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ducktoo · 1 day ago

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Again

IVE’s Jang Wonyoung x M!Reader

Note: I have resorted to the sacred prompt list by Anon again….this helped me so much frrr. Hope you will post your first ever fic here so I can tagged you!!

This concludes the unofficial (or official ig) IZ*ONE marathon. @hyeyulenjoyer hope this was a fun ride for you. And thank you everyone for enjoying these fics as well! Also appreciate IVE for paying respect to the recent tragedy. All the dumb haters who find ways to hate them again....just touch grass pls.

(this was the perfect picture for this fic lol)

The tickets sit on your desk, undisturbed, their glossy surface catching the dim glow of your bedside lamp. You don’t even need to read the text printed on them anymore. The details are already burned into your brain.

A fan sign.

It was supposed to be special. The kind of thing you looked forward to for weeks, marked on your calendar with a little star. You were supposed to show up, tease her about messing up choreography, make her laugh in the middle of a serious performance, see that look in her eyes that was just for you.

Now, the tickets feel like a joke.

Your phone is face-down beside them, dark screen hiding the messages you haven't opened yet—the well-meaning texts from friends, the casual work notifications. All messages except from her.

Wonyoung.

You close your eyes, but it doesn't help. The memory of your last call with her is still fresh, the words playing over and over like a song stuck on repeat.

"I just don’t have time for this anymore."

"For us, you mean?"

"Mhm."

The way she said it—calm, measured, like it was just another item to tick off on her to-do list—had made something inside you crack. There had been no anger in her voice. No hesitation.

That…hurt more than anything.

You had wanted to say something, anything to make her stop. To remind her of the nights spent whispering over the phone until she fell asleep, of the rare moments when she let herself be vulnerable with you, of the way she would light up the second she saw you waiting for her backstage to take her to eat a whole cow together.

But you couldn't mutter a voice.

You had just sat there, phone pressed to your ear, fingers gripping the fabric of your hoodie so tightly it threatened to tear.

And then, just like that, she was gone.

It was three days ago.

Three days of checking your phone too often. Three days of convincing yourself you were fine. Three days of staring at these damn tickets on the desk and trying to figure out why you hadn’t just thrown them away. You should sell them. Give them to someone who’d actually enjoy them.

But something stops you.

Maybe it’s pride. Maybe it’s stubbornness. Maybe it’s the stupid, lingering part of you that refuses to admit that she’s really gone. Whatever the reason, you find yourself gripping them tighter instead of throwing them away.

You decided that you will go.

Not for her. Not to see her.

Just so you don’t have to sit in this room, drowning in thoughts of what used to be.

That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.

The venue is packed.

Fans shuffle forward in line, their chatter buzzing in the air like static. Excited whispers, rustling light sticks, the occasional squeal when a favourite member’s name is mentioned.

Your fingers tighten around the album in your hands. (Ironically you still hold onto her album)

This is normal for them. For the fans around you, this is just another fan sign. A chance to meet their idols, to share fleeting moments, to walk away with a signature and a memory they’ll cherish for years.

You should feel the same. Instead, you’re just… tired. Who could blame you, you’re about to come face-to-face with your ex-girlfriend.

And she has no idea you’re here.

Your grip on the album tightens as the line inches forward. The first few members greet you with polite smiles, their voices light and bubbly. You do your best to respond normally, but your mind is elsewhere, trapped in the inevitable moment that keeps creeping closer and closer.

You don’t need to look up to know she’s at the end of the table. You can feel her presence.

And then, suddenly, there’s no more time left.

Your album slides across the table. Long, slender fingers stop it in place.

There’s a small pause—so brief that no one else seems to notice—but you do. You feel it in the slight delay before she looks up, in the way her fingers tighten just a fraction around the album’s edge.

And then her eyes meet yours.

She looks the same. Flawless, as always. Every strand of hair perfectly in place, makeup soft and ethereal under the bright overhead lights. And those sparkly eyes that you often got lost in.

But…she’s not yours anymore. Not at all.

There was a flicker of something—recognition, surprise, something deeper—crosses her face. But it’s gone in an instant, replaced by a carefully neutral expression.

Her lips part slightly, but no words come out at first. Then…

“Hey.”

It’s awkward. Too awkward. You can feel the tension hanging between you, thick and suffocating.

You swallow, trying to ignore the way your chest tightens. “Hey.”

For a split second, she looks like she wants to say something else. Like she wants to break the script, ignore the rehearsed greetings and practiced smiles.

But then—

She doesn’t.

Instead, she picks up her pen, the mask slipping back into place. Her expression evens out, and in a voice so perfectly professional it almost stings, she says,

“Thanks for coming.”

Just like she would to any other fan. That made your stomach twists.

You should’ve known. Of course, she wouldn't acknowledge it. Not here. Not in front of all these people.

Still, it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “Yeah. Would’ve been a waste of money if I didn’t.”

Something flickers across her face, but it’s gone before you can catch it. She presses her lips together, nodding slightly. “Right. Can’t have that.”

She signs her name, her handwriting as neat and practiced as always. But there’s a hesitance in the way she moves, a slight delay before she lifts the pen from the page.

When she finally pushes the album back toward you, her fingers linger just a second longer than necessary.

Then, in a voice so quiet that only you can hear…

“Take care, okay?”

She’s looking at you now. Really looking at you.

And for a moment, just one fleeting moment, she’s not the Jang Wonyoung, the IT girl, the global superstar.

She’s just…Wonyoung.

The girl who used to call you late at night just to hear your voice.

The girl who used to lace her fingers through yours under the table when no one was looking.

The girl who told you she didn’t have time for you anymore.

You stare at her.

The words stick to your throat. You genuinely don’t trust yourself to say anything.

So you just…don’t.

You just take the album, stand up, and walk away. And even as you disappear into the crowd, you can still feel her eyes on you.

You’ve been doing fine.

Or at least, that’s what you keep telling yourself.

It’s been a few days since the fan sign, and you’ve buried yourself in anything that keeps your mind occupied—work, games, mindless scrolling through your phone. Anything to keep yourself from replaying the look on Wonyoung’s face at the fansign. From remembering the way she hesitated before handing your album back. From thinking about the way her gaze kept flickering toward you as you walk away, as if she was looking for something.

Or someone.

But that’s not your problem anymore. You told yourself that the moment you left the venue.

Which is why, when your phone starts ringing at an ungodly hour, you almost don’t check the caller ID. Almost.

The second you see her name flashing on the screen, your stomach twists.

Jang Wonyoung.

The ringing continues, each second stretching unbearably. You should let it go. Turn off your phone. Pretend you never saw it.

But you don’t. Because deep down, you know you still want to hear her voice. So you answer.

“...Hello?”

There’s silence on the other end for a moment, followed by a soft giggle—breathy and drawn out, the kind that used to slip past her lips whenever she was feeling particularly affectionate.

"Dummmyy!" she hums, stretching your nickname like it’s some sweet, familiar melody.

“Wonyo. Are you drunk?” You sigh, ignoring the way your nickname for her easily rolled out of your tongue.

She giggles again, the sound loose and unguarded. "Mmm… maybe."

"Goddamn it." You rub your temples. "Where are you?"

A rustling noise filters through the receiver, followed by the distant hum of traffic. "Somewhere," she mumbles. "Some bar, I think. The girls took me out."

Figures.

You shift in bed, propping yourself up against the headboard. “It’s late.”

“I know,” she says, not sounding the least bit apologetic. “But I wanted to call you.”

You close your eyes, exhaling through your nose. “Why?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, there’s a soft exhale, the kind she lets out when she’s gathering her thoughts. Then, quieter…

“Because I miss you.”

Your fingers tighten around the phone.

"Don’t do that," you say quietly.

"Do what?"

"Say things you don’t mean."

Another pause. When she speaks again, her voice is steadier. "But I do mean it. I do miss you."

You swallow, trying to keep your voice steady. "Well, that’s not my problem anymore, is it?"

She goes quiet.

For a moment, all you hear is the faint sound of music in the background, the distant chatter of people. She’s probably in the back of some high-end bar or a private lounge that someone of her status often went. You can picture it too easily—her long hair falling over her shoulders, her lips painted red, the glow of the city lights reflecting in her eyes.

Your heart beat rapidly at the image.

"You came to the fansign," she says suddenly, cutting into your thoughts.

You rub at your temple. "Mhm."

"Why?"

"You already know why."

"Say it anyway."

You sigh. "Because I had the tickets. It would’ve been a waste."

She lets out a humourless laugh. "Right. Can’t have that."

Something about the way she repeats your words from that day makes your stomach twist.

There’s another long pause. Then, almost hesitantly.

"Did you feel anything?"

Your eyes widened. "Feel what?"

"When you saw me again." Her voice is quieter now. "Did you feel anything?"

Your jaw clenches. You want to lie. Want to say no, not at all. That it didn’t matter. That she doesn’t matter. But you can’t.

Because the truth is, you felt everything.

The way your heart clenched when she looked at you. The way your stomach twisted when her fingers hesitated over your name. The way your mind screamed at you to move on, to stop letting her affect you, to stop caring.

But you don’t tell her any of that.

Instead, you settle for, "Who cares anyway."

"Why not?"

"Because we’re done, Jang Wonyoung."

She sucks in a sharp breath, and for a second, you wonder if she’s about to cry.

"You-" She stops, swallows. When she speaks again, her voice is unsteady. "You didn’t even try to fight for me."

Your grip tightens around the phone, knuckles turning white. "You were the one who ended things. On the phone, may I remind you."

"I know," she whispers. "And I thought it was the right choice. But now I just—" She breaks off, voice cracking slightly. "I don’t know anymore."

You shut your eyes.

It would be so easy to give in. To tell her that you don’t know either, that you still think about her, that you still wonder if maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t supposed to end like this.

But what’s the point?

She made her choice.

And you’re tired of being the one left picking up the pieces.

"You’re drunk, Jang Wonyoung," you say, voice carefully even. "Go home and go to sleep."

"Wait—"

"Goodnight."

And then, before she can say another word, you hang up.

The silence that follows is deafening.

And yet, for the first time in days, you finally let yourself breathe.

Or at least, it should be.

You did the right thing, you tell yourself—cut it off before it could spiral any further. Before you let yourself believe, even for a second, that anything has changed.

But still, the weight in your chest lingers.

The room feels too quiet now, the kind of silence that presses in from all sides, making it impossible to ignore the thoughts creeping into your head. You lie back down, throwing an arm over your eyes, willing yourself to sleep.

You don’t know how much time passes before you hear it.

A knock.

You freeze.

At first, you think you’re imagining it. Sleep-deprived, emotionally drained, and still reeling from that damn phone call, your brain must be conjuring things that aren’t real. But then, the knocking got more insistent. Erratic, yet insistent.

Your brows furrow. You sit up, straining your ears.

"Who the hell…?"

It’s almost 3 AM. No one in their right mind would be visiting you at this hour. Then again, you just got a call from a drunk girl not in their right mind.

Knock, knock, knock.

It’s louder this time, clumsy and uncoordinated, like whoever’s on the other side can barely keep their balance. A sinking feeling settles in your stomach.

You begrudingly throw off your blankets and push yourself up, padding toward the door. Your hand hovers over the handle for a second before you sigh and pull it open.

And there she is.

Wonyoung.

She’s standing there in the dim, flickering hallway light, wrapped in a thin coat that does nothing to protect her from the cold. Her long hair is slightly tousled, the glossy perfection from the concert gone, strands falling loosely over her shoulders. She sways just the slightest, a delicate wobble on unsteady feet. Her lips are slightly parted, eyes glassy—not just from the alcohol but from something else. Something unreadable.

You blink.

She blinks back, like she’s just now processing that you’re standing in front of her.

Then, with absolutely no warning, she wobbles forward, collapsing against your chest.

You barely manage to catch her. “Jesus—Wonyo.” You gently hold her arms, steadying her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

"Surprise," she breathes, half-laughing, half-sniffling.

You let out a sharp breath. “Surprise? You’re seriously—” You stop yourself, jaw clenching. “How did you even get here?”

"I took a taxi," she announces, like that explains anything. Like that justifies her showing up at your door past midnight after breaking up with you.

You stare at her. “Alone?”

“Mmhmm.”

Your stomach twists. “Wonyoung, do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”

She just hums, leaning more of her weight onto you. Her forehead presses against your shoulder, and you can feel the slight tremble in her body.

You sigh, tightening your grip. “You’re freezing.”

“I was walking.”

“Walking where?”

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she tilts her head back to look at you properly. Her lips part slightly, like she’s about to say something—something serious, something she’s probably been holding in for too long. But then, she hiccups.

You close your eyes, exhaling sharply through your nose. “You’re unbelievable.”

She smiles lazily, like she didn’t just show up at your door dead drunk in the middle of the night after breaking up with you.

"You hung up on me," she murmurs.

You pull back slightly, just enough to see her properly. “Yeah. I did.”

"That was mean," she says, pouting. "I was talking."

"You were drunk."

"Still talking."

You shake your head, adjusting your grip on her. “Come on. You need water. And sleep.”

She hums, letting you guide her inside. “Only if you let me stay.”

You pause.

For a brief second, something in her voice sounds painfully sober.

But then she giggles again, burying her face in your chest, and you decide that you’ll deal with that in the morning.

For now, you just hold her close.

You sigh, pressing your lips into a thin line as you shift your grip on her. She’s barely standing at this point, practically melting into you like she has no bones in her body.

"Alright, come on," you mutter, wrapping an arm around her waist and leading her inside.

She stumbles slightly, her fingers gripping at your shirt as she giggles under her breath. "You smell nice," she mumbles.

You ignore that.

You close the door behind you with your foot, guiding her toward the couch. She flops onto it with zero resistance, her coat slipping off her shoulders. The moment she’s down, she tilts her head back, blinking up at you like she’s expecting something.

She doesn’t hesitate. Stumble inside like she belongs here.

And maybe that’s the problem. She did belong here.

And now? Now you don’t know.

Her eyes lazily drift across the apartment, lingering on the things she still remembers—the half-empty cup of coffee on your desk, the hoodie she used to steal draped over the chair, the faint indent in the couch where she used to curl up next to you.

Then she noticed your desk, the same desk where the fansign ticket sat just days ago. The same one she saw in your hands at the fansign days ago.

"You really came," she murmurs, not looking at you. "I didn’t think you actually would."

You shrug. "Like I said. Would’ve been a waste."

She flinches. Just the tiniest bit. But you catch it.

She exhales slowly, arms wrapping around herself. "It was weird."

"What was?"

"Seeing you there. But not... There, you know?" She fully looks at you now, and there's something raw in her expression. Something you’re not sure you’re ready to face. "You didn’t smile. You didn’t tease me like you usually do. You barely even looked at me."

"What did you expect?" you ask quietly. "You dumped me, Wonyoung. You can’t just expect me to act like nothing happened."

She presses her lips together, fingers gripping the hem of her sleeve. "I know."

You wait. Give her the space to say what she came here to say.

But she doesn’t. Not right away.

She defeatedly sighed, tucking her knees under her chin, looking smaller than she ever has before. She stares at her hands for a long moment before mumbling, "I don’t know why I came here."

You scoff. "Really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you drunk-called your ex, then showed up at his apartment in the middle of the night without a plan."

She frowns. "I do have a plan."

You raise an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

She huffs. "Step one: get inside. Step two..." She falters, looking away. "...I didn’t think that far."

You shake your head. "Unbelievable."

Silence stretches between you, heavy and unspoken.

Then, barely above a whisper, "Do you hate me?"

You freeze.

Your first instinct is to say no. Because of course you don’t hate her. You never could.

But that’s not the right answer, is it?

So instead, you tell the truth.

"I don’t know," you admit. "I want to. But I can't."

She looks up at you then, eyes searching. Hopeful and afraid all at once. "I messed up, didn’t I?"

You let out a hollow laugh. "Yea. Big time."

She swallows. Lowers her gaze again. "I thought breaking up would make things easier. For you…for both of us."

"Did it?"

She shakes her head. "No."

You run a hand through your hair, exhaling. "Then why did you do it?"

"I was scared," she says, and her voice is so small, so unlike the confident idol the world knows, that it almost hurts to hear. "I thought I was being selfish, holding onto you when I barely had time to see you. I thought you deserved more than stolen moments and rushed phone calls."

Your jaw clenches. "You didn’t even ask me what I wanted."

"I know," she whispers. "I thought I was making the right choice."

You sit down across from her, legs spread, elbows on your knees. "And now?"

She meets your gaze, vulnerability laid bare. "Now... I just miss you."

Your heart leaped a mile. This was the Wonyoung you always see. Not the glamorous and model-esque Jang Wonyoung everyone always see on TV. Not the well-spoken and powerful public figure everyone knows. Just…a gentle yet bubbly girl who snuggled up next to you on the couch at the end of the day.

But your brain should tell her to leave. To sleep it off, to sober up and think about this when her mind is clearer.

Then she reaches out—just the slightest, her fingers brushing against yours on the couch. And you don’t pull away.

"You’re drunk," you remind her, though your voice lacks conviction.

She smiles faintly. "Thanks…Mr. Obvious."

Silence. Then, tentatively, "Can I sleep here tonight?"

Another hesitation.

But just like before, you already know your answer.

You sigh. Your hand intertwined with hers.

"Go get a blanket. Wonyo."

She doesn’t move right away. Just watches you, like she’s memorizing you all over again.

Then, with a small, almost relieved nod, she gets up and stumbled into your bedroom as she dragged you along—the same bedroom she used to slip into after long schedules, the same one she used to call hers.

And just like that, the distance you tried so hard to create crumbles.

Again.

#kpop #ive x male reader #ive x reader #ive wonyoung #wonyoung #wonyoung x reader #jang wonyoung #ive wonyoung x reader #ive fluff #ive angst #izone #izone wonyoung #izone x reader

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nightscythe · 1 day ago

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light sides of the primarchs' relationships

happy valentine’s day!! this one is a bit happier than the 'dark sides' one for obvious reasons. as always just my opinion. if there is anything else you would like to see, let me know! enjoy!!

18+, it's not necessarily nsfw but suggestive themes. based on pre-heresy interpretations.

