, nothing had ever felt more right.

You wrapped your arms tightly around Caleb, burying your face against his shoulder—partly to conceal the heat rising to your cheeks, partly to soak in the warmth of his embrace. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips felt grounding, reassuring, like an unspoken promise.

In that moment, you felt whole. As if a missing piece you hadn't even realized was absent had finally fallen into place, completing a puzzle you hadn't known you were solving.

[drewswife]

summary: you and your bestie just got from dinner and you met your celebrity crush (Drew Starkey)

warnings: fluff, fangirling, you being a blushing mess

The restaurant buzzed with the low hum of satisfied diners, the clinking of glasses, and the murmur of conversations. You and your bestie, Sarah, were just finishing up a shared plate of molten chocolate lava cake, reminiscing about the disastrous double date Sarah had been on the previous night.

"… and then, get this, he starts talking about his extensive collection of porcelain thimbles!" Sarah exclaimed, throwing her hands up in exasperation. You giggled, shaking your head in amused disbelief. Suddenly, a hush fell over a small section of the restaurant.

You glanced up, noticing a ripple of excitement spreading through the crowd. "What's going on?" you wondered aloud, but Sarah was already craning her neck, eyes wide.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's Drew Starkey." Your heart skipped a beat. Drew Starkey. Your celebrity crush. You'd spent countless hours watching his movies, swooning over his interviews, and plastering his pictures on your bedroom wall in high school. You couldn't believe he was in this small, cozy restaurant in Chicago.

You tried to play it cool, casually glancing in his direction. He was even more handsome in person. His smile was dazzling, his eyes sparkled with warmth, and his laughter was infectious. He was sitting with a group of friends, engaged in an animated conversation.

"Let's go over and say hi," Sarah nudged you playfully, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Are you crazy?" you hissed, blushing furiously. "I can't just go up to him. What would I even say?"

"Just be yourself," Sarah shrugged. "Tell him you're a fan. Compliment his work. Ask for a selfie. You'll regret it if you don't. "You hesitated, your mind racing. On one hand, even briefly, the thought of meeting him was thrilling. On the other hand, you were terrified of coming across as awkward or starstruck. You imagined yourself tripping over your own feet, spilling your drink on him, or worse, babbling incoherently about your undying love. "Come on," Sarah urged, pulling you to your feet. "Let's do this." Before you could protest further, Sarah was leading you towards his table. "Excuse me," she began, her voice surprisingly steady.

He looked up, his eyes meeting yours. You felt your cheeks flush crimson. "Hi," he said, flashing a disarming smile. "We're huge fans," Sarah continued, beaming. "My friend here, Y/N, she's especially obsessed. She's seen all your movies like a million times."

"It's nice to meet you both," he chuckled, his eyes lingering on yours licking his lips. You managed a shy smile, your heart pounding in your chest. "We don't want to disturb you," Sarah said, "but would you mind if we got a quick picture?"

"Of course," he agreed readily. He stood up, towering over you. He smelled amazing, like a mix of sandalwood and something subtly spicy. You felt a flutter in your stomach.

You squeezed between Drew and Sarah, trying to calm your nerves. He put his arm around your waist squeezing you and pulling you closer making you blush, and you could feel the warmth of his touch through your jacket. You held your breath as Sarah snapped a few photos.

"It was lovely meeting you," he said, his eyes meeting yours again winking at you. "Enjoy the rest of your evening." "You too," you whispered, still slightly dazed. As you returned to your table, Sarah was practically bouncing excitedly.

"Oh my god, we just met Drew Starkey!" she squealed. "And he put his arm around you! I'm so jealous! you lucky bitch" You couldn't stop smiling. You couldn't believe it had actually happened.

taglist: @chrislilcumslvt @chrepsi

dividers by: @bernardsbendystraws

a/n: was bored lol enjoy!

more

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: Earning It Back

Fandom: UConn Women’s Basketball

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader , Ice Brady x Reader

Rating: T (Teen)

Warnings: Angst, emotional distress, slow-burn forgiveness, fluff, redemption

Summary: After overhearing Paige and Ice’s bet, you were devastated. Trying to move on has been nearly impossible, especially with Paige constantly trying to earn your forgiveness with flowers, coffee, gifts, and heartfelt apologies.

Part 2 of: Played

Every morning, I woke up hoping it was all just a bad dream.

But then I’d see the flowers on my doorstep—fresh, beautiful, and wrapped with care. And I’d know it wasn’t.

Paige hadn’t let up since that night at the party. If anything, she’d doubled down. Flowers, coffee with little notes scribbled on the lids, stuffed animals sitting on my bed with little apology cards clutched in their paws. Jewelry boxes with delicate necklaces—my birthstone, my favorite colors, a little charm in the shape of a basketball.

It was too much.

And yet, not enough.

Every time I found another gift, my heart twisted painfully, caught between anger and a longing I couldn’t shake.

“Hey, can we talk?”

I looked up from my lunch tray to find Ice standing there, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.

I sighed, not in the mood. “About what?”

She swallowed hard. “About… everything.”

My appetite vanished. “Ice, I—”

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out. Her eyes were wide and desperate. “I was an idiot. A huge idiot. I never meant to hurt you.”

I shook my head, my voice bitter. “Well, you did.”

Ice flinched, looking down. “I know. And I’m trying to make up for it. I really am.”

My walls stayed firmly in place. “I don’t need you or paige to leave flowers or stuffed animals or—”

“That’s not what I’m trying to do,” she interrupted, her voice thick. “I just… I want you to know that I’m sorry. And I’ll keep saying it until you believe me.”

I stared at her, my heart aching. “I don’t know if I ever will.”

She nodded slowly, taking a step back. “Okay. But I’m not giving up.”

Days passed. Then weeks.

Paige was even more relentless than Ice.

She would show up after my classes with my favorite smoothie, barely catching my eye as she set it on the table and walked away. My locker would be filled with handwritten notes, pages and pages of apologies and confessions that I didn’t have the strength to read.

And then there were the games.

I avoided them at first, not wanting to see her face, to watch her play and pretend everything was fine. But word got around fast—Paige wasn’t fine.

“You need to talk to her,” KK said, sliding into the seat beside me in the cafeteria.

I didn’t even look up. “No, I don’t.”

Azzi sat down on my other side, her tone softer. “Y/N, she’s… she’s not herself. She’s missing shots she’d normally make with her eyes closed. Coach is pissed.”

My chest tightened. “That’s not my problem.”

KK leaned forward. “It kinda is. You’re all she thinks about. She’s trying to figure out how to get you back. She doesn’t care about anything else.”

I swallowed hard, my appetite gone. “She should’ve thought about that before making me a bet.”

Azzi reached over, covering my hand with hers. “She’s messed up, Y/N. She knows that. But she’s trying.”

I pulled my hand back, crossing my arms. “It doesn’t just fix things.”

KK sighed, looking frustrated. “No, but it’s a start.”

The next morning, I found Paige sitting on the steps of my dorm, a fresh bouquet in her hands.

I stopped, my heart pounding. “What are you doing here?”

She stood slowly, the flowers trembling slightly in her grasp. “Waiting for you.”

I bit my lip, fighting the emotions welling up inside me. “Paige…”

“Please,” she whispered, stepping closer. Her eyes were red-rimmed, dark circles under them from nights without sleep. “Just hear me out.”

I hesitated, then sighed, nodding. “Fine.”

She exhaled shakily. “I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry. I was an idiot—I let my ego get in the way, and I didn’t think about your feelings. I didn’t think about what it would do to you.”

I looked down, my vision blurring. “You made me feel like a joke.”

“I know.” Her voice cracked. “And I hate myself for it. I hate that I hurt you. That I lost you. Please… just tell me what I can do to make it right.”

I swallowed hard. “You can’t just throw gifts at me and expect it to be okay.”

“I know,” she said, her voice desperate. “I know that. But I just… I wanted you to see that I care. That I love you.”

My breath hitched. “You don’t—”

“I do,” she insisted. “God, I do. More than anything.”

A tear slipped down my cheek, and I wiped it away angrily. “Then why? Why did you do it?”

She shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. “Because I was stupid. I thought it was just a game. I didn’t realize—I didn’t realize how real it would get. How real you would get.”

I looked away, struggling to breathe. “I can’t just forget this.”

“I’m not asking you to,” she whispered. “I’m asking for a chance to prove that I’m not that girl anymore. That I’m yours—if you’ll still have me.”

Silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating.

Finally, I took a shaky breath. “You have a lot to prove.”

A spark of hope lit in her eyes. “I know.”

“And Ice—”

“Already handled,” she promised. “She’s as sorry as I am. She’s been trying to find a way to tell you.”

I nodded slowly, my defenses crumbling. “Okay.”

Paige stepped closer, cautiously. “Okay?”

I exhaled, tears slipping free. “Okay.”

And when she wrapped her arms around me, holding me like I was the most precious thing in the world, I let myself believe that maybe—just maybe—we could find our way back to each other.

---

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-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[nilla03]

“ 𝐴 𝑃𝑅𝐼𝑆𝑂𝑁𝐸𝑅𝑆 𝑇𝑂𝑈𝐶𝐻“ 𝑃𝑇 2

𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑛𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒

𝑃𝑙𝑜𝑡：𝑡𝑜𝑗𝑖 ���𝑒𝑡𝑠 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑛�� 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑙𝑖𝑙 𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒𝑠

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 ： 𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑥， 𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑢𝑎𝑔𝑒， 𝑡𝑜𝑗𝑖 𝑗𝑒𝑟𝑘𝑖𝑛 𝐼𝑇

Your hands shake as you zip up your tiny pink skirt, adjusting it in the mirror before smoothing your hands over the fabric. It’s short—too short for a prison visit—but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when you know who you’re going to see.

Ever since you sent those pictures—posing all sweet and shy in the mirror, nothing but lace hugging your curves—you’ve been waiting for a response. A letter. A call. Something. But days passed, and there was nothing.

You swipe a glossy pink lip oil over your pout, pouting at your reflection. Your lashes are long, curled just the way he likes them. Your little off-the-shoulder top hugs your curves, the lacy fabric delicate against your skin. Even your nails—freshly done, soft pink French tips—are perfect.

It’s a little embarrassing how much time you spent getting ready. But Toji always notices.

His voice echoes in your head, teasing and dark. You can already hear him smirking, already see the way he’ll lean back in his chair, eyes dragging over your figure like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

With one last glance in the mirror, you grab your purse, slipping on your pink platform heels before heading out the door.

As you drive to the prison, anticipation coils in your belly. You know he’s been thinking about you. Know you got under his skin. But what you don’t know—what makes your breath quicken—is what Toji’s going to do about it.

You shouldn’t feel this nervous. It’s not like it’s your first time visiting Toji. But today… today is different

Your heart pounds as you sit in the cold prison visitation room, your manicured fingers anxiously tracing the hem of your tiny pink skirt. The guards had already given you side-eyes when you walked in, but you didn’t care. You knew exactly who you were here for—and exactly what you did to him.

Toji steps into the room, his towering frame making your breath hitch the moment he locks eyes with you. He looks hungry.

He drops into the chair across from you, forearms resting on the table, his gray jumpsuit stretching over thick muscles. His gaze flickers down—your soft thighs peeking beneath your skirt, your little off-the-shoulder top hugging every curve. And then, finally, he speaks.

“Got your lil gift.” His voice is low, a dark rasp that sends a shiver up your spine. “Those pictures you sent me.”

Your stomach flips. You can barely hold his stare.

“Oh?” His smirk deepens, licking his teeth as he leans in closer. “Where was all that attitude when you were spread out for me in those pictures ?”

You swallow hard, gripping the table, your face burning. “I—I just thought you’d like them…”

Toji chuckles, slow and deep. “Like them? Nah, baby, I loved them.” He tilts his head, eyes dark with something unreadable. “Made it real hard to focus in here, though. You know that?”

You shift in your seat, thighs pressing together under his heated stare. “I… I just wanted to do something nice for you.”

He exhales through his nose, his tongue clicking. “Yeah? Then why’d you leave me hanging, huh?” His fingers drum against the table. “No letter after? No call? Thought maybe my pretty little girl was feelin’ guilty for teasing me like that.”

You shake your head quickly. “N-No, I wasn’t—”

“Mm. Good.” His voice drops lower, rougher. “’Cause when I get out, you’re gonna be giving me a lot more than pictures, baby.”

Your breath stutters, and before you can say anything else, the guard signals that your time is up.

Toji leans back, smirking. “I’ll be callin’ you later. Pick up fast, yeah?”

Later that night, your phone buzzes. You’re curled up in bed, still warm from the memory of his voice. You don’t even check the caller ID before answering.

“Y—you’re calling already?”

A deep chuckle rumbles through the speaker. “Of course I am, baby.” His voice is even darker now, thick with something dangerous. Something you might not be ready for.

“think you can just look all pretty for me and sleep all peaceful, huh?” His tone is almost mocking, but there’s a heat behind it that makes your thighs squeeze together.

Toji chuckles, and you hear a slow, deliberate exhale through the speaker. There's a rustling sound, and then a quiet, low groan that makes your skin prickle.

Your stomach flips. "Toji... what are you doing?"

"What's it sound like, baby?" His voice is thick, teasing, taunting. "Got my hand wrapped around my cock, thinkin' about how fuckin' sweet you looked today."

Toji exhales sharply, the phone picking up the faint sound of skin dragging over skin. "wearin' that little skirt, like you didn't want me to be thinkin' about this all day."

You press your thighs together, your voice barely above a whisper. "I-I wasn't—"

“Mm-mm.” He cuts you off, voice like gravel. “Nah, pretty girl. You got me all riled up. So now? You’re gonna keep me company while I take care of it.”

Your breath catches. “W-What—”

“C’mon, baby,” he murmurs, voice sending a thrill down your spine. “Be a good girl. You owe me after all that teasing.”

Your hands shake as you press your phone to your ear, barely able to breathe as Toji’s deep, raspy voice slides through the speaker.

“You didn’t really think I was just gonna let you get away with that, did you?”

You shift under your blankets, body already heating up. You know exactly what he means—those pictures you sent him. The ones where you wore nothing but the tiniest lace panties, posing so sweetly for him, biting your lip like you were waiting for his hands on you instead.

You hadn’t heard from him after sending them, and for a moment, you thought maybe you went too far. But now? The dark amusement in his tone tells you everything.

“I—” You swallow hard. “I didn’t know if you liked them…”

Toji chuckles, slow and deep, like he can hear the way your breath stutters. “Liked them?” He tsks. “Baby, I haven’t stopped thinkin’ about them since I got ‘em. You know how hard it is sittin’ in a cell, knowin’ my pretty girl is out there touchin’ herself instead of waitin’ for me?”

