#staying close to him until he stops shaking

[p1girlfriend]

protective!f1 grid x reader

lando norris a guy touches your waist at an event and Lando sees red you blink and suddenly he’s between you two, arm firm around you

“did you not see her face? she was uncomfortable.” his tone is calm. too calm. you swear his hand doesn’t leave your lower back all night “stay close, yeah? just so I don’t have to commit a crime.”

oscar piastri someone makes a slick comment about you on social media he quotes it with a “say it again and I’ll have your name on legal paperwork :)” in real life? he holds your hand tighter in crowded places, body always angled toward you he doesn’t get loud — he gets scary quiet and later whispers,

“no one touches you. no one talks about you like that.”

charles leclerc you’re flustered during a chaotic media event he steps in front of the cameras like a shield, takes your hand and mutters in French,

“breathe. i’ve got you.” he never raises his voice, but the look in his eyes shuts everyone up if someone’s rude? he stares them down like “say it again. i dare you.” and then walks you away, brushing your hair back like “they don’t matter. you do.”

carlos sainz he hears someone say “you’re just dating him for clout” he stops in his tracks. turns.

“care to repeat that?” one hand around your waist, the other not shaking because he’s holding it together he’s got “don’t mess with what’s mine” energy and later tells you, “you never have to defend yourself. not when I’m here.”

lewis hamilton he sees you uncomfortable across the room and is by your side in three seconds flat

“you okay, love?” says it sweet — but his eyes scan the situation like a bodyguard if someone pushes a boundary, he steps in calm. firm. deadly “respect her, or leave.” and then soft again, thumb on your cheek “you come before everything.”

daniel ricciardo someone makes a crude joke about you he laughs at first — then stops the room goes quiet

“nah, mate. not her. not ever.” later he cups your face and murmurs, “no one talks about my girl like that. i’d burn the room down first.” protective but still smiling still unhinged enough to scare someone into wetting their pants

max verstappen says nothing when someone steps too close just walks up behind you, grabs your hand, and glares at the guy until he backs off deadass pulls you into his lap in front of the entire paddock if needed

“no one gets near you. not without my eyes on them.” he doesn't even realize how territorial he sounds you: “...you good?” him: “i’m perfect. you’re safe. that’s what matters.”

gabriel bortoleto soft but FIRM a man stares too long and Gabi immediately shifts in front of you

“can I help you?” he doesn’t like to cause scenes — but he will if it means protecting your comfort he holds you for a long time after “i saw your face. i know what that felt like. i’m sorry.” kisses your knuckles and mutters in Portuguese about how lucky he is you’re his

franco colapinto protective in a quiet fury kind of way someone bumps you at a party and doesn’t apologize he’s immediately grabbing your hand and pulling you away

“i’ll make sure you don’t have to deal with that again.” later: “i don’t want anyone near you who doesn’t treat you like you’re gold.” and he means it.

lance stroll he doesn’t say much he just appears, silently loops his arm around your shoulders and glares at whoever’s making you feel uncomfortable when you’re safe again, he presses a soft kiss to your temple

“if you ever feel off, you tell me. even if it’s small. especially if it’s small.” would literally throw hands in a designer suit if someone crossed a line

©p1girlfriend | requested | requests open!

[confessionsandcreampies]

s. nagi relationship headcanons

“too much work… just stay here.”—nagi is a human weighted blanket. he pulls you into bed and traps you with his limbs. you’re not escaping. “you smell nice,” he murmurs into your hair. “let’s nap for, like… forever, yeah?”

he makes you sit on his lap when he games—he’s not letting go of the controller, but you? you better be close. even if he’s focused, he absentmindedly kisses your shoulder or rests his chin on your head. if you shift too much, he mumbles, “stop squirming. you feel good there.”

he shares all his snacks with you—he’ll ignore anyone else asking for a sip of his drink or a bite of his candy, but if you ask? he’ll pop it into your mouth himself. even licks your lips after with zero shame.

late-night honesty hours—when the world is quiet and he’s finally alone with you, nagi gets weirdly soft. he brushes your hair back and whispers things like, “i think i’d quit football if you asked me to,” or “you’re the only thing i wanna work hard for.”

texts you mid-practice: “this sucks. miss u.”—he never used to message anyone during training. now he sends blurry selfies and pouting emojis like, “coach is yelling again. i want your thighs.”

slow and deep, unless you challenge him—he’s a lazy lover, until you make a smart comment like “is that all you’ve got?” suddenly you’re bent over, ass red, and nagi’s lazily groaning, “guess i gotta shut you up now, huh?”

he’s actually insanely observant—you think he’s spaced out? wrong. he remembers exactly where you gasp when he licks, how your legs shake when he hits that one angle, the way your nails dig in before you come. he uses it all.

lazy dom energy—he doesn’t move much unless he has to. he’ll have you ride him while he lays back, big hands gripping your hips, voice all husky. “c’mon baby… use me. i’ll help if you beg.”

“one more round…”—aftercare? that’s when he pulls you close, kisses your face, and mutters, “still kinda hard though. you up for overtime?” he’ll smile all sleepy and smug while he pushes back inside you.

loves it when you take control, but turns the tables fast—you think you’re in charge when you climb on top, until he grabs your wrists, flips you onto your back, and whispers in your ear, “that was cute. my turn now.”

bath sex king—he loves soaking in hot water with you. if you’re sitting between his legs, back against his chest, his fingers will wander under the bubbles until you’re squirming. “what?” he murmurs, “feels nice, doesn’t it?”

obsessively addicted to your moans—he’ll stop mid-thrust, dead serious, and say, “say that again.” if you cry out his name a certain way? he loses rhythm. gets breathless. buries his face in your neck and groans, “you’re not fair…”

[flowergirl1243]

soft launch season - [part four]

SUMMARY: when Lando Norris' notorious party boy reputation may be too far out of control to save, you step in to save his image (and maybe his heart).

PAIRING: lando norris x fem!reader

part one part two part three part four part five part six

ACT 4: GRID SHOW

Liked by lando, oscarpiastri and others ynusername first grand prix, kinda nervy

lando didn’t know spectators could make the drivers more nervous than the track tbh

user22 her debut. their debut. our debut.

user23 what is life. i may have passed away

They found a corner.

Not a glamorous one. Just a sliver of shade behind the motorhome, out of sight from cameras and engineers and the constant hum of nerves. The sun was already high, bouncing off the asphalt, casting sharp lines across the ground. The sound of zippers, tools clinking, voices through radios, all of it was beginning to rise around them like pressure.

But here?

Here it was still quiet.

Lando stood in front of her, half-dressed in his fireproofs, race suit peeled down to his waist. He smelled like sunblock and heat. His hair was still damp from the ice towel they’d thrown at him earlier. She reached out and fixed the collar of his base layer, even though it didn’t need fixing.

“You good?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yeah. You?”

He gave her a look, boyish, crooked, transparent. “Lying.”

She smiled. “Okay, a little nervy.”

He leaned in, pressed his forehead against hers.

“I’m the one strapping into a car that could turn me into a crumpled soda can,” he whispered. “You don’t get to be more nervous than me.”

Her hands stayed by her sides, like she didn’t want to make a scene, even here. But he didn’t care.

He brushed his nose against hers. Breathed her in.

This close, she smelled like summer and and that hotel shampoo she always complained about and everything right in life. He didn’t want to step away. Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

“Be safe, okay?”

“I always am.”

“You’re not, though.”

He smiled, a real one this time. Tired and a little fragile.

“I will be today,” he said. “You’re here.”

She didn’t kiss him. Didn’t need to.

Just held his gaze for a second longer than anyone else ever did. And then let him go.

He turned away first, but only after she squeezed his hand.

Then let go, slowly, like it hurt, and walked away.

But he didn’t stop feeling her, not for the rest of the day.

She didn’t scream when he crossed the finish line.

Everyone else did, the garage erupted, people grabbing each other, radios blaring, team gear flying into the air, but she just stood there, hands to her mouth, eyes wide, frozen like her heart couldn’t catch up with what just happened.

He won.

He actually won.

The final lap had felt like a dream. Like something too fragile to touch. The way he held off the Ferrari, the precision of every corner, every braking zone, she’d never seen him like that. Sharp. Focused. Ruthless. Untouchable.

And then the radio crackled in the background, Lando’s voice hoarse and disbelieving:

“Monaco, baby!”

“P1, mate. That’s a win. That’s a win.”

It hit her all at once. The noise, the relief, the tears she hadn’t even realised were welling up in her eyes. Her fingers were shaking. Her throat ached.

People were yelling, hugging, climbing the pit wall.

And then, through it all, she saw him, helmet in one hand, suit half unzipped, running.

Not walking.

Not smiling for the cameras.

Running. Straight past every mic and mechanic, eyes scanning the crowd like he couldn’t breathe until he found her.

And then he did.

He didn’t slow down. Just pulled her into his arms with a desperate kind of urgency, like he was trying to hold onto something real before it slipped away.

His body was warm against hers, solid and steady, grounding him. She could feel the rapid beat of his heart, thudding like a drum beneath her hand.

His forehead dropped to her temple, breath ragged and uneven.

“You’re my luck,” he whispered, voice thick. “I needed you here."

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, voice low and trembling just a little.

She looked up, searching his eyes as if she was measuring the truth behind the question.

“Yes,” she breathed.

His hands moved gently, one slid from her waist up to cup the back of her neck, fingers threading into the loose strands of hair there. The other settled on her hip, steady and grounding.

He leaned in slowly, letting the moment stretch between them, the noise of the crowd fading to a dull hum.

Their lips met, soft, tentative at first, before the quiet urgency beneath it pulled them closer. His touch was careful but certain, his hands holding her like she was the only thing that mattered in the world.

When they finally parted, his forehead stayed pressed against hers, breath mingling.

No words were needed. Everything they hadn’t said was there, in the lingering warmth of his hands, the steady beat of their hearts, and the way they fit together like something real finally taking shape.

Liked by mclaren, maxverstappen1 and others lando monaco 📷

ynusername there's no peace like you 🤍

user24 they're GONE. they are in LOVE.

user25 i need what they have desperately

The city outside was quiet now. Monaco’s usual hum of traffic and distant laughter had faded into soft whispers carried by the cool night breeze. Inside his apartment, the low light cast golden pools across the room, softening the edges of everything.

She was curled up on the couch, wrapped in one of his oversized hoodies, the one with the faint smell of leather and motor oil that somehow smelled like home. The sleeves swallowed her hands, and she kept pulling them tighter around her fingers, like holding onto the fabric might hold back all the noise and chaos of the day.

He stood in the kitchen, absently stirring his tea, but his eyes never left her. The way she sat there, small and a little vulnerable, made his chest tighten with something he wasn’t ready to name.

He took a slow, deliberate step toward the couch, the quiet creak of his shoes barely noticeable, but in this stillness, it felt like thunder.

Sitting down beside her, he let his shoulder brush against hers. The contact was small, but it made her still. His fingers twitched, almost like they wanted to reach out but were waiting for permission.

When he finally did, his hand slid over hers, thumb brushing her knuckles softly. She didn’t pull away. Instead, her fingers curled around his, tentative at first, then firmer, as if she was afraid to let go.

“You were incredible today,” she said, voice soft, almost a whisper, like she was telling a secret just to him.

He chuckled quietly, the sound low and warm. “I only raced hard because I wanted you to see it.”

Her eyes met his, wide and shimmering in the soft light. “I saw everything. You were...unstoppable.”

The way she looked at him, like he was the only thing she’d been waiting for, made his throat tighten. He shifted just enough to wrap an arm around her, pulling her a little closer without breaking the fragile calm.

She leaned into him, her head resting lightly against his chest, breath warm and steady. He could feel the rise and fall of her breathing, a quiet rhythm that somehow slowed the pounding of his own heart.

For a while, they sat like that, wrapped in the kind of silence that didn’t need filling. The soft glow of the lamp, the faint scent of her shampoo mixed with the leather on his jacket, the comforting weight of her body against his, all of it made everything else fade away.

She lifted her head just enough to look up at him, eyes full of something that made his heart catch.

“Stay with me,” she whispered.

He didn’t hesitate. His hand cupped her cheek, thumb tracing the line of her jaw with infinite care.

“Always,” he said, voice low and sure.

He leaned down slowly, brushing his forehead against hers, savoring the small heat between them. His fingers tangled in her hair, gentle and possessive, holding her close as their lips met in a kiss that was soft but full of everything they hadn’t said yet, hope, fear, promise, and something dangerously like love.

When they finally parted, they stayed close, foreheads touching, breaths mingling in the quiet night.

And in that stillness, surrounded by the calm after the storm, they found a kind of peace neither had been expecting, but both desperately needed.

I actually can't, I had to redo this at least ten times. But anything for the grind. Essentially, I never sleep! Anyways, as always, let me know if you have suggestions or requests for anything else! Also, if you want to join the taglist, as well!!

taglist

@sol3chu, @charlesgirl16, @motorsp0rt, @imdyinghelpplease, @vampgege, @angeltroian, @ceekokocee15, @esw1012, @charlottes-ngvot, @janonymus0

[neonbonded]

Late Isn’t Just Late—Not When It’s You

♡ ft. Caleb, Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne, Sylus x reader ♡ cw: emotional panic, protective husband-core, soft fear turned desperate kisses, subtle possessiveness, implied spicy aftermath ♡ a/n: you didn’t think it was a big deal. your phone died, you stayed out a little too long, lost track of time. But for them? it was hours of empty rooms, worst-case scenarios on repeat, and the sick, cold feeling of what if you never came back? PC: @KikiZhouU on X

Caleb

It’s well past midnight when you finally push the door open.

You’re not trying to be quiet—just tired. The kind of heavy, achy tired that sinks into your bones after a long day out. You didn’t mean to be gone so long. Didn’t think to text after your phone died. Didn’t realize how dark it had gotten.

Until you walk in and see him.

Caleb’s on the couch—still in his jeans and t-shirt from hours ago. Shoes half-kicked off. Hair a mess from running his hands through it. One foot taps the floor in this tense, uneven rhythm that only stops when the door clicks shut behind you.

His head snaps up.

“Where the hell were you?” he blurts.

You blink. “I—babe, I was just at Tara’s. My phone died—”

He exhales like he’s been punched. Closes his eyes. For a second it looks like he might actually get angry—like he’s gearing up for a frustrated rant.

But when he stands, it’s not anger in his face.

It’s relief. Blazing, gut-deep, almost painful relief.

He crosses the room in two strides, grabs your shoulders, and pulls you into him so hard you almost stumble. One hand cradles the back of your head, the other grips your waist like he’s terrified you’ll vanish again.

“You didn’t text. You always text,” he breathes into your hair. “I didn’t know if—what if something happened? What if someone—”

“Caleb—” you start, but he’s already shaking his head.

“You can’t do that to me, sweetheart. Not you. I can’t—I was picturing every damn thing that could’ve gone wrong. And then I kept trying to tell myself I was overreacting, but—”

He pulls back just enough to see your face. His eyes are rimmed red, tired in a way that makes your heart twist.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Yeah, well…” His voice cracks on a laugh that’s way too close to a sob. “You did.”

And then he’s kissing you.

Hard. Messy. Hands on your face, tilting you just so he can deepen it, mouth moving against yours like he needs to memorize every taste. Like he’s trying to remind himself this is real—you’re real, warm and alive and back in his arms.

When he finally pulls away, breath ragged, he rests his forehead against yours.

“You come home late again,” he murmurs, voice low, rough, “I’m not letting you out of this house for a week. I’ll tie you to the bed if I have to.”

You smile, lips ghosting over his. “That a promise or a threat?”

His answering grin is shaky, but it’s there. His hands slip lower, grip tightening.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he breathes, eyes dark, “with you? It’s always both.”

Xavier

You expect darkness when you step inside.

It’s late. The streets were empty on your drive back. You were already rehearsing your apology for not calling—battery dead, didn’t think it’d get so late, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—when the door shuts behind you and you see it.

The lights are still on.

Soft golden glow spilling from the kitchen, faint shadows dancing in the hallway.

And then there’s him.

Xavier’s standing by the kitchen counter. Perfectly still. One hand resting over his mouth, the other braced against the countertop like he’s been leaning there for a long time.

His eyes snap to you the second you enter.

Not annoyed. Not relieved. Just… intense.

He doesn’t move right away. Just stares at you—like he’s making sure you’re actually real, not some trick of the light.

“Xavier,” you start softly. “I’m—”

Before you can finish, he pushes off the counter and closes the space between you in three long strides.

His hands come up, cup your face so carefully it makes your chest ache. His thumbs sweep over your cheeks, under your eyes, as if he’s checking for damage. As if you might vanish if he doesn’t hold you just right.