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the lion: the ultimate protector. you'd never feel unsafe in his presence. not just from legitimate threats, but.. waking up in the morning to find his arms around you, eyes watching you, lips ghosting your hair as though he would never be able to let you go. you're minding your own business reading a book or listening to others talk, and even though he's on the other side of the room he's still watching, calculating, making sure every single person near you is treating you well. if anyone did try anything? nice knowing them. you become his priority. his endless war. nothing will ever harm you again, except maybe him, on his endless war with making you feel every ounce of pleasure the universe can offer. ;)

fulgrim: is also your best friend, but not in the typical guy way. he's literally invested in every single one of your stories, he knows everyone's little secret, he comes back to you with tales he's learnt and weekly scandalous gossip. he knows everything about you. it's not even deliberate either, he's just so in sync with you that he could take a wild guess and still get it right. nights together can feature many things, all of which are thoroughly enjoyed due to his ability to perfect every single thing he does, but knowing there will never be a time you cannot talk to him about something? knowing he'd give you the best advice, more accurate responses, it's very comforting.

perty: you know everything with him is genuine. he would never lie to you, and that may be hard to swallow at first, but really? its a godsend. he'd not try to make you feel better by telling you a slight truth, he'd rather help you to move past it, work on the issue, etc. and that's why, a long way down the line when he does give you infrequent but honest words about his love for you, it means more than anything. there is not someone in the galaxy that you could trust more than this man, not with your life, your secrets, or your heart. and really, it would only ever get stronger over time.

the khan: enjoyably unpredictable. a man who values freedom always would be. he uses his instincts in everything and therefore it may not always be easy to know what he's going to do next. would encourage you to do things you may never have thought about, shows you new parts of the galaxy and introduces you to topics and concepts you knew nothing about before him. for that reason, he's an absolute storm when you are alone. completely unpredictable and completely dedicated to pleasing you. he's also just enjoyable to be around. he may be a touch arrogant and quick tempered, but he's witty, sarcastic, and excellent with his successful attempts to rile you up with teases.

leman: his love is very pure and built on a huge amount of respect. small gifts, tokens of appreciation, oh its all coming out with him. 'made me think of you' type thing and it's the most beautifully designed canvas that you know he wouldn't have just stumbled across. of course this is very different to how everyone else sees him, and no one would believe you. uses that to his advantage. loses all sense of practicality though when it comes to you and would probably show you 110% of his emotions even when he didn't intend to. his heart is in it, no half measures, you're his entire world now and as long as you will let him, he will love you for the rest of his life.

dorn: he is cold, but there is that burning fire that rages beneath. and when the cracks are fully formed? its impossible to ignore. he will not say I love you, but show you he loves you. there are never ups and downs, no maybes - its always a definite. if you need something? he gets it. you are worried about something? there is no need to worry for it any longer. he plans, he knows what to do to help you, he would never give reason to doubt that 1. he could protect you, and 2. his unwavering loyalty to you. does everything in his power to please you, particularly in the physical manner. when he's around, everything feels intense, and its oh so hard to ignore.

curze: he's trying. he is. you can see it each day. sometimes its not obvious, but he really does watch other people and try to imitate what they do to show you the love you deserve. because in his mind? you deserve it all. would he ever tell you that. no. he'd find it stupid. he'd rather keep it all to himself. but sometimes he bottles too much inside and it all comes out, all at once, every feeling he has. in that moment he just needs someone to hold him, reassure him, and be there to feel the love that follows. of course it isn't conventional, but even if he just taught you tarot, explained his twisted thoughts, tried to show you your fate - he's sharing a part of him that he'd not let another see.

sanguinius: effortlessly devoted, but not in the obsessive, overbearing way. you can see it in his eyes. he doesn't need to worship the ground you walk on or call in a choir to sing about you, you can just feel it. the small gestures. something so meaningful but so tiny that it almost snaps reality. helping you to braid your hair. trying his best to help you with something that he could have just ignored. listening to you with intent - not because he loves you so much he doesn't want to look away, but because he wants to hear you. listen to you. understand everything he can about you. it's so natural to him and warms you every time. something something doesn't care what time of the month it is either.

ferrus: always pushes you to be the best version of yourself. of course I have covered the bad side of this, but provided it's tamed, he understands there are limits, it can be rewarding. he will always reassure you that he doesn't need you to be perfect to love you, and would always encourage you to make decisions which benefited you - not anyone else. you'd also get to see his emotions, a rarity, knowing he only trusts so many to see him like that. a national accompaniment to this is that he pays a lot of attention to you. knows you extremely well. so if you ever argue, or don't talk for whatever reason.. be sure to engage the full ferrus apology - bedroom and all. crafts you really nice things too (of course)

angron: love is the only quiet he gets from pain. when you see him at ease, even for only a few moments, you can rest assured knowing that you were helping him. when he holds your hand, when he stands before you and defends you with his whole being, when he lets you fall into his arms and hesitantly wraps them around you. you know then that it's true. because he wouldn't do that for anyone else, and he couldn't physically do that if he did not have a moment of reprieve. and he knew as well that you gave him a chance, saw him for more than what everyone else did. that means more to him that anything.

rob: truly appreciates you. like, will show you, will make sure you know, will do anything in his power to make sure you're aware that the only reason he has an ounce of sanity left is because of you. you're the only person he will pause everything for, he will turn everything off to listen to you and your thoughts, he will actively seek your opinion on things he knows you would be happy to give it on, etctec. he just treats you like an equal. and considering who he is, that may be hard. but he does value you. yes he is pulled in every direction by all his duties but he knows where the limit is, and if either of you are reaching it, he will do what he can to make sure you feel happy and secure.

morty: it's those quiet moments that really stand out. when he lets his guard down for just a second, when he finally trusts you and knows that he would give his life for you until the very end. it wouldn't be easy for him to admit, and he probably never would admit it, but that one moment where he finally relaxes his shoulders and just lets you carry his burdens with him? it really does show a lot. and he would give everything for you. not even an ounce would be spared. it's easy to see it when he says it, that he loves you, even if he doesn't know the true meaning of the word. may not be conventional love, but to him, its everything.

magnus: there is not another who could love as much as he could. it's that simple. he's so utterly in love with you that he'd move heaven and earth just to see you smile. for a man with so many things going on, so many things to remember and do, he still keeps you at the very top of everything. finds little things for you that he'd think you like. recounts stories to see your smile. lays beside you and holds your hand whilst you tell him what's on your mind. it's routine for him, he does it without even thinking. nothing, and that is a hard nothing, will ever make him as happy as you do, and even when you're not around everyone hears your name, little snippets of his love for you, how much you mean to him, etc. he's so enamoured, so trusting, so in awe, that everything you do means something to him.

horus: incredibly intuitive and knows what you need before you do. has the tea and some fruit in his hands before you'd even mentioned you were thinking of having some. had someone prepare you a bath before you even said you were stressed. brought you some flowers when you were feeling down. cancels all his plans because you need someone with you. he does it to show he cares, knowing that sometimes he can be distant or busy, and it can be incredibly effective. also holds you incredibly tight. like your hand, when he embraces you, etcetc, it's like you're his security blanket in a way, which seems stupid because why does he need one, but actually he finds a lot of comfort in your presence.

lorgar: perfect if you want to be worshipped. that's how he'd treat you. and yes this has a dark side. but limited, not indulged or used for bad purposes, a good balance can be met. he's soft. his world would crumble without you. his exterior and how others view him is so different to what he's like with you that it seems wrong. but you are his everything. he would tell you it every day. he'd make sure you never forgot it. it may not be evidential to everyone, he's not proclaiming his love and devotion to anyone he sees, but to you its obvious. a silent prayer for your protection each day. for your good health. for anything he can do for you. and you'd know he'd burn worlds for you - just use that for the right purposes.

vulkan: a kind soul meant for love. he's not obsessed and devoted. he's not silent and brooding. he's what you think of when you have soulmate in mind. it seems to just come natural to him. he's your best friend, your lover, your everything - and he takes pride in that. he'd not need to burn worlds for you, he'd not watch you from the other side of the room without a world, he'd be beside you with his hand gently rested on you. it's just... normal? is that bad to say? but like the version of normal you always wanted, the normal in romance novels which warped our perceptions of relationships. you know. cute.

corax: incredibly loyal. quietly loving you from a distance until he's with you, then he's far more passionate and open. he's not one to have elaborate gestures done in your name, he probably wouldn't even do more than speak in a normal tone whenever others are around. but you know he's there. a brush of your hand with his when you look uncomfortable or worried. a glance in your direction every so often if you are separated. he'd always find his way back to you though, and you always know he's there at your side. and yes, very passionate when it's just you two, so much so you'd have first doubted it was the same person. he just saves it all for you. especially few things he's picked up along the way he thinks you may enjoy.

alpharius: you could never doubt his love. he'd never let you. it's so obvious that it's what makes telling him apart so simple. he just can't deny it when he's around you, he can't resist it at all. love is in everything he does. his touches as he walks past. his names for you. his insistence on always having you in his arms. it can be endearing. it is nice knowing that you are so loved, never a doubt in your mind that he does care. and if you do doubt him? he will change that. you won't ever doubt him again. you don't ever need to worry about his love for you, it won't change. he'll never stop loving you.

˗ˏˋ 𓅰 ˎˊ˗

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sunwonkism · 1 day ago

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He keeps asking me who is he?!

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ ➪ Synopsis: You're stuck with a sulking Jungwon after finding out he wasn't your first love. He was hellbent on finding out who had your heart first, not knowing he's currently in the same room as him.

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ ➪ Pairings: fem!reader x Jungwon

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ ➪ Genre: non idol au, collage au bit it's not mentioned, established relationship

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ ➪ Wc: 1,586

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ ➪ Warnings: tiny angst, very fluffy, implied age gap (nothing too big js like 1-2 yrs), cursing, you have a(n older) brother

a/n: My valentine's special ig?? AHAHAHAH it's inspired by a kdrama scene, guess which one it is! >u< lmk if I missed anything!! Enjoy!

"Jungwon”

Silence.

“Baby pleas-”

“No” he responded. “You told me I was the first man you fell in love with. Who's the ‘bus guy’ F/n said you loved before me??”

more under cut! ⬇️

Jungwon was on the couch sitting with his legs and arms crossed. His eyes were slightly furrowed and his lips formed into a slight pout.

It was such an adorable scene. You would've giggled at the sight if you weren't determined to get your boyfriend to forgive you by tonight. He's been depriving you of affection since your hangout with F/n and her boyfriend yesterday, and you just can't stand it anymore.

You were on the armchair diagonal to him. Trying to reason out with him before your patience runs out.

“I wouldn't say love-”

“F/n said that you applied to the same tutor house he went to, even when you didn't need help studying. She also said that you found out his favorite cafe and stayed there just to catch a glimpse of him even when they made shitty drinks.” He stated.

You were honestly surprised at how much he remembered. You recall talking about your ex crush for a solid 5 minutes before moving on to another topic.

“Well-”

“Not only that!” Oh he wasn't finished. “F/n also mentioned how you’d ask your brother to take the long way home so that you could follow ‘bus boy’ and see him again because that's always where he was headed! You hate going home late! You didn't even go to the same school as him! How could I say you were in love with the guy with the amount of effort you put to see him??”

“Yeah well, every girl falls in love with a guy on a bus at least once right?” You tried to reason out.

Jungwon huffed before facing the other side, completely turning away from you.

You sighed before walking over and sitting next to him.

“Babe” you started, hands going up to hold his face so that he'd look at you. “You don't have to worry about anything, okay? Yes I liked him, but that's in the past now. I'm with you now, aren't I? There's no need to be jealous baby” you kissed him on the nose after talking.

Jungwon melted into your touch. “I'm not jealous, I swear. I just wanna know which asshole had your heart first.”

You held back a laugh. You were 100% sure if you laughed right now he will not let you sleep with him tonight.

“Okay, you really want to know?” You asked again.

“Yes.” Jungwon replied, with a cute but serious expression on his face.

“Then let's make it a game”, you replied. “If you can guess who he is with 3 or less of my hints, I'll buy you that new hoodie you wanted—and lots of kisses.”

“And if I lose? I don’t even know the guy.” Jungwon raised his eyebrow.

You simply smiled. “Oh you do know him, trust me. No hoodie if you lose.”

He thought about it for a minute, before eventually agreeing. What's the worst that could happen right?

“Okay, first hint” you started. “He didn't go to the same school as me.”

“I already know that” he whined.

“Oh shush if I tell you something else you'll know who it is immediately”. You softly glared at him before continuing.

“Next, he was in the grade above me.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Okay, that's new. What's the last one?”

You smirked, ‘this is gonna be fun’ you thought.

“The number of the bus he always rode was 726” you replied.

Now he was really confused, his eyebrows were now furrowed and his eyes kept darting around the room. As if the walls around him would give him the answer he's looking for.

“Bus 726? I'm..very lost” he said after a few minutes of thinking.

“Final answer?”

“No wait!” he exclaimed.

You waited for him as you both sat there, the atmosphere so quiet as he thought long and hard about who the mystery man was.

“Was it Jaeyun?” He asked after a long pause.

“Nope”

“Yeonjun?”

“Babe he's like, 3 grades above me.”

“Ricky?”

“We were classmates 5 times.”

“Felix?”

“I barely know the guy.”

“Nicholas?”

“Who?”

“Maybe it's Sungho-”

“Okay!” You grabbed him by the shoulders, cutting him off. “I promise you love, it is none of you friends. I don't even know majority of them”.

Jungwon just looked at you, clueless. “Well if it's not any of my friends, who could it be?”.

You sighed before standing up to grab something from your bag, feeling Jungwon's eyes following you.

“Where are you going?” He asked.

“I’m going to grab my phone, I still have some pics of him from before.” You said as you pulled out the gadget from your shoulder bag and started scrolling through your photos app.

“What?!” Jungwon gasped. “My love, why the fuck do you have pictures of another man in your phone. Just tell me, are you still interested in him?” He asked, stress and hurt evident in his tone.

You started to feel bad at this point, but you can't back out now. This will be the grand reveal.

You sat back down on the couch, scrolling to find a pic of the mystery guy. Meanwhile Jungwon sits next to you, practically hovering over your phone with how close he was.

“Aha!” You exclaimed.

“What? What is it?” Jungwon asked. His eyes are instantly glued on your phone screen. wanting to know what you found.

“I still have the best picture I took of him saved, look!” You turned the phone so that he could see it.

Jungwon made sure to take a good look at the picture, lots of names immediately coming to his mind. But none of them match the face in the picture because he sees himself.

It was a candid picture of him on a bus. He was looking down on his phone, doing something. He doesn't recall how old he is here, but he guesses he was in his early teenage years from the uniform he's wearing in the picture.

“Wait…how do you have this? I don't understand…” Jungwon trailed off.

You mentally face palmed. “Baby, didn't you ride a bus to go home after school? Does Bus 726 not ring any bells at all?”

A few seconds passed, before a light bulb went off his head.

“Oh my god” he muttered. “I'm the bus guy you fell in love with? Your first love?”

You let out a relieved sigh. “Yes, Jungwon, you are my first love.”

Jungwon was shocked. He felt relief and joy all at the same time. But he's still confused over one thing. “Wait but- but how do you have this picture of me? Oh my, were you in the bus stalking me during this??” He asked accusingly.

“What? No!” You retorted. “I took it while I was in the car. You literally mentioned that I follow ‘bus boy’ around in my brother's car like 20 minutes ago, remember?” You defended yourself.

You looked at the picture, suddenly feeling nostalgic. “That was actually the second U-turn my brother did. The bus wasn't moving but I couldn’t tell my brother to stop the car and cause traffic just because I didn’t snap a proper picture of you now could I?”. You laughed at the memory. “My brother was pissed after that”.

“I thought of showing you when I gathered enough courage to talk to you. But by the time I did, you already graduated and changed schools.” You told him with a small sad smile.

“Oh” Jungwon replied. His mouth stayed at an ‘o’ shape as he took the information in.

“Um” he hesitated. “You didn't follow me until I went home, right? Just to make sure you didn't actually stalk me before we met.” He asked.

“What? No!” You retorted, again. “I always stopped following you after the first stoplight. I may be there at places you're usually in without you knowing, but I know where the line is” you reassured him.

Jungwon let out a relieved sigh. “Okay, just making sure…”

“Wait, is this why your brother was like ‘thank fuck it's over’ when you introduced me to your family as your boyfriend?” He asked.

You smiled at him sheepishly. “Yeahh, aside from the U-turns, I asked him a lot of favors regarding you so that's why…”

Jungwon grinned, “I'm your first love.” he was teasing you right now. But deep down, he was glad that the competition he thought he had was only himself. He didn't know what he'd do if he had to fight another man for your love.

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah yeah don't get too excited. You're not getting any hoodie because you didn't guess it right.”

“I don't care,” he responded, still grinning widely. “Me knowing the fact I was your first love is enough of a gift for me. Now, where are my kisses?”

You stood up, preparing to run away from him. “Not a chance babe, you lost!” You said as you dashed down the hallway, heading to your shared bedroom with him.

Not long after he ran after you. “Hey, you didn't say no to kisses if I lost!” He said, laughing as he chased you.

Jungwon is a very jealous man. That's how you know he loves you. Luckily for you, you always know how to reassure him that he's the only one.

Divider: @/toastray

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goblinontour · 3 days ago

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Down On All Fours

part 7 | series masterlist

release

warnings: implied age gap, daddy kink, mentions of death, suicidal thoughts, crying, rough fucking of all the holes, therefore piv and anal, heavy dubcon (and i really mean it, it’s a lot and please don’t read if that’s something you’re not comfortable with), mentions of bodily fluids (pretty much everything you can think of…well, not everything), choking, strangulation, i hope that’s all. anyone under 18, it’s time to respect my wishes at least this one time, do not read it, do not interact.

word count: 13.8k

Intrigue.

To arouse one’s curiosity or interest — or to put it simply…

Fascinate.

That’s what he was to you. What he meant to you. And you to him, to a certain extent. Though you were sure his reasoning for that was much different from yours. You’d never asked, and he’d never offered. There were things that lived in the silence between you, words neither of you dared to shape because speaking them out loud might make them real. And maybe that’s what kept it alive — this fragile, flickering thing that neither of you wanted to name.

Come to think of it, you didn’t even know what it was that intrigued you about him. Not really. It wasn’t the kind of thing you could hold in your hands, examine under the light, give shape to with words. It was slippery, like something submerged just beneath the surface, catching the light only when you weren’t looking directly at it. A shadow always half a step ahead, just out of reach. But you felt it in the marrow of your bones, like a splinter that never quite healed.

Like you, he wasn’t special. Just a man. Troubled, somewhat deeply, by what? You hadn’t found out yet. And maybe you didn’t want to. Perhaps knowing would ruin it, pull back the curtain and reveal nothing but an ordinary man with ordinary demons. But there was something in the way he carried them, like fragile things he cradled close to his chest, never letting them slip from his grasp. A hollow space carved somewhere inside of him, filled with shadows he didn’t try to chase away. He wasn’t trying to be free of them. No, he wore them like a second skin, stitched into the fabric of who he was. You knew, though, that he liked that feeling. Because, like you, he didn’t try to get rid of it. He didn’t want to let it go. It sat inside him like an old friend, familiar and corrosive, and he nurtured it in quiet ways — a glance too long at nothing, a sharpness in his voice when it wasn’t needed, the distant look that lingered even when you were right there.

He was handsome, yes, in your eyes at least. That might’ve had something to do with it. The kind of face that made you pause — not because it was perfect, but because it wasn’t. His beauty wasn’t the kind that begged for attention. It crept up on you, like a bruise darkening just under the skin. There was something fractured about it, sharp angles softened by exhaustion. The kind of face that looked carved, not crafted. And those eyes…dark, rimmed with sleepless nights and thoughts too heavy to carry. His eyes drew you in. Beyond the dark circles and sadness, there was something else. An embedded hope inside of them. A fragile, flickering thing tucked away like he was ashamed to have it, and have it show, and to have it be seen. That made him beautiful, more than anything else.

But you didn’t think beauty alone would make you let him get away with so much, if it weren’t for something else.

It had to be something else.

Maybe the way his hands felt on you before he’d even touched you. A ghost of contact, imagined but tangible enough to leave a mark. You knew they’d be rough in their grip, but the skin in the middle of his palms was softened — worn down by years of holding things too tightly, of letting go too late. You could picture them, resting idle but never relaxed, like they were always ready to take or break or hold…or maybe even be held. The kind of hands that knew how to destroy and sometimes forgot how to be gentle, except with you. Hands that smelled faintly of metal, of old leather, of something colder than the room itself.

Maybe it was the way he looked at you sometimes — like he was trying to memorise you, not because he thought you’d leave, but because part of him already believed you were gone. Like you were a ghost he could only see when the light hit you just right. Or maybe it was the way he didn’t look at you at all, the way his absence filled the room louder than his presence ever could.

Maybe it was how he felt like a place you could crawl inside of and hide, even when he was the thing you needed hiding from. A contradiction wrapped in skin.