Your thighs squeeze together. “I—I wasn’t—”

“Don’t lie.” His voice drops lower, all rough edges and dark promise. “I know you, baby. Know you got needy after takin’ those pictures. Bet you played with that cute little pussy right after, huh?”

You let out the softest whimper, your face burning. You did.

“That’s what I thought.” His breathing is heavier now, a slow inhale like he’s savoring the sound of you unraveling. “You like teasin’ me, don’t you?”

“N-No,” you whisper, but it’s useless.

Toji chuckles, voice like sin. “Mm. You sure about that, pretty girl? Walked into that visitation room today wearin’ that little skirt, actin’ all shy after what you did. Like you wanted me to sit there and think about it all night.”

You shudder, fingers twisting in the sheets. You had worn it for him, just to see that dark gleam in his eyes, just to feel small under his hungry stare.

“Toji…” You don’t even know what you’re asking for, but the need in your voice is obvious.

“Yeah, baby,” he murmurs, voice thick with something dangerous. “You need me?”

You nod before realizing he can’t see you. “Y-Yeah…”

“That’s my girl,” he hums. There’s a rustling sound on the other end, the faintest hitch in his breath. “Then keep me company, princess. Let me hear how sweet you sound when you touch yourself.”

Your breath catches. “W-What—”

“You heard me.” His voice is calm, dark. Commanding. “Made me sit in my fuckin’ cell, thinkin’ about you all damn day. Now you’re gonna be a good girl ‘n let me hear what’s mine.”

You whimper at the possessiveness in his tone, your fingers already trailing beneath the covers. “Toji, I—”

“C’mon, baby,” he murmurs, almost coaxing. “You owe me after all that teasing.”

Your breath is uneven as you slip your hand between your thighs, gasping softly at how wet you already are. Toji hears it immediately.

“There you go,” he praises, voice thick with approval. “Knew you wanted this.

You let out a shaky sigh, fingers moving slowly, teasing yourself the way you know he would if he were here. The thought makes your head spin—Toji’s big hands holding you down, his rough fingers spreading you open, making you feel small and helpless underneath him.

“Fuck,” he groans through the speaker, his breathing heavier now. “You touchin’ that pretty little clit for me, baby?”

You whimper, nodding before whispering, “Y-Yeah…”

“Mm. Bet you wish it was my fingers instead, huh?” His voice is getting rougher, raspier. “Bet you miss the way I stretch you out. Always so fuckin’ tight for me.”

Your back arches, a needy whine slipping past your lips. “Toji—”

“Shh, baby, I got you,” he murmurs. “Take your time. Let me hear those pretty sounds.”

“Such a Messy Girl”

Your breath is unsteady, thighs trembling as your fingers tease slow circles over your clit. Toji’s voice is thick in your ear, rough and wrecked.

“There you go, baby,” he groans, the sound of skin dragging against skin sending shivers straight through you. “Knew you’d be a good girl for me.”

Your head tips back against the pillows, body heating up at the low, ragged sounds slipping through the speaker. He’s stroking himself to you, thinking about you, the same way you’re touching yourself for him.

“T-Toji,” you whimper, your other hand gripping the sheets.

“Mm, that’s my girl,” he rasps. “Say my name again, baby. Let me hear how pretty you sound when you come for me.”

Your fingers move faster, your body tightening as his voice keeps pushing you further.

“Bet you’d feel so fuckin’ good right now,” he grits out, his breath hitching slightly. “Bet that cute little pussy’s just drippin’ for me. You know how bad I wanna be there, huh?”

Toji groans, voice all dark and heavy. “Then go ahead, baby. Make a mess for me.”

Your back arches, a high-pitched moan slipping past your lips as pleasure crashes through you. Your body tenses, then melts, thighs shaking as you come hard, making a mess on your sheets, your skin burning with heat.

Toji’s breathing stutters, a rough grunt catching in his throat. Then—

“Fuck—” he growls, voice strained, and then you hear it. The low, deep groan of his release, the ragged way his breath catches as he spills over himself.

You shudder, body still sensitive, warmth blooming in your chest at the sound of him falling apart.

There’s a beat of silence, both of you catching your breath. Then, Toji lets out a low chuckle, voice thick with satisfaction.

“Damn, baby,” he murmurs. “Made a fuckin’ mess, didn’t you?”

You let out a shy little whimper, curling into the sheets. “I—”

“Mm.” He tuts, voice dripping with amusement. “Bet you got it all over your thighs, huh? All sticky, just for me.”

Your breath is still shaky, body warm and spent, when Toji hums through the receiver.

“Bet you got it all over your thighs, huh? All sticky, just for me.”

A tiny whimper slips past your lips, your face burning as you shift against the messy sheets. Your body is still tingling, oversensitive, your fingers curling into the fabric.

Toji hears it—of course he does. His low chuckle crackles through the speaker, rough and smug. “Aww, baby,” he coos, mock sympathy laced in his voice. “Got you that fucked out, huh?”

Before you can respond, the automated voice cuts in.

“This call will end in one minute.”

Your stomach sinks. “No…” you whisper, the thought of losing his voice too soon making your heart ache.

Toji exhales sharply, like he hates it too. Then, his tone softens. “Shh, baby. I know.”

You swallow, blinking up at the ceiling, feeling too small without him.

His voice dips low, gentle, something tender lingering beneath the roughness. “You listening?”

You nod, even though he can’t see it.

“Love you, baby,” he murmurs, and your breath catches. “Ain’t a damn thing gonna keep me from you.”

Your lashes flutter, warmth blooming in your chest. “Love you too, Toji…”

The call cuts off with a dull beep.

2𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑎 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑚 <3

@valariexo @sunasgf1 @ourfinalisation

[onebadassunicorn]

Love Lies

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: angst

word count: 4k

Taglist @motheroffae @tele86 @sinfully-yoursss @kathren1sky-blog @demon-master-zero @sillyfreakfanparty @phoenix666stuff @ quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @fr0stf4ll @yourdarkrose @dnfhascorruptedme

If I have missed anyone on the tag list, please leave me a comment here and I will add you! There are more chapters to come, two alternate endings, and a Lucien spinoff story!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

********

Chapter 11

Two days.

For two days, the world had been nothing but darkness, thick and heavy, like drowning in a deep, endless sea.

And then—

Light.

Your body ached, your head swam, your limbs felt leaden, but your eyelids finally fluttered open, and the first thing you saw was wooden beams stretching over you, the faint golden glow of a fire casting shadows along the walls.

Your heart pounded.

The cabin.

You were in the cabin you shared with Azriel.

Confusion crashed into you, cold and sharp, panic lacing through your veins as your eyes darted around the familiar room—the home you had built with Azriel, the place that had once been your sanctuary, your safe haven.

But this place had not been safe for you in a long time.

You shifted slightly—and that’s when you felt it.

Warmth.

A hand wrapped around yours, fingers entwined as if clinging to you.

Your breath caught.

Slowly, you turned your head—

And there he was.

Azriel.

Lying beside you, his scarred fingers curled around yours, his wings tucked in close, his face etched with something raw, haunted, exhausted. His lips were slightly parted, his breathing deep and even, but as soon as you stirred—

His lashes fluttered open.

Golden-brown eyes, swirling with shadows and pain, locked onto yours.

Relief—pure, unfiltered relief—flooded his features, his fingers tightening around yours, his voice rasping with emotion as he whispered, “You’re awake.”

A deep, unbearable ache spread through your chest.

You snatched your hand away as if his touch had burned you.

And when you did—

Azriel flinched.

His throat worked, his jaw clenching, as if physically pained by the loss of contact.

“Why…” Your voice came out hoarse, shaky. You swallowed hard, staring at him, at the cabin, at the fire still burning in the hearth. “Why am I here?”

His eyes softened, but his body remained rigid, as if preparing for the inevitable blow.

“I brought you back,” he admitted.

Panic surged inside you.

Your mind whirled, remembering Alatar, the warlock, the price you had been willing to pay to break the bond—

You shot up, nearly stumbling as you threw the blankets off you and climbed out of bed, pacing.

“No,” you breathed, panic rising like a tide, your hands trembling. “No, no, this—this doesn’t make sense.” You whirled to face him. “You let me go.” Your voice cracked, hysteria creeping in. “You left me.”

Azriel sat up slowly, his wings slightly flaring, his chest heaving, but he didn’t move toward you.

“I know,” he said, his voice thick, heavy with guilt, regret, sorrow.

“You left me dying in an alley,” you spat, your breathing uneven, your heart slamming against your ribs. “You told me you loved Elain, that you didn’t love me anymore. You said I was an embarrassment—that you never wanted to see me again.” Your voice broke on the last word, the memory of his letter like a blade in your chest.

Azriel flinched again, his face twisting with pain. “I didn’t write that letter.”

You let out a hysterical, hollow laugh, your hands shaking at your sides. “So what? You just magically forgot the last few months? Forgot choosing her?” Your voice was rising, cracking. “Forgot letting me rot in my own grief?”

Azriel stood now, stepping closer, his hand outstretched. “I was—”

You slapped his hand away, your body trembling uncontrollably.

“I love you,” he said, pleading, desperate, his golden eyes shining in the firelight.

You let out a broken sob, your vision blurring with tears. “No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “No—you’re a liar.”

Azriel’s throat bobbed, his own eyes glistening, his hands shaking as if he wanted to touch you, pull you close, hold you together, but he didn’t dare.

“Why are you doing this to me?” You stepped forward and pounded your fists against his chest, voice rising into a shattered scream. “Why are you making me suffer all over again?”

Azriel shuddered beneath your blows, his wings drooping, his breath coming in uneven, ragged gasps.

“I can’t stop loving you,” you sobbed, pounding his chest again, your entire body wracked with tremors. “And it hurts, Az. It hurts so much.” You pushed him away, tears spilling down your cheeks. “And I can’t stop hurting until the bond is gone.”

Azriel snapped then, his own body shaking, his own pain crashing through him like a storm.

“I can’t let you do that,” he rasped, suddenly grabbing your wrists, holding them firmly but gently, his forehead nearly touching yours.

You tried to pull away, but he held you steady. “Let me go,” you sobbed.

“I can’t,” Azriel whispered, voice breaking, his face contorted in pure, raw devastation. “I can’t let you go. I won’t.”

You shook your head violently, struggling in his hold. “You don’t love me. You chose her. You told me you didn’t love me.”

Azriel’s entire body trembled, his wings sagging, his hands shaking as they gripped your wrists.

His breath was shaky, his face torn apart with sorrow. “I never loved Elain. I love you,” he choked out, his voice raw, desperate. “I never stopped.”

Your knees buckled.

Azriel caught you before you could collapse, scooping you into his arms, pressing you against his chest, his face buried in your hair as he finally broke.

“I love you,” he sobbed, his voice wrecked, raw, desperate. “I love you. I have only ever loved you.”

You let out a shattered wail, your body shaking as you sobbed into him, finally breaking completely.

Azriel held you tighter, closer, his arms wrapped around you like a shield, as if he could keep the world from touching you, from hurting you ever again.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispered against your skin, his voice a prayer, a plea, a broken vow. “I won’t.”

You sobbed harder, clutching at his tunic, your hands fisting into the fabric as if letting go meant you would disappear again.

Azriel picked you up, cradling you as if you were something fragile, precious, and carried you back to the bed.

None of this made any sense.

Why now?

After everything he had said and done, he was finally rid of you.

Finally free to be with Elain.

Why drag you back just to break you all over again?

Was it the bond telling him he should do this?

Or was it something more?

You couldn’t let your mind wander there because he once told you he would never leave.

And then…the goodbye that followed almost killed you.

He held you as you cried your heart out, whispering broken apologies over and over.

As your tears had finally begun to slow, though your body still trembled, exhaustion pulling at your limbs like the weight of a thousand shattered promises.

Azriel still held you, his arms a protective cage around you, as if he could keep the past from ever touching you again.

But the past was already seared into your soul, carved into the very fabric of your existence.

And you weren’t done speaking.

Your voice was hoarse, worn from sobbing, from grief, from the agony of the last few months, but you forced yourself to say it anyway.

“I went through a maze of men to find you,” you whispered, the words torn from somewhere deep inside you.

Azriel tensed, but he didn’t say a word. He just held you, his fingers tightening around your body as though he already knew what was coming.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look into his tormented, golden-brown eyes, searching them for something—anything—that would ease the deep, endless ache inside you.

“Most people never find their mate,” you continued, your voice trembling, “they go their whole lives searching for the one the Mother made for them, and they never get that chance.” Your breath hitched, your vision blurring again. “But I did.” You let out a shaky laugh. “I found you.”

Azriel’s throat bobbed, his wings drooping, his expression shattered and helpless.

“And do you know what I did?” Your hands clenched at your sides. “I gave you everything. Every piece of me, every ounce of love I had to give—I gave it all to you.”

His hands shook where they rested against your back.

“And now,” you whispered, hollow and broken, “all I gave you is gone.”

Azriel let out a pained breath, his forehead dropping against your shoulder as if the weight of your words was too much to bear.

“We built a life together,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “A life so beautiful, a bond so unbreakable that I thought even the gods themselves couldn’t rip it apart.” A sharp, ragged breath escaped you. “Something that even forever couldn’t break up.”

Azriel’s body shuddered, his grip on you tightening, as if holding onto you was the only thing keeping him from collapsing under the weight of what he’d done.

“And when you left me in that alley to die,” you breathed, voice shaking uncontrollably, “you took the last little piece of me.”

Azriel made a broken sound, something low and guttural, as if the words had physically gutted him.

“And walked away.”

Azriel flinched violently, as if you had stabbed him straight through the heart.

“I wasn’t—” His voice caught, his body shaking with emotion. He swallowed hard, his eyes wild with grief, and rasped, “I wasn’t in my right mind.”

Your brows furrowed, confusion cutting through your grief.

Azriel’s breathing was uneven, his jaw tight as he forced himself to meet your eyes. “I was poisoned.”

You stilled.

He swallowed thickly, his wings tucking in close, his voice low and raw.

“Elain,” he whispered, his throat bobbing. “She… she confessed to the Inner Circle.” His hands curled into fists, his voice thick with disgust, regret, self-loathing. “Amren figured it out first.”

The room tilted around you.

You had thought your heart could not break anymore than it already had.

You had thought the worst pain you had ever known was the moment Azriel had told you he no longer loved you, the moment he had walked away, leaving you to shatter into a thousand irreparable pieces.

You had been so wrong.

Because nothing—nothing—could have prepared you for the utter devastation that came with hearing the truth.

Elain had poisoned him.

For weeks, she had slipped something into his food, his drinks, into the very things that kept him alive, until she had pulled him so far away from you that he had forgotten who he was, who you were, what you meant to each other.