“You’re late,” he says, voice low. Controlled. But there’s something off in it—something rougher than usual.

“I know. My phone died, and then Tara wanted to—”

“I thought something happened.”

Your heart stutters.

His hands drop from your face only to slip around your waist, pulling you in until your chest is pressed to his. You feel his breath stutter against your temple.

“You’ve been gone for hours. I ran a hundred scenarios,” he admits quietly. “None of them ended well.”

You rest your hands over his chest. Feel the steady pound of his heart, faster than usual.

“Xavier… I’m okay. I promise.”

He nods—once. Short. Like he’s accepting it because he needs to, not because he’s fully convinced.

Then his head dips. His lips brush yours—light, almost cautious. Until your hands slide up into his hair and you kiss him back.

That’s when he breaks.

His arms tighten. The kiss goes from soft to starved in a heartbeat—his mouth moving over yours with a hunger he rarely shows, breath catching on tiny, almost desperate sounds that he swallows down.

When he finally pulls back, there’s the faintest tremor in his hands where they rest on your hips.

“You’ll tell me next time,” he says—not quite a question, not quite a demand.

You smile, breathless. “Of course.”

His eyes flick over your face, lingering on your lips.

“Good,” he murmurs. Then softer—closer to a confession than anything he’s ever said before:

“Because I’m not sure I’d survive it twice.”

Rafayel

You don’t even make it past the front door.

You’re halfway through dropping your keys in the bowl when Rafayel comes barreling out of the hallway—barefoot, hair mussed, paint still drying on the cuff of his sleeve.

He stops dead when he sees you. Stares. And for a terrifying half-second you think he’s angry.

But then his mouth parts on a shaky exhale, and you realize he’s not angry at all.

He’s terrified.

“Where were you?” he breathes. It’s not sharp. It’s hoarse, like it’s been clawing up his throat for hours.

“My phone died,” you start, heart sinking. “I was just at Tara’s—”

“Just at Tara’s,” he repeats, voice rising, hands flying to rake through his hair. “Do you have any idea what my mind does when you’re late? When I call and call and it goes to voicemail? I pictured your car crushed on the highway, I pictured—god, I pictured—”

He cuts himself off, eyes wet, jaw flexing.

“Raf—”

“No, don’t ‘Raf’ me,” he snaps, but it’s weak. His hands drop to his sides, clenching and unclenching like he doesn’t know what to do with them. “I had paintings to finish. Commissions, deadlines—I couldn’t even pick up the brush. I was too busy seeing your face on a morgue slab in my head.”

Your throat goes tight.

You step toward him.

He steps back. Shakes his head, blinking rapidly.

“I’m being dramatic, I know—what else is new—but you don’t get it,” he says, voice breaking. “You don’t get what it’s like to need someone the way I need you. It’s visceral. It’s ugly. It’s—I can’t create if I think you’re gone.”

“Hey,” you whisper, reaching out.

He catches your wrist in both hands—almost too tight. Stares down at where your skin meets his.

And then the dam breaks.

He tugs you into him with a desperate sound, arms locking around your shoulders so hard you’re breathless. His nose buries in your hair, breath shuddering against your ear.

“You’re here,” he whispers. Over and over. “You’re here, you’re here, you’re here—”

Your hands slip under his shirt, feeling the frantic drum of his heartbeat.

“I’m here,” you promise.

When he finally pulls back, his eyes are glassy, lashes damp. But there’s a crooked smile curling on his lips.

“Next time you decide to terrify me,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your cheek, “at least let me paint you first. So I’ll have something to haunt me properly.”

You laugh. He kisses you—soft at first, then rougher, hungrier, hands sliding into your hair with a low groan.

And by the time he’s backing you against the nearest wall, muttering “never scare me like that again” against your mouth, you’re pretty sure the painting will have to wait.

Zayne

You don’t even get your shoes off.

The door swings shut behind you, you’re juggling your bag and keys, already rehearsing your apology—when you see him.

Zayne is standing at the end of the hall.

Still in his scrubs. Shoes on. A faint smear of sanitizer on his wrist like he’s been compulsively scrubbing his hands. His glasses are pushed up high on the bridge of his nose, but his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them.

You open your mouth. He cuts you off.

“Where were you?”

It’s not sharp. It’s worse—it’s flat. Completely stripped of inflection, like he’s trying to keep something dangerous from breaking loose.

“My phone died,” you start, heart sinking. “And Tara needed help with—”

“You were supposed to be home at six.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just watches you.

You try to fill the silence. “I know. I lost track of time, it was stupid, I’m sor—”

“You didn’t call.”

It hits you then—how tightly he’s holding himself. Arms folded. Shoulders locked. Like if he lets go, he might fly apart.

“Zayne, I’m okay,” you say softly.

And that’s when his composure cracks.

He takes one slow step forward, then another. By the time he reaches you, his hands are shaking.

He cups your face like he’s afraid you’ll flinch—thumb brushing your cheekbone, eyes searching yours so intensely it hurts. His breath hitches, chest stuttering against yours.

“You can’t do that,” he murmurs. Voice low. Rough. “You can’t just disappear and expect me to function.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” you whisper.

He lets out this soft, unsteady sound—half a laugh, half a breathless sigh. His forehead tips to yours.

“You didn’t just scare me,” he says. “You hollowed me out. I couldn’t focus, I couldn’t think—every worst-case scenario was playing on a loop in my head.”

Your hands slip up to his shoulders. You feel the tremor there, the tight coil of muscle that hasn’t let go since you were late.

“I’m sorry.”

He swallows. Closes his eyes.

Then when he opens them again, there’s something new there—dark, possessive, desperate.

“Don’t ever do it again.”

Before you can answer, he’s kissing you—deep, hungry, nothing like his usual restrained affection. His hands slide into your hair, grip tightening until it almost hurts. His mouth moves over yours like he’s starving, like he needs to memorize you all over again to prove you’re real.

When he finally pulls back, breath ragged, his voice drops to a hoarse whisper.

“Next time you’re late,” he mutters, lips brushing your ear, “I’m putting a tracker under your skin.”

You laugh—shaky, breathless. “Romantic.”

His answering smile is faint. Crooked. But it’s there.

“You think I’m joking.”

And the way his hands roam your hips, tugging you closer, says he absolutely is not.

Sylus

The door barely shuts before you’re pinned.

Not by force—just by presence. Sylus is leaning against the entryway console, arms crossed over his chest, dark eyes tracking your every move like a sniper scope.

“Late night?” he drawls. Voice smooth. Almost lazy. But there’s a razor edge beneath it.

You swallow, forcing a small smile. “Tara's party ran long. My phone died—”

“Convenient.”

You pause halfway out of your coat. “Excuse me?”

He pushes off the console, stalking toward you with that predatory grace that always sets your pulse racing. Except this time, there’s no teasing glint in his eyes. Just something sharp. Barely restrained.

“Sylus, I didn’t mean to worry you—”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he cuts in, stepping close enough that your back hits the wall. “You think I was worried? Please.”

But the way his jaw clenches, the way his hands curl at his sides like he’s stopping himself from grabbing you—says otherwise.

You tilt your head, breath shallow. “Then what’s this? Because you look ready to murder someone.”

He laughs—low, bitter. “Murder’s easy. It’s waiting for you to walk through that door that almost killed me.”

Your heart stutters.

He leans in, one hand braced on the wall beside your head. His breath fans across your cheek, and suddenly it’s hard to think.

“You can disappear for hours without a single damn word, and I’m left here imagining every possibility,” he murmurs, voice rougher now. “You want to scare me? Congratulations. You did.”

“Sylus—”

“Don’t do it again.”

He doesn’t give you time to answer. His mouth crashes to yours—hard, hungry, almost punishing. One hand tangles in your hair, the other grips your waist so tight you whimper against his lips.

He pulls back just enough to rasp, “If something ever happened to you…I wouldn’t just burn down this town. I’d salt the ground so nothing could grow back.”

Your breath hitches. “That’s...dramatically romantic.”

A dark smirk tugs at his mouth. “That’s me. Always sentimental.”

Then his hand slips lower, squeezing your hip, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

“Now get upstairs. I’ve been waiting all night to remind you exactly who you belong to.”

And by the time he’s done, you’re pretty sure you’ll never dare come home late again.

[dawngyu]

‎₊ ˚ ⊹ ིྀ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐅𝐈𝐓

pairing: slytherin!kai x gryffindor!reader

He was supposed to look away. He was never supposed to crave the one who didn't belong.

warnings: hogwarts au, set in college age, romance redemption, strangers to lovers, pureblood/halfblood societal norms, mdni. bullying!, family!trauma.

smutwarnings: virginity-loss, missionary, oral!fem receiving.

wc: 10k — playlist

𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌: so happy to be part of this event! thank you to my girls, rain, ash yun and nina for being awesome ily all ^.^ see the event masterlist here.

He grips the back of her head, his fingers sinking into her hair as he thrusts into her with a steady, punishing rhythm. Skin into skin. Her soft moans turn ragged, a needy, breathless chorus in the dimly lit room. The air is thick with the cloying scent of her perfume, almost too sweet, making his head swim.

“m-more, Kai, please,” she whimpers, her nails scraping at his shoulders, her legs tightening around his hips.

He smirks. They always beg the same way.

He watches her, how her lips part with every gasp, her brows knit in desperate pleasure but as she reaches up, her fingers brushing against his jaw, he knows what she’s after.

A kiss.

He shoves her hand down, ignoring the flash of irritation in her eyes. He doesn’t want to see that. He doesn’t want to see anything but her writhing beneath him as he chases his own high.

He keeps pounding into her, the bed creaking under them, her breaths turning into sharp cries. When he feels himself tip over the edge, he holds her hips still, burying himself to the hilt as he cums hard into the condom. He stays there for a moment, head bowed, catching his breath. He pulls out and steps back, his chest heaving. She lies flushed and trembling, a sheen of sweat on her skin, her hair a tangled mess. He’s already made her release twice tonight, but he can’t find it in himself to press his lips to hers.

A line he never crosses.

She sits up, tugging down the hem of her uniform skirt, smoothing it over her thighs. She ties her hair back in a tight ponytail, her green scarf slightly wrinkled. She watches him with narrowed eyes, her lips still parted and pink. “Why don’t you ever kiss me?” Yunjin says finally, her tone somewhere between curiosity and frustration. “I used to think it was just me… but I talked to some of the other girls you’ve hooked up with. You never kiss them either.”

He shrugs, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark as he tugs on his jeans. “Should I?”

“Asshole.” Yunjin’s voice is clipped, her eyes sharp with hurt as she stands up. She can’t let him be the one to leave first, not tonight. She smooths down her skirt and grabs her bag, shoulders squared as she heads for the door.

Heuning Kai just watches her, his lips quirking into a lazy smirk. He’s known her since their first year, long enough to read every flicker of her mood, how she tries to cover her hurt with anger, how she thinks he can’t see it.

He doesn’t bother trying to stop her. He doesn’t have to.

She leaves with her head high and her footsteps light, and he doesn’t move until the door clicks shut behind her. He shakes his head, a small huff under his breath as he stands and tugs his jeans back up, his shirt still undone.

Kissing. It’s always been too intimate, too close; something that feels like more than he can give. He’s never been interested in playing at something deeper than what they already have. He’s never found the will to do it.

He glances at the rumpled sheets. He will need to have them smoothed out, made right again. Things should be neat, aligned.

He has always hated disorder, the way it jars the symmetry he craves.

He strides through the grand halls with the effortless poise of someone who believes the castle itself was built for him. Every step is confident, his polished shoes clicking softly on the stone floor. When someone calls his name, he turns enough to flash them a half-look. His name is on everyone’s lips. His robes are cut to perfection, dark green and silver threads woven just so, a mark of being a pureblood heir and wealth. He sees the girls watching from the corners, cheeks flushed. Some whisper to each other, others just stare in open admiration. The boys in his own house, look at him with a mix of camaraderie and begrudging deference. They share the same colors and the same crest, but not the same steep.

He doesn’t slow down for them. The air around him seems to shimmer with an arrogance that doesn’t need to be spoken aloud.

Everyone knows who he is and what he represents.

He’s about to turn the corner when someone barrels into his shoulder. He glances up, finding himself face-to-face with a student dressed in vivid red.

A Gryffindor.

“Honestly, must you always be this clumsy?” Kai sneers, his voice dripping with scorn as he glares at the boy. There’s no kindness in his eyes, just the sharp gleam of someone who delights in cutting others down. He’s never had patience for Gryffindors, the way they strut around, so certain of their own virtue, as if bravery alone could make them special.

“Watch where you’re going next time,” he adds with a thin smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Or did you leave that famous Gryffindor courage somewhere behind you?”

He hates their pride, their blind sense of righteousness. It’s always been a sore spot for him — the ones in this house always seem so sure of their own moral, so quick to wear it like a crown. They don’t understand real power. They don’t understand how quickly their loud ideals can be torn apart.

“Careful,” he murmurs. “Not everyone here is as forgiving as I am.”

The Gryffindor boy shoves his hands down into his pockets and walks off without a word. Kai’s smirk falters, turning into a disappointed scowl when he realizes he won’t get the reaction he was hoping for.

He turns back to his locker, swinging the door open and rifling through his books. His fingers move. A sudden burst of laughter echoes from the other side of the hallway, loud and grating. He can’t see them, but the harsh, triumphant cackle is enough. Another group of Gryffindors, undoubtedly.

He hates how their lockers are practically pressed up against his own. How he has to see them every day, laughing like the world is theirs for the taking. It makes his skin prickle with annoyance.

He heard them leave.

With a grunt, he shut his own locker and started toward his first class, but not without catching a faint, choked sound from the direction of the lockers he hated so much.

It’s not that he’s curious. It’s not that he wants to see it.

It’s just that it’s on his way, like a grain of sand stuck in his shoe, like a pedestrian standing in the road he needs to cross. A path he has to take, whether he likes it or not.

At the end of the row, a girl is crumpled in defense, her face hidden in her hands. Her shoulders are trembling, the soft, broken sounds slipping past her lips even as she tries to swallow them down. Even from here, he could see the ache written in the curve of her back, in the way her breath hitched and faltered. The world feels too bright around, the hallway too bright and uncaring.

He breathes.

How hurt must she be to let someone else see her so wrecked, so undone?

"I am not the Darkling" he said softly, his eyes searching mine. "I am not the monster you think I am."

You echo the words under your breath, the pages of your battered book trembling slightly in your hands. You feel your eyes burn, but you don't dare blink. The darkling tried dragged her into the dark, but it was her light, Alina, that ended up swallowing him whole.

Fairy tales for the lonely. Lies stitched into paper and ink. Because in the real world, no one survives being consumed by someone else.

And no one asks to be.

“Hey.” You hear your name. When you glance up, Chae Won is standing over you, eyes sharp with contempt.

She’s supposed to be your friend. A fellow Gryffindor.

Without warning, she snatches the book from your hands and grabs your wrist, yanking you up from where you’d been sitting quietly on the floor. “Can we just stop this, please? I—”

“Stop what?” she snaps, already stepping closer. “Crying to Jay? Playing the victim again?” His name stops you cold.

She doesn’t let up. Her hand fists your hair, enough to hurt. “Do you forget you’re a Muggle-born?” she hisses. “And him? He’s everything people want. We were fine before you. You just had to show up, cry to him like some helpless little thing, and now he thinks you're this princess he has to save.”

Chae Won shoves you hard against the lockers. The metal slams cold into your back, the sound echoing down the empty hallway. She leans in, eyes burning, and says the one thing that never stops hurting, no matter how many times you've heard it. “You’re dirty.”

And just like that, you’re six again.

Not here. Not now. But back in that cold, too-quiet house where no one looked like you. Where you sat at the dinner table and watched mouths move around you like you weren’t even there. Where you learned, early and without being told, how to be invisible.

Where no one taught you how to belong.

You don’t say anything. The words are there, caught in your throat, but they taste like shame. They always have.

The afterthought. The charity case. Strange eyes. Odd temper.

You were the one who showed up on the doorstep with nothing but a trunk and a name no one knew how to say. You tried your best to earn your place, to blend in, to make yourself useful, but they still looked at you like you were something foreign. Something misplaced.

In the darkest corners of the night, you wished you’d never gotten the letter. That magic had skipped over you. That your name had never burned through that parchment. Never touched a wand. Maybe then, you could’ve had a normal life. One where you didn’t have to watch your adopted siblings shine in a world that only ever dimmed you.

Because then maybe, just maybe, you’d get to be normal.

Not this. Not the ghost haunting a place that was never yours. Not the muggle-born mistake among children who made spells sing on their tongues, while yours stuttered, cracked, and bled.

You didn’t even feel that you were crying.