Maybe it was just him.

The sum of all his contradictions, stitched together with frayed threads of grief and anger and something softer he didn’t know how to name. The way his silence filled the spaces between your words, like punctuation marks carved from bone. The way his presence pressed against your chest even when he wasn’t near, pulling at something invisible beneath your ribs.

It was in the small things. The way he lit his cigarette but never smoked it past the halfway mark, as if finishing it would mean admitting to something he wasn’t ready to confront. The way he’d stare out the window, not looking at anything, but seeing something only he could. The way his jaw tightened when he thought no one was watching, but knew you were. You were always watching.

You couldn’t help it.

You studied him like he was something fragile and volatile all at once — a cracked glass filled with gasoline. A single touch could shatter or ignite him, and you never knew which it would be until it was too late. And maybe that was part of it, too. The not knowing. The anticipation of something sharp beneath the surface, hidden under the quiet.

But there were moments — brief, fleeting — when the darkness receded just enough to glimpse something else beneath it. The way his hand would linger on the small of your back a second too long. The way his breath would hitch when he thought you weren’t paying attention. The way his voice softened when he called you his, like it was the only thing in the world he wasn’t trying to forget.

And maybe that was why you stayed.

Not because you wanted to fix him — you weren’t naive enough to think you could. Not because you were waiting for him to change — he never would.

But because in the spaces where he didn’t know how to be anything other than broken, he made room for you. In the sharp edges he didn’t bother to smooth, you found something to hold onto. In the dark, tangled parts of him, you saw your own reflection.

And maybe that was it. Maybe it wasn’t about intrigue or fascination or even love.

Maybe it was recognition.

A mirror held up to the parts of yourself you didn’t want to look at, wrapped in the shape of a man whose hands felt like both a promise and a threat.

Maybe that was it.

Maybe it was everything.

Or maybe it was nothing.

And maybe that should have been enough of a reason to stay away.

But it wasn’t.

Because even knowing all of this, even recognising the sharp edges of him, the jagged teeth of whatever it was that gnawed at his insides, you didn’t move away. You only watched, only lingered, only let yourself be pulled deeper into the orbit of whatever force he carried inside of him.

It wasn’t just intrigue. It was something worse. Something more like…inevitability.

You could have turned back, could have left before his hands ever found you, before his words ever sank their claws into the soft parts of your brain and made a home there.

But you didn’t.

Because the truth was, you wanted to see what was inside him.

You wanted to crack him open, spread him out under the light and sift through the wreckage. Wanted to understand what made him flinch at kindness, what kept him up at night, what filled his lungs when he went quiet for too long. Wanted to see if there was anything left of him that was soft, or if he’d let it all rot away a long time ago.

And maybe that was cruel. Maybe that made you just as bad.

But he didn’t turn you away.

He let you press closer. Let you watch him, let you follow, let you sink into his space like you belonged there. And maybe you did. Maybe you always had.

Maybe that’s why he never stopped you.

Because maybe he wanted to be seen. Even if he wouldn’t admit it. Even if it hurt.

His presence was overwhelming.

You could always feel it before you even saw him — felt the heat radiating from his body, the way the air seemed to thicken, to become something heavy in the space between you. It was like being trapped inside an electric storm where the tension crackled in the silence and you were both just waiting for the inevitable spark that would break the stillness.

His hands slid around your body, a promise in the way his fingertips barely brushed your skin. They found your ankles first, pressing into the soft flesh stretched taut over bone as he guided you, pulled you closer, making you feel every inch of his strength as he moved over you. You could feel the heat of him now, close enough to touch, too close to escape. The sheets under you were cold, the fabric brushing against the bare skin of your legs, the sensation almost jarring against the warmth of his hands.

You could feel him looking at you before you lifted your gaze. His eyes were already fixed on you, like he could see right through the parts of you that you wanted to hide. There was something terrifyingly possessive in the way he looked at you — a way that made you feel both seen and exposed, as if there was nothing left to hide, nothing left to protect yourself with.

He towered above you, his figure framed by the dim light in the room, a shadow over you, yet somehow he seemed to glow. You couldn’t help but notice the way his body was tensed up with restraint, the muscles in his arms, his chest, his shoulders. Every movement he made was deliberate, like he was trying to control every aspect of you — every sensation that flickered through your body, every breath you took.

And still, you didn’t fight it. You didn’t resist. You never did. The reality of the moment was both familiar and foreign at once. You had lived it before, and yet it always felt new, always felt like the first time. Your mind was caught in a whirlwind of memories — his touch, his words, the way he made you feel — but now, here, in this moment, all of that faded away. It was just you and him, and the weight of what he needed from you, what he expected, pressing down on you.

His fingers brushed your lips as he leaned down closer, and you could feel the roughness of his touch against your skin, a sharp contrast to the softness of the sheets beneath you. His eyes never left yours as he hovered above you, his breath hot against your face, his presence so consuming that you couldn’t breathe without feeling him.

Then his voice cut through the haze of thoughts that swirled in your mind, low and rough. “You want a big girl kiss?”

His fingers parted your lips, his rough pads pressing against the soft, tender skin. The movement was sharp, purposeful. You felt your body respond to him without thinking, your mouth parting for him even though you hadn’t made the decision. He wasn’t asking for permission, and you didn’t offer resistance. It wasn’t meant as gentle. It wasn’t supposed to be. It was demanding, possessive, molding you into what he needed you to be. A toy. An object. Something to bend to his will.

And you let him. Because deep down, in the place where the edges of desire blurred with need, you knew you wanted it too.

“My girl wants Daddy to kiss her?”

Your body went numb. Not in the way most would think — numb from fear or from discomfort. No. You were numb in the sense that you simply stopped feeling the way you normally would. You stopped fighting the chaos within you. You let yourself be moulded, let yourself be reshaped by the heat of his touch, the weight of his presence. You weren’t sure you could feel anything at all in this moment. But then again, you didn’t need to feel.

You just let things be felt.

The quiet hum of tension between you two filled the space. It was almost comfortable in its own unsettling way. And he needed this. Needed someone, needed some…thing — anything. He wanted to break something. Or perhaps he just wanted the release of control.

“Stick your tongue out.” he demanded, his voice turning deeper.

It was a struggle. He had your lips held too tightly, pressed together in a way that kept anything from escaping your mouth. Barely words could slip through the cracks, let alone anything solid. But the order didn’t leave room for hesitation. You forced yourself to obey, stretching your tongue outward, the motion clumsy, unsure, but obedient.

There was a moment of stillness then, a lingering silence between the two of you as he observed you. His eyes were heavy, weighted, watching every little detail of your movements with a hunger that seemed to burn deeper with every passing second.

“Am I too heavy?” His voice broke through, soft in contrast to the way his body pressed down on yours.

He straddled your thighs now, his body holding you down, pinning you to the bed with a force that was more than just physical. It wasn’t his pair of legs and arms, his torso, and his head, and every other part that added up to him — it was his presence that was the heaviest thing in that room, bearing down on you with an intensity that made every breath feel too thick, every moment stretched longer than it should have been.

You weren’t sure if you were supposed to answer. You could barely think, the pressure of him making everything in you feel like it was sinking, drowning in the tension. You shook your head, your cheek pressing into the cool pillow beneath you, the small motion your only response, the only thing you had left to offer.

“No.” you whispered.

And then, his lips curled into something dangerous.

“I’ll give you the best big girl kiss.”

Like smoke, lingering, staining, his words weren’t meant to be comforting. They weren’t meant to soothe. They were the kind that promised no mercy, no release, only the need for you to bend further, to surrender yourself fully to him, stretched between cruelty and tenderness, between something real and something imagined. His fingers lingered against your lips, pressing just hard enough to remind you he was there, to remind you once again that you belonged to him in this moment — whether you wanted to or not.

When they loosened slightly, enough to let your mouth part, your breath trembled out as though it belonged to someone else. His thumb brushed over the raw imprint left on your bottom lip, soft skin compared to his, calloused from work, from time, from whatever had carved its history into him. But beneath that was warmth, subtle and hidden, refusing to die. His thumb dragged along the corner of your mouth, smearing the wetness of breath and submission, tracing the shape of your compliance.

His breath was against your lips then, hot and near, a promise of what was to come. But he didn’t move yet. He let the tension build, letting every second between you stretch and tighten until it felt like the very air was vibrating with the weight of what was about to happen.

He didn’t kiss you.

He didn’t kiss you, yet. He hovered there, his mouth a ghost just above yours, close enough that you could taste the phantom of him — something faintly bitter like regret — and he stared. Right into you, past the fragile mask of your face. His pupils were dark pools with no bottom, swallowing everything you gave without the courtesy of reflection, pinning you down not with strength, but with something worse: understanding.

“Look at me.” he whispered, voice raw, as if the words themselves were knives he’d swallowed.

And you did. Of course you did. Because how could you not? There was gravity in him, in the way his jaw clenched, in the faint tremor beneath his skin like a storm he was getting too tired to outrun.

His breath hitched slightly. He wasn’t used to being seen.

Your eyes met his, and it felt like standing on the edge of something vast and unknowable, swallowing everything — your face, your thoughts, your fragile attempts to be more than just a shape beneath him.

Then, finally, he kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t rough, either. It was something else — something hungry, not for flesh, but for proof. Proof that you were still there, that he was still here, that something in this hollow world could still be tangible if he pressed hard enough. His lips bruised yours with meaning rather than malice. It wasn’t the kind of kiss people wrote about in soft, safe stories. It wasn’t tender or sweet. It was simply necessary, like tearing open a wound or peeling back a scab just to feel the sting and see the blood. His mouth claimed yours with a desperation that felt too old to still be so new.

He’d been starving for years and only just realised it.

Your hands moved without thought or permission, clutching at him, pulling — not to bring him closer, but to keep yourself from drifting. He was the anchor, and you were the thing trying desperately not to float away in the eye of the storm. You, too, were tired of standing on the edge.

When he pulled back his forehead rested against yours and both of you breathed like it hurt to do so.

“I don’t know what you’re doing to me.” he whispered, almost to himself.

You wanted to say, me neither. But the words lodged in your throat. Instead, your fingers found his wrist, tracing the faint pulse beneath skin — fragile, steady, proof. Proof that he was real. Proof that you were, too.

His eyes fluttered shut, his expression softening just enough to show the cracks beneath. “I don’t think I know myself anymore.”

The words fell between you, sharp and raw, bleeding into the quiet. You didn’t try to fix them. You just stayed, your touch gentle, your breath syncing with his until it felt like you were holding pieces of him together — not with strength, but with presence.

I can feel the weight of your presence even when you're not near me, he thought. Like a shadow that looms over everything, even in daylight. And when you’re close? When you’re here, your touch is more than just a presence. It’s something that consumes.

It was suffocating, but he didn’t know if he could fight it anymore.

His fingers pressed against your skin, rough, methodical, as though he was trying to learn you like the contours of some strange, unfamiliar object. He couldn’t stop tracing, couldn’t stop touching.

You didn’t flinch.

You wondered, though, somewhere in the depth of your mind, if he ever wondered why he kept coming back. Was it really about needing something to bend, something to break? Was that why you were here? Was it why you, too, stayed? Because beneath everything, beneath the touches, the silence, the tension, there was an unspoken understanding that you were both just trying to hold on to something…anything.

You could feel him everywhere, and you hated how it made you ache for him, for something more. But you didn’t dare ask. He wasn’t ready for that. Maybe he never would be…unless…

“You always make me feel like I’m drowning.” you whispered, barely audible, the words slipping from your lips as easily as the tears that gathered in your eyes.

“That’s good.” he murmured. “You should…feel it.”

And there was something in the way he said it…

He wasn’t just talking about the act anymore. He wasn’t just talking about the desire that had built and built until it had nowhere else to go but here. He was talking about that darker something that lurked beneath the surface, that neither of you could face the finality of.

And still, you didn’t fight.

This urge.

It was getting stronger. He could feel it, growing inside him, clawing at the edges of his mind like something feral and desperate. It was hunger, aching, gnawing at him with the kind of intensity that drowned everything else, made him lose himself in the fire of it. His head was throbbing, sharper now, a beat that didn’t sync with his pulse, didn’t match the rhythm of his body. He wanted to shut it out, to push it away, but it was impossible. It was too much.

The pressure was unbearable.

“I don’t know how much longer I can last.”

His voice cracked, rough and fractured like he was holding back something violent — something that wanted to break free. Exactly that. His chest tightened, desperate for release, for something to stop the ache, but there was no escape. Not from this. Not from him.

“What do you mean, Al?”

Your voice cut through the thick silence like a blade, soft, innocent. But he knew you weren’t that. Not anymore, anyway.

He flinched at the sound of his own name, the rawness of it still unfamiliar, still sharp in ways he didn’t want to admit. But he didn’t fight it anymore either. He couldn’t. It was too late for that.

“I want to be inside your darkest everything, sweets.”

The words spilled from him like poison, but there was something almost tender in the way he said them. A yearning. An offering. And it sent a tremor through your body, one that you couldn’t shake, no matter how much you tried.

You held his face then, the warmth of your hands pressing into the coolness of his skin. Your fingers traced the sharpness of his jaw, and for a moment, everything stilled. Your eyes locked — no words, just the weight of everything that’s been unsaid, everything that had been waiting.

And then you spoke.

“I think I mostly just want to hold you.”

You could see the shift in him. The way his breath caught, the way his gaze softened, just for a second, before the hunger came rushing back, like an unstoppable tide.

He didn’t answer and he didn’t speak. Instead, he moved closer, his lips brushing against yours, soft and searching at first, as if to test the waters, to gauge how much of this — of him — you could truly bear.

It was written in the way he looked at you, in the way his fingers gripped you tighter, as if you might slip through his hands, as if you might disappear into the dark.

He didn’t need to say it. The words were there.

You could feel it too.

Save for the rhythmic sound of your breath and his, tangled and heavy, the quiet was the loudest thing, pressing in from every angle, demanding attention. A silence that, in its own way, spoke volumes.

He shifted, his body now hovering just above yours, the weight of him pressing against you, the darkness of him filling the space between you. He moved closer, inches, then closer still, until there was nothing left but the space you shared. Nothing but the inevitable.

And you let it drown you. You let him, because you had no other choice. Because you both were caught in the same endless spiral of need and destruction. You were just as broken, just as lost, as he was.

So you didn’t speak. You let him keep you here, keep you in the silence, in the darkness.

Silence, too, can be its own kind of truth.

But he was ready for confession.

“I had someone. I had…I had everything.” he murmured, his voice so soft it barely broke the air between you, yet it felt as loud as thunder.

It felt…divine to hear him like that, raw and exposed, even though it was more sacrilegious than it could ever be considered something holy. His words were broken, fragmented pieces of a past that had never truly let him go, all spilling out in a quiet rush.

He lay on his back, his body still but his mind racing, staring up at the ceiling as though the cracked plaster held the weight of all his secrets. Once he started, there was no stopping him.

“Everything…I had everything. And I couldn’t save them. It was a special day, that day when I…when I hurt you.” His words faltered, his chest tightening as he paused, grappling with the memory. “I could see them, and then I couldn’t. And it was like losing them all over again. And it felt so painful…it still…it still feels like pain, like the inside of my body is on fire, and it’s burning, and it’s angry, and bright, and…and it’s great, but…sometimes I just want someone to spread me open and pull my ribs out.”

His voice trailed off, each word more fragile than the last, as though he were admitting something that had been festering for years because, well, he was. The darkness in him was so raw, so deep, that you could almost feel it seep into the room.

You didn’t respond right away. You let his words hang in the silence between you, heavy and broken. There was a part of you that wanted to pull him back, to shield him from whatever it was that made him hurt this way, but you knew you couldn’t. Not this time. He needed to say it. He needed to feel heard, to feel understood.

“Like a thick black cloud covering everything.” you whispered, your voice soft but steady, almost like you were echoing his pain. Your hand moved slowly, tentatively, over his chest, settling over the center, right above his heart. You could feel the pulse beneath your palm, slow and steady. Despite everything he’d just shared, it was calm, almost as if it were trying to ground him, to bring him back to something solid in the midst of the chaos.

He let out a quiet, almost inaudible chuckle, the sound so out of place, so delicate in the depths of the rawness. “That sounds super depressing.” His laugh was light, a soft giggle that seemed to float in the air like a sigh of relief, just like everything he’d confessed had, for a fleeting moment, lost its grasp on him.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sound, the way it cut through the tension between you, as though you were both reaching for something to hold onto in the aftermath. And maybe, just maybe, that lightness was the beginning of something else that wasn’t wrapped in pain. Something that might still have the power to heal.

But the silence crept back in, heavier than before. It was a quiet kind of comfort, one that existed between two people who had shared something broken, something ugly, but still, in some way, still needed each other.

He was still staring at the ceiling.

And when he broke it, there was something that wasn’t quite anger in there, but something close to it.

“I just want to tell them…” he murmured, the words slipping out like he hadn’t intended. “Like…it’s weird that you died. Because I can still see you. I can still feel you. I could hold onto you, but it’s like...you’re still here, but not here. Like you’re stuck in my head. I can’t forget you…and I don’t know how to make sense of that.”

You watched him. He wasn’t looking at you. His gaze was lost in the faded cracks, praying that he might find the answers in the chipped paint right above him. He often did that. And you wondered if he ever found peace in it. Or if he even wanted to.

“Nostalgia is just proof you’re living a life you can be proud of, Alexander.” you said, your voice steady despite the heaviness that settled in your chest. You had no reason to believe the words, but they felt right coming from you in this moment. “I think it’s a privilege to yearn for your own memories.”

You could see the way his jaw tightened, how his lips pressed together, like he was trying to resist the urge to let something else spill from him. He finally turned his head towards you, his eyes searching yours, a kind of vulnerability flickering behind them.

“Do you?” he asked, his voice quieter now. He needed you to tell him that it wasn’t all as messed up as it felt in his head.

You almost laughed. A hollow sound that didn’t quite fit. “No.” you replied, your words dripping with bitterness. “I want to forget them. I’m a sad, bitter, weak human being.”

The truth was spilling out too easily. You, too, were now letting go of something you had held onto for too long.

You were weak.

You were just like him.

And that hit you harder than you wanted to admit.

“You’re so fucking clever, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.” you muttered back. “I don’t know. Maybe I just tell myself that so I don’t have to admit what I really am.”

He was back on top of you then, shifting his weight once more as his body pressed against yours, the change in his mood palpable. The smile that had once lingered on his lips, playful and light, now twisted into the hunger, giving in.

“I love you so much.” he whispered. That almost made you flinch, made you ache some more. He wasn’t supposed to say it. Not like this. Not in the middle of all of this. “That’s fucking insane for me to say that out loud, isn’t it?”

You couldn’t help it. The laugh that bubbled up from your chest felt strange, almost hollow, but it was all you could manage. “Yeah.” you giggled, brittle, fragile. “It’s pretty insane.”

His lips found yours again, but it wasn’t the kiss you had expected. It was different — even rougher, even more desperate, trying to erase all the pain that had just spilled from his words, trying to fill the emptiness between you with something else. His hands were everywhere, gripping, pulling, demanding. His fingers dug into your skin like he was trying to claim you, to pull you back from whatever darkness was threatening to swallow him whole.

You squirmed beneath him, your breath hitching as his lips traced the curve of your neck, his tongue leaving a burning trail in its wake. “Stop it.” you whispered, your voice strained, though you knew it wouldn’t stop him. You never wanted it to. “Stop it.” you said again, a desperate plea wrapped in the guise of resistance.