Your mate.

Your Azriel.

Not lost to fate. Not lost to choice.

But stolen from you.

Ripped from you by careful, calculated hands, by a woman you had once trusted.

It didn’t feel real.

Your heart slammed wildly against your ribs, your lungs tightening, your stomach roiling like you might be sick.

“She… she poisoned you?” you whispered, your voice barely audible, barely yours.

Azriel gave a tight, broken nod, his jaw clenching, as if admitting it was painful for him too.

Something inside you cracked open, and all the rage, all the fury, all the grief that had been dormant inside you for months came pouring out.

She had stolen him from you.

She had torn you apart, piece by piece, day by day, while you had agonized over what you did wrong, while you had begged the Mother, the Cauldron, the gods themselves to help you understand why you weren’t enough for him anymore.

And all the while—

All the while, he had been slipping away against his will.

Your hands clenched into fists, your nails digging into your palms, blood rushing through your veins like fire, like war drums, like the kind of rage that could burn entire worlds down.

You had spent months drowning in heartbreak, in the unrelenting pain of losing him, in the desperate, futile attempts to sever the bond—

And all along, it had never been his choice.

You had thought you were weak, you had thought you weren’t enough, that you were too much, too jealous, too ridiculous for feeling so abandoned.

But it wasn’t you.

It was never you.

It was her.

The girl with the soft voice and the gentle hands and the garden full of flowers, the girl who had looked so harmless—and had become a snake in your bed, a thief of your love, your future, your happiness.

It felt like you couldn’t breathe, like there was not enough air in the world to fill your lungs, like the weight of everything you had lost was collapsing onto you all over again.

Your mind replayed every painful memory, every cold glance, every dismissive word, every time Azriel had turned away from you, every night you had cried yourself to sleep alone in the bed that had once been yours and his.

And she had stood by, watching it happen, knowing exactly what she was doing.

Your body shook, your vision swimming with tears, but now—now, those tears weren’t just for heartbreak.

They were for rage.

For betrayal.

For every piece of you she had stolen, along with the man who was supposed to be yours.

Your fists clenched tighter, and you shot to your feet, a burning, searing fury flooding every inch of your body.

“Where is she?” you whispered, the words barely more than a breath.

Azriel’s fingers tightened around your wrist, gently but firmly, pulling you back before you could leave.

“Not now,” he pleaded, his voice hoarse, desperate. “Please—just talk to me first.”

Your breath came faster, harder, your heart slamming violently against your ribs.

“She took you from me,” you whispered, voice trembling with fury, with rage so visceral you could taste it on your tongue. “She watched me break, Az. She stood there and watched me suffer, knowing exactly what she had done.”

Azriel swallowed hard, his expression pained, tormented, but he didn’t let go of your wrist.

“She will answer for it,” he promised, his voice quiet but firm.

It wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

But still—you let him pull you back, let yourself collapse onto the bed again, because if you didn’t, you might have winnowed straight to her, might have torn her apart with your bare hands.

Azriel stayed close, his shadows curling restlessly around him, his eyes dark with remorse, with pain, with something that looked dangerously close to self-hatred.

You let out a shaky breath, your hands still trembling.

“Why?” you finally whispered, your voice thick with emotion, with the weight of everything that had been taken from you.

Azriel’s brows furrowed. “Why what?”

Your chest ached, your throat tightening as you tried to force the words out.

“Why did it even have to be you?” Your voice cracked, your body still shaking with adrenaline, with anger, with the remnants of grief that had yet to leave you.

Azriel’s lips parted slightly, confusion flickering across his face.

“Elain had Feyre,” you continued, your voice rising with bitterness, “she had Nesta. She had two sisters who could have helped her through whatever she was going through.” You stared at him, your expression hard and unreadable. “Why did it have to be you?”

Azriel hesitated, his jaw clenching. “Because Feyre asked me to help her.”

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking your head.

“And you didn’t think to suggest Lucien?” you shot back. “Her mate?”

Azriel flinched slightly, guilt washing over his features.

“She didn’t want to be around him,” he admitted quietly. “And so I felt… obligated.”

Obligated.

The word twisted like a knife in your gut.

You closed your eyes, exhaling sharply, trying to fight back the storm raging inside you.

“That’s all it took?” you whispered, shaking your head. “That’s all it took for you to start slipping away from me?”

Azriel’s eyes darkened, his expression pained, anguished, his wings sagging.

“No,” he murmured, stepping closer, his voice filled with raw torment. “It was never about her. I never—” He broke off, his voice cracking. “I never wanted her.”

You stared at him, searching his face, trying to understand.

And maybe—maybe—you did.

But that didn’t erase the damage done.

Didn’t erase the months of neglect, the nights you spent crying alone, the love you had poured into him only for him to let it slip through his fingers.

Didn’t erase the way he had left you to die in that alley.

You let out a shaky breath, pressing your fingers against your temples.

“I understand your duty to your High Lord and High Lady,” you murmured, your voice quiet but raw. “But I should have come first.”

Azriel stilled, his entire body going tense.

“I should have come first, way before Elain and your sense of duty,” you whispered, your throat tight with emotion, with anger, with betrayal.

His eyes shone with something devastating, something that looked suspiciously close to a man who had just realized the depth of his mistake.

“How did you even know I went to see a warlock?”

Azriel swallowed hard. “Lucien.”

Your eyes snapped to his, brows furrowing. “Lucien?”

He nodded, exhaling heavily. “Lucien came to Hewn City to stop you.”

You stilled.

Lucien had come to find you?

“He was worried about you,” Azriel admitted. “He told me he regretted even mentioning the warlock to you in the first place.”

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head.

“Why didn’t you go to Cassian or Rhys?” Azriel murmured.

You let out a bitter laugh, staring at the floor. “Because Elain’s sisters are mated to them. I knew it wouldn’t accomplish anything.” You lifted your gaze back to his, your expression tight with exhaustion. “Besides, it would have been inappropriate.”

Azriel let out a ragged breath, his throat working, his hands shaking as he hesitantly stepped toward you.

And then—

He pulled you into his arms.

By now, he was sobbing, his entire body shuddering against yours, his hands clutching at you as if letting go would destroy him.

“I love you,” he whispered, desperate, pleading. “And I choose you. Every single time.” His voice broke completely.

You let out a shaky breath, closing your eyes as tears slid down your cheeks once more.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Azriel’s hands trembled as his hands cupped your cheeks, his golden eyes shining with emotion.

“I do,” he murmured, voice steady, certain. “If you let me, I will spend the rest of my life fixing it.”

You wanted to believe him.

But you couldn’t.

Not yet.

“I want to see Lucien. And if I’m going to move forward,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper, “I need to talk to the Inner Circle.” Your throat bobbed, your hands shaking. “I need to confront them all.”

Azriel’s wings tensed, his expression anxious, but he said nothing.

“And I need to confront Elain.” Your voice was deadly calm now, your hands still trembling at your sides. “Because if I don’t, I will never heal from this.”

And because, deep down—

You wanted her to see what she had done to you.

Wanted her to understand the damage she had caused.

Wanted her to know that you weren’t the same woman who had once welcomed her into your home, into your life.

You weren’t the same woman she had broken.

And you never would be again.

*****

Azriel had thought he knew pain.

He had spent centuries swallowing it down, drowning in it, letting it settle into his bones like an old companion. He had lived through war, through torture, through lifetimes of wounds that never fully healed.

But this—

This was worse.

Because there was nothing more excruciating than watching the person he loved fall apart right in front of him—and knowing that he had been the one to cause it.

He had thought your sobs would be the worst of it, thought that holding you as you broke completely in his arms would be the most unbearable thing he would ever experience.

He had been wrong.

Because now, you weren’t sobbing.

You weren’t falling apart.

Now—you were raging.

And that rage was more devastating than any tear you had shed.

Azriel had never seen you so furious, never seen you so utterly broken by betrayal, and he knew—he knew—that this wasn’t just heartbreak.

This was something deeper, darker.

This was betrayal at its most vicious form.

And he had been the weapon used to break you.

He watched the realization dawn across your face—watched as the truth of what Elain had done settled in your soul, dug its claws into you, changed you irrevocably.

He watched as anger began to replace grief, as the weight of what she had stolen from you hit with full force.

And gods, it destroyed him.

It destroyed him to know that you had spent months blaming yourself, that you had laid awake at night wondering what you had done wrong, that you had been drowning in self-doubt and heartbreak while he had been slowly slipping away, poisoned against you.

It made him want to rip himself apart, made him want to burn the entire world down for what had been done to you, made him want to go back and shake himself, demand that he wake up, that he see what was happening before it was too late.

But it was too late.

Because he had left you.

Because he had let you think he didn’t love you anymore.

Because he had let you believe that you weren’t enough.

And now, as he sat before you, as he watched you tremble with rage and grief and disbelief, he realized—

You weren’t the same.

Elain had taken something from you, something precious, something that had been bright and unbreakable.

And Azriel had helped her do it.

His own hands had been the ones to tear you apart, his own words the ones that had made you doubt everything you had built together.

And Mother help him, he didn’t know if he would ever be able to fix it.

So he just sat there, his hands shaking, his wings drooping, his voice stuck in his throat as he watched you process everything.

Watched you as you realized just how much had been taken from you.

And then—

Your voice turned cold.

You demanded to know why it had been him, why he had been the one to help her, why he hadn’t turned to Lucien, why he had let himself be the one to fall into Elain’s web.

And Azriel—Azriel had never felt smaller, weaker, more ashamed in his entire life.

Because he had no good answer.

Because all he had was regret, and guilt, and a weight in his chest that would never go away.

Because you were right.

He should have chosen you.

He should have seen that something was wrong.

He should have realized what was happening before it was too late.

But he hadn’t.

And now, the woman he loved more than anything in the world was looking at him like she wasn’t sure she would ever be able to love him the same way again.

That look—**that doubt in your eyes—**was enough to break him completely.

So when you stood, when you demanded to confront the Inner Circle and Elain, when you told him that before you could even think of moving forward, you needed to face the people who had let this happen—

And to talk to Lucien, the only person you now trusted.

Azriel knew.

This was only the beginning of your healing, of your reckoning, of the path that might lead to forgiveness.

But gods, he was so terrified that no matter what he did—

No matter how hard he fought to prove himself—

You may never look at him the same way again.

Chapter 12

[bookwormjust]

My wings...(established relationship with Azriel, pure angst) Part 1

A short comment from the author. Read this imagine while listening Minefields of Faouzia & John Legend. Indeed, it was with this song that the idea came to me. And that's why it's so dramatic and tragic. My dear readers, Enjoy the part 1 of a series that are comming.

The wind bit at your skin as you soared through the skies above Illyria, the towering peaks of the camp growing closer beneath you. Rhysand had sent you on a mission to gather vital information—information only you could retrieve. As Azriel’s mate, you were well-trained in espionage and trusted by the Inner Circle. But Azriel hadn’t been thrilled about you going alone. You had reassured him it would be fine, that you could handle it.

But now, as you neared the Illyrian camp, a strange sense of unease settled over you. You ignored it at first, telling yourself it was just nerves. After all, you knew the camps weren’t safe for females. Their old traditions and prejudices still ran deep, despite Rhysand’s best efforts to change things. But you were strong—you had Azriel’s training, his confidence in you. You thought you were ready.

As you landed just outside the camp, tucking your wings in tight, you couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on you. The air was heavy with hostility, and the warriors lingering at the edges of the camp eyed you with disdain. Still, you held your head high, making your way toward the tent where you were supposed to meet the informant.

But then, a hand grabbed your arm. 

You whirled around, heart pounding, and found yourself surrounded by a group of male Illyrians, their sneers making your blood run cold.

“What’s a female like you doing here alone?” one of them asked, his grip tightening painfully on your arm.

“I’m here on official business from the High Lord,” you said, your voice steady despite the fear curling in your stomach.

They laughed, the sound cruel and mocking. “Doesn’t matter. In this camp, females stay where they belong.”

Before you could react, they lunged. You fought back, hard, drawing on everything Azriel had taught you, but there were too many of them. Blows rained down on you, fists and kicks, until you were on the ground, gasping for breath. They dragged you deeper into the camp, past the tents and fires, into the shadows where no one could see.

“Let’s teach this one a lesson,” one of them growled, and then you heard it—the unmistakable sound of a blade being unsheathed.

Panic surged through you as you struggled, desperate to get away, but they held you down. You screamed, calling out for Azriel through the bond, but he was too far away. And then the pain hit.

White-hot, searing pain as the blade sliced through your wings.

Your scream echoed through the camp, but no one came. The pain was blinding, unbearable, as they clipped your wings, hacking away at the very essence of who you were. Blood soaked the ground beneath you, your vision going hazy from the agony.

When they were done, they left you there—broken, wings shredded, unable to move. The cold seeped into your bones, the blood loss making your head swim. You tried to reach out to Azriel again, but the bond felt distant, unreachable through the haze of pain.

Hours passed, or maybe it was days. You couldn’t tell anymore. The world had become a blur of agony and despair. You had been strong once, powerful, but now you were nothing. They had taken everything from you.

And then, you felt it—a surge of rage so fierce it almost knocked the breath out of you. Azriel.

He had found you.

The next moments were a blur. You vaguely heard the distant roar of flames, the crackling of fire spreading through the camp. Screams echoed in the distance, but they weren’t yours this time—they were the screams of the Illyrians who had done this to you.

Azriel tore through the camp like a force of nature, shadows swirling around him, his rage palpable even from where you lay. One by one, he hunted them down, silent and deadly. He didn’t speak, didn’t taunt—he simply killed them. Each slash of his blade was precise, fueled by the cold fury burning in his heart.

When he reached you, his breath caught in his throat. You could barely lift your head, but you saw the way his eyes darkened with horror and grief as he knelt beside you, his wings twitching with the need to protect you, to shield you from the world.

“No…” His voice cracked, barely above a whisper as he carefully gathered you into his arms, cradling you as if you might shatter. “Who did this?”

Tears blurred your vision as you tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. You felt broken, shattered in a way that went beyond the physical pain.

Azriel’s hands shook as he brushed your blood-soaked hair away from your face, his shadows wrapping around you like a protective cocoon. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with anguish. “I wasn’t there. I should’ve been there.”

His guilt and fury bled into the bond, the connection between you two pulsing with his overwhelming emotions. He pressed his forehead to yours, and for a moment, you could feel nothing but his raw, desperate need to make this right—to protect you, even though the damage had already been done.

He stood slowly, still holding you tightly, and turned toward the remaining Illyrians who had gathered around. There was no mercy in his gaze, no hesitation as he unleashed the full force of his shadows on them, burning the entire camp to the ground.