Chaewon stares down at you with a cruel smirk, almost entertained by your tears. You’re frozen, your chest tightening, looking like a ghost of yourself. Pathetic. That’s probably what she’s thinking. Then she shoves you again hard. Your body hits the cold locker room tiles with a sickening thud, pain through your spine. You flinch, but you don’t even try to get up.

“Tell anyone,” she sneers, leaning down. “and you’ll regret it.”

They left you right after that.

No one would believe it anyway. You’ve spent your whole life fighting, pretending you're fine, building yourself up just to keep surviving. You wear strength like armor. But now?

Now you’re nothing but shattered pieces on the floor. No one saw you break. No one knows how hard you cried.

No one fucking knows.

"What?" Your voice comes out sharper than you meant, caught off guard.

It was the morning after — after everything and Jay had found you outside like he always does. The golden boy of Gryffindor, the one everyone seemed to adore without question. For months, he'd been chasing you. Sweet smiles, thoughtful words, persistent in his way. He asked you out more times than you could count and a month ago, you said yes.

That was why Chaewon hated you more now than ever.

Jay leans in across the picnic table, casual and unbothered like nothing had shifted in your world. Like you hadn’t spent the night before crumpled on a locker room floor, swallowing sobs and blood.

"I said you should sneak into my dorm later," he repeats. You blink at him. You had planned this picnic, thought maybe today would give you a moment of peace. A needed softness, but now his words float in the air like smoke, invasive and unexpected. He doesn’t notice the way your hands tremble slightly. Or if he does, he says nothing.

You swallow hard.

"Why would I do that? I could get caught," you say, your voice uneasy, the words tumbling out. Jay laughs, it was as if your nerves are a joke to him.

"Come on," he says, grinning. "It’s been a month now. I wanna be with you. Do that thing with you."

Your stomach turns. You might be naive but you’re not stupid. You open your mouth to say something, to maybe ask what he really means, to question the way he’s looking at you like he’s owed something, but he cuts you off. "If you really liked me, you’d do it too. You know?"

You look at him, stunned, like a deer caught in headlights. The boy you thought wanted you for you is now dangling your feelings like bait on a hook. "That... that won’t prove if I like you or not,"

"What do you mean?" he asks, brows furrowing. "So you don’t wanna do it?"

"Of course I would," you say quickly, your throat tightening. "But not right—"

"Not right now?" He scoffs, shaking his head. "That’s always your excuse."

"Excuse?"

He leans back, annoyed. "You know, if you don’t want me, just say it."

You freeze. His next words come out in a bitter, quiet mumble, like he doesn’t even realize he’s saying them aloud. "If this wasn’t for a stupid bet, I wouldn’t—"

"What?" Your voice is almost breathless. Cold rushes through your chest like someone ripped the air straight from your lungs. He doesn’t answer. His eyes widen, just for a second — just long enough to tell you everything you needed to know.

Your mind races. You remember the guilt that bloomed in your chest every time you turned him down, thinking you were the one being difficult. You remember how sad he looked when you said no, how it made you feel like you were failing him. How you apologized for it, over and over, thinking you were the one ruining things.

You remember trying, really trying to open up. The effort it took to prioritize someone else's wants over your own. The nights you rehearsed words in your head, how to say things gently, carefully, so he wouldn't feel rejected. You remember the ache of being left out, how his friends would talk around you like you were invisible. The silence when you spoke. The forced smiles when they laughed at jokes you didn’t understand because they were never meant for you.

You remember Chaewon's cruelty and you remember convincing yourself it was all worth it because he chose you.

"I was a fucking bet?" Your voice comes out hoarse. You stare at him, this boy who once looked like something good. Something kind. All that softness you thought you saw in him feels like a lie now.

You can feel the fire start to rise in your blood. You wore the same house colors.

"I—It was from the start, but then—"

“We’re done.” A blade slipped between the ribs.

You stand, your eyes focused on anything but him. You don’t look at the people beginning to notice, don’t care about the whispers. Your chest is hollow and screaming, but your face doesn’t show it. You walk the grounds like your heart isn’t shattering with every step.

You feel him behind you, his frantic footsteps, his form clinging to your shadow. You feel the stares, the weight of every eye on you.

"Can we please talk?" he pleads, his hand wraps around your wrist.

You turn your head and slap his face so hard it echoes. He doesn’t even get to process it before your foot collides with his, a sharp kick that throws him off balance. Pain, humiliation — all of it written across his face now for everyone to see.

“I said we’re done.” Your voice cracks but not out of weakness. It cracks from the sheer force of holding back everything you could’ve screamed. "You're evil."

He’s looking at you now like he’s the one broken. You turn, this time for good. Your body is trembling, anxiety crawling beneath your skin like a thousand needles, but your steps are steady. You're done.

Kai lounged on the stairway, tuning out the crude, drunken laughter of his housemates as they bragged about the girls they’d had the night before. Their voices blurred into nothing. His eyes scanned the grounds lazily, flashes of yellow, green, blue, red, the usual mess of students he barely cared to notice.

He saw you.

He saw you and remember how you cried that night.

He leaned forward without thinking, resting his chin on his hand, the world narrowing to just you. Everything else fell away against the blinding, face of yours. You moved with a kind of arrogance he recognized instantly: head high, steps sharp, like the world didn’t deserve you. The fire in your eyes. Typical of your house — spoiled, untouchable. He should’ve been bored.

He couldn’t look away. He couldn't stop hearing remembering your soft whimpers the night before.

A boy in red caught up to you, fumbling for your attention, desperate to be seen. Kai watched, as you turned to him with a look of pure disdain. The boy stammered something, like he was apologizing. You slapped him. Hard.

Kai’s mouth curved into a slow, wicked grin.

You didn’t stop there. You kicked the boy’s foot out from under him, angrily spat a few words he couldn’t catch, and walked off, not even glancing back. Kai’s eyes stayed locked on you, tracking every furious step you took across the grounds. You tried to hide it; the tremble in your hands, the way you blinked too fast but he caught it.

You're crying.

His chest tightened, something crawled under his skin. How much sweeter would it be if he were the one to do it? He could already picture it: your pride, your voice breaking, your pretty face crumpling; under his hands, under his mouth, under his name. Not for some sniveling boy, but for him.

Only him.

You didn’t even know his name. He stayed where he was, eyes following your broken form.

Kai had grown up as the only son of a pureblood family, where reputation bled deeper than blood, and control was not a suggestion but a rule etched into the spine of every morning. He was taught to be composed, restrained, untouchable — never too loud, never too soft. Smile, but not too often. Speak, but only when it matters. Feel, but never let it show.

He’d been raised that way.

His life was built on legacy. Emotions were weakness. Kindness was liability. He was not held, not comforted, not loved — only shaped.

They carved obedience into him like marble.

He watched his father hold entire rooms in silence with nothing but a stare. Watched him speak to people as if their existence was a favor, an inconvenience he barely tolerated and everyone listened. Everyone bowed. He learned early that power wasn’t just about magic.

He wore it well. Better than most.

He learned how to mimic empathy without feeling it. He learned how to laugh on cue, how to listen without caring, how to look someone in the eye while thinking of a thousand other things.

He drifted through life half-asleep, wearing the world like an ill-fitting coat. Friends, lovers, enemies; it was all noise. Meaningless. Predictable.

You were raw, undone, human. Everything he wasn’t. Everything he had been taught to crush.

What would it take to ruin you completely?

With every difiance in his body he stood up. He found himself taking step forward. Kai moved before he realized he was moving.

The sound of his housemates' laughter faded behind him, smothered under the pounding in his ears. He descended the steps with the same cold precision he was raised with, but something feral stirred beneath his ribs. His strides were steady, calculated, like a shadow stretching to meet its mark.

You were walking fast, too fast, your back stiff and your steps clipped. Anger clung to you like perfume, sharp and choking. He trailed you from a safe distance, ignoring the students who brushed past, oblivious. All he saw was the set of your shoulders, the shake in your hands. He could practically taste the heat radiating off you.

You turned a corner. So did he.

You passed the greenhouses, cut through the arch, your pace stuttering as if your own breath was betraying you. You didn’t notice him. Or maybe you did. Maybe you felt it — that feeling like you're being watched, hunted. The air changed around you.

Kai waited until you slowed near the old stone path that led toward the empty wing of the castle. Then he spoke.

His voice didn’t waver. “Why did you hit him?”

You stopped walking.He watched your back rise with a breath, then you turned.

Your eyes met. For the first time.

Up close, you looked even more dangerous. Even more breakable. Fire and ruin, cloaked in pride. Your lips were trembling, but your jaw was clenched. He took a slow step closer, tilting his head slightly, studying your face like it was a spell he hadn’t learned yet. Something unreadable flickered in your eyes — recognition? fear? anger?

He spoke again. “Is he the one who made you cry?”

Your fingers curled at your sides. You narrowed your eyes, not answering, as if silence could keep you safe.

Kai smiled, cruel. “You're not very good at hiding it.”

“I heard you last night,” he said, voice so calm it almost sounded kind. “In the hallway. You were crying.”

Your expression twisted. “Were you spying on me?”

“Observing,” he corrected, as if it mattered. “You’re... difficult to ignore.”

You scowled and turned to walk away, but this time he moved,faster than you expected, cutting into your path. “Your name,” he said. “Tell me.”

You stared at him like he was insane. Like something in him wasn't right and you were right. Something wasn't right. “What, so you can tell your little pureblood friends? Have a laugh?”

“So I'll know what to call you.”

Your breath hitched. He didn’t smile this time. His eyes dropped to your mouth, then back to your eyes. He could see it, the flicker of panic behind your bravado, the instinct to run, the ache in your throat from holding everything in. And yet, you didn’t move. You stayed rooted.

Still burning. Still human.

Still too much for someone like him.

“You're insane,” you said.

“I've been told.” Kai murmured. The wind caught your hair, brushing it across your cheek. His fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach out and touch it, feel if it was as soft as it looked, feel if you would flinch. “Tell me your name,” he said again.

You stared at him for a long time. Seconds stretched like hours. A war in your eyes, as you spoke your name. Maybe if you gave him your name, he would leave you alone.

“Wasn’t hard,” he said softly, almost mockingly. “Was it?”

He stared at you for a second longer, and when you didnt answer him he turned and walked away; no grand gestures, no parting words. A slow retreat, like he’d taken exactly what he came for. You stayed frozen in place, blinking hard, as if shaking off some invisible fog. The anger you felt with Jay minutes ago completely erased in your mind.

You told yourself he was just another entitled, pureblood brat playing mind games. But somehow… you knew he wasn’t done with you.

It was a surprise that you didn't cry a tear when you returned to your dorms that night.

The sun filtered through the high windows in thin, silver lines, catching on the dust that hovered in the still morning air. Breakfast chatter filled the Great Hall.

You walked in alone. As usual.

Your boots echoed softly against the stone as you passed through the threshold, robes hanging heavy off one shoulder, the collar of your uniform just slightly wrinkled. Your hair was pulled back, but loose strands clung to your cheeks from where you’d barely bothered to dry it. There were shadows under your eyes. A bruise of exhaustion, of restraint.

People noticed. They always did.

You could feel it, the way heads tilted toward each other when they thought you weren’t looking, how eyes followed you just long enough to make your skin crawl. It wasn’t new.

That’s her, they’d whisper. Muggleborn. Dangerous. Did you hear what she did to that Golden boy? How dare she?

You could’ve explained. You could’ve said he tricked you. Said he turned you into a bet, but you’d learned a long time ago, they never really wanted your side of the story.

You crossed the room, spine straight, steps controlled, passing the long tables like you didn’t notice the silence blooming around you like mold. You sat at the edge of your table. Your plate filled with food, untouched by your hand. A flick of your fingers beneath the table, no wand. No words.

A few first-years flinched.

Your fingers hovered over the rim of your goblet, then curled back. You weren’t hungry. You hadn’t slept much. A voice still rang in your head like a spell that hadn’t worn off.

“So I'll know what to call you.”

Kai sat three tables over, surrounded by his housemates; all perfectly-groomed pureblood sons and daughters of old families, boys with bloodlines like poisoned roots. He wasn’t speaking. He rarely did, but his gaze was fixed on you like a blade laid flat across your skin. He didn’t look smug. He didn’t smirk. He just watched. As if you were something worth waiting for.

You held his gaze. Steadily.

He didn’t look away. The last time you locked eyes with someone like that, they ended up on the floor, clutching their ribs, coughing blood, but Kai didn’t flinch.

He simply raised a single brow, like he was inviting you to do it. Daring you. Testing the temperature of your fury. You clenched your jaw and shoved your chair back, the scrape echoing louder than it should’ve.

Screw the eggs. Screw the toast. Screw this whole bloody castle and the way it always stank of legacy and rot.

And just as you stood, “Filthy little freak. Thinks she’s special.”

Your fingers twitched. You didn’t need a wand. The goblet in front of the boy crushed. Water soaked his robes. Gasps echoed. You didn’t look back. You kept walking.

You weren’t afraid of what you could do. You were afraid of how easy it was now.

The doors slammed behind you as you left the Great Hall, but you didn’t get far. You’d barely made it into the courtyard, “Well, if it isn’t our little wandless wonder.” The steps behind you were deliberate. Stiletto-sharp. The sound of privilege. You turned around.

Chae-won stood there, arms folded, robes pristine, her platinum hair twisted in a perfect knot that screamed power. Her prefect badge gleamed on her chest like it mattered. And behind her, always behind her. trailed two other girls.

“Chae-won,” you said flatly.

Her smile was razor-thin. “Did you think we wouldn’t hear? Poor Jay.”

“What?”

“You slapped him. Humiliated him. In front of everyone,” she hissed. “He was apologizing, you freak.”

“You know nothing.”

Chae-won’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, please. He did something, or what? That gives you the right to act like some dark creature in the middle of the grounds?”

You didn’t flinch. “I said you know nothing.”

Chae-won blinked, her voice lowered to something crueler. “So? Do we care about a mudblood like you?”

You looked at her. Really looked. And wondered how many people had handed her the world and called it earned. You remember the first year you were friends, the first year she knew all of you, and the once smile on your face whenever you see her. It all became a blur when people looked at you as a misfit.

Your hands twitched again.

“You planning to explode something else?” Chae-won taunted. “Go on. Show us what you can do. Everyone’s already terrified. Might as well give them a real show.”

You stepped forward. “You want to know the difference between you and me?” Chae-won raised a brow.

“I have power. You just have a last name.”

Her jaw tightened, but before she could respond, before she could reach for her wand or hurl another insult, a voice broke through from behind: “Chae-won.” She froze.

Kai stood a few feet away, arms crossed, eyes locked not on her but on you.

“I’d stop if I were you,” he said, calm, lazy, terrifying.

Chae-won blinked like she hadn’t heard him right. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not repeating myself,” His shoulder brushed yours, intentional as he passed and stood between you and her. Not defending you, but as if staking a claim.

Chae-won’s face burned. “This has nothing to do with you, Kai.”

“It does.”

She stood there for a second, jaw clenched, then scoffed. “Figures. Your house never know where to keep your standards.” Then with one last look at you, all venom and fury, she turned and stormed off, her little shadows flurrying after her.

You looked at Kai. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He didn’t look at you. “I didn’t do it for you.” And yet, he was still standing there. Still between you and the world.

You hated how you lived your years.

You hated the way your life had built itself around survival; around silence, around swallowing things that no one else ever seemed to choke on. You hated that you were born like this, like a wrong answer in a question nobody asked.

You hated that once, long ago, you’d called Chae-won your friend. That you’d laughed with her, studied with her, braided her hair in the dormitory mirror. You hated that she knew all the parts of you worth breaking and now she used them like blades.

You hated that even now being Muggleborn wasn’t enough. Wasn’t already a mark on your back. No, you had to be different, too. You had to wield wandless, wordless magic, the kind they couldn’t control, couldn’t track, couldn’t replicate and that made them stare, like you were unnatural.

You hated that, out of all the people in this castle, the one who wouldn’t look away was him.

Kai. A stranger. A Slytherin. A boy born with a silver knife in his mouth, and the gall to look at you like he saw past your fury, like he saw you about to break.

You walked away; fast, sharp steps that echoed off the stone corridor — hoping he wouldn’t follow.

He did.

You didn’t stop him. You hated that, too.

You didn’t speak, didn’t glance back, you kept walking until the hallway emptied behind you. Until there were no portraits, no prefects, no Chae-won, no whispering mouths. A stone and silence and the feeling of someone watching you like a match watches a flame.

When you reached the end of the corridor, where the light didn’t quite reach and the air felt still and forgotten, you stopped. Your shoulders rose once, then fell. The first sob cracked out of your chest so violently it startled even you.