His laugh was low, almost mocking, and you felt him adjust again, his body heavier, pinning you to the bed. “Will you run away if I don’t tie you up?” he asked, slipping from his lips with a strange sense of certainty, since he very well already knew the answer.

You swallowed hard, your chest rising and falling unevenly beneath him. “I don’t know.” you said. “You’d better tie me up.”

There was a pause — one that lingered. You could almost feel what he was about to do. The moment felt like it was stretching out longer than it should have, both of you suspended in it, trapped between the here and the there, between the desperate need for release and the terror of what it might mean.

The way he adjusted, the way he moved…you knew then that he wasn’t going to wait for you to change your mind. He was going to hold you. Whether you liked it or not.

A shadow on your skin, suffocating in a way that wasn’t painful, but still felt like you were drowning. His hands — rough yet so intent — kept pulling you into this thing you didn’t fully understand but couldn’t resist. There was something about him that kept you tethered, even when everything inside you screamed for air, for space.

“Don’t…don’t try to fight it.” he murmured against your ear, his voice low, laced with that certain undertone. His breath against your neck sent a shiver down your spine, but you stayed still. Still enough that your body felt like it was being molded to fit around him — just the way he wanted.

You were just a soft curve in his hands, something pliable and easy to manipulate. You were, in his eyes, a beautiful piece of clay waiting to be shaped. But it wasn’t about shaping anymore, was it? It had shifted. To taking what was his, what he had a right to, and leaving marks on your soul that were harder to erase.

“Are you wet?” he asked, just as his fingers skimmed the insides of your bare thighs — featherlight, like he wasn’t really touching you at all, just a ghost of contact, enough to make you ache for more.

“I-…yes.” you whispered, breath catching in your throat.

“Yeah?” he nagged, his tone sharp with that cruel, playful edge, the corners of his mouth twitching, holding back his grin. “We need to make sure though…don’t we, baby?”

“Mhm.” It was all you could manage, your body tensing under the weight of his gaze, your skin prickling with anticipation.

And so he touched.

Beyond the edges of decency and towards the end of no return. His fingers slid inward, slow, unhurried, slipping between your folds with a precision that felt both casual and calculated. He didn’t press inside — not yet. There was no intrusion, just exploration, his fingertips gliding through the slickness he found there. The wet sound of it was obscene in the quiet, and somehow that only made it worse. Or better.

He lifted his hand slightly, holding his fingers up between you, glistening in the dim light. His eyes darkened as he stared, fascinated — not just by what he saw, but by the power of it. The power of you. The way you couldn’t stop him, the way you didn’t want to.

“So slippery.” he observed in a whisper, voice husky, more to himself than to you.

His fingers found their way back, dragging your wetness lazily over the sensitive skin, spreading it like it belonged to him. His other hand came up, sliding under your chin, tilting your head back just enough so he could see the whites of your eyes — the vulnerability there, so bare, so raw. You felt it everywhere, like you were exposed down to your bones.

“I could break you.” he whispered, not cruelly, but with an intensity that made your heart stumble in your chest. His fingers pressed just a little harder, a reminder of how easy it would be. “And you’d let me. Wouldn’t you?”

You didn’t answer right away.

Your mind was a battlefield warring with the deep-seated fear clawing at one side and the strange, undeniable pull you felt toward him at the other. He was like a puzzle, jagged pieces that didn’t quite fit together but somehow made perfect sense when they did. You were drawn to him because of that — because you couldn’t figure him out, and it terrified you. Because he terrified you in ways that felt all too familiar.

And yet, all you could do was nod.

Your throat was too tight to speak. Words felt useless anyway.

“Good girl.” he muttered, pleased with the unspoken consent that hung heavy between you both.

His presence was becoming more pressing, not just physically but in every other way. His chest rose and fell in time with yours, like you were sharing the same breath, the same space, the same inevitable end.

His fingers traced the line of your jaw, slow and deliberate, savouring the control, the power, the fragile thread of you stretched tight beneath his hands.

And even though it scared you, part of you wanted him to keep going. To push until there was nothing left of the person you were before or the one you might have had the chance to become.

“Do you want me to stop?” His voice was softer now, a quiet challenge, but it wasn’t really a question. It was an invitation to back out — a door cracked open just enough for you to slip through if you wanted, though you both knew that wasn’t the choice you were going to make. You both knew you weren’t going anywhere.

It wasn’t about wanting.

It was about needing.

“No.” you breathed, the word barely there, but it was enough. It was everything.

In that moment, it was clear. You weren’t asking for mercy anymore.

You were asking for him to finish what he’d started.

His voice was thick with something dark, something satisfied, as he spread the wetness between his fingers, dragging it up and down, slow, deliberate. He wasn’t rushing. He wanted you to feel every second of it, to be painfully aware of the way he was learning your body, memorising it with his touch.

“You always get like this for me.” he murmured, watching the way you twitched beneath him. His fingers barely moved, just ghosting over where you needed him most, teasing, playing. His breath was warm against your skin, his mouth hovering near your ear. “It’s fucking perfect. You’re fucking perfect.”

His other hand pressed against your lower stomach, pinning you down, reminding you, time and time again, that you weren’t in control here. He was. You had given him that control, surrendered it the moment you let him touch you like this the first time. And he knew it. He could feel it in the way you trembled, in the way your breath hitched every time he shifted, in the way you clung to the sheets…drowning.

“You like this.” he mused, dragging his fingers up just enough to make your back arch before slipping them away again, leaving you wanting and waiting. He didn’t give in. He liked to take his time. He liked to see you suffer in the best way possible. “I can tell.”

You whimpered, and he chuckled.

“You can’t even speak now?” he teased, pressing his fingers against your clit hard enough to make you gasp. “What happened to all those clever words, babygirl? Hm?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. He was unravelling you too fast, pulling you apart with nothing but his voice, his hands, his presence.

He smirked, slow and lazy, as if he had all the time in the world. And maybe he did. Maybe he wanted to keep you here, pinned beneath him, on the edge of something devastatingly sweet, forever.

“Guess I’ll just have to keep playing until you remember how to use that pretty mouth again.” His voice was thick, almost strained, laced with the pleasure of anticipation. “You ready for me, baby? You’ve got me so hard.”

And he made sure you felt it, not just in the low, wrecked rasp of his words but in the deliberate push of his hips against your thigh. Heavy, hot, undeniable. A silent demand.

Instinct took over before thought could. Your legs parted in a slow, dragging slide against the sheets, a sound almost as loud as your own breathing. The movement was automatic, a quiet surrender, your knees kept low to let him move between them without resistance. Like you were offering yourself up, like your body had always known how to yield to him.

He shifted, propped himself up just enough, and you felt the absence of his touch for only a second before you heard it — that sound. The slick, obscene slide of his fist moving over himself, coated in you, working himself with a slow, steady rhythm. The room was too dark to see much, but you could hear everything. The wet, deliberate strokes. The subtle catches in his breath. The low, guttural sounds he made just for himself, the ones he didn’t mean to let slip out.

It was intoxicating.

Your breath caught when you felt the blunt heat of him nudge against you, teasing at the place where you were already slick and swollen, already open for him. He let himself linger there for a moment, dragging the head of his cock through your wetness, smearing it across you in slow, teasing strokes, like he was savouring the feeling, like he was working himself up to the moment just as much as you were.

“You ready?”

You barely had time to nod.

“Biiiiig stretch…” he murmured, voice edged with something close to amusement, something dangerously close to reverence. Then, finally, he pushed in.

It was slow. Deep. He pressed forward, just enough for you to feel the intrusion before he stilled, basking in the tightness, the heat. Your body clenched around him instinctively, and he groaned, the sound reverberating through his chest as he sank fully inside you. He let out a low breath, shaky with restraint, and held himself there for a moment, letting you feel every inch, every pulse, every twitch.

“Fuck.” he breathed, voice unravelling, head dropping forward. His fingers gripped your hips, possessive, grounding himself in the reality of being inside you again. “So fucking tight. Taking me so good.”

His hands tightened, his breath hot against your skin, and you…you were lost now.

Completely.

You were lost in his shadow, swallowed whole by the weight of him, the presence that loomed over you, consumed you. There was no escaping this. No leaving here.

And then he started moving.

The stretch was already unbearable, but the drag of him, thick and deep, made your breath catch, made your body tense around him like it was trying to keep him there. But that only seemed to spur him on. The feeling of you — so tight, so warm — made it impossible for him not to want to shred you apart. He groaned as he pulled back just to slam back in, pushing past every inch of resistance until all you could do was take it.

He could hear you — your whimpers, your gasps, the broken sounds that slipped from your lips as you squirmed beneath him. Could feel your hands grabbing at him, nails pressing into his skin, unsure whether you were trying to push him away or pull him closer.

“Fuck, baby.” he rasped. “Look at you. Taking it so fucking well.”

He covered your body in praise, words slipping between ragged breaths, between deep, punishing thrusts. One hand wrapped around your throat, firm but not cruel, tilting your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes burned into you, dark and consuming, and you realised you weren’t looking at him. You were looking into him.

“See yourself the way I see you.” he whispered, leaning in so close his lips brushed yours, not kissing you, just breathing you in. “Look how fucking precious you are.”

And you had to look. Had to see what he saw. You weren’t sure what was written all over your face, but it was reflected right back in his. His love, his need, his ruin. And the way he was ruining you.

He went hard. Hard enough to blur everything except him. Hard enough to make your moans break into cries, to make your body twist beneath him, trying to run, trying to escape the intensity of it.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he taunted, voice still dripping with sweetness even as he pinned you back down, holding you there, forcing you to take every brutal thrust.

The noise filled the room — your cries, his grunts, the sound of skin against skin, yours on his and his on yours, wet and obscene. You could barely breathe, barely think. The pain blurred into pleasure, tangled so tightly you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. And then — something gave in.

All the strength left your body. Your muscles stopped resisting. You stopped resisting. Your mind was still screaming at you to run, to fight, to do something —but your body? Your body wanted.

And he knew. And he felt it. He felt the way you went limp beneath him, the way you stopped fighting and just…let him have you. It only made him worse. His hard but slow, deep thrusts turned to harsh and uncontrollable. He didn’t hold back anymore. He took you like you were meant to be taken.

Your hands scrambled for purchase, found his shoulders, his back, and you held on. You dug your nails in, scratching, marking him up with crescent-shaped wounds. But he didn’t seem to mind. No — he loved it. His own marks were littered across your body, teeth sinking into your neck, your collarbone, sucking bruises onto your skin in one last attempt at trying to make you his.

“Mine.” he growled against your throat, punctuating the word with a sharp, deep thrust that knocked the air from your lungs. “Say it.”

His hand squeezed around your throat, just enough to make you dizzy, to make you choke out the only word that mattered.

“Yours.”

His pace didn’t falter, not even for a second. He kept driving into you, deep, relentless, his body pressing you further into the mattress with each thrust. You could feel everything — every inch of him, every twitch, every ounce of need he poured into you. And yet, when he spoke, his voice was strained, desperate for something more.

“Do you like it?” he asked, breath ragged, chest heaving.

He needed your words. Needed the reassurance that you were still here, that you were still his, still taking him the way he needed you to. But you couldn’t answer. Maybe it was the way he was splitting you apart, his cock hitting so deep it felt like he was breaking something inside of you, or the hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing hard to steal your breath, to keep you hovering on the edge of dizziness, pleasure, and something dangerously close to surrender. Or maybe…maybe it was just the sheer feeling of release.

“Talk to me.” he murmured, voice thick with hunger, desperate. His other hand found your jaw, thumb brushing over your parted lips, smearing saliva and sweat and possession across your skin. “Talk to me, baby. What do you say, huh?”

You tried. You really did. But all that came out was a broken, breathless whimper.

“Mhm…”

Not enough. Not nearly enough. His fingers tightened, his thrusts turning sharp, demanding.

“What do you say?” His voice was lower now, rougher. A command wrapped in a plea. “Say thank you, Daddy.”

Your vision blurred. The words barely formed in your head before they were slipping from your lips, raw, shaky, utterly wrecked.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

“Again.”

“Thank you.”

“Again.”

“Thank you.”

Your voices blended, tangled together in that breathless, desperate plea for release. The moment cracked open between you, raw and devastating, and there was no escaping it. Your body trembled beneath him, wracked with exhaustion, pleasure, pain — everything at once. He could see it, how overwhelmed you were, how far gone. Your pretty little face was flushed, streaked with tears, lips trembling, wet with your own drool and his. You were holding back another sob, your breath hitching with every rough thrust, every deep, unrelenting stroke that left you gasping for air.

And fuck — this view alone.

It made something dark coil in his chest, something possessive and cruel. It made him ache to ruin you even more. The way you looked, so helpless, so fucking innocent — it was like you were begging for it without even saying a word. Begging to be wrecked. To be used.

So he did just that.

He watched you, savouring every tiny shift in your expression, every little twitch of your brows, every sharp inhale, every desperate moan that spilled from your lips.

And then — before you could even feel it in your bones — he flipped you over.

It was dizzying. One second you were staring up at him, lost in his shadow, and the next, you were on your stomach, face pressed into the sheets, his weight pressing down on you. You barely had time to process it before he was pinning you down, before he was spreading your legs again, before he was back inside.

Deeper now. Worse.

A ragged gasp tore from your throat, muffled against the pillows. His hands gripped your wrists, pushing them above your head, locking you in place. His body covered yours completely, his heat sinking into your skin, his breath hot against your ear.

“You feel that?” His voice was rough, shaking the with restraint he didn’t really possess anymore. He thrust forward, slow, grinding himself deep, making sure you felt every inch. “So fucking tight like this, baby. Fuck- Made for me.”

You sobbed. A real, broken sob. But you didn’t tell him to stop.

“Fuck…” he groaned again, dropping his forehead against the back of your neck. “You love this, don’t you? Love being pinned down, love getting fucked deep like this. So deep…”

He didn’t wait for you to answer. He knew. He felt it in the way your body clenched around him, in the way you arched your back despite the weight of him pressing you down.

“Good girl.” he murmured, dragging his lips over your shoulder. “Let me fuck you up.”

And then he started to move…again.

But when he pressed in and then out of your willing hole, it was as if the world shifted, the space between you collapsing in an instant. His cock was too slick, too wet with the remnants of your body, and it slipped, sliding against you with brutal precision, a brutal force, a relentless pounding that left no room for hesitation. A breathless cry tore from your throat as the shock of it hit you. There was no warning, no preparation. Just force, just him, pressing, pushing, his wetness slick against your skin, forcing its way in.

The pain was sharp, searing, as he pressed against the tight muscle, relentless, until it gave. And then, slowly, so deeply, he sank himself into you.

A sharp gasp left your lips, a cry so raw it felt like it tore the air between you. The sudden burn of him pushing with no gentleness and just the harsh reality of his need…you weren’t ready for it, but his body didn’t care.

It was pain and pleasure, a twisted thing that mixed in the heat of the moment.

“Fuck…” His voice was strained, a whisper of satisfaction even as he buried himself deeper, as though he couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t claim you enough.

Did he want this all along? Was this always his plan? Was he always going to take you like this? There was no time to wonder — no time to question the urgency that burned between you. But deep down, the thought lingered — he planned this.

He loved it, didn’t he?

The way your body tensed around him, the way you cried out, the way he held you down and made you take it. He wanted this. Wanted you.

He just loved the way your tight little hole gripped him, so tight, so willing despite the ache. How you gasped beneath him, how you arched into him, begging with your body for him to move, to fill you in the way only he could. It wasn’t enough for him to just be inside you — he wanted to see you fall apart.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart…I’m sorry…” His apology was soft, though his actions were anything but. He murmured it against your ear as he thrust again, harder this time, his rhythm pushing you further into the sheets, again and again. “I’m sorry…”

But God, it felt so good to him. He couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to.

The apology was just a lie. You both knew it. A soft, quiet whisper that barely had time to settle before he thrust into you again. Harder.

There was no stopping him. The rhythm had taken over, and with each push, he sank deeper, until the room was filled with nothing but the sound of skin, the wetness between you, and the desperate, breathless gasps that escaped from your throat.

“It was an accident…I didn’t mean…” His words faltered into a murmur as he tried to form the apology again, but it was swallowed by the tension in the air, by the way your body responded to him, to the rhythm of his thrusts. There was no room for words anymore — only the need. Only the heat.

God, you felt so good.

Every inch of you wrapped around him, tight and slick, a perfect fit. He could hardly hold on — could hardly keep it together.

You were so good at this. So good at taking him.

“Shh, baby…” he soothed needily. “Just take it, sweetie…I know it hurts, but you’re doing so good. So fucking good…so proud of you…”

Fuck, he thought. He was close. So close. His body shook with the effort to pull back, to hold off for just a moment longer. But he couldn’t. You were too perfect beneath him, too responsive. You made him lose control.

He fucked you harder, the sound of your sobs mixing with the harsh rhythm of his body against yours. He could barely hear your cries, too consumed with the way you clenched around him, the way your body shook with each thrust, each push that sent a wave of fire through him.

“Are you crying?” he groaned, a curse escaping his lips, unable to suppress the dark thrill in his voice as he felt you tighten around him. “Fuck…keep crying. Keep doing that…you’re gonna make me come…”

It felt like the world was on the edge, hanging between the pull of pleasure and the ache of pain, the blur of the two so thick.

Suddenly, your body arched beneath him, so sharply, so completely, that for a moment, it felt as though time itself had stopped. He swore he could feel it — the way your breath hitched, the way your body trembled, as though the world was closing in, and you were being consumed by the very force of him. And he swore he could see your eyes rolling back in your head even though your face was turned away from him, caught in the throes of something so pure, so intense. Your mouth hung open, desperate, gasping for air, as your hips started to shake uncontrollably against him. Every part of you was trembling, desperately seeking more, deeper, harder.

The way you moved drove him wild. His breath caught in his throat as he watched you fall apart. He could feel your chest heaving beneath him, and he could hear the shallow, ragged gasps that escaped you, as if you were fighting to take in more of him, trying to catch your breath but unable to. And your hands — God, your hands — clenched hard into tight, desperate fists, curling with so much force that your knuckles were white, struggling to hold on as your body wracked with pleasure, shaking from the inside out.

“Alexander-” you whimpered, breathless, your very soul spilling out with each sound that escaped your lips.

“That’s it…that’s it, baby.” he groaned. “Let it all out. Let it all go.”

His own breath came harder, quicker, as your body tightened, convulsing around him. It almost felt like the very force of your release would shatter the walls that separated you. He couldn’t stop himself now, not when you were this far gone, when you were his. His pulse pounded in his ears, the rhythmic thrusts matching the frantic beat of his heart.

“You’re my fucking girl.” he murmured. “All fucking mine.”

You cried out as you gushed over him, and he swore he could feel your soul leaving your body for just a moment. But even in that fragile state, you didn’t pull away. You welcomed it. You accepted it. And that was all he needed — your surrender, your absolute devotion in the midst of all that chaos.

“Let it all out…”

This was more than he could bear. He pumped harder, his rhythm deepening, feeling your wetness flood around him as you came undone, gasping for air, your body betraying you to the pleasure, to the connection, to every desperate, broken sound you made as your release washed over you.

He didn’t stop, even when your body shook from the aftershocks, even when your cries began to fade into soft moans. His pace only quickened, desperate to take in the way you had completely surrendered to him. And you did. You let him fill you completely.

“Alexander…” you whimpered again, your voice softer now, but it was enough for him. Enough for him to feel that overwhelming rush, that intoxicating power.

“Shh, baby.” he whispered, his voice almost too low, too hushed as he slowed his rhythm just for a moment, pulling you closer. “Just breathe. You’re doing so good…so good.”