The world was spinning around you, but in Azriel’s arms, you finally felt safe again. The pain was still there, sharp and all-consuming, but you could feel his love, his rage, his devotion wrapping around you like a balm, as he vowed silently, over and over again, that no one would ever hurt you like this again.

“I’ll fix this,” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion as he carried you away from the burning ruins. “I’ll make them pay for every moment of your pain.”

And you knew, with absolute certainty, that he would.

[ditsycafe]

unplanned sweetness || p.js

pairings : park jay x female!reader

genre : fluff, angst?, sugar!daddy au

warnings : no strings attached, unexpected pregnancy (wrap it before you tap it), jay coded, dominant jay, mentions of being in reader raw.

work count : 5k

summary : Jay, a wealthy and dominant businessman, enjoys the arrangement has has with his sugar baby—you. The relationship is clear-cut: luxurious gifts, expensive vacations, and a no-strings —attached agreement. But after one drunken night where the two cross a line, everything changes. A few weeks later, you realise you’re pregnant. Now, you must fact the terrifying reality of breaking the news to jay, unsure of how he’ll react. Will he abandon the arrangement, or will this unexpected twist lead to something neither of you expected?

a/n : do not in any way plagiarise, translate my work to another language or claim my work as your own

The city lights blurred past as the sleek black car pulled up infront of your apartment. You sighed, kicking off your designer heels as soon as you stepped inside. The night had been long, filled with expensive champagne, laughter, and the familiar weight of jay’s possessive hand on your lower back.

Jay was many things—rich, powerful, and dangerously charming. He was also your sugar daddy, the man who spoiled you with lavish gifts and took care of your every need, as long as you followed the unspoken rules of your arrangement.

No attachments. No emotions. No complications.

But everything had changed three weeks ago.

Your fingers trembled as you clutched the pregnancy test, the two pink lines staring back at you like a cruel joke. You swallowed hard, your mind racing with memories of that drunken night—how jay’s usually controlled demeanour had slipped, how his hands had roamed your body with more desperation than ever before. How he had whispered your name like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

And now, here you were, pregnant with his child.

Your stomach churned as you thought about telling him. Jay wasn’t the type of man to deal with unexpected surprises. He liked control. He liked things on his terms.

Would this be the end of your arrangement?

would he turn his back on you?

You took a deep breath and reached for your phone.

It was time to find out.

Your fingers hovered over Jay’s contact name, your heart pounding so hard it drowned out all rational thought.

Just do it.

Taking a deep breath, you pressed call.

It rang once. Twice.

Then his smooth, deep voice answered. “Didn’t expect to hear from you this late, sweetheart.”

You hesitated. How were you supposed to drop this bomb on him?

“Jay…” your voice wavered. “Can we talk, it’s important.”

A brief silence. Then, “Are you home?”

“Yes.”

“I’m on my way.”

The call ended before you could protest. Your stomach twisted as you stared at your reflection in the mirror. You looked pale, anxious. The complete opposite of the poised, glamorous woman jay was used to seeing.

Fifteen minutes later, the familiar purr of his car’s engine reached your ears. A knock echoed through the apartment.

When you opened the door, Jay stood there, dressed in his usual tailored suit, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning your face with a mix of concern and curiosity.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, stepping inside.

You swallowed hard. “I need to tell you something.”

Jay exuded authority and confidence, but this was the first time you’ve ever felt truly nervous into his presence.

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re shaking.”

“I..” The words caught in your throat. Just say it. Rip off the band-aid. “I’m pregnant.”

Silence.

The air between you turned heavy, suffocating. Jay’s expression didn’t change at first—his dark eyes locked onto yours, his lips pressing into a thin line as if he hadn’t fully processed your words.

Then, he let out a slow breath. “Say that again.”

“I’m pregnant,” you whispered.

Jay took a step back, taking a hand through his hair. His usual composure cracked, just for a second. “And it’s mine.” It wasn’t a question.

You nodded. “We…that night… we weren’t careful.”

His jaw tensed. “You should’ve told me sooner.”

“I just found out,” you admitted. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Jay exhaled sharply, pacing for a moment before stopping infront of you. “And what do you want to do about this?”

Your heart clenched. “I don’t know.”

You had expected anger. Indifference. Maybe even an offer to make this problem go away.

But instead, jay stepped closer, his fingers tilting your chin up. His voice was softer now, more serious. “I take responsibility for what’s mine.”

Your eyes widened. “You’re saying…”

“You’re carrying my child,” he muttered, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Which means you’re not doing this alone.”

Jays words lingered in the air, thick with unspoken promises.

“You’re not doing this alone.”

You weren’t sure what you had expected—maybe cold detachment, maybe a check slid across the table to handle the situation—but not this. Not the firm resolve in his voice, the way his dark eyes held yours like he was already making plans in his head.

Your throat tightened, “what does that mean?”

“It means,” jay said slowly, as if the answer was obvious, “that you’re mine. And now, so is this baby.”

His possessiveness sent a shiver down your spine. Normally, you enjoyed it—it was part of the reason your arrangement had lasted so long. Jay wasn’t like other men. He didn’t just throw money at you and disappear. He wanted control. Over you. Over everything.

But this was different. This was real.

You took a shaky breath. “Jay, this isn’t just some business deal. This is a baby. A whole human being. You don’t just get to decide—“

“I do.” His voice was firm, unwavering. “You think I’d just walk away?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “We never talked about this. We never even thought this would happen.”

Jay’s gaze darkened. “That’s my fault. I was careless.” He ran a hand down his face, something almost frustrated in his expression. “I should’ve been more careful. But now that’s it’s happened, I won’t run from it.”

A lump formed in your throat. “So… what do we do?”

Jay was quiet for a long moment, his fingers tapping against his thigh as the thought. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm. Decisive.

“You’re moving in with me.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.” Jay crossed his arms, his gaze locked onto yours. “You’re not staying here alone. I want you where I can take care of you.”

Your head spun. “Jay, that’s—“

“It’s not up for debate.” His tone left no room for argument. “I won’t have you stressing over this by yourself. You’ll be taken care of. Anything you need, I’ll provide.”

You hesitated. Living with jay? That wasn’t just changing your arrangement—it was crossing a line neither of you had dared to approach before.

“Jay…” you searched his face. “Why are you doing all of this?”

His jaw clenched. “Because it’s mine.” His hand slid down to your stomach, his touch gentle, almost reverent. “And so are you.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs. “This isn’t what we agreed to.”

Jay tilted his head. “Things change.”

His fingers curled around your waist, pulling you closer. The air between you cracked with something unfamiliar. This wasn’t just sugar daddy jay speaking. This was something more. Something deeper.

And it scared you.

Because if jay was serious…

Then you were in deeper than you ever intended to be.

He had already decided. In his world, once Jay made up his mind, there was no room for argument. That was how he operated in business, and now--apparently--in your life.

Your throat felt dry. "Jay, I can't just pack up and leave--"

"Yes, you can." He stepped closer, towering over you, his scent wrapping around you like a drug. "You're carrying my child. You think I'd let you stay here alone, stressing over this?"

You swallowed. "This wasn't part of our arrangement."

Jay's lips curled into a smirk, but his eyes held something softer, something unreadable. "We passed arrangements the moment you let me have you raw."

Your face burnt a bright red. "That was--"

"A mistake?" He raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that?"

You opened your mouth, but now words came out. Was it? A mistake? It had been reckless, unplanned, but the memory of that night was still burned into your skin--the way jay had touched you like he was unravelling, the way his lips had traced every inch of you, the way he needed you.

And now...this.

A baby.

Your fingers curled into your palms. "Jay... I'm scared."

Something in his face softened. He exhaled, reaching for your hand. "I know." His grip was warm, steady. "That's why you're coming with me. You don't have to do this alone."

You searched his face, looking for cracks in his confidence. Some sign that he was panicking as much as you were. But there was none. Jay had already decided, and if there was one thing about him-- you knew he never backed down from what he claimed as his.

Still, you hesitated. "What if this changed everything?"

Jay's thumb brushed over your knuckles. "It already has."

Your breath hitched. He was right. There was no going back to what you had before.

And maybe... maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.

A long silence stretched between you. Then, finally, you whispered, "Okay."

Jay's smirk returned, but this time, there was something dangerous behind it. Satisfaction. Possession. Like he had just won.

"Good girl."

His words sent a shiver down your spine.

You had no idea what you'd just agreed to. But with jay, there was no turning back.

all rights to this work belongs to me @ditsycafe.

[gnstay]

A Loaded Game

Summary: His muse, his wife. Gi-Hun plays Russian Roulette with the Salesman, unaware that Y/N is his partner in crime. As the game nears its end, the final shot is taken — killing Gi-Hun. With no remorse, the Salesman and his wife leave, their deadly mission far from over.

Warnings: Violence & death, psychological manipulation, gore/blood, dark themes, gambling & risk-taking, etc!

Characters: The Sales Man x F! Reader *Y/N*

Now Playing… Sad Girl - Lana Del Rey

0:00 ─〇───── 15:00

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The dimly lit room reeked of sweat, smoke, and something unspoken-fear, maybe. At the small round table, The Salesman and Gi-Hun sat across from each other, a single revolver resting between them. The tension was thick, each man weighing the risks as the game of Russian Roulette unfolded.

The Salesman, ever-smiling, leaned forward, his fingers tracing the edge of the table. "Your turn," he said smoothly, pushing the revolver toward Gi-Hun.

Gi-Hun wiped his palms on his pants. His heart pounded, but his pride wouldn't let him back down. He picked up the gun, spun the cylinder, and pressed it against his temple. A sharp click.

Empty. He let out a shaky breath and set the gun back down.

Before The Salesman could reach for it, the door creaked open.

She stepped inside.

Y/N.

She was effortless, wearing a silk dress that clung in all the right places, her every movement deliberate. Her gaze flicked between the two men, lingering on the revolver.

"Am I interrupting?" she asked, a playful smile teasing her lips.

Gi-Hun's brow furrowed. "You know him?"

The Salesman chuckled, but there was something dark in his eyes. "We're acquainted."

Y/N met his gaze, the silent understanding between them unshakable. Their relationship— built on obsession, loyalty, and a shared hunger —was a secret neither man in the room knew existed.

She sauntered forward, her manicured fingers gliding over the revolver before picking it up.

"Let me play."

Gi-Hun scoffed. "This isn't a game for women."

The Salesman's smirk widened. "Oh, but she's quite good at games."

Y/N turned the revolver in her hands, studying it like an old lover. Then, without hesitation, she lifted it to her temple. A slow inhale. A squeeze of the trigger.

Click.

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Silence.

She let out a soft chuckle, placing the gun back on the table. "See? Luck's on my side."

Gi-Hun stared at her, both impressed and uneasy. "You're crazy."

She leaned in, her voice a whisper. "Only if I lose."

The Salesman's eyes gleamed. He had chosen well. Their mission-their dark ambition-had no room for weakness. Y/N was proof of that.

Gi-Hun reached for the gun, but for the first time, he wondered if he'd made a mistake sitting at this table. He wasn't playing with just any two people.

He was playing with something far more dangerous.

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Gi-Hun’s pulse hammered against his ribs. The revolver in his grip felt heavier, like it carried the weight of something inevitable. He glanced between The Salesman and Y/N, their faces unreadable but eerily calm.

They were in this together.

He had walked into a game he didn’t understand, against players who already knew the outcome.

“Go on,” The Salesman coaxed, his tone smooth, inviting. “You started this game. No point in hesitating now.”

Gi-Hun licked his lips, throat dry. Five rounds had already been played. The odds were against him.

Two chambers left.

A fifty-fifty chance.

He inhaled sharply, pressing the cold barrel to his temple. His finger trembled over the trigger.

Y/N leaned in slightly, watching him with something between amusement and hunger. “Nervous?”

Gi-Hun gritted his teeth. “Screw you.”

Y/N just smiled.

He squeezed the trigger.

Click.

His whole body shuddered as relief crashed over him. He let out a breathy laugh, setting the gun down with shaking hands. “Still standing.”

The Salesman tilted his head. “For now.”

And then, in one fluid motion, he picked up the revolver and handed it to Y/N.

Gi-Hun’s stomach twisted. There was only one chamber left.

One bullet.

One final shot.

Y/N took the gun without hesitation, her fingers brushing over the steel like it was something intimate, something precious.

She didn’t spin the cylinder. She didn’t hesitate.

She lifted it— but not to her own head.

She aimed it at Gi-Hun.

His breath caught. “Wait—”

Bang.

The gunshot echoed in the room, drowning out everything else.

Gi-Hun’s body jerked violently before slumping back in his chair, eyes wide in shock. A dark red stain bloomed across his chest, spreading like ink. His mouth opened, as if to say something, but no words came.

The light in his eyes flickered—then vanished.

Silence.

Then, The Salesman let out a small, approving chuckle. “Perfect shot.”

Y/N twirled the revolver once before setting it down gently, her expression unreadable. “Luck had nothing to do with it.”

She turned to The Salesman, their eyes locking. The job was done.

He reached for her hand, brushing his lips against her knuckles. “You never disappoint.”

She smiled. “Neither do you.”

Together, they rose from the table, stepping over Gi-Hun’s lifeless body without a second glance.

Their dark mission was far from over.

This was just another game.

And they were still playing to win.

It was after all, a loaded game.

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Note: Thanks so much for the request! For more content follow my socials!

TikTok: @gnstay

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[antinousletmehit]

˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 17 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

⋆˚࿔ Book 2 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

୨୧┇pairing: Telemachus x reader

୨୧┇aressss

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

The heavy doors of the palace burst open as a breathless soldier stumbled inside, his face pale and slick with sweat. Raphael, reclining lazily on a cushioned chair with a goblet of wine in hand, barely spared him a glance. He was far more interested in admiring the deep red marks he had left on Y/n’s skin earlier that night. The sight of them brought him a twisted sense of satisfaction.

But when the soldier collapsed onto one knee before him, head bowed in urgency, Raphael’s grip on the goblet tightened. “My lord,” the soldier gasped, still catching his breath. “The men you sent—”

Raphael’s eyes finally flickered over to him, his once relaxed posture now tense. “Yes? What of them?” His voice was dangerously low.

The soldier hesitated, gulping.

“They’re dead.”

Silence.

The air in the chamber seemed to thicken. Raphael’s fingers twitched, his jaw clenching so tightly it could crack. The room felt smaller, the flickering torches casting eerie shadows on the stone walls. “All of them?” he finally asked, his voice eerily calm.

“Slaughtered.” The soldier refused to look up. “Not a single one returned, my lord.” Raphael’s heart pounded. He forced himself to breathe. No. This wasn’t supposed to happen. They were meant to send a warning, not be wiped out like insects.