You tried to cover it, your hand flying up to your mouth, like that would make it less pathetic, but it didn’t matter. You were already shaking, already crying, already too human to stop it now.

Behind you, he didn’t say anything.

You sank down against the wall slowly, like your legs had given out — not from fear, not from pain but from carrying it all too long. The silence between you pulsed, thick and unkind, and still he stayed. No comfort. No lies.

“I didn’t want it to be like this,” you whispered, not even knowing if you meant your life, or this day, or this moment. Maybe all of it. You could feel his eyes on you. You could feel the way he was listening.

“What do you want from me?” you asked, voice raw.

You wiped your cheek with the back of your hand, angry at yourself for crying like this in front of him of all people. Your lips trembled, and your vision blurred, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away.

And Kai just sat there.

Watching. Unmoving. Unbothered.

Or so you thought.

Kai exhaled slowly, like a man tired of waiting, because watching you; ruined, furious, crying and still managing to burn like a goddamn wildfire — it made something unravel inside him. Something unholy. Something that clawed its way up from beneath all the manners and legacy and careful obedience.

You, with your defiance. You, with your trembling hands and splintering voice. You, who didn’t even look his way.

You felt too much. You burned too brightly. You cracked in places he didn’t understand. You cried like it meant something. You fought like the world still owed you something soft.

A single, smooth motion and before you could ask what he was doing, before you could read the shift in his expression, he was standing over you. Looking down at you like you were a problem he couldn’t solve, like you were noise in his carefully constructed world of silence.

His jaw twitched. “I don’t like messy things,”

You opened your mouth, to apologize, to yell, to tell him to leave but your voice didn’t come.

Instead, he crouched down. Slowly. His hand reached out, not toward your face, but beside it, bracing against the wall near your shoulder, boxing you in. His other hand hovered near your chin, pausing midair. A breath. A hesitation. Something nearly human.

He kissed you.

Your fingers curled in the fabric of your robes. Your chest ached from the sobs you hadn’t finished, from the weight of the day, from the way his mouth pressed against yours like it was the only language he knew.

It wasn’t sweet. It was hungry.

He tasted like someone who hadn’t felt anything in years and hated that you made him want to. His hand moved to your jaw, holding it, not harsh but unrelenting.

His breath was unsteady when he pulled back. So was yours.

Your tear-slick lashes fluttered as you stared at him, chest rising and falling with everything you hadn’t said, everything you didn’t understand.

Kai didn’t blink. You didn't too.

You weren’t sure who looked more shaken.

“Stop crying,” he said. “It ruins your face.”

It was past curfew when the door creaked open.

A soft, deliberate sound, barely loud enough to disturb the quiet hum of sleeping breaths in the girls' dorm. The enchanted lanterns were low, casting dull golden shadows across the hardwood floor.

You were curled on your side, blanket kicked off, facing the wall like it might protect you from the dreams that had been growing more vivid lately — filled with brown eyes, the weight of a stare, the press of a mouth that never should have touched yours.

It has been a week since he kissed you, and all he did now was consume you.

You heard a slow footstep across the floorboards that didn’t belong. You sat up in an instant. Your hand instinctively curled, breath caught in your throat.

It was him.

Kai stood there leaning just inside the doorway like he owned the place. His eyes flicked over the room, over the slumbering forms of your roommates, and then back to you.

You were too stunned to speak. He shut the door behind him with a careful click.

“You can’t be here,” you whispered.

“Then tell me to leave.” He said it like he already knew you wouldn’t.

He didn’t move toward you. “I won’t skulk around and pretend I don’t know what I want.”

You swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how your heart was hammering. Of the ache in your hands from clenching them too tight under the blanket. Of the way you hadn’t breathed properly in hours.

His voice lowered. “I wanted to see you.”

You looked at him then. Really looked. His hair was messy from wind or sleep, his collar half-open. His expression, unreadable as ever, but void of any smug.

His look scared you more than any smirk ever had.

You were walking to your next class, trying to keep your head down, your thoughts together, your breathing even.

Kai walked beside you. Beside you. Shoulder to shoulder, step for step, like he belonged there and he wasn’t hiding it, either. He was adamant in the way he moved.

You rounded the corner and saw them.

Jay was seated on the ledge just outside the main stairwell, one arm slung lazily around Chae-won’s waist as she perched in his lap. They looked like a painting, like every pureblood fantasy the school worshiped. Perfect posture, perfect hair, perfect detachment. Chae-won was smiling; a perfect, cold little curve of her mouth that never quite reached her eyes while Jay just stared.

He saw you before you saw him. His gaze locked with yours, cold and pointed, like you’d wronged him. As if he were the victim. Chae-won didn’t even glance your way, but she leaned in just enough to whisper something in his ear, and though he didn’t smile, something in his jaw flexed. His hand tightened on her hip and suddenly, you couldn’t breathe.

Your vision went blurry. Your throat tightened. The corridor felt too bright, too narrow, the sounds too loud, too far away. Your breath stuttered; shallow, clipped, your heart racing like you’d been running.

Kai's gaze move from your face to your hands, where they clenched and twitched at your sides. You tried to blink it all away, tried to keep walking like nothing was happening, but your body had betrayed you.

“Has this happened before?” His voice came low.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Your limbs felt heavy and useless, and the corridor seemed to stretch further with every step. You were floating and falling all at once. You barely noticed when his hand reached for you, until you felt his fingers wrap around your wrist — not tightly, not to restrain, but to feel.

He pressed his thumb lightly over the spot just above your pulse. He didn’t need words to know. The panic was there, thundering under your skin, alive and frantic and loud enough to silence everything else. His brow furrowed. “You’re panicking.”

The words landed heavy, simple and precise. You flinched like he’d struck a nerve, tried to pull your arm back, but he didn’t let go.

“You don’t get to worry about me,” you snapped, voice sharp and broken at the edges, as if saying it out loud could make it true.

Kai tilted his head, expression unreadable. He didn’t react to your words. He didn’t need to. He just looked at you like you were the one thing in this corridor that mattered. And then he said, calm and quiet, “Continue walking with me.”

It wasn’t a plea. It wasn’t even a request and you hated that your legs obeyed before your mind could fight it. Hated that some fragile part of you wanted to keep walking, if only he stayed beside you.

You closed your eyes for half a second, just enough for the tears to sting. You wouldn’t let them fall, not here, not with them still behind you but your chest ached, and the shame pressed hot against your throat.

His hand found yours again.

His fingers slipped through yours like it was instinct, and then he held on careful, steady, like he was holding something breakable. You kept walking. One step after the other.

He walked with you ike the entire castle wasn’t watching, but even if they were, he didn’t let go.

“So, you’re Kai’s girlfriend?”

You looked up from the ancient, half-crumbling book in your hand and blinked at the girl now standing beside you in the dim library aisle. She was dressed in green and silver and wore the kind of smile that had probably gotten her everything she ever wanted.

“Pretty,” she added, tilting her head slightly, eyes raking over you not with curiosity.

“I’m not,” you replied evenly, turning back to the shelf, hoping she’d take the hint but her presence didn’t waver. You could feel her shadow shift with yours. She followed as you stepped further down the aisle, her footsteps light but intentional.

“I’m Yunjin, by the way,” she said. Her voice had that lilting quality warm, but not soft. “I always see him around you. I mean, everyone’s noticed. It’s kind of hard to miss, the whole... obsession he has with you.”

Your fingers paused mid-reach. Obsession?

“And I guess,” she continued casually, “that must be the reason he stopped seeing me.”

“…What?” The word left your mouth before you could hold it in, too stunned to coat it in disinterest.

“Oh, don’t worry.” She gave a light, musical laugh. “It wasn’t serious. Kai doesn’t do serious. He’s unwell. Emotionally, I mean. Brilliant, but broken. The type of boy you keep behind glass until he cuts you with it.” She said it like she knew. Like she’d bled.

You stared at her. Her smile didn’t falter. If anything, it widened. “But I do see something different now,” she added, “He looks at you… differently.”

You expected cruelty to follow. A sharp comment tucked behind a smile. A passive-aggressive jab meant to draw blood beneath the surface because that’s how it usually came, wasn’t it? From the people who knew how to dress poison up in perfume.

You thought of Chae-won. A girl from your own house. People from your own house who doesn't even dare to smile at you. It was strange, wasn’t it? That someone from your own house had been so much crueler than the students from the house everyone warned you about.

So much crueller than Kai. Than Yunjin.

“Why are you being kind to me?” you asked, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

Yunjin tilted her head like she was trying to decide whether to laugh again. Then, with a small shrug, she said, “What?”

You held her gaze, unflinching.

She exhaled through her nose, almost amused. “Oh. Yeah.” There was a flicker of something beneath her expression then something real. “I’m ambitious,” she said. “And if being ambitious makes me a bad person… then I guess I’m a Slytherin.”

You were sitting in your bed, knees tucked loosely to your chest, the blankets crumpled around you like a forgotten thought. The castle was quieter than usual. Music pulsed faintly from somewhere down the hall. There was a party for your batch tonight; a celebration, one you were meant to attend, smile through, pretend for.

Instead, you were here. Alone.

You were counting the minutes.

The door opened without urgency, a soft sound not trying to sneak, not trying to impress. You didn’t turn your head. You didn’t need to. You already knew who it was.

Kai stood in the doorway like the rest of the room didn’t matter. His eyes swept across the space, landed on you, on your still form in the sheets, on the way your gaze had already been waiting for him.

“You knew I would come,” he said.

“Yes,”

He strode toward you with his usual measured grace, never rushed, never nervous and you moved slightly on the bed. “You never told me anything about you,” you said, and your voice didn’t accuse, “You’re always around. You help me. You... show up but you never talk.”

Kai looked at you, and there was something different in his eyes tonight. “What do you want to know?” he asked.

You didn’t blink. “You.”

There was a long pause.

Long enough that you thought he wouldn’t answer. Long enough to feel the ache of expectation rise in your chest, but then Kai huffed, soft through his nose, and there was a shape to it that almost — almost — sounded like a laugh. Not the full thing, but the ghost of it.

You wondered, not for the first time, what he sounded like when he really laughed.

Your eyes flicked to the empty space beside you, and you shifted further inward on the bed, a small movement, but clear.

He caught it.

He sat on the edge of your bed, hands resting on his thighs, the weight of him sinking into the mattress beside you. His posture was still too careful, still too contained, but he was there.

“I don’t talk about myself,” he said suddenly.

You didn’t answer. You knew better than to fill silence that didn’t ask to be filled. Kai exhaled softly, the sound shallow. Measured. Then he looked up, his eyes distant but focused on you, like he was reading from a page only he could see. “I was raised to be an heir. Not a person.”

You didn’t flinch. He noticed that. It made him keep going.

“My father were strict. He didn’t believe in wasting time on things like comfort, or affection. If I cried, he said it was noise. If I asked questions, he told me to read faster. If I smiled too easily, he asked if I was bored, or foolish.” He paused. Not for effect. To breathe.

“He had this saying. You were not born to be loved. You were born to lead. And I repeated it to myself every morning. For years. Until it didn’t sound like cruelty anymore.” he shakes his head, “When I was five, I learned how to duel with a real wand. When I was seven, he started leaving me alone in the manor for days. Said it would teach me independence. I didn’t speak to anyone for weeks.”

His voice didn’t shake. Not once. He didn’t sound angry. He didn’t even sound sad. He sounded like someone explaining the weather. Like grief was just another season he’d already lived through.

“I don’t know how to talk about feelings,” he admitted. “I know how to talk around them. How to look someone in the eye and not let them touch a single part of me.”

He looked at you again. “But then I saw you.” The words weren’t loud. They weren’t dramatic. “I didn’t mean to care. I don’t know how to. But I do. I hear your voice in my head even when I try to ignore it. I look for you when you’re not around.”

“And when you’re upset, I want to fix it.” His hands unclasped slowly, then gripped the edge of the bed. “I want to fix it because it’s you.”

You moved closer. He didn’t stop you. He just looked at you like you were the first warmth in a life made of glass and granite and rules. “I hate how much I feel now,” he admitted. “But I don’t want to go back.”

His words made you reach out the back of his neck and pull him to you. You hugged him and you let out a shaky breath. "I'm here. I'm here Kai."

Two strong arms snaked around your waist as soon as you said those words, and Kai's lips were against your nape. He left trails of kisses on your neck up to the back of your ears, his body pressed on yours. "Good."

He presses a few more soft kisses to the back of your head, then his voice drops to a whisper against your ear. “Can I touch you?” Your breath hitches, but you nod. His hand slips beneath your shirt, fingers brushing lightly across your stomach. “Can I touch you here?” he asks, voice gentle.

You nod again, barely able to get the word out. “Yeah.”

His hand travels higher, fingertips gliding up until they meet the bare curve of your chest. He pauses, just long enough to make your heart race. His lips are at your neck now, breath hot. “Here too?”

When he feels you nod, his hand moves with more purpose, fingertips gliding over the curve of your breast. He cups you fully, palm warm, thumb brushing the softness, squeezing just enough to make you arch subtly into his touch. He teases, exploring everywhere except where you need him most, drawing out the ache with every careful touch. When his fingers finally graze your nipple, a quiet moan slips from your lips before you can stop it. He pauses, his breath brushing against your neck. “You can tell me to stop anytime.”

Then he pulls his hand away from under your shirt, and the sudden absence makes you whine, your body instinctively chasing after his warmth. Before you can speak, he cups your face gently, tilting your head until your eyes meet. It’s dark but he's close, so close — you can make out the shape of his face, the softness in his gaze.

He leans in, brushing a featherlight kiss over your lips. Then another. You smile softly, breath mingling, and when your lips part, he takes it as invitation. This time the kiss is deep — hungry. His mouth moves against yours with desperation, like he’s been craving your taste for far too long. His hand finds your waist, tugging you closer, bodies aligning in all the right ways as the heat between you builds.

“I want you,” you whisper, voice barely there, lost in the way his lips trail along your neck, warm and wet. “Please.”

He pauses just enough to meet your gaze, then his hand slips between your thighs, cupping you through the fabric. The pressure makes your hips jerk, breath hitching.

“Here?” he murmurs, rubbing slow, teasing circles. “You want me here?”

It’s too much, and not enough. Heat pools low in your belly, a need that feels raw and overwhelming. You nod, biting your lip, your voice trembling. “Yes. There. Please.”

He groans, low and deep, and that’s when clothes start disappearing—slowly, messily. Every layer peeled off is interrupted by his mouth; on your lips, your jaw, your collarbones. His hands, greedy and gentle all at once, explore you like he’s memorizing every inch. The room is filled with nothing but breath, the soft rustle of fabric, the occasional hitch of a moan.

When he finally sinks lower, eyes locked on yours as his lips trace a burning path down your body, you don’t stop him.

“Kai…” You moaned as you clenched your fist on his dark locks. His tongue was doing to your buds as his fingers part your wet folds. You don't know what it is, but it makes your legs quivered as his tongue lapped at your entrance.

Kai grunts as he hears your soft moans, sucking on your clit to hear more. Your taste in his mouth got him drunk as he shook his head from side to side, making your moans go higher as you moved your hips to grind your wetness on his tongue. "Hmm?"

He pulled back, replacing his tongue with his thumb, rubbing her wet clit as he kissed and sucked your inner thighs. Your eyes rolled back as your chest rose up and down, glistening with sweat.

You're fucking beautiful. Kai thought as he looked up at you with hooded eyes. The sight of your blushing cheeks, eyes asking for more with your lips between your teeth made Kai slightly rut his hips on the bed.

"Do you know how long have I imagined this?" He pumped a finger inside your pussy, curling it to hit your spot as he put his mouth back to work again, flattening his tongue over your swollen pearl before flicking it with the tip. You cried out in pleasure, throwing your head back.

“I couldn't help myself but think of you.” He begged as he doubled the finger inside your soaking cunt, making you cry out in pleasure as your hands grabbed the pillow under your head.

“I can't resist having all of you.” He kissed your clit, making you whimper at the brief contact. He took off his shirt and pants before pulling you by your arm, sitting you on his lap as he took off your blouse and bra. He kissed around your nipple before taking it into his mouth, moaning at the taste of you.

He moved your position to grind on his bulge, letting out quiet moans as he desperately kissed you. He stopped your hips as he moved to your other nipple, lightly biting it while staring at your glossy eyes, making your breath hitch. He hummed as he sucked the pebbled flesh into his mouth, nibbling on it. He laid your back down, admiring your body as you panted. Your eyes are glistening, and so is your cunt. He groaned at the sight, pushing his hair back and taking his erected cock out of its confinement. He pumped it a few times before you sat up and took it into your hand.

“Let me make you feel good.” Kai stopped your hand, giving a kiss on your forehead. “Fuck.” He murmured as he moved to your lips, sucking on them, making you whimper as you laid back down again.