He could feel you, deep inside and all around him, your warmth, your breath, your trembling hands beneath him. And even as you cried out, he held you, in a way that words could never fully capture. The world outside of you, of him, seemed to fade away.

It was just you, just him, and the devastating, beautiful rawness of this connection.

And then, with a deep groan, he couldn’t hold back anymore. He felt it — his release — a violent surge of pleasure that filled him so completely, so utterly, that he thought he might just drown in it for good. Everything went white-hot. All he could do was collapse against you, his breath harsh, his chest rising and falling as he tried to steady himself.

You both lay there, tangled in each other, bodies entwined, as the room slowly returned to silence. The only sound left was the soft rhythm of your breathing and the lingering ache of something still hanging in the air.

He could hear your breathing slow, your body still, and he couldn’t help but lean into you, his forehead pressing against your shoulder. His voice was a low rasp, still drunk on the intensity of the moment.

“You’re everything to me…”

His hands, still shaking, slid across your skin, leaving trails of warmth in their wake as he lowered his lips to your neck again. Without another word, they trailed down the curve of your neck, over the slope of your shoulder, leaving open-mouthed kisses that were tender, but they burned, burned hotter than the bruises already forming beneath them, the bruised skin where his grip had held you too tightly, where his body had pressed you too hard, where he had left his mark, undeniable and deep.

Each kiss felt like a brand, searing into you, a silent claim etched in the soft spaces where no one else could see.

You gasped, still reeling, your body trembling beneath him, your eyes fluttering as you tried to focus. You had been taken to places you hadn’t expected, hadn’t known were possible, and now, all you could do was exist in the aftermath. The sound of his breathing, ragged and desperate, filled your ears as his lips moved lower, brushing the top of your spine before finally pulling away, his gaze wandering over you, over what he had left behind.

He wasn’t ready to let go — not fully. And when he did, he pulled back just enough to see — to witness what he’d done. There was something dark, something possessive in his gaze as his eyes travelled over the marks left behind, the raw evidence of his presence etched into your skin like a secret carved in flesh.

He paused for a moment, leaning back slightly to take you in and watched the way your body still quivered from the inside, the way you couldn’t quite control the tremors, the way your muscles twitched involuntarily in the wake of everything that had just happened.

His eyes flicked to the marks of your union.

There, in the dim light, he could see it all — how your body was filled with him, how his release had mixed with your own, the traces of him oozing out in streaks of white mingled with faint hints of red — proof of just how far he’d gone, how deeply he had carved himself into you. It was dripping out of you slowly, staining the sheets beneath.

The sight was almost too much…even for him.

His fingers moved without thought, sliding down your body, slowly, slowly reaching down as he dipped them between your legs, gathering remnants of that connection, scooping some of himself from you in the fragile boundary between tenderness and something darker.

With a deep breath, he pulled you. You were still shaking beneath him, but you didn’t resist. Then he turned you, gently but firmly, flipping you over, your body moving at his command, until you were face-up again. His eyes flicked back to your face. He could see the faint tremors in your eyes, the struggle to keep them open, glazed with exhaustion, but your body was so pliable, so willing to follow his lead, as though you had no choice but to obey his every movement, caught somewhere between pleasure and vulnerability.

His gaze held yours as he pressed his fingers to your lips, slick with the remnants of both of you.

His fingers, stained with the aftermath of you both, hovered at your lips for just a heartbeat before he pressed them past the soft curve, slipping into the warmth. Your breath caught, your eyelids fluttering closed for a moment as you took him in, but you didn’t hesitate — your mouth opened, parting instinctively to let him enter, tongue flicking out to meet his fingers with a softness that sent a shiver down his spine. Your lips closed around them and you started swirling lazily, tasting the remnants of him — of you — like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And when your eyes opened, struggling to stay that way, there was no fear there — only surrender. Willing, fragile surrender. A prayer whispered against the dark.

You hummed against his touch, tasting him on your tongue like it was a drug, something you craved. Something you needed. He couldn’t help but let out a low groan as he watched you, the way you sucked on his fingers so willingly, so eagerly. He watched, fascinated.

“Such a good girl.” he whispered, the words falling from his lips like a blessing, like an affirmation, trembling with the weight of his own disbelief at the depth of what he felt. His free hand traced the curve of your jaw, thumb brushing softly over your cheekbone, a fragile contrast to the bruises blooming beneath his touch. “I told you it was nothing to be afraid of, didn’t I? You’re finally all mine now. Mine…” he murmured, leaning down close to your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “Only mine.”

Vows wrapping around your soul.

His forehead pressed against yours, breath mingling, hot and heavy in the space between. His words came softer now. “You’re finally mine…all mine. ”

You whimpered softly, your breath catching as his fingers remained in your mouth, the pressure building as you sucked on them with increasing desperation, the taste of him filling your senses. And all the while, his hand slid down to your body, feeling the tremors in your skin, the way you shuddered under his touch, as if you were still reeling from the storm he had unleashed within you.

He leaned down closer, his lips brushing against your ear once more. “You’re mine, you understand that, don’t you? Completely. No one else will ever have you like this.”

The tremors wouldn’t stop. They wouldn’t stop. They were there, deep in the marrow of your bones, the aftermath of something that left you hollow yet full all at once.

“You’re mine. No one else can have you. Not now. Not ever. You’re mine, body and soul.”

The words wrapped around you, sinking in deeper. You were tethered to him, bound by more than just the physical. It wasn’t just possession — it was something more, something raw and irrevocable and rotten that had taken root in both of you

His touch was rougher again, more desperate. He feared that the moment might slip away. His fingers pulled from your mouth slowly.

“I’m never letting you go. Got that? I’m never going to let anyone else touch you the way I do. Not again.”

And there it was — not just a claim, but a truth, undeniable, carved into the silence that followed, where possession felt like devotion, and surrender felt like belonging.

You knew, now, this time for sure, that there was no going back. You had crossed some invisible line. You were his, completely. You felt the weight of that truth settle deep inside you, sinking into your bones in ways you couldn’t possibly understand.

The room was suffocatingly quiet, the only sound the ragged pull of your breath mingling with his. It felt more and more like a tight thread about to snap. His hands, large and warm, wrapped around you, pulling you against him as if he could fold you into his skin, make you disappear inside the hollow space carved just for you.

When his fingers slid upward, circling the delicate column of your throat, it was with the precision of someone who knew exactly what they were doing — not hesitant, not questioning, no need for words. It was instinct, the way his palms fit there, like they had been carved by memory, like your neck was shaped for his touch. It felt like their rightful place, ever since…the incident. You didn’t need to ask for his touch, he gave it, and it was just…right. His thumbs traced the fragile pulse beneath your skin, feeling the rapid thrum of your heartbeat — proof of life.

It was all there, under his touch.

That pulse beat, and beat, and beat against his fingertips, frantic and alive, each flutter a silent confession. He felt your life, fragile and wild beneath his hands, a secret only he could crush or cradle. His grip tightened slightly. The pressure was gentle at first, just enough to remind you that he was there — that he could take more if he wanted to. That he wanted to.

Piece by piece, with nothing more than his hands and his will.

“You feel that?” His voice was low, frayed around the edges. “How easy it is for me to hold you like this? For me to- to…to have all of you?”

The words tangled in your throat, trapped beneath the weight of his touch.

But your body answered for you.

That answer was written in every shallow breath you managed to take.

He leaned in closer. “You don’t have to ask for my touch. You never did. It’s always been yours.” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your temple, a breath, a shadow. “I already know.”

He was watching you closely, eyes dark and glassy, reflecting something sharp and raw. His gaze wasn’t just on you but inside you, peeling back layers you didn’t know existed. There was no place to hide. Not from him. Not from this.

There was something terrifying and beautiful in that truth.

He was enthralled by the view. He just couldn’t help but go over it in his head. Again and again and again…

This is where you belong, his grip seemed to say. Right here. Under me. Within reach.

His hands tightened.

I want to…

He choked you until you tried speaking. Until you tapped his arm, like you’d practiced, and then until you started flailing and punching when he wouldn’t let go. He wanted to keep squeezing, until you turned purple, until you did everything you could, still fighting him to get loose, against your own wishes, but on simple human instinct.

…I want her to feel weak. That I can do this to her. When she realises that, then I’ll let her breathe.

His forehead rested against yours. You could feel the tremble in his body, the restraint threading through his muscles, taut and coiled, a fragile leash barely holding him back. His touch softened then. His grip eased, fingers tracing the tender skin his hands had claimed moments before, almost apologetic, as if trying to soothe the very ache he’d created. But the ache wasn’t just physical — it was deeper, buried beneath layers of skin and bone, stitched into the fabric of who you were when you were with him, when you truly allowed yourself to feel it.

“I could take everything…” he whispered, as though the idea itself was sacred. “But I don’t need to. You’ve already given it to me.”

And you had.

Without words, without promises, you had offered him all of you — your fears, your darkness, your very breath — and he had taken it, cradled it in his hands every time like something precious and fragile, even when his grip was anything but gentle.

His hands fell away, leaving the ghost of his touch behind, a phantom feeling where his fingers had been. But even without them, you felt his claim, etched deeper than bruises, deeper than breath.

You didn’t just belong to him.

You wanted to.

The absence of his touch left you feeling hollow. The warmth that had wrapped around you, consumed you, was gone in an instant, and it felt unbearable. Like being abandoned in the cold after knowing only fire. You gasped for it, reaching blindly as though you could pull him back with sheer desperation alone…to fill the void.

“No…” The word left you as a whisper, fragile and breaking.

Alexander stilled, watching you like he’d been waiting for that very syllable. His dark eyes glowed with something unreadable, something deep and knowing. His head tilted slightly, a predatory curiosity flickering behind his eyes, humming with tension, with expectation. He wanted you to beg. He needed to hear it.

“What is it, sweetie?”

Your lips trembled. Your throat felt tight. But the words clawed their way out anyway. “N- no…why’d you stop? P-please…I need it. I need it so…so bad.”

The desperation in your voice seemed to ignite something in him. The corner of his mouth twitched, just barely, into the faintest shadow of a smile — not kind, not soft, but sharp like broken glass. He moved closer.

“Oh yeah?” His fingers brushed over your jaw, tracing the curve of it. His touch felt deceptively gentle. “And what exactly do you need, little love? You know I can’t give you exactly what you want unless you tell me. Use that pretty mouth of yours.” His eyes bore into you, dark and endless.

But words weren’t enough for this. Words couldn’t capture the way your body ached, the way your mind was unravelling without him. Instead, you just looked at him. Your eyes spoke the language you’d both learned in the spaces between speech — wide and pleading, lips parted, breath shallow. A silent, desperate surrender.

And he understood.

Of course he did.

Because you weren’t two separate people. You weren’t two people trying to find connection. You had been made for each other, pulled from the same darkness, shaped by the same hunger. He was made for this — for you. Just as you were made for him. You weren’t lovers in the ordinary sense, but rather reflections. Fragments of the same whole, scattered pieces finally pulled back together, slotting into place with every breath, every glance, every whispered plea. A single entity split apart, clawing its way back together.

You didn’t just complete each other.

You consumed each other.

“You figured it out before me, didn’t you?” His thumb ghosted over your bottom lip. “You knew…knew we were never meant to be apart. That there is no you and me. Just…us.”

His hand slid down to your throat.

That was where it belonged.

He wrapped his fingers around your neck, splaying over your pulse. The pressure was light at first, but it grew, steadily, until it was all you could feel. His grip tightened, not out of cruelty, but because he knew. Knew how much you needed to feel small beneath his hands, how much you craved the razor-thin edge where surrender met survival.

And he stared. Just stared at you.

The image of you like this — breathless, vulnerable, utterly his — burned itself into his mind. He memorised every detail. The way your chest rose and fell too fast, the way your lashes fluttered, the way your lips trembled.

I want to see her fight.

The thought was sudden, electric.

Not because he wanted you to escape…but he wanted you to try. To push against him, to resist, to claw for breath with some primal, human instinct — only to realise you couldn’t. That you were weak.

That he was the only thing keeping you here.

The idea curled in his chest, spreading like wildfire through his veins.

“I could keep going, you know.” His grip tightened, just a fraction. “Tighter. Until you really start to struggle…until you start clawing at me. Wouldn’t that be something?” he mused, watching the way your pupils blew wide, the way your hands twitched. “Watching you panic. Watching you really get it inside your tiny head that you’re weak. That I can do this to you. That no matter how much you fight, you can’t stop me.”

His grip tightened again.

Your breathing hitched.

“Or…” His lips brushed against the shell of your ear, his breath warm, coaxing. “Maybe I just don’t stop. Maybe I let you struggle, let you break beneath me. Maybe I let you realise this is finally the end for you. Is that what you need?”

He felt your pulse spike.

A deep, satisfied growl rumbled in his chest.

“There’s nothing worthy of your troubles, little one.” he whispered. His grip grew firmer, pressing against the delicate structure of your throat, cutting off just enough air to make your head swim. “And the earth…it isn’t worth even a single sigh of yours, love.”

Your vision blurred around the edges. Your body twitched. The primal instinct to breathe kicked in, but you made no move to stop him.

“Pain and torment are our life.” he continued, his voice a low hum in your fading consciousness. “The world? Meaningless…it’s- it’s nothing. But you?” His thumb pressed against your pulse point, feeling the frantic drum of your heartbeat. He tilted his head, considering. Then…

“Everything.”

His fingers curled tighter.

The pressure increased.

Your body reacted automatically — fingers clawing weakly at his wrist, legs twitching, mind screaming for air. But beneath the panic, beneath the wild thrum of survival, there was a deeper truth: you didn’t want him to stop.

Because in this space, this darkness, you felt more alive than anywhere else.

Air became a distant thing, unreachable, and your hands grew weaker. But you held on. To anchor yourself in the feeling of him.

He groaned. “Oh, sweetheart. Look at you…” His free hand dragged down your body, over every other mark he had left behind. “You’re so pretty like this.”

Your vision was tunneling now, a slow descent into something dark. Your limbs felt heavy, your chest tight. Your body convulsed, trembling against his hold, not out of fear, but from the overwhelming flood of sensation, the blurred line between pain and pleasure…

…And you felt yourself slipping.

“Now…” he murmured, his face close enough that his breath was the only thing filling your starving lungs, “you just…”

Harder.

“…Calm down.”

And then…

Then he let go.

The rush of air into your limp lungs was violent. He watched as your whole body folded in on itself, choking on the sudden flood of oxygen that had nowhere to go anymore. But before you could collapse, he caught you. Strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you against his chest as your shaking limbs gave out.

He cradled you there, his fingers stroking the side of your face, tracing over your skin, memorising you all over again, for one last time.

“There you are.” he murmured, his voice softer now, lower. “It’s okay, little one. That’s it. Just…” His lips brushed against your temple, lingering. “...right where you belong.”

Because you did belong.

To him.

And he was never going to let you forget it.

“You’re alright…” His voice slipped into your ear like a soft caress, an unsettling warmth that contrasted with the ice building in your chest. His fingers wrapped around your face, gently yet firmly cradling your jaw. He tilted your head slightly, forcing your still eyes to meet his wild ones.

His thumbs brushed the traces of tears from your cheeks. The coolness of your skin, damp with the aftershocks of what had just passed, sent a shiver through his body.

So fragile…his tiny bird caught in the storm.

And yet, despite it all, he was still drawn to you. He leaned closer, his lips grazing the line of your jaw, a soft, almost tender kiss just beneath your ear. His mouth lingered there, warm and seeking, but it was a far cry from the way he had consumed you before.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

A quiet, twisted truth between the two of you that neither could ignore in the end. The words felt hollow, emptied of their traditional meaning. But to him, they were all he had left to offer, the only thing that could fill the cavernous void inside.

A sublime mockery, echoing in a space where love had been stripped down to its barest bones.

There was no softness in it, no light. Just a shadow wearing the shape of affection, dressed up in the language of tenderness while hiding the rot beneath.

Love.

A word people clung to, believing it could save them, define them. But for him, it was nothing more than a curse — a shackle disguised as a gift.

And yet, here he was, saying it anyway.

Why?

Because it sounded beautiful when spoken over the wreckage of something ruined.

The words were nothing but a mask, a charade, a necessary illusion. It wasn’t love in the way others might have understood it. It was far more consuming and suffocating. A sick attachment that he couldn’t let go of, even if he tried. And you, caught in the hurricane of his need, understood it now too.

So, at last, he held you.

He held you because that, too, was part of it — the contradiction. To give and take, to hurt and to heal. To make you need him and to break you until there was nothing left but utmost devotion.

His hands slid down your neck, your back, the tips of his fingers pressing into the soft flesh, feeling the way you tensed, the way your body still responded to him without question. He marvelled at it. The power he had over you.

He leaned in again, brushing his lips against your ear, his voice low and almost inaudible, but laden with intent. “You know, you were never meant to be apart from me.” he said, the words no longer dangerous in their beauty. “You belong to me. There is no escape. There never was.”

His breath quickened as he pulled you closer, his chest pressing against yours, his hands moving back to your face, forcing your eyes to meet his again.

“Do you understand? You were made for me. For this. For us.”

There was a fire behind his words, a desperate need that pushed past the facade of control he fought so hard to maintain.

“Tell me, love…” he murmured. “Tell me you understand. Tell me you understand…”

He held you tighter, his grip fierce now, even though you had nowhere left to go. His lips found the curve of your neck, kissing, biting, marking you with bruises that would remain…forever.

And as he did, his mind wandered again to that deep, unsettling thought. The one that hovered just beneath the surface, the one he couldn’t ignore.

I will always search for you. Even in the dark corners of my mind, in the dreams I can’t remember. I will look for you. Always.

Often, he’d seen them go down with irony etched into their faces — men and women alike, clutching their illusions all the way to the grave. In all he’d witnessed, all he’d dug from the dirt, all he’d buried beneath it, there was nothing sacred left. What was there in them to bury? Nothing but the weight they’d always carried like chains: pride, vanity, animality, fleeting pleasures — dross masquerading as meaning and what fell into oblivion, after having been long exposed to their contempt.

And when the earth swallowed them whole, it stripped everything away. Their names, their stories, their fragile, desperate clinging to things that never mattered.

But one thing always lingered.

A single mark. A stain that refused to fade. The monogram of their most intimate nature — not their faces and not their names, but something carved deeper. A work, a deed, a moment of truth that burned brighter than everything else, refusing to be buried. An exceptional inspiration.

For Alexander, this was that mark.

You were that mark.

The fragile last tremble of your breath, the bruises blooming like dark flowers beneath his fingertips, the echo of his name caught between your lips — all of it etched into the marrow of his being. A monument to something both sacred and profane.

And long after the warmth of your skin faded, long after the echoes of your voice dissolved into the silence, he would carry it with him.

Because there are things that cannot be buried.

Not with dirt.

Not with time.

Not even with death.

When the world grew quiet and sleep finally dragged him under, he would search for you there — in the spaces between dreams, in the shadows where memory and longing collided.

He will always search for you.

Even when there’s nothing left to find.

His lips found yours then, silencing any further thoughts, any further words. His kiss was hungry, desperate, consuming. He wasn’t sure if it was love or something else entirely. But at that moment, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was you.

And you, forever bound to him, couldn’t turn away.