That meant—

He suddenly stood, sending the goblet crashing to the floor, wine splattering like blood across the marble. The sound echoed through the hall. The soldier flinched. Raphael didn’t waste another moment. He turned sharply on his heel and stormed down the halls, his steps echoing violently against the stone. Servants scrambled out of his way as he made his way toward his older brother’s chamber.

Endymion would not be pleased.

Raphael shoved the doors open without announcing himself, his chest still heaving. Endymion was seated near the fireplace, dressed in only a loose tunic, his thick black hair slightly damp from an earlier bath. He had a goblet in hand, though unlike Raphael, he seemed to be pacing himself, taking slow sips as if the world outside wasn’t on the verge of war. He barely looked up. “You’re making a lot of noise, brother.”

Raphael gritted his teeth and marched closer. “The men I sent—they’re dead.”Endymion exhaled through his nose as if he had expected this. He set the goblet down on the nearby table with deliberate slowness.

“And now you panic?” Endymion murmured, rubbing his temple.

“This isn’t a joke, Endymion!” Raphael snapped. “Telemachus and his crew are here! They’re picking us off like dogs, they’re coming!” Finally, Endymion stood, moving toward a large chest at the corner of the room. He opened it with a slow creak, reaching inside before pulling out something that glinted under the firelight.

A helmet.

Not just any helmet, a decorative one, carved with intricate details of goldeon laurels and obsidian lines running down the sides. It was meant to represent both royalty and war, a symbol of a warrior meant to lead armies. Endymion turned to face Raphael, holding it out with a groan.

“Then prepare for a real war, little brother.”

Raphael stared at the helmet, his heart still hammering in his chest. He slowly reached out, running his fingers over the cold metal. Endymion sighed, shaking his head. “You should have killed Telemachus the moment you took his wife. But no—you had to play with your food.” His blue eyes flickered over Raphael’s face with mild disdain. “And now, you’re dealing with the consequences.”

Raphael gripped the helmet tighter, his nails pressing into the metal. No. He wasn’t going to let that bastard take y/n back.

If war was what Telemachus wanted.

Then war was exactly what he would get.

——

The night air was thick with the scent of salt and damp earth as Antinous sat alone near the edge of the camp, sharpening his dagger with slow, methodical strokes. The others were sleeping, their bodies heavy with exhaustion, but he, he couldn’t sleep. Not with that voice still ringing in his head. It had been there in battle, deep and commanding, flooding his veins with rage, power. It wasn’t his own voice, he knew that much. And yet, it had felt… familiar.

He flexed his fingers, staring at his calloused hands. He should be worried. Should be unnerved. But instead, something in his gut itched—not with fear, but anticipation.

Then—a shift in the air.

Antinous froze. The wind had gone still. The usual sounds of the night, distant waves, rustling leaves, vanished. A presence loomed behind him, heavy and unmistakable. Without thinking, he moved. His instincts took over as he whirled around, fist flying toward whoever had dared to sneak up on him—

But it never landed.

A hand caught his punch mid-air.

Strong. Unyielding. Antinous’ breath hitched as his eyes met the figure standing before him. Tall. Broad shouldered. Cloaked in deep crimson. His skin was bronzed from war, his arms lined with scars, not from wounds, but from victories. His eyes, glowing like embers in a dying fire—bored into Antinous with a knowing smirk.

Ares.

Antinous felt his heartbeat slam against his ribs. He tried to yank his fist away, but Ares’ grip tightened just slightly—a silent reminder of his strength. “You’ve got a hell of a swing,” Ares mused, tilting his head. “But if you’re going to try and hit a god, boy, at least aim to kill.” Antinous barely heard him over the roar of his own pulse. Ares released his hand, stepping back just enough to observe him, eyes gleaming with something unreadable.

“You’ve felt it, haven’t you?” The god’s voice was smooth, dangerous. “That power, surging in your bones, guiding your blade.” He leaned in slightly, smirking. “My power.” Antinous swallowed hard, his grip tightening around his dagger. He wanted to deny it—to question it—but deep down, he already knew the truth. That voice in battle. That rage. That strength.

It had been Ares all along.

——

Antinous took a shaky breath, his fingers still curled tightly around his dagger. He should’ve been afraid. Should’ve felt something other than the burning fire still coursing through his veins. But instead, all he felt was that same thrumming anticipation clawing at his insides. His voice was steady when he finally spoke. “Why me?”

Ares’ smirk widened. “Why not you?”

Antinous clenched his jaw. “Don’t give me that divine cryptic shit, why have you been in my head? Why are you helping me?”

Ares let out a low chuckle, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Help? Is that what you think this is?” His gaze flicked over Antinous, sharp and assessing. “I don’t help mortals, boy. I favor the ones that earn it.”

He stepped forward, his presence alone enough to make the air feel heavier. “You—you’re all brute strength. Unrelenting force. A blade with no hesitation.” He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with something wild. “You’re my kind of soldier.” Antinous swallowed, his breath slow and controlled. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t back down. Ares noticed. And grinned.

“You remind me of the men in Troy.” The god’s voice dripped with amusement. “Ah, the Trojan War… Now that was a battle. Blood, chaos, glorious carnage. I had so much fun watching fools rip each other apart for the gods’ little game.”

Antinous furrowed his brows. “And now?”

Ares let out a sharp breath, pacing slightly. “Now, I sense the same game being played all over again.” He gestured broadly to the sky. “The others are meddling, slinking around behind the scenes, shifting the tides of war for their own amusement. Just like before.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “Pathetic.” Then, his gaze snapped back to Antinous, burning with excitement.

“But that just means more bloodshed. More war. And that—” He pointed at Antinous, his smirk growing feral, “that is why I’m here.” Antinous inhaled slowly. He should’ve felt used, like some pawn in a god’s game. But instead, he felt something else. That same hunger he’d felt in battle. That thrill.

Ares leaned in, voice dropping to something almost intimate. “Tell me, boy—” his grin widened, “don’t you want to see how far your strength can take you? Antinous stared at Ares, the war god’s grin widening as if he already knew the answer. And maybe he did. Maybe he had seen the fire burning in Antinous’s chest long before Antinous himself had realized it.

Strength. Power. Bloodshed.

Antinous had never cared for the gods’ games, but this—this was different. Ares wasn’t offering empty words or divine riddles. He was offering strength. And Antinous wanted it. He straightened his back, smirking. “Fine. Train me. Show me how to win this war.”

Ares let out a deep, satisfied laugh. “That’s what I like to hear.” He clapped a heavy hand on Antinous’s shoulder, his grip like iron. “But be warned, boy. My training is not for the weak-willed.”

Antinous scoffed. “Do I look weak to you?”

Ares grinned, but before he could respond—

“Antinous!”

A loud, annoyed voice cut through the night. Antinous turned just in time to see Eurymachus stomping toward him, arms crossed and looking thoroughly pissed off. “There you are, you bastard—what the hell are you doing out here?”

Antinous blinked. “I—”

“Don’t even start.” Eurymachus grabbed him by the arm, ignoring how much stronger Antinous was. “You disappear in the middle of the night, and now I find you talking to air like a lunatic? I swear, if I have to deal with one more—“

Ares just raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Hmph. You mortals get cranky so easily.”

Antinous sighed. “Eurymachus, let go.”

“No.” Eurymachus yanked him harder. “We’re going back to camp before you get yourself killed doing—whatever the hell this is.”

Antinous growled. “I’m training—”

“You’re sleeping.” Eurymachus shot back, already dragging him toward camp. “And if you even think about sneaking off again, I’ll personally throw you onto the front door of all of those Skiaphos soldiers.”

Ares just laughed as Antinous grumbled, letting himself be dragged off. “Try not to get too soft before training, boy,” the god called after him. “We start soon.” Antinous just smirked, already looking forward to it.

@procrastination20 @jackiepackiee @barrythestrawberry041 @blessedbyahuntress

@f3r4lfr0gg3r @permanently-nothere @eyuunho @jackintheboxs-world @simpingmyassoff @sunshinewhosketches

@sugarlillycookie @kaguraaaa @doodle-with-rhy

@0anodite0 @cocosparkel @tati-the-fangirl

@dazedemery @tsmaruchan

@holywizardprincess @galaxygurlll @pjopinkk

@h0ne4bee @minteaspoon @zendoesstuff

@yuvany @xo-cuteplosion-xo

[frostyhelltime]

Can I request Husk, Vox, Alastor with reader who drunkenly cofess their love to them? I adore drunk confessions!

I am back from the dead!

I am happy to be back and writing though. Hope everyone is doing well!

Characters listed: Alastor, Vox, Husk.

Warnings: None.

Husk

Honestly…it feels almost inevitable that you would drunkenly confess to Husk. The main times you got drunk were around him after all.

Didn't make you feel any less embarrassed, of course.

But as for Husk he's just…confused at first.

He looks around to see who it was you were actually trying to confess to.

It doesn't occur to him that it is, in fact, him.

His gut reaction is to deny, to push you away.

Tell you you don't even know what you're saying, trying to brush your confession off.

But you are very adamant and it eventually sinks in that drunk or not, you meant what you said.

He's very flustered as he tries to help you to bed, his heart pounding as your words replay in his head.

He promises to talk to you about it in the morning when you're sober.

But you end up having to bring it up first when morning comes.

Part of him is afraid that you hadn't really meant it, and he would have felt foolish asking.

“For a bartender you’re shit at reading signals.” You slur, leaning over the bar with a foolishly excited grin on your face. Said bartender laughs and shakes his head. “How did you come to that conclusion? I read everyone right.” He teases with a raised brow, but your reaction is almost immediate, a scoff as you lean back, holding onto the edge of the bar to keep yourself from falling.

“You can’t be that great because you never once clocked that I have feelings for you.” You drunkenly roll your eyes as you pull yourself back to the bar to smile at him, only vaguely aware of what you’ve confessed. But Husk is more than aware, his eyes blinking rapidly as if that would somehow make what you said make any more sense. Maybe…he turns around, looking at the rest of the bar as if there had been some secret person hidden in a corner you were actually talking to. Perhaps a hidden camera? A prank?

“I mean I was just joking but…you really didn’t know? I really thought you knew.” You laugh, curling your drink closer to your chest and laughing more, not noticing the slight crestfallen look on Husk’s face at first.

“Joking about the reading thing. Not the feelings thing. I really thought you knew, you just couldn’t figure out how to let me down easy.” You chuckle again, taking another sip. 

He’s quick to shake his head, narrowing his eyes as he looks you over for any sign of deceit.

“You clearly have had too much. I’m cutting you off and getting you to bed. You don’t have any idea what you’re saying.” He shakes his head again, huffing as he rubs his temple, desperately trying to fight the building hope he feels.

“Drunk thoughts are sober words! Oh wait. No. It goes….Drunk words are sober thoughts? I think?” You mumble as he crosses the threshold and slings one of your arms over his shoulder as he helps you to your room.

“You really don’t believe me?” You sound much more aggravated than he expected.

“My words won’t change in the morning. Perhaps I’ll be a bit more embarrassed about how honest I was. But they’ll still be my words.” 

You were so focused on putting your words together you didn’t realize how quickly you had reached your door.

How odd.

The next thing you actually remember is the sun shining through your window, painfully so as you groan and roll over away from the light. You’re too hungover to even really startle when you hear a chuckle in your room, but you crack an eye open enough to see it’s just Husk in a chair by your bedside, medicine and water in hand.

“Thought you might need this.”

You look at it a moment before sighing and sloppily grabbing for it, drinking the water down as well with the medicine.

“I still mean it. That I have feelings for you, by the way. If you don’t believe me, ask Angel how many times he and I have talked about ways to make you notice me.” You manage to get out before rolling over and curling up into your covers again.

Which is for the better, Husk thinks. He certainly knows he doesn’t want you to see the startled look on his face, the way his ears twitch in confusion and excitement, or the way his tail swishes about from a happiness he hadn’t dared to let himself dream of.

Vox

It starts with you two drunkenly insulting each other for fun.

No harm, no foul. There's very little off limits for you two, and you both know which touchy subjects to avoid.

Plus, most people were too afraid of Vox to insult him to his face, so it was a refreshing and silly change when you two did this.

But then your insults…change, and it's weirdly both complimentary and insulting.

At first he thinks you're joking, but then he realizes you're actually upset and then he's even more confused.

He hadn’t said anything that should have actually made you angry.

But then he realizes…you seem mad at…yourself?

He’s about to ask what the hell is wrong with you when he hears the…admittedly…backwards sounding confession, both insulting and praising him all at once.

“You have that fake charismatic smile plastered on your face all the time! I’m surprised the image isn’t burned into your screen!” You laugh, shortly before he joins in.

“Least I’m not dumb enough to see a feather duster and mistake it for Val’s feather! Imagine, me startled by a feather duster, I could never.” Vox is laughing, and even though that has happened to him as well, he certainly won’t admit to it.

“Hey! It had the exact same coloration! Not my fault! Least I’m not too stupid to realize when someone has a crush on me!” You scoff, and he laughs at first before looking confused.

“Nah, that’s not a good insult. I am very aware of my secretary’s crush on me. I don’t give a shit.” He raises a brow, looking at you. You’re backpedaling almost immediately, not realizing how easily you had given yourself away. You’re already beginning to mentally curse yourself for making such a foolish slip up.

But Vox’s expression changes from confused to the same type of predatory he gets when he knows he has a sale in the bag.

“Unless…? You meant someone else had a crush on me that I wasn’t aware of?” He hums nonchalantly, leaning across the table and laying his screen into his hand as he looks at you. You only seem to fluster more, looking around for any possible distraction or way out, but your attention is brought back by the sound of his claws rapping against the table in impatience, that stupid smug smile still on his face.

“....M-Maybe…” You mumble, looking down and away now, but the hand making noise against the table stops almost immediately and cups your chin, pulling you to look at him. No hiding.

“Perhaps I can fix that then? The not realizing someone has a crush on me bit?” He teases, and there is something both dastardly mischievous and honest in his next words.

“Besides, you’re just as stupid for not realizing someone has a crush on you back.”

Alastor

It happens after a night of drinking and dancing to jazz.

Well, during, is when it starts.

Both pleasantly drunk on whiskey, you more so than him.

You casually admit it, hardly even aware you’ve confessed.

But he is painfully aware, unsure if you’re genuine or, like every other sinner, attempting to get something out of him.

But you’ve always been so…ridiculously honest and genuine in Charlie’s program. It’s hard to imagine you even saying a white lie, let alone a manipulative one.

He decides to test it in the morning, getting unusually close to you to see your reaction.

Surely if you were simply trying to be manipulative you would be afraid, trying to fool the radio demon himself?