“Kai, please…” You cried when Kai started to rub his shaft on your slit. Every time his head hits your bud, you let out a whimper, eyebrows furrowed and eyes wide as you look up at him.

Kai took his time, grunting before pushing the tip inside. You gasped, grabbing the sheets under, feeling the pain as his length invade you. Your walls fluttered around his cock, making him let out low growls. You felt tears in your eyes as you watched half of his length disappear inside you. Kai took your hand, intertwining your fingers. He kissed your tears.

“Am I hurting you?” Kai shushed when you hissed, feeling a hint of pain as he filled you. His other hand began rubbing circles on your clit to ease the burn from the stretch.

"No,"

Kai kissed your hand when he was entirely in, giving you time to adjust. You look gorgeous underneath him. Legs wide open,mouth slightly parted, and body glistening under the dim lights of his room.

Kai started moving slowly when you nod your head, until your whimpers turned into moans. His name echoed in whispers, as you clawed on the skin of his back, leaving red marks. He was cradling your head, and his lips pressed on your ear. He was whispering the sweetest things to you.

“The things you do to me,” Kai whispers, kissing your ear lobes. "I can't even look at anyone else now."

“Yes, yes, Kai, please…” You begged as his hips started to thrust harder into you.

“Fuck.” He groaned, feeling your walls clench around him. He could tell that you were both close. Your walls spasmed around him, and his thrust started to stutter.

“Look at me.” He stared into your eyes, feeling your orgasm take over your body. His mouth reaches for your sweet lips, your toes curling as your legs wrap around his waist. Kai thrustied into you a few more times before pulling out to spill his thick load on your thighs.

It was slow, and it was soft, the way he helped you clean up. No magic. Just his hands and yours, sleeves rolled up, fingers brushing as you folded the same blanket twice just to have an excuse to linger near each other. The silence between you wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t awkward. It was full.

Your scent clung to the air; a little floral, a little tangy, something warm and alive, like late spring clinging to skin. It was in the sheets, in the corners of the room, in him. He’d never been the type to notice things like that, but here he was, trying to memorize how the air felt with you in it.

You were fussing with the pillows now, distracted, focused on symmetry but he was just watching you.

“I’m going to work every day,” His voice was low, almost rough with restraint. “I’ll work every fucking day, just to follow you.”

You feel your eyes burn.

“I’ll learn how to move the way you do. I’ll learn how to speak the way you understand. I’ll change the way I live if that’s what it takes. Every single day, I’ll do it, just to fit you.”

“Why?” you asked, voice almost a whisper. “Why would you change for me?”

Kai’s eyes found yours. “Because you made me want to,”

It's the truest thing he’d ever said in his life.

taglist: @heesmiles , @lovingbeomgyudayone , @virtaideen , @hyukascampfire , @fancypeacepersona , @bamgeutori , @lilbrorufr , @beomieeeeeeeeeeees , @xylatox , @yunverie , @imlonelydontsendhelp , @moagyuu , @immelissaaa , @readinmidnight , @pagelets , @wonderstrucktae , @boba-beom , @seodami , @izzyy-stuff , @gyudollies , @i-am-not-dal , @page-isa , @tyunarisu , @s0urcherry , @lostgirlysstuff , @tinycatharsis , @randomheyl @txtsoobean , @bweargyuu ,

@reep04 , @lovesickchoi , @xylatox , @soobinieswife , @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @saejinniestar , @bunniwords , @starrynightgyu , @cardiaccannibalism , @stormy1408 , @fancypeacepersona ,, @angelz-howl , @gyudollies , @i-am-not-dal , @yeonjunnnielover , @yystarz , @boba-beom , @bbyzzn , @darkethes , @taehyunluvrs , @prettypeachprincesz , @beomgyusluver , @thetxtdevil , @demidelulu , @bamgeutori , @soobundle1009 , @luumiinaa , @akitfffr , @babigriin , @seokqt , @soohashits , @i4tzy , @pengningie , @prettypeachprincesz , @cjrnctzenforlife , @taehyunluvrs @lostgirlysstuff , @beomgyusluver @i-am-not-dal , @bakugosbottombitch , @sanscupid , @idknunsadly , @mixxie2203

[xobunni0]

CLOSE ₊˚⊹ᰔ min su x f!reader

naked cuddling, cock warming, non game au

‘you’re all I need, every time I get a bit inside I feel it.’

min su’s breath tickled the back of your neck, quick and uneven. his body was so warm behind you, his chest pressed flush to your back, his arm tucked under your head the way it always was when he wanted to keep you close for hours.

his cock was buried deep inside you, thick and full, snug in the wet warmth of your pussy. it wasn’t about having sex. not tonight. this was your quiet little routine, something intimate and sweet that made his heart race more than anything else. just being inside you, with the occasional slow clench you didn’t even realize you were doing until he whimpered against your shoulder

you shifted a little, trying to get comfortable, and the small motion, your ass pressing tighter against his hips, your pussy gripping him just slightly harder from the angle change, pulled a trembling gasp from his lips.

“Baby…” he groaned “feel like I’m gonna cum already.”

you could feel his cock twitch inside you, the slightest tremor of his hips showing how close he was to cumming even without a single stroke. you smiled into the crook of his bicep

“You’re so sensitive” you murmured, rocking your hips just slightly back into him, and he gasped, actually gasped, a sharp quick breath “we’re not even moving.”

he let out a shaky laugh, but it quickly turned into a groan, his forehead pressing into your shoulder as he tried, tried so hard, to hold still. his cock throbbed, nestled in your pussy, his hand squeezing your waist like that might somehow help him. but he was already losing it

“Mm fuck, don’t move like that. don’t…” he whispered, his voice was more of a whine, like even saying the words made him throb harder “you feel so good, you don’t even know…”

“Tell me” you said softly, shifting again not out of cruelty, just looking for that perfect nestled angle, but you knew what you were doing, and so did he

he whimpered. his cock twitched inside you like it was begging to cum, his breath catching softly

“you’re all warm. fuck, tight and- shit I can feel everything” he panted, hips twitching once against your ass before he forced himself to hold still again

you reached back, lovingly stroking your fingers over his hip, his thigh, touching him like he was some trembling thing, and he was. he absolutely was

“I love when you stay inside me like this” you whispered, and he moaned “love how soft you get after, how you shake when you’re trying to hold it.”

“please” he hissed through his teeth, trembling all over now. his cock was aching, you could feel it, the base grinding deeper from a single unconscious buck of his hips. he was going to cum, from nothing but you being there, around him.

you clenched around him once, slowly, your pussy tightening around him in a way that made him choke on a moan

“f-fuck, I’m- baby, I’m gonna…”

and he was cumming. buried deep inside, still not thrusting at all. he let out a helpless cry muffled against your shoulder, his cock filling you up with his cum, hips twitching in small helpless motions. he didn't move, he didn’t have to. his whole body was tensing, overwhelmed by how perfect it felt to cum inside you like this

you turned your face just enough to kiss the side of his jaw, and he clung to you, breath ragged, moaning low as he kept cumming

eventually, after some long seconds, he stopped. twitching now and then inside you, his breath warm against your neck

“fuck” he whispered “I didn’t even move.”

“You never do” you teased, kissing his wrist where it lay across your chest, holding you. “And you never last.”

“Don’t need to” he murmured back, shifting even closer, cock still nestled inside you, now soaked and softening “You’re too good.”

he pressed one last kiss to the side of your neck and sighed, eyes already closed shut again, so content, so full, so undone by just being with you.

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 - 𓊆ྀི𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞𓊇ྀི

[monimccoythings]

The Dirtiest Corners Of The Mind

I had A LOT of fun writing this. I wanted something silly and funny. I was thinking about Trilogy!Logan and the raw sexual energy that radiated from his pores.

Summary: Being a telepath has its perks, but it also comes with a great cost, specially if the object of your desire just cannot stop having very sexual and indecent thoughts about a coworker.

Tags: f!reader, Logan has a dirty mind, he's a perv (but he's in love), reader is clueless, telepath reader..

I wanna bend you over the counter and fuck you so hard I'll erase the memory of any other man from your mind.

You closed your eyes. Here we go again. Many people thought that being a telepath was a big win in the mutant lottery, but sometimes you'd wish you could stop hearing those voices altogether. Especially if they came from Logan.

Logan.

From the very moment he stepped foot on the mansion you had desired him like you had never desired anybody else. Big, muscular, with a roughness that made him handsome, he sure was a walking wet dream. But the thing that attracted you the most was his heart, behind all that toughness and snarkiness laid some sweet gentleness that one would have never thought possible coming from a man like Logan.

However, reality is a lot different from a cheesy romance novel, in the real world, where sadly you all have to love in, men like Logan would never spare a single glance at you. In fact, they always went after women like Jean. And how could you blame them.

Jean was sweet, kind, smart, and with looks that came out of a model catalogue. Anybody would be lucky to have her. You, meanwhile, were just... you. The sooner you accepted that Logan would never be interested in you the better.

That didn't mean it didn't hurt.

Because if Logan was anything was overly open with his thoughts.

Yeah shake that piece of ass f'me, sweetheart, can't wait to grab a bite.

You nearly dropped the bowl you were beatings the eggs in, your breakfast almost ruined.

Jesus Christ, you thought to yourself. He never stops. A part of you bitterly wondered why he wouldn't think that about yourself, but you quickly shut it down. Better lower your head, and accept reality as it is, even if it was the most painful thing you had ever done.

Maybe a bit of music would help you get distracted from the awkwardness and the soft pang in your chest.

It was like you could never escape him.

At the library, where all you wanted was some peace and quiet to finish your novel while sitting in the most unladylike manner ever known to woman, your fantasies were soon disrupted by his wild train of thought.

Open nice and wide. The big bad Wolverine wants his meal.

Fuck. You didn't know what Jean was doing to provoke that reaction nor did you want to stay long enough to discover it. You promptly shut your book and hurried away.

At the pool, on a hot summer day, enjoying an iced tea, and praying that they'll be too busy preparing for the next mission.

There are many ways to get you wet

You choked on your drink.

The last straw was during a team meeting, everything was supposed to be serious and professional. Keyword 'supposed'.

Wanna breed.

You paled. Out of all the things anyone could think during a meeting, that's the last thing you'd expect. You couldn't look at Logan, Jean or Scott in the eyes after that. Poor Scott. If only he knew what went through Logan's mind.

Something had to be done. Leaving the mansion until things cooled down or they finally fucked was too extreme and you didn't think your heart would survive that. Confronting Logan about his very inappropriate and very private thoughts was out of the question as well, it was too embarrassing and pathetic.

So, that only left you with a choice: avoiding him as much as you could for the rest of your life.

You didn't want to be rude. But it was getting harder and harder to escape him. It was a vicious circle of awkwardness and heartbreak that you didn't seem to be able to escape from. No matter what you did, there was a constant reminder that the only man you had ever loved would never give you the time of the day. Maybe some distance would help you heal.

And for a while, it worked. You found your well deserved peace and it helped you push any thoughts about Logan or your unrequited love to the back of your head.

Until they came back. Stronger than ever. Impatient. Angry. Desperate.

Where is she?

Where is she??

WHERE IS SHE

You knew Jean and Scott had parted in one of those super secret missions a couple of weeks ago, huh, you thought Logan knew it too. Weird.

It was a constant drilling in your head. Sometimes you had to take something from the mansion's self aid kit to be able to sleep well.

After another week of endless agony, Scott and Jean finally returned from a successful mission. That called for a celebration, and you were not going to say 'no' to a big party with all your friends.

It'd help you to let loose a little and have fun. And you were, until a thought, as powerful as a hammer to the head invaded your mind.

There you are.

You nearly sighed with relief, finally. Logan would see that they had come back safely and would stop driving you nuts with his miserable thoughts. You didn't know you could miss the horniness yet here we are.

As you looked up from your conversation, expecting Logan to be making puppy dog eyes at Jean for the rest of the evening, you found instead that at the end of his heated glare wasn't the redhead.

It was you.

As soon as he noticed you staring back at him, his eyes hardened. He started marching towards you like a man with a mission, not caring who got in his way. Somehow, you felt (and looked) like a deer in the headlights.

You quickly excused yourself and tried to get out from there before Logan pounced on you. You believed yourself safe in the hall, but you didn't get too far before his deep voice startled you.

"You've been avoiding me." His flat tone suggested he was indifferent to that fact, but boy did you know better.

"Uh-"

Naughty kitten let me put you over my knee and give you a good spanking.

He sure knew how to make the most out of a bad situation. Even now he was thinking about Jean?? Still, you were starting to have your own doubts about it. His intense gaze never wavered from you, and there was no Jean in the nearest vicinity. She was completely oblivious of whatever this confrontation was back at the party. It was impossible he could have directed that thought towards her, right? And if he wasn't thinking about her right now, then that would mean-

Oh.

Oh. Indeed.

"I've been hearing your thoughts!" You blurted out without thinking. You thought you'd never see the day when The Wolverine would turn red, well, you thought wrong.

His surprise soon turned into embarrassment, and after several seconds that felt like an eternity and your lack of reaction, his embarrassment turned into disappointment.

"Oh. I understand." His voice sounded calm, too collected and eerie. For once, you wished he threw at you what crossed his mind. "I'll let you be." He sounded so dejected, so defeated, it tore at your heartstrings. You knew you had to do something, you had never been one to give yourself false hope, but if there was a little chance, an itty bitty chance that all this time he had been thinking about you, shouldn't you be daring and take it?

What could you lose? Apart from your dignity? If things went south you could just move out and swap identities. Easy peasy, nothing to worry about.

"I thought they were about Jean."

That made him freeze in his trucks. Cautiously and angonizingly slowhe turned around. One of his bushy eyebrows formed a perfect arch that perfectly portrayed his disbelief while his head slightly titled like a confused kitten.

"Jean?"

You gulped, already regretting your stupid moment of bravery and mentally choosing which country would be best to spend the rest of your days.

"Well, it's a well known fact you feel something for her."

Well it's a better known fact I wanna put my dick in your mouth.

Your gasp may have come out a bit more short breathed and needy than intended. But what could you say, he was breathtaking. Logan smirk widened when he caught sight of your flushed face and prowled towards you like a lion cornering a tasty gazelle.

One of his large hairy hands went towards your waist, pulling your flush against his with a low chuckle, while the other delicately grabbed your chin to force you to look into his eyes. His pupils had blown up so much there was barely any room left for that soft tone of hazel you absolutely adored.

"You don't need to worry anymore, sweetheart. We ain't gonna do much thinking from now on."

[obfuscateyummy]

Be Still My Heart

Credit for the idea goes to this post, along with 06x13 and 06x14 of ER aka the 2 most traumatic hours of 90s television.

Of course I had to make this arguably one of the saddest things I've ever written. As always thanks for all the love. I love my broken man. Sad Boi's trauma runs deep - and oops this is set on Valentine's Day 2020 and we know we lose Adamson just a few months later. oops that was intentional I have another semi ER inspired fic in mind TW - mentions of possible death, stabbing, suicidal ideations?, medical inaccuracies. let me know what i missed. I am pretty sure I blacked out writing this. No use of y/n for the first time in forever ~ Welcome to the Pitt Masterlist can be found here.

Two hours. You had two hours left of your shift in The Pitt. Two hours until you finally found out what your boyfriend had planned. He told you to bring a nice outfit to change into after shift, because the two of you had dinner reservations as soon as shift was over - and he was determined you would both be able to leave right on time. You saw him standing at central, with his back turned to you, talking to Dr. Adamson. Adamson was clearly looking at something your boyfriend was showing him. You started to walk up behind him, when you were cut off by Dana.

“Hey kid, got a patient in Behavioral 2, needs his Benzodiazepine,” Dana said.

You smiled, “Okay, okay I’m going,” you said as you walked off to get the medication.

Dana walked up to Robby at central. “Put that thing away! She almost snuck up behind you and caught you!”

“Do you really think she’ll say yes?” Robby asked as he closed the ring box and put it back in his pocket. 

“Oh, she’s gonna say yes. Have you seen the way she looks at you?” Dana said.

“It’s like you hung the world,” Adamson said.

Right on cue, you smiled over towards Robby at central as you walked into Behavioral 2. His face turned red as he smiled back at you. You walked into the room.

“Point taken,” Adamson said as he walked away and went on his way to his next patient. It left Robby and Dana alone at central - for the time being.

“It’s not too cliche to propose on Valentine’s Day right?” Robby asked.

“Stop second guessing yourself, Rob,” Dana said as she walked away shaking her head.

Robby watched the doors to behavioral 2 closely, waiting for you to walk out. He had patients to check on, but he wanted, no, he needed to see you. 

One of the nurses walked past central and spoke “Robby, patient in North 5 is looking for you.”