For you were…

Released.

a/n: The end…literally. I’m sorry if this was too much? I don’t really know how I feel about it either but it’s been in the works for a while, well, since the very beginning. Not that this was how I thought it would go but, you know, notes, and ideas, and stuff…it was mostly the smut scene that I had planned out. It’s inspired by many many things I don’t even remember anymore. Whenever I hear or see something I like I just write it down so yeah. Also whenever I explained the plot to someone they asked me if I was okay so I just wanna say that it’s not inspired by anything I’ve experienced but rather thoughts I have. And after this I am gonna stick to what I’ve said, so I’m not sure when I will post something else, but I wanted to see this one finished and it was on its way to being done anyway so…

#alex turner x reader #alex turner x fem!reader #alex turner x you #alex turner x y/n #alex turner x oc #alex turner smut #alex turner angst #alex turner fic #alex turner fanfic #smut #you’re so dark #goblinontour

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blakeswritingimagines · 2 days ago

Text

Relationship List With Nico Hischier

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Nico is a very affectionate and caring individual. He enjoys showing affection to his loved ones through gestures like hugs, kisses, and words of affirmation. He values physical touch and enjoys holding hands, cuddling, and snuggling up with those he cares about. He is also known for being a good listener and offering emotional support to those he cares about. He may also show his affection by giving small gifts or making thoughtful gestures.

B = Beginning (How would the relationship start?)

He would likely be hesitant to make the first move and would prefer to let the relationship develop naturally and organically. He may begin by getting to know you better through conversations and gradually opening up about himself. He may also start by suggesting casual outings or activities to spend time together. Overall, Nico's approach to starting a relationship would be thoughtful and considerate, carefully considering your feelings and pace.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Nico would definitely enjoy cuddling with you. He is a physical touch kind of person and would gravitate towards feeling close and connected to someone physically. He would likely enjoy snuggling up together, perhaps on a cozy couch or in bed, and wrapping his arms around his partner to hold you close. He may also like to stroke your hair, hold your hand, or rest his head on your chest, just enjoying the closeness and intimacy of the moment.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Nico is definitely the type who would want to settle down at some point. He values stability and building a strong foundation for his life, so he would be open to the idea of finding a life partner and establishing a home together. When it comes to domestic tasks like cooking and cleaning, Nico is quite helpful and responsible. He may not be an expert cook, but he is willing to pitch in and help with household chores. He is also quite organized and tidy, so he would be a reliable partner when it comes to maintaining a clean and pleasant living space.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

If Nico had to break up with his partner, he would likely do so in a thoughtful and respectful manner. He would approach the conversation with sensitivity and empathy, acknowledging the impact that the breakup would have on both parties. He would likely express his feelings and reasons for wanting to end the relationship in a clear and honest way, while also being mindful of his partner's emotions and reactions. He would prioritize open communication and would make an effort to have a respectful and civil conversation, even if the situation was difficult or emotionally charged.

F = Fiancé(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Nico has a strong sense of commitment and values building strong, lasting relationships. He is not the type to rush into marriage prematurely, but he would definitely view it as an important milestone in a long-term relationship. He would want to take the time to ensure that the relationship was solid and built on a strong foundation before committing to marriage.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Nico is generally a very gentle and soft-spoken person, both physically and emotionally. He is known for his calm demeanor and respectful approach to others, and he always makes an effort to be kind and considerate in his interactions. He is not a person who enjoys raising his voice or getting confrontational. Instead, he prefers to approach situations with patience and understanding, taking time to listen and empathize with others before making a decision or taking action. In terms of physicality, Nico is already also known for his gentle touch and respectful interactions with others.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

His hugs are warm, gentle, and tight, often making the person being hugged feel enveloped in his arms. He tends to hold on for a good amount of time, as he appreciates the physical closeness and connection that a hug can provide. He may also use hugs as a form of reassurance or to offer comfort and support to those in need.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

He believes that saying "I love you" should be a meaningful and genuine expression of his feelings, and would not want to say it lightly or just for the sake of saying it. Therefore, he would likely take his time before expressing his love to you. He may wait until he feels a deep connection and a strong sense of commitment and trust before saying it. However, when he does say it, he would mean it wholeheartedly and would say it with sincerity and love.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He values communication and open dialogue with partners, so if he were to feel jealous, he would likely express his feelings and concerns in a mature and respectful way. He may ask questions to gain clarity and reassurance, but he would avoid jumping to conclusions or reacting impulsively. He may also take time to reflect on his own feelings and why he is feeling jealous, and work on addressing any insecurity or lack of trust that may be causing the jealousy.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Nico is a tender and affectionate kisser. He tends to kiss with purpose and passion. He may start with a soft, sensual touch on the lips, gradually building up to more intense and passionate kisses. He likes to kiss not just on the lips, but also on the neck and cheeks, as he enjoys the closeness and intimacy of being near his partner. He also enjoys being kissed and touched on his neck and collarbone, as these areas are very sensitive to him.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Nico is a kind and patient person who enjoys being around children. He would likely be playful and warm with kids, treating them with respect and kindness. He may be willing to play games or engage in activities that are enjoyable for children, and would likely take time to listen to them and offer support and guidance. Overall, he would be a good role model for children and would likely be a kind and nurturing presence in their lives.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Nico enjoys starting his mornings off on a quiet and peaceful note. He would also likely be considerate and attentive towards you in the mornings, perhaps making you breakfast or offering to help with any tasks that need to be done. He also enjoys cuddling and spending time together before starting the day, enjoying the intimacy and closeness of the moment. Overall, he would likely be calm and grounded in the mornings, valuing a sense of routine and predictability.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Nico tends to be a homebody and enjoys spending his nights in a cozy and comfortable atmosphere. He may like to unwind and relax in the evenings, perhaps by reading a book, watching a movie, or enjoying a quiet conversation with his partner. He may also like to do some self-care activities like taking a warm bath or engaging in hobbies that help him unwind. He may also enjoy sharing a cozy, intimate moment and cuddling with his partner before going to sleep. Overall, he would likely prefer to spend his nights in a peaceful and nurturing environment.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

He gradually shares pieces of himself over time, rather than revealing everything all at once. He may start by sharing small details about himself and his life, and then gradually delve deeper as the relationship progresses. He is not one to keep secrets, and would be honest and straightforward in communicating his intentions and feelings.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Nico is generally patient and composed, even in stressful or challenging situations. He doesn't easily get angered or lose his temper, and tends to approach problems with a level-headed and logical mindset. He may get frustrated or upset at times, but he is usually able to maintain his composure and keep a cool head. It would take a lot to truly anger him, and he would likely try to remain calm and find a rational solution to any conflicts or problems that arise.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Nico is known for his excellent memory and attention to detail. He is likely to remember small details about you, such as your favorite food, hobbies, and preferences. He may also remember things you mention in passing, and is likely to bring them up in conversation or surprise you with a thoughtful gesture related to something you mentioned. He values the little things that make you unique and enjoys showing that he pays attention to the details of your life.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Nico has many fond memories of your relationship, but one that stands out in his mind is your first date. He remembers feeling nervous, but also excited and hopeful to spend time with you. He remembers the chemistry he felt between you, and the way you both seemed to connect so effortlessly. He also remembers the sense of possibility and excitement that came from that first date, and the hope for a future filled with more moments just like that one.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Nico is a protective person and takes the safety and well-being of those he cares about seriously. He would be willing to go to great lengths to protect and defend his partner, whether it be through physical means or by using his intellect and strategic thinking. He would likely make sure to keep an eye on you in public spaces and would be mindful of any potential dangers or threats. He would also likely offer emotional support and comfort in times of stress or insecurity, providing you with a sense of security and stability.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Nico is a thoughtful and romantic person, and he would put a lot of effort into dates, anniversaries, and gifts. He would likely plan dates that are thoughtful and personal, taking into account your interests and preferences. He would also put a lot of thought and consideration into gifts, making sure that they are meaningful and special. He would also be willing to put effort into everyday tasks, whether it be helping with chores or just being there to offer support and encouragement. Overall, he would strive to make every moment feel special and valued.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

One of his bad habits is that he can be a bit stubborn and opinionated at times, and he may have a hard time seeing things from a different point of view. He may also have a tendency to be too hard on himself at times, expecting perfection from himself and feeling disappointed when he doesn't meet his own high standards. He may also have a tendency to bottle up his emotions and keep his feelings to himself, which can sometimes lead to misunderstandings or communication breakdowns in his relationships.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks? Do your looks bother them?)

Nico may be a little bit vain, but not to an excessive or unhealthy extent. He takes pride in his appearance and enjoys looking and feeling his best. However, he is not obsessed with his looks and he does not put too much stock in physical appearance alone. He would not be bothered by the way you look and would appreciate you for who you are as a person, rather than for your looks alone. He is likely to be more concerned with your character and personality, and values inner beauty and kindness over superficial appearances.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Nico would likely feel incomplete without you in his life. He would miss your companionship, support, and love and feel a sense of emptiness or void in your absence. He may also feel a sense of purpose and meaning in being with you, and may find it difficult to imagine life without you by his side. He values your presence and contributions to his life and relies on your affection and support to feel whole and complete.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Nico has a secret soft spot for cheesy romantic comedies. He may deny it, but he secretly enjoys watching them and finds the cliches endearing, even if he rolls his eyes at them. He also has a weakness for puppies, and will shamelessly coo over them whenever he sees them in public. He may even be tempted to bring one home someday.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

He may not be a fan of overly dramatic or attention-seeking behavior, as he values authenticity and sincerity in relationships. He may also be turned off by excessive selfishness and self-centeredness, as he values kindness and consideration towards others. In terms of physical appearance, he may not be attracted to excessively done-up or flashy hairstyles, preferring a more natural and understated look.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs? Does it change around a partner?)

Nico tends to be a light sleeper and is easily woken up by noise or movement. He may also be prone to waking up in the middle of the night and struggling to fall back asleep. When he sleeps with a partner, he may be more comfortable and relaxed, and may even have a tendency to cuddle up and hold on to his partner. He may also sleep more soundly and peacefully when sharing a bed with a partner, as he feels comforted and secure in their presence.

#nico hischier #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier x y/n #nico hischier x you #nhl x reader #nhl x you #nhl x y/n #new jersey devils #njd

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blood-mocha-latte · 2 days ago

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fragment of a canon era luztoye wip under the cut for those of us that have been going THROUGH IT

Luz cut his knuckle against the icy, ungiving side of the radio, and held it up to Joe Toye's mouth on the whim of a joke long-forgotten.

Joe dipped his head and let his lips meet the blood, anyway.

George watched him, rather awed. Though that was hardly a unique instance. "You're a real animal, y'know." He said, the heat of Joe's mouth spit-slick and the warmest thing that he could remember.

Joe pulled back, and the ice that flooded back into the air immediately stung. George pulled back on instinct, curling his hand into a fist and holding it to his chest. "And y'ain't?"

At nights, the wind picked up, blowing in sideways. The only reason that George could see at all was because of the foxhole, below the stinging snow that made his teeth ache and forced his eyes closed.

It was the reason that Joe had rolled into his hole at all, to escape the wind. He'd fallen damn near on top of George, who, having been expecting the much more compact frame of Frank Perconte, had shouted in alarm.

The shout had quickly turned into laughter, however. Brittle, and dry, and scraping at his throat with the sort of icepick that made even talking difficult, but worth it.

"Mm." George said in the now, reaching out with his uncut hand to press his palm to the burning ice of the radio's metal. "We are livin' in the woods. Like bears."

"Too damn skinny to be bears." Joe muttered. He was working his fingertips along the tight seal of his boots, like he wasn't thinking about it. George just watched the movement, one hand at the radio and the other curled at his heart.

"You do something t'your feet?"

Joe just grimaced. "Need to do what Doc said." He pulled his hand away from his boot, rubbing his palms together, instead. He moved slowly, steady. Sort of like each movement he made was thought out, heavy and dragging. "Take off boots, socks, the works."

George scrubbed a hand under his nose, sniffed. His face felt frozen, numb. Not aching, the way that it sometimes did in the cold, but just completely unfeeling. "Time it right," He said. "So you don't blow them both away."

"Yeah, yeah."

Silence. Wind whistled. George blinked, twice, more like squeezing his eyes, trying to bring warmth back.

"Shit." He said. "Never thought I'd miss Holland."

When he opened his eyes again, Joe's were on the sky above, blotted black as ink and speckled with the way that the snow was still blowing in sideways, flickering like static. "I did." He said, grim.

George just watched him, felt something in his ribs tighten, like his marrow had frozen over. He tried to press his face into a smile. It didn't necessarily work.

"Lemme guess." He said, dry. "The goddamn fighting in the town? Shouting civilians? The bombing afterwards?"

Joe huffed, like it hurt. His gaze cut back to George, lingering, hesitant. "Sure." He said. "And that it was warm. And..."

He trailed off. George watched him, close, and had to blink when his eyes began to burn against the cold.

When he did, he thought, maybe involuntarily, of Holland. Of the strange, dragging way that time walked after adrenaline dropped back downwards.

Of unthinking, painful corners, of frantic mouths and secluded areas and too-long, too-fast hands and one-offs that linger anyways.

In the now, George just huffed, looked down at his hands. The same ones that he'd touched Joe with, ages ago, though they looked different, now. Thinner, more callused, blood-and-dirt spackled.

"I—"

"Son of a bitch!"

Snow sprayed over the side of the foxhole with a muffled, cracking sound, and the man that George was actually expecting actually fell on top of him.

Frank Perconte elbowed him in the chest as he went down. It forced a cough out of him, curling into himself as he shoved Perco off of him.

"Sorry, Luz." Perconte said, offhandedly, patting the side of his face. Aimed at Toye: "Tryin' to get away from the wind?"

Toye just blinked at George, who was still bent over, trying to protect his ribs from the onslaught after damage that had already been done. "Hell in a handbasket, out there." He rasped, to Perconte.

#rie talks #those of us is ME . btw #luztoye #george luz #joe toye #in case you are wondering. listened to born to die by lana del ray for the first time in One Thousand years and it. killed me maybe #band of brothers

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buckysouvenir · 3 days ago

Text

the heart wants what it wants

pairing: bucky barnes x y/n authors note: day seven!

the valentine’s day collection 2025: for the first 14 days of february, i’ll be posting a series of short stories inspired by songs, all centered around bucky barnes.

reblogs, likes and comments are always encouraged and highly appreciated! thank you ♡

Y/N sat on the edge of her bed, her fingers gripping the soft fabric of her blanket as she stared at the dim glow of her phone screen. The last message from Bucky felt heavier than it should have, a simple "Talk later." It wasn’t a real goodbye, but it wasn’t a promise either. Just three words, carelessly typed, leaving her in limbo.

She exhaled, trying to shake off the sinking feeling in her chest. The bed beneath her was cold, the space beside her empty—just like it had been so many times before. She pulled the blanket tighter around her, as if that could replace the warmth she craved. But nothing could. Not really. Not when she knew exactly what was missing.

She had told herself, time and time again, that she needed to let go. That this wasn’t sustainable. That waiting for him, aching for him, was nothing but self-inflicted torture. And yet, here she was, curled up in the same bed that still smelled faintly of him, her heart stubbornly refusing to listen to reason.

She thought about all the times he had come back. The way he would walk in, exhausted and conflicted, his tired blue eyes scanning the room until they landed on her. And suddenly, the weight of the world on his shoulders would seem just a little bit lighter. He’d sit next to her, never saying much at first, but she could feel it—the silent plea in the way he touched her, the way his fingers would ghost over her skin like he was afraid she’d disappear if he held on too tight.

And she let him in, every damn time.

Because the truth was, no matter how many times she told herself she should move on, she couldn’t. Bucky was the only person who made her feel like this, like she was standing at the edge of a cliff with no fear of falling. He set her world on fire and then left her to sift through the ashes.

Her heart clenched as she thought about it—how much of herself she had given to him without ever being sure he’d stay. She hated feeling like this, like she was chasing something that would always be just out of reach. Like she was waiting for him to choose her completely.

It wasn’t fair.

But love never was.

With a shaky breath, she ran her fingers through her hair, trying to ground herself. There were a million reasons why she should walk away. Every time he disappeared, every time he shut down and pushed her away, should have been enough. But it never was. Logic had no place in this. The heart wanted what it wanted, and hers only wanted him.

She clenched her jaw, frustration bubbling up inside her.

She had tried—God, had she tried—to move on. She distracted herself with missions, forced herself to smile at Sam’s jokes, even let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, she could learn to live without him.

But then he’d come back.

Like clockwork.

A knock on her door, a quiet "Hey, doll," and all her resolve would crumble. Because no matter how much Bucky ran—from himself, from his past, from whatever it was that made him believe he didn’t deserve love—he always found his way back to her.

Her phone vibrated against her palm, pulling her from her thoughts. She glanced down, her breath hitching when she saw his name on the screen.

Bucky.

Her thumb hovered over the answer button.

She should let it ring. She should protect herself.

She should walk away.

But instead, she pressed accept.

Because no matter how much it hurt, no matter how much she told herself she should stop, she knew one thing for certain.

She would always choose him.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes drabble #bucky.txt #bê.txt #the valentines day colletion 2025

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deathofacupid · 2 days ago

Text

they say distance makes the heart grow fonder, don't they? a quaint little saying, tossed around like a comforting blanket. but did that apply to everything? did it apply to the gaping chasm that had opened up between you and satoru? the truth was, some wounds festered, no matter how far you ran. they burrowed deeper, fueled by the silence and the gnawing what-ifs.

the further you got from satoru, the more a bitter resentment bloomed in your chest, choking out the softer memories. you hated him for letting you slip through his fingers like grains of sand, for not fighting harder, for not deeming you worthy of the effort.

you hated that he had the priorities that he did, that his grand ambitions eclipsed everything else, and even more, that you weren't even a footnote in those ambitions. you hated, with a burning, all-consuming passion, that he didn't choose you.

you'd always known, deep down, that he was destined for greatness. with a name as striking as his, how could he not be? he knew it too, you were sure of it. he carried himself with that quiet confidence, that almost arrogant grace. and you, you were just… you.

satoru wasn't a serious person. it was his defining trait, the mask he wore to navigate the world. most people saw the easy smiles, the quick wit, the constant stream of humorless jokes. they saw the shield, but no one, not even you, dared to peek behind it.

you knew there was something there, a quiet storm raging beneath the surface, but it was a line you never crossed. didn't even touch it. he didn't want you to, anyway. he’d deflect with another joke, another grin, and the moment would pass, leaving you both a little more hollow.

because, then, he'd have to talk about it. he'd have to peel back the layers and expose the vulnerability he so desperately guarded. satoru wasn't sure he could muster that, not for anyone, not even for you, the one person who saw glimpses of the real him. the thought of confronting his own demons seemed to terrify him more than anything else.

and it didn't help, not even a little, that everything you did, everything you saw, everything you touched, smelt, tasted, heard – it all screamed satoru. the world was a cruel collage of memories, each one a tiny shard of glass piercing your heart.

there were so many movies you'd never be able to watch again. the rom-com where you'd both laughed until your sides hurt, the tearjerker where he’d subtly dabbed at his eyes while pretending he wasn't crying, the cheesy action flick you’d both secretly loved. all of them tainted now, the joy replaced with a dull ache. old memories, bitter, definitely not sweet.

songs, too. the radio was a minefield, each familiar melody a fresh wave of grief. you couldn't even have chocolate, his favorite, without a pang of longing. the old mugs, the ones you’d bought together, were banished to the back of the cabinet, too painful to use. and his side of the bed… your bed, now, only yours.

it was always cold at night, a stark reminder of his absence. you weren't used to sleeping alone. maybe, by now, you should have been. it's been so long, hasn't it? time should have healed these wounds, but they just kept bleeding.

there was a bakery just a few streets down. it used to be your favorite little secret, a place you’d stumbled upon and then shared with satoru. the two of you went all the time after that, drawn by the warm aroma of freshly baked bread and the promise of quiet companionship. you don't go anymore. shame, really. they had the most amazing croissants, flaky and buttery, just the way he liked them.

distance makes the heart grow fonder, they say. but it's just not the same for you. it's just… different. it's a dull ache, a constant longing. then again, maybe that's the reason you want to be in his arms again, despite everything. maybe the pain is just a twisted form of love, a desperate yearning for the warmth that once filled the void. maybe, just maybe, distance makes the heart grow fonder, but only if there's still a heart left to feel.