“Oh I love this one! Just one more dance!” You laugh, your grip on his hands tightening. An action that would normally annoy him with others, but with you was almost…pleasant.

“Ah, you know me. How can I ever say no to a Glen Miller song?” He hums, chuckling as he spins you before bringing you close to him again, arm wrapping around your waist a moment in the middle of the energetic and fast paced number.

You lay your head into the crook of his shoulder and grin to yourself.

“My, my, are you losing energy? Already?” Alastor can’t hide the amusement in his voice, nor does he want to as he continues to sway with you to the music.

“Oh no, never. Just…enjoying dancing with my love.” You say it almost absentmindedly, without quite realizing what you’ve said. But even muffled against his lapels, he hears it, and freezes for just a second before continuing his movements.

“Your love? You say?” He asks curiously, eyes almost boring into you as he waits for a response. You tilt your head back just enough to look at him, hands still rested in his.

“My love? Oh. Did I say that out loud? Fuck.” You frown a moment, the pout you wear almost adorable despite how infuriated you were with yourself.

“Language.” He playfully reminds you, spinning you in a way that makes the room spin so much faster than it already was.

“Yeah I speak one.” You slur out, hands gripping onto the lapels of his suit and clinging to him once you’re spun back to him.

But this just makes him laugh, whole heartedly and unabashedly.

“I think it’s time to head back.”

He knows it’s silly to interrogate you in your current state, but still, you babble as he helps you back to the hotel.

“What’s the point of even liking the big bad radio demon? Nothing will come of it.” You laugh, clinging to him as you stumble alongside him.

“Oh? Well I think it depends on how much you like the ‘big bad radio demon’.” He is clearly bemused as he listens to you, still aware enough himself to get you both back safe and sound.

“Like? Love. Romantic feelings. Whatever. I’m sure it’s all unrequited. These lovely dances with you are probably the closest I’ll ever get to that fantasy…” You mumble, sighing to yourself as you finally cross the threshold into the hotel lobby.

The sight of you two practically attached at the hip is nothing new, so barely anyone even bats an eyelash at the sight of it now.

However, unlike previous times he’s helped carry you back, his smile is decidedly strained, deep in thought as he analyzes everything he can about this interaction, and previous ones.

Was this genuine? Highly unlikely. Or was it simply a ploy to gain a favor from him? A loyalty you could utilize and take advantage of?

However in all the time he’s known you…that seemed…unlikely.

Surely you couldn’t have truly meant it? Surely just a silly thought that flitted across your mind as the two of you danced. But still, he helps you to your room, careful to help you into bed, and assuring you he would bring water and medicine in the morning.

When the morning comes and you awaken, you feel a flush come across your face immediately as you remember what you confessed the night before. You groan into your pillow, burying your face in it in a vain attempt to suffocate yourself, but you just hear a familiar and jovial laugh from nearby.

“Oh my dear! That isn’t how you suffocate someone at all!” Alastors laughs, throwing his head back before smiling at you.

You dare to open an eye, looking at him curiously.

“...Do you remember last night?” You ask cautiously, but he just leans closer, until his lips are just a breath away from yours.

“....Do you?”

[cressidagrey]

The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 5

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes: 

Mention of epilepsy, seizures, memory loss, hospitals and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Lando woke up feeling like absolute shit.

His head was pounding, his mouth was drier than the desert, and judging by the fact that he’s still half-dressed and tangled in a celebratory McLaren flag, last night must have been good.

He groaned, scrubbing his hands over his face. He remembered fragments of the night before - flashes of bright lights, loud music, and way too much drinking.

He had won.

Lando Norris was a Formula 1 Grand Prix Winner.

He had been nearly drowned in champagne by Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc.

He had won the 2024 Miami Grandprix.

Lando let out a sigh and gingerly pushed himself up into a sitting position, clutching his head as a sharp pain shot through his temples.

He fumbled for his phone, cringing at the notifications that had piled up overnight. Messages from friends, family, and the racing world congratulating him on his victory.

He blinked blearily at his phone.

Too early. Too bright. Too… too.

But there’s one thing he needs to do before he even considers getting up.

He scrolled through his notifications, heart sinking when he still doesn’t see Lizzie’s name.

But there’s nothing.

His fingers fumble as he types out another message.

Lando: Hey, just checking in. Are you okay? You didn’t answer last night. I was a bit… not in the best state, but I was really hoping to hear from you.

Lando: I’m just worried. Is everything alright? I know I was probably being a bit much last night, but you can always just let me know if you need space or whatever. I just want to make sure you’re good.

Nothing.

Lando stared at his phone, the pit in his stomach growing deeper with each passing second. He didn't understand why Lizzie hadn't responded, and the not knowing was driving him crazy.

He groaned, running a hand down his face.

He tried calling. Straight to voicemail.

His stomach twists.

Lando didn't want to jump to conclusions, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Lizzie was usually pretty good about replying to his messages.

He tried texting again.

Lando: Look, I get it if you need time. I don’t want to come off too strong. I just feel like I should've heard from you by now, and I’m starting to panic a bit. Just a quick text would help me breathe for a second, you know?

Lando stared at his phone, watching the time tick by with agonizing slowness. He'd been awake for nearly an hour now, and Lizzie hadn't responded to any of his messages.

He tried calling again, only to be met with the same response - straight to voicemail...again.

And then his phone pinged.

Lizzie: Hi, this is Lizzie’s father. She’s in the hospital. Multiple seizures. She’s woken up a few times, but she’s not very responsive. I don’t know who you are, but judging by the way she’s saved your contact as ‘Lando Not Dying Yet Norris,’ I assume you’re important enough to be told.

Lando blinks. Stares. His hangover vanishes instantly.

She’s at the Royal Sussex Hospital. Thought I’d tell you in case you want to show up to visit her.

Lando feels like all the air has been sucked from the room.

Hospital. Seizures. Not responsive.

He doesn’t even realize he’s shaking until he fumbles trying to type back.

Lando: I—fuck. Is she okay? What happened?

Three little dots appear, then vanish. Then appear again.

Lizzie: She’s stable. But it was bad.

Lando pushes back the covers, already moving, already grabbing for his McLaren hoodie like that will somehow help him fix this.

He needs to be there.

Now.

His hands are unsteady as he opens his flight app. The next available flight back to London is in four hours.

Not soon enough.

Lando: I’m coming back to the UK. I’ll be there as soon as I can.

There’s no reply, but Lando doesn’t care. His heart is hammering, his mind racing, and there’s only one thing he knows for sure—

He has to get to Lizzie.

He…

There was a knock at the door.

Lando jumped, his already frayed nerves on edge. "Who is it?" he called out, his voice cracking slightly.

“It’s Oscar.”

Lando sagged with relief as he recognized the Australian accent drifting through the door. “Come in.”

The door creaked open and Oscar Piastri poked his head into the room. His eyes widened when he saw Lando’s harried expression. “Mate, you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Lando shook his head, feeling the tension in his shoulders tighten even more. "No, not alright. Lizzie’s in the hospital. Multiple seizures."

Oscar’s expression immediately darkened. "What the hell? Multiple seizures? How is she doing now?”

“Not good, apparently. Her dad said she’s stable, but she’s not very responsive. I’m flying back to London to see her.” Lando ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his heart still racing with worry.

“God damn.” Oscar stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him. He studied Lando’s face for a moment, his eyes narrowing. “You’re a mess, mate. Have you eaten anything?”

Lando shook his head, the thought of food making his stomach churn. "No, I haven't even had a chance to think about food. I’m just freaking out, mate. I’ve never seen her have a seizure, let alone multiple seizures…She had one last week before we had dinner, but she seemed fine, just tired… I have no idea how bad it’s going to be. This is...this is so messed up."

Oscar nodded sympathetically, his expression still grave. "Go," he said simply. "I'll make your apologies to Zac and the team."

Lando nodded numbly, already moving to pack a bag. Oscar stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "And mate? Try to keep calm. You won’t do Lizzie any good if you’re a wreck yourself."

Lando huffed out a breath. "I’ll try."

"Can you tell Max..." Lando trailed off. He had no idea what to even…

Oscar's expression softened. “I’ll tell Max. And the others. You just focus on getting to the hospital, alright?”

Lando nods, his throat suddenly feeling thick. "Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Oscar."

[rosiecosy]

nowhere to hide୨ৎ

(seungcheol x reader)

at first, it’s little things.

a comment that feels too personal under one of your old posts. a dm from an account with no profile picture, asking about things you’ve never shared online. you brush it off - coincidence, a random troll, nothing to worry about.

then, it escalates.

someone starts calling your work phone, never speaking—just breathing. you start seeing the same username in every live broadcast, always posting cryptic warnings. and then, one night, you come home to find an envelope on your doorstep. inside are pictures—of you.

walking to the grocery store. waiting at a bus stop. standing by your apartment window.

you don’t tell seungcheol. not yet. he already has enough on his plate, and it’s probably nothing. maybe just a weird fan who took things too far. you block the accounts, delete the messages, try to pretend it doesn’t scare you.

but then—

someone breaks into your apartment.

you don’t hear them at first. you’re in the shower, water running too loud, drowning out the sound of your front door unlocking. it’s only when you step out—wrapped in a towel, feet padding across the floor—that you notice something’s off.

your bedroom door is open. you’re sure you closed it.

your heart pounds as you push it open, and that’s when you see it.

your bedside table drawer is open. your things are scattered, like someone was searching for something. but it’s what’s on your pillow that makes your stomach drop.

a polaroid.

of you.

asleep.

your breath catches in your throat. a sharp, icy fear wraps around you, locking you in place.

they were here. they were in your room. watching you. taking pictures.

your hands shake as you reach for your phone, dialing the only person you can think of.

"cheol?" your voice is barely a whisper, but the second he hears it, he knows something’s wrong.

"baby? what’s wrong?"

"someone—someone was here."

there’s a beat of silence. then, his voice hardens. "where are you?"

"at home—"

"get out. now."

"cheol—"

"don’t argue, just go. i’m coming to get you."

you don’t remember grabbing your things. don’t remember running barefoot down the stairs, into the cold night air. all you know is that seungcheol is there within minutes, door slamming as he rushes toward you.

his hands are on your face, checking you over, eyes wild with worry. "are you hurt? did they—"

"no," you whisper, but your voice shakes. "they were in my room, cheol. they—" you choke on the words, panic clawing up your throat.

he pulls you into his arms, holding you so tight it knocks the air out of you. "it’s okay. you’re safe now. i promise you’re safe."

but you can feel the way his hands tremble against your back. how his heartbeat is just as frantic as yours.

because deep down, you both know—

this is far from over.

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: Crossed Wires – Part 3

Hailie Jade was losing her damn mind.

For the first time in her life, she knew two massive secrets, and neither one was hers to tell.

On one hand, her dad—the man who swore he was done with marriage—had been secretly planning a proposal for the past month. He’d even shown her the ring, a stunning vintage-style diamond that made her gasp when she saw it.

“I just want it to be perfect,” he had muttered, fidgeting with the box. “She deserves perfect.”

On the other hand, you—who she now fully considered a sister—had called her last week, voice shaking, to say you were pregnant.

“I haven’t told him yet,” you had admitted, barely above a whisper. “I just… I don’t wanna freak him out.”

So now, here Hailie was, stuck in the middle of the most frustrating waiting game of her life, watching you both sit on massive life-changing news while somehow not picking up on each other’s weird behavior.

Marshall was being suspiciously extra lately—making sure you weren’t stressed, cooking you breakfast, even giving up the good pillow without argument. Meanwhile, you had been sneaking off to the bathroom more often, glancing at him nervously like you were hiding something.

She was going to explode.

At family dinner, she found herself gripping her wine glass a little too tightly as she listened to both of you dance around your respective secrets.

“Babe, you okay?” Marshall asked, watching you push your food around your plate.

“Yeah! Just… not super hungry,” you said, offering a tight smile.

Hailie’s eye twitched.

Marshall nodded, completely missing the fact that you looked ready to vomit. Meanwhile, you were sitting right next to a man who had a literal engagement ring in his pocket and had no idea.

Hailie slammed her glass down.

Everyone looked at her.

“You good?��� Nate asked, raising an eyebrow.

She forced a smile. “Yep. Totally fine.”

Marshall and you exchanged glances before shrugging it off.

Hailie took a deep breath.

They’d figure it out soon.

Hopefully before she lost her mind.

---

Marshall had planned this proposal perfectly.

It wasn’t anything over-the-top—he knew you’d kill him if he made a big public spectacle out of it. No, this was intimate, just the two of you at home, curled up on the couch with a movie playing in the background, wine poured (well, for him—he noticed you’d been skipping out lately, but he figured you just weren’t in the mood).

He had the ring in his pocket, fingers brushing against the velvet box as he tried to time it just right. His heart was pounding—which was ridiculous, really, because he already knew you loved him, knew you wanted to be with him. But something about this moment felt huge.

He cleared his throat, shifting to face you. “Hey, uh… can I talk to you for a sec?”

You turned to him, eyes warm and curious. “Of course.”

Okay. Now or never.

Taking a deep breath, he pulled the box from his pocket and flipped it open.

“I know I’m not exactly the easiest guy to love,” he started, voice a little rough, “and I know I probably drive you crazy half the time. But you—you—make everything in my life better. And I don’t wanna do this shit without you.”

Your eyes went huge. Your mouth opened—

And then you clapped a hand over it and bolted.

Marshall barely had time to react before he heard the bathroom door slam and the unmistakable sound of vomiting.

He sat there, stunned, ring still in hand.

“…Okay,” he muttered to himself. “That’s not how I saw this going.”

After a few seconds, he cautiously made his way to the bathroom and knocked. “Uh… you good in there?”

Silence.

Then a weak, “Not really.”

He frowned. “Was it—was it me?”

The door swung open, and you stood there, pale and slightly sweaty, but your expression was somewhere between guilt and amusement.

“No, babe, it wasn’t you,” you sighed.

He exhaled in relief. “Okay. Good. ‘Cause I was about to spiral hard.”

You laughed weakly before taking a deep breath. “Actually… there’s something I need to tell you.”

Marshall tensed, immediately worried. “What is it?”

You bit your lip, fidgeting with your hands. “I, um… I’m pregnant.”

Dead silence.

Marshall blinked. Once. Twice.

“…Wait. What?”

“I just found out, and I was trying to figure out the right time to tell you,” you admitted. “And then you proposed, and my body was like, ‘Hey, let’s ruin this moment completely,’ so… yeah.”

His eyes dropped to your stomach, then back to your face, still processing. “You’re pregnant?”

You nodded nervously. “Yeah.”

Another beat of silence. Then—

“Oh, shit.”

You winced. “Is that a good ‘oh shit’ or a bad ‘oh shit’?”