“Yeah, on my way,” he said as he gave behavioral 2 another look, hoping you’d walk out, before he walked away.

—

You were on your way into behavioral 2, with the patient’s Benzodiazepine. You could see central out of the corner of your eyes. Your boyfriend, Dana, and Adamson are talking. You flashed your boyfriend a smile, and watched as he looked like he was going to melt. You loved having that effect on him. You walked into behavioral 2. 

“Mr. Smith? How are you doing today?” You asked the patient in soft restraints. 

Mr. Smith looked at you. He chuckled, almost sounding like the joker as he spoke, “When do we get to get out of here?”

“I’m not sure, Mr. Smith,” you said, “I can check for you-”

“No, stay,” Mr. Smith said. “I’ll take the whatever you have.”

“Benzodiazepine. It will help with-” you were cut off by Mr. Smith breaking his restraints and slapping you straight across the face. You fell to the ground. When you stood up, you backed up just enough to get away from the bed. You almost had your hand on the call button, when Mr. Smith approached you, and you felt a sharp pain in your lower abdomen. You fell to the ground grabbing your side, trying to apply enough pressure to stop the bleeding.

Mr. Smith threw the knife, a pocket knife, down on the floor next to you, as he stood up and walked out the door.

—

Jack Abbot was always early for his shift. Today, he was exceptionally early. At the request of his best friend. Robby had told Jack he was in love with you before he told you he loved you. Robby frequently talked Jack’s ear off about you, so when Robby told him he got reservations at the best Italian restaurant in Pittsburgh for Valentine’s Day, and that he was planning on proposing, how could he not come in early to make sure they made it to their reservation? As he walked up to central, he noticed the patient walking out of behavioral 2. He didn’t think anything of it - until an hour later.

“Hey, Dana, have you seen-” He didn’t have to finish his sentence before Dana spoke.

“Haven’t seen her since she walked into behavioral 2,” Dana said.

“You sure it was behavioral 2? Saw him leaving when I got here an hour ago,” Jack said.

“He’s still on the board,” Robby said as his eyes darted to the door of behavioral 2. He began to walk over towards it. He opened the door to the room slowly. That’s when he saw your head, against the floor, on the other side of the gurney. 

“Fuck,” Robby breathed out a bit louder than he expected, as he rushed to your side. “Hey, baby, open your eyes, love.” Robby put his hands on your wound to help stop the bleeding. There were almost 2 units of your blood on the floor. Your eyes fluttered, but didn’t open.

Jack walked in as this was happening, and Robby’s eyes looked up to look at Jack, but he was back at the door. He opened the door and shouted, “We need a gurney! Clear Trauma 1! Someone page surgery and get Adamson, NOW!”

Jack walked back in and knelt down to your other side. “Help me get her scrub top off, we have to get a better look at this,” Jack instructed Robby. 

As the two men worked to remove your scrub top, the air touching your skin caused a new sensation, causing you to start blinking your eyes. Your eyes were fully open and settled on Robby, as him and Jack completely removed your scrub top. You blinked and tears started to stream down your face. The pain was increasing.

“I’m right here baby,” Robby said as he used his thumb to wipe the tear falling down your cheek.

“Am I dying?” you asked very matter of fact.

“Not letting that happen, Kid,” Jack said as he looked at Robby.

Adamson and Dana rushed in with the gurney. “What the fu-” Dana started to say.

“He-he stab-” you tried to talk but your voice turned to cries.

“Security is looking at the cameras, police are on their way. We gotta get her to trauma one, now,” Adamson said.

Robbyl picked you up and set you on the gurney.  The team hurried towards Trauma 1. Robby looked at Adamson as he spoke, “Can I stay?”

“You know the rule Michael, we don’t work on family.”

Robby sighed. He turned to move away and you reached for him. 

“No!” You cried. “Stay,” you pleaded to Michael. You looked at Adamson, “Please?”

Adamson nodded and Robby stood closer to you as you laid on the gurney. He bent down, moving your hair out of your face and wiping your tears. “It’s gonna be okay sweetheart, okay?” He placed a kiss on your temple.

—

The next 30 minutes were a blur, in both your mind and in Robby’s. The team worked to attempt to stop the bleeding before Dr. Shamsi came down from surgery. When she told Michael he couldn’t be in there while you had your surgery, he nearly lost it. You needed him, and he couldn’t be there. Not only once, but twice today. Adamson told him to go outside, take a breath. He meant to the ambulance bay, not where Robby headed to. He had no idea how long he had been standing there, on the roof of PTMC. He heard footsteps and turned to see Jack.

“Is she-”

Jack shrugged his shoulders, “Still in surgery.”

Robby shook his head, “I fucked up, Jack. It’s my fault she’s in there.”

“It’s not your fault-”

“It’s my fucking fault. I was so damn preoccupied thinking about tonight and - If I wasn’t showing Adamson the ring, Dana might not have stopped her to go in there - and -” Robby’s tears were falling from his face. 

“And what? It would be you in there? And her up here?” Jack asked

“Yes! It should be me in there Jack!” Robby yelled. “I should be fighting for my life not her. Jack, I can’t lose her.” There was fear in his voice.

“You’re not going to lose her. Shamsi is the best damn surgeon we have. She’s strong, she’s a fighter. Let’s go back inside, she should be out of surgery soon.” Jack was trying to talk Robby down.

“We should be at the restaurant now. I should be down on one knee, asking her to be fine forever. Instead, I don’t even know if she’s gonna make it through the night,” Robby said as he continued to sob.

Jack empathized with Robby, he had felt most of these emotions when his own wife passed. “She’s gonna make it, Rob. She’s young, she’s strong, besides - she’s not leaving you this easy,” Jack said, as his phone went off. He looked up. “She’s out of surgery.”

The words barely left Jack’s mouth before Robby was on his way to the elevator, with Jack not far behind him.

When the elevator doors opened on the surgical floor, Robby ran out and was met by Dr. Shamsi.

“Shamsi,” Robby said out of breath.

“Robinavitch. Your girl is a fighter,” Shamsi said. “She’s in recovery. I can take you back,”

—

Michael sat by your bed, his fingers intertwined with yours, as he noticed your eyes begin to flutter open.

“Sweetheart?” he said 

“Michael,” you said, your voice barely a whisper. 

“Hey my love,” he said as he took his free hand and ran his long fingers through your hair. 

He didn’t want to bring up what happened, and neither did you. Michael noticed tears falling from your eyes. “You okay sweetheart? Are you in pain? Do you need something?”

You shook your head, “I’m fine. Just - I’m sorry, Michael.”

Michael looked at you, confused. “You got stabbed, you have nothing to be sorry for, sweetheat.”

“I ruined our Valentine’s dinner,” you said

Michael wiped the tears from your face, “I’ll make us another one when you’re healed.” He shifted in his chair, and something fell out of his pocket. Not just any something, the box.

“What’s that?” you asked.

Michael smirked, “Of course you saw it,” he mumbled as he got off his chair to get the box from the floor.

“What is it?” you said as you tried to sit up, but winced in pain, sliding back down into the bed.

He was already on one knee to get the box. This isn’t how he wanted to do it, but he knew you wouldn’t stop asking what was in the box. “This, uh, this isn’t what I had in mind,” he started, “I was going to give this to you, after we had dinner, over a glass of wine,” Michael chuckled as he looked up at you, “Sweetheart, I never want to know what a day feels like without you by my side,” Michael opened the box, showcasing the beautiful stone in a silver band. “Will you marry me, sweetheart?”

Tears of joy were filling your eyes and spilling over. You nodded, “Yes, Michael. Of course I’ll marry you.”

Michael slid the ring on your finger as he stood. He hovered over you and kissed your lips. “I love you. I love you so much, my love,” he said against your lips.

“I love you, too. Forever.”

[cravinganotherworld]

Despair - Part 1 - Frontman x reader (Squid games)

WARNINGS: SEASON 3 SPOILERS!! Guns, mention of death. heartbreak, lots of crying.

Notes: What did everyone think of season 3!? it took me on a whirlwind of emotions i'm not ready to acknowledge yet :) Anyway this will be a series like the Amorous series which you can find the first part of here. I hope you enjoy!

Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes turned into hours and hours felt like days since Gi-Hun, Young-il and the others left to fight for your freedom. You tried your best to join but Young-il wouldn’t let you, no matter how much you begged, no matter how much your promised to stay safe he left you. With a soft kiss goodbye and parting tears you watched as he walked out the door, shooting a final glance back at you. Each passing moment felt like an eternity, until suddenly Dae-ho runs in. You rush to your feet.

“Dae-Ho!? What’s happening where is everyone else?” he stares at you, his lips moving but nothing coming out as his whole body shakes. Calmly you place your hand on his arm and speak to him, slower this time. “Dae-ho, I need to know where the others are…do you know?” he nods his head but still doesn’t speak. Looking down you notice his arms full of ammo and your heart sinks knowingly. “Have they run out of ammo?” He nods again. Every solution swirls through your head as you figure out what to do, clearly Dae-ho is in no fit state to get this to them. “Can I have the ammo? I’ll take it to them?”

“Y/n no! you don’t even know where they are!” you hear player 149 speak. Dae-ho drops the ammo and rushes past you to a bed in the far corner. As you bend down to pick up the ammo player 149 rushes over and places her hand over yours, stopping you.

“Please, you have to let me, Young-il could be-“

“Young-il would want you to stay here and be safe” You look at her, you know she’s right but every fibre in your body is telling you to go. Slowly you shake your head and tug her arm away from yours.

“I’m sorry, but if there’s even the slightest chance of saving him, I have to” Before she could reply you pick up the ammo and rush towards the door. Suddenly, before you could reach the door pink soldiers came rushing in pointing their guns towards you and the others.

“Everyone on the floor now!” You stand still not moving until you heard player 149 shout.

“Y/N please…do as they say…. this is no way to die” Turning towards her, you let a single tear slip from your eye but continue to stand. Around you pink guards begin to line either side of the dorms, their guns pointing at each person. Behind you, you feel the tip of a gun press into your back.

“Player 118, on the floor now!” Defeated you drop the ammo and fall to your knees, it felt as if everything was in slow motion. Your cheek touched the cold floor, your eyes lingering on the door praying for young-il to run through and save you. You knew though…deep down that Young-il wasn’t coming back. Something in you turned then, all the light you held drained away, all the kindness…all the hope and joy…everything.

Soon after the guards received orders to return to their stations, leaving you all to return to your bunks. As you rise to your feet player 149 rushes over to you.

“Y/n honey. Are you okay?”  you look down at her saying nothing, your eyes emotionless, your silence deafening as you walk past her walking not towards your bunk but Young-Ils and sit where he once did. You lay on your side, resting your head against his pillow which still smelt like him and close your eyes. Everything comes back, all the memories…the yearning…. the secret touches when you thought no one else could see…the way he held you when you finally gave in to your impulses…everything. So you let go, you let the tears stream down your face as you hold the pillow tighter knowing that was all you had left of him. Suddenly the doors open and more pink guards rush into the room, this time holding a coffin. You slowly sit up, wiping your tears and watch as they place the coffin in the centre of the room before leaving once again. Confused like everyone else, you walk over to the coffin, looking around to see who had died yet seeing everyone very much alive.

“It must be one of the players that didn’t make it” Player 120 spoke. You breath in a sharp breath as she opens the lid of the coffin, Gi-Hun.

“No…” you whisper. Player 120 leans down to check his pulse.

“He’s alive” breaths of relief fill the air. “Here, help me bring him over to his bunk” you grab one of his arms and help them pull hm over to his bunk, placing him down carefully.

“I’ll stay with him” you speak. The others nod and begin to walk away. You turn your head to look at Gi-hun, blood covered his face, paired with blood running down the side of his head. “Oh Gi-hun” you whisper, taking his hand in yours. As you go to sit on the floor next to him you hear player 120 speak from the centre of the room.

“y/n…” reluctantly you look away from Gi-hun and over to player 120. She was holding something in her hand…it looked like a jacket. “I think this is for you...” Confused you leave Gi-Huns side and walk over to them. As you get closer your breathing becomes shallow, and your heart falls to your stomach. In her hand she held a jacket covered in blood. Beside her players 149 and 222 look towards you, pity clear in their eyes.

“Why would this be for me?” you whisper. Gently she places the jacket in your hand, and you look at her.

“I’m sorry…truly” you blink away the tears forming and look down. As you unfold the jacket your heart shatters and your breath catches in your throat. Looking down through tear filled eyes you see it….001. Falling to your knees you bring the jacket to your chest, screaming out in anguish as the tears fell once more.

[laurfilijames]

Die Fun

Pairing: Jax Teller x female reader

Words: 1.4K

Warnings: Rated E, 18+. Drinking, smoking, making out, dry humping.

Summary: A spontaneous ride out to the coast is the break you know Jax is in need of where he's able to let go, allowing him to indulge in loving hard, living fast and staying fun.

A/N: I was listening to one of my favourite songs and thought of this little idea that seemed to suit Jax and had to write it. This is dedicated to all the wonderful people here who have encouraged me to continue sharing and loving my work. Thank you 💗

---

“Let's get outta here,” you suggested in a sultry whisper, a playful smile tugging up your full lips that had just pulled away from his.

Jax couldn't help but return it, feeling his heart do a small flip in his chest as you hovered over him, your low-cut top putting your cleavage on display.

“Where?”

You shrugged, moving from between his spread legs, your hands pressing off his chest that made the leather of his kutte creak.

“Anywhere. It doesn't matter.”

You loved being on his bike just as much as he did, and he couldn't deny you that thrill whenever you requested it, craving the feel of your body hugging tight against the back of his and how your hands always danced across his stomach.

He stood from the couch he was slumped in when you reached for his hand, eager to follow you wherever, his other one landing on your hip as he watched you bite your lower lip to try to hide your grin as you started walking toward the door.

“Are we runnin’ away, darlin’?” he asked, the words coming out in a soft chuckle.

You looked over your shoulder at him, your eyes alight with vigor and lust that screamed of a freedom he was desperate for, and when you spoke, your words were calling him like a siren.

“If that's what you want.”

He rode until he couldn't stand not having you in his arms any longer, the way his hand rested on your thigh as much as possible not nearly enough to satisfy him, catching himself digging his fingers into the torn denim covering your leg as his need to have you became unbearable.

The coast was now in sight, and the salty air filled his lungs each time he took a deep breath in, the two hour ride to get here simultaneously feeling like an eternity and no time at all.

Jax rolled into a lookout spot, the view of the ocean clear as day from the space he parked his Dyna in, the surrounding trees creating a little seclusion that would be perfect for watching the sun sink down on the horizon.

You dismounted first, your hands gripping his shoulders for stability as you swung your leg over, and Jax caught your smile as he looked behind him.

“I’ll be right back,” you said, unfastening the strap of your helmet where you shook out your hair, and before he had the opportunity to ask where you were going, you skipped off across the road toward a little corner store.

Jax removed his own helmet and sat for a minute, feeling the vibrations of the bike start to shake away from his hands now that everything was still.

He closed his eyes, relishing in the calm, the realization that he needed to get away from the stress of the club and the bullshit that came with the everyday of being VP hitting him now that he had the opportunity to breathe.

He must’ve sat there for longer than he intended, lost in the serenity of nothingness, the sudden feel of your hand smoothing over his back and up to his neck startling him.

“You okay?”

“Hmm, yeah,” he smiled, angling his face up to you where you leaned down to kiss him, both of your smiles fading as the push and pull of your mouths intensified.

With a sigh, you reluctantly pulled away, the temptation to never stop overwhelming you.

“What’d you get?” Jax asked, nodding at the bag in your hand, his brows scrunching together.

You held up what was obviously a bottle of booze wrapped up in a brown, paper bag and shook it in a teasing way, taking a step back away from the bike in hopes he would follow.

“You’ll have to come see!”

You walked backwards for a few steps with a bright grin on your gorgeous face, your eyes full of mischief and a promise of making him forget everything he needed to, and Jax followed eagerly, his draw to you like a magnet.

You sat there for hours, alternating sharing sips from a cheap bottle of red wine that somehow tasted better than it should, the last of the blazing orange that burnt the sky fading into a deep indigo.

Jax had you between his legs where you both faced the sea, his arms enveloping you completely in fear you were getting cold, your head resting in the space between his neck and collarbone.

Your fingers trailed up and down his forearm, his tattoo exposed by the sleeve of his hoodie, the sensation of that and the slight buzz from the wine feeling like complete bliss.

The breeze came in waves, mimicking the swell of the tide, and when Jax closed his eyes he could hear it before it blew toward you, the rustling of the leaves nearby giving him a few seconds notice before it hit his face, dancing in his hair harshly at first and then softer as it passed.