#whoops my hand slipped #over my keyboard #and i suppose i started typing #...whoops #(please cry)#satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #satoru gojo #jjk #satoru x reader #gojo satoru #gojo angst #satoru angst

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fangdokja · 5 hours ago

Note

How about a yandere boyfriend on Valentine's Day? Where he wraps a gift to give to his sweetheart himself.

The perfect Valentine’s present: something personal, thoughtful, and won’t scream anymore.

♡ Yan-Apocalypse x Fem. Reader. Boss, Neighbor, Torture Professional, Loner

♡ Word Count. 3,407

♡ Yandere! Boss who has been a pain in your ass since childhood. You hated him back then, and you hate him now, except now he owns your ass as your boss in this wretched hellscape called the apocalypse. A born leader, an absolute slave driver, and the only man who could turn the end of the world into a business opportunity. He should've died with the rest of humanity, but no, he somehow made it out alive—alongside you. Lucky you.

♡ Yandere! Neighbor who never let you live in peace even before the world went to shit. The kind of guy who would slip notes under your door just to remind you he existed. The guy who had the audacity to work in a cafe with a sickeningly charming smile despite making your life a waking nightmare. And now, even with society collapsed, he still finds ways to piss you off. He calls it love. You call it suffering. Turns out he was also a serial killer before all this. Should've seen that one coming.

♡ Yandere! Torture Professional who you used to think was just a weird but tolerable coworker. You considered him an older brother. He considered you his most entertaining toy. Now that the world has no laws, he's free to indulge in whatever twisted desires he kept hidden before. The worst part? He still acts like he's just your friendly workplace senior. Smiles and all.

♡ Yandere! Loner who is the only reason you haven't starved to death yet. Pays the rent. Handles all the outside world bullshit. Does all the talking for you because you'd rather die than interact with people. A true blessing in your hermit lifestyle, except for the small problem that he's hopelessly obsessed with you. A punk goth with a brooding air and a quiet intensity that makes your skin crawl. But if you had to pick a single tolerable person on the planet, it’d probably be him. That’s a low bar.

────────────

You, unfortunate recluse and apocalypse prepper, who told everyone this shit would happen.

They laughed at you. Laughed.

"A zombie apocalypse? Aliens? Nuclear fallout? Society crumbling overnight? Sure thing, basement dweller. Maybe you should go touch some grass."

Well, guess who's laughing now? Not them. Because they're dead.

The world didn't end in the way you expected. No rotting undead. No UFOs in the sky. No nuclear war or artificial intelligence takeover. No, what came was far worse. A virus, slow-acting, like a whisper through the bloodstream. It didn't kill outright. It awakened.

People started changing. Not into monsters, not physically. But mentally? The virus stripped them of the one thing keeping them from turning into beasts: morality. Empathy. Restraint. The very things that made human beings function in a civilized society.

Because love? Love was a sickness.

No, literally. Scientists called it the Eros Virus, but people online had a better name for it: the Yandere Plague. Something about brain chemistry short-circuiting. Something about possessiveness going haywire, loyalty turning to violence, and rational thought being replaced with "If I can’t have you, no one can."

Anyone infected didn’t just crave affection—they needed it, like oxygen, like water, like a reason to live. Love wasn’t an emotion anymore; it was hunger. A sickness that turned even the kindest souls into unrecognizable demons with one singular goal: claim, possess, devour.

They became killers for love.

Murderers in the name of devotion.

And you, the reclusive scientist, the unfeeling shut-in, the paranoid "loser" who had wasted her life avoiding people—

You were, somehow, the most normal person left.

Wasn't that hilarious?

It wasn’t the apocalypse you prepared for, but you adapted fast.

Because you had already prepared for everything.

Society? A joke. Socializing? A waste of time. Going outside? You’d rather gouge out your own eyes. What was the point? Every moment spent dealing with another human being was a moment spent losing brain cells.

So you did what any sane, logical, perfectly rational person would do. You locked yourself in your basement, poured your life into scientific research, and became a competitive hardcore gamer on the side—because who needed real friends when you had anonymous usernames to destroy in ranked matches?

Your bunker was stocked. Your defenses were up. A lifetime of being dismissed as a socially inept loser had finally paid off. You were immune, too, but not because of genetics or luck—you were just dead inside. No feelings? No infection. A win for your emotional stuntedness.

You should’ve been safe.

And then they came.

Great. Another reason to hate Valentine’s Day.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Boss who still forces you to clock in despite the apocalypse. Who calls you at ungodly hours with urgent demands, despite there being no more laws, no more corporations, no more hierarchy—just the last vestiges of his god complex refusing to die.

♡ Yandere! Boss who never celebrated Valentine's Day. Too busy grinding, too busy winning, too busy treating human relationships like expendable stock options.

♡ Yandere! Boss who always thought the holiday was pathetic, a weak man’s excuse to grovel for attention. That was, of course, until the virus. Now, Valentine’s Day is a state-mandated holiday. Forced festivities, sickly sweet declarations, and the absolute worst part—he has to participate.

♡ Yandere! Boss who takes it as seriously as a business merger. If he’s going to be forced into this, then he’s going to win Valentine’s Day.

You’re barely paying attention when he slides a box across the desk. You don’t even look up. “I don’t want it.”

He smiles. “You’ll want this one.”

You don’t. You really don’t. But you open it anyway.

Inside is a ring box.

You stare at it. Then at him. Then at it again.

♡ Yandere! Boss raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t you going to try it on?”

You pick up the ring delicately. Turn it over. Squint at the inscription inside.

“Oh,” you say flatly. “My name’s on this.”

“Of course.”

“No, I mean—it’s made of my name. Like, in bone.”

He folds his hands, smirking. “I figured you wouldn’t accept an engagement ring, so I made it special.”

You roll the ring between your fingers. It’s light. Suspiciously so. “And whose bones exactly did you use?”

“Whose do you want me to have used?”

You drop it immediately.

♡ Yandere! Boss laughs, plucking it up and slipping it onto your finger before you can protest. “Don’t lose it,” he says, voice like velvet. “It cost me quite a bit.”

And when you rip it off and throw it at his face, he catches it effortlessly.

“Now, now,” he chides. “If you keep rejecting me like this, I’ll have to find more ways to show you how much I care.”

Great. Fantastic. You were going to need more coffee.

♡ Yandere! Boss who believes this is the height of romance, who looks at you like he's waiting for praise, like he expects you to clasp the ring around your delicate finger and thank him for such a thoughtful gift.

"You will wear it," he informs you, adjusting his cuffs. "Consider it an accessory to your uniform."

"My... uniform?" you echo, bluntly.

"Your contract states that all employees must adhere to a strict dress code. That hasn't changed."

You stare deadpan at him. "What contract?"

"The one that legally binds you to me."

"...You mean the one that burned with the rest of the city?"

"The one I memorized, re-wrote by hand, and had laminated."

———

♡ Yandere! Neighbor who’s the kind of menace that thrives in a post-apocalyptic hellscape because it justifies all his worst behaviors. You were already suffering pre-virus—imagine living next door to a man who rings your doorbell at 3 AM because he 'forgot his keys' and needs to 'crash at your place' when you both know damn well he lives alone.

♡ Yandere! Neighbor who worked at a café with peak customer service skills, all sunshine and charm, as if he wasn’t the same bastard who stole your mail and laughed when you had to fight a rabid raccoon over your own packages. Turns out, he was also a serial killer. Ah, that explains why he was so good at making latte art. Steady hands.

♡ Yandere! Neighbor who still acts like life is just a quirky slice-of-life anime, despite the blood-soaked streets outside.

♡ Yandere! Neighbor who doesn’t just run the only functional café left—he practically owns it, like some twisted romance game NPC who refuses to acknowledge reality.

♡ Yandere! Neighbor who actually loves Valentine’s Day. Always has. Loves the chocolates, the flowers, the corny messages—but most of all, he loves the hunt.

♡ Yandere! Neighbor who goes all out with the decorations. Pink hearts, tacky cupids, streamers. He makes his cafe look like a Pinterest nightmare. And you, his most reluctant customer, get the special treatment.

♡ Yandere! Neighbor knocks on your door on Valentine’s Day. You consider not answering, but then he kicks the door in.

“Delivery!” he sings, shoving a massive, suspiciously leaking gift box into your arms.

♡ Yandere! Neighbor who doesn’t understand why you look at him like that. You always give him that look—like you’re two seconds away from dropkicking him into the abyss.

You look down. Then up. “I’m not touching this.”

“But I wrapped it myself,” he whines.

“That’s what makes it worse.”

He pouts. “At least open it before you reject me so coldly.”

You sigh. The world is already a nightmare, and you might as well see what fresh horror awaits.

♡ Yandere! Neighbor who grins as he gestures to the heart-shaped box, red and gaudy, the kind of thing you’d find at a dollar store—except when you open it, the “chocolates” are… not chocolates. They’re actual, physical human teeth. A variety of them. Some still have bits of gum attached.

♡ Yandere! Neighbor who bursts out laughing when you glare down at the "chocolates", like you’re the weird one. “What? I collected them myself! It’s personal! Romantic!”

♡ Yandere! Neighbor who leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. “You wanna know which ones are mine?”

You slam the box shut and push it back toward him. “I hope you choke.”

He laughs, leaning in closer. “On your love?”

♡ Yandere! Neighbor who laughs when you glare, toss the box onto the bunker floor, and stomp over it like roadkill.

♡ Yandere! Neighbor who opts to present you with one more gift, a heart-shaped cake, homemade with love. You eye it suspiciously. He grins.

"Try it, sweetheart. You’re my taste tester, after all."

You stare at him. Then at the cake. Then back at him.

"Who did you kill for this?"

He just laughs.

You stare at him, unimpressed. He stares back, beaming.

“Eat up! It’s fresh.”

You’re so fucking tired.

———

♡ Yandere! Torture Professional who you consider an older brother, but he considers you his future wife. Who was weirdly doting, oddly protective, and just a little too interested in your well-being.

♡ Yandere! Torture Professional who you think is just a little too eccentric, but harmless. Who used to send you the occasional unsettling text—things like “Ever wonder how long someone can scream before they pass out?”—but you always wrote it off as him being quirky.

♡ Yandere! Torture Professional who, in hindsight, should have been more of a red flag than he was. Who got way too much enjoyment out of cutting people open. Who told you, once upon a time, that he "studied anatomy for fun" and you just thought he was a medical student.

♡ Yandere! Torture Professional who worked in interrogation before the world went to hell. Who still carries scalpels in his coat because old habits die hard.

♡ Yandere! Torture Professional who doesn’t really get the “boyfriend” part of “yandere boyfriend” and just assumes it means he gets to be creative.

♡ Yandere! Torture Professional who’s technically been your co-worker for years, but only in the loosest sense—he’s not really part of the science department, just the clean-up crew.

♡ Yandere! Torture Professional who actually considers you his greatest weakness. His one fatal flaw. His "little sister"—if, of course, little sisters were meant to be dissected with love and put back together with slightly modified parts.

His Valentine’s gift arrives in a steel box.

With a lock.

"If this is actually chocolate," you say, voice flat, "I'll be shocked."

"Oh, sweetheart," he hums, tilting his head, "you should know me better by now."

You don’t even want to open it, but he’s sitting there, waiting.

You crack it open.

It’s a spine. A full human spine, polished and arranged in the shape of a bow, like a demented art piece.

♡ Yandere! Torture Professional who watches you closely as you stare at the ‘gift’ with the deadest expression known to man. He wants to see if you’ll faint. You don’t. You never do. And he loves that about you.

♡ Yandere! Torture Professional who chuckles, resting his chin on his hand. "A shame," he muses. "I wanted to carve your name into it, but I thought I'd let you do the honors."

"Do you like it?" he asks, voice laced with amusement.

"No," you say flatly, dropping the gift onto the table like it personally offended you.

“C’mon, doll,” he says, voice all honey-sweet persuasion. “I put a lot of effort into it. Had to find the perfect one. Strong. Flexible. A real good match for you.”

You slam the box shut.

He tilts his head, considering. “Oh, wait. I forgot the bow.”

He pulls out a severed head from his duffel bag.

You try to leave the room.

He doesn't let you.

He decides to go for Attempt #2.

♡ Yandere! Torture Professional grabs and drags you inside another room, forcing you to sit on a chair, and claps his hands together like a magician unveiling his latest trick.

"Tada!"

You stare at the body strapped to the chair in front of you, gagged, trembling, eyes darting between you and him in terror.

♡ Yandere! Torture Professional who leans down and whispers, "You’ve been so stressed lately. So, I figured, why not give you something relaxing? Torture is incredibly cathartic, you know."

He presses a scalpel into your hand like an eager child handing over a crayon.

You look at the bound man, then at him, then at the scalpel.

You glance back at him. He grins back. “Isn’t it thoughtful? You can practice your anatomy studies on him! I even left his nerves intact, just for you.”

"I’m not participating in your therapy," you deadpan.

♡ Yandere! Torture Professional who pouts. "But it’s for you!"

"Return it."

He blinks. "Return him?"

"Yeah."

"That’s not really an option."

You blink at him. Slowly. "I'm reconsidering my stance on homicide."

"You always say that."

"And one day, I might actually follow through."

He beams. "That’s the spirit!"

———

♡ Yandere! Loner who is your roommate and unofficial apocalypse landlord.

♡ Yandere! Loner who barely speaks, barely interacts, and communicates mostly through nods, shrugs, and the occasional annoyed grunt.

♡ Yandere! Loner who doesn’t talk much but somehow always gets his point across. He used to be a punk goth who smoked on the fire escape and ignored the world, but now he’s the guy who handles all communication while you rot in the bunker like a gremlin.

♡ Yandere! Loner who never cared about the world even before the apocalypse. Who was content to stay inside, hacking security systems and wiping digital footprints while you made ramen for two and tried not to acknowledge how much you depended on him.

♡ Yandere! Loner who, after dealing with your other admirers, is honestly the most tolerable one. This should concern you.

♡ Yandere! Loner who does not care about the virus, does not care about the world ending, does not even care about you.

(Except for when you leave the bunker without telling him. Or talk to the neighbor too much. Or look at anyone but him. Then it’s a problem.)

♡ Yandere! Loner who acts like he doesn’t give a shit about you, but your supplies never run low, your weapons always have ammo, and if anyone ever gets too close? Well. They stop existing.

♡ Yandere! Loner who doesn’t do Valentine’s Day. Valentine's Day is a scam, a joke, a consumerist hellhole of forced sentimentality. He doesn’t do holidays. He doesn’t even acknowledge his own birthday.

♡ Yandere! Loner who, despite being the least expressive of them all, still participates in Valentine’s Day. Not because he cares about the holiday, but because everyone else is doing it and he refuses to be outdone.

♡ Yandere! Loner who somehow managed to get his hands on a plushie. In this hellscape. This absolute nightmare of a world.

♡ Yandere! Loner who shoves it at you, grumbling, "Took forever to find one that wasn’t covered in blood."

♡ Yandere! Loner who shifts uncomfortably as you hold the cute kitten plushie. It’s actually… normal? Soft?

Too good to be true.

You squeeze it. It beeps.

You glance at him. He avoids eye contact.

You unzip the plushie, revealing—

A grenade.

And human skin holding it together.

♡ Yandere! Loner who clears his throat. "…Ignore that."

You stare deadpan.

"What part of 'gift' involves explosives?"

You're not even going to question the stitched human skin. You didn't even want to know why the plushie still felt oddly soft and warm in your hands.

♡ Yandere! Loner who crosses his arms. "It’s multifunctional."

♡ Yandere! Loner who doesn't even react when you chuck the plushie across the room, watching it land face-first on the floor with a sickening thud.

♡ Yandere! Loner who, after a long silence, mutters, "Rude."

He decides to try his next attempt at impressing you.

♡ Yandere! Loner who throws a bag at you. No wrapping, no note, just a body bag.

You blink. Look at him. Look at the bag. Look at him again.

"…What the fuck."

"You said you had a problem with that guy, right?" He shrugs, crossing his arms nonchalantly. "Problem solved."

♡ Yandere! Loner who doesn’t even care if you appreciate the gesture. He’s not looking for a thank-you. Just confirmation that you understand.

You do. Unfortunately.

You put your head in your hands.

You need a new roommate.

────────────

Valentine's Day, in the apocalypse, is an absolute nightmare.

Normal people—if any still exist—would probably spend the day reminiscing about the past. Thinking about flowers, chocolates, candlelit dinners.

You, on the other hand, get body parts delivered to your doorstep like some kind of fucked-up Amazon Prime service.

Your stalkers—because, let’s be real, that’s what they are—seem to think this is perfectly normal. That nothing says "romance" like dismemberment, exsanguination, and ethically questionable corpse handling.

You, however, are beyond exhausted.

Maybe next year you’ll just dig a hole and die in it.

♡ A/N. I already have a Valentine's Day part scheduled. ... and my requests are closed. But fine, since it's a "holiday". A short drabble at least....

Yandere! Valentines Special

Novella : Red Roses, Black Hearts

This Valentine’s, your heart might be the last thing you give away.

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth , @elloredef , @mjsjshhd , @lem-hhn , @yuki-istired , @lilyalone , @starryperson , @yandreams-storageblog , @tiffyisme3760 , @songbirdgardensworld , @yune1337 , @mocalocha , @astreaaaaaa6

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4 [you are here]. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. ♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams. ♡ Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarian’s Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.

♡ Disclaimer. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblr’s link limitations. However, most long-form stories can be found here. If you're searching for a specific yandere or theme, this guide will help you navigate The Library of Forbidden Texts. Proceed with caution—these tales explore obsession, madness, and devotion in their rawest forms.

46 notes · View notes

minju4won · 6 hours ago

Text

— paparazzi

— when your relationship is discovered by the media.

enhypen hyung line x femreader

희승

your relationship was discreet, or at least that’s what you thought.

you and heeseung had started dating for about three and a half years. you and him had met through a mutual friend, even though you knew heeseung liked you, you hadn’t wanted to go out with him. and there was a reason.

heseung was an idol.

you knew what you would face, that’s why since you started feeling things for him, you walked away. but he didn’t give up, he wrote to you and called you to meet.

until he got tired.

at first you thought it was the best, but little by little you had no motivation to go out with your friends, you just wanted to be in the house and you didn’t even eat. you realized that you were going through a breakup of a relationship that you didn’t even have.

being alone made you realize that you were in love with heeseung. that even though you could live without him, heeseung was now a part of your life and your happiness.

that day you called him and confessed your feelings and your worries. that day heeseung went to your house and promised you that he would do everything possible so that their relationship was not revealed.

and so he did for three and a half years.

now you were trying to make some “cookies” if you could call it that.

“don’t put that on the cookies” you screamed laughing. “it’s going to be horrible”

heeseung ignored you and also put a couple of drops of spice to the cookies.

“i don’t know if you knew, but before being an idol i was a professional cook”

you rolled your eyes and approached him to take away his boat. “i’m serious.”

your boyfriend smiled when he saw you upset and grabbed you by the waist to start kissing you all over your face. you tried to look upset, but you couldn’t help but laugh at his kisses.