His face split into the biggest, dumbest grin you’d ever seen. “That’s a holy-shit-I’m-gonna-be-a-dad-again kind of ‘oh shit.’”

Relief crashed over you as you let out a breathy laugh. “So… you’re happy?”

“Are you kidding?” He scooped you up, spinning you in a circle before remembering you’d just puked and quickly setting you back down. “Babe, this is insane, but it’s also… kinda amazing.”

Tears pricked your eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He cupped your face, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Then he pulled back, smirking. “But you still didn’t answer the question.”

You blinked. “What question?”

He held up the ring. “You know, the proposal?”

You gasped. “Oh my God, I totally ruined it.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, you kinda did.”

You covered your face. “I’m so sorry—”

“Hey.” He gently pulled your hands away. “Just say yes.”

You sniffled, smiling. “Yes.”

Marshall grinned. “Good. ‘Cause you’re stuck with me now, baby and all.”

You laughed, wrapping your arms around him. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

---

If someone had told Marshall a year ago that he’d be engaged and expecting another kid, he probably would have laughed in their face. And yet, here he was—ring on your finger, baby on the way, and somehow, he had never been happier.

Of course, that didn’t mean he wasn’t freaking the hell out.

“Okay, but like… you’re sure?” he asked for the third time that morning as you sat on the couch, eating dry cereal straight from the box.

You sighed, chewing slowly before answering. “Yes, Marshall. I’m sure.”

“I just—how did this happen?” He ran a hand over his face, pacing the living room.

You gave him a deadpan look. “Do I really need to explain how this happened?”

He shot you a glare. “You know what I mean.”

You smirked. “Well, let’s see… we weren’t exactly careful, and my birth control prescription ran out, and I may have put off refilling it because I was lazy—”

Marshall groaned. “Oh my God.”

“—And now we have a baby on the way.” You popped another piece of cereal into your mouth like it was the most casual thing in the world.

He sat down next to you, rubbing his temples. “I’m too old for this.”

You nudged him. “You’re not that old.”

He side-eyed you. “I’m almost 50.”

You shrugged. “And? Robert De Niro had a baby at, like, 80.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

You laughed, leaning into him. “You’re gonna be fine. You already raised three kids. You’re a pro at this.”

Marshall let out a deep breath, looking down at your stomach. “Still can’t believe it.”

“Well, believe it, fiancé,” you teased, wiggling your ring in his face.

A small smirk tugged at his lips. “Fiancé, huh?”

You grinned. “Has a nice ring to it.”

He groaned at the pun, but his arm tightened around you anyway.

A knock at the door interrupted the moment, followed by Hailie’s voice.

“If you two are done being gross, can I come in?”

You snorted. “Yeah, yeah, get in here.”

Hailie stepped inside, immediately spotting Marshall’s exhausted expression. “He’s spiraling, isn’t he?”

“Oh, big time,” you confirmed.

“Hey, I’m not spiraling,” Marshall argued. “I’m just… processing.”

Hailie rolled her eyes before sitting down across from you both. “Dad, you already have two daughters, a niece who’s basically your kid, and you practically raised half of our friends. You got this.”

Marshall huffed. “Yeah, yeah.”

Then Hailie turned to you, eyes shining. “So… I’m gonna be an older sister?”

You smiled. “Yep.”

Instead of teasing, she reached over and squeezed your hand. “I’m really happy for you guys.”

You squeezed back, warmth spreading through your chest.

For the first time since the news broke, everything felt real.

And somehow, it felt right.

---

The realization hit you out of nowhere.

You were in bed, scrolling through wedding ideas on your phone, when you gasped so loudly that Marshall jolted awake.

“What? What happened?” he asked, half-asleep and already looking for a nonexistent threat.

You turned to him, wide-eyed. “I can’t have a big wedding.”

He blinked. “Uh… okay?”

“I just realized I’ll be showing soon, and I don’t want to look pregnant in our wedding photos!” you groaned, dramatically flopping back onto the pillows.

Marshall stared at you for a moment, processing. Then he rubbed a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ, this is what we’re panicking about now?”

“Yes!” You sat up again, gripping his arm. “Marshall, I love you, but I refuse to be wearing a wedding dress while looking like I swallowed a watermelon.”

He let out a long sigh. “So… what do you wanna do?”

“Get married now.”

That woke him up. “Wait—like, now now?”

You nodded. “Before I start showing. Something small, just us and the kids. No big wedding, no stress.”

Marshall rubbed his jaw, considering it. Truth be told, he hadn’t been thrilled about the idea of a huge wedding anyway. Too many people, too much attention. But a small, intimate ceremony? Just the people who actually mattered?

That actually sounded… perfect.

“Alright,” he said, nodding. “Let’s do it.”

Your jaw dropped. “Really?”

“Yeah. No bullshit, no stress. Just us, the kids, and whoever else you wanna invite.” He smirked. “Besides, the sooner we do this, the sooner I can officially call you Mrs. Mathers.”

You rolled your eyes. “You just wanna lock it down before I change my mind.”

He grinned. “Damn right.”

You squealed, throwing yourself into his arms. “Oh my God, we’re getting married.”

One Week Later…

You had never planned anything so fast in your life, but somehow, you pulled it off.

Marshall, Hailie, Alaina, and Stevie had taken care of the logistics—finding a venue, sorting out paperwork, making sure everything was in place. Meanwhile, you focused on the important things, like finding a dress that wouldn’t have to accommodate a baby bump.

The ceremony was simple, beautiful, perfect.

You stood in a small garden with only your closest people around you. No over-the-top decorations, no unnecessary guests—just love, laughter, and the man who had somehow become your entire world.

Marshall’s hands shook a little when he held yours, his thumb brushing over your skin as he said his vows.

“I never thought I’d do this again,” he admitted, voice soft but steady. “But then you came along and turned everything upside down. You make me wanna be better, make me wanna do this—a life, a family. I don’t know how I got this lucky, but I do know that I’m never letting go.”

You wiped away a tear as you smiled. “I don’t have anything poetic to say. Just… you’re it for me, Marshall. You always will be.”

The moment they pronounced you husband and wife, Marshall practically crushed you in a kiss, dipping you slightly as your family cheered around you.

Hailie wiped at her eyes. “I swear I’m not crying.”

“You totally are,” Alaina teased.

“I hate both of you,” Hailie grumbled.

Marshall pulled away just enough to murmur against your lips, “So… how’s it feel to be Mrs. Mathers?”

You grinned. “Not much different from yesterday. But way more official.”

He smirked. “Damn right.”

[00valentina-writes00]

hello! I’ve read like twenty of your stories in like two hours. I’m in awe. And I’d like to request a Sevika x reader story? Maybe one where reader is feeling rather self conscious and Sevika tries to get through to them with words but that’s not what the reader needs (sex). (Im heavily implying smut) but you don’t have to, I just wanted to compliment your works!!

♡♥︎ Mine ♥︎♡

Warnings: ⚠️ NSFW (18+ only) | Dominant Sevika | Body Worship | Praise & Possessiveness | Insecurity/Body Image Themes | Use of Strap-On | Rough Sex | Sevika Being a Menace | Reader is Soft but Sevika is NOT Letting That Slide | You Will Be Appreciated, Whether You Like It or Not

You wake up to the faint hum of Zaun’s undercity, the distant clatter of machinery and the occasional burst of chatter from the streets below seeping through the thin walls of Sevika’s apartment. Her arm is draped over your waist, her hand resting lightly on your stomach. The weight of it feels comforting, protective, but today it makes you tense. You’ve been avoiding this closeness, this intimacy, for days now. Your insecurities have been gnawing at you, whispering ugly truths in your ear. Your thighs are too thick. Your stomach is too soft. She’s not going to want you like this.

Sevika stirs behind you, her chest pressing against your back as she shifts. Her voice is low, gravelly from sleep. “You’re thinking too loud.”

You stiffen. “I’m not thinking about anything.”

“Bullshit.” Her hand tightens slightly on your stomach, fingers brushing against the soft curve there. “You’ve been dodging me all week. What’s going on?”

You shrug, trying to shake her off, but she doesn’t budge. Her grip is firm, insistent. “It’s nothing, Sevika. Just leave it.”

She exhales sharply, her breath warm against the back of your neck. “Don’t give me that. You know I don’t do well with cryptic bullshit. Spit it out.”

You swallow hard, your throat tightening. You don’t want to say it. You don’t want to give voice to the thoughts that have been plaguing you, but you know Sevika won’t let it go. She never does. “I just… I feel disgusting. Okay? My body’s… it’s not good enough. I don’t want you to see me like this.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Sevika snorts. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

You whirl around to face her, your cheeks burning. “It’s not stupid! You don’t understand—”

“No, you don’t understand,” she interrupts, her voice sharp. Her grey eyes lock onto yours, piercing and unyielding. “You think I give a damn about what you look like? About a little extra weight or whatever the hell you’re obsessing over? News flash, darling—I don’t. I never have.”

Her words hit you like a punch, and you blink, stunned. Sevika’s never been one for sugarcoating, but this feels different. There’s a rawness in her tone, a ferocity that makes your chest tighten.

“But…” you start, but she cuts you off again.

“But nothing,” she growls, sitting up and leaning over you. Her copper prosthetic arm glints in the dim light as she braces herself on the mattress, caging you in. “You’re mine. Every damn inch of you. And I’m not letting you talk yourself out of that.”

You stare up at her, your heart pounding. Her presence is overwhelming, as it always is—towering, muscular, scarred. Her dark hair falls across her face, framing those sharp, angular features. Her lip piercing catches the light, drawing your eyes to her mouth, to the way her brownish-black lipstick smudges just slightly at the edges. She’s beautiful, in a way that’s all hard edges and raw power, and it makes you feel small in comparison.

“Sevika…” you whisper, your voice trembling.

She leans down, her nose brushing against yours. “You need to stop thinking so damn much,” she murmurs, her breath hot against your lips. “Let me show you how much I want you. How much I need you.”

Her hand moves from your waist to your thigh, fingers digging into the soft flesh there. You shiver, your breath catching as she grips you harder, pulling your leg up to wrap around her hip. The movement is possessive, demanding, and it sends a jolt of heat straight to your core.

“Tell me you want this,” she demands, her voice low and rough.

“I… I want this,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

She smirks, a wicked, predatory thing that makes your stomach flip. “Good.”

She doesn’t waste any time. Her hands are on you, rough and insistent, shoving your shirt up and over your head before you can even think to protest. Her mouth finds your neck, teeth nipping at your skin as she works her way down. Her prosthetic arm moves with a precision that’s almost unnerving, the cool metal brushing against your ribs as she strips you bare.

You’re exposed now, completely vulnerable under her gaze. You want to shrink away, to hide from the intensity of her stare, but she doesn’t let you. Her eyes rake over your body, cataloging every curve, every imperfection, and instead of disdain, you see something else. Hunger. Need.

“you’re beautiful,” she growls, her voice thick with desire.

You shake your head, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I’m not—”

She silences you with a kiss, hard and bruising, her tongue pushing past your lips to claim your mouth. It’s not gentle, not tender—it’s possessive, demanding, and it leaves you breathless. When she pulls back, you’re panting, your chest heaving.

“Don’t argue with me,” she snaps, her eyes blazing. “I don’t have the patience for your self-loathing bullshit. You will not disrespect my girlfriend like that.”

Her hand moves between your legs, fingers sliding through your wetness with a rough, almost careless ease. You gasp, arching off the mattress as she teases you, her touch just this side of too much.

“See this?” she murmurs, her voice a low purr in your ear. “This is how much your body turns me on. How much I fucking crave you.”

Her fingers sink into you, deep and unrelenting, and you cry out, your nails digging into her shoulders. She doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down, her rhythm punishing as she fucks you with her hand. Your thighs tremble, your body tightening around her as she pushes you closer and closer to the edge.

“Look at me,” she commands, and you obey, your eyes locking onto hers. Her gaze is intense, unwavering, and it feels like she’s staring straight into your soul. “You’re perfect, alluring, and godlike. Every fucking part of you. And I’m not letting you forget it.”

You cum with a strangled cry, your body arching off the mattress as she works you through it, her fingers relentless. When it’s over, you’re shaking, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath.

Sevika smirks, pulling her hand away and licking her fingers clean with a deliberate slowness that makes your cheeks burn.

She moves off the bed, and you hear the sound of her rummaging through a drawer. When she turns back to you, she’s holding a strap-on, the thick, curved silicone gleaming in the dim light. Your breath hitches, your body already thrumming with anticipation.

She straps it on with practiced ease, her movements confident and unhurried. When she climbs back onto the bed, the weight of her presses you into the mattress, her body hovering over yours. Her grey eyes bore into you, and for a moment, it feels like she’s looking straight through you, past all your walls and insecurities.

“Tell me you you’re pretty,” she says again, her voice a growl.

You nod, your voice trembling. “I’m…I’m pretty Sevika..”

Her lips curl into a wicked smile. “Good girl.”

She doesn’t wait, doesn’t give you time to second-guess. She pushes into you in one smooth, brutal stroke, the stretch of her filling you completely. You gasp, your back arching as she bottoms out, the sensation overwhelming.

“Fuck,” she groans, her head dropping to your shoulder. “You’re so hot. So fucking perfect.”

She starts to move, her hips pistoning into you with a relentless rhythm. The sound of skin against skin fills the room, punctuated by your gasps and moans. Her hands grip your love handles, holding you in place as she fucks you, her pace unforgiving.

“You’re mine,” she growls, her voice rough with desire. “Mine, and I’m never letting you go.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, and you cling to her, your nails digging into her back as she drives you closer and closer to the edge. Your body feels like it’s on fire, every nerve alight with pleasure.

“Sevika, I’m— again-”

“Cum for me,” she demands, her voice a low snarl. “Now.”

You obey, your body shattering as pleasure crashes over you in waves. She fucks you through it, her rhythm never faltering, until your entire body is trembling with the force of it.

When she finally stills, her body pressed against yours, you’re both panting, your chests heaving as you try to catch your breath. She drops her forehead to yours, her grey eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your stomach flip.

“You’re mine,” she repeats in a whisper, her voice rough, “and I’m not letting you forget it.”

You nod, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Yours,” you whisper back, your voice trembling.

She smirks, that wicked, predatory thing that makes your stomach flip. “Good girl.”

And then she’s moving again, her hips rolling against yours, and you realize with a gasp that she’s far from done with you.

“Sevika—”

“Shut up,” she growls, her voice low and dark. “I’m not done with you yet.”

[pascalislove]

THE CALL: Han Jeong-Won x Fem!Reader~14

Summary: Your arrival would change everything, even if Jeong-Won didn't know it yet.