He took a deep inhale, nestling his face in your hair as he did, and pressed a kiss on your head when he exhaled.

“This is perfect, darlin’,” he purred, his voice loose but raspy, the evidence of his last cigarette hanging on it.

“I think so, too,” you agreed, shifting out of the cage of his arms and legs to face him.

You straddled his lap, holding his face in your hands where you admired how the colour of his eyes rivaled the water that crashed against the cliff below you.

The lines that flanked his mouth etched deeper as he smiled, your fingers tracing their permanent tracks, and you realized there wasn’t one part of him that didn’t mesmerize you as his long, golden lashes fluttered on his tanned skin when he closed his eyes.

Your lips captured his, stealing his breath that blew into your mouth with a chuckle, your body arching toward his to seek more of him.

His warmth transferred onto you, surrounding you along with his scent of lingering tobacco and faded cologne, the sharp taste of wine off his tongue making you more intoxicated than when you drank it yourself.

Jax delved deeper into your mouth, desperate and needy as he gripped your waist, pulling you closer where he guided you to rock against his stiff cock that strained in his jeans.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, his lips still brushing yours.

You raked your hands through his hair, the pull making him moan and tip his head back slightly, and you couldn’t resist the thick column of his neck, your lips kissing and sucking his smooth skin.

A low groan that turned into a dark chuckle rumbled through him, his fingers tickling your side to force you to stop even though he really didn’t want you to.

You squirmed and unlatched yourself from his neck, satisfied to see a burgundy mark stain his porcelain skin even in the growing darkness, and took a steadying breath as you adjusted your hips on his.

Trying to ignore how his cock felt pressing up against your soaked and aching cunt, you reached beside you for the bottle, bringing it to his lips where he accepted the offer and let you pour what was left into his mouth.

He laughed as some spilled out, and you quickly licked his chin clean, the scruff of his beard on your tongue a strange combination of soft and prickly.

“You tryin’ to take advantage of me or somethin’?”

The bottle fell from your hand, the clink of it on the ground lost as you brought your face closer to his, your noses brushing each other as you shared a breath, the tension continuing to grow between you.

“Maybe…”

His hands slid under your shirt, smoothing up your back as he crashed his mouth into yours, his cock throbbing with the thought of filling your tight, wet pussy and fucking you until you screamed.

Breathless, you peeled away, your chest heaving with restraint.

“So, what now, Teller?”

He smirked, his eyebrows raising on his forehead. “I thought this was your idea.”

Your giggle turned into a whine when he lifted his hips up against you, the friction on your cunt too much to bear, trying to think through the haze in your mind driven by lust and alcohol but fully aware you wouldn’t be able to drive back home.

“How much cash do you have on you?” you asked, your voice strained with want.

“Enough for a sleazy motel and another bottle,” he drawled, grabbing your ass roughly. “Come on, gorgeous, let’s go blow it all.”

---

Taglist:

@dailydragon08 @thedreadandthefugitivemind @glassgulls @littlenosoul @maggotzombie

@rmwarn90 @paintlavillered @stealfromthedevil @kmc1989 @justreblogginfics

@spaghettificationandpretzels @whatever-lmaoo @steviebbboi @charethcutestory02 @daryldixonpls

@puffins-muffins

[stlllle]

Headcanon: "If You Betrayed Them During the Game… (And It Got Them Killed)"

Because sometimes... the deadliest enemy isn’t the game itself... but the person you trusted the most.

Masterlist –[link]

Note:I wrote this at like… 3 AM… so if it’s messy or makes zero sense… yeah… that’s on me

---

Seong Gi-hun (456)

He always believed in people.

Even when life gave him every reason not to.

With you… it was no different.

When the betrayal happened… when he realized that your choice would cost him his life… he just froze.

Wide eyes. Shaking hands. That expression of pure disbelief, mixed with heartbreak and silent pleading for you to tell him it wasn’t real.

But it was.

He didn’t scream. Didn’t run. He just… accepted it.

And when he died… the last thing you saw was that look in his eyes:

"Why…?"

---

Front Man / In-ho (001)

He didn’t yell.

He didn’t cry.

He just… stared.

Your betrayal didn’t shock him. Not really.

Somewhere deep down… he knew this would happen. He always knows.

But that didn’t stop the faintest flicker of disappointment from flashing in his eyes.

He didn’t say a word. Didn’t fight it.

When death came, he accepted it like he accepted everything else: with cold, bitter resignation.

"In the end… you’re just like the rest."

---

Cho Hyun-ju (120)

She didn’t go down quietly.

Not a chance.

The second she realized it was you… that you were the one holding the metaphorical knife (or the literal one)… she snapped.

She screamed your name. Cursed you with every breath she had left.

"You coward! You piece of shit! I should’ve killed you first!"

She fought until her body gave out.

And even as she fell, her voice would’ve been the last thing echoing in your head.

Her death wasn’t peaceful.

It was rage. It was betrayal. It was fire until the end.

---

Lee Myung-gi (333)

With Myung-gi… the silence said it all.

No yelling. No crying. Just… a long, tired sigh.

A glance that said, “Of course… it was always going to be like this.”

You were one of the few people he let his guard down around.

And this… this was how it ended.

If there was one final thought running through his mind…

It was pure, bitter regret.

"I should’ve stayed alone."

---

Park Yong-sik (007)

Explosion.

Instant and violent.

He screamed your name, lunged at you with everything he had left in him, fists flying, voice cracking with rage.

"YOU THINK THIS IS OVER?!"

If his body failed him, it wasn’t for lack of trying.

If death took him… it would take him mid-attack… teeth clenched… fury still burning through every muscle.

If he had even five more seconds… he’d have taken you down with him.

---

Kang Dae-ho (388)

He didn’t say a word.

Not one.

Just stood there… staring at you… with that hollow, empty look he always carried.

He didn’t scream. Didn’t fight.

He just breathed… closed his eyes… and accepted it like the inevitable tragedy it was.

"Of course… it would end like this."

When he died…

It wasn’t with anger.

It was with that heavy, silent disappointment only he knew how to carry.

---

Kim Jun-hee (222)

She cried.

First out of shock… then out of rage… and finally… pure, uncontrollable heartbreak.

She screamed your name… begged for an explanation…

"I trusted you… I defended you… I believed in you!"

Her hands shook. Her voice broke.

And when she fell…

Her last tears were for you.

Because for her…

You weren’t just another player.

You were hope.

And you broke her.

---

Gyeong-seok (246)

Full panic mode.

The betrayal sent him spiraling instantly.

Hyperventilating… trembling… screaming your name like you could still take it back… like this wasn’t happening.

"No… no… please… don’t do this to me… please… I thought we were friends!"

His fear drowned out everything else.

And when death took him…

He died crying… shaking…

And with your name still slipping from his lips.

---

Thanos (230)

He smiled.

But not that charming, playful grin you were used to.

This one was sad… resigned… broken in ways words couldn’t explain.

"I knew… but I still wanted to believe."

No screaming. No fighting.

Just… acceptance.

He kept his eyes on you until the very end…

With a look that said everything you already knew:

"The game always wins."

---

Namgyu (Player 124)

With Namgyu… the pain would come in silence.

He’s always been the type to bottle things up… to suffer quietly… never letting anyone see how broken he really was inside.

But when the betrayal hit…

When he realized it was you… you… the one person he trusted…

The shock would paralyze him.

His eyes would go wide… breath shaky… body frozen like the whole world had just collapsed on top of him.

He’d try to speak… to ask why… to beg for some kind of explanation…

But no words would come out.

His throat would close up… his heart breaking beyond repair…

And when death finally reached him…

He’d fall… with that same look of pure panic… heartbreak… and disbelief.

"I… trusted you…"

[immaqulate]

say it's okay to love you | m.s

— matt sturniolo x fem! reader

— warnings: fluffy fluff, slow burn, emotional intimacy, tummy kisses, body positivity/midsize reader (12/14), inexperienced!reader, Matt being so gentle, hand holding, hoodie borrowing, crying (happy + overwhelmed), protective energy, chest cuddles, respectful touch, “you’re not hard to love” ENERGY, 2nd person pov

You’ve never been in a relationship. Never kissed anyone. Never been touched like you mattered. Until Matt. He’s patient, gentle. And he shows you slowly that you’re not hard to love.

word count: 764

You tug at the sleeves of Matt’s hoodie for the tenth time since walking into his room.

It’s his. That much is obvious. It smells like him—like detergent and warmth and whatever cologne he only uses when he’s filming. It hangs off your body in a way that makes you feel small and exposed all at once, like you’re wearing someone else’s skin.

Matt notices. Of course he does. He always notices the little things about you.

“Too warm?” he asks quietly from where he’s sitting cross-legged on his bed, fingers twirling a ring on his pinky.

You shake your head. “No. I just… fidget. When I’m nervous.”

He hums, a sound that lands somewhere between understanding and affection. “Are you nervous because of me?”

You freeze, mid-pull.

He looks up, soft brown curls a little messy from where he’s been raking his fingers through them. His gaze doesn’t push. It rests gently on you—open, patient.

“I’m nervous,” you admit, sitting down at the edge of the bed. “Because I’ve never done this before. Like, any of it.”

Matt sets the ring on his nightstand. “This?”

You gesture between you. “Yeah. Hanging out in a guy’s room. Wearing his hoodie. Sitting this close.”

You leave out the part where your heart is pounding. Where your palms feel clammy. Where you’re hyperaware of how your thighs spread when you sit, how your stomach presses against the hoodie, how no one has ever looked at you like this before.

Matt inches closer—not enough to crowd you, just enough that your knees brush.

“Can I tell you something?” he asks.

You nod.

“I’ve had people in my life before,” he says slowly. “But I’ve never wanted to be this careful. This slow.”

You blink. “Why?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “Because it’s you. And I don’t want to fuck it up.”

Your breath catches. He glances down at your hand where it rests in your lap. “Can I hold your hand?”

You nod again, and he threads his fingers through yours.

His hand is warm, a little calloused. It swallows yours like it was made for this exact purpose. You look down at the way your fingers fit together and something tight in your chest begins to soften.

“I think I’ve always assumed I wasn’t… the type of girl people want,” you whisper. “Like, I’m not tiny. I overthink everything. I’ve never even kissed anyone. And then you come along with your quiet charm and pretty hands and I just—”

You stop. Matt is watching you, brows drawn together, like your words matter more than anything else in the world.

“You’re not too late,” he says gently. “You’re right on time. And I want you. Not some version of you that knows what to do. Not someone smaller or louder or more experienced. Just… you.”

You feel the tears in your throat before they hit your eyes. You look down at your lap, embarrassed.

Matt shifts closer. “Can I show you something?”

You nod. He lets go of your hand and kneels in front of you, resting his palms on your thighs—just above your knees, never moving without permission. You tense at first, instinctively, but he doesn’t react. He stays right there, his eyes lifting to meet yours.

“Everything you’re insecure about,” he says softly, “is what I want to hold.”

You suck in a shaky breath. “Even my stomach?”

Matt leans forward and kisses the center of it—right over the soft curve beneath the hoodie. Then he kisses it again, a little lower. Then rests his cheek there, his arms wrapped around your waist like he means it.

You tremble. “You’re not hard to love,” he says into your skin. “You just haven’t been loved the right way yet.”

You’re crying now. Silently, but still. He doesn’t move. Just rocks you a little in his arms. One hand comes up to cup your cheek. The other stays right at your side, grounding you.

“You okay?” he whispers.

You nod into his shoulder. “Yeah. I just… didn’t know it could feel like this.”

Matt smiles. “Neither did I.”

He shifts you onto the bed gently, lying back and pulling you with him, his arms cradling your body like he was born to do it. Your legs tangle. Your cheek presses to his chest. He holds you like nothing about you is uncomfortable or too much.

“Is this okay?” he murmurs, rubbing slow circles into your back.

You nod, half-asleep already. He kisses your forehead. “I’ve got you.”

And for the first time in your life, you believe it.

not feeling the most confident today.. and writing this made me feel a bit better and also seen :)

click here to be added to my taglist and here for masterlist <3

taglist 1 ✎ @chrisissobabygirl @sturnzwrld @strnilolover @sweetshuga @mattslilies @sirensdollesque @slxtarchive @heartsonlyforchris @sturns-mermaid @bluessturniolo @pasteldreams @endereies @solarsturniolo @drewswife @conspiracy-ash @courta13 @ivytthew @blushsturns @surprisecurlyfriess @mazzystarrysky @eclipsturns @riasturns @mattsgirl4ever @elisesturnz @ribbonlovergirl @chrisslut04 @pair-of-pantaloons @obxfansstuff @poppetbaby02 @bgfshai @kalel2005 @sturniszn

[kellykadesperate]

“I can’t handle you being nice to me.” + robron if you feel like it?

Robert makes sure he watches the whole thing. He should be heading into the ambulance and being treated for the gash on the back of his head and the ache in his lower back but he needs to see John be taken away in the police car. He needs to see the handcuffs go on, his head disappear into the car as it pulls away. 

Robert gets to see it all. He makes sure to look John right in the eyes as he goes.

Then he’s feeling a hand on his shoulder and Vic is standing there crying her eyes out. 

“Come Rob, we need to get you checked out.” Vic says quietly and Robert goes with her because he can’t have her worrying about him right now. Not now he’s been the one to expose their brother for the absolute lunatic he is. A murderer.

John killed Nate, John nearly killed him. Robert thinks about it whenever he shifts his head just slightly. Maybe he’ll always have an ache there. He’s certain they’ll be a scar. 

“What happened?” Vic wipes her face and Robert stares down at her. They’re in a private room now. Robert is waiting for stitches to be put in and Vic has questions, she has so many questions that Robert can’t answer right now.

“He came at me.” Robert forces out. “I blacked out.”

“When did Aaron show up?” Vic asks.

It makes something shift in Robert’s chest completely. Aaron. “He – what do you mean?”

Vic frowns like Robert is worrying her. “Do you not remember? He was the one who saved ya.”

Robert doesn’t quite remember that. Then he closes his eyes and hears someone telling him to stay with them. He thought he’d made it up. 

“I was out cold.” Robert tries to explain.

Vic nods and then wraps her hands around Robert’s. “I’m so sorry. For everything.”

Robert shakes his head and it hurts, it crashes through him and makes him feel lightheaded. “It’s not your fault.”

“I welcomed him in, I was so lonely.” Vic scoffs and then wipes at her eyes again. “I thought it was a miracle, him showing up. How mad am I?”

Robert knows it isn’t the time to say anything about him being right, he knows that there’s going to be conversations and tears and he’s going to bring up their dad and always feeling second place but it won’t happen now.

“You weren’t to know.” Robert says quietly. 

“I could have lost you.” Vic says.

“You didn’t. I’m still here.” Robert tells her. “Vic, where’s Aaron?” He has to know, it feels like the only thing that matters right about now. 

Vic frowns again. “I’m – I think he was brought in as well. He had to go before you, he wanted to wait but they were still working on you.”

Robert faintly remembers being surrounded by people, hands on his head and chest and being told to stay awake. He chews his lip a little. “OK.” He says and maybe Vic thinks that’s the end of it but it can’t be. 

Robert waits until his stitches are in and Vic is getting them both a coffee and then he makes his escape to search for Aaron. Robert wanders around the hospital a little aimlessly until he finds that he’s circled right back to his own room. 

Aaron’s sitting on the chair right outside. He looks up as soon as Robert stops walking.

“Rob?” Aaron’s chin goes all wobbly and then he’s crying. 

Robert let his feet carry him towards Aaron. Then they’re hugging. Robert squeezes his eyes shut and tries to remember the last time he hugged Aaron and it wasn’t sad and tragic and painful. He’ll never forget the time before this. He’ll never be able to wipe the memory of having to pry himself away from his husband and say goodbye the way he did in that prison visiting room.

“Shit, sorry.” Aaron panics as his hand comes up to cradle Robert’s head and Robert winces in pain.

“It’s OK.” Robert says gently. He has his Aaron’s voice on. It’s come on automatically. 

Aaron shakes his head and the tears just fall so easily. His eyes are red and his hands are shaking as he looks at Robert. “None of this is OK, are – how can you even think that?”

Robert doesn’t know if he has the metal capacity to argue back.

“He could have killed you. He wanted to kill you. You.” Aaron’s breathing goes all funny and he starts crying harder. Robert feels it, he genuinely feels like his heart is breaking.

“Aaron, I’m OK.” Robert takes a step forward.

“You could have died. If he killed you, I would have –” Aaron has that intense look on his face. Robert remembers it well. It’s when he’s being deadly serious, just before he’s about to say something mad. “I’d have died too. I wouldn’t have survived it, not you. Not if it was – not you.”