“if they are very spicy, you will eat it by yourself”

“if they are very spicy, i’ll make one just for you”

you let out a laugh when you saw how your boyfriend managed to disappear your little anger.

you felt the caresses he was giving you on your waist and you brought your face closer to kiss him.

but his phone had ringed.

“they calling you”

heeseung touched your forehead and stroked your cheek. “try not to burn the kitchen” you rolled your eyes and pushed him. you saw how your boyfriend left the kitchen and you put the cookies in the oven.

heeseung closed the door of the room while he saw who was calling him, he frowned as he accepted the call.

“jungwon? something happened?”

heeseung tried not to be anxious by not hearing anything from jungwon. only silence. something serious had happened. very serious.

“they know” heeseung heard. “they know about your relationship with y/n.”

suddenly, heeseung’s heart had stopped.

“what are you talking about, jungwon?” he said shouting under his breath, he didn’t want you to find out, not at that moment.

“a sasaeng, hyung. she’s been chasing you for several months. there are photos of you kissing, holding hands.” heeseung sat on the bed and rested his hands on his knees. this couldn’t be happening. one of the reasons why you didn’t want to be with him was this, now what was he going to do? “but this is not the worst, hyung. people have leaked her information: her social networks, her family, her identity. everything is full of hatred.”

heeseung let out a sigh. he was shaking. he didn’t know how you were going to react, were you going to get away from him? were you going to cut with him? heeseung couldn’t stand losing you. You were the love of his life.

“i’m sorry, heeseung” jungwon said.

“don’t worry. i will fix that”

heeseung hung up the call and ran his hand over his face, worried. not only had their relationship been discovered, your personal information had been leaked. this was going to affect you in your life itself. he didn’t know what to do.

he didn’t know what to do to avoid this, he had no power over this situation.

heeseung cursed himself for not having been more careful, he knew they could find out. but when you told him to go for a walk at night, with your eyes full of love, he couldn’t help but accept.

he got up from the table and took a deep breath, he couldn’t convey his anxiety to you. as he left the room, he looked at you eating an apple while you saw the cookies inside the oven.

he approached you and grabbed you by the waist to kiss you on the forehead.

“we need to talk”

you looked at him with a frown, thousands of situations began to appear in your head, but not the real one.

“did something happen in the company, with the members? is your mom okay?”

your boyfriend smiled when he heard you and put his hand on your lower back, guiding you to the living room. you didn’t receive an answer from him, which made you more anxious.

heeseung sat next to you and took your hand to start caressing it. his heart was about to come out of his chest, he didn’t know how your reaction was going to be.

“sweetie” he whispered sadly. “being an idol is very difficult, you have no life, no privacy. your life is managed both by the company and by the fans. the only thing that has kept me in this industry has been my members and my dreams. despite this, my life since i was an idol began to get worse, i couldn’t sleep, i didn’t have a motivation: until I met you. my life began to make sense since I saw you, i began to improve both my professional and personal life, i could sleep properly. all because i knew you”

you narrowed your eyes. you didn’t know where he wanted to go. did he want to break it with you?

“the day we became a couple i promised you that i was going to protect you, that our relationship was not going to be relieved.” heeseung sighed seriously. “until today i did it, and i’m very sorry. i couldn’t help it”

“w-what, heeseung? what are you talking about?”

“our relationship has been relieved, y/n”

you frowned when you heard him, waiting for him to laugh like one of his thousands of jokes. that he hugged you while whispering to you that it was not true. however, you only received a couple of tears.

you took your phone from the table and turned it on. thousands of notifications. you went to twitter and you could see both the name and your boyfriend’s in trends.

this couldn’t be happening.

@/engene4life what would heeseung be with that girl? she’s very ugly for him. he deserves something better lol

@/heeseungbaaambi I think that girl wants to take advantage of him... clearly her family is low-income and heeseung only saw her for something else #HYBEWEWANTANSWER

@/baeen tf you care idols are humans too!

@/engphynen ican’t believe heeseung betrayed us like that? is he an idol????? he shouldn’t have a partner and even less with that whore. if he wants to continue with his career he should break up with that stupid bitch. i’m just saying

tears were running down your cheeks too quickly, thousands of tweets in hatred towards you and your partner. thousands of comments messing with your physique, edited photos of you…

“heeseung”

“darling, i will fix that, i promise”

fat, ugly, whore. those were the words you were seeing. was all that you?

heeseung snatched your phone and hid it in his pocket. he caressed your cheek while wiping your tears with his fingers.

you separated from him abruptly and dried your tears. your boyfriend looked at you with a frown, that was the reaction he feared the most.

“go”

“what?”

“go to hybe, heeseung. tell them to delete my photos, to demand those comments. i don’t know if i can continue our relationship if they don’t do nothing”

“what?” no, no, no. they will eliminate all their comments, y/n. you have to be strong, okay? this is a relationship of two, y/n. we’ll both get better together, yes?”

the next few weeks were horrible, you didn’t get out of bed and hopefully you saw the sun. all those comments had affected you in an insane way. you didn’t stop seeing him, you didn’t stop seeing yourself in the mirror. you didn’t stop judging yourself.

heeseung had accompanied you at all times, giving you strength and distracting you from the phone. the company had not supported him, that’s why the comments were getting bigger and bigger.

heeseung didn’t know what to do. for this very reason, he had decided to do everything himself.

you were lying in bed watching the comments until you found that.

@/loveengene wtfffff he is so inlove omg please let him be happy. love for both<3

@/fuckheeseung fuck him fuck enhypen i can’t stan a idol with gf fuck heeseung

@/enh11pen whoever doesn’t support heeseung is not a real engene

@/noviadejakey lo ridículas q son las engene no las aguanto. creéis q ibais a tener una oportunidad con heeseung? ridículas envidiosas

engene

Weeks ago, unfortunately, my private life has been exposed to the public. I am very sorry for the damage caused to my fans by this abrupt, unexpected news. I just want to tell you that my love for my fans will not change, not even for my memberss.

I met my girlfriend years ago. I started a relationship with her because she made me happy, because I kept talking about her. Today I love her, and I can’t see her sad. I can’t stand to see her lying in bed watching her hateful comments. I can’t see her suffer, for this very reason, I ask with all my heart that you stop harassing her, hating her and spreading her face on social networks. I ask you in another way. The people who will continue to say it, by my decision and without the company’s support, I will sue them. I don’t want to get to that point, that’s why I ask you to do it the first way. Thank you.

with love towards my engenes.

heeseung

제이

you didn’t even know how you had ended up in a relationship with jongseong.

you worked in the Prada store as a clerk for five years, at least. of all your three years, you met jongseong a year after working there.

the first time he went to the store, it was with his members. everything was full of fans outside, it seemed incredible to you, it was the first time you met a celebrity of that size. despite being impressed, you never noticed Jay in that first meeting.

on the contrary of you, you had captivated hongseong from the first moment he entered the store. seeing your smile and your elegance was something that did not happen unexpected to him. for this very reason, he had started to visit the store more often, at first it was once a month, then once every three weeks until he went every week.

at first it seemed strange to you to see him so often alone, but he had the perfect excuse. he was an ambassador and needed to have new clothes and accessories whenever he could.

but you could notice that he was lying when you saw how he tried to flirt with you.

the first time he asked you to go out you rejected him, how were you going to go out with an idol? that was forbidden for both you and him. but Jay didn’t give up. he had asked you exactly ten times to have a date, when he no longer had hope, in the tenth you had accepted.

you hadn’t had many dates, but it was definitely the best. he treated you like a princess and at the same time made you laugh, you didn’t regret having had that date with him.

you always talked to him about that, as you were both nervous and his stuttered. you remembered it as if it were yesterday, but four years had passed.

now you were in a luxurious hotel with your boyfriend. it was the week of your anniversary, and by your boyfriend’s occurrence, right now they were in Japan in one of the best hotels in the country. you didn’t like to spend too much, that’s why you had told him to go to a cheaper one, but according to him, you deserved that and more.

right now you were in the private pool of his room, sitting on his lap and your arms around his neck. while you felt his kisses on your neck.

“please”

you shook your head. “jay, our flight leaves in two hours, we have to leave.” you said, however, you didn’t move.

“the airport is twenty minutes away, princess”

“it will be quickly”

“jongseong”

“i need you, y/n”

you rolled your eyes when you heard him and got up from his lap. “i’ll go pack the suitcase, darling. because we haven’t done it either.” you gave him a goodbye kiss and caressed his cheek. “in our home i’ll reward you”

you left the pool and approached the room, where you began to organize your things. you couldn’t help but feel bad about the state you left your boyfriend, but you couldn’t miss that flight. tomorrow you had to work first thing in the morning, and you wanted to rest a little.

when you finished putting everything in the suitcase, you went to take a bath and now you were in the living room while you waited for your boyfriend to get dressed.

you frowned when you saw your boyfriend’s name trending on twitter. had something happened? you didn’t know, nor did you want to know. you didn’t get involved in knowing what was happening, you and your boyfriend agreed not to use your cell phones on this little vacation.

you got up from the couch when you felt your boyfriend’s presence behind you and approached him.

“go down, princess. i’ll take down the suitcases”

you nodded and now you were in the elevator going down to the ground floor of the hotel. I wish you had stayed longer. it was the perfect plan, you and him, with no one around and without having to work.

probably in a few years they can be like this.

when you got out of the elevator you frowned when you saw thousands of paparapzis outside the hotel. was there a celebrity? or a group? you didn’t know, you could only lower your cap to cover your face more.

you approached the exit and you couldn’t but frown when you saw how all of them approached you.

“y/n!”

“y/n come here!”

how did they know your names? why...?

“is it true that you’re dating the member of Enhypen, Jay?”

“what?” you murmured.

“there are photos of you two kissing!”

you could only turn around and enter the building, turning your back on them. they had found out, but, how? you had been cautious in everything. you had taken different flights, you had arrived at different times and you didn’t even leave the house often for fear of being caught.

but here they were.

you took your cell phone and entered twitter, seeing how your relationship had been confirmed by dispatch.

@/jaywife I think it’s unacceptable that he has a girlfriend, after all he chose to be an idol so he lost that right. we don’t accept that relationship #HYBEDOSOMETHING

@/enhypen4life So he took her to one of the best hotels in Japan? That has a name: that whore is taking advantage of Jay, I hope Hybe takes action against this

@/jungwon4jay I’m so disappointed:( I thought he was different

@/loveenhypen I’m very sorry but if he’s going to continue in that relationship, it’s best that he leaves the group

you looked up when you heard your name and saw your boyfriend approaching you, worried.

“what happened, love?”

“they know about us”

you saw how your boyfriend frowned.

“what?”

you picked up your cell phone and put it in his face, showing him all the comments and the publication of their relationship.

“they’re calling me a whore and taken advantage of, jongseong. i’m not like that. i’m not taking advantage of you, i love you.”

jay bent down and grabbed your hand, trying to comfort while watching all the comments.

“i know, princess, i know. they don’t know nothing about our relationships”

“they’re asking for you to leave the group if you’re still with me, Jay. i know how much you care about your members and your dreams, i can’t allow this from you, it’s better to separate, for the best of both of us.”

“princess, don’t say that” he said taking the tears off your cheeks. “we will both get over this, together. you can’t say that the best thing will be to separate so that i can fulfill my dreams when you are also part of my dreams. i want to marry you and have children with you. those are also my dreams.”

“jongseong…”

“please, come with me”

doubtful, you got up and he positioned you behind him while they went to the exit. when you left, you could hear all the paparapzis shouting your names, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“i want to apologize to my fans for causing a stir at this new news. i know they don’t deserve this because of the love they give both me and my members. for this very reason, I want to clarify the rumors. yes, i do have a girlfriend, and i’m completely in love with her. i can’t stand to see her sad for hate comments made by people full of hatred. for this very reason, i want to say that I will sue all those people who hurt both me and my partner. my partner is not a public face, he doesn’t have to endure all the hatred of social networks. engene, i love my partner, for this very reason i ask for understanding from you, my love for you will never change. please, leave her alone. thank you.”

제이크

you knew jake all your life, specifically from the age of eight.

the first time you saw him was at school, seeing a new child in the middle of the school year was something strange for you and your classmates, but that didn’t stop you from approaching him. the first time you spoke to him he ignored you, the second time he gave you an uncomfortable smile, the third time he was the one who spoke to you.

since that day, jake and your little had separated. as they grew up, the friendship was changing, and your feelings too. there began to be mischievous looks and smiles, you justified it with hormones, after all it was normal in adolescence.

you thought it was going to disappear over time, that is, jake was your best friend.

that’s what you thought, until you started to get jealous when he talked to other girls.

you didn’t want to ruin your friendship with him, that’s why you decided to get away. He was your best friend, you couldn’t ruin it because of a feeling that could disappear. you were going to do it, what you didn’t expect was for jake to declare his feelings to you. jake liked you, you were excited.

what you didn’t expect was that the next day he would disappear.

you didn’t hear anything from him for years, until you found out that he had debuted in a kpop group. you felt happy for him, you thought you were never going to see him again. until you played on an erasmus trip to South Korea.

you weren’t so unlucky, were you? well, you saw jake in a supermarket.

at first he didn’t recognize you, until he saw your discomfort. he approached you, with the opportunity to talk to you, what he didn’t expect is that you were going to run, but what you didn’t expect was that he would chase you.

that day he apologized to you thousands of times, in order to be able to return to his friendship as before. you didn’t know why, but you forgave him.

jake chased you so much that now you had a relationship with him.

now you were in front of the Han River in front of your boyfriend, kissing him around his face.

“i will miss you, jakey” you murmured between kisses.

when your erasmus year ended, you had to go back to australia, for this very reason, you had a long-distance relationship with Jake. but he paid for a flight once a month.

your boyfriend grabbed your hand and kissed it. “someday we will live together, and you will have a ring on your finger.”

“jake, you are a idol”

“i’m a idol and i’ll marry to you”

you rolled your eyes and kissed him on the lips. being in Australia without jake, without his hugs, without his kisses, without him. you didn’t know how you could stand it.

“we have to return to the hotel, baby. your flight it’s at 8 in the morning.”

you got up from the bench and they approached your boyfriend’s car, once started, jake had his hand on your thigh and your head was resting on the window with your eyes closed.

suddenly, you heard some of the songs from your boyfriend’s group.

“oh my god you are so egocentric” you murmured.

“it’s the radio, babe!” he said laughing.

“this song its ‘bite me’ by enhypen. one of the most famous groups both in Korea and internationally, but, some fans wonder, how is the personal life of the members of the famous band enhypen? today at midnight, images of the member jake with a girl holding hands have come out. is this the girlfriend of the famous enhypen member?”

your heart had stopped, your hands were sweating and your words didn’t come out of your mouth. but not only you, Jake had stopped the car and turned off the radio with anger.

@/jakeslave jake its mine bitch fuck you

@/loveenhypen i cannot fuckin believe it?? our jake with a gf? that’s so disapointed man

@/kpoplover lol that’s false jake will never do that. he will never date with a fuckin fat whore.

those were few messages of the hundreds that were reaching you. your cell phone was snatched by your boyfriend and your tears kissed by him.

“jakey, they are so mean to me”

“they are jelaous of you babe, don’t be bother of that people”

you let out a sob when you remembered all the comments you read. were you fat? were you insufficient for jake? those insecurities haunted you since you were a teenager, and seeing them again had affected you.

“okey babe, i will do something” he said taking out his phone and putting it horizontally. “hi engene, i’m sorry for the hours, but I couldn’t help but do a live when i saw the situation at this time.” jake took your hand and kissed it in front of the live. “guys, I’m in love. i’m dating the woman i’ve always dreamed of and with whom i’m going to marry, and I’m not going to allow some of you to hurt her. i know it’s sudden news and it can be harmful to some of you, but i can’t help it. that’s why i want to ask for your understanding and stop throwing hate to my girlfriend, please. i love you engene and good night.”

성훈

for some reason, you hated Sunghoon. He was so perfect, both in his grades and in his personal life. he was a fucking professional skater, he had his life solved.

you hated him because even though you treated him badly, he never did anything bad to you, on the contrary, he always treated you well, like the gentleman he was.

once school was over, you could only celebrate that you were not going to see him anymore. until you found out that the girl you were tutoring at her house was the sister of the fuckin park sunghoon.

thanks to this you found out that Sunghoon had debuted as an idol, leaving his artistic life behind. you couldn’t help but insult him from below, he could be in the Olympic Games winning medals, however, he decided to be under an enslaved system.

but you love yeji, his sister, you loved teaching her and you loved talking to her. but you had started to hate going to their houses because although sunghoon no longer lived there, apparently every time you went he was always sitting on the couch.

he was so arrogant.

you hated how he made fun of you, you hated how he looked at you gracefully. you hated that he always answered you coldly, you hated everything about him.

one day you had arrived at their houses angry, and of course, he was there. you had calmly tried to explain the math problems to his sister, but you had failed. for that very reason, you had gone to the kitchen to drink some water, and of course, sunghoon was after you.

that day he had asked you for explanations of your behavior, but you were so angry that you let him go of what you felt for him. you hated him, but at the same time you couldn’t stop your heart from jumping every time he looked at you, that you loved every time he paid attention to you. that the anger you felt was all his fault.

you thought he was going to get angry, or that he was going to kick you out of the house, but he just said:

“you are so pretty when you’re mad”

from that day, your relationship with him began, and you didn’t regret it.

but there was a problem, sunghoon was an idol. and your relationship discovered.

@/sunghoonwife sunghoon is literally a princes and he is dating with that… woman?

@/lovenhypen i expected somebody better than her lmao she is so ugly

@/kpopinformation i have nothing to say…

today was supposed to be a nice day, you were going to go to your boyfriend’s concert in the United States, however, everything exploded at midnight.

and those comments were affecting you more than they should.

you were looking at yourself in the mirror. they were right, you didn’t deserve to be with someone like him, you didn’t deserve Sunghoon. he deserved a prettier and more charming woman.

you heard how the door opened and you saw through the mirror as your boyfriend approached you and hugged you from behind.

“sunghoon, am i ugly?”

“what? no, sweetie, don’t look at those comments”

“but they all say the same”

“you are the most beautiful woman that i see. you are so beautiful that I still can’t believe you’re mine, you’re so beautiful that I don’t deserve you. you’re mine and I’m yours. none of those comments will make your beauty disappear.”

“oh sunghoon” you said hugging him and resting your head on his shoulder. “i’m so sorry for not being able to go to your concert”

“don’t worry, baby. it’s not your fault”

after several words of comfort, sunghoon had left and now you were lying in the hotel room wrapped up from above. while on your cell phone you were watching a broadcast of your boyfriend’s group concert.

you wanted so much to go to that concert, and you felt so disappointed for not being able to go.

you were in the part where everyone dedicated words to their fans, and after so much intrigue, it was your boyfriend’s turn.

“engene, thank you very much for coming to today’s concert, i feel honored that after everything that has happened you still decide to come to us. last night’s news may disconcert you, but, in fact, i know that some people were bothered by the news, but i really love my girlfriend very much. i love her in a way that i have never felt in my life, she is the love of my life. i don’t like to see her suffer, please, i ask you respect for my privacy as well as hers. stop commenting bad comments towards her. please send us love, both to her and my members.”

#enhypen #enhypen headcanons #enhypen heeseung #enhypen imagines #enhypen jake #enhypen jay #enhypen reactions #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen x female reader #enhypen x reader #heeseung x reader #jay x reader #jongseong x reader #jake x reader #jaehyun x reader #sunghoon x reader

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