Warnings: female reader, piv, , age difference(unspecified), creampie, fingering (woman receiving), oral sex (woman receiving), unprotected sex.

At midnight, Jeong-Won's room was dark, illuminated only by the soft light of the lamps. Jeong-Won sat on the edge of the bed, barefoot and relaxed, with a calm expression, although when he saw her pass in front of his room his dark eyes followed Y/N carefully as she walked slowly towards her room.

Without saying a word, he stood up, walked out of his room and took her hand, pulling her towards him.—Come here,—he murmured softly, his lips dangerously close to hers. Y/N looked at him, defiant, but her heart was pounding. Before she could respond, Jeong-Won bowed his head and kissed her decisively. Their lips met in a firm, slow gesture, loaded with unspoken emotions. For a second, Y/N let herself go, but then she abruptly pulled away, leaving Jeong-Won confused.—¿What's happening?— he asked, his voice hoarse with suppressed desire.

Without answering, Y/N gently pushed him back, making him sit on the edge of the bed again. Her eyes shone with a daring spark as she leaned towards him, resting her hands on his shoulders. —It's my turn,— she whispered before approaching him and kissing him.

This time, the kiss was different: slow, deep, full of intention. Jeong-Won let out a soft sigh against her lips, surprised by the change of roles. His hands, which always sought control, now rested docilely on Y/N's hips. When they finally broke apart, they were both breathing heavily, the air between them heavy with something neither could name.

—You don't always have to be in control, Jeong-Won,— Y/N said with a mischievous smile. He gave a soft laugh, shaking his head. The loose strands of his hair framed his flushed face. Jeong-Won, always reserved, dropped the barriers for the first time.

His hands slid decisively to the curve of her waist, pulling her towards him. His lips met hers in a slow kiss, charged with contained emotion, as if the entire world could disappear in that instant. She responded with equal intensity, her fingers brushing the firm contour of his jaw before tangling in his hair.

Their breaths hitched as the heat between them intensified. With a shaky sigh, she took a step back, her eyes shining with a mix of nervousness and determination. Without taking her eyes off him, she slid the robe off her shoulders, letting it fall gently to the floor.Jeong-Won remained still, as if the air had been ripped from his lungs. His dark eyes, once filled with melancholy, now burned with desire. —Are you sure? —he whispered in a hoarse, almost inaudible voice. She nodded, gently biting his lower lip, and that was all the confirmation he needed. The distance between them disappeared in an instant. Jeong-Won gently stretched her onto the bed. The caresses became more intense, each touch awakening new and addictive sensations. She laughed softly against his neck, feeling her usual seriousness fade under the weight of their shared passion.He started caressing it carefully as if it was going to break at any moment, meanwhile Y/N pulled the shirt over his head.

He began to kiss her neck which caused her to moan because of how good it felt. The room was illuminated only by the soft light of the lamps. Once they both took off their clothes he looked at her with those eyes full of desire, although they seemed filled with something deeper, something that made her skin tingle.

—¿Are you sure you want this? —His voice, normally firm and authoritative, sounded shaky. Y/N nodded slowly, her face flushed with the heat of the moment. She had waited so long for him, to have him close like this, that her fear was eclipsed by the desire she had for him. He caressed her cheek with his fingertips, as if afraid of breaking her. Breathing deeply, his heart pounding as their bodies got closer and closer. His hands slid over her waist, firm but careful, exploring her with a mix of urgency and tenderness. Their lips met in a slow kiss, filled with unspoken meanings. Every movement was measured, every caress designed to make her feel safe.

He delicately took one of her breasts into his mouth and sucked on her nipple lightly, before pulling away and leaving kisses on her belly. You watched as he settled between your legs, running his hands up and down them, before parting your thighs. Y/N gasps, her muscles jumping and twitching, but she enjoys the attention and the feel of Jeong-Won's skin pressed against hers. Jeong-Won's hands continue to caress Y/N's legs, but he slowly ran a finger along her slit before feeling his tongue press against her pussy and then he began pumping his finger in and out of you, making you shiver with pleasure. You arched your back unconsciously as you felt yourself getting closer to your orgasm.

You shuddered and moaned a little as you came. Feeling your walls throb around his fingers turned him on quite a bit. He took off his sweatpants to reveal his member barely being restrained by his boxer briefs. You couldn't help but watch as he took off his underwear, placing it to the side with your robe.

He carefully positioned himself on top of you so his tip was aligned with you, before gently pushing himself inside you. He waited a second before beginning to move his hips. The way he felt inside you was incredible. Jeong-Won breathed heavily against your neck as he found his rhythm and continued to slide his cock in and out of you. He could feel you raise your hips to meet his, your eyes were squeezed shut and your mouth was slightly open. He lowered his head to bring his lips to yours, kissing you passionately. It was enough to bring you to your second orgasm of the night, gushing around his cock, your walls squeezing him tightly. He took a deep breath, before moving faster and deeper inside you. You weren't going to lie, you felt a little confused and overstimulated. You could no longer contain the sounds that came out of your mouth. You could feel him reaching his orgasm, so he carefully moved one of his hands to rub your clit. Your already very sensitive bundle of nerves couldn't handle the additional stimulation and you came hard, your entire body shaking. The way your walls tightened around his cock was enough to make Jeong-Won climax, moaning as his cum shot deep into your core. He fell on top of you without crushing you and pressed a deep kiss to your lips.

-Are you ok? —he whispered, his forehead resting against hers. “Yes,” you replied with a shaky smile.

That night, Y/N with kisses marked on her neck and Jeong Won with her nails marked on his back, remained tangled under the sheets, their world reduced only to their intertwined breaths. Jeong-Won, broken and lonely, finally allowed someone to fill the empty spaces in his heart.

This story does not follow the plot of the series, tell me if you like it and if you want me to tag you in the chapters🫶

Tag list:

@anamiad00msday , @czarinera , @beebeechaos, @muchwita

THE CALL MASTERLIST:

[gleamingseok]

when the curtains stay open-Pt2

What started as an accident became an invitation neither of you could resist

Pairing : neighbour Jungkook x reader

Genre: fluff, smut, teasing

Summary: Jungkook wasn’t supposed to see you that night. He wasn’t supposed to watch. But now, the image of you with your fingers deep inside yourself, moaning like you wanted him to see has been haunting him for days. He’s been trying to push it from his mind. But when he steps into the elevator and finds you already inside, there’s no escaping from you now.

{Part1: https://www.tumblr.com/gleamingseok/774563883559092224/when-the-curtains-stay-open-pt1?source=share }

___________________________________________

Jungkook hadn’t been the same since that night since the moment he accidentally caught you in your most intimate moment legs spread, fingers between your legs, body trembling as you fucked yourself right in front of him.

He had tried to convince himself it was a mistake. That he shouldn’t have kept watching. That he should’ve shut his blinds and gone to bed like a decent fucking person instead of sitting there, palming his cock, unable to tear his eyes away from you. But what fucked with him the most? Was that you knew he was watching. You had seen him and you didn’t stop.

It had been three days, and Jungkook had been avoiding you like his life depended on it. He knew if he saw you again, he wouldn’t be able to act normal.

So, he had been careful. Made sure to leave his apartment at different times so he wouldn’t run into you. He was determined to get you out of his fucking head.

But clearly, fate had other plans.

Jungkook sighed as he stepped into your apartment building’s elevator, heading up to see his friend Taehyung. He barely registered anything, running a hand through his hair as the metal doors slid open and his breath caught in his throat.

You were already inside.

Standing there, back against the mirrored wall, one hand holding your phone, the other casually resting against your thigh.

Jungkook froze. Fuck.

Your eyes lifted at the sound of the doors opening, and the moment your gaze locked onto his, the air shifted. His heart pounded, heat rushing through his veins as memories of you flooded his brain moaning, arching, fingers buried in your slick heat, eyes locked on his across the space between your apartments. And now, you were right in front of him.

Real.

Smirking.

Jungkook clenched his jaw. He could’ve turned back. Could’ve taken the fucking stairs. But he didn’t. Instead, he stepped in.

The elevator doors slid shut behind him, sealing the two of you inside. The space was small, too small, he could feel the warmth radiating off your body, could smell the faint hint of your perfume invading his senses. His pulse thundered in his ears as he stared straight ahead, forcing himself not to look at you.

But then you shifted. Just a small movement, a slow uncrossing of your legs, letting your skirt ride just a little higher.

Jungkook exhaled sharply through his nose, gripping the fabric of his sweats.

You were fucking with him.

He turned his head slightly, his dark gaze meeting yours. “You enjoying yourself?”

You tilted your head, your lips curving into a smirk. “Mmm, I don’t know. Are you?”

Fucking brat.

Jungkook scoffed, shaking his head. “You’ve got a real bad habit of testing my patience” You hummed, faking innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about”

His eyes dropped taking in the sight of your bare thighs, the soft rise and fall of your chest beneath your top, the way you looked so fucking relaxed while he was losing his fucking mind.

His cock twitched in his sweats, memories of you flickering through his brain like a fucking curse. You must have noticed. Because you licked your lips. Slow and Deliberate.

Jungkook’s fingers twitched. “You’re playing a dangerous game, baby,” he murmured, voice dark and rough.

You leaned back against the wall, your smirk widening. “Am I?”

His jaw ticked. You knew what you were doing. You had seen the way he watched you that night. You had seen the way he hadn’t looked away. And now, you were taunting him with it. He clenched his fists, willing himself to breathe.

But then The elevator jerked. The lights flickered.

And suddenly, everything stopped.

A red emergency light bathed the small space in dim glow. The control panel beeped, flashing an error message. Elevator malfunction. 

Jungkook blinked. You blinked.

Then you burst out laughing, “Oh my fucking god,” you giggled, shaking your head. “This is so fucking cliché.”

Jungkook didn’t laugh. He didn’t breathe.

Because your voice and your laugh? It only made things worse. It reminded him of the sounds you made that night those little breathy moans, the way you gasped when your fingers slid inside yourself, the way your lips parted when you came.

Because he knew he was fucked, not because he is claustrophobic not because he was worried of being stuck for hours but because he was with the one person he had been desperately trying to stay the fuck away from and judging by the way you were looking at him now amused, teasing, you knew exactly what that meant.

Jungkook exhaled slowly, his control hanging by a fucking thread. This was going to be a long fucking night.

He clenched his jaw, dragging a hand down his face as you stood beside him, far too relaxed. He forced himself to focus, stepping forward to press the emergency button.

A robotic voice crackled over the speaker. “Attention passengers, the elevator has experienced a minor malfunction. Estimated wait time fifteen to twenty minutes.” Jungkook exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders. Twenty minutes. Twenty fucking minutes alone, with you, In a small, enclosed space.

Fucking great.

You sighed dramatically, shifting your weight, and out of the corner of his eye, Jungkook saw the way your skirt rode up just a little higher. 

The universe hated him.

"Guess we're stuck," you mused, leaning back against the mirrored wall. Jungkook grunted in response, keeping his eyes fixed on the control panel, refusing to look at you.

"You've been avoiding me," you said suddenly, tilting your head. He tensed, but kept his expression blank. "No, I haven’t." You then smirked. "Oh? So it’s just a coincidence that we haven’t run into each other since that night?" He should have expected this. He should have known you were going to bring it up, But hearing you say it out loud made his blood fucking burn. His fingers curled into fists. “Drop it.” You tsked, crossing your arms, Jungkook clenched his jaw, inhaling slowly through his nose but then you moved just enough to shift closer, your body heat radiating against his arm, your perfume wrapping around him like a fucking trap.

"You know," you mused, voice dripping with amusement, "I was wondering how long it would take before we ended up alone like this” Jungkook could feel his control slipping another inch "I mean," you continued, fingers toying with the hem of your skirt, "I get it. You saw something you weren’t supposed to, and now you don’t know how to act around me" Jungkook's breath was heavy, sharp “I know how to act.”

You hummed, unconvinced "Then why won’t you look at me?"

His muscles tensed, He could feel your eyes on him, watching, waiting. He inhaled, exhaled, Then, finally he turned.

And fuck.

You were looking at him like you knew exactly what you were doing to him, Like you knew his cock had been half-hard since the second he stepped into this elevator.

The space between you was too small. The air was thick. Your bare legs were right fucking there, so close that if he reached out just slightly his fingers would graze your skin. You leaned in just a little more, your voice barely above a whisper “Does it bother you?” Jungkook swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Does what bother me?” You licked your lips “The fact that I didn’t stop” his entire body locked up.

His fingers curled at his sides, his breath uneven, every muscle in him screaming to do something, You smirked, seeing the way his jaw clenched.

"You saw me," you murmured, voice sultry, teasing. "You watched me. And you didn’t look away." Jungkook exhaled sharply. He was losing it, And you weren’t done.

"You wanted to watch," you continued, tilting your head. "Didn't you?" Jungkook's hands twitched. His cock throbbed painfully against his sweats, memories of you flashing in his mind your fingers buried deep, your thighs shaking, your eyes locked onto his as you came for him, He exhaled, shaking his head "You're playing a dangerous fucking game, baby” Your lips curled, your voice dropping lower "And what happens when you stop playing?" 

In a blur, he was on you his hands gripping your hips, spinning you around, pinning you against the mirrored wall. A gasp left your lips, your palms slapping against the glass, but before you could react His body pressed against yours, His breath was hot against your ear, his voice a dark, low growl "You think this is funny?" You inhaled sharply, your body instantly reacting to his touch, heat pooling low in your stomach.

Jungkook's fingers tightened around your hips, pulling you back against him, and fuck, you felt him. Thick. Hard and Desperate.

His lips grazed your ear "You wanted me to see you that night," he murmured, his voice dangerously soft. "Didn't you?” Your breath hitched, "You wanted me to sit there and watch you fall apart" His hands trailed lower, his fingers skimming the hem of your skirt "You knew what you were doing" .You bit your lip, pressing your forehead against the glass. “And if I did?” He then groaned.

His fingers dug into your hips, his cock pressing harder against your ass, his breath ragged "If this fucking elevator wasn't stuck," he growled, "I'd have you on your knees by now."

A whimper slipped from your lips. Jungkook smirked, his grip tightening. "Oh? You like that?" Your thighs then clenched "You like knowing how fucking hard I get thinking about you?" His lips ghosted over your neck, his teeth grazing your skin "You like teasing me, making me suffer?" Your breath came out in shallow pants. “M-Maybe” Jungkook groaned, grinding against you. 

The elevator beeped.

The lights flickered. And It started moving.

Both of you  froze.

And just like that he stepped back.

The tension remained, thick, undeniable.

But Jungkook only smirked. "This isn’t over," he muttered, running his tongue over his bottom lip.

Then, the doors slid open, and he walked out. Leaving you wrecked and aching for more.