“But you saved me.” Robert says, he tilts his head down. “You knew to come and find me. You.”

Aaron looks down. “I was the reason you were there in the first place. I trusted that absolute piece of –” He makes this painful sound. “You nearly died.” Aaron keeps saying it, over and over and over again.

Robert blinks back tears and holds Aaron's hand until they’re back in the quiet of his room. He tells Aaron to sit down on the bed and he watches as Aaron comes back to himself slowly.

“Do you want some water?” Robert asks.

Aaron looks up and scowls a little. “I should be asking you that.” He says and then he breathes out gently. “I can’t handle you being nice to me.”

Robert arches an eyebrow. “Well tough.” He says.

Aaron shakes his head. “I can’t believe I was so – stupid.” He says. “This is – this feels like a nightmare.” He pulls a hand over his face and then leans himself into Robert. It feels so natural, Robert wants to cry.

After what feels like hours of this gentleness, Aaron pulls away and then rests his forehead against Robert’s. 

“You know –” Aaron’s breath hitches again like the words are stuck in his throat. The thing is, Robert has always known but today has turned it all technicolour. He’s never been more certain.

Robert presses firmer against Aaron’s forehead. “I know.” He whispers.“I love you.” Aaron says anyway.

[malsmind]

▸001 ⋅˚₊‧ Broken Smile (My All) ‧₊˚ ⋅

𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘰

⚠︎ ∿ angst ∿ toxic relationship ∿ drinking ∿ lots of regret ∿

၊၊||၊ Come Over When You're Sober, Pt. 2 ⌗ 1

𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 @delilahsturniolo

you never smiled like that before him. not like that. not the fake one. the one that tugged at the corners of your mouth like it was sewn there, sharp and stiff. the one that didn’t reach your eyes no matter how hard you tried.

he used to love your smile. the real one. the one that bloomed slow, soft. a little bashful at first, but god—once it landed, it stayed. stuck to him like honey. made him feel like maybe there was something good in the world.

but that smile had died a long time ago.

killed by his hands.

matt didn’t realize it at first. didn’t realize how every small lie chipped away at you. how every time he said “it’s nothing” when you asked, or looked away too fast, or didn’t show up when you needed him—he was pulling the plug on something you were trying to keep alive. and you were trying.

god, were you trying.

he remembers the nights clearer now than when he was living them.

you on the edge of the bed, knees to your chest, asking him, “do you even love me anymore?”

and matt, with his tired, dull eyes, his goddamn walls built up so high, whispering, “don’t start.”

you never yelled. never broke things or called him names or made him feel small. no—what you did was worse. you shut down. you smiled. that fake one. that broken one.

and said, “okay.”

he should’ve known then. he should’ve said everything.

i love you. i’m scared. i don’t know how to be good at this, but i’m trying. you’re my all.

but he didn’t.

he let you slip further and further away until one day… you were just gone.

you didn’t take your things right away. some of your stuff still sits in the closet, untouched. a hoodie. your shampoo. the tiny dumb plush you said looked like him and made him keep by his desk. he hasn’t touched them. can’t.

you said goodbye in the quietest way. no screaming. no doors slamming. just that smile. the one he hated. the one that meant you gave up.

“take care of yourself, okay?”

and that was it. he didn’t answer. he couldn’t.

his throat closed up and all he could do was nod, watching you walk out the door like it wasn’t the end of his fucking world. he thought you’d come back. he thought you’d text. call. yell. something.

but nothing came. it’s been three months. ninety-three days. he counts. he hates that he counts. his friends say he should move on. they don’t understand.

how could they?

you were the one for him.

you were there when he was nothing. when the world didn’t care if he was breathing or not. you were the one dragging him out of bed, telling him to eat, telling him he mattered. even when he didn’t believe you. even when he hated himself.

you saw him.

and he let that go.

he dreams about you more than he sleeps. and in every single dream—you’re smiling. not the fake one. the real one. the one he’ll never see again. sometimes he swears he hears your voice. in the hallway. the kitchen. his head. ghosts don’t knock, but he checks the door anyway.

just in case.

he saw you once, a week ago. you were crossing the street. wearing his hoodie. but your hand was in someone else’s. he didn’t breathe. he just stood there. watched. you looked happy. not his kind of happy. not the messy, broken, aching kind.

the calm kind.

the kind you begged for.

you didn’t see him. or maybe you did and chose not to. he wouldn’t blame you. he got drunk that night. like the kind of drunk where your lungs feel too big for your ribs and your hands can’t stop shaking. he called you.

voicemail.

“i miss you.”

“you were right.”

“i’m sorry.”

“please come home.”

he deleted it the next morning. but the ache stayed. he knows what he did wrong. he knows he made you doubt yourself. he knows he made you feel unwanted, unloved, like an afterthought. you were never that. not to him.

you were everything.

still are.

you smiled through the pain. he saw it in your eyes now when he looks back. how they dulled over time. how your laugh got quieter. how you started hugging him like you were already saying goodbye. you begged him to open up. he just… he didn’t know how.

and now, it’s too late.

he writes texts to you all the time. never sends them. just drafts.

“do you remember the rain that night? when we kissed under that broken streetlight? you said it felt like a movie.”

“i found that old playlist. the one you made. i still listen to it when i can’t sleep.”

“i hope he treats you right.”

“i wish it was still me.”

he doesn’t smile anymore. not for real. just the fake one. just like you used to. maybe it’s karma. maybe it’s grief. maybe it’s love. whatever it is—it’s eating him alive. he walks past your old cafe sometimes. the one you used to drag him to even though the coffee was shit but you said the croissants were the only reason you woke up.

you’re not there anymore.

they said you quit.

no one knows where you went. matt doesn’t either. and he won’t ask. because maybe you don’t want to be found. not by him. and maybe that’s fair. he broke your smile. your trust. your heart. he’s learning to live with the echo of your absence. with the silence. with the way the world keeps spinning without you in it. and every time someone asks him why he looks so tired—he just shrugs.

smiles. the fake one. just like you used to.

just like he taught you.

[undyingdecay]

(not requests! just thoughts) GAWD I cannot stop thinking about john. I hate that man SO MUCH!!!!! but freeuse!john being busy, attempting to finish a mission report late at night and drunk!user legit just finds him and rides his face until content. He doesn't even bother to argue about it, shutting his eyes and planting his hands on their hips while eating them out until they're shaking and has a droopy smile plastered on their face. OR... AND STAY WITH ME... Perv!user being caught in his room........ either huffing his boxers or humping his pillow, I don't know, but I can just imagine him grabbing them by the hair and forcing them to look at him while he just absolutely insults them, saying how they're such a slut, so nasty and gross, how they make him feel repulsed and user just absolutely gets off from it.

anyways, love your writing! make sure to take breaks bc you're legit my fav author and it'd kill me to see you burnt out <3 -🧣

perv!reader is precious to me bc they’re so pathetic and so genuinely strange about it, so warped in their own little world where it makes perfect sense to do the most deranged shit in the name of love, even when no one asked. especially john — especially a man like that, mean and careless in ways he’ll apologize for with a kiss to your temple and a slap on the ass before going right back to it.

and of course you start worrying. because that’s what you do, right? pacing the kitchen at night while he’s out too long. staring at your phone. wondering who he’s talking to, who he’s thinking about. and he’ll always come back, eventually — but what if one day he doesn’t?

that’s when the jar happens.

it starts without a plan. a little leftover in a condom he couldn’t be bothered to tie off, a streak of it across your stomach you wipe up with trembling fingers. you should clean up properly. you don’t. because it’s his, and it feels wrong to wash it down the drain. so you scrape it up, gather what you can, glass jar trembling in your hands.

and it’s disgusting. it’s pathetic. it’s the sort of thing no normal person would ever dream of doing. but you’re not normal, are you? you’re his.

it doesn’t take long for it to become routine. an ugly little ritual you tell yourself is harmless. collect it in the dark when he’s asleep, when he’s gone, when he pulls out to finish across your stomach with a grunt and a slap of your thigh. sometimes you even bait him into it, mouthy and difficult until he’s pinning you down and using you like he’s angry about it, which he probably is. you act like you hate it. you don’t.

the jar fills slow. little bits at a time. cloudy white streaks clinging to the glass. and you tell yourself you’ll stop soon, you’re just being cautious, just a backup plan. but then comes the night he leaves for two days without telling you.

and that’s when you break.

pour a little inside you, trembling fingers slick with it. tell yourself it’s to calm down, that you’re just keeping him close. it’s not even fresh but it doesn’t matter. feels good. feels like possession, like some sick little claim you get to keep when he’s not there to fuck it into you himself.

and you sleep better like that, full of him.

when he comes back, you don’t tell him. you just fuck him mean and desperate, biting his shoulder when he calls you a crazy bitch because he still comes inside you anyway. still tells you you’re his when you make him. still leaves you aching and ruined and grinning into the pillow.

ANYWHO THIS GOT TOO LONG LOVE YOY MORE DW IM IMMUNEE TO BURN OUT,

[hazyfaith]

Stay the Night

Pairing: Creature!Vessel x Reader CW: Fluff, little bit of self doubt, love - loads of it.

Summary: After being turned into a vessel of Sleep, he never had anyone other than the other vessels spend the night in the manor, until today.

Word Count: 1.7k a/n: thanks everyone for the love on my other fics! it means so much to me! also, let's pretend that creatures are somewhat commons and accepted in this! lowkey wanna write creature!vessels in mundane situations.

A laugh escapes your lips at what Vessel said. The movie credits are still rolling, but Vessel can’t be bothered to turn the TV off before expressing his dislikes.

“I just don’t understand why she did it!” he exclaims while laughing, making your head on his chest bounce. “She had literally no reason to go with him. She knew he was up to no good and she still went with him, that’s ridiculous!” 

As you go to add to his desperation regarding how bad the movie was, your eyes catch the TV box. The glowing numbers display a late time, past midnight. It’s late, later than you thought. Not once have you looked at the clock the whole time you’ve been at his place. You never even thought about it, his company too enjoyable to ever want to leave. 

Despite having a good time, you still know that you should’ve been home hours ago. It is quite a ride from his place in the middle of the woods to yours in the city. Even if you leave now you would only make it home at the early hours of the morning. 

“Is everything ok?” Vessel asks, getting you out of your thoughts. 

You move your gaze from the time towards his face, seeing the worry in his face. You realize your eyebrows have been knitted together, only to immediately relax your face and force a smile. 

As he waits for your answer, he begins to worry. The day he just spent with you had been fantastic, or so he thought. You’d both been physically close and touchy all day, but maybe cuddling up for the movie made you uncomfortable? The conversations you’d had throughout the day had been pretty lively, maybe too much? Perhaps he was talking too much for your liking. 

“Yeah, it's just- it's quite late. I should maybe get going…” You reply shyly, stopping him from spiraling any more. 

His six eyes immediately look over at the glowing numbers, making him realise that it is later than he expected. He remembers you saying that you couldn’t stay too late, but here you are, laying on him on the couch.

You begin to pull away from him and stand up, only for thunder to startle you. You fall backward on Vessel, a small welp leaving your mouth, and his arms automatically wrap around you. You sprawl over him, putting all your weight on him. Once you’re aware of your current position, your cheeks begin to burn and you scramble to get back up. Standing in front of him, you straighten your shirt, trying to bring his attention away from the embarrassment that is plastered on your face. 

“Maybe you should stay…” he suggests before you can make any move towards the door, taking your hand in his, softly rubbing his thumb over the back of it, making sure to not claw you. 

“I don’t want to impose. I’ve been over for the whole day, I don’t want to overstay my welcome. I can drive home, it’s no-” another loud boom resonates, cutting you off. 

“It’s safer for you to stay here. I don’t want you driving in this weather,” he decides, leaving no room for discussion. You won’t be getting into an accident, not under his watch. 

“Alright, um, I don’t have any pj’s…” 

“That’s not a problem, I’ll give you something to wear,” he says.

He doesn’t make a move to get up just yet, and looks up at you. His leg begins to shake up and down. You tilt your head to the left, trying to read his expression, only for him to hop on his feet. He makes his way down the hall towards his bedroom, pulling you with him by the arm. Despite how big his manor is, you quickly end up in front of what you assume is his bedroom’s closed door.

As he reaches for the handle you can see his hand shaking. Once he grabs it, he hesitates a little before opening the door and entering the room. You follow him in and he goes straight to his closet, taking some shirts out and throwing them on his bed. He then moves to his drawers and pulls out a couple pairs of shirts and pants.

While he chooses the clothes he wants to give you for the night, you take this time to look around. Everything screams Vessel. The notebooks scattered on his desk show how he never stops writing, never even at night. The white guitar on the wall contrasts with how dark all the furniture is. You take a look out of the big window and see lightning and rain droplets hitting the ground hard. Driving in this weather would be difficult to say the least. 

“You can pick whatever you like,” he says as he closes the drawers and points to what he threw on the bed, pulling you out of your thoughts. 

You move forward, looking at the scattered clothes and pick an old band tee and a pair of shorts. You turn around, facing Vessel while holding up what you chose. You look at him intensely, waiting for him to notice. It takes him a second but he catches on, telling you where the bathroom is. 

On your way to the bathroom, Vessel begins to put everything back where it belongs. He finishes too early for his liking, taking a seat on his bed. As he waits for you to finish changing, his black fingers tap rhythmically against the nightstand. It’s been a while since someone other than the vessels have slept over at his house. He never got close enough to someone to let see him in such a vulnerable position. His eyes roam around his bedroom, looking for any mess. As he’s scanning everything he can see, you enter the room and his gaze shifts immediately to be on you. 

His breath catches in his throat as he sees you in his clothes, his claws stopping their movement against the furniture. You look cute, really cute. His six eyes blink slowly as he looks at you. He feels the heat spread on his cheeks, prompting him to look away. Despite trying not to stare at you, he still catches the way you fidget with the hem of his shirt. He clears his throat and takes a deep breath before looking back at you through one pair of eyes.

“You can sleep in my bed,” he says, tapping the dark green comforter. “I’ll take the couch or another bed.”

“What? No! I can take the couch. You’re nice enough to let me crash here, I won’t take your bed,” you object. 

“It’s the least I can do. I won’t let you go and drive at night through a storm, that’s dangerous and I don’t want to put you in a dangerous situation. So you’ll take my bed and be safe for the night,” he says firmly, his voice full of care.

Vessel stands up and takes a pillow from his bed before moving away. As he makes his way through the room and to the hall, you focus on the bed and chew on your lower lip. You’ve been together for quite some time now, and perhaps it was time for you to spend the night together, in the same bed. You’ve accidentally fallen asleep on him a couple of times already, this couldn’t be too different.

“How about sharing your bed?” You ask shyly. 

Vessel stops dead in his tracks and turns around, “Are- Are you sure?” 

“Yes… Only if you’re comfortable with it.”

“Um, sure, we can share my bed,” he agrees, making his way back in his bedroom. He throws his pillow back on his bed before sitting down and tapping the space beside him for you to join. 

“I usually sleep without a shirt on, I run a little hot…” he mumbles. “But I can keep it on if you’re more comfortable!” He quickly adds.

“No, it’s fine, I don’t mind,” you answer truthfully. 

Vessel’s hands go to the hem of his shirt, fidgeting with it a little before pulling it over his head and discarding it on the floor. The red of his cheeks deepen even more as you can now see most of him. Without his shirt, you can clearly see the gradient on his skin. 

He pushes down the sheets and lies on his back underneath them, opening his arms for you. You waste no time getting in bed with him, lying down beside him with your head on his chest. He pulls the dark green comforter over the both of you before he lets his arms softly fall on you, pulling you slightly closer. 

Neither of you move for a little while, neither of you wanting to disturb the other. You observe his arm in front of you before your hand instinctively touches it. You trail your fingernails on his arm, going from the black of his hand to the white of his shoulder. Vessel gets a whole body shiver at your touch, making you chuckle as it shakes you too. 

With the arm that is resting behind you, he begins to play with your hair and scratches your scalp with his claws. The more he does it, the slower your hand begins to move across his skin. Your eyes become heavier, but you fight for them to stay open, just for a little longer. The warmth of his body envelops you, not helping you to stay awake. The rain hitting the window adds another layer of comfort, knowing that you’re not out there, but cuddling here with your boyfriend, except for when the thunder strikes and startles you once again.  

“Go to sleep, I’ve got you,” Vessel whispers.

He haunches forward a little and gives the top of your head a kiss, only for a smile to erupt on your face. He then moves his hand from your head to your back, stroking it gently. It doesn’t take long for your breathing to slow down and get steady, letting Vessel know that you’re fast asleep. 

Soon after, Vessel’s hand stops its movement as his body becomes heavier with sleep. He squeezes you one last time before surrendering himself to sleep with you pressed close to him.